Actions

Work Header

Pink Light

Summary:

Greta wished they would stay till morning. They never did. But maybe if they saw her when the sun came up, when soft pink light fell on her... maybe they would decide she was worth staying for.

Notes:

Just a little post-convent moment. Literally a thing I typed out at lunch on my phone. Not betaed; will come back after work.

Work Text:

When Carson rolled out of the tiny wireframe cot and laid her discarded clothes on her own bed before she slid under the sheets, still charmingly naked, Greta didn’t let her sadness seep into her quiet, amused giggle. 

It was safer.

Of course.

But Carson didn’t stay under her thin, wool quilt for long. Barely enough time to make it look slept in, before she was padding barefoot across the hard floorboards to their door. The handle quietly jiggled, assuring them both that it was indeed locked. 

But then Carson turned back to her and hesitated.

It wasn’t her state of undress that had her shifting on her feet and fidgeting her fingers; she didn't seem to care about that. Her eyes lingered on the wrinkled divot on Greta’s sheets she’d left behind. 

Oh.

She wanted to come back. 

The cuddling was nice, really nice, but now Carson had gotten what she’d wanted, painful experience had taught Greta to brace for the inevitable ‘thanks, goodnight’. 

Women Greta brought to her bed rarely stayed. If they tried to, it meant they were too close, too attached, and it was Greta’s trigger to run before she was in too deep. Before she’d stop being... careful.

She couldn’t run from Carson though. 

Greta had a team now. Joey was happy here and had no plans to leave. Greta had settled a little, found her people and, yeah, she probably could shut down this thing she and Carson were doing, but she couldn’t escape her baseball coach.

But maybe—

"It’s not that late... if you want to come back. For a little bit?”

Carson’s smirk and nod was answer enough. In fact, Greta almost wished Carson didn’t say ‘yeah, just for a little bit’ as she helped herself to the side of the barely wide enough bed. Like she belonged there. Greta could pretend it wouldn’t end.

Because this quiet, the intimate stillness in the aftermath is when regret would sink in. It almost always did. 

So Greta held her girl, kissed her gently and waited with dread and bated breath for Carson to decide enough was enough. Greta hummed in rare contentment when Carson snuggled deeper down and nuzzled her nose into Greta’s collarbone, wrapped an arm around her chest. Held her.

Carson would go back to her own bed. Eventually. She would. 

They always changed their minds when they saw Greta sated in the shadows or candlelight, lipstick smeared and hair tousled, and felt the weight of what they had done. When they saw the woman they had fucked and not the charming, red pinup that simply gave them unfamiliar and often regrettable feelings. 'Unnatural', even. 

Carson would too. Surely. 

Greta couldn’t wish aloud that she wanted Carson to still be in her arms in the morning. When the sun came up and inky blues became indigos and hit the windows. When soft, pink light crept in and touched Greta’s sleeping features. When morning was at it's kindest and Greta prayed Carson might be too. 

Greta let the fingers in Carson’s stringy, wet hair, the tight arms around her coach and lover convey her most ardent desire. 

Please. Please stay. Please see me in the morning and don’t be afraid. 

She didn’t notice herself drift off. Nor when Carson's breathing evened and slowed. Greta only realised she had fallen asleep when her mind slowly drifted back from a dream she couldn’t grasp, to the curious wonder of what was touching her face. 

Something light, and slow. 

Warm. 

Her eyes were heavy and struggled to open. She was comfortable, her limbs completely weighted and still. Like she slept the whole way through. But her eyes cracked open and were greeted— Brown? Hair. Carson’s hair. 

In faint light. 

Not the yellow glow of the sodium globe in the lamp. Not the light overhead. 

Sunrise. 

And Carson— she was still there. 

Moreover: she was awake. 

Greta’s hair ruffled loudly on the coarse linen pillow as she looked to the window above, then back down at the woman who hadn’t seemed to have moved from her spot against her chest, in Greta's arms, all night. Carson, who made no attempt to move now. 

Her nose brushed against Carson’s, too close to the sleepy chocolate eyes looking up at her. 

Pink. 

Soon the morning sun would lift higher and the colours would change,  the convent would begin to rise around them, beyond the safety of their little room. But not yet. There was still a few minutes left.  Greta wasn’t ready yet. 

“Hi.”

Not a dream. 

“Hi,” Greta whispered back and enjoyed the feeling of Carson’s thumb so tenderly brushing her jaw. Lovingly, if Greta let herself pretend. “Morning.”

“It is. It’s a good morning.”

Greta melted into her. “Really? Not changing your mind now you can see me in the daylight?”

Carson tried to slowly shake her head against the pillow. “No... You’re lovely like this.”

Greta didn’t know what to do. This was new. It was thrilling and terrifying and made her want to cry in a gratitude she didn’t understand. So Greta closed her eyes again and kissed Carson. Slowly and sweetly because their team would be up soon and there was no time for anything more, but for the first time Greta could remember since Dana, it was enough.

She was enough without being too much. 

Carson saw her, and she wanted to stay.