Work Text:
A deep breath.
In.
Hold it.
Out.
Okay. Okay.
Not okay.
Holy fucking fuck.
She just— she sent Charlie away. She sent Charlie— her husband! The man who is supposed to be the love of her life! She sent him away. Right before the biggest string of games of her life.
She should probably be feeling a number of things right now.
Guilty. Sad. Lonely.
So then why, exactly, does she feel so goddamn relieved?
There’s a knock at the door.
“Carson, are you coming?”
Right. The team is supposed to be going out for dinner. Because they’re— they’ve made it to the fucking championship. How crazy is that?
Another knock.
Right, the door.
Carson rises from her position on the bed and opens the door to find Maybelle impatiently waiting on the other side.
“Hey, Maybelle—“
“Finally, I thought you’d died in there! Are you coming to the restaurant?”
“Oh, um, I actually think I’m going to call it an early night. It’s, uh, been a long day, and I need to go over some plays before the game tomorrow.”
Maybelle sighs and rolls her eyes affectionately.
“Fine, kiddo, but we’ll miss you! Don’t work too hard, alright?”
“Got it, Maybelle. You guys have fun!”
She watches Maybelle walk away before she shuts the door and makes her way back over to her bed, immediately flopping down onto it.
Okay. Okay.
Carson closes her eyes with a huff.
I wonder what Greta’s doing.
Stop.
Did she go with them?
Carson, stop.
I miss her.
Jesus Christ.
I lo—
Okay, absolutely fucking not.
God, what is she doing? Running from her husband, falling into bed with someone else, sending him away when he comes to be with her?
It feels like the self destruct button has pressed itself. She’s got thirty seconds to plan an escape before her life blows up around her.
Except— that’s not true. The self destruct button doesn’t press itself. These things don’t just happen on their own. She made choices, choices that led her here. She knew what she was doing every time she slammed her hand on that button, and pretending she didn’t would be a disservice. To herself and to Greta.
Greta.
Where to begin?
Charlie is nice. He’s kind, and he loves her, and she loves him. He’s safe and comfortable and she trusts him.
But Greta?
God, Greta makes her feel alive. For the first time, she feels like she could accomplish anything. Greta is new and exciting, but it’s more than that. She’s— She’s everything.
She is everything.
And Carson loves her.
A door slams downstairs, reminding Carson that— as of right now— it’s just her and Sarge in the house.
Well, she thinks. Even if I’m not going to dinner with the girls, I should still eat something.
She drags herself off the bed, leaving her room and heading downstairs.
Maybe I’ll just make a quick sandwich and go back to planning for tomorrow. I wonder if we have any peanut butter left—
The clearing of a throat behind her.
“No fancy dinner with the team for you either, Shaw?”
Carson whips her head around so hard her neck hurts to see Greta sitting at the table, a smirk spread across her face.
“Greta, I— I thought you went with them.”
“What, are you not happy to see me?”
It’s said as a joke, but Carson knows her, can recognize the underlying insecurity. Her fear of being too much, of being unwanted. She feels her chest clench.
“No, no, I just— I wasn’t expecting you to be home is all. But, um. I’m glad to see you.”
“I’m glad to see you too.”
There’s a moment of silence, before Greta speaks again.
“So, is your guy waiting for you upstairs, then?”
Carson feels her face flush. She’s not quite sure why.
“Oh, um. He’s actually… I asked him to go home.”
A myriad of emotions cross Greta’s face before she settles on confusion.
“You…”
“Yeah.”
They’re both quiet for a moment. Carson studies Greta’s face. For what, exactly, she’s not sure.
“Why would you do that?”
Well. Carson wasn’t expecting that question.
“You know why.”
Suddenly, the eye contact is too much, and Greta looks away. She seems to be studying her own fingernails, now, though they’re undoubtedly still perfect. It looks like she’s trying to find something to say.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” Greta settles on.
“I think it’s better that I did, actually. I couldn’t focus with him around. He’s… stifling. I needed to be able to hear myself, to think for myself. You taught me that.”
Carson sees a faint smile cross Greta’s face as she glances back up. Her heart beats faster in her chest.
Greta is silent, still, and she doesn’t seem to have any intention of speaking any time soon. Carson is watching her carefully.
Eventually, Greta sighs, scrubbing a hand across her face.
“So, you skipped out on team dinner too, huh?”
The topic change is clumsy, and doesn’t go unnoticed. Carson could go along with it, let herself fall into inane conversation with the woman she’s fallen for, but something stops her.
She’s not fully sure what possesses her to do what she does next, but as Carson looks over into the kitchen, at the half-empty jar of peanut butter she’d come down here for, something inside of her snaps.
“I didn’t just send him away for the game, you know.”
Carson feels Greta’s stare intensify, but she’s still looking over into the kitchen.
“Carson,” Greta warns.
“I also did it because… of you.”
When Carson finally looks back at Greta, she notices the way Greta’s hair cascades down over her shoulders. They way Greta’s lipstick has been perfectly applied. She’s so… perfect. So lovely.
Carson loves her.
God, Carson loves her.
“I love you, Greta. I love you.”
She hears the quiet gasp that escapes Greta. Maybe she should feel panicked right now, having just confessed her love in the very open space of the kitchen, but instead she feels full. She feels as though all the pieces have fallen into place.
I love her I love her I love her, her mind repeats.
“You shouldn’t,” Greta responds, no longer making eye contact. It seems as though she’s looking everywhere in the room besides Carson.
“Maybe not,” she replies. “But I do.”
Greta shakes her head, and had Carson not been watching her so closely she may have missed the wet film of tears forming in her eyes. She wishes to hold Greta. To tell her to let them fall, and then to wipe them away herself.
I love you, and you deserve to be loved, she wishes to say. And I would willingly spend the rest of my life proving that to you.
“I love you. And I think…” Carson takes a deep, shuddering breath.
This is the bravest she’s ever felt. Braver than when she left Lake Valley, braver than when she kissed Greta back that first night, braver than she felt mere hours ago telling Charlie she needed him to go away. That bravery pushes her to finish her sentence, even without knowing the outcome.
“I think you might love me too,” she finishes.
A tear finally escapes Greta’s eyes. Carson wants to kiss it away.
“Carson…” Greta starts, her voice low.
There’s a devastated look in her eyes, and Carson feels a pit start to form in her stomach. She feels the bravery start to fade as quickly as it formed, and feels the need to ask for assurance.
“Do you?” she asks, a desperate edge bleeding into her voice.
It’s silent for a beat too long.
“Carson.” Greta’s tone is almost apologetic. “I—“
Oh. That’s… That’s a no. That’s essentially a no.
Greta is about to apologize, to say Carson, that’s sweet of you, but I don’t feel that way. It was just a fling for me, like i told you. I’m sorry
“Oh,” Carson replies, suddenly feeling numb. She finds that she’s no longer hungry.
Greta sighs.
“I just—“ she starts, only to be interrupted.
“No, yeah, that’s okay. That’s— It’s fine,” she spits out, frantic. The walls feel like they’re closing in on her.
“Carson,” Greta tries again, but Carson can’t hear her. Can’t hear anything but the sound of her heart beating in her chest.
“Really, Greta, that’s— that’s perfectly okay, no problem,” she rambles. “I’m, um, I’m just going to… Uh, I’m gonna go, now. I’m just— I’m gonna go.”
Carson feels herself straightening up, nodding vigorously. It does nothing to help the sudden dizziness she feels.
God, that was stupid. That was so stupid.
“Carson, wait—“ Greta tries, but Carson is already backing out of the room.
“I’ll, uh, see you on the field, Greta,” Carson says in a rush, turns, and walks away.
She feels herself gripping onto the railing of the stairs as though she’d crumple without it’s support, and with how shaky her knees feel, it’s a true possibility. She climbs up the stairs faster than she ever has, and hurries into her room, locking the door before leaning her back against it and sinking onto the ground, pulling her knees to her chest.
She tries to regulate her breathing.
It doesn’t work all that well, but she doesn’t start hyperventilating, so she counts it as a win.
That was so dumb. We have so many games left. So many days left in this house. There’s no way to avoid Greta for so long. There’s no way— God, why did I do that. What was I thinking? That she’d— that she might actually feel the same way? So stupid, so stupid, so—
There’s a knock on the door.
Carson stops breathing.
Maybe if I sit here long enough she’ll go away.
Another knock.
“Carson?” she hears Greta’s muffled call through the door.
She stays silent.
Eventually, there are footsteps receding, and Carson finally takes a breath.
She pulls herself off the floor, and drags herself into her bed, not even bothering to get under the covers.
She’s not sure when she starts crying, or for how long. All she feels are the tears running down her face, her breaths coming slow and quiet, until she eventually falls into a light sleep.
——————
Carson wakes to a hand running gently through her hair, a warm weight beside her on the bed. She notices that there’s something covering her. One of May’s crocheted afghans, maybe. She doesn’t remember grabbing it before she fell asleep, though. She thinks she must be dreaming.
She doesn’t open her eyes. The dream is nice, can you blame her?
It must be obvious that she’s awake, though, because the hand stills in her hair for a moment. When it moves again, it comes to touch her face, lightly running down the bridge of her nose, stopping at the tip and tapping it lightly.
“I know you’re awake, Carson,” a voice says. Greta’s voice.
Carson doesn’t move. She feels her muscles tense. The hand, Greta’s hand, comes to rest on her hip.
“Are you going to look at me ever again, or are we just going to pretend you’re still sleeping?” Greta asks, and Carson forces herself to open one eye.
She notices that the curtains are drawn, and the main light is out, leaving only the soft glow of her bedside lamp. Greta must have turned the lights off when she came in. How did she come in, Carson wonders. The door was locked.
She looks to the side. Greta is sitting on the edge of her bed in a way that cannot be comfortable, one hand still resting on Carson’s hip, the other in her own lap.
When Carson finally chances a glance up to Greta’s face, she finds that Greta is watching her almost studiously. Her heart jumps up into her throat.
“That’s better.”
And, well. Carson isn’t quite sure what to say. What to do.
She doesn’t love me, Carson thinks. Why is she here? Why is she being so… soft?
Carson makes herself sit up, scooting herself away from Greta a bit. She rubs a hand across her face, wiping her eyes a bit. They’re dry now, but the residue from all of the crying remains.
She wonders if Greta noticed, when she came in, that Carson had been crying. She wonders if it mattered.
How did Greta get into her room anyways? Carson locked the door. Her eyes wander around the room, avoiding Greta, and she notices that the side door between her room and Greta’s is open just a crack. Ah, okay. Right. Carson hadn’t thought to lock that one. Rookie mistake.
“Can we talk, now?” Greta asks, and Carson feels like sinking back down under the cover of the afghan. Could she pretend to be asleep again?
“Carson,” Greta starts, with a tone so reproachful that Carson wonders if she can read her mind.
“I don’t really know what there is to talk about, Greta.”
Carson notices how quiet, how small her voice sounds. She chastises herself in her head. Pathetic.
“I think you’d change your mind if you hadn’t run out on me so quickly earlier. Can we talk about it, please?”
Carson meets her eyes for a brief moment before looking back down at where her hands are fidgeting with the afghan. Greta looks so earnest, so worried.
“How long was I sleeping?” she asks instead, blatantly ignoring the question.
Greta sighs, but entertains her momentarily.
“Couldn’t have been longer than forty-five minutes. I came in about thirty minutes ago. You forgot to lock the connecting door.”
Carson nods, her suspicions confirmed.
“Any more questions or can we be serious now?”
Carson sighs. She feels like a prisoner walking to her execution. But, she figures, it’ll be easier to avoid Greta once she’s said her peace.
“Yeah, fine,” she agrees.
Greta shifts on the bed, reaching for one of Carson’s hands. She takes it in her own, softly massaging into the palm with her thumbs.
“Can you look at me?” she asks. Carson shakes her head no. Greta seems to accept it, because she starts talking anyways.
“I’ve only ever been in love once before,” she starts. Her voice is vulnerable in a way Carson has only heard twice before. The first time, when talking about Dana.
The second was the morning after the bar.
Carson doesn’t want to think about it.
“I fell in love with Dana when I was seventeen. And then… well. You know. And after that I just… I never let myself fall in love after that. I had to keep myself safe.”
Greta takes a deep breath.
“I didn’t want to fall in love with you,” she starts, and Carson’s hand tenses in Greta’s. Greta presses her thumbs more deeply into Carson’s palm until it relaxes again.
“It wasn’t safe. You… you have a husband, Carson. It was supposed to be a fling. I figured I could do it. I’ve done it before. I thought that the months would pass and we’d have a little fun, and then you’d go home to Charlie and Joey and I would be back in California.”
Greta turns Carson’s hand over in her own, looking up at her. Carson still can’t bring herself to make eye contact with Greta.
“But the plans changed. Joey is gone, now, and you’ve sent Charlie away, and…” Greta trails off. “And I’ve fallen in love with you.”
Carson’s heart seizes in her chest, and her eyes flick up to Greta’s. She hadn’t noticed it before, but Greta’s eyes were red-rimmed too. She’d been crying.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I was scared to tell you. When I love people… things never really go well for them. And I just, I love you so much,” Greta says, her voice cracking a bit. “I’ve told you this before, Carson, but I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to you. If I was the reason that you got hurt. And then back there, I was trying to work up the nerve to say it back to you when you panicked and ran out on me. By the time I got in here, you were asleep.”
And. Carson can’t even think. The only thing running through her mind is she loves me she loves me she loves me she loves me
Greta scoots closer, bringing one of her hands away from where it had been cradling Carson’s and placing it on Carson’s cheek.
She leans in, and Carson thinks Greta is about to kiss her, but all she does is rest their foreheads together.
“I love you, Carson. I need you to hear me when I tell you that. I love you. I’m sorry it took so long to say it back. I’m sorry I scared you. I love you.”
And then Carson kisses Greta. Kisses her so soft and so long, until she notices the salty taste of tears.
She pulls back to find Greta crying, and all she can do is pull her into her own arms, snaking a hand into her hair and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.
“I love you, Greta,” Carson says.
And she loves me.
They stay like that until they hear the girls filtering back into the house. The exchange gentle kisses, gentler I love you’s. They both go to bed, separate but happy.
——————
Carson hits two homers the next day, smiling as she thinks of Greta the whole way to home base.