Hello :)

I was planning to focus on the two fics that I've got going, but I also couldn't resist getting this one out for Christmas! Carla and Peter, and the storyline that really wouldn't surprise me.

I'm not sure how long this is going to be at this stage, I suppose it will depend on whether people are reading and enjoying it. Reviews are like chocolate, and they let me know if you want me to carry on!

No Covid here. There's enough of that in the world without it spilling into ficland.

Happy Christmas! :)

Two Little Lines

The oversized, over-decorated Christmas tree twinkled merrily in the dark in the Rovers Return back room, some cheerful Christmas song playing softly from the kitchen, filling the silence. Carla Connor sat at the dining table staring at the closed living room in front of her, deep in thought. She wasn't entirely sure what time it was but presumed that it was still the fairly early hours of the morning, as the sun had yet to slip through the gap between the living room curtains. A mug of coffee was set on the table but had long since gone ice cold. Next to it was a small white paper bag emblazoned with the logo for Weatherfield's chemist.

Christmas Day had crept up on her far too quickly. Carla had developed a habit over the years of checking the calendar that hung on her bedroom wall on a daily basis, but she'd faltered since having to move out of the pub and back into Roy's spare room. It was like her world had crumbled apart in the space of a few weeks. Peter and Simon had gone to stay with his family for the night, meaning Carla had been able to give Roy and Nina some space and head back to be with Johnny for Christmas, and had also had the opportunity to check that calendar, along with its' colour-coding and crossed off days. And that's the moment when a fateful realisation had started to set in and a large lump had formed in her throat. As she heard heavy footsteps slowly making their way down the stairs, Carla grabbed the paper bag and stuffed it into her lap underneath the table. The living room door creaked opened, and Johnny, dressed in his blue dressing gown, jumped in surprise when he realised that he wasn't the first in the household awake.

"Jesus, Carla, are you trying to give me a heart attack?!" he laughed, flicking on the switch for the overhead light. Carla squinted as her eyes tried to adjust to being in a lit room. "I didn't think you'd be up yet. What are you doing sitting in the dark?" Carla shrugged.

"I don't know. Couldn't sleep, didn't want to wake you and Jenny up. What time is it?" she asked, looking around the room for a clock.

"Six thirty. Merry Christmas anyway, love." Johnny shot her a heartfelt smile as he made his way over to her and gave her a one-armed hug as she remained sat at the table.

"Merry Christmas…" Carla murmured, clutching tightly onto the paper bag as Johnny came closer, its' presence in her lap feeling as though it were burning her thighs. Johnny was instantly able to sense his daughter's tension, and he frowned as he took a step back from her, studying her distracted expression intently.

"What's up?" he asked, concerned. Carla shook herself and forced a smile back at him.

"Nothing. Just tired," she insisted. Johnny continued to watch her for a few seconds as she looked away from him again.

"Shall I make you a coffee?"

"I've got one, thanks."

"Buck's Fizz, then? It's Christmas morning after all." Johnny didn't wait for her answer as he headed into the kitchen and set out two champagne glasses on the counter before beginning to rummage through the bottles of wine in the cupboard. Carla opened her mouth, but seemed to struggle to get an excuse out.

"No, I- I can't," she stammered, again becoming conscious of the paper bag that she was still clinging on to.

"Why not? You've changed your meds now, haven't you?" Johnny obliviously continued to pour out the first glass.

"Yeah, but I might have to drive." He stopped what he was doing and turned back to face her, his brows furrowed.

"On Christmas Day?" Carla shrugged, unable to meet his eyes as she formulated a story in her mind.

"Yeah, well… It's Peter, isn't it? Christmas has always been a difficult day for him, and if he decides to look for answers in the bottom of a bottle of Scotch, I might need to be there for him…"

"Carla, he's got Ken and Simon and Tracy, he's not your problem."

"He is my problem, it's my fault he's in such a state!" Carla snapped. She strategically shoved the paper bag up her jumper and folded her arms across her chest, before scraping her chair backwards across the floor.

"Carla-"

"Just drop it, Johnny!" she hissed, keeping a firm grip on the bottom of her jumper as she stormed out of the room and closed the door firmly behind her, leaving Johnny staring at the closed door in confusion. She pressed her back up against the other side of it and took a measured breath, removing the paper back from her jumper and turning it over in her hands, deciding that an answer either way would be better than the not knowing.

Carla propped herself up against the bathroom sink, the two minutes in front of her stretched out like the longest sentence in the world. She caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and almost visibly shuddered at the dark circles framing her eyes and her cracked, pale skin. She had barely slept the night before; really, she'd barely slept since the incident with Adam had blown her life to pieces. Never had she felt her chest laden with so much guilt, which hadn't eased when the truth had been outed. In fact, it was worse for her now to see Peter, the love of her life, drinking himself to an early death in the middle of the street. She'd tried her hardest to put some distance between them, but her stomach lurched every time she'd heard Ken and Daniel hunting around for him in the early hours of the freezing cold winter mornings. She was killing him. Since he'd found out the truth, Peter felt as though he had nothing to live for.

Carla gulped down the emotional lump that seemed to have formed in her throat. She forced herself to look down at the test that she was clutching in her hand. Staring back at her were two little lines that would completely change her life.

Carla sheepishly padded back through to the living room and hovered behind Johnny, who was busy frying bacon and mixing scrambled eggs for the family's breakfast. Her stomach churned as the smell hit her nostrils, and she stared down at the floor to try to fight the nausea that was making her head spin.

"I just… Wanted to let you know that I'm not feeling great so might go and lie down for a bit upstairs," she mumbled, rubbing small circles against her stomach to settle it, trying not to think about what was inside and causing the problem. Johnny turned to her and frowned again, his face etched with concern.

"You don't look so clever," he observed, and Carla smiled faintly.

"Charming."

"If there's something bothering you, love, you can tell me. Jenny will still be out for the count for a while yet. Is it Peter?" Carla hesitated. It was times like this that made her really miss having Michelle so close. She knew that she needed to speak to somebody about what was going on inside her head – and her body – but was lacking in the friendship department of late. She sighed.

"Okay. I'm only coming to you because 'Chelle's not here, Suzie's in a different timezone and Roy would give me his best disapproving look over something like this. You, on the other hand, definitely can't cast the first stone." Reluctantly, and still clutching her stomach, she slid back into the chair at the dining table. "And can you please turn that bacon off? It's making me feel sick to my stomach." Johnny did as she'd asked and moved to join her. When she still didn't look at him, he reached across the table for her hand.

"Carla…" He gave her hand a small squeeze in reassurance. "What is it, love?" Carla took a deep breath and slowly raised her head to meet his eyes.

"… Johnny, I'm pregnant," she murmured, her voice barely louder than a whisper, saying the words out loud suddenly making the whole thing seem real. Johnny fell silent for a moment and sat back in his seat.

"Wow," he breathed, the concept of becoming a grandfather again making him want to burst into song. He tried to hide his glee, however, as he could tell that Carla's emotions were more conflicted. "Is it Peter's, or…?" Carla sighed.

"I don't know."

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know that either, I've only just found out…" She took a deep breath, staring down at the table as she began to ramble aloud all of the worries that had been eating away at her since the suspicion had set in the previous afternoon. "Me and Peter mentioned it a couple of times, just in passing. It was something I regretted, not having a kid when I was young and settled, but I wouldn't have been ready for it then. And now… I was too scared to try again, too scared of something going wrong. When I lost my baby girl, I thought it was the universe's way of telling me I'd be a terrible mum. I mean, look at what I came from. What if that's a genetic trait?"

"It isn't," Johnny replied, soothingly, "I was a rubbish dad at times, but I guarantee that Aidan would have been an amazing one if he were still here."

"You were a great dad – to the kids you didn't abandon, at least," Carla teased, shooting him a small smile in spite of her words. They both knew that Carla liked to make light of difficult situations – the past was firmly in the past as far as their relationship was concerned, and Carla was grateful for the way that Johnny had stepped up as a father over the last couple of years when she'd really hit rock-bottom. "I had Peter by my side last time. Well, at first I did, anyway. This time I'd know I was going into it alone, and I don't know if I'd be capable of that."

"You wouldn't be alone. You've got me, and Jenny. We're not going anywhere. And I guarantee Michelle would be back here in a heartbeat at the mention of a new baby on the scene."

"Are you kidding? Michelle would be fuming with me. I told her about Adam over Skype and thought my laptop was going to explode with the look she gave me."

"We've all done stupid things. I'm the flamin' master of them…" Johnny trailed off, again studying his daughter's worried, nervous expression. "What's your gut telling you to do?"

"Run." Carla snorted. "Do a disappearing act to L.A. Bury my head in the sand. Now that is a genetic trait."

"You need to talk to Peter."

"Not today though, 'ey? I don't want to push him over the edge."

"And I don't want this to push you over the edge," Johnny admitted. "Come here." He moved over to Carla's side of the table and, as she rose to her feet, he engulfed her in a tight hug. "Congratulations. You'd better not have bothered getting me a Christmas present, though, because nothing's going to top this." Despite the situation that she found herself in, and all of the worries and the heartache that she was about to cause, Carla smiled.

"Happy Christmas, Grandad."