Hi :). Some of you may remember me from my old account. Long story short, someone logged into my account and deleted all of my stories, most of which focused on Liarla/Carter, and some of which I plan to edit and re-upload, as I think I started writing them when I was about fourteen and I'm still pretty proud of them. It's kind of a blessing, in a way, as it gives me a chance to re-invent my account. And part of that re-invention was meant to be steering away from Corrie and Carla, so I started writing a Grey's Anatomy fanfic. The trouble is, Grey's is the kind of show that I can dip in and out of. Unfortunately, I can't seem to do that with Corrie, and Carla in particular. Her past and her mannerisms and everything she's been through intrigue me, and she's such an amazing character that I can really get my teeth into and have fun writing about.

I don't really know where this fic is going, so bear with me, guys. I'm also a uni student and have a job, so my updates won't be particularly frequent. I'd say the best thing to do would be to follow my stories, because updates will be quite random.

Also, please review, as I really appreciate knowing your ideas and what I could do to improve. I write for myself, so I may not be able to take every idea on board, but I also write for you guys, so it's important to me to know what your views are.

Thank you, and I hope you enjoy this.

It's Her

Shrugging his leather jacket off his shoulders – he'd taken to wearing it again recently, as it reminded him of some of the brightest times of his life – Peter couldn't help but note the silence that fell over his family members in the adjoining living room. He sighed. They had been second-guessing him since the day he'd returned to the street that he had called home for so many years. He knew that his dad was worried that he'd turned back to the source – Peter wished that he could tell him that his situation was quite the opposite. He'd been dry for well over a year, and he was happy. But then he'd have to explain why he had been being so distant since his return, and why he was sneaking out every so often to take phone calls left, right and centre. And he'd promised her that he'd keep her a secret. For the time being, at least. So as he strolled through to the living room and forced a smile as all eyes immediately turned on him, he kept his lips well and truly zipped.

"Hello, stranger…" his stepsister Tracy muttered, leaning back in her seat at the dining room table and crossing one slim leg over the other, "Out on another of your mysterious walks?"

"Yeah, I was. I had to take a phone call so I just wandered down to the Red Rec and back, thought I'd get some air in my lungs," he responded. It wasn't actually a lie, but Tracy scoffed, regardless.

"Now there's a shock."

"Would you rather I asked your permission next time, Lady Jane?" Peter snapped, his pretend smile dropping to a frown, not drawing his eyes from Tracy's suspicious expression.

"Not at all." She suddenly smirked. "But when you pop out again, tell the bloke who runs the offy that we send our regards, won't you?"

"Tracy…" Peter's father Ken warned, narrowing his eyes at his stepdaughter. As concerned as he was for his son's welfare, he knew that pressing him for information would merely tip him over the edge.

"Wind your neck in, Tracy. Just because your life is all work and no play, back off mine." At this comment, Peter's nephew Adam, who was occupying the second seat at the table, raised an eyebrow in curiosity. Although he was young and had only been living with the family a few weeks, he'd been close to his uncle for years and could tell when he was keeping closely guarded secrets.

"'Ey up, you haven't got yourself a bird down south, have you?" he teased, light-heartedly, shooting Peter an obvious wink. "You always act all dark and mysterious when you've got a new missus on the scene." Tracy's eyes lit up.

"Well, praise the Lord. Does this mean you've finally gotten over Miss Lace Bra and No Knickers?" she practically sung. There was no love lost between Tracy and Carla, Peter's ex-wife. Particularly since Carla had destroyed her last relationship by toppling into bed with the love of Tracy's life.

"Don't call her that," Peter snapped, narrowing his eyes at his sister, who raised her hands in surrender. "You want to know why I like to take a walk every now and then? To get myself out of this prison for five minutes." Annoyed, Peter turned sharply on his heel and stormed upstairs into the privacy of his bedroom – or, at least, the bedroom that he currently shared with his nephew. Slamming the door shut behind him, he sat down on his bed and cursed himself for the teenage temper tantrum that he had just thrown. It was no wonder why his thirteen-year-old son, Simon, was the way he was. Peter sighed, leaning back on the bed and allowing his eyes to fall shut, trying to lose himself in his thoughts. It had been just over two months that his world had changed for the better. Two blissful months that he could never have dreamed would have happened. Interrupting his happy reminiscence, his phone chirped, his text tone piercing the silence. Rolling over onto one side, he glanced down at the screen, which was glaring up at him. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

'It'll be okay. Just hang on in there. I'll be with you tomorrow xxx'.

He sucked in a deep breath as he adjusted his position to return to his thinking pose once again. Tomorrow. If he had told himself six months ago that she would be moving back to Manchester to be with him, Peter Barlow, a bigamist, alcoholic and a love rat who worked as a taxi driver and lived with his dad, he'd have called himself a dreamer and laughed at his wishful thinking. But it was true, it was really happening. In twenty-four hours' time, he would have her in his arms once again, and that was so much more than he deserved.

Meanwhile, she was curled up in her own bed, the seaside breeze wafting dreamily into her bedroom through the partially-opened window. Although it sent a chill through her body, she wanted to be able to remember the scent of the hint of salt when she returned to her former home, where the air was polluted with gas and car fumes. When she considered it in that way, she wondered if she'd regret leaving the new, cushy little life that she'd formed for herself. But then she'd roll onto her side to sleep and be attacked by the pang of sadness in her chest at the lack of Peter's warmth, missing how safe she felt when his arms were wrapped around her small frame as she slept. She was doing this to be with him. She honestly had no idea how the next few months would pan out, let alone the rest of her life. It was easy enough to trust him when they were confined to her little home, where they'd spent most of their days in each other's presence, but things would be different back in Weatherfield. Sure, they would be surrounded by their families and closest friends, but they would also have to see the faces of the people who had poisoned their relationship the first time around, day in and day out. She worried that the trust and loyalty which had developed over the last couple of months would not be able to withstand the brutality of Weatherfield a second time. But, regardless, tomorrow was the big day. If she didn't leave now, she feared she never would. Her apprehensive thoughts were shocked back to the present day as her phone buzzed on her bedside table, and she leant over eagerly to read Peter's reply:

'Tomorrow couldn't come quick enough. It's killing me, being here without you. I miss you xxx'.

She smiled, and squeezed her eyes shut. Tomorrow was going to be the start of the rest of their lives.