“No no Joey, I got a headache!”
Jo fully stuck her tongue out and pulled her dress over her head, “You're no fun Bird! Come on, everyone else is comin'! Coach and Bev are comin' after their meeting, the whole team hasn't been out together in forever!”
Stood in the locker room, they'd been training hard from their next game against the Blue Sox. It had muggy, the air thick, and when Ruth had suggested going out, the whole team had practically cheered in agreement. Well, nearly the whole team.
“Yeah, well it's not happening today either,” Greta stuck out her tongue right back, rolling her eyes as she packed away her things, “Must be the pressure from this storm, my head is pounding. I'm getting an early night.”
“Alright. Get home safe ya hear?” Esti appeared next to Jo, pulling at her shoulder and excitedly speaking in Spanish, clearly eager to leave, “And can you take my bat back, I don't wanna lug it to the bar.”
“Of course. Don't have too much fun without me!”
The first crack of thunder woke Greta with a start. As her eyes flickered open, she became aware of rain beating against her windows, and the smell of the dust filtering in through her open window. A smile crept onto her unpainted lips.
She adored thunderstorms.
The adrenaline of the cacophony. The rumble that penetrated through to her bones. The artwork of lightening splitting the skies. New York had had it's fair share in her youth, and their charm had never dulled.
Stretching long arms up above her head, blinking the last of her nap from her eyes, Greta swung her legs out of bed and glanced at the small clock Jess kept next to her bed. 8pm. Not as late as she thought. The cloud cover must've darkened her unlit room earlier than the coming night would have.
Her short post-training nap had done wonders to clear the dull throb beneath her eyes, and now, as she wrapped a silk robe around her shoulders, Greta only wanted one thing. As another flash lit up her room, immediately followed by the deep rumble of thunder, she knew Joey – at whatever bar the Peaches had ended up – would be craving the same. A simple cup of tea.
It was a tradition they'd started way way back in Brooklyn, after they'd both been caught out by the rain coming home from playing one Spring afternoon. Joey's Grandma – still loving and kind at that point – had given them cookies and tea to warm them back up, and ever since, at the first sign of lightening, a pot of water went on and the tiny caddy of tea leaves that Greta kept came out.
Softly padding her way across the room, she wondered how her friends' night was going. If it was worth a trip through the deluge for a couple of hours of dancing and drinking. Plus, Carson hardly ever agreed to come out on group outings these days, always working so hard on strategies and her game cards. In the two weeks since Kenosha, they'd barely had a moment alone, and even though Carson was clearly craving every touch just as much as Greta, she couldn't be dragged away from her new responsibilities.
Even in the car, or tucked away in one the endless safer places they had discovered together, Carson so rarely let herself relax until Greta forced the issue – with lips and fingers... and occasionally teeth.
Alone in her room, Greta did nothing to shield the smile that curled onto her face unbidden, nor the way a shiver crept up her spine thinking of those moments. Ever since the convent, Carson had really leaned into her confidence, her hands and kisses bolder than they had ever been. The trail of purple blooms on her inner thigh throbbed in testament to the fact. Greta was delighted of course, even if the worry at the brunette's occasional complete disregard for the Rules always teetered on the edge of full blown panic.
Greta knelt to rummage in her suitcase, a triumphant 'aha!' drowned out by another peal of thunder when her fingers curled around the tiny box of tea. Success.
Rising again, her prize clutched to her chest, Greta softly padded out her room, enjoying feeling the rumble of the storm against her bare feet on the hardwood floor. Pulling open her door, and making her way onto the landing, Greta was about the turn onto the staircase when a small noise made her pause.
She wasn't sure, because the storm was still roaring right about the house, but it sounded like... crying?
Auburn curls bounced as she whipped her head around, eyebrows furrowing as she listened carefully for anything beyond the weather's onslaught. It wasn't another noise that caught her attention first however, but the thin sliver of soft warm light coming from beneath one of the bedroom doors.
Carson and Shirley's bedroom.
The storm had probably upset Shirley's delicate constitution. It had upset Greta's after all. Sighing, knowing that an evening with Shirley would be decidedly less peaceful, but still feeling obligated to check on her friend and teammate, Greta approached the door and gave it a gentle knock.
“Hey Shirl, you okay?”
“Greta?”
The voice that came shakily through the door was not that of the New Yorker Greta had expected.
“Carson?”
There was another flash of light and crash of noise to punctuate the moment, and the tiny yelp that Greta heard was enough to send her rushing into the room. Carson's eyes were wide in the low light thrown off by her bedside lamp, and Greta's heart seized in her chest to see the brunette bundled in a blanket in her bed, wearing it almost like a cloak, her cheeks wet and puffy from tears.
“Oh honey,” the taller woman breathed out, approaching the bed and reaching out toward Carson. Taking a seat beside her, she pulled her into her arms, “What are you doing here?”
Greta felt some of the tension drop out of Carson's shoulders as she felt the catcher tuck herself beneath her chin, the blanket tickling against her jawline, and circle her arms around her waist.
“I... it's so stupid Greta, don't worry_”
A gentle kiss stopped Carson's self flagellation in its tracks, Greta barely pulling away after to nuzzle against her nose, “Ah ah. Nope. Tell me.”
“It's the storm.”
“You don't like them?”
“Not really,” she deflected away from giving a real answer, voice stuttering nervously, which didn't escape Greta's notice. Despite her eyebrow curving up in question, she didn't press for now, and allowed Carson to redirect the conversation, “Why aren't you at the bar with everyone?”
“Got a headache at the end of training today,” Greta pressed a kiss to the crown of Carson's head, glad there was no lipstick to mark the cream blanket she wore, “Came home to sleep it off.” Despite her worry, warmth curled in Greta's chest when she felt the other woman press cold lips to the smooth skin of her neck, lingering on her pulse point, which fluttered under the attention.
Pity the full body flinch that followed when the storm reminded them both of it's presence with a another flash and rumble.
“Carson...”
“It's fine, really!” she pulled away, using the edge of the blanket to scrub at her cheeks and nose, refusing to divulge any further about her upset, “Are you feeling better now? And what's with that little box? Makeup?”
“Tea actually. Want a cup with me?”
Five minutes later, Greta found herself stood at the stove watching a pan slowly come to a boil, as Carson sat at the table a few feet away, still wrapped – somewhat adorably – in her blanket cloak.
“So.”
“So..?”
“What's got you so riled up honey?” Greta doesn't turn, keeping her eyes fixed on the bubbles forming on the bottom of the pan, allowing Carson some privacy in the quiet of their house.
“It's just... God it feels so dumb. I'm a fully grown woman.”
“You don't have to tell me anything if you don't want to Shaw,” Greta turns at that, smiling when she catches her catcher's eye, “I'm here if you want to though.”
Carson sighed, and does that sad half-smile that she sometimes did when Lupe argues back, or when the male coaches speak over or through her before games, “The easy answer is, I really hate them The noise is so scary. I've always, always hated them. But really... it's my Mom.”
Greta thought back to that night training session in the field, to hushed admissions and shellfish and that moment she was sure Carson would kiss her again before Joey had slammed between them. She knew Carson's mother had been gone since she was just a child.
“She left after a huge storm back home. I was up all night, they've always scared me to death. That storm last hours and hours, and when I went to see if Mom was awake in the morning, she'd just gone. It was like, the thing I hated the most had taken away the person who loved me the most? I don't know, I was just a kid.”
“Also they're still so scary Greta, like so scary,” she attempted to bring some levity to the situation, clearly feeling vulnerable at her admission. She laughed softly, eyes falling to examine her nails awkwardly “I know it's ridiculous now. It just still makes me sad sometimes.”
Greta left her place at the stove, tea forgotten as she knelt beside Carson. Her fingers landed on her chin, gently guiding the brunette's gaze to catch hers again. The world seemed to stop, the rain quietened to nothing, and even the storm paused in reverence as Greta leaned in and caught Carson in a soft kiss.
“It's okay to feel things... I think,” they both shared a smile, still leaning close enough to share the same breath, remembering when Carson had found a crying Greta what felt so long ago, “Being a little afraid of a thunderstorm doesn't mean you're not one of the strongest people I know.”
Carson kissed her then, hard and wordlessly and let her hands curl into the silk of Greta's nightgown, sliding up to take their familiar spot cupped along a strong jaw, fingers brushing into red hair. Not even a final, quietening rumble could distract them, as they found a tiny moment of peace within the eye of the storm. It was a few minutes before Carson hummed contently, and Greta stood up, rubbing one knee where numbness had kicked in.
“Come on Coach, let's get this tea brewed. I think we should stop by the garage, maybe we can make some nicer memories to go with a storm, huh?”
“I'd really like that.”