Carson lazes on the sofa on the back porch, grateful that everyone has left to go to a movie, grateful that Greta had accepted the excuse of a headache and had followed the team out the door, laughing as she herded and teased, sending a quizzical stare and a raised eyebrow back in Carson's direction as she shut the door behind her.
She revels in the silence and the late afternoon sun, considers that this might be the first moment she's had fully to herself, the first moment to try to catch the breath she's been holding since the moment she locked eyes with Greta.
There is warmth, with her husband, like dappled sunlight - cheery patches that feel easy, safe. She knows what she's getting, has had years of practice navigating the shadows, and if she's been cold from time to time, that's par for the course.
She shifts, steering her brain firmly away from all the nights she'd stayed awake dreaming of fields and green grass and cheers and hands that gripped hers, hard, before pushing her to walk a path she'd chosen for herself.
With Greta, it's lying together in the middle of a field at midnight. It's the way they stare at each other as they talk, pretending that they're having a conversation while they're having a completely different one with their eyes. It's the electric heat that forms under her skin when Greta's eyes drift over her lips, a flickering intent at the back of her gaze that Carson has to lean closer to catch.
It's the same heat that she feels when she stands at bat, the warmth from the sun-beaten dirt grounding her, the buzz from the crowd sending zings up her spine… and one look from Greta settling low in her stomach, keeping her steady and setting her on fire in the same moment.
There is something happening here that she doesn't know how to deal with, can't seem to step away from any more than she knows how to step toward it, but it's drawing her in all the same. She can't resist the language the two of them seem to be creating, can't resist the way she can make a genuine smile break through the constant act Greta has going, is infuriated and compelled by the way Greta keeps putting her finger on who she is, even when she doesn't know herself.
There's heat here that is dangerous and enticing and god, she doesn't know if it's going to burn her up and she thinks that actually she might want it to. It occurs to her that perhaps she's not being burned so much as revealed, and she doesn't know what to do about that, either.
Either way, she's caught up and turned inside out and yet so utterly where she wants to be that it scares her and soothes her and keeps her stepping closer even while she's trying to hide.
"Hey, sleepy."
She blinks up at Greta, standing in the shadows of the porch.
"You're back." It comes out sounding like anyone else would say it's Christmas and she immediately rubs her eyes, clears her throat to remove the wonder and the delight, and tries again. "Uh, how was the movie?"
"Movie-like." Greta moves to sit beside her on the sofa, and she catches the tail-end of a smirk. "Anything on your mind, Shaw?"
They both know very well what's on her mind and the fact that they both know it makes her pulse jump and her hands clutch together nervously.
"No?" She offers this as a question and immediately regrets it.
"You sound like that might be up for debate." Greta leans forward, props her chin in her hand like she's about to confess a secret.
She eases back to curb the sudden impulse to touch her fingers to the inside of Greta's wrist, to trail her hand down her arm.
"No, no thoughts here." She watches Greta watching her and is relieved to find that at the very least that statement is true, especially when mischiefs starts to show up at the back of Greta's gaze.
"Well then, can I hypothesise what thoughts you might have on your mind, if you did happen to have thoughts on your mind?"
She feels like she might be about to faint, but narrows her stare to match Greta's, anyway. "Sure."
"I think that you were thinking that wouldn't it be nice if we took a walk to the park after dinner. If your headache is better, of course."
She knows they're both acutely aware of the invisible line, knows Greta is following the rules she's asked for and can't help stepping right up to that line, anyway. "Just us?"
She watches the warmth and pleasure spread over Greta's face before she hides it with a cocky wink. "Just us, Shaw."
She holds out a hand. "In that case, my headache is better."