Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time it happens, Carla doesn’t even know her name.

Or rather, she knows her only as ‘Swain’.

It’s late when she turns up on Carla’s doorstep, demanding to speak to Bobby. And Carla knows her only as an enemy; as the woman who’d arrested her ex-husband, as the sort who always looked down on people like her.

“We just want some more background,” Swain says as she stands in the middle of Carla’s living room with her hands in her pockets, like she owns the place.

Carla brushes past her, eyeing her warily. Her perfume is so strong that Carla can taste it at the back of her throat; rich and dark and musky.

It suits her, Carla thinks.

“I’d appreciate some foreground first,” Bobby quips from his seat on the sofa. “Was it a blood stain?”

To Swain’s left, PC Craig Tinker shifts awkwardly.

“We’re looking into it,” he says, eyes trained on the ground.

And Carla almost feels sorry for him. She’s known Craig since he was a kid, thinks he’s far too pure of heart to be dealing with such darkness on a daily basis.

But Swain? Swain was made for it.

“We can’t discuss an ongoing investigation,” she says coolly as she sinks into an armchair. “Look, the best way you can help us find Lauren is by answering my questions so we can obtain the clearest picture possible.”

“Okay,” Bobby says uncertainly.

And Carla doesn’t quite know why but she’s drawn then to Swain’s hands as they rest neatly in her lap; to the way her pulse jumps beneath pale skin, to her long, elegant fingers and freshly manicured nails.

Carla has a sudden urge to take one in her mouth and see how it tastes. The thought is so startling to her, so unexpected, that it takes her a beat to realise Swain is looking her way.

“Would you mind giving us some privacy?” the blonde asks, eyes steely and jaw set tight.

“Why?” Carla scoffs, doing her best to sound nonchalant. “Are you gonna get the thumbscrews out on him?”

“At this stage, we’d like to keep any information within as tight a circle as possible,” Swain says, voice dripping with contempt. “If your nephew says something of relevance, we wouldn’t want it leaking out into the community.”

Carla almost balks at her audacity, irked by how well Swain wears her superiority.

“I’m hardly gonna do that now, am I?” she snaps.

Beside her, Bobby pipes up.

“I can handle things,” he says with an encouraging nod.

Carla looks from her nephew to Swain, then back again.

“Okay,” she relents. “Listen if they come on strong, just holler. I’ll be in the bedroom.”

With that, Carla straightens and shoots what she hopes is her haughtiest look in Swain’s direction before making herself scarce.

In her bedroom, she silently seethes.

As she hears the steady timbre of the detective’s voice filtering through the crack in her bedroom door, she wonders why her pulse has started to race.

She wonders quite how the other woman has managed to get under her skin.

She wonders why she even cares at all.

— — —

It’s later still when Carla finds herself on the road to intoxication.

She’s propping up the bar at one of her favourite haunts - a smoky old jazz club on the outskirts of Weatherfield - and is already several drinks deep when she hears the weary voice from behind her.

“I’ll have a whiskey please, Sean. Better make it a double.”

Instinctively, Carla laughs.

“Sounds like your day has been almost as bad as mine,” she quips, before turning around and…

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Because there, like a ghastly apparition, is one of the people the brunette is drinking to forget.

“Pleasure to see you too, Mrs Barlow,” Swain smirks, hooking a finger through one of the belt loops on her smart trousers.

Carla’s face hardens.

“Did you follow me here or something?” she huffs.

Swain arches one eyebrow, an unspoken challenge in her eyes.

“Trust me, Carla,” she says, voice low. “I have far better things to do with my time than follow women into bars.”

And Carla doesn’t know why but something about that makes her shudder. She quickly tries to regain her composure.

“So you’re not here about the case?” she asks suspiciously. “About Bobby?”

Swain hesitates and, for a split second, Carla thinks she looks tired, looks almost human.

“No,” she says, aloof once more. “I actually came here for a quiet drink.”

The admission surprises Carla. Swain hadn’t struck her as the type to drink alone.

“Oh,” the brunette says, with a slight tilt of her head. “Well, don’t let me stop you.”

Swain holds Carla’s gaze for a moment and Carla wonders whether there’s something the other woman wants to say.

But then she’s moving away; paying for her drink and walking further along the bar, sliding easily onto a stool.

And Carla knows she should leave it at that. But the bar is so quiet that the air feels thick, and Carla thinks she might simply choke if she doesn’t at least try to fill the void.

She looks over at Swain who, despite her apparent fascination with the bottom of her tumbler, is clearly as attuned to Carla’s presence as the brunette is to hers.

“Do you come here often then?” Carla asks.

“Really?” Swain laughs, lifting her gaze. “That’s what you’re going with? The 1950s called, they want their pick-up line back.”

Carla blushes, immediately hates herself for it.

“Me?” she snaps back. “Picking you up? You should be so lucky.”

A finger of heat blooms on Swain’s neck and Carla feels triumphant.

“So much for a quiet drink,” Swain mutters under her breath.

Carla holds up her hands, mimics zipping her mouth shut.

“My lips are sealed,” she drawls.

Time ticks on.

Carla drums her fingers on the sticky bartop. She thinks if she doesn’t, she won't be able to stop herself from reaching out and…

“Just one more thing.”

Swain rolls her eyes as the words slip, unbidden, from Carla’s lips.

“God,” she huffs, taking a long swig of her drink. “You’re relentless.”

Carla ignores her. “How do you do it?” she asks.

Swain narrows her eyes. “Excuse me?

“This,” Carla says, gesticulating wildly. “You. You charge into people’s lives, tear their world apart and then…what? You just walk in here and have a drink like nothing ever happened.”

And it’s then, as Carla notes the flicker of hurt that wrinkles Swain’s pretty face, that she realises she is perhaps drunker than she first thought.

“I do my job, Mrs Barlow,” Swain sighs after a beat, “as I’m duty-bound to do. I wasn’t aware that means I’m not entitled to a drink at the end of a long day. And, in fact, the whole reason I come here is because I don’t usually run into people I know. Well, until today anyway.”

Carla pins her with a self-satisfied smirk, bemused by the revelation that they share the same secret haven.

“Sorry to spoil the party,” she says, though she’s not sorry at all.

Swain drains her whiskey. “Apology accepted.”

Her arrogance makes Carla’s temper flare. And yet, she wants - needs - more.

“So will you need to question him again?” she presses. “Our Bobby?”

“You know I’m not at liberty to discuss an active investigation with you, Mrs Barlow,” comes Swain’s condescending reply.

But Carla isn’t thinking about that. She’s thinking about…

“Connor.”

Swain frowns. “I’m sorry?”

And Carla is embarrassed. She hadn’t meant to let that slip.

“My name,” she says, sheepish. “I’m Carla Connor now. Or at least I will be. When my divorce comes through.”

Swain blinks.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, and Carla thinks she might actually mean it. “About the divorce. I didn’t know.”

Carla empties her glass of wine, shrugs. “Why would you?”

Her chest aches then, as they sit in strained silence. She wills the tears that are pricking at her eyes to retreat.

“We’re not all bad, you know.”

Swain’s words are so unexpected that Carla actually flinches.

“What?” the brunette asks.

Swain looks down, suddenly shy.

“Coppers,” she says softly. “You seem to think that we’re all monsters. But we’re not. Some of us genuinely just want to make the world a better place.”

Her sincerity takes Carla by surprise. It’s almost too much to bear.

And so she makes light of it.

“Mother Theresa called,” Carla drawls. “She wants her pick-up line back.”

Swain hesitates and, for a moment, Carla wonders if she’s gone too far.

But then the blonde is tipping back her head, her pale throat exposed in the half-light of the bar as she laughs loudly, and it’s like a dam has broken.

And Carla? Carla is captivated.

“You should laugh more often.”

Swain stiffens at that, and Carla has to stop herself from clamping a hand over her mouth, from trying to cram the words back in.

“What?” the blonde asks.

Carla cringes as she digs her fingernails into her palms, decides to tough it out.

“It makes you look…lighter,” she croaks, her voice coming out slightly strangled. “Like less of a hard-faced cow.”

Swain snorts, traces her tongue over the inside of her cheek. “Thanks for the feedback.”

And Carla watches her, watches as she knocks back the last dregs of brown liquid and sets her glass down on the bar with a soft thunk, blue veins dancing in pale hands.

Carla finishes her own drink, blames the alcohol for the way her body feels suddenly alight

“You want another?” she asks, nodding at Swain’s empty glass. And then, sensing the other woman’s hesitation…

“I won’t grass on you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

The blonde chews on her bottom lip and Carla’s head swims.

“Fine,” she says. “I’ll have a Glenfiddich, please. On the rocks.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow, impressed. “Double?”

Swain smirks, slides her empty glass along the bar. “Go big or go home, right?”

Carla is caught then by her eyes, by the way they’re blue and green and grey all at once, and the way a tiny fleck of orange burns in her left iris. She thinks she has never seen anything quite like them.

Carla thinks she has never seen anything quite like her.

The brunette pays for their drinks, is just about to slide Swain’s glass along the bar. But suddenly the blonde is on her feet, moving tentatively, until she’s only inches away.

She slides onto the next stool, close enough now that her knee nudges against Carla’s each time she exhales. Even through her leggings, Carla burns.

Very slowly, Swain lifts her tumbler, gaze steady as she clinks it against Carla’s wine glass.

“Cheers,” the blonde says with a smile.

Carla says nothing, her throat dry and tight. She takes a long swig of Merlot, can see over the rim of her glass that Swain is smiling into her drink.

And she knows then that she has to at least try and reclaim some control.

“So,” she says, clocking the way Swain’s gaze dips as she languidly crosses one leg over the other, “what are you drinking to forget? Work? A fella? You’re divorced, right?”

Swain’s eyes snap back up and she looks like a deer in the headlights. Carla wonders if it’s because she’d been caught staring.

“What?” the blonde asks, bewildered. “What makes you-”

“Your ring,” Carla interjects, matter-of-fact. “That’s a wedding band, right? But it’s not on your left hand so…”

As Carla trails off, Swain seems to cycle through a hundred different emotions. She eventually settles on anger.

“God,” she bites out, sneering. “You’re wasted stitching knickers for a living. You should be a detective.”

Carla opens her mouth and then closes it again, momentarily stunned by the other woman’s harshness. Swain’s cheeks turn pink and suddenly she’s scrambling, apologising.

“I’m sorry,” she says, chastened. “That was uncalled for.”

It was, Carla thinks. But Carla has had a lifetime of people making her feel small, and she’ll be damned if she affords Swain that same power.

“Oh please,” she scoffs, wine slipping easily down her throat, “you’ll have to do better than that if you want to hurt me. Besides, I don’t stitch the knickers; I tell other people to stitch them. There’s a difference.”

Swain notes Carla’s slight smirk, lets a small smile tug at the corners of her own lips.

“Noted,” she nods. “Look, do you mind if we don’t talk about…all that stuff? It’s been a long day and sometimes it’s nice to just…switch off, you know?”

Carla watches as Swain speaks, watches the way she twists the wedding band (?) on her finger, the way her right knee jigs slightly on her stool.

Carla wonders if they’re more similar than she‘d first thought.

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Swain nods and the silence swallows them once more.

But this time it’s different. This time it feels less laboured, as if they’ve settled into a tentative alliance.

“So,” Carla says after a while, propping one elbow on the bar, “you don’t want to talk about work, you don’t want to talk about your love life. What do you want to talk about?”

Swain’s forehead creases and Carla has a fleeting urge to put her mouth on the divot between her eyebrows.

“I dunno,” the blonde shrugs. “Music?”

“Music?” Carla snorts, incredulous. “Seriously?”

Swain smirks. “Why not?” she shrugs. “We’re at a jazz bar after all.”

Carla squints at the blonde, shakes her head.

“Okay,” she sighs. “The first record I bought was ‘Never Gonna Give You Up’ by Rick Astley - cost me every penny out of my ‘Barbie’ piggy bank - and the first concert I went to was Spandau Ballet. That the sort of thing you had in mind?”

Swain’s smirk deepens and Carla thinks her edges are starting to blur, as if the alcohol has scythed through some of her defences.

“I wouldn’t have had you pegged as a Spandau girl,” the blonde teases.

“Oh, I was obsessed,” Carla snorts. “I adored Martin Kemp. I had posters of him plastered all over my bedroom wall.”

Swain laughs, shakes her head.

“What?!” Carla protests. “You must have had plenty of embarrassing teenage crushes. What about Bros? Duran Duran?”

Swain hesitates, her smile faltering, just for a second. “No,” she says after a beat. “I, er, wasn’t much for boybands.”

As the blonde downs her drink, Carla is sure the blush in her cheeks has deepened.

She can’t quite work out why.

“What about jazz?” Swain asks, clearly keen to change the subject. “You like it?”

Carla shrugs. “I guess. My mam, she wasn’t around much when I was a kid. But she loved Ella Fitzgerald. Sometimes, when she was in a good mood, she’d let us - me and my brother - play ‘Dream A Little Dream Of Me’ on her record player, would let us dance around the living room until all hours. I suppose this place…it takes me back a bit.”

Carla looks up, feels suddenly vulnerable under the weight of Swain’s stare.

“What about you?” she asks the blonde. “You a big jazz fan?”

Swain grimaces, then leans in quietly, as if she’s about to confess a secret. Carla tastes her perfume again, right at the back of her throat, and it makes her feel dizzy.

“Honestly?” Swain says. “I can’t stand it. My partner loved it though. Our wedding song was ‘At Last’, the Etta James version.”

For a beat, there’s a faraway look in Swain’s eyes and Carla has so much she yearns to ask, finds her interest piqued by the blonde’s use of the past tense.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, the look is gone and Swain blinks, as if surprised she’d given that small but significant part of herself away.

“Anyway,” the blonde says, shifting in her seat. “I mainly come here for the alcohol. It’s good booze here.”

As if to prove her point, Swain signals to the barman for a top up, doesn’t even ask before ordering Carla another glass.

They drink then in companionable silence, and Carla watches as an ice cube clunks softly against Swain’s front teeth.

“I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” Carla shudders, nodding at Swain’s glass. “I haven’t had whiskey since I was 17 and got off my face on Jack Daniel’s at a mate’s party.”

Swain smiles. “This is the good stuff. Want a sip?”

With delicate hands, the blonde holds out her tumbler. And Carla wants to say no but it feels almost like a dare.

So she sips.

But she swallows, it turns out, too much too quickly and the next thing she knows she’s wincing, spluttering; brown liquid spraying everywhere.

Swain instinctively leans forward, capturing the tiny droplets in her palm.

“Easy, cowboy,” she laughs. “You need to sip it slow, savour it.”

Carla scrunches up her nose as she goes to pass back the glass. But Swain instead grabs gently at her wrist and guides it back to Carla’s lips, encouraging.

Carla’s heart pounds.

But she drinks again, this time keeping her eyes trained on Swain’s as she sips slowly, allowing the sticky warmth to spread through her every sinew.

Swain smiles, pleased. Carla hands back the glass, pleased to have pleased her.

“It’s an acquired taste,” the brunette admits. “But maybe I could get used to it.”

Swain inhales sharply at that, and Carla wonders if maybe they’re speaking in code.

The blonde clears her throat, looks away. And suddenly she’s reaching behind herself, unclipping her hair, so that the two strands that were previously tied back fall loose.

Swain massages at her scalp, closes her eyes and practically purrs as white silk spills across her shoulders.

And Carla is mesmerised.

“God,” Swain groans, “that feels good.”

“It’s weird,” Carla muses, before she can stop herself. “Seeing you with your hair down, I mean.”

Swain snorts. “Charming!”

“No,” Carla says quickly. “It’s good weird. I get the feeling you don’t let your hair down too often.”

Swain stares at her then, as if Carla has looked right into her soul.

“I used to,” she admits shyly after a beat. “These days, not so much.”

Carla tilts her head. “Doesn’t that get exhausting?” she asks. “Don’t you sometimes feel like you just need to..let go a bit? Find some sort of release?”

Swain lifts her chin, light bouncing off the angular sweep of her jaw.

“Don’t you?” she asks.

It’s a simple question but Carla feels trapped, unsure. And so instead of speaking, she reaches out, puts the pad of her thumb just to the left of Lisa’s mouth, wipes at the faint pink smudge there.

“You have some gloss,” Carla says, voice hoarse. “Right here.”

At first, Swain doesn’t flinch. She just stares as Carla brushes her thumb slowly, back and forth, over her soft, soft skin.

But then Carla doesn’t move - doesn’t seem to want to move - and then Swain is pulling back, climbing off her stool so abruptly that she stumbles forward, bracing her hands on Carla’s thighs to keep from falling.

And Carla simply throbs.

“I should probably get going,” Swain mumbles, already moving to grab her coat.

But Carla is too quick for her, wraps slender fingers around her firm bicep. Because, suddenly, she needs to know.

“Why did you let me buy you a drink?” the brunette asks, eyes searching the other woman’s face.

Swain’s mind visibly whirrs. Eventually she settles on an indignant…

“You offered?”

Carla arches an eyebrow. “Oh?” she asks, disbelieving. “So you say yes to every girl who offers to buy you a drink?”

It’s a loaded question and Swain knows it. The blonde wrestles her arm away.

“Goodnight, Carla,” she says coolly. “Get home safe, yeah?”

Carla says nothing, watches instead as Swain stalks off in the direction of the bathroom. The brunette drains her drink and knows then that she has no intention of going home.

Not yet.

— — —

Carla waits in the quiet bathroom like a hunter waiting for prey.

She hears the chain flush and takes one final look at herself in the smeared mirror. The light in here is harsh, unforgiving, but Carla thinks she’s not too bad - at least not for a woman rapidly approaching fifty.

The door to the cubicle swings open and Swain appears. It makes Carla smile, the fact she’s not even surprised.

The blonde rolls her eyes, keeps quiet as she bustles over to the sink, takes her time washing her hands. Carla watches the way the soap lathers over the bony jut of her knuckles, the way the water slips through her slim fingers.

“Don’t you have a home to go to?” Swain eventually asks, without turning around.

Carla puts her hands on her hips. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Swain puffs out a gentle laugh, shakes her head as she turns to face the brunette.

“It’s late, Carla,” she says, voice clipped. “I should go.”

But Carla steps across her as she makes for the door, dares to reach out and touch the blonde, feather-light, on her hip.

“Why did you let me buy you a drink?” Carla repeats. “You’re not going until you tell me.”

“Oh really?” Swain snorts, incredulous. “You know I could have you arrested? For obstructing a police officer?”

“I know,” Carla shrugs. “But you won’t.”

Swain narrows her eyes. “What makes you so sure?”

Carla steps closer, so that she feels the blonde’s hot breath on her face.

“Because you’re not in charge here, detective,” she taunts. “Maybe everywhere else, but not here. Not with me.”

Swain runs her tongue over her teeth. “You’re drunk,” she scoffs.

Carla smirks. “So are you.”

Swain makes for the door again but her attempt is half-hearted; they both know that. Carla tightens her grip on the blonde’s hip.

“Let me past, Carla,” Swain warns. “Before I do something I regret.”

And Carla knows then exactly what’s coming as her smirk deepens, eyes turning black.

“Make me.”

There’s a beat of pregnant silence and then, suddenly, Carla can barely breathe - doesn’t have the time - because she’s being walked, shoved, backwards into the empty cubicle.

She tries to think of something clever to say but her words are quickly swallowed by Swain’s mouth; hot and hungry and insistent against her own. It is, Carla thinks, the deepest, dirtiest first kiss she can remember.

It is the best first kiss she could ever imagine.

“You’re a real cocky bitch, do you know that?” Swain growls against Carla’s cheek as she presses her roughly into the cubicle wall.

It’s almost painful, the feeling of the cold laminate digging into her back, but Carla revels in it.

“Oh yeah,” the brunette grins cockily, fisting one hand in the other woman’s hair. “And you love it.”

Swain doesn’t even try to deny it, simply smirks before crashing their lips back together, pushing her tongue into Carla’s mouth and licking diligently at every dark corner. Carla moans, close to delirium as Swain sucks lewdly on her tongue, sinks her sharp teeth into Carla’s bottom lip.

Carla is fairly sure she’s drawn blood but she can’t bring herself to care, not when Swain starts nuzzling at her ear, tracing her tongue expertly over the sensitive shell before sucking eagerly at the lobe.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, Carla,” the blonde whispers thickly in Carla’s ear. “I’ve always thought it. Even that first time you came into the station about Stephen, I wanted to…”

But Swain can’t seem to find the words, instead starts nipping down the slope of Carla’s neck, biting down just above her clavicle, hard enough to leave a mark.

Carla whines at that, throws her head back against the wall as Swain palms clumsily at her breast, tugging at a swollen nipple through her shirt.

The brunette wonders how it is that nobody has ever made her feel like this.

“You’re wrong, you know?” Swain pants, jolting Carla from her thoughts.

Carla furrows her brow in question. “What?” she asks, half-dazed.

And Swain leans closer, so that Carla can see the thin string of saliva glistening on her chin.

“The thing is, Carla,” she rasps, “you might be used to being the boss, but I’m always, always in charge.”

Even if Carla wanted to argue, she couldn’t. She can’t do anything but cry out as, without warning, Swain slips her fingers beneath the waistband of her leggings, past the sodden lace of her underwear, and traces lightly through the wetness gathered there.

Both women moan at the sensation.

“Oh darling,” Swain coos. “You’re absolutely soaking.”

And Carla knows she should feel embarrassed but she doesn’t, not with the way Swain is looking at her, as if she’s heaven-sent.

“You did this,” Carla chokes out through gritted teeth. “Now please, just fuck me.”

Her words appear to have the desired effect because, without further hesitation, Swain is pushing up inside her, filling her so wholly that Carla almost comes apart.

“Fuck, Swain,” the brunette groans. “You feel..”

“Good?” Swain queries, voice saccharine as Carla trails off.

Carla just nods frantically, hips bucking against the blonde’s hand as she tries to find some kind of friction.

But Swain keeps her pace maddeningly slow, pumps languidly in and out until Carla is gasping in frustration.

“Please, Swain,” she splutters. “Harder. Please.”

At that very moment, the door to the bathroom swings open and both women freeze, Carla’s eyes widening comically. Swain panics too, but only for a second.

In a flash, her face changes and she’s leaning forward, breath burning Carla’s ear as someone starts humming tunelessly in the cubicle beside them.

“You asked for it,” the blonde whispers. “I hope you’re good at keeping quiet.”

It happens too quickly then for Carla to stop her, to stop Swain from driving roughly inside of her, pounding with such a ferocious tempo that Carla’s back bumps intermittently against the wall.

Swain smirks as she brushes her thumb, ever so gently, over Carla’s pulsing clit, reaches with her other hand to cover the brunette’s mouth as a breathy little whine escapes her lips.

Carla feels overstimulated and yet she craves more, eyes almost rolling back in her head as Swain’s talented fingers curl and contort inside her. As the person exits the cubicle beside them, starts washing their hands, the blonde presses harder on Carla’s clit, so hard that the brunette has to bite down on her palm to stop from crying out.

Swain hisses but doesn’t move her hand, just increases her speed until finally - finally - the bathroom door swings on its hinges and they’re alone again.

“Good girl, Carla,” Lisa whispers, removing her hand and smiling as the other woman gasps at dry air. “You were so good. I think you deserve to come now, don’t you?”

Carla nods desperately. “Yes,” she pants.

Swain clucks her tongue, tilts her head. “Yes, what?” she demands, eyes dark and daring.

And though Carla feels pathetic, she knows there is only one way she can hope to douse the flames that are now threatening to consume her entire body.

“Yes,” she pants. “Yes, please…detective.”

Swain groans, satisfied, and Carla sees stars, can think of nothing but the blonde as her orgasm takes over her; every nerve ending suddenly on fire as Swain expertly hits her perfect spot.

“Beautiful,” Swain whispers as Carla sways dangerously before her. “So, so beautiful.”

Eventually, Carla slumps against her, fairly sure she’s carved crescents into the blonde’s shoulders with her fingernails.

“Fuck,” she gasps. “Swain, that was…”

But Carla once again loses all powers of speech as Swain withdraws slowly from inside her, gaze steady as she licks Carla’s arousal from her coated fingers. The brunette thinks it is the most erotic thing she has ever seen, and it only strengthens her desire to return the favour.

However, as Carla reaches for the blonde, Swain steps back, slipping - like sand - through her fingers.

“I have to go,” she says, voice even again now, as if nothing ever happened. “It’s already late.”

Carla shakes her head, bewildered. “But-”

“Take care, Carla,” Swain says with a dizzying smile. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

And Carla reels.

As she watches the blonde go, she struggles to make sense of what’s just happened. She’s so stunned, in fact, that when Swain turns back around, Carla almost thinks - hopes - she’s changed her mind.

Still, the blonde smiles.

“Oh,” she says. “And Carla?”

Carla nods.

“It’s Lisa. My name is Lisa.”

And then she’s gone, and Carla knows that nothing will be the same again.

Chapter Text

The second time it happens, Carla should probably know better.

After their night together at the bar, Carla had expected something to shift.

She wasn’t quite sure what, but she’d been expecting something; some sort of quiet acknowledgement that what had passed between her and Lisa hadn’t been a work of fiction, some drunken fever dream designed to haunt her every waking moment.

But hours had turned to days, days had turned to weeks, and still nothing changed.

Still, Lisa remained steadfast in her commitment to entirely ignoring reality.

Worst of all was the fact she and Lisa had actually crossed paths several times in the days and weeks that followed their tryst. In fact, Carla had seen more of Lisa than perhaps ever before, on account of the fact she’d arrested Roy on suspicion of attempted bloody murder.

To be fair to the blonde, on that night at the café when she’d come to take Roy away, there hadn’t been much time for a cosy reunion. But Carla had at least expected something, some half-beat of recognition, and it had hurt when Lisa had looked right through her, when she’d bundled Roy into the back of a police car like it was nothing.

Like they were nothing.

It’s why Carla was angry a few days later, when she’d driven Roy down to the station after a group of far-right thugs had tried to unsettle him at the café. Seeing her longtime father figure so shaken had upset Carla greatly, and so to be met with nothing but thinly-veiled derision from Lisa upon their arrival at the precinct had hurt.

“Despite what he says,” Carla had bristled, “I don’t think he’s in a fit state to be cross-examined.”

“That’s not really your call though, is it?” Lisa had bitten back. “I’d like to remind you that this is a murder investigation, and I’ll be the one to decide on who is being interviewed and when.”

And Carla had hated her then; had hated herself more for wanting her, even still.

There had been other moments too, as time had marched on.

There had been the afternoon when those same thugs had launched a brick through the café window. Lisa had turned up, all stuffy in her collared shirt and jumper, and pressed a crumpled note - a crime reference number - into Carla’s sticky palm.

For a second, their fingers had brushed, and Carla had ached, had longed to sink to her knees and bite down on the pulse point at Lisa’s wrist. But then the blonde had drifted away, like smoke, out of her reach; back into DS Swain mode.

She might as well have travelled to another planet.

Then there was that day at Roy’s flat, when Lisa and some bloke - another bobby - had turned up to ask Roy yet more questions.

Carla had been exasperated at first but, as Evelyn had sniped and snarled in Lisa’s direction, the brunette had felt something stir inside of her; a strange pang of sympathy for a woman she knew was totally undeserving of her compassion.

“Evelyn, they're just trying to do their job,” Carla had sighed.

But she needn’t have bothered, it turned out. Forget a show of gratitude, Lisa had barely given Carla a second glance.

And that was fine.

Carla had made her peace with that.

Or at least, she thought she had.

But then Lisa turns up at the hospital - dressed all in black, like some spectre of death - and Carla thinks she has never been more beautiful.

“Mrs Barlow,” she says coolly, as though they’re perfect strangers. “I thought I might find you here.”

At that, all of Carla’s anger comes bubbling right back up to the surface.

She’s irked by Lisa’s self-satisfied little smile, by the snark in her voice. More than anything though, Carla is crushed that she doesn’t remember.

‘I’m Carla Connor now.’

Carla can still visualise the way Lisa’s pale throat had bobbed as she’d emptied her glass of whiskey, can still - if she thinks about it hard enough - smell the sandalwood in the blonde’s perfume.

And yet Lisa seemingly can’t remember that one major detail.

‘Or at least I will be. When my divorce comes through.’

It makes Carla feel pathetic. And so she snaps.

“Where else would I be?”

Lisa’s expression doesn’t alter.

“I need a word,” she says evenly.

Carla huffs. “What about?”

Lisa purses her lips, just slightly, and Carla longs to taste her again.

“There are just some things that are troubling me, that's all.”

There’s an edge to her voice that cuts through Carla’s haze.

“Oh great,” the brunette snorts. “Do I need a solicitor?”

Lisa tilts her head, almost sounds like she’s teasing when she says…

“That depends on what you’re gonna say.”

The rest of the conversation passes in a blur. Carla knows Lisa is onto her, knows the blonde senses that she’s played a part in this whole mess.

And so she tries to detract, to distract.

She buys a lukewarm coffee from the vending machine, studiously avoids eye contact as Lisa probes and presses about Roy, asks what he’d been so eager to talk to the police about before he’d wound up in hospital.

As they sit side by side on the hard plastic chairs in the hospital waiting room, Carla wills time to move more quickly, feels like thanking the heavens when the burly security guard arrives to whisk Lisa away for her audience with Roy.

Carla watches her go, hypnotised by the steady thwack of her heeled boots on the linoleum, and the way her ponytail swings; left to right and then left again.

She has an irrational urge to grab at it, to snatch at a fistful of white silk and yank hard enough to make the blonde cry out.

At least if Roy tells the truth, Carla thinks, then Lisa might arrest her. And if Lisa were to arrest her, then they would have to talk.

Lisa would have to fasten cool metal around her wrists and press her into a squad car, read her the Miranda rights. The idea isn’t entirely unappealing...

And yet, the longer it takes, the more Carla’s stomach churns. She wouldn’t last two minutes in prison, thinks Roy wouldn’t either.

And so she paces, each second labouring as she walks back and forth, back and forth, until finally the door swings open.

“So?” Carla asks as Lisa strides out, purposeful.

But the blonde shows no signs of stopping, her coat billowing behind her as she motors toward the exit.

“Hey,” Carla shouts, careful to adjust her tone when Lisa stops and turns, unimpressed. “I mean, what did he say?”

Lisa runs her tongue over her teeth. “Nothing,” she says, irritation coating her every syllable. “Reckons he wanted an update on the case.”

Carla releases a breath she hadn’t even realised she was holding in.

“Right. Is that it?”

Lisa tilts her head, sarcastic. “Yeah, why?” she asks. “Were you expecting something else?”

Carla huffs out a relieved laugh. “No,” she says quickly. “I just thought maybe he was suing you for wrongful arrest.”

Lisa raises her eyebrows and Carla can once again picture it, can picture her.

‘The thing is, Carla; you might be used to being the boss, but I’m always, always in charge.’

Unwittingly, Carla presses her thighs together.

“Funny,” Swain snarks, turning on her heel once more.

But Carla is desperate, both to see Roy and to continue their little dance. And so…

“Hey,” she says again, gentler this time. “Can I …please can I go in and see him now?”

Lisa lifts her chin, challenging. “Are you on the list?”

“She’s not,” the security guard pipes up.

Carla shoots him a black look, considers kicking him squarely in the groin.

But then her focus is quickly back on Lisa as she shrugs, says matter-of-factly…

Then you can’t go in.”

Carla sighs. “It’s a mistake.”

“Well, it’s nothing to do with me,” Lisa quips, the picture of doe-eyed innocence. “Ring the prison, they did the list.”

All Carla can do then is look at her, imploring, and ask…

“Can’t you do summat?”

And for a moment, Carla thinks she might. For a moment, Carla thinks she spies a glimpse of Lisa stir beneath Swain’s bad-cop facade.

But, in a flash, she’s gone.

“Sorry,” the blonde smirks, though Carla thinks she couldn’t sound less sincere if she tried. “I’ve got more innocent people to arrest.”

And Carla watches her go, closes her eyes and inhales deeply to keep from falling apart. She looks back at the security guard and knows the sensible thing to do would be to wait, just on the off-chance that Roy agrees to see her.

But Carla has never been sensible.

And, after the day she’s had, she’s done waiting.

— — —

Carla’s heart is in her throat as she storms across the car park, striding with purpose, the brisk Spring wind whipping at her hair.

It’s a good thing Lisa only has little legs, she thinks, or else she’d have had no chance of catching her. She’s already out of breath by the time she gets within touching distance of the blonde.

“Hey,” Carla calls, voice carrying on the breeze. And then louder…

“Hey!”

Lisa spins on her heel.

(Carla is pretty sure she’d heard her the first time.)

“Can I help you?“

Carla snorts. “I don’t know. Can you?”

Lisa presses her lips into a thin line. “I haven’t got time to go round in circles with you, Carla,” she sighs. “I think you’d be better placed trying to make things right with Roy.”

Lisa turns to go again and Carla can’t stop herself from reaching out, lunging for her arm.

“Where do you get off?” the brunette hisses, gripping tightly at the other woman’s elbow.

Lisa looks down at Carla’s fingers, as if they’re scalding her skin. “I’m sorry?”

Carla scoffs, drops Lisa’s arm and watches it fall limply at her side.

“Oh, so you can say that then: ‘I’m sorry?’” Carla asks, scornful. “I was starting to think those words were missing from your vocabulary.”

Lisa looks tired then, and Carla almost feels sorry for her.

“Look,” the blonde sighs, “if you have something to say, then just say it, Carla. I have things to do.”

Almost.

“Oh, okay then,” Carla snaps, planting her hands on her hips. “Well, forgive me for trying to be discreet. I’ll just come right out with it instead. I’ll just ask why you seem to think it’s okay to fuck me in a club bathroom and then pretend I don’t exist?”

The next thing Carla knows, she’s being pulled - dragged - roughly by the arm, away from the growing crowd of eavesdropping onlookers.

“Are you fucking insane?” Lisa hisses, blunt nails scraping across Carla’s forearm. “Keep your voice down. Are you not capable of staying quiet?”

Beneath Lisa’s touch, the downy hairs on Carla’s forearm stand to attention.

”I think we both know that staying quiet isn’t my strongest suit,” the brunette says thickly.

And Carla sees it then; sees the way Lisa’s eyes flicker almost imperceptibly downwards to Carla’s soft mouth, as if summoning the memory of stifled screams and fervent desperation.

But it doesn’t last.

“Are you trying to get me sacked?” Lisa growls, furious. “Do you want me to lose my job, is that it?”

Carla blinks. “No, I-”

“Are you trying to blackmail me then?” Lisa cuts her off, really riled now. “Because really, Carla, if Roy doesn’t want to see you then there’s not a lot I can-”

“God, you’re so fucking full of yourself, aren’t you?” Carla snaps, cheeks flaming. “Do you really think I care about you enough to want to try and bring you down? To try and destroy your career?”

There’s a beat of silence then, cloudy realisation sweeping over Lisa’s pretty face.

“So…what?” the blonde asks uncertainly. “You really are just pissed off about…about what happened…with us?”

Carla snorts. “Well, I’m glad to hear you remember it at least.”

“Of course I remember,” Lisa says quietly.

Carla can’t think for too long about what that might mean.

“You know,” the brunette laughs, “I don’t know about you but I don’t make a habit of fucking strangers in club bathrooms. I mean, I gave a bloke a handjob in a ginnel off Canal Street for a fiver back in the early nineties but apart from that…”

Lisa looks down, scuffs the toe of her boot on the tarmac. “I’m the same,” she says, eyes widening as she realises how her admission could be construed.

“Not about the…the handjob, obviously,” she adds quickly. “I mean, I don’t make a habit of…what we did.”

“You still can’t say it, can you?” Carla scoffs, irately raking a hand through her hair. “We had sex, Lisa. You had sex with me.”

Lisa swallows, suddenly looks very small.

And Carla wonders again about who the blonde is away from all of this; about what it would be like to hold her, to curl up beside her at the end of a long day, to battle for custody of the TV remote and bicker over whose turn it is to put the bins out.

In her chest, Carla aches.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Lisa says softly. “I didn’t mean to make you feel…whatever you’re feeling. I wasn’t trying to be cruel. I just figured it would be easier for both of us to…”

“Pretend nothing had happened?” Carla offers.

Lisa looks down again, sheepish. “Well, yeah.”

“I mean, I suppose I do see your logic,” Carla admits reluctantly. “But, well, it hurt, Lisa. You bruised my ego. I felt like I was going mad, obsessing over something you clearly haven’t given a moment’s thought to.”

There’s a pregnant pause as Lisa chews on her bottom lip, as if weighing up whether to be guided by her head or her heart.

“I have,” she whispers. “Thought about it, I mean. A lot.”

Heart it is, then.

“Oh?” Carla smirks, quirking an eyebrow. “A lot, huh?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Alright, alright. No need to sound so smug.”

“Oh,” Carla chuckles, taking a step closer. “I think there’s every need.”

Despite herself, Lisa lets out a breathy laugh.

Carla thinks she would do just about anything to hear that laugh more often.

“Is that why you followed me out here?” the blonde asks, lifting her chin, just slightly. “To gloat?”

Carla smiles. “No.”

Lisa narrows her eyes. “To shout at me, then?”

“No.”

Lisa nods, hesitates. And then…

“Do you have somewhere you need to be?”

Carla sighs. “Well, seeing as Roy won’t speak to me, no. I’m free as a bird.”

Lisa nods slowly and then turns, fishes her car keys from her pocket and unlocks the sleek black Audi parked in the next bay. For one awful moment, Carla thinks she’s just going to drive off, leave her stranded here in the car park.

But then the blonde looks at her and smirks, rests one hand casually on the roof of her car.

“Well,” she asks, devilment in her eyes “Are you coming?”

Carla’s pulse quickens.

“What about my car?” she asks, though they both know she doesn’t really care about that.

Lisa shrugs. “I’ll drop you back afterwards.”

“Wow,” Carla laughs. “I’ll be sure to give you a five-star Uber rating.”

“Shut up and get in,” Lisa huffs, already climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Or what?”

Lisa smirks, smug. “Or the offer expires.”

And Carla almost wants to walk away then, to turn and run, just to spite her. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she gets in the car.

— — —

They drive for a while in silence.

Carla picks at some fluff on her leggings, pinches at the skin of her thigh to keep herself from talking.

It doesn’t work for long.

“Nice car,” she says, her throat suddenly dry.

Lisa’s eyes stay fixed on the road. “Thanks. Got it through work.”

Carla snorts. “I’m glad to see that my taxes are being put to good use.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Lisa deadpans. “I’m sure your ‘Thank You’ card from Greater Manchester Police is in the post.”

“I won’t hold my breath,” Carla scoffs.

Lisa looks at her then. “I don’t know why you’re so bothered. You have a Merc, don’t you?”

Carla smirks, feels warmth bloom in her chest.

“Have you been stalking me, blondie?” she quips.

“No!” Lisa yelps, immediately defensive. “I’ve just…seen you around. That’s all.”

Carla watches the way Lisa’s knuckles turn white where they grip at the steering wheel. “Course you have.”

Lisa scoffs but says nothing, a pink blush curling up her neck and behind her ears.

Carla preens.

“Can I put the radio on?” the brunette asks after a beat.

Lisa rolls her eyes but flicks at a few buttons, grants Carla’s request. “God, you’re worse than our Betsy, you are,” she huffs. “Gobs on a stick, the pair of you.”

Carla tilts her head, curious. “Your daughter?” she asks.

Lisa freezes, shoulders stiffening. “Yeah.”

Carla can tell she doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to push her.

“Well, I hope she’s inherited her dad’s manners,” Carla jokes, though Lisa doesn’t seem to find it very funny.

Carla turns up the radio.

“Oh my god,” she laughs as she registers the song.

Lisa frowns. “What?”

Carla hesitates, then clears her throat. She figures she’s already embarrassed herself enough in front of the blonde, figures she has precious little dignity left to lose.

And so she sings.

“Gold!” Carla belts tunelessly along with the music. “Always believe in your soul-”

“Oh no,” Lisa snorts, biting her lip.

“What?!” Carla protests, indignant. “It’s a classic. I told you I used to love a bit of Spandau.”

“I mean, I can’t fault your enthusiasm,” Lisa drawls.

“You’re indestructible,” Carla continues undeterred, “always believing…come on, detective. You know you want to.”

Lisa snorts again. “Absolutely not.”

“Oh come on,” Carla coaxes. “I bet you have a lovely singing voice.”

“Trust me,” Lisa says, “I don’t. You’d have to get me very drunk to hear me sing.”

Carla smirks. “Sounds like a date.”

The car falls quiet again, save for Tony Hadley’s voice warbling through the tinny speakers. The air feels thick, charged, and Carla mentally curses herself for mentioning the ‘D’ word.

They both know that’s not what this is.

And so they lapse back into awkward silence, Carla drumming her fingers on the dashboard to stop herself from clawing her own eyes out.

It’s only when Carla feels the car start to slow that she realises they’ve arrived at their destination; a deserted old car park concealed from the road by a dense thicket of trees.

“Don’t get me wrong, blondie,” Carla says, slightly nervous now, “I’m all for being at one with nature, but if you’re planning to kill me I’d rather you just do it back in Weatherfield. It would save our Ryan and Bobby an awful lot of hassle.”

“I wouldn’t kill you here,” Lisa says off-handedly as she cuts the engine. “Too obvious. They’d find you within the hour.”

Carla breathes a tiny sigh of relief.

“So, what?” she asks, confused. “Are you kidnapping me then?”

Lisa laughs. “I wouldn’t kidnap you either. You’re too annoying.”

“My mam used to tell me that all the time, used to say nobody else would want me every time I threatened to run away from home.”

The words are out of Carla’s mouth before she can stop them, and she feels stupid then, exposed.

“I’m sorry,” Lisa says softly.

And Carla wants to scream because it isn’t meant to be like this. Lisa isn’t supposed to look at her like this.

“How d’ya know about this place anyway?” Carla asks quickly, changing the subject. “Wait, you don’t come like…dogging here, do you?”

“Carla!” Lisa yelps.

“What?” Carla shrugs. “It’s a valid question.”

“No, Carla,” the blonde says patiently, as if talking to a small child. “I don’t come dogging here, or anywhere else for that matter.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Carla drawls. “So, go on, how do you know about this place?”

Lisa’s expression shifts as she looks down at her hands, suddenly shy.

“It’s…it’s my scream spot,” she says quietly.

Carla furrows her brow, thinks she might have misheard her. “I’m sorry?”

Lisa sighs. “My scream spot,” she repeats, louder this time. “It’s where I come when I need to scream.”

Carla snorts, utterly bemused. “You know, I actually think the dogging would have been less embarrassing.”

“Piss off,” Lisa huffs. “It’s just…life gets hard sometimes. It’s good to have somewhere to go where you can let it all out.”

Carla is drawn then to the vein in Lisa’s forehead, to its metronomic pulse. She longs to reach out and soothe it, soothe her.

But that’s not why they’re here. And so…

“That’s deep,” she scoffs. “You should get it put on a t-shirt or something.”

Carla is half-expecting some snarky riposte, is taken aback when Lisa, quick and agile, climbs over the central console and deftly straddles her lap.

“Just shut up and kiss me,” the blonde growls, already breathing heavily.

And who is Carla to deny her that?

So she grips at Lisa’s jaw and pulls her in, tries not to think about the fact it already feels like coming home when their lips press together again. Lisa moans against her mouth and Carla thinks she feels needier than she had done that night in the bathroom, more desperate, as if she’s chasing something.

“I’ve been wanting to do this for weeks,” the blonde pants, moving to lick a hot stripe down the column of Carla’s throat. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you…all those little noises you made. You drive me insane, Connor.”

Carla freezes. “So you do remember?”

Lisa rears back slightly, confused. “I already told you I do.”

Carla shakes her head. “No, not about that. About my name. You called me Barlow earlier.”

Lisa looks sheepish then, like she’s been caught out.

“Well, technically that’s still your legal name, right?” the blonde asks awkwardly. “And the security guard…well, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

And it’s so painfully Lisa that Carla almost laughs, but she doesn’t want to let her off the hook.

And so she smirks, quirks an eyebrow.

“The wrong idea being that you’ve had your fingers inside of me?”

Lisa blushes at the question and Carla wishes she could bottle it; the way the blonde looks with a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks. But then something changes and Lisa’s eyes are darkening as she shuffles off of Carla’s lap.

“The wrong idea being that I want to see how you taste.”

Carla’s brain short-circuits at that, and at the sight of Lisa sinking - wanton - to her knees. It’s a tight fit but, as Lisa settles in the footwell of the passenger seat with her palms braced on Carla’s thighs, she looks completely at ease.

Carla can’t help but wonder how many others she’s had like this.

She can’t dwell on that for too long, though, because suddenly Lisa is reaching for the waistband of her leggings and Carla is panicking.

“Lisa!” the brunette yelps. “We can’t. What if someone sees us?”

Lisa smirks, self-assured. “They won’t.”

“But-”

“Do you really want me to stop?” Lisa asks, tilting her head, just slightly.

Carla considers the question, thinks they both already know the answer.

And so, keeping her eyes on Lisa’s, she lifts up, lets the blonde slowly peel down her leggings and underwear in one smooth motion, until they’re bunched around her ankles.

For a beat, Lisa just stares, spellbound, at the juncture of Carla’s thighs. And even Carla, who has always been so confident when it comes to sex, feels bashful.

She goes to press her legs together but Lisa stops her, nudges at her knee so that the brunette is spread open once more. And Lisa looks at her then with such reverence that Carla can barely breathe.

“I think you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” Lisa whispers.

Somehow, Carla believes her.

And then Carla is falling, weightless, as Lisa licks flatly through her wet heat, humming at the taste that greets her there.

“Lisa!” Carla cries out, instinctively reaching down to grip at the blonde’s hair.

Carla feels Lisa smile against her. “God, you taste incredible,” she pants. “So fucking good.”

Carla just moans, dazedly winds Lisa’s hair around her palm, tugs sharply at the blonde’s ponytail as she bucks into her face.

Lisa doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, it only spurs her on, makes her lick with more fervour as her fingernails bite into the soft skin of Carla’s thighs.

And Carla wonders how it is that she’s gone nearly half-a-century without anyone taking her like this, without someone fucking her like it’s an art form.

The brunette can already feel herself getting close as she ruts clumsily against Lisa’s face, coating her nose and her chin in arousal. And then, just when she thinks it can’t possibly get any better, the blonde slides two slim fingers inside of her, matches each stroke of her gifted tongue with a firm pump of her wrist.

Carla wails then, forgets completely where she is as she presses a sweat-slicked palm against the steamed-up window.

“Fuck, Lisa,” she pants. “You’re going to make me-”

“Come for me, Carla,” Lisa purrs, voice like silk. “Please, come for me.”

And so Carla does.

She comes almost violently against Lisa’s talented mouth, drunk on the sight of the blonde’s bobbing head, on her black eyes and thick, sooty lashes.

She comes so emphatically that she slips into a daze, only rousing when she feels Lisa carefully re-dressing her from the waist down, sliding gracefully back onto her lap.

“Hi,” the blonde whispers after a beat, eyes shining.

Carla smirks, utterly spent. “Hey. You’re totally ridiculous, you know that?”

Lisa chuckles. “Is that supposed to be a good thing?”

Carla slides her hands slowly beneath the stiff fabric of the blonde’s coat, squeezes gently at her hips. “Oh yes,” she grins. “It’s a very good thing.”

Carla kisses her then, deep and unhurried. At the taste of herself on Lisa’s tongue she groans, silently marvels that something as lewd as the taste of her own arousal could light a fresh fire in the pit of her stomach.

“Well,” the brunette drawls, voice gravelly as she drops a chaste peck onto the tip of Lisa’s nose. “We know I enjoyed that. Now I want to see if you did too.”

And then Carla is touching her, reaching swiftly past Lisa’s smart work trousers, past the flimsy cotton of her underwear, until she’s confronted by nothing but wet.

Both women groan as Carla drags one long finger along the seam of the blonde’s centre, revelling in the fact that she - Carla Connor - has done this to a woman.

To this woman.

Lisa bites down hard on her bottom lip, squeezes her eyes tightly shut. And Carla is just thinking about dipping her finger inside when suddenly the blonde goes rigid above her.

Instantly, Carla stops, and then it all happens so quickly.

In a flash, Lisa is wriggling away, retreating from Carla’s eager touch, eyes wild and cheeks burning.

“I…I…I’m sorry,” Lisa pants, avoiding eye contact as she scrambles hastily back over to the driver’s seat. “I just remembered, I have somewhere to be.”

Carla is so stunned she can barely speak. “Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No!” Lisa says, too vehement. “No. I’m just…busy, that’s all.”

And Carla knows it’s a lie, but she simply can’t find the words. And then Lisa is starting the engine, hands back at ten and two on the steering wheel as she releases the handbrake.

“I’ll drive you back to the hospital,” she says quietly.

Carla knows she has no choice in the matter.

So they drive in silence.

Carla looks out of the window, at the world whirring by, and inexplicably feels tears start to prick at her eyeballs. But she can’t cry.

She won’t give Lisa that satisfaction.

In fact, she’s so focused on that, on not crying, that she barely registers when Lisa kills the engine and pulls to a stop in front of the hospital, parking in the same bay they’d vacated not even an hour earlier.

Carla swallows. “Right then, so I guess-”

“I’ll see you,” Lisa cuts her off, voice totally devoid of emotion.

Carla feels a sudden flare of anger, can’t help herself from asking…

“Will you?”

Lisa just looks down at her lap, whispers: “Bye, Carla.”

And so Carla goes. She climbs numbly out of the car, feeling dirty, used.

And as she stands in the middle of the car park, watches Lisa drive off into the distance, Carla thinks she might just hate Spandau Ballet after all.

Chapter Text

By the third time it happens, Carla really has no excuse.

In the aftermath of their last encounter, the brunette had vowed that she was done; had vowed that, no matter what Lisa said or did next, she wouldn’t - couldn’t - countenance giving her another chance.

But then the universe, as it seemed hell-bent on doing, had flung the blonde back into her orbit.

Carla had grumbled when Bobby discovered Lisa’s ID badge at the precinct, had told him he should have just left it well alone.

But secretly she had been thrilled.

Because, for better or for worse, it meant more of them, and Carla, in her every fibre, yearned for another fix.

And so it had felt like fate when she’d seen her, parked there on the kerb opposite The Rovers. Carla had practically sprinted to Lisa’s car, only to find the blonde on the phone, deep in heated conversation with - Carla assumed - her daughter.

By the time Carla had gathered herself enough to make an approach, Lisa was gone, speeding off down the street without so much as a backwards glance. Carla had stood there until her car had rounded the corner and disappeared from view, cursing the fact that the other woman was somehow always one step ahead.

Carla had resolved then to head down to the station and simply hand the pass in at the front desk.

But then she saw her.

She was talking in reception with DC Kit Green - so beautiful, even in the midst of so much mundanity - and Carla had known she didn’t really stand a chance.

Lisa had been grateful, at least, for her pass.

“Saved me a ton of paperwork,” the blonde had quipped gratefully, careful not to graze Carla’s hand as she’d handed over the little square of plastic.

And it was pathetic, but it had made Carla’s heart swell, that; the idea of doing something to make Lisa’s day - Lisa’s life - just that tiny little bit better.

But it hadn’t taken long for things to go awry.

Carla had gotten herself tied up in knots, asking for an update on Roy’s case. Lisa, of course, had pounced on her uncertainty and Carla had floundered, terrified of making a costly misstep.

“This is a door pass you brought me, not an access all information pass,” Lisa had snarked when Carla tried to turn the situation back around on the blonde.

“Listen,” Carla had sighed, “the only information I want to hear is that you’ve realised that you’ve messed up and you’re releasing Roy.”

Lisa had snapped then, her trademark composure momentarily slipping, betrayed by the pulsing vein in her forehead.

“It is not messing up to lock up someone who’s accused of a very serious crime,” she’d hissed, “who has a litany of evidence against him and goes around assaulting people while he’s on bail. It’s my job.”

(God, she was gorgeous when she got angry.)

And that’s why Carla had said it; why she’d pushed her, just that little bit further.

“Are you sure you’re focused on it at the moment?”

Lisa had tilted her head at that, narrowed her eyes. “Meaning?”

“Well,” Carla had shrugged, “we all have the pressures of life around us, don’t we? And sometimes we’re just..not up to it.”

And Carla had revelled in it.

For one glorious second, she’d allowed herself to bask in this trivial little victory, in the way the orange in Lisa’s left iris had flared.

The way she’d ignited.

But the blonde had quickly hauled herself off of the ropes, her pretty face crumpling, contorting.

“If you have a complaint about my work, there’s a procedure,” she’d sneered. “Feel free. Or is this some kind of distraction technique?”

Carla had started to falter under the blonde’s self-satisfied stare.

“What do you mean ‘distraction’?”

Lisa had smiled then, and Carla had throbbed.

“From the fact you’ve just undermined your own nephew’s statement.”

And suddenly it was all too much.

“Sorry, have I hit a nerve?” Carla had scoffed, desperate to get away. “You know what? I wish I’d have given that ID badge in to the front desk now, shown you up for negligence.”

With one last scathing (wistful?) look at the blonde, Carla had turned on her heel and left, had walked away, as fast as her feet would carry her.

“We’ll keep you informed,” Lisa had called after her.

Carla didn’t know if that was a threat or a promise.

Truthfully, she didn’t know which one would be worse.

— — —

Carla hadn’t been expecting the apology.

As she’d sat there in the café with Bobby and Nina, the last thing the brunette had been expecting was Lisa to turn up, to admit she’d been harsh, unnecessary.

It was the most tentative of olive branches and yet Carla had grabbed at it, had longed to untie Lisa’s hair from that severe little ponytail and massage at her scalp until she purred.

But then she was gone again, pressing her phone to her ear and waving a hurried goodbye.

Always moving. Always leaving.

And so it had felt too good to be true when Carla had headed out onto the street, spotted her car again, parked just a few feet away. In fact, Carla had been so preoccupied with trying to manufacture a reason to speak to her that she’d almost missed it entirely, had almost failed to notice that Lisa was practically breaking her heart in the driver’s seat.

But when realisation had finally dawned, Carla didn’t hesitate. She didn’t pause for breath before clambering inside, limply offering up a tissue.

“Just breathe,” she’d said, aiming to soothe.

And Carla knew she was a hypocrite. She found it nigh-on impossible to heed that same advice every time Lisa was in her vicinity.

She’d felt that way even then, sitting in the strained silence of the car.

As Lisa had reluctantly confided in her, about her daughter and her work and about moving house, Carla’s chest had grown uncomfortably tight.

And then there was the bombshell…

“It’s not divorce, it's bereavement.”

At that, Carla had feared her heart might give out.

“Oh gosh, sorry,” she’d sighed, desperately searching for something - anything - to say.

But Lisa had filled the silence.

“And she wasn’t her father, Becky was her other mother.”

“Oh.”

(Oh.)

With that one syllable, Carla had felt her whole world shift on its axis.

Of course, she knew she shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, Lisa had been inside her, for fuck’s sake.

But still, Carla was stunned, floored. And, in a way, it had hurt more, knowing that Lisa liked women.

Until that point, Carla had been able to console herself with the fact that maybe the blonde was uncomfortable with her sexuality, that maybe that was why she’d fled, not once but twice.

But now that was a myth.

Lisa liked women - had liked a woman enough to marry her, in fact.

And Carla? Carla would always be a pale imitation.

The brunette had looked into Lisa’s face then, mesmerised for a second by the sheen of tears coating her soft, soft cheeks. And she’d realised the blonde was waiting for an answer, or a question, or just something to confirm that Carla had understood her.

And so…

“How long?”

“Two years, six months.”

Carla could hear it then, could hear Lisa’s pain; hot and visceral and raw.

And it wasn’t fair, Carla knew, that she should hurt too.

But she did.

Carla hurt so much that she could hardly stand it.

— — —

The rest of the day had been a blur.

Lisa, built-in body armour back intact, had turned up at the flat and, for a fleeting moment, Carla had allowed herself to hope the blonde was there for her.

But that illusion was quickly shattered.

Lisa was there for Bobby, to arrest him on suspicion of perverting the course of justice.

“I could arrest you too,” the blonde had warned when Carla had tried to plead her nephew’s case.

I wish you would, Carla had wanted to scream.

But she didn’t. Instead, she’d stayed mute and watched Lisa walk away.

She’d watched her leave.

Again.

— — —

Carla hadn’t meant to fight with her.

When Lisa had emerged from the interview room, Carla had been so sure she could hold her nerve, keep things civil.

But then Lisa had backed her into a corner, had tried to coax Carla into admitting to her complicity in Bobby’s lies.

And all the while, all Carla had been able to focus on was Lisa’s throat; on the way her pulse had fluttered in her neck, straining against the starched collar of her shirt.

It was driving Carla half-mad and so, to distract herself, she’d taken Lisa’s bait, accused her of trying to frame Roy for her own personal gain.

Even as she’d said it, Carla had known it was a lie.

And yet that didn’t make her feel any better when Lisa had told her the truth, had told her about Becky - her wife - and how she’d died on duty.

“I have no interest whatsoever in statistics or medals,” Lisa had snapped, eyes shining. “I want to make the world safer for my daughter, and honour Becks.”

Becks.

It’s funny, Carla had thought, that she could never - no matter what she did - hope to amount to more than those five letters.

And she had longed then to flee, had longed for Lisa to stop.

But she’d carried on, vowing to keep an open mind when it came to Roy’s case, promising she would bring Lauren’s murderer to justice.

Carla’s head had throbbed. And then Lisa had landed the killer blow.

“You don’t have to trust me,” the blonde had scoffed. “You don’t even have to like me, I really don’t care.”

It was hardly a revelation.

And yet, as Lisa had turned and left, Carla couldn’t help but wonder why - in spite of everything - she still cared so much.

— — —

So, really, she has no excuse.

Carla has no excuse at all when it happens again.

It’s late, and Carla is halfway through her sad, made-for-one lasagne, when her doorbell buzzes.

She almost doesn’t answer it. Bobby’s away for the night and Ryan is working late. The last thing Carla wants is a cold-caller or prying neighbour encroaching on a rare evening of alone time.

But the buzzing continues, shrill and insistent.

And so Carla, grumbling under her breath, makes her way to the door, presses the receiver to her ear.

“This had better be a bloody emergency,” she huffs.

“Can I come up?”

Carla freezes at the sound of Lisa’s voice, muffled through the intercom. She swallows thickly, debates turning her away.

But then, before she can change her mind, Carla is pressing at the buzzer, heart thumping in her chest as she hears determined footsteps on the stairs.

As if moving in slow-motion, Carla opens the door.

And then there she is.

Like a vision.

(Just breathe.)

Carla wishes she could take her own advice.

“I’ve got to say, this is a surprise,” the brunette bristles, trying to exude some kind of authority. “You’re not here for Bobby, are you? He’s at his gran’s tonight.”

Lisa gulps. “I’m not here for Bobby.”

Carla notices her top button is undone, wonders if that was a conscious act. And the brunette longs then to unbutton another, to unwrap her, to reveal Lisa’s soft body, inch by inch.

“Well,” Carla says, less sure now, “if you’re here to take me in for questioning, you’ll have to wait. I’ve got a wash on and I don’t want to leave until-”

“I’m not here to question you.”

Of course she’s not. Carla should have sensed that Lisa wasn’t here for work.

The faint smudge of red wine on her lower lip was a giveaway.

Still, Carla plays daft.

“Oh,” the brunette says, furrowing her brow. “Then why-”

“Because I need you. Because I can’t stop thinking about you.”

(Just breathe.)

Carla can barely form a coherent thought.

“Look, Lisa,” she sighs. “I don’t think this is a good idea. You’re only going to run away again and I-”

“I’m not running.”

Carla realises then that she’s not, that she’s already peeling off her coat, the thick black leather crackling as she folds it, drapes it over the back of the sofa, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

As if she’s home.

“Lisa, I-”

Lisa doesn’t give her the chance to protest.

“Are you alone?”

Carla’s heart beats faster.

“Yes.”

Lisa smirks.

“Good.”

With trembling hands, the blonde reaches up to undo a second button.

Carla catches a glimpse of her collarbone, the way it juts out, prominent beneath pale skin. It makes her feel light-headed.

“Lisa, please,” she croaks.

Lisa licks her lips. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“What?” Carla asks, bewildered.

Lisa takes one step forward, then another.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” she husks, unfastening another button, “and I’ll go.”

Carla can’t stop herself from looking down, aches at the sight of full breasts swelling against black lace.

She knows it’s no good pretending.

“I wish I could.”

Lisa smirks again, undoes the final button and slips the shirt off of her slender shoulders, lets the pinstriped fabric pool at her feet.

“I’m glad you can’t,” she whispers.

She’s stood close enough now that, as she speaks, a droplet of spittle escapes and lands on Carla’s chin. On instinct, the brunette dips out her tongue, licks it away.

“You’re wicked, do you know that?” Carla asks, only half-joking. “Coming here, looking like…that. I mean, fucking hell, Lisa.“

Lisa bites her lip. “Do you want me to go?”

Carla takes in the blonde’s flushed chest, the gentle curve of her abdominal muscles, the angry red mark on her stomach where the unforgiving waistband of her trousers has been digging into her skin.

She decides to answer honestly.

“No,” Carla croaks. “I think, if I don’t have you now, I might die.”

Lisa exhales, and Carla thinks then that she’s perhaps more nervous than she’s letting on.

“Well, we wouldn’t want that now would we?” the blonde coos.

She reaches for Carla’s hands and, ever so gently, places them on her naked hips.

Carla gasps.

“Are you…are you sure?”

Lisa looks at her then, the colour in her eyes almost totally obscured by her dilated pupils.

And then she says it; those three little words that make Carla melt.

“I’m all yours.”

For a moment, Carla considers asking whether that statement comes with a sell-by date.

But then Lisa is kissing her and, suddenly, nothing else matters.

It’s different from their other kisses. It’s slow and unhurried; Lisa curling her hot tongue against Carla’s, as if partaking in some elaborate dance.

She tastes of wine, and Carla momentarily wonders if that’s the only reason she’s here. But then Lisa is nipping at her bottom lip, pulling and then releasing with a wet pop, and Carla feels alive.

The brunette trails a finger, feather-light, along the nape of Lisa’s neck, feels the blonde shiver as she coils a thread of downy hair around her finger and tugs gently. Carla keeps moving upwards, until she’s closing her fist around Lisa’s ponytail, easing down the bobble and pulling her hair free.

Carla presses into Lisa’s scalp with the pads of her fingers, drags a moan from deep in the blonde’s throat as she strokes at the crown of her head, as if trying to dissolve the tension there.

“God,” Lisa whines, melting back into Carla’s touch. “That feels fucking incredible.”

Carla smirks, kisses her cheek. “You feel fucking incredible.”

Lisa preens, leans forward to nuzzle against Carla’s ear. “Oh yeah?” she whispers. “Then why don’t you feel some more?”

Carla almost comes undone at that.

She rears back, presses the flat of her palm into the hollow at the small of Lisa’s back.

“Bedroom,” she growls, smug at the way Lisa’s black eyes widen. “Now”.

And, for the first time since all of this started, Lisa lets her lead; lets Carla drag her by the wrist and guide her into the bedroom.

It’s quiet in there, painfully so, and it’s almost like that jolts Lisa back to reality. She eyes Carla’s neatly-made bed as if it’s something to be feared, and Carla’s heart almost breaks.

“Look, Lisa,” she begins, “we don’t have to-”

But Lisa cuts her off.

“I haven’t done this,” she says awkwardly, looking down at the floor. “I mean, not since Becky.”

Carla hesitates for a beat, eyebrows raising, just a fraction. “You haven’t had sex in over two years?”

Lisa must misinterpret her tone, because suddenly she’s defensive, folding her arms across her stomach, like some sort of makeshift shield.

“Yeah, okay, I get it,” she huffs. “I’m a big fucking weirdo. You don’t have to rub it in.”

The fissure in Carla’s heart deepens.

“Hey,” she says softly, reaching for Lisa’s hand, “that’s not what I…you’re not weird, not at all. But if you’re not ready then-”

“I hadn’t touched myself in nearly three years.”

Carla blinks at Lisa’s abrupt interjection.

“I’m sorry?”

The blonde looks down again.

“When Becky died, I thought that part of me had died with her. And I was fine with that. I’ve always been fine with that. I stopped wanting sex, stopped even thinking about it. But then you…”

Carla desperately needs Lisa to finish that sentence.

“Then I?” she prompts.

Lisa swallows and looks up, heavy-lidded.

“I’ve touched myself nearly every day since that night at the bar,” she croaks. “It’s like a compulsion, like I can’t stop. And, every time, it’s you I see. I can’t get you off my mind, Carla.”

And Carla can’t speak then, thinks she might have forgotten how.

“God,” Lisa sighs, “you’re gonna be insufferable now aren’t you?”

“No!” Carla protests.

Lisa quirks an eyebrow, unconvinced.

“Okay,” Carla grins, “maybe just a little bit. But…I feel the same. Honestly, the amount of times I’ve laid in that bed and imagined you, the way you’d feel and taste, the things I’d do if you’d only let me…”

Carla trails off, thinks she might have said too much.

But then Lisa is stepping closer, lifting her chin, defiant.

“Show me,” she says, voice low and thick.

“Lisa, I-”

But the words die on Carla’s tongue, her eyes practically popping out of her skull as Lisa, wearing a wolfish smirk, reaches to unhook her bra.

The blonde shakes the straps from her arms, lets the scrap of lace join her shirt in a messy heap on the floor.

And Carla is enchanted.

“Show me,” Lisa repeats stirringly. “Fuck me, Carla. Please.”

Carla looks again at Lisa’s perfect breasts; fuller than her own, nipples pink and alert.

“I think you’re going to be the death of me, Lisa Swain,” she breathes.

But Carla kisses her anyway.

She takes Lisa’s face in her hands, as if she’s something to be treasured. And when the blonde moans against her lips, Carla feels celestial.

She kisses a messy trail down Lisa’s neck, tastes perfume there, tangy on her tongue. She scratches her blunt nails up Lisa’s sides, smiling into velvet skin as the blonde arches her back, presses her chest, unsubtle, into Carla’s face.

“You trying to tell me something?” Carla asks, more assured now.

Lisa huffs, grabs at Carla’s hair. “You know what I need, Carla.”

The brunette smirks and then, with the deftest of touches, she swipes her tongue over one hardened bud. Lisa cries out, scrapes at Carla’s scalp.

“That what you want?” Carla asks through a smirk.

Lisa’s eyes are closed now, her forehead creased as she nods her head frantically. “Yeah.”

Carla dips her head again, blows lightly over the damp patch of skin. In response, Lisa shivers.

“How about that?” Carla taunts.

Lisa bites her lip, grapples with her free hand at Carla’s shoulder. “Please,” she whines, “Please, Carla, I need your mouth.”

Carla simpers. “Well, seeing as you asked so nicely…”

And then her lips are fastening around Lisa’s nipple, sucking determinedly, until the blonde starts to look unsteady on her feet.

Carla grips her more tightly, then bites down, turns the underside of Lisa’s breast from white to pink to red. Lisa hisses and Carla laves over the blossoming mark with her tongue.

“God,” the brunette groans, intoxicated. “Your tits are amazing.”

Lisa freezes slightly then, and Carla panics, looks up to see the blonde is not uneasy but on the brink of laughter, mirth shining in her eyes.

“What?” Carla demands, suddenly self-conscious. “What’s so funny?”

Lisa shakes her head. “Nothing,” she smiles. “It’s just, well, I didn’t think when I came to arrest your husband that one day you’d be complimenting my tits.”

The situation is so ridiculous that Carla can’t help but snigger. She quickly tries to gather herself.

“I don’t believe you,” Carla teases. “I think you wanted this from the very start. I reckon it was all part of your elaborate ploy to get into my bed.”

Lisa bites her lip again. “No comment.”

Carla laughs airily. “Well then, detective, I suppose I’ll just have to think of a way to get you talking.”

Carla’s words have the desired effect because, in a flash, Lisa is immersed again, keening against the brunette’s touch as she continues to map out Lisa’s body with her mouth until…

“Oh, hello.”

Lisa groans, cheeks turning pink as she clocks Carla’s discovery.

“Ugh,” she grumbles. “I meant to take that out.”

Carla frowns, looks from the dainty silver belly piercing to Lisa’s face and then back again.

“What? Why?”

“Becky,” Lisa whispers, as if saying her name too loudly might summon her into this very room. “She, er, she didn’t like it. Thought it was tacky.”

And it’s ridiculous, Carla knows, but she feels strangely protective then of the woman standing before her.

(Respectfully, she thinks Becky must have had a screw loose.)

“Well,” Carla says, enthusiastic, “I like it. I think it’s…spunky.”

“Spunky?!” Lisa splutters.

Carla shrugs. “Fine. Not spunky. Edgy. Either way, I think it’s really fucking hot.”

Lisa swallows, looks at her with such sincerity that Carla almost can’t bear it. “You do?”

Carla decides then that actions speak louder than words, flicks the tip of her tongue over the cool metal so that Lisa’s body pulses beneath her fingertips.

“Jesus,” Lisa croaks. “Your tongue.”

Carla hums against the soft swell of Lisa’s stomach, lips tingling as she breathes the blonde in.

“Mmm?” she asks. “And where else would you like my tongue, huh?”

Lisa bites her lip again, already half-drunk on desire.

“Carla,” she breathes.

“Because I know where I’d like to put it,” Carla continues, undaunted. “But I need you to tell me it’s okay first.”

Lisa’s pale throat bobs. “You don’t have to.”

Carla smiles and, despite being on her knees at Lisa’s feet, she thinks she’s never felt more powerful.

“I know,” she says softly. “But I want to. Fuck, Lisa, you have no idea how much I want to.”

At that, Lisa lets out a strangled little moan, reaches down and takes hold of Carla’s hand, guides it to the zipper on her trousers.

“Then do it.”

Carla thinks then that she might be the luckiest woman in the world.

And that’s why her hands don’t tremble as she pulls down the zipper, why she doesn’t stutter as she eases the trousers down Lisa’s legs.

“Really, Carla,” the blonde says, kicking the fabric from around her ankles. “I know you’ve probably never…and it’s a big deal so if you don’t want to…”

Carla needs to stop her from speaking, from worrying, and so she presses her face against the tired black cotton of Lisa’s sensible briefs and inhales deeply.

And Lisa? Lisa gasps.

“Carla.”

But Carla can barely hear her, is too consumed - overwhelmed - by Lisa’s heady scent.

And she is not repulsed but infatuated.

“You’re right,” Carla whispers, hooking her fingers beneath the waistband of Lisa’s knickers. “I haven’t done this before. I’ve never wanted to. But, god, I want to now.”

Lisa moans again, hypnotised by the look in Carla’s wild eyes. The brunette takes her time, pulling off Lisa’s knickers and socks, so that she's completely bare.

She leans up, presses the sweetest of kisses against the tiny pink birthmark below Lisa’s hip.

“Beautiful,” Carla whispers, hoping desperately that Lisa believes her. “Now, lie down.”

And Lisa does.

She keeps her eyes on Carla as she perches tentatively on the bed, shuffles back, so that her hair is splayed, resplendent, over the pillows.

Carla follows in hot pursuit, makes Lisa’s thighs twitch as she scratches at them, settling between her parted legs.

“If at any point you want me to stop,” Carla says, serious now, “just say the word.”

Lisa swallows, expression inscrutable.

“I don’t think I’ll ever want you to stop,” she whispers. “That’s the problem.”

And Carla can’t let herself think too deeply about that, so she dips her head, licks one long stroke through Lisa’s aching centre.

The sound Lisa makes then is ungodly, and it makes Carla feel ten feet tall. So she licks again, firmer this time, lingering - just slightly - on the blonde’s throbbing clit.

“Fuck!” Lisa chokes out, bedsheets bunching between her grasping fingers. “Carla, I…”

But Carla is already busy, exploring every inch of this previously forbidden territory. She knows how much this has cost Lisa, giving herself up like this, doubts whether she’ll ever be given this chance again.

And so she relishes it, relishes her.

She leaves no dark corner untouched, lapping and nipping and soaking up every last drop of Lisa’s arousal, starved and then sated.

And when Carla pushes her tongue inside of the blonde, she knows then that nobody else could ever possibly hope to compare.

Diligently, Carla drives in and out, in and out, marvelling at the way Lisa tastes salty and sweet all at once, and the way her walls twitch and pulse around her tongue.

Lisa pulls at Carla’s hair and it feels like a reward.

Lisa whispers Carla’s name and it sounds like a prayer.

“Carla, please,” Lisa pants. “I need…fuck, I need your fingers.”

And Carla knows that she can’t take Lisa’s pain away but she can, at least, make her feel good.

She can, at least, give her this.

So she slips one finger inside, groans as Lisa stretches to accommodate her. Carla waits until the blonde’s hips have stopped bucking to add another, and then she pushes, thrusting until her wrist starts to ache.

“Carla!” Lisa yells as the brunette stumbles across her most sensitive spot. “That feels…you’re so fucking good…”

She’s barely making sense now, her words coming out slurred and scrambled, and Carla can feel her tightening, stiffening.

And so she presses her thumb down hard, grinds it against Lisa’s clit.

“That’s it, love,” she whispers, breathless. “Let go for me.”

It doesn’t take long for Lisa to comply, her back arching off the bed as she clamps, vice-like, around Carla’s fingers.

And there’s so much then for Carla to take in; the sweat beading in the valley between Lisa’s breasts, the way her knuckles turn white where she fists at the sheets, the way she captures her bottom lip between her teeth as she comes spectacularly.

Carla tries to commit as much as she can to memory, stroking and soothing as Lisa flails and then settles. And it’s then, when Lisa looks more peaceful than Carla has ever seen her, that the brunette climbs back up her body, leaving a trail of butterfly kisses in her wake.

“I think I’m dead,” Lisa grins, groggy. “I think you’ve actually finished me off.”

Carla snorts. “I’ll add that to my CV. Lift up.”

Lisa is too far gone to do anything but oblige, lifts her hips so that Carla can reach for the duvet and drape it over the both of them.

And it’s so natural, the way Lisa’s pliant body curls into Carla’s side, chin resting on the brunette’s chest.

Carla wonders whether Lisa can hear her heart racing.

“Are you sure you’ve never done that before?” the blonde asks with a lazy smirk.

“What can I say?” Carla quips, quirking an eyebrow. “I’m a quick learner.”

Lisa shakes her head, lost for words. “That was…I can’t even…”

“Wow, look at that,” Carla laughs, nudging the blonde gently in the ribs. “Lisa Swain, speechless. Who knew?”

Lisa rolls her eyes, swats half-heartedly at Carla’s arm.

“Give me a minute and I’ll do you.”

But she looks so comfortable, so at ease, that Carla can hardly bear for her to move.

“Have you always had such a way with words?” the brunette teases. And then, face softening…

“Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Seeing you was enough.”

Lisa looks at Carla then, really looks at her, a million questions on the tip of her tongue. She eventually settles on…

“Do you want me to go?”

Carla notes the faint smattering of freckles on the bridge of Lisa’s nose, wonders how many opportunities she’ll get to add new details to her rich mental tapestry of the blonde’s body.

“Do you want to go?”

Carla’s question hangs for a beat, heavy in the air.

It feels more like a lifetime.

And Carla is so sure she is going to say yes. But what she says instead is…

“No.”

(Just breathe.)

“Then stay.”

(’I don’t think I’ll ever want you to stop. That’s the problem.’)

And Carla doesn’t know what all of this means, thinks that maybe she doesn’t wish to know.

Because what she knows now is Lisa; the way she feels as she turns in Carla’s arms, folds back into the brunette’s hot body.

Carla nuzzles against the back of her neck, smells the coconut in her shampoo, and wonders whether she’s going to regret what comes next.

She takes the leap anyway.

“Can I…can I just ask you a question?”

Lisa twists back around, smirking.

“Sounds like you just did.”

Carla sticks out her tongue, wills her racing pulse to slow down.

Now or never, she thinks.

“Why now?” Carla asks, voice barely more than a whisper. “I mean, you said you’d never…not since Becky. So why now?”

Lisa hesitates for a moment, then turns back around, and Carla thinks that might be the end of it.

But then the blonde shifts, shuffles further back into Carla’s embrace, says, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world…

“Because you’re you.”

And Carla can’t breathe.

So she dares to lean forward, drops a kiss onto the crown of Lisa’s head.

“Sweet dreams, blondie,” she whispers into her hair.

But Lisa is already gone, already asleep.

Carla falls not long after, slips into a deep, dreamless slumber.

And when she wakes in the morning, she does so with a smile, reaches blindly for Lisa’s sleeping form.

But Carla’s fingers grasp at thin air and she opens her eyes to find the duvet neatly folded, as if Lisa hadn’t been there at all.

And really, Carla thinks, she has no excuse.

Chapter Text

It’s not personal.

At least, that’s what Carla tells herself.

As she waits for her phone to ring, for her doorbell to buzz, for some kind of sign that Lisa doesn’t regret what happened - doesn’t regret her - Carla repeats those three words like a sad sort of mantra.

It’s not personal.

Lisa has never made a secret of the fact that she’s damaged goods. Technically, she has never promised Carla anything.

Except, it felt like she had.

‘Because you’re you.’

With those three words, Lisa had promised Carla that this - that they - mattered in a way neither of them could fully comprehend.

She had hinted at a future, hinted that they would continue to exist beyond the four walls of Carla’s bedroom and outside of the cover of darkness.

But that was before she had crept out, like a thief in the night; before Carla had been met by this terrible wall of silence.

That was before she’d ran.

Again.

And so Carla doesn’t really know how to feel, doesn’t know how she’ll react when she sees Lisa next.

Fortunately (unfortunately?), she doesn’t have to wait long to find out.

And Carla is entirely unprepared.

As she stands there in the café, practically begging Roy to spend time with her, to offer his forgiveness, the last thing she expects is…

“Hello…oh.”

Carla would know that voice anywhere, has - in fact - been hearing it in her sleep for weeks now.

Still, though, Carla’s stomach flutters when she turns and sees her, Lisa, dressed in her black coat and white shirt.

The contrast between dark and light, Carla thinks, is fitting.

And god she is so beautiful; her lips slicked with gloss and two loose tendrils of hair framing her exquisite face.

Like everything Lisa does, it’s neat and calculated, each ice-white strand perfectly symmetrical. Honestly, Carla wouldn’t be surprised if she’d counted every individual thread by hand.

The brunette’s eyes wander lower, to where the collar of Lisa’s jacket sticks up, just slightly. Carla imagines her dressing quickly, downing a mug of too-hot coffee at the kitchen counter before rushing out of the front door, impatient to get to work.

For a moment, Carla allows herself to consider what it might be like to make the blonde breakfast, to smooth down her collar and pack her off to the station with a soft kiss and a sweet nothing.

But then Lisa is blinking and the spell is broken.

“Right,” the blonde says, determinedly looking past Carla and towards Roy. “Can I have a word?”

Roy hesitates, just for a beat, and Carla wills him to turn Lisa away; to say ‘sorry officer, but, actually, now’s not a good time’. But then he’s nodding, clearing his throat, and Carla knows her time is up.

“Yes,” Roy says, looking nervously between the two women. “Carla was just leaving.”

And Carla aches.

“Okay,” she says falteringly, hoping Roy can’t see the pain in her eyes. “I’ll leave you to it.”

But as she turns to go, Carla can’t help but steal one last glance, feels her insides flame as Lisa’s eyes find hers once more.

And Carla thinks, as she stalks out of the café and onto the street, that it suddenly feels very personal indeed.

– – –

She doesn’t plan to wait.

Carla is already halfway back to the flat when she decides to turn around, to stand her ground and say her piece. The brunette doesn’t even know who it is she’s hoping to confront, finds the decision made for her when Lisa comes strutting out of the café, eyes already fixed on her phone screen.

Carla pushes off of the café wall.

“Hey.”

Lisa jumps, her hand flying up to her chest as she whirls around, wide-eyed.

“Jesus!” she yelps. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Carla snorts. “Correct me if I’m wrong but I think that would require you to actually have a heart, instead of a great big swinging brick in your chest.”

Lisa purses her lips, her left eyebrow twitching. “Funny.”

The blonde turns to go, and Carla frantically scrambles for something to say.

“So what did he say?” she asks quickly. “Roy?”

Lisa sighs, like a disappointed school teacher. “You know I can’t tell you that, Carla.”

And Carla thinks back then to the last time her name was in Lisa’s mouth, to the way the blonde had arched and writhed and fallen apart against Carla’s lips.

It sickens her to think they won’t have that again.

“Right,” the brunette scoffs, bitter now. “Of course you can’t. Mind you, even if you could, I’m not sure I’d believe a word you said.”

That stops Lisa in her tracks, a frown line appearing on her smooth, smooth brow. Carla longs to trace it with her tongue.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” the blonde snaps.

And suddenly, Carla is tired. She’s exhausted, really, by Lisa and by Roy and by Peter and by everything, and she realises then that she has absolutely no stomach for a fight.

“Nothing,” she sighs, raking a weary hand through her hair. “Forget I said anything. I’m going to be late for work.”

This time, it’s Lisa who calls after her.

“Carla, wait!” the blonde shouts, as Carla makes off toward the factory. “Is this about…the other night?

Carla can’t help but laugh at that, shoots Lisa a withering look over her shoulder.

“Well, I can tell why you’re a detective,” she snipes, not bothering to slow her pace. “Clever girl.”

But then, in a flash, Lisa is touching her; grabbing at her wrist, soft fingers on hot skin.

And Carla can’t breathe.

“Carla, hang on,” Lisa sighs, loosening her grip, just a fraction. “Don’t just walk off.”

Carla harrumphs as she turns back around, snatches her hand away.

“That’s rich coming from you.”

Lisa flinches, as if she’s been slapped, and Carla almost regrets it.

Almost.

“Look,” the blonde says after a beat, voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m sorry, okay? I know I shouldn’t have left like that. I just…had things to do.”

Carla laughs again, though she’s aware she now sounds vaguely hysterical.

“In the middle of the night?” she scoffs, already walking away again. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Carla, please,” Lisa pleads, more desperate now. “I panicked, okay? What happened…what we did…it was a big deal for me.”

“And you don’t think it was for me too?” Carla snaps, incredulous. “You think I make a habit of taking women to bed?”

The muscle in Lisa’s jaw pulses and her eyes flash, as if the very thought offends her.

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying, Lisa?” Carla demands, hands on hips. “Because right now it feels like you might as well be speaking a different frigging language.”

Lisa looks down then, nudges over a crack in the pavement with the toe of her boot. And she looks so small, so hopeless, that it takes everything Carla has to stop herself from reaching out and just holding her.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde says shyly. “Communication has never really been my strong point.”

Carla arches an eyebrow, a bemused smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “You don’t say.”

Lisa’s cheeks heat and she scrunches her nose, the constellation of freckles Carla had mapped out only a few nights ago wrinkling on the bridge.

“Honestly,” the blonde begins, uncertain. “I wasn’t planning on leaving. It’s just…I woke up to go to the loo and then I looked at you, fast asleep and I…I freaked out.”

Carla scoffs. “Wow. You sure know how to boost a girl’s ego.”

“No,” Lisa says quickly, taking a step closer. “I don’t mean like that. It’s just you looked so peaceful and so…so lovely and I didn’t want to…”

But Carla doesn’t think she has the capacity to hear much else.

(She thinks I’m lovely.)

It is, Carla thinks, the best compliment she has ever received.

But then Lisa is talking again, dragging her back to reality.

“I’m bad news, Carla,” the blonde sighs, fidgeting absentmindedly with her wedding band. “I’m a mess. I didn’t want to hurt you and I’m not ready for anything serious and so I figured the best thing for both of us would be to…”

Carla tilts her head as Lisa trails off.

“To do a runner?” she deadpans. “Yeah, I’m not sure you really thought that one through.”

Lisa grimaces and suddenly the silence is swallowing them once more. And Carla is racking her brain for something to say when…

“I had a good night though.”

Carla’s head snaps up at Lisa’s words. She can barely believe what she’s hearing.

“Thanks for the glowing review,” the brunette snorts.

“No,” Lisa says, with more conviction this time. “I mean really good. Like, really fucking incredibly good.”

Between her legs, Carla throbs.

She tries to play it cool.

“Are you trying to charm your way back into my pants, blondie?”

Lisa smirks, takes another step. “Is it working?”

And suddenly Carla feels too hot, feels she needs to put some distance between them.

“You said yourself you’re not ready for a relationship, Lisa,” the brunette says, like it’s an accusation. “So I don’t see how-”

”Who said anything about a relationship?”

At that, Carla’s heart almost stops. She looks at the dimple in Lisa’s cheek as she smirks, wants to bite the self-satisfied grin off of her face.

“You can’t be serious,” Carla huffs, trying desperately to maintain the upper hand. “So…what? You want us to be…fuck buddies or whatever?”

Lisa bites her lip. “I believe ‘friends with benefits’ is the more refined way of putting it.”

And Carla can’t stand it, can’t stand the way the blonde is looking at her. And so…

“If there’s one thing we’ll never be, Lisa, it’s friends.”

Lisa looks from Carla’s lips to her eyes and back again.

“It’s just a turn of phrase,” she shrugs, infuriatingly nonchalant.

Carla nods, runs her tongue over her front teeth.

“Well, either way,” she says. “It’s not going to happen.”

Carla tries then to read Lisa’s expression; searches for a clue in the blonde’s every exhale.

“Okay, fine,” Lisa says, defensive now. “I just thought…well, I’m not ready for a relationship and you’re going through a divorce and well…I think we work pretty well together….sexually, I mean. So I thought that we could…help each other out.”

Carla tips back her head and laughs. “‘Help each other out’?” she echoes. “Watch out, William Shakespeare.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean,” she huffs. “I thought it was an arrangement that could make sense for both of us. But I guess…I guess it was a bad idea.”

(Is it?)

Carla could be easily convinced otherwise.

But Lisa can’t know that, so…

“Yes, Lisa,” she snaps. “It was a terrible idea. I know I’m getting on a bit but I deserve more than being someone’s booty call. Just because it’s convenient for you doesn’t mean that I-”

“Fine,” Lisa cuts her off, chastened. “Okay. Message received.”

Carla sniffs. “Good.”

Lisa nods, looks she’s about to walk away before thinking the better of it.

“But, just so you know,” the blonde says, a glint in her eye as she closes the gap between them, “it’s got nothing to do with you being convenient. In fact, I’d argue that you’re actually a massive inconvenience.”

Carla rolls her eyes. “Ha-ha,” she drawls. “If that’s how you feel, then why would you even suggest it?”

Lisa swallows then and Carla watches the way her throat ripples. Carla thinks she could draw each ridge in the blonde’s neck by hand.

And then she’s leaning closer, her mouth almost grazing the shell of Carla’s ear as she makes an admission that makes the brunette feel feral.

“Because you’re all I think about, Carla,” she whispers. “And honestly, I don’t want to go the rest of my life without having you again. In fact…”

Carla feels the hairs on the back of her neck stand to attention.

“I’m wet just thinking about it,” Lisa growls, voice like velvet. “Just, you know, something for you to think about.”

With that, Lisa pulls back, smile saccharine as she slips her hands into her pockets and turns on her heel. Carla watches her go, a blur of blonde and black and white.

Light and dark.

And it’s fitting, Carla thinks. So very, very fitting.

— — —

For the rest of the day, Carla thinks of little else.

She fields client calls and sends emails and tinkers with spreadsheets but, all the while, she thinks of her.

Carla is so distracted, in fact, that when Roy appears in her office doorway, she almost forgets entirely about their feud. But then she sees his face, anxious and unsure, and feels her stomach lurch.

Losing Lisa was one thing, but losing Roy?

Carla isn’t sure that she’d survive.

And so she makes them tea, her hands trembling as she carries the mugs over to her desk. There’s not much in life, she thinks, that can’t be fixed with a nice mug of tea.

“I want to apologise for being a little brusque this morning,” Roy says hesitantly, once they’re both settled.

Carla feels a faint flicker of hope.

“It’s fine,” she says gently. “What did Swain want anyway? I bet she’s nice as pie to you now, isn’t she? You should sue ‘em all.”

That would show her, Carla thinks.

“I don’t blame the police for my arrest,” Roy says. “It didn’t occur to me at the time but it really should have done.”

Carla frowns.

“Sorry, what didn’t occur to you?”

Roy looks down, sheepish.

“How my peculiarities might be misinterpreted.”

And Carla wants to cry then, for this lovely man who has given her so much and to whom she could never give enough.

“Don’t say that!” she yelps, impassioned.

Roy clears his throat.

“I am aware I do come across to some people as being a bit peculiar.”

Carla’s heart twists.

“You did nothing wrong, Roy,” she says firmly. “Nothing. That’s why they let you out. Albeit six weeks too late. But at least you’re here now, safe.”

Roy nods, looks down again. And suddenly Carla’s mind is shifting again, back to her.

“So you’ve still not told me,” the brunette says, trying to sound casual, “what did Swain want?”

“Oh,” Roy shrugs. “She was enquiring as to whether I’d like to make a statement against Griff Reynolds.”

Carla swallows.

“Oh. And?”

“I’d really rather put it behind me,” Roy says.

Carla nods. There’s silence then, thick and heavy, until…

“And she also reminded me that you only ever had my best interests at heart.”

At that, Carla feels winded.

Of all the people she’d expected to go to bat for her…

(Just breathe.)

Carla realises Roy is looking at her now, waiting for an answer.

“I still do,” she whispers honestly.

Roy nods. “I know.”

That flicker of hope burns brighter.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?” she asks cautiously.

And Roy makes her wait, only for a few seconds, but it feels like torture.

“I suppose,” he begins, “I suppose we make rather an odd pair, Carla, you and I. But I think, perhaps, my life would be immeasurably worse without you in it.”

Carla flings herself then, practically leaps into Roy’s arms. And she has never felt so relieved.

“Thank you,” she whispers into the man’s shoulder. “Thank you so much.”

Roy shifts awkwardly, and Carla releases her grip. Physical contact has never been his forte.

“There’s no need to thank me, Carla,” he says. “Although, perhaps, you might show your gratitude to DS Swain next time you see her. After all, it was her who helped me to see sense.”

Carla’s pulse gallops in her throat and she knows then what has to be done.

And she wonders whether it will always be like this; whether all roads will always lead back to her.

— — —

Carla hears her before she sees her.

She hears the click of her boots on the shiny floor and feels her heart race.

“Hi.”

Carla looks at her and feels her breath catch in her throat.

“Oh. Hiya. Listen, I just wanted to, erm, I wanted to thank you for whatever you said to Roy.”

Carla looks Lisa up and down, sees the silk of her camisole through the sheer fabric of her shirt. Carla wonders how it would feel between her fingers.

Lisa tilts her head, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “You patched things up?”

Carla nods. “We did.”

“That’s good.”

(Just breathe.)

“It is,” Carla agrees and then, realising she needs to say something to prolong the conversation…“Any news?”

Lisa’s brow furrows. “Bobby?”

“‘Don’t leave town’, right?”

Carla cringes at herself. Lisa’s face remains impassive.

“No,” the blonde says. “I’m, um, I’m glad you came in actually. We don’t see a need to take things any further.”

Carla feels like a weight has been lifted.

“Thank you,” she breathes.

And there’s that smile again, barely there but still dazzling.

“You’re welcome,” Lisa says, turning to go.

Carla doesn’t plan what happens next, doesn’t even realise what she’s offering until the words come tumbling from her mouth.

“Listen, Lisa. If your daughter did want some work experience at the factory then I kind of know the owner so…”

Lisa quirks an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?” she asks. “What’s she like?”

“Oh, she’s a complete nightmare,” Carla quips. “But I reckon I could get her onside so…”

Lisa nods, huffs out a little laugh as she slides her hands into her pockets. She is so cool, so unaffected, and Carla knows she doesn’t stand a chance.

“Okay,” the brunette says slowly, reluctantly making for the exit.

Until…

“Er, ‘don’t leave town’,” Lisa calls after her, stopping Carla in her tracks. “It’s not really a thing.”

And it feels so good, Carla thinks, to be teased by Lisa.

“It’s just something they say in the cop shows?” Carla asks, though she knows the answer.

Lisa grins. “Mmm.”

“Ahh,” Carla nods.

She thinks back then, to one of the only sound pieces of advice her mother ever bequeathed to her, back when she was a girl.

‘Treat ‘em mean to keep ‘em keen.’

And Carla feels it.

As she turns and head for the door, Carla feels Lisa’s eyes, watching her go.

— — —

Lisa answers on the second ring.

In a way, Carla had hoped that she wouldn’t. She’d spent hours, sliding slowly into drunkenness, and wondering whether this was really a good idea.

She dials Lisa’s number before she can change her mind. And she’s so close to hanging up, so close, when…

“Hey.”

Carla’s mouth goes dry.

“Have you been sat waiting for the phone to ring or something?” she mocks.

Lisa exhales. “Pretty much.”

Carla hadn’t expected her to be so honest.

“That’s pretty desperate of you, blondie.”

“Is that why you called?” Lisa snorts. “To take the piss?”

Carla swallows.

“No.”

“Oh,” Lisa says. “Then why-”

“I’ve been thinking.”

Lisa laughs. “I hope you haven’t hurt yourself,” she drawls.

“Do you want me to finish or…?”

“Sorry,” Lisa says, though she doesn’t sound sorry at all. “Go on.”

Carla takes a deep breath, knows that, after this, there’ll be no going back.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Carla says quietly. “About the whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.”

“Oh.”

Lisa’s voice is barely more than a whisper. Carla steels herself to carry on.

“And, well, I think that maybe it’s not the worst idea.”

“Oh.”

Carla feels like she’s going insane.

“Is that all you have to say?” she snaps.

“No,” Lisa says quickly. “I, er, good. That’s good.”

“Wow,” Carla laughs. “Your enthusiasm is infectious.”

A beat, and then…

“So when does it start then. This…arrangement?”

“Well,” Lisa says, voice measured. “I’ll draw up a contract and we’ll go from there.”

Carla scoffs. “A contract?! Lisa, I don’t think that…

The brunette trails off as she hears Lisa’s soft laughter.”

“Oh,” Carla says, embarrassed. “You’re joking.”

“Yes,” Lisa says, teasing but not unkind. “I am. Where are you now?”

Carla swallows.

“At home. In bed.”

“Oh yeah?” Lisa asks.

Carla’s head swims.

“Yeah.”

A pause, and then…

“I’m in bed too. I’ve just got out of the bath so I’m still a little bit…wet.”

Carla feels a rush of heat at the apex of her thighs.

“Lisa,” she warns.

But Lisa’s not for warning.

“What are you wearing, Carla?” she husks, voice low.

Carla presses her thighs together.

“I don’t think this is a good idea.”

Carla doesn’t know who she’s trying to convince.

“Ah, c’mon, Carla,” Lisa coaxes. “Live a little. Don’t be shy.”

“I’m not!” Carla protests, indignant. “I wasn’t….Fine. What are you wearing?”

“Nothing,” Lisa replies, voice laced with mischief. “I just got out of the bath, remember?”

And Carla can picture it then, can picture Lisa spread out on cotton sheets; a blur of hard lines and soft curves.

“I wish I was there,” Carla breathes, tired of lying now. “Or that you were here. Or that-”

Lisa cuts her off, impatient.

“And what would you like me to do?” she asks. “If I were there.”

Carla wonders if it’s too late to back out, fears she couldn’t stop even if she tried.

“Well,” Carla begins, voice coming out slightly strangled. “I’d like you to kiss me. My mouth and my neck and my…my chest.”

Lisa hums. “I’d like that too. What else do you want me to do?”

Carla feels like she could crawl out of her own skin.

“I want you to touch my…my tits,” she croaks.

She hears Lisa smile.

“Mmm. You do have spectacular tits. It’s one of the first things I noticed about you.”

And there, in the privacy of her bedroom, Carla preens.

“Can you touch them for me, Carla?” Lisa asks, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Pretend that it’s me.”

But Carla is already one step ahead, is already palming roughly at her own breast, tugging harshly on an over-sensitive nipple.

“Yeah,” Carla croaks. “Okay, fuck Lisa. I-”

“I’d want to put my mouth on them too,” Lisa growls. “Would you like that?”

And Carla is wet.

“God, yes,” she pants.

“Good,” Lisa soothes. “And where else would you want my mouth, Carla?”

Carla’s fingers wander lower then, pushing past the waistband of her soft tracksuit bottoms and into slick silk.

“On my,” Carla groans, “God…on my pussy.”

Lisa gasps at that and Carla feels weak.

The brunette had never liked saying that word, had never really entertained it.

But with Lisa, everything is different.

“Mmm,” the blonde hums, breathing growing heavy now. “I would love nothing more. God, Carla, you tasted so incredible. I need to taste you again.”

Carla’s fingers tangle in damp curls, her thumb just grazing her throbbing clit.

“Fuck, Lisa,” she gasps.

But Lisa doesn’t stop there, seems totally intent on driving Carla to distraction.

“I’d take my time with you, though,” she drawls. “Last time we had to rush. But now….now I want to savour every last drop.”

Carla presses down harder, until her back is arching off the bed.

“Can you feel it, Carla?” Lisa asks. “Can you feel me fucking you with my tongue?

“Oh my god,” Carla groans as she writhes and squirms. “Yes. You feel so good, Lise.”

And Carla hadn’t meant to say that, hadn’t meant to let that nickname slip. She doesn’t know if she’s allowed to call the Lisa that.

But Carla has no time to be distracted, because soon Lisa is in her ear again, pushing her toward delirium.

“Put your fingers inside,” the blonde urges. “I need to feel you.”

“Lisa, I-”

And Carla can’t speak then, can’t do anything but moan as her fingers pump in and out.

“Fuck,” Lisa sighs. “I can hear how wet you are.”

Carla whines.

“That’s what you do to me, Lisa. I’ve never been like this…not for anyone.”

Carla can tell that Lisa’s smirking.

“That’s because no one can fuck you like I can,” the blonde growls.

Carla nods, knows there can be no denying that.

“Uh huh. Lisa, I’m already close.”

Lisa inhales sharply, a betrayal of her true emotions.

“Good,” she husks. “Good girl. Play with your tits for me, with your other hand.”

And Carla does, her every nerve ending tingling as she grapples and squeezes.

“Lisa,” she gasps. “I-”

“That’s it, darling,” Lisa coos. “Come for me. I want to hear you.”

Carla doesn’t think she could stay quiet if she tried, feels a guttural roar being dragged from her throat as her orgasm consumes her entire body.

“Fuck, Lisa!”

Carla can’t concentrate then, can’t focus on anything but the way her body feels and the sound of Lisa’s filthy words in her ear.

“That was…”, the brunette pants as she slowly comes back down to earth. “I’ve never done that before.”

“You were incredible,” Lisa whispers. “And I hope, going forward, we can do lots of things you’ve never done before.”

Carla shivers.

“Do you want me to…?” the brunette asks awkwardly.

“No,” Lisa says. “No, I’m good. Hearing you was…I can handle myself.”

Carla swallows again.

Oh, how she wishes she was there to see that.

“Okay,” the brunette says, nestling beneath the covers. “Right. Well, I guess I’ll see you then.”

She hears Lisa smile.

“You will.”

Carla’s heart swells.

“Sleep well, blondie,” she whispers.

“You too.”

And then the line goes dead, static cracking in Carla’s ear as her breathing slowly returns to normal.

She turns and burrows down beneath the duvet. But as she tries to fall asleep, Lisa’s words replay on a loop in her mind.

‘I hope, going forward, we can do lots of things you’ve never done before.’

And Carla wonders then exactly what she’s got herself into.

Chapter Text

Carla doesn’t want to seem desperate.

For all of Lisa’s teasing about drawing up a contract, Carla kind of wishes they had at least established some ground rules.

Because she’s never done anything like this before, not really. There’d been a few drunken fumbles with lads she was friendly with during her early twenties.

But it had never felt like this.

They had never been like her.

Carla thinks about calling Lisa. She thinks about it a hundred times, at a hundred different moments.

She thinks about it while she’s doing her laundry, while she’s drinking at The Rovers, while she’s lying in her empty bed.

More than a week goes by and Carla hears nothing. But she doesn’t want to seem desperate.

So she waits.

— — —

Carla has almost given up hope.

The silence has stretched on for so long that she starts to wonder if she’d dreamt it; if her and Lisa’s ‘arrangement’ had simply been a hopeful figment of her imagination.

So she’s not expecting it at all when Lisa shows up, totally unannounced, at the factory.

Carla looks up at the soft rap of knuckles on her office door and feels her chest ache.

Because Lisa is so beautiful, in her black trousers and another of her sheer white shirts. Carla so wishes she wouldn’t keep wearing them, thinks the blonde must know by now the effect they have on her.

That effect is even more profound today, with Lisa’s hair soft and loose and spilling, like silk, over her shoulders.

And Carla wants to be angry, but she isn’t. How can she be, when Lisa looks like that?

She realises Lisa is looking at her, waiting for her to make the first move. And so…

“Uh-oh,” Carla clucks. “You’re not here on official business are you?”

Lisa smiles, slightly awkward. “No. I was, er, I was in the area and I was just wondering if we could get a date fixed for my daughter’s work experience?”

Carla feels pathetic then, as her stomach plummets, because of course Lisa isn’t here for her.

She tries to mask her disappointment.

“Oh sure, yeah,” the brunette shrugs. “I’ll get my diary. How’s she doing?”

Lisa tilts her head, takes a moment to consider the question.

“Yeah, okay,” she eventually sighs. “Although she’s in the middle of her GCSEs and I’m struggling to get her to knuckle down and concentrate. I just hope she doesn’t give you as much grief when she starts working here.”

Well, if she’s anything like her mother…

Carla scoffs. “That’s a ringing endorsement.”

“Well,” Lisa smiles. “Forewarned is forearmed.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow.

“Ha! Wonderful,” she says, reaching for the worn, leather-bound notebook on her desk. “How does next month suit…let’s say the 5th? She’ll have finished college by then, right?”

Lisa nods. “Yeah, I think so. That sounds great. Really, Carla, I can’t thank you enough for this. Betsy and I really appreciate it.”

Carla looks up then at Lisa’s earnest face, thinks there are plenty of ways she would like the blonde to show her appreciation. But this is a professional arrangement, and she has dozens of nosy employees bustling around just feet away, and so…

“It’s no problem,” Carla says, as if it really is nothing. “We’ve got a busy few months coming up anyway so I could use the extra pair of hands.”

Lisa captures her bottom lip between her teeth and Carla wonders if it’s deliberate. She wonders when she’ll next get a chance to bite into the blonde’s soft flesh.

“Right,” Lisa says stiffly. “Good.”

And they’re both aware that this conversation is nearing its end, that Lisa should be making to leave. But she’s not, doesn’t even look like she intends to.

“So…is that it?” Carla asks after a beat. “Or is there something else you’d like to say while you’re….‘in the area’?”

Lisa blinks, her cheeks turning pink, as if she’s been caught out. And Carla thinks it’s so good to have the upper hand for once, even if just for a little while.

“N-no,” the blonde stutters. “I, er, think that’s it.”

Disappointment flares again, hot and sharp in Carla’s chest.

“Right,” she says, pursing her lips.

“Unless…”

Carla freezes as the word slips from Lisa’s mouth.

Unless…

“Are you free tonight?” the blonde asks, totally casual. “Betsy’s at her grandparents’ so I happen to be at a bit of a loose end…”

And Carla knows Lisa is trying to play it cool. But still it makes her seethe, being considered as little more than a way to pass the time.

“Well,” Carla snipes. “I wouldn’t want to get in the way of any exciting plans.”

Lisa’s eyes search her face then, almost scything through her skin.

“Are you okay?” the blonde asks, concerned. “You seem…tense.”

Carla almost laughs at that, at Lisa’s obliviousness, but then she thinks that there’s nothing funny about this.

Nothing at all.

“I’m fine,” she sighs. “I’m just…”

Sad. Lonely. Pining.

“I’m just a bit stressed,” Carla says quietly. “That’s all.”

There’s a pause for a moment, and Carla wonders if Lisa might comfort her, or whether she might run.

Again.

But then the blonde is looking over her shoulder, checking they’re alone, before bracing the flats of her hands on Carla’s desk and leaning forward, so that Carla is consumed by the familiar smell of her perfume.

“Well,” Lisa drawls with a wicked smirk. “As it happens, I have the perfect cure for stress.”

Carla shivers at that, can’t help herself. But she doesn’t want to seem desperate, so…

“I’ll check my diary.”

And Carla expects them to leave it at that. But then Lisa is looking at her, pointed, and so she sighs, reaches for her notebook again.

Amid her scribbled ramblings, hastily jotted down meeting notes and appointments, there’s a big blank space under today’s date. Lisa can see it too and she smirks, as if she’s already won.

(Carla thinks the blonde probably won a long time ago.)

“I suppose I could squeeze you in,” Carla admits, folding her notebook shut.

Lisa nods, smiles, ever the victor. “Good,” she says sweetly. “I’ll see you later.”

And then she’s turning to go, and Carla is scrambling.

“Hang on!” she calls after her. “Is that it? How do I know what time you’ll even-”

Lisa doesn’t even break her stride, just tosses another smirk over her shoulder as she cuts Carla off.

“You’ll know,” the blonde purrs.

And Carla hates her.

(Carla wants her.)

— — —

Carla is onto her third glass of wine by the time her doorbell rings.

‘You’ll know,’ Lisa had said.

And Carla does. She doesn’t even speak over the intercom before buzzing Lisa up, waits precisely seven seconds before opening the front door.

Lisa is already there, in the hallway, breathless and beautiful.

Carla raises an eyebrow. “In the area again?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

And then they’re kissing and suddenly the world has shrunk down to contain only the two of them. And god how Carla has missed this.

How she’s missed her.

Lisa grips at Carla’s shoulders, pushes her tongue into the brunette’s eager mouth.

Carla smiles against her lips. “Somebody’s keen.”

Lisa shrugs. “I’ve missed you.”

And it’s like a bomb has gone off then; Lisa’s admission exploding between them. The blonde looks down, cheeks suddenly red.

Carla hooks two fingers beneath her chin and lifts, so that they’re eye to eye.

“You should have called,” Carla says softly.

Lisa’s face hardens, accusatory. “So should you.”

Touché.

And it strikes Carla then, maybe for the first time, that perhaps all of this is new to Lisa too.

“Do you want a drink?” the brunette offers after a beat.

Lisa smirks, a wanton look in her eyes. “I didn’t come here for a drink.”

Before Carla can even begin to respond to that, she finds herself lifted; finds Lisa hooking her arms beneath her backside and hoisting her - as if she weighs nothing - onto the kitchen counter.

“Fucking hell, Lisa!” Carla yelps, clutching at the edge of the granite worktop. “How did you…? You’re tiny!”

“Sometimes good things come in small packages,” Lisa winks. “Besides, I suppose I’d better start making the most of all that body combat training.”

At that, Carla pictures Lisa, slicked with sweat and nostrils flaring, pinning some thug to the floor, straddling him with her strong thighs. She feels a strange flare of jealousy.

But then Lisa is kissing her neck, nipping along the sharp curve of her jaw, and Carla is lost.

Lost, that is, until Lisa reaches for the waistband of her leggings, starts wiggling them past Carla’s bum.

“We should probably take this into my room,” the brunette says sheepishly, bracing her hands on Lisa’s shoulders. “Just in case Ryan finishes his shift early.”

Lisa smirks, eyes twinkling as she takes a step back and holds out her hand.

“Lead the way, Connor.”

So Carla does. She laces their fingers together and drags them toward her bedroom, hears Lisa pull the door shut behind them.

“So,” Carla grins, turning around to face the blonde. “You missed me, huh?”

Lisa scoffs, like a petulant teenager. “Alright, alright. No need to lord it over me,” she huffs.

“Oh,” Carla drawls, walking Lisa backwards until she’s pressed against the door. “But I do so love lording it over you.”

Carla leans in to kiss her again, revelling in her newfound power, when all of a sudden, she finds herself pushed, roughly, by the shoulders.

“Get on the bed,” Lisa growls.

Carla quirks an eyebrow. “I think you’re forgetting your manners, blondie.”

“On the bed,” Lisa repeats firmly. “Take your clothes off first.”

There’s a part of Carla that wants to disobey her then, just to see what happens. But a bigger part of the brunette knows she simply cannot say no to Lisa, not when she’s like this and so, very slowly, she undresses.

Carla watches the way Lisa’s hungry eyes track her every movement, the way the blonde licks her lips more fervidly at every new inch of bare skin. And then, Carla sits, eases herself back so that she’s resting on the pillows, legs spread wide.

A blush creeps up Lisa’s chest as her gaze settles at the meeting of Carla’s thighs.

“God,” she breathes, spellbound. “You’re gorgeous.”

Carla smirks. “And you’re wearing too many clothes.”

Lisa rolls her eyes but takes Carla’s hint, undressing quickly and readying herself to climb onto the bed until…

“Oh,” the blonde says sweetly. “Before I forget…”

Carla doesn’t have the bandwidth to think about what that might mean, is too distracted by the glorious swell of Lisa’s arse as she saunters over to pick up her trousers from the floor.

And there is so much that Carla wants to do. She wants to drag her tongue over every ridge in Lisa’s spine, wants to kiss every one of the soft pink stretch marks that zigzag over her hips, wants to nuzzle at the delicate mole on the back of her left knee.

But then Carla is jolted from her haze by a soft clinking sound, looks up to see Lisa grinning wickedly, a pair of police-issue handcuffs dangling from her fingers.

Carla snorts. “You can’t be serious.”

Lisa bites her lip, wastes no time in clambering onto the bed and straddling Carla’s waist.

“Deadly,” the blonde says coolly. “Now arms up.”

Carla feels her pulse start to race.

“Lisa, I-”

“Up,” Lisa demands, leaning in so that Carla can smell the mint on her breath. “I won’t tell you again.”

Carla shudders, a heady mixture of nerves and excitement gathering in the pit of her stomach as, tentatively, she raises her arms.

Lisa smiles, then deftly undoes the clasp, fastens the cool metal around Carla’s wrists where they grip at the bars on the headboard.

The blonde tugs at them to check that they’re secure and then, when she’s happy, she smiles, says…

“Good. Now, where were we?”

But Carla doesn’t know where they were - doesn’t know where she is - as Lisa presses their bodies together. Both women gasp as hot skin meets hot skin but it’s Lisa who recovers quickest, wrapping her hot mouth around Carla’s nipple and sucking until the brunette cries out.

Lisa moves lower and lower, leaving a scattered trail of bite marks in her wake. And when she finally settles between Carla’s thighs, she sighs happily, as if it’s her favourite place on earth.

“I’ve been thinking about this since that day in my car,” Lisa admits. “I had to be quick then. But now, now I’m going to take my time.”

With that, Lisa bows her head and licks, slow and reverent, through Carla’s centre.

At the contact, Carla physically jolts, screams…

“Jesus!”

The blonde freezes, just for a second, and then says with an impish grin…

“Actually, I prefer ‘Lisa’.”

It’s corny and terrible and not even a little bit funny and yet Carla finds herself even more endeared by this beautiful, complicated mess of a woman.

And it scares her, quite how endeared she is.

But Lisa doesn’t give her much chance to be scared, is too quick with her talented mouth; licking and sucking and pushing up past Carla’s entrance.

She works Carla up as if it’s what she was born for, driving the brunette closer and closer to the edge with each filthy world.

And Carla is so dazed that it takes her a minute to realise that the blonde’s mouth is no longer there, that instead she’s climbing, gently maneuvering Carla’s body until one leg is pushed up towards the ceiling and the other is splayed out on the mattress.

“W-what are you…?” Carla slurs, confused.

“There’s something I want to try,” Lisa explains. “Something I’ve been thinking about.”

And still it takes a moment for Carla to realise, for rational thought to return to her brain.

“Oh,” she finally says, when Lisa hooks one leg over her hip. “Is this…is this scissoring?”

Carla whispers it, as if it’s a dirty word, and Lisa tips back her head and laughs.

“How do you know what scissoring is?” the blonde asks with a smirk.

Carla feels her cheeks burn then, knows there’s no point trying to think up an excuse.

“I…maybe…I might have…been doing a little bit of research,” she admits bashfully.

Lisa bites her lip again. “You watched porn? For me?”

Carla is cringing so hard that her toes curl.

“Well, not for you,” the brunette grumbles. “But I wanted to be prepared. Just in case you…just in case we...”

Lisa leans down and puts Carla out of her misery, kissing her softly on the mouth.

“You’re cute. Has anybody ever told you that?”

(They hadn’t.)

“I’m not cute,” Carla pouts. “I’m sexy.”

Lisa scrunches up one eye, as if she’s debating the question.

“You are,” the blonde admits. “But you’re also very cute.”

Carla opens her mouth to protest but Lisa beats her to it.

“Do you really want to sit here and argue?” the blonde asks. “‘Cos there’s something else I’d much rather be doing.”

Carla shudders at the intimation. “Be my guest,” she says after a beat.

Lisa grins, then starts shuffling around, pulling and pressing at Carla’s leg.

“It doesn’t always work,” Lisa explains, brow furrowed in concentration. “Not like it does in your pornos.”

“They’re not my…!” Carla argues, trailing off when she sees Lisa is laughing.

“It can take a bit of time to find the right angle and even then it doesn’t always-”

“Fuck!”

Carla interrupts her, crying out as Lisa shifts her hips to provide delicious friction exactly where she needs it most.

Lisa grins. “Good?”

Carla thinks that might be the understatement of the century.

“Very,” she croaks.

Lisa nods. “Just tell me if anything changes, yeah?”

But Carla doesn’t think she has the strength to tell Lisa anything, finds herself slipping slowly into madness as the blonde starts to roll her hips, rocking expertly into her.

They lose their way a couple of times, Lisa cursing under her breath each time their perfect contact is broken. But even then, Carla thinks she might be addicted to the knowledge that Lisa is pressed against her, their wetness melding together into one heady pool of arousal.

And when Lisa’s clit bumps against her own, it is glorious, and Carla feels like her eyes have been opened.

“I’m close, Lise,” the brunette pants, pressure coiling in her core as the cold metal of the handcuffs pinches deliciously at her wrists. “Don’t stop.”

“Never,” Lisa breathes, like a promise, and nothing could prepare Carla then for the sight that greets her when she looks up.

Because Lisa is radiant; her perfect breasts bouncing as she rolls her hips, sweat beading on her brow. She looks like she’s chasing something, caught entirely in her own world with her lip between her teeth and her eyes blazing.

And Carla thinks she has never wanted her more.

(She has never wanted anyone more.)

When they come, it’s like dominoes falling; first Carla and then Lisa. They tumble breathlessly over the edge, chanting each other’s names until the room is filled with a tangle of unintelligible slurs.

Eventually, Lisa collapses forward onto her hands and frees Carla’s wrists, pulls Carla into her side. The brunette listens to the steady thud of Lisa’s heartbeat, smiles into her warm chest as she says…

“Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you should be ‘in the area’ more often.”

— — —

Afterwards, Carla makes cheese on toast.

It’s not usually her post-coital snack of choice but she hasn’t done a big shop in days and there’s not much in the fridge other than a big block of Wensleydale.

Lisa complains at first - says something about trying to ‘watch her weight’ - and Carla wants to tell her that she’s perfect as she is.

But she doesn’t know if it’s allowed, so she stays quiet.

Either way, it doesn’t matter because Lisa devours her slice, and half of Carla’s too. At one point, a big dollop of oil dribbles down the blonde’s chin and Carla catches it with her finger, smiles sheepishly before licking it away.

They eat in bed, side by side under the covers. Carla never usually allows food in the bedroom, had always moaned at Peter for trying to sneak stuff in here when he thought she was asleep.

The brunette usually hates nothing more than getting into bed to find crumbs scattered over the sheets, grazing at her bare legs.

But for Lisa, she makes an exception.

They’re both wearing dressing gowns. Carla had given Lisa the plush new one Ryan had bought her for Christmas, while she made do with her old one; the one with flecks of dried-up foundation smeared around the collar.

After more than ten minutes of flicking listlessly through the TV channels, they eventually settle on an old cop drama on ITV 3. Lisa spends the whole time pointing out the inaccuracies, and it’s nice, Carla thinks.

It’s so nice that it scares her.

“He’d never get away with that!” Lisa yelps at one point through a mouthful of toast, crumbs spraying everywhere. “They’d throw the book at him right away.”

“Well,” Carla smiles, wiggling her eyebrows. “I suppose you don’t always do everything by the book, do you detective?”

Lisa swats at her but smiles - a real genuine smile. Carla wonders what it means, that she can now file Lisa’s smiles into lots of different categories.

By the time the show finishes, it’s late. And Carla is stretching, yawning.

(Yearning.)

“I…I, er, should probably get going,” Lisa says shyly.

It’s half-statement, half-question and Carla wants - wants so - badly to ask her to stay.

But she doesn’t want to seem desperate.

So Lisa leaves.

And Carla can’t sleep.

She blames it on the crumbs.

Chapter Text

Carla should expect it.

In the days and weeks that follow, the brunette should expect her dealings with Lisa to be few and fleeting.

She should expect that Lisa will blow hot and cold; that she’s just as comfortable ignoring Carla in the street or at The Rovers as she is turning up on her doorstep in the small hours of the morning, dark-eyed and full of want.

Carla should expect their relationship to be transient, to be transactional.

But still she finds herself astounded by the blonde’s aloofness.

Still, Carla hurts every time she watches Lisa go.

Worst of all is the fact that, in spite of everything, Carla remains at Lisa’s every beck and call. When the blonde phones one afternoon to tell Carla that she’s managed to snag a long lunch, the brunette wastes no time in clearing her diary.

When Lisa texts one evening to say she’s parked outside the flat, Carla nearly breaks her neck in her haste to race down the stairs and join the blonde in her car.

And then, as if things aren’t already complicated enough, Betsy is added to the mix.

The teenager quickly makes her presence felt at the factory and Carla soon learns she is so like her mother.

She’s fierce and cold and complex and yet there’s something about her, a secret light hidden beneath the dark, that irrefutably marks her out as Lisa’s offspring.

She rubs most of Underworld’s staff up the wrong way - drives Carla half-mad too - but there’s something about her that the brunette can’t help but be drawn to. Perhaps it’s because Carla can see shades of her younger self in the teenager; in her snark and her wit and her quick, quick mind.

And it’s hard, on those days when Lisa turns up at the factory to collect Betsy after her shift, for Carla not to wonder what might be, if only the pair would let her into their world.

But then The Incident happens, and Carla has little time to wonder about anything but her own moral compass.

She hadn’t planned it; hadn’t for one moment plotted to knock that young lad off of his bike. But she’d been so riled up at the precinct, listening to that group of mindless yobs spout all manner of vile things about Roy that, when the chance arose to teach one of them a lesson, she couldn’t let it pass her by.

Of course, Carla should have known that she wouldn’t get away scot-free. She could never hope to be that lucky.

It’s hardly even surprising when Betsy admits to having witnessed the whole ordeal, when she threatens to expose Carla’s secret unless the brunette gives into her demands for a summer job.

And Carla almost considers saying no. When she walks into her office one evening to find Lisa standing there, eyeing her warily with her hands in her pockets, she’s totally prepared to come clean.

“She’s got something to tell you,” Betsy crows from where she sits, slumped, in the corner.

Carla looks over at the teenager, panicked. “Erm, sorry?”

And the brunette is totally prepared to lay all of her cards on the table...

…until she sees Lisa’s face.

“Is she driving you mad yet?” the blonde asks sheepishly.

And she looks so hopeful, so tired, that Carla can’t bear to bring any more trouble to her door. And so…

“No, not at all. Actually we’ve offered her a summer job so…”

The way Lisa lights up at that almost makes it all worthwhile.

Almost.

“You never said,” the blonde says, tutting in her daughter’s direction.

Betsy shrugs, smirks, like the cat that got the cream.

“And if they can’t survive without me, who knows?” the teenager drawls airily. “They might offer me a full-time job when I leave school.”

Lisa snorts. “Cocky much?”

If only she knew….

“Mmm,” Carla hums. “We’re happy to have her, really.”

Betsy shoots her a wink and Carla thinks, not for the first time, that her life really would be much simpler if she’d never met the Swains at all.

– – –

The thing about blackmail is that it rarely ends well.

Carla quickly learns that it requires the patience of a saint to keep Betsy sweet and, if there’s one thing Carla Connor isn’t, it’s saintly. And so, when Betsy yet again goes AWOL, the brunette decides she’s had enough.

She heads straight down to the station, lets Lisa lead her into a quiet interview room and shut the door awkwardly behind them. It feels like a lifetime since they were last alone together and Carla briefly considers stripping off her clothes and having Lisa right then and there, on the cheap polyester sofa.

But it’s a ridiculous idea and Lisa very quickly drags her from her haze.

“Is this about Betsy?” she asks, her tone suggesting it’s not the first time that very question has slipped from her lips.

Carla grimaces. “Yeah. The thing is, it’s not really working - her working at the factory.”

Lisa sighs, looks entirely unsurprised. “Right. What’s she done now? Look, whatever it is, I’m sure we can sort it out.”

Carla is briefly distracted then by the dainty silver studs in Lisa’s ears; by the way that they insist on catching the light, even in a darkened room.

She tries to shake herself out of it.

“No,” Carla persists. “See, I’ve already cut her loads of slack and I’ve given her chance after chance despite her not having any real experience.”

Lisa gulps. “Yeah, I know,” she says. “And I’m very grateful.”

For some reason, that irks Carla. She doesn’t want Lisa to be grateful, as if Carla is some random do-gooder going above and beyond out of the kindness of her heart.

Carla wants Lisa to give her a chance, to give them a chance. But she can’t say that so…

“Yeah well,” she shrugs. “Her way of thanking me is to take liberties and to threaten me. You see, she’s not even there now. She’s not even working.”

That gets Lisa’s attention.

“What?”

“This is what I came to tell you,” Carla sighs. “She’s actually-”

But then Lisa is clucking her tongue and holding up her finger, already distracted.

And Carla wants to scream.

“Sorry,” the blonde says, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “Two secs. This is her now.”

Lisa turns her back then, and Carla waits with bated breath.

“Betsy?” Lisa snaps, pressing the phone to her ear. “Where are you? Say that again…stay where you are.”

And Carla can tell right away that it isn’t good; can tell that Lisa is frantic, unsettled.

“I think she said Gable Street,” the blonde says when she hangs up, wild eyes already scanning the room for her coat.

“What’s she doing there?” Carla asks, anxiety starting to gnaw at her insides. “That’s dangerous. Full of scumbags.”

Lisa doesn’t answer, just shakes her head.

“I’m gonna have to drive over and find her,” she sighs, making swiftly for the door.

“Do you want me to help?” Carla asks, before she can think the better of it. “Two heads are better than one.”

Lisa just looks at her for a second, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and Carla wishes then that she could take all of her pain away.

In that moment, Carla thinks - hopes - that Lisa might say no to her impulsive offer. But then…

“Erm, yeah,” the blonde says, suddenly bashful. “Thank you.”

There’s a weight to Lisa’s stare that makes Carla’s pulse race.

“No problem,” Carla croaks, stomach churning as she follows Lisa out to her car. “It’s no problem at all.”

— — —

In a way, Betsy’s theatrics are a welcome distraction.

The drive to Gable Street is tense. Lisa’s shoulders are hunched, her long fingers drumming a broken rhythm on the steering wheel.

But Carla knows that this is bigger than them; knows that all Lisa cares about right now is making sure her daughter is safe.

“She’ll be okay, you know,” Carla says softly when they come to a stop at a red light.

Lisa looks over at her with glassy eyes. “Will she?”

Carla doesn’t know, not really. But still she smiles, reaches over to squeeze at the blonde’s knee.

“As long as she’s got you in her corner,” Carla whispers earnestly, “she’ll be just fine.”

Lisa doesn’t say anything but reaches down to cover Carla’s hand with her own. And, for a beat, Carla just allows herself to bask in the heady weight and warmth of the other woman’s touch.

But then the light changes to green and the car behind them beeps; the disgruntled driver gesticulating crossly in the rear view mirror.

Lisa blinks and withdraws her hand, hurriedly putting the car back into gear and pulling away.

“Gobshite,” she grumbles under her breath, pinning the man behind them with a black look.

And Carla thinks she’s bitten back her smile but Lisa is too quick for her.

“What’s so funny?” the blonde asks, immediately on the defensive.

“Nothing,” Carla chuckles, shaking her head. “Just…I haven’t heard anyone use the word ‘gobshite’ in a really long time.”

Lisa rolls her eyes and, for a moment, Carla thinks she might have put her foot in it.

But then Lisa’s shoulders start to shake, softly at first but then with more vigour, as a glorious peal of laughter bubbles up in her throat.

And, before Carla knows what’s happening, they’re both howling; the two of them laughing until tears start to spill down their cheeks.

“God,” Lisa snorts, once she can breathe again. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

And Carla beams.

To her, it feels like a badge of honour.

— — —

It doesn’t take long for Carla to come back down to planet earth.

She and Lisa are quickly caught up in the eye of Hurricane Betsy, with the teenager wilfully refusing to reveal what kind of business had led her to the bad side of town.

Carla is expecting the inquest to continue at length when they arrive back in Weatherfield. But then Lisa’s phone is ringing and she’s once again being pulled in a hundred different directions.

And so all the brunette gets is a casual ‘thanks again, Carla’ and a barely-there pat on the arm before Lisa is leaving again.

Before Carla is alone again.

So really, she’s not in the mood at all when Lisa rings later that afternoon. She isn’t even going to pick up - is so close to letting the call go to voicemail - but then her finger must slip or something because…

“Are you free tonight?”

Lisa sounds breathless on the other end of the line. By now, Carla is well accustomed to the blonde’s predisposition for forgoing pleasantries.

“Hi Lisa,” Carla replies, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I had a lovely day, thank you very much for asking! How about yourself?”

She hears Lisa swallow, chastened.

“Sorry,” the blonde sighs. “Force of habit. I, er…have you? Had a nice day, I mean?”

Carla snorts. “Oh I’ve had a glorious day!” she quips theatrically. “When I woke up this morning, running around after your sprog was right at the top of my to-do list.”

Lisa sighs. “I’m sorry.”

The blonde sounds like she has nothing left to give, and so Carla relents.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I’m glad we found her safe and sound. How is she now?”

There’s a pause then, as if Lisa is carefully weighing up how much she wants to divulge.

“She’s, er, she’s out for the evening,” the blonde says, trying to feign nonchalance. “Staying with a mate. Actually, that’s why I called.”

And there it is.

“Ooh, let me guess,” Carla drawls. “You’re going on a stake out of her friend’s house and you want someone to keep you company?”

“No,” Lisa says quietly.

Carla hums, deliberating her next move.

“You’ve suddenly got some free time and you want to have a quickie in the ginnel behind The Rovers?” she trills. “Or you fancy squeezing in a quick fumble at my place before you start your solo ‘Married at First Sight’ marathon?”

Lisa clears her throat, her awkwardness audible.

“N-no,” she stammers. “I, er, actually, I’ve booked a hotel room for the night. Only at the Chariot Square so nothing too fancy. But I thought that maybe…maybe you might like to join me?”

In that moment, Carla feels like her whole body is on fire, her blood rushing, too fast, in her ears. The prospect of spending a whole night with Lisa, away from the strains and stresses of the real world, feels almost too good to be true.

And she wants to shout, to scream ‘yes!’. But, more than that, she wants to make Lisa work for it.

“Let me get this straight,” Carla muses with a smirk. “You booked us a hotel room without even checking if I was free? That’s very presumptuous of you, blondie.”

There’s a pause. And then…

“I, er, well I was going to book a room anyway, just for myself,” Lisa garbles unconvincingly. “And then I thought you might fancy it too.”

Carla’s smirk deepens. “So I was an afterthought?”

“No!” Lisa yelps quickly. “No, not at all. I…I want you to be there.”

And she sounds so shy, so sincere, that Carla thinks only a monster would refuse her now.

“Fine,” Carla sighs, trying to keep the mirth from her voice. “I’ll come. But only if you promise you won’t arrest me for snaffling all of the free toiletries before we leave.”

Lisa hums and Carla can almost hear her smile.

“I suppose I could turn a blind eye,” she says. “Just this once.”

“Thank you, officer,” Carla coos sweetly. “It’s much appreciated. I’ve got some work I need to finish up so I’ll just meet you there. Say 8pm?”

“Sounds perfect,” Lisa says, her tongue rolling slightly on the ‘r’ in that way that makes Carla’s skin tingle. “I’ll text you the room number. I’m, er, I’m really looking forward to it.”

Carla bites her lip, her chest suddenly tight.

“Me too, blondie,” she whispers softly. “Me too.”

— — —

Carla checks Lisa’s text for what must be the hundredth time.

‘Room 427. Don’t be late x’

The brunette feels another shiver of anticipation, her eyes lingering - just for a second - on the kiss at the end. Carla hadn’t had Lisa down as the type to embellish her messages with overt markers of affection.

But, as Carla is quickly learning, there’s a lot more to the blonde than meets the eye.

Carla glances at her watch.

8.02pm.

She walks along the carpeted hallway, counting down the numbers on the oak panel doors as she goes.

433. 431. 429.

427.

Carla checks her watch again.

8.03pm.

She figures she’s kept them both waiting long enough.

Her hand shakes as she reaches to knock on the door. In the silence that follows, Carla thinks she might die.

And then the door opens and Carla thinks she must be dead already because surely that can be the only explanation for…

“Lisa…”

Carla breathes out her name, as if she’s some kind of celestial being. But Carla thinks, as her eyes flicker up and down and then back up again, that celestial is the only world that accurately captures the woman before her.

Because Lisa is more beautiful than ever, dressed in a black silk babydoll that clings in all the right places and kicks out just above her thighs. Her hair is down and loose and so impossibly soft that Carla thinks it would simply dissolve if she were to take it between her fingers.

The brunette’s eyes wander upwards, over the tempting swell of Lisa’s breasts and the sharp just of her collarbone, to heavy-lidded eyes and a smile that turns her insides to liquid.

And Carla? Carla is lost for words.

“I was starting to think you’d stood me up,” Lisa drawls, leaning languidly against the frame of the door.

“I, um,” Carla stammers dumbly. “Lisa...”

Lisa smirks. “You said that already. Are you coming in? Or are you just planning on standing out there all-”

Carla moves quickly then, taking one stride and then another, until she’s across the threshold and pinning Lisa against the door, crashing their mouths together with such ferocity that she almost winds the both of them.

It could be seconds or hours later when Lisa finally comes up for air.

“-night,” the blonde croaks, half-dazed, finishing her earlier sentence.

Carla smiles, nudges the tip of her nose against Lisa’s.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispers, meaning it with every fibre of her being.

Lisa quirks an eyebrow. “And you’re late.”

Carla pouts. “I’m sorry,” she coos. “Hopefully I’ll be worth the wait.”

Lisa opens her mouth to protest but Carla swallows her words, humming against pillowy lips as she tastes chocolate on the blonde’s tongue.

“I may have made a head start on the complimentary truffles they left us,” Lisa says sheepishly when they break apart.

Carla narrows her eyes, scratching her nails up Lisa’s thighs and beneath the hem of her lingerie, smiling when she hears the blonde’s breath catch in her throat.

“I suppose I could see my way to forgiving you,” Carla quips, letting the pads of her fingers bite into the perfect curve of Lisa’s backside. “Did you buy this especially for me?”

Lisa blushes at that and Carla feels her heart swell.

“Well,” Lisa begins bashfully, “I usually just make do with Marks and Sparks’ finest. But seeing as I’ve now taken Manchester’s answer to ‘Victoria’s Secret’ as my lover, I thought I’d better start making an effort.”

The thought of that, the thought of being Lisa’s lover, makes Carla feel weak.

And she can’t find the words so instead she just kisses Lisa again, mouthing along the sweep of her jaw and down the slope of her neck until the blonde is squirming beneath her touch.

“As much as I’m enjoying this,” Lisa pants, “your bath will be going cold.”

But Carla is still distracted, suckling on one particularly sensitive spot, just below Lisa’s pulse point.

“Huh?” she asks, confused.

“I, er, know you’ve had a pretty stressful day - no thanks to me and Bets,” Lisa grimaces, carefully extricating Carla from her neck. “So I thought I’d run you a bath.”

She sounds nervous, almost apologetic, and Carla thinks she is more stunning than ever.

“Well, well, well,” the brunette grins, letting her hands come to settle on the shorter woman’s waist. “Who knew big, bad DS Swain was such a romantic?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Shut up.”

And Carla does. She abandons talking in favour of pulling Lisa close and tracing her tongue along the seam of her lips.

Carla waits until the blonde grants her access, until she’s moaning into her mouth, before pulling back.

“To be continued,” the brunette whispers, with a wicked gleam in her eye.

Carla turns then, makes sure to add an extra sway to her hips as she saunters toward the ensuite. She can practically feel Lisa’s eyes searing through the fabric of her fitted black jumpsuit, and she’s just about to say something smug when…

“Oh my god.”

It’s all Carla can think to say, because the bathroom has been transformed into a sort of love nest, with tealights scattered across every surface and the jacuzzi-style bath piled high with bubbles.

“Oh, Lisa,” Carla gasps. “This is…”

“Do you like it?”

Carla turns at that; can’t help but smile at the sight of Lisa wringing her hands together, worry etched across her beautiful face.

“Like it?” Carla laughs. “I love it. Thank you. But really, you didn’t need to go to all of this trouble.”

Lisa shrugs. “I figured it was the least I could do.”

“You don’t need to keep apologising for Betsy, you know,” Carla sighs, raking a hand through her hair. “I knew what I signed up for when I offered to take her on.”

Lisa chews on her lip.

“It’s not about Betsy,” she says quietly. “Though god knows I’m grateful you’ve not given her her marching orders yet. But…no. I wanted to do something nice, to say thank you…for putting up with me. I know I’m not always the easiest person to deal with so…thank you.”

And she looks so sincere, so self-deprecating, that Carla doesn’t trust herself to speak. So instead she smiles, undresses slowly, silently preening at the way Lisa’s eyes darken as she watches her clamber into the bath.

And, as she sinks back against the cool porcelain, fragrant water licking at her neck and her shoulders, Carla wishes she could bottle this feeling. She closes her eyes and tips back her head, lets out a contented sigh, and then…

“Are you not getting in?” the brunette asks, prising open one eye.

Lisa is just watching her with a smile, propped against the elaborate ‘His and Hers’ vanity.

She shakes her head. “I will. Just not yet. It’s too hot for me.”

“Ah,” Carla says, tracing her finger lazily through the mound of bubbles. “See, I think the temperature is just right. Mind you, I do practically scald myself every time I have a shower!”

“I know.”

Carla’s head snaps up. “What?”

Lisa blinks, caught out.

“You said,” she says shyly. “I mean, you‘ve mentioned it before, that you like your water hot.”

Carla frowns, just for a second, before a vague memory stirs. It was an offhand comment that she’d made one afternoon at her flat.

It was weeks ago now and so insignificant that Carla herself had barely remembered it.

But Lisa had remembered.

And somehow, that feels important.

“Oh yeah,” Carla croaks dumbly, and Lisa nods.

They lapse into silence then, but it isn’t awkward. Carla feels weightless, her every sinew softened by the glorious heat.

“It’s cooled down a bit now,” she says after a while.

“Is that your way of saying that you want me to get in?” Lisa grins.

“Well, I’m happy to sit here and enjoy the view,” Carla drawls. “But it would be a shame to let this lovely big bathtub go to waste.”

Lisa adopts a look of faux-seriousness. “That would be a shame,” she admits.

And then she’s peeling off the flimsy layer of silk; Carla’s breath hitching at the sight of the blonde, bare and resplendent in the candlelight. She climbs in gracefully, settles down at the other end of the tub.

And Carla is just about to ask her to move closer when…

“Ooh, I almost forgot,” Lisa says, reaching down to where an ice bucket sits at the side of the bath, retrieving a chilled bottle of Prosecco.

The blonde uncorks it expertly, filling two flutes and handing one over to Carla.

“Cheers,” the blonde says with a smile, holding her glass aloft.

Carla raises an eyebrow. “What are we toasting to?”

Lisa ponders the question for a moment, a divot appearing in her brow.

“To your Bobby,” she eventually quips with a mischievous grin

“What?!” Carla shrieks, horrified.

“Well,” Lisa shrugs diplomatically. “If he hadn’t gotten himself tangled up in the Lauren Bolton case then I’d have had no cause to darken your door that night and, quite possibly, none of this would have happened.”

Carla snorts. “I suppose I see your point,” she says. “But I’d rather not think about my nephew when I’m…you know…naked.”

Lisa chuckles. “Fair enough. How about….to being happy?”

And it’s so simple, yet so complicated, that Carla can barely breathe.

“To being happy,” the brunette chokes out, clinking her glass against Lisa’s.

They each take a sip, and Carla lets out a serene sigh as the cold liquid makes her whole body fizz.

“C’mere,” she whispers after a beat, motioning for Lisa to join her.

The blonde hesitates, just for a second, before tentatively shuffling over, settling back against Carla’s hot body.

It is a privilege, Carla thinks, to have Lisa like this; slick and nestled between her thighs.

“You’re not very good at relaxing are you?” Carla smirks, noting how Lisa’s shoulders remain stiff, as if she’s still on guard.

“No,” the blonde admits quietly. “I used to be. But that feels like a lifetime ago.”

At that, Carla’s heart breaks.

And she allows herself to wonder, just briefly, what it would have been like if she had met Lisa in that other lifetime; when the other woman was young and free and unburdened from grief.

“Do you think we’d have been friends?” Carla asks. “If we’d have met back then?”

Lisa twists around in her arms, the corner of her lip twitching in amusement.

“If there’s one thing we’ll never be, Carla,” she deadpans, “it’s friends.”

Carla throws back her head and laughs, tickled by the sound of her own words being fed back to her.

“Touché,” she grins. “Here, let me…”

Without further ado, Carla reaches out to twist Lisa’s hair into a makeshift chignon, then presses down between her shoulder blades, massaging at the stubborn knot that has seemingly taken up residence there.

“God,” Lisa groans, melting into Carla’s firm touch. “That feels…”

“Good?” Carla asks with a smile.

Lisa just nods, thick lashes fluttering against her soft cheeks. Carla looks at the gathering of downy hairs at the nape of the blonde’s neck, at the delicate freckle on her right shoulder; tiny strokes on a beautiful canvas.

Carla presses her mouth to the freckle and Lisa hums.

“It’s nice,” the brunette murmurs against her skin. “Seeing you relaxed for once.”

Lisa chuckles. “It’s nice being relaxed for once.”

“Oh yeah?” Carla asks innocently. “Then how about I help you relax some more?”

Lisa can only groan at that, presses back further into Carla’s embrace as the brunette plants a trail of open-mouthed kisses down her neck.

“You’re so gorgeous, Lisa,” Carla whispers, snaking her arm around to the blonde’s front, palming at her soapy breast.

“Touch me, Carla,” Lisa whispers, voice hoarse. “Touch me, please.”

And though Carla loves nothing more than teasing the other woman, she knows that now is not the time.

So she trails her hand lower, over the soft swell of Lisa’s stomach and through a tangle of damp curls until her fingers come to settle amongst the blonde’s searing heat.

“Carla!” Lisa moans as Carla’s nimble fingers set to work, tweaking and squeezing and stroking. “Fuck. I’m so hot I think I might actually explode.”

And Carla’s just about to suggest they take this into the bedroom when…

“Hang on a sec.”

But Lisa’s already too far gone to notice Carla reaching down to scoop up a handful of ice, the bucket long forgotten.

And so, when Carla finally presses her frozen palm to Lisa’s boiling skin, the blonde actually cries out, her hips bucking upwards as Carla drags the ice lower and lower, until it’s grazing over her throbbing clit.

It doesn’t take long then, what with the ice and the heat and Carla’s quick fingers, for Lisa to come undone; for her to totally fall apart in Carla’s arms.

And when her body has stopped trembling, Carla just holds her for a while, pressing chaste kisses to her sweat-slicked forehead until their skin starts to turn pruney and Lisa starts to shiver.

“Come on,” Carla says gently, nudging at Lisa’s shoulder. “Let’s get out of here.”

Lisa groans but reluctantly shifts, clambering gingerly out of the tub and reaching for a towel. Carla goes to follow suit but then suddenly she finds she’s being wrapped, swaddled, in one of the hotel’s plush bath sheets.

And Lisa dries her off with such care that Carla can’t help but let her mind drift back to her childhood, to those times when she’d use her pocket money to take her Rob to the swimming baths as a weekend treat.

She remembers looking on enviously in the changing rooms as the other kids were towelled off by their adoring parents, remembers wishing she had someone - anyone - to look after her like that.

Carla had never quite imagined that it would be Lisa who made that dream come true.

“Come on, Ms. Connor,” Lisa rasps, jolting Carla from her reverie. “I want to take you to bed.”

Carla feels a stab of heat between her thighs then; watches - rapt - as Lisa lets her towel drop and reaches for the half-full bottle of Prosecco, tossing a smirk over her shoulder as she leads the way back into the bedroom.

And Carla doesn’t know whether it’s the change in temperature or the way that Lisa is looking at her but, as the blonde stands there - bathed in the amber glow from the bedside lamp - she feels her skin prickle with goosebumps.

Lisa takes her time then, is deliberately slow as she lifts the wine bottle to her lips and takes a long slug, her throat bobbing as she swallows.

“Come here,” she whispers.

In that moment, Carla thinks she would go wherever Lisa asked her to.

The blonde cups Carla’s face in her hands and pulls her in. She still has wine in her mouth and so, when she presses their lips together, a rivulet of cold liquid trickles down Carla’s chin.

They both laugh. But then Lisa kisses her again with more ferocity and Carla can’t even think of laughing.

In fact, all she can think of is Lisa; of her mouth and her skin and her soft hands as she guides Carla down onto the bed, masterfully fitting their naked bodies together.

Before Carla even really knows what’s happening, Lisa is lying flat on her back and Carla is straddling her hips.

“Get up here,” the blonde growls, her green-grey eyes now a scorching black.

Carla opens her mouth to argue. She’s never much liked doing this - has always felt too self-conscious - but then Lisa looks at her, as if she can read her mind, and Carla thinks the better of it.

She doesn’t need reminding that, with Lisa, everything is different.

And so she moves, crawls awkwardly up the blonde’s body, until she’s hovering just above her face.

“Are you sure?” she whispers nervously.

“I’ve never been surer,” Lisa smiles.

With that, Lisa reaches up and guides Carla down onto her waiting mouth.

And, with one swipe of her tongue, all of Carla’s earlier worries - a lifetime of insecurities - melt away.

“Lisa, fuck!” Carla cries, bracing her hands on the headboard as she lurches forward.

Lisa says nothing but Carla can feel the blonde smiling against her as she drives her tongue in and out. Carla tries to be careful at first, tries not to bear down on Lisa’s pretty face, but, as the fire in the pit of her stomach burns hotter and hotter, the brunette becomes markedly less considerate.

With one hand, Lisa reaches up to tweak at a swollen nipple and Carla’s hips buck, her tempo quickening as Lisa’s strokes grow more insistent.

Carla feels her breasts bounce, feels a bead of sweat tracking a path down her neck and across her chest.

“You taste so good, Carla,” Lisa whispers. “I love having you in my mouth like this.”

And it’s that, coupled with the sight of Lisa - coated from nose to chin in Carla’s arousal - that proves to be the brunette’s undoing.

Within seconds, her knuckles are turning white where she grips at the headboard, and her whole body is convulsing, a scrambled string of expletives tumbling from her lips.

The next thing Carla knows, Lisa is pulling her close, manoeuvring her until she’s snuggled into the blonde’s side.

“Wow, blondie,” Carla slurs, sleep already close to claiming her as her head lolls against Lisa’s chest. “You’re like…a magician or something.”

Lisa laughs and Carla hears the sound reverberate against her ear.

It is, Carla thinks, the loveliest sound in the world.

“Thanks,” the blonde says. “Although, I might not put that on my CV. Could cause some issues. You know, if people started booking me for family parties?”

“That’s funny,” Carla chuckles, her eyelids suddenly heavy.

A pause, and then…

“You know I like you, don’t you blondie?”

Carla’s words hang, weighty, in the air. She feels Lisa stiffen beneath her, finds herself too tired to question it.

“I know,” the blonde whispers.

Carla shakes her head. “No, I mean…”

But she can’t articulate it - not in the way she wants to, not in the way that Lisa needs to hear - and so she trails off, drifts quickly into a dreamless sleep.

And she doesn’t think of it at all, not until the morning, when she’s woken by the sound of birds chirping and the intrusive glare of sunlight filtering in through the blinds.

It all comes rushing back to her then, as she rouses from sleep; her blood running cold as she turns to find the bed empty, sheets cool, beside her.

And Carla quickly finds herself close to tears, furious at herself for having crossed an invisible line, for having driven Lisa away.

But then she sees it.

The note.

The unfamiliar cursive on the hotel-issue notepad, resting neatly on the pillow where Lisa had slept.

With trembling hands, Carla reaches for it, her heart beating too fast for her to properly draw breath.

Sorry I had to dash out - work emergency! Didn’t want to wake you. Thank you for an incredible night. P.T.O…

And Carla knows, as she slowly turns the page, that what follows next could change everything.

But still nothing could have prepared her for…

P.S. I like you too x

Carla gasps, then clutches the note to her heaving chest.

And she wonders, as she lies there, naked, beneath the Goose Down duvet, where they can possibly go from here.

Chapter Text

They don’t talk about it.

Carla wants to, of course she does. She wants nothing more than to grill Lisa on exactly where they stand after The Note.

But, predictably, she’s too afraid to brace the subject. Particularly because, the next time she sees Lisa, the blonde seems so happy - on a high after cracking some long-running case - and Carla doesn’t want to rock the boat.

And, if she’s being totally honest, maintaining the status quo doesn’t seem like such a hardship when Lisa is sinking to her knees and burying her face between Carla’s thighs.

So they lapse back into their old routine of stolen moments and frenzied trysts. And it’s enough, Carla tells herself.

It is enough.

All the while, though, the brunette silently spirals.

I like you too.

Who knew those four words would be enough to reduce a 49-year-old woman to a moon-eyed wreck?

But it’s not the first time Carla has had to dim down her own feelings. She’s had enough experience of being ‘The Other Woman’ to know that, sometimes, it’s better to maintain an air of indifference, to keep one’s true emotions under lock and key.

And so she does.

And she’s happy.

At least, she’s happy enough.

Lisa seems happy too, although Carla can tell the blonde’s increasingly fractious relationship with Betsy is weighing heavily on her conscience.

It appears they’re arguing a lot. Lisa talks about it occasionally, and Carla knows Betsy well enough now to sense when she’s in one of her moods.

It seems to be happening more often these days, and Carla tries - once or twice - to reason with the teenager during her shifts at the factory. But Carla also knows that she’s on thin ice - that Betsy is still holding her to ransom after what she saw at the precinct - and so she daren’t push it.

The brunette knows if that information ever got back to Lisa, their little arrangement would be over quicker than she could say ‘ABH’, and she’s not quite sure she could handle that.

And so instead she tries to lend a listening ear.

When Lisa marches into her office one afternoon, all wound up after her run-in with the awful Joel Deering, Carla tries to soothe the blonde’s troubled mind.

“If I’d have been around more, she never would have got mixed up with him,” the blonde sighs as she sits, slumped, at Carla’s desk.

And Carla knows it’s not the time, but she can’t help thinking it feels right, having Lisa call into her office on her lunch break to confide her deepest, darkest feelings.

Carla wishes she could touch her, wishes she could reach out and put a comforting arm around her.

But she can’t, not here. And so…

“Oh come on, Lisa,” she says warmly. “You’re a single mum with a high-pressure career. I can hardly run this knicker factory!”

Carla briefly wonders whether it’s unhealthy to be doing this - to be diminishing her own achievements just to make Lisa feel better - but she quickly bats the thought away.

“No, it’s not just that though,” Lisa persists, shaking her head. “After Becky died, I should have taken more time off. You know, helped Betsy through it properly? But instead I took the coward’s way out. I threw myself into my job and now…now I feel like I’m losing her as well.”

Lisa looks so hopeless then, so utterly despairing, that Carla can hardly stand it.

“Oh, come on,” the brunette chides. “That’s not going to happen, is it? I’m not one that should be giving advice but…have you tried telling her all this?

Lisa snorts. “What? Tell her what a mess I’ve made? I think she’s probably worked that out for herself.”

Carla pauses as she weighs up her next move. She knows she’s walking a fine line, that there’s only so much she can say before Lisa likely turns defensive.

“Well,” she starts, tone encouraging. “Maybe she’d like to hear it from you? You know, so that she feels like she’s not the only one who messes up sometimes.”

For a beat, Lisa just looks at her, gnawing on her bottom lip, and Carla thinks she’s gone too far. But then the blonde smiles, just slightly, and Carla lets out a silent exhale.

“You’re a wise woman, Connor,” she grins fondly. “Anyone ever told you that?”

Carla smirks. “If I had a penny for every time someone had told me that, I…well, I wouldn’t still be living in Weatherfield for starters.”

Lisa huffs out a little laugh, grey eyes smiling.

“I’m glad that you are,” she says softly; her words turning Carla’s insides to jelly.

“Yeah,” the brunette whispers. “Yeah. Me too.”

And the strangest thing is, Carla means it.

— — —

It’s late when Lisa calls.

Carla hasn’t heard from her in days, since that afternoon in her office, and she’s expecting the blonde - as has become her custom - to say she’s waiting in her car for a late-night fumble.

She’s not expecting…

“Can you come over?”

Lisa’s voice sounds frantic, laced with something Carla can’t quite put her finger on. And the brunette is so caught up in that, in worrying about Lisa, that she almost doesn’t register what’s being asked of her.

“W-what?” she stammers after a beat. “To your place?”

She can almost hear Lisa rolling her eyes.

“No,” the blonde deadpans. “To Timbuktu. Where do you think?”

In truth, Carla doesn’t really know what to think. Until now, Lisa’s place has always been out-of-bounds; some faraway, mythical terrain to which Carla had never imagined she’d be granted access.

“It’s just we haven’t,” the brunette starts awkwardly. “You’ve never…never mind. What about-”

“Betsy’s out,” Lisa says quickly, pre-empting Carla’s question.

The sharpness in her tone speaks a thousand words and Carla senses the topic is a volatile one.

“Oh, right,” she croaks. “Okay. Well, sure. I’ll head over.”

Lisa audibly lets out a breath, as if she’s relieved.

“Good,” she says, all businesslike now. “Great. I’ll text you my address.”

And Carla should be happy, she knows that. But still she can’t shake the niggling feeling that something’s not right.

The brunette swallows, prepares to have her head bitten off as she asks…

“Lisa, are you okay?”

For a moment, Lisa doesn’t reply, and Carla wonders if she’s already hung up the phone. But then she answers, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“I will be,” she says cryptically.

And then the line goes dead.

Carla thinks for a second about calling her back, her thumb hovering tentatively over Lisa’s number. But, deep down, the brunette knows it would be futile.

So instead she just sighs and picks up her car keys, determined not to waste another precious second.

— — —

Carla pulls to a stop outside the address Google Maps had directed her to and almost lets out a laugh.

Because this place is exactly what she’d imagined Lisa’s house to be like. It’s safe and sensible; a smart little semi on a quiet cul-de-sac, about 10 minutes away from the Street.

It’s the sort of place Carla used to dream about when she was a kid, the sort of place where normal families live and, for a second, the brunette’s heart aches for her younger self.

She quickly shakes herself out of it, has one final check of her appearance in the rear view mirror. She applies another slick of lip gloss and blots it with a tissue before climbing out of the car.

She makes her way up the silent driveway, past Lisa’s Audi and to the front door. Carla knocks gently on the glass pane and, as she waits, her gaze snags on the two hanging baskets that frame the doorway.

And they seem so incongruous, so totally at odds with everything Carla has come to know about Lisa, that the brunette wonders if they were perhaps left by a previous tenant. She peers closer at the swathe of red petunias, notes the way their curling petals have started to turn brown at the edges, and takes that as confirmation of her suspicions.

But then the door opens and Carla can think of nothing but Lisa.

At first, the blonde looks stunned, lips slightly parted, and Carla panics for a moment that she’s somehow misconstrued Lisa’s impromptu invitation, that maybe she’d gone mad and totally imagined their earlier conversation on the phone.

Lisa’s still wearing one of her stuffy work shirts, though the top three buttons are undone, and she’s ditched her smart work trousers in favour of a pair of washed-out Adidas jogging bottoms. Behind Carla, the security light snaps on and, silhouetted in its harsh glow, Lisa looks drawn and tired.

Still, she looks so beautiful that Carla’s head spins.

The brunette scrambles for something to say, eventually settles on…

“Hey. Nice place you’ve got here.”

Lisa doesn’t answer with words, simply yanks Carla across the threshold and roughly presses their lips together.

And it’s so all so overwhelming - the faint tang of Lisa’s perfume, the heat from her writhing body, the softness of her hair - that Carla can barely breathe.

“Someone’s happy to see me,” the brunette pants as they break apart.

Lisa just blinks at her, doe-eyed, and then sets to work nipping along the slope of Carla’s neck.

“I missed you,” the blonde moans into her skin.

The admission makes Carla throb and, for a few beats, she allows herself to be entirely consumed by Lisa as the other woman mouths a wet trail back up to her lips.

Lisa pushes her tongue inside and Carla groans, paralysed with lust. But then the blonde starts fumbling desperately with the zipper on Carla’s jeans and the brunette tastes an unmistakable trace of whiskey on her tongue.

Suddenly, it all just feels wrong.

“Lisa,” Carla says, trying to prise the blonde off of her. “Lisa, are you sure you’re okay?”

Lisa shakes her head, almost manic now. “I’m fine,” she pants, not meeting Carla’s eye. “I just need…fuck, I need you, Carla.”

As she speaks, Lisa makes another grab for Carla’s zipper but the brunette is too quick for her, catching her wrists and holding her at arm’s length.

“Lisa, stop!” she snaps firmly. “Just…stop, please. What’s wrong?”

For a moment, they’re swallowed up by terrible silence. And then, the unthinkable happens.

Lisa starts to cry.

It starts off quietly; just a few choked sobs as the blonde’s gorgeous face crumples. But then it’s like a tidal wave; Lisa’s whole body convulsing as fat, ugly tears slide down her cheeks.

“Hey,” Carla says softly, not even hesitating before she pulls the other woman into her chest. “Shh, it’s okay. Darlin’, everything’s gonna be okay.”

Of course, Carla doesn’t know that.

But, as Lisa’s tiny frame shudders against her, the brunette is absolutely determined to make it so.

“God, I’m sorry,” Lisa sniffs after a while, wiping sheepishly at the smudge of mascara she’s left on Carla’s shirt. “You…you didn’t sign up for this. You should go.”

And the way Lisa says that, the way she sounds almost resigned to Carla leaving, makes the brunette angry.

Because all she’s ever wanted, all this time, is to stay.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Carla says evenly, trying her best to mask her frustration. “You’re obviously in a bad way. What’s happened? What’s wrong?”

Lisa shakes her head, scrubs at her tear-stained face with her shirt sleeve. “Me and Bets,” she croaks. “We had a fight.”

Carla nods. She’d thought as much.

“But it’s not just that,” Lisa continues. “It’s not just Betsy. It’s work, and the boiler’s on the blink, and I forgot to pay my sodding car insurance, and I’m just…I’m just sick of being such a fucking mess. I’m sick of being alone.”

Carla swallows thickly.

“You’re not a mess, Lisa,” she whispers, meaning every word. “Not even close. And you’re not…you’re not alone. Not now.”

Lisa looks at her then, her eyes widening slightly, as if only just registering that Carla is standing there, right in the middle of her hallway.

“I’m sorry for dragging you into this,” she says wearily. “Honestly Carla, if you want to leave I really won’t be offended.”

For a beat, Carla considers it. In many ways, she thinks it would serve Lisa right for underestimating her.

But then she looks at the blonde again, at her red-rimmed eyes and her dimpled cheeks, and she knows there’s nowhere else she would rather be.

And so Carla reaches out, carefully takes hold of Lisa’s hand.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispers.

Lisa smiles weakly, her cheeks flushing, just a little bit.

“Thanks,” she croaks. “Although, I’m not sure I’ll be great company. Until you got here, I was just rotting on the sofa, watching old episodes of ‘The Chase’.”

Carla looks down at their interlocked fingers and then back up to Lisa’s face.

“Sounds perfect,” the brunette says with a smile.

And really, Carla thinks, it does.

— — —

“Jane Seymour!” Carla shouts at the television, her voice so loud that Lisa actually flinches.

Carla beams as, on screen, Bradley Walsh confirms that ‘Jane Seymour’ was, in fact, the name of Henry VIII’s third wife, then looks smugly over at Lisa, who’s curled up at the other end of the sofa.

“We’ve watched three episodes and you literally haven’t got one question wrong yet,” the blonde huffs petulantly. “How is that even possible?”

“Hang on,” Carla frowns. “Why do you sound so surprised? Did you think I was thick or something, blondie?”

Lisa’s face falls.

“No!” she yelps quickly. “No, not at all. I think you’re one of the smartest people I know. I just…you’ve never struck me as the sort of person who’d know a lot about Tudor history. Or about how many time zones there are in Russia. Or, in fact, what the national flower of Japan is.”

As she tucks her legs underneath herself on the couch, Carla preens.

“What can I say?” she shrugs. “I spent a lot of time in pubs when I was a kid. My mam actually dated the quizmaster at our local for a while. Maybe I absorbed some of his trivia by osmosis.”

Lisa rolls her eyes but she’s smiling, and then her pretty face softens, as if something important has just occurred to her.

“You don’t talk about it much,” she says quietly. “About your childhood, I mean.”

The way Lisa looks at her then, as if she can see right through to Carla’s insides, makes the brunette squirm. And so she tries to laugh it off.

“I lived it,” she shrugs with a chuckle. “That was enough for me.”

Lisa nods but her expression remains serious.

“You know you can talk about stuff though,” she says earnestly. “If you ever want to. You’re so good at listening to me and I…well, I just want you to know that I’m always here. If you need me.”

All of a sudden, Carla’s throat feels tight.

“Thanks,” she manages to squeeze out, earning herself another nod.

Carla turns her attention back to the TV but she finds she can’t concentrate now. Beside her, Lisa shifts awkwardly.

“Brew?” the blonde offers, too brightly.

Carla has never wanted a cup of tea more.

“Please.”

Lisa smiles and gets to her feet. Carla waits until she can hear the blonde clattering around in the kitchen before she lets her curiosity get the better of her.

The brunette ambles over to the mantelpiece, where a little wooden plaque is propped up on an easel.

‘We may not have it all together, but together we have it all,’ reads the sign; the words painted onto the wood in big, loopy handwriting.

Carla frowns. Much like the hanging baskets, it doesn’t feel very Lisa, and Carla wonders if it’s the influence of…

Becky.

Carla’s blood runs cold as her eyes wander further along the mantelpiece, homing in on a faded family photograph in a silver frame. In the picture, Betsy can’t be much older than three; all chubby cheeks and pigtails, sitting happily on Lisa’s lap.

Lisa is beaming at the camera, looks like she hasn’t got a care in the world as she nestles into the side of a stunning brunette.

And it simply must be her.

Becky.

Over the past weeks and months, Carla has driven herself half-mad wondering about the woman who came before her; the woman to whom she could never possibly hope to compare.

So many times, she’s cursed the fact Lisa is a total neophyte when it comes to social media, has longed for an ancient Facebook account she could trawl through for traces of the blonde’s old life.

But now Carla knows that ignorance was bliss.

Because, seeing her - seeing Becky - is so utterly galling that Carla actually wants to vomit.

It’s not just that she’s beautiful, though that doesn’t help. But she looks so full of life - and Lisa looks so happy - that the pain of the Swains’ loss feels even more appalling than before.

“You’d make a crap detective.”

Carla jolts at the sound of Lisa’s voice from behind her, cheeks flaming as she turns to see the blonde watching her from the doorway.

“Shit,” the brunette sighs. “Sorry. I didn’t…I wasn’t snooping.”

Lisa quirks a disbelieving eyebrow.

“Okay,” Carla admits bashfully. “Maybe I was, just a little bit. Sorry.”

Lisa shrugs as she sets down two steaming mugs on the coffee table and settles back onto the sofa.

“S’okay.”

Carla takes one final look at the photograph before returning it to its rightful place on the mantelpiece.

“She was very beautiful,” Carla says, perching gingerly on the couch. “Becky.”

Lisa swallows, her expression inscrutable. “She was.”

Carla chews on her lip.

“She looks like she was kind too,” she croaks. “She has kind eyes.”

Lisa nods, her own eyes turning glassy.

“She does,” she says quietly. “She was.”

In that moment, Carla feels stifled by the strength of the blonde’s grief.

“I’m so sorry, Lisa,” she breathes, reaching out to rest a comforting hand on the other woman’s thigh.

Lisa looks down, as if Carla’s hand is suddenly the most interesting thing in the world.

“It’s not your fault.”

“No,” Carla whispers, squeezing gently at Lisa’s leg. “No, I know it’s not. But still, I’m sorry.”

Lisa looks up, flashes her a watery smile. “Thanks.”

Carla nods as they fall back into stilted silence. She retracts her hand.

“What did you and Betsy argue about anyway?” the brunette asks after a beat, keen to change the subject. “Worse than the usual teenage melodrama?”

Lisa dips her head, picks at some fluff on her jogging bottoms. “It’s stupid,” she says.

Carla frowns. “It’s not stupid if it’s got you so upset.”

Lisa bites her lip, then sighs.

“Really, it was nothing,” she shrugs. “At least, it started out as nothing. I was just nagging at her, telling her she needed to do some prep before she starts college, and she snapped at me, started asking why I even care.”

“Well, of course you care!” Carla scoffs, incredulous. “And Betsy knows that, deep down.”

Lisa shakes her head. “Yeah, well, I’m not sure I’ve done a very good job at showing it. She said that I barely show an interest in her most of the time, that I always put work first. That’s when the shouting started and then…”

Lisa trails off, her voice creaking under the weight of her obvious emotion.

“And then?” Carla prompts gently.

Lisa takes a deep breath, as if she’s steeling herself for what she’s about to say.

“She said that she wishes…she wishes that Becky was still here…instead of me.”

At that, Carla physically hurts.

She can hear the agony in Lisa’s voice, can see the tears threatening to spill from her haunted eyes, and she can't help but feel the other woman’s pain.

“Oh, Lisa,” Carla sighs. “She doesn’t mean that.”

Lisa gulps.

“Doesn’t she?” she asks huskily. “I mean, she’s right. Becky was so much better at all of the hands-on ‘mum’ stuff. It didn’t come so naturally to me at the beginning but Becky…she made me better. She made everything better.”

Carla’s stomach churns, her heart beating too fast in her chest.

“That might be true,” she says diplomatically. “But that doesn’t mean you’re not a good mum, Lisa. You love the bones of that girl. Anyone can see that.”

Lisa wipes roughly at a stray tear as it tracks a messy trail down her cheek.

“Maybe I need to work on showing it. Becky always said I was crap when it came to showing my emotions. She was always softer, more sentimental. It was her who bought that plaque, the one on the mantelpiece, not long after Betsy was born. That’s the sort of person she was.”

Carla nods, unsurprised. She once again reaches for Lisa’s hand.

“There’s more than one way to show love, Lisa,” she says softly. “And maybe your way isn’t always as obvious as Becky’s was. But that doesn’t mean your love is worth any less. Betsy’s hurting right now but, in her heart of hearts, she knows that too.”

Lisa sniffs, her thumb drawing a lazy circle on the inside of Carla’s wrist.

“She’s lucky to have you, you know,” the blonde whispers. “Not many people would have given her a chance.”

Carla’s mind flits briefly to that day at the precinct, to the way Betsy had threatened her afterwards. And she’s so close to coming clean about everything.

The truth is right there, right on the tip of her tongue. Until…

“I’m lucky too.”

Carla’s head snaps up. “What?”

Lisa presses her lips together. “I’m lucky to have you,” she repeats, with more conviction this time. “I know I don’t always show it but, well, what I said on that note, I meant it.”

(Just breathe.)

“Oh,” Carla croaks stiffly. “Oh, right.”

And she knows she sounds pathetic but she simply can’t find the words. Lisa clears her throat, clearly sensing it’s her who’ll have to take the lead for a change.

“After Becky, I didn’t think that would happen again,” the blonde admits after a beat. “But then…then you happened.”

Carla swallows. “Is that…is that a good thing?”

Lisa tilts her head slightly, as if she’s really considering the question.

“Yeah,” she says with a smile. “Yeah, I think it is.”

And it’s all Carla has wanted.

Carla can see so clearly now that Lisa is all that she’s wanted.

But still the words won’t come. So instead she closes her eyes, reaches up to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind Lisa’s ear.

Carla hears the blonde inhale, can almost taste her as she leans closer and closer.

The brunette feels warm all over, like her whole body is turning to liquid, and she thinks it’s a trick of the mind until she feels the wetness of a tongue against her hand and then…

“Ohmygodwhatthefuck!”

Before Carla can even process what’s happening, she’s jerking backwards as she realises - out of nowhere - a small ginger tabby cat has worked its way between her and Lisa, making an instant beeline for her hand.

“Oh my god,” the brunette repeats, gawping at the tiny ball of fur as its pointed tongue laps at her skin. “Lisa, what the fuck?! How did it get in? Do I need a tetanus injection?”

Lisa doesn’t reply immediately and, for a moment, Carla thinks the blonde must be just as horrified as she is by their feline intruder.

But then Carla hears wheezing, looks up to find Lisa is doubled over, laughing so much she can hardly speak.

“Oh my god,” the blonde howls. “Your face…I can’t believe…I can’t believe you’re actually scared of Kevin.”

“I’m not scared!” Carla yelps indignantly. “I just don’t like being mauled by stray animals and…hang on a minute…Kevin? Do you know him?”

“Know him?” Lisa quips with a bemused smirk. “I should hope so. He’s been living with us for the past five years.”

Carla looks from the little ginger furball to Lisa and then back again.

“Wait…you have a cat?”

Lisa nods. “Uh huh. He was a present for Betsy’s 11th birthday. Although, these days, it’s mostly me who looks after him.”

At that, the cat lets out a little mewl, as if corroborating Lisa’s story. Carla watches the way the blonde looks at him, her face full of warmth, and can’t help but feel a prickle of affection.

“Right,” she says slowly. “Okay. So you have a cat. But…Kevin?”

“After De Bruyne,” Lisa says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

And then, when Carla just stares blankly back at her…

“He plays for Manchester City. Kevin De Bruyne, I mean. Not my cat.”

Carla shakes her head, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. “The cat probably knows more about football than I do,” she snorts.

Lisa rolls her eyes, then lifts Kevin gently down onto the carpet.

“He’s a good boy, really,” Lisa says adoringly as the cat shuffles off to the kitchen in search of food. “He just gets a bit possessive sometimes. Can be a bit of a mood-killer.”

Carla nods, shrugs. “It’s fine. And, hey, I suppose I did come here expecting to see your pussy so…”

“Carla!” Lisa shrieks, scandalised, her cheeks turning the colour of beetroot.

But then she catches the brunette’s eye, takes in her suggestive grin, and bursts into laughter. It doesn’t take long until Carla is joining in, both of them falling breathlessly against each other, until Carla starts to get a stitch in her side.

And, suddenly - amid the cat hair and the cups of tea and the sound of Bradley Walsh warbling away on TV - it feels like everything might just be okay.

— — —

“Have you ever thought about becoming a masseuse?” Lisa asks as Carla’s fingers comb patiently through her hair. “I’d pay good money for this.”

Carla looks down with a grin. At some point during the last hour, Lisa’s head had taken up residence in her lap.

She’s been there for so long now that Carla is starting to get pins and needles in her leg but seeing Lisa like this - practically purring as Carla scratches and kneads at her scalp - means the brunette can’t quite bring herself to care.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” Carla quips. “Although, right now, I only want to concentrate on looking after my favourite client.”

Lisa groans and it sends a bolt of arousal coursing through Carla’s body.

“Is that so?” the blonde asks with a smirk as, slowly, she sits up, moves to straddle Carla’s thighs. “Well then, maybe I could show my gratitude with a different form of payment.”

Carla shivers, and she’s just about to press their lips together when…

“Shit, sorry!” Lisa squeaks, clamping a hand over her mouth.

Carla quirks an eyebrow. “Blondie, did you just yawn right in my face? Am I boring you or something?”

“No!” Lisa yelps quickly. “It’s just…been a long day. That’s all.”

And it has.

All at once, Carla feels exhausted, sees that same weariness mirrored back at her in Lisa’s tear-stained face.

Carla reaches up with her thumb, swipes it gently over the blonde’s sticky cheek.

“It’s late,” the brunette sighs. “I should probably get going. I’ve got another full day of wrangling a moody teenager ahead of me and I need to be in tip-top shape.”

Lisa grimaces. “I really am sorry. If she ever gets too much-”

“I can handle it,” Carla says gently. “Betsy’s a good kid, really. But I probably should get my beauty sleep.”

Lisa nods, though she doesn’t attempt to move.

“You know, my bed is plenty big enough for two people,” she says bashfully, studiously avoiding Carla’s gaze. “You could always stay? Only if you want to, of course.”

And Carla feels euphoric.

This moment, it feels seismic.

“Okay,” she says tentatively, trying to keep her emotions in check. “Okay, sure. As long as you don’t mind?”

Lisa beams. “Not at all.”

And so, hand in hand, they climb the stairs.

Lisa digs out an oversized t-shirt for Carla to wear, the blonde sweeping up her hair into a messy bun and burrowing into the brunette’s chest, as if this is something they’ve done a thousand times before.

“Thanks,” Lisa whispers, as she reaches to turn out the light. “For staying.”

Carla pulls her closer, drops a kiss into her soft, soft hair. “Thanks for asking.”

Lisa hums against Carla’s neck as sleep slowly claims her. They stay like that, fitted together beneath the blonde’s 13.5 tog duvet, until morning light.

And, for the first time since all of this started, they don’t have sex.

— — —

Carla is on cloud nine.

As she saunters into the café for a quick caffeine fix, the brunette feels on top of the world.

She’d left Lisa’s place first thing, had allowed herself a few moments to watch the blonde sleeping peacefully before sliding silently out of bed and making her way back to the flat. Carla hadn’t wanted to cause any trouble if Betsy turned up at the house, knows the last thing Lisa needs right now is the teeanger suspecting her mum is getting down and dirty with her boss.

But unlike all those other morning afters, Carla doesn’t feel sad. Because, for once, it doesn’t feel like the end.

In fact, it feels like only the beginning.

Carla’s so blissed out that, as she lodges her breakfast order with Shona behind the counter, she almost totally misses the fact Lisa is in the café, sitting across the table from a stony-faced Betsy.

The brunette throws Lisa a quick smile, tries not to let herself get too distracted by how gorgeous the blonde looks; her hair swept back in an artfully slapdash updo and her eyes perfectly complemented by a smart navy shirt.

“Right you,” Shona says, snapping Carla out of her daydream. “Bacon barm was it?”

“Ooh yeah. Don’t be mean with the ketchup.”

Carla grins as Shona bustles off to make her order. And she tries not to listen in on the Swains’ terse conversation - she really does try - but…

“You’re quiet,” she hears Lisa say. “I’ve barely had a peep out of you all morning. What’s up?”

Carla glances over her shoulder, sees Betsy squirm.

“Well, erm…”

The brunette wonders if this might be the start of a breakthrough, but then…

“Hang on, just a sec,” Lisa sighs as her phone starts to ring. “I’ve got to get this.”

Carla hears Betsy snort and feels her own stomach twist.

“Hi, how’s it going?” Lisa asks, transitioning seamlessly into DS Swain mode. “Yeah, I know it will take a while. You lot in IT forensics are run ragged. That’s great, thanks for letting me know. I owe you one. Okay. Bye.”

The blonde hangs up and turns her attention back to Betsy. “Sorry about that.”

“Yeah,” the teenager huffs. “You’re always sorry but nothing ever changes.”

(Carla wishes Shona would hurry up with that bacon butty.)

“Look, I tell you what,” Lisa says placatingly. “I’ll put it on silent. There. What were you going to say?”

But Betsy is already getting to her feet.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Oh, Bets,” Lisa pleads as her daughter gathers up her things. “Come on. I’m listening.”

“How long for?” Betsy asks tiredly before storming out of the door.

Carla turns properly then, fires Lisa a sympathetic look. But the blonde just sighs, as if last night never happened, and follows Betsy out of the café.

Carla just watches her go.

Suddenly, she’s no longer on cloud nine.

– – –

Carla has to do something.

She knows it’s not her place, not really. But all she can think about, all morning, is Lisa’s desperate face at the café.

Betsy’s not much better either, spends most of the morning stomping about the factory with a face like thunder.

So Carla decides she has to do something.

She calls Betsy into her office under the pretense of inspecting her handiwork, lets the teenager blather on about her gripes with ‘granny knickers’ before bracing the real issue at hand.

“Well,” Carla starts cautiously. “You’ve had a right face on you all day.”

Betsy’s scowl deepens and Carla knows she has to tackle this head on.

“I saw you and your mum having words earlier,” the brunette says, earning herself an eye roll. “Listen, I know you think I’m probably poking my nose in but, er, it must be tough for her. You know, a busy, demanding job and no back-up at home.

“Yeah,” Betsy says quietly. “My other mum, she used to do all of the touchy-feely stuff. She always put me first. With DS Swain, the job comes first, cat second, me third if I’m lucky.”

Carla can see the anguish written all over the teenager’s face and feels her heart twist. She’s going to have to change tack.

“It’s a lot of responsibility for her though,” the brunette reasons. “I mean, the stakes are so high in that job. Us? We can balls up and it’s fine.”

But Betsy’s not impressed.

“I know she’s doing a public service,” she huffs. “Catching the bad guys. Blah blah blah, whatever.”

Carla sighs. “Betsy. She thinks the world of you.”

Betsy shakes her head. “I’d be surprised if she thought of me at all. To her, I’m just a pain in the backside.”

Carla decides then to play her trump card.

“She confided in me the other day,” she says after a beat. “Do you know what she said? She said she wished the two of you were closer. I dunno maybe, couldn’t you just make a tiny bit of effort maybe? Just meet her halfway, say?”

Betsy looks at her then, really looks at her and, for a second, Carla thinks she can see a flicker of understanding in the blonde’s dark eyes.

But, just as quickly as it appeared, the flicker fizzles out and Carla decides to quit while she’s ahead.

“Anyway,” the brunette shrugs, “it’s none of my business. Thanks for these.”

Betsy nods and shuffles dutifully out of the office, her pretty face creased with worry. Carla sighs, can’t help but think that, deep down, the teenager is so like her mother.

Perhaps, Carla thinks, that’s the problem.

– – –

At first, Carla thinks she’s seeing things.

It’s late afternoon and she’s poring over designs in her office when she sees them - Betsy and Lisa - walking arm in arm toward the factory exit. All day, Carla had feared she’d overstepped the mark by trying to play mediator between the pair.

But now, as Betsy laughs at something Lisa says before making for the car, Carla wonders if she’d gotten through to the teenager after all.

“You pair looked nice and cosy,” Carla says as Lisa comes swaggering into her office.

The blonde smirks. “I suspect I’ve got you to thank for that.”

Carla stops pretending to be busy and shoots Lisa a smile; the sight of her in that thick leather coat making the brunette’s head spin.

“I just reminded her that she’s very lucky to have you,” she shrugs airily. “You know, she knows it really. She’s a good kid.”

Lisa catches her bottom lip between her teeth. “Yeah, she puts up with a lot though.”

Carla sighs, sets her designs back down on the desk. “Well, so do you. Don’t sell yourself short. You’ve got a mammoth job and a tricky teenager. I couldn’t do both. I’m kind of glad I chose the job really.”

Lisa pins her with another grateful smile, before her expression shifts to something more serious. “My job’s possibly on the line,” she says quietly.

Carla feels a prickle of dread. “How do you mean?

“I’ve been warned off investigating Joel,” she sighs. “You know, threatened with suspension.”

Carla frowns, crosses her arms over her chest. “Are you kidding me?”

“Not that that’s going to stop me,” Lisa says defiantly. “I just need to be a bit more careful.”

Carla’s sense of dread heightens.

“Is that wise?” she asks.

“Oh, I’m gonna nail Joel,” Lisa insists, unfazed. “For all of those women he’s abused.”

And Carla knows that Lisa is being noble, knows that - if the roles were reversed - she would probably do the same thing. But still, Carla worries.

“Just…be careful, yeah?” she whispers, the words ‘for me’ remaining unspoken.

Lisa smiles. “I’m always careful.”

And Carla laughs.

If only that were true.

Chapter Text

Carla should have taken her own advice.

She should have been more careful. Or, better still, she should have stayed away from Joel Deering entirely.

She hadn’t intended to cause a scene - although, in truth, she very rarely did. But seeing Joel - sitting there, in his too-tight trousers, brazenly flirting with a client at the hotel bar - had put Carla right off her Pinot Grigio.

And so, the second her own client lunch had finished up, the brunette simply hadn’t been able to help herself, had quickly marched over there to give that smarmy lowlife a piece of her (slightly inebriated) mind.

“He’s actually been up for GBH himself, you know,” Carla had sneered, causing half-a-dozen heads to swivel in their direction. “So he can kind of see the perspective from both sides. Lauren Bolton? You must have read about it in the papers. It was all over the place.”

It’s fair to say Carla’s little outburst hadn’t gone down well. Joel’s horrified client had fled, and it hadn’t taken long for the man in question to show his true colours.

“Don’t mess with me, Carla,” he’d snarled through gritted teeth.

“I think you’ll find I just did,” Carla had quipped.

But as the brunette had flounced off toward the exit - Joel’s eyes practically burning a hole in her behind - she hadn’t been able to shake the cold sense of dread that was starting to build in the pit of the stomach.

Carla knew, even then, that she really should have been more careful.

– – –

Carla’s just finishing up at the factory when it happens.

She’s sitting in her office, head bent over a jumble of paperwork, when she hears someone clear their throat.

“Ugh,” she groans, pulse fluttering as she looks up to find Joel strutting around like he owns the place. “Have you seen something you like there?”

“Well, if it isn’t the little midnight mass,” he smirks, earning himself a blank look. “Grass. Listing all of my misdemeanours like that. You were enjoying that, weren’t you?”

Carla sighs. “Yes, Joel. It was one of the top 10 moments of my life.”

Joel wets his lips. “Do you know what slander means, Carla?”

“I can see you know what patronising means, Joel,” the brunette replies evenly.

Joel barks out a caustic laugh. “Because, just so we’re clear, I’m gonna sue you for it.”

Carla tries to shrug it off, even as her heart leaps in her chest. “You really are living your best life, aren’t you?”

“Hey,” Joel grins. “I’m as innocent as your great pal Cropper. Although, that being said, I wouldn’t be surprised if he did have the hots for that jailbait Lauren.”

And Carla knows - she does know - that he’s trying to get a reaction from her. But still she can feel her hackles start to rise.

“Get out, Joel.”

But Joel’s not done.

“Why do you think people are so convinced he’s a pervert?” he sneers. “It’s because if it looks like a perv, it usually is-”

It all happens so quickly then. Carla’s delicate resolve snaps and suddenly she’s on her feet, hurtling across her office.

“You really are looking for a smack in the face, aren’t you?” she growls.

And then she’s pulling back her arm, her fist just about to make contact with Joel’s smug little face, when…

“Woah, woah, woah. Calm down, Carla. Don’t do anything you’ll live to regret.”

Lisa.

Somehow, in the midst of all the chaos, the blonde had managed to find her way into the office and wedge her tiny frame between Carla and the object of her fury.

“I’ll regret it if I don’t smack him,” the brunette hisses bitterly.

But already she’s calming down; Lisa’s touch - firm but gentle on her arm - like a soothing balm to her boiling angst.

And Carla wonders then, just for a second, how it is that the blonde always manages to make things better.

“Did you see that?” Joel jeers, looking wildly between the two women. “Her aggression is off the scale.”

Lisa presses her thumb, just slightly, against the pulsing muscle in Carla’s bicep. It’s a silent warning, Carla knows, and yet she simply can’t help herself from…

“You really aren’t used to women standing up to you, are you, Joel?”

Lisa shoots her a look - probably intended to be stern but it only makes Carla feel hot - and she knows she daren’t escalate this any further.

Lisa must sense that Carla’s got the message because, very slowly, she lets go of her arm. The brunette immediately mourns the contact, half-considers lamping Joel squarely across the jaw, just so Lisa would have to restrain her. But then…

“Just get out,” the blonde says coldly. And then, when Joel doesn’t move…

“Go on! Leave!”

For a beat, Joel just glowers at them and Carla fears he might actually turn physical. But then, with one final snarl, he spins on his heel and stalks out of the office, slamming the door shut behind him.

Suddenly, Carla can’t breathe; a heady cocktail of fear and panic and relief making her head spin.

Lisa watches her warily from across the room.

“Are you alright?” she asks softly.

Carla inhales, feels her pulse start to return to something vaguely resembling normality.

“Yes,” she sighs. “I just can’t believe I let him get in my head. I can’t stand to see him get away with what he did to Roy and Lauren.”

Lisa chews on her lip, pensive. “Well, there might still be a way of bringing him to justice.”

Carla shakes her head, feels overwhelmed by the relentless whirring of her busy brain.

“I just hate feeling like this,” she huffs. “I run this place and I run it well. But everything I do, it has to be in control. I have to be in control and nothing is at the moment. What with Peter beggaring off, Stephen running rampage, Roy being banged up, Jenny stealing my…”

Lisa quirks an eyebrow and Carla decides that the Jenny situation should probably be revisited at a later date.

“Actually scratch that,” Carla says sheepishly, bracing her hands on the back of a chair. “It’s just everything. It’s just bloomin’ everything. I feel so out of control, honestly.”

Lisa doesn’t speak then, just reaches up to touch Carla’s arm; the pad of her thumb stroking an intricate pattern on the inside of the brunette’s elbow.

And Carla wants to ask her…

‘How do you do it? How do you always know what to do?’

Carla wants to kiss her, wants to hold her close and never let her go. But then…

“Ugh, great!”

The sound of Betsy’s voice cuts through the silence and Lisa springs away from her.

Carla feels like she’s been doused in cold water.

“Betsy!” Lisa calls, making an instant beeline for the door.

“What’s up with her?” Carla asks, totally bewildered.

But Lisa is already gone, following dutifully in Betsy’s wake.

And Carla really shouldn’t be surprised.

In the end, she knows, Lisa will always go.

– – –

Carla doesn’t hear from Lisa for the rest of the day.

And so she spends most of her evening soul-searching, wondering what it is that she could have possibly done wrong. Carla thinks it’s probably got something to do with Betsy.

Quite what or why, she doesn’t know. But she just has a feeling.

Her suspicions are confirmed the next day, when Betsy approaches her at the factory and starts wringing her hands together, sheepishly admits to telling Lisa about that day at the precinct.

And Carla feels sick.

Surely, she thinks, this will destroy everything.

Carla doesn’t even have the energy to shout at her. She knows it’s her own fault, that she should never have asked Betsy to keep her terrible secret.

With a weary sigh, Carla dismisses the teenager then sinks, defeated, into an office chair.

And, though it pains her, she knows exactly what she has to do next.

– – –

Lisa’s eyes find hers the moment she walks into the station.

The blonde is deep in conversation with Nick Tilsley, and Carla feels a flicker of amusement that Lisa’s job has thus far brought her into contact with not one but two of Carla’s ex-husbands.

But then Lisa looks at her, gaze cold and unflinching, and Carla can’t find the strength to be amused about anything.

“What are you doing here?” the blonde asks as she saunters over, one hand hooked in her pocket.

And she looks stunning, in her smart silk shirt and little black blazer, one white-blonde strand of hair wrestled loose from her ponytail.

The brunette longs to reach out, longs to coil it around her finger, longs to…

Focus, Carla.

“I kind of figured I’d save myself the humiliation of getting arrested,” she says with a grimace.

Lisa says nothing, just motions with her head for Carla to follow her into an empty interview room.

“Tea?” the blonde asks, once the door is closed behind them.

Carla falters at that. After everything that’s happened, she hadn’t expected to be afforded such a courtesy.

“Please,” she croaks, settling awkwardly into a hard-backed chair.

Lisa gets them both a drink from the vending machine in the corner. She doesn’t ask before adding a sachet of milk and two sugars to Carla’s.

The brunette accepts the polystyrene cup with a grateful smile, tries desperately not to read into the fact that Lisa knows how she takes her tea.

The blonde settles down stiffly across from her, looks at her expectantly.

“I was gonna come and report it straight away,” Carla sighs after a beat. “But I kind of…I lost my nerve.”

Lisa shakes her head. “I have to say that when Betsy told me, I was shocked. I mean, not that you sent him flying - I’d have been tempted to do the same thing - but the fact that you drove off.”

Carla feels another whisper of shame curling low in her stomach.

“I know, I know,” she says bashfully. “It wasn’t my finest hour.”

Lisa tilts her head. “I guess you were under a lot of stress at the time.”

At that, Carla’s head snaps up. She really hadn’t expected this; hadn’t expected Lisa to offer up some form of mitigation.

It makes her feel strangely hopeful, though she knows she has no right to be.

“Hardly an excuse though, was it?” the brunette says quietly, folding her hands in her lap.

“No,” Lisa sighs. “I checked the police files. A complaint was made at the time and the lad was hospitalised so therefore I’m duty-bound to have you questioned under caution. It’ll be up to the CPS but there’s every chance that you’ll be charged with ABH.”

Lisa speaks quickly, the words tumbling from her mouth like vomit. Carla wonders if this is hard for her too, feels suddenly gripped by the awful feeling that she’s let the blonde down.

“It is what it is, I suppose,” she smiles weakly. “And for what it’s worth, I’m really sorry I got Betsy involved in the whole thing.”

Lisa’s face darkens at the mention of the teenager’s name. “Yeah. I’ll deal with her separately.”

And Carla feels bad then. For some reason, she’s come to feel strangely protective over Betsy, even in spite of everything that has passed between herself and the teenager.

“Don’t be too hard on her,” Carla offers. “I mean, all she did was try and wangle a job out of it. If it was me I’d have-”

“Yeah, okay,” Lisa cuts her off. “You should probably stop talking now.”

Carla dips her head, just about catches the way Lisa sinks her teeth into her bottom lip.

Carla wonders what it says about her that the thing she’s most concerned about is not her impending criminal record, but when she’ll next get to touch the blonde again.

– – –

“I bet that wasn’t so bad was it,” Lisa says as she steers Carla back toward the foyer.

In truth, it hadn’t been so bad. Lisa had listened patiently while Carla gave her statement, and the brunette had left the interview room feeling lighter than she had done in weeks.

“Well,” she shrugs awkwardly. “It’s not exactly my first rodeo, sadly.”

Lisa looks at her with a cocked eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” Carla laughs. “Don’t tell me you’ve not looked me up on that computer of yours.”

“I couldn’t possibly say,” the blonde quips, bemused. “Look, I’d better go and call the CPS.”

Carla swallows, desperate for Lisa not to leave.

Somehow, everything feels a little bit lighter with the blonde by her side.

“Yeah,” Carla sighs. “Put a good word in for me, will you?”

Lisa frowns. “Erm, it doesn’t really work like that, I’m afraid.”

“I know,” Carla says with a grimace. “Shame.”

Lisa snorts, already turning to go. But then…

“Mum.”

Lisa’s face falls as she sees her daughter walking through the station doors.

“Oh, Betsy,” she sighs. “I’m sorry, love, but I’m going to have to cancel our lunch.”

Carla winces, braces herself for World War III.

“You got a better offer?” Betsy drawls, looking from her mum to Carla and then back again. “I thought you said there was nothing going on?”

“What?” Lisa asks.

Carla turns to look at the blonde, feels like all of her senses are suddenly on high alert. Lisa just blinks, her mouth opening and closing, as if waiting for her brain to catch up.

“No, no,” she says eventually. “This is work.”

Betsy harrumphs, shoots Lisa a withering look.

“Yeah,” she huffs, turning on her heel. “Enjoy your little date.”

And Carla doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. She’d tried so hard to be careful, fought valiantly to keep her feelings for Lisa on the down low.

She never thought that Betsy would think…

“Date?” the brunette asks, incredulous.

Lisa sighs deeply, eyes flickering toward the main desk where several of her eagle-eyed colleagues are working away.

“Yeah, I know,” she says after a beat. “She seems to think that we’re having some sort of secret affair.”

And she sounds so stilted, like she’s playing some sort of part. Carla almost thinks the blonde has gone mad, but then she sees it; the way Lisa’s eyes swivel once again in the direction of the main desk.

She looks back at Carla, and it feels like a silent plea. At that moment, the brunette knows exactly what role she has to play.

“What?” Carla asks, pretending to be mortified. “You and-”

“I know, I know,” Lisa interjects with just a fraction of a smile. “It’s ridiculous. I’ll sort it.”

The blonde pins Carla with one final pointed look before turning to go. And Carla knows she should be worried that their secret could finally be out.

But, as she watches Lisa disappear from view and heads for the exit, the brunette can’t quite keep the smile from her face.

– – –

Carla waits precisely three-hours-and-thirty-two-minutes before she picks up the phone and calls her.

The brunette half-expects Lisa not to answer, is just planning to hang up after the next ring when…

“Hi.”

Relief.

“You’re still speaking to me then?” Carla asks softly. “That’s good, I thought you might be screening my calls.”

On the other end of the line, Lisa sighs.

“Look, if you’re ringing about the CPS then really there’s nothing I can-”

Carla cuts her off. “No, actually. It’s not about that. I’m ringing because of Betsy.”

Carla can almost hear the way Lisa’s eyes widen in panic.

“Betsy? Why? What’s she done now?”

“No,” Carla says quickly. “No, she’s not done anything. It’s just about what she said…you know, the whole ‘dating’ thing?”

She hears Lisa gulp.

“Oh right, yeah,” the blonde says, feigning nonchalance. “Well, like I said, I’ll sort it. She was just mouthing off. Don’t worry, I’m not going to tell her anything.”

And Carla wants to ask her then if it would really be such a bad thing if she told Betsy everything.

(Well, maybe not everything.)

“Oh, n-no,” Carla stammers awkwardly. “That’s not what I…never mind. It’s just…what she said, it made me realise that we’ve never actually been on a proper date.”

For a second, Lisa is so quiet Carla thinks she could hear a pin drop.

“Well, yeah,” the blonde says, as if it’s totally obvious. “Because that’s not what this is, right?”

And Carla feels winded.

“Right,” she says after a beat, trying to sound unaffected. “Of course. But I just…well. I thought that maybe it would be nice if we did…go on a date, I mean.”

“Oh,” Lisa croaks. “I, er, I’m not sure.”

Carla considers then giving up entirely, thinks it would probably save her a lot of heartache.

Lisa is a risk. They are a risk.

But, in that moment, Carla decides they’re a risk worth taking.

“Don’t worry,” she says gently. “It would be a totally casual date. And I’ve got somewhere very discreet in mind.”

“It’s not the Bistro, is it?” Lisa asks, flustered. “Because really, Carla, I don’t think-”

“No,” Carla cuts in. “It’s not the Bistro. It’s a new place actually. You might not have heard of it. ‘Chez Connor?’”

Lisa lets out a soft laugh and it revives Carla’s faltering courage.

“It’s really exclusive,” the brunette presses. “But I think I can put a word in with the owner.”

“Very cute,” Lisa snorts. “Is this your way of apologising for trying to buy my daughter’s silence?”

“No!” Carla yelps. “Okay, maybe…just a little bit. But it’s not just that. Life has been pretty crazy lately and I thought…well, I just thought it might be nice to spend an evening together. Just us two.”

There’s another pregnant pause and Carla’s stomach churns.

“I don’t know, Carla,” Lisa eventually sighs. “I mean, technically you are a criminal now. It would be deeply unethical for me to fraternise with you.”

And Carla has never been so happy to be mocked.

She knows she has Lisa right where she wants her.

“Mmm, that’s true,” the brunette hums. “It would be unethical. But I think I can make it worth your while.”

Carla swallows, gears up to make one final sales pitch. She’s not quite sure what she’ll do if Lisa denies her then.

“I’ve heard the chef has a dessert menu,” Carla purrs in what she hopes is her most sensual voice. “One that’s reserved especially for her favourite customers.”

A second goes by. Then another. And then…

“What time do you want me?”

Carla beams, feels like punching the air.

And she thinks then, as she hangs up the phone, that women really aren’t so different from men after all.

— — —

The intercom buzzes and Carla takes one last look at the scene before her.

The brunette had spent the past hour transforming her flat into a romantic haven. She’d commandeered an old table cloth from the café and draped it over her kitchen table, decking the place out with candles and flowers.

As she walks over to the front door, Carla panics that she’s done too much, that all of this might scare Lisa away. But then she hears footsteps on the stairs and knows it’s too late to back out now.

She takes a deep breath and opens the door and…

Wow.

How is it, she thinks, that Lisa’s beauty still manages to take her by surprise?

Because the blonde looks more stunning than ever, pairing a tailored black waistcoat with pale denim jeans and her trademark heeled boots.

Her hair is down and tousled, and she’s wearing a gold necklace with a pendant that rests just above her…

“My eyes are up here.”

Carla’s cheeks burn as she looks up to find Lisa smirking at her, cocky.

She clears her throat.

“Oh come on, blondie,” the brunette drawls, trying to wrestle back some authority. “Do you really expect me to believe you didn’t know what you were doing by wearing…that?”

The corners of Lisa’s mouth twitch.

“No comment,” she quips, leaning in to give Carla a chaste peck on the lips.

And it feels so familiar, so right, that Carla can hardly stand it.

“Something smells nice,” Lisa smiles. “I’ve got to say I’ve got high hopes. And I’m warning you, I’m not averse to leaving a scathing TripAdvisor review.”

Carla snorts. “No pressure then.”

Lisa closes the door behind her and toes off her boots. “I’m just kidding. I…oh, Carla. You didn’t have to do all this.”

Carla gnaws at her lip as she watches Lisa take it all in; the blonde’s eyes roaming every surface. And Carla doesn’t know why, but she feels more nervous than she has done in a long time.

“I wanted to,” she says quietly. “And besides, I’ve got to keep my Michelin stars intact.”

It’s the oldest trick in the book, reverting to humour to mask her anxiety, and Lisa sees right through it.

“Well, thank you,” the blonde smiles, turning to look at her. “It’s lovely. You’re lovely.”

Carla gulps. “Can I kiss you?”

Lisa quirks an eyebrow. “We’re asking permission now?”

“No,” Carla says, blushing furiously. “I just…everything with Betsy and that…that lad. God, I’ve been awful. Really, I wouldn’t blame you if you-”

Lisa silences her with a kiss. She tastes of mint and lip gloss and Lisa.

“You’re forgiven,” the blonde whispers fondly.

“What?” Carla asks. “Just like that?”

Lisa shrugs. “You’re a hard person to stay mad at.”

Carla snorts at that. “I think most of my exes would disagree with you.”

“Let’s not talk about your exes tonight,” Lisa groans, raking a weary hand through her hair. “I’ve already had to deal with Nick today going on about a frigging cult.”

“What?!” Carla splutters.

Lisa shoots her a look. “Don’t ask. Let’s not talk about him tonight. Or about Betsy or about the CPS or any of that. Let’s just…be us. Is that okay?”

There are not enough words, Carla thinks, to describe how okay that is.

And so instead, she kisses her again.

“That sounds perfect,” the brunette hums against Lisa’s lips, before stepping back and pulling out a chair.

“M’lady,” she says theatrically, earning herself an affectionate eye roll.

“Wine?” Carla offers, once Lisa is sitting down.

“God, please,” the blonde sighs. “You’re very attentive.”

Carla takes in Lisa’s suggestive smirk and feels a shiver of anticipation.

“What can I say?” she coos. “I like to go the extra mile for my favourite customers.”

“Oh,” Lisa grins. “So I’m your favourite, huh?”

Carla smiles softly. “You know you are.”

Lisa leans forward then, tugs Carla closer by one of the belt loops on her jeans.

“Well,” the blonde says, voice low. “Play your cards right, missus, and I’ll make sure to leave you a very big tip.”

The thought turns Carla’s legs to jelly.

“Oh yeah?” she asks sweetly, moving to straddle Lisa’s lap. “How about you give me a little preview of what I’m in for?”

Carla closes her eyes then, smells Lisa’s perfume as she slowly leans in and…

“Is something burning?” Lisa asks.

Carla freezes, is just about to wave away the blonde’s concerns when the shrill scream of the smoke alarm starts ringing through the flat.

“Oh, fuck.”

— — —

The potatoes were ruined.

Carla had opened the oven to find a tray full of charred black smudges, had been just about to burst into tears when Lisa had kindly reminded her that the chicken could still be salvaged, that this wasn’t a lost cause after all.

Carla could have kissed her then, but Lisa was quickly shifting into chef mode - not too dissimilar from DS Swain mode, Carla thinks - which is how they’ve ended up here, side-by-side in the kitchen, chopping up vegetables.

For a moment, Carla allows herself to be distracted by Lisa’s busy hands, by her long, nimble fingers as they expertly carve and slice. The blonde catches her watching and Carla looks away, pretends to be fascinated by the contents of her chopping board.

“You know, if you angle the knife a little more to the right,” Lisa says with a smile, “it will slice through a lot easier.”

Carla is just about to tell her to stop being bossy but then she realises that there’s few things she likes more than the blonde telling her what to do. Instead, she just sighs, reluctantly follows Lisa’s instructions.

“You’re right,” Carla says after a beat. “That is easier. Hey, I didn’t realise I was sleeping with Nigella Lawson?!”

Lisa wiggles her eyebrows. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Connor.”

It’s a joke, Carla knows, but she realises then that it’s rooted in truth. And so…

“Tell me,” she says, setting down her knife and leaning against the kitchen counter.

“What?”

“You’re right,” Carla says. “There’s a lot I don’t know. So tell me something about yourself.”

“Ugh,” Lisa groans. “I hate stuff like this. I’m really not that interesting.”

“Well, that’s a lie for starters,” Carla says. “You’re the most interesting person I know.”

Lisa looks at her for a second, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, and Carla is just about to tell her how beautiful she looks when…

“Mickey Mouse.”

Carla frowns. “Excuse me?”

Lisa looks down at her sock-clad feet. “Mickey Mouse,” she repeats sheepishly. “I’m terrified of him.”

Carla doesn’t know whether to reach out and hug her or laugh in her face.

“Once again,” the brunette says. “Excuse me?”

“I know, I know, it’s pathetic,” Lisa grumbles, cheeks turning pink. “Someone gave me a stuffed toy when I was a kid and for some strange reason it made me cry my eyes out. In the end, my mum had to hide it at the back of my wardrobe to stop me from having a meltdown.”

Carla thinks that it must be the most adorable thing she’s ever heard.

“I thought I was totally over it,” Lisa continues. “But then me and Becks took Betsy to Disneyland Paris for her sixth birthday and I saw him with his big, stupid ears and it all came flooding back. I nearly had a panic attack while we were queuing for the Tower of Terror.”

Carla presses her lips together but it’s no use. The next minute she’s doubled over, laughing so hard that her stomach hurts.

“I’m sorry,” she pants as Lisa glowers at her. “I’m just picturing you…hiding from a cartoon mouse in front of a load of kids. It’s…it’s not funny.”

“No, it’s not!” Lisa protests, though she’s smiling. “I’m baring my soul here.”

Carla wipes away a tear. “Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I used to be petrified of Noddy when I was a kid.”

“No I agree,” Lisa shudders, eyes wide. “He was creepy. That little hat with the bell on…just, ugh. Probably why I’m a lesbian really.”

Carla laughs, notes the way Lisa’s expression has suddenly turned thoughtful.

“Did you always know then?” she asks gently. “That you were gay?”

Lisa shrugs. “Pretty much. I always knew I was different from other girls my age. And then when I started secondary school, I had this art teacher, Mrs Morales. She had lovely dark hair and always wore this bright red lipstick. I was obsessed, used to sit and stare at her for hours.”

Carla smiles. “You still do that now,” she says softly. “The staring, I mean. I catch you sometimes, when you think I’m not looking.”

The blush on Lisa’s chest turns a deeper shade of pink. “Well, what can I say?” she says airily. “You’re nice to look at.”

Carla narrows her eyes. “Very smooth, Swain.”

A pause, and then…

“Was it hard? Coming out, I mean?”

Lisa picks at the clear nail polish on her thumb. “It certainly wasn’t easy,” she admits with a sigh. “It was the early nineties. Attitudes were very different back then. Being gay wasn’t the norm, especially for nice, respectable girls from nice, respectable families.”

Carla thinks she can detect some bitterness in the blonde’s voice.

“Your family didn’t take it well, then?” she guesses.

Lisa laughs, though there’s no joy in it. “They did not.”

For a few beats, the blonde doesn’t say anything else. And Carla’s just about to change the subject when…

“My parents,” Lisa says quietly. “They were never the warmest of people. They were both high-achievers and I was an only child, so it was like all their hopes were pinned on me.”

“That must have been tough,” Carla says.

There’s a part of her, though, that can’t help but feel slightly envious. Growing up, nobody cared enough to pin their hopes on Carla.

“It was just the way things were,” Lisa shrugs. “They wanted the best for me, which all parents do, I suppose. But it was exhausting, always trying to be perfect, never wanting to put a foot wrong.”

And Carla can picture it; can picture a younger Lisa doing everything within her power to be the best.

“You haven’t changed much,” the brunette smiles.

Lisa laughs, rolls her eyes.

“It’s funny,” she says. “Until I was 18, I busted a gut trying to make them happy. Getting the best grades, having the right friends, piano lessons twice a week. And they were proud of me, they said. But then, the minute I told them I was gay, it was like all of that other stuff didn’t matter.”

Carla watches the flicker of pain that crosses Lisa’s face and feels her heart clench.

“They cut you off?” she whispers.

Lisa shakes her head.

“Not really. They just…they tried to ignore it, tried to gloss over my private life entirely. And I told myself that was fine at first but then, on my 21st birthday, I invited Becky to my party. We’d been seeing each other for a year or so by then. And my parents, they were so rude to her. My mum kept trying to hook me up with one of her friend’s sons, right in front of Becks. And I just…I lost it. I told them they either accepted all of me or they didn’t accept me at all. I haven’t spoken to them since.”

“Oh, Lisa,” Carla sighs, instinctively reaching for the blonde’s arm. “That’s awful. What about Betsy? Surely they wanted to be in her life?”

Lisa grimaces. “Nope. For a year after she was born, I wrote to them regularly. I sent them letters, photos. I told them that I didn’t want the rift between us to affect Betsy’s relationship with her grandparents but they just…never replied. And so I stopped writing.”

And Carla can tell that Lisa is trying to act tough, but the wobble of her bottom lip betrays her.

“I’m sorry,” the brunette says quietly. “It’s their loss.”

Lisa shrugs, plasters on a smile. “It is what it is. Becky’s parents have always been great with Bets, so it’s not like she’s missing out. The older I get, the more I realise life’s too short to spend it around people who don’t make you happy.”

Carla looks down, sees that, somewhere along the way, Lisa had laced their fingers together.

“What about…what about me?” Carla whispers shyly. “Do I make you happy?”

Lisa steps forward then, lifts Carla’s chin with her fingers. The blonde presses her lips against the brunette’s forehead, lingers there for a second.

When she eventually pulls back, she’s wearing an expression that Carla doesn’t think she’s ever seen before.

All of a sudden, her chest feels tight.

“More than you know,” Lisa croaks earnestly. “Now come on, I want to see if ‘Chez Connor’ lives up to the hype.”

Carla laughs as Lisa steps away and resumes her chopping. The brunette quickly follows suit but the last thing on her mind right now is food.

In truth, there’s only one thing that’s been on her mind for months.

— — —

Carla recovers her appetite enough to eat half of her meal which - thanks to Lisa’s interventions - is delicious.

They’re onto their second bottle of wine now and the alcohol has eased some of the tension in Carla’s shoulders. Lisa, though, had gone quiet after the main course, had excused herself to go to the bathroom while Carla was clearing away the dirty dishes.

Come to think of it, Carla thinks - as she toys with the stem of her wine glass, the blonde has been in there for rather a long time.

As if on cue, Carla hears the clicking of a lock and, seconds later, Lisa appears, looking flushed and ever so slightly disheveled.

“There you are,” Carla says. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party.”

“Sorry,” Lisa says sheepishly, making her way back over to the table. “I was just…”

Carla frowns as she trails off.

“Are you okay?” the brunette asks, concerned. “Oh god, it’s not the food, is it? I’ve not given you food poisoning, have I?”

Lisa’s expression softens a little then. “I’m offended that you think your sous-chef would have let that happen.”

“Then what is it?” Carla asks, relieved. “You look…flushed.”

“No, I’m fine,” Lisa says quickly. “There was just something I wanted to try but it’s…it’s stupid.”

“Hey,” Carla says, springing up from her seat and taking hold of Lisa’s wrist. “Come here. You don’t ever have to feel stupid. Not with me. What were you going to…oh?”

All of a sudden, Carla can’t breathe.

Slowly, the brunette looks down to where their two bodies are pressed together, and it’s then that she sees it; the exact thing that had stopped her in her tracks.

Because there, straining against the rough denim of Lisa’s jeans, is the unmistakable outline of…

“Is that…is that a strap-on?”

At that, Lisa’s face burns.

“See,” she huffs, pulling away. “I told you it was stupid.”

“No!” Carla says quickly, reaching to catch Lisa’s waist with her hands. “No, wait. It’s not stupid at all. It just….took me by surprise. That’s all.”

Lisa swallows. “I should have asked before I…I shouldn’t have just assumed. You probably don’t even want to-”

“I do.”

The words are out of Carla’s mouth so quickly that it takes her a minute to realise what she’s said.

Lisa blinks. “What?”

“I do,” Carla says, with more conviction. “Want you…like this. Actually, I’ve been thinking about it…like a lot.”

And though it’s the first time she’s said it out loud, Carla can’t deny that it is the absolute truth.

“Oh,” Lisa says, still stunned. “You haven’t said.”

Carla looks down, chews at her lip. “I didn’t want you to think…I don’t know, that you weren’t enough. That I wish you were a guy. I don’t know, it’s silly.”

Carla moves to step away then but it’s Lisa’s turn now to make her stay.

“It’s not,” the blonde says, taking hold of Carla’s hand. “It’s not silly at all. And I appreciate that, you thinking of my feelings. But I don’t want you to ever feel you can’t talk to me about what you want. This arrangement only works if we’re honest with each other, and if there’s something you want to try, then I want to make it happen.”

Carla contemplates, just for a second, delving into Lisa’s remark about honesty. But then the blonde bumps against her, so that Carla can feel her again, and she knows then that there’s only one way this night is going to end.

Carla wets her lips, tries to ignore the way her body has started to tremble with nervous anticipation.

“Okay then, blondie,” she says thickly, pinning Lisa with a seductive smirk. “Make it happen.”

Lisa’s eyes widen. “Are you…are you sure?”

Carla steps closer then, speaks firmly as she cups the blonde’s face in her palm.

“Lisa, I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside me. No holding back.”

Carla hesitates as she sees the corners of Lisa’s mouth start to twitch. She panics that she’s gone too far.

“What?” the brunette asks defensively.

Lisa shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s just…you’re sexy when you get all bossy.”

And though she knows it’s stupid, Carla feels a jolt of pride at that.

“Well,” she drawls, teasing. “Someone needs to put you in your place from time to time.”

Lisa chuckles softly, fingers carding through Carla’s silken mane. Carla starts to laugh too, but then Lisa pulls - sharp but careful - at a fistful of hair.

“You do know I’m in charge here, right?” the blonde growls.

And Carla is taken back then to that first night at the bar, when Lisa had told her exactly that. The brunette remembers Lisa’s black eyes, remembers how hungry she’d looked, even as she’d fled.

The memory makes her bolder, and so she reaches down, cups the length of the dildo with enough pressure to make Lisa gasp.

“Whatever you say,” Carla trills sweetly.

Lisa runs her tongue over her front teeth. “Bedroom,” she hisses, jaw set tight. “Now.”

Carla doesn’t need to be told twice; wastes no time in leading the way into her bedroom and peeling off her clothes.

“So then, detective,” she purrs, once she’s totally bare. “How do you want me?”

She turns around to see Lisa has only stripped off from the waist up, is still toying with the button on her jeans, hesitant.

“I, er…”

“Are you okay?” Carla asks as the blonde shifts awkwardly from foot to foot. “Lisa, if you’re having second thoughts then we don’t have to-”

“No!” Lisa says quickly. “No, not that it’s just, god, the idea of having you like…like this, I don’t know if I’ll survive.”

And the thought of that, of reducing this insatiable woman to this, makes Carla preen.

And so she decides to take charge.

“Maybe I should get you ready first,” the brunette drawls, voice saccharine as she sinks to her knees.

With steady hands, Carla reaches up and unbuttons Lisa’s jeans, eases the denim down the blonde’s sculpted legs. The brunette lets out a gasp as she realises Lisa has already ditched her underwear, the thick, purple dildo proudly springing free.

Carla thinks she has never been more turned on, can feel Lisa watching her every movement as she leans forward and takes the blonde in her mouth.

“Fuck,” Lisa breathes out as Carla’s lips fasten around the silicone. “You’re so…there aren’t even words to describe how fucking hot you are-”

Carla smiles around Lisa’s length, looks up with a wicked smirk and says…

“Then stop talking.”

Lisa groans but takes Carla’s advice, gripping roughly onto her hair as the brunette sets to work exploring every inch of her.

Carla spits on the dildo, massages the saliva into the silicone, and then sucks it hungrily into her mouth. And though she knows Lisa can’t really feel her, she doesn’t think she’s ever relished giving as much as she is now.

“You’re enjoying that, aren’t you?” Lisa asks after a while, confidence seemingly restored. “You try and make out that you’re always in control. But look at you now. You couldn’t wait to get on your knees for me.”

And Carla can only moan, knows that the wetness starting to coat the insides of her thighs has given her away. She feels desperate then, in need of some kind of release.

And so she stands, saunters deliberately over to the bed and bends forward, looking back over her shoulder with a wanton grin.

“I’m all yours,” she says huskily.

It’s almost comical how quickly Lisa moves then, how eager she is to kick her bunched-up jeans from around her ankles and close the gap between them.

Carla feels her pulse start to race as Lisa wraps her hand around the shaft and traces it lightly through Carla’s wetness, until the tip is just lining up with her aching entrance.

Lisa grips then at Carla’s hips, uses one hand to palm at the brunette’s perfect arse.

“If you want me to stop, at any point, then I will,” Lisa says softly. “Just say the word and I’ll-”

Carla cuts her off, in awe of how quickly the blonde is capable of blunting her own sharp edges. “Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

“Just fuck me.”

Lisa quickly gives into her demand, driving the dildo deep into Carla’s wet heat. When her hips meet the brunette’s behind, Lisa pauses, lets Carla adjust to the intrusion.

Only when she feels the other woman start to relax around her does Lisa begin to move her hips again.

And Carla? Carla sees stars.

“Oh my…” the brunette gasps as she feels the easy slide of the silicone inside her.

“Good?” Lisa asks.

Carla can tell that the blonde is smiling.

“Lisa, I-”

“You can’t even speak, can you?” Lisa purrs, pushing deeper with every thrust. “That’s how much you’re loving this.”

And Carla should feel belittled, but she can’t refute the fact that she has never felt so whole.

“Lisa,” she pants, gripping roughly at the edge of the bed. “Harder. Fuck!”

Lisa readily complies, thrusting in and out in a relentless rhythm, until Carla’s cries are mixed with the heady sound of skin crashing against skin.

“Lise,” Carla whines, as Lisa pushes down firmly on the small of her back. “I don’t think I can last much longer.”

Carla expects that to spur Lisa on, expects for her to take that as her cue to finish the job. But then, inexplicably, the blonde stills her movements, then slowly withdraws the dildo.

Carla lets out a moan of protest but Lisa is already moving, manipulating the brunette’s body until she’s flat on her back, Lisa’s arms hooked underneath her thighs.

“What?” Carla gasps, half-dazed. “Why did you-”

“I want to see you,” Lisa says, voice dripping with want. “I want to see you when you come.”

Her words make Carla whine and, before the brunette knows what’s happening, Lisa is inside of her once more, hips bucking with practiced intensity.

And - somehow, Carla thinks - it is so much better like this, with Lisa rocking determinedly above her.

The blonde is chasing her own pleasure too, Carla can see. With her lip caught between her teeth and everywhere from her cheeks to her breasts painted pink with exertion, Carla thinks she has never looked more beautiful.

“Lisa,” Carla breathes. “You’re so…this is so…”

Lisa smirks, a bead of sweat dripping down from her chest onto Carla’s naked stomach.

“You’re so good for me, Carla,” she purrs. “Taking all of me like this. You’re…you’re everything.”

And though Carla knows she shouldn’t read into it, not while they’re in the heat of the moment, she can’t help the way her heart swells at Lisa’s words.

“I’m close, Lise,” she pants breathlessly. “You feel incredible. Nobody can fuck me like you can.”

At that, Lisa howls, thrusts so deeply that Carla is filled to the very hilt. Somehow, in the middle of it all, the brunette finds the strength to reach up and swipe her thumb against the blonde’s swollen clit.

And that’s all it takes for the both of them to come apart. Carla’s whole body goes rigid as she arches off the bed, unrestrained pleasure ripping through her pulsing limbs.

The brunette’s orgasm subsides more quickly than Lisa’s does, and so she allows herself a moment to bask in the sight of the other woman falling over the edge.

And, as she watches the blonde, head flung back and eyes scrunched in ecstasy, she knows that she has fallen too.

In fact, Carla thinks, maybe she fell a long time ago.

Chapter Text

With every passing day it gets harder.

Every minute, every second, Carla spends in Lisa’s company is beautiful torture.

On the surface of things, nothing has changed. But, in her heart, Carla feels like everything is different.

They settle into a routine. Lisa drops by every day, either at the factory or the flat.

She never spends the night - worries that Betsy might start asking questions - but she’s always close at hand. One night, they order a Chinese, and Lisa spends the best part of half-an-hour painstakingly picking the mushrooms out of her stir fry, casually tossing them onto Carla’s plate.

Mushrooms, Lisa knows, are Carla’s favourite.

The domesticity of it all makes Carla ache, and she has to start policing herself; start making sure she doesn’t stray too far into romantic territory.

Because, despite all of the evidence to the contrary, Carla knows Lisa still isn’t hers.

And, though it pains Carla to admit it, she thinks there’s a strong chance she will never be.

— — —

Joel isn’t helping matters.

Carla thought their little feud might have been resolved by Lisa’s interventions at the factory but of course she’d been naive.

Men like Joel Deering don’t stop until they get their way.

She’s sitting in her office when she hears it; the commotion on the street outside. The brunette is snowed under at the moment, finalising a pitch for a potentially game-changing client, and her patience is hanging by a very thin thread.

“What is going on?!” she snaps as she storms toward the entrance, sees Kirk standing in the entryway looking like the world’s least intimidating security guard.

Carla’s eyes quickly scan the mismatched congregation.

Joel is there, with his slicked back hair and his shiny suit. Adam and Dee-Dee are watching on too, all stiff and sombre-faced.

But it’s Lisa that Carla notices most; her worried eyes and starched shirt and neat blonde ponytail.

Carla wishes then that everyone else would just disappear, just leave them to it.

But then she blinks, realises that Joel has no intention of making that particular fantasy come true.

“Oh,” Carla sighs. “You. Slow morning, Joel?”

Joel just smirks, saunters forward brandishing a crisp white envelope. Carla feels her stomach lurch.

“Have you not heard of a thing called email?” she drawls, trying her best not to sound flustered as she snatches the envelope from his clammy grasp.

“I thought you’d appreciate the personal touch,” Joel sneers.

All of a sudden, Carla feels tired.

“Did you?” she says, eyes flicking briefly toward Lisa and then back to Joel again. “Well, you thought wrong.”

With that, Carla turns on her heel and heads back inside. On another day, in another life, the brunette would have put up a stronger fight.

Right now, though, she simply doesn’t have the stomach for it.

— — —

Carla is starting to get a headache.

It’s getting late and she’s still at the factory, poring over the prototype for tomorrow’s pitch. The piece is simple but timeless; a midnight blue silk chemise with a tempting slit cut into one side.

Carla is just wondering whether the lace edging on the hem is too much when…

“Knock-knock.”

She looks up to find Lisa watching her from the other side of the office, lips curved up into a coy smile and one arm idling on the doorframe.

Carla’s pretty sure if she looked up ‘a sight for sore eyes’ in the dictionary, this is the exact vision that would greet her.

“Oh,” the brunette says softly. “Hey.”

“You know,” Lisa drawls, teasing, “you should lock the door when you’re here on your own. Any old weirdo could get in.”

Carla looks Lisa slowly up and down, presses her tongue to the inside of her cheek.

“Clearly.”

“Oi!” Lisa protests, adopting a look of mock fury.

Carla smiles. “Just kidding. What can I do you for? Betsy’s already left.”

Lisa looks a bit awkward then, in that way she always does when she has no ulterior motive for being in Carla’s orbit.

“Yeah, I know,” she shrugs, already on the defensive. “I just…I wanted to check that you were okay after the whole Joel thing?”

The blonde fiddles shyly with her wedding band and Carla can’t help but smile then. The brunette loves nothing more than making Lisa nervous.

“Oh, I’m fine,” Carla says airily. “Joel’s bark is worse than his bite. Trust me, I’ve dealt with more scumbags like him in my time than you’ve had hot dinners.”

Lisa doesn’t look fully convinced.

“He mentioned something about a letter of claim?” she probes gently.

Carla doesn’t need the reminder. She’s thought of little else since this morning’s showdown on the cobbles.

“Well, I’m already facing criminal prosecution,” she snorts, trying to make light of it. “Might as well throw a little bit of civil litigation in there for good measure.”

Lisa chews on her bottom lip.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” she says softly.

Carla frowns. “Do what?”

“Try to be funny all the time.”

And still it stuns her that Lisa knows her so well; that she can so clearly see through a lifetime of self-deprecation to Carla’s truest self.

It feels almost too personal, too potent. And so…

“Excuse me!” she huffs, feigning indignation. “I’ll have you know I don’t try to do anything. My sparkling wit just comes naturally.”

Lisa quirks an eyebrow. “You’re doing it again.”

And Carla loses it then.

“What do you want me to do, Lisa?” she hisses, rising from her office chair. “Have a mental breakdown? Start sobbing on your shoulder because my life’s a fucking mess?”

Lisa flinches, her big, grey eyes flashing with anxiety.

“Sorry,” Carla says quietly, suddenly feeling like the worst person in the world. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I…I’m sorry.”

Lisa nods, then scratches awkwardly at her chin, as if trying to find the right thing to say.

“Your life’s not a mess,” she says eventually, stepping closer to Carla’s desk. “I mean, sure, the whole Joel thing isn't ideal. And the ABH stuff and the…the blackmail.”

Carla harrumphs. Put like that, it’s little wonder Lisa is a little reluctant to fall at her feet…

Still, the blonde pushes on.

“But you’re beautiful, Carla,” she insists, eyes warm and earnest. “You’re intelligent and driven and kind. And, well, you’ve got me.”

At that, Carla feels her breath catch in her throat.

‘Have I?’ she wants to ask.

But really, she daren’t.

She already knows that having Lisa in any meaningful capacity is off the table.

And so instead she changes the subject.

“Well,” Carla begins, clearing her throat, “while I’ve got you, you can make yourself useful.”

Lisa tilts her head in question. “Go on,” she says cautiously.

“This,” Carla says, holding up the chemise for Lisa to inspect. “Do you think it’s too much?”

Lisa’s eyes widen, pink creeping into her pale cheeks.

“I, er, what?”

“The lace,” Carla says, impatient. “Do you think it’s a bit…extra? You see, I’ve got a big pitch coming up tomorrow and I want to make sure this is absolutely perfect.”

Lisa presses her lips into a thin line, slightly flustered.

“I, er, it looks pretty good to me,” she shrugs.

Carla snorts. “Thanks a bundle for that scintillating commentary.”

“Well, I don’t know, do I?!” Lisa huffs, bottom lip jutting out in that way that drives Carla wild. “I’m not the expert here. I haven’t got a clue what’s ‘extra’ and what’s not. Unless…”

Carla frowns as the blonde trails off, a wicked glint suddenly twinkling in her eye.

“Unless?” Carla prompts.

“Well,” Lisa says sweetly. “I mean, if I were to see it on a model…”

“Oh right,” Carla scoffs. “Well, I’ll just call Victoria then, shall I? See if she’s got a stunning, six-foot blonde going spare.”

Lisa narrows her eyes, confused. “What? Who’s Victoria?”

“As in ‘Victoria’s Secret’,” Carla sighs, as if it’s obvious. “Ugh, never mind. Point is I haven’t got the budget for models these days so you’ll just have to-”

“I’m not actually much for stunning, six-foot blondes,” Lisa interjects, exaggeratedly flexing the fingers on her left hand, loudly cracking one bony knuckle.

Carla’s slightly taken aback.

“Oh,” she says dumbly. “Well, either way, I-”

Lisa cuts her off again.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong,” the blonde muses, handing back the silky garment. “Models are great and all. But I’m personally more of a fan of stubborn, spiky brunettes.”

At that, Carla feels a flicker of want, mesmerised by the shallow dimple that appears in Lisa’s cheek. The brunette longs to put her mouth there, to trace it with her tongue until Lisa is trembling against her.

“O-oh,” Carla stammers, throat thickening. “You want me to model it for you?”

“Well,” Lisa smirks. “Poirot will be pleased to know he’s got nothing to worry about.”

“Oi!” Carla yelps, chucking the chemise at the blonde.

“Seriously, though,” Lisa laughs, hooking her finger through one of the flimsy spaghetti straps. “I think I’d be able to give you a much more considered opinion if you were to try it on for me.”

Carla feels her pulse start to race, a hot blush bleeding into her neck as she tentatively takes back the proffered lingerie.

“You’re impossible,” she sighs, though she’s smiling. “Do you know that, blondie?”

Lisa preens. “I try my best.”

Carla smooths her palm over the delicate fabric.

“Well,” she says hesitantly. “I just need to finish up here and then I suppose we could go back to my place.”

Lisa shakes her head. “Uh-uh.”

“What do you mean ‘uh-uh’?” Carla asks, frowning as Lisa heads back in the direction of the office door. “Wait, what are you…”

The brunette trails off as Lisa clicks the lock shut, turns back around with darkened eyes.

“Put it on,” Lisa says, voice low.

Carla blinks. “What? Here? Lisa, are you joking?”

Lisa lifts her chin, defiant. “Do I look like I’m joking?”

And Carla thinks then that, one way or another, this woman is destined to be her undoing.

“But what if someone sees us?” the brunette hisses, wide-eyed. “Anyone could walk in.”

Lisa takes one step and then another, heeled boots clicking on the shiny floor. The sound makes Carla shiver.

“All the more reason for you to put this on quickly then, huh?” Lisa grins. “Come on, Connor. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

Carla gulps, knows she’s fighting a losing battle.

She’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

“Fine,” she relents. “But I swear, if someone catches us then I will throttle you.”

Lisa wiggles her eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she quips.

Carla laughs, rolls her eyes. “You’re unbelievable.”

A beat, and then…

“Turn around then,” the brunette says.

Lisa frowns. “What?”

“Turn around,” Carla repeats. “While I get changed.”

Lisa snorts. “Is that really necessary? I mean, it’s not like I haven’t seen it all before.”

And it’s ridiculous, but the thought of that makes Carla blush.

“Yeah, well,” she says, hands on hips. “You won’t be seeing it ever again if you don’t turn around in the next three seconds.”

“You’re such a diva,” Lisa laughs, but she turns around anyway.

For a moment, Carla just watches the steady rise and fall of the blonde’s shoulders as she breathes in and out. She wonders how it is that, after all this time and everything that has passed between them, Lisa still makes her feel shy.

Quickly, Carla shucks off her clothes and underwear, then slips the chemise over her head; cool silk sliding against hot skin.

“Okay,” she croaks after a beat. “You can look now.”

It feels like a lifetime then, as Lisa turns to look at her, eyes black as they roam her body.

“Well,” Carla urges. “Say something.”

Lisa just smiles, motions to Carla with a subtle tilt of her chin.

“Come here,” she says huskily.

Carla almost falls at her feet then, decides instead to grant Lisa’s request, lets the other woman grab at her hips and press her body close.

Carla moans against Lisa’s lips as their mouths easily fit together, eager tongues tangling as the blonde drags her blunt nails across Carla’s scalp.

And Carla finds herself consumed, her every fibre spiking with longing as Lisa maps out her spine with her fingers, palms greedily at her arse.

The brunette is so distracted, in fact, that it takes her a moment to realise Lisa is lifting her, fingertips biting into the soft flesh of her thighs as she walks them backwards, until Carla’s backside comes into contact with the cool wood of her desk.

“Jesus,” Carla pants, throbbing as she pulls back to see Lisa hot and breathless, eyes wild and hungry.

“You are so fucking beautiful, Carla,” she breathes.

And she’s so fervent, so honest, that Carla thinks then that this might be love.

She quickly tries to bat the notion away.

“You like it then?” she asks with a nervous smile.

“Like it?” Lisa laughs, skimming her thumb over Carla’s nipple, already pebbled beneath the silk. “Do you have any idea what you do to me? You’re like a…a goddess.”

“Wow,” Carla smirks. “A goddess, eh?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Alright, Connor. You already know how breathtaking are.”

And in that moment, Carla does.

It strikes Carla then as funny how, for her whole life, being called beautiful has never meant much to her. It’s always felt hollow, transactional, some naff prelude to a demand or expectation.

But with Lisa, it means something.

With Lisa, it means everything.

It makes Carla feel bold. And so…

“Get on your knees,” she says evenly.

Lisa blinks. “W-what?”

“On your knees,” Carla says again, this time injecting just a fraction of condescension into her tone. “Let’s not pretend that’s not what you want here.”

For a moment, Lisa just stares at her and Carla panics that she’s gone too far. The brunette knows that, in all aspects of Lisa’s life, it’s hard for her to relinquish control.

But then, very slowly, the blonde stoops, sinks, until she’s on her knees at Carla’s feet. She peers up from under sooty lashes with a look of such adulation that Carla fears she might fall apart.

“Good girl,” the brunette purrs.

And that does something to Lisa, makes her whimper as she catches Carla’s bare ankle between her fingers, slowly begins mouthing a trail up from the inside of her calf to her thigh.

And it feels so good, so right, that Carla briefly considers surrendering entirely. But then she feels it; the feather-light touch of the blonde’s finger against her aching centre and she decides she wants to make Lisa work for it.

“Ah ah,” Carla tuts, sliding her fingers into Lisa’s hair and tugging, until the other woman is looking up at her, half-dazed.

“What?” Lisa pants.

Carla pushes Lisa’s bangs back from her damp forehead, hooks her fingers beneath the blonde’s chin. “I think you’ve forgotten your manners, darlin’,” she coos.

Lisa’s cheeks flame. “Carla, I-”

“Oh come on, detective,” Carla drawls. “Did nobody ever teach you to ask for what you want politely?”

Carla watches then as the muscle in Lisa’s tight jaw works furiously, her mind at war with itself as she ponders whether she actually is, in fact, above begging. Carla decides to make the blonde’s decision a little easier for her, lets her thighs part so that she’s spread open, exposed, one foot planted on Lisa’s shoulder and the other balancing on the arm of an office chair.

The noise Lisa makes then is unholy, and Carla knows the other woman’s mind is made up.

“Please,” Lisa whispers timidly, eyes heavy with lust.

Carla holds a finger to her ear.

“What was that?” she asks innocently. “I couldn’t quite hear you.”

Lisa huffs but Carla knows that she’ll comply. A beat, and then…

“Please, Carla,” Lisa pleads, desperate now. “Please let me fuck you with my mouth.”

Carla swallows thickly, dizzy with desire as she leans back onto one elbow.

“Well,” she grins, “seeing as you asked so nicely…”

Lisa takes that as her cue, wastes no time in dipping her head and delving her tongue into Carla’s wet heat. And though the brunette knows she should probably be quiet, that anyone could hear them in here, she can’t help but cry out.

“Lisa!”

And Carla can feel the blonde’s smug little smirk, would remonstrate with her if this didn’t feel so fucking good. Lisa nips at Carla’s swollen clit with her teeth, sucks at it until the brunette’s thighs start to tremble, her heel digging sharply into Lisa’s shoulder.

“I’ll never get tired of this,” Lisa whispers, as she holds Carla in place. “I could fuck you like this forever.”

Carla almost wants to ask her if that’s a promise, stows the question away for a later date as Lisa flattens her tongue and licks diligently through her pooling arousal, driving in and out until Carla is totally incoherent.

She comes then in waves; the first one rendering her totally senseless before the aftershocks make her pliant body buck and twist. All the while, Lisa holds her and soothes her, as if she’s something to be cherished.

Carla is so overwhelmed by it all that it barely even registers when Lisa hauls her to standing, when she turns Carla around and presses her down, until her cheek is flat against the desk. The brunette feels goosebumps prickle her skin as Lisa hoists up the chemise, so that her backside is on full display.

“God,” the blonde groans, palm stinging the soft flesh there in a way that makes Carla’s legs shake. “You’re arse is a fucking joke. Do you know that?”

Carla only has the strength to mumble. She thinks Lisa probably wasn’t expecting a response anyway, feels the blonde drive two fingers roughly inside of her, curling sublimely before she carefully adds a third.

Carla moans, knuckles blanching where she grips at the edge of the desk.

“Do you know how good you look like this, Carla?” Lisa pants as she builds up a relentless rhythm. “What would everyone say, hmm? What would your employees think if they saw you like this, bent over your desk, desperate for my fingers?”

And Carla should, she thinks, be embarrassed. But the idea of somebody seeing them like this, of someone uncovering their dirty little secret, makes her feel alive.

Carla feels that familiar pressure then, building steadily in her stomach. Her eyes flit to the French doors to her right and it’s that sight, the image of Lisa breathlessly filling her like her life depends on it, that sends Carla tumbling.

“Fuck!” she yells, as she tightens, vice-like, around Lisa’s fingers. “Lisa, fuck. Lise. You…I…”

Lisa shushes her, pumps languidly in and out as the world slowly starts to swim back into focus. Eventually, she withdraws and Carla straightens, twists, until they’re face-to-face once more.

“Hey,” Carla pants, fresh arousal sparking as she notes the wetness still smeared across Lisa’s chin.

“Hey,” the blonde smiles warmly, reaching up to swipe her thumb across Carla’s cheekbone. “You okay?”

“Okay?” Carla laughs, incredulous. “That was amazing. Now, how about I return the favour?”

Lisa smirks, is just about to bring their lips together when her phone rings in her pocket.

Silently, Carla wills her not to answer it, wills her to put this, to put them, first.

But of course that’s just wishful thinking, and Lisa barely hesitates before pulling out her iPhone, grimacing as she notes the caller ID.

“Swain,” she says coolly, immediately back in detective mode.

Carla hates that, even in this moment, the blonde’s authoritative tone still turns her on.

The phone conversation is quick, terse. But, even before Lisa hangs up, Carla knows what the outcome is going to be.

“Sorry,” the blonde says sheepishly, scrubbing at her sticky chin with the back of her hand. “I’ve got to go. Duty calls.”

Carla just nods, smiles, turns her cheek to let Lisa kiss her there.

“Yeah,” she whispers, as she watches the other woman leave, chest leaden. “Yeah. It always does.”

— — —

The beginning of the end starts with Betsy.

Carla turns up to work one morning to find the teenager in the middle of a slanging match with Lauren and Max outside the factory.

Carla sends the pair packing, hauls Betsy into her office where she spends the best part of 20 minutes trying to get to the bottom of what’s going on.

The teenager is reticent at first, eyes cold and shuttered. But then Carla sees the way her jaw wobbles, tentatively senses a breakthrough.

And so she kneels at her side, touches her arm, asks…

“Betsy, what is it, love?”

Betsy shakes her head. “You’re gonna hate me.”

Carla squeezes at her elbow. “No,” she says, meaning it.

But Betsy is adamant.

“Everyone will hate me,” she sniffs, “and I totally deserve it.”

Carla wonders briefly then whether this is a bad idea, whether she’s getting in over her head. She considers calling Lisa but then she takes in Betsy’s pale face, childlike and frightened, and decides it’s probably better for everyone if Lisa isn’t here for this.

Not yet.

“Look,” Carla soothes, “whatever it is we’ll deal with it. We can deal with it, okay?”

Betsy pouts then, just a little bit. And she looks so like Lisa it nearly takes Carla’s breath away.

“No,” the teenager hiccups. “I’ve done something really terrible. I didn’t mean to but I have.”

Carla’s chest tightens. “It’s okay. Go on.”

Betsy takes a shuddering breath, eyes filling with tears. Carla knows that whatever’s about to follow is likely to change everything.

“Lauren’s baby could die,” Betsy croaks, voice barely more than a whisper. “And it’s all my fault.”

The beginning of the end, Carla thinks. It’s only a matter of time.

— — —

Carla does call Lisa in the end.

After it all comes out, about Betsy and Joel and private clinics and a tiny baby fighting for his life in the ICU, Carla knows she has no choice.

She leaves them to it, returns to her office to find them both in tears, clinging onto each other for dear life. Carla wants nothing more then to wrap them both up in her arms and hold on tight, but she knows it’s not her place.

That night, Carla tries to stay away.

For the best part of three hours, Carla really does try.

But, in the end, she just can’t help herself.

She wants to do something nice for Lisa, something small to lift her spirits. And so she books them a spa day - only at the Chariot Square but a spa day nonetheless.

She smiles to herself as she prints out the voucher, folds it up and slips in neatly into an envelope. The brunette decides against calling ahead to let Lisa know she’s coming; a decision she regrets as soon as she finds herself standing on the blonde’s doorstep, anxiously wringing her hands together.

When Lisa eventually answers the door, Carla feels her mouth go dry.

“Hi,” she croaks.

Lisa blinks, as if Carla is some kind of aparition. “Oh, hi. Is something the matter?”

“No!” Carla says, too quickly. “No, nothing’s the matter. I just…I wanted to make sure Betsy was okay after…well, you know.”

Lisa dips her head and Carla allows herself a moment to take in the blonde’s outfit; her soft blue jeans and slouchy grey jumper. Carla imagines Lisa donning this exact attire on a lazy Sunday afternoon, walking hand-in-hand through the park, maybe stopping somewhere for a cider and a nice pub lunch.

The image makes Carla’s chest ache.

“Oh right,” Lisa says, jolting Carla from her reverie. “Yeah, she’s fine. Well, as fine as she can be in the circumstances. She’s, er, she’s just having a bath. Thought it would be good for her to relax a little bit.”

Carla nods, aware she looks like an overenthusiastic Churchill dog.

“Yeah, that’s good,” she grins. “That’s a good idea.”

Lisa glances furtively over her shoulder, looks back at Carla with a grimace.

“Yeah.”

The air feels so thick then that Carla can barely breathe.

“And how are you?” she asks after a beat.

Lisa frowns, as if having someone ask her that question is a foreign concept.

“I’m okay,” she sighs. “Just…a long day that’s all.”

Carla nods, toes curling in her shoes from the awkwardness of it all.

“Can I, er, can I come in?” she asks, hesitant. “There’s something I wanted to-”

Lisa cuts her off.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she says, inching the door slightly closer to closed, as if Carla is about to charge past her into the hallway. “I mean, Betsy will be down soon and, well, she might get the wrong end of the stick.”

And Carla can’t hold it in then.

“Oh yeah,” she snorts. “Heaven forbid.”

Lisa bristles. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Carla opens her mouth to plead her case but quickly decides against it.

“Nothing,” she says quietly. “It doesn’t mean anything. Forget I said anything.”

But Lisa’s interest is piqued, her eyes desperately roaming Carla’s face.

“I mean, we’re still on the same page, aren’t we?” she asks, as if they’re discussing some sort of business deal. “You and me. Our arrangement. It’s casual, right?”

Carla thinks she might vomit.

“Is it?” she whispers.

Lisa blinks, once, twice; like a deer in the headlights.

“Well, um, yes,” she stammers. “I mean, that’s what we’ve always said, isn’t it?”

And, however much she may want to, Carla can’t argue with that.

“Yeah,” the brunette sighs. “Yeah, I guess it is.”

Lisa swallows, inhales sharply, and Carla knows then the exact fate that is about to befall her.

“Look, Carla,” Lisa says gently. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

The words have such a visceral impact that Carla is sure she can hear her heart splintering.

“What?”

Lisa chews on her lip. “This. Us. The whole ‘friends with benefits’ thing.”

Carla swallows roughly. “You want to call it off?” she asks, timid.

She hates how pathetic she sounds.

“I think it’s probably for the best,” Lisa offers, twisting her wedding band in relentless circles. “I mean, everything’s such a mess at the moment and work is crazy and Betsy needs me and-”

“I get it,” Carla says, abrupt. “Really, Lisa, I do. I understand.”

(In truth, Carla understands little apart from the fact she needs to get out of there as quickly as possible.)

Lisa tilts her head. “So, you’re not mad at me?” she asks quietly. “We’re still….friends?”

Friends.

Every one of those seven awful letters feels like a knife to Carla’s heart.

“Yeah,” she croaks. “Of course.”

Lisa smiles, though it doesn’t meet her eyes. Carla wonders if she’ll ever get to see the blonde’s proper smile, her Lisa smile, ever again.

“Is that…is that for me?” Lisa asks after a beat, nodding at the forgotten envelope in Carla’s hand.

Just when Carla thought she couldn’t feel any worse…

“What?” she asks dazedly. “Oh this? No, no. It’s a letter…for Michelle. Actually, I’d better send it before the post office shuts.”

Lisa opens her mouth to protest but Carla is already moving, powering determinedly in the direction of her car.

“I’ll see you,” she calls over her shoulder. “Send my love to Betsy…or not.”

And Carla is almost there, has one hand on the door handle, when…

“Carla?”

The brunette freezes, steels herself.

“Yeah?”

“I do…care about you,” Lisa says, eyes swimming with an emotion that Carla can’t, won’t, name. “You know that, right?”

And though it pains her, Carla smiles.

“Yeah,” she croaks. “Yeah, I do.”

The brunette turns then, gets into her car.

And she knows as she drives off, eyes stinging, that Lisa does care about her, in her own little way.

Lisa does care.

Just not enough.

— — —

It turns out that Carla isn’t the only one nursing a broken heart.

She gets home that night to find Ryan plonked on the sofa, drowning his sorrows.

“Me and Daisy broke up,” he tells her dolefully.

And Carla’s heart breaks for him. She’s biased, she knows, but Ryan is a catch.

He’s a good-looking lad, even in spite of his scars. And, even more importantly than that, he’s kind and good and honest.

He deserves so much more.

Maybe they both do.

“What?” Carla asks, stunned. “What did she say?”

Ryan shakes his head. “No. It was me. I broke it off.”

Carla wanders over to him, ruffles his hair in the same way she’s done since he was knee-high.

“Oh, kiddo,” she sighs. “Can I ask why?”

Ryan sniffs. “Summat you said actually.”

And Carla feels guilty then.

Not content with destroying her own love life, she’d inadvertently gone and sabotaged Ryan’s…

“Me?” she asks, bewildered.

“Yeah,” he says. “You said you wanted me to be happy.”

Carla frowns as she settles down beside her nephew on the sofa.

“But you said you were,” she says gently.

Ryan shrugs. “As much as I tried to convince myself that I was, I think I always knew deep down that things weren’t right between us, that…you know, it wasn’t really what she wanted. I wasn’t really what she wanted.”

The words hit so close to home that Carla has to bite her lip to stop the tears from falling.

“Ryan,” she sighs. “What’s brought this on?

“Just had a sudden realisation, I suppose,” Ryan says, taking a long swig of his lager. “Once you admit something like that to yourself, there’s no going back. It was always a bit of a longshot, me and Daisy…given everything.”

Carla reaches out, squeezes his knee. “Look, I know I had my reservations but I’m really sorry, Ry,” she soothes.

Ryan gulps. “I just want to be with someone who wants me as much as I want them,” he croaks sadly. “Whose face lights up when they see me. Someone who makes me feel happy, you know?”

And, boy, does Carla know.

(She knows so all-consumingly it’s a wonder she’s still standing.)

“Yeah,” she says after a beat. “I do, as it goes. And you shouldn’t settle for any less. You mustn’t.”

Ryan nods. “I have done the right thing. It’s just…”

Carla takes his hand as he trails off.

“It’s hard, isn’t it?” she whispers. “But it will get easier. It will.”

Ryan squeezes her hand, shoots her a watery smile.

For both of their sakes, Carla hopes that she’s right.

Chapter Text

She’s done the right thing.

Lisa is sure of it.

For Carla’s sake more than her own, she’s done the right thing by calling it quits.

I mean, it’s not like she’d planned it. For months now, Carla has been the one constant in her life - her one good thing.

And, as far as Lisa is concerned, they’d settled into the perfect rhythm, of giving and taking and knowing exactly where to draw the line.

But that was before Lisa had been blindsided; blindsided by the sight of Carla on her doorstep, earnest and beautiful and wanting to help. And the blonde had been stunned; stunned by just how much she’d wanted to let Carla in - both literally and figuratively - and have her ease the burden.

The thing is, Lisa would be lying if she said she hadn’t, in her weakest, most unguarded moments, allowed her mind to wander to thoughts of the life she might lead if only she could let down her walls.

There had been one morning, a couple of weeks back, when Lisa had woken early at the flat and afforded herself the indulgence of watching Carla sleep. She’d watched the way the brunette’s brow had wrinkled, every so often, as if disturbed by a bad dream.

She’d counted Carla’s heavy breaths, noted how every third exhale was prefaced by the most adorable little snore and barely-there wrinkle of her nose.

Lisa had imagined then what it would be like if she were to get up and make them coffee, if she were to feel Carla’s arms encircling her from behind at the kitchen worktop, hear her whispering …

“Come back to bed, darlin’…”

… soft and sleep-drunk in her ear. She’d pictured slow, Sunday-morning-love-making, twisting and tangling in cotton bedsheets, dozing off in the warm crook of Carla’s arm.

But that was a fairytale.

And Lisa knows better than anyone that fairytales don’t come true.

The blonde unlocks her phone, scrolls through her contacts until she finds Becky’s name. Her eyes fill with tears as they skim the dozens of unread messages; the late-night ‘I love yous’ and 5AM cries for help.

She scrolls until her cheeks are wet and her throat is raw, until she lands on the message she’s looking for.

‘I still love you, you know x’

It was the last text Becky had ever sent, on that grey December morning, hours before their world had been turned upside down.

Lisa hadn’t replied; had been too proud, too stubborn, too riled up from their earlier argument.

For that, she will simply never forgive herself.

The blonde chokes back a sob and, as she slips her phone back into her pocket, she feels a flicker of vindication.

Because that, right there, is her proof.

Fairytales don’t exist.

So, really, she’s done the right thing.

For both of them.

— — —

Lisa barely sees Carla for days.

She tells herself it's for the best but, still, she misses her.

To fill the void, the blonde throws herself into work, practically lives down at the station. She’s there when the phone call comes, when she sees Carla’s name flash up on her screen in big, bold letters.

Her heart flutters and she thinks, just for a moment, that the brunette might be calling to win her back, to tell her that she simply won’t accept Lisa’s impromptu brush-off, that she wants to fight for them.

But then…

“Hi, Lisa. It’s me.”

The illusion is quickly shattered by the sound of Carla’s panicked voice on the other end of the line. Lisa feels her blood run cold, hurriedly asks…

“Carla? Are you okay?”

“Erm, I’m with Roy,” Carla croaks. “Joel’s been here, in the café. He’s come in and been drunk and aggressive. He’s smashed the phone. I dunno…he’s terrorised Roy!”

Lisa feels her head start to swim, sickened by the thought of Carla being in any kind of danger. She takes a deep breath, knows it serves everyone better if she’s able to assert some kind of professional authority here.

“Carla, calm down,” she says evenly. “Is Joel still there? Are you safe?”

“I-I don’t know but he’s gone off somewhere,” Carla stammers. “You need to do something!”

Lisa feels a rush of relief then, grateful that Carla is, for now at least, not in harm’s way.

In truth, the alternative doesn’t even bear thinking about.

“I’m on my way, Carla,” Lisa says, already shrugging on her jacket. “Lock the door and stay with Roy. I’ll be as quick as I can but call me if anything else happens in the meantime, okay?”

Carla lets out a shuddery breath. “Yeah, okay…and Lisa?”

“Yeah?”

Lisa hears Carla swallow.

“Thank you,” the brunette says in a small voice. “For coming to my rescue.”

Lisa has to bite her lip to stop herself from crying.

“Always,” she whispers, before the line goes dead.

After all, Lisa thinks, Carla has tried so hard to rescue her.

It’s only fair that she returns the favour.

— — —

It’s strange how quickly after that they fall into friendship.

It’s particularly strange considering they were never really friends to begin with. They’d been enemies, sort of, and then lovers, and now…

Friends.

Lisa has never had many of those, has never much wanted them. Becky had always been the sociable one; the one who made an effort and remembered people’s birthdays and kept in touch with old school pals.

Lisa, meanwhile, had Becky and Betsy, and that was enough.

Or, at least, it had been.

Lisa thinks that Carla would be a good friend - perhaps even a great one - if her heart didn’t ache every time she was in the brunette’s presence.

But Lisa knows she’s made her bed, knows she now must lie in it.

And so they’re friends.

She finds she’s grateful for that friendship when it all kicks off with Joel. Lisa goes looking for him one night, down at the precinct.

She doesn’t find him, stumbles instead upon a mugging, stupidly decides to pursue the assailant in his car. It’s a reflexive thing, an instinct; one that lands her in hospital with a concussion and half-a-dozen cracked ribs.

Lisa is lucky, the doctors tell her. It could have been much worse.

(Lisa’s not so sure.)

She should feel better the next day, when they find Joel’s car abandoned near the viaduct, a hastily-scrawled note left on the dashboard.

It should cheer her, knowing that monster is, in all likelihood, dead and gone. But it doesn’t.

It’s not fair, she thinks, that Joel gets to take the easy way out while everyone else has to stick around and face the music.

Dee-Dee doesn’t take the news well. When Lisa brings her up to speed at the café, the other woman pretty much point-blank refuses to accept what’s staring her right in the face.

“I mean, come on, there is no way that egomaniac would take his own life,” Dee-Dee scoffs. “He thinks he’s superior to all of us and he would always find a way to back himself.”

Lisa sighs. “Look, there’s no reason not to take that note at face value. He was desperate and he did something on the spur of the moment. These things aren’t rational.”

“But Joel is,” Dee-Dee insists. “I mean, he’s rational to a fault. So, until I see him nestled in a body bag, I won’t believe it. And even then I might check for a pulse!”

And really, Dee-Dee’s conspiracy theories are the last thing Lisa needs right now, particularly not with Carla watching on, grimacing awkwardly in the corner.

“Well, that’s a matter for you,” Lisa says coolly, already heading for the door. “But we’re going to be looking for his body and we expect to find it.”

“Thanks for letting us know, detective,” Roy calls after her as she makes to leave.

But Lisa can barely hear him, can barely hear anything, is too distracted by the searing pain that shoots up her side as she reaches for the door handle. She staggers out onto the street, tries not to vomit as another wave of pain takes over her.

She’s just making a mental note to contact the hospital for stronger painkillers when…

“Hey, Lisa. Hold up!”

The blonde freezes at the sound of Carla’s voice, weighs up whether or not it would be socially acceptable for her to break into a sprint.

(Probably not, she decides.)

“Yeah?”

Carla frowns. “Erm, feel free to tell me to butt out but…are you okay?”

“You know, you’re the only one who ever asks me that,” Lisa snorts.

And the blonde realises then that it’s true.

The revelation only makes her pain worse.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Carla says softly.

(And, god, why does she have to be so bloody nice?)

“It’s fine,” Lisa shrugs, striding determinedly toward her car. “It’s called ‘being a copper’.”

Carla nods slowly. “Alright,” she says. “Are you okay, officer?”

Her tone sends a jolt of heat straight to the juncture of Lisa’s thighs.

“Well, it’s difficult,” the blonde says, hoping she sounds at least moderately professional. “You know, Betsy’s involvement changed everything, made it all very personal. It’s so much more than just another collar.”

Carla swallows. “Well, I mean, you must be glad he’s dead, right? I know it sounds strange but I am. Sir Roy of Weatherfield is a one-off.”

At that, Lisa feels another pang of guilt.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “I just wish I’d realised that sooner instead of persecuting him. You know, Joel Deering ran rings around me time and time again. I so wish I was there at the end, looking him straight in the eye before he…you know what, you really don’t want to hear all this.”

Lisa blushes. She hadn’t meant to drone on, is just about to duck into her car when…

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” Carla smirks. “Isn’t that what they taught you at police college?”

And it would be so easy, Lisa thinks, to fall back into their old ways then; to drag Carla into the next ginnel, to press her roughly into the dirty brick and fuck her until they both find release.

But, in the long run, Lisa knows that wouldn’t help either of them. And so…

“Clearly I wasn’t paying much attention that day, was I?” she deadpans, climbing into the driver’s seat. “Thanks though.”

Lisa slams the door shut before Carla can say another word.

If she lets the brunette say too much, Lisa fears she’ll end up doing something they’ll both come to regret.

— — —

Lisa thinks she might be a masochist.

I mean, surely that’s the only explanation for this, for the fact she’s spending her evening sitting in The Rovers, sinking a bottle of red with the one person she knows she really ought to be avoiding.

Lisa had only popped in for a quiet drink. But then she’d seen Carla, and all of her resolve had gone straight out the window.

“And I thought I drank quick,” Carla grins as the blonde drains her glass of wine.

“Yeah, sorry,” Lisa says sheepishly. “It’s been quite a day.”

Carla snorts. “Yeah. It certainly has.”

Lisa takes a minute to scan the room, eyes flitting from Kit - glowering at her from a bar stool - to Roy; deep in conversation with a visibly animated Dee-Dee.

Lisa sighs, toys with the stem of her glass. “And, you know, sharing a pub with my colleague, and the man I wrongly arrested having a drink with the solicitor that’s angry at me for not working hard enough, it turns out it’s not all that relaxing.”

Carla laughs. “Do you wanna go somewhere else?”

And Lisa thinks then that she would go anywhere Carla asked her to go.

(She would go everywhere Carla asked her to go.)

But no good can come from telling the truth, and so…

“No, it’s alright,” she says, tapping at the half-empty bottle with her index finger. “Maybe just pour me another one of those.”

So Carla does.

And, as the wine starts to loosen her tongue, Lisa finds herself confiding in the brunette, about Betsy and about Joel and about her fractious relationship with Kit.

She wonders how it is that Carla is so adept at this, at coaxing her out of her shell, at making her want to talk.

All her life, Lisa has barely wanted to talk to anyone and yet, with Carla, she can’t seem to stop.

“This is nice,” the brunette says after a while.

Lisa frowns, takes another long glug of her Merlot.

“D’ya think?” she asks, squinting into the bottom of her glass. “I was actually just thinking it’s a bit…vinegary.”

Carla grins, a faraway look in her beautiful eyes.

“No, not the wine,” she says softly. “I mean…this. Us.”

All of a sudden, Lisa feels lightheaded.

“O-oh, right,” she stammers. “Yeah.”

Carla picks up her glass, swills the dark liquid around, like an overzealous sommelier.

“Like, I thought it might be awkward,” she says tentatively. “Doing this after…well, after everything. But the fact we can still be mates, it’s…it’s nice.”

And it strikes Lisa then that they have never been nice.

She and Carla have been ice and fire and everything in between.

But nice?

Not even close.

Lisa wonders what it says about her that she would rather Carla hate her guts than think she was ‘nice’.

But, of course, she can’t say that.

She’s just trying to formulate an appropriate response when she feels another flash of pain, like a bolt of lightning striking her entire left side. The blonde tries to mask it but it’s too late, Carla’s face already clouding with worry.

“Lisa, what’s wrong?” she asks quickly. “You’ve gone white as a sheet.”

Lisa tries to wave away her concerns.

“I’m fine,” she says stiffly. “Just picked up a couple of scrapes in training. Body combat. I’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

Still, Carla doesn’t look convinced.

“I knew something was up,” she tuts. “I could tell you weren’t right this morning. Have you had yourself checked out? Do you want me to take you to-”

“Really, Carla, I’m fine. You don’t need to fuss over me. I’m a big girl.”

Lisa’s reply comes out harsher than intended, and she doesn’t miss the way Carla flinches at her words, hurt.

“As long as you’re okay,” the brunette says after a beat.

Lisa takes another sip of her drink, cheeks ashen.

“I will be,” she says quietly. “Just need to rest up a bit, that’s all.”

Carla nods and then, all at once, her eyes light up, an idea springing to mind.

“Actually,” she grins, “you might be in luck. Debbie Webster’s been on at me for ages to try out the new spa at the Chariot Square. I have a voucher that’s just going to go to waste. Why don’t you use it? A bit of T.L.C. would do you the world of good. And the voucher is for two people. You could take a friend.”

Lisa feels her face flame then. Because, in truth, she only has one ‘friend’ around here, and surely there’s no way she’d want to…

“Do you want to come?”

Lisa blurts out the question before her mind has even processed it.

Carla blinks, her mind visibly racing.

Immediately, Lisa regrets it.

“I mean, you don’t have to,” she says quickly. “It was just an idea. You’re probably busy and I’m sure there’s other people you’d much rather-”

“I’d love to.”

Lisa opens her mouth and then closes it again, wonders if she’d heard Carla correctly.

“I mean, I think it would be nice,” Carla says, slightly bashful. “For us to go together. As friends.”

Lisa nods, smiles, clinks her glass against Carla’s before draining it again.

“Good,” she says. “Great.”

Lisa watches Carla empty her own glass, throat bobbing thickly as she swallows, and the blonde is startled by the overwhelming urge to kiss her throat.

‘Friends?’ she thinks with a wistful sigh.

Yeah, right.

— — —

Lisa is in hell.

She’s been in hell, in fact, since the moment they entered the spa. They’d been quickly accosted by Debbie, chattering away as she’d checked them in and plied them with towels and slippers and robes.

“You know, it’s so nice to see friends making the most of our new facilities,” the older woman had cooed. “We usually just get couples coming here so it makes a nice change, seeing a couple of girly pals having some girly time together.”

Lisa had wanted to crawl out of her own skin, had studiously avoided eye contact with Carla and rushed off to change at the earliest available opportunity.

That in itself had been a debacle.

Lisa had spent nearly 20 minutes poking and prodding at herself in the changing room mirror, seriously debating whether it was too late to do a runner.

It was ridiculous, really, considering Carla has literally seen her naked - several times, in fact - but the thought of having to don swimwear in front of the brunette had made Lisa feel slightly nauseous.

She’d agonised over what to wear, eventually settling on a black, halter-neck swimsuit that covered up all of her bruises but showed just enough cleavage to get Carla’s attention.

Because it’s totally normal to want a friend to stare at your tits.

Right?

Anyway, Lisa is now in hell.

And it’s got nothing to do with her own swimwear situation and everything to do with Carla’s.

Because if Lisa had hoped to tantalise Carla with her daring halter-neck, then Carla had full-on tried to kill Lisa, choosing a skimpy tangerine bikini that left little to the imagination.

It’s making it nigh-on impossible for Lisa to concentrate on relaxing as they sprawl out, side by side, on the wicker loungers by the pool.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lisa allows herself a moment to take Carla in; the soft swell of her stomach, the outline of an alert nipple, the way the gauzy fabric of her matching sarong rests snugly beneath her the jut of her hip bones.

“It’s lovely this, isn’t it?”

Carla’s voice drags Lisa from her reverie.

“What?”

“The spa,” the brunette repeats, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “It’s nice.”

(And, seriously, Lisa would love nothing more than to banish that word from the English dictionary.)

“Oh, right,” she says awkwardly. “Yeah. It’s great.”

Carla snorts, rolls onto her side so that she’s facing Lisa, perfect breasts almost spilling out of her bikini top.

(Not that Lisa is looking.)

“You know, I think you’re the only person I know who could make relaxing look about as fun as a trip to the dentist.”

Lisa feels bad then, sighs as she shifts so that she’s mirroring Carla’s position.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I am enjoying myself - really, I am - it’s just…I’ve told you, I’m not very good at letting my hair down.”

Carla leans closer, a flicker of mischief dancing in her eyes, and Lisa knows she’s in trouble.

“Listen, blondie,” the brunette says, voice low. “I’ve spent enough time with you now to know that, when you want to, you’re actually very good at letting your hair down.”

Lisa shivers at that. There can be no denying the suggestion in Carla’s tone, and the blonde knows she has two options.

One; steer the conversation back onto safer ground or two; just give into it.

Give into her.

(Lisa decides on the latter.)

“I suppose I can be,” she shrugs, not missing the way Carla’s eyes flit to her chest as she does so. “When I’m in the right company.”

Carla smirks, wets her lips.

“Mmm,” she hums. “I can vouch for that.”

Lisa shakes her head, anxiety creeping back in. “It’s just everything with Bets and with work and-”

“Ah ah,” Carla cuts her off, waggling her finger. “We’ll have none of that this afternoon, thank you. You’re here to relax. Doctor’s orders.”

Lisa takes in Carla’s look of faux-indignation, feels another stab of want.

“And you’re my doctor now, are you?” she teases.

Carla shrugs, leans even closer, so that their faces are only inches apart.

“What can I say?” she drawls sweetly, breath hot against Lisa’s cheek. “I’m a woman of many talents.”

Lisa’s gaze dips then from Carla’s eyes to her gorgeous mouth.

“Yeah,” the blonde breathes, biting her lip. “Yeah, you are.”

And Lisa is just about to close her eyes, is so close to forgetting where she is, when…

“Top up?”

Carla is suddenly sitting upright, cheeks slightly flushed as she holds up her empty flute of Prosecco.

Lisa swallows, can’t quite believe how close she had let herself come to losing control.

“Yes,” she says stiffly, handing Carla her own empty glass. “Yes, please.”

And, as she watches Carla strut off in the direction of the bar, all long legs and swinging hips, Lisa thinks it’s going to take a lot more than a glass of Prosecco to help her make it through the rest of the afternoon.

— — —

If looks could kill, Lisa thinks the man behind the bar would be a goner.

The blonde had just been starting to enjoy herself, the tension in her shoulders finally starting to abate, when Carla had daringly suggested they order cocktails. Lisa had tried to protest but they’d both known it was in vain.

She’d ‘reluctantly’ agreed to a mojito, had earned herself a wink and a whispered little ‘whatever you say, m’lady’ from Carla before the brunette had bustled off to get their drinks.

Anyway, that was nearly 15 minutes ago now and, through the glass panel to her right, Lisa can see exactly what the hold-up is. Because, rather than making their drinks, the barman seems to be devoting most of his attention to making Carla laugh and, of course, unashamedly gawping at her chest.

Mind you, Carla is encouraging it. The brunette has pretty much spent the past quarter-of-an-hour flirting like a giddy schoolgirl, throwing back her head and touching the guy on his (admittedly very toned) biceps.

And really, the lad is probably a bit young for her, Lisa thinks. He can’t be more than 30; young enough to be Carla’s son.

Although, Lisa thinks grudgingly, Carla is so lovely that she could have anyone she wanted.

(Anyone, that is, apart from the one person she really wants.)

The thought makes Lisa’s heart sink and so, with one last glance at Carla and her apparent new beau, the blonde flounces off in the direction of the steam room.

Mercifully, it’s empty and, as she lets her head thunk back against the dewy tiles, Lisa thinks this is just what she needed. She closes her eyes, inhales deeply, soothed by the heady scent of jasmine and eucalyptus in the fuggy air.

She can already feel the sweat beading on her brow, the delicious burn of steam licking at her thighs, thinks she might even be able to drift off in here when…

“Ah, so this is where you’ve been hiding,” Carla drawls, appearing in the doorway with a mojito in either hand. “I thought I was going to have to send out a search party.”

Lisa closes her eyes again, feigning disinterest.

“I’m surprised you even noticed I was gone,” she says coolly. “You looked like you had your hands full with Casanova out there.”

“The barman?” Carla asks, confused. “Oh no, he was just telling me a really interesting story about how he…hang on, are you jealous?”

Lisa’s eyes snap open, face hardening.

“What?” she scoffs, grateful to the dim lighting for masking the blush on her cheeks. “No, of course not.”

Carla lets the door slam closed behind her, quirks an eyebrow.

“You’re a terrible liar,” she trills. “Do you know that, blondie?”

“I’m not lying!” Lisa yelps. “Why would I be jealous of him? I just thought he was…a bit much, that’s all. He was eyeing you up like a piece of meat. Practically had his tongue hanging out.”

Carla smirks. “Like you have all day, you mean?”

“What?!” Lisa screeches. “I have not!”

Carla hesitates then, takes a long swig of her drink.

“Have you considered that maybe I wanted him to look at me?” she asks airily. “Maybe I wanted him to flirt with me, to picture what it might be like to take me to bed.”

The thought makes Lisa’s stomach twist.

“That’s enough, Carla,” she warns.

But Carla’s not for warning.

“You don’t like it, do you?” the brunette probes, eyes narrowing. “You don’t like the thought of me being with someone else.”

Lisa presses her lips into a thin line, digs her fingernails into her palm to stop herself from tearing her own hair out. “Carla, please.”

“I’m right though, aren’t I?” Carla taunts. “You were jealous. You can’t bear the idea of-”

“I said enough!”

That stops Carla in her tracks, and Lisa finds herself slightly stunned by the sharpness in her own voice. She thinks for a moment that the brunette might storm out - thinks she would be well within her rights to - but instead she just sits down on the bench beside her, takes another exaggerated sip of her mojito.

“Sorry,” Lisa says after a beat, voice barely more than a whisper. “I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“No,” Carla sniffs. “You shouldn’t have.”

“And it’s not my place,” Lisa says. “To comment on who you flirt with.”

Lisa turns her head, watches the way Carla’s lips purse, ever so slightly.

“No, it’s not,” the brunette agrees. And then, more quietly…

“But it could be.”

And Lisa feels like she’s been winded.

“Carla…”

But Carla just smiles, shakes her head, as if she already knows it’s no good forcing the issue.

“Well,” she eventually sighs. “Irrespective of your gripes with his particular brand of customer service, the barman here actually makes a very good mojito. Wanna try?”

Lisa just looks down at the proffered glass, says simply…

“You’re not allowed to drink in here.”

Carla snorts at that, rolls her eyes.

“So what?” she shrugs. “Are you gonna arrest me, officer?”

And Lisa knows it’s pointless arguing with her. She can tell Carla is tipsy and in the mood to push her buttons.

So she drinks.

“God,” she groans, revelling in the way the rum burns the back of her throat. “Tastes so good.”

“Yeah,” Carla says huskily. “It does.”

Lisa looks at the brunette then, her eyes almost black in the half-light of the steam room, and feels her fragile willpower start to falter.

Because it’s quite clear from the way Carla is staring at her through the haze, gaze fastened on her parted lips, that they’re no longer talking about the drink.

Lisa swallows, takes another sip to mask her growing discomfort. “You’re a bad influence, Connor. Do you know that?”

Carla grins. “And you love it.”

Lisa knows denial would be futile, and so instead she just smiles, lets her head drop back against the wall. She doesn’t know how long they sit there then, in companionable silence - doesn’t know what compels her to break it.

But she does.

“I was staring,” the blonde says quietly. “Earlier. I was checking you out.”

Carla chuckles. “Well, duh.”

Lisa shakes her head. “It’s just that bikini, it’s…fuck, I don’t even know.”

“You like it?” Carla asks, voice saccharine.

Lisa raises an eyebrow. “What do you think?”

And, really, Lisa knows she shouldn’t be giving Carla the ammunition but she simply can’t help herself, only has herself to blame when the brunette purrs…

“I chose it with you in mind. Plus, it’s very…convenient. The bottoms, for example, all I have to do is pull on this string and they come right off.”

Lisa watches, transfixed, as Carla’s long fingers toy with the knot, fastened loosely on her hips.

Suddenly, she can barely breathe.

“Carla,” she croaks.

But Carla is undeterred.

“And it’s quiet in here,” the brunette shrugs. “Dark. No one would know…if anything were to go on. It would be like it never even happened.”

Lisa squeezes her eyes shut, as if avoidance will somehow make all of this go away.

“Carla, if you don’t stop then I’ll-”

“You’ll what?” Carla cuts in, shuffling almost imperceptibly closer. “What will you do, Lisa?”

And it’s a challenge, Lisa knows that. She opens her eyes and sees it written all over Carla’s lovely face.

The blonde runs her tongue over her bottom lip, tastes sweat there. She can feel her pulse, thrumming unevenly between her thighs, can hear Carla’s breathing hitch as she leans in and…

“Ah, ladies! There you are!”

At the sound of Debbie’s voice, the two women spring apart.

Lisa doesn’t know whether she should laugh or cry.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Debbie says, sounding anything but as she dramatically wafts the steam out of her eyes. “But I just wanted to let you know that, as you only booked our platinum package, your access to the spa expires in,” she checks her watch, “well, right now actually.”

There’s silence then, for a beat or two, as Lisa wills her brain to think of something - anything - to say. But it’s Carla who speaks first; the brunette draining her glass and jumping nimbly to her feet.

“No problem, Debbie,” she smiles, too brightly. “Probably just as well. It was starting to get a little…hot in here.”

With a final pointed look at Lisa, Carla strides out of the steam room, Debbie following in her wake.

The door swings shut.

Still, in her ears and her chest and between her legs, Lisa’s pulse races.

— — —

They blame it on the drink.

When they see each other next, they don’t explicitly mention their almost-kiss, but they dance around the subject, the memory of it lingering like the proverbial elephant in the room.

“God, I was leathered the other day!” Carla says breezily. “The whole afternoon was a blur.”

“Yeah,” Lisa agrees - because it feels easier to lie than it is to face up to reality. “A total blur.”

And they both understand it’s a silent contract, a vow, that it absolutely can’t happen again.

And that’s fine.

They’re fine.

At least, Lisa thought they were.

But then they have a run-in at the café, on the morning of Carla’s plea hearing. And the brunette is cold, waspish, so unlike herself.

Of course, it’s only natural that she should be nervous. But Lisa can’t help thinking there must be something else too.

The blonde knows Carla well enough now to sense there’s something that’s unsettling her.

That suspicion only intensifies when Lisa bumps into Betsy outside the factory later that afternoon. Predictably, they have a row; one that ends with the teenager taking aim at Carla for spontaneously firing her.

Lisa suspects there’s more to it than that, heads into the factory to investigate what’s really going on.

But the blonde barely has one foot through the door when she senses there’s something wrong, can feel it, right in the pit of her stomach.

She tiptoes inside; hears a raised, angry voice - a man’s - interspersed with Carla’s panicked pleas.

Lisa ascertains pretty quickly this is the father of the lad, the one Carla had knocked off his bike. And she’s just weighing up whether or not to call for back-up when she hears a crash, a yelp; telltale signs of some sort of physical altercation.

It all happens so quickly then; Lisa’s feet moving before her brain has even had time to consider the risks.

She bursts into the office, sees Carla cowering in a chair, the man looming angrily above her. The blonde thinks on her feet, barks out an order to her fictional colleagues, just so the man doesn’t know she’s here alone.

She tells Carla to move, pins the man roughly against the wall, hands twisted behind his back. And, usually, Lisa is so good at compartmentalising, at masking her personal feelings when faced with an offender.

But this time, she can’t help herself.

She digs her nails into the man’s wrists, pinches at his thick skin. And she thinks, in that moment, that she has never hated anyone more.

Only when she’s satisfied he’s not going to try and abscond does Lisa let go, turns on her heel and strides quickly out of the office.

Towards Carla.

The brunette is doubled over, hands braced on the surface in front of her, desperately trying to catch her breath. At that sight, the strength of Lisa’s feeling overwhelms her.

She tries to distract herself, reaches for her phone and dials into the station.

“Urgent back-up needed,” she pants down the line. “Underworld, Coronation Street. Any unit in the area. No sirens.”

“Are you on your own?” Carla asks, wide-eyed.

Lisa narrows her eyes, nods in the direction of the office, hisses out a….

“Shh!”

So they wait in silence for back-up to come.

All the while, Lisa hears her heartbeat, ringing in her ears. And she knows, though it goes against her every natural instinct, that it’s because of more than just the adrenaline.

— — —

Lisa knows she should stay away.

She knows she should give Carla time to decompress, to process the afternoon’s events, but the blonde needs to know if she’s okay.

Lisa needs her to be okay

And so, before she can think the better of it, she goes to the flat, doesn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed when it’s Ryan’s voice that comes cracking through the intercom.

He’s waiting for her at the door, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Lisa’s eyes skim past him, relief flooding through her body at the sight of Carla at the kitchen table, nursing a glass of wine.

“Is this a good time?” the blonde asks awkwardly.

Carla nods, looks pointedly at her nephew. “Yeah, Ryan was just going to work.”

“I’m not,” Ryan snaps back. “I’m not leaving you on your own.”

“Well,” Carla sighs, tired eyes finding Lisa’s. “I’m not on my own anymore, am I?”

The blonde just smiles tightly, gives Ryan a terse nod.

“Alright, fine,” he huffs. “Just text me if you need anything, alright? And,” he turns his attention to Lisa, “in case she’s too proud to say it, she’s grateful for what you did today.”

“Ryan,” Carla warns.

But Ryan won’t be silenced.

“And she’s sorry she cut you out before.”

“If you don’t go down those stairs now I’m gonna shove you down,” Carla quips.

Ryan turns to Lisa with his eyebrows raised. “I take it you’re not gonna arrest her for that?”

Lisa grins, dips her head.

“Thought not,” Ryan smirks.

And then he’s gone, and they’re alone again.

And Lisa has so much she wants to say but she can’t find the words. She’s just about to ask if Carla’s alright when…

“I was horrible,” the brunette admits with a sheepish smile. “And I am grateful. So I guess, sorry. And thank you.”

Lisa shakes her head. “I’m not here looking for gratitude.”

“Well, if it’s to ask for Betsy’s job back then the answer of course is yes,” Carla says. “And she can have a pay rise.”

Lisa narrows her eyes. “Isn’t that rewarding bad behaviour?”

“Well, it wasn’t really bad behaviour,” Carla reasons. “She was just clumsy. She’s got a big gob. And after today I wonder where she gets that from.”

Lisa feels her skin heat under Carla’s teasing gaze. There’s a beat of silence, and then…

“It was really brave what you did.”

Lisa bites her lip. “He was all talk.”

“Yeah, but you didn’t know that at the time, did you?” Carla presses. “I mean I thought, I don’t know what I thought he was capable of…”

Lisa’s heart aches at the sight of Carla’s worried face.

“Don’t keep going over it and imagining it being worse,” she soothes, taking a step closer. “It didn’t happen. Don’t torment yourself.”

Carla swallows. “Okay. So, if you’re not here for the gratitude or for Betsy’s job you must be here for the wine.”

And it’s dangerous, Lisa knows, to be here drinking together, alone together.

But…

“I was actually just checking that you were okay but if there’s wine on offer?”

Lisa shrugs off her coat.

“Red alright?” Carla asks, already on her feet and retrieving another glass.

“Yeah,” Lisa smiles. “Red’s fine.”

They drink for a while in silence, Lisa tracing her finger over the rim of her glass.

The blonde thinks then that she could stay like this, in their own little bubble, forever.

“I wouldn’t have blamed you, you know,” Carla eventually says, voice soft, “if you’d just rang 999 and stopped outside.”

“What?” Lisa deadpans. “And followed protocol? Nah. Actually, if truth be told, I’m hoping I don’t get disciplined for that.”

Carla swallows. “I’m sorry for shutting you out.”

Lisa takes a sip of her drink. “I’m sure you had your reasons.”

“Yeah, well,” Carla says quietly. “They’re all a bit…trivial to be honest. You know, compared to what you’ve been through. I didn’t want you to think I was pathetic.”

And Lisa has thought of Carla as so many things over these past few months.

Strong, stubborn, loud, infuriating.

Beautiful.

But pathetic?

She could never be.

“So do you want to tell me?” Lisa prompts. “You don’t have to.”

Carla looks down, as if she’s embarrassed.

“Well, it’s just Peter,” she says bashfully. “You know, the divorce. Actually, the papers came through and I thought I’d be relieved but it sent me on a pretty downward spiral.”

Lisa’s stomach plummets. She hadn’t seen that coming, hadn’t for a second imagined that another lover would be the cause of Carla’s angst.

“I’m sorry.”

“Anyway,” the brunette shrugs, “that’s why I’ve been a difficult person.”

A pause, and then…

“I actually really wound him up today outside of court, that bloke.”

Lisa finds her sadness quickly displaced by rage.

“Carla, he followed you,” she says firmly. “He threatened you. You didn’t deserve that. Whatever you said to him. You can’t blame yourself.”

Carla looks at her then, eyes shining with words she can’t say. Instead, all she says is…

“Thank you.”

Lisa thinks that’s probably for the best.

— — —

It’s getting late when Lisa revisits the subject again.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly, “that it sent you spiralling. The divorce papers, I mean.”

Carla shrugs. “It is what it is, I suppose. I don’t even know why it got to me so much. It’s not like I want to be with Peter anyway. But it’s just, we were together for such a long time and I always thought. It’s stupid…”

Lisa wants to hook her fingers beneath Carla’s chin, to force the other woman to look in her eyes, but she knows she daren’t.

“Carla,” she says instead, “there’s nothing you could possibly say to me that would make me think you’re stupid.”

Carla shoots her a grateful smile.

“Me and Peter,” she sighs, “we went through a lot together. And because of that, even in our worst times, I always sort of knew that I had him to fall back on, that he was an option, you know? And now it all just seems so final and it sort of hit me that, without that option I have no-one. I mean, how pathetic is that, eh? Washed-up, nearly 50 and with nothing to show for it.”

And it’s awful, but Lisa is relieved; relieved that Carla isn’t pining, mooning after someone else.

“Well, you’re not washed-up for starters,” the blonde grins after a beat. “You have so much to show for your life, for all of the incredible things you’ve done. You have a successful business, loads of friends. You’ve touched so many lives around here, Carla. And, well, you have me.”

Lisa regrets it as soon as the words leave her mouth, as soon as Carla looks at her with a mix of awe and trepidation.

“Ever thought of becoming a motivational speaker?” the brunette quips.

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Ha-ha.”

Carla drains her glass, drums her fingers on the table. “Can I ask you something?”

“I have a feeling you’re going to anyway,” Lisa grins.

Carla swats at her, smiles, before her expression shifts into something more serious.

“You said that you hadn’t been with anyone else…after Becky and before…well you know. Why was that? Did you never just…miss the attention?”

And it’s a loaded question, Lisa knows that. She tries to answer it as honestly as she can.

“I dunno really,” she says quietly. “For a while it just didn’t feel important. I missed Becks too much. And, well, I’ve always been pretty hopeless at casual so it never really felt like it was worth the risk.”

Carla gnaws on her bottom lip. “Do you still feel that way?”

It’s impossible to miss the brunette’s intimation.

“I’m bad news, Carla,” Lisa sighs, grip tightening on the stem of her glass.

Carla tilts her head, a challenge in her eyes. “Don’t you think you should let other people be the judge of that?”

And Lisa wishes that she could. But she is bad news, thinks she needs to find a way to make Carla see that. And so….

“You want to know something?” she asks. “Today, when I walked into that factory and saw that fella, there was a part of me that…god, I can’t even believe I’m saying this out loud.“

Lisa’s stomach churns. She’s barely ever admitted this, even to herself.

Carla holds up her hands. “I don’t judge.”

Lisa gulps. “It’s just, well, after what happened to Becky, there’s this part of me that just thinks ‘go on then, do your worst’. It’s what Becky went through and if it did happen to me then it would mean I wouldn’t have to work this hard anymore, just fight to get out of bed some days.”

The blonde dares then to seek out Carla’s face, stomach curdling at the brunette’s horrified expression.

Lisa shakes her head, tries to play it off as something casual. “It sounds so melodramatic out loud.”

Carla frowns. “You want to be killed?”

“No,” Lisa says quickly. “No, see it sounds like that but it’s not as clearly thought out. I’d never want Betsy to go through that. Never. I guess it just crosses my mind sometimes, when things get dangerous. If it did happen to me then it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world would it. Am I a bad person?”

It’s the same question she’s asked herself a million times over, in her most quiet, private moments. She hopes to find solace in Carla’s face but the brunette just looks pensive, sad.

“I think you sound lonely,” she says gently. “Sorry.”

And really, Lisa thinks, that has always been her problem.

“No,” she smiles sheepishly. “Don’t apologise. Actually, saying it out loud has made me realise I need to knock those kind of thoughts on the head and get a grip. And actually, get home.”

Lisa feels the overwhelming urge to get out of there then, away from Carla and her sad, sympathetic eyes.

“You shouldn’t have given me so much of that truth drug,” Lisa quips, trying to lighten the mood. “Makes me very unprofessional.”

Carla scoffs. “I think we’re way past professional, aren’t we?”

Lisa catches her bottom lip between her teeth.

“Yes,” she says honestly. “I suppose we are. I’m glad we’re friends again. I was worried for a moment there, when you were…”

“Being a ratbag?“ Carla offers.

Lisa laughs. “I was going to say protecting me, in your own way.”

Carla snorts, gets to her feet. “That’s because you’re kinder than me. Come here.”

And before Lisa knows what’s happening, before she can stop it, she’s being pulled in, like a tide being dragged back to shore.

She burrows her head in Carla’s shoulder, breathes her in and feels in her bones that this is her place.

This is her person.

“For what it’s worth,” she whispers into Carla’s neck, “I’m not sure what I’d have done without you these past few months. You’re good to me, Carla.”

Carla squeezes her, then holds her at arm’s length, lips curved up into a gentle smile.

“You mustn’t put yourself in harms way,” she says, hand reaching up to brush a tendril of hair behind Lisa’s ear.

And though Lisa knows she shouldn’t, she leans into it, feels Carla’s hot fingertips against her skin.

“I won’t.”

Carla’s eyes search her face, her voice coming out scratchy and serious as she says…

“Not just for Betsy’s sake.”

Lisa smiles, her eyes glistening, and then she sees it.

In that moment, it feels like the ground beneath her shifts, her throat tightening as she shimmies out of Carla’s grasp.

“I’ve got to go,” she says quickly, blindly reaching for the door handle.

Lisa hears Carla calling after her, confused and desperate, but the blonde can’t - won’t - turn back.

Because she’d seen it.

For the first time, she had looked into Carla’s eyes and seen, not lust or passion or disdain, but love.

And the worst thing of all is that Lisa feels it too.

Chapter Text

Carla Connor has done some stupid things in her time.

When she was eight years old, her mam had been dating some bloke she’d met down the pub. Carla didn’t like him much, didn’t like the way he shouted when he got angry, which seemed to happen quite a lot.

His pride and joy had been his Harley-Davidson; some beaten-up, vintage thing with an engine that made Carla’s stomach lurch when he revved it. One time, after overhearing a particularly bad fight between her mam and this bloke, Carla had snuck outside and slashed the tyres on his bike, the way she’d seen scorned women do in the trashy American TV shows her mam liked to watch.

Carla had crept back inside, climbed into bed and pulled the duvet right up to her chin, unable to keep the smile from her face when she’d heard front the door slam, an angry ‘what the fuck?!’ filtering up from the street below.

The bloke never did come around again after that.

Years later, Carla went through this phase, not long before she’d turned 13, when she’d pined after a pair of silver jelly shoes. They were all the rage at the time, and Carla had hoped her mam might surprise her with a pair for her birthday but, as usual, she’d been left disappointed.

One day, the brunette had decided to take matters into her own hands, had nicked a pair from Clarks while the saleswoman’s back was turned. Carla had run all the way home and hidden the shoes underneath her bed.

But she’d been so sure that something bad was going to happen to her, that she was going to get caught, that she never actually wore the shoes outside of her bedroom.

Even when it came to relationships, Carla had made her fair share of missteps. She’d lied, cheated, manipulated, fallen for men who made her feel like she was worth less than nothing.

But Carla has to concede that this - falling in love with someone who could not and would not love her back - was perhaps her greatest ever act of stupidity.

Because, no matter how hard she might try to deny it, this was love.

She was in love with Lisa; so in love, in fact, that her heart had started to feel uncomfortably big in her chest.

And the worst part of all is, Carla had been so close to saying it.

As she’d held Lisa in her arms, looked into her eyes - eyes that had now become as familiar to her as her own - the words had teetered right there, right on the tip of her tongue.

But then Lisa had fled.

Obviously.

The blonde had turned and ran, hadn’t even given Carla the courtesy of a backwards glance.

And, really, Carla couldn’t blame her.

Lisa had always made it very clear that she was unavailable, off-limits. She had never made Carla false promises or told her that she might be open to more.

Even if sometimes she looked at Carla like she’d hung the fucking moon, she’d been totally unequivocal about how things were going to go down between them.

Love had never been on the agenda.

Until it was.

Carla had always loved hard, deep, ever since she was a kid, fussing over her Barbie dolls or nursing an ailing insect back to health in her front yard.

She’d always loved passionately, with no apologies.

Because she knows what it feels like not to feel loved.

And, well, who doesn’t want to be loved?

But the thing is, Lisa doesn’t.

She’d made that clear from the get-go. And so the very least Carla can do, she thinks, is try to honour that.

Of course, that resolve doesn’t last very long, starts to splinter when she nips back to the flat to pick up some lucky socks for her big meeting, finds Ryan singing tunelessly along to Olivia Rodrigo in the kitchen.

“I heard you walking around last night,” he says with a worried frown, once he’s gotten over the initial embarrassment.

(Carla preferred it when he was singing.)

“Yeah, well, I couldn’t sleep,” Carla shrugs. “Screens before bed, you know. Should know better.”

Ryan narrows his eyes. “So it’s got nothing to do with what happened with that bloke?”

And it was, in part, to do with that. But it was mostly to do with Lisa.

It’s always mostly to do with Lisa.

“Look, it’s all alright,” Carla sighs. “DS Swain arrested him, didn’t she? So there’s nothing to be scared of.”

Before Ryan can interrogate her any further, Carla slopes off to her room. She’s just rummaging around in her bedside drawer for her socks when…

“I saw her earlier in the café. She’s a funny fish that one, isn’t she?”

Ryan’s words stop Carla in her tracks.

“Who, Lisa?” she calls back after a beat, hoping she sounds more nonchalant than she feels. “No. Why?”

“Did you two have a barney last night or something?” Ryan asks, voiced laced with suspicion.

And Carla can’t help herself then. Suddenly, she needs to know how Lisa is feeling.

She sticks her head around the door.

“Is that what she said?”

“No, no,” Ryan says quickly. “She was just…being weird.”

Carla can feel her patience starting to wear thin.

“Weird how, Ryan?”

Ryan shrugs. “I don’t know, just…weird. I mean, she said not to let on to you that she’d asked after you.”

At that, Carla’s heart leaps.

“She asked after me?”

Ryan’s frown deepens. “Okay, now you’re being weird. Are you okay?”

“Apart from standing here talking ‘round the houses with you, I’m peachy,” Carla huffs.

Ryan shakes his head. “She just seemed worried about you, that’s all.”

And it’s embarrassing, really, but the thought of that, the thought of Lisa worrying about her, makes her too-big heart feel like it’s grown three sizes.

Carla feels a blush creeping into her cheeks, thinks Ryan’s bound to sense something is up if she doesn’t get out of there sharpish. And so…

“Well, there’s no need,” the brunette says airily. “I’m fine. As you were.”

Carla doesn’t give her nephew the chance to respond then, simply bundles her socks into her bag and makes for the door.

And she wonders, as she slams the door shut, how many times she’ll have to tell herself she’s ‘fine’ before she actually starts to believe it.

— — —

Carla ends up bumping into Betsy at the café, finds out from her that Lisa is busy working.

As usual.

Carla thinks about going to see her and, as soon as the thought crosses her mind, she knows it’s pointless trying to fight it.

And so she goes and sits and waits.

Her backside is just starting to grow numb from the hard plastic chairs in the station waiting area when, suddenly, there she is.

And even today, wearing a scowl and one of those godawful sweater vests, she looks so beautiful that Carla almost forgets why she’s here.

“Lisa!” she calls.

The blonde freezes, seems to cycle through a thousand different emotions before she turns with flinty eyes, asks…

“Is everything okay? Nothing else has happened, has it?”

Carla swallows. “No, no. I just saw Betsy. She said you were working.”

Lisa holds out her arms, as if she’s just pulled off a magic trick. “She’s correct.”

And, god, even when she’s being a brat, Carla wants her.

Lisa frowns at her then and Carla realises that the other woman is waiting for her to make the next move.

“I thought you’d have called me,” Carla says quietly. “To update me.”

(Really, she couldn’t care less about an update but she knows she has to say something to make Lisa stay.)

The blonde blinks. “Oh right, yeah. Sorry, I’ve been busy. We’ve charged him. Common assault.”

That’s something, at least, Carla thinks.

If only untangling the twisted thread between herself and Lisa were that simple…

“Okay, er, well he knows where I work,” the brunette presses. “What if he comes back?”

Lisa shrugs. “I’d be surprised if he did. But you know the drill. Don’t leave alone, especially when it’s dark.”

Carla rolls her eyes. “If attacked shout ‘fire’ not ‘help’ and keep some keys in between my fingers? Right. I know what it’s like to be a woman.”

“Don’t we all,” Lisa sighs, lips pressing into a thin line. “Look, is that it? It’s just I’ve got a lot on so…”

And Carla knows this is her chance, knows she has to ask Lisa now, before she loses her bottle.

“Or are you avoiding me?”

The muscle in Lisa’s jaw pulses. “I’m working.”

(So that’s a ‘yes’ then…)

Lisa shakes her head, is already walking away when…

“Lisa,” Carla grabs at her arm. “Lisa. Can we…can we talk?”

The blonde’s eyes shift quickly from left to right, as if scanning for witnesses.

“I’m in the middle of something,” she says through gritted teeth.

But the thing is, Carla knows, Lisa will always be in the middle of something. And so…

“I can wait. We need to speak about last night.”

Lisa just stares at her for a moment, vacant and unblinking, before she nods, almost imperceptibly, toward an empty interview room.

As Carla follows her inside, she curses herself for not changing into her lucky socks.

She figures, as far as her and Lisa are concerned, she’s going to need all the luck she can get.

— — —

They’ve been here before.

It’s the same room Lisa had brought Carla to the last time she was here, when she’d handed herself in for ABH.

This time, though, it feels different. The air feels thick, charged, and Carla notices Lisa won’t quite meet her eye.

(Lisa doesn’t offer her a brew this time either.)

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Carla eventually blurts, the words spewing out like vomit.

Lisa hesitates for a fraction of a section, as if weighing up whether or not to deny it. In the end, she settles on…

“I have, yeah.”

Carla gnaws on her bottom lip, sinks down into a chair.

“Erm, so you what?” she asks in a small voice. “Even after everything, you think I’m a tourist, right?”

(And Carla almost makes the point that, if she were a ‘tourist’, then surely she’d have no idea about the connotations of said word.)

(In the end, she decides to stay quiet.)

“Don’t go putting words into my mouth,” Lisa warns, expression cool as she slides her hands into her trouser pockets. “But yeah, ‘tourist’ sums it up nicely.”

Carla wonders then whether that makes it easier for Lisa, whether it suits her better to believe the flimsy narrative she’s concocted in her head over the cold, hard facts.

“Okay,” the brunette says slowly. “But surely it does us both a disservice thinking that?”

At that, Lisa lets out an exaggerated sigh.

“Look,” she huffs, “what’s the point in a post-mortem on something that never even happened?”

And it’s laughable really, Carla thinks, that Lisa is reducing this - reducing them - to a lingering look in Carla’s living room.

‘What about all those other times?’ she wants to shout.

But she doesn’t.

“Okay,” she says instead. “But things are changing between us because you’re…you’re swerving me.”

Lisa shrugs. “Right well, now we’ve cleared the air so let’s move on.”

And Carla wants to scream at her.

(Even still, Carla wants to kiss her.)

“I would love to do that,” Carla sighs. “But I don’t want it to affect our…friendship.”

(And, honestly, she doesn’t know why they’re both still insisting on this ‘friendship’ charade.)

“And why would it?” Lisa asks. “We had a moment and now the moment’s gone so…”

Carla looks down, realises then that coming here was a futile mission.

“Yeah,” she says quietly.

Lisa huffs out a mirthless laugh, shakes her head. “You straight birds, honestly.”

And Carla knows - she does know - that Lisa isn’t being deliberately cruel, but still, there’s a glibness to her words that makes Carla feel small.

“Look,” she says, deciding honesty is the best policy, “I know it sounds lame, alright? But I did tell you that my divorce coming through really rocked me, and I really don’t want this to jeopardise our friendship.”

(Oh, and there’s that word again.)

Still, Carla’s little speech seems to thaw something inside of Lisa, the blonde’s face softening as she says…

“Look, I’ve been missing in action myself. What with Betsy and Joel and getting taken off the case. I’ve got a pretty big ego, haven’t I? Work’s my thing and it’s taken a bit of a battering lately so…yeah.”

And Carla thinks then that maybe she preferred it when Lisa was being a bitch. Because at least then she could tell herself that her love was misplaced, that she’d had a lucky escape.

She meets the blonde’s gaze, sees the hint of a smile in her lovely eyes, and knows there can be no escaping her.

More importantly, Carla doesn’t want to escape her.

And so…

“Please can we draw a line under it.”

Lisa bites her lip, whispers…

“Yeah.”

Carla nods, gets to her feet.

“Okay,” she says. “And please can we stop swerving each other because I honestly just want us to get back to where we were. If that’s possible?”

And there’s a moment, so fleeting that Carla barely even registers it, when the brunette thinks Lisa might tell her no, might tell her that she doesn’t want them to go back, she wants them to go forward. But…

“Of course it is.”

And it’s the best Carla can hope for, for now.

”I’d give you a hug,” she says awkwardly. “But I think it might be…”

“No,” Lisa says with a grin.

(Carla doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed.)

“Go,” Lisa smirks, nodding in the direction of the door.

And Carla does.

Because, even though sometimes it pains her, Carla knows she will always do what Lisa asks of her.

— — —

It’s awkward when they see each other next.

Carla’s having a swift one in The Rovers, just trying to decompress. But clearly, the gods are not smiling on her.

Because all of a sudden the door is swinging open and then Lisa is there.

Betsy’s there too, blathering on about ‘gratitude journals’ and offering to buy Carla a drink.

But the brunette is too distracted, too consumed, by Lisa; by her stilted smile and shifty glances.

Of course, Carla pretends not to notice; pretends that she, too, is not stealing furtive glimpses at the woman who owns her heart.

She turns down the offer of a drink, makes up some excuse about needing to get back to the factory, allows herself one last lingering look at the blonde before making her exit.

Carla thinks she’s gotten away with it and all - is sure she has - until Ryan follows her back from the pub.

“What do you fancy watching?” he asks as he plonks himself gracelessly down on the sofa. “There’s ‘Married at First Sight’? Or ‘Vera’? I mean, who doesn’t love a female copper?”

Carla is caught in her own world, too busy mulling everything over when…

“Eh?”

Ryan nudges at her knee, wiggles his eyebrows.

“What’s with the smirkiness?” she snaps.

Ryan bites right back.

“What’s with the defensiveness?”

Carla rolls her eyes, is content to retreat back into her own head.

But Ryan has other ideas.

“Do you reckon Lisa watches cop dramas?” he probes. “Although, I bet that’s a bit busman’s holiday, I suppose.”

Finally, Carla understands what he’s getting at. She shoots him a black look.

“Oh come on,” Ryan laughs. “This is me. Big lugholes for listening and broad shoulders for snotty tears.”

Carla sniffs, indignant. “Who says I want to cry?”

Ryan smirks again, wiggles his eyebrows so hard it’s a wonder he doesn’t pull a muscle.

“Well, I know there’s a bit of a vibe between you two.”

Carla’s heart leaps into her throat.

“No there’s…I don’t…”

She trails off, realises Ryan isn’t going to let this one go. And besides, maybe it would help to open up to someone, just a little bit.

“Okay,” she concedes quietly. “We almost…had a kind of moment...almost.”

Ryan snorts. “You almost had a moment? Oh my goodness. Wow.”

And if Carla hadn’t been feeling pathetic before, she is now.

“Well it was,” she tries to explain, ends up with her face buried in her hands. “Ugh, you're making me feel about ten.”

Ryan just laughs and Carla bristles.

“No,” she huffs. “It’s not funny, Ryan. We kind of tried to talk about it a little bit today but it’s just…it’s awkward!”

Ryan shakes his head. “I’ve just watched you both pretending not to look at each other. And her face dropped a mile when you legged it an’ all.”

Did it?

(Focus, Carla.)

“Yeah but that’s probably because we’re both scared that we’re about to ruin a potentially great friendship,” the brunette reasons. “I don’t know, Ryan!”

Ryan purses his lips, disbelieving.

“Right. Friendship.”

He elongates the word, releases the ‘p’ with a pronounced pop. He sounds about as ridiculous as Carla feels.

“Yes, Ryan,” she hisses. “Friendship.”

Ryan is quiet for a moment, and Carla thinks he might have dropped it. But then…

“You wanna kiss her.”

Ryan prods at her with the TV remote. practically sings out the words, like an annoying kid in the playground.

And it would be so much easier, really, if that were all it was.

If this were a schoolyard crush, Carla wouldn’t feel like her chest was slowly tearing in two.

Carla swats Ryan away until he’s holding up his hands in surrender.

“Ow! Alright!”

“Stop it!” she snaps. “Stop it. I was drunk!”

“Come on,” Ryan coaxes. “Don’t be embarrassed or in denial on my account. It’s 2024.”

And it strikes Carla as funny then that, throughout all of this, the fact she is in love with another woman has never really crossed her mind.

In fact, she thinks, that’s probably the least complicated part of their story.

“You’re blowing everything way out of proportion,” she sighs.

Ryan shrugs, admits defeat. “Okay, fine. But in my unasked for opinion, I think you’re both pining for each other.”

Carla looks at him, thinks there’s a million things she could say.

I am pining.

I like her.

I love her.

But she doesn’t.

“Fancy sharing a pizza?” Ryan asks.

Carla shoots him a reluctant smile. “Yes.”

By the time the pizza turns up, though, Carla has lost her appetite.

— — —

It’s a few days later when the text arrives.

Peter.

And it’s friendly, inoffensive, just checking she’s okay, what with the divorce being finalised and all.

Even so, it has Carla reaching for the bottle, seeking solace in the bottom of a wine glass.

Of course, one glass turns into three which then turns into an emergency dash to The Kabin to stock up on supplies.

And Carla is standing just outside of the shop, rummaging in her purse for change, when she hears an ‘oof’, feels the weight of another body crashing against her own.

“Watch where you’re going, you dozy mare!”

Tracy Barlow.

She and Carla had never been the best of pals, what with everything that had happened with Rob and Tina and Peter.

(And, you know, the fact that Tracy is a mythic bitch.)

Right now, though, she seems the ideal subject for Carla’s rage.

“Why don’t you watch where you’re going,” Carla slurs back. “Mad cow.”

“Oh,” Tracy snorts. “You’re taking it well then, I see. The divorce.”

Carla just blinks at her, mouth opening and closing like a stunted goldfish.

Tracy smirks, looks very pleased with herself.

“Dad said you and Peter are finally properly rid of each other,” she sneers. “About time, if you ask me.”

Suddenly, Carla feels nauseous, just wants to get her booze and get out of there.

“Leave it, Tracy,” she growls, moving to barge past her.

But then…

“Like Peter left you, you mean?”

Tracy’s taunt is like a red rag to a bull; Carla whipping around so quickly she almost loses her footing. She sees a flash of panic in the other woman’s eyes as she pulls back her arm, ready to land a blow, when…

“Woah, woah, woah. Take it easy, Rocky Balboa.”

Lisa.

Carla feels her before she hears her, instinctively knows the touch, sure but gentle on her waist.

“She’ll be wishing it was Rocky Balboa when I’m finished with her,” Carla snaps, surging forwards again.

But this time, she only means to scare, not to injure; the firm press of Lisa’s fingers against her ribcage having made much of her earlier anger dissipate.

“Did you hear that, detective?” Tracy gasps, eyes wide. “She just threatened to assault me.”

Lisa moves her hands then and Carla mourns the contact.

“Well,” the blonde says evenly. “I only just arrived on the scene so I’m afraid I couldn’t possibly comment on how this…situation transpired.”

For the first time tonight, Carla turns to look at her, awestruck. She’s still in her work uniform; her long black coat and striped sweater and heeled boots.

Her chin is lifted, grey eyes cool and sharp. And she’s almost smirking; temporarily drunk on her own authority.

And Carla thinks then, though she knows it’s inappropriate, that she has never wanted to fuck her more.

Tracy looks between the two of them, incredulous.

“Well,” she huffs. “You’ll both hearing about this from my lawyers. I’m going to get in touch with them, first thing tomorrow morning.”

Lisa narrows her eyes, nods slowly. “You do that.”

At that, Tracy scoffs and then turns, flounces off down the street. Carla looks again at Lisa, feels suddenly giddy.

“That was kind of sexy, you know,” she blurts once Tracy is out of earshot. “Very sexy, actually.”

Lisa just looks at her and Carla giggles.

“Oops, did I say that out loud?”

Lisa sighs, massages at her temple.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” she hisses. “Trying to have it out with Tracy in the middle of the street. Are you insane?”

Carla draws herself up to her full height, petulant. “I would have wiped the floor with her,” she shrugs.

Lisa quirks an eyebrow, totally sarcastic when she says…

“Oh yeah, your hand-eye coordination looks to be in great nick at present.”

Carla pouts. “Mean.”

And the brunette means it to be cute, but Lisa just looks tired.

“I’m only trying to look out for you,” she sighs.

Carla harrumphs. “Oh. So, all of a sudden, you care about me?”

Carla doesn’t know what kind of reaction she’s expecting then. But what she certainly doesn’t anticipate is the way Lisa’s face softens, eyes earnest as she says in a small voice…

“I always care about you, Carla. That’s the problem.”

Her sincerity almost takes the air from Carla’s lungs, and so she tries to lighten the mood.

“I really would have wiped the floor with her, you know,” she says. “Tracy. She had it coming.”

Lisa laughs wearily. “That may be so. But anyone could have seen you. Kit, Craig, anybody. You could have been arrested. And you’re too pretty to spend the night in prison.”

Carla clutches a hand to her chest, is only half-joking when she says…

“That might just be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Lisa just rolls her eyes, hooks her arm around Carla’s waist. “Come on, let’s get you to bed.”

Carla smirks, can’t help herself. “Buy me dinner first, detective,” she purrs.

“You know, I’m not totally averse to leaving you out here on your own,” the blonde quips, though she’s already steering them in the direction of the flat.

“You won’t do that,” Carla declares airily.

And if she’s leaning now a little heavier than necessary against Lisa’s side, so what?

It’s not like it means anything, to Lisa at least.

“Oh?” the blonde asks. “You sound very confident about that.”

Carla shrugs, says simply…

“You like me too much.”

Lisa hesitates then, just for a second, fingers hot on Carla’s back.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Yeah, I do.”

As they start walking again, Carla feels a strange fluttering in her stomach.

She blames it on the alcohol.

— — —

By the time they reach they flat, Carla’s head has started to spin.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” she drawls, almost falling over as she stoops into a dramatic curtesy. “Want a drink?“

Lisa shoots her a pointed look as she closes the front door behind them. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“Borrring,” Carla trills, clumsily toeing off her boots.

She looks back at Lisa, still stood awkwardly near the door.

“What were you doing anyway?” Carla asks. “Outside The Kabin?”

Lisa’s eyes flit downwards, expression sheepish as she says…

“Oh, nothing. I was just….in the area.”

Carla frowns. “In the….? Hang on a second. You were coming to check up on me, weren’t you?”

And Lisa doesn’t deny it, just chews determinedly on her bottom lip.

Carla clasps her hands together, like a gleeful child. “Oh, you totally were.”

“I was just coming to check you were alright,” Lisa offers, entirely unconvincing “I wanted to make sure that fella hadn’t bothered you, the one from court.”

Carla takes a step closer. “Bullshit. You’re a terrible liar, Lisa Swain.”

Lisa hesitates for a moment, then sighs. “Fine, maybe I just wanted to see you.”

In her chest, Carla’s heart thunders.

(Breathe, Carla.)

The brunette takes another step closer.

“You don’t have to make up excuses, you know?” she says gently. “If you want to see me, you can just text me. After all, we’re friends right?”

And Carla wants then, almost expects, Lisa to challenge her. But she doesn’t.

Instead, she just dips her head.

“Right.”

They stand in silence for a moment; Carla staring at Lisa and Lisa staring at the floor.

“Was it because of me?” the blonde eventually asks, voice barely more than a whisper. “The reason you were so drunk?”

Carla feels an irrational flash of anger at that, feels hot bile rising in her throat.

“You’ve got a very high opinion of yourself, haven’t you?” she scoffs. “And actually no, it was because of Peter.”

Lisa’s eyes snap up then, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh,” she says weakly. “Oh, right.”

(And, seriously, it is impossible to stay mad at this woman.)

“He messaged me,” Carla explains, voice kinder now. “Just to see if I was alright. Kind of stirred it all back up again, the fact that I’m a hot mess.”

“Well, you are hot…”

Carla looks up with wide eyes, sees Lisa is smiling.

“I’m sorry,” the blonde says softly. “That you feel that way. But, just so you know, nobody else thinks you’re a mess.”

And Carla wants to crawl into Lisa’s arms, into her skin. She’s about to say some words to that effect when the room spins before her, the pungent smell of alcohol stinging her nostrils.

Lisa, of course, notices, steps closer and puts a steadying hand on Carla’s arm.

“Come on, you,” she sighs fondly. “Bed.”

And Carla is too tired to argue, so she turns and walks, is already stripping off her blouse before she makes it into her room.

“Very presumptuous of you,” she says over her shoulder, noticing Lisa following in her wake. “To follow me into my bedroom.”

Lisa rolls her eyes again. “I’m just making sure you don’t hurt yourself.”

“Right,” Carla smirks, shucking off her leggings. “Just like you were ‘in the area’.”

Lisa says nothing to that but Carla can see out of the corner of her eye that the blonde’s cheeks are tinged pink. Her blush deepens when Carla swiftly unclasps her bra, turns in only her black lace knickers and drawls…

“Like what you see, officer?”

Lisa swallows roughly, looks like it’s taking her an enormous amount of effort to keep her gaze trained on the carpet.

“Carla.”

Carla just laughs. “I mean, it’s not like you’ve not seen all of this before, right?”

Lisa busies herself by rooting around in the chest of drawers, retrieves a pair of tatty pyjama bottoms and a vest top.

“Carla, please,” she pleads, still looking at the floor as she hands over the clothes.

And Carla feels then like a little girl again, alone and unloved.

“Am I really so awful to look at?” she whispers.

Lisa bites her lip and then finally, finally, looks up at Carla; eyes seemingly everywhere all at once, on her legs and stomach and naked breasts.

“Not at all,” she answers honestly. “It would be easier…if you were.”

And it’s almost painful, being looked at like this, being seen. By her.

So, without another word, Carla dresses.

“Thank you,” Lisa says quietly.

Carla nods, toys nervously with the drawstring of her bottoms. “Will you stay?” she asks in a shy voice.

Lisa looks back toward the door, as if checking her escape route is still there.

“I shouldn’t,” she says. “Really, I should be getting back.”

(And really, Carla thinks, Lisa shouldn’t be here in the first place.)

(Really, none of this should have happened at all.)

“Okay, fine,” Carla shrugs. “Maybe I’ll just pour myself another drink...”

It’s a pathetic trick, she knows, manipulative even. But, almost straight away, it has the desired effect.

Lisa reaches down, unzips her boots. “You’re trouble, Connor.”

Carla preens as she climbs into bed. “And you love it.”

Lisa doesn’t deny it, simply peels off her socks, winces as she attempts to take off her jumper.

At that, Carla remembers.

“Can I see?” she asks quietly. “Your bruises?”

Lisa is still turned away from her, folding her jumper into a neat parcel. “It’s not pretty,” she sighs.

“That doesn’t matter,” Carla says. “I mean, I don’t mind.”

Lisa edges closer then, kneels tentatively on the edge of the bed.

“They might knock you sick,” she whispers, fingers fiddling absentmindedly with the buttons on her shirt.

Carla shakes her head, says honestly…

“You could never.”

Lisa smiles wanly, starts undoing the buttons from the bottom up, revealing the damage inch by awful inch.

The first thing Carla sees is a deep purple bruise blooming over her right hip. It bleeds into a jagged mess of scarlet scratches across her stomach, a yellow tinge sweeping over her battered ribcage, like some kind of abstract painting.

It would be quite beautiful, Carla thinks, if it wasn’t so appalling.

“Lisa,” she breathes, daring to reach for her, fingers grazing, just slightly, beneath the wire of the blonde’s bra.

Lisa hisses at the contact but doesn’t move away.

“Does it hurt?” Carla asks, immediately hating herself for it.

(Stupid question, Carla.)

Lisa looks down at Carla’s hand on her body.

“Not really,” she says. “A little.”

Carla feels Lisa’s pulse thrumming beneath her fingertips, unsure if she really wants to hear the answer when she asks…

“This didn’t happen in body combat, did it?”

Lisa closes her eyes, resigned. “No,” she whispers. “May have apprehended a getaway driver. With my body.”

Carla bites her lip to stop herself from crying. “What am I going to do with you, eh?”

Lisa laughs weakly. “Run a mile?”

Carla pulls back her hand, lets it fall into her lap.

“Well, I think you’re very brave,” she says.

Lisa grimaces, already doing up her buttons again. “Or stupid.”

Carla doesn’t say anything else then, stays quiet as Lisa buttons her shirt and lies down before reaching to turn out the light.

And they lie there then, for a while, touching toes as they stare at the ceiling.

“Lisa?” Carla eventually whispers.

“Yeah?”

“You need to cut your toenails.”

Lisa snatches her foot away but, as she turns onto her side, Carla can hear the smile in her voice when she says..

“Do you want me to stay or not?”

Carla shifts closer. “You know I do.”

More silence.

Slowly, Carla’s eyes adjust to the darkness and she sees Lisa, looking back at her.

Carla swallows, her eyes growing heavy. “I wish…”

Lisa reaches out, brushes some hair from Carla’s face. “I know,” she croaks out, voice thick with meaning.

Carla keens against her touch. “Goodnight, Lisa,” she sighs.

The brunette is asleep before she can hear Lisa’s response.

— — —

Carla is wet.

It’s the first thing she registers when she wakes, that uncomfortable stickiness between her legs. It’s still dark and she reaches blearily for her phone on the nightstand.

3.02am.

She doesn’t remember plugging her phone in, thinks - if the dull throbbing in her head is anything to go by - that she was much too drunk to do something so responsible.

Carla wonders groggily whether someone might have done it for her. But then, Peter’s not here, nor Ryan, nor Bobby but…oh.

Oh.

Carla feels heat, a slim ankle pressed against her own. She lets her head fall to the side, feels time stand still as she sees her, Lisa, her outline resplendent, even in the dim light.

She’s asleep, breathing steadily, and so unguarded that Carla feels her insides turn to liquid. It happens quickly then, snatches of the previous night returning to her in a blurry rush.

Peter’s text, drinking herself into oblivion, fighting with Tracy.

And then Lisa.

Her hands strong and sure on Carla’s waist, her jaw sharp as she sent Tracy packing, her eyes soft as she climbed into Carla’s bed.

Carla feels dizzy, closes her eyes and inhales, lets the scent of Lisa wash over her. Carla can smell her perfume, and the faint, intoxicating odour of her sweat.

She opens her eyes again, sees Lisa’s parted lips, soft and inviting. She is so wet now that she feels it must be coating her inner thighs.

And it would be wrong, Carla knows, it would be so wrong for her to actually do anything about it.

But then the ache between her legs is even greater now, verging on painful and, Carla thinks, what Lisa doesn’t know won’t hurt her.

And so she reaches, pushes her hand down, past the tired elastic waistband of her pyjama bottoms, inside her ruined underwear.

And she’s even wetter than she thought, hot and slick and desperate. Carla lets out a gasp at the sensation, at the maddening relief.

Her eyes flit once again to Lisa, still asleep but breathing more quietly now. Carla takes her in; her long lashes, the gentle slope of her nose, the freckle above her lip.

And Carla understands then; she understands why love has driven many a poor soul to insanity’s peak.

Because there’s a fine line, she thinks, between love and madness.

She runs one long finger along the seam of her centre, pushes up inside and then adds another.

Predictably, she pretends her own hand is Lisa’s, thinks how easy it would be to wake the blonde up, to tempt her into action.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, Carla just grinds down on her own fingers, lip caught between her teeth as she ruts clumsily against her wrist.

She remembers then that first night, when everything was simpler.

Lisa’s words, low and filthy in her ear.

‘I hope you’re good at keeping quiet.’

The sound of her arousal is loud and lewd and messy now.

It only turns her on more.

Carla is vaguely aware that she can no longer hear Lisa breathing. But she’s too distracted, too far gone, to investigate any further.

The brunette reaches up with her free hand and pinches at a nipple, hard beneath the thin fabric of her vest top. She imagines Lisa’s mouth then, wet and warm and giving, mouthing at a dusky peak.

She imagines Lisa watching her, black eyes glassy with want, a smirk playing on her full lips.

And it’s that image, coupled with the deft swipe of her thumb against her clit, that carries her over the edge.

‘You were so good. I think you deserve to come now, don’t you?’

Carla lets out a breathy moan, turns her head and bites down, hard, on the pillow to muffle the evidence of her ecstasy.

She breathes heavily, pulse thundering in her chest and sweat coating her brow. She’s lucky, really, she thinks, that in the midst of all that she managed not to wake Lisa.

But then again, she still can’t hear the other woman breathing. Perhaps she’d slipped into a deeper sleep.

Unless…

Carla gasps as she turns to see Lisa looking at her, unmistakably awake and wanting.

And she knows then that she’s been caught out, that Lisa somewhere along the way became privy to her innermost thoughts and desires.

Carla wets her lips, is scrambling for something to say, when…

“You’re going to be the death of me, Connor.”

Lisa’s voice is still hoarse from disuse but her tone leaves no room for misunderstanding.

She wants this.

She wants Carla.

And so the brunette shifts closer, head nudging across the pillow, until she can taste Lisa’s breath. Until she’s sure she can smell her arousal. Until…

The feeling comes on her so suddenly, stomach lurching, the stale tang of alcohol scorching the back of her throat.

And then she’s scrambling to her feet, hand clamped over her mouth as she staggers into the bathroom, sinks to her knees on the cool tiles and empties all of last night’s mistakes into the toilet bowl.

Her stomach twists again and she retches, body folding in on itself as she grips at the cold porcelain.

She waits for Lisa to come.

She’s sick again and waits some more.

Eventually, she gets tired of waiting.

She flushes the chain and rinses out her mouth, climbs gingerly back into bed.

Lisa is turned away from her now, hunched and unmoving.

Carla still can’t hear her breathing.

— — —

When she wakes it’s to the sight of Lisa sitting at the foot of her bed, watching her with a faint smile.

“Morning,” she whispers.

Carla rubs sleepily at her eyes. “Hey.”

The brunette shifts beneath the sheets, feels a pleasant ache between her thighs; cheeks burning at the memory.

She wonders whether she should say something, whether she should address it, but then, as if sensing what’s coming, Lisa is on her feet, reaching for her coat.

“I should be off,” she says breezily. “You know, baddies to catch and all that.”

Carla looks down, picks at the duvet. “Yeah.”

Lisa nods then, as if that’s that. And she already has one hand on the door when…

“Lisa?”

The blonde turns, quirks an eyebrow.

“Thank you,” Carla says quietly. “For staying.”

Lisa smiles. “My pleasure.”

And Carla thinks about quipping…

“Well, really, it was mine.”

But instead, she just nods, lets Lisa go. She doesn’t think this is the time for jokes.

In fact, she doesn’t really feel like laughing now at all.

Chapter Text

Lisa should have seen it coming.

She should have known, should have somehow sensed that something bad was waiting for her, just around the corner.

But, of course, she’d been too distracted, too busy thinking about her.

Carla.

Just when she’d started to think they might be okay, that this whole ‘friendship’ thing might actually work, Lisa had just had to go and play the hero.

She’d had to intervene when she saw Cara threatening to tear Tracy Barlow a new one. She’d had to walk her home, had to agree to stay the night at the flat.

And then, worst of all, she’d had to lie there and watch while Carla - barely a hair's-breadth away - came spectacularly around her own fingers.

And Lisa had known then, as Carla’s guilty eyes had found her own in the suffocating silence, that they had both been right.

They could never be friends.

In that moment, Lisa had been totally resigned to the fact, had been so willing to give into her own desire.

But then Carla had dashed off to be sick and it had felt like a sign, maybe even a reprieve. Lisa had fought the urge to go and comfort her, knew that if she did, she’d have been too tempted to tell her the truth.

She’d have been too tempted to say all of the words that had become lodged in her throat. Words like…

‘I’m here.’

‘I’ve got you.’

‘I love you.’

But no, it was much too dangerous.

And so instead Lisa had lay there, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Carla retch into the toilet bowl. Only once she’d heard the chain flush, once she knew Carla was okay, did the blonde roll over and feign sleep.

It was cowardly, really. But she’d felt more than ever then that no good could come of them being together and so she’d tried to think of it as a kindness, her own little way of protecting the woman she had come to adore.

The morning after, she could hardly get out of there quick enough. She’d waited until Carla woke, at least, just to make sure she was alright.

But then she’d swiftly made her excuses, had barely been able to look at the brunette - all shy and sleepy-eyed in her bed - before making a hasty exit.

The drive home had been a blur and, once inside, Lisa had wasted little time in undressing and climbing into the shower. She’d made the water cool, the way those pretentious lifestyle gurus always tell you to do on TV, but that still hadn’t been enough.

It hadn’t been enough to prevent Lisa from reaching between her own legs, gasping at the wetness that met her there.

It hadn’t been enough to stop her mind from wandering to Carla, hot and writhing in the darkness, as she’d pushed her fingers deep inside herself.

And so, when Lisa came, it was with the brunette’s face on her mind and name on her lips, as had quickly become the torturous custom.

Afterwards, Lisa had towelled herself off and dressed for work, tried fruitlessly to put Carla from her mind. The blonde should feel ashamed, she knew, about how everything had played out.

The fact that she didn’t only made her feel more guilty.

— — —

They barely see each other after that.

Lisa tries telling herself it’s simply because they’re both busy, but she knows they’re avoiding each other. That’s why it’s so awkward when they cross paths at the café, when it’s not Roy but Carla who appears behind the counter while Lisa is waiting to order her morning coffee.

“Right, he’s coming down now,” the brunette says with an apologetic grimace, “which means you won’t be subjected to my cooking skills.”

Lisa just blinks back at her, distracted by the memory of the other woman’s late-night transgression.

“Can I get you a coffee?” Ronnie Bailey pipes up from beside her.

Only seconds ago, he and Lisa had been engaged in deep conversation. One look at Carla, though, and the blonde had seemingly blanked out Ronnie’s entire existence.

The thought embarrasses her, and so…

“No,” she blurts. “I’ve got to dash but thank you. Yeah…I’ll see you.”

And Lisa can tell, can see by the way Carla’s face falls as she heads for the door, that she’s hurt her. She spends most of the day thinking about that look, about Carla’s wounded eyes, and so she’s actually quite relieved when they cross paths again later that afternoon.

Lisa is in the middle of ranting to Dee-Dee about work when the doors to The Rovers swing open and…

“Carla!” Dee-Dee calls. “You joining us for a drink?”

Lisa pokes her head around the side of the booth.

“She’s a bad influence, this one,” she quips, hoping that her playful smile is received as some kind of olive branch.

“Yeah,” Dee-Dee snorts. “We’re just bitching about rubbish bosses.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, I thought I heard my ears burning.”

(And oh how Lisa has missed that razor-sharp wit.)

(How Lisa has missed her.)

Carla orders a glass of red and settles down in the booth beside Dee-Dee. Her knee knocks against Lisa’s as she adjusts and both women startle, looking everywhere but at each other.

“All the jobs no one wants they’re ditching on this one,” Dee-Dee says after a beat, nodding in Lisa’s direction.

Reluctantly, Carla drags her gaze upwards; hazy jade meeting grey steel.

“Ah well,” she shrugs airily. “‘Maverick Cop Cracks Cold Case’; it’s the stuff of a thousand thrillers, right?”

Lisa sighs. “There’s nothing thrilling about shoplifting. Or car crime. Or filling in forms and spending endless hours on hold.”

“Hm,” Carla hums, a challenge flashing in her eyes. “Never had you down as a glory hunter.”

And it’s not a dig, not really. And yet it still makes Lisa’s heart hurt to think she might have gone down, even slightly, in Carla’s estimation.

“Ouch!” Dee-Dee splutters, eyes widening.

“What?” Carla asks, her cheeks turning pink as she quickly realises how her words could be construed. “Oh, sorry. I apologise. I just meant, you know, I had you down as supporting the little man…or woman…you know what I mean. Joe Bloggs. Josephine Bloggs.”

And it’s cruel, really, but Lisa takes a minute to let Carla squirm.

She enjoys it, allows herself a moment to privately indulge in the knowledge that she - Lisa Swain - somehow has the power to reduce this magnificent woman, this goddess, to a total nervous wreck.

Carla shifts her legs beneath the table and their knees bump together again.

This time, Lisa doesn’t move away.

“Ha!” Carla scoffs. “You’re loving this, aren’t you?”

Lisa doesn’t deny it.

“Yeah, go on,” she smirks. “Keep digging. I love to see a woman sweat.”

And it’s wrong, Lisa knows. It’s so wrong to be fanning the flames of Carla’s desire, of her own.

But, as she watches Carla flounder adorably from across the table, feels the heat of the brunette’s knee pressed against hers, Lisa can’t quite bring herself to care.

– – –

Just when Lisa is starting to think her life is getting back on an even keel, everything implodes.

She’s in a good mood when she decides to pop her head into the factory, stands for a moment watching Carla working away, chuntering to herself under her breath.

“Hey, stranger,” the blonde says with a lazy smile.

Carla’s head snaps up. “Oh, hey. Everything alright?”

And she looks tired, Lisa thinks.

(Is it wrong to hope to be the source of her sleepless nights?)

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” Lisa says, brow furrowing in concern. “I was just…are you okay? You look kind of…stressed.”

Carla sniffs. “I’m fine.”

Lisa lifts one eyebrow, disbelieving. A beat, and then…

“Actually, Lisa,” Carla sighs. “I’m really glad that you came in because I…”

“Mum!”

Lisa whirls around to see her daughter come barreling into the office, all thoughts of Carla promptly forgotten.

“Betsy,” Lisa says, instantly panicked. “What’s wrong?”

Betsy’s pretty face wrinkles.

“Mum, did you kill Joel?”

All of a sudden, Lisa feels her blood run cold.

“What?” she scoffs. “No, of course I didn’t.”

“I know there’s something going on here!” the teenager insists.

“Betsy,” Carla coos from her desk. “Just calm down.”

But Lisa can barely hear her; her pulse thudding unevenly in her ears.

“Maybe we should discuss this at home.”

“She lied to me!” Betsy shrieks, turning to Carla with pleading eyes. “She said she was working the night Joel died but she wasn’t.”

And then, questioning gaze flitting back over to Lisa…

“You clocked off early, didn’t you?”

And it feels like a nightmare; Lisa’s throat suddenly tight beneath the scratchy fabric of her turtleneck.

“I-I can’t remember,” she stammers hopelessly. “I might have done.”

“You went back to the station later on,” Betsy says, growing increasingly irate, “Craig told me you were trying to find Joel then you left. You went to go and find him.”

Lisa shakes her head. “No, I didn’t.”

But Betsy won’t be swayed.

“Mum, you got injured when you killed him!” she protests. “You have bruises all down your side. You have cracked ribs. You had to get strong painkillers the next day!”

And Lisa wills her brain to work more quickly, tries to laugh it off as she turns to Carla for support, huffs…

“Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

But Lisa finds no solace in Carla’s face, only feels worse as she takes in the brunette’s worried eyes and grim expression.

“Mum,” Betsy pleads. “Tell me the truth. What did you do? Did you kill Joel?”

Lisa turns back to her daughter, slack-jawed. “Are you serious?”

Betsy rakes her hand through her hair. “Apparently Joel had bruises on his knuckles which means he put up a fight with whoever killed him.”

Lisa frowns. “And where did you hear that?”

“Daisy,” Betsy says sheepishly. “From the pub.”

“Right,” Lisa snorts. “A highly reliable informant.”

(And honestly, Lisa could kill her.)

Betsy shakes her head. “Why aren’t you taking this seriously?”

“I can assure you I am,” Lisa snaps back. “I believe my own daughter is accusing me of murder.”

“Yeah, come on, Betsy.”

Lisa flinches at the sound of Carla’s voice.

Nice of her to pipe up, the blonde thinks bitterly.

“Why lie about working that night?” Betsy persists. “Why hide your bruises?”

And Lisa knows she should be honest, knows that she could say any number of things to explain her actions.

‘I did it to protect you.’

‘To protect myself.’

‘To keep us both from falling apart.’

But instead Lisa just sighs, says…

“Well, I don’t have to tell you anything because it’s clear you’ve made up your mind as to what happened that night.”

Betsy looks at her then with glassy eyes, her bottom lip wobbling in the way it always used to when she was a child, right on the brink of a tantrum. In that moment, Lisa longs so much for Becky, for their old life, that the pain almost takes her breath away.

“Forget it,” Besty huffs, spinning on her heel and storming out of the office.

Lisa watches her go, her own eyes filling with tears.

“Can you believe that?” she snorts after a beat, turning back to Carla.

The brunette just chews on her bottom lip, pensive. “Well, I mean, she does raise some questions.”

And it’s one thing to have Betsy doubt her, but seeing the distrust in Carla’s eyes makes Lisa feel like her heart has been cleaved clean in two.

“Oh,” she groans. “Not you as well.”

Carla sighs, tries to be diplomatic. “No, I’m not implying that you…”

But Lisa has heard enough. And so, like her daughter before her, the blonde turns and runs.

Even when Carla calls her name, she doesn’t look back.

– – –

Lisa should have known that Carla would seek her out.

It’s fast-becoming the brunette’s party trick; finding Lisa even when she doesn’t want to be found.

Especially when she doesn’t want to be found.

This time, Carla corners her at work, comes barging into her office without preamble.

“How did you get past the front desk?” Lisa asks, incredulous as she looks up from her computer.

“Oh,” Carla shrugs. “I just told them I was your daughter’s boss and it was an emergency.”

Lisa snorts. “There’s no flies on you.”

Carla comes to a stop beside Lisa’s desk.

“Well, it’s kind of not a lie, is it?” she asks, planting one hand on her hip. “I think you owe Betsy an explanation.”

There’s a pointedness to her tone, one that suggests Carla, too, believes she deserves some kind of clarity. Predictably, Lisa can offer her little.

“Oh,” the blonde scoffs. “You do, do you?”

Carla sighs at that, shoulders slumping.

“Look, Lisa,” she says, more gentle now, “obviously you didn’t kill anyone. But you were lying about where you were that night.”

Lisa sniffs. “It’s got nothing to do with Joel.”

“Okay,” Carla says softly. “I believe you.”

And Lisa marvels then at how those three little words from Carla’s mouth suddenly make everything feel more okay.

“So why can’t you tell Betsy the truth?” the brunette presses.

Lisa bites her lip. “Because I’m worried about how she’ll react.”

Carla frowns, leans forward to brace her hands on the desk. “Has this got something to do with them bruises you’ve got?”

Lisa sighs, knows that Carla isn’t going to let this go. Besides, the brunette already knows half of the story.

Perhaps it’s only fair to fill her in on the whole picture. And so…

“Alright, I’ll tell you,” Lisa says. “And then you might understand why I can’t tell Betsy.”

Carla nods. “Okay.”

Lisa takes a deep breath, feels sweat starting to bead on her brow.

“I, er, I got itchy feet waiting for uniform to find Joel,” she explains. “So I went looking for him. I didn’t find him. But what I did see was some bloke trying to snatch this woman’s bag. Then he got in his car. I was trying to clock the reg and…”

“That’s when you tried to apprehend him,” Carla guesses, filling in the blanks. “With your body.”

Lisa shoots her a wan smile. “Sherlock’s got nothing on you.”

But Carla isn’t in the mood for laughing.

“Lisa, this isn’t funny,” she hisses. “You could have been seriously hurt. Why didn’t you tell someone?”

And it all feels too much then, having Carla look at her like that. So Lisa stands, turns her back.

“I didn’t report it because I didn’t want to be made to have time off,” she admits.

She hears Carla cluck her tongue.

“Okay,” the brunette says slowly, folding her arms across her chest. “So why can’t you tell Betsy all this?”

Lisa feels her eyes start to turn cloudy.

“Because her mother died on duty,” she says in a small voice. “Becky was chasing an assailant and then he jumped into a getaway car. She tried to give chase and…she phoned for back-up. But, er, they spun round and drove straight at her, purposely mowed her down. She, er, she died at the scene.”

Lisa realises then that it’s the first time she’s ever recounted the whole sorry tale out loud. Every word feels like a tiny knife to her heart.

“I’m sorry,” Carla whispers, her eyelashes suddenly damp.

Her sympathy is almost too much for Lisa to bear.

“Telling Betsy was the hardest moment of my life,” the blonde chokes out. “For months, she begged me not to go into work. She was terrified that the same thing was going to happen to me. So you see I couldn’t possibly tell her what happened that night. It would just trigger all of the fear and grief and I…I won’t let her go through that again.”

Carla nods, wipes furtively at her wet cheek.

“Listen,” she croaks, “I get it, Lisa. I do. It’s just…you’re going to have to tell her something. Because she ain’t gonna let this go.”

Lisa sighs, slumps back down into her chair. “I know…I just…I don’t know how. I’ve made such a mess of everything and I don’t know how to make it right.”

Carla smiles softly, reaches for Lisa’s hand where it rests on the desk.

“I wish I could do it for you,” she whispers, squeezing at the blonde’s fingers. “Just make everything better.”

Lisa gives herself a moment to bask in Carla’s touch, in the softness of her skin, before pulling her hand away, saying…

“I have to do this on my own.”

Carla sighs then, low and heavy.

“I know,” she says. “Look, I should probably get going. Before that lot at the factory try to stage a coup or something.”

Lisa attempts to return Carla’s thin smile but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes.

“Yeah,” she says quietly. “Of course.”

Carla nods, is already moving towards the door when…

“Carla?”

The brunette turns at the sound of Lisa’s voice.

“Yeah?”

“You do,” Lisa whispers earnestly. “Make things better, I mean. You make everything better.”

And there’s a moment then, charged and fleeting, when Lisa thinks that Carla might kiss her; thinks that she might simply cross the room and sweep Lisa up in her arms.

But instead she just smiles, shy and giddy.

And it’s enough, Lisa thinks. For now, it is more than enough.

— — —

Just when Lisa thinks her life can’t get any worse, she gets suspended.

Harassment, they’d said. And, of all people, it was fucking Joel she’d supposedly harassed.

Of course, Lisa has her suspicions. She thinks DC Kit Green quite probably had something to do with it.

And though she knows it’s perhaps unfair to keep on running to Carla with her problems, Lisa simply can’t help herself.

Because, the truth is, she’s the only person Lisa’s got.

(She’s the only person Lisa wants.)

But the blonde barely has one foot through the factory door when Betsy sees her, follows her into Carla’s office.

“What are you doing here?” the teenager asks.

“I’ve just come to see Carla,” Lisa sighs. “Please don’t start, Betsy. I’m having a really bad day.”

“Oh right,” Betsy snorts. “You haven’t picked up any more mysterious bruises, have you?”

Lisa closes her eyes, tries to keep her breathing steady.

“You know what, I shouldn’t have come here. I’ll pick you up later, Betsy.”

But before she can even think of leaving, Carla’s hand is on her arm, hot and coaxing.

“Lisa,” she says quietly. “Please don’t think I’m trying to make your day any worse but there’s something you should know.”

And Lisa really feels then that she shouldn’t have come, feels a desperate unease wash over her as she turns back around to see Betsy staring awkwardly at the floor.

“What?” Lisa demands, voice shrill.

Carla looks from Lisa to Betsy and then back again.

“I told Betsy what happened to you the night that Joel was killed,” she says.

In that moment, Lisa feels her whole world shift on its axis.

“I’m sorry?” she asks, half-dazed.

Carla swallows. “Lisa, look…”

But all Lisa feels is rage; white-hot and acerbic at the back of her throat.

“I thought I could trust you,” she bites out, her every limb turning rigid with fury.

Carla tries reaching for her again but Lisa shakes her off.

“Lisa,” the brunette implores. “She was angry and upset.”

“She is still here,” Betsy snaps from the doorway.

But Lisa is blinkered, on a collision course with destruction; Carla exclusively in her sights.

“That still does not give you the right to come between me and my daughter,” she hisses.

Carla looks terrified now, eyes wide and wild.

“She had convinced herself you’d killed Joel!” she yelps. “She thought you’d done it because of her. I mean, she was blaming herself, Lisa!”

And it all makes sense. Everything Carla is saying is true.

(It only makes Lisa feel worse.)

“You’ve stepped over the line,” she growls.

“Well, I’m glad she told me,” Betsy snaps. “At least she tells the truth.”

Lisa chokes back a sob. She thrusts her car keys in Betsy’s direction, says in a low voice…

“Just go and wait in the car.”

Betsy lifts her chin, the picture of defiance. “No.”

“Betsy, just go and get in the car,” Lisa urges. “I need to speak to Carla.”

“Oh yeah?” Betsy scoffs. “About me? What are you going to do - cook up some more lies?”

“I was protecting you!” Lisa protests.

And Betsy is crying now, cheeks stained black with smeared mascara.

“I don’t need protecting,” she sniffs. “You do.”

Lisa is just about to comfort her when, all of sudden, Betsy is in Carla’s arms, easily buried in the crook of the brunette’s elbow.

And Lisa is reminded again of Becky, of her and Betsy’s instinctive closeness and the way she herself would sometimes feel like the odd one out.

Lisa had always put it down to circumstance, to the fact Becky’s job allowed more time for school runs and shopping trips and midweek movie nights.

But it’s clear to Lisa now that the problem is, in fact, her.

(The problem has always been her.)

Lisa realises Besty is still looking for her, waiting for some sort of response, and so she says feebly…

“No I don’t.”

Betsy shakes her head. “You got run over by a car. I’ve seen your bruises. You shouldn’t even be working! This is…this is why I did it.”

Lisa feels a prickle of dread, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.

“Why you did what?”

Betsy gulps, wide-eyed. “That’s why I made the harassment complaint about you.”

There’s quiet then, the words detonating in the silence. And Lisa knows they’re both expecting her to shout or to scream or to cry.

But, right now, she’s simply too exhausted. And so…

“Betsy,” she sighs. “Please, can you just go and get in the car? We’ll talk about this at home.”

Betsy hesitates for a moment, as if readying herself to say no. But then she looks into Lisa’s weary face and seems to think the better of it, instead extricates herself from Carla’s embrace and trudges sheepishly towards the exit.

Lisa closes her eyes, places the flat of her palm on the desk to centre herself.

“Are you okay?” Carla asks after a beat.

Lisa opens her eyes, snorts. “Oh yeah. Never better.”

“Look, Lisa,” Carla sighs, wringing her hands together. “I know Betsy was out of line…reporting you like that. But she’s just a frightened kid and she did it because she loves you. Don’t be too harsh on her, yeah?”

Lisa toys with her wedding band, notices the thin shadow of grime it leaves behind on her finger. And when someone speaks, she barely recognises the voice as her own.

“You’re right.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow, surprised. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Lisa nods. “Betsy’s a kid. She doesn’t know any better. But you? You should be ashamed.”

Carla staggers back slightly, as if she’s been physically jarred by Lisa’s words.

“Lisa, I-”

But Lisa’s done listening.

“How dare you?” she spits, tone laced with vitriol. “I specifically told you not to tell her. I told you she wouldn’t be able to handle it and I was right. But you just had to go and bulldoze your way in there, didn’t you?”

Carla’s cheeks are flushed now, her eyes swimming with tears.

“Lisa, it was never my intention to-”

“No,” Lisa snaps. “It never is, is it? It’s never your intention to do anything. It wasn’t your intention to lie about Bobby or to knock that lad off his bike or to make me feel…”

Lisa stops herself, just in the nick of the time, but she knows that Carla knows.

“To make you feel what?” she whispers urgently, daring to take a step closer. “Lisa, is this about what happened that night at my place? Because if you want to talk about it then…”

Lisa cuts her off.

“Do you really think I care about that? Do you really think I care about you at all right now? The one thing that matters to me, the only thing, is my daughter.”

Carla takes a shuddery breath. “Lisa, I understand you’re upset and I’m sorry. But I really was trying to help.”

“Well, I don’t know why you bothered,” the blonde snaps. “I mean, it’s hardly like you’re an expert on happy family relationships, is it? How many times is it you’ve been married now? And you don’t have the first clue what it’s like to be a mother.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Lisa regrets them. Carla just stares back at her, open-mouthed and stricken.

There’s a look in her eyes that Lisa can’t quite read.

She looks so hurt, so haunted that Lisa so nearly apologises. But then…

“You’re right,” Carla says quietly, voice emotionless. “I should have kept my nose out. I’m sorry.”

And Lisa knows she should backtrack, knows she should sink to her knees and beg for Carla’s forgiveness. But instead she just turns to leave, says…

“Yeah. Yeah, me too.”

In truth, Lisa has never been sorrier.

— — —

Lisa buys her flowers.

She hadn’t bought flowers in years - not since Becky’s last birthday. But, considering how appalling she’d been to Carla, the blonde felt the occasion demanded it.

In a huge turn-up for the books, it was actually Betsy who’d encouraged her to make amends. After the debacle at the factory, Lisa and her daughter had sat down together on the sofa and talked well into the early hours about Joel and about Lisa’s job and about Betsy’s grief.

They’d cried and they’d laughed and they’d cried some more, and Lisa had gone to bed that night knowing they still had plenty of work to do but feeling that she and Betsy had shared their first honest conversation in a very long time.

“You should make things right with Carla, mum,” the teenager had urged gently as Lisa had dabbed at her stained face with a Kleenex. “I know I’ve been a bit of a…well, a bit of a cow to her at times. But she cares, mum. I think she really cares about both of us.”

And so that’s how Lisa finds herself here, standing in the doorway of Carla’s office, watching as the brunette sorts through a messy sheaf of papers.

Lit up by the amber glow of the desk lamp, she looks like an angel, and Lisa’s heart feels so full she thinks she might burst.

“You know,” the blonde smiles, “if you keep on squinting like that, you’ll need Botox.”

Carla looks up, expression inscrutable.

“Oh right,” she scoffs. “So, not content with assassinating my character, you've now decided to start judging my appearance an’ all?”

There’s a coolness to her tone that makes Lisa feel nauseous.

“No!” she yelps quickly. “No, that’s not what I…it was a joke.”

Carla rolls her eyes. “Well, forgive me if I don’t see the funny side. Hot date?”

Lisa blinks back at her, confused. “What?”

Carla looks back at her papers, sounds disinterested when she says…

“The flowers.”

Lisa looks down at the bouquet of pale pink peonies in her hand, suddenly feels incredibly stupid.

“Oh right,” she says stiffly. “No. Actually, they’re for you.”

Still, Carla won’t meet her eye.

“Is this part of some new police initiative?” she huffs. “‘Cops caring for the community’ or something?”

Lisa shifts awkwardly on her feet. “No. Actually, it’s more like a ‘I’m sorry I was a massive bitch, please forgive me’ type thing.”

Carla snorts. “I didn’t think the word ‘sorry’ was in your vocabulary.”

And Lisa longs then for Carla to look at her, as if that would somehow make everything okay.

“Well, I, er, I probably don’t say it as much as I should,” the blonde admits sheepishly. “But, from now on, I want to change that and start taking some accountability for my actions. Hence the flowers.”

Finally, finally, Carla looks up, but she doesn’t reach out to take the flowers.

“I have hayfever,” she says simply.

And the rejection stings, though Lisa knows she probably deserves it.

(She thinks briefly of pointing out that they’re in November and that she’s never seen Carla so much as sneeze in the whole time they’ve known each other, but ultimately she thinks the better of it.)

“Oh, right,” she says instead, hand dropping dejectedly back to her side. “Okay.”

There’s silence for a minute, a great, yawning chasm of nothingness, until Carla asks…

“How did things go with Betsy?”

Lisa thinks back then to her daughter’s words.

‘She cares, mum. I think she really cares about both of us.’

It makes Lisa feel a little bolder.

“Actually really well, surprisingly,” the blonde says with a faint smile. “I mean, it was
a hard conversation but one I think we probably should have had a long time ago. I think it helped us to understand one another a little better, made us realise that we both have work to do.”

Carla nods. “I’m glad it went well. Means I won’t have to put up with madam scaring off potential punters with her moody gob.”

It’s a joke, Lisa knows, and she thinks that surely must be a good sign.

“Well,” she grins, “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that one.”

Carla chuckles, her eyes softening slightly.

“I’m pleased for you too,” she admits quietly. “It’s good to see you smiling.”

(And she is so good, Lisa thinks; too good, probably, for the likes of her.)

“How do you do it?” the blonde asks, awestruck.

Carla frowns. “Do what?”

Lisa dares to take a step closer.

“Carla, I was awful to you,” she sighs. “Like really awful. And yet somehow you’ve managed to come out of it not totally hating my guts. Either that, or you’re a very good actress.”

“Well,” Carla drawls, leaning back in her chair with a wicked glint in her eye. “I did get an A in my O-Level Drama Studies. But you’re right, I don’t totally hate your guts. No matter how much I might want to at times.”

(Lisa wants to kiss her until they both run out of air.)

“I was wrong, you know,” Lisa says tentatively. “You did the right thing, telling Betsy the truth. All those things I said to you earlier, about you not having a clue. I was wrong.”

Carla picks up a biro, taps it exaggeratedly against her chin. “Can you say that again for the tape?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “I’m serious, Carla. And I really am so sorry for the way I behaved. When I’m upset, I tend to lash out at the people I care about most. Unfortunately for you, you now find yourself in that category.”

(Lisa doesn’t know if she’s seeing things but she could swear she sees a blush seep into Carla’s cheeks.)

“You were right though,” the brunette sighs after a beat. “I mean, what do I know about being a mum? Probably a good job, really, that I…”

She trails off, eyes turning glassy, and suddenly knowing what she was about to say feels like the most important thing in the world to Lisa.

“That you what?” she asks quietly.

Carla shakes her head, as if trying to dislodge a painful memory.

“Nothing,” she says, too brightly. “Forget I said anything.”

But Lisa won’t let this go.

“Carla,” she warns.

Carla sighs, bites her lip. And even though Lisa half-suspects what’s coming, nothing could have prepared her for the devastation she feels when she hears…

“I miscarried. I had a miscarriage. It’s old news, really. Nearly a decade ago now. But, yeah, it was hard for a while. Still is, really.”

And once again Carla is refusing to look at her, picks instead at some imaginary lint on her leggings. She looks so small, so broken, and Lisa simply feels like the worst person on the planet.

“Oh, Carla,” she breathes. “I’m so sorry.”

Carla smiles weakly. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not,” Lisa sniffs, cheeks suddenly wet. “But it’s still awful. And those things I said to you earlier, all those dreadful things…”

Carla looks up at her with a warmth Lisa knows she’s not worthy of.

“Lisa, you didn’t know,” she croaks gently. “How could you have known? And like I said, it was probably for the best, all things considered.”

Lisa takes a deep breath, wipes at her face with the back of her hand. “You’re dead wrong, you know.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow. “Didn’t take you long to trot that line back out.”

“No,” Lisa says, setting down the flowers on the desk and kneeling carefully at Carla’s side. “I mean you’re wrong about what you said…about it being for the best.”

Carla rolls her eyes, bashful, but Lisa hooks her finger beneath the brunette’s chin and lifts, until they’re eye to eye.

“Carla Connor,” she whispers, voice thick with feeling. “You are a born mother. The way you are with Bobby and with Nina and your Ryan… how you care for Betsy. Anyone who gets to be loved by you is very lucky.”

A fat tear rolls down Carla’s cheek, lands on Lisa’s hand where it rests on the brunette’s knee.

Neither of them moves to wipe it away.

“I’m pretty sure my exes would beg to differ,” Carla laughs thinly.

Lisa takes her hand then, gently threads their fingers together.

“They didn’t deserve you,” she says honestly. “I’m not sure anyone deserves you.”

Carla holds her gaze for a minute and then reaches out, wipes away a clump of mascara that has somehow ended up on Lisa’s forehead.

“Look at us, eh,” Carla laughs. “We’ve not even had owt to drink and we’re blubbing away. We make a right pair.”

Lisa thinks then of them being a pair, of being an incomplete half made whole by Carla’s kindness. And she wants so badly then she thinks it must be written all over her face.

“Yeah,” she smiles. “Yeah, I suppose we do.”

A beat, and then…

“You know what we need?”

Carla tilts her head at Lisa’s question.

“Two weeks in Marbella?” she guesses. “Personality transplants? Lots of therapy?”

“Oi!” Lisa scoffs, swatting playfully at Carla’s knee. “Speak for yourself. I was actually going to say a drink. God knows I owe you one. Probably more than one actually.”

Carla chews on her lip.

“I dunno,” she sighs. “I’m not sure I fancy The Rovers tonight. Or The Bistro. Can’t be bothered bumping into any of my work lot. I’ve been a right cow to them today.”

Lisa frowns. “How come?”

Carla shoots her a pointed look. “I suppose it was because someone had put me in a bad mood.”

Lisa dips her head, embarrassed.

“Then let’s go somewhere else,” she offers. “Somewhere new.”

Carla raises her eyebrows. “Like where?”

“I don’t know,” Lisa shrugs. “Somewhere in the city centre maybe? Somewhere in Spinningfields?”

Carla snorts. “Unlike you, blondie,” she drawls. “I’m not made of money.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Well, I don’t mind where we go,” she says airily. “Wherever we end up, the drinks are on me.”

Carla smirks. “Well, when you put it like that…”

Lisa feels like punching the air, tries instead to play it cool as she gets back to her feet.

“Good,” she says. “Great. Meet you at yours at about 8ish?”

Carla smiles, eyes sparkling. “It’s a date.”

And it’s a test, Lisa thinks, but she finds she has absolutely no desire to correct Carla on the nature of their relationship.

The blonde picks up the forgotten bouquet from the desk.

“I’ll get rid of the flowers,” she says sheepishly, turning on her heel. “See you later.”

And the blonde is halfway to the door when….

“Lisa?”

Lisa turns back around, sees Carla watching her with a shy smile.

“I’ll keep them,” the brunette says quietly. “The flowers. They’re pretty.”

Lisa looks down at the peonies in her hand, at their lush green shoots and delicate little buds, at the promise of something new.

“Yeah,” she agrees with a wistful smile. “Yeah, they are.”

— — —

Lisa feels dizzy.

She’s only had two drinks, so there can only be one possible explanation for her sudden feelings of intoxication.

Carla.

Lisa watches her now from the corner booth of a trendy bar in the Northern Quarter, laughing and batting her eyelashes at some mediocre finance-bro-types who are already eating out of the palm of her hand. She’s dressed, as usual, in all black and yet somehow she’s the most eye-catching person in the room, as if she’s been illuminated from the inside.

Lisa feels herself burn under the heat of Carla’s gaze as she turns, starts making her way across the dancefloor, a lurid-coloured cocktail in either hand. And it’s dangerous, Lisa knows, to be looked at like this, to enjoy Carla looking at her.

And yet, as the brunette slides into the booth beside her, settles herself closer than is necessary to the blonde’s side, Lisa thinks nothing has ever felt more right.

“Two blue lagoons,” Carla grins, setting the cocktails down on the table. “Compliments of those two horrendously boring blokes at the bar.”

Lisa smirks. “You’re a shameless flirt, Carla Connor.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow. “So?” she shrugs. “It worked on you, didn’t it?”

(Understatement of the fucking century, Lisa thinks.)

“Is that all I was to you then?” Lisa asks with a grin. “Just another mark?”

And Lisa is joking. But the way Carla’s eyes glisten as she says…

“No. You were…you are...so much more than that.”

…tells her that Carla is not.

Lisa suddenly feels too hot, flustered, and so she takes a long sip of her drink to distract herself.

“God,” she groans, wincing at the taste. “I don’t know how I used to drink this stuff. It’s like sodding paint stripper.”

But Carla doesn’t laugh, her expression still serious when she asks in a small voice…

“Did you mean what you said earlier? About caring about me?”

And Lisa doesn’t want to be having this conversation, not here, maybe not ever. But she can’t lie either, not when Carla is so valiantly wearing her heart on her sleeve. And so…

“Of course I meant it,” she whispers, reaching for Carla’s hand under the table.

The corner of Carla’s lip twitches. “So, you weren’t just saying it to try and sweeten me up?”

Lisa laughs. “Carla, outside of Betsy, I care about you more than I care about anyone else in my life. I care about you so much it scares me.”

Lisa feels her throat go dry as Carla looks down at their joined hands, says softly…

“I’m scared too.”

Lisa’s heart is beating so fast she thinks it might burst out of her throat. And she’s just trying to find the right words when…

“Excuse me, I’m ever so sorry to interrupt.”

Instinctively, Lisa drops Carla’s hand, her head snapping up to see a moderately-attractive man in an expensive suit standing beside their table. With one look, the blonde can tell he’s got Carla in his sights.

“Can we help you?” she asks tightly.

The man blinks at the sound of Lisa’s voice, as if he hadn’t even registered her presence, before sliding his hungry gaze back over to Carla.

“Ah well,” he smiles, “That depends. You see, I was standing at the bar earlier when I happened to spot your lovely friend here. And, well, I have to say, I think she’s probably one of the most breathtaking women I’ve ever seen.”

Lisa feels her stomach churn. Beside her, Carla tries to laugh it off.

“You mustn’t get out much then!” the brunette quips.

The man throws back his head and barks out a great, horsey laugh, as if Carla is the funniest person in the world.

(Lisa thinks she probably is, but it irks her that this man thinks so too.)

“And you’re hilarious too,” the man drawls. “Even better! What would you say to me buying you a drink? I’d love to take you out some time.”

Lisa swallows, readies herself for Carla to turn on the charm. But then she feels it, the reassuring weight of Carla’s hand on her knee beneath the table, and her heart simply soars.

“That’s very kind of you,” Carla says sweetly. “But, actually, I’ve already got someone pretty special in my life.”

(Just breathe, Lisa.)

The man’s face falls slightly before he quickly regains his composure.

“Ah well,” he sighs. “It was worth a try. Whoever he is, he’s a very lucky guy! I’ll leave you my number, just in case it doesn’t work out with Mr ‘Someone Special’.”

Carla says nothing, just squeezes Lisa’s knee as the man slides his business card across the table and slopes off back in the direction of the bar.

“Someone special, eh?” Lisa whispers, once the man is out of earshot.

Carla rolls her eyes. “Well, I had to say something to get him off my case.”

Lisa smirks, her whole body fizzing as she downs the rest of her drink.

“Of course,” she says, smiling into her glass. “Of course you did.”

– – –

Lisa is drunk.

She thinks it probably happened somewhere between drinks number three and four and, while she knows she should probably quit while she’s ahead, the smell of Carla’s perfume is simply too good to leave behind.

The two women are sat in companionable silence, watching a young couple grinding against each other on the dancefloor.

“Ah, the joys of young love, eh?” Carla quips.

Lisa laughs. “I know, right? I used to come here sometimes, you know. With Becky.”

And Lisa hadn’t meant to say it, silently curses herself for making Carla feel uncomfortable.

“Oh,” the brunette says, stiffening slightly beside her. “We can go if it’s making you feel sad?”

Lisa smiles at her. “No,” she says. “No, it’s nice actually. Kind of sad, but in a good way.”

Carla nods and they lapse back into silence, until…

“You must miss her a lot.”

Lisa turns to see Carla watching her, brow creased with worry.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Yeah, I do but I…it sounds awful.”

Lisa dips her head and Carla reaches for her hand.

“Hey,” she says softly. “There’s no judgement here, remember?”

Lisa nods, bites her lip. “It’s just…it’s not just Becky that I miss. I mean, of course I miss her but…I feel like I miss me, too…like there’s a part of me that died with her. I don’t know. It sounds stupid.”

Carla turns Lisa’s hand over in her own, swipes her thumb over the inside of the blonde’s wrist.

“It doesn’t,” she says earnestly. “Not at all.”

Lisa watches the way Carla’s thumb moves, tracing over the zig-zag of lines on her upturned palm.

“I haven’t always been like this, you know,” she says quietly.

“What?” Carla asks with a grin. “Devastatingly gorgeous?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “I was going to say a miserable cow. I mean, I was never the life and soul of the party but I did used to worry less. I used to smile more and laugh and I…I miss that person.”

Carla presses down, ever so gently, on the pulse point at Lisa’s wrist, quietly centring her.

“She’s still there, you know Lisa,” she whispers. “You’re still you. I know that because I’m lucky enough to have seen that side of you. Once or twice.”

Lisa laughs at Carla’s playful expression, feels suddenly embarrassed when she says…

“I don’t know why I’m saying all this. Probably because I’m pissed. But I miss the way I used to be. I miss not having to worry about falling asleep mid-TV-show-binge, because there would always be someone there to catch me up on what I’d missed. I miss having someone to fasten my necklaces for me in the morning and rub sun cream into my back on holiday. I miss dancing, having someone pull me up onto the dancefloor and hold me in their arms.”

Lisa realises then that she hasn’t paused for breath, looks up to see Carla watching her with an expression she can’t quite read.

“God, I’m sorry,” the blonde chuckles. “I didn’t mean to get so maudlin.”

But Carla keeps on watching her, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips.

“What?” Lisa frowns, suddenly self-conscious. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

With that, Carla gets to her feet, extends her hand as she clears her throat and asks…

“Lisa Swain, please may I have this dance?”

Lisa buries her face in her hands. “Oh god.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

Lisa knows it’s true and so, with a reluctant sigh, she slips her hand into Carla’s, lets the other woman drag her to her feet and into the crowd of swaying bodies. The blonde feels awkward at first, hot beneath the intrusive glow of the club lights.

But then Carla twirls her - once, twice - and Lisa can’t stop the happy little giggle that bubbles up in her throat, nor the way her whole body feels suddenly lighter.

And so, for the first time in a long time, Lisa simply gives into the feeling, lets Carla move her, until they’re both pink-cheeked and giddy.

“See!” Carla laughs after a while. “You’ve still got it, Swain.”

Lisa smiles shyly. “Thank you,” she whispers. “For being you.”

Carla grins, reaches to tuck a loose tendril of hair behind Lisa’s ear. “Anytime, blondie.”

They stand there like that for a little while, just smiling at each other like idiots, until the song changes into something with a low, sexy beat. Lisa vaguely recognises it - ‘Earned it’ by The Weeknd, she thinks - and she’s just about to move to sit down when…

“Stay.”

Carla’s voice is low now, her eyes dark as she catches Lisa’s wrist between her fingers.

And it’s a bad idea, Lisa knows. It would be a terrible idea to grant the other woman’s request.

And yet the blonde lets Carla pull her in, lets herself be turned until Carla’s front is pressed up against her back, her whole body on fire as the brunette’s hips start to sway in time with the music.

Lisa is simultaneously delighted and furious with herself for choosing to wear a flimsy grey tank top, feels her bare arms prickle with goosebumps as Carla’s steady hand splays over her stomach, her pinky finger teasing at the hem, blunt nail scratching over the thin sliver of exposed skin above the waistband of her jeans.

“Carla,” she chokes out, mouth uncomfortably dry. “We shouldn’t be doing this.”

But she’s not convincing anyone.

“Shh,” Carla whispers, warm breath kissing Lisa’s cheek. “Just dance.”

And so Lisa does.

She closes her eyes and breathes Carla in, her perfume and her shampoo and the faint smell of her sweat, lets her own hips start to rock lewdly from side to side. She covers Carla’s hand, still resting on her abdomen, with her own, skims her fingers over the sharp jut of Carla’s knuckles.

The brunette starts singing then under her breath, mouth pressed close to Lisa’s ear.

“I’ma care for you, you, you.

“Cause girl you earned it.”

Her tongue darts out to sweep over the shell of Lisa’s ear, hot and wet and barely there but enough to make the blonde shiver.

“Carla,” she warns weakly.

But Carla is undeterred.

“You’re so beautiful, Lisa,” she whispers thickly. “So fucking beautiful.”

Carla trails her nose down the slope of Lisa’s neck, rests her mouth against the sensitive patch of skin just above Lisa’s shoulder. She doesn’t kiss her, just leaves her lips there, soft and torturous.

It’s enough to make Lisa feel faint.

“God, Carla,” she groans. “What are you doing to me?”

She feels Carla smile into her neck.

“Are you wet?” the brunette growls.

And Lisa knows it’s pointless denying it.

She nods, hears Carla inhale, a small betrayal of her own desire.

“Good,” she whispers. “Me too.”

Lisa lets out a moan. She opens her eyes, freezes when she sees the guy from earlier - the one who’d left Carla his card - watching them from the bar.

“He’s looking over, you know,” Lisa croaks. “That guy who hit on you.”

But Carla is unfazed.

“Let him look,” she murmurs, distracted. “I don’t care. All I care about is you.”

Lisa mewls, lets her head loll back so that it’s resting on Carla’s shoulder. Carla creeps her hand further beneath the fabric of Lisa’s vest, makes Lisa whimper as she grazes, teasing, over the metal of her belly button piercing.

“It would be so easy for me to touch you,” the brunette whispers, voice thick with longing. “It would be so easy for me to reach down and feel how wet you are for me, how much you want this.”

Lisa groans. “Carla…”

“I bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Carla presses. “I bet you’d like me to touch you here, in front of all these people.”

Lisa just whines, because the awful truth is that Carla is right.

(She would like nothing more.)

The blonde doesn’t answer with words, just grinds her backside against Carla’s front. She hears Carla moan in her ear, is just about gloat when she opens her eyes and sees the man is still watching them from the bar, now wearing a salacious smile.

It’s enough to sober Lisa up, just for a second, and all of a sudden, it’s all too much.

She feels like she can’t breathe, breaks herself free from Carla’s arms and staggers forward, gasping at dry air.

“Lisa!” Carla yelps, panicked. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Lisa says, too quickly. “Fine. I just…I should go.”

Bleary-eyed, Lisa starts fighting her way through the crowd, doesn’t stop even when she feels Carla grabbing at her arm.

“Lisa, wait!” she calls, straining to be heard over the heavy throb of the music. “What’s happened? Did I do something to upset you?”

The pain in her voice breaks Lisa’s heart.

“No,” Lisa says, turning to look at her. “No, of course not. I just…I think you should give that guy a chance. Let him take you out.”

Carla just stares at her as if she’s gone mad.

(In truth, Lisa thinks she probably has.)

“Lisa, please,” Carla pleads, taking a step closer. “Let’s just go somewhere quiet and talk about this. None of this makes any sense.”

(And she is so beautiful that Lisa wants to cry.)

“You’re right,” the blonde whispers after a beat, prising herself gently from Carla’s grasp. “This makes no sense at all.”

With that, Lisa turns and keeps walking. She walks until she’s been swallowed up by the crowd.

And when she eventually looks back, she can’t see Carla at all.

— — —

So really, Lisa should have sensed something bad was coming.

It always does.

This time, it happens while she’s sat in The Rovers, drowning her sorrows in a fruitless attempt to pass the time.

(And to stop thinking about her.)

“Glenda, another G&T when you’re ready, please,” she slurs, slamming her empty glass down on the bar.

“Really?” Glenda asks, raising an eyebrow. “Because, by my reckoning, I think you’ve had enough, love.”

Lisa pouts. “Aw no! Can I have another drink, please?”

“A tap water, was it?” Glenda quips.

Lisa is just about to protest further when…

“Well, you really are living your best life.”

Because, of course Carla has to be here to witness her embarrassment first-hand.

(Lisa wonders what it says about her that she’s still pleased to see her.)

“Oh, Carla!” she beams. “What can I get you?”

Carla shoots a look at Glenda. “A soda water, please.”

“Oh, come on,” Lisa wheedles. “You can do better than that.”

Carla purses her lips. “I’m working.”

And Lisa wants to tell her that she wants to be working too, that being suspended is hardly a bed of roses, but she doesn’t want to start a fight so…

“Come on,” she coaxes. “It’s gin o’clock.”

Carla snorts. “Somewhere.”

“No, for the rest of the afternoon,” Lisa whines. “On the proviso you join me. Come on.”

Carla suddenly looks very tired.

(Probably tired with her, Lisa thinks. Who could blame her?)

“Lisa, really, I can’t,” she sighs. “Anyway, I need to tell you something and it’s important.”

(And, honestly, bossy Carla is even hotter when Lisa is drunk.)

“Ooh!” the blonde trills, smirking suggestively.

But Carla’s expression remains stern.

“Lisa,” she warns. “Look, apparently Dee-Dee went to the station and told them that she’d hit Joel over the head with a crowbar the night he died.”

That stops Lisa in her tracks.

“What?”

“Mmm,” Carla hums. “Her dad told me and Roy.”

“What?” Lisa frowns. “So she killed him?”

Carla sighs again. “I don’t know. I think it’s a bit more complicated than that.”

Lisa taps the vacant stool beside her. “Well, explain it to me then.”

And Carla is just about to sit down when…

“Lisa Swain.”

Lisa rolls her eyes as she sees Kit appear at the bar, grim-faced and irritating.

“Ugh,” she huffs theatrically. “What ‘Christopher Green’?”

“I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Joel Deering.”

And Lisa could swear that, in that moment, she feels her heart stop.

“What?” she breathes.

Kit flashes his warrant card. “You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

They’re words that Lisa has spoken herself a thousand times over, she could probably recite them in her sleep, but they seem to her now like a foreign language.

“What is all this?”

Lisa startles at the sound of Carla’s voice, had almost forgotten she was there. She turns to the brunette with wide eyes, sees her own fear mirrored back at her.

She opens her mouth to say something.

‘Help me,’ she thinks.

Or maybe…

‘I love you.’

But she doesn’t get the chance because Kit is quickly grabbing at her arm, guiding her out of the pub, much to the bemusement of the regulars. People will be gossiping about this for weeks, Lisa thinks, maybe even years.

But she can’t bring herself to care about that. She can’t bring herself to care about anything as Kit bundles her into the back of a police car and sets off in the direction of the station.

And really, Lisa thinks, as her eyes fill with tears, she should have seen it coming.

Chapter Text

Carla is pretty sure the universe is mocking her.

That can be the only explanation, she thinks, for the fact Britney Spears’ ‘Criminal’ is currently ringing out from the factory floor while she’s in her office trying - and failing - to get ahead on some admin.

‘But mama, I’m in love with a criminal.

‘And this type of love isn’t rational, it’s physical.’

Carla’s jaw tightens; the lyrics hitting a little too close to home.

Of course, Lisa isn’t really a criminal. Carla had always known that, deep down.

The blonde has probably never even had a bloody parking ticket, let alone murdered someone in cold blood.

But still, it had panicked Carla, watching Kit bundle Lisa into the back of a police car and haul her down to the station. The brunette hadn’t slept a wink that night, unable to shake the image of Lisa, all alone, scared and shivering in a manky cell.

Carla had resolved then that she would do anything - anything - to see Lisa exonerated.

In the end, it had been simpler than she’d anticipated.

Max and Lauren had been careless. They’d implicated themselves in more ways than one in Joel’s murder, and it had only really taken a bit of gentle coaxing on Carla’s part for Max to do the honourable thing and turn himself in.

Carla felt bad for him - she really did. As far as she was concerned, he’d done the whole of Weatherfield a favour by getting rid of Joel Deering once and for all.

But, more than anything, Carla felt relieved.

Relieved that Lisa was in the clear, of course. But also that the whole debacle had seemingly thawed the tension that had lingered between them since that night at the club.

The moment Lisa had found out she was off the hook, she’d collapsed into Carla’s arms and squeezed her so tightly Carla had thought she might never let go.

(Carla had wished for her to never let go.)

She had, of course. But, since then, things had been a lot better between the two of them - if not entirely back to normal, then at least halfway there.

Turns out a potential murder charge does wonders for helping to clear the air…

Still, Carla is tense, on edge.

Still, she can’t stop thinking about Lisa, and how close she’d come to losing her, maybe even for good.

The thought makes Carla shiver. She tries to bury her head in some paperwork but, with the music still blasting in the next room, there’s little chance of her being able to concentrate.

“Sod this,” Carla growls as, on the other side of the door, Britney gears up for her big finish.

Carla gathers her things and storms out onto the factory floor, where most of her staff seemed more concerned with thinking up choreography than they are with stitching knickers.

“Right, while you lot fanny around out here, I’m going for a caffeine break,” she snaps, shooting a pointed look at a sheepish Fizz and Sarah. “And I want the Wilson order finished by the time I get back.”

At that, there’s a disgruntled chorus of groans from her staff, and someone - Carla is fairly sure it’s Betsy - mumbles a waspish “slave-driving cow” under their breath.

“Cheer up, boss,” Sean trills as Carla heads for the door. “Might never happen.”

Carla says nothing, just rolls her eyes and stalks out onto the street.

‘It already has, Sean,’ she thinks wistfully as she starts off in the direction of Roy’s. ‘It already has.’

— — —

Carla is definitely sure the universe is mocking her.

She barely has one foot through the door of the café when she sees the one person she’s trying to get off her mind.

(In truth, Lisa hasn’t been off her mind since the night she came to question Bobby at the flat.)

She looks happy, at least, and more relaxed than usual in a khaki hoodie and jeans, her hair fanned loose over her shoulders. Carla notes with a frown that she’s hammering away at her laptop, brow furrowed adorably in concentration.

“How is this taking a break from work?” the brunette drawls, tapping at Lisa’s computer screen with a disapproving pout.

Lisa looks up, smiles.

(It would take a much stronger woman than her, Carla thinks, to resist that smile.)

“No, it’s not work,” Lisa says. “I’m trying to get us festival tickets as a surprise for Betsy but the WiFi is down at home.”

And Carla tries - she really does - to keep it in.

But she simply can’t help herself; can’t help the laughter that spills from her throat at the mere thought of Lisa, caked in mud and soaked to the bone, queuing in a field for some minging portaloos or fending off unsolicited offers of white powder.

“What?!” Lisa huffs, indignant, though she’s still smiling.

Carla guffaws. “You at a festival? With your face painted, waving your hands in the air like you just don’t care?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Betsy really wants to go and clearly I’ve not been winning ‘Mum of the Year' of late, so I’m hoping this will get me back in her good books.”

Carla can’t help but smile at that.

“It will,” she grins. “Honestly, she’s lucky to have you.”

(Carla silently curses herself for being so transparent.)

“Yeah, well,” Lisa says, tapping glumly at the touchpad. “When I fail to get these tickets, I’ll let you plead my case for me.”

“Okay,” Carla says simply.

(And honestly? Carla would plead Lisa’s case to anyone who would listen if only it meant she’d get the chance to kiss her again.)

“Roy’s letting me loiter here while I play refresh roulette,” Lisa explains, jolting Carla out of her reverie.

Carla pulls a face. “Urgh. Sounds like fun.”

“Well,” Lisa sighs, “unless you’ve got any better ideas, this is my only option.”

And Carla shouldn’t even suggest it. She’s already struggling to concentrate, there’s no way she’ll get through her to-do list with Lisa holed up in her office. But still…

“Er, I have, as it happens, and it really does involve better WiFi.”

The words come tumbling out before Carla can stop them.

“Do you need a coffee?” she asks brightly, already bustling over to the counter.

Lisa narrows her eyes, bemused. “Um, yeah. Yeah, please.”

Carla feels a warm glow in her chest.

“Okay,” she beams. “I’ll get two coffees and then we’ll go and get your tickets!”

Well, if the universe is going to mock her, Carla thinks as she lodges their order, then she might as well have some fun in the process.

— — —

She needs to get laid.

That’s the overwhelming takeaway from the past few hours, Carla thinks.

Because, truthfully, she’d barely been able to stop herself from hauling Lisa into Underworld’s supply closet and ravishing her atop the piles of offcuts.

Carla had spent much of the afternoon in purgatory, with Lisa seemingly unaware of the effect she was having as she happily set up camp in the corner of Carla’s office. Even when the blonde had let slip that her go-to working lunch is a doner kebab - something you couldn’t even pay Carla to put in her mouth - the brunette couldn’t help thinking that Lisa was the most beautiful woman in the world.

(It really must be love.)

But it wasn’t just Lisa’s looks that had distracted her. All day, Carla hadn’t been able to shake the sense that it felt right, natural, to be spending her working day in Lisa’s company.

For a few blissful hours, Carla had revelled in the fact Lisa was on hand to vent to about troublesome suppliers, or to share an eye roll at Sally’s blatant attempts to stake her claim for ‘Employee of the Month’.

Some distance was needed. That, to Carla, had seemed like the obvious solution, the key to getting Lisa out of her head.

Of course, that hadn’t stopped her from accepting Lisa’s offer of a drink - one last hurrah, she’d told herself - and so that’s how she finds herself here, listening to the blonde rant about work at the bistro.

“You know, I swear Kit was a bit disappointed when he found out I wouldn’t be getting done for murder,” Lisa says, eyes wide as she slurps away at her gin and tonic. “I just hope that, when the time comes, he gets passed over for promotion.”

Carla, as she’s been doing instinctively for the past half-hour, just smiles and nods along until…

“Oh my god!” Lisa gasps. “What with everything that’s been going on, I completely forgot to go online and get those festival tickets.”

Carla feels that warm glow again, burning deep inside her ribcage.

“Oh, yeah,” Carla sighs, taking a long swig of her drink. “It’s a shame that.”

And she’d planned to drag it out for longer, to heighten the suspense.

But, honestly, Lisa’s lovely face is so downcast that Carla can’t stop herself from blurting…

“Good job I got some then.”

For a moment, Lisa just blinks, confused.

“What? You’re going?”

Carla giggles. “No! No, I got them for you.”

Still, Lisa blinks at her.

“You’re kidding?”

Carla shrugs. “Nope.”

And it’s like a light has been switched on then; Lisa’s whole face brightening as she reaches for the brunette’s hand.

(Carla thinks that this moment was worth every penny of the £250 she’d shelled out for those bloody tickets.)

“Oh, Carla,” Lisa breathes. “You’ve got no idea how many brownie points this is going to get me.”

Carla takes another sip of her drink, hopes it will mask the blush she’s fairly sure has crept into her cheeks.

“Well, actually, I was hoping I’d be the one to get the brownie points,” she grins, before hastily adding…

“With Betsy, I mean.”

(Nice save, Connor.)

(Not.)

Thankfully, Lisa doesn’t seem to notice, just keeps on beaming, squeezing at Carla’s hand.

“Oh believe me, you will,” she grins, pulling Carla in for a hug. “Come here.”

And Carla is so caught up in the moment, in the feeling of Lisa’s arms around her waist, that she totally forgets about her injuries until the other woman starts to wince.

“Argh, sorry!” she yelps, pulling back gingerly from the embrace.

Carla lets her hand trail gently down Lisa’s back, unwilling to let go quite yet.

“Ribs!” she laughs, immediately hating herself for how moronic she sounds. “Sorry.”

Lisa settles back onto her stool, looks at her with such sincerity that Carla suddenly feels like a kid in the playground, pining after her childhood sweetheart.

“Thank you,” the blonde smiles as Carla fiddles shyly with her hair. “You’re such a good mate.”

At that, the warm glow in Carla’s chest dissipates.

She feels suddenly cold, sad, hit with the overwhelming urge to just get the hell out of there.

“Yeah,” she croaks, smiling tightly as she drains her drink. “Well, I try my best.”

Lisa reaches over to pat at her knee and Carla tries to pretend the feeling of the other woman’s hands on her body doesn’t make her feel immediately alight.

“Fancy another?” Lisa asks cheerfully. “My round.”

But Carla is already reaching for her coat.

“I, er, sorry. I can’t tonight. I’ve got a hot date.”

As soon as the words leave her mouth, Carla regrets them.

Lisa’s face falls - only briefly, but enough for Carla to notice - before she flashes her a rictus smile.

“Oh right,” she says. “Well, that’s…brilliant. Really, Carla. I’m so pleased for you. Anyone I know?”

Carla digs her fingernails into her palms, tries to think on her feet.

“That bloke,” she garbles quickly. “The one from the bar. I decided to take your advice, give him a call.”

Lisa bites her lip, nods. “Oh, right. Great. Well, I hope it goes well. You deserve to find someone…someone as wonderful as you are.”

Carla’s heart sinks then.

‘I’ve already found her,’ she wants to say.

But she doesn’t.

Instead she just nods, smiles.

“Thanks. You have a good night, yeah?”

Lisa nods, and Carla has to turn away to stop herself from falling at the blonde’s feet.

As she walks toward the flat, she rummages blindly in her bag until her fingers close around a dog-eared business card. She takes a shuddery breath as she unlocks her phone, knowing exactly what she needs to do next.

Carla doesn’t want to.

But she knows she needs to move on.

Lisa’s pointed choice of vocabulary had made that very clear.

And so, with a heavy heart and trembling fingers, she punches in the number and presses ‘dial’.

— — —

She doesn’t sleep with him.

Carla thinks about it, but in the end something, or rather someone, stops her in her tracks.

The bloke from the bar - Martin, his name is - isn’t totally awful. He’s attractive, with a good job and a flash car - all things Carla had previously coveted in a partner.

He jumps at the chance to take her out, books them a table at ‘Sexy Fish’ in Spinningfields.

Carla has been dying to try it for months and yet, as she nibbles at her sashimi and pretends to be interested in Martin’s string of self-involved anecdotes, she thinks only of Lisa, of how disgusted she’d been when Carla had confided her love of raw fish over lunch at the factory.

The thought simultaneously makes her want to laugh and cry.

The more she drinks, though, the more Carla starts to feel she can see this through. She lets Martin pay the bill, bats her eyelashes at him as he slides his calloused hand over her thigh.

As he walks her to the taxi rank, Carla is so sure she’s going to go home with him.

But then he kisses her.

And it’s not a bad kiss, by any means.

At first, she actually quite enjoys it.

But then she feels the scrape of Martin’s stubble against her chin, smells the overwhelming tang of his aftershave as he presses against her, his erection jarring as it digs into her hip.

And suddenly, it all feels wrong.

Carla misses Lisa’s softness, misses the feeling of the blonde’s hair between her fingers, of pillowy lips against her neck.

And though she could still sleep with Martin, Carla realises she doesn’t want to.

Once upon a time, her sexuality had been her most powerful currency. She was so used to being wanted, desired, lusted after by men who didn’t care to see what was hiding underneath the surface.

But now, she realises, it’s other things that make her feel powerful.

Making Lisa laugh, she thinks, or impressing her with pointless bits of trivia.

Sexually too, of course, there are moments when Lisa makes her feel strong and assertive. But, to Carla, that feels like an added bonus, rather than being the only thing she has to offer.

Martin is, at least, nice about things. He tells Carla to call him if she changes her mind, bundles her into a cab with a slightly sloppy kiss on the cheek.

But, as Carla watches the world whir by through the taxi window, she knows her mind can’t be changed.

As long as Lisa is in her life, it will never be that simple.

— — —

Days later, Carla is still stewing over the Martin debacle when she (quite literally) bumps into Lisa outside of Underworld.

The brunette is just arriving back from a client lunch when she collides with Lisa on the factory steps; the blonde with her head bent over her phone, clearly not watching where she’s going.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Carla says, gripping at Lisa’s forearms to steady herself. “Where’s the fire?”

Lisa frowns, distracted. “What? Oh, right. Sorry. I was in a world of my own.”

Carla snorts. “Clearly. Everything okay?”

Lisa smiles but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Fine.”

“You’re a horrible liar, you know,” Carla grins, nudging the blonde gently with her elbow. “Probably why you make such a good copper. You’re too honest.”

Lisa sighs, studiously avoids Carla’s gaze. “It’s nothing. Me and Betsy just had a bit of a row, that’s all.”

Carla looks past Lisa into the factory. “What’s she done now?”

“Oh, nothing really,” Lisa shrugs. “Just the usual. Playing truant from college. I actually didn’t come here to fight with her. I wanted to ask her if she fancied doing something later. I’m climbing the walls at home by myself all day but…well, she told me in no uncertain terms that she’d had a better offer.”

Carla feels her chest tighten at the sadness in Lisa’s eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she says quietly. “I know you wanted to spend more time with her while you’re…you know.”

The word ‘suspended’ hangs, heavy and unspoken, in the air between them.

Lisa sighs again. “Yeah, well. I’d best be off. ‘Loose Women’ won’t watch itself.”

Carla quirks an eyebrow. “If you’re planning on watching that shite then I really am worried about you.”

A beat, and then…

“How about we do something later? Together, I mean.”

Lisa looks at Carla as if she’s suddenly sprouted three heads.

“What?”

“You said you wanted to get out of the house,” Carla says, already losing her nerve. “I’m happy to join you. If you want me to, I mean.”

There’s silence for a moment and Carla curses herself for opening her big mouth. Until…

“Of course I do,” Lisa says with a small smile. “But…you have work?”

Carla grins, leans forward conspiratorially. “I’ll have a word with the boss, see if I can persuade her to let me have an early dart.”

“I’m not sure about that,” Lisa quips, eyes flashing with mischief. “I’ve heard she’s a total dragon lady.”

Carla rolls her eyes. “Hilarious.”

“I’m not interrupting any grand plans, am I?” Lisa asks. “What about your fancy man?”

Carla bites her lip, weighs up how to play this.

“First of all, I’m pretty sure no one has used the term ‘fancy man’ since they invented colour TV,” she snorts. “And B, I er, no, I’m not seeing him tonight.”

(Carla wonders if she’s imagining the way Lisa’s whole face seems to brighten at that.)

“Oh right,” the blonde smiles. “Okay. Well, fine. It’s settled then.”

(And Carla knows it’s pathetic, but already she feels giddy at the thought of the two of them getting out of Weatherfield for the night.)

“Great!” she beams. “So, go on, where are you whisking me off to? London? Paris? Milan?”

Lisa purses her lips. “I was actually thinking more like North Wales.”

Carla huffs out a sigh. “Wow, you sure do know how to treat a lady.”

(In truth, she would spend the night in a junkyard if it meant getting to enjoy even a few hours in Lisa’s company.)

“Oh, come on,” Lisa laughs. “Wales is beautiful. Plus, it’s not far away so we have time to get there and back in the one night. And I know a place that does cracking fish and chips. The battered kind, of course. None of that sushi rubbish.”

Carla can’t bite down the smile that starts to tug at the corners of her lips.

“Fine,” she says. “Just so long as there’s no hiking involved. These boots were most definitely not made for walking.”

Lisa adopts a look of mock-seriousness.

“No hiking, I promise,” she says solemnly. “I’ll pick you up from the flat in an hour? That way we should be there in time for sunset.”

Carla theatrically punches the air. “Yippee!”

“You know,” Lisa says pointedly, “you don’t have to come if you don’t want to.”

“I do!” Carla yelps, so quickly it’s almost embarrassing. “I really do.”

This time when Lisa smiles, the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkles.

“Good,” she says, heading for her car. “Great. See you in an hour. And Carla?”

Carla turns to look at her. “Mmm?”

“Make sure you bring a coat,” the blonde grins. “I’m not giving you mouth-to-mouth if you get hypothermia.”

Carla laughs. “Who said romance was dead, eh?”

The brunette stands and watches Lisa’s car pulling away and she knows, feels deep in her soul, that neither of them would hesitate to administer mouth-to-mouth if the situation required it.

(And, perhaps, even if it didn’t.)

-– — —

Carla drags her feet as Lisa powers on ahead of her.

“Are we there yet?” she whines, aware that she sounds like an impatient child.

(She probably has done for most of the two-hour journey here.)

“We will be in a minute,” Lisa says, without breaking her stride. “Stop moaning. You’re worse than Bets, you are.”

“I thought you said we wouldn’t be hiking,” Carla huffs, already embarrassingly out of breath.

Lisa shoots her a look over her shoulder. “Carla, we’ve walked ten minutes from the car park. It’s hardly strenuous exercise.”

Carla pouts. “I think you and I have very different ideas of what constitutes exercise.”

Lisa rolls her eyes but reaches into her rucksack, pulls out a small silver hip flask with the letters ‘L’ and ‘S’ engraved on the front.

“Here,” she says, thrusting the flask in Carla’s direction. “Get some of this down you and shut your gob.”

Carla raises an eyebrow but takes the proffered flask. “Do you speak to all of your fancy women like that?”

Lisa smirks. “Only the ones I really like.”

Carla takes a slug from the flask, tells herself it’s the whiskey that is making her feel warm all over.

“Lucky me,” she grins. “Eh, should I be worried that you own a personalised hip flask? You don’t drink on the job, do you?”

Lisa just laughs, carries on walking.

(Carla pretends she’s not looking at her arse in those skintight lululemon leggings.)

“Do you think there’ll be a toilet wherever you’re taking me?” the brunette asks after a few minutes. “I’m bursting for a wee.”

Lisa shakes her head. “Oh for god's sake!”

“What!” Carla yelps, traipsing after her. “This is all your fault for dragging us away from civilisation and…wow.”

Carla trails off as they come to a stop at the top of a grassy dune. Below them, grey waves lap at the shore as noisy seagulls swoop down to peck at forgotten scraps of food on the sand.

But it’s the sky that takes her breath away; the way blue bleeds into pink bleeds into purple, pale clouds streaking across the horizon.

It makes Carla feel small in the best possible way, as if all of the awful things that have gone before no longer matter.

“Wow,” Lisa grins beside her. “Carla Connor, speechless. If I’d known this is all it would take to shut you up, I’d have brought you here a long time ago.”

Carla sticks out her tongue. “I’m just catching my breath after the hike.”

Lisa’s smirk tells her that she doesn’t buy Carla’s excuse but she doesn’t push, simply shrugs off her rucksack and says…

“So, what do you think? It was worth the ten minute walk, right?”

Carla watches as the blonde, without waiting for an answer, starts to make her cautious descent down the dune.

“Yeah,” she whispers, her words drowned out by the whipping wind. “Totally worth it.”

— — —

Carla is in heaven.

Well, technically, she’s in Dinas Dinlle, a small beach resort about eight miles outside of Caernarfon.

But it might as well be heaven, as far as Carla is concerned. She certainly can’t remember the last time she felt so at peace.

She and Lisa had spent more than an hour strolling together along the sand, talking about everything and nothing. They’d watched the sky turn inky black, taking it in turns to make up increasingly outlandish names for the constellations and laughing until they had tears streaming down their cheeks.

Lisa had even convinced Carla to have a paddle. She’d squealed and cursed as she’d waded tentatively into the water, the cold almost taking the wind out of her. But, as Lisa had splashed and giggled like a child beneath the light of the pale moon, Carla had decided that losing a toe to the hypothermic temperatures would be a fair trade-off for the way the blonde makes her feel.

They’re sitting together now - all toes thankfully still intact - side by side on a bench on the promenade. They’re eating fish and chips out of steaming styrofoam trays, lips damp from the salt-spray and bellies warm from the company.

They eat in total silence until Lisa bites into the chip that’s speared on her fork and lets out an unholy moan, her cheeks turning red as Carla feels a jolt of heat between her thighs.

“Sorry,” the blonde says sheepishly.

Carla sniggers. “Nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Lisa’s face turns a deeper shade of crimson.

“Besides,” Carla laughs, “these are really good chips.”

Lisa beams. “I knew you’d like it here.”

And though it’s only a small, off-hand comment, it feels seismic to Carla, knowing that Lisa has thought about what she might like.

The moment is punctured by the sound of giddy shrieking as, further along the promenade, a dad chases after his young daughter, the mum watching on fondly as he captures the girl and pulls her into his arms.

“They look happy,” Carla says fondly.

Lisa follows her gaze, smiles. “Yeah. Yeah they do, don’t they?”

“I sometimes wonder…” Carla starts, before shaking her head. “Never mind.”

Lisa sets down her plastic fork.

“Go on,” she encourages. “You can tell me anything, you know. As long as it’s not incriminating, because then I would be duty-bound to report you.”

Carla rolls her eyes good-naturedly. “You really are a goody-two-shoes sometimes, blondie. And no, I actually…I was going to say that sometimes, when I see a family like that, I wonder whether that’s what my life could have looked like…if things had turned out differently.”

Carla looks down at her lap, tears stinging her eyes.

Lisa reaches for her hand. “I’m sorry.”

Carla lets the blonde interlock their fingers.

“It’s okay,” she says, laughing weakly as she meets Lisa’s eye. “She’d have been coming up for nine now. Probably would have been a nightmare. I already was at that age.”

Lisa’s eyes turn glassy as she tilts her head. “You were having a girl?”

Carla sniffs. “I, er, yeah. Yeah, I was.”

They sit in silence for a little while then, until Lisa nudges her, says…

“She’d have been a handful, if she was anything like you.”

Carla chuckles. “Ha! I know.”

“She’d have gotten away with it though,” Lisa grins. “She’d have had everyone wrapped around her little finger. Like butter wouldn’t melt. And she’d have been beautiful. So, so beautiful. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you upset.”

It’s only then that Carla realises she’s crying.

“No, you’re not,” she says quickly, wiping at her cheek. “Actually…it’s nice. I think it’s the first time I’ve ever actually talked about her like this. At the time, it was just sort of brushed under the carpet. People meant well but they didn’t know what to say, so most of the time, it was easier just to say nothing.”

Lisa bites her lip. “That must have hurt.”

“Yeah,” Carla shrugs. “I guess. But I understand it. And now, well, even if I wanted to talk about her, it would just…I’m not sure anyone would want to listen.”

Lisa squeezes her hand, is completely sincere when she whispers…

“I do. I’ll always want to listen.”

And Carla wants more than ever then to say it.

She wants to shout it - ‘I love you’ - right at the top of her lungs.

But she doesn’t.

(She says “thank you” instead.)

“I used to come here a lot,” Lisa says after a beat, her eyes locked on the horizon.

“With Becky and Betsy?” Carla asks.

And though she knows it shouldn’t, it hurts Carla, the thought of this place - their place - being unknowingly haunted by so many ghosts.

But then Lisa says...

“No, actually.”

…and Carla feels the air return to her lungs.

“I came here with my parents when I was a kid,” Lisa explains. “They were big on caravan holidays. And then, when I got older, it just sort of became the place I came to when I needed to clear my head. I, er, I never brought Betsy and Becks. It sounds awful but I just kind of wanted it to be my place. You’re…you’re the first person I’ve brought here.”

Carla feels her mouth go dry. “Oh. Oh right.”

And suddenly, Carla feels rocked, the revelation shaking her right to the core.

She picks silently at a hangnail, thinks the conversation is over until…

“You’re not…less than her, you know,” Lisa says softly. “Becky, I mean. I never want you to feel like…like you’re competing with someone.”

Carla laughs but the sound is unfamiliar to her, brittle.

“I’m sure I’d be a pale imitation.”

“No,” Lisa smiles, reaching again for her hand. “You could never be. You, Carla Connor, are a one-off.”

Carla looks at her then, really looks at her, her heart hammering in her chest.

“Why did you bring me here?” she croaks.

Lisa blinks, like a fish out of water. “You asked me if I wanted to do something.”

Carla shakes her head, static crackling in her ears.

“But why did you bring me here?” she presses. “If this is where you like to come by yourself.”

Lisa chews on her lip, looks down. “I don’t know. I guess being with you makes me feel like…like I don’t need to be on my own anymore.”

And Carla doesn’t even know she’s going to say it until the words have left her mouth.

“I didn’t sleep with him, you know.”

Lisa’s head snaps up. “What?”

“The guy from the club,” Carla says. “We went out to dinner but I…I didn’t go home with him.”

Lisa presses her lips into a thin line. “Carla, really. It’s none of my business who-”

Carla cuts her off.

“My heart wasn’t in it. The whole time, even when he was kissing me, I kept thinking about you.

Lisa swallows. “Oh.”

She doesn’t go to say anything else, and Carla is just about to look away when the blonde licks at the pad of her thumb and reaches out, swipes gently at the side of Carla’s mouth.

“You had some ketchup,” Lisa explains, voice thick. “Right there.”

Carla opens her mouth and then closes it again.

“Sorry,” Lisa says, cheeks burning as her hand drops limply back to her side. “Force of habit. Too used to cleaning up Betsy’s messes.”

And Carla is just about to reach out and touch her when…

“Excuse me?”

The brunette looks up to see an elderly lady - probably pushing 70 - standing over them with a knowing grin.

“Everything okay?” Carla asks her, smile strained.

“Yes. I’m sorry to interrupt but I just wanted to say, you two make a lovely couple.”

And Carla is stunned into silence.

“I lost my Arthur last year,” the woman continues, eyes turning cloudy. “50 years we were together. I miss him every day. He used to look at me like that. Like I was his whole world.”

Still, Carla can’t speak.

“I’m sorry,” Lisa eventually pipes up from beside her. “For your loss. And thank you.”

The woman reaches out to pat Lisa on the shoulder.

“No problem, dear. You ladies take care now.”

With that, she shuffles off into the distance, Carla watching until her little red anorak disappears from view.

A tear drips down onto the brunette’s shirt.

“We should probably get going,” Lisa says after a beat. “Before Betsy burns the house down.”

Carla gulps, nods, says nothing as she follows Lisa back to the car.

They drive most of the way home in silence. Carla rests her head against the window, stares at the passing traffic until her eyes start to grow heavy.

The last thing she remembers before sleep claims her is the sound of Lisa singing along to the radio under her breath and the warmth of the blonde’s hand, resting on her thigh.

— — —

They agree to have a night out.

Carla spots Lisa outside of the café, a few days after their trip to Wales, and she immediately knows the blonde has had some good news.

It turns out she’s been reinstated at work, so Carla suggests they hit the town to celebrate.

It’s a few hours later - when the brunette is mulling over where they should go - that she gets the phone call.

“Hiya. It’s me,” Ryan says on the other end of the line.

“Oh, I’m so glad you cleared that up,” Carla drawls. “The caller ID wasn’t a giveaway at all.”

Ryan ignores her quip, sounds slightly panicked when he asks…

“Any chance you can get down here?”

Carla snorts. “To the pub? Ryan, I’ve got a factory to run and-“

“Lisa’s gone rogue,” Ryan interjects.

At that, Carla feels her stomach twist.

“I’ll be there in five,” she says, not waiting for a reply before she hangs up the phone.

In the end, she gets to The Rovers in four minutes.

She spots Lisa straight away, quickly scans for signs that she’s hurt or distressed. But the blonde seems happy enough, propping up the bar in the same slouchy white jumper she’d been wearing this morning.

Carla raises a questioning eyebrow at Ryan, who looks incredibly relieved to see her.

“Hey,” he calls, smiling tightly.

Lisa whips around, and immediately Carla understands the problem.

Lisa is bladdered.

(‘God, help me’, the brunette thinks)

“Oh, hi Carla,” Lisa slurs, raising her hand awkwardly in greeting.

Carla waves back. “Hi.”

“Hi,” Lisa repeats. “I’m ready for that drink you promised me. Come on, sit down. Join me.”

The blonde staggers over to a booth, plonks herself down with a graceless thud.

“Has someone been celebrating early?” Carla asks.

Ryan shoots her a look.

“Yes,” Lisa grins. “Yes, we are. Because we’re…we’re alive.”

Carla bites her lip. “I’ll just get a drink then.”

“I’ll have another whiskey, please,” Lisa calls over to Ryan.

Carla looks between the two of them. “I see I have a lot of catching up to do.”

“Oh, don’t worry about me,” Lisa says. “I’m an excellent drinker. I’ve been doing it for years. I’m very experienced.”

(And Carla hates the way that her mind, just for a second, strays straight to the gutter.)

“Oh, yeah,” she chuckles. “I’ve known a few experienced drinkers in my time.”

And then, turning to Ryan…

“How long has she been like this?”

“Too long,” he whispers. “I had to confiscate the darts before she had someone’s eye out. I can’t keep bar and babysit a drunk detective at the same time.”

“Okay,” Carla sighs. “I’ll keep an eye on her.”

Carla very nearly regrets that promise when, seconds later, Lisa very loudly bursts into song.

“I think you’re crazy,” the blonde sings tunelessly.

(Ain’t that the truth.)

(Carla thinks they probably both are.)

The brunette winces. “Although, she sounds more like a singing detective at the moment.”

Ryan smirks, ambles off to make their drinks.

“Eh, come on!” Lisa groans. “What is taking so long with these drinks?”

Carla takes a deep breath, then fixes on a smile as she turns and slides into the booth beside the blonde. She hears a crunch beneath her feet, looks down to see what looks like pretty much a whole bag of cheese and onion ‘Walkers’ strewn over the floor.

“These all your crisps?” Carla asks.

Lisa looks down at the mess, seems incredibly proud of herself when she says…

“Yeah, do you want some?”

Carla stifles a laugh. “I think I’ll pass, ta.”

“Your loss,” Lisa pouts. And then…

“I’m glad you came. I missed you.”

Carla is just about to remind the blonde that they only saw each other this morning when she realises that would make her a monumental hypocrite, considering the fact that she misses Lisa every second they’re not in each other’s company.

Instead, she smiles, is just about to reach up and wipe away a smudge of mascara from under Lisa’s eye when Ryan appears with their drinks, breaking the tension.

“Here you go,” he says, setting the glasses down on the table. “A red wine for her ladyship and for you, Michael van Gerwen, a whiskey and coke.”

Lisa shoots him a dopey smile, takes a long swig of her drink before spitting it out, liquid spraying everywhere.

“There’s no alcohol in that!” Lisa yelps, as though Ryan has just tried to poison her.

He raises his eyebrows. “Isn’t there? I could swear I put some in.”

Lisa gets unsteadily to her feet, jabs her finger clumsily into Ryan’s chest. “You did that on purpose,” she frowns. “I’m gonna tell Jenny on you.”

Carla quickly reaches to put a steadying hand on Lisa’s elbow, carefully guides her back down into a sitting position.

“I don’t think there’ll be any need for that,” the brunette soothes. “How about we take this party back to my place? I can make you a drink there.”

(And also ply you with water, Carla thinks. Maybe even stick my fingers down your throat.)

But Lisa clearly has no intention of coming quietly.

“Carla Connor,” she slurs, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Are you propositioning me?”

Carla can feel her cheeks turning red. “What?! No. I was just-”

“Ahh!” Lisa laughs. “Gotcha!”

Carla rolls her eyes, though she can’t help but smile.

“So what do you say then?” she says, nudging Lisa gently in the ribs. “Shall we get going?”

Lisa grins, is right on the cusp of saying yes, when Glenda comes trundling into the pub with a karaoke machine in tow.

“Ey up, lads and lasses!” the barmaid calls cheerfully. “Who wants a go on my new toy?”

And, before Carla can stop her, Lisa is already on her feet, waving her hand excitedly in the air.

Carla looks over at Ryan, sniggering away behind the bar, and feels suddenly exhausted.

“Brilliant,” she sighs, draining her glass of wine. “That’s just brilliant.”

— — —

Lisa’s first order of business, when Carla finally wrangles her back to the flat, is to criticise Carla’s alcohol collection.

“But why don’t you have cans of lager in the fridge?” Lisa whines from the couch. “Everyone has cans of lager in the fridge. For emergencies.”

“Well, not everyone likes lager, do they?” Carla laughs, setting down two mugs of steaming-hot tea on the coffee table. “Now here, get this down you.”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Bossy.”

(She drinks her tea anyway.)

Carla is just about to suggest making them something to eat when…

“It was Becky’s birthday today.”

Carla turns, sees Lisa staring off into the difference with hazy eyes.

“Oh,” the brunette says dumbly. “Okay.”

“And I forgot,” Lisa sighs. “I didn’t have a clue until Betsy reminded me this morning.”

And suddenly, everything falls into place.

“That’s why you got so drunk,” Carla says quietly, more of a statement than a question.

Lisa nods, tries to take a drink but misses her mouth completely, a rivulet of tea dribbling down her chin.

“I’m a bad wife,” she says miserably. “A bad wife. A bad mother. A bad person.”

“Hey,” Carla chides, wiping the tea away with her finger. “We’ll have less of that, thank you very much. Besides, you’ve had a lot going on lately. I’m sure Becky would understand. I’m sure Betsy will too, in time.”

Lisa turns to look at her then with a glazed expression. Carla expects her to say something serious, but instead she just blurts…

“You’re so pretty, Carla.”

(Carla tries to ignore the way the words make her heart flutter.)

“And you’re so drunk, blondie,” she chuckles, raising one eyebrow.

“I am not!” Lisa protests, before letting out a loud hiccough.

Carla raises her other eyebrow.

“Okay,” Lisa giggles. “Maybe I am. Just a little bit. But shhh, you can’t tell anyone.”

Carla grins, holds out her pinky finger. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Lisa nods sombrely, hooks her own finger around Carla’s.

“You are pretty though,” she says shyly. “And you always smell good. And you have great tits.”

Carla laughs at that, deep and throaty. “Well, I’ll be sure to put all that on my next dating profile.”

A flicker of hurt crosses Lisa’s face.

“You’ll be snapped up right away,” she says quietly.

“Ha!” Carla scoffs. “I think there’s more chance of pigs flying.”

“You will!” Lisa insists. “You’re a catch. Even Betsy says so.”

That stops Carla in her tracks.

“What?” she frowns. “What made her say that? Was she having a funny turn?”

“No!” Lisa yelps. “She just…this is embarrassing.”

Carla snorts. “Lisa, I’ve already had to listen to you sing ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ in The Rovers tonight, I think we’re well past the point of embarrassment here.”

“Oi!” Lisa protests, indignant. “I’ll have you know my mum used to say I had the voice of an angel.”

“You do,” Carla smirks. “A tone-deaf angel.”

Lisa sticks her tongue out, her expression quickly shifting into something more sincere.

“It’s just…she was going on about you the other day,” Lisa mumbles, looking down at her lap. “Betsy, I mean. She was saying that I was making heart-eyes at you…which I totally wasn’t. But then she said that she sort of understands. Because you’re ‘quite fit for a boomer’.”

Carla’s throat suddenly feels very tight, as if narrowed by the weight of Lisa’s words.

“Oh,” she says after a beat. “Oh, right. Remind me to give her a pay rise.”

And she means it as a joke, but Lisa doesn’t laugh.

“I don’t know what I’ll do, you know,” she says softly, wide eyes finding Carla’s.

The brunette frowns. “Huh?”

“I mean when someone does snap you up,” Lisa says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Carla shakes her head. “Lisa, I really don’t think-”

“It’s bound to happen before too long,” Lisa interjects. “I mean, look at you. And you deserve that. You deserve everything. But I’ll miss you.”

(Carla counts it as a minor miracle that she’s still breathing.)

“What do you mean ‘miss me’?” she asks, confused. “I’m not going anywhere, silly.”

“Maybe not physically,” Lisa shrugs. “But when you meet someone else, you won’t want me hanging around anymore. You can’t…we can’t…”

And it breaks Carla’s heart, seeing Lisa so vulnerable, moping like a kicked puppy.

“Lisa,” she says honestly, “I don’t know much about what my future is going to look like. But I can say, with 100% certainty, that I will always want you hanging around.”

She hopes it will cheer Lisa up but, instead, the blonde just bursts into tears.

Carla quickly reaches for her, pulls the other woman into her chest.

“Hey, darlin’,” she coos. “Don’t cry. You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

They stay like that for a while; Lisa sobbing into Carla’s shoulder.

When she eventually pulls back, her eyelashes are clumped together with smeared mascara and her cheeks are red.

(Still, she takes Carla’s breath away.)

“Why are you so nice to me?” Lisa whispers. “I don’t deserve any of this. I’m not-”

Carla tightens her grip on Lisa’s shoulders.

“Lisa Swain,” she says firmly. “You deserve the world. And, I can’t quite believe I’m saying this, but you coming round here that night to question our Bobby, it was…well, it was probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”

And Carla knows - can tell from the way Lisa is looking at her - that they’ve passed the point of no return.

(She doesn’t know whether to be elated or terrified.)

“Why can’t we stop doing this?” Lisa breathes, reaching to cup Carla’s face in her hands. “Why can’t I help myself around you?”

Carla closes her eyes, basks for a second in the sensation of Lisa’s thumb swiping gently over her cheek.

And she decides then that she’s going to say it; those three little words that have been threatening to burst out of her for weeks now.

“Because I think,” she whispers, heart racing, “that maybe…that I-”

The words die on her tongue as Lisa jumps suddenly to her feet, her hand clamped over her mouth as she rushes off in the direction of the bathroom.

Carla just sits there, shell-shocked, as the blonde vomits loudly into the toilet bowl.

And she thinks then that maybe, just maybe, it might be a sign.

— — —

The next morning, Carla feels like she’s the one with the hangover.

Following her impromptu dash to the bathroom, Lisa had fallen asleep on the sofa and, upon waking, it had quickly become clear to Carla that the blonde remembered little from the night before.

And that was okay, Carla told herself. In fact, it was probably for the best.

It was difficult, though, to keep that same mindset when Carla nipped back to the flat to deliver Lisa breakfast, only to find the blonde dressed in nothing but a dressing gown - her dressing gown - with wet hair and pink cheeks.

She looked younger, somehow, more unguarded than Carla had ever seen her.

In that moment it had struck the brunette that she had never felt like this before, her longing so great it was surely only a matter of time before she came totally apart.

Lisa had asked to stay a while longer - just to make sure she was no longer over the limit.

Carla had been close - so close - to asking her to stay forever.

That, she realises, as she tries to keep herself busy at the factory, is what she wants most in the world.

The sound of footsteps jolts her from her daydream. She looks up to see Ryan ambling into her office, not bothering to wait for an invitation.

“You alright?” he asks breezily, as if he hasn’t just interrupted her mid-mental-breakdown.

Carla scoffs. “Does nobody wait for come in anymore?!”

Ryan grimaces as he drops down into a chair. “Sorry. Faceache.”

Carla rolls her eyes. “I got your text message. Saying you weren’t coming home last night.”

“Yeah, well,” Ryan grins. “I copped off.”

“Yeah,” Carla snorts. “I kinda guessed that.”

Ryan shoots her a suggestive smirk. “Which is why I thought you’d be in a bit of a better mood…”

“Me?” Carla frowns. “Why?”

“Well,” Ryan says, leaning back in his chair, “imagine my surprise when I got home this morning only to find a half-naked policewoman wearing your dressing gown, moisturising her legs.”

Carla can’t help but laugh at that particular mental image, can only imagine how mortified Lisa had been by the whole ordeal.

But Ryan seems to mistake her amusement for something else.

“Looks like Team Connor’s got its mojo back, eh?” he says, shimmying his shoulders theatrically.

Carla waves him off. “Oh, no. It’s not what you think.”

Ryan’s smirk widens. “You have no idea what I’m thinking.”

(And, really, Carla ought to tell her nephew that any sordid fantasy he’s concocted in his head has probably already played out a dozen times over in real life.)

(But, obviously, she doesn’t.)

“Stop doing that with your eyebrows!” she snaps instead. “Stop it, Ryan. No. She were just bladdered.”

“Yeah, so?” Ryan shrugs. “So was I. It didn’t stop me.”

“Oh, Ryan,” Carla sighs. “She needed somewhere to sleep it off and I was just being a friend.”

(Carla doesn’t mention the fact that she had spent more than an hour watching Lisa sleep, imagining how it would feel to curl up beside her, perhaps even wake her with a kiss.)

(Some friend she is.)

But Ryan won’t drop it.

“Come on, seriously,” he says, propping his elbows on Carla’s desk. “Tell me. Really.”

And though she knows there’s a million reasons why she shouldn’t, Carla finds that she actually wants to be at least partway honest.

“I don’t know,” she says quietly. “I like her. You already know this.”

Ryan hums his agreement, keeps on looking at her pointedly, willing her to say more.

Carla bites her lip.

“And yes, it does kind of feel different,” she admits. “But I don’t know, Ryan. I don’t know what I’m doing. I just feel like I’m in such…uncharted waters!”

“Hey,” Ryan reasons. “It can feel like that no matter who you fancy.”

Carla considers it. “I suppose that’s true.”

Ryan is quiet for a moment, and Carla wonders if he’s going to let her off the hook, but then he sighs, leans even closer and says…

“Carla, you are one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met, but even you’re outdoing yourself here. You like her, you fancy her, you never stop banging on about her. Just…see where it goes, woman!”

Carla tries to shush him but hearing the whole sorry situation explained so simply makes her feel lighter, as if the way she feels isn’t so ridiculous after all.

“Is that your TED Talk finished now?” she drawls after a beat. “Because, really, I have things to do.”

Ryan sighs and shakes his head but, mercifully, he takes the hint.

“Fine,” he huffs, getting to his feet. “But just…remember who you are, yeah?”

Carla tuts at him but, deep down, she’s touched. And, she thinks, he probably has a point.

Only once Ryan has left, though, does Carla reach into her desk drawer and pull out the framed photo she’s kept hidden away there for years now.

It was taken nearly two decades ago, on the night that Carla had surprised her first husband, Paul, at the factory. The photo is full of familiar faces; there’s Fizz and Sean and Sally, all looking considerably younger than they do in present day.

There’s Michelle, pulling tongues, and Hayley, with those kind eyes that still make Carla’s heart ache.

And there, sandwiched - front and centre - between Paul and Liam, is Carla.

She’s beaming at the camera, remembers Liam - as he often did - telling her a joke just before the photo was taken. Her hair is box-dye black and with her big, silver hoops and questionable fake tan, Carla barely recognises herself.

If only she’d known back then what was to come.

If only she’d known she would lose Paul and then Liam and then Hayley, that she’d have her heart broken so many times it’s a wonder it’s still beating.

How could she have expected to survive all of that? To come out of the other side even stronger?

But she had. She did.

Because she’s Carla fucking Connor.

And perhaps, she thinks, it’s about time she started showing it.

— — —

Fear is a funny thing.

In her life, Carla has been scared of so many things.

As a kid, it was the dark. Then, as a teenager, it had been aeroplanes.

These days, she was petrified of spiders, clowns and the taxman - though not necessarily in that order.

But sometimes facing those fears makes you feel braver, bolder; as if, really, the only thing to fear is fear itself.

So, as she lets herself into the flat, Carla feels a strange sense of calm wash over her.

Even when Lisa appears, her shirt - Carla’s shirt - gaping open, Carla thinks she has never felt so fearless.

“Oh, sorry,” the blonde says, fiddling with her buttons. “I’m just getting dressed. I’m back to factory settings, thanks to you.”

‘Remember who you are’, Carla thinks.

‘You’re Carla fucking Connor.’ .

And so…

“Don’t.”

Lisa turns to her, grey eyes wide and unblinking. “Don’t what?”

(‘Remember who you are.’)

(‘You’re Carla fucking Connor.’ )

“Don’t get dressed.”

And then Carla kisses her.

And, suddenly, she remembers who she is.