Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You wake up in your bed, head pounding, mouth dry, and wishing you hadn’t drank so heavily the night before. In fact, you don’t even remember how you got home, so that’s unsettling, but you probably just called Perry. Before you even open your eyes, you’re shielding them from the sunlight coming in through your sheer shades. You really should have invested in some blackout shades, but those combined with your erratic work schedule would cause you to entirely lose all sense of time. You open one eye enough to see the clock beside your bed, and it’s already past 10:00am, so it looks like your Sunday routine – it is Sunday, right? – has been shot to hell.

Still, you push yourself up and out of bed and make a beeline for the bathroom. For a moment, you’re fairly certain you’re going to vomit, but a few deep breaths and a slow drink of water seem to settle your stomach. For the time being, at least.

You place your hands on either side of the sink and lean into it, eyes closing. What happened last night? You needed a night out after weeks of moping about Danny but, judging from your spotty memory, you might’ve had too much fun.

You hear a rustling behind you and your eyes snap back open. Your first thought is animal and your second thought is intruder. Either way, you should be armed, right? The nearest weapon, if you can call it that, is your plunger.

You’ve just gotten a solid grip on the wooden handle of the plunger when you hear, “So you and I had quite the night, huh?” 

You know that voice. You spin around and there, leaning against your doorframe with her arms crossed in front of her – is that – it couldn’t be – “Carmilla?”

You think you see her face fall, just slightly, but you forget a moment later when the smirk you remember so well stretches across her lips.

“In the flesh.”

You look her over, from her - your - Black Widow t-shirt to her legs, clad only in underwear, which, wow. She doesn’t look much different than you remember; just a little older and maybe a bit weathered.

In your mind’s eye, you can see her as she was when she barged into your room (and your life): 18, alluring, aggravating. She’d kicked open the door to 307 – or at least that what you assumed the jarring BANG was when she entered – and dropped her bags in the middle of the floor without so much as a hello.

“Um, excuse me, but who the hell are you?” you’d asked.

She looked up for the first time then, eyes quickly roaming down your body and back up. Suddenly you wished you wore something more than sweatpants while doing homework.

You didn’t have much time to think on it, because then she said, “I’m Carmilla. I’m your new roommate, sweetheart” before cracking open a soda – your soda – and cranking the volume on some punk rock song.

You’re snapped back to reality when Carmilla clears her throat at you.

“We didn’t, you know…” you trail off, gesturing past Carmilla toward your bed.

“Have sex? No, cutie. Regretfully, you passed out the moment we got home after saying some spectacularly explicit things to me on the stairs.”

Your cheeks heat up. “But – you – how did you – home?”

Her brow creases now, smirk falling into something more melancholy. “You really don’t remember, do you?” You shake your head and, before you manage to say anything in response, Carmilla holds up her left hand, showing you the back of it. There, on her ring finger, is a tiny but admittedly beautiful ring, but you don’t see what that has to do with -

Oh no. God no.

Your chin falls to your chest, allowing you to see your own left hand, where an identical ring sits on the third finger, and then Carmilla confirms your panic with a simple, “We got hitched.”

Chapter Text

You probably should have floated the whole marriage thing a bit softer but you’re Carmilla Karnstein and soft edges have never been your forte. Laura Hollis, on the other hand, has had a “Handle with Care” label stuck to her since birth, so you aren’t all that surprised when she slams the bathroom door, nearly hitting you with it in the process.

“And a happy morning after to you, too,” you grumble.

---

The instant the door is shut; you lean backward against it. You hear Carmilla mumble something at you –  probably something rude if you know Carmilla at all – before her footsteps retreat from the door.

How did this happen? How could you let this happen? Not only did you get so drunk that you blacked out, but you got married. To Carmilla. You got married to your old roommate who absolutely loathed you. Your old roommate who, sure, is all kinds of attractive, to put in mildly, but also lived only to mess with your head. You give yourself one night to let loose – one night! – and you get married to Carmilla Karnstein. What is Perry going to say? What is – oh god – what is your dad going to say?!

You slide down the door and press the heels of your hands into your eyes.

---

Since Laura doesn’t seem all that inclined to speak with you right now, you help yourself to the coffee machine downstairs.

[After pulling on a pair of shorts, that is – you didn’t miss the way Laura’s eyes froze on your legs; it’s nice to know you can still surprise her]

For the first time, you take a look around. The apartment is small but open-concept, which allows you to view almost the entire thing from where you stand in the kitchen. The first thing you notice is that this apartment is freakishly tidy, and it makes you itch to move a few things out of place. Laura was neater than you when you were her roommate at Silas, but that really isn’t saying much, so either June Cleaver has been stress-scrubbing or Laura has gotten even more uptight.

You’d found it charming, to some degree, at university, though you’d never have admitted that. Come to think of it, there are an embarrassingly large number of things you never wanted to admit about Laura Hollis and your feelings for her but last night, the combination of the bourbon and the surprise of seeing Laura, out of the blue, for the first time in six years resulted in loose lips.

You’re not sure if it’s for better or worse that Laura has no recollection.

---

You give yourself a few minutes to calm down, to try and process this, and after deciding that, no, you can’t live out the rest of your days in the bathroom, you know you have to go out and face Carmilla.

Still, you take your time; you wash your face and change into clothes that don’t smell like the bathroom of a bar before throwing your hair up into a bun. After a deep breath (and brief yet mildly effective pep talk to yourself), you finally exit your bedroom.

You steel yourself and head to find Carmilla, but that doesn’t take long. Your loft isn’t that big; there are only a few places she could be. Since your bedroom is empty, you head downstairs and find Carmilla leaning backward against your kitchen counter, nursing what must be a cup of coffee. Upon your entrance, Carmilla doesn’t move but for her eyes rising to meet yours.

“Done throwing a tantrum?”

“I was not –” you start, but quickly cut yourself off when Carmilla raises a shapely eyebrow at you. You take a deep breath. “Look, can we just be adults about this? I mean, how do I even know this marriage is legitimate? Or that you didn’t, you know, coerce me with your feminine wiles?” Carmilla starts to laugh but you cut her off with a terse, “Shut up.”

“Look, cupcake, you can roll the game tape you insisted I buy you ‘for the memories’ and you’ll see there was absolutely no coercion. And also, the marriage license is on your bedside table, so let’s stop with all the finger pointing.”

“Oh.” You’re momentarily thrown but, then again, Carmilla has always done that to you, kept you off-balance and off your A game. “Right. Well, we obviously can’t stay married.”

“And why is that?”

“Because!” you say, exasperated. “You’re… you! And we can’t be married!”

“You really know how to flatter a girl,” Carmilla says and you snatch the coffee mug from her hand.

“Why would you want this anyway? Why are you being so difficult?”

“Well, for one, that bunched up face you make when you’re angry is hilarious.”

“God, you are insufferable! No wonder anyone but your brother ever cared about you.”

The moment you say it, you wish you hadn’t. In fact, if you were a cartoon, you would have slapped your hand over your mouth and shoved the syllables back in because, as much as she’s always pretended she isn’t, Carmilla is a person with feelings and you know you’ve gone too far. It’s worse than you think, too, because Carmilla’s face – after looking, for a brief moment, like she’s been slapped – truly falls into the stone facade with which she walked into room 307 all those years ago.

Gone are her smirk and teasing tone when she says, with no bravado, “Yeah, it’s no wonder,” and brushes past you and back up the stairs.

You turn on your heel and follow her back into your bedroom and say, “Carmilla, come on. I didn’t mean –”

“Save it,” she bites, forcing her arms into the sleeves of her jacket, as well as her feet into her shoes, before storming from your room.

“Please, can we just talk about this?”

You’re still trailing after her but Carmilla doesn’t stop moving.

“I think I’ve had enough verbal abuse for one morning. I’ve got places to be.”

You follow Carmilla all the way to your front door, heart unexpectedly heavy when it slams in your face.

---

Seeing red, you move as quickly away from Laura’s building as humanly possible. You know that, historically, you haven’t always handled yourself… admirably with Laura and, sure, you could have been a bit kinder just now, but you’re pretty sure your behavior didn’t warrant that level of cruelty from her.

Laura could be petty, when provoked, and she made it clear that this situation is not optimal but fuck.

You call Will’s phone; it goes straight to voicemail. 

You don't leave a message.

Chapter Text

You expect Carmilla to come back after an hour or two. You figure she just needs a few hours to cool down and you can’t blame her; you were totally out of line and you really just want to apologize.

But then it’s nearing 6PM and you get worried. Like, more worried than you were at 12, at 2:30, at 4.

You had quickly realized that you don’t have her phone number saved in your phone, so there’s no way to even contact her, so you try to just stay busy. It’s not even like you could go look for her – you hadn’t even been aware that you lived in the same city as Carmilla, let alone the places she frequents. You could guess, sure, and you know where Uni-Carmilla would go, but you have literally zero information about Current-Carmilla, which you suppose is your own fault, since you essentially ran her out of here this morning.

You’ll apologize when she gets back. She has to come back, right? The two of you have to work this out because, y’know, you’re married and all.

You still can’t wrap your head around that either and now that the shock has passed, you want Carmilla to tell you what exactly happened last night. As the day has gone on, you’ve gotten bits back – being at the bar alone, Carmilla sidling up and taking the stool beside you, the way her eyes went soft, buying each other drink after drink after drink – but nothing solid, nothing concrete. When you picked up the t-shirt she was wearing at the bar last night from the floor next to your bed – her phases of the moon shirt – the memory of her arm around your shoulders as you walked home last night hit you full force. The fingers of one of your hands were threaded through the hand of hers that hung off your shoulder and the other was around her waist, pressing her side to yours. It was just a flash, but it made your chest ache.

By 7 o’clock, you’re close to losing it, so you call Perry and ask her to come over. She must hear the desperation in your voice, because she arrives at your apartment, LaFontaine in tow, within ten minutes.

She’s not even fully through your door when she asks, “What’s wrong, sweetie?”

“You’re gonna want to sit down,” you tell her.

She and LaF sit on your couch and you sit across from them in a chair.

“Okay… so, alright. Y’know how you encouraged me to take a night for myself? Get my mind off my failed relationship?” Perry nods quickly. “Well I might have enjoyed myself a little too much and, in a series of unfortunate circumstances, I did something incredibly un-Laura.”

You pause, uncertain about how best to tell your friends what happened next and LaFontaine says, “Come on, frosh. Spill it.”

You push out a quick breath and say, “I got married.”

Perry’s eyes become comically wide and LaFontaine sucks their lips into their mouth, obviously trying to suppress a grin.

“To Danny?” Perry squeaks and you flinch.

“No! No, that ship has sailed.”

“Then who! A stranger? Laura, that is incredibly irresponsible and I would have expected – “

“Carmilla Karnstein. From Silas.”

Perry and LaF’s mouths both drop open and Perry tries to stutter out a response until LaF says, “Breathe, Per.” Then they turn to you. “You’ve been in contact with Carmilla?”

“No! We just – we ended up at the same bar last night and I’m still unclear on the details but she – we – yeah. Married.”

LaF looks around. “And where is the wife?”

“She – well – we kind of got in a gigantic argument this morning and she left and I haven’t seen her since.”

“Smooth,” LaF smiles.

“LaFontaine, this is not funny! This is Laura’s life! Marriage is serious!”

“Whoa, hey, Per,” LaF says, putting their hands up in surrender. “I didn’t mean it that way. It just seemed like the mood could use some lightening.”

“Not the time, LaFontaine,” Perry says.

“Guys, hello? Having an issue here.”

“Right. Laura. Where is Carmilla?”

“Well, that’s the thing. I was kind of a raging… bad person this morning and she left. I haven’t seen her since.”

“That’s awfully immature of her.”

“No, Perry, I was awful. I was accusatory and just plain mean. I even said something about how no one except Will ever cared about her.”

“That’s a low blow, frosh.”

“I know! It just came out! But, I mean, you remember Carmilla at Silas. She and Will were always in the back corner just smirking at one another. They were pretentious and – and rude!”

“Sure, but you’ve got to have a little compassion for the girl, given what happened.”

“What… what do you mean?”

“You remember, don’t you? It was horrid,” Perry says, clasping her hands together.

“I obviously don’t. Can you both stop being so cryptic and just spill it?” you demand.

“The summer after we graduated – me and Per and Carmilla, I mean – Will… well, he died. Car accident. There was nothing anyone could do. Carmilla was in the accident too, I think.”

Your mouth dries and your stomach drops. You’re actually certain you’re going to be sick and you spring to your feet.

“He’s dead? Will is dead and I – oh my god – I rubbed it in her face.” You begin pacing the floor beside the couch and LaFontaine and Perry just watch you as you do so.

“You didn’t know,” LaF offers.

“It doesn’t matter,” you shake your head. “Carmilla doesn’t know that.”

---

When your shift is over, you head back to Laura’s loft; it’s probably best that you don’t prolong this or you know you’ll get attached. Laura Hollis has an unfortunate effect on you. You shower quickly at the station and pull on an old t-shirt and a pair of ripped jeans before stuffing your belongings into your duffel bag and leaving for Laura’s. Your motorcycle is, you presume, still at the bar at which you ran into Laura last night, and you make a mental note to swing by tomorrow morning.

The walk to Laura’s takes almost forty minutes, but you don’t mind; it gives you time to mentally prepare yourself for whatever conversation lies ahead with Laura.

As you near the door to her loft, you hear voices, plural, inside. Great. An audience.

You’re about to reach for the door handle when you focus on Laura’s voice, high with anxiety, and hear her say, “She must think I’m terrible! How was I supposed to know he died?! Oh god, I should have paid more attention. I’m going to be sick.”

You want to roll your eyes at the fact that you can picture her in your mind’s eye pacing and animatedly waving her hands about, but the sinking heart in your chest keeps you from that. She really hadn’t known about Will. She really hadn’t meant to be quite as cruel as she was earlier. You had already felt a little ridiculous for storming out, but you had thought it was justified. You just assume that people are always out to knock you down, but you now realize it was maybe a little unfair of you to project that onto Laura.

You decide you may as well put her out of her misery; who knows how long this has been going on for.

You twist the handle and immediately recognize the two redheads on the couch. Laura freezes in place, face somber and, to be honest, a bit pathetic.

“Hello, Carmilla,” Perry says pleasantly.

“Raggedy Anne. Frankenstein,” you nod.

“Hey Karnstein,” Laf offers.

“Well, we were just leaving.” Perry nudges LaF and they both rise to their feet. Laura, on the other hand hasn’t moved and it’s beginning to make you uncomfortable.

“It was nice seeing you, Carmilla,” Perry says and once she and LaF reach the front door, she turns back to Laura. “Remember, communication.”

Laura nods once and it’s the only evidence you have that she hasn’t turned to stone. You pull your focus from her and work on kicking your boots off.

“You came back,” Laura says so softly that you almost miss it.

When you look up at her, she still looks like a kicked puppy, so all you say is, “Yeah.”

“I didn’t – after this morning, I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, we are married, so.”

“Carmilla, listen,” she starts, but you cut her off.

“It’s fine,” you say, putting a hand up to halt her speech.

“No, Carmilla. Please. I just – I didn’t know about Will. I’m so, so sorry. For him and for everything I said this morning. Regardless of his passing” – you flinch a little – “what I said was – it was uncalled for. All of it. So I’m sorry. Truly.”

“You didn’t know,” you shrug, “and I wasn’t exactly helping the situation, so I’m sorry, too.”

“Did Carmilla Karnstein just apologize?”

“Don’t push it, cupcake,” you tell her but you offer a small smile, pushing your hands into the front pockets of your jeans.

“So, about this marriage…”

“We’ll go to the courthouse in the morning, alright? Get it taken care of.”

Laura breathes out in relief. “Okay.”

Silence falls between you and you wonder why you bothered taking your shoes off. You need to be away from here. Immediately.

“I’ll meet you back here in the morning,” you say, bending over to pick up a boot.

“Wait,” Laura says, and you look at her curiously. “You don’t have to go. We could – I don’t know – catch up. You could tell me the full story about how we ended up getting married.”

“You want to hang out with me? This morning you didn’t want to be in the same room as me.”

“And we have established that I was a jerk. Come on, I’ll make you something to eat!”

“I’ll pass on that,” you laugh. “Don’t think I don’t remember that, at Silas, your culinary expertise ended with pre-packaged snack cakes and grape soda.”

Laura’s cheeks redden and you’re afraid her features will fall into that awful sad look she gets – the one that’s always gotten to you – so you say, “I’ll order a pizza.”

Her face lights up as her lips stretch into a toothy smile. “Great. Can I get you a drink?”

“That’s what got us in this mess, cutie,” you say with a quick wink. “Just a water for me.”

You set to ordering a pizza – you have to ask Laura for the address – before joining her on the couch. Neither of you know what to say and you rub the palms of your hands against your knees.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Laura asks.

“Which part?”

“I… well, all of it I guess. Have you been in New York City for long?”

“A few years. Not as long as you, though.”

“How have we not run into each other before last night?”

“You and I spend time in very different places. Plus, I don’t get out much.”

Laura scoffs. “Sure, Carmilla ‘Lady Killer’ Karnstein doesn’t get out much.”

“I’ll have you know my time is spent almost exclusively alone.”

“’Almost’?”

You roll your eyes. “A girl needs some fun every once and awhile.”

“I thought so,” Laura says, and then her eyebrows pull together. “Isn’t that lonely?”

“It can be. But ‘alone’ is different than ‘lonely.’ I get by.”

“You deserve more than getting by, Carm.”

Something in your chest swells but you say, “Don’t get all soft on me, cupcake.”

Laura rolls her eyes. “Yeah, whatever. Okay, so how do we spend our second and last night as a married couple?”

A laugh erupts from your chest before you can stop yourself.

“What?” she asks.

“Did you ever think you’d have to say a sentence like that?”

“No,” Laura admits, “but sometime unexpected things turn out to be the ones we like best.”

You raise an eyebrow at her. “I seem to recall you slamming a door in my face this morning after you learned of our unexpected decision.”

“Okay, well, I was in shock. And wildly hungover. I just mean it’ll make a good story, y’know?”

For reasons you don’t want to think about, your heart sinks.

“Of course, Laura Hollis, senior investigative reporter for Newsday.” Surprise takes over Laura’s features. “I do read, you know. You write for what’s arguably the city’s most affluent newspaper; you’re hard to miss.”

Chapter Text

You wake up on your couch and Carmilla is gone. Of course she’s gone. You’d had a nice, sober, normal conversation and she took off before sunrise, probably to go scour herself with lye. And you still don’t have her number, so you can’t even call and berate her for leaving when she promised she’d be here to go to city hall and get this… thing taken care of!

So you do the only thing you can do: pace.

Because, okay, last night, you thought for just a second that Carmilla cared, that she would keep her word, and that she didn’t live solely to call you food-related nicknames and make your life difficult. You at least thought that she would god damn be here when you woke up.

It feels like old, jagged wounds being reopened for reasons you don’t want to think about right now.

You’re but four minutes into wearing a hole through your floor when the door opens. You spin to face it and Carmilla’s there with a black helmet and a paper bag.

“Didn’t expect you to be up yet,” she says as she enters.

You ignore her and demand, “Where have you been?”

Carmilla places the helmet, paper bag, and her keys on the island before slipping out of her leather jacket.

“I was getting my bike. And breakfast. I remember what Hangry Hollis is like and I didn’t love the idea of facing that today.”

“Oh,” you say, deflating. “I thought…”

“That I left,” she finishes, rolling her eyes. “I’m glad you think so highly of me.”

Her voice is dry and unaffected but you can tell you’ve hurt her feelings. Again. You know Carmilla well enough to know that the more indifferent and uncaring she sounds, the more she actually cares. You try not to think of the implications of that knowledge.

“Look, I’m sorry. It’s not a reflection of you.”

“Oh yeah?” Carmilla says. “What else could it possibly be?”

You shift on your feet. “I guess I’m not used to people staying.”

Maybe it’s a trick of the light, but you think you see Carmilla’s eyes soften.

“Anyone who willingly leaves you is an idiot,” she says, turning around to kick off her boots. “Now eat before the hanger arrives.”

“Hanger is coming,” you say in a gravelly British accent as you open up the bag Carmilla had brought in. Donuts. Nice.

“That was awful,” Carmilla says, but her smile tells you she’s entertained.

“It’s Ned Stark!” you tell her as she walks around the island and opens the fridge.

“Yeah, I know, and it’s was awful. You’d have to be headless to be convincing and you’re cute, but I’m just not sure you could pull that off.”

You gasp aloud before you can help it and Carmilla turns to look at you from where she stands.

“Cupcake, it’s been five. Years. Even Sansa’s over it by now, and she had to look at his severed dead head on a pike.”

“There are some wounds that never heal, Carm.”

“Oh my god,” she says, facing forward again.

"You married me,” you shrug, mouth full of chocolate donut.

Carmilla grumbles something unintelligible but you pay her no mind. Sure, this isn’t quite how you typically spend your Monday mornings, but you’ll be unmarried within a few hours and then you can carry on with your regularly scheduled programming.

---

“This cannot be happening,” Laura says for what feels like the millionth time. And, for the millionth time, you stay silent; nothing you could say right now would fix this, so why bother? Instead, you continue leaning back against the brick walls of city hall, one foot propped up against it and you arms folded over your chest, going over (and over and over) what the judge had told you.

“This is the sixth annulment like yours I alone have seen in the past week. Drunk, irresponsible youth. I’d love to teach your generation a lesson.”

Laura’s brow had furrowed then, but the knot that formed in your stomach gave you an inkling as to where Judge Douchecanoe was going with this.

“A trial marriage,” he’d said with finality. “Six months. You’ll live together, of course, and I’ll be assigning a social worker to your case who’ll pop in periodically and check that you’re adhering to what I set forth today. You must learn to take responsibility for your actions. Someone will follow up with you over the next few days.” Then he banged his gavel on his desk; you rolled your eyes.

“You can't do this! ” Laura had said, dismay evident in her voice.

“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Ms.” – he glanced down at the marriage license in his hands – “Hollis-Karnstein.”

Then he holds the license out over his desk and, since Laura was rooted to the spot, you took it from him.

“I’m going to be sick,” Laura said as the judge called out, “Next! ”

You had to pull Laura, who had begun to hyperventilate, from the small office and through the hallways until you were out of the building.

“Fresh air,” you said. “Breathe, Laura.”

She started pacing and repeating herself and here you are, watching her and trying to work through this in your head.

It’s awful because do you have overwhelming, slightly embarrassing feelings for Laura? Yes. Would you like to embark upon some sort of relationship with her? Yes. Do you even know who 2016-Laura-Hollis is? No. Will Laura ever feel the same way about you? No. And if she did, would you ever want her to be with you against her will? Fuck no.

So yeah, this is a mess. Not to mention the logistics of co-existing with Laura again.

---

You don’t remember the bus ride back to your loft, but you know Carmilla gets you there. The only thing that registers is her leading you up to your bed and telling you, “Rest for a bit. We’ll figure this out later.”

You have the thought, “Why is she being so nice? ” before drifting into a fitful nap.

/

You trudge downstairs a few hours later, expecting Carmilla to have disappeared again. Instead, she’s sat on your couch, nose buried in a book.

[It’s comforting that some things never change.]

Before you can say anything, Carmilla says, without looking up, “We’re going out tonight.”

“What?”

“We’re going out. You, me, whoever you want to invite.”

“Where?”

“You name it.”

“I don’t care. Just not the place we were the other night. Wait, but why?”

Carmilla finally looks up and she looks as tired as you feel.

“Because we’re married and I said we’d figure it out later. It’s not 'later' yet, so we’re going to go have a great time and get ghostfaced wasted.”

“Ghost… faced… what?”

“Laura. Go take a shower. We. Are. Getting. Drunk.”

“I thought we both agreed that’s what got us into this mess.”

“Yeah, well, we just found out that we aren’t getting out of it for another six months, so.”

Your stomach drops. “Right. Shower. Drunk,” you say before turning on your heel and bounding back up the stairs.

---

While Laura gets ready, you head to the station to get some clothes. It’s closer to Laura’s loft than your apartment is and you know if you're gone too long, she'll get twitchy.

“Carm-sexy,” a voice calls behind you.

“Wilson, I -”

“Dude!” he cuts you off, “not cool.”

“When you stop with that heinous nickname, I’ll stop calling you by your heinous birth name,” you say, glaring pointedly at him over your shoulder.

“Whatever,” he waves you off. “Where have you been?”

“Long story, beefcake,” you say, turning back to your drawers.

“I’ve texted you ten times with no response.”

“And twelve unanswered texts is when we call in the search party, so what’s your point?”

“My point is,” he says, turning you around by your shoulder, “where have you been?”

You push out a sharp sigh. “Remember Laura Hollis?”

“That little hottie you were head over heels for at Silas?” You punch Kirsch in the arm. “Ow! Jeez, Carm.”

“We got married.”

“Who did?”

“Me and Laura.”

“That’s hilarious. Now stop deflecting and tell me what happened.”

“I’m not lying, Kirsch,” you say, and you hate how soft your voice is. “After you left The Roof the other night, I ran into Laura. We kept drinking and talking and one thing led to another and we got fucking married.”

Kirsch’s jaw literally drops and his eyes widen.  “You got married on your birthday and you didn’t tell me?!”

"Technically, it was the 17th by the time we tied the knot, so that’s only partially true.”

“You married Laura Hollis.”

“Yeah, and we went to City Hall today to get fucking unmarried and the judge refused. So now we’re in this weird forced trial marriage for six fucking months and Laura is Not into it.”

Kirsch stares at you for a few quiet moments before bursting into laughter.

“You married Laura Hollis!”

“You’re enjoying this too much,” you say dryly.

“Dude, this is priceless.”

“Wilson -”

“Okay, okay, fine. Sorry.”

“We’re going out tonight. Please come with me?”

“Did you just say ‘please’?”

“Don’t make it a thing.”

/

By the time you get to Charlie’s with Laura, LaFontaine, Perry, and a few other girls whose names you don’t bother to learn, you and Kirsch have already finished your flask. You push the doors open and ask Laura to grab a table in the back corner and you busy yourself getting drinks. You take a shot for good measure; you just need to calm your nerves so that you can function around Laura.

---

You were pretty sure this was an awful idea, but after a few drinks, you start to loosen up. Maybe Carmilla was right; you can deal with this whole marriage thing later. You’re sat between LaF and Perry and it makes you feel safe. They may have been friendly with Carmilla at Silas, but they’ve always been protective of you; regardless of Carmilla’s intentions at this point, that won’t change. Plus, Perry can basically smell the anxiety on you, so full Mom Protocol has been launched.

You spend more time than you care to admit watching Carmilla and Kirsch interact. As far as you knew, she detested him at Silas and you can’t help but wonder what caused the shift? Was it Will? Was it circumstance? Whatever it is, she’s lighter around him. Warmer.

You don't have long to think about it because you're getting drunker and then a shrill voice is yelling, "Ohhhhhh my god!"

You look up and quickly recognize the girl approaching: your coworker. Carmilla must too - which, what? - because as you're calling out, "Elsie!," Carmilla's groaning, "Fucking Elsie" before downing the rest of her drink.

What the what?

Chapter Text

Of all of the wild cards you could’ve predicted for tonight, seeing Elsie was not one of them. Because if you could’ve predicted this, you never would have come here because Elsie Chara was, quite possibly, your worst one-night-stand decision to date. The sex itself was fine but, jesus, this woman is insane, ignorant, and irritating, which are the Three Unforgivable I’s. Unfortunately, she seems to be a friend of Laura’s, so you’ll play nice. And by “play nice,” you mean “get trashed in another corner of the bar.”

Before you’re able to slip away, Laura says, “You two know each other?”

“Not really,” you say.

“Oh come on, Carmilla. We knew each other once.”

Realization dawns on Laura’s face before her eyes narrow at Elsie for just long enough for you to notice. “That’s great!” she says. “Carmilla and I are married!”

“Accidental,” you add on, “but trying it out. Sort of. Because a judge said so.”

“Yeah, so Elsie, this is my wife, Carmilla. Who wants a drink?!” Laura says more than asks before walking away.

Fuck.

---

You speed over to the bar, leaving Carmilla, Elsie, and your friends behind, and your chest aches. Surely it’s just being caused by the surprise that one of your only work friends slept with your ex-roommate/current-accidental-wife, but you wish it’d just go away. When you return to your table with a tray of shots and pass them out, Carmilla’s fingertips brush over yours and you hate yourself for noticing.

You down your shot and revel in the burn it leaves behind. You’d gotten a few extra so you shrug and take those too. You manage to down three before a soft hand is circling your right wrist. You look up and it belongs to Carmilla.

“Slow down, cupcake.”

“Though she may be little, she’s fierce!” you say. Carmilla just stares at you. “Shakespeare.”

“I know,” she says exasperatedly, pointing at herself with her free hand. “English major.”

“Right,” you say, eyeing the fingers still holding onto your arm.

“That thing with Elsie - it was nothing.” Carmilla’s thumb swipes across the inside of your wrist and you’re momentarily distracted. “It was one night.”

You shake your head and yank your arm from Carmilla’s gentle grip.

“It’s fine. It’s not like we were - you don’t owe me an explanation. In fact, you could go and sleep with her right now and it wouldn’t matter!”

Carmilla purses her lips and gives you a quick nod before turning back to the table. You try to ignore the sinking feeling in your stomach.

/

“I didn’t know you had such a jealous streak, frosh,” LaF says, elbowing you.

“What? Do not.”

“You’ve been attempting to murder Elsie all night with your eyeballs.”

“It’s not because I’m jealous. She knows me and Carmilla are married and she’s still looking at her like she wants to rip Carm’s clothes off and, sure, we’re only married in the legal sense but come on.”

“Yeah, not jealous at all,” LaF says before being pulled to the dance floor by Perry.

---

You spend the night dodging Elsie and trying to keep an eye on Laura. She’s riled up and you can’t entirely blame her; you know this marriage isn’t what she wanted for herself. Sometime after midnight, she’s plastered and you decide it’s time to take her back to her loft. After saying goodbye to her friends, you manage to talk Laura into walking home. It’s only a few blocks and she’s so drunk that it’ll feel like a five minute stroll anyway. You get her up the stairs and into her room with little difficulty and she falls backward onto her bed.

“Don’t fall asleep,” you tell her. “You need to change your clothes.”

“Can’t,” is all she says.

“Sure you can.” You pull open her drawers until you find a pair of short and a t-shirt for her and you toss them on the bed next to her.

“Help me?”

You swallow thickly; this really isn’t fair.

Against your better judgment, you say, “Sure.”

You keep your eyes on her face, partially out of respect and partially to watch for signs of vomiting, while you help her out of her jeans and blouse and into her sleep clothes. Then Laura climbs into bed and pulls the covers over her. You’re about to slip out of her room when you hear your name.

“Yeah?” you answer.

“I’m sorry I was mean to you today. I know you were just trying to make the best of a bad situation.”

You sigh. “You’re fine, cupcake. Get some sleep.”

Laura sleepily mumbles something as you leave the room.

/

You’re woken up by Laura groaning as she comes down the stairs next morning.

“There’s water and aspirin on the counter,” you say, voice scratchy from sleep.

“You’re incredible,” Laura says. You hear her uncap the bottle and take a few gulps of water. “Hey, thank you for getting me home safe last night.”

“It’s not a big deal,” you tell her, sitting up.

“Sure it is. You could’ve just left me there to fend for myself.”

“No I couldn’t have,” you scoff. “What kind of person does that?”

“People much less virtuous than you, Carm,” she says and you don’t have much time to enjoy how soft her voice is because she follows it with, “Alright, I have to go into work today, so I’m going to get ready. Do you, um, need anything?”

“I’m all set. I’ll be at work later so I probably won’t be back until later.”

“Cool,” she says nodding and, before bounding back up the stairs, she says, “Have a great day.”

---

You’ve been ignoring your dad’s calls since you drunkenly married Carmilla, but on day four of Operation Survive a Six Month Marriage, you decide you’d better answer, lest he call the authorities.

“Hi Dad!” you answer, trying to sound as chipper as possible.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why would you assume anything is wrong? Everything’s fine! Great, actually!”

“That’s the Laura Jean Hollis ‘I’m trying to pretend everything is fine’ voice if I’ve ever heard it. What’s going on, hon?”

You sigh; you can never get anything by this man. “Remember Carmilla Karnstein?”

“Carmilla. I know that name. Why do I know that name?”

“We went to Silas together. She was my roommate once.”

“Of course! She’s the one you had the, and I quote, ‘enormous, infuriating crush’ on.”

“Dad!” you hiss.

“What?” he says, laughing. “You did.”

“That’s beside the point. See, the thing is… wait, you have to promise not to be disappointed in me.”

“Okay.”

“Okay, what?” you press.

“Okay, I won’t be disappointed.”

“Alright so DannyandIbrokeupandIgotdrunkandmarriedCarmilla.”

There’s a few moments of heavy silence, and then your dad says, “That’s quite the meet-cute, as the kids say.”

“Dad,” you groan.

“Tell me what happened, pumpkin.”

You run through the entire story and, true to his word, your dad doesn’t express any disappointment in you. A little concerned and very curious, maybe, but not disappointed.

“So six months, huh? Think you can last that long without jumping her bones?”

“Dad, ew, come on!”

“Laura, I know you how feel about her.”

“Felt,” you correct. “Felt.”

“Okay,” he says in that soothing tone that you know means he doesn’t want to argue with you. Which implies there’s something to argue about, which there totally isn’t, so.

“Where are you now, anyway?” you ask, changing subjects.

You try to pay attention while your dad tells you about his current assignment but all you can think about is the way Elsie eyed Carmilla and you remind yourself: felt, felt, felt.

Chapter Text

Living with Laura Hollis is… different than it was at university. Her sleep schedule remains worrisome and she still gets on you about cleanliness and you can’t quite put your finger on it, but she’s different. Not in a bad way, you don’t think, but she’s different. You think that, most likely, she’s just simmered since uni because you know better than most how high strung she was. There’s still echoes of that, but you notice that her shoulders aren’t always drawn up, that she’s more focused, but there’s also something sad sitting somewhere in the recesses of her mind that worries you.

You don’t ask her for a few days because you know she won’t tell you, but you keep an eye on her. When she thinks no one is looking, she looks tired – ragged, even – and after a few weeks it becomes too glaring for you to continue ignoring it. So you decide on a bike ride home from work that if she’s awake, you’ll ask her. If not, then it isn’t your problem, right?

When you open the loft door, she’s sitting in the corner at her desk, typing furiously. You let the door fall shut behind you and she doesn’t halt or give any indication that she’s even heard you come in.

You don’t want to scare her, but it’s 2:00 AM and you really want to get this over with so you can go to bed. To couch. Whatever.

You clear your throat. Nothing. You cough. Nothing. “Laura,” you say, voice slightly raised. Nothing. “Hey!” you half-yell and Laura jumps in her seat before spinning in her chair to look at you.

“You scared the crap out of me!”

You shift on your feet. “Yeah, well, none of my other methods got your attention.”

The fight drains out of her. “Oh. Sorry. When I get in the zone…” she trails off.

“I noticed. Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Uh… okay. Let me just save this,” Laura says. After doing so, she pushes herself up from her desk and comes to where you are in the kitchen. “What’s up?”

You decide to dive right in. “Look, I know you’ve been having nightmares. You aren’t sleeping and you’re trying to run on all cylinders and you’re going to burn out.”

“I have deadlines to meet.”

“That’s great but you aren’t going to meet them if you drop dead at 26 from exhaustion.” You pull something from your bag and hold it out to her. “I stopped at my place to get you this. It always helped my nightmares.”

She takes it gingerly. “Is this a… dried bat wing?”

You nod. “It wards off negative entities. Supposedly. Just… put it in your room, okay? Try to take care of yourself. Or talk to me or one of the gingers.”

“That’s sweet, Carm. Thanks.”

“Whatever,” you shrug. “If you die, it’ll be a whole production, so.”

Laura just smiles at you and you have to look away.

“So,” she starts, “in the spirit of all this newfound closeness, are you going to tell me where it is that you go all night?”

A smirk pulls at your lips. “Now, cupcake, I have to keep some of my secrets, otherwise I’ll lose my air of mystery.” Laura breathes out a laugh. “Goodnight,” you say, brushing past her toward the living room.

You change there and, when you peek over your shoulder, you catch Laura staring, but she quickly turns her head upon locking eyes with you. So yeah, that hasn’t changed since uni either.

---

You’ve never been so conscious of someone’s every movement before but you find yourself watching Carmilla. Like, a lot. You convince yourself that it’s normal, that it’s just your journalistic qualities shining through. And, okay, you haven’t cohabitated with someone since college and after Carmilla it was just Betty, who was so quiet that you often forgot you even had a roommate.

But anyway, you watch Carmilla and you notice little things you hadn’t previously.

Like, okay, she’s left handed, which you knew, but she occasionally writes with her right hand. That’s the other thing: she writes all the time. She always has a composition notebook, folded in half, tucked into her back pocket or under her arm as she walks around or beside her at the table. You’ve never asked her what she writes, but you watch her while she does and she either looks the most peaceful you’ve ever seen her or entirely distraught. Carmilla thinks she’s great at concealing her emotions and when she’s in public or knows people are aware of her, she is, but in her quieter moments, her busier moments, she wears her emotions right out on her sleeve. And the more time she spends in your loft, the more it feels like she’s always been there.

You quickly realize that you really, really like those things about Carmilla and, before even realizing that you’re doing so, you file away these little moments.

Today, for example. You’d pulled another all-nighter and Carmilla walked through the front door around 7:00 AM. You actually don’t hear her come in or become aware of her presence until she reaches around you to set a mug in front of you.

When you turn to say thank you, Carmilla is already walking away from you, so you shrug and continue with you work. That is, until Carmilla is back a few minutes later with a plate of English muffins with peanut butter spread on top.

She sets them down beside your keyboard and says, “That crazed look in your eyes tells me you’ve been staring at this screen for at least nine hours straight. Eat.” Carmilla doesn’t leave though; instead, she hovers over your shoulder, chin nearly resting on it. “What’s this?”

You stay as still as you possibly can and you can tell your voice is higher than usual when you say, “Oh, you know, just a new assignment.”

“I gathered as much. What’s it about?”

“It’s an investigative piece. I got a tip about some shady dealings within the mayor’s office.”

“Hmm,” she hums, standing up straight. “I figured you were snooping.”

You spin in your chair. “Why?”

Carmilla turns toward you and crosses her arms over her chest and you can tell she’s trying to look unaffected.

“You get this look on your face when you’re onto something good. You just have this way about you. You’re just – you’re electric.”

She shrugs afterward, like she didn’t just set your heart on fire.

---

You start letting Laura in, and it’s not necessarily on purpose. You get a little battered on a call one night at work. It’s nothing major, really, and certainly not the worst you’ve gotten, but you forget that Laura has literally no idea what you do for a living until you limp into the loft.

It’s early in the morning but – surprise! – Laura is awake – still awake , you presume – and drinking a cup of coffee in the kitchen. She looks up as you shuffle through the door and her eyes immediately widen in concern.

“Carm, what the – are you okay?” She puts her mug down and rushes to you.

You shut the door and lean back against it before holding a hand up. “I’m fine. I’m good.”

“You – your face is all cut up and you’re limping! Did you get in a fight?”

A laugh bursts from your mouth but you stop short – bruised ribs – and hold a hand to your abdomen.

“This isn’t funny, Carmilla. What happened?”

“Cupcake, I got in a little accident at work. And my face is not ‘all cut up’; it’s one tiny little paper cut.”

“Well, come here and sit down,” Laura says and she takes your duffel bag off your shoulder. Then she loops her arm gently around your waist. “Come on.”

Naturally, you protest the entire way but Laura just pulls you to the couch.

“Let me get you an ice pack. Or advil. Or both?”

“Both would be great. And maybe a beer.”

She rolls her eyes but comes back with the promised goods, plus a first aid kit.

“Can I clean that?” she asks.

“If you must.”

“It could get infected,” she mumbles, already lifting an alcohol pad to your cheek.

It’s silent as she cleans the wound out. It really isn’t that serious, but Laura seems shaken, so you opt not to say anything.

When she’s done and she’s thrown out all the supplies she’s used, she dives right in. “What on earth happened?”

“I told you: small accident at work. Nothing that should be causing all of this” – you wave your hand around in her face – “twitchiness.”

“I am not… twitching. You just came into our loft with dried blood on your face. I think that deserves an explanation.”

“In my defense, I thought you’d be sleeping.”

“Did you get a concussion also?”

“Ha ha,” you say, pressing the ice pack to your ribs.

“You’re stalling.”

“You’re not wrong.”

“Carmilla,” she says, exasperated. “I don’t even know what it is you do. You’re not being mysterious anymore; you’re being ridiculous.”

You roll your eyes. “I’m a firefighter, okay? We had a call tonight and after I cleared the building, one of the supporting walls came down and I got a little roughed up on the way out. But here I am, in one piece, totally fine.”

“Jesus, Carm. Shouldn’t you be at the hospital?”

“If I went to the hospital every time I got a scrape at work, I’d live there.”

“That’s – that – “

“That’s the job, cutie. Seriously, I’m fine. Plus, Chief gave me a few days off to rest, so I’ll veg out and be good to go.”

Laura narrows her eyes but lets it go. “Fine. But – firefighter?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, Carm. How’d you decide on that? You were an English major at school.”

Maybe it’s because you’ve had a long ass night or maybe it’s because you just want to hear Laura’s voice, but you figure you might as well tell her.

“I always wanted to be one. Well, not always. Since I was eight. But my mother used to talk about the ‘importance and value of higher education,’ so I went to college, but it was never what I really wanted. So I majored in English because there’s just so much to read and learn and understand.”

“So what happened?” Laura asks and you furrow your brow, so she clarifies. “What made you want to be a firefighter?”

You clench a fist, letting the feeling of your fingernails digging into your palm ground you. “My parents died in a fire; I survived. Orphaned at eight.”

Laura breathes in sharply. “Carm, I – I didn’t know…”

You shake your head. “No one really knows. Will knew. Kirsch knows. Now you. It was a long time ago.”

“They were still your family, Carm,” she says in a soft voice. “It’s okay to miss them still. Do you remember them much?”

“Enough. They were both so… gentle. My father especially. He was funny, too. My mother was kind and was always reading something to me. For so long after they died I was so angry. I went from foster house to foster house; no one wanted the trouble-making kid, you know? Until I got to Lilita Morgan’s house and there was Will. He latched onto me and even though I was angry and even though I wanted my parents back, he needed me. And it turned out I needed him, too. So from age ten on, Lilita was my stand-in mother.”

“Your last name is still Karnstein, though.”

“She never legally adopted me. To be honest, she never liked me much,” you laugh. “But either way, I would’ve wanted to hold onto my parents’ name.”

“I understand. Can I ask you something?”

“I get the feeling you’re going to no matter what,” you say with a soft smile but nod. “Go ahead.”

“How do you deal with it? All the loss, I mean.”

“I don’t know,” you shake your head.

“I…” she starts and then her shoulders slump.

You look up at Laura and that sadness is back, only in a higher intensity than you’ve ever seen it.

“Hey,” you say, nudging her with your elbow. “What’s going on in that little head of yours, Hollis.”

“You were right the other day. About me not sleeping.”

“Imagine that,” you say with a smirk, but Laura’s face stays earnest. Desperate, even. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t like October. It’s when my mom left me and Dad. I’ve never really gotten over it. Neither has Dad, really, and it’s made things tough,” she says before rolling her eyes. “This is ridiculous. You lost both of your parents and here I am complaining about still having a father.”

“Laura, loss is loss. It’s all valid and it all sucks. I’m sorry that happened to you.”

“Me too. About your family, y’know.”

/

Another day, you agree, against your better judgment, to go grocery shopping with Laura.

“Carmilla,” she’d said, “You eat like a garbage disposal. The least you could do is help me shop.”

It isn’t terrible, not that you’d tell her that, and you learn that Twizzlers are her favorite sweet. When you get back to her building, Laura heads for the elevator, arms full of grocery bags, and your chest tightens.

You shake it off and try to look as disaffected as possible when you say, “Meet you up there.”

Laura, already in the elevator now, holds the door open and says, “Don’t be ridiculous. It might only be three flights of stairs but we’ve got all these bags. Don’t be a martyr.”

“Honestly, it’s fine. I need the exercise.”

“Carmilla --”

“Laura, please. I’ll meet you up there.”

Her brow creases slightly but she says, “Okay,” and lets the elevator doors slide shut.

You take your time getting upstairs, hoping Laura will have made herself busy somewhere, but you never had great luck. When you enter the loft, heading straight for the cabinets to start putting away groceries, Laura gets up from the couch and pads into the kitchen.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” she asks.

You feign ignorance. “What what was about?”

Laura huffs. “The stairs.”

“I haven’t gotten any exercise in today,” you say. “I figured the stairs couldn’t hurt.”

You hadn’t heard her move but suddenly Laura is next to where you’re kneeling. She tugs on the hood of your sweatshirt and you’re embarrassed by how quickly you push yourself to your feet.

“Look, you may be a big, strong firefighter now, but Carmilla Karnstein never exerted excess energy and you also, just, you didn’t sound like you, so you might as well just tell me.”

“Will died in a car accident.” You hadn’t meant to blurt it out, but you didn’t know how to begin. You take a breath. “Will and I were driving back from a camping trip and it was real early in the morning – 3AM or so – and we should have stopped for the night. Will asked if we could, actually, but I didn’t want to waste the time, so, instead, I took over driving.

“Anyway, we were driving and laughing and singing and the next thing I know, we’re being shoved off the road by this huge mac truck. I found out later that he had fallen asleep after being on the road for an extraordinary amount of time. I tried braking and turning and everything I could think of, but it didn’t matter. We had a little beat up Civic that could never have competed with a god damn eighteen-wheeler, so then our car got pushed entirely off the road, down into this ravine. And we’re flipping and turning and bouncing and I couldn’t tell which way was up. Not even when we stopped, at first, but then I realized we were upside down. I looked over at Will to tell him not to panic and he was looking down at this… this massive tree branch that had pierced through the back window and all the way up through his chest.”

You stop because you’re getting overwhelmed and Laura’s broken expression is not what you need right now. You swallow the lump in your throat and continue.

“And then he was looking at me and I knew he was going to die – I knew – because there was so much blood so fast and we were upside down in a car with no way to get help. But he was looking at me and all I would do was talk to him, tell him I love him until he stopped breathing.

“And then, of course, my door was bashed shut and I couldn’t move anyway, so I was just stuck. Trapped in this tiny space with my dead brother. I was in and out of consciousness for a while after that and, the whole time, I couldn’t figure out if it had been minutes or days, but I guess head trauma will do that. When I woke up in the hospital, they told me I’d been down there for nearly three days, so…” you trail off, shrugging.

“So you don’t like small spaces,” Laura finishes for you.

You shake your head.

“I’m sorry, Carmilla. I don’t – I’m sorry. Have you ever, you know, seen a therapist about it?”

“Only long enough to be diagnosed with PTSD and anxiety. I didn’t care much for it all.”

Laura focuses her gaze on you and her level of concentration, at any other time, would be cute.

“Do you have any other triggers?”

“What?”

“Triggers. Things or situations or sounds that might cause a flashback or panic attack or something.”

“Yeah,” you tell her, “but this isn’t something we have to talk about.”

“I think it is. We’re already talking about it and plus, we’re going to be living together for the next six months; I want to make sure you feel safe.”

Laura pulls you to the couch and you tell her about the fact that you haven’t been in a car since that day. You tell her about how being engulfed in total darkness sends you into a fit of shaking and screaming. You tell her about the nightmares. You tell her about how your foster mother was never much of a mother to you and Will and about the psychological wounds that still remain after all these years. You tell her everything that only Will had ever known.

[You think you’d tell Laura Hollis anything, if only she’d keep holding your hand.]

---

Something shifts after that night with Carmilla and she’s the one to put a name on it. The next morning, over breakfast, she says, “So we’re, like, friends now or something, huh?”

[You aren’t sure why the word “friends” settles so heavily in your stomach.]

“Yeah, I guess we are. Better than mortal enemies.”

Her head quirks to the side. “Was I actually your mortal enemy?”

“You did leave a milk container of what seemed to be blood on my desk.”

“Corn syrup and -”

“Food coloring, I remember.”

Chapter Text

Laura’s been working even later than usual - a feat you didn’t know was possible - and you have a rare night off, so you find yourself at The Roof, your favorite bar (and Laura’s least favorite). You, Kirsch, and the rest of your squad are regulars at The Roof, partially because of its proximity to your fire station and partially because Kirsch’s younger brother tends bar here.

You seldom admit it, but the Kirsch brothers are the closest thing you’ve had to a family since Will died. The elder brother had been Will’s best friend at Silas and, though the two of you hadn’t gotten along well during Will’s lifetime, you’d immediately bonded following his death. You actually got to know one another and it’s comforting to have an important part of Will’s life with you still. His younger brother, Brody, just comes along with the package, you suppose. And he isn’t the worst, as younger brothers go.

You’re on your favorite stool, alternating your attention between the soccer match and football game on the TVs behind the bar, when someone slides in next to you. You barely register the motion beside you - this is a popular bar; it’s bound to get crowded - until you’re nudged on the shoulder.

You turn to ream whoever hit you and you’re met with the smug grin on LaFontaine’s face.

You deflate the rage from your body and say, “Hey, LaF.”

“Karnstein. What brings you here?”

“Night off,” you shrug. “The empty loft didn’t seem very enticing, so,” you trail off, lifting your nearly empty glass of whiskey. “You?”

“It’s not too far from the bakery and Per’s not done with work for the evening yet, so I thought I’d check the place out.”

“You own a bakery? How did I not know this?”

“It’s not like you’re much of a talker.”

“True. Ginger 1 must be in her element there.”

“She loves it,” they nod. “You should come see it. It’s called Gingerbread; you’ve probably walked right by it.”

You choke on your drink and sputter. “Your bakery is called Gingerbread. The ginger twins own a bakery called fucking Gingerbread ?”

They grin. “It was my idea. Took me a full four months to talk Per into it.”

“I gotta hand it to you, that’s pretty hilarious. Is there a Ginger Discount?”

“Nope, just the Laura’s Wife Discount you’ll get if you come in.”

“Touche,” you say rolling your eyes.

“So speaking of,” they start.

“Nope,” you cut them off, refocusing your attention on the soccer game. “We aren’t talking about this.”

“Why not?”

“You’re her best friend. That’s weird.”

“I can be objective.”

“Doubtful.”

“Come on, Karnstein. Are we going to pretend you aren’t in love with her?” You turn back to them, eyes wide. “I knew it!”

“Brody!” you call. “We need at least two more rounds over here!”

“I’m not drinking tonight,” LaF says beside you.

“If you want to talk about this with me, yes you are.”

Brody sets four glasses of whiskey down in front of you and LaF with a clink and they only hesitate a second before they sigh and say, “Let’s do this.”

---

“I just think that Carm and I could, I don’t know, be something,” you tell Elsie.

You’re both in the office late -- you out of choice; her by requirement.

[That woman really isn’t into deadlines.]

You’d called it a night and had begun packing up when Elsie asked about how your trial marriage is going. It’s nice of her, you think, to be interested. It was weird at first, of course, when you’d found out that she and Carmilla had hooked up but you quickly got over it when Elsie assured you that she supported you.

“It’s just,” you start, “she’s different than she was in college. Or - I don’t know - maybe she’s the real her now and she’s just letting me in. Whatever it is, I really like it.”

“Does she feel the same way?”

“Probably not,” you shake your head. “She’s just being nice until this thing is over. None of it makes any sense. I just always… kind of… had a thing for her at Silas.”

“I thought you said she was, and I quote, ‘the human stain.’”

“That was a gross exaggeration on my part,” you grimace. “She just always knew how to get under my skin, and I didn’t like that then.”

“But you do now?”

A smile tugs at your lips. “Yeah, I do. But like I said, it’s different now. It feels… like something real is building.”

“I’ve never known Carmilla to go for anything real, but I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you.”

/

When you get home that night, a half-drunk Carmilla is splayed out on the couch laughing raucously at an episode of Broad City with an equally drunk LaFontaine, who’s curled up in the recliner. A half eaten pizza sits on the table in front of them alongside a few beer bottles and a pair of glasses of water. In the few moments before they register your presence, your heart swells at the sight of them together, of Carmilla rosy-cheeked and happy.

You could get used to this.

---

After a week of being pestered, you begrudgingly agree to attend the Halloween party Laura is throwing in the loft, but you refuse to dress up, much to Laura’s chagrin.

“Come on, Carm. I’m being Ash - you could be my Pikachu!” she’d said.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that,” was your only response.

You have to admit, though, the girl knows how to throw a party. She invites her co-workers (they arrive sans Elsie, thank God) and some of yours, as well as the various groups of friends she’s made since settling here after Silas. She’d gone shopping the night before to stock up on beer, liquor, and snacks and somehow, you got roped into helping decorate in the hours leading up to the party.

You take the opportunity to fluster Laura as much as possible.

Which really, really isn’t difficult.

It’s little things that get her. The way you brush behind her as she’s hanging paper skeletons on the wall, the way you run your thumb over her wrist when she hands you streamers to tack up, the way you rake your eyes over her body when she trots down the stairs in her Ash Ketchum costume.

“Damn, cupcake, are you a Hitmonlee? ‘Cause your body is kickin’,” you say as you pass her on your way up the stairs.

You sound like an idiot, you know, but it gets the desired response.

[After a moment of stammering, she shouts, “You do love Pokemon!” after you.]

---

The party quickly goes into full swing and you do your best to make your rounds and ensure that everyone is happy and enjoying themselves. You haven’t seen Carm in a while, but you figure she’s out on the balcony; that’s typically her go-to when she’s socially overwhelmed. You’re about to go out to see her when there’s a commotion by the front door. It takes you a few minutes – which was too long, really – to figure out what it’s about. You curiously make your way toward the sound and then you hone in on one sound that makes your blood run cold and suddenly it all clicks.

Carmilla. Screaming. Inside the closet.

Seeing red, you push your way through the small crowd that’s gathered, shouting at everyone to get out, get out of your way, get out of your apartment. You shove the idiot holding the door shut out of your path, rip the door open, and Carmilla, who’d been banging at it, stumbles backward and falls against the back wall.

Distantly, you hear Perry ushering everyone from the apartment and you’re grateful, but you’re focused on Carmilla.

She’s violently shaking, rocking a bit with her knees pulled up to her chin and the palms of her hands pushed into her eyes. Strangled sounds are coming from her mouth and you can’t decide if she’s trying to keep herself from audibly crying or if the panic attack has taken control of her vocal chords. You quickly realize that it doesn’t make a difference; all that matters right now is grounding Carmilla.

“Carmilla? Carmilla, hey, it’s me. It’s Laura, your… Laura. Your name is Carmilla Karnstein. You’re 26 years old. You work for the New York City Fire Department. You live with me. You’re in the loft in the front closet. Can you feel the floor underneath you? It’s carpeted. Can you feel it, Carm?”

She’s shaking her head now and you can’t tell if it’s in reference to your question or not, but you keep talking.

“It’s soft beneath you and I’m right here and you are safe. You’re safe, Carmilla. Breathe, okay? Can you try to breathe?”

Carmilla pulls in a ragged breath and releases it with a whimper.

“That’s good. That’s good, Carm. Do it again. Slow, okay?”

She repeats the action a few times and lets her hands fall on each side of her hips, digging her fingers into the carpet.

“You’re safe. I’m here,” you say so many times that you lose count until her breathing levels out and her shoulders sag beneath the weight of her exhaustion.

You try to keep your voice soft and soothing when you tell her, “Some assholes played some awful prank and I’m so sorry. Perry got everyone out of here, though, and I promise you those people will never step foot near you ever again, okay? They’re all gone now though,” -- you pause, ear tuned to the kitchen -- “no, wait, I can hear Perry cleaning, which means LaF is probably still here too, but let’s get you up and out of here, okay? Can I help you stand?”

She nods wordlessly and you softly take each of her hands, doing most of the work as you pull her up. Carmilla finally looks at you then and there’s very little clarity in her eyes. It’s startling to see Carmilla, who’s always calculated, in a daze like this, and you can’t help but run your hands up and down her arms a few times.

“You did good, Carm. You’re okay.”

You start to move but become frozen again when Carmilla suddenly pulls you into a tight hug, arms around your neck. She feels small against you and is still trembling, but her grip on you is sure.

You quickly wrap your arms around her waist, pulling her further into you, and her face is pressed into your neck. Your heart breaks a little for her when you feel the residual tears transfer to the skin there.

And then she says, voice small and unsteady, “Thank you.”

You pull her back from you enough to look her in the eye and her eyes look a bit more focused, for which you’re grateful. When you push back some of the hair that’s fallen in her face and let your hand linger at her cheek, she softens even further.

“Don’t thank me. I was just -”

She shakes her head, cutting you off. “I’ve never come out of a panic attack that quickly. Never. Thank you.”

“I - you’re welcome,” you say. “Wanna get changed and watch a movie?”

“Are you asking me to ‘Netflix and chill,’ Laura Hollis?” Your eyes widen and your arms drop to your side. “Relax, I was just kidding. A movie does sound nice, though.”

Carmilla brushes by you and you follow a few moments later, wondering how she manages to throw you off so easily. You catch a glimpse of Carmilla as she disappears up the stairs and when you turn back, LaFontaine is looking at you amusedly while Perry scrubs at a spill on the counter.

“What?” you ask when LaF raises their eyebrows at you.

“Nothing. Nothing at all, Crushes on Wives.”

“What are you -” you say, voice higher-pitched than usual.

“Leave Laura alone, sweetie. She and Carmilla will figure their” - she pauses, flourishing her wrist in the air - “thing out.”

“There’s nothing to figure out,” you say just as Carmilla calls, “Which sweatpants do you want, cutie?” down the stairs to you.

You close your eyes and purse your lips, blocking out the sight of LaFontaine laughing at you and Perry struggling to keep a straight face.

“Surprise me,” you call back and when you open your eyes, you offer your friends a quiet, “Shut up. She doesn’t… Carmilla doesn’t feel that way about me so let’s just leave it, okay?”

Perry and LaFontaine gather their things to leave and you stand at the door. After saying your goodbyes, Perry starts down the hallway, but LaF lingers for a moment.

“If you paid any attention, frosh, you’d see that Carmilla has always looked at you with nauseating heart eyes.”

Before you can formulate an answer, they’re giving you a tight smile and turning to catch up with their wife. You pull the door closed and then lean your forehead against it, letting the cool steel calm you because what the what? Carmilla doesn’t give you long to think about it, though, because seconds later, she’s descending the stairs, clothing for you in hand.

“What’s wrong?” Carmilla asks, exhaustion evident in her voice.

“Nothing,” you shake your head. “LaF just said something dumb.”

“So just the usual,” she says, trying to force a smirk to her face.

“Yeah, yeah. Go pick out a movie,” you tell Carmilla as you pass her to use the bathroom, taking the clothes she offers you on the way.

When you emerge a few minutes later, Carmilla’s on the couch, legs stretched out in front of her and resting on the coffee table, and the remote is sat next to her. You walk toward her and, when you get close, she picks up the remote and holds it out to you.

“Your choice.”

You take the remote from her but say, “You hate my movies.”

“I hate your movie commentary.”

“Well that’s just not true,” you say and you see the corners of her mouth twitch.

“Just pick a movie, sweetheart.”

You choose Inside Out, a personal favorite, and once the main menu is up, Carmilla says, “Trying to tell me something?”

You look at Carmilla and you don’t think you’ve ever seen or heard her so tired. You’ve also never seen her in a full-fledged panic attack or had her body completely pressed against yours. It’s been a night of firsts, you guess.

“Not really. I mean - just - this movie just always reminds me that it’s nice being happy and we should all work to be happy because I deserve that and you deserve that and everyone deserves that, but it’s also okay and healthy to be sad sometimes, too. Or angry or afraid or whatever. Letting yourself feel your feelings is a good thing, even when it doesn’t feel like it. I don’t know.”

You expect her to make fun of you, or at least to make a sarcastic remark, but instead, Carmilla just nods gently at you for a long moment before taking the remote from your hand and starting the movie.

She makes it twenty minutes before her head keeps slipping to the side, bobbing up and down as sleep tries to take her.

“Carmilla,” you say softly. “Carm.”

“Hmm, what? I’m awake. That moronic blue feeling did that thing Amy Poehler said not to.”

You giggle a little and say, “Do you want to lay down?” Carmilla turns and blinks at you slowly but doesn’t respond, so you grab a pillow from beside you and place it in your lap. “Come on, I know you’re exhausted. That took a lot out of you.”

Carmilla only looks at you for a moment longer before shifting and lying down on the couch, her head falling onto the pillow in your lap.

“Thank you,” she mumbles and you refrain from pointing out that she’s now shown gratitude twice in the span of an hour.

Carmilla spends most of the movie in a between sleep and wake state and you feel more than hear her laugh at Anger’s quips throughout the film.

Before the end of the movie, Carmilla has finally fallen asleep and she turns over so her nose is pressed into your stomach and you can feel her light, even breaths through your t-shirt. You miss the last fifteen minutes of the movie because you’re too busy watching Carmilla’s face respond to your fingers gently combing through her hair as she sleeps. As you fall asleep, Carmilla’s head in your lap, your hand woven through her hair, you have hope that maybe LaFontaine was right.

---

You wake up in Laura’s lap. You don’t remember falling asleep but you can’t say you mind the way she’s cradling your face in her hand while she sleeps. You enjoy it for a bit, eyes closed and mind wandering, before you realize she could wake up and be uncomfortable with you still here, on top of her. Though, a small part of you thinks – or hopes, maybe – that she won’t be, because you can hear the menu of the movie you’d fallen asleep during still playing on a loop on the tv, which tells you Laura made a conscious decision. That she meant to comfort you, she meant to stay here, and maybe she even wants you here.

Still, you sit up as gently as you can; the poor girl has been sleeping sitting up presumably all night and you want her to sleep in. You take the pillow you’d slept on from her lap and cover her with a blanket and head upstairs up to take a shower.

When you’re finished, Laura is still sleeping soundly, but your stomach is growling. And then, you think, you need some way to thank Laura and you’re not sure what qualifies as an adequate “thank you” for coaxing you out of an embarrassingly loud and severe panic attack, so you decide just to start breakfast.

You manage to make two plates of chocolate and peanut butter chip waffles – Laura’s favorite –, some bacon, and a steaming cup of hot cocoa for Laura before she begins to stir. You hear her stretch, lightly sighing as she does so, and you look over just in time to see her shirt ride up a bit as she lifts her arms over her head.

“Good morning,” you say, careful not to startle her.

“Hey, Carm,” she says, her soft morning eyes falling on you. “You sleep okay?”

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks. It was actually – yeah.” The corners of Laura’s mouth turn up. “How about you?”

“I slept great. You know you’re going to have to watch Inside Out with me another time, though, right?”

You roll your eyes and opt not to answer, instead saying, “Breakfast is ready, whenever you want to eat. I can put it in the oven to keep it warm.”

She lights up and bounds toward you. “What’d you make?” And then, without giving you a chance to answer, Laura says, “Choc-o-PB waffles? Carm! Best morning ever” before brushing behind you, a little closer than necessary, to grab one of the plates and settling at the table.

---

Jazz Night at Gingerbread is, bar none, your favorite event. Through your job at Newsweek you get to some pretty swanky parties, but nothing compares to Jazz Night for you. Perry’s been holding it since she and LaFontaine first opened the bakery and this year, Gingerbread’s Fourth Annual Jazz Night, is shaping up to be their most popular one yet, and for good reason. They somehow managed to hire Matska Belmonde, up and coming jazz musician, to play for the night.

When you get there around eight, the Ms. Belmonde has already started singing and there are some couples dancing in the middle of the room, where tables usually are. For tonight, they’re pushed to the side, the lights are low, and there are candles lit everywhere. Perry must have been baking all day because, upon looking around, you find that no one is wanting for food.

You make your way to the back of the room where your friends are seated, shoulder to shoulder and hands clasped between them, watching the event.

You slide into a seat at their table and Laf greets you with a standard, “Hey frosh.”

“Where’s Carmilla?” Perry asks.

“Oh. She’s, um, at work… I think?”

“You didn’t tell her about Jazz Night?” LaF asks. “It’s your favorite!”

“I didn’t know if she’d be into it!”

“Well, it’s a good thing I told her, then,” LaF smiles.

---

You’re running a little later than you’d hoped but you manage to get to Gingerbread by eight-thirty. You spot Laura immediately in the back of the room with Perry and LaFontaine and you suddenly feel nervous. You smooth out your tight, black, strapless dress and steel yourself. This is just another night of hanging out, right? Right.

You weave your way through the patrons of Gingerbread as the singer croons the opening bars of “The Way You Look Tonight,” and you hear Laura say, “I love this song!” just as you approach her table.

You tap her on the shoulder and when she turns around, eyes going wide, you say, “Wanna dance with me?”

“Carm! You look - wow. Yes, I’d love to.”

You hold your right hand out for her to take and she does almost immediately. You walk backwards, pulling her toward the makeshift dance floor. Once you’re there, you wrap your left arm around her waist and pull her into you.

[It could be wishful thinking, but you think her breath catches.]

She weaves the fingers of her left hand through the ones on your right and her free hand rests on your hip. And there you are: face to face, chest to chest with the most beautiful girl in this world.

“You look incredible,” you tell her.

“Probably just a trick of the light,” she says, nodding her head up at the dimmed bulbs.

“Not a chance, Laura Hollis.”

Laura rubs her thumb over the fabric covering your hipbone and, God, you want to kiss her. Maybe you should kiss her. Wouldn’t it be perfect to tell her all the things you’ve been wanting to say since Silas at what LaF called “Laura’s reason for living”?

You take a breath in to say something stupid like, “I love you” or “Can I kiss you?” when a voice from beside you says, “May I cut in?”

Laura and you turn at the exact same time to look at the intruder and it’s none other than Xena herself. Danny fucking Lawrence.

“Danny,” Laura says, “What are you doing here?”

You let your hands fall from Laura’s body but she regains a grip on one, rethreading your fingers.

Danny’s eyes fall to the contact only briefly before she continues.

“I just wanted to talk to you. You haven’t been answering my messages but I figured I’d find you here tonight.”

“I wasn’t answering you for a reason.”

“I know. Will you just hear me out?”

Laura throws a quick glance to you and you shrug.

“I’ll be right back, okay? Right back. Promise,” she says to you before turning to Danny. “Five minutes.”

When she pulls her hand from you, your skin goes cold, and it has nothing to do with the November weather.

You silently take a seat with LaF, who assures you that nothing is going on between Laura and Danny anymore.

“She cheated on Laura,” LaF tells you.

“What?”

“Yeah,” they nod. “It was fucked up. Laura was a wreck. But then, she married you.”

You scoff. “Because our situation is making her so happy.”

“You two are so frustrating,” LaF groans.

Five minutes turns to ten, which turns to fifteen, and logically you know you have no right to be jealous or bitter, but you are. Because every time you look over at them, they’re laughing or Laura’s hand is on Danny’s forearm or they’re holding hands or they’re crying.

At the twenty minute mark, it all becomes too much.

“I gotta go,” you tell LaFontaine.

“Karnstein -”

“No. I’m going.”

/

You don’t go straight back to the loft. You stop by the station to change into some of your spare gym clothes and hit the punching bag in the basement for a bit. Lilita Morgan would be shaking her head and clicking her tongue if she could see you right now.

“If you keep turning all of your emotions into anger, you’re going to combust,” she’d always tell you after getting in fights at school or punching a hole through her wall.

You just hate getting your hopes up, especially with Laura, and you’ve always been good at taking your disappointment out on yourself.

/

You don’t expect Laura to be in the loft when you get there but, of course, there she is, still in her red dress.

“There you are! You left. I called you, like, seven times.”

“Yeah, I turned my phone off. Figured you were busy with the Jolly Green Giant anyway.”

You slip your shoes off and try to make a beeline for the bathroom, but Laura moves to stand in your way.

“Whoa, where’d that come from?”

“What?”

“That tone. You haven’t talked to me like that since Silas.”

“I’m not talking to you like anything.”

“Exactly.”

Well, she’s got you there. Laura tips your chin up with her pointer finger.

“I was talking to her about you, you know.”

You soften, if only slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Danny only came to apologize. Closure or something - I don’t know - and then I spent a good half hour talking about you and me and this wacky arrangement and when I realized how long I’d been going on for, I went to find you, but you’d left.”

“Oh,” you say, and your body releases all the tension you thought you’d punched out at the station.

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry. I thought - nevermind. I’m just sorry.”

“I appreciate that. I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to leave you hangin’. Raincheck on the rest of that dance?”

“Absolutely.”

---

You know you should have asked sooner but, to be honest, you had just assumed Carmilla would be spending Thanksgiving with you. Like, sure, you didn’t officially invite her to the yearly Hollis Loft Friendsgiving Extravaganza, but you didn’t think you had to. You’re legally married; don’t regular married people spend holidays together?

Then again, you and Carmilla aren’t regular married people and to assume Carmilla would want to spend her Thanksgiving with you was presumptuous, you know. But it still hurts when, the night before Thanksgiving, you start telling Carmilla about your plans for you, her, and your guests and a slight grimace takes over her face.

“What?”

“It’s just…” she sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I didn’t know I was invited so I kind of made other plans.”

You try to keep your face from falling but you know you fail. “Oh.”

“Every year at work, we do this Thanksgiving charity auction and I haven’t had anyone to spend the day with since Will died, so I always help out. I can probably still cancel,” she says, looking at the clock.

“No,” you say, despite your sinking heart. “No, I can’t keep you from that. Besides, I shouldn’t have assumed you’d want to spend the day with me.”

Carmilla tilts her head and says, “Cupcake, I – “

“It’s fine, Carm,” you cut her off; you really don’t want her consolation. You aren’t sure why you’re taking this so hard, but whatever. You shake your head quickly and plaster on a smile. “What’s the event like?”

Her eyes flit around the room then and one of her boots scuffs back and forth across the floor.

“It’s dumb,” Carmilla says. “We do this yearly department calendar and sell a bunch for charity and then – “

“Wait, you posed for a calendar? Like a sexy firefighter calendar?”

“Laura,” she warns.

“This is classic. Please tell me you have a copy.”

“I sure don’t. I only have ones to sell. For charity. Kid cancer charity.”

“How much?”

“Laura – “

“How. Much?”

“$20.”

You bound up the stairs to get your wallet and are back downstairs before Carmilla has the sense to run far, far away. You slap a $20 bill on the island in front of her and look at her expectantly. Carmilla defiantly holds eye contact with you, one eyebrow raised, for a few moments before rolling her eyes and trudging to the front closet. She returns with a calendar and she tosses it on the counter.

“You’re enjoying this too much.”

“Carm, this is the most stereotypical fireperson thing ever,” you say, ignoring her comment entirely as you scan the cover.

You spot Carmilla quickly – how could you not? – and she’s slung over Kirsch’s shoulders – you guessed it – fireman style.

You look up at her fondly and say, “How’d he talk you into that?”

“I lost a bet,” she says. “Look, Laura, there’s another thing about this charity gig I need to tell you about.”

You put the calendar down, giving her your full attention.

“I’m also an auction item.”

“You’re – what?”

“They have us sign up for these things months in advance – god, it’s embarrassing – but I got put on a list to be auctioned off for a Thanksgiving date.” Your mouth drops open on it’s own accord. “It was before – “

“Why would I care?” you ask, voice coming out squeaky. “We’re not actually together; you can do whatever you want.”

Carmilla eyes you for a moment and you think you see her shoulders sag just a fraction before she says, “Right.”

“In fact, bring the lucky lady here after the auction! We can all have a great big lovely family dinner. Won’t that be nice?”

You move about the kitchen frantically, then, checking cabinets and dishes and the fridge and mentally taking an inventory of every part of your body that physically hurts because you had gotten your hopes up. You thought there was… something between you and Carmilla, but you were obviously wrong. And you invited her date! Who does that? Why would you do that? It’s too late to take it back, right?

You look over at Carmilla and she’s staring at you with this blank expression and, yeah, it’s too late.

---

“Bro, she totally sounds jealous,” Kirsch tells you the next morning at the firehouse.

You had left before Laura was up and about for the day – not that she would have looked you in the eye anyway – but you left her a note because you were feeling brave. Or very, very dumb.

                Happy Thanksgiving, Laura. Wish I was spending my day with you.

                                                                                x C

And then you got to the auction approximately four hours before it was set to begin and, before you knew it, you were calling Kirsch. To his credit, he only complained a little bit that you woke him up and came to meet you on the roof of the firehouse within the half-hour.

Upon arriving, he could tell that you were out of sorts and immediately questioned you. It didn’t take much prodding for you to spill and, to be honest, you probably would have even if he hadn’t asked you.

“Jealousy would imply that there’s anything to be jealous of.”

Kirsch shakes his head. “People don’t need a valid reason to get jealous. It’s all about perceived threat. I knew that little nerd hottie had feelings for you.”

You shoot him a glare and he puts his hands up. “Sorry, I knew Laura had feelings for you.”

“Were you even listening? She invited me and whatever cretin wins my item at the auction for Thanksgiving dinner. This is her favorite holiday and instead of asking me to be there to begin with, she invited me and my auction date. That is the opposite of ‘having feelings for.’”

“No, you know what your problem is?”

“Oh, do tell, oh wise and all-knowing beefcake. Please, go ahead. Inform me of all the things wrong with me.”

He ignores your jab and presses on, his voice level. “Your problem is you don’t think anyone will ever love you. You don’t think you’re worth it and you don’t love yourself most of the time, not really. You act all cocky and smug, but you’re not. It’s an act because you think you have to protect yourself. But having walls up all the time with armed guards on top of them is only going to push away people who really love you.”

“What, like you?”

“You couldn’t push me away if you tried; you’re stuck with me,” Kirsch says, pushing your shoulder. “You know I’m talking about Laura.”

“Look,” you sigh. “I would love to think that I have some kind of chance with Laura; I was in love with her at Silas and I’m in love with her now. She doesn’t want this, though. She doesn’t want me or our out of order marriage and I can’t afford to keep getting my hopes crushed.”

“I’ve seen the way she looks at you and you would too if you could see past your own heart eyes. She’s probably just as afraid as you are. Give her a chance to figure it all out.”

“I have.”

“Have you ever said, ‘Laura, I want this for real’ or ‘Laura, you’re beautiful and I wanna have your babies’ or – “

“No,” you cut him off.

“Then you haven’t given her a chance,” he grins, knowing he’s won this round. “I swear, dude, it’s gonna work out. If it doesn’t I’ll…” he screws up his face, thinking. Then his eyes widen and he snaps his fingers at you. “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll let you tattoo me.”

“Deal,” you say immediately. Kirsch holds out his fist and you begrudgingly bump yours against it. “Holding you to it.”

---

“Okay, so let me get this straight. Your wife – the one you’re in love with only she doesn’t know about it – is being auctioned off for charity today and we’re not going?”

You look at LaF, who’s genuinely confused. “Correct.”

“That’s the most illogical thing I’ve heard in awhile.”

“How’s that? She didn’t even tell me about it until yesterday.”

“Did you ask?”

“Well, no, but… no.”

“Exactly. So we should go. We’ll bid on her – wow that sounds terrible when I say it out loud – and you’ll get your girl for Thanksgiving.”

You huff. “It’s not that easy.”

“Oh no?” LaF asks, holding up Carmilla’s solo page in the calendar – May, which is coincidentally your birth month – and your mouth drops open.

After she dropped the bombshell about the date yesterday, you’d forgotten about the calendar until LaFontaine starting leafing through it. Still, you hadn’t seen Carmilla’s page until just now and – wow. Really? Of course she has her own page and of course she’s in her tightest pair of leather pants with an NYCFD tee cut into a crop top lounging atop her motorcycle. Of course she is.

You snatch the calendar from LaF’s hands before you can tell your hands not to and they laugh at you.

“Frosh, you’re married to that. Why don’t you just tell her you’re mad about her?”

You don’t answer; your eyes are too busy raking over her exposed abs. Carmilla has a six pack, which is a thing you knew; you’ve seen them before but only in brief moments, like when she uses the bottom of her shirt to wipe her forehead after a workout. And you know that Carmilla is potentially the most beautiful woman on this planet and maybe in this entire galaxy, but this photo – it just can’t be legal.

“We have to go.”

“Now we’re talkin’.”

---

You’re walking from the bathroom to the makeshift backstage area when you see her. Laura. Here. Here. Luckily, she doesn’t see you -- thank god -- because you’re sent immediately into a panic. You rush backstage and nearly bowl Kirsch over.

“Whoa, C, where’s the fire?”

“That’s never been funny,” you say, rolling your eyes. “Did you see her?”

“Uh, who?”

“Laura.”

“Laura, your wife, Laura?”

“Yes, you dimwit!”

“What’s she doing here?”

“Why the fuck would I know?”

A goofy smile spreads across his face. “She’s going to bid on you. I was right! Oh man, she does have the hots for you!” He pumps his fists and begins dancing around.

“You think so?”

Kirsch stops moving as quickly as he began and rests his hands on your shoulders.

“Dude, yes. Of course. Where’s that Karnstein confidence?” he asks, shoving you a little.

“I don’t know,” you say, throwing your hands up. “She saps it from me like some tiny gay hummingbird.”

“Well, hey. You can have some of mine for now. Just go out there, put on your best Karnstein smolder, and see what happens. And I’ll be right up there with you! Okay?”

“Okay,” you agree.

That’ll be easier said than done.

---

You and LaF find seats on an aisle in the front half of the firehouse. After looking through the program, you see that Carmilla is Lot 7 of 34, so you’re pleased that you won’t have to wait very long, but it doesn’t stem your nerves. Until the auction begins, you have a discussion with LaF about the implications of auctioning off a human that is less of a discussion and more of just nervous rambling. Three lots into the auction, LaF clamps their hand down on your knee and you look at them, confused.

“You’ve been bouncing your leg since we sat down,” they explain. “Your stress is stressing me out.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

---

You hear your lot number get called – lucky number seven – and you steel yourself. You’ll just do what you always have with Laura: act.

So you walk out onto the stage, taking your place next to the podium where Kirsch is calling the action. You should be able to just focus on the back of the room and bat your eyelashes – there’s plenty of people here – but your eyes are drawn to Laura the instant you face the crowd.

You make eye contact with her and it’s an awful mistake because Laura’s crooked smile quirks onto her lips and when she pairs it with a shrug, your facade falls and the smile you save for her fights its way onto your face.

You’re so distracted by her that you miss someone placing the first bid on the date with you. In fact, you only realize it’s happened because Ginger 2 elbows Laura, who breaks eye contact to find the owner of the voice. You follow Laura’s line of sight and nearly groan aloud.

Elsie.

---

Elsie. Elsie? You had thought about the fact that maybe you’d have some competition at this auction – you are aware that Carmilla is universally attractive – but Elsie?!

She had listened to all your rants and ramblings about Carmilla on your lunch hour for two months now, all the while being supportive, and now she’s going to bid on your wife?

“Do I hear $50?”

LaF nudges you again. “Bid, frosh!” they whisper.

“Oh! Uh,” you raise your paddle, “$50... over here. Yeah.”

Elsie quickly counters with, “$75.”

“$100!”

“$200,” Elsie says calmly.

“$250,” you say, panic rising. You have exactly $413 on you and Carmilla’s lot is cash only. Apparently they hadn’t expected her to go for this much.

“$300.”

“$400!” you say, exasperated.

“$420,” Elsie says and when you don’t immediately counter, a smug smile finds its way to her face.

“Um,” you say, fishing through your bag. LaF shoves a twenty dollar bill between your fingers and you say, “I have… $433 and a lipstick in the coral family.”

“$435,” Elsie says and your shoulders fall.

“I’m tapped out,” LaF says and you nod in agreement.

“O..kay,” Kirsch starts. “We have $435 going once… going twice… going… gone.” Maybe it’s just your own disappointment clogging your ears, but Kirsch sounds as unenthusiastic as you’ve ever heard him.

He drops the gavel with a half-hearted tap and you feel your heart sink.

You can’t bear to be in this room, nor can you find it in you to look up at Carmilla again, so you push yourself up and walk down the aisle and out of the firehouse, tears pressing at your eyes. This was probably some elaborate prank. Yes, Carmilla let you – made you – fall in love with her, only to humiliate you in a tag-team with Elsie. How could she do this?

This had to be a set up.

---

Elsie bounds up to the stage to pull you by the hand and you look at Kirsch with pleading eyes but all he can do is shrug. You look back to where Laura’s sitting only to find that she’s not. She’s stalking from the building without looking back and you feel your heart crack open. This is not what you intended.

Chapter Text

Yes, Carmilla let you – made you – fall in love with her, only to humiliate you in a tag-team with Elsie. How could she do this?

This had to be a set up.

This was not a set up, you realize very quickly after Carmilla and Elsie arrive at the loft. When you answer the door, Carmilla has that look she gets when she’s trying not to punch something, like she’s focusing every atom of her being on swallowing her anger. She softens a bit when you look at her, but your chest doesn’t ache any less.

“No hard feelings, right Laur? I mean, sure, you’re married, but just barely.”

“I didn’t – that was –” but it’s too late; Elsie has already pulled a miserable Carmilla to the living room.

It’s awful of you to think this, but it’s just a little comforting that Carmilla seems to be as upset about this predicament as you are. It also helps that LaFontaine is giving Elsie a death stare so real that you’re pretty sure the girl’s head is going to detach from her neck.

“Carmilla,” you hear Elsie say. “Would you be a dear and get me a glass of wine?”


“Sure,” she grumbles.

You look up as Carmilla is moving to stand and Elsie grabs her by the hand. “Cheer up, grumpy. This is a date.”

Carmilla rips her hand from Elsie’s. “The rules are I have to spend the afternoon with you. I don’t have to enjoy it.”

You turn around, facing the counter, to hide your smile as LaF snorts. “Damn, Karnstein.”

“Hey, LaF.”

Moments later she’s next to you with three wine glasses. “Want one?” she asks you, lightly bumping your hip with hers.

“Okay,” you say, still not looking at her.

“Hey,” she says, bumping you again.

You turn and her face is much closer to yours than you expected, making your breath catch.

“Hey,” you say.

“You know this isn’t how I wanted today to go, right?” she asks, but before you can answer, Elsie is saying, “Carmillaaaaa!” from the couch.

Carmilla shuts her eyes and heaves out a sigh. “Be right there,” she says through her teeth. She pours three glasses of wine and hands you one. “Happy Thanksgiving, Laura” she says sadly and with a weary smile.

“You too, Carm,” you say, sipping from your glass.

Carmilla doesn’t leave yet; she just looks at you, seeming to weigh something in her mind. She must come to a conclusion because she leans in even closer to you and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. You let your eyes fall shut when she leans her forehead against your temple for a moment before rejoining her date on the couch.

Such overt affection from Carmilla is overwhelming; until, well, just now it’s all been brushes of fingertips and roaming eyes and inching closer and closer to one another, both literally and figuratively. All were actions that you could brush off as accidents to keep yourself from becoming hopeful. Now you feel like you’ve been cracked open and you want nothing more than for Carmilla to be pressed into your side or holding your hand on top of the table.

But she has a date, here, on Thanksgiving.

---

You sit opposite Laura at her Friendsgiving table so that you’re on either head of the table. You’re grateful that you’re able to make eye contact with her to try to convey how sorry you are, but you’d rather be right next to her. Your lips are still warm after kissing her and now that you’ve bridged that gap, taken that leap – small as it was – you just. You want her. You want her to know you want her. But there’s a trouble-making parasite on your left side keeping that from happening.

You keep telling yourself that it’s just for the afternoon. You’ve waited seven years to tell Laura Hollis you’re in love with her; surely you can wait a few more hours.

---

All things considered, this might be the worst Friendsgiving you’ve ever hosted, and that includes the time that LaF made what they dubbed “Laf’s Pyrotechnic Pie,” which ended up exploding in their dorm room. The majority of the sound at the table is silverware clinking against plates and Perry valiantly trying – and ultimately failing – to sustain conversation. You’ve lost any semblance of an appetite, so you push your food around on your plate, elbow propped on the table, chin perched on your fist.

“Hey cupcake,” Carmilla says, and you peek across the table at her. “Remember the first Friendsgiving you held?”

You send her a warm smile. “You mean the one where I accidentally blew up a clove of garlic in our microwave?”


“The very same.”

“I thought you were going to wring my neck.”


“Well who puts garlic in the microwave? The whole room smelled like it for weeks.”

“I told you, I had a lot on my plate that day! I meant to be melting butter in the microwave and chopping garlic, but I switched them. How was I supposed to know garlic exploded under heat?”

Carmilla’s eyes are soft and her small smile sends warmth through your chest.

“Remember the next year,” LaF starts, “when I invited my lab partner, JP, and Perry nearly had a stroke?”

“I did not!”

“You totally did,” you say, laughing. “I can picture it now: you were pacing back in forth in my room, tidying as you went.”

LaF presses a messy kiss to Perry’s cheek in between laughter.

For the rest of the meal, you all trade stories about various Friendsgivings but, mostly, you watch Carmilla fondly.

---

“Alright,” you say, clapping your hands together. “It’s 7:00. Date over. Lovely seeing you. Come back never.”

“I paid for a real date,” Elsie whines, the sound grating on your eardrums.

“You paid for a block of time – time I can never get back – and a block of time you received. In fact, you received an incredibly generous Thanksgiving dinner from people who don’t owe you anything.”

Elsie scoffs. “You don’t have to be a jerk just because Laura is watching. We could… take this elsewhere. For old time’s sake.”

“What about the way today went makes you think I want to spend any time with you? This was a fluke and I think you’d better go. Now. Do not call me.”

“Whatever, Carmilla,” she says and, thankfully, leaves without causing any more of a fuss.

You look over at Laura and she isn’t looking at you, but you know by the pink in her cheeks that she was listening. Most of Laura’s friends have left and the gingers are now preparing to leave and suddenly you’re nervous.

“Perry, thank you so much for another delicious dinner,” Laura says to Perry at the door. “I know the circumstances were… odd, but thank you for being here.”

Perry puts her hand on Laura’s arm and says, “Sweetie, there’s nowhere else we’d be today.” Then she peeks around Laura at you. “Happy Thanksgiving, Carmilla. I hope you’ll be joining us next year.”

“Happy Thanksgiving, Perry. LaF.”

They nod at you with a broad smile and reach around Perry to shut the door. You lean back against the island on the side closest to Laura. She offers you a small smile, cheeks still flushed, but walks around the island to the sink and begins washing dishes.

“Laura?” She hums in response. “Are you going to look at me for more than a few seconds at a time today?” Laura shrugs. “Can we talk?” She shrugs twice.

You decide you’ve waited long enough. You push off from the counter and move behind Laura. When you reach around her to shut off the water, she freezes. A moment later, you think you feel her push back into you just slightly.

“Why were you at the auction today?” you ask and your voice shakes.

“I - I don’t know.”

You let your hands fall on her sides. “I wanted you to be there. If I had to be there, I wanted you to be there, too.”

She pauses. And then, “Why?”

You drop your chin on her shoulder and you feel more than hear her breath catch. “Because I’m tired of pretending that I don’t want you everywhere that I am.”

A laugh bubbles up from her chest and, okay, not quite the reaction you were hoping for. She spins, nearly head-butting you in the process, and her eyes are shining.

Before you can ask what’s wrong, Laura says, “So the Elsie thing wasn’t some elaborate joke you were playing on me?”

“What? No. God, no. She was an unforeseen and unfortunate complication. Do you think I’d do that to you?”

“No! I don’t know! I just – when I’m around you, my brain gets all wonky and I can’t think straight because you just make me so confused, y’know? This – us – is supposed to be this terrible, idiotic decision made – wait, that didn’t – I just mean that a drunk wedding wasn’t supposed to turn out to be a thing that makes me so happy. I didn’t expect to wake up one morning and not be afraid that the first thing I thought was, ‘I am crazy in love with Carmilla.’ And you – I just – I’m never sure if you’re flirting or if it’s all an act because you’re you and I’m nerdy Laura Hollis and it doesn’t make any sense but then here you are, doing all these wonderful things for me, and I know you haven’t done it all for me, but –”

Now you’ve really  waited long enough, so you pull Laura in, your hands on her cheeks, and kiss her soundly. Or, as soundly as you can with a huge grin on your face. You swallow Laura’s excited squeal – god, you love her – before kissing her again and this time, she’s ready for you. You press her against the counter when she licks her way into your mouth and you can’t believe you waited so long to kiss her.

After a few minutes, you break apart, breathless.

“Wow,” she says, slightly dazed with swollen lips.

You nod, not yet trusting your voice, before resting your forehead against hers.

“I hate to say this, but I have to go.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“I’m going to sleep at the station. If I stay, we’ll skip a lot of steps in the wooing process -”

“Wooing?”

“Wooing. And I really want to take you out on a nice, romantic, proper first date.”

“Friendsgiving was nice and romantic and proper.”

“Hardly,” you say, kissing her again. “Please let me do this. You’re always talking about how this isn’t how a relationship should be, how everything was all out of order.”

“That seems like a misquote. I don’t remember saying that,” she says and you can’t help the beaming smile that’s on your face.

“I’m trying to be a gentlewoman here. It’s one night. One night and then we’ll have all the time in the world ahead of us.”

“You’re a real pain in my ass, Karnstein,” Laura says before kissing you hard. “Fine. First date, tomorrow.”

“I’ll pick you up at six for dinner.”

“Six?! That’s a whole day from now!”

You laugh and try to compromise. “Three, then. We’ll have a nice, romantic, proper lunch date. Okay?”

“I mean, that’s better than six and still further away from, I don’t know, immediately, but -”

“Laura.”

“Okay,” she says. “Okay, just” - she kisses you again - “I’ll miss you.”

You’re not sure why your throat tightens when you say, “Me too.”

“Go. Before I change my mind about waiting” - she looks at the clock - “eighteen hours to see you.”

“Just sleep until two. That’s my plan.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Goodnight, Laura,” you say, kissing her one more time before grabbing your keys and helmet and leaving the loft.

---

When the door clicks shut behind Carmilla, your excitement bursts out of you in the form of squeals and fist pumping. Carmilla kissed you. She kissed you and you kissed her back and you feel like a lovesick teenager, only Carmilla and your feelings for her - your feelings for each other - are more real than anything you’ve ever experienced. You’re almost dreading telling LaF because, all this time, they were right.

Before you can think about how embarrassing that conversation will be, the door slams back open and it’s Carmilla, helmet still in hand, moving quickly toward you.

“Did you forget something?”

“Kinda,” she says and now she’s within a few steps of you.

Before you know it you’re being pulled into a crushing kiss, Carmilla’s free arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Your hands tangle into her hair and you know that every rational thought has left you when you think I could live in this moment forever. Carmilla bites your lower lip and tugs on it, igniting your entire body in want, want, want.

“That should hold us over until tomorrow,” Carmilla says when she pulls back. “See you tomorrow, beautiful.”

/

You manage to sleep that night, but dreams of Carmilla are sprinkled throughout the night. You wake up feeling giddy, but also at peace. You feel like you’re on the cusp of something great and for the first time in your life, you aren’t afraid of that feeling.

You pass the morning hours doing research on a story at Gingerbread. After a few minutes of teasing, LaF seems genuinely happy for you and Carmilla.

“I was always rooting for her,” they say.

Later that afternoon, when you’re nearly ready for your day, your phone rings. You grab it quickly, expecting it to be Carmilla, but instead, there’s an unfamiliar number flashing on your screen.

“Is this Laura Hollis?” a deep voice asks once you accept the call.

“Yes,” you answer hesitantly.

“Ms. Hollis, this is Dr. Geller from Adonis General. I’m calling about your wife, Carmilla.”

Chapter Text

“Ms. Hollis, this is Dr. Parker from Adonis General. I’m calling about your wife, Carmilla."

Your heart jumps into your throat and you can feel your body buzzing with anxiety. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

“She’s been in an accident. There isn’t much I can say over the phone; we need you to come down here immediately.”

Tears are already pushing at your eyes when you hang up on the doctor and head for the door.

/

When you get to the hospital, you sprint into the emergency room and the woman at the desk looks at you wearily.

“My - my wife is here. I got a call. Carmilla Karnstein. Is she okay? I need to see her.”

The woman turns her attention to her computer screen, eyes narrowed, and clicks around for a few moments before looking back at you.

“I’m afraid that’s not possible right now,” she tells you and you can feel yourself becoming more frantic.

“No. No, you don’t understand -”

“Miss, please. Your wife is in surgery right now and a doctor will be out soon to speak with you. Right now, I need some of your wife’s information,” she says, handing you a clipboard.

“Please, can you just tell me if she’s going to be okay?”

“I’m sorry; I don’t have that information. The doctor will be out soon.”

Just as your panicked tears begin to fall and your shoulders slump, you feel strong hands turning you around. Kirsch.

He gives you a sad smile, the kind of smile someone gives when they’re trying to soften the blow. “Hey, Laura.”

“Kirsch, what happened? Is she - What happened to Carm? They haven’t told me anything yet; I just got this awful phone call saying she’s here and I know something bad happened but no one will tell me anything.”

Kirsch puts his arm around you and steers you toward the waiting room. Once you’re seated, you turn your body toward him, giving him your full attention, and only then do you notice the desperation on his face. Kirsch is always bright, always smiling, and, for that reason, his close bond with Carmilla has baffled you, but now that you’re here with him, both afraid, you realize that Carmilla has always surrounded herself with light, with gentle hearts and bright eyes.

“She - we got a call. A house fire,” he starts. “It was a townhouse. Really tall but skinny and made of brick. We’re still not sure what caused it, but we were trying to contain the flames and Carmilla - she heard screams up on the top floor. We hadn’t finished ensuring the building was structurally sound but she didn’t care. She heard a kid up there and she took off running into the building. I yelled for her to wait, but all she said was, ‘Get the cherry picker to the south window, beefcake.’”

Kirsch tries to laugh but can’t seem to muster the energy.

“So she ran up three stories to the top floor and we got the cherry picker situated and, sure enough, there’s this kid, like eight years old, just crying and yelling. Totally alone in the house. Carmilla passed the kid out the window and then insisted on searching the rest of the floor for anyone else who might be stranded. She can’t be talked out of anything once she decides on it so she was turning to clear the building and I couldn’t really hear her but I think she said, ‘You know, I’m really starting to get tired of this heroic firefighter crap’ and I started to laugh at her and then she just - the floor just - it gave out and she fell. The whole building just started crumbling from the inside.”

Kirsch is overcome with emotion then and begins to cry. Your chest hurts and you don’t feel like you can pull in a breath and you wonder if this is how Carmilla felt before everything went dark. You take his hand and you cry together.

---

You fight to open your eyes and it’s bright - far too bright - so you squint to take in your surroundings. You’d expected a hospital bed since the last memory you can conjure up is the floor dropping out from beneath you and a moment of panicked exhilaration before blinding, burning pain and then nothing. You quickly realize that you can’t feel anything; you know you’re in a bed because you can see it, but it’s like you’re floating. The more your eyes adjust to your surroundings, the more uncomfortable you become because not only are you decidedly not in a hospital, but wherever you are looks a hell of a lot like your childhood foster home. You glance to your right and, yeah, you’d recognize those heinous curtains anywhere. In fact, everything looks like your foster mom’s house. The only thing missing is – “Hi kitty” – Will.

You whip your head to your left-hand side and, in a chair that hadn’t been there a moment ago, there’s your brother, smiling at you. Your throat tightens and you don’t know what’s causing it: the joy of seeing your brother again or the paralyzing fear that you might be dead.

“Don’t try to move quite yet,” Will says. “You took a serious fall there and got pretty fucked up.”

“Thanks for the assessment. Am I dead?”

“No,” he shakes his head. “Just... rebooting. You’re unconscious at Adonis General with a very frantic, very beautiful girl at your bedside.”



“Laura.” Will nods. “Are you - how are you?”

That feels like a silly question - he’s dead - but your brother takes it in stride. Will leans back in his chair, hands behind his head.

“For dead, I’m great. I get to keep an eye on you and I get HD channels for free, so.”

Your eyes widen. “You live here? We hated it here.”

“You hated it here. This is where I gained a sister, though, so it’s always felt special for me.” Now you do start to cry and Will is quick to be at your bedside. “Don’t get yourself worked up.”

“I’m not.”

 Will sits on the end of your bed, legs crossed beneath him. “Okay.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”

“Stop,” he says. “It’s okay. If it was going to happen, I’m happy you were beside me. And when it’s your time, I’ll be there, but it’s not now. Now, you’ve got a lot of living left do and a lot of love to give.”

You nod. “I do. Love her, you know.”

Will rolls his eyes. “I know that. I’ve known that even before I was dead and had endless resources.”

“Whatever. I wish you could come back with me.”

“I am, just not the way you’d like.” Will gets up and stands next to your bed again. “Whenever you panic, whenever you miss me, whenever you get lost, or whenever you need to feel grounded, look at this. Hold onto this.”

You’re confused until Will pulls a simple chain up and over his head before dangling the pendant - a key - in front of your face. He fastens it around your neck, the key now resting above your heart.

“The key to our first apartment after here,” you mumble, suddenly exhausted.

“You’ve had it hidden away since I died, but you were happy there. Let yourself be again.” Your vision begins to blur. “Until next time, kitty.”

The last thing you register before you slip back into darkness is a warmth on your chest, spreading and expanding all around you.

---

Carmilla comes out of surgery exactly four hours and thirteen minutes after your arrival at Adonis General, but it feels like an entire lifetime. You spend the majority of it pacing, drinking cocoa, and pacing some more. Kirsch stays with you the entire time and Brody eventually joins the pair of you. He calls Perry for you to fill her in and tries to get you to eat. You graciously refuse; you can barely keep the cocoa down.

In the 254th minute of your time in the waiting room, a young, olive-skinned doctor comes to the waiting room looking for you. She introduces herself as Dr. Zoe Parker, the surgeon who just spent four hours and thirteen minutes operating on your wife.

“Is she okay? What happened?”

“Your wife is incredibly lucky. When the building she was in began to collapse, she fell through two floors and landed in a pile of rubble. All things considered, she should have a broken back.”

You begin to feel faint and you sit back down. Dr. Parker sits beside you.

“Instead, she’s come out with some broken bones and she likely has a concussion. However, a few of her ribs were fractured, which led to a punctured and collapsed lung, and she briefly flatlined in the ambulance. Surgery was performed to repair the lung and, as long as she follows the aftercare plan I set up for her and she takes it easy, she’ll make a full recovery.”

“When can I see her?” you ask, beginning to cry.

“I’ll take you to her room now. The anesthesia should wear off and she’ll wake up shortly. Follow me.”

You push up from your chair and Kirsch says, “We’ll wait here. Don’t wanna overwhelm her.”

You turn back to him, lean down, and pull him into a hug. “Thank you. For everything.”

“You got it, Laura.”

---

You wake up and you know it’s for real this time because you can feel your clothes on your body, as well as the blanket atop your lower half and you feel heavy. Opening your eyes is only slightly easier this time, but you’re happy you do because there’s Laura, in a chair with her knees pressed up against the bed. She looks worn and you wonder how long you’ve been here.

Then the feeling of Laura’s hands playing gently with your left one fades in and you don’t feel as heavy. The brush of her fingertips is barely there and it makes your palm tingle. You’d be content just watching her for a while longer, but you move your hand, squeezing your fingers around her with the little strength you can muster, before you can think about it.

As soon as you do so, Laura freezes, eyes fixed on your joined hands, before her eyes shoot up to meet yours.

“Carm?” She jumps to her feet, keeping a fierce hold on your hand with one of hers while the other brushes your hair out of your face.

“Hey,” she says, voice tight but pleased.

“Hey,” you say around a weak laugh.

Then, without warning, Laura throws her arms around you as best she can with you immobile and propped up on a bed. You grunt and she must hear it because she lets go of you but stays hovering over you, now half-sitting on your bed with a guilty look on her face.

“You’re hurt – I’m sorry that I hugged you so hard and you’re hurt but you were dead and now you’re not and you’re here and I just…”

Laura trails off just to look at you and you only waste a moment more, counting the flecks of gold in her eyes, before you pull her mouth down to meet yours.

You’re tired – god, you’re tired – but with Laura’s lips against yours, you feel alive. The kiss is brief with a hint of desperation and Laura clings to you after, pressing her forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” she says, her voice breaking on the last word, and you push her back just enough to see her face clearly. Her eyes are glassy and her face begins to crumble.

“Hey, it’s okay. I’m okay,” you tell her.

“I know – I’m sorry,” she says, taking a deep breath in to steady herself. “I was so scared, Carm. One minute, I’m getting ready for our date and the next, I’m flying into the ER and they were asking all these questions and you were in surgery for so long and I was trying not to panic then–”

“So you’re panicking now.” She nods her head rapidly and coughs out a laugh as more tears spill down her cheeks. “Come here,” you say, motioning for her to lay down.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she says, shaking her head.

“You just surprised me before,” you assure her, tugging her by the hand until she’s tucked into your side, her head resting on your shoulder. Her head only stays there for a moment, though, before she props herself up and looks down at you.

“There are a lot of things I need to tell you,” she starts, “but I don’t want to say them while you’re in a hospital bed. That’s not… that’s not romantic.”

You laugh a little. “When have we ever been romantic?”

“Always,” Laura says seriously. “I didn’t realize it for a while, but we’ve always been quietly romantic.”

The way she’s looking at you – something that can only be described as lovingly – is overwhelming in the best possible way, so you kiss her.

“I’m sorry I missed our date.”

“I think you get a pass this time.”

“I wish I’d had time to call you.”

“Everything about your job is an emergency. I understand.”

“Still,” you say, brushing smudged makeup from under Laura’s eye. “I never intended to stand you up.”

“I know,” Laura says, leaning down to kiss you again.

[You could get used to this.]

“Just do me a favor and don’t fall through any more floors anytime soon.”

“I’ll do my best. Speaking of, what’s the damage?” you ask.

For a fleeting moment you think it strange that it took until now for you to begin to take an inventory of your injuries, but you think kissing Laura is going to take priority over a lot of things from here on out.

Laura leans over you to press the call button before saying, “I’ll let the doctor explain all that,” and climbing off the bed.

“No, hey. Where are you going?” You realize you sound pathetic, but Laura just kisses you.

“I’ve been told it’s against hospital policy for there to be more than one person in a bed, so if we want to get away with it tonight, we can’t draw attention to ourselves now.”

“You are sneaky, Laura Hollis.”

Laura just shrugs at you as she drops back into the chair next to your bed, still gripping your left hand.

“I can’t take credit; one of the nurses gave me the tip.”

Just then, a doctor enters with a clipboard and a warm smile.

“Miss Karnstein, you’re awake,” she says. “I’m Dr. Zoe Parker.”

You nod at her. “Was it a long time?”

“Not nearly as long as your surgery, but significantly longer than your wife would have liked, certainly.” You peek at Laura and her cheeks are pink; you squeeze her hand as the doctor moves to stand at the end of your bed. “Your surgery took just over four hours, which is normal. It went smoothly, but you’d lost a lot of blood and sustained a few extensive injuries, including a bit of head trauma.. Before I go into a full explanation of your injuries, what’s your pain level like right now?”

Your brow furrows. “I don’t really know yet.”

“Understandable. Your body is still adjusting and you were given a lot of medication to help you rest through the worst of it. When you inevitably become uncomfortable or start feeling some pain, click the button on your IV and it’ll administer a dose of pain medication. You’ll be able to do this once an hour. If your pain isn’t subsiding, call a nurse or myself immediately.” You nod. “So in terms of your injuries, like I said, they’re extensive. Do you remember what happened?”

“Kind of. I remember getting that kid out of the house and then the floor shook and collapsed. That’s pretty much it.”

“I’m going to be blunt here: you fell through two floors and ended up buried in some rubble and it’s incredible that you didn’t sustain more injuries with the potential to disrupt long-term functioning. You flat-lined, briefly, in the ambulance on the way here. Your lung had collapsed.”

“Fuck,” you say.

“My thoughts exactly,” Dr. Parker says. “Now, there doesn’t seem to be any significant brain damage, but there’s enough swelling that I’m confident you have a concussion; we’ll need to monitor that closely.”

 “I’ll help,” Laura says quickly and then she looks embarrassed. “I mean, you know, if there’s anything I can do.”

“We’ll talk about that but yes, Carmilla’s going to need strong support for the next few weeks and months.” Then she turns her attention back to you. “Now, you dislocated your left shoulder, fractured two ribs, and broke your right hand. It’s incredible, really, that that’s the worst of it. The bruising will prove to be uncomfortable, I’m sure. You also have a few lacerations that needed stitches in areas that weren’t covered by your equipment during your fall, the worst of which is above your right eyebrow.”

You lift your free hand, which you now realize is in a black cast, to your brow and, sure enough, there’s a raised gash. You press down just a bit too hard and wince in pain.

Laura nudges you and says, “Leave it alone.”

“You’d do well to listen to her,” Dr. Parker says. “You don’t want stitches coming out before it’s healed.”

She goes through some more explanation about your injuries and medications and the care you’ll need but you kind of zone out. A dull pain has been pressing at your entire body since you woke but Laura had been distracting you. And you’re so tired, so there’s only so much pain you can block out. You start to shift around on the bed, trying to stay as comfortable as possible, but you quickly realize this is the onslaught of pain Dr. Parker was talking about.

 She notices – your grimace didn’t make it difficult – and says, “Where’s your pain?”

“Like a 4,” you say, teeth gritted.

“Carm,” Laura says and you roll your eyes at how willing you are to do anything she asks.

“8.”


“Where is the pain most concentrated?” Dr. Parker asks, moving around to the right side of your bed.

“Abdomen.”

“You took a lot of damage there,” she nods before administering morphine. “This should kick in quickly.”

Even as she says it, you can feel the meds flush into your system.

“Whoa,” you say.

“And that’s why it’s on a timer,” Dr. Parker says.

A few moments later, you feel like you can pull in a full breath and when you do so, you see Laura’s shoulders relax.

“I’m going to leave you to rest. Like I said, we’re keeping you for at least the next 36 hours and we’ll reassess then. I’ll be in tomorrow to see you and, in the meantime, nurses will be making their rounds.”

“Okay,” you say. “Thanks, doc.”

“Keep an eye on this one, Ms. Hollis. Something tells me she’s not one to ask for help.”

“I will,” Laura says with fierce determination.

You fall more in love.

The doctor leaves then and your body slowly relaxes. Your brain gets cloudy after that and you can hear your words slurring together but you can’t for the life of you shut your fucking mouth.

---

Carmilla gets sleepy and a little delirious after the medication kicks in and you tell her she should rest.

She shakes her head. “I don’t want to.”

“Baby, your eyes are half-closed. Sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

 “Do you promise?”

Her voice is small and vulnerable and it both breaks your heart and makes it inflate.

“I promise. I won’t leave you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she says, letting her eyes slip shut. Not only does she sound small but she looks small, here in this hospital bed. You know that she’s not actually that much taller than you – maybe an inch – but her presence has always been so big, so enveloping and seeing her, body battered, is unsettling.

You think she’s fallen asleep, but then, “Hey Laura?” You squeeze her hand, letting her know you’re still there. Her eyes open back up a bit and she smiles lazily at you. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted you to want to hold my hand?”

A broad smile takes over your face. “Why don’t you tell me in the morning,” you tell her because yes, of course you want to hear anything Carmilla wants to tell you, but you want to make sure she’s in sound mind to do so. And you want to tell her how you feel and what you want and you already told her you love her and she didn’t say it back but it all happened so fast because then she was kissing you and her body was against yours and that’s a form of telling someone you love them, isn’t it? Can’t it be?

Carmilla nods, blissfully unaware of your internal struggle, and tugs on your hand. “Bed,” is all she says, but it doesn’t take any more encouragement for you to settle in next to hear.

“G’night, Laura,” she says and you press a kiss to her lips that she just manages to return before sleep takes her.

“I love you,” you say once her breath has evened out.

You spend the next few hours alternating between watching a marathon of Chopped on mute and watching Carmilla’s face as she sleeps before you nestle your face into Carmilla’s neck and let yourself rest.

---

You wake up to the feeling of someone’s fingers raking through your hair, scratching at the base of your skull, and you want to hum in appreciation but you know that’ll only help Laura’s argument that you’re a cat. Instead, you open your eyes and there she is, silhouetted by the light coming through your window. She’s already looking at you and her soft smile stretches into something wider.

“How long have you been awake?” she asks, hand still buried in your hair.

“Approximately 21 seconds. That felt nice.”

“I’m sorry I woke you. I just…” she looks down. “I’ve wanted to be this close to you for a long time, so now that I can be – I don’t know – I guess I don’t want to waste any time.”

A long time she said and your breath catches because this is Laura and you’ve loved her since you met her – wait, did you tell her that? You were so high last night that you could’ve said literally anything.

Laura must see the panic on your face because she says, “Are you okay? Was that too much too soon? Oh god, I’m ruining this already.”

You laugh, which turns to a wince because of your ribs and say, “No, you’re wonderful. Beyond wonderful. If I wasn’t concussed I would tell you in vivid detail how fucking - just - wonderful you are,” you say and then, mostly to yourself, you add, “I can’t stop saying wonderful.” Then you shake yourself and continue. “Also, we’re married, Laura. We got drunk-married. We are the definition of ‘too much, too soon,’ but I’ve wanted this and you for what feels like a lifetime, okay? Trust me.”

“Why the fear face, then?” Laura asks, lying on her side, face centimeters from yours once you turn your head to look at her.

“Did I happen to say anything embarrassing once I was blasted off pain meds last night?”

“I thought you were cute.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Plus, I am not cute. I’m a creature of the night,” you insist, stone-faced.

 “That’s what you want everyone to think, but I see right through you, Carm.”

Laura leans forward and brushes her nose against yours, teasing you, and you can feel the smile on her lips when she kisses you moments later.

When she pulls back, your smile mirrors hers and she says, “See? Cute.”

“Was that a test?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Well, okay, I partially had a point to prove but I mostly just want to always be kissing you. Anyway, back to your question. You just kept talking about constellations and how pretty I am.”

“Well, you are,” you’re quick to say. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met.”

Laura looks like she’s about to make a joke but must realize how earnest you’re being because her cheeks flush. “Thanks,” she says.

“I don’t think you understand, Laura. I’ve had - you’ve been - this is - fuck,” you say, looking around. “You’re right: this is not romantic.”

“I thought we weren’t romantic,” Laura says, raising an eyebrow and giving you that half smile of hers.

“Well maybe I want to be,” you shrug. “I know I’m generally not good at expressing myself, but it’s different with you. So when I’m allowed out of this god damn hospital, I want to do this right.”

“Carm,” she says, tilting her head, “that implies you’ve done something wrong up ‘til now. I mean, yeah, we’ve done things a little out of order but maybe things were supposed to work out this way. Not you getting hurt! But just because we’ve gone about this untraditionally doesn’t mean it’s wrong. It suits us. We’re figuring it out. Baby steps.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Laura “this is The Worst mistake of my life” Hollis?”

“Shut up,” she laughs. “I was a jerk, especially at the beginning, I know. I’m sorry.”

“Me too. We were both jerks. Blind, dumb jerks.”

She nods. “But that’s over. We’re going to be honest about our feelings.”

You can tell she’s trying to convince herself as much as you, so you kiss her quickly before saying, “You got it, cupcake.”

“Once you’re not hopped up on pain meds,” she adds and you nod. “So what do we do while you’re here because I don’t know about you, but I have a lot of things to say and I can’t sit here and pretend all those feelings don’t exist.”

“What we do for now is whatever we want. I want you to be here but I also don’t want you to put your whole life on pause for me. You’ve got your job and your dad and your friends, so don’t feel obligated to be here all the time.”

“Carm,” she says, shaking her head with an incredulous smile. “I feel like my life was on pause until Thanksgiving. It’s like - my body woke up. You make everything click into place. So I want to be here, no matter what. And then we can go home and figure everything out.”

“Home,” you repeat and Laura smiles. “Okay.”

---

Carmilla isn’t discharged for another few days but, in the meantime, she does manage to make you leave to shower and work and and eat a real meal. You’re only ever gone for short intervals, but it makes Carmilla feel better. Plus, she agrees to LaF or Kirsch staying with her in your absence, which is probably only because she knows it makes you feel better but maybe also because she actually enjoys their company. You also know that Carmilla knows that LaF and Perry are a package deal, so the fact that she agreed to LaF’s company means they’ve both grown on her, even if she won’t admit it. It works out, though, because Perry brings Carmilla homemade meals and LaF texts you photos of Carmilla wearing a grumpy cat Christmas sweater they got her.

So yeah, maybe things are working out.

/

You fill out Carmilla’s discharge paper six days into her hospital stay and you’re overjoyed, but her face is ashen. She’s in a wheelchair – “Hospital policy,” the nurse warned – beside her bed staring off into space.

“Hey,” you say once the nurse steps out to make copies of the paperwork you just signed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Carmilla says, shaking her head, eyes unfocused.

“You’re an awful liar,” you tell her, kneeling down to be on her eye-level. Even then, when you’re in her line of sight, you know she can’t actually see you. “Are you not ready to leave? Is something hurting? I can call the nurse back.” She shakes her head again. “Then what?” you ask.

You place your hands just above each of her knees. “Carm, you need to talk to me.”

She blinks a few times, looks down at your hands, and then back up at you again. Her eyes are a little clearer now, but her face is just as pale. Carmilla wraps her hands around both of yours, keeping you in place.

“The elevator,” she says quietly. “We have to take the elevator.”

Your stomach drops. “Oh, Carm.”

“Exposure therapy really doesn’t do it for me,” she jokes weakly.

“I know it doesn’t help much, but I’ll be right there with you.”

“It does help. A lot. I was just really looking forward to leaving until I remembered they won’t let me walk down the stairs and out of here on my own. I know it’s only a few flights but -”

“You don’t have to validate yourself,” you say. “It’s just me. Breathe.”

Carmilla nods just as the nurse re-enters and says, “Ready to go?”

You put on your most polite smile and say, “Just one minute. I have to use the bathroom.” Carmilla looks at you, confused, and you say, “Back in a mo’.”

You head into the bathroom and, after you pull the door shut behind you, you take out your phone and call Kirsch, who answers on the first ring.

“Are you at the firehouse? I need a favor.”

/

You exit a few minutes later and the nurse moves behind Carmilla, whose eyes widen in panic. “Nurse Joy, do you mind if I push her chair?”

“Of course, honey,” she says, and Carmilla exhales. “Follow me.”

Her relief only lasts a few seconds because once you’re out into the hallway, Carmilla gets more and more tense as you approach the elevator. You try to whisper soothing words to her quietly, but you also don’t want to draw attention to her; that won’t help her anxiety either.

The elevator doors slide open and one of Carmilla’s hands shoots to her shoulder, seeking your hand. You take it, letting her hold onto you as tightly as she needs to and push her wheelchair into the elevator using your free hand and your forearm. Carmilla’s grip only intensifies when the doors slide shut and the nurse finally realizes what’s going on when you crouch down beside Carmilla and whisper, “We’re almost there. Just breathe, Carm, okay? I’m right here. Nurse Joy is with us. Focus on our hands.” You wiggle your fingers as well as you can. “Feel that? I’m right here.”

You look up at Nurse Joy and she’s visibly concerned but stays silent, nodding at you.

“We just passed the third floor; we’re nearly there.” You press a kiss to your temple and you can feel that her jaw is clenched. You turn her face toward you and her eyes are screwed shut. “Carm, baby, you’ve gotta breathe. You’re doing so well, okay? Just look at me.”

Carmilla shakes her head and says, “Can’t.”

“Okay, that’s fine. That’s fine, Carm.”

The elevator comes to a stop. “We’re here. The doors are gonna open and – there they go – and you’re safe. I’m going to push you again, okay?”

Carmilla nods and you get her out of the elevator as quickly as you can. You narrate the entire walk to the front door, which Joy holds open for you, and Carmilla doesn’t open her eyes until she feels the breeze. She breathes out with it and loosens her grip on your hand. She breathes for a few minutes before she says, “Thank you.”

You’re not sure what for, but you press a kiss to the crown of her head. “We’re just waiting for our ride,” you say to Joy and Carmilla goes rigid again.

“Are we - we’re not going in your car?”

“No,” you tell her, running your hands up and down her biceps. “I’ll come back and get it later. I didn’t think it’d be optimal today.”

“How are we getting home then?”

“Kirsch is helping,” you say just as a fire engine pulls into the parking lot.

Carmilla, unable to turn at the waist, pulls you around to the front of her wheelchair, tired wonder in her eyes. That’s not good enough for her, though, because she tries to pull you into her lap.

“I’m not going to -”

“I’m trying to kiss you. You won’t hurt me,” she says.

You acquiesce, sitting sideways on her lap as gingerly as possible.

“Thank you,” she says.

“You don’t have to thank me. I lo–” you cut yourself off, feeling your cheeks heat up. “You know.”

Carmilla just smiles and leans up to kiss you and you don’t stop until the fire truck pulls up and Kirsch starts hollering from the driver’s seat.

You think Carmilla actually growls but you laugh and hop off her lap before saying, “Come on. Let’s go home.”

Chapter Text

It feels pathetic, but all you can do is sleep on and off for a few days once you and Laura get back to the loft. You feel bad, because Laura has been so patient and so doting and all you can do is kiss her before sleep pulls you back in, but it’s not your fault they’re making you take all this medication. Still, Laura insists you sleep in her bed but you weren’t about to make her sleep on the living room couch, so you share hers and every morning for three days, you wake up with Laura curled into your non-injured side.

On day four of being home, your doctor starts to wean you from the medication. You still have to keep tabs on your ribs, but everything is healing neatly, so your dosage is lowered. Some of the guys from the firehouse stop by and Laura fusses over them all, jumping to get them drinks or snacks every time she gets the chance.

When she gets a work call and steps out into the hallway, Carson, who started around the same time as you at the firehouse, punches you on the shoulder and says, “You’ve got a keeper.”

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, sharing a smile with Laura when she comes back to you a few minutes later.

/ 

On day six of being home, you finally feel like your head’s clear. Laura goes into the office that day, leaving you with a sleepy kiss, and you decide that it’s time you two talked. You were so prepared to tell her everything after you kissed her senseless on Thanksgiving, but now you’re nervous.

You’re so nervous that you call Perry.

“Carmilla? Are you okay?” Perry asks in lieu of a proper greeting.

You roll your eyes before remembering she can’t see you. “I’m fine. But I need your help. Can you come over?”

“Sure, sweetie. LaFontaine can hold down the fort at Gingerbread for now.”

“I can what?” you hear in the background.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes,” Perry says.

---

“Yes, dad, she’s getting enough rest.”

“And she’s taking it easy?”

“Yes, dad. She’s tough.”

You’d called your dad the morning after Carmilla’s accident while your wife slept. Even when he’s on assignment, your dad takes your call on the first ring, no matter what. He’d been worried, of course, about Carmilla but, as she was stable, he was more interested in the fact that you “finally gave into Carmilla’s feminine wiles.”

“Dad!” you’d said, “don’t be weird.”

“I’m just happy for you,” he’d responded, voice tight like he was about to cry.

“So when do I get to meet your tough firefighter wife?”

“Are you still coming to New York for Christmas?”

“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it for anything.”

“Then you’ll meet her then. Just two weeks away!”

“I can’t wait, pumpkin. I’m bringing a thumb drive of all the photos that didn’t make it to print this year.”

“Score!” After a few beats of silence, you ask, “Dad, do you think it’s crazy?”

“What?”

“Me and Carm. All of it.”

“Look, kid, did I expect you to get married on a drunken whim? Of course not! Especially not to someone you hadn’t seen, spoken to, or maybe even thought of since college, but Laura, sweetie, she makes you happy. You seem to make her happy. Has she treated you right?”

“Yes,” you say, laughing. “On the night she finally kissed me, she left to sleep at the firehouse just so she could come back the next day and pick me up for a real date. Then her accident happened but, yes, she’s incredibly respectful. Very romantic. I really love her, Dad.”

“Then, no, I don’t think it’s crazy.”

---

The embarrassment that you feel for enlisting the help of Lola Perry swiftly wears off when she offers to help you make dinner for Laura.

“It shows genuine effort, but you’re not trying too hard,” she’d said, “Laura wouldn’t want a big show.” And you went with it. After all, she knows Laura well, knows what she’ll like and what she wouldn’t, so you trust her.

The whole thing is simple really – honestly, you could have made chicken parmesan by yourself; you aren’t totally useless – but having someone nearby while you set everything up eases your worries. Perry, for her part, is beaming the entire time and you don’t entertain her by asking why. It’s a nice silent agreement the two of you have: she doesn’t chide you for setting up a romantic evening for your accidental wife and you don’t call her names for the space of a few hours. It works.

---

Work is as busy as ever, but it doesn’t stop you from thinking about Carm at home. Truth be told, the two of you haven’t had much time to talk, what with your ever-demanding work schedule and her medication-induced grogginess coupled with the energy that’s taken out of her just by the nature of trying to heal. But regardless of that, you’ve fallen asleep and woken up beside her for the past week, and that, right now, is enough.

Your boss notices your lack of focus but, lucky for you, she finds your transfixion humorous.

“But, Hollis, I need you on this story,” she says, handing you a file. “You’re the lead. Pick two others from the bullpen and head downtown - see what you can find out.”

Duty calls!

---

Once dinner is ready and staying heated in the oven, Perry leaves you to set the loft up as you’d like and it all goes smoothly. She does, however, place her hand on your bicep and says, “Good luck, sweetie,” before leaving. You could tell she was being genuine and as much as you didn’t want to admit you appreciate it, you also couldn’t be rude, so you settle for a weak smile.

It must be enough because she nods her head sharply and departs.

You glance at the clock and it’s nearing 8:00, which is when Laura has been getting home – home; so weird - lately, so you take a deep breath and busy yourself with finding and lighting candles and setting the table. You decide on the living room table because it feels like less pressure.

[On you or Laura, you aren’t sure.]

Before you know it, it’s 9:00 and Laura still isn’t home, which isn’t all that strange, but you’re antsy, so you call her.

It rings too many times and you’re about to hang up when a frazzled Laura picks up, “Carm, hey. Is everything okay?”

“Why is everyone asking me that?” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “Everything’s great. I was just wondering when you’re going to be home.”

Laura huffs and you can picture her puffing out her cheeks at the question.

“Soon, hopefully. We just got a major tip on a story and a few of us are looking into it, but I shouldn’t be much longer.”

You nod, “Okay.”

“I’ll be home within the hour,” she says with finality and you laugh.

“Go get ‘em, Lois Lane.”

“See you soon, Carm,” she says quickly before disconnecting.

You toss your phone on the couch and plop down next to it, grabbing the remote as you do so. You’ve got time; you may as well pass it with some mindless Netflixing.

---

You push open the door, movements heavy and loud, before you remember that it’s 2:00am and Carmilla is probably sleeping. You shut the door behind you as quietly as possible as you set down your bag and slip off your shoes. Your body is groaning with exhaustion and you can’t wait to slide into bed.

When you look up for the first time, though, the idea of sleep flies out of your mind. It’s dark – the only light in the room is emitting from the television - and in the flickering, you can see Carmilla, seemingly in her clothes from the day, lying on her back and asleep on the couch.

What really catches your eyes is the table in front of her, which is loaded with candles, a bottle of wine in an ice bucket, two plates, and two glasses.

Realization dawns on you and oh my god, you think.

You rush over to where she’s sleeping and kneel down beside her.

“Carmilla,” you say, shaking her shoulder lightly. “Carm, wake up.”

Her eyes slowly blink open and, after a few moments, focus on you.

“Hey, cupcake,” she says, voice gravelly from sleep.

“Hey,” you rush. “God, I’m so sorry. If I had known – you called because you were cooking for me – for us – and I didn’t realize it and I really did mean to come home when I told you I was but the story broke, like busted open, and I got caught up and had to be on the scene, which is not an acceptable excuse, I know. But, Carm, I -”

Carmilla interrupts you by pulling you into a kiss that you’re quick to press into and when she pulls back, her eyes remind you of the stars of which she’s so fond: radiant and pure light among a vast darkness.

“I love you,” Carmilla says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world.

[You think, somehow, it is.]

“I love you,” she repeats, and a grin stretches across your face. “I’ve loved you since we were eighteen. Even when you were annoying and I was angry at everything. I never said anything because it wouldn’t have changed anything; I wasn’t ready then and you wouldn’t have –” she shakes her head – “I’ve been in love with you all this time.”

She’s smiling that wide, half-smirk/half-grin of hers, the one that tells you she’s bare, like she can’t believe what’s happening, and you feel your face mirror hers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you until now, especially after Thanksgiving, but it never felt like the right time. Then I realized that the right time to tell someone you love them is always, so I love you. Everything you are.”

“Carm,” you laugh, voice wet with tears.

She reaches up to brush a tear away before it can spill down your cheek.

“Tears aren’t usually what a girl wants to see after confessing she’s been in love with someone for the better part of a decade,” she says, and you kiss her.

“Happy tears,” you say against her lips. “The happiest. I love you – just – I love you so much.”

Carmilla pulls you down on top of her, lips still moving fiercely in unison, and you have to break the kiss soon after to breathe. Carmilla is on her back with you in her lap, carefully avoiding her injured abdomen, and both of your chests are heaving already. She smiles up at you in that reverent way she always does and you wonder how you ever missed how soft she is. You begin to unbutton your cardigan and once you’ve pulled it off your arms, you lean down and press kisses into the hollow Carmilla’s neck all the way up to her ear, before saying, “Race you,” jumping to your feet, and running up the stairs to your bedroom, giggling the whole way.

Carmilla recovers rather quickly and is close at your heels by the time you reach your bedroom. You spin around and Carmilla is positively beaming when she says, “I love you, Laura Hollis.”

Exhaustion forgotten, you pull her to the bed with you and you spend the rest of the night showing Carmilla just how much you love her.  

/

The next morning you wake up with Carmilla, still naked, pressed into your side and your heart flutters at the sight. You tuck a curtain of her hair behind her ear and her face scrunches up before she stretches, moaning a little as she does so.

When her eyes open and she smiles sleepily at you, you think This is bliss. This is living.

fin.

Chapter Text

“Laura?” she says one night while you’re curled up in bed. She has a book in one hand and the other is combing through your hair. You were almost asleep, actually, tucked into her side, when she’d spoken. You hum in response. “Will you marry me?”

“I think you missed the part where we’re already married,” you laugh lightly.

“No, I mean,” Carmilla pauses, setting her book down. “I want us to have a proper wedding, where your dad walks you down the aisle and our friends are there and we promise in front of all of them to love each other forever and whatever.

You sit up to look at Carmilla and she looks downright sheepish. You fall a little more in love.

“You really want that?”

“Well, yeah. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful for our Elvis impersonator wedding and it’s a great story but, I don’t know, I like the idea of a traditional wedding, even if we aren’t all that traditional. And, plus, if we have kids, we are not showing them that DVD you made me buy when they ask about our wedding. And I kinda dig the idea of you in a white dress.”

“You want to have kids with me?” you ask, a little breathless.

Carmilla’s eyes widen for a moment before she shrugs and says, “I know we haven’t talked about it but yeah. I mean, can you just imagine a bunch of little Laura Hollises running around?”

You surge forward and kiss her and you’re so in love. You move so that you’re straddling her hips and you have to pull back shortly after just to catch your breath.

Leaning your forehead against hers, you say, “Ask me again.”

Her hands, previously resting on your waist, move up your body and come to a stop once she’s cradling each of your cheeks.

“Marry me?” she asks, and you nearly laugh at the way she sounds uncertain.

“Absolutely. Yes. God, yes.”

Carmilla tilts her chin up to kiss you again and you sink into it, sink into her.

---

“It was Carm’s idea, actually,” Laura says, and her friends – your friends, really – turn to look at you. They have varying levels of surprise in their expressions and you roll your eyes.

Laura sees and presses a kiss to your cheek; you feel yourself soften. LaF just smiles then and is about to say something when Perry speaks.

“Have you started planning? Do you have a date? Are you both wearing dresses?”

“Relax, Per,” LaF says at the same time you say, “No, no, and no.”

“Wait, you’re not wearing a dress?” Laura asks.

You turn to look at her. “I was thinking I’d wear a tux.”

You’re pretty sure Laura’s pupils dilate when she says, "Please wear a tux. Wow. Yeah. A tux, definitely.”

“Keep it in your pants, frosh,” LaF laughs and Laura’s cheeks turn pink. You squeeze her hand.

“Anywaaaay,” Laura says. “Perry, we were actually hoping you’d help us plan.”

June Cleaver lights up.

“Really?”

“Of course. Right, Carm?” Laura says, looking at you again.

“Nobody better.”

“Thank you. I’d be honored to help.”

Laura rests her head on your shoulder as Perry scrambles to find a pen and paper to record her ideas and when Laf catches your eye, they raise their eyebrows at you, as if to say, “Look at our girls.” You nod and LaF smiles back at you and you think that this is what family feels like.

/

[Later when Laura pushes you up against the loft door and sets to tearing off your clothes as quickly as humanly possible, you make a remark about Laura’s eager beaver.

Laura halts her motions, looks you in the eye, and says, “The idea of you in a tux is really fucking hot, Carm. Can you blame me?”

You don’t have time to respond because then Laura’s teeth are scraping across your neck and you’re thanking every known deity for the invention of tuxedos.]

---

The planning goes much more smoothly and quickly than every romcom depicts, but that might be because you have Perry. Plus, it’s less of a wedding and more of a renewal of vows, so maybe that makes a difference. It also helps that you and Carmilla are incredibly laid back about the whole process.

“As long as you’re there and I’m there,” Carmilla had said, “I’m happy.”

You decide on a non-denominational ceremony and Perry runs with it. After offering to become ordained herself, she finds a retired judge who agrees to officiate the ceremony. As for the venue, Perry comes up with a few options, which she lays out for you in PowerPoint form.

“First,” she starts, “we have Silas. We could use the chapel there. It’s where you met, after all. Second, there’s a cute little chapel a few blocks from here that’s technically Catholic but are agreeable to hosting your ceremony.”

Perry clicks through a few slides with various photos of the interior and exterior of said chapel. It’s quaint and you can actually picture you and Carm getting married there.

“Lastly, we have the option of being outdoors. I’ve scouted a few locations, as you can see,” she says, and you look at Carmilla while Perry shows the venues. Her eyes are fixed on the lower lefthand part of the screen and you can see her scanning through every detail the small photo presents.

“What’s that one?” you say, pointing at the location that has Carm’s attention.

Perry launches into a vivid description of the venue, but you can hardly pay attention because Carmilla looks so enthralled at the idea of marrying you there that your mind is already made up.

/

Planning for the reception is even easier.

“Do you think we could rent out The Roof for the night?” you ask.

Carmilla turns to look at you so quickly that you’re fairly certain she has whiplash.

“You hate that place.”

“I thought I hated it. But it’s where we found each other again,” you shrug. “Plus, you love it. So we’ll get married again and then go to the bar that led us to our first wedding.”

Carm kisses you hard and then starts to laugh.

“This is just like in Parks when Andy and April talk about getting divorced just so they can marry each other again.”

“Who’s who in this scenario?” you ask, beaming.

Carmilla scoffs, acting playfully offended, “Babe, I am obviously April.”

“With your permission,” Perry says, and you turn your attention back to her, “I would be honored to make your cake. Free of charge. Consider it your wedding gift!”

“Perry, you’re already doing so much for us. We couldn’t ask you to do that!”

“You aren’t asking, dear. I want to. I already have designs made up.”

---

Laura drags you to a flower shop to pick out arrangements. You don’t need too much, just bouquets for her bridespeople, boutonnieres for your best man, and a few small arrangements for the tables at The Roof. On the walk there, Laura asks what kind of flowers you were thinking about.

“I want what you want,” you say with a shrug.

“Oh no. You’re not getting out of this one that easily.”

“I’m a Virgo; I don’t make decisions,” you insist.

“That’s not a thing!”

“I don’t know, Laura. My history of not making decisions says otherwise.”

“You decided to marry me,” she says, swinging your clasped hands between you.

She’s got you there, and she knows it.

“We were written in the stars eons ago, sweetheart,” you say in the dreamiest British accent you can muster.

“I hate you,” Laura says through a laugh.

---

“I was always rooting for you, you know,” you hear your dad say.

He’s staying with you and Carm in the days leading up to the wedding and though Carm had fallen asleep with you hours earlier, you woke up to an empty bed. On your way downstairs to look for her, you heard the hushed voices of Carm and your dad and you can’t help but pause and listen.

“Come on,” Carm laughs, “you can’t tell me you were ecstatic upon learning that we got married while we were wasted.”

“It was jarring, sure, but Laura has always gone through a painstaking process when making decisions. She’s always afraid of not being enough, I think. So the two of you getting married on a whim was so un-Laura that I thought maybe it’d be good for her. Time went on and she’d tell me about how you two were doing, and I became more and more sure that you were right for her.”

“I always wanted to be right for her, so it means a lot that you think so.”

“You and Laura seem to bring out the best in one another. You balance each other, and I’ve never seen Laura happier, so I think it’s safe to say that you fit together like two puzzle pieces. I never told her about that e-mail you sent me, but I thought it was brave.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Carmilla,” he says, “we’re family. You’ve got to stop calling me ‘sir.’”

There’s silence for a few moments, and then Carmilla says, “You know, the other day Laura and I were talking about cleaning the loft in preparation for your arrival and I called you Dad. It just… slipped out. I haven’t had someone to call ‘Dad’ in a really, really long time.”

You decide you’ve eavesdropped for long enough and you quietly return to your bedroom. When you fall into your bed, you’re filled to the brim with love, with joy.

/

[When Carmilla slides back into bed a short while later, she immediately molds her front to your back and drapes her right arm around your waist.

You’re home.]

---

The morning of, you get ready at the firehouse with Kirsch. You’d slept there the night before because Perry insisted that the two of you not see one another until Laura walks toward you down the aisle. You both begrudgingly agreed and were chided by LaF for not wanting to be away from each other.

You’re standing in front of the only full-length mirror in the building re-tying your tie for what feels like the 80th time in the last hour, trying to ignore your shaking hands.

You hear Kirsch’s footsteps behind you before he says, “Dude, leave it. Your Windsor knot is on point.”

He turns you toward him, hands on your shoulders, and then finishes the knot for you.

“Come on, let’s get that Karnstein confidence back, alright? You’re already married! What’s there to be nervous about?”

“I don’t even know! We’ve been together for over a year and she still makes me this nervous.”

“That’s a good thing,” Kirsch says, smiling wide, as his phone begins to ring. He pulls it out of his pocket and immediately accepts the call. “Agent Perry. Status update: BROTUS is on schedule.”

You roll your eyes so hard you think you strain a muscle.

“It’s raining?” he says before peeking out a window. “Oh, yeah. I guess it is.”

He’s silent for a few moments, nodding his head to whatever Perry is saying on the other line.

“Affirmative, Lola. I’ll call in the calvalry and have this place ready in no time.”

He hangs up and says, “Change of plans: you’re getting married here. I’m gonna call the squad in early and they’re going to arrange everything downstairs the way we do it for the auction. You gonna be good up here alone for a bit?”

“You don’t need my help?”

“Hell nope,” Kirsch says. “It’s your day. Call your wife or something and relax.”

---

You think you might pass out when you see Carmilla waiting for you at the end of the aisle because, jiminy christmas, that tuxedo. Her hair is falling in waves and you have to remind yourself to take slow, careful steps in time with your father so you don’t run to her. You can see Kirsch beaming beside her in your periphery, but you don’t dare tear your eyes from Carmilla because every step that brings you closer to her, to marriage (again), and to your own slice of eternity makes her well up a little more and you can see her taking purposeful, but shaky breaths.

[It’s nice to know that you still have that effect on her.]

After what feels like an eternity, your dad is pulling you into a crushing hug, kissing your cheek, and saying, “Hold her tight” before it’s just you and Carm at the altar with the judge.

You take her hands immediately and she’s smiling and saying, “Hey.”

“Hey,” you whisper back. “You’re shaking.”

“My body just can’t contain all the happiness,” she says and you really want to kiss her.

You wait, though, only because you have to, but the moment the judge announces you as wife and wife, you pull Carmilla to you by the lapels of her tuxedo jacket and meet her lips in a crushing kiss. When you’re both smiling too widely to continue, you break apart and just laugh because whatever it took, you got here.

Together.