Chapter Text
It’s one of those dates that Ted had seen coming weeks off and then forgotten about until the day itself smacks him in the face. Thirty years have passed and still, every year it’s like he’s back to being that scrawny kid of sixteen and getting that call for the first time all over again.
All that talk of fathers with Jamie and Sam sure as heck hasn’t helped either.
It bubbles in his chest all morning, a strange energy humming beneath his skin that he fails to burn off even with a quick one-on-one with Shannon followed by his fastest speed-walk yet to work.
He breezes into his office and nods briskly at Beard and Nate.
As usual, it doesn’t take long for Beard to catch on to his mood. He peers up from the paper he and Nate are looking over and squints at him. “Coach?” he prods. “Everything okay?”
Ted’s brain feels like it has a million thoughts rushing through them, all of them twisting over each other like a big pile of knotted yarn but his mouth doesn’t seem to want to let any of them out.
He digs his hands into his pockets, fingers trying their best to poke holes in his skin through the thin fabric of his trousers and grasps desperately for the requisite inhale/exhale counting in his head.
“Uh, yeah.” He massages his hand over his chest. “Yeah, I just--” And for the second time since he started his gig, he relinquishes his duties, squeezing out the words through the tight vise around his ribs, “can you and Nate start working on practice plans?” He takes a shaky inhale. “I, uh, I’ll be back in a few,” he adds and stumbles off towards the showers.
“Go get Rebecca,” he hears Beard mutter to Nate, somewhere behind him. “Quick.” Rebecca. He feels a momentary relief shoot through him. God, he hopes she’d show up soon because this is bad. This is worse than the bar a few weeks ago in Kansas, worse even than Liverpool.
But no, he knows how to handle this now. He just needs to- he needs-
He slams the door to the showers shut behind him and collapses against it, sliding down to the floor and tucking his knees up against his chest.
He digs his nails into knees, shoves his sleeves up to scratch at his arms, tugs a hand through his hair. Any other kind of pain is better than this, this pounding in his ears and this burning in his chest as he struggles to pull in enough oxygen.
Inhale, 2, 3, 4, hold, exhale, 2, 3, 4...
If Ted had to put his finger on it, he’d probably say it all started up again with his trip back home to Kansas.
It had been a...strange couple of weeks, to say the least. Getting to see Henry in real life instead of in quick windows on a tiny little screen brought him enough joy that sometimes he felt like he could bounce around just like Tigger with that big ol’ spring on his butt.
But that sunny Tuesday afternoon, as he shouldered open the front door of a near-empty sports bar and headed straight for the lone person behind the bar, he found himself thinking a lot more of Eeyore.
“Hey, how you doin’?” he greeted. The bartender just gave him a silent what-can-I-get-ya nod, hands busy wiping down the inside of a glass. “Can I uh, get three shots of Jack, neat?” he asked. “Appreciate ya.”
He leaned his elbows on the bar to wait, feeling weary down to the bone.
The problem was that even being here in-person, his fun Henry-filled moments of joy were still pretty few and far between. When he’d touched down in Kansas Henry’s summer had already been in full swing, packed with day camps and pool parties and Michelle somehow juggling it all while keeping up with her new work schedule.
“Jack, neat,” the bartender said, sliding the glass across the bar at him. He took it with another quiet thanks and slid into a booth in the corner, close enough to the window that he could still see the clear blue summer sky. He’d missed this; even on the sunniest day the London sky was still somehow peppered with at least a few fluffy white clouds.
He took a long pull from his glass, placing it back down with a deep sigh as the familiar warmth immediately filled his chest. He leaned back in his seat, tipping his back until it hit the wall and reveled in the feeling of the sunshine warming his face harmlessly through the glass.
Sure, he was happy for them, honest-to-god he was. He appreciated that they needed to keep moving forward with their lives even if he couldn’t always come along with them. Still, he sometimes thought that it would’ve all been easier if there was another man in the picture now, would’ve at least made him feel like he’d taken up enough space in their daily lives for the absence to be felt and subsequently filled.
Because the alternative was that somehow over the last few months, while he’d been bathing himself in his work to drown out the hurt of just not being enough for Michelle to keep loving, Henry and Michelle had simply just moved on, filling in the gaps he left behind like the tide coming in and smoothing over the holes in the sand until there was never any trace of them at all.
He lifted his head to take another sip of his whiskey, closing his eyes and focusing on the burn making its way down his chest instead of looking at the liquid slosh around in his trembling hand. It was harder than usual, today, to get that image out of his head - the image of a tide washing relentlessly over him, smoothing him out until he just ceased to exist - the waves just kept pounding and pounding against the shore in his brain and every so often he had to remind himself to breathe.
His phone buzzed loudly on the table, pulling him out of his thoughts. A little thrill of delight shot through him when he saw the name on the incoming FaceTime call, reanimating his bones. He straightened up and dug his AirPods out of his pocket, shaking his head slightly to try and clear some of the cobwebs.
“Howdy boss!” he exclaimed, pushing the headphones into his ears. “What’s crack-a-lacking?”
“Oh god,” she groaned, though her massive grin seemed to belie her tone. “I thought I’d just about reached the point where I understood what you were saying. Is this what I have to look forward to when you come back?” she asked. “Brand fucking new American-isms?”
“Well I wouldn’t exactly call them new,” he responded, stroking his chin thoughtfully. “Think we’d have to get Henry on the line to get to some of those. Y’know, for the life of me, I still don’t know what ‘got the bag’ means. Think something to do with money? Although you know what, I kind of hope that Henry doesn’t understand it either because that would probably mean I’ve got to talk to his mama about what music he’s been listening to.”
“Right,” she said with that expression that said she had no clue what to make of what he just said. He’d never tell her that he’d challenged himself to get that look out of her at least once a conversation. “And how is it all going with Henry? I’m sure you must be absolutely thrilled getting to see him in real life everyday.”
“Oh yeah, you kidding me? It’s the best,” he tells her, not correcting her on the fact that everyday was maybe putting it a bit generously. And it wasn’t a lie, not really. Sure it wasn’t the best right now but if you summed up all the minutes he’d spent here and averaged out the times when it was the best versus the times when it wasn’t the best, well math was never his strongest subject but he’s still pretty sure that all those moments he did get to hold his little guy in his arms had to mean he still came out on top.
Best, best, best. Shoot that word was definitely starting to sound a little funny now.
“Ted?” He jumped, Rebecca’s voice jarring him out of repeatedly sounding the word out in his head.
“Gosh, my apologies.” He smiled at her ruefully. “Would you mind repeating that? Afraid I got a little distracted.”
She looked a bit puzzled but didn’t comment. “I was just saying, I’m sure you’ve been getting up to all sorts of interesting American adventures between the two of you.”
“Oh, you betcha.” Suddenly very aware of his frankly pretty depressing surroundings, he carefully slid his glass further away from him, making sure it was out of line of sight of the front-facing camera. “Just like that scotch tape, we’re hitting all the 3 ‘M’s: mishaps, mischief, and mayhem.”
“Right,” she said, looking a bit blank but charging ahead nevertheless. “Well speaking of mayhem, I actually wanted to talk to you about some of the players’ contracts for next season.”
“Oh, right, of course!” He sat up a little straighter, excited and a little relieved to have something to get his teeth into. “I’m all ears.”
They spent the next thirty minutes talking about salary negotiations and sponsorship deals, with little tangents sneaking in in-between.
And it was during one of the sidesteps, a debate on the merits of American over British pancakes of all things, that he realised the tide in his head had completely retreated, the waves in his head silenced once more.
“I’m telling you, a crepe is not the same damn-- oh hi!” Rebecca cut herself off suddenly, waving at someone out of frame. “Keeley’s just walked in,” she explained to him, then glanced up again. “I’m talking to Ted,” she called.
He heard a high-pitched squeal and the sounds of heels clattering towards the mic before Keeley’s head popped into view in the top left corner, floating behind Rebecca’s grinning face. “Hi Ted!” Keeley exclaimed, waving her hand enthusiastically in front of her face. “How’re you doing?”
“Hey there Keeley! I’m doing pretty well, thanks for asking. How about you? How’s your noggin?”
“My noggin?” Keeley asked.
Ted rapped on his head. “This ol’ thing.”
“Oh, um, yeah fine I think?” She shot Rebecca a look of confusion. “Why do you ask?”
“Well I’ve just heard you’ve got a really good one. A good head for marketing some might even say.”
Rebecca sighed, dropping her head into her palm. “I told him about the Head of Marketing role.”
Keeley laughed and Ted grinned. “That’s right, she did, and I think you’re just about the finest person on the planet for the job,” he said, slapping the table.
“Aw, thanks, Ted” she said, bright smile lighting up her face. “I’m really looking forward to it. Well, it’s been great catching up but I’m afraid I’m going to have to steal this one from you in a mo’.” She tucked her hand under Rebecca’s chin and squeezed her cheeks, ignoring Rebecca’s slight oof of protest. “ She’s got a hot date and we’ve got some eye shadow colours to test out.”
“Oh, uh, right, of course.” He nodded briskly. “Well I’ll just let you go then.” Keeley waved and disappeared out of frame, presumably to go dig out her supplies. “It was nice chatting with you,” he said, finding himself giving Rebecca a soft smile. “As always.”
She smiled back. “You too.” She tilted her head. “Ted, are you...” she started, voice soft and lips falling a bit at the edges, “are you sure you’re alright?”
“Of course!” he fired back instantly, heart suddenly thumping wildly beneath his damp t-shirt. “I’m about as fine as a dead pig in the sunshine.” He grimaced. Judging by Rebecca’s face, that phrase hadn’t quite made it over the pond yet. “Why the heck wouldn’t I be?” he added for reassurance.
“Right,” she said and it was hard to tell through that cursed tiny screen if she believed him or not. “Well, enjoy the rest of your trip, Ted. I’ll see you soon.”
“Yep, see you soon. And hey, Rebecca.” She paused, eyebrows raised. “Have fun tonight!”
“Oh,” she said, looking a little flustered. “It’s just a silly-- but well-- um, yes. Thank you.”
Hmm. Well there was something to unpack when he got back. “Well, bye now.” He waved.
She smiled. “Bye, Ted.”
The breaths aren’t coming any easier and there’s a faint pounding noise now, the sound coming through as if from underwater and incongruous with the crashing waves in his head.
Underneath he thinks he hears a voice calling for him but can’t figure out if it’s coming from inside his head or out. He opens his mouth to respond just in case but can’t seem to get enough air in his lungs.
He glances around the room, looking for something to anchor on but can’t find anything to hold his gaze. The pounding does seem to be getting louder now so he focuses on that, tries to find a rhythm in it.
Bang, bang, pause, bang bang bang. Repeat.
After that first terrifying experience in Liverpool, he’d gone to Google and spent hours upon hours reading up on everything he could find to deal with these...episodes. Not that he didn’t thoroughly appreciate the support Rebecca had given him; he just didn’t think it’d be right for any of the others to see him like that, someone like Nate, or the players, or even, god forbid, his little boy.
Different things worked in different measures: he’d downloaded an app to help when breathing got to be a bit too much - that worked alright if he could get ahead of it, like he did on the night of their eighth straight tie, lying in bed inhaling and exhaling in time with an inflating circle and trying not to think of losing streaks and girl talk and unclaimed tickets under country stars’ names.
Closing his eyes did not work. He’d learned the hard way that made everything worse, the day he’d seen his players disappear one by one behind the closing door of Dr. Sharon’s office and the tide in his head started coming in again.
Instead he tried finding ways to focus his senses - sights and sounds and smells. Like when he ducked into a side corridor after leaving Dr. Sharon’s office with rejected half-eaten biscuits in hand, letting the familiar sounds of the club beginning another day wash over him and catching his breath before heading on up to Rebecca’s.
Therapy, of course, was another solution that the internet strongly advised him to consider but general apprehension and modest Midwestern skepticism was putting it mildly. He couldn’t even fathom trying to talk to a so-called professional about everything going on in that jumbled up head of his. And based on the bitter taste that built under his tongue all through Dr. Sharon’s first visit to his office, he wasn’t seeing that changing anytime too soon.
Besides, he’d meant what he’d said to Rebecca - he’d always felt like he could talk to his friends when he needed to. Heck, he’s pretty sure Beard could write his memoir at this point. It’s just that, this time, he wasn’t sure what there was to say. It wasn’t like he was going through anything worse than anyone else - the whole team were dealing with the pain of the endless tie, his divorce was officially behind him, and his favourite sitcom had just gotten renewed against all odds. Things really weren’t all that bad.
“Ted?” Even muffled through the door, the voice is familiar enough that he lunges for it like a lifebelt, focusing on the repeated calls of his name until the waves start to quiet a bit. “Ted, it’s okay. Just breathe. You’re okay.” He takes a shaky inhale, knows he can’t possibly let Rebecca down. “Breathe.”
To his relief, his breaths continue to come, each one easier than the last until he finally finds enough air to gasp out “I’m sorry.” He swallows hard, forces in another lungful of air. “I’m alright,” he adds, trying with all he has to force the words through the door.
“That’s it Ted, just keep breathing. You’re okay,” Rebecca soothes. He takes a few more gasping breaths as she repeats the words, trying to even them out and slow them to the deeper inhales that would’ve kept him out of this mess in the first place.
“Ted?” she calls as the gasping, stuttering breaths slow and quiet. “Do you think you can move from in front of the door?”
“Yeah,” he calls back hoarsely. “Sorry.” He shuffles sideways until he’s clear of the opening and buries his head in his knees.
The door immediately creaks open, as if just waiting for his weight to release it.
“Oh Ted.” He looks up and sees not just Rebecca, but Higgins, Beard, Keeley and Nate all crowded just inside the doorway, watching him with varying looks of concern.
They’re all here. They’ve all seen and heard everything.
Rebecca crouches down in front of him, leaning in close until she completely fills his field of view. Warm hands settle on top of his, stilling them, and it’s only then that he realises he’d been scratching frenetically at his arms again.
“It’s okay,” she repeats, thumb stroking across his skin. “You’re okay.” He nods sharply, taking another deep breath and letting it all out in a shaky exhale. “There we go.” She shifts to the side and wraps one arm around his shoulder, keeping a tight grip on both his hands with the other. “There we go.”
He lets himself find comfort against her warmth for a few long seconds before he tugs his hand out from under hers, using it to lever himself off the ground. He shakes both arms out as he rises, keeping his eyes glued to the floor to spare him those worried looks just a moment longer. Rebecca rests a hand on his back, spreading warmth up and down. “I’m okay,” he murmurs. “I’m fine.”
He hears a scoffing noise and finally raises his head. To his surprise, it’s just Beard left in the room with them, leaning casually back against the doorframe and squinting at him through narrowed eyes. “You’ve been saying that for so long that I don’t think you even know what it means anymore.”
“Semantic satiation?” Ted tries with a sheepish grin and Beard shakes his head. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets with a sigh. “Well Coach, I think you may be just about right.” he agrees ruefully. He glances briefly over his shoulder at Rebecca, still rubbing gently at his back. “Maybe it’s time I get some things off my chest, huh?”
Beard gives him a little nod. “Always here to listen when you wanna talk, Coach.”