Chapter Text
The community has generally been kind to Ted since the article landed. Beard credits that a little to the way Trent had written the article, bringing the conversation back more generally to mental health in sports in a way that Ted could smoothly build upon in his press conference. But mostly he credits it to Ted himself. The man had done the work, as always, to win over the community and Beard can't help but be grateful that if this sort of thing had to happen, it hadn't happened a year sooner.
Still, amongst all the folks with their encouraging smiles and well-meaning pats on the back that he knows are starting to drive Ted up the wall, there is, of course, the occasional - to borrow a term from the locals - twat. And though Beard would be more than happy to shove those folks through a wall, Ted just shrugs it off.
"Let 'em say what they’re gonna say, Coach. 's not important."
But it is. Important in how, no matter what he might say, those taunting comments and cruel words make Ted's shoulders hunch a little higher, make his hands curl briefly into fists before he shakes them loose. Still, Ted being Ted, he just keeps on trying to let it all slide like water off a duck’s back.
Something about today is different, though. Beard doesn’t know what it is, precisely. They’re meeting for a coffee to break down timelines for the summer - visits home, scouting trips, pre-season training schedules, and all that good stuff - and though Ted greets him with his usual bright smile, it doesn't seem to make it quite all the way to his eyes.
"Doin' alright, Coach?" Beard asks, gentle.
"I'm fine," Ted says, snippish enough that Beard blinks. "You don't gotta keep askin' me that every morning you know."
Beard put his hands up in surrender and they fall into silence as they walk side-by-side down the lane.
"Sorry," Ted mumbles, predictably, a half a block later. "Just had a rough night."
"All good, Coach." He looks at him sidelong. "Wanna talk about it?"
Ted sighs, kicking at a small pebble. "Not right now, no. Appreciate ya though, Coach."
Beard nods.
They sit in the cafe for an hour, making steady progress over his coffee and Ted's caramel macchiato with three extra sugars, and then they sit there for another hour, just chatting while they split a piece of chocolate cake.
"Productive morning," Ted says as he pushes open the door.
Outside it’s a gorgeous summer day, the cool of the morning having given way to perfect t-shirt weather — sunny with enough of a breeze to keep the sweat off their necks.
As they approach the fork in the lane that would take them to their respective flats, Beard feels Ted getting a little twitchier than usual. "Wanna wander around the green a little bit?" Beard asks, sensing his reluctance to break off and head home alone. “Walk off some of that cake?”
"You're chock a block with good ideas this morning, Coach." Beard tips an imaginary hat at him.
But it’s not too long before he comes to regret this particular idea, when they come across a group of young guys hanging out outside the Crown and Anchor. They're clearly wasted even though it's just gone noon.
"Oi, wanker!"
Ted looks up and Beard clocks the flicker of apprehension that crosses his face before he tucks it neatly behind a genial smile.
"Hey there, fellas. Enjoying your Sunday afternoon?"
"What the fuck are you still doing here, you useless sod? We all know you had nothing to do with Richmond getting back into the Premier league.”
"Yeah, why don't you just fuck off back to your own country with that broken brain of yours?"
The speed at which they’d gotten straight into it has Beard kicking into action a little slower than he should’ve. "C'mon, Coach, let's go,” he says but Ted seems frozen in place, his face ashen as their angry remarks turn to laughing taunts.
"Ooh, better be careful you don't scare him! He might run off in a panic."
"Aw, look at him. He really is about to have one of his fits. Aw widdle baby. Do you want us to call your daddy to come pick you up?"
Ted sucks in a breath beside him, vibrating now, and something in Beard snaps.
He approaches the guy who seems to be the ringleader. "Hey man, you all done with this? Let me help you out here." He tugs Mae’s empty glass out of his hand and puts it down safely out of the way. Then he pulls his hand back and socks the guy hard across the face.
"What the fuck!" another one yells and Beard headbutts him, putting all the force in it that he'd been wanting to put on Nate and just about everyone else who'd made an idiotic comment about Ted since.
The third looks at both of his friends, hunched over and bleeding and puts his hands up. "Oi, chill out, mate. Just havin’ a bit of fun, innit?"
Beard is about to punch him too when he feels a tug on his arm. "Leave him be, Coach. Let's just get out of here."
The other two guys look like they’re starting to recover from the shock and Beard doesn’t think Ted’s in any shape to help him take them if they decide to retaliate. So he lets Ted pull him away, breathing hard against the urge to go back and finish that third one off.
Ted takes them back to his place, both of them silent the entire short walk. He sits Beard down at the kitchen table and pulls out two ice packs and when Beard tries to raise his eyebrows at him he abruptly realizes how much his head is throbbing. It's been a few years since he'd headbutted someone. He'd forgotten how much it hurt both the giver and the receiver.
Ted pours them both a glass of water and sits heavily down in the chair across from him. Beard just looks at him, waiting for him to chastise him. To tell him he shouldn't have done it. To tell him to just let these things go, walk away, whatever other trite shit he felt like pulling out today.
Instead Ted just slides his hand forward across the table and pats Beard’s undamaged hand.
"Thanks," he says, his voice quiet. His eyes are bright, glinting against the pale of his cheeks, and he looks about as world-weary as Beard had ever seen him.
Beard fumbles his hand over Ted’s and gives it a squeeze. "Anytime, Coach." Ted smiles and though it’s small — just a little quirk of his lips, really — for the first time that day, it’s real.