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Maria has always seen galaxies in Carol’s eyes.
Day one, shake hands.
Day two through for ever, shake the world.
Eight weeks of bootcamp is long enough to forge friendships and, to judge from Carol’s approach, it’s plenty long enough to make some enemies too. She is the kind of woman that Maria cannot afford to be; she speaks without thinking and tilts her chin up like she’s ready to take a punch for it.
Eight weeks of bootcamp is the hardest thing that Maria has ever done. Her father said it would be and she believed him, but it’s harder even than that. Some days, she’s not sure if Carol makes it easier or harder, but Maria is pretty sure that Carol makes it better.
They are outnumbered, of course, and soon they’re inseparable, holding themselves apart even from the three other women at bootcamp. Maria knows there are rumours about them, thick as thieves, and joined at the hip and joined you-know-where I’ll bet, and she doesn’t care.
She knows what she is to Carol and what Carol is to her, and it only took eight weeks (of back-breaking, heart-breaking, bone-breaking effort) to figure it out.
Their last night is intense. They have finished bootcamp and it feels like school is out for the summer, except that they’ll never be free again. They all pile into a dive bar that is far enough away from the base for plausible deniability. It’s only been eight weeks, but they’re fooling no one, this clatter of loud-mouthed cadets.
They drink, too much, and they mix their drinks. Between beer, and wine, and shots of something burning, Maria finally feels like she’s unwinding a little. Every single muscle has been taut and ready for eight weeks, fifty-six days, and more hours than she can count in her current state. Eight weeks to prove herself to the world.
“You never ever have to prove yourself to me,” says Carol. They’re together, again, on their own in the corridor to the restrooms.
Maria’s first instinct is to say I know because she does. Maria has been brought up never to have to prove herself to anyone. Carol is leaning against the wall, a half-empty pint glass all but dangling from her fingers.
Maria steps in closer, the sounds from the bar muffled. It’s easy to step in closer. She fits. It’s been eight weeks and it’s suddenly easy as anything to press her lips to the pulse at the side of Carol’s throat, where she tastes of sweat and bitter soap.
Carol’s yes is a sigh above Maria’s head and her hands settle on Maria’s waist and they both jump at the crash of Carol’s glass breaking on the ground by their feet.
“Shit,” says Carol. “That was half full.”
Maria pulls back a little and they kiss, a little, before going back to the bar.
“Why do girls always gotta go to the restroom in pairs?” asks Phillips, blinking heavily at them over his glass.
“In case we get lost,” says Carol, reaching out to take Phillips’ drink. He’s drunk enough that he doesn’t even notice.
“Right,” says Phillips, nodding like that makes complete sense.
Maria and Carol end up in different tech schools.
Maria thinks she should be devastated. She knows she may never see Carol again. Oh, it won’t be for the want of it, but when they start flying, they’ll have distance and gravity to overcome, and accidents do happen.
Maria thinks she should be devastated but she’s not. She’s had boyfriends and girlfriends in the past and she has sobbed over them, each break-up like a brand new splinter out of her heart. She thinks she’s never loved anyone like she loves Carol, and that’s why distance and gravity don’t matter a damn.
(It’s only a week before Carol is transferred to Texas. It was some kind of administrative error, apparently; the sort that means Carol gets to be a pain in the ass in Texas instead of California.)
They hit the glass ceiling at the same time. It’s infuriating. They are both brilliant pilots but they’ll never be allowed in combat. They have to put up with assholes in uniforms talking about their cocks, which are nothing to write home about.
Maria knows that she could have survived this without Carol but she’s glad she hasn’t had to try. Some of the guys are great, and she hits it off with one of their instructors. She hits it off with him so much that she’s throwing up in the toilet on a Saturday morning, with Carol rubbing her back, before she realises what it all means.
No one’s ever heard of a pregnant Air Force pilot, as far as Maria knows. She is not scared. She knows she’s damn good and that she’s as safe in the sky as she is with both feet planted on the ground, but it’s a secret she doesn’t think she can keep for long.
Carol, oh, Carol is a constant. Maria doesn’t want to tell anyone else who the father is, and Carol says she’s already forgotten.
“He’s not that hot, anyway,” says Carol. “We gotta hope that baby Carol takes after me, is all I’m saying.”
Maria laughs, through tears. She’s been doing that a lot lately, it seems. “You’ll be her godmother, right?” Maria doesn’t know for sure if she’s having a girl but it feels right to say it.
“Of course,” says Carol.
“I can’t drink,” says Maria.
“I’ll drink enough for both of us,” says Carol, stroking Maria’s hair.
“Oh god,” says Maria. “Please don’t. I don’t want my baby’s godmother to end up in the infirmary with alcohol poisoning.”
“No,” says Carol, almost gleefully. “No, I’ll be the best godmother ever. You just wait till Lieutenant Trouble arrives, you’ll see.”
“Did you seriously just name my unborn child after your teddy bear?”
Carol gives her a cheeky grin and Maria sighs, put-upon, even though she feels lighter than she has in a long time.
“They’ll make me leave.” Somehow, the thought isn’t as terrifying as it used to be.
“Then I’ll leave with you,” says Carol.
“People will talk,” says Maria.
“Like they don’t already?” Carol laughs, her eyes sparkling.
She’s ready to pick a fight, right up to the day she and Maria are called in to see the Colonel. If Maria squints, she could almost imagine that Carol is throwing off sparks, her rage and delight almost visible around her, like an angry cloud.
The Colonel isn’t alone.
“Danvers,” he says. “Rambeau. I’d like you to meet Dr Wendy Lawson. She’s asked for you both personally to work on a project.
Maria resists the urge to look at Carol, but she knows she would see galaxies in her eyes.