Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Carson Shaw is a damn good player.

She’s quick, she’s agile, she knows her team inside out. She can see the games laid out in front of her like a blueprint, has been coaching the Chicago Spirits for the last year and a half and had fantastic success with them. She predicts the direction of play, keeps her eyes on the puck, and she is definitely, definitely not about to let that go because of the shining beacon of the Ottawa Stars.

Greta Gill, the woman in question, is the darling of the hockey world. She’s the star forward of her team, one of the strongest players Carson’s seen in a long time. She’s tall, and beautiful, and always graceful even in the fiercest moments on the ice. She’s a favourite for the Canadian team in the upcoming Olympics, she keeps her lipstick somehow immaculate through the games, and she’s an unbelievably quick skater, weaving her way through the opposing team like she’s been doing it all her life.

She’s also been Carson’s post-game fuckbuddy for the last three years, but that’s by-the-by.

They’d hit it off the first game they ever played, a three-two victory for the Spirits. Greta had scored the second goal for Ottawa, thrown Carson a wink as she’d skated her victory lap. Whenever there’s a home game Carson joins Jess and Lupe at the queer bar downtown, for celebratory and commiserary drinks alike, and had run into Greta there, a silent confirmation of something Carson hadn’t quite dared to hope for. They’d started chatting, bought each other margaritas, and Carson had gone back to Greta’s hotel room, leaving again nearly twenty-four hours later with her knees still shaking and a brand new addiction. 

It’s become a staple of their matches against Ottawa, home and away, and Carson can’t deny the fizz of excitement she gets every time Greta skates onto the ice, locking eyes with her as the teams line up opposite each other. She keeps track of Ottawa’s games - she keeps track of the whole league, but pays particular attention to them - eyes never leaving Greta whenever a match pops up on ESPN. There’s an ease between them, a connection deeper than either of them have dared to explore; Carson knows Greta feels it too, but the timing has never been quite right. She wonders absently what life would be like if they were on the same team, if one of them didn’t always have to leave within forty-eight hours, if they’d be curled up together watching various games, or if fate has done them a favour by keeping them separate, never allowing things to venture deeper than a one-night stand and a kiss goodbye. They follow each other on Instagram, leave supportive comments and the occasional story reply, but it never goes further than that, an unspoken line they always dance around but never quite cross over.

It’s their first game against Ottawa of the season that afternoon, and Carson’s practically fizzing with excitement as she gets to the rink, knowing Greta is in the locker room opposite. She runs the Spirits through their usual pre-match meeting, laying out strategies and confirming the starting lineup before everyone starts warming up. The time before the games start always feel like a strange dream sequence, a combination of nerves, excitement, and tension in the air, even as Jess inexplicably leads them in a warm-up to a Spice Girls megamix. It keeps them all in good spirits, laughing as they stretch out alongside each other, and Carson’s glad to see the camaraderie between them is as strong as ever.

She chats with Lupe as she gets her goalkeeper gear on, Jess helping her secure the straps of her shin guards. It’s a cumbersome job to get her kitted out, but she always feels more like herself when she’s in uniform, leading her team down to the rink as the ten-minute countdown begins. It’s a busy game; she can hear the crowds above her, a buzz in the air as the tannoy booms above them, announcing their entrance as the home team to the cheers of the audience. 

She’s feeling confident as they skate onto the ice, an extra boost whenever they’re playing a home game at the crowded stands around them. A couple of younger kids call her name - she’ll never get used to that, no matter how long she’s in the spotlight for - and the Ottawa Stars skate out of the other side, Carson spotting Greta immediately. There’s always a couple of minutes while they call the names of the players, valuable minutes Carson knows are best used sizing up the other team, but God forgive her for her sins, she can never take her eyes off of stupid fucking number nine, towering above her team as she taps her hockey stick against the ice. They’re too far away to know if Greta is looking back at her, and Carson shakes herself out of it, turning to Lupe next to her. “Stick with the strategy. Start on the offensive, make sure to switch Esti out before the first ten minutes. I want her rested and ready for third period.”

Lupe nods. “If it helps, she’s had four coffees already.”

Carson chuckles to herself. Esti is a firecracker of a player, faster than any of them, and Esti with several tons of caffeine in her system is a dangerous weapon, one that Carson’s relieved they’ve got on their side. The Stars have some spectacular players on their team, but they don’t have an Esti. Carson already knows she’s going to have a hell of a career, and she’s spent many a drunken night with Lupe and Jess talking about the prospect, glancing over at the player in question as she takes her place in the line.

Carson’s always the first player introduced, as both the goalkeeper and the coach, waiting for the boom of the tannoy as she scans the line of Ottawa players. She knows Greta and Jo De Luca are in the starting lineup, they always are, but the rest are a mystery. The Stars have started their last three games in a row on the defensive, and she’s betting on them doing the same, an underlying comfort in the knowledge that Lupe can switch it around if her theory proves to be wrong.

Your Chicago Spirits captain and starting goalkeeper for this match, it’s number ten, Carson Shaw! 

The booming tannoy cuts her thoughts off as she skates forward to the centre of the rink, spotting Greta just as she does - red lips as always, smirking gently at her as they lock eyes. Carson responds with a grin, enjoying the lurching feeling in her stomach as she turns to face outwards, pretending she doesn’t notice Lupe’s delighted little smirk. 

Jess is called next, then Esti, Lupe, Shirley, and finally Ruth, the six of them marking the opening skaters. Esti gets a particular roar of applause, her reputation boosted by her status as the youngest Olympic medallist in the sport and a firm fan favourite of their team. Carson can’t help the smile at Esti shuffling from foot to foot, evidently keen to get going as they call the Ottawa openers.

Your Ottawa Stars starting forward and the femme fatale of the ice herself, it’s number nine, Greta Gill!

Greta speeds forward, still elegant under her boxy uniform, waving at the crowd with a cheesy grin. Carson often thinks how easy it is for people to fall in love with her - the interaction with their audiences, the way she takes her helmet off to blow a kiss to the stands, the way she makes sure to wave at the youngest kids pressed up against the walls to watch. Greta shines on the ice. She’s the favourite for a reason. 

Carson knows most of the others called by now, having gone to college with Maybelle Fox and gotten to know Jo through her various trysts with Greta. She recognises the last two names of their starters, Tilde Karlsson and Terri Cobell both having been with the Stars for the past year, and she’s heard of their goalkeeper in passing, Franciszka Zajac from Poland’s national team. The Stars are a team on the rise, and despite Carson doing her very best to think of their opposing teams in equal terms, the Stars are always a particularly good challenge, quick-thinking and efficient even through her team’s most brutal offensive tactics. By the look of the opening line-up, she’s right about them playing defensive, catching Lupe’s eye and exchanging a nod with her.

The teams stand in two lines, looking out at the crowds as the league recap is announced and the national anthems of their respective countries played over the loudspeakers, Carson keenly aware of exactly where Greta is behind her, picturing those cherry-red lips as she absent-mindedly taps her hockey stick against the ice, familiar pre-game jitters starting to hit as the band finishes the final notes of O Canada. She catches Greta’s eye again as they skate past each other to their starting positions, smiling as Greta taps the heel of Carson’s skate with her hockey stick, a silent good to see you as she whizzes by. The action starts in the center, Greta and Jess ready to kick off, and Carson feels the familiar tingle of excitement right down to her fingertips, dropping her water bottle in the holder behind the goalpost and settling herself in.

She’s always been at home in the goal, guarding home, keeping it safe while her team battles it out. She’s a quick skater, and she can be an aggressive player when she needs to, but she’d found as a teenager she much preferred heaving on her shin guards, watching the game unfold and strategising for the later periods. There’s something grounding in it, and more to the point, she’s really fucking good at it, entirely in her element between the goalposts.

The whistle is blown, the puck is dropped, and it immediately goes flying out toward the team benches, six skaters chasing it at the speed of light. Interestingly, the Stars switch a player out almost immediately, which Carson notes, seeing Terri Cobell climb over the sides and back to the benches as the puck goes sailing to the side, four skaters immediately on top of it. Esti gets it out from under a player Carson thinks is Ana Blair, trying to remember her name. Lupe is following Esti, guarding her as two of the Stars hone in; Esti’s fast, but so are they, and Carson can see that Greta is about to block Esti off, darting between her and Lupe and stealing the puck, flinging it down the rink toward Maybelle, who catches it easily and turns her attention on Carson, a swarm of players approaching the goal to assist and block respectively. 

Maybelle is storming towards her, and Carson can see that she’s on her game, remembering how Maybelle plays from their years on the Washington State team together. She watches the puck, gets herself ready, dropping to her knees just as Maybelle strikes, the puck ricocheting off of her left knee pad as Jess and a brunette Ottawa player fight it out to get control in front of her. Carson stays primed to drop to the ice again, knows it’s far too easy to get distracted by the tussle and miss the puck flying past, but eventually Jess emerges victorious, passing it deftly to Lupe as the action moves back down to the opposite side, giving Carson a chance to get back on her feet. 

As is characteristic with their games, the last few minutes of a period of play sees a rapid player changeover, Carson keeping track of who comes sailing onto the ice as she starts to put together the opening lineup for the second period. She’ll keep Jess, but she can see Lupe getting tired, making a note to switch her out with Celina. She hasn’t seen Greta in a while, chances a glance at the sidelines to see her on the bench, evidently waiting for her turn to swap in. There’s a dull thud at the other end of the stadium, Carson wincing at the sight of Esti getting body-slammed against the side of the rink, locking the puck between her skate and her stick as two of the Stars try to wrestle it out from underneath her. It’s a fierce fight, but Carson stands her ground, watches Lupe prime herself for when the puck is eventually released, knowing exactly what she’s planning on. As expected, Lupe flicks it out from underneath Esti, guides it as she circles the goal from behind, and with a dash of her hockey stick she scores, the puck sailing up and over the shoulder of the Ottawa goalkeeper as Jess practically tackles Lupe in a victory hug, the crowd cheering around them.

The remaining few minutes fly past, Carson blocking four different shots to keep them on a one-nil up as the klaxon sounds to signify the end of the first period. She glides over to her team, gives them a rundown of things to watch as they head into the locker room, Lupe clapping her on the back affectionately as they go.

The second period is much the same, Carson blocking shot after shot and cheering as Celina scores them another, a stroke of luck in the pile-up around the away goal as she’d seized the opportunity. It’s looking like a victory for them - the Stars don’t have much choice around switching to a more offensive gameplay, but their strength is usually in defence, and Carson knows in her gut that they’ve got this in the bag. Greta takes her by surprise, whizzes a goal past her, but Lourdes, their newest rookie, holds her own and scores them their third goal of the match in the final minute of the second half, her first professional goal of the season. 

The Stars hold their own in the third period, back to their defensive tactics, but Carson isn’t worried anymore. Jess slams the puck into the goal in the final few minutes, Esti assisting and weaving through the opposition at the speed of light; it’s a decisive victory for them and Carson can’t help the squeal of joy that escapes her as the klaxon goes, handing them a four-two win. She makes sure to pay particular attention to Lourdes, knows what a big deal this is for her; she’s a promising player, and Carson can only hope that playing a role in their victory is going to boost her confidence further. The Stars are good losers, lining up to high-five them all along the ice, as has become customary in their games. Greta lingers at the back for just a second, whispers a soft meet me later? as she passes Carson, who responds with a nod, smiling at her. The prospect of a night with Greta is the crowning glory of the afternoon, the smile never leaving her face even as she catches up with the team, joining in the cheers as they trek off the ice.

*

It’s a celebratory night for the Spirits, a rowdy atmosphere in the locker room as they change, a group of them piling into Lupe and Jess’ truck for their usual drinks downtown. Carson squashes herself in between Jess and Tamika, grinning as they pull out onto the highway with anticipation of the night to come. Big Chicks is their regular haunt, and she knows exactly who else is going to be there, having changed out of her game-day underwear specifically, spending just a little longer than normal checking herself in the mirror. Jess had caught her shoving her bra back into her bag, teasing her for several minutes over her hot date, refusing to be swayed by Carson’s half-hearted I might not see her. She will see Greta. She already knows she will.

Big Chicks is already busy, their group of seven pushing through to get a round of shots in. Lupe and Jess are a dangerous combination on a post-win night out, often having to go stumbling back the following day to pick up the truck Lupe had drunkenly abandoned in favour of an Uber, but Carson isn’t complaining as they clink their vodkas together, even letting Ruth pull her out onto the dance floor, something she never does. There’s a safety in her team surrounding her, a freedom from her usual awkwardness, and the burning sensation of her second vodka shot is helping significantly, warmth in her lungs as she sways with them.

Almost an hour passes before the door opens again, and Carson’s heart stops dead at the sight of Greta strolling in, Maybelle and Jo hand-in-hand next to her. She’s beautiful as always, jaw-droppingly stunning in a tight red dress and heels, towering above the rest of the room with a confident ease that always has Carson weak-kneed. She can feel Ruth smirk behind her. “Looks like your girl’s here after all.”

“She’s not my–”

“Yeah, yeah, save it.”

She can’t help the smile that hits her as she catches Greta’s eye, who winks at her, holding up her hand in a half-wave in greeting. Carson’s about to step over to join her, but Jess is far too quick for that, sweeping her over to where she and Lupe have grabbed them a table. “Give us a second before we don’t see you again,” Jess says with a grin, handing Carson a beer. “C’mon. Half an hour, then you can make her see stars for as long as you want.”

Carson’s cheeks flush bright red, but her lack of response tells Jess and Lupe everything they need to know, Lupe cheering as she clinks their bottles together. “Always knew you had it in you.”

“Now Gill’s got it in–”

“Don’t finish that sentence,” Carson groans, taking a swig as Jess laughs. Lupe, mercifully, decides to take pity on her, changing the subject to their next game as Esti and Tamika join them. Esti’s technically not old enough to be out with them, but Carson knows Lupe keeps an eye on her, and the idea of sending her home is entirely out of the question. Her cheeks are flushed as she talks a mile a minute about Jess’ last-minute goal, and Carson soon finds herself caught up in the discussion, getting another round of beers in for them.

To say she’d forgotten Greta was there would be inaccurate - Greta Gill is unforgettable, in every sense. Carson glances around the room, catches her eye and raises her beer in greeting, smiling softly as Greta returns the gesture, turning to say something to Jo and Maybelle before rising, never breaking eye contact as she walks past Carson’s table.

Greta looks at her in that heavy-eyed way that tells Carson exactly what she’s asking. It’s a practiced routine, at this point - Greta disappears to the bathroom, Carson counts to thirty before slipping away to join her. Tonight is no different. She finishes her beer, pretends to ignore Jess’ crude gesture as she removes herself from the group, and pads through the bar to the bathroom, a tingle of excitement in her veins. They’ve barely had a chance to speak all night, Carson far too swept up in victory celebrations with her arm slung around Esti’s shoulders, chatting excitedly with the rest of them. They’re good at that, she and Greta, at not invading each other’s space. However much Carson frequently wants to pin her to the ice as the buzzer goes and take her there and then, she’s glad that Greta never encroaches on her team time, letting them talk and laugh and celebrate together before she pulls her aside. Carson’s always cautious to return the favour - she knows the frustration of being interrupted, particularly after a victory when all the Spirits want to do is drink and chat the night away, and the bond Greta has with the Stars is just as strong.

She slips downstairs to the bathroom, dodging a couple of people on the stairs as she goes,  pushing open the door to see Greta waiting for her in their usual spot. She’s leaning casually against the sink, looking absolutely ravishing, lips curling up into a smile as she sees Carson. “Hey stranger.”

“Hey.”

Carson can feel the tension in the air, palpable around them as she takes another step forward, hands in her pockets. Greta stays where she is, casual stance even in her heels, eyes roaming over Carson’s figure. “I like the pants on you.”

“Thought you would.”

“Thought about me a lot, Coach?”

Carson grins at her. There’s a thin line between confident and bashful, one that she knows Greta enjoys taunting her with, getting a kick out of the blush on Carson’s cheeks. “Hard not to. Gotta work out how to beat you somehow.”

Greta purses her lips, a soft ooh escaping her. “I like the sound of that.”

“How’ve you been?”

“Can’t complain. Skating a lot, eating good food. Better for seeing you, though.”

The door opens as a couple of women appear behind them to use the bathroom, prompting Carson to move out of their way, stepping closer to Greta as she does. Greta’s hand darts out, gently settles on her waist, softness to the gesture as they wait for the intruders to leave, Carson glancing over her shoulder in hopes nobody else comes in. Greta’s thumb strokes at her skin, gentle, just on the right side of teasing, and Carson feels her body implode at the contact, sharply aware of every single part of herself and her proximity to Greta. 

They smile politely as the strangers wash their hands and leave, taking a painfully long time by Carson’s standards. The silence is strained, her heart thudding in her ears as Greta continues her tiny ministrations, and Carson knows that Greta’s all too aware of what she’s doing. The door finally shuts behind them, and Carson doesn’t waste any more time, spinning around and practically launching herself at Greta, kissing her with a fierceness that’s been growing in her since their last game; torturous weeks as she’d waited for the league schedules to finally fall in their favour again. 

“Missed me that much, huh?”

“Shut up,” Carson grumbles good-naturedly, enjoying Greta’s laugh. Her hands immediately wind themselves around Greta’s shoulders, tangling in her hair, fisting her curls up and pulling at them just hard enough to make Greta moan, mouth falling open against Carson’s. She loves this moment, the exact second Greta gives up control, the dynamic shifting between them as Carson gains confidence. She gets to see a side of Greta that the rest of the world doesn’t, the side of Greta that’s strangely vulnerable in her desire, seeking Carson’s touch as she submits underneath her, bending a knee to close the height difference as Carson’s tongue entwines with hers, determined to erase any inch of space between them.

Greta gasps as Carson pushes her roughly against the door, fumbling for the lock behind her, spurred on by the way Greta’s hips are arching into her, seeking out contact as Carson grins into their kiss. Her hand makes its way from Greta’s waist to her hip, squeezing lightly and enjoying the way Greta’s head tilts back at the contact. She draws it out, letting her fingers dance lightly on Greta’s thigh, inching her skirt up as Greta moans. “Please, Carson,” she whines, breathy, and Carson responds by digging her nails into Greta’s skin.

“You should be more patient,” she teases, letting Greta get just to the point of frustration before finally moving higher, stroking her through her underwear as Greta moans lowly, rutting her hips desperately toward Carson. She’s wet, she’s practically dripping with heat, radiating off of her as Carson’s fingers tease her through damp fabric, other hand coming up to palm her breast roughly. “You like that?”

Greta nods, breaking their kiss as her head hits the back of the door. “God, Carson, I need you–”

“Where?”

“You know where,” Greta’s teeth are gritted. Carson likes to tease her, loves the build-up, loves being responsible for Greta’s transition from cool and confident to a desperate puddle in her hands. She ducks her head to suck a bruise on Greta’s left breast, feeling the way Greta’s back arches as she sinks her teeth into soft flesh. “Please, Carson, just fuck me–”

Carson sinks two fingers into her, grinning at the way Greta cants her hips down, seeking more of her already. She moves her thumb to press on Greta’s clit, quick, firm circles just the way she likes it, Greta’s shuddering breath sounding like a prayer in the silence. There’s a fire between them, one Carson revels in, burning through her veins as she slides three fingers home, pressing a kiss roughly to Greta’s jaw. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, feels Greta clench around her at the compliment, a hand fisting sharply in Carson’s hair. “So good for me.”

“Carson–”

“Tell me what you need–”

“Harder.”

She’s all too happy to oblige, bringing her arm up against Greta’s collarbones, pressing her into the door as she fucks her harder. “You’re prettiest when you’re like this,” Carson whispers to her, enjoying the shudder that runs down Greta’s spine at her words. “Messy and desperate for it. For me.”

Greta’s whining into the air as Carson grins, stretching her out as she speeds up, the beginnings of a cramp forming in her forearm as she grits her teeth, refusing to let up. 

“Oh god–”

“You gonna come for me?”

Greta moans deeply, nodding, pressing her hips firmly down, fucking herself impossibly deeper on Carson’s fingers, head thrown back against the door as she meets Carson thrust for thrust. Carson presses the palm of her hand into Greta’s clit, grinds against her as her fingers curl once, twice, and Greta’s keening, gasping out above her as her orgasm hits. “Good girl,” Carson murmurs, fucking her through it until Greta pushes her away, slick and sensitive as she tries to catch her breath. Carson beams at her, drawing her hand away and licking her fingers clean, looking Greta dead in the eye as she does.

Greta leans back against the door, lipstick smudged halfway up her cheek, smiles at her. “You’re so hot.”

She feels it, when she’s with Greta. There’s a confidence that comes over her that borders on arrogance - she feels sexy, alluring, confident, words she’d never cnsidered in relation to herself before Greta Gill had invited her back that first night. She’d always just been Carson; socially awkward, slightly clumsy, in-her-own-head Carson. Greta doesn’t look past that, exactly - Carson is still awkward, clumsy, and far too engrossed in hockey to ever lose those traits - but she makes Carson realise she can be all of those things and still be desirable. She doesn’t have to change herself, or pretend to be anything she isn’t with Greta, she never has. 

“Pretty stunning yourself.”

Greta just smiles. There’s always a moment after - after - that a shyness takes over, a moment Carson’s never quite been able to decipher. Greta’s breathing finally starts to even out, raising a hand to gently curl a section of Carson’s hair between her fingers, a suggestive smirk taking over and wiping off the vulnerability of the moment before. “I think we should get a bottle of red for the road, take it back to mine, and let me show you just how much I’ve missed you.”

“Funny, I was just thinking the exact same thing.”

*

They end up back at Greta’s hotel room for the night, Greta’s tongue working eagerly between Carson’s legs, bringing her higher and higher as Carson gasps out above her. Her climax hits spectacularly, back arching off of the mattress as Greta guides her through it, grinning against her as Carson tries to remember how to breathe again, jumping a little at the aftershocks as Greta licks her clean, smirking against Carson’s thigh. Their clothes are strewn about the room, tossed aside without a second thought, and Carson can’t help the wave that hits her at the sight as Greta crawls into bed next to her. “Wanna get the wine, or lie here for a bit?”

“Lie here, I think.”

Greta hums, curls herself into Carson’s side like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Carson’s hooked up with women before, short-lived flings in the off-season when Greta is out of her life for several months, but it’s never like this. Never so natural. She always has to think, and plan, and nervously figure out her way through it, but with Greta, they just are.  

“How’s Ottawa been?”

“Cold.”

Carson smiles, presses a kiss to the top of Greta’s head. “Four years in Canada and you still can’t keep warm,” she murmurs, hearing Greta’s low chuckle in response.

“Not my fault they won’t make it warmer. How’s Chicago?”

“Good. I feel more settled now, I think. Found my feet a little.”

“You seem more confident,” Greta comments, tucking her head against Carson’s shoulder. “Not just with me, I mean. On the ice, too. Coaching suits you. Confidence suits you.”

They’d spoken in depth about Carson’s relationship with the city last season, hours spent on the rooftop of Greta’s hotel looking up at the stars. Chicago had been a big change, and even two years on Carson hadn’t been sure it was the right move for her; the city is big, and busy, and easy to lose herself in. Greta had listened, reassured her in all the ways Carson needed to be reassured, and she’s grateful that Greta had been entirely right. “Yeah. Coaching has been a big deal. It’s a lot of work, but it’s been incredible.”

“I’m glad.”

There’s a tenderness in Greta’s voice, a note that tells Carson she really means what she’s saying. It’s never just empty platitudes with Greta; they understand each other in a way Carson’s never experienced with anybody else, not even her teammates. Lupe and Jess are her best friends, the two of them could never be overshadowed, but the relationship she has with Greta is so intrinsically unique, understanding and fiery and gentle all at the same time. It’s the kind of relationship that makes Carson believe in soulmates again, the kind that makes her curse the universe for planting them both so firmly in different countries.

“You okay? Lost you for a moment.”

She blinks, meeting Greta’s eye. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” She slides an arm around Greta’s shoulders, traces patterns across her shoulder blades as Greta sighs contentedly. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

It’s a risk, she knows. Greta’s never been in a relationship, from what Carson knows, had a bit of a reputation in her younger years for being a strictly no-strings-attached kind of woman, and a tiny part of Carson had always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. The difference in Greta from when they first met is astronomical, a silent admission of feelings miles ahead of where Carson thought they’d be after that first night together. Greta had told her in no uncertain terms that she doesn’t do long-term, that she isn’t someone holding out for love or looking for it in a one-night stand, and Carson had happily agreed, all too eager to get the hot forward from the Ottawa Stars in her bed, but the energy between them had been undeniable from day one.

Greta is softer these days, at least with her. More open, more gentle. Carson would never have stayed the night in the first year or so, wouldn’t have dared even ask it for fear of disrupting the hesitant understanding between them. But things have changed. They’re older now, had far too many less-than-sober conversations about the way they act and the way they feel, and Carson doesn’t see the point in holding back. She isn’t afraid of Greta leaving anymore. Greta’s just as deep in as she is, Carson’s sure of it, feels it in the way Greta touches her, holds her, silently begs to be touched and held in return. 

“You.” She presses a kiss to Greta’s forehead, hand gently tangling in messy copper curls. “Wishing you weren’t so far away.” 

“Yeah. Me too.”

“When do you go back?”

“Tomorrow afternoon.” Greta’s responses are short, but there’s no tension in her body, legs tangled with Carson’s as she sighs into the evening. “When’s our next match together? November?”

“November twelfth.”

“November twelfth,” Greta repeats, a hand taking hold of Carson’s and playing with her fingers in the soft light. “Too long away.”

The air around them is thick, heavy with unspoken words as Carson just wraps her arm tighter around Greta’s shoulders. “I’ll be watching your matches. Trying not to be jealous of whoever on the other team gets your company for the night.” She suppresses the sting in her voice as best she can. They’ve never been exclusive, never even talked about it before tonight, and Greta doesn’t deserve to be saddled with her jealousy, not when Carson’s had plenty of her own trysts in the off-season to keep her company.

“There’s nobody else, Carson.”

It takes her by surprise. 

“Nobody?”

“Nobody.”

“I just– I thought, well. People must be throwing themselves at you.”

Greta smiles softly, sadly, looking up at her with heavy eyes. “Maybe. But–” she cuts herself off, pausing, and Carson feels all of a sudden like she can’t breathe, the intensity of Greta’s gaze cutting off her airflow as she waits for the next words. “Well. None of them are you, I guess.”

“I–”

Greta’s expression shifts. “What about you?”

“No, um. No, there’s nobody else. A few hook-ups in the off months. I never wanted to go any further, not with them.”

“Any reason?”

Greta’s teasing it out of her now, and Carson can’t bring herself to care. She looks Greta square in the eye, pushes the last of her nerves down at the sudden depth of the admissions between them, focuses herself on the feeling of Greta’s hand in hers and the safety of the preceding confessions. “They’re not you.”

“Well then, Carson Shaw.” Greta’s eyes are sparkling in the assurance, sitting up as she kisses her softly, reaching over for the wine behind them. “I’ll drink to that.”

*

They wake up as they always do, tightly entwined, Carson’s nose buried in Greta’s hair and an arm wrapped around her middle, holding her tightly in the morning light. Her head is thumping, the sight of the empty bottle on Greta’s nightside bringing back vague memories of dancing and laughing around the room together. She never laughs harder than when she’s with Greta, smiling to herself even now as she remembers Greta balancing a full glass on her forehead, reclined naked on the couch as Carson had talked her ear off about something or other, something she suspects was hockey-related. Greta stirs in front of her, shifting her legs from where they’re tangled in Carson’s, stretching out with a contented sigh.

“Sleep well?”

Greta turns in her arms, faces her with a sleepy smile. She’s always beautiful, delicate lashes and ruby-red lips Carson believes one day could kill her, but there’s something about Greta in the early mornings that makes her heart soar, bare-faced and sleepy-eyed. “Always. You?”

“Yeah. Really well.”

The clock above them reads half-past ten, and Greta sighs as she glances up at it. “Gonna have to kick you out in a bit. Jo’s picking me up at twelve, and I still have to pack.”

Carson’s heart sinks, it always does at the realisation she won’t be seeing Greta for some time. She forces a smile on her face, leans in for a kiss, relaxing into it as Greta’s hand settles on the back of her neck. “I’ll get out of your hair,” she murmurs, pressing a final kiss to Greta’s forehead as she slips out of bed, gathering her clothes as she goes. Her bra has somehow ended up flung over the lamp, and Greta laughs at Carson’s bemused expression. She dresses quickly, buttoning up her shirt and running a brush through her hair, knowing full well she’s going to call an Uber and get right back into bed.

“Carson?”

“Yeah?”

She turns to see Greta looking intensely at her, an uncharacteristically nervous smile on her face. “Thanks. For last night.” She takes a deep breath, steadying herself. “I meant it, y’know. There’s nobody else.”

Carson meets her eye. “I meant it too. I, uh. I’m not planning on there being anyone else, either. Just so you know.”

Greta smiles at her, properly, eyes following Carson as she heads over to the door. “See you November twelfth?”

Carson flashes her a final grin, a warmth pooling in her stomach at Greta’s hopeful expression. Something’s shifted between them, she can feel it in the air, something gentle and hopeful taking root and beginning to grow. She wants to stay in the moment forever, in the precise feeling of oh, something’s happening here, wants to stretch it out and relish in it until she’s dragged away. 

But Greta has a flight to catch, and Carson has a flat to get back to, so she settles for a nod, warmth in her heart as Greta blows her a kiss. She shuts the door softly behind her, steadies herself for a moment, keeping the last threads of the little world they’d created close to her chest as she sets out toward the busy Chicago street, the scent of Greta still surrounding her as she pulls her jacket on.

*

She’s just settling in for the night, curled up on her couch with reruns of Gilmore Girls in the background, gently ignoring Lupe’s texts asking for the details of her night and firmly ignoring the looming feeling of loneliness that always hits her after a night with Greta. It’s never enough time, never enough contact for her to be truly content, but she’ll take what she can get.

Her phone goes off, making her jump in the quiet. It’s almost definitely another prod from Lupe, no doubt some clever quip about Greta or a subject-change to start planning their training session Monday, and Carson reaches for it with a grumble, about to turn it off when she catches sight of the text waiting for her, something springing in her heart and taking hold as a slow smile spreads across her face, scanning the words in front of her again and again.

From: Unknown Number

Hey. Got your number off Maybelle. Thought it was about time we got to know each other a little better. G x

Chapter Text

The next few games are rough. 

They lose 3-2 to the New York City Lionesses the following week, 3-1 to the Albany Wolves, and get absolutely slaughtered by the Vancouver Vixens, losing 6-1 in a game that has Carson hitting her stick against the ice in frustration, goal after goal whizzing by her. She’s off her game, the aggravation of it all making things harder. Even Max, her best friend since she first picked up a hockey stick and one of the best players Carson’s ever come across, doesn’t gloat in her victory in their Albany match, instead whisking her away to her favourite bar and getting some shots in her. Max always knows when Carson needs to talk, and when she just needs to ride out her frustration, no matter how much time passes between seeing each other.

Carson knows she’s been difficult to deal with, cutting sleep in order to strategise into the early hours, shoving toast in her mouth as she hits the ice to save time on breakfast. Her drills get progressively harder, sharper, finding the weak spots of her team and pushing them to the limit. She can see it’s working - they’re getting faster, less predictable, finally securing a tie against the Seattle Six in their away game at the end of the month, but the frustration settles deep within her, an unwanted companion as she grits her teeth, spending longer and longer at the rink.

But when there isn’t frustration, there is Greta. 

Greta is a light in the dark. They text constantly, fall asleep on the phone together, and Carson truly doesn’t know why they haven’t been doing this all along. There’s a delight in learning the little things that she’s never experienced with anyone - the most boring parts of Greta’s day, the mundane details, she wants to hear them all. She learns that Greta takes her coffee with three sugars, that she’s scared of getting blood drawn, that she could get to the rink ten minutes faster but she likes to walk through the park when it’s sunny. It’s addictive.

It’s been a long week - they’re all long weeks, these days. Her body is heavy as she walks down from the metro, the promise of seeing Max for a surprise few hours all that’s keeping her going. It’s been a couple weeks since their match, the Albany Wolves up in Wisconsin, but Max had made time in her schedule to drive down for an evening, and Carson can never say no to that, grinning broadly as she spots Max waiting in their usual corner table.

”Looking good, Shaw,” Max calls as she walks in, hugging her. It’s always easy with Max, teasing each other about their coffee orders and catching up on the news from the past few weeks.

“So now I’m meeting Esther’s parents, and it’s like, I’m excited? I am. I am! But it’s her parents. And it’s–” Max stops abruptly, rolling her eyes at the sight of Carson, wholly engrossed in her phone.

From: Greta <3 

Hey hey. Wondered if you fancied a video call? 

To: Greta <3

Yeah of course! What time? I’m with my friend Max (you know her, she’s with the Albany Wolves, player 17) for an evening coffee but I should be home by about 8 my time?

From: Greta <3

Sounds good! I’ve got plans with Jo and Maybelle tonight but not until about 10 (9 for you) so all yours for an hour 

To: Greta <3

Amazing! Looking forward to seeing you, I’ve missed you loads

To: Greta <3

Sorry. Was that too much? 

To: Greta <3

Actually no, I do miss you. So. I guess not sorry?

To: Greta <3

Unless that WAS too much?

From: Greta <3

Hahahahahaha

From: Greta <3

You’re never too much 

From: Greta <3

I miss you too xxx

“Someone on your mind?”

Max’s voice snaps Carson out of her trance, pocketing her phone sheepishly. “Sorry. Sorry, sorry all here. Meeting the parents, it’s a big deal, go on.”

Max rolls her eyes, but Carson knows there’s affection there. “Back to that in a second. Who has Carson Shaw grinning at her phone like a kid, as if I don’t already know?”

“You don’t already know.”

She just gets a raised eyebrow in return. “Oh? The Amazonian smokeshow of an Ottawa Stars player not got anything to do with it?”

“...Shut up.”

“Knew it.” Max’s eyes gleam. She’s been in Carson’s ear about making a move for years, understanding the hesitancy but never quite willing to accept it. Max is always her biggest cheerleader - it helps that she knows Greta from her own games, the Ottawa Stars and the Albany Wolves having joined the League in the same year. “C’mon. Spill. I haven’t come all the way down here to get ignored without there being a damn good reason.”

Carson feels herself blushing before she’s even started speaking, looking down at her coffee. “We hooked up again. Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“But this time was different. I don’t know, I just– we were talking, and she said there wasn’t anyone else. That November was too far away, she wishes we lived closer, that kind of thing, and it just felt different. Like she wants more.”

“And you still want more?”

“Of course I do. Fuck.” Carson groans, running a hand through her hair. “But she’s in fucking Ottawa, and we see each other maybe six times a season if we’re lucky.”

Max isn’t letting her get away with it that lightly. “And you have phones, and you can talk to each other, and Ottawa isn’t that far. There’s probably a direct flight. She’s clearly into you. And if she’s talking exclusivity, then–”

“She didn’t say that–”

“Oh, okay, there’s no exclusivity. It’s just that there’s nobody else, she wishes you weren’t so far away, she can’t wait to see you again–”

Carson holds her hands up in defeat. “Okay, alright. Point taken.”

“I’m just saying that it’s not impossible. Long distance isn’t easy, I get that. But you’re still interested in each other after years of it. Ice Queen Gill isn’t gonna say that shit to just anyone, y’know?” Max sighs, taking a sip of her coffee. “When’s she next in town?”

“Couple of weeks. Well, I’m in Ottawa, but that’ll be the next time we see each other.”

“So you keep texting, and you keep calling, and you see how it goes. Take her out on a date, a proper one. If it doesn’t work out, then it doesn’t work out, but you owe yourselves the chance to try, yeah? Take the risk, Shaw. No way it doesn’t pay off.”

Carson nods. It’s still three weeks away, but she hasn’t stopped thinking about Greta ever since, and there’s a delighted part of her that suspects Greta hasn’t stopped thinking about her either. She smiles to herself, shaking her head and shuffling her seat forward. “Yeah. Anyway, enough about that. Back to being a good friend now, promise. When are you meeting them?”

“Tomorrow evening. We’re going for dinner after the game.” Max looks down at the table, fiddling with her cutlery in the gentle light of the café. “Is it weird that I can’t wait? Like, people are always nervous, and I guess I am, but–”

“Not weird. You’ve been together for ages. It was always gonna happen.” Carson smiles at Max’s bashful grin. She’s met Esther a few times now, consistently liked her, and anyone who can make Max this happy was always going to be alright in her books. “They’ll love you.” 

They will, Carson already knows it. Max is just so inherently loveable, cheeky and funny and altogether charming, and she doesn’t need to have met Esther’s parents to know that they’ll adore her. Max smiles at her, raises her glass and clinks it against Carson’s.

“I hope so. I’ve got Clance on standby in case I need to run for it.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“You won’t.”

“I might.”

“Esther wouldn’t let you.”

Max pauses, considering for a second. “Fair point.”

*

There’s never enough time with Max. Carson hugs her goodbye, squeezing her tight before the league schedules snatch them apart again, promising she’ll call her over the weekend. She waves to Esther through the window as Max gets in the car, waiting until they’re out of sight before heading to the subway. It’s a short ride to Greektown, the rattle of the train comforting as she checks the time, clock ticking around to seven forty-five as she hops out at UIC-Halsted. It’s been a long week, her body aching as she walks up Peoria Street, smiling awkwardly at a neighbour as she climbs the stairs to her apartment.

Her phone rings at precisely eight, and Carson barely gives it a second before she’s snatching it up, answering immediately. It takes a few seconds for Greta to pop up on her screen, Carson’s wifi shocking at the best of times, but the video finally connects, and Carson’s grinning before she can even register she is. Greta looks to be in her kitchen, cabinets visible in the back, and Carson smiles at the tiny insight into Greta’s home. “Hey!”

“Hey, beautiful.”

She melts.

“It’s good to see you.”

“You too. Sorry I can’t stay for too long, Jo and Maybelle are dragging me out to the cinema. But it’ll be late by the time we get back, and I didn’t want to miss you altogether.”

Carson smiles as she pads softly into her bedroom, kicking her shoes off and putting Greta on speaker as she grabs her pyjamas. “I’m glad you called. What are you seeing?”

“See How They Run. Don’t know anything about it, but Saoirse Ronan’s in it, and that’s good enough for me. How’s Max?”

“She’s good.” Carson finishes dragging her pyjama pants on, retrieving her phone and settling herself in bed, propping her phone up against a pillow. “She says hello.”

“Are you playing the Wolves again already?”

Carson shakes her head. “She’s playing in Milwaukee tomorrow, but drove down for a couple of hours. She’s been my best friend since we were kids, so we always try to line up where we can. She’s a Washington State alum too, we played together there.”

“Cute. She must know Maybelle, then?”

“Yeah, they were both forwards. Surprised we never played against you, but you were in New York, right?”

“Yeah. We stayed in Hockey East, rather than the cross-country games.” 

They devolve into easy chat about their days, Greta telling her about her walk down by the canal, a particular favourite spot of hers during the autumn. Carson normally despises video calls, avoids them like the plague, but Greta’s so easy to talk to, encouraging and interesting. Carson laughs harder than she has in weeks, enjoying anecdotes from Greta’s life, a warm feeling spreading through her at getting cosy up in bed with Greta opposite her, even digitally. She stifles a yawn, stretching her legs out as Greta chuckles.

“I forget how cute you are when you’re sleepy. Is it past your bedtime already?”

“Shut up,” Carson grins good-naturedly. “I don’t have your youthful exuberance.”

“I’m literally two years older than you.”

“Still.”

“Seriously, though. I don’t want to keep you up if you need to sleep.”

Greta’s considerate tone makes her heart skip. “I’m okay, I promise. Just a rough week.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

She sighs, shuffling onto her side. “We’re on a losing streak, and it’s just getting to me a bit. I’ve increased our training time, and it’s starting to pay off, I think? But it’s hard, trying to keep morale up, and I don’t want to wear them all out either. I usually stay a few hours later too with Jess, and I don’t mind, exactly, but it’s getting to me a bit.” Her entire body feels heavy even as she’s talking, yawning again. “Just not getting much sleep. Too busy strategising, or just having a couple of hours to myself after training, y’know.”

Greta presses her lips together, nodding. “You need to take care of yourself. I know you’re worried, and it’s always gonna feel shitty to be losing, but you’re a great coach. Every team has rough spots. You’re not gonna solve it by running yourself into the ground.”

“I guess.” Greta’s right, Carson knows she is. “I just don’t want to let them down.”

“You’re not.” Greta’s voice is determined, running a hand through her hair. “Even if you’ve had some rough games lately, the difference in the team has been incredible since you took over. Truly. We’ve noticed it from the outside, and I’m sure you’ve noticed it from the inside. You’re doing great, I promise. But you need to make sure you’re not killing yourself in the process, yeah? What’s your schedule like?”

“Monday to Saturday I usually get there at eight, leave about, I don’t know, half seven? Then a few hours on Sundays too.”

“Jesus, Carson. No wonder you’re exhausted.” Greta’s voice is full of concern, frowning as Carson sighs. Greta bites her lip, thinking for a moment. “I have a proposition for you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Wednesday evenings I’m gonna call you, and we can cook dinner together, or just chat, or even just lie down and rest at the same time. No hockey talk. I’m not stupid enough to think I can tear you away from your overtime altogether, but one evening a week where you’re doing something good for yourself. Thoughts?”

“I need to–”

“You need to rest, Carson.” Greta doesn’t allow room for arguing, voice firm, her jaw set in the way it always is when she’s got an idea. “If you don’t want to call me, that’s fine, but–”

“I do! I do, I really do. I just, I dunno. I don’t want to keep being the reason we’re losing.”

“You’re not. Best goalkeepers in history still let plenty fly past. One evening a week, that’s all. Just one where I don’t have to worry about you working yourself into the ground, and you get to finally let yourself unwind.”

She sighs, closes her eyes for a second, before nodding. “Okay. Wednesdays. What time?”

“Five your time? And no getting up at three in the morning to make up the hours, I know what you’re like.” Greta’s tone hasn’t changed, but there’s a gentle teasing in her eyes, and Carson finds herself smiling.

“Alright. Five it is.”

Greta grins at her, about to say something else when Carson hears a doorbell in the background, followed by a shuffling as Greta picks her phone up. “I gotta run, Jo’s here.”

“Cool. Let me know how the film is?”

“Sure thing. Talk to you tomorrow?”

“Wouldn’t miss it. Have fun.”

“Sleep well.”

A pause.

“Are you gonna hang up?”

“Are you?”

“Might do.”

“Greta–”

Greta laughs, and oh, that laugh. Carson wants to bottle it up and wear it like perfume. She’ll take all of the teasing about how fast she’s fallen in stride, she’d let Lupe and Jess rip her to shreds even more often if it meant she got to be the source of Greta’s laughter. 

“Alright, alright. I’m going. Try to get some sleep. Sweet dreams, chickadee.”

“You too.”

Greta does hang up this time, leaving Carson with a giddy smile as she stares at her phone, not quite ready to step out of the bubble they’ve been in. She doesn’t quite know what they are anymore, but she knows they’re something to each other, something more than the sort-of-friends-with-benefits realm they’d been in before. She doesn’t think of Greta as her girlfriend, exactly, wouldn’t take that step before they’d spoken about it, but Greta’s definitely her… something.  

She sets her alarm for the morning, rolling over to flick the lamp off, closing her eyes and letting her thoughts wander, auburn curls and gentle touches filling her dreams.

*

The flight to Ottawa is the most nervous Carson thinks she’s ever been. She’s not even seeing Greta until the game, both of them far too caught up with training, but the promise of proximity alone is enough to set her on fire. She’s next to Shirley on the plane, which is a relief and a half; even on the shortest flights Shirley prefers to sit with her eye mask on and her earplugs in, a nervous flier at the best of times. Carson never outright addresses it, offering her hand instead for Shirley to cling to when they’re taking off, muttering a prayer under her breath as the plane shakes.

The down side of Shirley’s methods is that Carson has two hours left alone with nothing but her own thoughts to keep her company. She’s looking forward to seeing Greta, but she can’t help the fluttering in her stomach, a worry that for all the build-up it’s going to be somehow awkward, that something will have shifted. Greta’s Greta, and Carson’s just Carson; awkward, fidgety, everyday Carson. But Greta doesn’t see her like that, and Carson may not quite understand it, but the more they text, the more they talk, the more they connect, she’s starting to see the difference, the way Greta brings her out of her shell. Even Jess has commented on it, Carson always dismissing it, shrugging it off and changing the subject, but she is different. She feels more like herself than she perhaps ever has.

They start boarding, Shirley talking her ear off as Carson tries to think of reassuring phrases, promising Shirley that if it’s too much they can drive back. Esti pops up behind her, offering them both candy for the journey, and Carson grins, ruffling her hair as she pockets a lollipop. She’s all too happy to take the window seat, making sure Shirley can get up and out easily if she needs to. 

Her thoughts drift back to the previous evening, of Greta making pasta while Carson threw a baked potato in the oven, syncing an episode of The Office on Netflix to watch together. It’d been so wonderfully domestic, chatting easily about their days, Greta holding her glass up to her phone camera in a mock-cheers, propping her phone up opposite her so they could eat together. 

She smiles as her phone goes off, a text from Greta popping up just as the cabin crew begin the safety announcements.

From: Greta <3

Safe flight, you. Let me know when you’ve landed x

To: Greta <3

Will do. Just in the safety bit now. What film do I watch to pass the time?? Stuck between Princess Bride and Mamma Mia

From: Greta <3

Princess Bride. I’d say Mamma Mia, but I’m not there to sing along with you, so

To: Greta <3

Didn’t take you for a fan of musicals

From: Greta <3

Seems there’s a lot you’ve yet to find out, Shaw. Now go pay attention to the flight attendant. Chat later xx

Carson switches her phone into airplane mode with a smile, pocketing it as she lines up The Princess Bride, Shirley’s hand in hers as the plane roars to life, every second bringing her closer to Greta, staring out of the window at the clouds below her, swearing she sees one shaped like a star as Shirley drifts off beside her.

*

Ottawa is one of Carson’s favourite cities, always welcoming even in the chilly November air. Their hotel is tucked away in a street near the parliamentary buildings, the ringing of the Peace Tower bells a soothing background as Carson wanders to her usual café, the hot chocolate from there standing head and shoulders above the other nearby options. She turns onto Nepean Street, stopping to take a picture of the basilica on her left, glorious against the early-morning sun. The city is always gorgeous, especially in the fall, fresh air whistling through the golden-red trees as she strolls along.

(And if thinking of Greta in the same streets as her makes it seem all the more beautiful, well. Carson’s not going to deny herself.)

The queue is long, the morning rush evidently hitting as Carson takes her place at the back. She doesn’t mind the wait; she’s always early to their morning training as it is, preferring to take her time on the walk over. The queue shuffles forward slowly, and Carson yawns, eyes roaming over the selection of hot chocolates and stopping sharply as she sees a familiar figure waiting for her order.

“Greta?”

Greta whips around, curls bouncing over her shoulders as her eyes light up. She grins, surprised, immediately walking over and enveloping Carson in a tight hug. “Didn’t think I’d see you until the game.”

“Me neither.” Carson smiles up at her, heart fluttering as Greta strokes a hand against her forehead, moving a piece of her hair behind her ear. “On your way to the rink?”

“Naturally. Maybelle’s got us all in at nine, and the coffee there is appalling.” Greta’s eyes roam over her, memorising every inch, and Carson feels her cheeks blushing red as Greta drinks her in. “Sorry. Just–”

“Feels a bit weird to bump into each other?”

“Yeah,” Greta smiles, moving forward in line with her. “Good weird, though. Really good weird.” Their hands brush together, Greta linking her pinky finger with Carson’s. “I’d be a lot happier with the early mornings if they all started like this.”

Carson doesn’t know if Greta realises the magnitude of what she’s just admitted, her heart jumping into her throat in the best way possible as she thinks about it. Max’s words echo in her mind, take the risk, Shaw, circling her brain until she swallows the last of her hesitancy. “Hey, um.” She’s nervous, more nervous than she thinks she’s ever been around Greta, who looks at her with just a hint of suggestion in her eyes. “I wondered if I could take you to dinner sometime? Maybe after the game tomorrow, if you don’t have plans?”

Greta’s smile is the softest Carson’s ever seen it. “I don’t have plans, no.”

“Game’ll be done at what, five? So I could come pick you up around eight?”

Greta’s eyes flick down and back up again, taking her in as she shifts her weight to her other foot, lips still quirked upwards. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d really like that. Got somewhere in mind?”

Carson feels like she can breathe again for the first time since she walked into the café, exhaling shakily. “I’ll have a look after training tonight. Are you walking back to Bingham?”

Greta shakes her head. “We’re down at Rideau. Far too sensible for your outdoor practices.”

“Canadians.”

“Americans.”

“Touché.”

Greta’s order is called, and she turns to go, turning back at the last second to press a kiss to Carson’s cheek, gentle affection warming Carson from the inside out. “Call you later?”

“All yours after nine.”

Greta looks her up and down, eyebrow quirking upwards. “I like the sound of that.”

*

Game day dawns bright and early, as it always does, Carson’s alarm jolting her awake. She half-hopes to run into Greta again, stopping by her regular café and keeping an eye out as she walks through the streets, sighing as she makes it to the rink with no sign of her, shaking her head to banish the thought as she leads them all in a warm-up, forcing her concentration on the women in front of her. There’s a good atmosphere, just the right kind of competitive, Esti bouncing between them all with her infectious enthusiasm and keeping spirits up as concentration begins to settle.

Carson takes them through some gentle stretches to finish up, giving them all a few minutes to catch their breath and focus themselves before heading back to the locker room. Jess and Lupe are there already, looking somewhat mischievous, eyes following Carson for just a little longer than normal as the rest of the team start to flood in. “What?”

“Might want to check your locker, Coach.”

Jess is smirking, Lupe’s arm slung casually around her shoulders, and Carson frowns, wandering over to her usual locker. It’s empty, her eyes looking quizzically back at the pair behind her. “Can one of you just tell me?”

“Oh, shit. Hang on.”

Lupe opens the locker next to Carson’s, frowning, moving something aside before chuckling. “Shit. Got the wrong one. Anyway, here."

Lupe hands her a folded-up bit of paper, bumping her shoulder playfully as she wanders back to Jess. Carson opens it, the frown on her face soon giving way to a soft smile as she scans the contents.

Hey, you.

Didn’t think I’d get a chance to see you before the game - not that I should really wish you luck anyway, seeing as you’re against me!

Keep a cool head out there, don’t let the losing streak scare you. You’re a great coach with a great team - they’re lucky to have you.

I’m really looking forward to tonight. I know we always see each other after the games anyway, but this just feels different - good different, I promise.

See you on the ice,

Greta x

Carson reads the note over and over, Greta’s loopy handwriting etching in her mind. She smiles as she folds it up, tucking it in her sock as a good-luck charm, something warm settling in her as she goes to put her gear on. Jess’s eyes are sparkling as she looks over, a teasing note in her voice. “Liaising with the enemy, Coach?”

“Shut up,” Carson replies good-naturedly, balling up a spare sock and throwing it in Jess’s direction. “Like you haven’t been hoping for this for years.”

Jess holds her hands up in surrender, clicking her tongue as Carson reaches for her shinpads, eyeing her up and down. “Maybe. Good for you, Shaw. Glad it’s working out.”

Carson blushes, turning away to hide the smile she couldn’t control if she wanted to. Greta’s note is tucked under the strap of her shinpad, securing it in place as Celina helps her into her skates, the feeling of it burning warm against her ankle. The warmth stays with her as she guides them all through their strategy, flooding through her veins as they go through their usual chants, the go Spirits go filling the room as they line up to file onto the ice. She genuinely can’t tell if she’s more nervous because of the game or the knowledge she’s seeing Greta so soon, passing her hockey stick from hand to hand as the tannoy booms above them, leading her team onto the ice to the cheers of the crowds around them. For the next two hours it’s game face on, the charged atmosphere guiding her forward, even as her heart flips at the sight of Greta in the opposite line-up. 

Their eyes meet across the ice, and Carson grins, tapping her stick against the ice to ground herself as Greta throws her a wink, the feeling of her good-luck note grounding against Carson’s ankle. They may be rivals on the ice, but Greta’s affection stokes a fire in her, their eyes locking across the ice as the cheers of the crowd fade into the background. In that moment, it’s just the two of them. Brown eyes meeting brown eyes, soft smile meeting soft smile, and Carson finds herself hit with the blinding realisation that this is what it is to be in love.

Chapter Text

Focus.

Focus focus focus.

Focus.

Carson steels herself, shifting from foot to foot in the line-up. She can have all the revelations she wants later, sit opposite Greta and relish in whatever new feelings have just opened up, but she can’t do it now, at the detriment of her team. She barely notices as the anthems play, staring blankly across the crowds as she tries to get her breathing under control. 

She loves Greta Gill. 

Cool. Okay. She can deal with that. 

She just needs to do it in approximately two hours time.

Mercifully she makes it to the goal without stumbling altogether, dropping her water bottle in the cup holder and skating a quick couple of circles to center herself. She’s always been good at shutting out reality for the sake of a game, and can only hope it’s a skill that hasn’t yet abandoned her, particularly as Greta is the starting center for the Ottawa Stars and therefore directly in her line of sight as they gear up for puck drop. Lupe gives her a look as she skates to her starting position, a look that says get your fucking shit together, and Carson grits her teeth, jaw set as the whistle blows.

The carnage of the game is a surprisingly good distraction. She can tell already it’s going to be a fierce one, the Stars clearly on top form and the Spirits motivated by their recent track record. There’s an aggression in the air as she shifts from skate to skate, eyes following the game as players switch out rapidly, the Stars already on a penalty in the first minute as Emma McKinney trips Shirley up behind the goal. Ruth gets slammed into the screen around the rink, making her way off of the ice as soon as she catches her breath, Tamika jumping over the barrier to take her place. 

The action moves closer to Carson’s goal, and she doesn’t look up from the puck, watching it closely. She blocks a goal, then another, the whistle of the referee music to her ears each time as the game resets. It’s still nil-nil as they get to the final minute of the first period, and she’s just getting ready to rethink their strategy, when Esti bolts through the Stars, weaving between them and slamming the puck into the goal with four seconds to go.

Carson honest-to-God shrieks, punching the air, watching with glee as the team huddles around Esti with a cheer. There’s barely any point in restarting for those four seconds, the puck making it approximately three meters before the klaxon goes, and Carson’s practically jumping on Esti, hugging her as tightly as she can through the bulky uniform. “Killing it, kid,” Jess shouts as the group make their way to the sideline, Esti’s grin practically splitting her face in half.

“Nice one, mija,” Lupe murmurs, and Carson smiles at the pair of them, Esti leaning into Lupe’s side for a moment as Jess watches fondly. She gets a drink as they pile back into the locker room, joins in the light chatter in the fifteen minutes they have, and then it’s back on the ice, the crowd cheering as they get ready for the second period.

It’s an aggressive one, right from the off. The Stars have clearly switched to an offensive play, and Carson can see they’ve brought their A-game. The Spirits are holding up, but Carson’s eyes narrow as one of the refs misses another call, an obvious attempt from one of the Stars to trip Esti up with her hockey stick. Jess isn’t having it, skating over to the ref. “You’re not gonna call it?”

Carson can just about hear the conversation, eyes narrowing. “Call what? She tripped. Karlsson just happened to be there.”

She can see Jess’ anger from a mile away, a combination of game-rage and a fierce sense of protectiveness for Esti. “How wasn’t that a hooking offence, you motherfucker–”

“McCready, don’t push it–”

“Why? Gonna sit me out for calling out your shitty decisions, asshole?”

Carson goes to shout something to her, anything to get Jess to shut up and move on, but she’s too late, groaning as Jess gets herself thrown in the penalty box. A ten-minute misconduct penalty isn’t the worst they’ve dealt with, but being down a player for that long severely hinders their chances. Carson loves Jess, she really does, but she wishes that passion didn’t always get expressed quite so directly, the referee in question glaring in Jess’ direction as he goes to restart the game. Jess sits on the bench, visibly simmering, staring straight ahead and passing her hockey stick from hand to hand as the game restarts.

It’s a rough second period, Ottawa getting three goals past her, and the excitement from the first half feels like it’s slowly slipping as Carson rethinks their starting lineup. By the time the klaxon signals the end of the period, she’s calculated all manner of options, gathering them all in a huddle in the locker room. “Right. Jess is still out for the first two minutes of third period. Esti, Lupe, Lourdes, Shirley, I want you starting out. We’ve gotta get at least three to win, so we’re playing offensive. Offensive offensive. Once Jess is back, if Esti’s still on, switch her out with Celina, then we’ll put her back in for the last two minutes. I want you rested and ready to storm them, okay? Don’t burn out trying to compensate.”

Esti nods determinedly as Jess glowers. “Sorry, Coach. Just can’t stand a biased ref.”

“It’s alright.” It isn’t, but Carson isn’t one to hold it against her; they’ve all made plenty of bad judgements before. “It was a shitty call. Just–” she sighs, searching for the right words. “Just wait until you’re off the ice to cuss him out next time, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They exchange a nod, Jess going out for a smoke with Lupe as Carson sits on one of the benches. She checks her phone, seeing a good luck text from Max, sending her a score update before cracking her knuckles. The breaks between periods always seem to be over in a heartbeat, and the pressure is on as they head back towards the rink, Carson nodding at Lupe as they skate their way back out.

She doesn’t look for Greta, not wanting to risk any distractions as the countdown to puck drop starts. Jess is back in the penalty box, the rest of the team so focussed on the game that Carson reckons she could hear a pin drop on the ice, determination in the air. The puck is dropped, the clash of sticks sending it flying, and Carson’s heart jumps into her throat. Lupe has the puck, guiding it towards the opposite goal, and takes a shot - it’s a risk, especially from that distance, but the Stars’ goalkeeper misses it, bringing the score to 3-2 as Carson cheers.

Lupe’s early goal seems to spur something on in them. Esti switches out, Jess is back on the ice, and Alaine evens the scores with a surprise goal at the ten-minute mark. Carson feels like she’s going to start hovering with the excitement in her veins, watching the game play out as she realises that this could turn into a win for them. The action moves back down to her end of the rink, Greta and Maybelle switching on and stealing the puck from Shirley, and Carson braces herself, the last five minutes of play always leading to a vicious battle. She sees Maybelle aiming, skidding to the left to deflect the puck, bouncing it off her forearm and sending it flying back. There’s an immediate scramble, the Stars trying to get it in as the Spirits try to block them. Carson barely knows where the puck is in the pile-up, someone’s hockey stick around her ankle causing her to trip up, taking Greta down with her. They crash to the ice, Greta pinned face-down underneath her, and Carson breathes a sigh of relief as she sees Jess get the puck and glide down to the other end of the rink. Greta is smirking under her, turning her head just enough to catch her eye. “We should do this more often.”

Carson can only hope that her helmet hides her bright-red blush, scrambling to her feet and moving back into the goal. Greta throws her a wink as she turns to go, catching up with the action down to the other end of the rink, and Carson tries not to think about how her mouth goes dry, warmth pooling in her stomach as she taps her hockey stick against the ice. 

Focus.

The scores are even, and something tightens in her stomach as she sees Esti hop back over onto the ice. Now or never, she thinks, watching as Lupe guards her.

It’s not easy - Greta is back on the ice, with Stella Voronova, one of the Stars’ newer recruits, shadowing her - but Esti is a real-life miracle. She speeds around them with ease, lines up, tries once, misses, tries again, misses, but the third time, with ten seconds left of play, the puck makes it over the shoulder of the goalkeeper, hitting the back of the net as the crowd erupts around them. It’s their game, Carson knows it is, grinning widely as the last few seconds are played out practically as a formality. The klaxon goes, and she almost trips over in her haste to get over to the team, all of the players on the benches tumbling onto the rink in a group hug. It’s their first victory in nearly a month, and Carson feels like she’s on top of the world, wrapping her arms firmly around Esti and joining in the cheers as the tannoy booms above them.

There’s still a little tension on the ice as they do their usual line-up high-fives, but Carson takes it on the chin, smiling at Greta as their hands meet for just a little longer than the others do. With the game behind her, the previous realisation starts to creep up again, the warmth of Greta’s palm against hers enough to stoke that particular fire. She shakes the thought out, following Jess into the locker room, Greta’s good-luck note still tucked neatly against her ankle.

*

It’s a celebratory atmosphere in the locker room, and Carson’s glad to see everyone back in high spirits as she changes, excitement beginning to fizzle up as she realises that her date with Greta is getting closer by the second. She stands dazedly in front of her locker for a moment, Jess’ voice cutting across the room to shake her out of it.

“Hey, Coach, c’mon, we’re leaving! Bar time!”

Carson bites her lip, looking over at Jess with a shaky smile. “Sorry. Got a date. An actual one.”

“With Gill?”

“Maybe."

Lupe cheers as Jess tips her cap. “Far be it from us. Want a lift home?”

She considers the walk for a moment before nodding, throwing the last of her gear in her bag. Now that she’s said the words out loud, it feels less overwhelming. She’d expected to be more nervous than she is, had deliberately left herself time for a brooding walk back to the hotel, but Jess and Lupe’s company is exactly what she feels like right now, following the two of them out to the parking lot. The rental car Lupe’s picked up isn’t quite as comfy as their truck back home, but Carson’s all too happy to squish herself into the back seat. She’d expected a lot more teasing from the pair of them, but there’s a genuine sparkle in Jess’ eye as they make eye contact in the mirror. “Wanna tell us about it?”

There’s an unspoken it’s okay if not, and Carson appreciates it deeply. “Yeah, uh. I ran into her this morning, and asked, and I’m taking her to dinner. I was thinking Courtyard? The fancy place on George Street. Unless you think that’s a bit much, I can–”

“It’s perfect, Coach,” Lupe chimes in. “Seriously. It’s not like it’s a first date, not in the usual way. Might as well treat her.” 

“She seems fancy. She’ll love it,” Jess adds encouragingly. “Plus, gives you both an excuse to dress up.”

“And we all know you’ll enjoy seeing that.”

Carson grins, fidgeting. “Yeah. Thanks. I checked the menu, they’ve got gluten free, vegan, whatever she might want. And I booked two tables, so we can sit outside or inside, and the wine list is huge, so–”

“Shaw. Breathe. It’s gonna be perfect.” Jess shoots her an encouraging look. “She’ll love the food, she’ll be happy with either table, and you can choose the wine together. Okay?”

Carson’s infinitely glad that she didn’t end up walking home alone, nodding as she takes a deep breath, steadying her hands in her lap. “Yeah. Okay.” 

Her phone buzzes as they turn the corner, and she’s smiling before she’s even picked it up, knowing exactly who is on the other end.

From: Greta <3

Hey. Just checking you’re good for tonight? Also, dress code?

From: Greta <3

Really looking forward to seeing you properly x

“See? Bet that’s her telling you all about how excited she is, even after we beat her ass.” Lupe grins in the rearview mirror as they pull into the hotel parking lot.

To: Greta <3

Definitely still good!!! It’s kinda fancy, so I guess dress up? But we can do casual if you’d prefer! No pressure!! 

To: Greta <3

Really looking forward to seeing you too :)

From: Greta <3

Fancy is perfect. Been ages since I had an excuse to dress up. See you at 8?

To: Greta <3

I’ll pick you up :)

From: Greta <3

Can’t wait x

“Yeah,” Carson grins. “Yeah, uh. She’s excited.”

“Course she is. Only been three years in the making.” Lupe slings an arm over Jess’ shoulders, clicking her teeth. “Right, go clean up. And if you panic, we’ll be at Lookout with a spare tequila, alright?”

“Yeah. Thanks, guys. See you tomorrow?”

“Not even pretending you’re gonna make it home tonight?”

Carson just blushes, looking at the floor as Jess laughs. “See you tomorrow, Coach. Don’t do anything we wouldn’t do.”

There’s about a million answers Carson could give to that, but she settles for a nod, hopping out of the car and heading to the elevator as a rush of nerves suddenly hits her. Two and a half hours and she’s picking Greta up. Two and a half hours, and she’s sitting opposite the woman she’s pretty sure she’s in love with, talking about their lives, each other, whatever springs to mind. Two and a half hours, and she’ll know whether or not taking the risk was worth it, or if she’s ruined whatever they’d been building between them altogether.

She wonders absently if it’s too early for that tequila.

*

Pulling apart her suitcase, she’s eternally grateful for Thursday-Carson, who apparently had the good sense to pack something formal, even if it had been more under the assumption of press opportunities. She lays the options out on her bed, her high-waist black pants and a couple of blouses, before launching herself in the shower, setting a timer to keep herself on track. The warmth of the water is soothing as she rinses shampoo through her hair, grounding her, before she hops back out into the bathroom, grabbing her phone to get a second opinion as she stares across the room at her options for the night.

To: Max

Red shirt or green??? Maybe red to match her lipstick??? Or is that weird??????

From: Max

God, you lesbian

From: Max

They’re both great

From: Max

But red brings out your eyes more

From: Max

Need me to call you?

To: Max

Uhhhh yeah please. I think I’m fine???? But yeah. Yeah that’d be good

From: Max

The amount of question marks in these texts tells me otherwise

From: Max

Be five mins

Carson props her phone up on the dressing table, running a brush through her hair and drying it off, Max popping up on her screen halfway through. “Where are we on the Carson Shaw panic scale?”

Carson switches the hairdryer off. “Like, maybe a four? I’m not panicking, I don’t think, just nervous.”

“About?”

She gestures wildly in the air. “All of it! Taking the step with Greta. Going somewhere fancy. Letting this mean something, y’know? Because I think it’s gonna be something, I really think it is, and I want it to be, but–”

“But what?”

“What if she doesn’t?”

“There it is.” Max looks at her for a moment, lets Carson collect herself again. “I get it, I do. But she’s in deep, Shaw. From what you’ve told me, anyway. I don’t think she’d be like this if her heart wasn’t in it.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Neither do you.” 

“So maybe she–”

“Carson.” Max’s voice is stern, looking her square in the eye through the phone. “Don’t do this. Don’t freak yourself out over nothing. You’ve known her for years, you know you both like each other, and I really don’t think she’d do this to you, yeah? She obviously cares about you.”

Carson sighs, sitting in her underwear on the edge of the bed. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I don’t think she’d do it either.”

“Good. Now. You’ve got what, an hour? Try them both on, and we’ll see which one we like.”

She’s always grateful for Max, but particularly now, modelling both options in her own little fashion show. Max spurs her on, complimenting both and eventually deciding on the red shirt, filling the background with mindless chatter as Carson sorts her hair out. She decides to leave it down, never having been one for fancy styles, pinning a few strands back to keep it out of her eyes. A touch of mascara and a paranoid tooth-brushing later, she’s standing in front of the mirror, taking a deep breath. She looks good. She feels good. She adjusts the pins in her hair, turning to face Max, currently propped up against a pillow for Carson to parade in front of. “Thoughts?”

“You look great, Carson. Honestly. She’s gonna be on the floor.”

Max’s grin alleviates the last of her tension, returning the smile. “Thanks. For calling, I mean.”

“How’re you feeling?”

She sits on the edge of the bed, sighing. “I don’t really know? Like, I’m nervous, but it doesn’t feel like bad nerves. I just can’t wait to see her. It feels like I’ve been waiting for this forever, y’know?”

“I mean, you kinda have. I know that’s not what it was about at first, but c’mon, it was always gonna happen. Just took you both a while to get there.”

“Yeah. I just hope it was worth the wait, y’know? Like, she’s worth the wait, I know she is. I just hope she feels the same.”

Max smiles sympathetically, clicking her teeth with a grin. “Well. Guess you’d better go find out then, huh?”

*

By the time the clock ticks around to eight, she’s been hovering outside Greta’s apartment building for nearly twenty minutes, shuffling from foot to foot and trying not to second-guess herself too much. She tries to busy herself ordering an Uber for them, staring down at the little map on her screen, checking the licence plate as a car pulls up and shaking out her hands at the realisation that it’s time. She promises the Uber that she’ll be two minutes, hopping across the path and ringing the intercom to Greta’s apartment, smiling at the immediate response. “Carson?”

“Yeah! Yeah, uh. Downstairs when you’re ready.”

“Be there in a moment.”

Her heart feels like it’s going to beat straight out of her chest, hammering against her ribcage. She hears Greta before she sees her, the click of heels on the stone steps, and her knees go weak at the idea of Greta in heels, towering above her even more than she usually does. She sees Greta’s silhouette through the door before it opens, knows already that Greta is going to be the absolute end of her.

“Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

Carson lets her eyes roam unashamedly over Greta, standing tall and proud in straight-cut pants and a cropped blazer, a delicate gold necklace resting on her sternum and a black lace shirt that - to Carson’s delight - leaves little to the imagination, hugging her figure. Her hair is in soft curls, trademark red lipstick on, and Carson’s mouth goes dry, swallowing, grin on her face as she meets Greta’s eyes. “You’re gorgeous,” she tells her, bashful, enjoying Greta’s soft smile.

“So are you.” Greta leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, chuckling as she rubs the lipstick stain off. “Looking like a million bucks, Shaw.”

Carson feels her cheeks flushing red, beckoning to Greta as they walk towards the Uber, fingers brushing as they do. It’s a short ride to Courtyard, but Carson feels the tension in every single one of those seconds, Greta’s knee nudging against hers as they make small talk about the day. “I don’t wanna take up this evening with hockey talk, so while we’re on the way, how’re you feeling?”

“Really good.” It’s the truth - it’s the most sure of herself Carson’s felt in a while, their luck finally changing. “You gave us a good fight, but I think we needed this. Everyone seemed a lot more relaxed on the way out.”

“I’m glad. Could’ve done without getting our asses kicked, but,” Greta’s tone is teasing, winking at Carson. “You were really great out there. The whole team, but you especially. How’s Jess?”

“Calmer,” Carson tells her, smiling. “Thought she was gonna break through the screen at one point, but it’s all passion. She’ll have forgotten it even happened by now."

The nerves come back as the Uber pulls up outside, Carson biting her lip as they step out. Greta smiles, taking her hand, and Carson feels for a beautiful moment more human than she ever has before. Greta’s palm is warm, her fingers entwining with Carson’s like they were made to fit together, squeezing her hand gently in the soft light of the restaurant.

“Shall we?”

Chapter Text

Courtyard is beautiful. Candles on the table, gentle lighting all around them, wood-panelled floors and fresh flowers. It’s gorgeous, and romantic, but Carson cannot for the life of her take her eyes off of Greta.

She’s captivating. 

Every action from the way she surveys the menu to the way her tongue darts out as she reads, wetting her lips as she scans the words - Carson’s positive Greta knows she’s being watched, the slightest quirk of a smile. Carson takes a moment to consider her as she looks over the menu, eyes raking across Greta as a small smile makes its way onto her face. The flick of her eyeliner, the curl of her hair, the way she purses her lips ever-so-slightly as she tries to pick between two options; Carson thinks Greta could probably sit reading the Oxford Dictionary to herself and she’d still be enchanting.

Greta looks up, raises an eyebrow teasingly. “Anything on the menu you like the look of?”

Not on the menu, Carson thinks to herself, eyes flicking to Greta’s lips and back up again. “Yeah, yeah, the tofu pasta looks pretty good. What are you thinking?”

“Lobster, I think. Haven’t had it since we last played Maine.” Greta closes the menu, putting it down and clasping her hands under her chin, leaning forward ever-so-slightly. “So, Carson Shaw.”

“Greta Gill.”

“I’m really glad we’re doing this.”

Carson smiles at her, feeling her cheeks flush red. “Me too. I, uh. Wasn’t sure you were gonna say yes.”

Greta stretches a hand out, twirling a lock of Carson’s hair around her fingers and tucking it behind her ear. “You have no idea, do you?” she murmurs, more to herself than to Carson, who isn’t entirely sure she’s still breathing. She’s dreamed of a night like tonight for longer than she cares to admit, pictured Greta in a hundred different outfits in front of her; she’s not entirely sure if she’s actually living out those dream or if she’s going to wake up any second. Greta’s hand is gentle in her hair, fingers just grazing her jaw, and God, if this is a dream, it’s the cruellest torture Carson could imagine, dangling the possibility in front of her only to snatch it away again. 

The moment is broken by the waiter bringing their wine, Greta retreating back to her side of the table, murmuring a thank you as she looks Carson up and down. The waiter takes their orders, and Carson feels a sudden wave of nerves at the disappearance of the distraction, ever-grateful for Greta’s effortless ability to carry a conversation as they wait for their food. 

It’s easy, with Greta. No matter how much she frets over saying the wrong thing, or making a bad joke, it always just seems to work, the two of them laughing within minutes, chatting about their weeks, all the things they didn’t have time to talk about before the game. She’s still not entirely sure how she ended up here, out on a date with Greta fucking Gill across the table, laughing at her jokes and asking her about her anecdotes, but Carson’s never been one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Not when it feels so right, like something’s finally fallen into place for the two of them, grounding, steady, growing with their relationship.

Their orders arrive quickly, significantly fancier than Carson had expected, but the moan of appreciation from Greta is enough to tell her she made the right decision, tucking into her own dish appreciatively. Even the silence is comfortable, Greta winking at her and managing to both calm her down and set her on fire with the simple gesture, effortlessly beautiful even through forkfuls of lobster. Nerves aside, it’s amazing how natural it all feels, different to anything they’ve done before but, like every first they’ve had over the past few weeks, entirely instinctual.

She’s grateful for the level of comfort between them, blocking out the nerves as she puts her fork down. “Okay, so, I know we said no hockey talk–”

Greta just grins, raising an eyebrow like she’d expected nothing less. “But?”

Carson meets her smile. “I never knew how you started out. I know you played at college, but before that, I mean. Nobody has an opening season like you did if it’s their first time on the ice.” 

“I was a figure skater first.” Greta says it just a little too quickly, dropping eye contact. “Pretty good at it, I competed until I was about twelve? But then I got too tall, too developed, too much .” She talks swiftly, skirting over the words, but the flash of hurt in her eyes doesn’t get missed, Carson gently nudging her foot under the table. “I fell out of love with it, gave hockey a try, and here I am.”

“That’s why you’re so graceful out there. I always wondered.”

Greta laughs, rich and beautiful, ringing across the table and hitting Carson with an undeniable feeling of wanting to be responsible for Greta’s laughter until the end of time itself. “I don’t know about that. I liked it, sure, but I was never meant to be a skater. Not that kind, anyway.”

Carson can’t help but wonder whether she’d have stuck with it, in another life. If she’d been allowed to live it out without the weight of other people’s words on her shoulders. She can picture her on the ice, boxy hockey uniform swapped for short skating dresses. The idea of it suits her - Carson’s pretty sure everything suits her - but it’s not the Greta that Carson knows.

“Do you think you’d ever go back to it?”

Greta shakes her head. “Even if I could still do half the stuff I did as a kid, there was always too much, I dunno, off with me to ever have a career in it. Too tall for partnerwork, too developed to be one of the twig-thin kids everyone fawns over. Too bubbly, too talkative, too everything.” Her tone is light, but there’s so much more there, Carson can hear it in her voice. More hurt than she thinks Greta is letting on. “Plus, I’ve got hockey now. I think part of me will always be in figure skating, but I’m damn good at it. Nice to be out there with a team, too.”

Carson just nods, deciding not to push it. “I still think you’d be brilliant at anything you wanted to do. But I’m glad you found hockey. You are good at it. And, y’know. Means I got to meet you.”

Greta blushes, a rare reversal of their usual dynamic, taking another bite. “I’m glad too,” she says, smiling. “One day we should go skating, for the fun of it. I’ll teach you how to spin, you can teach me how to goalkeep without dislocating both my kneecaps.”

Carson’s heart skips a beat at the notion of future dates, of Greta openly wanting more time with her. Of sharing something from her past, something that in all their years of knowing each other Carson’s never seen her do; certainly not so in-depth. She nods, entirely unable to keep the grin off of her face. “Okay, so. Figure skating, then hockey, then college in New York, right?” Greta nods. “So why Ottawa?”

Greta shrugs, taking a sip of wine. “Just ended up there, really. I was playing in the city when I got scouted for the Brooklyn Sailors - they gave me a chance, and I took it.”

“You were what, twenty? Twenty-one?”

“Twenty-one. Right after I graduated.” She looks Carson up and down, eyes roaming over her in a way that sends a shiver down her spine. “Got traded to the Furies a few years later. Then, when the Canadian league collapsed, the Stars took me on, and here we are.” 

“Here we are.”

Greta leans forward, topping up Carson’s glass with a grin. “I’ve already read your bio ten times over. Idaho, Washington State, Calgary Ravens. Why the sudden change, though? You were on the rise back in Alberta.”

Carson drops her gaze, fiddles with her hand for a moment. “I, uh. I had a bit of a change, in my life. I needed to get out of there. There was a trade spot open for Chicago, and I knew Lupe and Jess from here and there, so it was my ticket out, I guess.” Greta nods, the atmosphere suddenly more serious than it had been moments prior. Carson considers for a minute, meeting Greta’s eyes. With anybody else she’d want to dive right back into hockey talk, staying in her comfort zone. But Greta doesn’t open up for everybody - Carson suspects she doesn’t particularly open up for anybody - and she doesn’t want to send them back to that barrier. Everything she knows about Greta she knows from a Wikipedia page, various career statistics and fleeting details of the high school she went to, snippets of knowledge that don’t even begin to define the woman sitting in front of her.

“So, Chicago–”

“I was married.” 

She blurts it out before Greta can take them back a step, wanting to contribute something real, something beyond their shared career. “Right out of high school. Then I got…un-married. Turns out having a husband is a bit tough to keep up after you realise you’re a lesbian.”

Greta reaches across the table, gently covering Carson’s hand with her own, and Carson lets out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding. “Good for you,” she says softly, waiting for Carson to meet her eyes before smiling at her, nose scrunching up in that oh-so-Greta way. 

“Yeah. Yeah, uh. We’re still on good terms - he was my best friend. But I had to get out, figure out who I was, that kinda thing.”

“And have you?”

Carson looks at her, meets her gaze with a soft, inquisitive smile of her own. “Yeah,” she says warmly, fingers tangling with Greta’s on the table. “Yeah, I think I have.”

Their plates are cleared, and Carson can’t help the thrill that runs down her spine as Greta’s hand stays in hers, thumb gently caressing over her knuckles. “Wanna split dessert?”

“Obviously.”

“Let me guess.” Greta scans the menu, running over the options, hand still in Carson’s, warm and grounding. There’s something so instinctive about the moment, the ease of Greta’s hand in her own, Greta looking over the menu to order something she knows they’ll both like. The evening has felt like a dream, Carson doesn’t think it ever won’t feel like a dream, but there’s something so real about them now. There’s a tangible change - they’re not post-game hookups anymore, barely even rivals. They’re just them. Carson Shaw and Greta Gill out on a date, out on the best date Carson could have hoped for, holding hands in the candlelight.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She grins at Greta, shaking her head. “Nothing important. Seen something?”

“If my memory serves me correctly, the maple sugar pie might be the one.”

She’s hit with a recollection, an off-hand comment from the last game, can never find a good maple pie in Chicago. She hadn’t expected Greta to remember, hadn’t really expected her to be listening all that deeply in the first place. People tend to just nod along when she starts rambling, polite murmurs here and there, but Greta had been listening, properly listening. It’s touching in a way she doesn’t expect, settling warmly in her chest as she nods, grinning widely. “Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

Greta places the order, turning her attention back to Carson immediately. “So. Sweet tooth, life changes, cross-country moves. What else?”

It’s only when talking to Greta that Carson realises how rare it is for people to really dive any deeper. She loves her friends, has an intrinsic understanding with them that’s far from superficial, but it’s different, so different to the way Greta sits across from her, eyes searching gently. 

“What do you want to know?”

Greta thinks for a moment, makes a display of pursing her lips to get a giggle out of Carson, grinning as she achieves it. “Do you like to sing?”

She frowns and smiles at the same time, the question wholly unexpected. “Uh, sure? You’re not getting me to karaoke, if that’s where this is going–”

“God, no. Joey would kill me if I went without her.” Greta nudges her foot under the table as their dessert arrives, murmuring a quick thank you to the waiter. “Just building up a picture.”

It’s as good a reason as any. “I guess I do? I never really notice I’m doing it until I’m a few songs in. Usually while I’m cleaning, or sketching.”

“What do you sketch?”

“Everything, really. Whatever’s in front of me, whatever album I’m listening to, various bits and pieces around our home rink. Picked it up in middle school, after my mom left.”

“You wanna talk about her?”

Carson considers the question. There’s nothing probing, no expectation of sharing. Greta offers her the floor, the assurance that she can elaborate if she wants to, but she ends up shaking her head. “Another time.” 

Greta nods, accepts the answer without question, taking a bite of the pie. “God, it’s good.”

Carson follows suit, eyes closing as she takes a piece. “Damn, Gill. You know your way to a woman’s heart.”

The comment earns her a smile, Greta nudging Carson’s fork with her own. “Your turn for a question.”

She takes another bite, mulling over the options. It’s difficult to narrow down; now that the confessions have started she wants to know everything. What Greta has for breakfast, what she thinks about when she goes shopping, if she still gets nervous before a game. What her worst fear is, what her happiest memory is. She wants all of it, wants to bundle it all up in her mind and store it, keep it all safe, preserve the knowledge in her own little archive.

“What’s your favourite book?”

It’s a bit more mundane than she’d hoped for, but Greta takes her time to think it over, playing with the ring on Carson’s index finger. “I have two. The one I tell people, and the one that’s really my favourite.”

“Shoot.”

“I always tell people it’s Rebecca. It’s not totally a lie, I like it a lot.”

“And the real answer?”

Greta grins. “The Lord of the Rings. I fucking love it.”

Carson can’t help her laugh, nudging the last bite towards Greta, who takes it happily. “Thought I was the dork in this relationship.” She freezes at the word, knowing full well the panic is showing on her face. “Y’know. Twosome. Duo. This pair, this, uh–”

Greta surveys her, grinning. “If I tell you I’m happy with the first one, will you stop looking like your heart is about to drop out of your ass?”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

The waiter chooses that moment to bring the check over, cutting off Carson’s immediate questions, scribbling her signature on the bill in a hurry as Greta watches her, an affectionate smile on her face. They thank the wait staff, Greta’s hand soft on the small of her back as they head out, a gentle, reassuring presence as the panic coursing through her finally begins to settle.

*

It’s chilly outside, a breeze starting up as they turn onto the street, Greta’s hair glowing in the streetlight. Greta takes her hand as they walk, interlocking their fingers and squeezing gently. “Can we stop for a moment?”

Shit. 

“Yeah, yeah, uh. What’s up?”

Carson barely gets a chance to catch her breath as Greta pulls her to the side, dipping into an alleyway and pushing Carson gently up against the wall, lips finding hers with a wicked smile. Greta’s hands find their way to her hair, kissing her deeply as Carson’s settle on her waist, dipping underneath the blazer to land on the lace shirt underneath. She can feel the softness of Greta’s skin through the lace, nails digging half-moons into her, enjoying the way Greta’s mouth falls open under hers, desperate for more.

It takes all the self-control in the world, but she eventually pulls away with a gasp, regaining her breath as her eyes meet Greta’s. “Wanna take this back to my room?”

“Actually,” Greta starts, glancing down at the floor and back up again, suddenly shy in a way Carson doesn’t think she’s ever seen before, the hand tangled in Carson’s hair gently toying with a few strands. “I wondered if you wanted to come back to mine?”

They’ve never done that. 

It’s always been an unspoken rule between them - they go back to whoever has the hotel room, never crossing the line into each other’s living spaces. Carson’s dropped her off on the way to the airport before, but she’s never been inside, never crossed that boundary. It would be an admission of something more, something real, something they’d both been very successfully skirting around. The deeper meaning of the question isn’t lost on her. It’s not just about having more time, it’s not just about sex - this is Greta’s way of asking for more.  

“Yeah.” She grins, looking up at Greta in the chilly evening air. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

They silently decide to walk the distance, hand in hand the whole way. Greta’s palm is warm in hers, fingers smooth. The quiet is at once gently intimate and filled with a delicious tension, Carson feeling warmth settle in her stomach. “So,” Greta says, breaking the quiet. “We’re in a relationship?”

Carson feels her face burning. “I mean,” she starts, “anyone who knows each other has a relationship. Me and Jo have a relationship. Maybelle and my dad have a relationship–”

“God, don’t put that image in my mind.”

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable with it, it just sort of slipped out–”

“Carson.” Greta stops them, hand still in hers as she pulls Carson gently under a streetlamp, facing her. “I don’t– I’m not really known for this.” She runs a hand through her own hair, looking up to the sky and back down again, features illuminated in the soft glow of the light above them, curls causing a shadow to fall across her cheek as her eyes glint in the streetlight. She drops Carson’s hand, and for an awful moment Carson thinks she’s going to walk away, before Greta’s fingers settle on her waist instead, drawing her closer. “If you want to be with me– really be with me, not what we’ve been doing– not the casual.” She stops again, hesitating, visibly steeling herself, choosing her words carefully. “If you want me, I’m yours. I know we’re still in separate countries, and I know I’m not–”

She doesn’t get to finish.

Carson practically pins her to the lamppost, kissing her fiercely, feeling as if her heart is going to jump out of her chest and leave her altogether. She slides her hands up Greta’s arms, lets one tangle in her hair, the other winding around her shoulder to bring them closer. She pours everything she can into the kiss, everything from the relief flooding her veins to the sheer delight that’s quickly replacing it, stomach flipping as Greta moans softly, deepening the kiss as her hands slide around Carson’s waist. They draw apart, foreheads resting together, breathing each other in. “I want you,” Carson affirms, pressing another kiss to Greta’s lips. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you. It’s always been you, Greta. Right from the start.”

Greta brings a hand up to cup her cheek, thumb grazing over her collarbone. Her eyes slip shut again, claiming Carson in another kiss, tongue teasing into her mouth as Carson leans into her, pressing them together until barely a centimetre remains. She can feel Greta smiling, teeth clashing as her own grin takes over, and they’re laughing and kissing and gasping all at once, the familiar push-pull between them taking over. It’s only the slam of a car door nearby that interrupts them, Greta’s hand reaching out as they practically stumble the rest of the distance, pausing every few minutes to steal another kiss. Carson presses her against the letterboxes in the hallway, then, briefly, against the elevator doors, giggling as they open against Greta’s back, the two of them half-falling backwards in a heap of laughter. She doesn’t think she’s ever felt joy like this before, so full of it she could burst at any second. They’re giddy, drunk on the feeling, shuffling down the hallway to Greta’s apartment, Carson growing more impatient by the second as she presses herself against Greta, kissing her shoulder as Greta unlocks her front door.

She’d planned to spend some time looking around, getting to know Greta’s living space, but the second the door shuts behind them Greta’s got her up against it, hot and heavy, ridding her of her shirt in record time. She shudders as Greta’s fingers dance across her stomach, teasing, dipping just below the waistband of her pants as Carson arches into her. “Bed,” she murmurs, and Greta just grins, taking Carson’s lower lip between her teeth, eliciting a low moan.

“Who says I want to wait that long?”

Her fingers make quick work of Carson’s belt, slipping her hand between Carson’s thighs, and Carson’s already seeing stars. Greta grazes her through her underwear, already soaked through. She can feel how wet she is already, pressing a rough kiss to Greta’s jaw. “Thought you couldn’t wait?” she teases, halfway through a giggle as Greta’s fingers dip into her underwear, stroking through her cunt and up to her clit, turning her grin into a gasp. “Greta–”

“Say please.”

Usually Carson has the upper hand, eager to please and greedy in her desire, but Greta taking charge is all of her fantasies come to life, bucking her hips up as Greta circles her clit, just on the edge of where she needs her most. It’s a silent battle, Greta looking her straight in the eye, foreheads pressed together. 

“Say please.”

Carson’s eyes flutter closed. “Please, Greta– fuck.”

Greta sinks two fingers into her, then three, thumb rubbing on her clit as Greta kisses her roughly. “God, Carson,” she moans, a hand lifting Carson’s thigh to give her better access, driving her thrusts home as Carson’s head falls back against the door.

“Fuck, Greta–”

She wraps her leg around Greta’s back, heel digging in, mouth open as Greta somehow goes deeper, forceful thrusts as Carson mutters a string of curses into the air. “C’mon, baby,” Greta murmurs, grinning as she presses wet, open-mouth kisses down her neck. “Tell me how much you want me.”

“Fuck, Greta, I want you.” Her eyes are practically rolling back in her head as her climax builds, embarrassingly quickly as Greta nips at her collarbone, sucking a bruise. “I want you, I want you so bad.”

“Good girl.” Greta draws her hand away, leaving Carson whimpering at the sudden emptiness. 

“Greta–”

She’s about to ask when Greta drops to her knees, dragging Carson’s trousers and underwear down, pressing a kiss to the inside of her thigh. She looks up at Carson, brown eyes at once seductive and innocuous, and the sight alone could send her over the edge. Greta Gill down on her knees, hair messy, lace shirt half-off, lipstick smudged halfway up her cheek as she hooks one of Carson’s legs over her shoulder. 

“God, Greta–” She’s cut off by Greta’s tongue licking a broad stroke through her cunt, feeling a moan vibrate against her as Greta tastes her. One of Carson’s hands braces against the door, feeling as if she could collapse altogether as Greta’s lips press a kiss to her clit, drawing it out and sucking lightly in the way she knows makes Carson see stars. Carson reaches her other hand to tangle in Greta’s hair, closes a fist in her curls, tightening just enough to make Greta shudder in pleasure, increasing the pace against her cunt as her tongue dips inside her. Half the neighbours will have heard the dull thud of Carson’s head hitting the door, but she doesn’t care; the whole world could walk in and she’d beg Greta to keep going, keep doing exactly that as the pleasure builds.

Greta snakes a hand up, raking her nails against the inside of Carson’s inner thigh before two fingers enter her roughly, flicking her tongue over her clit. One, two, three thrusts, and she’s trembling, her orgasm hitting her harder than it ever has, moaning Greta’s name into the air as she comes. Greta fucks her through it, doesn’t stop the pace until Carson’s pushing her away, slick and sensitive as she sinks down against the door, trying and failing to catch her breath as Greta captures her lips in a kiss. 

“Holy fuck.”

Greta just grins, pride in her smile. She traces her hand up Carson’s jaw, fingers still sticky, moves them across to Carson’s mouth, biting her lip as Carson wraps her lips around them to taste herself, letting her tongue swirl as Greta closes her eyes, withdrawing her fingers and kissing her instead. “Babe,” Carson murmurs, hand tracing Greta’s jaw as she waits for those brown eyes to meet her own again. “Bedroom. Now.”

Greta rises wordlessly, smiling, soft and sexy as she takes Carson’s hand in silence. Her bedroom is exactly as Carson expected, white sheets and a multitude of pillows, much to Carson’s delight. She practically pushes Greta backwards, kissing her fiercely until Greta’s knees hit the mattress, lowering her down and straddling her waist. “You,” she says between kisses, fingers fumbling with the buttons of Greta’s shirt, “are wearing entirely too many clothes.”

“Am I?”

Carson feels her confidence rising, smirking against Greta’s lips. “Far too many.” She rids Greta of her shirt, her bra following quickly afterwards, leaning down to press a trail of kisses down her neck. She doesn’t waste any time, nipping at her breasts, sucking a nipple into her mouth as Greta rolls her hips upwards, desperately seeking more contact as Carson’s hand comes to palm at her other breast, rolling the nipple between her finger and thumb as Greta moans. She’s never been quiet, and Carson loves seeing what noises she can get out of her. “Do you want me to be gentle?”

Greta shakes her head, and Carson grins, making quick work of her trousers and underwear, Greta’s legs falling open in anticipation in front of her. “Turn over,” Carson instructs her, doesn’t miss the gleam in Greta’s eyes as she obeys, lying on her front. Carson leans over her, takes her time, enjoys the shudder that runs down Greta’s spine as Carson’s breath tickles her neck. She takes her time, knows Greta gets off on the build-up, kisses her way down the ridges of her spine. “You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, grazing Greta’s waist with her nails, moving her way down Greta’s body until she settles upon her thigh, straddling it. Greta moans at the contact, the smear of Carson’s cunt against her leg, the moan turning to a gasp as Carson’s fingers slide against her clit. “Your turn. What’s the magic word?”

Sometimes Greta likes to push her luck, but desperation wins out tonight, barely a second passing before she’s rolling her hips back. “Please, Carson–”

Oh, she’s going to have some fun with this.

“Please what?”

“Please touch me.”

“Touch you where?”

Greta groans, head dropping against the pillow. “Carson.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” She can hear that Greta’s teeth are gritted, grinning to herself as she leans down to press a kiss to the base of her spine. “C’mon,” she teases. “It’s your turn to beg.”

“Please, Carson, inside.”

“Inside where?” Greta groans again, and Carson’s so, so tempted to take pity on her. “I want to hear you say it.”

“I need you to fuck me. I need you in me, please, Carson–”

“There we go.” She grinds herself down on Greta’s thigh for good measure, hand moving down until she’s stroking Greta’s slit, feels her slick and ready, the inside of her thighs already coated in her own arousal. She’ll never get tired of how fucking wet Greta gets for her, her desperation and desire practically pooling on the sheets beneath them as Carson teases her, listens for the telltale hitch of Greta’s breath before sliding a finger inside her, then two. “Better?”

Greta nods.

“I can’t hear you.”

“Better. So much better.”

She withdraws her fingers, dives back in with three, uses her own thigh to drive them deeper as she ruts herself against Greta. It takes a minute to get the rhythm just right, but once she finds it she chases the high, riding Greta’s thigh lazily as she fucks into her. “God,” she hisses, feeling Greta clenching around her. “You’re so good for me, baby. So fucking hot.”

“I’m so close–”

“Not yet.”

Greta groans, head collapsing back onto the pillow with the effort of holding out her climax. 

“You can come when I come. Understand?”

Carson’s close already, feels the muscles in Greta’s thigh flexing as she grinds down harder. It’s an awkward angle, trying to keep her own pleasure going without taking away from Greta, but she manages, leaning forward as she gasps. “I’m so close. Do you feel what you do to me?”

Greta moans in response, bending her knees just enough to meet Carson thrust for thrust. Her hands are clenching in the bedsheets, straining as she tries to angle Carson’s fingers deeper, practically panting as Carson feels the familiar tingle building inside her. “Come for me, baby. Let go.”

Greta honest to God shouts as Carson feels her own orgasm hit, grinding down and trying to keep her thrusts somewhat rhythmic as she moans out her own pleasure. Greta clenches down around her, a hand rubbing frantically at her clit, and the sight alone could send Carson over the edge again as she collapses against Greta’s back, fingers still inside her. She waits for the aftershocks to die down, the tremors in Greta’s legs to subside, withdrawing slowly and licking her fingers clean before crawling up the mattress, collapsing next to Greta.

“Holy shit.”

Greta rolls onto her side, breathless, cheeks flushed, lipstick gone, hair messy, the sight of her the most glorious thing Carson thinks she’s ever seen. “Yeah,” Greta chuckles, brushing Carson’s hair out of her eyes. “Holy shit.”

They lie there for a moment, looking at each other. Soft, gentle, curious stares, Carson’s hand settling on Greta’s hip, rubbing tiny circles there, soothing against Greta’s skin as their breathing slowly returns to normal. Greta leans in, kisses her softly. “Not to be too keen,” Carson says as she draws back, Greta’s fingers twirling a lock of Carson’s hair as she listens. “But, uh. I am keen, so. Are we doing this? Like… really doing this? You’re sure you want to?”

Greta exhales deeply, letting her hand run down Carson’s side until it settles in the soft dip of her waist. “More than anything,” she murmurs. “I know there’s logistical stuff, and the distance, and all of it, but I just– I don’t want to just be your friend.”

“I don’t want to be just your friend either. I didn’t want to say anything, or make you feel pressured, but fuck, Greta,” she pauses, rests their foreheads together, shuffling closer and curling an arm around her. “I meant it. I want this. I want you. ”

Greta beams at her, kisses her again, soft and passionate and warm. “I want you, too.”

Carson kisses her, long and deep, and it feels like coming home. It feels like cheesy Hallmark movies, like warm apple cider on a cold day, like endless box sets and comfy couches and fireworks all at once. She kisses Greta - she kisses her girlfriend - and she feels alive, feels that aliveness clawing out of her, filling her to bursting point. Greta hums into the kiss, threads a hand through Carson’s hair, and Carson can’t help it, breaking their kiss just long enough to whisper that she loves her, that she doesn’t care if Greta doesn’t want to say it back yet. She just needs to say it, to speak it aloud, to let Greta know that she’s in it for the long run. She whispers the words, cautious and confident all at once, meets Greta’s eyes and sees tears welling up there. “I love you,” she whispers, realising that this is the first time she’s said the words and really meant them in the way she wants to mean them.

Greta’s grin could light up the world.

Chapter Text

“Carson?”

She blinks awake with the light streaming through the curtains, smiling before she can even register being awake at the feeling of Greta wrapped around her. Arms tight around her middle, Greta’s nose buried in her hair, soft breaths on the back of her neck. Greta presses a kiss to the top of her spine. “Your phone’s been going crazy.”

She reaches a hand to rub the sleep out of her eyes, reaching blindly for the offending item.

From: Max

Soooooooo? Tell all

From: Shirley

Be safe!!!

From: Jess

Oi

From: Jess 

Where are you

From: Jess 

Are you dead

From: Jess 

Oh wait it was date night 

From: Jess 

;) 

From: Jess 

Flight got cancelled I’ll take us back sunday 

From: Jess 

Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

From: Esti

Hiiiiiiii I hope your date was good!! Is Sunday practice cancelled?? I’m flying back today with Shirley and Lourdes but it was expensiveeeeee and I don’t think they have any seats left :(

From: Lupe 

Hello, lesbian. We’ve been banging on your door for half an hour so guess you’re at Greta’s. Flight got cancelled, Jess is gonna drive us back on Sunday. Go be gay for a couple more days. We’ll pick you up at 3.

From: Ruth 

I guess no practice on Sunday?? What about Monday let me know pls I need to get a dogsitter 

“I hate being coach,” Carson grumbles, typing out a series of quick responses before throwing her phone back on Greta’s nightstand, turning over. Greta shifts with her, slipping a leg between Carson’s and settling back against her pillow.

“No, you don’t.”

“No,” she concedes, smiling. “I don’t.” She leans in for a chaste kiss, enjoying Greta’s hand splayed across her back. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

“What do the troops want?”

“Flight got cancelled.” Carson yawns, nestles herself back into the warmth of Greta. “Jess and Lupe are driving back Sunday, so I can hitch a ride with them, or pay a fortune to go back today.”

Greta goes quiet for a moment. Carson can practically hear the gears turning, willing herself not to nervously jump in. “And what are you gonna do?”

She shrugs. “I mean, it’s probably responsible to get a new flight. Be there for the team, all that.” She hums, nuzzles herself further into Greta’s chest, smiling as Greta’s hand moves to tangle in her hair. “But–”

“But?”

“If you wanted, we could have a couple of days together before I leave?” Her tone betrays her, any effort at staying casual overpowered by the hope in her voice. “Y’know, uh. Have some time, see the sights.”

Greta presses a kiss to the top of her head. “I’d love that,” she says quietly, breathing deeply as Carson grins against her sternum. “What time do you have to check out? I can drive, we can go get your stuff, set you up here.”

“Eleven, I think. What time is it?”

“Eight-thirty. Where are you staying?”

“The Sheraton. The one near Parliament.”

“Cool.” Greta turns away for a moment, setting an alarm on her phone before she turns back, slipping her arms around Carson again and humming contentedly. “We’ll leave about ten.” Carson draws the duvet up and over the both of them again, closing her eyes and nestling her head back under Greta’s chin. She could stay there forever, make up for what feels like years of lost time. Greta’s only officially been her girlfriend for less than twenty-four hours, and yet it feels like she’s been a part of Carson’s life for as long as she can remember. 

“Greta?”

“Mm?”

She hesitates. There’s so much she wants to say. Everything from your bed’s really comfortable to I don’t know how I’m supposed to go back to my life without you next to me. She looks up at Greta, hair glinting in the morning light, and reaches a hand up to brush a few fallen strands out of her eyes. “Nothing. You’re beautiful.”

Greta smiles at her, soft, so soft Carson thinks she might drift away entirely. Everything about the moment is picture-perfect; the softness of Greta in front of her, the intimacy of their bodies entwined together, the warmth of Greta’s no doubt ludicrously expensive sheets. She can see Greta thinking, muses for a split-second on how much she wants to kiss the thoughts away before she remembers that she can do that now. So she does. 

She kisses her, and she hopes Greta understands what it means.

*

Her hotel room is a bit of a mess, clothes still strewn about from where they’d been discarded in her pre-date panic from the previous night, but it’s easy enough to sort out between the two of them. She’s always been a light traveller, wrestling everything back into her single suitcase as Greta double-checks the bathroom for her. 

“You wanna see Ottawa today?”

She shrugs. “Sure. As long as you’re with me, that is.”

Greta throws a rogue sock her way, smiling. “You’d get lost without me.”

“Try me.” She stuffs the sock in her suitcase. “Actually, don’t. That’s sort of the point.”

Greta closes the bathroom door behind her, ducking back in and leaning against the vanity. “There’s some big hikes nearby, if that's your thing. Or there’s Parliament tours, the Château Laurier near there for a bit of history.”

“I honestly don’t mind.”

“I mean, we could go skiing? Or rock climbing, if you want to be indoors? I know some fun places, really make the most of it, there’s thrifting places that Maybelle loves–”

“Greta,” Carson cuts her off, putting down the last of her t-shirts and crossing the room, taking Greta’s hands with a smile. “We can do those things, if you want. But– well, I mean, it’s you I want to be with. Ottawa’s cool, and we can do all the fun, high-energy things, but as long as I’m with you, I don’t need some big tourist day.” Greta studies her as she speaks, eyes flitting across Carson’s face with an unreadable expression on her own, eyes looking almost watery as Carson continues. “We could spend the whole two days in bed and I’d be just as happy. Promise.”

Greta smiles at her, a half-lip curl Carson never sees her give anyone else, rubbing her thumb over the back of Greta’s hand. “You’re really something, you know that?” Greta murmurs, dropping one of Carson’s hands in favour of stroking her cheek, fiddling with a lock of her hair. She glances at the clock behind Carson’s head. “We gotta be out of here in a few minutes. We’ll get your things back to mine, maybe get some lunch? Then see if we want to go out?”

“Sounds perfect.”

*

They end up ordering in, cuddled up in blankets on Greta’s couch, the first Lord of the Rings film in the background. Carson grins every time Greta points out an inconsistency with the book, a trait she usually wants to throttle people for, finding it endlessly endearing as Greta mutters another it’s meant to be a metaphor as the flaming Eye of Sauron appears on the screen. 

Carson doesn’t know what she expected of Greta’s apartment. It’s not bare, not by any stretch, but it’s much more sleek than Carson’s, carefully curated with a couple of paintings up on the walls around them. It’s not unpleasant, quite the opposite, but she can’t help feeling it lacks a personal touch. The fridge is full of neatly-arranged magnets but empty of photos, everything tidily in its place, a contrast to the lived-in chaos of Carson’s own flat. She wonders, in light of their conversations, whether it’s a conscious design choice, or whether Greta just hasn’t really let herself live there. 

The two of them are sat so close on her couch that Carson isn’t entirely sure where she ends and Greta begins, half-eaten pizza in front of them, hands entwined and Carson’s other arm around Greta’s waist under the blanket. She’s got her television at the perfect height for them to curl up together on the sectional, legs loosely tangled and stretched out in front of them as Carson finds herself pressed deliciously between the back of the couch and Greta, sighing contentedly and shuffling them just enough for Greta to lean her head against Carson’s shoulder. She presses a kiss to Greta’s hair. “I don’t think I can make myself go ice skating on our day off, but do you want to head down to the holiday market in a bit?”

“Sure thing,” Greta says, tilting her head back up. “There’s the big one at Aberdeen Square, or there’s a smaller one at Old-Aylmer I keep meaning to go to.”

“Smaller one sounds nice.” They both do, but Carson isn’t sure she wants to deal with the big centralised tourist crowds. Not when the rest of the day has been so gentle. “Remind me to get my sister something. She’s annoyed enough that I’m not going back to Idaho, it’ll soften the blow.”

“Noted. I need to get Joey and Maybelle something for Christmas too. Maybelle’s kids are with their dad for the holidays, so they’re in some weird temporary-empty-nesting spiral. Some new ornament should sort them out.”

An endearing little quirk that Carson’s learning about is that Greta has an assortment of driving playlists, ranging from power ballads to nineties girl groups and just about everything in between. “I avoid the radio in the winter,” she admits on the way to the market, turning onto the bridge across the Ottawa River. “Joey always calls me a grinch, but I can’t stand Christmas music. Give me the Spice Girls any day.”

“I mean, if you play music at Christmas, that makes it Christmas music. Right?” Carson considers it. “It’s music at Christmas.”

“Try telling Jo that.” 

Carson doesn’t know Jo well enough to comment on her alleged affinity, but she does remember Maybelle back in college, the first to have tinsel and fairy lights all over her dorm room door and the last to take it all down. “Maybelle listened to nothing else after the first of December, even as a teenager. Max was her roommate in freshman year, and woke up one day to Mariah Carey and Maybelle wrapping tinsel around the headboard of her bed. She was so confused.”

Greta grins. “You should see their house this time of year. Looks like a tinsel-based anaphylactic shock.”

“Are you spending Christmas there?”

A pause.

“I don’t think so. They don’t get many holidays without most of Maybelle’s extended family around.”

“Oh, are you going to your parents?”

“No,” Greta says, a little quickly. “No, just me.” She throws Carson a wink, but her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Means I can do whatever I want.”

Carson isn’t buying it, not for a second, but Greta evidently doesn’t want to elaborate further. “Yeah. I get that.” Silence hangs for a moment as she scrambles to find a new conversation topic, spotting a French road sign out the window. “We’re in Québec now, right? Not Ontario?”

There’s the tiniest hint of relief in Greta’s expression, and even if it is the most boring topic imaginable, Carson can feel her relax a little. “Yeah. How’s your French?”

“Really bad. Très, uh–”

“Très mauvais.”

“I guess yours is better, then?”

“Oui, mon amour. J’ai vécu ici depuis quatre ans,” and oh. Carson hates to be a stereotype, but Greta speaking French is really working for her. Greta flashes her a grin, evidently more than aware of exactly what Carson’s thinking. “Didn’t want to move to a bilingual city as a monolingual American, y’know.”

Carson settles in her seat, looking out of the window and seeing another French sign, presumably pointing them in the direction of the market. “You’ll have to translate for me, then,” she says, teasing, feeling Greta’s hand sneak across the console to squeeze hers. “Can’t have you embarrassed by your monolingual American.”

Greta’s face is a picture of mock-seriousness. “They’d hound me from the village. Burning pitchforks and torches. Fourches et torches brûlantes.”

She grins, lifting Greta’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “Stop trying to turn me on before the wholesome family Christmas market.”

“Burning pitchforks really get you going, huh?”

“Oui.”

Greta laughs, rich and beautiful as they turn into the parking lot. Carson usually bans all holiday-themed activities before the first of December, but she’ll make an exception for Greta - she’ll make every exception for Greta. Fairy lights are strung through the trees, illuminating a little walkway through to the park itself, and Carson grins as Greta’s hand finds hers, entwining their fingers together. “Any requests, before we have to start the shopping list?”

She thinks for a minute as they wander down the path. “Mind if we get the shopping out of the way first? I wanna just enjoy being with you. Preferably without having to think about my sister the whole time.”

“Sure thing, chickadee. Lead the way.”

It’s a gorgeous little market, all log cabins and fairy lights criss-crossing above them. Stalls lined with candles, handmade clothes and knitwear, wooden ornaments and stocking-fillers and food stands as far as Carson can see. She tells Greta about a winter trip to Cologne one year, how she’d never been a fan of Christmas but something about the spirit of the Weihnachtsmarkt by the cathedral had genuinely changed her perspective. She finds out in exchange that Greta’s family are originally from Leipzig, that they moved to America in the late nineteenth century, that she goes by Greta instead of Margaret because it’s what her grandmother always called her in her mixed German-American accent. She finds a book for herself and a set of scented candles for Greta before she’s even thought about Meg, eventually settling for some hand cream and a grey scarf, trying to work out if it’s personal enough to avoid any passive-aggressive comments the next time they see each other. “It’s perfect,” Greta reassures her, pressing a kiss to Carson’s head through her beanie. 

“I hope so. Can always use having to post it as an excuse, but then again, she’s already frustrated that I’m not going back for Christmas.”

Greta smiles at her sympathetically, moving their linked hands into her pocket to keep them warm. “Why aren’t you?”

Carson sighs, looking down. “It’s always just been a bit…much, y’know? Like, her perfect husband and her perfect family are there, and everything’s charted up and regimented around the clock. None of them care about hockey, so I never know what to talk about, but then I always get a comment on being too quiet.” She pauses, looking up at Greta. “I think she wants it to be like it was when we were kids, but it hasn’t been like that since I was nine.”

“She’s the younger one, right?”

“Yeah. Dad’s favourite. Mom’s too, honestly, but it didn’t really feel that way.” Greta steers them toward a couple of carved out wooden seats, a little out of sight from the main thoroughfare.

“What was she like?”

Carson smiles ruefully at her, feels Greta squeezing her hand. “Honestly?”

“Honestly.”

“I barely remember her.” She averts her gaze from Greta, the eye contact suddenly a little too intense in the moment. “I know she was short, and she had dimples– she’s where I get mine from. People tell me she was smart. She used to talk about constellations, and I know she took me to the cinema quite a lot. We saw Star Wars on my tenth birthday, a couple of weeks before she left. I still don’t know if she liked fantasy, or if she knew I liked Princess Leia.”

Greta waits for her to finish, patient, eyes never leaving Carson’s face. “It sounds like you remember more than you think you do,” she says softly, waiting for Carson to make eye contact again before smiling. “She’d be so proud of you.”

“I hope so. Meg’s never forgiven her for it. I don’t really think I have either. But I think I get it, in a way she doesn’t.”

“What way?”

Carson finds herself searching for the words, pausing for a moment. “Like– I left too. I went to college and I knew in the first week I wasn’t going back. I still had Charlie, but then when I ended that, I came over here, and that really was that. I never even thought about going home. But Meg was always– she was always so good at it, y’know? She found a husband, one she stayed with. She had a couple of kids, and a nice job in local government, and she goes to church on Sundays, and her husband helps Dad around the house, and it’s not that any of that is bad. It’s just not for me, and she never really understood that. Or made any effort to try to. So I could at least understand why Mom had to get out of there. Meg just…doesn’t.”

It’s a lot more than she’d planned to divulge, half-expecting to look up and see Greta absently waiting for her to finish, but she finds instead Greta looking at her earnestly. “I think you’re wonderful,” Greta murmurs, shuffling on the bench to face her properly, tucking one of her legs up and reaching for Carson’s hands, taking them from where she’s been fidgeting. “You don’t have to forgive her if you don’t want to. Or Meg. Or your dad. But you’re wonderful, and if they’re not proud of you every waking moment then they don’t deserve you.”

Carson feels her lip wobbling, pulling Greta into a hug. “I think you’re pretty great too,” she mumbles, feeling Greta smile against her cheek. They sit there for a moment, holding each other, before Greta presses a kiss to her head, beaming back at her.

“You wanna get one of those mega hot chocolates?” Carson matches Greta’s grin, nodding, letting Greta pull her to her feet with a flourish and kissing her lightly. “C’mon then.”

Greta’s hand finds hers again, letting go only to go to collect their orders, two towering cups of cream and marshmallows waiting on the side for them as Carson grabs her phone, swiping away a few messages from Lourdes and finding her conversation with Shirley.

To: Shirley

Hey Shirls, quick q

From: Shirley?

What’s wrong??

To: Shirley

Nothing! Nothing at all. Just wondered if you’d mind if I brought Greta to the Hanukkah party? She’s alone for the holidays and I thought about inviting her to Chicago for the break

From: Shirley

OMG YES 

From: Shirley

Please do!! She’ll be so welcome!! What’s her favourite food? Does she want to get in on the gift exchange? Does she have any allergies or intolerances? Is she vegan?

To: Shirley

Uhh

To: Shirley

She’s allergic to tree nuts but I think that’s it?? I’ll ask. Favourite food is chocolate éclairs, and I think probably not on the gift exchange seeing as we’ve already drawn names but I’ll bring her something so she doesn’t feel left out. Not vegan either

From: Shirley

Okay okay okay I’ll text you with any more questions (there will be lots)

To: Shirley

I haven’t even asked her yet!! She might not want to

From: Shirley

???

From: Shirley

She’s obviously going to

From: Shirley

You’re obsessed with each other

From: Shirley

But in a good way!!!

She smiles, putting her phone back in her pocket as Greta skips back over. Her cheeks are flushed, her knitted hat pulled down over her curls, and Carson can’t help but kiss her. “Don’t suppose that’s Jess telling you you’re stranded for a few more days?” Greta asks, teasing.

Carson chuckles to herself, shaking her head, instead flagging down a passing couple and asking them to take a couple of pictures, an idea that Greta is delighted by. They take a few; one smiling, one goofy, one with Greta pressing a kiss to Carson’s cheek and one of Greta’s chin on the top of Carson’s head, Carson looking up and Greta looking down with a grin. Carson sends them to Greta immediately, setting the fourth picture as her lock screen and pocketing her phone again. The hot chocolate is divine, the two of them finding another bench near to where a band is playing a variety of Christmas songs, and Carson smiles so hard her cheeks hurt as Greta settles on her shoulder, humming along and pressing the occasional kiss to the crook of her neck.

*

Saturday passes leisurely but altogether far too quickly for Carson’s liking. They get brunch, wander around the National Gallery, stop in at a couple of little craft stores. Carson buys Greta a red cashmere scarf - “it’ll keep you warm when I’m not here,” - and Greta shyly presents her with a hardback copy of love letters between Virginia Woolf and Vita Sackville-West. 

It’s perfect. 

They decide to stay in for the evening, choosing to spend their last night cooking together, a bottle of wine open on the side as Greta stirs a simmering pot of chicken noodle soup. Carson knows she’s going to miss a lot of things about Ottawa, but the gentle domesticity between them is easily at the top of the list. She wanders across from where she’d been standing cutting sourdough, putting the knife down and wrapping her arms around Greta’s middle, kissing her shoulder blade. 

“I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow.”

“Me too. If we didn’t have a game next week I’d stay longer.”

She loves her job. She wouldn’t trade it for the world. But times like this she’d do anything to have a boring office job somewhere, something she could take off without thinking twice, cash in her paid time off and spend the rest of the winter with Greta. “I know,” Greta murmurs, turning back to kiss the top of her head. 

Carson stays there for a moment, feeling the warmth of Greta in her arms, committing the sensations to memory as best she can. She can smell Greta’s perfume, a gentle hint of sandalwood and violet, feel the waves of Greta’s day-worn curls against her cheek, Greta’s cotton t-shirt and the top of her jeans in her arms. 

“I think it’s ready,” Greta tells her, “can you pass me the bowls?”

She does, admiring them as she hands them over, a pretty red-stamped pattern on the ceramic. She hops up onto Greta’s kitchen island as Greta starts ladling soup, the smell filling the kitchen deliciously. Carson takes a picture of Greta, hair in soft waves and an apron tied around her waist, wanting to remember the moment. She thinks back to her conversation with Shirley, a foundation laid and ready, just waiting for her to find the right time. “Hey.” Greta hums in response, turning from where she’s stood at the stove. “Got a question for you.”

“Shoot.”

She shifts on the kitchen island, thinking over her phrasing. “So, um. If you do want to spend the holidays by yourself then I get that, I really do.” Greta leans back against the stove, surveying her with a suppressed smile. “But, um. Well. Like I said, I’m not going back to Idaho this year, and I’m going to Shirley’s Hanukkah party on the eighteenth, but I don’t really have any Christmas plans, and–” Greta’s grinning now, beaming at her, and Carson returns the smile before she even realises. “Do you maybe, uh, wanna spend it together? Come down to Chicago for a couple of weeks?”

Greta steps towards her, soup forgotten on the stove, Carson opening her legs for Greta to slot between, hands on Carson’s thighs. “You sure?”

“Couldn’t be more sure.”

Greta kisses her then, a hand under Carson’s chin, fingers along her jawline. “I love you,” Greta murmurs against her lips, and Carson feels her heart skip a beat.

“I love you.”

She chases Greta’s kiss as she pulls away, resting their foreheads together instead. “I think–” Greta stops, eyes fluttering closed again as she takes a breath, a hand settling on Carson’s waist. “I’ve wanted to say that for a while.”

Carson kisses her again. “I’m glad you did,” she whispers, arms winding gently to link around the back of Greta’s neck, settling on her shoulders. 

They sit trading kisses for a while longer, long enough that Greta has to microwave the soup with a giggle, the two of them ending up sitting opposite each other on the kitchen island, a plate of bread in between them as they talk through the logistics of getting Greta to Chicago. Greta doesn’t stop smiling at her for even a moment, beaming through mouthfuls of soup and scrunching her nose every time she laughs. She’s breathtaking. Carson always thinks so, but the joy radiating off of her just emphasises it further, all toothy grins and laughter and reaching for Carson’s hand across the bread. 

Greta doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the evening. They dance around the living room to the radio, watch the second Lord of the Rings film, falling asleep on the couch together in the early hours, Greta settled between Carson’s legs and curled into her chest like a cat. It’s only the buzzing of her phone that nudges them awake with a sleepy mumble from Greta of who even has their phone volume up these days, half-dragging Carson into her bedroom and settling back against her in record time. 

From: Jess

Heard you’re bringing the girlfriend for the holidays

From: Jess

Good for you. Glad things are going well!

From: Jess

Also, Shirley now owes me twenty bucks

From: Jess

See you tomorrow :)

*

Saying goodbye is about as hard as Carson expected it to be, regardless of the knowledge that they’ll be together again in a few short weeks. Greta stays with her as they wait for Jess and Lupe, taking her aside as they hear the car pulling up and kissing her goodbye. “I’ll miss you,” Carson murmurs as they separate, not missing Greta’s shaky exhale, nor the way her eyes well up.

“I’ll miss you.”

Greta’s voice is wavering, and Carson pulls her into a hug, closing her eyes and weaving a hand into Greta’s hair. “Four weeks. That’s all.” She feels Greta nod into her shoulder. “Four weeks and I’ll be picking you up at O’Hare, and we’ll have two whole weeks together.”

“I can’t wait.”

“Me neither.”

They’ve had all morning to say goodbye, but the sound of Lupe honking the horn is still a nasty weight in Carson’s chest. She kisses Greta again, soft and sweet, a hand in her hair and the other on her waist, half-expecting some good-natured teasing from Jess that she’s relieved never comes. They take a final moment, she and Greta, holding each other in the little stone arch of the doorway, before Greta takes a step back, steadying herself. “December sixteenth,” she offers, forcing a smile on her face that Carson returns. I love you.

“December sixteenth.” I love you, too.

Carson picks up her suitcase, leaning in for a final kiss. Lupe honks the horn again - a signal of okay, we get it, but please hurry up - and she finally steps out of the doorway, giving Greta’s hand a final squeeze before she lets go. Jess and Lupe are quiet as she gets in, murmuring something between them about the CD player as Carson waves, surprised to find her eyes watering as Greta blows her a kiss. They wave to each other until they’re out of sight, Carson finally settling properly against the back seat, and Jess catches her eye in the rearview. “Good weekend?”

“Yeah,” Carson grins, looking down and seeing the picture of the two of them at the Christmas market on her lock screen. “The best.”