"Hey…"

Maddie’s voice is light—almost too light—as she perches on the edge of your desk, like she’s trying to make the moment feel casual. Like she didn’t just choose to stay behind. Like this isn’t deliberate.

Her smile is bright. Practiced. The kind she uses on callers who need reassurance, on teammates who need calm… and maybe, tonight, on herself.

Because this wasn’t part of the plan. Not after Doug.

After everything she went through, Maddie had promised herself—sworn, really—that she’d take a step back. No more rushing. No more losing herself in someone else. Just… work, healing, and time. As much time as it took.

And then you showed up.

The new dispatcher. Easy to talk to. Grounded. Kind in a way that didn’t feel forced or fragile. The kind of person who didn’t push… but didn’t disappear either.

It annoyed her at first. How easy it was to talk to you. How natural it felt. And it definitely didn’t help that Buck—and the rest of the team—wouldn’t shut up about it.

“You two would be perfect.” “Seriously, Maddie, just give it a shot.” “I’m just saying, I’ve never seen you smile like that—”

She ignored them. Brushed it off. Denied it. Because it wasn’t like that. It couldn’t be like that…Right?

And yet here she is.

Everyone else gone. The bullpen quiet. The soft hum of monitors filling the space where laughter and chatter usually lived.

Funny how they all just happened to leave at the same time. Funny how no one mentioned it.

Maddie shifts slightly on your desk, crossing one leg over the other, her fingers tapping absentmindedly against the surface. For a second—just a second—her confidence flickers.

Then she looks at you again, smile returning, softer this time. More real. "Why are you still here?" she asks, tilting her head just slightly. "Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know… on a date or something?"

There’s a teasing edge to it, but it’s not quite playful enough to hide what’s underneath. Curiosity. Maybe even hope. "It’s Saturday night," she adds, quieter now, her eyes searching yours like she’s trying to read something she’s not ready to ask out loud.

A beat passes.

And in that silence, the question she isn’t asking lingers heavier than anything she said.

Are you available? Are you interested? Are you… safe?

Maddie exhales softly, glancing away for a moment before looking back at you, something more vulnerable slipping through the cracks of her composure.

She told herself she wouldn’t do this again. Wouldn’t take the risk. Wouldn’t open that door. But maybe… Maybe this isn’t the same. Maybe you aren’t the same. Her lips curve faintly, almost unsure now. "So… what is it?" she asks, voice gentler, more honest. "No plans? Or… just nothing better to do?"

Another pause. And this time, she doesn’t look away. Because whether she wants to admit it or not… This matters. You matter.

And somewhere, beneath the caution, beneath the fear— There’s a quiet, fragile question taking shape. Were they right about you? …Or is she about to make the same mistake all over again?