Chapter Text
Chapter One
Greta’s day starts off as it usually does.
She wakes up with the sun, rolling in bed just enough to make Carson laugh, smiling with her eyes still closed at the sound of her love’s happiness.
They’re finally sharing a room. It’s dangerous, it’s risky, but no more risky than sneaking into each other’s room like they used to do sometimes last season.
Jess was the one who spoke to Beverly, saying something about wanting to spend more time with other teammates, and Lupe oh-so-helpfully interjected and lied about Carson and Greta always having been sort of uncertain in their friendship.
So of course, Sarge being Sarge and all that, she’d made sure to place them in the same room to foster a healthy, albeit forced, kinship.
“You two seem to have a lot in common.” Beverly had told the both of them when she’d approached them to communicate the news. “It surprised me to hear what I heard from Ms. Garcia.”
Greta had kept her composure. Much better than Carson had, anyway, and her triumphant grin that had split her features as soon as Sarge had turned away.
And so, three weeks into the new season’s practice, now here they stand.
Sharing a room, a bed , every night.
Risky, but oh-so-perfect.
“I still can’t believe you are not a morning person.” Carson teases, already half dressed, much to Greta’s disappointment.
She rolls on her stomach, propping herself on one elbow, the cascade of red hair coming to rest on one shoulder.
“And I can’t believe you are always up so early.” Greta comments. “But I guess I should’ve expected it from a farm girl.”
Carson doesn’t even hesitate, grabbing the pillow from the bed she most definitely has not slept on, and chucking it with deadly accurate precision to Greta’s face.
Greta sees is coming -she would be a terrible choice for a ball player if she didn’t- but she’s far from being awake enough to catch it.
The pillow hits her square in the face, causing her to grunt in surprise and Carson to quite literally start howling in laughter.
Greta huffs, finally sitting up on the bed, the sheets falling off her half naked body.
Carson chokes on her own laughter and instinctively takes a step forward.
“Uh.”
Greta raises an eyebrow at Carson.
“Oh, you think you can hit me like that and then benefit from all this?”
Carson blinks a couple times, shakes her head and clears her voice.
“Yes. It’s, uh, the rules.”
Greta presses her lips together, trying to contain a smile. She does not move, but observes as Carson does, taking another step closer.
“The rules?” Greta echoes. “What rules, Coach?”
“The rules established by the, the... the All-American League. That, uh… They say that as a, a Coach. Catcher. As a, uh, Coach Catcher I can… Catch. Stuff.”
Greta openly laughs at that.
No one would have ever been able to throw a pillow to her face and survived to tell the tale, but Carson isn’t just no one.
So not only Greta lets her live, just this time, just this once, but she also lets Carson push her down on the bed again.
She lets herself be kissed, and touched by those curious and eager hands.
“We’re going to be late for breakfast, Coach Catcher.” Greta whispers, her perfectly manicured nails already drawing patterns on the back of Carson’s neck.
“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Carson murmurs, lips moving south. “I’m about to have my breakfast like, now.”
Greta presses a hand over her mouth, and Carson maintains her promise.
***
“I was thinking…” Carson starts, readjusting her dress.
“That is always dangerous.” Greta interjects with a smile, focusing on the mirror on her vanity to begin her makeup routine.
“Shut it, Gill.” Carson laughs, combing her fingers through her hair.
Greta makes a mental note to actually talk her into buying a proper brush.
“Maybe… You know, things have quieted down. Maybe you and I could go back to that pizza place.”
Greta’s hand hovers in mid air, lipstick open but not touching.
She knows what’s coming.
“You know…” Carson continues, looking everywhere in the room but towards Greta. “Like, a date. Or something.”
This is not the first time they’re having this conversation. Or at least, not the first time Carson has tried to bring it up. Greta has always managed to steer the conversation away before the request could fully make its way out of Carson’s mouth, but this time…
There’s a long moment of silence. Greta can hear her teammates moving about in the house, and for a moment she considers ignoring the request and pretending it isn’t happening.
But it is, and Carson is waiting, expectantly. Hopeful, maybe.
Greta hates hurting her. She can’t stand the look of disappointment on that beautiful face, but she can’t…
She still wakes up in cold sweats because of Dana. Because of Jo. Because of that night at the bar.
“Carson.”
Carson visibly swallows, and their eyes meet in the reflection of the mirror.
“I can’t.”
Carson’s shoulders drop a bit, the tension and the nervousness making room to the disappointment. Her crushed hopes are very clear on her face, and Greta hates herself for it.
“Right.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
Her answers are clipped, and if Greta didn’t know any better, she would believe Carson is already recovering.
But she does know better. She knows Carson like she has known very few people in her life, and she knows she’s just broken her heart a little.
“I’m sorry.” Greta repeats.
Carson shrugs and smiles one of her little smiles, then jerks with her head towards the door.
“I’m going to… Go. I’m, I’m gonna go.”
Greta turns to look at her.
“Carson.” she calls out, but Carson shrugs again and leaves the room.
Greta leans back on her chair, pressing her palms on her eyes and taking a deep, long breath.
***
It’s their little corner of heaven, their safe space, to be in that little room.
Because once they’re out of it, they both go their different directions. As loving and affectionate as they are within those four walls, and as understanding and encouraging as their teammates are, they can’t risk it.
Carson is way more careless than she is, but Greta isn’t about to repeat a Jo. Or worse, a Dana.
So Carson leaves to rally up the troupes for practice, and Greta forfeits her actual breakfast to make sure she can get ready on time.
They’re usually better at this, at keeping their sexcapades at suitable times, but it has already happened twice since the beginning of the season.
Greta can’t complain, but whereas Carson can eat like an elephant or not eat at all on any given day and be okay with it, Greta usually needs her meals to be on a set schedule.
As she grabs the bag and her mit to head out the door, she grimaces as she feels some of the weakness settling in her bones.
They have four hours until lunch time.
Greta takes a deep breath, plasters a smile on her face and follows the team outside.
***
They all immediately realize today is going to be a hell of a day.
Temperatures have not dropped for a solid week and a half, and the heat would be nearly impossible to sustain if they were in their swimsuits, let alone with their full gear on.
“This is fucking ridiculous.” Jess growls from the dugout.
“Never this hot, in Canada?” Maybelle asks, basking in the sun as if she was made for it. Jess simply grunts in response, and Greta can’t blame her.
She did grow up in the sun, and she is still finding it hard to breathe, to focus.
“Gill, your turn!” Carson calls out from the field. She’s having the worst of all of them, with the mask, throat and shin covers and her chest protector on top of her uniform. Greta can see a visible layer of sweat as Carson temporarily removes the mask to wipe at her brows.
“Doing okay?” she asks her, quietly, squinting in the sun as she settles with the bat firmly between her fingers. The conversation from earlier that morning is still fresh in Greta’s mind, and she hates not being able to settle things properly.
Carson sighs and nods, crouching back down into position.
“Just hot.” it’s her curt reply, which makes Greta force out a sly grin.
“Yeah, you are.” she murmurs back, and Carson sputters and loses her balance, falling back on her ass.
“Alright, Gill!” Lupe screams from the mound. “We don’t have all day, and I can feel sweat in places I’d rather not mention out loud.”
“Garcia!” Beverly admonishes, albeit weakly, from the dugout.
“Yeah, yeah.” Lupe mutters, gesturing for Greta to get ready.
Even she has had a few shit throws, today. The heat is catching up to everyone, but the worse her pitching gets, the more Lupe gets in her head about it.
Greta licks her lips, too dry under her lipstick, and takes a deep breath. The hot air is almost suffocating.
There’s a light breeze that comes to tickle at her sweaty skin, and Greta nearly closes her eyes in relief.
Nearly, but it’s enough to do the trick.
Because Lupe’s fingers slip on the ball, either too sweaty or too loose, and the trajectory changes.
And Greta isn’t awake enough, ready enough, strong enough to realize it’s happening until, well… It’s happening.
The ball slams, full force, right on her forehead.
Greta faintly hears Carson’s horrified gasp, and her name being called out in worry, and then everything goes black.
***
“Greta?”
“Gill, shit , I’m so sorry, man.”
The world is spinning behind her eyelids. Greta isn’t sure she’s even alive, the thrumming in her head is so strong and so painful, she wishes she could go back to being fucking unconscious, right now.
“Gill, can you hear us?”
“The ball totally slipped, I lost control…”
There are lots of voices. Familiar voices, really. She’s pretty sure both Lupe and Sarge are trying to talk to her, but she just wants to lay there for a bit longer. Just a second, to gather her wits…
“Greta, babe , please tell me you’re okay?”
It’s horror, more than anything else, that makes her eyes snap open.
Carson stares down at her with worry and fear, the same that is probably reflected on Greta’s face at hearing the pet name she’s just been addressed with.
“W-What…?”
“Gill, I am so sorry-”
“Guys, holy shit, can you please back off?” Carson finally snaps, gaze moving away from Greta’s face so that she can address the rest of the team. “Give her some breathing room, jeez.”
Carson has always been foulmouthed. That’s never been a surprise to Greta.
What does surprise her, however, is how absolutely carefree she is in front of Sarge .
“Carson.” Greta stutters, still shocked by everything that is happening, but grateful when the multiple bodies around her move a few steps away.
“Greta? Hey. I’m here, it’s okay. Are you okay?”
Greta blinks, taking in Carson’s worry and the way she’s nervously chewing at her lips. Greta could’ve sworn there was red lipstick on them before, but now they look barren and clean. Just like Greta likes them.
Maybe the sweat and the constant licking them in the heat has wiped them clean.
“Baby?” There it is, again. “Please say something, you’re starting to worry me.”
“Stop.” Greta exhales. “You… Stop calling me that. You-You know how dangerous it is.”
Carson visibly relaxes in hearing her talk, before her forehead scrunches up in confusion.
“Stop calling you… Wait, what?”
“Shaw, is Ms. Gill alive or do we need to call someone?” Sarge’s voice comes from a few feet away, and Greta closes her eyes, pressing her palms over her eyelids to try and stave off the growing, pounding headache.
“Uhm, she’s fine, I think. Not fine enough to continue practice, but… Alive.” comes the response from Carson.
Greta feels the weight of Carson’s hand slipping into hers, her clammy fingers squeezing just slightly as Carson pulls upwards.
Greta squints and keeps her eyes on the ground as she lets Carson help her to a standing position.
As soon as she’s on her feet, Greta tries to take a step, and the field swims violently around her, causing her to stumble to one side.
“Woha, there.”
Carson wraps her arm around her waist, keeping her steady.
“Sarge!” Carson screams out, making Greta wince. Everything is so out of focus. She keeps her eyes on her shoes, on her socks and… Wait.
Greta blinks, leaning forward to take a better look at what are supposed to be her own legs.
Except… Except they’re clad in what looks like…
“Am I… Am I wearing pants ?” she asks in a horrified whisper.
How could she not have noticed? She is always so careful about what she wears and how she presents out in public.
Where did she even get those pants anyway?! They seem to fit perfectly but she doesn’t even think she’s ever bought something similar to what she’s wearing right now. In her dreams , maybe.
“Uhh…” Carson responds, confusion clear in her voice. “Yes. You, you are.”
“What’s going on?” Sarge strides up to them, and Greta tries, desperately, to look up at her, but as soon as she tries to avert her gaze from her own legs, the world begins spinning again.
“I don’t know, ma’am.” Carson tries, her arm feeling like it’s the only thing preventing Greta’s body from crumbling to the ground. “I think she might have a concussion or something. She’s sounding a bit confused.”
Sarge audibly sighs.
“Take her to get checked out, Shaw. I’ll handle the team. It’s probably better to halt practice for today anyway.”
“Thanks, Sarge.” Carson responds, and Greta manages to mutter a “Thank you, ma’am.” before she feels Carson’s arm steering her away from the field.
Greta takes a few steps and leans completely on Carson, relieved to find out that she seems strong enough to hold her up.
“Baby?” Carson whispers.
Greta casts a cautious look to her surroundings. She can’t look up at the light for too long, but it seems like they’re alone, for now.
“I’m sorry about this morning…” Greta finds herself saying.
Carson sighs.
“Honey, it’s okay. It’s honestly so dumb. I really shouldn’t have asked, I know how you feel about this kinda stuff.”
Greta feels a pang of pain in her chest at her dismissal.
“It’s not dumb, Carson.” she whispers back.
Carson squeezes her side. Greta faintly realizes she has one arm slung across the smaller woman’s shoulders, and she finds her arm with her own fingers and gives a weak squeeze in return.
“How about we don’t talk about this right now?” Carson murmurs. “Let’s get you all checked out, yeah? You might have a concussion, and we need to get you somewhere dark where you can sit and rest up.”
Greta nods, slowly.
She has no idea where Carson is taking them, and she doesn’t really care. She trusts the other woman with her safety, and it’s only after another couple of minutes that they step through a door and they’re suddenly in a much cooler environment.
It’s almost too cold, for Greta’s liking.
“Hey, doc.” she hears Carson say. “Greta got her head smashed through by a baseball. She’s sounding pretty confused. Think you can find a bed for her?”
There’s a voice Greta doesn’t recognize, and she tunes out for a moment when she notices her pants again.
It just doesn’t add up. Where would she have gone to find those pants anyway?
She casts a quick side glance to Carson and her heart nearly stops in her chest.
Carson is also wearing pants. But Greta is certain she’s seen her crouching down with her skirt, with her uniform, when she’d strolled up to bat.
As Carson steers her away again and helps her sit down on a mattress, Greta swallows the discomfort and blinks up at the other woman.
“You’re wearing pants.” she points out, weakly.
Carson stares at her for a really, really long moment.
“Babe, I’m not sure if this is supposed to be an attempt to seduce me or something, but you’re kinda worrying me right now.”
There it is again, the pet name and the public flirting. Carson is not even bothering to lower her voice.
Deep, uncomfortable fear spreads in Greta’s chest.
But before she can say something, anything, to Carson, another person strolls up to the bed.
“Oh. Doctor’s here.”
“Thank you, Ms. Shaw.”
Miss Shaw?! When did people find out about Carson’s divorce? How would they know, what is…?
“How are we feeling, Ms. Gill?”
Greta squints up at the voice. There’s something wrong about it, and she blinks as soon as she sees who is talking to her.
The building is darker than the field was, but for a moment Greta feels like she might be hallucinating.
“You… You are the doctor?” Greta asks, confused, looking at the Black woman standing in front of her with a clipboard in her hands and a white, doctor-like smock on her body.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
Greta isn’t like one of those racist people. She isn’t, she wouldn't mind less about having a Black woman for a doctor. Hell, if that was actually possible, so many other things could be. She remembers the girl who tried out with them all those months ago, how her pitch was by far the best she’d seen in a really long time.
And it would be pretty hypocritical, coming from someone like her…
But in her world, in Greta’s world, women were not doctors.
And most definitely not Black women.
“But you are… You are colored.” Greta stutters, and Carson gasps out loud.
“Greta, what the fuck ?!” Carson exclaims, sounding as horrified as Greta had felt when she’d heard her call her ‘babe’.
“It’s quite alright, Ms. Shaw.” the woman says. The smile has disappeared from her features, but she is not walking away. Instead, the woman -the doctor - sits on the bed with her.
“Ms. Gill.” she asks, quietly and not unkindly. “Could you tell me what day it is?”
Greta frowns. What kind of question is that?
“Monday.” she responds. “September… 22nd? Or 23rd.”
Carson laughs, awkwardly. Greta looks at her. She looks pale, still horrified by her earlier comment.
“I mean, yeah, I wouldn’t be able to tell you either.” Carson says. “I forget days.”
“That’s quite alright.” the doctor says. “Do you know who our President is?”
Another strange question, but easier than most.
“Franklin D. Roosevelt, of course.” Greta responds, and while the only response she gets from the doctor is a slow blink, Carson’s hand in hers squeezes almost painfully.
“Wait, what?” Carson repeats. “Greta? The current President, honey.”
Greta wants to tell her to stop calling her that, but the doctor doesn’t seem to even notice. Her heart is beating so hard in her chest she can barely hear herself.
“That is the current President, Shaw .” Greta says through gritted teeth.
“Ms. Gill.” The doctor interrupts. “Could you tell me what year this is?”
What is it with all these absurd questions?!
“1943, ma’am.” Greta spits out, maybe a bit too aggressively. “Now, can I go? This is starting to sound like an interrogation, and I ain’t done nothing wrong.”
But something is clearly very wrong.
Because Carson pales even more, and her free hand finds the bed as if she needs it to lean against it.
The doctor blinks again, and her smile comes back, but with a tint of sadness to it.
“Ms. Gill, I think it’s best if you stayed the night, so we can check in a bit better on you.” she says, calmly and kindly. “You are in no trouble, sweetheart, but I’m afraid you do have a… Concussion, of sorts.”
Greta wants to scoff. She wants to say that she is fine, that the room has stopped spinning around her but… But although the room has stopped spinning, it still looks weird.
The decor is off, there is no wallpaper, and the beds are bare except for a few young patients, but… There are weird machines spread across the room, and Greta catches a soft beeping sound coming from one of them.
“But I… Carson, we have practice. We have a game this weekend, for heaven’s sake.”
The doctor throws a glance to the other woman, and Carson licks her lips. She takes her hat off and puts it back on, opening and closing her mouth a couple times.
“Greta, I… I don’t think you should be playing the game at all.” Carson says, meekly.
There’s something in her eyes that Greta doesn’t recognize.
It scares her more than anything, because she knows everything about Carson.
“What?! Why?”
Carson scoots closer to her on the bed, taking both of her hands in hers.
“Baby… This isn’t 1943.”
Greta blinks.
Wait. What ?!
“What are you-”
“This is 2022.” Carson quietly says. “Greta, 1943 was nearly eighty years ago.”