Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Rebecca’s already seated and typing away at her laptop when he walks into her office later that same morning. 

(After he’d woken up with her in his bed, palm flat against his bare chest and sleepy stare directed at him from beneath dark lashes; after he’d been given the chance to make her breakfast and watch as she ate a stack of pancakes, Extra Fluffy, her eyes falling closed of their own accord; after she’d all but insinuated that she wouldn’t mind being paired with him in the press.)

Her gaze lifts with his entrance and she greets him with a warm smile. “Good morning, Ted,” she says. There’s the barest hint of a glint in her eyes, like they’re sharing a secret. She dips her head a moment later as she tugs the black, thick-rimmed glasses from her face. She doesn’t fold them inward when she places them onto her desk, and he finds himself wishing she’d keep them on. 

“Hiya, boss,” he beams, even as his heart rabbits against his ribs. I can think of worse things they could write about me. It’s knockin’ around in there so violently he worries it’s liable to bumper-car into another internal organ. 

Ted deposits the little pink box in front of Rebecca before dropping himself into his usual seat on the other side of her desk. She offers a small smile before opening the lid, eyeing the biscuits and then shifting her attention to him.

She plucks the middle biscuit from its place. “I didn’t see these in your kitchen.” 

“You’re overestimating how long these take. Whipped ‘em up after you left.” 

In truth, he’s pretty sure he had at least one more box for the week tucked away safely in his cabinet. But what he really needed to do was make a fresh batch, needed to wipe clean that false memory of baking them in a fit of grief. 

Baking goes a lot smoother when the image ingrained into his corneas is of Rebecca in his bed, sleepy-eyed and hair a little unruly, instead of Rebecca laid out in the middle of a Richmond street. 

She takes a bite, shoulders relaxing around it. 

He loves watching her eat the biscuits every morning. Not in a creepy kinda way, but in an I’m glad I get to see that joy on her face kinda way, and even in a bonus I’m glad I get to be the one who puts that joy on her face kinda way. That makes it extra special. 

Her lips curl gently at the edges as she chews and sometimes her eyes will slip closed; other times they’ll remain on him and soften just that much more. He’s not sure anything will ever truly top the “fuck me” and the way her eyes rolled into the back of her head that very first time, but the look of pure comfort (that’s the closest descriptor he’s got, the best fit, and it warms his chest) on her face each time, the way her shoulders relax at the smell and loosen further with that first bite… it’s a beautiful thing to witness. 

She deserves that, a moment of comfort. 

Rebecca deserves many moments of comfort, actually. She deserves to feel at peace every moment of every day, deserves to walk around with her head high and shoulders at ease, deserves to let all of those carefully constructed guards down and simply be. 

She’s beautiful all the time, he’d go to bat against anyone tellin’ her otherwise, but there’s something extra stunning about Rebecca when she’s truly relaxed; all wide, uninhibited smiles and kind eyes and glowing cheeks. 

If Ted had it his way, she’d live like that. But he has no authority over her constant comfort, not in any meaningful kind of way, so he’ll continue on with what he does have authority over. Biscuits with the Boss. He’ll continue to make sure she has this one moment, at the very least, every day. 

“How’re you feelin’ this morning?” he asks. “Later this morning, anyway.” 

“Well-fed,” she smirks around another bite of biscuit, and any remaining tension eases out of his shoulders. 

Things at work continue to go on without incident, and without mention of his rather unfortunate Rebecca-centric nightmare, for which he’s eternally grateful. 

She still doesn’t bring it up. She does, however, begin texting him more than usual. This is not a complaint, but an observation. 

He doesn’t think anything of the influx of texts at first, though the uptick in their frequency does not go unnoticed. Nothing about Rebecca goes unnoticed. 

Although unexpected, in truth, he’s thrilled to see them; if anything, he thought perhaps she might pull away even just a fraction following that night. 

He’s glad she doesn’t. 

The texts start off work-related, business as usual. A quick “Ted, can you stop by after training to look at something?” or “I’ll have the paperwork sent down for you and Coach Beard to sign.”

But then they begin to branch off into less work-related, more personal territories. His phone lights up with Rebecca aka ‘Da Boss’ and his heart leaps at the sudden stream of little messages he’s graced with here and there.

On Monday he wakes to a barrage of sleepy-faced emojis that she’d sent at 6:04 that morning. Texts this early, containing nothing but emojis at that, is a far cry from anything he’s received from Rebecca thus far. For a moment his heart drops into his stomach, something he’ll later recognize as jealousy bubbling beneath his skin, and he worries she’d meant to text someone else. 

He takes a chance and responds as if the texts were meant for him. Worst case scenario, she’ll let him down gently and he’ll have to burrow himself a hole in the green. 

(7:09): Lousy night of sleep, boss?

He goes about his morning routine, which really only consists of washing his face and brushing his teeth, because despite Keeley’s insistence that he must have some fancy routine (“That skin’s as smooth as a baby’s fucking bare ass, Ted!”), he does not. 

He tries very desperately to not think about that day. 

Keeley had all but pinched his cheeks while she said it, and he’d blushed, ‘cause of course he did, and it was all very kind of her even if he really doesn’t know what he’s doing with the whole skincare thing. 

But then Rebecca stepped up, intrigued, and he’s pretty confident that the flush of his cheeks traveled all the way down his neck and across his chest. She’d looked at him, assessing, her mouth in a curious twist. 

“Your skin really is quite clear, Ted,” she’d said, nodding appraisingly. 

It would’ve been fine if that’s where it ended, but then she went and skimmed his face with the pads of her fingers and his entire body froze. He can still feel it now, her phantom touch on the apple of his cheek. 

Instead of following suit and pinching his cheek as Keeley had before her—which would’ve deepened his blush but been otherwise mostly harmless—she’d finished off the gentle caress with a cupping, a soft back-and-forth brush of her thumb, and a whispered, “Keeley’s right. Soft as a baby’s bottom.” 

(Was her voice breathy or is it his mind misremembering now?) 

It took him two whole minutes to come back to himself, and his blush had deepened anyway with Keeley’s knowing look and tiny giggles of, “I think you fucking broke ‘im, Rebecca.”

Shaking his head, he shuffles back into his bedroom and returns to a reply from Rebecca. She doesn’t deflect or offer an apology for messaging the wrong person, so he allows a cautiously optimistic smile to stretch across his face.

She’d meant to text him those adorable, very un-Rebecca-like sleepy guy emojis. 

(7:24): Bloody construction down the street, do you not hear it?

(7:25): If they’d just hand one over I’d have a better use for those jackhammers 

Ted huffs a laugh, imagining her disgruntled scowl and tired, murderous eyes. 

(7:28): I think the press would have a field day if ya went around murdering construction workers 

Immediately, he gets a response. 

(7:28): 🙄 😡

Ted chuckles, his cheeks burning with the effort of it. 

(7:29): Would a large hot tea help? 

He doesn’t even have a chance to begin getting dressed before his phone pings again. 

(7:29): You choose now, in my time of need, to offer tea instead of caffeine? 

(7:29): Theodore Lasso, I never took you as a cruel man

Ted’s dimples deepen with his smile. For the past few months or so he’s been trying to get her to switch to having coffee with him. At least a little, on occasion, especially during some of their earlier mornings.

“I know you love that garbage water and all, but does it even put a pep in your step?” he’d asked her on a particularly early morning. She had simply glared over the rim of her thermos of tea as she took a deliberate, slow sip. 

He still doesn’t know if that was meant to be a yes or a no. 

(7:31): There’ll be a large coffee in your hands in 30 🫡

He adds one of those new saluting emojis to the end for good measure, heart hiccuping a bit when she sends back you are a godsend, Ted Lasso with a little purple heart. 

When he walks into her office that morning, double-fisting her biscuits and a steaming cup of coffee (without all the syrups and sugars that, in his humble opinion, make coffee good), Rebecca nearly melts into her swivel chair with the sigh of appreciation. 

He lives off of that high for the rest of the day.

Ted doesn’t see Rebecca on Tuesday. 

She has meetings that begin before he makes it into the club and they take up the whole of her morning. By the time she’s finished with the back-to-back exhaustion of dealing with egotistical men and slinking into her office with a tired frown, Ted’s already in the middle of training. 

Something about him switches on the days he doesn’t see her. 

These instances are few and far between since he’s usually always able to, at the very least, pop his head into her office. Even if it’s for the briefest amount of time, he still takes those moments and holds onto them, just so he’s able to see her face. 

But when these days do come around, there’s a tangible, visceral shift that takes place in his body. There’s an uncomfortable, unsettled feeling that sticks itself to his sternum, long, thin fingers gripping tight. He feels off-kilter. 

That feeling stays with him all day, though Ted does manage to sneak into her office while she’s off at one of her earlier meetings. He leaves the biscuits on her desk with a small sticky note— sorry to miss ya, boss! :) in his scrawl—for her to return to. 

As he’s leaving the pitch that evening, he glances up and notices the light in her office is already off. Sadness loops around his ribs, her absence from his day felt wholeheartedly, but he’s glad to see she’s getting some well-deserved rest instead of stayin’ up there after hours. 

“Everything okay, Coach?” 

Beard’s standing beside him when Ted turns, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. 

“Peachy keen, Beard-o,” he says, perhaps a hair too bright. 

He very pointedly ignores the way Beard’s eyes lift to Rebecca’s window before lowering back to Ted, the barest hint of a raised brow his only response. 

Ted trudges up the stairs to his apartment, shrugs out of his Richmond puffer, and toes his shoes off near his closet. He’s halfway to the kitchen when he pats his pockets, finds them empty, and backtracks to where he’d draped his jacket over the back of the couch. 

He rummages around in the pocket—not the empty gum foil, or the Reese’s cup wrapper, or the—ha! Phone. He taps on the lock screen and finds a text from Rebecca waiting for him.

(9:57): Sorry we missed each other today. Have a good night, Ted 💜

Another crooked grin stretches across his face, something comfortable taking hold in his chest. They’re not in the habit of sending each other goodnight texts, but he supposes maybe, just maybe, she was feeling the distance today as much as he was.

She finishes off the text with another one of those purple hearts that makes his stomach flip. 

(10:25): Missed seein’ you too, boss 

Okay, so maybe she didn’t say she missed him, she’s just sorry they missed each other, but it’s more or less implied… right? Before he can overthink himself into a minor spiral, he sends off one more quick text. 

(10:26): Night, Rebecca 💜

Richmond win their match on Wednesday against Chelsea. It’s on their home turf, too, which is a bonus; it always makes a victory that much sweeter. 

The boys’ energy is heightened as they crowd in the locker room. The space is filled with mostly unintelligible shouting, lots of hooting and hollering and swaying as they hang off of each other’s shoulders. 

After a minute or so, Isaac is the one to shout out, “Oi! Everyone’s comin’ to celebrate, yeah?”

None of them have a chance to politely decline before one of the boys is clapping them on the shoulder (Jan Maas with Ted and Jamie with Roy, which earns a growl in response), or ushering them out with an expectant, kind smile (Sam with Beard), or politely, shyly, linking their arms together (Colin with Rebecca). 

They just let it happen, allowing the boys’ liveliness to rub off on them as they all make their way back out of the locker room and into the night. 

At The Crown & Anchor, Ted sits in a booth with Beard, Roy, Keeley, and Rebecca, the latter sitting flush against his right side. He’s nursing his second beer, fingers wrapped around the neck of the bottle as he lifts it to his lips. Roy and Beard are on their fourth, he thinks. He’s not keepin’ count, but he’s pretty sure they were each just cracking open their third when a small group of the boys came over with taunts of, “You can’t chug that!”

Beard had uttered a simple, “Child’s play,” before they both proved the boys wrong. 

Keeley opts for a gin and tonic and Rebecca for wine, a red that matches her nails. Ted’s eyes keep slipping to where Rebecca’s lithe fingers wrap around the stem, absentmindedly stroking every so often. He thinks back to those same fingers pressed against his chest and his skin burns. 

Beard catches him in the act at least once, but Ted averts his gaze and sips at his beer to (very poorly) cover. He doesn’t say anything but his face speaks for him, and Ted pointedly ignores what it’s saying. 

Later in the evening, Ted gets lovingly tugged from the booth by Bumbercatch and Isaac. Per their (moderately drunk) retelling, they’ve been informing the rest of the team of his affinity for darts. He’s not sure how they know this, but he assumes he must’ve mentioned the game at some point. As he allows them to pull him across the pub and into the circle they’ve created for him around the dart board, their mission becomes apparent. 

It’s his turn to prove something, apparently. 

He looks over his shoulder before he disappears into the crowd and catches Rebecca’s eye, the amused curl of her lips. He wonders if she’s thinking about when he beat Rupert with a little innocent deception in the course of his white knighting. He sure is. 

She mouths go on then and raises her wine toward him. 

After a few rowdy rounds with the boys, half of whom are far too drunk to be handling a dart, Ted graciously bows out and makes his way toward the bar for a quick refill. Beard’s sitting there now, chatting easily with Mae about a new dish she’s considering adding to the menu. 

She slides Ted a new beer before he has the chance to ask, the whole time she’s barely even looked up from her conversation with Beard. 

He chuckles, pulling the beer closer. “‘Preciate you, Mae.” 

Ted twists a little, eyes scanning the pub. It’s nearly midnight and half of the team have departed the celebration—he hears Jamie and Jan Maas shouting about hitting up another bar and shakes his head fondly. Oh to be a twenty-something footballer. 

As he glances around, he realizes the booth they’d occupied earlier is empty. 

“Where’s Rebecca?” 

He continues to search the crowd, assuming he’s just missed her. He finds Keeley at the other end of the bar in an animated conversation with Dani, hands gesturing wildly as she talks. Eyes trailing, he expects to find a second, significantly taller blonde close by, but no dice. 

“Left twenty minutes ago,” a voice responds. He turns to find Roy.

“What?”

“She left twenty minutes ago,” he repeats gruffly, then shrugs. “Said she was getting a wine headache or whatever.” 

Ted’s grip tightens on his beer. “And no one walked her home? Just let her leave on her own?”

“She’s a grown fucking woman.” 

Roy settles in roughly between Ted and Beard, nodding to Mae who hands him a beer. 

“And, Keeley and I both offered,” he adds with a pointed look. Ted has the decency to look appropriately chastised. Of course their friends would offer to take Rebecca home. “She refused.”

Exhaling, Ted licks at his lips and casts an anxious glance toward the door, as if Rebecca will suddenly materialize. “I don’t like the idea of her walkin’ home after she’s been drinking, especially when she’s not feelin’ well.” 

“She lives, like, two steps away. Any closer and she’d live in the fucking pub,” Roy says. When he looks at Ted he must see the concern settling sharply into the lines of his face because he softens just a bit. “It’s Rebecca. No one’s stupid enough to try anything.”

“Yeah.”

“And if someone did, which they fucking won’t, she’d kick their teeth in.”

Ted heaves a breath, forcing out a nod. “Yeah, you’re right,” he says, even as his chest tightens and his knuckles white out around the glass. 

He knows Roy’s right. 

Rebecca’s fine. She’s a grown woman who’s fully capable of making her way home; a home that also happens to be, at most, a ten minute walk. A straight shot, even, just across the green. 

There’s not a chance Roy or Keeley would’ve actually let her walk home alone if she’d been that out of it. 

She’s fine. The protectiveness isn’t warranted. 

He allows himself to relax as he leans against the bartop, shoulders loosening with a swig of his beer. He can’t really taste it. They remain in a line, Ted, then Roy, then Beard, the three of them existing in a comfortable silence as they finish off their drinks. 

But then it starts to rain. 

It’s powerful, the downpour intensifying as it clatters harshly against the pavement outside, and for the first time since that night his nightmare rears its ugly head. He wants to say it blindsides him, wants to say its resurgence is wholly unexpected, but he thinks it’s been tingling at the back of his awareness since the moment he realized Rebecca wasn’t in the pub anymore. 

Irrational, yes, but entirely out of his control.

Ted’s dismayed to find he can see the images even with his eyes open. The rain only makes it worse, flashes of a storm and the hail-like pounding of it against the streets, the cars, the buildings. 

“You okay, Coach?” 

Ted turns and realizes Roy’s no longer next to him. Instead, he finds Beard leaning forward on the bartop, regarding him. Carefully. Knowingly. 

Sometimes he forgets Beard’s privy to what happened—not all of the details, but enough to explain away his confusion that evening he showed up at his apartment. Enough to know that he had a nightmare about Rebecca dying. Enough to know that it involved a heavy storm.  

Nodding, Ted manages what he hopes is a convincing smile. But Beard’s perceptive; he’s smart enough to connect the dots, and he reaches over to drape a comforting palm across Ted’s forearm. 

“She’s fine,” he says, quiet, confident. “It wasn’t real. She’s home, probably fast asleep.” 

Not real, not real, not real. Ted repeats it to himself as he downs the last of his beer, tosses a few bills onto the counter for Mae, and slides off the stool. 

“Well, I think I’m gonna call it a night,” he says to no one in particular. 

With the barest hint of a smile at the edge of his mouth, Roy grunts out the question from a few feet away: “You need a chaperone for that walk?” 

He hadn’t wandered far, it seems; he’s standing near one of the tables with Keeley curled into his side. 

Ted laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I’m no Rebecca, but I think I can hold my own. Thank ya anyway, Roy.”

Stepping outside, he nearly gasps against the onslaught. It’s worse than he thought it’d be and he considers tugging his jacket over his head for a moment, but with how aggressive the rain’s coming down it feels like a useless gesture. He stuffs his fists into his pockets and paces away from the pub, back hunched forward and shoulders raised to his ears. 

It’s a short walk, shorter than Rebecca’s would’ve been, but somehow it feels longer. With each second he’s in the rain, more and more thoughts rush through. As he walks up his stairs, waterlogged and cold, his breath catches with a sick sense of deja vu—returning to his apartment after hovering above Rebecca’s body in the rain, his own body stiff and numb. 

Ted kicks off his shoes and shakes his head, water flying from his hair like a wet dog. He discards his jacket, placing it on the closet’s doorknob without much care that it begins to drip onto the hardwood. 

Not real, not real, not real. 

He takes his phone from his back pocket and tosses it onto his bed as he makes a beeline for his dresser. He grabs at the necessities and hauls himself into the bathroom, quickly forcing himself under the spray. 

The shower works at calming some of the nerves at the same time it warms his skin. 

The heat from the shower fogs up the bathroom, the air thick, so once he’s sufficiently cleaned Ted grabs the sweatpants and boxers and exits. He walks into the bedroom with a towel wrapped around his waist, tugging the t-shirt over his head as best as he can with one arm. 

Clothes tossed onto the bed, he grabs at his phone. He meant to let Beard know he made it back to his apartment, so he figures he’ll do that now. Might as well let him know he’ll be heading to bed shortly so he doesn’t worry. 

When the lockscreen comes to life, messages from almost an hour ago light up the display. 

Rebecca. 

His muscles loosens out of habit. 

(12:16): I didn’t want to interrupt darts with the boys to say goodbye

(12:16): I’ve made it home 

(12:17): See you tomorrow 😴

Rebecca letting him know she made it home safely is… the relief that floods his system is immediate; the slump of his shoulders, the exhale of a rough breath, the lightness of his chest. 

He sends back a purple heart. 

Thursday is, pardon his French, a royal bitch. 

Ted wakes with a gruesome cough. It’s pitched a tent in his lungs, embroidered itself to the organs so securely that no matter how hard he tries, it simply will not vacate the premesis. He heaves, groans, whines a little, but even when the cough itself subsides it leaves behind a tickle in his throat like a threat. 

He fully intends to text Rebecca and Beard to let them know he won’t be coming into work. He does. Before he has a chance to do that, however, he makes the mistake of “resting his eyes” for a few moments and falls back asleep. 

When he wakes next it’s to the delicate press of a cold compress to his forehead. He jolts at the contact and attempts to sit up, but a palm to his shoulder keeps him in place. 

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he hears, soft, and in his fevered haze he thinks he’s hallucinating the blurry outline of Rebecca’s figure standing at his bedside. 

“R’becca?” 

“I know where you keep the spare key now, remember?” 

He nods, the motion sloppy and causing the damp cloth to slide down his face. It covers his noise and his mouth and he splutters with the unexpected obstruction until it’s suddenly being lifted and he can breathe again.

“Jeez, boss, if ya wanted to get me outta the way there’re more pleasant methods,” he mumbles, lowering himself back down onto the pillow. 

“If I was planning to kill you I don’t think I’d be all too concerned with your comfort.”

“That’s kinda rude.”

“But the murder itself wouldn’t be rude?”

He shrugs, the weight of his shoulders cumbersome. “Disappointing, maybe.”

Rebecca huffs. “Don’t worry, Ted. If I wanted to kill you it’d have happened much earlier in our relationship.” 

“I’m not sure that’s comforting,” he says. “Say, if you were gonna have me, ya know,” he sticks his tongue out to the side, one unsteady hand coming to cross his neck, “how would ya do it? Just so I know.”

“Rest,” she says, biting down on her cheek to contain the laughter. “You’re delirious.”

Ted hums. “You’re right, ‘cause you’re not really here right now,” he sighs. His eyes flutter, eyelids heavy, as a small smile curls at his lips. “I know a fever dream when I see one. Not usually this beautiful though.”

She stands at his bedside, lips parted and eyes wide. Ted, in his current sickly state, does not notice. He simply sighs again, a wistful, airy thing.

“Of course I’m here.”

“Sure, sure,” he says placatingly, eyes half-closed. Reaching out, he takes her hand in his and rubs gently at the skin between her thumb and forefinger. “Nah, Rebecca’s got lots more important—” He pauses when the tickle in his throat turns into another cough. “—lots more important things to be doin’ than checkin’ up on me.” 

Rebecca, still gaping at the feverish man before her, flips her palm so she can grip his hand properly. Her fingers squeeze and her eyes burn. “No, she doesn’t.” 

He’s already drifting again, though, so she leans down to brush his sweaty hair from his forehead and chances a brief kiss to the warm skin before replacing the earlier fallen cold compress. She leaves a bottle of his flu medicine on the bedside table along with a glass of water and a little sticky note with a simple take this and drink enough water xx R written down.

Ted’s asleep by the time her self-imposed lunch break ends and she heads back to the club. 

Ted’s mouth is impossibly dry when his eyes peel open sometime later, his room bathed in darkness. Fumbling around beside him, he nearly fist pumps when he finds a glass of water he doesn't remember filling sitting neatly on the table. 

He downs half of it in one go, ignoring the uncomfortable swishing sensation it makes when it reaches his otherwise empty stomach. When he switches on the lamp, he notices the cold medicine and furrows his brow. He doesn’t remember the water, but he could’ve done it; he doesn’t remember the cold medicine either, though, and he definitely didn’t put that out here. 

The sticky note catches his eye next and his stomach drops a little, somehow already knowing whose handwriting he’s going to find. 

He called Rebecca a fever dream. To her face. 

Groaning, he flops back onto the mattress. At least his fever appears to have broken and the headache he’s felt tickling at his temples all day is dull enough to ignore. 

Reaching over to where his phone rests on the other side of the bed, he drags it to his chest and checks his messages for the first time all day. 

Beard texted him this morning asking if he’s running late, if he’s coming in, if everything’s okay. The last text in his thread is just, “Rebecca’s coming over,” and Ted doesn’t know if it was simply to let him know ahead of time or if Beard thought this was a repeat of last week. 

There are texts from Rebecca, too, and his stomach twists with guilt. 

First, from this morning. 

(9:36): Missed you for BwtB. I hope everything’s okay?

(10:03): Coach Beard says you didn’t show up to training either 

(10:03): Please let me know if everything’s all right?

(11:04): I know you keep the key in that horrendous little gnome and if you don’t respond in the next ten minutes I will be coming to your flat 

(11:15): I’m coming over 

He knows he can’t blame his fevered-self for falling back asleep, but he sure feels terrible for havin’ worried Rebecca like this. Beard, too. 

Those aren’t the final texts in the thread, though. Further down, received not long ago, actually, are a few more. 

(7:23): I hope you’re feeling better this evening. Take another dose of that medicine as soon as you wake up 

(7:23): And remember to drink more than that one glass of water, please

He smiles at that one. 

(7:27): Checking in on you is not a burden, Ted

(7:28): If there’s anything I can do, please do give me a call

His forehead creases for a brief moment before he remembers. Rebecca’s got lots more important things to be doin’ than checkin’ up on me. And then it floats in, her gentle, whispered voice. 

No, she doesn’t.

He’s feeling much better on Friday. 

Thankfully, whatever it was that knocked him out seems to have been a 24 hour bug and he’s right back to bouncing into her office with a box of biscuits, a sheepish smile on his face.

(Not before he wakes to a few more texts from Rebecca, each of them chipping away at his resolve that much more. 

(6:38): How are you feeling, Ted?

(6:43): I hope to see you later this morning, but please don’t feel as if you need to push yourself to come into work today 

He texts back at 7:30 to thank her for the help she’s already given him (even if the thought of his fever-induced delusions has embarrassment licking up his spine) and to assure her that he’s perfectly fine to come into work. 

(7:42): Wouldn’t want to miss seein’ ya today, boss 

(7:45): Biscuit delivery is on schedule 💜

He adds another purple heart to the end of the biscuit text and shoves his phone into his pocket. He’s settling into his office, shrugging his shoulders from his jacket, when he pulls it back out and is greeted with a reply that has his stomach clenching. 

(8:36): I wouldn’t want to miss seeing you today either, Ted

(I can think of worse things they could write about me.)

The pallor of his skin is still mildly concerning, and Rebecca says as much, but he promises that he’s feeling just fine. 

“Blendin’ in with my polo a little, huh?” he jests, tugging his white shirt by the collar to hold it to his cheeks.

She smirks, offers an affectionate roll of her eyes. “Nearly,” she says, taking a bite of biscuit. Eyeing him, she tilts her head. “You’re positive you don’t want to take another day? I happen to know the owner and I think she’d be okay with it.” 

Ted’s expression softens as he takes her in. All pink cheeks and fingers covered in biscuit crumbs, considering him with a gentleness that still manages to steal his breath. 

“Pass along my thanks to the world’s most generous boss,” he says with a quirk of his mouth, grin widening with the flush that creeps along her collarbones, “but I promise I’m right as rain. All good over here.” 

She swallows around another bite. “If you’re sure.”

“Nowhere else I’d rather be.”

He says it earnestly. Perhaps more so than he’d anticipated, the gentleness of his voice entirely unintentional, but the look she gives him—a show of glittering eyes and relaxed shoulders and a tender curl of her lips—brushes away any anxiety he might’ve had about being too open.

On Saturday, just as a freshly-showered Ted is standing in his bathroom with one towel wrapped around his waist and another rubbing at his head, his phone on the sink lights up with a message. Rebecca aka ‘Da Boss’ catches his eye and he smiles. 

(7:44): Have you watched this week’s Bake Off?

He tosses the hair towel onto the closed toilet seat and makes sure to dry off his hands before he picks up his phone. 

(7:46): No, ma’am

(7:46): Be sure to let me know if they properly soak the sponge, will ya? 

Ted returns the towel to its proper hook, then thinks better of it and tosses it into the hamper. 

He expects another ding to indicate a new message, but his phone begins to ring instead. He startles with the noise and just about places a palm to his heart like his mama would. 

Seeing Rebecca’s name on the screen sends a course of excitement through him, one particular jolt highlighting the fact that he’s still undressed. Something about talking to her on the phone with no clothes on when she doesn’t know he’s got no clothes on feels… unsavory. He steps into a pair of sweatpants before pressing the phone to his ear. 

“Hi there, boss,” he greets with a smile, stepping out of the bathroom to head toward the living room. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Are you doing anything right now?”

“Well, right now I’m about to take a seat on my couch and hit play on one of the greatest American movies ever made.”

There’s a silence and then: “You’re going to make me guess, aren’t you?”

“Was kinda hopin’ you’d indulge me, yes.”

Rebecca sighs good-naturedly. “Babe?”

Ted’s throat closes, the breath that would’ve released now lodged smack dab in the middle, halted with a single word. 

Rebecca calls him Ted most of the time. Coach sometimes, which he has to admit he loves, ‘cause it sounds nice comin’ out of her mouth. He’s not sure she’s ever used any other nickname in casual conversation or otherwise—certainly not a pet name, a term of endearment.

He must’ve heard her wrong. That’s it. 

He’s absolutely heard her wrong, because there’s not a single chance Rebecca’s just called him babe, even if the way it rolls off her tongue makes his skin tingle. 

(He hears her voice in the back of his mind, I can think of worse things they could write about me.) 

His heart continues to thrash wildly against his ribs, though, because he definitely heard it; babe in her soft voice, gentle and indulging and affectionate in a way he’s learning she doesn’t share with everyone. 

His musing (read: internal breakdown) must go on too long, because Rebecca’s voice breaks into the silence again. “Ted?”

Clearing his throat, he prays it sounds more unaffected than it is. “Yeah?”

“Well, are you going to tell me if I’m right?”

“If you’re right?”

“The movie?” she says, slower now. 

It clicks.

He could fucking laugh, a hysterical noise bubbling at the base of his throat. He manages to swallow it down—now that his throat is working again, just barely—so only a chuckle escapes. 

Right, the movie. 

Mistaken term of endearment aside, that’s not even in the realm of guesses he’d have expected. “Babe? ”  

He can see her waving a dainty wrist around when she replies. “‘The greatest American…’ made me think of great American pastime and the great American pastime is fucking baseball, or so I’ve been told, and I know that’s a baseball movie, so…” Her voice trails off, point made. 

Ah. Sheesh, he thinks he might truly be losin’ his mind.

“I think you mean The Babe.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Babe is about a mighty adorable little piglet named Babe, and The Babe is about Babe Ruth, the baseball player.” 

“Right, well, there’s no reason those titles should’ve been so bloody similar.”

“I’m sure we can write a reasonably worded letter to the creators of Babe.” He smiles at the huff of laughter that elicits. “The ‘one of the greatest American movies’ I was referrin’ to is actually Mrs. Doubtfire starring Robin Williams—may he rest in peace—but that’s a real impressive A to B deduction ya did there,” he says, pleased by her amused hum.

“That sounds riveting, truly, and I’d hate to pull you away from… Mrs. Doubtfire, but perhaps I can entice you with a counter-offer?”

Rebecca using the word entice in that flirty tone is enough to get him to do anything she asks. He nearly blurts out a yes before she even speaks.

Instead, he manages an appropriately interested hum and an intrigued, “I’m listening.” 

“Well, I have Bake Off ready to go on my television and an embarrassing desire to not eat Thai alone, so I thought perhaps you might want to come join me?”

Ted shows up at Rebecca’s to find a whole array of Thai takeout— takeaway, she corrects—laid out on her kitchen island. Including, he notices, his favorite: a classic, chicken pad thai, and steamed vegetable dumplings. It only took him ten minutes after Rebecca’s call to show up on her front porch, hair still wet at the edges. That’s not nearly enough time for the food to have arrived if she’d only ordered after his acceptance of her offer to come over, which means— 

She ordered it before she even called. 

Rebecca ordered his favorite Thai takeout and then called to see if he’d like to come over, as if it was an offhand offer; casual, last-minute, even. But it wasn’t, couldn’t have been; she’d planned to ask him over, she knew (because, really, it’s a no-brainer) that he’d say yes, and so she’d gone ahead and made sure to include his order in her delivery.

When he looks away from the food and his eyes find hers, it’s obvious she knows he’s figured her out. Instead of deflecting, Rebecca simply shrugs one shoulder, lips curled into a small smile at the side of her mouth.

“There’s a Thai tea in the bag for you,” she says easily, grabbing her own order—pad see ew, his brain supplies, even before she unveils the dish to prove him right. “Sans boba pearls, because I know the texture—”

“Freaks me out.”

“Freaks you out.”

She smiles at him so softly he thinks he might implode right here, his body ripping straight down the middle so his heart can seep into a puddle on her kitchen floor. He feels for her so deeply and completely, the emotion settling into his chest tightly, comfortably, that love for her filling the interstices until there’s no crack left unlaid. 

Ted opens his mouth, to either confess his love or to say nothing at all, but she beats him to it.

“Come on, then. Can’t leave all of those soggy bottoms waiting.”

After Bake Off ends neither of them make any effort to move. Ted suggests Mrs. Doubtfire mostly as a joke, but then Rebecca rolls her eyes and smiles and huffs out a playfully-burdened, “You’re twisting my arm here, Lasso,” and turns it on. 

Somehow it’s not until he’s sitting on Rebecca’s couch, mere inches between their bodies where they’re settled beneath the same blanket and Robin Williams’ voice echoing in the background, that it all makes sense. 

He doesn’t know what the catalyst to the realization is. He’s not even sure it is a realization any more than it is a hunch, a gut feeling, a suspicion. But it’s one that takes hold quickly, roots sinking in so deep, so solidly that he can’t fathom any other explanation. 

The increase in texts from Rebecca at all hours of the day, every single day—more so if they don’t see each other. That consistent communication, even if there’s no overt reason for it beyond simple conversation. 

And, sure, friends can reach out just to reach out, they can talk without having a reason. But the thing is that they didn’t, not before, not until… 

He almost can’t believe he didn’t put it together earlier. 

“Rebecca?” She hums in question. “What are you doing?”

Rebecca looks down to the bowl of popcorn in her lap. “Eating popcorn?” She pauses, mid-hand to mouth. “Fuck, am I hoarding it again? Here.”

She shoves the bowl toward him but he shakes his head. “No, not—I mean, thank you,” he says, grabbing a handful and clutching the popcorn in his palm. “But I meant… what are we doing?”

“Watching one of the ‘greatest American movies’ ever made, apparently,” she says slowly, drawing it out into something of a question. “Are you feeling all right?” 

Ted shakes his head, but then realizes his mistake when her forehead creases in concern and she places the back of her palm against his forehead. “No, I’m—sorry, I’m feelin’ fine,” he says, taking a moment to look down at his lap before he glances back up at her. “I just mean… you don’t have to do this.”

“Do what?”

He gestures widely with his arms—around her living room, between the two of them, toward where their phones rest on the coffee table. “Just… all of it. This.”

“I’m not sure I’m following,” she says. She looks down, and he startles when he feels her fingers against his. “Ted, I’m going to need you to release the popcorn.”

“What?”

Rebecca gives him a look, half-concern half-amusement. She takes his hand in hers more fully, unfurling his fingers gently with her own. He lets her, and he’s almost surprised to find the crushed remnants of popcorn inside. 

“Oh,” he exhales with a chuckle. He leans forward to discard the casualties onto a napkin, butter lingering on his palm that he has to wipe off. 

“Unless you have some deep-seated vendetta against popcorn, in which case I do apologize for bringing it into your general vicinity.” She waves a hand toward the popcorn bowl. “Be my guest. Crush the little fuckers.”

It gets him to laugh, a small thing. “Can’t say popcorn’s ever done anythin’ to warrant this kind of behavior, but I appreciate your support.” 

Rebecca’s face softens as her hand finds its place on his lower thigh, just above his knee. “Ted?” He hums. “Will you tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Nothin’s bothering— ” He swipes at his face with his butter-free hand. “I just feel a little silly not havin’ worked it out sooner.” 

“Worked out what?”

“All the texts this week?” he says, voice lilted at the end. “That was just you makin’ sure we had some kind of communication with each other in case I went and started thinkin’ you were dead again, wasn’t it?” 

Her nose scrunches in that adorable way he loves, her lips curling into a hesitant smile. With a shrug, she doesn’t deny it, simply asks, “Is that so bad?” 

“No, it’s—well, it’s just about one of the sweetest things anyone’s ever done for me,” he admits, fingers toying with his mustache. “I just…” 

His mouth feels like cotton; it opens but it’s as if his airway is clogged with all of the words he needs but can’t find. 

He doesn’t know how to tell her that it means the world to him, this little gesture she didn’t have to take the time to do but chose to anyway simply because she thought (rightfully so) it might make him feel better to… know she’s out there. He doesn’t know how to tell her that it’s kind of overwhelming, too, because no one’s gone to such trouble for him. Even if it’s just been a few texts here and there, it’s done more for him than she realizes, more than even he realizes. 

It wasn’t a conscious thing throughout the week, thinking about the nightmare. But he thinks now, knowing what he knows, that the constant communication with Rebecca, those little texts to remind him that she’s fine, are at least part of the reason why. 

“I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it,” Rebecca’s voice breaks through the haze. She reaches over and covers his hand with hers again, the touch coaxing his gaze up. “But I wanted to offer that little bit of reassurance, just in case your brain was… being particularly unkind to you.” 

“Rebecca, I…” He licks his lips, willing the words to come. Any of them, even a single one. After a beat, he finds two. “Thank you.” 

“It was hardly a strenuous effort on my end. I enjoy talking to you, Ted, this was—really, it was nothing.”

“It wasn’t nothin’, though,” he says, shaking his head. “It was real kind of you to think about me. You didn’t have to go outta your way, but you did.”

Rebecca stares at him for a few seconds, the hand covering his squeezing. “Look at me, please,” she requests, then waits for him to comply before continuing. “You’re always going out of your way to do things for everyone around you—your family, your friends, the bloody street vendor down the road. Big things, little things, anything that’ll make their lives easier or happier or more fun. You do these things simply because you want to, right?”

“Well, yeah, ‘course, but—”

“No buts,” she interrupts gently, but firm. “Your kindness is one of the things I admire most about you, even if it’s the same thing that drove me fucking mad when we first met.” 

He grins a little at that. 

“But Ted, that kindness goes both ways. You do so much, is it truly all that surprising that we’re willing and happy to do something for you when we can?”

He softens, heart thrumming against his ribs. “No, of course not.”

“I think that’s a bit of a lie, sir.”

A small laugh bubbles from his chest. “Yeah, okay,” he acquiesces. “Not ‘cause I don’t think you care. I know you do. I guess I’m just—aside from Beard, I’m not…”

“Not used to being on the receiving end of the same kindness you give away like fucking free hugs.” 

Realization casts across her features, a sadness shining in her eyes that he wants to wipe away. So he nods, trying to downplay just how foreign it is for anyone to offer the same energy. Because he doesn’t mind, not really; he doesn’t put out kindness in the world to get it back, doesn’t treat people the way he does with the expectation of having it reciprocated. It’s just who he is, who he’s always been. 

“Yeah,” he says, shrugging a little. Then, aiming for lightness, he levels her with a smile and adds on: “But I’ve got good people in my circle and that’s enough for me. And, for the record, I also do free hugs.”

She looks contemplative for a moment, like she’s going to press a little more, but then her face gives way to a soft smile that twists at the corner. “Is that so?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well. We can’t have that going to waste, can we?”

She leans forward before he can respond, arms wrapping around his back, chin hooked over his shoulder. He returns the hug, his smile pressed into her neck when she burrows closer and tilts her head so her eyelashes tickle his skin. 

Her breath is hot against him when she whispers, so quietly: “You deserve the same kindness you give out, Ted.”

He inhales deeply, the scent of her invading his lungs and coating them with a thin layer of comfort. 

“You give that to me, Rebecca. You give me so much.”

Ted lies awake that night, Thai mingling with butterflies in his stomach. The remainder of the evening with Rebecca replays on loop. 

(After their heart-to-heart, Rebecca remains beside him, so close it’d only take a simple swing of her leg for her to be sitting in his lap. She lists into his side, head resting on his shoulder, a few flyaway pieces of hair tickling at his chin. 

Ted doesn’t hesitate before looping his arm around her back, hand curled at her shoulder to pull her closer. She comes willingly, snuggling in, tugging the throw blanket from the back of the couch over the both of them. 

It’s delicate, the air between them. 

He rests his head atop hers, reveling in her presence, and doesn’t realize he’s rubbing at the skin of her arm with his thumb until she lets out a little contented sigh. He smiles, soft, and keeps up the ministrations. 

Mrs. Doubtfire ends and Rebecca sighs, tilting her head to look up at him without extricating herself from his embrace. “How do you feel about a glass of wine?”

“I have only positive feelings.”

Rebecca smirks. “My thoughts exactly.” 

She finally does push off of him with a soft groan, uncurling her legs to lift herself from the couch. As she’s turning away, her hand lands on his shoulder and caresses, gently brushing its way down his bicep before she steps away.

He expects her to put some space between them when she returns with two glasses of wine, offloading one with a smile. But she doesn’t; with impressive balance, she settles herself back into the space she’d vacated, their bodies flush together from shoulder to hip. 

The hand not holding the wine finds its way back to his thigh, a light touch that he feels searing through the denim of his jeans, through his skin, imprinting the bone itself. 

They spend the rest of the evening sipping at their drinks and watching some nonsensical television until it switches to a rerun of The Golden Girls and Ted sends Rebecca into fits of laughter with each recitation of the script word-for-word.

Wiping genuine tears from beneath her eyes, Rebecca excuses herself from the living room only to come back with a surprise piece of cake. It’s impressive; Black Forest, if Ted had to guess. He doesn’t ask where it came from, simply accepts the fork Rebecca offers and allows himself to take turns sharing the slice.

She turns to him mid-way through another episode of The Golden Girls, eyes alight with joy in the dim living room lamps, and he chuckles. 

“You’ve got a little…” 

Rebecca blinks. “What?”

“Just a little—” He reaches forward, wiping the corner of her mouth with the pad of his thumb. “There, got it.” 

They hold each other’s gaze, and he watches the way her throat works around a swallow. 

When all is said and done, Ted stands at her doorway with his hands shoved into the pockets of his puffer. Rebecca’s in front of him, just below his eyeline now in her flat feet, and he thinks about how neatly she’d tuck in under his chin. 

“Thank you,” she says quietly, eyes soft. “For coming over.” 

“I’m here whenever you want me.”

“Careful, I might just take you up on that.”

“Please do,” he returns easily, smiling. “Thank you , Rebecca, for… well, just about everything.”

She leans forward and pulls him into a hug, a tight hold. When it’s time to break apart, she lingers for a moment; her fingers make their way into his hair as she finds his eyes, pushing the strands away from his face. 

“Do this again soon?” she asks, almost shyly. 

Ted nods, the easiest yes of his life.)

It all felt so… 

Sitting up quickly, Ted blinks a little breathlessly. Yeah? No… certainly not. Unless…

It didn’t hit him in the moment, curled up on Rebecca’s couch with her settled comfortably at his side, her hand resting on his chest just as it did that first morning. 

He’s known how he’s felt for a long while now, but it never truly occurred to him that she might reciprocate. It seemed unfathomable to him that being allowed to see the gentle side of her not everyone is privy to might mean something more than a confirmation that he’s succeeded in weaseling his way into her friendship; that all of those lingering stares, the soft brushes of her fingertips along his arm, the thoughtfulness…  meant something. 

Well, shit. 

He reaches blindly for his phone, fingers typing and hitting send before his brain even has a chance to catch up with him.

(3:16): Rebecca… was tonight a date?

Ted falls asleep before he can read her reply. 

(3:47): I think it was.

They don’t talk about it. 

It’s as if what was said before the rest of the world awoke doesn’t exist, a secret between the two of them and the dark. Something quiet, something special, something too sacred to spook away by speaking it under the harsh light of day. 

Ted still brings her biscuits every morning and Rebecca still greets him with that soft smile, her eyes gentle and bright and appreciative as she bites into that first one. They still go about Biscuits with the Boss, Ted plopped easily into the chair in front of her desk and Rebecca leaning on her elbows, rolling her eyes at the things he says. 

There’s nothing out of the ordinary. 

They make their evenings, their dinners, a consistent thing. 

Ted goes over to hers on Tuesday, this time armed with takeout from Ollie’s family restaurant, two bags dangling from his arms when she opens the door. 

Her laughter is loud and unreserved when he tells her he panicked and once again told Ollie to have his father make it as if he were cookin’ for the family.

“Christ, Ted,” she muses affectionately, her touch burning through the fabric of his long sleeve. 

They eat the food settled side-by-side in the living room—(“If you drop that on my furniture, so help me,” she threatens, half-joking. In the end, her couch is spared and remains in its pristine condition)—Ted sweats a little more with each bite and only just manages to not breathe fire, and Rebecca leans into his shoulder with her laughter and doesn’t move once it’s died down. 

Rebecca shows up to Ted’s apartment on Thursday, a large box balanced precariously in her grip until he relieves her of it, smiling at her grateful, “Thank you.”

It turns out that the box is filled with a bunch of old games; board games, card games, you name it. 

“My mother found them in her attic,” she explains. With a roll of her eyes she continues, “I don’t know what business she had up in the fucking attic to begin with, but she came across them and thought I might like to have them. For what, who fucking knows.” 

She thumbs through the contents, fingers dancing reverently along the old boxes. “It’s not as if I have…” Her voice trails off, a shadow crossing her face for a moment before she blinks it away. “Anyway, they were my favorite as a little girl. I thought maybe Henry might find some joy in them, you know, when he comes to visit.” 

She’s quiet, shy with the suggestion, but Ted’s eyes shine as he beams at her. For her to even consider Henry… his love for her grows, swells impossibly thick in his chest. 

“That’s real thoughtful of you,” he murmurs, eyes lifting from the box to her face. She relaxes with his words. “He’ll love ‘em.” 

“Good,” she says diplomatically. “They should get some love after all these years.” 

“You’ll have to come over,” he says then, reveling in the way her eyes fly to him, surprised. “To show us the ropes, ya know. Gotta have the expert’s help.” 

She purses her lips, the smile a gentle thing. Nodding, she holds his gaze. “I’d be happy to.”

They order dinner and Ted learns that Rebecca loves peppers and onions on her pizza, hates olives—both on pizza and in general, unless it’s in a martini—and she used to hate the crust until she was in her late-thirties. 

“Less carbs,” she says simply. 

It makes him sad to think of Rebecca making food alterations in the name of “less carbs,” but then she makes a little offhanded comment around a bite of pizza about how she couldn’t give less of a fuck these days because, “imagine telling myself I can’t eat my biscuits because they might go straight to my ass, fucking miserable,” and he tugs her tightly into his side. 

They finish their pizza and have their usual glass of wine and curl together under one of his blankets on the couch until it comes time for Rebecca to leave. 

They don’t talk about it, until they do. 

It’s the following Wednesday when Ted wakes with a jolt, his entire body on edge as he shoots up in bed. He doesn’t know what causes it at first, doesn’t know what’s put this rock in the pit of his stomach or this superficial sense of dread coursing through his veins. 

His first thought is Rebecca, as if he has some kind of sixth sense that alerts him to when she’s hurt or in distress or otherwise needs him.  

With shaky fingers he reaches for his phone on the bedside table, ready to give her a call at—3:16 in the morning. He winces. He’d hate to wake her, but he’d hate even more to ignore this feeling of unease if there really is something wrong with Rebecca.

His fingers hover above her contact, but he hears it just as he’s about to call. A loud banging, three raps in quick succession. 

Tossing the comforter from his body and swinging his legs over the side of the mattress, Ted stands from his bed. He makes his way—a little blearily, still half-asleep—through the living room and toward his front door, where he can only assume the banging is coming from. 

He makes it down the stairs and doesn’t bother calling through the door to ask who it is. Maybe it’s the adrenaline still shooting through his body from the abrupt wake up, maybe it’s the exhaustion, but he is aware that if he were in a horror movie right now he would not be surviving. 

Shame.

Swinging the door open, he’s met with a raised fist poised to start knocking again. He takes a step back out of instinct, not wanting to become a casualty (he really would not be surviving that thriller), but the gasp he hears knocks a bit of his senses back into him. It’s familiar. 

He blinks a little now, adjusting, and—

“Rebecca? ”

She’s standing in his doorway, soaked to the bone; her hair’s drenched and clinging to her cheeks, her sweater’s weighed down by the water, hanging heavily on her body. Are those—is she wearing slippers?

“Thank god, you stupid, stupid man,” she says, a rough, relieved huff in his ear where she’s thrown herself into his chest, arms wrapped around his back. 

Her voice is quiet, drowned out almost entirely by the pounding of the rain (what the hell is it with them and rain?), but it’s enough to knock him entirely out of his stupor, to shake him into awareness. He has the presence of mind to lift his arms and return the hug, and he swears she melts deeper into him when his hands brace at her back. 

Rebecca pulls away a moment later, heaving a deep exhale. Fully awake now, he takes her in. Her eyes are wet and he doesn’t think it’s from the weather, which has concern curling around his ribs like thread to a spindle, weaving and wrapping and clinging. 

“Come on,” he says softly, reaching back out to wrap an arm around her shoulder, palm landing between her shoulder blades as he guides her over the threshold. “Could’ve just let yourself in.” 

“Forgot.”

His fingers brush against her skin where the sweater sags off of her shoulder and he hisses. “You’re freezing.” 

She doesn’t speak, just chuckles a little unevenly. He can feel her shaking against him and he doesn’t want to hope it’s from the cold, he really doesn’t, but the alternative is that she’s crying again and he really doesn’t want her to be crying. 

“Stay here for a second, okay?” 

He waits for her to nod before he leaves her near his kitchen. Making quick work of his task, Ted returns two minutes later with a large towel from the linen closet and a thick blanket. 

Rebecca doesn’t move, though, so he takes it upon himself to wrap the blanket around her shoulders and lead her over to the couch. He gently guides her until she’s sitting down, and then he takes a seat beside her. 

“I’ll get your couch wet.”

“It’ll dry,” he shrugs, unbothered. “I care more about you than the couch.” 

Her jaw tenses and he swears it’s not a trick of the lighting that’s making her eyes all shiny. When she lifts her gaze to his he gets a better look, her eyes rimmed red and cheeks blotchy with either dried tears or droplets of rain. 

“Not that I’m not thrilled to see ya, but I gotta admit you’re scarin’ me a little,” he says, itching to reach out but instead letting his hands fall to his own thighs. 

Rebecca huffs a laugh, a watery thing, and raises her hands to scrub at her face. “Fuck,” she mutters, taking a breath. “It’s the middle of the fucking night and here I am—I’m sorry, Ted, I should go. I just needed to…”

She moves to stand but he places a soothing hand over hers, pleading. “Hey, no, don’t go apologizin’ for showin’ up here,” he says softly. “I don’t know what’s got you all flipped inside out like this but I’m glad you came.”

Rebecca shakes her head, eyes squeezing shut. The tear that slips out cracks his heart in two. 

When she doesn’t say anything, Ted squeezes her hand and murmurs a quiet, “Stay, please? I’ll go make you some tea.” 

She nods, just barely, and so he works quickly in the kitchen. He’s started stocking her favorite tea so he has it here on the evenings they spend at his apartment. 

When he returns, she’s wrapped the blanket more fully around herself, her fingers the only things peeking out from the space in the front. She smiles up at him, soft, as he holds out the mug. 

“Thank you,” she whispers, holding the tea to her chest. 

Ted takes a seat back beside her, waiting her out. He doesn’t want to push; she came here for a reason, came to him for a reason. 

Except, when a few minutes pass in silence, he encourages with a soft, “What can I do to help?”

“You helped the second you opened the door.”

“I’ll always open the door for you.” 

Rebecca smiles, a little pained but a smile nonetheless. 

“Rebecca?” She hums around the rim of the mug. “Before, you started to say you just needed to do something, but you never finished. Needed to what, if you don’t mind sharin’?” 

“See you.” 

“Oh,” he says. He nods a little, mostly to himself. Then, as brightly as he can manage: “Well, here I am! What can I do ya for?” 

She chuckles faintly, something fond glittering back at him. But then she sighs, face twisted into a wince a beat later. “You walked in front of a fucking car.” 

“Sorry. I did what?” 

She turns to him then, firmly holding his gaze. “You walked in front of a fucking car, Ted,” she says, her voice unsteady. “You’re always looking the wrong way at the crosswalks and you just — you did it again, and this time there was a goddamn car and I couldn’t…”

When her breathing quickens, Ted understands with saddening clarity what’s happening. 

“Come here,” he says quietly, gently taking the mug from her fingers to place it onto the coffee table before tugging her into him. She comes willingly, burrowing her face into his chest, arms winding around his back. “I’m right here. I’m okay.” 

Her grip tightens. “Is this what you felt like when you thought that I… when you thought I was dead? Because this fucking sucks,” she murmurs into his shirt. 

He huffs a sad laugh into her hair. “I imagine you’re feelin’ pretty similar to how I was, yeah. I’m sorry you’re having to deal with it now, too.” 

“It’s not your fault, Ted.” 

“Well, since your nightmare was based in fact—I really am notoriously terrible at lookin’ the right way, I gotta admit—it’s kinda my fault. Now, if you had a nightmare that I was, I don’t know, struck by a television fallin’ out of an apartment window while walkin’ down the street… well, then that’d be totally outta my hands.”

She pulls back just far enough to look at him plainly, blinking. “Why the hell would you go and say that?”

“Ah, I’m sorry. If it makes ya feel any better, I don’t foresee anyone in Richmond tossin’ televisions out of their windows willy nilly.” 

Rebecca grumbles something he can’t hear, then leans back in and props her chin over his shoulder. “Well, you’re just going to have to look up every time you’re walking down the street.” 

“I think I can do that,” he says, amused.

“And you need to start looking both fucking ways if you can’t remember to look right,” she mutters, pulling back with one arm to poke at his chest for good measure. 

Ted lets out a surprised ow! and when he lifts his eyes to hers, she’s looking at him with so much residual pain that all he can do is nod. “I will.”

“I’m serious, Ted,” she says, lowering herself back into his embrace. “If you die because you walked into fucking traffic I’ll find a way to bring you back just so I can kill you myself.”

He does laugh then, rubbing a calming palm up and down her back. “I promise.”

Rebecca finishes her tea and Ted sits with her, her body listing easily into his side. She’s a comfortable weight against him.

“I should go,” she says eventually, carefully extricating herself, “let you get some sleep.” 

“Rebecca, it’s nearly 4:30,” he points out. They’ve spent the majority of her time here in silence, though not uncomfortable. He knows how calming her simple presence was for him, so he doesn’t feel the need to fill the space with anything else. “Just stay.”

“Really, it’s okay. You’ve already been more than gracious with my intrusion.” 

Ted tuts, which earns him a really? look. “I’m not gonna tolerate any self-slander in my humble abode,” he says seriously, pleased when she rolls her eyes. “You’re always welcome here, you know that. You could never be an intrusion.” 

She opens her mouth, to protest no doubt, but he holds up a gentle hand. “Was I a burden when you sat with me after my nightmare?” 

“What? No, of course not.” Her voice is firm, incredulous, and she looks almost offended that he’d even ask. He returns with his own raised brow, leveling her with a look that has her deflating. “I get it, I do, okay, but it feels—different.”

“How so?”

“You thought I was dead,” she says, softly. “Genuinely, actually dead. For nearly a whole day. I can’t even…” She shakes her head. “I knew it was a nightmare. I knew you were fine. I just had to…"

“Be sure.”

“Yeah.”

“A nightmare’s a nightmare, Rebecca,” he says quietly. “They’re really shitty by default and they take a lot outta ya.”

Rebecca hums, shimmying a bit closer into his side. 

“So, you’ll stay?” he asks in her silence. “Let me return the favor?”

She shifts away so she can look up at him. “It’s not—this isn’t a transactional relationship, Ted. I don’t care about you so you’re obligated to care about me in return.”

“‘Course not, I know,” he promises, gently guiding her back down with an arm around her shoulder. “I just know how safe you made me feel that night, and I want to do the same for you. Not because I have to, or because I feel like I need to settle some quid pro quo, but because I want to. Because I’m here and I can, if you’ll let me.”

“Safe?” she asks eventually, a rough sound that scrapes around her throat. 

“Ya know… from myself, my thoughts. They’re real good at setting me up, makin’ me feel like I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. But you… you’re good at makin’ sure I don’t get lost in them.” 

Thumb rubbing absent circles along the bone of her wrist, he thinks back to the early days of their tentative friendship, way before his nightmare brewed. Rebecca hunched before him on the streets of Liverpool, cradling his cheek in her palm, her hands wrapped protectively around his own until he was able to breathe. 

“You ground me,” he says. Risking being too much , he decides on honesty. She deserves it. “You changed my life with this job, Rebecca. And each time my world felt like it was falling apart since I’ve been here, you were my constant. My touchstone.”

“Ted...” It’s nothing more than a breath of air, a surprised sound. “I’m not usually good at that sort of thing, but I’m… really honored to be that person for you.”

The uncertainty in her voice settles between his ribs, so deep it hurts. 

“You’re a good person, Rebecca. You’re a kind , caring person. You really are a lot better at that than you give yourself credit for.” 

She doesn’t respond, not right away, but he feels her breath stutter against his chest. It reverberates through his entire body, sets him on fire. When she pulls back, just far enough to lift her gaze to his, her eyes shine, lashes damp. 

“You make me feel safe all the time.” 

She whispers it into the space between them, so quietly he thinks maybe it’s a secret. 

Some time later, could be seconds, minutes, hours, he registers the tremors he feels as Rebecca, her arms curled tightly where they’re trapped between their chests. Her hands are gripped in his shirt, the fabric bunched between her fingers. 

“Sittin’ in these wet clothes is gonna get you sick,” he murmurs, rubbing his palms up and down her spine for warmth. 

Rebecca hums. “Trying to get me out of my clothes, Coach Lasso?”

His laugh catches in his throat, a painful stuttering of his breath. “I’m tryin’ to get you in to some warm clothes,” he counters, even if the thought of bein’ able to tug the damp fabric from her body isn’t incredibly enticing. 

She sighs, her breath hot against his chest. His shirt’s damp from where she’s been pressed up against him, the contrast of the cool fabric and her warm exhales sending a shiver along his skin. 

“Wouldn’t mind it even if you were,” she mumbles, voice muffled by his shirt. 

He’s absolutely certain she’s able to feel the pounding of his heart against her forehead. There’s no way she can’t, not with the way it stutters, stops for a beat, and then kicks into overdrive; he can feel it trying to jump from his chest. 

“Okay,” he laughs a little unsteadily as he rubs at her back. “I think you’re a bit exhaustion-drunk there, missy.” 

Rebecca huffs. “Don’t have to be drunk to want you, Ted.” 

He freezes, and then she freezes, seemingly realizing what she’s said. She might not have to be drunk to speak her thoughts, but she certainly wouldn’t be saying this right now if it wasn’t nearly 5:00 in the morning and her emotions weren’t fried from a nightmare. 

He knows the feeling. 

“Ted, I…” she says, putting a bit of distance between them. 

He steels himself, preparing for the look in her eyes that’ll tell him she regrets the words, that she doesn’t know why she’s said ‘em, that—

“It’s okay,” he says hurriedly. “You don’t hafta say anything, I know you’re tired and…”

“Stop,” she cuts him off, looking at him now. “I didn’t mean to say that, it just kind of slipped out, but—”

“Rebecca, it’s okay, really—”

“It would be if you’d let me finish, yeah?” She levels him with a pointed look and he nods, apologetic. “I didn’t mean to say it like that, but there’s not a part of me that didn’t mean it.”

“You—oh.”

She laughs, a light sound. The dull lighting of his living room lamp highlights her tired eyes, the weariness of the evening settling into the lines of her face, but she looks radiant. Glowy. There’s not a single trace of fabrication. 

She means it.

After all of their recent outings and evenings in he thought, maybe, somehow, there was a chance she might feel the same about him as he does for her. But in an abstract kind of way, like the way he thinks there might be a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, or the way he thinks it could be possible that the horses they know are descendants of actual unicorns whose horns just disappeared as they evolved. 

Not in a concrete way, like the way he feels the lyrics of that one Eminem song so deep in his bones. You ever love someone so much you’d give an arm for? Not the expression, no, literally give an arm for. Yeah, he has. He does. 

Rebecca’s still staring at him in his silence, eyes roaming his face, assessing, and he watches in real-time as some kind of light goes off. Her eyes widen, just a hair, glimmering with something other than exhaustion, and she gives off a small shiver that he doesn't think is from the cold. 

“Ted?”

He inhales, deep. “Yeah?”

She looks at him in awe, lips parted. “Have we been—have we been dating this whole time?”

It’s his turn to widen his eyes, mouth opening, closing, opening, and then closing again without a single sound escaping. Of course they haven’t. Surely if they were dating they, the two participants in said relationship, would know. Right? 

Okay, well, there was that one date they went on and didn’t realize ‘till afterwards that it was a date. But it was one time. And they never talked about it. They just… 

Kept doing the same thing. Kept… well, damn. Kept going on dates. 

His gut twists and his heart ricochets into his throat and for once it’s not out of anxiety, but something lighter, something sweeter.

He chuckles, nose scrunching with a reverent smile. “Ya know, I think we might’ve been, a little bit, yeah.” 

“Fuck,” she huffs with an amused shake of her head. She looks off into the distance, bottom lip pinned between her teeth, before turning back to find his gaze. “How did we not realize?”

Shrugging, he shuffles his feet a little. “I guess—I don’t know, I guess the only thing that really changed between us was the frequency of our hangin’ out and, ya know, more cuddling, so it just…” 

“Slipped right under the radar.”

“Yeah.”

“Is that—is this a bad thing?”

Ted shakes his head. “I don’t think so,” he says. “‘Least, not on my end?”

“Not on mine either,” she’s quick to confirm, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I didn’t—fuck, Ted, I thought we’d at least go on a proper date.”

“If we’re gettin’ technical, it seems we’ve been on more than one date now.”

“Yes, well, I always imagined we’d be aware we were on the first date.”

Ted’s smile widens at her words. “You imagined, huh?”

Rolling her eyes, she slaps at his chest with the back of her hand. “Like you haven’t?”

“Oh I definitely have, lotsa times,” he says easily, feeling freed to admit the truth out loud. “But right now I’m a bit more focused on the fact that you have too.”

“Of course I have,” she says, so simply, but she must read on his face that the fact wasn’t so obvious to him. “You really had no idea?”

Shaking his head, he hesitates before speaking. “I hoped, sure, ya know, but I never thought… ” 

“I’m sorry, Ted.”

“What could you possibly be apologizin’ for right now?” he asks, coaxing her eyes up with a careful tip of her chin. 

“We could’ve been doing this,” she waves between them, “so much sooner. But my stunted fucking emotions and my inability to—”

“Hey, hey, hey, none of that. Ain’t a thing about you that’s stunted, okay?” 

Rebecca huffs a laugh, but nods her acquiescence. 

“And second, well, I don’t think either of us would wanna be doin’ the whole rain-nightmare-exhaustion thing,” he says, to which she huffs. “We’ve done that twice now and I think that’s plenty.”

“Seriously, for fuck’s sake,” she mutters under her breath. 

“But I know what you’re sayin’, and the way I look at it… sure, it might’ve been nice to know what was goin’ on when it started, but you know what else?”

She hums. 

“This just means we’ve already gotten to spend all this time together and we know it works. Heck, it’s workin’ so well that it just fit seamlessly into our day-to-day without causin’ a blip. I don’t know about you, but I think that’s one mighty fine relationship.” 

Rebecca smiles, lifting her eyes to his. “You make a fine point there, Coach.”

“I always do.” She rolls her eyes, expression soft. “And guess what else?” 

“What?”

“This just means we get a second first date,” he says happily, dimples peeking through. 

“How is it possible to have a second first date? The second negates the first, does it not?”

“Nope, no siree. And, even if it did, I won’t tell the cops if you don’t.”

Laughing, she bumps her shoulder with his. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Yeah. But lucky for me, you like it,” he beams. After a beat: “‘Least, I hope you do.”

“I do,” she murmurs, brushing a rogue tendril of floppy hair from his forehead. “And I’d love to go on a second first date with you.”

Ted doesn’t have the words, but he does have the instinct, and so he simply pulls her back into a hug, his shaky exhale slipping past his smile. 

Not long after, Rebecca’s body shudders against his chest again. Her cheek is pressed to his shoulder, and he rubs his palms along her back before pulling away, whispering softly, “I really think we should get you somethin’ else to wear. I don’t want you gettin’ sick.” 

“Mm. Offering your clothes, are you?”

“I am,” he confirms, squeezing her shoulders. “You could take a shower? Oh! Or a hot bath? I’ve got these real nice bath bombs, they’re lavender, I think, and they’re supposed to be soothing.”

Rebecca bites on the inside of her cheek, tender eyes trailing to his. They’re wet and his face falls, his hands immediately lifting, one to her shoulder and the other to her cheek. “Hey, what’s wrong? What’d I say?”

She smiles, shaking her head. “Nothing, Ted, you’re wonderful.” 

He forces himself not to think about how no one before him has offered her these simple things, these easy acts of kindness or gentleness. Instead, he just tugs her back into his embrace with a careful pull of her wrist. 

“I’m just givin’ you what you deserve, Rebecca,” he whispers, pressing a kiss into her hair. It’s crunchy now, the rain water having dried in the strands. “Come on, let me run you a hot bath, okay? All you have to do is relax, and then I’ll get you some warm clothes to change into and we’ll get you to bed.” 

She doesn’t respond, just nods against him, her grip tightening at his back. 

Ted runs her a bath, dropping one of the lavender bath bombs into the water to dissolve. Rummaging around in the cabinet below the sink, he figures it couldn’t hurt to add in some bubbles, too, the ones he keeps for Henry when he visits. And, heck, he enjoys a nice bubble bath on occasion. 

He tests the water a few times with his fingers to ensure it’s not too hot; he knows the sting that comes with cold skin dipping into hot water and he doesn’t want her burning herself. Once he’s satisfied with the temperature, he turns off the faucet and dries his hand on one of the towels. 

“It’s all ready for ya,” he calls out, waiting for her to meet him in the hallway. When she does, he smiles. “I’m just gonna grab you somethin’ to change into.”

He comes back a moment later with a pair of sweatpants, an oversized Wichita State crewneck, and a pair of boxers tucked into the crook of his elbow. Rebecca’s exactly where he left her, and he greets with a soft smile as he hands the clothes over. 

“There’s a pair of boxers in there. You don’t have to wear ‘em if ya don’t want to or don’t feel comfortable, I just wasn’t sure how deep the rain—”

Rebecca halts his ramble with a palm to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the delicate skin before she leans in and slants her lips over his in a soft, chaste kiss. He stops breathing, which is fine, because as soon as Rebecca pulls back she doesn't pull away; she rests her forehead against his, hovers there, her gentle exhales breathing for him. 

“Thank you,” she murmurs, finally stepping back and into the bathroom. 

Only once she’s in the bathroom, door propped ajar about an inch, does Ted heave out the breath that’d snagged along his ribs. 

When twenty minutes pass and Rebecca doesn’t re-appear, he pads into the hallway and hovers outside the door, listening. Nothing. He doesn’t want to barge in on her but he also wants to make sure she doesn't fall asleep and slip under the water. 

As quietly as he can, still aware of the early hour, he knocks on the door. It pushes open an inch more with the motion. “Rebecca?”

Silence greets him and his heart slides down into his stomach. He calls for her again, a little louder, and when she still doesn’t answer he makes a decision. 

Elbowing the door open, he pokes his head into the bathroom and is relieved for two reasons. First, Rebecca’s head is tipped back against the edge of the tub, eyes closed—she’s fallen asleep, but she has not slipped beneath the water. Second, the bubbles have not disintegrated. He can see her chest rising and falling, the bubbles moving with each breath. 

His lips curl into something gentle as he takes her in. She looks so peaceful with her face slack, eyelashes fluttering just that little bit as she dreams. Good dreams this time, he hopes. 

He hates to wake her, but there’s no way he can let her stay there. The water’s probably run cold by now and he’s sure her skin is just this side of pruney. So, slowly, he lowers himself to the floor beside the tub and runs his fingers along her forehead, tucking a damp strand of hair behind her ear. Rebecca exhales with the touch, nose scrunching, but she doesn’t wake.  

“Rebecca,” he whispers, his touch soft on her exposed shoulder. She makes a little grumble noise and it makes him chuckle. “Rebecca, hey, gotta wake up, sweetheart.”

Her lids flutter some more before her eyes slip open. “Ted?”

“Mornin’, sleepyhead,” he murmurs. “Looks like ya fell asleep for a while there.”

Humming, she lets out a slow breath and slides a little deeper into the water. “Guess so.” 

“I just wanted to make sure you’re not drownin’ in here, but I’ll skedaddle and let you finish up whatever it is you gotta do.”

He moves to stand, but Rebecca stalls him with damp, sudsy fingers wrapped around his wrist and a quiet, “Ted.”

She’s peering up at him when he tilts his head toward her. “Yeah?”

“Stay?”

Her fingers don’t release him until he manages a nod, a little uneven, “Oh. Yeah, sure, of course,” and settles back down onto the small mat he has placed beside the bathtub. 

“It’s nice in here.”

Ted chuckles. “You’re not gettin’ chilly?”

“Mm. The bubbles are keeping me warm.” 

It’s a joke, obviously, but the smirk on her face even with her eyes closed sends heat straight down his spine. 

“And here I thought that was my job,” he says without really thinking, second-guessing as soon as the words slip past the seam of his mouth. 

Rebecca just hums, flitting her eyes toward him. “Is that so?”

Shooting for more honesty, he says, “I—well, I’d like it to be, yes.” 

Her face softens, lips curling into a smile. “I’d like that.” 

Ted’s light as a feather, soul floating out in the open air between them. “All right then,” he murmurs around a smile. “Anythin’ I can help you with while I’m here?” 

“What, are you going to wash my hair?” Rebecca laughs, low and rich, a clear tease. 

He plans to go along with the tease. He plans to laugh. What he does not plan is the words that bubble from his chest and tumble over his lips without his consent, a quiet, “I can.” 

She turns her head this time, regarding him fully rather than just looking at him in her peripheral vision. He can’t get a read on what’s going through her mind, but there’s something demure about her that he wasn’t expecting, and whatever it is has the tension draining from his shoulders. 

“Really?”

She sounds skeptical, which he doesn’t quite understand. “Sure thing, if you want me to.” 

She eyes him for a few more seconds and then nods, a bit shyly. Rebecca shifts so she’s sitting up and he’s wholly unprepared for the view of her bare, wet back. There’s nothing scandalous about it; the bubbles go up to her waist still and she curls her legs to her chest, arms crossed over top to shield her breasts. And yet… his brain short-circuits.

He only comes back to himself when Rebecca calls his name. When he blinks away the daze she’s holding out his bottle of shampoo with an arched brow and a tiny, knowing smirk.

He blushes. “Sorry.” 

She turns her back to him, leaning forward to stretch for a beat that gives him a better, more unobstructed view. The slope of her neck, exposed, damp strands of hair clinging to the skin. The expanse of her back, the rings of her spine; her skin looks so soft, untouched. 

When he still hasn’t moved, she looks over her shoulder. “Okay?”

“Yeah, yes. I’m just—are you sure?”

“I trust you.” 

He nods, and she smiles, and as soon as she turns back around he squeezes a small amount of shampoo into his palm. Rebecca tips her head back without having to be asked and he starts to massage the product into her scalp. His body ignites, skin prickling with warmth when she lets out quiet little noises that rival the biscuit moan. 

Ted’s spent so long yearning to run his fingers through her hair, just to be able to gather it in his hands, to play with it until she’s so relaxed she’s putty in his hands. 

There’s nothing sexual about the moment but it’s easily the most intimate they’ve had, and it’s not lost on him just how much trust is necessary on her part to let him do this. It’s an incredibly vulnerable position to be in and he’s touched that she feels safe enough with him to let him in, to let him do this. And to seem so relaxed, so unbothered, during the process. 

Tenderness floods his veins at the thought. 

He washes the shampoo out—for a second time, ‘cause he saw that double shampooing is the correct way to do it—the same way he would for Henry. He cups one hand at her forehead to keep the water from spilling into her eyes while he uses a small cup to pour water over the rest of her hair. 

“No one’s ever done this for me.”

Her voice breaks him from his concentration. “Never?”

Rebecca shakes her head. “Never,” she says, sighing at the next pass of his fingers through her hair. “Rupert… he wasn’t much of a non-sexual intimacy person. He never offered, and I knew he’d probably make me feel childish for the request, so I never asked.”

“I’m sorry.”

She shrugs, leaning back into his touch. “It’s for the best. I don’t think it would’ve been this relaxing had Rupert done it. He’s never been one for gentleness.”

That makes his skin prick, anger simmering. He can’t imagine being anything other than gentle with Rebecca, and the mere thought of someone being rough with her, being anything but kind, makes him want to both throw up and throw a punch. 

“Well, my hands are at your service whenever you’d like ‘em.” Tilting her head until she can look at him, she quirks a brow. “I hear how that sounds now and—”

“Does it not apply?”

He swallows past the golf ball in his throat. “Nope, definitely applies,” he says, the words more of a squeak, which makes her laugh, a hearty sound. 

Smirking, she bites at the inside of her cheek. “Mm. I’ll hold you to that.”

He has no idea how he got here and he’s almost terrified it’s another dream, terrified he’ll wake up and he’ll be alone in his bed in a timeline where Rebecca never knocked on his door, never put two-and-two together for the both of ‘em and realized they’ve kinda been dating, never curled herself into his chest and never trusted him enough to wash her hair like this. 

“But, really… thank you,” she breathes, sobering. “This is—it’s been really nice.”

“Don’t have to be thankin’ me for anything. The pleasure’s all mine.”

Repeating the process for the conditioner, he only saturates her ends (again, he thanks his targeted recommended videos on YouTube for this knowledge) so her scalp doesn’t get all greasy. 

As much as he’d love to stay here for longer, his hands in her hair, fingers massaging her scalp, Ted makes quick work of it as soon as he feels Rebecca shiver under his touch. He realizes just how little warmth is left in the water and makes the switch to tap to wash out the conditioner, ensuring the temperature is just hot enough to stave off the chill as it cascades down her back. 

“There we go, all done,” he announces, settling back onto his haunches. 

Rebecca sighs, content, and greets him with a soft smile and tender eyes. “I think you’ve massaged me to sleep,” she teases, eyes slipping closed for a moment before they open again. 

His chest puffs out a bit, proud of his success. 

“Sounds like we should be gettin’ you outta here and into bed then, huh.” 

Standing, Ted tugs at the towel on the rack until it slips off of the bar. He turns to hand it off and make himself scarce so she can finish getting changed, but Rebecca reaches up, grips him by the front of his shirt, and pulls him down for a kiss. It’s not as gentle as the first but it’s still delicate, the deliberate press of her mouth against his. 

His lips burn when they part and she offers a bashful smile, all dark, wet lashes and bright eyes. 

“I won’t be long,” she says, taking the towel from him. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

“Take your time.”

And then, because he can do this now, he bends back down, cradles her jaw in his palm, and smooths another kiss to her lips. 

They lay in Ted’s bed, not unlike that first night, with Rebecca curled beside him, her forehead resting against his chest. One palm lays flat against his heart, the other toying with the hairs at the base of his neck. His arm is draped across her torso, palm splayed at her back where he holds her close. 

Her hair’s still wet and he can smell his shampoo on her, the scent of his body wash invading his senses where it’s mixed with something that’s just so Rebecca it sets him on fire. 

Rebecca wiggles her leg between his and he hisses. “Hoo boy, those are some cold feet ya got there.”

She huffs a laugh, flattening her foot against his shin and laughing harder when he shudders with the chill. “You said your job was to warm me up, right?” she teases. 

“I did say that,” he agrees easily. He tugs her impossibly closer, then reaches down to lift the blanket so it’s covering the both of them up to their shoulders. “Come here. I’ll keep you nice and warm.”

Rebecca fits nicely under his chin, just as he’d suspected, and her nose presses into the dip of his collarbone. Her breath is hot on his skin, goosebumps popping up in its wake. 

“Warmer?”

She nods against him, letting out a pleased, airy sigh. “Never been better.” 

Ted dusts a kiss to her head, waiting until he feels her breaths even out before he lets himself drift away. 

Later that morning, with the sun streaming through the slats in his bedroom blinds and a husky I love you breathed into Rebecca’s sweaty skin, Ted finds out first-hand that Keeley wasn’t exaggerating. 

Damn Rebecca’s big beautiful breasts, indeed.