Chapter Text
It would never be a comfortable experience, standing in front of a slew of reporters with their camera lenses trained on her. Easy to attribute to the media's cruelty during her divorce, but she can't imagine the attention ever would have come as naturally to her as it did to Keeley, no matter how much advice Keeley gives her on posture on speaking points.
Still, no one will give a flying fuck about her presence in about a minute, and that’s rather comforting in some strange way.
“Thank you all for coming. Please forgive the vagueness of our press call, we wanted to ensure all of our i’s were dotted and our t’s crossed, as they say, before making any formal statements. We’ve just finalised our paperwork this morning, so you can all thank me for this very breaking story.”
A titter of laughter from the room, which eases the tension in her body, if only minutely.
“As you all know, our wonderful manager, Roy Kent, is about to be a very busy man this upcoming season. And due to his dedication to AFC Richmond, he has expressed to us that he does not want the team’s performance to be affected if his attention is rightfully taken up by his personal life for a time. And so we at AFC Richmond have decided to instate a joint manager alongside Mr. Kent to ensure that both the team and our gaffer’s personal life get the attention and care they deserve.”
The room breaks out into murmurs and shutter clicks, and Rebecca is forced to raise her voice to be heard over the commotion.
“We understand,” she calls, “that this may be a controversial decision, and it's an approach that has been attempted with varying degrees of success in the past by other teams. But rest assured, we have found a joint manager who we know is capable of working well with Mr. Kent and is perfectly equipped to share the responsibility of leadership of this team without conflict. He’s received Mr. Kent’s personal seal of approval, which as we all know, doesn’t come lightly."
More chuckles, and nods of recognition. Once more, she feels the nervous coil in the pit of her stomach ease.
"So without further ado after making you all wait so long, please welcome AFC Richmond’s new joint manager.”
There’s an audible gasp as he walks in the door, looking sheepish and pleased and mischievous. Rebecca has never seen a group of reporters look so utterly delighted as this room does when Ted takes a seat at the desk, never seen their incredulous cynicism melt into approval in an instant. Much like his first press conference here, flashbulbs explode at the sight of him and the room descends into chaos, though the Ted of this year is far more confident (and well-rested) as he smiles out towards the crowd.
“Hey, y’all,” he greets, in his charming drawl of an accent. “I’m guessin’ you’re pretty surprised to see me back. Heck, I’m pretty surprised to be back. But I’m lookin’ forward to catchin’ up with you. How y’all been since I’ve been away?”
Hands fly up around the room at an alarming speed, all of the reporters jostling for attention. Ted answers in his typical, meandering way (I’m just here to support Roy and support the team and try not to mess up the good work he's been doin' the past two years. Roy's success as manager of this club speaks for itself, he doesn't need a lick of help from me on that, he's forgotten more about this sport than I'll ever know. Miss Welton deserves all of the credit for this, I hadn't even considered that bein' back here was a possibility until she made it happen. No, I’m not worried about the joint managership, Roy and I already have three years’ experience working side-by-side, I know when I might be able to help and when I should keep my mouth shut.), interspersed with his own questions and commentary (Hey there, you’re new, I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting. Marcus, congrats on the promotion. I read that article on Pep and you knocked it outta the park. Sarah, that pink hair is the best colour yet).
Rebecca’s phone begins to explode with notifications, though she forgoes it all, only selecting Keeley's text chain.
Ted is really back?!?!? OMFG how could you not warn me? I just burst into tears in my office like a lunatic!
She bites her lip to keep from smiling, sending as quick a response as she can manage without getting too distracted.
Sorry. Didn’t really believe it myself. Couldn’t bear to get my hopes up if he changed his mind last-minute. We just finished up the paperwork about an hour ago. I did try to ring Roy, but I didn't hear back.
Keeley sends a string of heart emojis. Roy's at the gym with the team, he won't have his phone. But it's fine, I cry over everything these days. Give Ted the biggest hug for me and then a smack for not telling me. He promised he'd make me these non-alcoholic cocktails that he used to make for the one Mormon kid on his American football team, so he owes me. And then, for good measure, btw Twitter is blowing up. People are losing their minds that Ted is back.
Can’t say I blame them, she responds. I feel quite the same way.
“Thanks, y’all,” Ted says, and her attention is drawn back to the front of the room. “I think that's our time. But I'll sign off by sayin' it’ll be real nice gettin’ to see you all again this year.”
More shouted questions and camera flashes, but Rebecca takes a step into the centre of the room to wave them off.
“Thank you all so much for coming, that’s it for the day. If you want to know more, Trent Crimm has been promised an exclusive interview, please do keep an eye out.”
A cacophony of groans breaks out from the envious room, but Rebecca only waves them off as she ushers Ted out into the hallways, where they can both take a breath of air.
Ted looks, at least, less bleary-eyed and overwhelmed than his last introductory press conference. He’d come to the dog track bright and early this morning to finish up the rest of the HR paperwork, already dressed in an AFC Richmond-crested jumper, trading jokes with Higgins and producing a little pink box of biscuits from his knapsack and it was all so warm and familiar and wonderful that she had nearly teared up right then and there.
“How are you feeling?”
He grins at her. “I’d say that went a heck of a lot better than the first time I was announced as coach,” he jokes, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his khakis. "Nobody asked me if it was a joke, this time. So."
“Mm, I was just thinking the same. Though I was tempted to throw you in there yesterday when you were still sleep-deprived and jet lagged, just for old time’s sake. With sparkling water in your glass for good measure.”
“Well, I think some traditions might be better left in the past, but I appreciate you,” he teases. He slides his hands into the pockets of his khakis, suddenly looking uncertain. “Hey, Rebecca, I was thinkin’…”
“Oi!”
They both turn to see Roy standing at the end of the hall, looking like a dark omen with his inky black clothes and thunderous expression.
“You sneaky fucking prick!”
So the team had obviously been watching the broadcast, then.
“Hey, Roy!” Ted calls, beaming. “Long time, no see, buddy!”
Roy had been told about the possibility of them tempting Ted back to Richmond, and Rebecca was unsurprised but still pleased (you never did know, with Roy) at his immediate approval of the idea. They’d sworn him to secrecy, still unsure if Ted would even agree to come back at that point. It wouldn’t be fair to the new coach they hired, if they’d told everyone that Ted was returning only to disappoint them with some stranger. Ever the cynic, Roy had rolled his eyes in response and told her that if Ted had given them that much reason to doubt his return, then he wouldn’t be coming back. She’d pressed him, ensuring that he would be amiable to the idea of them hiring Ted, if he did agree to such a thing.
Obviously, Roy had drawled. But I'm not holding my breath. I’d also be fine with Sir Alex fucking Ferguson coming back from the dead to coach us, doesn’t mean it’s gonna fucking happen.
He'd brushed her off when she'd informed him that Alex Ferguson was very much alive.
The doors fling open behind him, and suddenly she and Ted are met with the sight of a seemingly endless steam of players, parting around Roy and sprinting down the corridor like a colony of bats out of hell.
Rebecca barely has time to take a step back, pressing herself against the wall as Ted is swarmed, near-tackled by the players, his players, who laugh and cheer and throw their arms around him in a frenzied cluster. Ted looks joyful and dazed as he’s passed around like a hot stone, jostled and hair ruffled and smiling so widely she thinks his face must be sore. The coaches appear, first Roy, then Nate, then Beard, joining the cacophony of celebration. There's not a hint of hesitation or annoyance or disapproval or any of the things that Ted had worried about by returning.
It’s Jamie that starts it, but then they’re all belting out Richmond Til We Die at the top of their lungs, and she's taken back to three years ago, to winning the game against West Ham, all of them celebrating out on the pitch. The last time they'd all been together like this. And they haven't won anything, the season hasn't even yet started, but Ted's presence here still feels like a victory to them all.
Before she loses sight of him in the mass of celebratory chaos, she catches a glimpse of Ted’s face. Sunny, beaming, bright.
Happy.
Through the clear panel on the press room door, a few camera lenses are shoved up against the glass, and she makes a mental note to ask Keeley to request the footage, if it doesn’t already end up online somewhere.
She won’t need to. That joyful reunion will be played on an endless loop for days on every news segment announcing Ted's return, on every sports channel, along with the footage from the team’s gym. Dani and Colin had been on Instagram Live when the broadcast had started (and she’d have to give them a lecture about bad press for the team, if they had accidentally picked up any untoward locker room talk). What they had picked up, however, was the soft drone of her own voice from the television in the background, and then the startled cry from Zoreaux. “Yo, yo! It’s Ted!”
The rest of the footage is a blurry mess of movement and noise as the team dissolves into utter pandemonium, cheering and hugging and pulling their shirts off to swing over their heads, the scant few new players that had joined since Ted’s departure looking on in utter bewilderment and alarm.
A heartwarming display of just what Lasso means to this team, Jeff Stelling will say from the pundit desk. While joint management is always a risky decision, between Kent and Lasso, I think fans of AFC Richmond are going to have a very good season indeed.
Rebecca knocks on the door of the flat in the early evening, when the sun has turned golden and the humidity feels warm rather than oppressively heavy.
Ted answers the door in his AFC Richmond polo and khakis, shirt rolled to the elbows, and suddenly her chest feels too small to contain her heart.
“Hey, Boss.”
“Hello, Coach.”
They grin.
“Settling in alright?”
Ted smiles, waving a hand into the interior of his flat. “Sure am. This is a swanky apartment, right here. Got a nice view of the Green, big ol’ room for Henry.”
“Well, we had to do something to tempt you to stay,” she flatters. “When do Michelle and Henry arrive?”
“Seventeen days,” he confirms. “Ain’t it funny? Three whole years of goin’ ages without seein’ him in person, and now we’re apart three weeks and I’m about ready to climb the walls.”
“Just a sign that your days of long-distance parenting are over.”
He beams at that, and despite the evident exhaustion and jet lag and chaos of a recent move, she thinks she's never seen him so peaceful, so at ease.
"This is for you," Rebecca says, holding out the alarmingly pink gift bag, erupting with sparkling tissue paper. "From Keeley," she explains, when Ted raises a brow, "I just picked it up from her this afternoon. She was going to give it to you in person, but wanted you to have it as soon as you moved in, or so she said. I think she just ordered it a while ago when I told her you might be coming back and is too excited to wait any longer. Keeley does love to give presents."
Ted smiles softly and begins sifting through the tissue paper, hand closing something inside. From the bag, he produces a small snow globe. Rebecca can see the sunflowers painted around the base against a blue sky, the word Kansas gilded in the centre. Inside, a little sculpted tornado swirls in a field, and when Ted shakes the globe, the entire thing is caught up like a tiny, safely-contained storm.
"Very Wizard of Oz," Rebecca offers, puzzled by Ted's impossibly soft expression. He nods, and with another fond smile, sets the little snow globe on the entryway table.
"Well, there's no place like home," he grins. "Speakin' of which, to the pub?"
They meander across the Green, side-by-side, shoulders brushing from time to time as they walk. It’s like old times, before Ted had gone back to Kansas more than two years ago. Before everything had gone to shit, and she’d very nearly lost him.
“How was your interview with Trent?”
“Oh, good. Real good. We ate reasonably spicy Indian food and had a nice chat. I don’t even remember half of what I said, if felt more like a catch-up than a real interview. Did you know his daughter turned seven this year? Where does the time go? Hopefully I’m not gonna be embarrassed by the article when it comes out.”
“I think Trent has far too much respect for you to try to embarrass you.”
He holds the door open for her, and she slips into the Crown & Anchor. Despite a few lingering stares, they go peacefully unnoticed. At least for the time being.
The barkeep, however, gives a dramatic scowl at the sight of him. “I was wondering when you’d show your face 'round here.”
“Hiya, Mae. Long time, no see.”
“More than two years away and not so much as a bloody visit?" she scolds, tutting as she pulls him a pint.
Ted, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. "I know, I know. Sorry about that. I'll add you to the long list of people I gotta make amends with." He nods towards Rebecca. "She's at the top. And she still gave me a job, after all that. Imagine."
Mae looks over at her and winks, handing Rebecca the pint instead, a conciliatory gesture, before starting the next. "Bloody saint that she is. I hope you're here to repay her with a Premier League trophy."
"C'mon, Mae, I ain't even been here twenty-four hours! At least wait until we got our first game under our belts before you start puttin' the pressure on."
"End of the first match," she agrees, like he's offered her some sort of deal, sliding the second pint into Ted's waiting hand. She and Ted both go for their wallets, but Mae shoos them off.
“These ones are on the house, Coach Lasso.”
“Mae-“
“Not another word,” she scolds, as gentle as Mae ever gets. “You’ll always be ‘Coach’, ‘round here. Besides, if you start losing, I'm chargin' you double."
Ted barely represses a smile. "Noted and appreciated."
There’s so much joy building in her chest that Rebecca feels she might burst.
"Tell me, are you back just for the season? And none of that shite about 'seeing how things go'."
“For as long as they’ll have me before I get fired,” Ted jokes. “Henry and Michelle are movin’ here, too. My whole heart is officially in London, now.”
“Thank bloody Christ,” Mae breathes. “I hope you’ll stick around for a long while, at least to keep Beard out of trouble.”
“No ma’am, ain’t a soul alive who could keep Beard out of trouble. I'm a football coach only, I'm afraid, no life-coachin' for me."
They put in an order for fish and chips and then settle in the corner of the pub. She tries not to focus on Ted's ankles brushing hers under the table, the way he looks at her so warmly.
“Speaking of Beard, he wasn’t upset that you already made dinner plans?”
Ted shrugs, looking a bit guilty. “Nah. He’s got a wife and baby, now. His days of spontaneous pub nights are behind him. We walked back from work together, though, and we're gonna try and meet up for drinks at the end of the week."
She smiles at the thought. For all her concerns about the tumultuous relationship between Beard and Jane, things had seemingly settled between them. She'd still see him from time to time, staggering into the dogtrack after a wild night out and baby Theo left with a sitter. But when they were together as a family, they seemed positively domestic. Drama seemed less exciting, when you had a baby to provide a stable environment for. If there was one thing Rebecca knew for certain, it was that Beard and Jane would do anything for that little boy.
"And Roy?" she asks. "Your nose looks in-tact, he mustn't have head-butted you too hard."
Ted laughs openly at that. "Not so much as a threat to punch me hard enough in the gut that the contents of my stomach go so far up my throat I'll have to eat my breakfast again. I told him I respected what he was doin' with the team and would do my best not to step on his toes. Made sure he knew that I'm aware we're joint managers now, the decisions ain't all up to me. Roy reminded me that's basically what we were doin' before I left, anyway. Coachin' was just as much of a team effort as playin' the game was, and if either of us is feelin' the squeeze we just gotta be upfront about it. I'm still in the doghouse with both of 'em for keepin’ it all a secret, though."
“Tell them it was on me. I wasn't ready to announce anything until it was absolutely certain. They won’t stay angry long, thought, not when you’re back with the team.”
He shakes his head, incredulous, before picking up his pint to take a long sip. “Back with the team. Hard to believe it’s happening. Feels too good to be true.”
“You’re the part that’s too good to be true. You should have been there when I told the Board we were in negotiations to get you back. They practically threw money at me and told me to lock it down.”
Forever modest, Ted gives her a sheepish look. “Is that why I got such a generous raise? When I read that contract my eyes almost bugged out of my head.”
She recalls quite fondly, as a matter of fact, how he’d sent back the email to inform her that there had been a mistake, and someone in finance had accidentally put an ‘extra zero or two’ on the end of his salary offer. Rebecca had taken an enormous amount of pleasure in informing him that no, actually, that is precisely what they would be paying him.
“I told you I could probably get it higher.”
“I think I’ll survive on what I’ve already got. But still, I’m hopin’ Beard forgives me in time to help me set up Michelle’s new place. She gave me her key, and the furniture is s’posed to be delivered next week. I’m gonna go over on my day off and get everythin' ready so it’s at least livable when they first get here.”
Rebecca nods. “How is Henry feeling about the move?”
Ted tilts his head back and forth, as though deciding. “Good, I think. He’s gonna miss his friends. But he said he’s gotten real good at FaceTiming between London and the States, so he ain’t worried. He’s more excited than anythin’ to be able to play soccer all year ‘round instead of just in the summer. You know, I told him we’d do whatever he wanted, his first weekend back at school. The three of us together, as a family. Anything he wanted, anywhere he wanted to go, just him, me, and his mom. Go see a castle, go to Inverness and try to catch a glimpse of Nessie. Guess what he picked?”
“Football match?”
“Football match,” Ted confirms, corners of his lips hitching upwards. “Nice to know some things never change.”
“Well, he has a permanent spot in the owner’s box at Nelson Road any time he likes,” Rebecca offers, taking a long sip of her own drink, and Ted grins.
"I suspect he'll take you up on that."
Rebecca tries not to beam thinking of Henry in his AFC Richmond kit, cheering on the team, cheering on Ted from his seat at Rebecca's side.
Mae appears with their meals, setting each plate down in front of them and departing with another wink. Rebecca tries not to blush, though she isn't sure why.
“And Michelle?”
"Mm? Oh, she'll probably tag along to some of them."
Rebecca presses her lips together. "I meant how is Michelle feeling about the move?"
“Ohhh. Yeah, she’s…good. Been real stressed about everythin' we had to do to prepare for it, I was worried that she was gonna regret it, or not wanna go. Sellin’ the house was emotional, you know, we bought that place when Henry was three, he’s grown up there. But I saw her just before I left, asked her if she was sure about everythin’. Told her we could call it all off, if she changed her mind."
The very idea of it is nearly enough to make Rebecca sick. Even with a signed contract and the leases on two flats already secured, she can't help but feel that Ted's presence here is unbearably fragile. “And she didn’t, obviously.”
Ted shakes his head. “Said despite all the stress of packin’ up her whole life and movin’, she’s really lookin’ forward to it. Told me she’s just been feelin’…stuck. Lost. And she was sorry if it upset me, when she proposed movin’ back to London. She was afraid to mention it to me. Didn’t think she had a right to ask me to leave Kansas after she’d already done it once.”
“I’m glad she did ask,” Rebecca tells him softly. “I know it did hurt to hear, at first. But I’m so glad she did.”
Ted nods. “Me too,” he confesses. “I told her I was sorry for the way I reacted, when she first brought it up. I was just...frustrated with the timin', not frustrated with her. What she was offerin' was real generous, and I was grateful once I wrapped my head around it. She was real nice about it, said she was sorry, too, and she wished she would have brought it up a bit more delicately instead of just droppin' a bombshell like movin' back across the ocean again without warnin'. Somethin’ to appreciate about Michelle, she’s always been good about gettin’ us unstuck. Back then, holdin’ onto a doomed marriage, and now. I just freeze up and don’t know what to do. Stick my head in the sand. But she’s good at rattlin’ us loose.”
Christ, is Rebecca grateful for that. Ted never would have come to London in the first place without Michelle, and then where would they be? Rebecca may very well have run Richmond into the ground to spite Rupert. She wouldn’t have Keeley, then. She wouldn’t be on good terms with Higgins. She wouldn’t be greeted every morning with a salute from Roy and a restrained Miss Welton, a cheery wave from whatever members of the team catch her watching a training session from the window of her office. She certainly wouldn't be gracing the pages of news publications with faux-feminist headlines like Is it Time for More Women in Sport? Rebecca Welton Makes the Case as AFC Richmond's Most Successful Owner in the Team's History.
She’d be trapped. Forever stuck as the bitch who’d ruined a beloved community team, who’d fucked over the careers of a group of promising young athletes, all for petty revenge against Rupert. As if Rupert had ever been worth the magnitude of those emotions. As if Rupert had ever been worth her consideration at all.
“I’m supposed to tell you ‘thank you’,” Ted says. “Michelle'll say it herself, but while I’m here, I'll say it for the both of us. For all of it. For findin’ her a place to live, for makin’ arrangements for Henry’s school, for puttin’ in a good word for her at the girls’ school and gettin’ her that job. She needed a change but the idea of just startin’ over was overwhelmin’. And you handed her a whole life just to walk into. Handed us both a good life to walk into. Not sure what we would have done without you.”
“It was the least I could do,” she says, and then waves away Ted’s sound of protest. “No, really, Ted. I was just thinking myself what I would have done without you, and the thought was rather bleak. So if I could make this decision easier, could make the move easier, I was happy to do it."
As always, when she tries to compliment him too much, he grows cagey and awkward, turning his attention down pointedly towards his plate. "Aw, c'mon..."
"I mean it," she vows. The very thought of it makes her skin crawl with anxiety, but she reaches out anyway to gently curl her fingers over Ted's wrist, stilling him. "I want you in my life, as much as I can have you."
He doesn't lift his gaze, only stares down pointedly at her hand over his. But slowly, ever so slowly, he turns his palm upwards, wrapping his fingers around hers. "I want you, too."
“Ted Lasso, you fucking legend.”
They both startle apart at that. She'd forgotten, for a moment, that they were out in public, out where anyone could see them. And they had been seen, apparently, by three vaguely familiar figures that hover at the edge of their table, looking elated.
“Hey, Baz!” Ted greets warmly. “Hey, Jeremy, hey Paul. Nice to see you fellas.” Because of course he knows them by name, these three men who have no connection with him other than occasionally being in the same pub more than two years ago.
"We thought you was gone for good!" the blond one cries, and Ted smiles kindly.
"Well, I thought so, too. But circumstances changed, and I was able to bring my little boy back with me. And the Boss here was kind enough to give me a job, so there was nothin' stoppin' me."
"Good," the short one huffs. "'Cuz if you'd gone to another team, you'd be a fucking traitor."
Rebecca is startled, as she so often is, as the ferocity of sports fanatics. Of course, she adores Richmond and its players, but she owns the bloody team. The fans had no connections beyond sheer passion, and it was as lovely as it was frightening, from time to time.
"Hey, it wasn't so long ago that y'all couldn't wait for me to go back to where I came from," Ted jokes.
The short one huffs again. "That was before you almost won us the fucking Premier League, mate."
The tallest one offers a bright, warm smile. "Besides, now it kind of feels like here is where you're from."
And once again Rebecca is reminded that Ted had been absent for more than two years, and had spent those two years studiously avoiding engaging too much with AFC Richmond news, besides their wins and losses.
In his haste to return to Kansas, he’d completely missed his transformation to the folk hero of Richmond. Relegation to the highest ranking AFC Richmond had ever had in the league in just three seasons. The people here talked about him like he was more myth than man, like they hadn’t been shouting ‘wanker!’ at him in the streets and jeering at him from the stands just a few seasons earlier. He was woven into the thread of the team's history, into this community, more so than he could ever imagine.
Ted looks rather touched. "Well. Wherever I'm from, here is where I wanna be. So you'll be stuck with me as a neighbour for quite a while, with any luck on my part."
"Right. But I hope you know joint managers is an insane decision," Baz points out. "It always ends in bloodshed and someone getting fired."
The tall one elbows him in the ribs. "Bro."
"It's true! Two coaches in mental, innit?"
Rebecca finally cuts in, raising a brow at the men, pleased at the way their jostling immediately calms. Like naughty schoolchildren being caught by their teacher. "So was hiring an American football coach with no experience, but look how that turned out."
They all gape for a moment before the blond one offers weakly, "you got a point, there."
Ted chuckles softly. Fondly. "The boss here's never let this team down, try to have a little faith. If you don't trust me and Roy, you can at least trust her."
She hides her smile behind her pint glass as the men mumble their reluctant agreements. She isn't sure they know what to do with themselves, without something to be outraged about.
"Well, it was real nice seein' you fellas again," Ted dismisses kindly. "I look forward to gettin' an earful whenever we see one another this upcomin' season, yeah?"
With some murmured goodbyes and shuffling, the men bid them farewell and turn back towards the bar, the tall one offering her a nod and a sunny 'Miss Welton' before they're alone once more with their empty plates and pint glasses.
"If you'd've told those guys five years ago that one day they'd be happy to see me, I don't think they woulda believed you for a second," Ted muses with a fond shake of his head.
"I don't think you would have believed it for a second," Rebecca points out. "Or that this city missed you as much as you missed it."
Ted makes a noise of protest. "I don't even think that's possible."
"Speaking for myself, it's very much possible." She watches him turn red to the tips of his ears, picking at his fish and chips for the sake of distraction. "Am I making you wildly uncomfortable, with all of these compliments?"
"Yes, ma'am," Ted concedes, smiling sheepishly. "And I know what you Brits are like with praise, so you better stop unless you want me to return the favour."
"Truce," Rebecca agrees, holding up her hands in mock surrender. "Only insults from now on."
Ted shoots her a crooked smile. "I think that'd be best."
By the time they finish their meals and drinks, Rebecca's sides ache from laughter and her cheeks are sore from smiling. They've spent the evening being interrupted by well-wishers and excited pub patrons, thrilled to see Ted back with the team and eager to tell him so. He never stops looking dazed.
And while she's desperately happy for him, and so very pleased that he finally gets to see how very loved he is here...she hates that the night is ending so soon. She'd hoped rather selfishly to have him for herself, just for a little while.
By the time they rise from the table, the sky has gone dark and they're pleasantly fuzzy-headed from the alcohol and the greasy food, lulled into a sense of utter contentment.
She's so lackadaisical, in fact, that when Ted stops abruptly at the door of the pub, she runs right into the back of him, blushing and stepping back from where her body had pressed along the length of his.
Ah.
It's pissing rain now, not a drizzle but an absolute downpour. With the noise of the pub and the cosy atmosphere, they'd been blissfully unaware. Water droplets hit the cobblestones with such force that they visibly ricochet back upwards, soaking the legs of the fortunate few who had thought to bring a brolly.
"Shoot," Ted sighs. "I forgot about the rain. How could I forget about the rain here? You got an umbrella?"
She shakes her head. "I don't."
Ted takes one long look around the storm-soaked square and then turns back to look at her, expression mischievous.
"You wanna run for it?"
They take off across the Green, breathless with laughter and exertion, soaked to the skin by the rain. She can feel the icy water running rivulets down her back, soaking into her shoes, matting her hair to her forehead.
Through some unspoken, uncommunicated agreement, they both head to Ted's, shaking and shivering on his doorstep as he fishes the key to his flat out of his pocket. He ushers her through first then quickly follows, crowding against her in the little foyer so he can shut out the wind and the rain.
She's giddy, feels near hysterical with it. Ted is here. In London. Only inches away. It's like her own world has tilted back on its axis, righted itself so abruptly that she hadn't realised how off-kilter she'd been.
"You can jump in the shower," Ted insists. "To warm you up."
She tries to protest, but when she glances at her own reflection in the mirror over the entryway table, she sees that her lips are turning blue.
She doesn't bother adjusting the temperature, just steps into the scalding spray, letting the sting of heat bring rapid feeling back into her icy fingers. The tension melts from her body, circling the drain along with the frigid rainwater.
When she finally emerges, pokes her head out of the loo, she finds a stack of fabric waiting beside the door. A pair of tartan pajama bottoms. A thick pair of socks. And a familiar t-shirt.
Joe Arthur Gatestack. The top Ted had lent her for the plane ride home. The same shirt she'd laundered, folded neatly and tucked into the welcome basket that had been placed in his flat to await his arrival.
Rebecca dresses quickly, emerging once more into the corridor with steam rolling out along her ankles, still towelling her damp hair.
Ted's room, when she walks past, is little more than a stack of boxes. Not yet unpacked, though he'll have plenty of time to do so.
His priority, it appears, is Henry's room. It catches her eye as she walks by, and she can't help but stop to linger in the doorway. The sheets on his bed made, his toys up on shelves. She can see a row of jumpers already hanging in the closet, a line of trainers set neatly in a row on the floor. A Jamie Tartt poster on the wall. And pressed against the painted drywall, spiralling up to the ceiling, are an array glow-in-the-dark stars.
It looks as though a little boy might have been living here all along. Like he might have just wandered away for a moment, about to come bounding back in at any second, throwing his knapsack onto the bed and pulling his legos from the bin.
Even with the cool damp of her hair against the back of her neck, she feels a rush of warmth at the sight. This is a permanent space, not a temporary arrangement that Ted will have to disassemble when Henry leaves. The room of a little boy who would spend a great deal of time here. Ted had barely unpacked more than enough clothes to get him through the day, but Henry's room was ready to be lived in. A reminder, perhaps, for the next seventeen days they're apart, that this is the last time that Ted's child will be living an ocean away.
She lingers there for a moment, squeezing the water from her hair and just taking it in, before there's a soft thud from the living room, drawing her down the final length of the corridor and out into the open space of the flat.
Ted has changed out of his wet clothes, in a pair of pajamas and a comfortable t-shirt of his own as he passes barefoot across the rug. He's set a box up on the arm of the sofa and is pulling out picture frames, placing them haphazardly onto the mantelpiece. To be sorted through later.
When he catches sight of her there in the doorway, he pauses, smiling. "Feelin' better?"
"Feeling my extremities, which is an improvement. The shower's free, if you wanted to-"
"Oh, I'm alright. Got the fire goin' and got outta my wet clothes. Figured I'd keep at the unpackin', while I had a second." He shrugs, setting a stack of framed onto the mantlepiece. He looks so at-ease already in this new flat, confidently unpacking his belongings. His hair is still damp, pushed back but still more ruffled than its usual, well-combed state. Even now, in old pajamas and having just run through a torrent of rain, he looks rather...handsome.
There's a spark of lightning that illuminates the room in a flash of light, and a few moments later, a roll of thunder so loud it rattles the windows.
The photos on the mantlepiece are some she recognises from Dottie's albums, of a young Ted and both of his parents smiling at the camera, of Ted and his father side-by-side on a fishing boat, proudly holding up their catch. Henry at all ages, from a pink newborn at the hospital to his latest school picture, looking so like a teenager that her heart aches. Ted and Beard in college, grinning in front of an American football pitch.
And then his photos of the team. The inscribed one of Ted and Nate, the team photo from their win against West Ham. Sam and Jamie and Colin in front of the Ola's sign.
It's then that she spots her own blonde hair. The photo is upside down, placed haphazardly along with the rest, but she drapes her towel over her shoulders and reaches out to right it. Right-side-up, she sees it's a photo of her and Ted after their Man City match, sitting in a booth at the Crown & Anchor. She has one arm around Ted and the other around whomever is sitting on her other side, Beard, she thinks, though in the image he's turned away from the camera to talk to someone off-frame. Rebecca in the photo leans into Ted, her head on his shoulder, pulling the kind of goofy expression for the camera that only comes with a few too many pints. Ted isn't looking at the lens at all, caught mid-laugh, turning towards her as though to speak, though it gives the impression that he's resting his cheek against the top of her head.
Perhaps he was.
Ted sidles up beside her to see what's caught her attention, and Rebecca feels suddenly embarrassed, like she's been caught doing something she shouldn't.
"It was upside down," she says weakly, like that explains why she's been staring at the image, unblinking.
Ted nods. "Yeah, just thought I'd get 'em out of the box quick, then I can figure out where to put them all." He nods towards the photo of the two of them. "I like that one."
"Me too." She turns to look at him, offering him a small smile.
Thunder crashes down once more, breaking through the quiet moment and shaking the window panes, and Rebecca is startled back, then lets out a self-conscious laugh. "Christ, what a storm."
"Glad we came in when we did," Ted agrees. "Rather be safe and sound in here than have to be out in that, even if we did end up lookin' like drowned rats by the time we got in."
"Oh, I wasn't worried. I'm always safe."
When Ted gives her a confused look, she takes her handbag from where she'd left it on the nearby armchair and opens it up. It doesn't take long to find it, it's always tucked away in the same pocket for whenever needs it, and in short order she returns to Ted's side to press the little green army man into his palm.
She thinks, for a moment, that she can see his lip quiver, silent as he brushing a thumb over the tiny soldier's features. "Worried you were gonna need protectin', goin' for dinner with me?" he jests, though the hoarseness of his voice undermines the humour.
"Of course not. I've carried that in my handbag for five years."
That draws his startled attention, and he finally meets her gaze, eyes misty.
"Didn't save us from getting wet, though," he offers, transparently reaching for a joke to ease the thickening tension.
"It didn't," she agrees, and lets him retreat back into more neutral territory. "And now we're playing tag with this t-shirt." She tugs gently at the shoulder of the Joe Arthur Gatestack top. "I'll have to wash this and give it back again."
"Much easier to return now, when I ain't an ocean away," he points out. "We can stick a big long clothesline between our places and send it back and forth. Heck, we can get a couple of those t-shirt cannons they have at baseball games and launch it at each other's windows. Pow!" He mimes firing a gun. "I bet it'd reach, too."
Rebecca smirks at him and shakes her head fondly, turning her attention back to the line of photographs, trying to focus when she's very much aware that she's only moved closer to Ted, their shoulders brushing. "I'm glad to see that you're putting up photos of your father."
"He was a good dad, until he wasn't," Ted says softly, humour fading from his voice. "Think I've gotten to the point where I know he must have been in a heck of a lot of pain, to leave us. I'm still angry at him, but...I wouldn't want to be remembered for my worst mistake, either."
He's standing so close that she can feel the heat of his skin, hyper aware of the shape of him. Like another limb. An extension of herself.
"Glass of wine? I got a fancy bottle in my 'Welcome to London' basket, this time."
She lets out an exhale, the tension easing as they move onto lighter topics. "I would love one."
Lightning and thunder still crack and crash outside, but it feels remarkably cosy here. Easy to just lower herself into a seat at the large kitchen table after she tucks the little green solider back into her handbag, let Ted pour her a glass of wine. It was funny, in some small way. A storm had led her to Kansas, and a storm had accompanied Ted back to London.
"Aren't you lucky, that some terribly clever person thought to tuck that into your welcome basket," she jokes, heart squeezing when he smiles. Fuck, she loves his smile.
"I sure am. I'd bet a 'quid' or two that the same person packed me all my favourite stuff. No PG Tips and Marmite addressed to 'Tim Lasso', this time around."
She isn't sure if it's sweet or rather embarrassing that she's put in so very much effort to something as insignificant as a gift basket. Normally, such a task is reserved for somebody's assistant's assistant, a near-meaningless gesture of goodwill. Not for the owner of the bloody team to hand-select wine and jammie dodgers and peanut butter, which will sit horrifyingly open on his countertop for the foreseeable future.
Ted glances up at her, and she fears she's missed something while she's been lost in thought, at least until Ted speaks. "Well, now we're in an awkward position."
It's everything she can do not to audibly gulp. "Oh?"
"Mmhm." Ted slides the glass over into her waiting hand and then pours himself one. "See, I can't send you back out into this weather, even if I can pretty much throw a rock and hit your front step. You've already been drenched once today."
"Right."
"But my plans for the night were supposed to include important preppin' for my first day back at work, and if I do it while you're here, the air of mystery is ruined."
She senses a joke coming on. There's always a joke, when Ted has on that expression. He takes a step towards the kitchen cupboard, reaching inside to reveal the punchline: a little stack of flattened pink boxes. Her heart leaps into her throat.
“But since you're here...you wanna help me make biscuits?”
“God no," she replies, bringing her bare feet up to rest on the chair across from her. "But I would love to drink wine and watch you make biscuits.”
And so that’s what they do. They drink their glasses of chardonnay and Rebecca sits at the kitchen table, chatting and laughing and making snide comments about Ted’s apron. He in turn dots her nose with flour and lets her lick batter from the spoon, until the entire kitchen smells like warm butter and sugar and vanilla.
When they’ve finally cooled enough to cut, Ted offers one up like he’s bestowing a knighthood, or at least that’s how it feels to Rebecca. The moan that comes out of her mouth at the very taste of it is nearly orgasmic. “Fuck me. You’ve no idea how much I’ve missed these.”
“I’ve missed makin’ ‘em. Wasn’t nearly as fun, when no one got as excited as you did when I brought them out.”
“Yes, well, all of those people are under-appreciating arseholes,” she dismisses, washing the biscuit down with a sip of wine. It feels safe to say here, when she’s slightly tipsy and there’s a lingering taste of biscuit on her tongue and the storm outside pounds on the windows while they’re cosy inside, and so she blurts out, “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you, too.”
Ted blinks at her, and for a moment she thinks she’s cracked herself open too much, made a fool of herself, until he says, “I think I do have an idea. If it’s a fraction as much as I’ve missed you.”
The air in the flat somehow feels heavier, thicker. Like the humidity has increased a tenfold.
Rebecca clears her throat. “Thank you. For coming back."
“I’m really glad to be back. This is more than I ever dreamed of. Felt like my heart was ripped in two for so long, part in Kansas, part in London.”
“You were always going to have a job waiting for you here. I’d fire Pep Guardiola if it meant having you back on the pitch. Though I’m rather pleased to hear the team means so much to you that you felt torn about leaving. Especially if it means it brought you back home.”
"Aw, c'mon. If Pep wanted to join the team, I'd be out on my butt in a second, and rightly so." Ted turns his attention back to his task, plating the cooling biscuits with a laser-like focus. “But it ain’t just the team. For the record.”
She swallows. “No?”
“No.”
He won’t look at her, refuses to so much as glance up, but he’s so bloody pointed about it that she’s convinced it’s an intentional avoidance. And so she shoves down the fear and uncertainty and anxiety and rises from her seat, making her way around the kitchen table with her heartbeat pounding in her ears. “Ted?”
“Yeah?”
She reaches out to rest her hand over his, stilling him as he methodically stacks biscuits on the tray.
“Ted.”
Finally, finally, he looks up, and his own expression looks so uncertain and self-conscious that it eases something inside her. Ted has always understood her, she knows that now. They may not always agree, but they’ve always been on the same page, deep down. In some ways, he knows her better than she knows herself. It's nearly ridiculous, then, to think he wouldn't share something this momentous with her, too.
“My heart ripped in two when you left, too.”
His hand closes around the back of her neck, and Rebecca lets herself be dragged in for a kiss, throwing her arms around his shoulders with a gasp of air.
She expects it to be at least a bit uncomfortable. They've been friends, to varying degrees of closeness, for the past five years. He used to sleep with her best friend, for Christ's sake. All of this should be horrifically awkward, if nothing else.
But it's not awkward or uncomfortable or strange. Ted's hands are firm around her, keeping her pressed against him, and it's all so intoxicating she finds her knees going weak.
It's familiar. Familiar in a way that she hadn't been expecting, in a way that she's never experienced with someone she's never slept with before. Somehow, this just feels like an extension of what they've been doing all along. The next logical step.
"This okay?" Ted murmurs, still so close to her that she can feel the brush of his lips against hers as he forms the words.
"God, yes."
She lets herself through her arms around Ted, swaying against him as his hands settle into the small of her back, forcibly dragging her in. They stumble a moment, until Rebecca's thighs brush the edge of the kitchen table. She thrusts a hand back to steady them, clattering the tray of cooled biscuits, which blessedly doesn't crash to the floor.
Rebecca trails her hands under the hem of Ted's t-shirt, to the soft flesh and fine hair that leads her down into the front of his pajama bottoms to close her fingers around him. He gasps with every stroke of her hand, grinding into her touch.
"You don't stop, I'm not gonna last," he warns finally, shuddering away from her grasp. "And I ain't twenty anymore, so my refractory period is really gonna put a damper on the mood."
She smirks, stroking her thumb over the head of him one last time before slipping her hand out of his pajama bottoms. "I can't imagine anything putting a damper on the mood, but yes, alright."
"Bed," he says, though she isn't sure if it's a plea or a demand. "We ain't doin' this for the first time on my kitchen table."
The first time.
They stumble their way back towards the bedroom, dodging moving boxes as they tug and tear at their clothing, breaking away just long enough to pull their t-shirts over their heads.
Rebecca falls back against the mattress with a small burst of laughter, giddy with nerves and anticipation. Ted crawls over her body, dragging down her own trousers and discarding them without flourish over the side of the bed.
It's then that he pauses, shifting his weight onto one elbow so he can run his fingers along the side of her face. "Gosh, this is just how I imagined it'd be."
"You've imagined this?" she says, trying to sound teasing, although she voice feels thick in her throat. Emotional.
"'Course I did." He kisses her jaw, down the length of her neck, to her collarbone, to each of her breasts. "Probably at some pretty inappropriate moments, too."
She runs her fingers through his hair, holding the back of his head as he trails his lips along her skin, breath hitching. "Me too."
At that, Ted raises his head, looking rather stunned. "Yeah?"
"Of course," she echos. "Of course I have. Does that really surprise you?"
"That you'd ever want me the way that I want you? Yeah, it surprises me."
"It shouldn't," she insists. "It really, really shouldn't."
He's at least anticipated this moment enough to have purchased and unpacked condoms, though she doesn't let herself consider that perhaps he'd bought them with anyone but her in mind. She watches as, in his eagerness and maybe nervousness, he fumbles to roll it on, taking a few tries before he succeeds.
"Sorry," he murmurs, sheepish and pink-cheeked.
"It's okay," she promises, reaching up to rest her palm against his cheek. He's undone in a way she rarely sees, hair falling over his forehead, panting. "Ted, it's alright."
She lets her hands slide down to his shoulders, pulling at him, tugging him forward to her, against her, inside her.
So eager to please, Sassy had said once, but Rebecca tries desperately to push the thought of Sassy out of her head the moment it appears. However good it allegedly was between them, this isn't some occasional, reliable shag to let off steam. This has been five years in the making.
But he is, in fact, eager to please, and he certainly succeeds.
Perhaps it isn't entirely true, that she'd fantasized about the two of them together, but only because she hadn't let herself go there. Ted had sort-of been seeing Sassy, they'd been colleagues and friends. They'd felt almost too entwined, she relied on him too much, to risk losing him.
She'd hated herself for it the moment he went back to Kansas. She'd lost him anyway, she at least could have indulged in this while she had him.
Now, at least, is the chance to make up for lost time.
Rebecca arches up against him, gasping as his cool hands run down her sides, under her arms, pinning her wrists up beside her temples. His breath sounds ragged in her ear as he mumbles out all manner of things, entwining their fingers together. Some unintelligible, some sweet, some so bizarrely and utterly Ted that it sends her into a fit of giggles, which only makes him grin more.
If she's being honest with herself, it doesn't matter one whit what he says, as long as he's the one in bed with her saying it.
His commentary, though, eventually dies as he gets closer to the brink, and Rebecca can only squeeze his hands, nearly incoherent with pleasure.
"I never thought I'd see you like this," she muses, breathless. He'd shifted his weight, freeing one of her hands, and she takes advantage of the newfound freedom to trace patterns with her fingertips into the damp hair at the nape of his neck.
It takes a moment for Ted to seem to process the words to say. "N...naked?"
"Non-verbal," she teases. "Or as close to it as you ever get."
"I must be doin' somethin' wrong," Ted pants in her ear, "if you still got this much energy to sass me."
She throws her head back and laughs at that, lets herself pull his hips against her, uncaring of if she seems pushy or desperate or needy. Because Ted is just as needy now the way he picks up his speed, thrusts growing more chaotic, hand slipping down their bodies.
She feels like a supernova. "You missed two years of snark from me, I intend to make up for lost time."
She thinks she speaks those words, though it's difficult to know with her head so fuzzy. But she must say something coherent, because Ted murmurs into her ear, just as her whole body shakes apart, "I'm lookin' forward to it."
When she wakes, the room still dark from a not-yet-risen sun, the empty space in bed beside her is cool.
Rebecca slips from beneath Ted's sheets for the second time in her life, picking up his t-shirt from where it had cast aside earlier. As tall as she is, the hem hits high on her thigh. She’ll have to badger Ted to unpack his dressing gown sooner rather than later.
Or perhaps leave her own here, for future use.
Ted, when she finds him, is standing before the living room window, staring out over the Richmond Green, illuminated only by lamplight that filters in through the glass.
"Ted?" she calls gently, watching with a sickening sense of dread as he turns towards her. She waits to see the tears on his cheeks, the agony of his expression. Waits for him to tell her that he's changed his mind, that he can't do this, that it was all a mistake and he's leaving her behind once again for Kansas.
Instead, when his eyes adjust to the darkness and settle on her frame, he smiles, face soft and warm.
"Hey. Did I wake you?"
She nearly staggers in relief, padding barefoot across the living room to sidle up behind him, pressing her lips against the skin of his bare shoulder.
"No. I just woke up and realised you weren't in bed. Is everything alright?"
"Yeah," he assures. "Just jet lag, and the last of the nerves, I think. It all feels surreal, like I'm gonna close my eyes and then wake up back in Kansas."
She doesn't say that she'd had the same disorienting, sickening though in the hazy moments after she'd woken up to find the bed empty beside her. Instead, she goes for a joke.
"I don't blame you. I still have nightmares about waking up to that godawful wallpaper in your old place, too."
That brings a laugh out of him, which she's pleased to hear.
"How's the anxiety?" she prompts, sliding her hands around his waist.
"It's there, but not so bad. It's excitement, mostly. Last time I joined the team, you would've needed a shovel if you wanted to reach peoples' expectations of me. Felt like the only place to go was up. Now they feel sky high, I don't know how I'm gonna live up to 'em."
She hums in acknowledgement. "You don't have to live up to them. You'll win matches, you'll lose matches. You'll make wonderful decisions, you'll make bad calls. If something isn't working, you change tactics and try something new."
He turns his head to look at her over his shoulder, and in the hazy lamplight from the street, she can see his lips twitch into a smile. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not. I know it's not. But you've never been in a better position to try. You're walking in with three years' experience and a team that's already a close-knit unit. Roy is on board from the start, as is Nate. Beard has five years under his belt, now."
"My boss ain't out to get me, this time," he jokes, and she lets herself lean into it, not cringe away in shame at the thought of her actions his first season with the team.
"I'd say I've already gotten you, given the events of tonight."
He breathes in, then out, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders as he does so.
"But you're right," he agrees. "It ain't startin' from square one. We already got a good idea of each others' strengths and weaknesses."
"What the general public is saying about you is none of your business. That's a lesson I've learned the hard way, over the years."
"I'm sorry about that, by the way."
She shrugs. "You weren't the one writing Daily Mail articles about me."
"No, but I wasn't there for you when I shoulda been. All that firestorm of Rupert bein' accused of inappropriate workplace behaviour, people houndin' you for comments. I shoulda been there to support you, and I wasn't. I'm sorry, for all of it. You deserved better from me. You all did."
It stings, it still does, even with Ted here in London, the ink long since dry on his employment contract. Because Ted is right. He hadn't been there in so many ways. And that simple fact had caused her more pain than she could have predicted.
"I forgive you," she tells him, feeling another piece of the fury she'd held towards him cool. "Just be here now."
"I will be. I promise. I've learned my lesson," he vows. "Told the guys once that what's worse than bein' sad was bein' alone and sad. And I'm not always right about a lot, but boy, was I right about that."
She remembers. She had been there, that rare occasion that first year that she had come into the locker room after a game. Sat with the team after a defeat.
Without a word, she presses one more kiss to his shoulder blade and then comes around to stand at his side. Ted slides an arm around her waist, as natural as breathing, and they stare out at the quiet, empty Green together. The rain has stopped, but the grass and pavement are still listening with it, the light reflecting from the streetlights making what's within eyesight glimmer and shine. An almost ethereal glow.
"When the car pulled up alongside the Green last night?” Ted says, voice soft. As though he's afraid of startling away the comfortable stillness they've found themselves in. “I could just picture me and Henry out there on the grass, kickin’ a ball around. Or him walkin’ to the dog track with me, if he don’t have school and wants to tag along. I can duck out of trainin’ for a minute to bring him his schoolwork if he forget it at home that morning, I’m only a few minutes away. Every day I was here, there'd be something I wish I could show him, you know? Every single day, I'd think, 'I wish Henry was here, he'd love this.' Now he's gonna be here."
She turns her face to press a kiss against his shoulder, hoping the movement disguises how she’s forced to gulp down her emotions to keep from tearing up.
“I’m glad to hear it. I think I rather felt the same way, seeing you come through my office door this morning. It was like all was right in the world, again," she tells him. "He'll adore it here. I don't think I've ever walked past without seeing a group of children out playing football. He won't have any trouble making friends."
Ted nods. "Just...hope he isn't too angry with us, takin' him away from the only life he's ever known. His friends, his family."
"He's with his family," she reminds him. "With both of his parents. And you said he's excited as much as he's nervous about the move. He's young, he'll feel at home soon enough."
"I hope so." Ted's eyes flicker towards her, she can see it from the periphery of her own vision, but she keeps her gaze fixed forward. Letting him look. "I just hate to think we've made things hard for him. With the divorce, and me bein' away for so long...feels like we just keep makin' his life more difficult. We're his parents, we're s'posed to do the exact opposite."
"You've shown him that he has the agency to change his circumstances if he's unhappy," she counters. "He doesn't just have to suffer in silence. I wish my mother would have shown me the same. I don't know that I would have stayed married to Rupert for nearly as long as I did, if I'd seen that kind of courage from her."
To her surprise, he shakes his head with an amused expression. "You really do have a way of makin' me sound like a much better person than I am."
"I think you just don't see yourself the way I see you."
It feels like a risk, considering they haven't dared discuss it, but she lets herself reach for him, brushing that forever-stubborn strand of hair that's fallen over his forehead. It feels like a habit, she's done it so many times now.
He catches her hand as she starts to recoil, bringing it to his face to press his lips against her fingertips.
"Probably don't deserve that good opinion. I'm a mess."
"Yes. But I think our mess seems to line up rather well with one another's."
That familiar crooked smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "Does kinda feel like we're two sides of the same coin."
"But one of those wonky, double-stamped coins," she offers with a smile. "Where the imprint is a bit off."
Ted is fully grinning, now, more himself than she's seen in a long time. "Hey, those coins are real valuable, you know. And rare. My cousin Dave is a coin collector."
"Of course he is. My point is, we've certainly seen the worst of each other, and we still ended up here. You've seen me bitter and angry and desperate to get back at my ex-husband, regardless of the consequences to the people around me. Ready to use people like chess pieces just to hurt someone who didn't deserve any consideration from me at all. And you shut down, shut people out. Shut me out and made me think I'd done something wrong. I've held you through panic attacks. Christ, we've met each other's mothers."
That, at last, brings a small laugh out of him. "I just...can't see how any of it's worth it. I don't know if me at my best is ever gonna make up for who I am at my worst."
It twists something painfully inside her, that he feels that way. "You don't have to make up for who you are at your worst," she replies when she has the chance to compose herself. "I just want you, Ted. When you're too much, or not enough, or doing well or struggling. As long as I get to be the one to hold your hand through it."
He turns away from the window at last to fully face her, his arms snaking around her waist as he ducks his head to bury into the crook of her neck. Rebecca exhales, stroking her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "Does that mean that what we did tonight wasn't a one-time thing? I've been wantin' to ask, but couldn't quite muster up the courage."
"Do you want it to be a one-time thing?"
His breath hitches.
"Oklahoma?" she prompts further, and he finally relaxes, letting himself chuckle. She can feel the laugh skitter across the surface of her skin, and when he raises his head to finally meet her gaze, she smiles at him.
"Yeah, alright then. No, I don't want it to be a one-time thing. It sorta felt like it was...off-limits, before. Knowin' I'd be goin' back to Kansas and would have to leave, I didn't even let myself go there. But now that I'm back?"
"It felt rather inevitable," she agrees, letting her hands drift up to cross behind his neck. She doesn't need to pull him in, or so much as tilt her chin up, Ted is already leaning in to kiss her. It should be weird. It should be really fucking weird, after five years of strict friendship (to varying degrees), but nothing has ever felt more natural. "I want this, Ted."
"Yeah," he breathes. "Me too. Even if I am a mess, or shut down. Or, ya know, talk people's ear off about bullshit because I'm too afraid to properly emote. That's what Dr. Sharon said, at least, I think she had a point."
"Your therapist said that to you outright?" Dr. Fieldstone had always been a sharp-shooter, but she hadn't expected quite such a cutting remark from a psychologist.
Ted only shrugs. "She was kinda hopped up on painkillers at the time. it's a long story. Point is, I'm tryin' to be better. Sorta fell off the mental health wagon and landed face-first in the dirt, but I've already got an appointment with Dr. Sharon on Tuesday, I've been added back on the team group chat, I'm goin' for beers with Trent this weekend. I'm findin' my way back."
She isn't entirely sure what to say to that. What exactly is there to say, when she'd spent more than two years mourning the loss of something that was suddenly revived? All she can say, rather inelegantly, is, "you're already back. Really back, I mean. I still can't believe you're here."
He nods, and she watches the way his throat bobs as he swallows back emotion. "I'm really here."
She doesn't have the courage to question how long that might last. "I can't ask you again, Ted. This has to be it, I can't ask you and have you look me in the eye and reject me again."
"Rebecca-"
"Stay," she says. Begs. "Please stay with me, this time."
"You're here," he says. "Henry's here. I ain't ever gonna want to be anywhere else. First time around, first night in the manager's flat, across the ocean from my son, my marriage fallin' apart...it was awful. But this time around, tonight, I was just lookin' out over the Green, Henry's room is all set up, you were asleep in my bed, and...I dunno. It felt like the last two years have been a dream and I just woke up. S'like my whole life suddenly made sense, again."
It's horrendously sentimental, something straight out of one of his romcoms, but damn, is it a line that works. Because it feels, in so many ways, that her life suddenly makes sense again, too.
She already has so much. The club, Keeley, Roy, Leslie, Sassy, Nora. But there would always be a place for him, and she'd always feel that empty space in his absence. Because Ted is right, they are like two sides of the same coin in so very many ways. Rebecca doesn't believe in soulmates or whatever other nonsense Tish might be spewing, but she feels inexplicably tied to Ted in a way she isn't sure she can ever untangle. She only had him for a few short years, that first time around. She wants him for all the rest of them.
"But hey," Ted says, drawing her out of her thoughts. "I'm happy I was able to help you with that goal of yours, from last time we talked. Though I don't think Kansas was what you had in mind when you said you wanted to 'travel abroad.'"
It takes her a long moment for the pieces to fall into place. To recall that conversation two long years ago, sitting at his side in the empty stands, knowing that the time together she'd taken for granted was coming to an end. "Travel abroad," she repeats. "Ah. My grand plans if I sold the club. Drink, sleep, fuck, was it?"
"Mm." Ted turns his head pointedly back into the room, and Rebecca follows his gaze to the kitchen table, to the two wine glasses and the empty bottle, watching as Ted's eyeline then returns down to his pajama bottoms, his bare chest, his t-shirt that Rebecca had slipped on before coming out here to meet him.
Drink, sleep, fuck.
It's then that he looks up to meet her eye, and he only has to press his lips together, expression sparkling with humour, and she erupts into a fit of giggles. Then he's laughing, too, and they can't stop, half hysterical by the terrible joke and the release of tension and the utter joy of being here, together, no threat of an ocean between them.
Giddy, abdomen aching and cheeks sore, Rebecca allows herself what she hadn't back in Kansas and pulls him into a kiss once more. That's all they seem to do, tonight. It's all she wants to do for the foreseeable future.
"So this is it, then?" he says when they finally pull apart, resting his broad hand behind the back of her neck, bringing her in to rest her forehead against his. Rebecca lifts her own fingers to his cheek, brushing against the stubble that's grown overnight. "I'm here in London to stay, I'm back with the team, we're...together?"
She feels a bit lightheaded as he spells it out so plainly. Speaking aloud what she would have given a limb for only a few months ago.
"Yes," she manages to get out. "To all of it. This is it."
"No more sayin' goodbye at the airport."
"No more saying goodbye at the airport," she breathes. "Not unless your return flight is already booked and we've made arrangements for me to pick you up when you land."
Ted nods, and something painfully fond squeezes in her chest. "Kinda feels like I can breathe for the first time in a long time."
And she holds onto him just a little bit tighter, because he's here in her arms, illuminated by London street lamps, British soil beneath his feet. And because she can, and will get to tomorrow just the same.
“Welcome home, Ted.”