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tw please remember the warnings in the summary. this chapter will include mentions of attempted suicide.
There is an emergency response a block away from work.
Usually, Maisie makes it a point not to loiter about when she comes across the New York Fire Department during duty, but sometimes she cannot help but slow to a stop. Even now that she's on her way to the book shop, a paper tray with four coffees in one hand and the other gripping the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she finds her feet slowing.
It looks like they're working on resusciatating a passer-by from the sidewalk and Maisie can't help but be transfixed by it.
The team, not the man moveless on the ground.
They're working like a well-oiled machine. Like they have done this countless times before, and she supposes they have. This is just one call in a long shift for them. They'll move on and go to the next one after it's done. Watching them work is like watching people who's know each other's movements blind and it makes a deep ache tighten her chest.
Or maybe that's the station number brandished on all of them.
Usually, it's either Stations 122 or 126 who answer calls in this era since they're the closest but sometimes, when they're already busy, it's Station 118 who comes instead and watching the letters stare back at her now makes her feel a little dizzy.
Maisie prefers to make a wide circle around this particular Fire Department and she most certainly prefers to not be caught unawares by them.
It's a little ridiculous perhaps, but most days, she's fine going about her life even if she sees them. It's this particular station that always hits her like a sledgehammer to her bones.
The first time she'd seen them after moving here from college, she'd felt like something had bashed and broken her entire foundation, an onslaught of memories flooding over her. She'd looked up the nearest stations and had nearly let out a breath of relief when she'd realised Station 118 of the New York Fire Department wasn't the closest, until she'd seen it was close enough to her work to answer calls in the nearby area.
118. She avoids the number religiously.
It's better than the alternative.
There's safety in monotony, Maisie had long since decided.
Monotony is safe—boring is safe. She'd much rather it be boring than… the other thing. She's had enough of the other thing to last her for years.
