Chapter Text
Apodyopsis
(noun): the act of gazing at a person and imaging them naked; a mental undressing.
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She cracks an eye at the sound of the door, expecting a nurse to be popping in for yet another vitals check. It’s that time of the evening: when supper has already come and gone and the hallway is slowly growing quiet as the last of the day’s visitors head on home.
The whole thing is frustrating in its predictability. Makes Carla want to scratch at her skin, a bit; claw her way out of this mundane routine and back to something more resembling normalcy.
Like a glass of wine in the pub, Lisa sat opposite her. Their hands brushing with intention across the tabletop. The twinkle of bright eyes gazing into her own. The flutter of want surging and swirling inside, waiting. Anticipating.
But it’s a swish of familiar blonde hair that comes through the door, followed closely by a soft smile that causes Carla’s stomach to flip with delight. She greets it with a tentative one of her own, pulled from the reverie by the more realistic alternative.
No, there’s not many heated glances in hospital.
“I wasn’t expecting you back today,” Carla breathes, opening the other eye to watch as Lisa shifts ever closer. She settles a hip gently against the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing delicately at the blanket as she leans in.
“I know,” Lisa answers, just as soft. Just as whispered. She shrugs, seemingly unbothered that she’s already been by for their typical morning catch up, and again just after tea. She’s set her hair loose for this visit, though, shed the armour of DS Swain in favour of the Lisa that Carla’s grown to know.
Carla feels that cocoon start to wrap around them – the one that blocks out the rest of the world when it’s just them, just the two of them and the intoxicating this.
“But the kids are all at home, so I figured we could have a minute to ourselves.”
“Ooh,” Carla teases, “How romantic.” She tries to hold the smile, tries not to let her gaze drop to the tubes dangling off her hand. Tries not to feel the bubble of irritation in her gut at the sight of them.
But it settles so heavy – like a sharp tack waiting to pop this an’ all.
“Could be,” Lisa chuckles, reaching forward as though the touch of her fingers on Carla’s arm might keep her from pulling away. “Could see what happens to that heart rate monitor when I kiss you.” She grins, eyebrows wiggling, all the effort so apparent that Carla kind of wants to scream.
“Give over,” she says instead.
Lisa shakes her head, winding a hand around one of Carla’s and pulling it into her lap. “Can’t hide the way it spikes when I walk in the room, babe.”
Despite herself, Carla laughs, turning to see the tell-tale rise on the monitor screen as Lisa’s thumb swipes across her skin. She can feel the affects in her body: the tumble low in her belly, the tingling of her skin, the squeeze between her legs.
Even while she’s holed up in a hospital bed…
“No bloomin’ privacy in this place,” Carla grumbles half-heartedly, watching as Lisa preens where she sits. Watching as Lisa does that cocky little lift of her chin that always seems to undo any semblance of her own self control. “Don’t,” she scolds.
“Don’t what?” Lisa lets her eyes go wide when she says it, all feigned innocence.
As if she doesn’t know exactly what she’s doing.
“Is that what you came here for?” Carla murmurs, tugging their joined hands towards her chest.
The unexpected motion pulls Lisa slightly off her seat and she giggles, startled as she tumbles closer against Carla’s side. She catches herself with a hand on the mattress, careful not to put her weight anywhere that might hurt.
“Just to get me all hot and bothered when I haven’t got the energy?”
Lisa at least has the gall to look embarrassed. Her cheeks flush as she tips forward, pressing a featherlight kiss to the corner of Carla’s mouth. “Of course not,” she promises, “I just missed you, is all.”
Carla lets out a hum that makes it clear she only half believes her. That she isn’t wholly pleased herself to have Lisa in her room without Ryan or Bobby or Betsy hovering in a chair nearby. “I missed you, too,” she whispers.
“Not gonna tell me you’ve not brushed your teeth this time, are you?” Lisa asks, still near enough that her breath ghosts across Carla’s cheek. The sensation leaves shivers in its wake, gooseflesh standing at attention beneath her hospital gown.
And even though she feels unattractive, in this moment – utterly undesirable, with her hair unwashed and all the baggy clothes she’s been hiding in hanging off her skin – she lets Lisa close the gap. Lets her kiss her proper, with all the gentle conviction she’s been swearing with her words and her actions for days now.
I love you. I’m going nowhere. We’re okay.
It feels like coming home.
She’s breathless for a different reason when Lisa finally pulls away. Exhausted, as she has been ever since the start of the year. She growls, letting her eyelids flutter shut as she collapses against the pillows.
“This is supposed to be the fun part,” Carla mumbles, leaning into the caress of Lisa’s fingers on her cheek. It’s soothing, that – makes it harder to open her eyes again. Sleep claws at the edges of her consciousness, coaxing. “One kiss and I’m done for.”
“Well, yeah, you’re meant to be resting,” Lisa cajoles, “Not kissing me.”
The tell-tale press of Lisa’s forehead against her own a moment later lifts the corners of Carla’s mouth. And she knows, even without looking, that the monitor must be giving her away again. That, despite her very real attempts to push Lisa away, this is what she’s been craving.
This comfort. This connection.
This safety and support and love.
“We can have fun when you’re feeling better,” Lisa promises, “I’m going nowhere.”