Chapter Text
It starts with a foot in Carla’s ribs.
Not just a foot—the foot. A tiny, but deceptively powerful foot that somehow always finds the most sensitive spots to jab. The foot belongs to their five-year-old daughter, Betsy Swain, who has, yet again, mysteriously migrated from her own perfectly good bed to theirs during the night.
Carla blinks blearily at the ceiling, feeling the warmth of the small body curled up against her side. Betsy’s breath is soft and even, her little fingers twitching in her sleep as if still lost in the dream world. Carla shifts slightly, but the movement only encourages Betsy to burrow closer, her arms wrapping tightly around Carla’s waist like a koala clinging to a tree.
Lisa, dead to the world on the other side of the bed, only stirs when Carla lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Betsy… love,” she murmurs, voice thick with sleep. She lifts her head slightly, peering at their daughter through barely-open eyes. A slow, lazy smile tugs at her lips as she watches their little girl nestle deeper into Carla’s warmth. “What’re you doin’ here again?”
“Had a bad dream,” Betsy mumbles, her tiny voice carrying the weight of something far more dramatic than a typical five-year-old nightmare. Her curls are a wild mess against the pillow, her little hands gripping Carla’s sleeve like she’s holding on for dear life. “It was awful, Mommy.”
Carla shifts an arm, stroking Betsy’s hair gently, fingers threading through the soft curls. “Lemme guess—factory burned down?”
Betsy lifts her head just enough to give her mother a withering look. “Mommy, this isn’t funny. It was tragic.”
Lisa snorts, burying her face in her pillow to muffle a laugh. “Sounds more like a dream than a nightmare to me.”
Carla reaches over and swats at Lisa’s arm, still running her other hand soothingly down Betsy’s back. “Oi.”
Betsy, undeterred, leans up and tucks herself into Lisa’s side now, her small hands reaching for her momma’s. Lisa obliges immediately, kissing Betsy’s forehead as she rubs gentle circles into her back. “Mommy’s got a point, though.”
Lisa, clearly pleased, presses another lingering kiss to the top of Betsy’s head before stretching her arms above her head. “Right. Since we’re all up now, how about we go make breakfast? Pancakes?”
Betsy bolts upright so fast her curls bounce wildly, making her look even tinier in the oversized duvet. "Yes!"
Carla groans, running a tired hand over her face. “Lisa, it’s a school day—” “Not for me!” Betsy interrupts triumphantly, wriggling out from between them and hopping off the bed. “Teacher training day, remember?”
Carla blinks. “Oh, bollocks.”
Lisa smirks, reaching for Betsy as she climbs out of bed, pulling her back for one last squeeze before letting her go. Betsy squeals, her tiny arms wrapping around Lisa’s neck for a second longer, her curls tickling Lisa’s cheek. “Language, little miss,” Lisa murmurs, kissing the tip of Betsy’s nose before cupping her cheek, thumb brushing over a stray curl. Betsy giggles, her tiny dimples on full display. Lisa winks at Carla. “And that goes for you too, madam.”
“Language yourself,” Carla mutters, watching as Betsy bounces excitedly toward the door. Just before she disappears into the hallway, Carla reaches out, catching her wrist and tugging her back for a proper cuddle, pressing a sleepy kiss to her temple. “Go on, then, bossy boots.”
Betsy giggles, wrapping her little arms around Carla’s neck before darting out of the room. Lisa watches them with the softest expression, then turns to Carla, slipping an arm around her waist and pulling her in for a slow, lazy morning kiss. “We’ll see about that mess,” she murmurs against her lips.
Carla hums, content. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, let’s go stop her from setting fire to the kitchen.”
Betsy is already in her favorite pink dressing gown, the one with the little embroidered stars on the sleeves, and waddling excitedly ahead of them into the kitchen. The hem nearly brushes the floor, making her look even tinier, and her fluffy bunny slippers patter softly against the wooden floor with each hurried step. The house is still cozy in the early morning, the scent of coffee lingering in the air as the radiator hums gently in the corner. Her little hands clutch the edges of her dressing gown as she dashes forward, full of energy despite the early hour.
Carla follows at a more leisurely pace, yawning as she tugs on her own robe, her fingers automatically reaching for the warmth of Lisa’s hand as they trail after their excitable daughter. Lisa gives her fingers a quick squeeze before letting go to stretch, still shaking off the last remnants of sleep.
By the time they step into the kitchen, Betsy has already dragged a chair over to the counter, her little hands busy rifling through the cupboards with the confidence of someone who’s about to take on the world.
Lisa watches her for a moment, arms folded over her chest, amused. “I thought you were gonna help me, not take over.”
“I’m delegating,” Betsy says seriously, flipping her hair back in a way that is far too dramatic for eight in the morning. She turns back to the cupboard, standing on her tiptoes to reach for the mixing bowl, her pink dressing gown slipping slightly off one shoulder. Carla steps forward instinctively, fixing it for her, pressing a quick kiss to her temple before stepping back with a fond smile.
Carla chuckles as she leans against the fridge, watching with amusement. Betsy, standing on her chair like a miniature executive overseeing a boardroom, crosses her arms and surveys the kitchen with the kind of confidence Carla knows all too well.
Lisa shakes her head, stepping closer and brushing a few stray crumbs off Betsy’s sleeve. "Oh great, another boss lady in the family. Just what we need. Now I’ve got two of you." She flicks a glance at Carla, who just smirks over her coffee.
Betsy, ever the tiny mastermind, tilts her head and grins, her baby teeth still slightly uneven. "I mean, I do have a lot of ideas, Momma. Someone’s gotta keep things running."
Lisa lets out a dramatic sigh, hands on her hips. "And now I have two CEOs in the house. Fantastic. I’ll just accept my fate as a lowly employee, shall I?" She bends down, tapping Betsy’s nose. "At least you’re cuter than the other one."
“Oi!” Carla protests, pretending to be offended. "That’s workplace discrimination."
Lisa smirks, nudging Carla playfully with her elbow. "Can’t help it if our tiniest CEO is also the cutest."
Betsy, still perched on her chair like a pint-sized executive, beams proudly.
Carla sighs dramatically, taking a slow sip of her coffee. "Yeah, yeah. And what’s next, then? Expanding operations? Taking over Weatherfield one lace order at a time?"
Betsy gasps, her eyes lighting up. "Ooooh, can we do that?"
Lisa laughs, bending down to kiss Betsy’s cheek. "You’re five, love. Maybe conquer finger painting first."
Carla chuckles, reaching over to tuck a curl behind Betsy’s ear. "She’s got time. Give her a year or two." Betsy nods seriously, turning back toward the table and tapping her tiny fingers. "Right then, Mommy. Let’s talk biscuit supplies."
Half an hour later, the kitchen looks like a bakery exploded. There’s flour dusting nearly every surface, smudged handprints on the fridge, and somehow—somehow—a splash of batter on the ceiling. Lisa, looking more exasperated than ever, has a smear of flour on her cheek and a dollop of pancake batter in her hair, though she’s too busy wiping down the counter to notice.
Betsy, on the other hand, is sitting on the kitchen island, her pink dressing gown now decorated with little splatters of batter, happily munching on a pancake like she’s just run a five-star breakfast service. Her feet swing lazily under her as she takes another big bite, licking syrup off her fingers with a satisfied hum.
Carla, wisely, has remained at a safe distance, perched on a stool with her coffee cup in hand, watching the chaos unfold with the detached amusement of someone who made a very deliberate decision not to get involved. She takes another slow sip, smirking as Lisa glares at her over the rim of her mug.
“You could’ve helped, you know,” Lisa says, flicking a bit of flour off her sleeve.
Carla raises an eyebrow. “I could’ve.”
Lisa narrows her eyes. “And yet, somehow, I’ve ended up looking like a failed contestant on The Great British Bake Off, while you’re over there like the bloody Queen, sipping your coffee.”
Betsy, ever the peacemaker (and troublemaker), pats Lisa’s arm reassuringly. “You did your best, Momma. Some people just aren’t meant for the kitchen.”
Lisa levels her with a look. “Oh, and you are?”
Betsy grins, syrup smudged at the corner of her mouth. “Well, I supervised, didn’t I?”
Lisa lets out a dramatic groan, running a hand down her face. “Right, well, Miss Tiny CEO, you’re cleaning up this mess.”
Betsy gasps, utterly scandalised. “Momma! I am five. That’s child labour.”
Carla snorts into her coffee. “Alright, my little hurricane, since you’re off school, you’re coming to work with me. At least there, you can make a mess I don’t have to clean up.”
Betsy perks up instantly. “I love going to Underworld! Can I be the boss again?”
Lisa groans, rubbing her temples as she watches Betsy. "She’s five, Carla, not your second-in-command."
Carla smirks "You try telling her that. I’ve got a mini-me now. A very tiny, very determined CEO in the making."
Lisa checks the time on her phone and groans. “Oh for— I was meant to leave ten minutes ago.”
Betsy, still perched on the kitchen counter, watches as Lisa hurries around, snatching up her work bag and scarf in a flurry. “Well, that’s what happens when you stay for Pancake Tuition, Momma.”
Lisa pauses just long enough to narrow her eyes at her daughter. “Pancake what?”
Betsy shrugs innocently. “Mommy said I had to learn the importance of breakfast productivity, so I renamed it.”
Carla, who has been sipping her coffee far too smugly, finally gives in and bursts into laughter. “She’s got a point. You stayed, you learned, you got messy. That’s a full course.”
Lisa groans, still trying to shove her arm into her coat as she steps toward them. “Yeah, yeah, well, I need to get to work before I’m late again because of you two.”
Before she rushes out, she leans down, pressing a quick but warm kiss to Carla’s lips, then turns to Betsy, cupping her cheek and kissing her forehead. “You two behave. Or at least—try.”
Betsy grins cheekily. “No promises.”
Lisa just shakes her head, stepping toward the door, and calls out, “Love you both!” before disappearing out into the morning chill.
Carla exhales, taking another sip of her coffee, before looking at Betsy, who’s still swinging her legs under the counter, face full of pancake contentment.
“Well, then, boss lady,” Carla smirks, ruffling Betsy’s curls. “Let’s go make some power moves.”
Betsy grins. “Mommy and Betsy: Business Queens.”
Carla chuckles. “That’s my girl.”
And with that, the two of them head upstairs to get dressed—though Betsy, as usual, makes a grand event of it.
Carla follows her into her bedroom, watching as Betsy throws open her wardrobe doors like she’s unveiling a top-secret fashion collection. “Right, Mommy, I need something that says ‘cool but also professional.’”
Carla chuckles, leaning against the doorframe. “You’re five, love. You could wear a unicorn onesie, and they’d still have to listen to you.”
Betsy sighs dramatically, pulling out a sparkly denim jacket and holding it up. “This? Too much?”
Carla folds her arms. “Depends. Are you planning on running a fashion empire or a textile factory?”
Betsy grins, tossing the jacket onto her bed before digging deeper into the wardrobe. “Something in between.”
After five minutes of serious deliberation, they settle on a black t-shirt with tiny silver stars, a pair of dark jeans, and, of course, her pink leather jacket—the one she insists makes her look ‘like an icon.’
Carla crouches down to help her zip up her boots, smoothing down the cuffs of her jeans as she does. “You look like trouble.”
Betsy smirks. “I am trouble.”
Carla presses a quick kiss to her forehead. “Don’t I know it.”
They head to Carla and Lisa’s bedroom next, where Carla quickly swaps out her dressing gown for her usual Underworld attire—black blazer, sleek trousers, and just the right amount of power in her heels. Betsy watches from the bed, chin in her hands.
“You should wear your red one,” she comments. “It makes you look even more bossy.”
Carla lifts an eyebrow but smirks as she pulls out her red blazer instead. “Oh, so I’m not bossy enough already?”
Betsy swings her legs. “You could always be bossier.”
Carla laughs, giving herself one last glance in the mirror before turning to her daughter. “Alright, boss lady. Let’s go take over the world.”
By ten, Carla and Betsy are at Underworld. As soon as they step inside, the hum of sewing machines and chatter of workers fills the air, but it doesn’t faze Betsy one bit. She walks in like she’s done this a hundred times before—because she has. Her pink leather jacket is slung over her shoulders, her little boots clicking against the floor as she strides ahead of Carla, chin up, looking every bit like she owns the place.
Sally looks up from her desk, arching an eyebrow as she watches Betsy march toward her. “Ah, here she is, our real boss,” Sally teases, setting down her pen.
Betsy flashes her a knowing grin. “You remembered. Good. What’s on my schedule today?”
Carla, who has just caught up, lets out a long-suffering sigh. “You’re not actually working here, love.”
Betsy leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice as if she’s sharing classified information. “She says that, but she always listens to me.”
Sally chuckles. “She’s got a point.”
“Oi, don’t encourage her,” Carla mutters, shaking her head as she shrugs out of her coat and tosses it over the back of her chair.
Betsy hops up onto the spare chair in Carla’s office, spinning it once before coming to a dramatic stop. “Mommy, first things first—we need to talk about the state of the biscuit tin in the break room.”
Carla pinches the bridge of her nose. “You sent an email about that.”
“Yes, and I didn’t receive a satisfactory response.” Betsy folds her arms. “No chocolate digestives? No Jammie Dodgers? It’s a travesty.”
Sally bites back a laugh as Carla rubs her temples. “Right. This is the last time I’m bringing you in, you little tyrant.”
Betsy just grins. “You always say that, but then you miss me.”
By lunchtime, Carla takes Betsy to Roy’s for a break. The bell above the café door jingles as they step inside, the familiar warmth of Roy’s Rolls wrapping around them like a comforting hug. The scent of fresh bread and brewing tea lingers in the air, mixing with the faint clatter of plates and cutlery as customers chat quietly over their lunches.
Roy, ever the unflappable presence, looks up from behind the counter, his face softening as he spots them. “Ah, Betsy. Day off school?”
Betsy, still wearing her pink leather jacket with the kind of confidence only an eight-year-old could muster, grins and hops up onto the seat opposite Carla in their usual booth. “Sort of. It’s a teacher training day, so I’m helping Mommy run Underworld instead.”
Carla scoffs as she slides into the seat across from her. “Helping? You mean terrorising my factory.”
“Oi,” Betsy protests, sitting up straighter. “I was making it more efficient.”
Carla raises an eyebrow. “You tried to replace Kirk with a goldfish.”
“He wasn’t doing anything! And the goldfish would’ve been cute and productive,” Betsy argues, as if this is the most obvious solution in the world.
Roy, ever unfazed, simply nods as he places two mugs of tea on the table, one for Carla and a warm milk with a splash of tea for Betsy. “Perhaps we should get you some food before any more drastic business decisions are made.”
Carla chuckles, shaking her head. “Yeah, before she starts reassigning staff based on cuteness levels.”
Betsy gasps dramatically. “That is not how I operate, Mommy.” She then pauses, tilting her head. “Although… it wouldimprove morale.”
Carla reaches over, ruffling her daughter’s curls as she laughs. “You’re a menace, you know that?”
Betsy grins cheekily. “A visionary menace.”
By the time Lisa gets home that evening, Carla is sprawled on the sofa, a cup of tea in hand, while Betsy is dramatically draped over her lap, limbs flopped over like she’s just endured the most exhausting day of her young life. Her head rests on Carla’s stomach, her pink leather jacket now tossed haphazardly over the arm of the couch, and her small fingers toy lazily with the edge of Carla’s sleeve.
Lisa steps inside, dropping her bag by the door, and kneels beside them, ruffling Betsy’s curls. “What’s all this, then? You look like you’ve been through the wars.”
Betsy lets out a long, exaggerated sigh, stretching her arms above her head. “I was forced to work under terrible conditions, Momma.”
Lisa raises an amused eyebrow. “That right?”
Betsy nods solemnly. “Mommy wouldn’t let me buy real goldfish for the office. And I had to send a very strongly worded email about the lack of proper biscuits in the break room.”
Carla rolls her eyes but can’t hide her smirk. “She’s a nightmare.”
Lisa chuckles, leaning in to press a soft kiss to Carla’s temple before gently tweaking Betsy’s nose. “Nah, she’s just got high standards. Like her mommies.”
Betsy grins but keeps up her act of dramatic exhaustion. “Are you cooking tonight, Momma? Because I physically cannot lift another finger.”
Carla snorts. “You physically didn’t lift a finger all day.”
Lisa hums, tapping her chin. “I suppose I can manage that.”
Betsy’s eyes light up. “Good. But don’t be offended if I give you feedback.”
Lisa shakes her head, amused. “She's so your daughter.”
Carla groans dramatically. “You're outnumbered.”
Lisa just smirks, settling onto the sofa beside them, pulling both her wife and daughter closer into a warm, sleepy cuddle. “I love it.”
Carla exhales, letting her fingers glide through Betsy’s curls as Lisa rubs slow, gentle circles over Carla’s arm. She looks between them—her wife, her daughter, her perfectly chaotic little family—and shakes her head with a soft smile.
Later that evening, after dinner and a round of Betsy’s theatrical storytelling about her ‘tough day at work,’ it’s finally time for bed. Carla and Lisa share a knowing look as Betsy—who moments ago claimed she was ‘exhausted beyond belief’—suddenly has an endless amount of energy when bedtime is mentioned.
Betsy clambers onto her bed, her pink starry pyjamas slightly oversized, making her look even smaller as she nestles into her mountain of stuffed animals. Carla sits on the edge of the bed, smoothing down Betsy’s curls while Lisa tucks the duvet up to her chin.
“You comfy, trouble?” Carla asks, nudging Betsy’s nose with her own.
Betsy grins sleepily. “Very. But I was thinking… maybe I should come into Underworld again tomorrow. Just to make sure Kirk’s staying efficient.”
Lisa snorts, pressing a kiss to Betsy’s forehead. “Nice try, boss lady, but you’ve got school.”
Carla chuckles, shaking her head. “Go to sleep, sweetheart.” She leans down, pressing a warm kiss to Betsy’s forehead, lingering just a second longer. “Love you.”
“Love you too, Mommy.”
Lisa brushes a hand over Betsy’s cheek, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Love you, Bets.”
Betsy smiles, eyes already drooping. “Love you, Momma.”
Within minutes, she’s out, her tiny hand still loosely curled around Carla’s fingers. Carla and Lisa exchange a soft glance before carefully slipping out of the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.
Downstairs, Carla collapses onto the couch with a deep sigh, stretching her arms above her head before sinking back into the cushions. The house is quiet now, the faint hum of the radiator and the occasional creak of the pipes the only sounds in the dimly lit living room. A few candles flicker on the mantelpiece, their glow casting a soft warmth over the space, and the scent of Lisa’s floral perfume lingers in the air.
Lisa appears a moment later, carrying two steaming mugs of tea. She hands one to Carla before curling up beside her, tucking herself under Carla’s arm, her head resting on her shoulder. Carla instinctively pulls her closer, fingers playing lazily with Lisa’s sleeve as they relax into the quiet of the evening.
Lisa hums as she takes a sip of her tea, glancing toward the stairs. "You know, she’s so much like you."
Carla raises an eyebrow, amused. "Oh yeah? How so?"
Lisa chuckles softly, shaking her head. "The bossiness, the way she struts around like she owns the place, the sheer attitude packed into that tiny frame. Honestly, I should’ve seen it coming the second she started giving orders at Underworld."
Carla smirks, setting her tea down on the table. "I mean, what can I say? The kid’s got taste."
Lisa nudges her playfully. "She’s got you, that’s what she’s got. And as much as I like pretending I’m not completely outnumbered, I love seeing you two together."
Carla’s smirk softens as she presses a lingering kiss to Lisa’s hair. "She’s the best thing we’ve ever done."
Lisa nods, letting the moment settle between them, warm and content. Then, after a beat, she shifts slightly, peering up at Carla. "Have you ever thought about doing it again?"
Carla stills for a second, glancing down at her. "You mean… another baby?"
Lisa gives a small, almost shy smile, shrugging. "Yeah. I mean, not right this second or anything. Just… sometimes, I look at Betsy, and I think, wouldn’t it be nice for her to have a little partner-in-crime?"
Carla’s quiet for a moment, processing, before she lets out a soft chuckle. "Two tiny CEOs running the house? You’re mad."
Lisa grins. "Maybe. But imagine it—another little one, just as cheeky and bossy as she is."
Carla exhales, looking thoughtful, but there’s no denial in her expression. Just the quiet consideration of something that, maybe, doesn’t sound as impossible as she might have once thought.
Lisa watches her carefully, waiting for a reaction, for a joke, for anything, but Carla just stares ahead, deep in thought, fingers idly tracing patterns on Lisa’s sleeve.
Then, slowly, she turns to meet Lisa’s gaze, lips parting like she’s about to say something— But instead, she just exhales again, pressing a lingering kiss to Lisa’s forehead before murmuring, "We’ll talk about it." Lisa nods, resting her cheek against Carla’s shoulder, but there’s something new in the air now—something unspoken but there.
A possibility. A shift. A question left hanging in the quiet between them.