Archive of Our Own

Oh, it happened so fast!

Rebecca always thought it was a cliche. She always thought people were exaggerating when they’d say they couldn’t recall specifics of an event because it all just happened so fast.  

And yet here she is realizing it’s not, in fact, a cliche at all, but a very real thing. 

One moment she’s sitting at the bar in The Crown & Anchor, nursing her second drink and picking at the remainder of her chips. It’s not any more crowded than it is on an average weekday night; there are the usual Richmond fans, most of whom gawk at her when she enters and get bored when they realize she’s not going to entertain them. 

She chats with Mae, who asks neither why she’s here alone nor why she’s here at all, because while she’s frequented the place a few times she isn’t necessarily a regular, and for that she’s grateful. 

Truthfully, she just needs to unwind. She desperately needed the release of tension that comes with being comfortably buzzed and the thought of drinking alone at home was dreadful enough to spur this particular outing. 

They won their match yesterday against West Ham and she’s thrilled. She’s over the fucking moon that she finally got to see that stupid little smug smile wiped right off of Rupert’s face, but she’s also bloody exhausted. 

Rebecca spent the two weeks leading up to the West Ham match feeling like one giant frayed nerve, like her skin was conductive and ready to spark at the slightest bump. Rupert’s still in her head, regrettably, still tucked somewhere deep in those shadowy alcoves where all of his past transgressions linger, hovering menacingly with the threat of reappearance. 

It took its toll. 

She was barely sleeping, coming into the club with concealer caked beneath her eyes to hide the dark circles; she was barely eating, either completely forgetting all together or simply feeling no hunger at all, her appetite non-existent; she was anxious and antsy, nails rapping rhythmically against her desk, the bar, her thighs, wherever she could tap, tap, tap.

Ted caught on, of course. 

He offered natural sleep remedies he’d used in the past for a particularly rough week; gently covered her hand with his to still the nervous tick, his skin warm against hers; brought her containers of homemade lunches or dinners (“I made too much, boss, think you can take this off my hands?”) or cajoled her into stepping out for a meal. 

Her chest swells thinking back on it, his tender, quiet care, making sure she was okay without explicitly calling her out on any of the ways she was neglecting herself. She smiles around the rim of her glass, fingers plucking another chip from her plate. The fish is long gone. 

And then the energy shifts, her spine straightening without any overt rhyme or reason. 

Until she hears him, his low, syrupy voice in her ear. “Rebecca.” 

Of course she can still fucking sense him, the way his aura immediately taints the atmosphere when he steps in a room. 

Sucking in a breath, she holds it; she schools her features, exhales, and prepares herself as she spins around on the stool. “Rupert,” she says, a stiff smile in place. “What brings you… all the way over here?” 

“Now, now, can’t a man stop into one of his favorite establishments?” 

“Sure, except you’ve always hated this place.” 

She catches him shooting a smarmy smile toward Mae, who’s glaring. “You know Rebecca. She likes to embellish.” 

Grip tightening on her glass, she maintains her face. “Don’t you have a wife and a daughter to be tending to?”

“Bex doesn’t require tending; she’s very low maintenance.” Unlike you lingers in the air. Her grip hardens on the glass. “And you know how children are, so easily tired out,” he says, the corners of his lips curling into a cruel grin. “Well… no, I suppose you don’t.”

The muscles in her face twitch, her jaw tight, but she refuses to give him the satisfaction. “No, I don’t,” she agrees, sipping at her drink. “But I do know I’d like to be left alone now.” 

“Surely we can be civil here, darling.”

“I’m being more civil than I’d prefer, and don’t call me darling.”

He chuckles, low and grating. “Good for you, not losing your bite,” he says. “Perhaps the next one won’t mind it.” 

When he walks away, practically gliding on the fucking floors like a cartoon villain, Rebecca squeezes her eyes shut and breathes deeply through her nose. A harsh clink of glass has her lifting her head again, eyes opening to find a third drink waiting for her and Mae standing there with narrowed eyes that hold half-sympathy and half-hatred. 

“I never liked him either.” 

Things are fine in the immediate moments after Rupert’s arrival. 

The Richmond fans in the pub are, to her surprise, not unanimously thrilled by his presence. A handful of them still hang on what he has to say, taken in by the act, but she catches a few of them looking at her instead. They pointedly ignore Rupert while he speaks, loud and imposing, and nod at her. It’s a silent solidarity that is wholly unexpected but touching, and she allows a small smile in response. 

She waves Mae over and tells her to put their drinks on her tab.

Rebecca’s able to tune him out for much of the remainder of her meal, even the derogatory little comments she can hear him making about how some women can just eat so much. She knows they’re meant for her, knows he’s speaking loudly enough for her to hear on purpose, but he no longer gets to dictate how she feels about herself. 

She finishes her chips in peace. 

This peace is, however, not long-lasting. 

She’s not sure how they found out, exactly, but word must have gotten to the boys that both she and Rupert were in the pub and all of sudden there’s a group of them crowding through the door. Jamie, Sam, Dani, Isaac, and Colin all shuffle in, eyes cutting toward Rupert with scowls on their faces before their attention shifts. 

“Oi, boss is over here,” she hears Jamie. 

And then they’re circling her and she’s not sure who to look at first. Before she can even ask what they’re doing here, in the pub, and here, directly in her space, Colin speaks. 

“Is he bothering you?”

They all look at her expectantly, save for Isaac who continues to look over at Rupert with so much disdain it almost makes her laugh.

“Is that why you’re all here?”

The boys nod, save for Jamie who furrows his brows with a confused, “Obviousleh.” 

Her heart warms that bit more. “That’s very sweet of you boys, but entirely unnecessary. I’m fine.” 

“You sure, boss? ‘Cause we’ll take ‘im out.” 

“Yeah, we’ll deal with him.” 

“Just say the word, boss, and he’s toast.” 

“I am also happy to put Mr. Mannion in his place.” 

Rebecca huffs a laugh, a gentle smile blossoming across her face. “I’m positive. But thank you, I appreciate the offer,” she says. At their continued dubiousness, she pats the stool next to her and gestures for them to sit. “Come on. Get a drink on me, eat something.”

“Oh, that’s okay, we just came to make sure you were not being bothered,” Sam says. 

The boys nod, but she just looks between them with a firm, “Sit.”

They look from one another and back, and then shrug a little, heads tilting in what she knows is acquiescence. 

Jamie nods. “Yeah, all right. Thanks, boss.” 

She pats his back when he settles in beside her, affection in the roll of her eyes. Jamie in particular is a soft spot for her; from unceremoniously transferring him to Man City to getting him back and watching how much growth he’s gone through, she can’t help the tug of pride she feels for him. 

Mae comes over with drinks for the boys and some snacks on the house, even though Rebecca tries to protest. 

“I’ll be insulted if you leave money,” the woman says, leveling her with a look until Rebecca sighs in acceptance. 

“Thanks, Mae,” she says with a smile, chuckling at the wink she gets in return. 

She isn’t sure if Rupert called in reinforcements himself or if word is simply flying around this town tonight, but a handful of West Ham players waltz into the pub about fifteen minutes after the boys show up. She has to wonder why they’re still around after yesterday’s loss.  

There’s a lot of glowering and snide remarks tossed here and there, but the West Ham boys make their way toward Rupert and stand in line with him. Her boys stick close, not letting Rupert get a look at her, let alone get too close to her.

Rebecca has to push back the emotion that wants tears to well in her eyes; that the boys care enough to be here, to be covering her like this, however unfounded the problem may feel to her, makes something warm and fuzzy tuck neatly into the space between her ribs. 

She doesn’t hear what Isaac says but she’s torn from her thoughts by Rupert’s response, “You might want to mind your team, darling.” 

“Mind your fucking face and don’t call her darling, you dusty old prick,” Jamie grits back. 

And that’s when all hell breaks loose. 

There are West Ham players puffing their chests out and stalking toward her boys, who, not to be outdone, mimic the stance. They’re in each other’s faces a second later, shouting things she can’t make out clearly, just every other word, some insults back and forth. 

Someone starts shoving, and all of a sudden there’s a flurry of movement. 

Everyone stands from the bar in an attempt to calm the crowd. 

Rebecca pushes off the stool, yelling out for Jamie and trying to get closer to Isaac to put a hand on his arm and tug him back. In doing so, she finds herself caged in the group. Rupert’s pressed up against her side and a bunch of other regulars are at her back now, some on her other side, shoving and trying to get a piece of the action.

She can hear Mae hollering from behind the bar, ringing a bell, and she thinks that’ll do it. 

But then one of the West Ham players makes a lewd comment about her—

“She letting you all take turns fucking her? Is that it?” 

—and quite frankly she couldn’t care less what any of them have to say, but it hits a nerve for Isaac, who shouts back, “Are you fuckin’ Mannion, bruv?” and Colin, who’s somehow at her side now, his grip on her wrist tight as he shouts, “Hey, leave her out of it!” 

Even Sam is pushing at the players, in particular the one who laughs at his teammate and throws out, “Rupert did say she was randy.” 

The gross remark is the final straw for Jamie, who throws a punch that lands squarely on the West Ham player’s nose. There’s a sickening crack when his knuckles connect. 

Horror and appreciation fill her chest in equal measure. 

(A little more appreciation than horror, but she won’t admit that out loud.)

Rupert starts growling about controlling her team again, as if his team isn’t the one who started this particular blowout, and she’s about to make some kind of comment about getting his boys in line and out of her fucking pub when there’s a spark of pain blooming at her temple. 

It does happen so quickly that she doesn’t know what happens at first. It’s a lot of shouting and shoving and then she’s recoiling from something and suddenly in pain.

She’s at a loss until she actively thinks back and replays the thirty seconds before the burst of pounding. It’s then that she deduces what happened: Rupert reached above the crowd in an attempt to grab at one of the players’ shirts; whether it was one of his or one of hers, she doesn’t have a clue. 

It’s when he was pulling back, a fistful of fabric in his grip, that she took an elbow to the eye. 

There’s another shove at her, that same elbow smacking into her shoulder, and she lets out an involuntary yelp. Her hand immediately reaches up to cradle the side of her face, a delayed response. 

She hisses a litany of expletives through gritted teeth. “What the fuck,” she grinds out, narrowing her eyes up at Rupert now. He’s already staring at her, blank and unsurprised and not at all apologetic. 

He flattens his lips, gaze trailing over to where she’s holding her throbbing eye. There’s the barest hint of a smirk and she can’t fucking believe it. (She can). 

“You really should be more careful about where you’re standing.”

Her brows raise, lips parting. “Surely you’re joking.”

“You know I don’t joke.”

And then he’s shifting away from her, as if he didn’t just accidentally dig his elbow into her eye, and in the same thought she wonders if it was an accident at all. Rupert’s never been one for overt physical abuse, but he’s always been an opportunist. 

You really should be more careful about where you’re standing. 

She flashes back to their marriage, all of the bumps and bruises and you should be more mindful of where you’re walking, darling when she’d get “nudged” into the doorframe as they walked side-by-side, or the edge of the counter as he squeezed behind her in the kitchen, or the coffee table that time she bent down to pick something up and he “accidentally” knocked into her so hard she collided with the glass and her shin was black and blue for a week. 

Her skin prickles, something suffocating moving into her chest. The memories carry weight; they dig in, their roots deep as they bring her right back there. 

Rebecca stands frozen for a moment, blinking, trying to get her bearings. 

She doesn’t hear the commotion around her, only the blood rushing in her ears as she remains rooted in place. Vaguely, she registers some of the West Ham players leaving, likely following the trail of slime Rupert’s left in his wake. 

“Boss?”

“Are you all right?”

“Did something happen?”

Shaking her head, she snaps out of it and drops her hand away. Glancing up, she finds the boys surrounding her again. Jamie’s at her side, his palm cupping beneath her forearm gently, a careful touch. 

“No, no, I’m fine,” she says, waving them off even as her head hammers and her heart thrashes against her ribs. “Just a bit of excitement.” 

They don’t look convinced.

She reaches out, squeezing Colin’s arm as she meets each of their eyes with a small smile. “Boys, I’m fine. I appreciate the concern, but it’s not necessary. Now you all go on, enjoy the rest of your night.”

Rebecca tries to guide them toward the door, but they don’t budge.

“Are you leaving?” Sam asks. 

She nods. “Yes, I’m going to call my driver and I’m going home.” 

“We can drive ya,” Jamie offers. “Ain’t gotta wait for a driver.”

“That’s… very sweet, Jamie, but that’s quite all right. He’ll be here in no more than ten minutes.” 

And it is incredibly sweet, the offer, but she caught sight of Colin’s car out front. As lovely as the boy is, she knows exactly how many cars he’s gone through. 

“Then we’ll wait with you outside,” Isaac says. 

She stumbles a bit. She wasn’t expecting the pushback. “Boys, seriously—”

“Ain’t up for debate,” he cuts in quietly, his arms crossed in front of his chest. 

“Yeah, boss,” Colin says.

Sam adds in, “It’s probably for the best. We do not know if the West Ham players left for good.” 

Jamie nods. “What they said. We’re waitin’ with ya,” he tells her, the hand on her slipping through until their arms are looped. “No one’s messin’ with ya on our watch.” 

She wants to cry, and not just because of the pulsing in her eye socket. All she can do is pull her lips into a thin line, manage the closest thing to a smile she’s got, and nod. If she speaks, her voice will break. 

They stand with her on the sidewalk outside of the pub for the next fifteen minutes while they wait for her driver to arrive. She’s not sure if it’s a purposeful turn of discussion to take her mind off of what happened, but the conversation turns into a volleying back and forth about the validity of different pasta shapes. 

Rebecca can’t help but smile, enthralled by the heated debate going on in front of her. 

“Are you serious?” Jamie asks, brows drawn. “The little bowties are clearly the best. I mean, they’re fuckin’ bowties.”

Isaac and Colin shake their heads. Sam shrugs noncommittally. 

Diplomatically, he says, “They are nice. I also like penne.”

Ignoring Sam’s pasta contribution, Isaac keeps shaking his head. “Nah, bruv, fusilli’s where it’s at. Better sauce vestibule.”

“Why the fuck do you know the word vestibule?”

“It’s okay if you don’t know what it means,” Isaac says. 

Jamie bristles. “I know what it means, yeah,” he says, though the way he crosses his arms in front of his chest tells Rebecca he likely doesn’t. “Bowties can be a vestibule.” 

Colin cuts in. “You’re both wrong,” he says. “The flower ones, right, those are the superior pasta shape.”

Rebecca, Isaac, Jamie, and Sam all look at him. 

“The fuckin’ what?” Jamie asks. 

Looking between the group of them, Colin stares like they’re the ones not making sense. “They look like flowers, yeah,” he says, making movements with his fingers in an attempt to draw it out in the air. It’s not helpful. “They’re stuffed with like, cheese or something.”

Sam’s eyes light up. Smiling, he nods and looks from one of them to the next and explains, “I think he means tortellini.” 

“They’re not flowers, bruv.”

“They do kinda look like ‘em if you squint.”

“You’re all mad.”

“Probably,” Jamie admits, laughing. “Oi, boss, what’s your take?”

Rebecca blinks, suddenly staring at four expectant faces. “Oh, well, I… don’t really think I have a favorite pasta shape.”

They frown. 

“C’mon, Ms. Welton, you gotta have one.”

“Yeah,” Isaac nods. 

Colin adds: “If you close your eyes, what’s the first pasta shape that comes to mind?”

Huffing a laugh, she rolls her eyes. But then she does close them, humoring these ridiculous boys, and when she glances back at them she says, “linguine,” around a bitten-back smirk. 

The boys look at each other, heads bobbing as if to assess her choice, and then they all turn back to her with nods and shrugs and, “Solid pasta, yeah.”

She shakes her head, amused. 

When her car pulls up to the corner, the boys take a step back and allow her through. Before Rebecca slips into the backseat she turns back around, hand braced on the side of the door, and smiles at the four of them. 

“Thank you, boys,” she says with a soft nod. 

They salute, nod, wave her off.

“It was nothin’.”

“We got your back.”

“Welton’s boys, yeah?”

Her eyes do tear up then, her tongue wetting her bottom lip. She nods again, willing back the feelings welling square in the middle of her throat. 

Jamie notices, she can tell, and he offers a final, “have a good night, boss,” before he steps up, taking hold of the door for her, and then closes it once she’s settled safely inside. 

Rebecca stands in front of her bathroom mirror, hushed mutterings of shit, shit, shit exhaled under her breath as she tries to dab concealer onto the purpling skin surrounding her eye. 

The bruise starts on the delicate skin beneath her waterline, travels around the outer edge of the eye and just onto her eyelid, dancing atop her lashes at the far corner. 

It wasn’t this egregious the night before. 

It was barely visible, so much so that the boys didn’t notice anything out of place. Throbbing was the worst of her problems and an ice pack to the face was her solution. Not a very good one, apparently; in the light of day, it bloomed into an angry mesh of deep purples and reds that continue to throb. 

She’s running late as it is and if she doesn’t hurry up she’ll be late for biscuits with the boss. 

If she’s late for biscuits with the boss her interaction with Ted will start off on a concerned note and she’ll be at a disadvantage; he’ll be wondering why she’s late and paying more close attention to her actions, to what she says. 

That does not bode well for keeping him in the dark about the black eye. 

With one last brush of her sponge over the discoloration she leans back and scrutinizes her reflection. This is as good as it’s going to get, it seems. It’s not bad, but it’s not wonderful either. 

It might, however, be just enough to conceal her predicament from Ted. 

Blinking in the mirror, she shakes her head. The more she stares the more she notices and she wonders idly if he’d question her if she simply wore sunglasses. It’s a Thursday and she’s not particularly known to get drunk on a Wednesday, but it’s not implausible. 

On her way out the door, she plucks a pair of thick, round black sunglasses from the entryway table and hopes for the fucking best. 

She feels ridiculous.

Sitting at her desk with these sunglasses on, she feels ridiculous. But Ted should be here any minute and she can’t take a chance that he’ll arrive early and steal from her the time to put them on, her added barrier of disguise. 

Perhaps it’s silly, trying to keep this from Ted. 

But she doesn’t want him to worry or fret over it. She knows he won’t take kindly to her black eye, even less so if he knew it was at the hand—well, elbow—of Rupert, however unintentional. 

“Knock, knock!” 

Rebecca’s head whips up just as Ted strolls into her office, a wide grin on his face and that familiar pink box in his hands. His face morphs into something of amusement, one brow raised, the second he sets eyes on her.

“Rough night, boss?” he asks with a hint of a smirk as he places the biscuits on her desk and lowers himself down into his chair.

“Thank you,” she says with a grateful smile, already sliding the box toward her and flipping open the lid. “Had one too many with Keeley last night, that’s all.”

He lets out a noise of understanding. “I hear ya. Well, you’re rockin’ those shades if I do say so myself.”

She swallows around her first bite of biscuit. “That’s very kind.” 

Rebecca manages to steer the conversation away from her for the most part. 

It helps that the boys’ most recent win was only two days ago; she’s able to ask about the morale heading into the next match against Crystal Palace, how he and the other coaches are doing with their new plays. With nothing more to press about the team, she inquires about Henry and watches with genuine interest as Ted tells her all about his most recent foray into the science fair. 

The way his face lights up as he talks about his son is enough to settle the tension in her shoulders. Ted’s content to talk, and talk, and keep talking, and it passes the time.

Quickly enough, it’s time for him to head back to the pitch for training. 

But not before he tilts his head at her, a curious look in his eyes. 

“You okay this morning?” 

She blinks behind the sunglasses. “Yes, of course. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno, just somethin’,” he says. Her heart beats roughly in her chest, waiting for him to figure it out, but he just shakes his head. “Must be the aftermath of your night with Keels.”

She releases a quiet, relieved breath. “Must be, yes.”

“Well, I should skedaddle before Roy starts yellin’ from the pitch,” he says, hoisting himself out of the chair with flourish. He smiles at her and her stomach clenches. “You take it easy today then.”

“Of course,” she agrees, gesturing toward the door with as cheerful a grin as she can muster. “Go on and get those boys Crystal Palace ready.” 

His mouth curls just a hint at the corner. “You got it, boss,” he says with a salute that has adoration pooling low in her gut. He turns back when he’s just about at the door. “You know where to find me if you need me.” 

“I do.”

“Just holler,” he says, then chuckles a bit, gesturing toward the window. “Literally, ya know.” 

She rolls her eyes, regretting the motion immediately when the bruised eye twinges with it. She maintains her face, though, and simply smiles. 

“I will, Ted.” 

As soon as he’s out of the office, the door closed securely behind him, her shoulders drop. Her forehead falls to her open palms, a long breath blowing out slowly. 

That last lingering look of concern he gives her before he turns and makes his way down the stairs stays with her for the remainder of the morning. 

Fucking Rupert.

During break from training, Ted jogs his way back toward the locker rooms to grab the water bottle he’d forgotten. On his way back, he runs into Keeley. 

“Keeley Jones, the one and only,” he greets with a pleasant smile. “If you’re lookin’ for Roy he’s still out on the pitch.” 

“Hiya, Ted,” Keeley greets as she steps forward. “Thanks, yeah, we’re going out for lunch. Figured I'd surprise him a bit early.” 

Ted nods. “I’m sure he’ll love that. You’re welcome to come out,” he says. He lifts his bottle, shaking it. “I forgot this one in here and it’s gettin’ hotter out there.” 

They make their way out through the tunnel together, chatting about where the couple are planning to go for lunch. 

“I gotta say,” he starts. “You’re lookin’ pretty bright eyed and bushy tailed this mornin’.” 

“Aren’t I always?” she asks, smirking. 

“Well, of course,” he chuckles. “I just figured you’d be feelin’ about the same as the boss after y’all’s girls’ night.” 

Keeley turns to him. “Oh, I wasn’t with Rebecca last night.” 

Before she has a chance to catch the confused look on his face, because if she wasn’t with Rebecca then that means Rebecca had lied to him this morning, she’s trotting off to find Roy on the sidelines. 

He glances up toward her window without thinking, something uncomfortable settling at the base of his spine. 

Why would Rebecca lie about drinking with Keeley? He wouldn’t have judged her if she was drinking by herself. 

“Coach,” Beard calls, gesturing with a nod for him to join the rest of the coaches. 

Ted nods, his mind elsewhere, but he shuffles over nonetheless. With his hands tucked deep into his pockets, he works to push it out of his mind and focus on the rest of training.

By the time training ends for the day, later than usual, the sun is beginning to set and Ted can feel the sweat beading on his forehead. He lifts his visor off, wipes at the moisture with the back of his hand, and then settles the visor back into place. 

On his way toward the tunnel, he takes an instinctive glance up and finds the light in Rebecca’s office still lit. Huh.

“Walk home?” Beard asks, tugging his jacket from the back of his chair.

Ted shakes his head. “No, you go on. I got somethin’ I wanna talk with the boss about.” 

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, all good. Nothin’ to worry about,” he says with a wave of his hand. 

Beard looks unsure, levels him with a look, but ultimately decides to let it go. He tips his hat in his direction and bids him a good night as he treks out of the office, leaving just Ted. 

He grabs the rest of his things, turns off the lights, and heads upstairs. 

Rebecca’s door is closed, so he raps on it once, twice, three times, waiting until he hears her call for him to come in before he pushes it open. 

She’s sitting at her desk, in nearly the same spot he’d left her this morning, those sunglasses still perched high on the bridge of her nose. An odd choice given that there’s no sun and her office is quite dimly lit right now. 

“Hiys, boss,” he says, smiling as he steps inside. He grips at the straps of his backpack, hiking the thing higher. “I was surprised to see a light still on. I just thought I’d come check in.”

She nods, but there’s something uneasy in the motion. 

Now that he’s looking at her, there’s something uneasy in her demeanor all together. Something stiff in the shoulders, her back rigid, the line of her smile tight. 

“Oh, yes,” she says, waving to the laptop screen he can’t see. “Catching up on emails.”

“I hear ya.” He lets the backpack fall from his shoulders, landing beside the chair he lowers himself into. “Anything I can do to help get you outta here sooner?”

Rebecca’s smile softens at that. “Thank you, Ted, but I’m all right. I won’t be much longer.” 

“Then I’ll just keep ya company,” he decides, an easy look on his face. 

She, however, looks dismayed. Not a boost to his confidence, that’s for sure. But he doesn’t think it’s him, whatever’s going on. 

“You don’t have to do that,” she says. “You should head home. I’m sure you’re tired.”

Ted shrugs. “No more tired than you are, I’m sure,” he says lightly. “It’s really no trouble. Truthfully, I’d feel better knowin’ you’re not here all alone.”

“It’s Nelson Road, not a dark alley, Ted. Really, I’m in no danger.”

“Maybe not, but you said you won’t be too long, so for my own peace of mind… can I stay?” he asks, his eyes wide and earnest, so kind, that she couldn’t tell him to get lost even if she wanted to. 

And she does, for the first time in a long time, but not because of Ted or his company. 

So she sighs. “For your peace of mind,” she relents, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “This is very unnecessary, but be my guest.”

Ted grins. “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Somehow she doubts that. 

Every nerve-ending beneath her skin is alight with anxiety, every second he’s sitting before her a second closer to him realizing what’s hiding behind her sunglasses. 

He points them out, too, which does nothing to ease the beating of her heart. 

“Your head still botherin’ you?”

She lifts her attention. “Sorry?”

“The shades. Not many people wearin’ ‘em after sundown, that’s all.”

“Oh,” she says. She bites at her cheek. “Yes. They’re a little sensitive to the light right now.”

“I can turn off a few of these lamps if you want,” he offers. “I don’t mind sittin’ in the dark by candlelight. Or, in this case, laptop light.”

Her shoulders relax. “That’s kind, but it’ll be okay.”

Rebecca goes back to her emails, finishing off the last few that need to be scheduled to be sent first thing in the morning, while Ted sits mostly silently before her. It’s calming in a way she hadn’t expected, having him here. After a few minutes he starts talking, nonsensical things, really, his voice low and acting as background noise while she works. 

It allows her to fall into a false sense of security. 

She lets her guard down, comfortable in his presence, and doesn’t even realize she’s done it until he stops mid-sentence and reroutes. 

“You do some fancy eyeshadow look today, boss?” he asks cheerily, and when she glances over he’s smiling, intrigued. 

“What?” 

He points to his own eye in demonstration. “Ya got some color goin’ on there. Doin’ somethin’ different? I like it.” 

Apparently when she dipped her head to look down at one of the papers beside her laptop the sunglasses slid a little further down the bridge of her nose, effectively revealing those pesky hints of bruising along her brow bone.  

That Ted thinks is eyeshadow. 

Her hand lifts instinctually, fingers stopping just short of touching at her temple. 

“Well?” She lifts her head, staring at him from behind the sunglasses. He nods, gesturing. “Can I see it?”

Heart slowly working its way up into her throat, because no, Ted, you cannot see the non-existent eyeshadow, she freezes a little.

She quickly pushes the glasses back up, feeling only minutely better once they’re back in place. When she doesn’t say anything Ted makes a noise in the back of his throat, something she’s not heard before. Rebecca lifts her head to find him frowning at her, a knot between his brows. 

His lips pull into a thin line and she doesn’t like that. Quietly, he asks: “That’s not eyeshadow, is it?”

“It’s…” She waves a dismissive hand. “Nothing.” 

Ted’s not satisfied, the crease in his forehead only deepening the longer he looks at her. 

She doesn’t like that either, not one bit, but she suddenly wishes she’d come up with some kind of explanation earlier had the sunglasses not worked. She can’t find the words now. Not as he purses his lips, not as he runs an unnerved finger across his mustache, not as he pushes himself from his chair and leans forward.

His arm reaches out but doesn’t go far, just hovers in the air between them. “Can I?” he asks, chin tipping as he gestures, and she knows exactly what he’s asking. 

She nods, sighing, because what the hell at this point. 

He’s achingly tender as he pulls the sunglasses off; she doesn’t want to see the look on his face so she averts her gaze, but that does nothing to save her from hearing his intake of breath.

Levity would be nice right about now. Ted’s always good at bringing that, lightening the mood; so, she tries to joke.

“Not the eye makeup you were expecting, huh?” 

“Rebecca.” Her name is nothing more than a breathy exhale but the concern shines through, as does the barest hint of admonishment at her attempted deflection. Right, okay, clearly not in a joking mood then. “Is this what you were hidin’ earlier? Why you lied about drinking with Keeley?”

She balks. “How do you know I lied about that?”

“I ran into Keeley earlier and made an offhand comment about y’all’s girls’ night. She said she wasn’t with you yesterday.”

Rebecca doesn’t have anything to say to that. She just turns her head slightly, staring out at the pitch, the stadium lights lit up. 

His voice is incredibly soft when he asks, “What happened?”

She turns away from the window, back toward him, and considers her options. 

Telling him about Rupert’s unfortunate elbow to the face is, again, out of the question. Deep down she knows he’d likely take her at her word, but the last thing she needs right now is Ted thinking she’s for some fucking reason covering for her ex-husband’s deliberate abuse. 

She could tell him she ran into something. 

A door, the corner of a dresser, a cabinet. 

Actually… a cabinet isn’t too bad an idea. Perhaps she opened it too quickly and the small knob knocked her in the eye? Except that sounds like an outright lie, a poor attempt at skirting around what actually happened. 

She could tell a half-truth. Elbow to the face, but omit the Rupert of it all. 

“Who did this to you?” he asks in her silence, eyes impossibly soft as he lifts them to hers. His gaze roams her face, mouth pulled into a concerned twist as he takes in the damage. 

Rebecca stands from her chair, needing to not be confined behind her desk, and steps out into the open space near the couch. Ted follows, and she can feel his presence at her back. When she turns around, intent on telling him… something, anything to wipe that look off of his face, instead she just kind of stares.

And stares, blinking, as he holds his arm out between them. 

He does so slowly, eyes on her the entire time searching for discomfort or objection; when he finds none, his fingers raise to the offending area, the pad of his thumb unbearably gentle as he swipes along the splotches of color. 

Her eyes slip closed, emotion welling at the way he’s treating her; he mistakes this for a wince of pain, though, and immediately retracts his touch with a quiet, “Sorry.”

“No, don’t,” she says, forcing her eyes back open. “You didn’t do anything.” 

“Does it hurt?” 

“No.” At his skeptical look, she sighs. “It’s not—it’s a dull throbbing, more of an ache.” 

“Can I—do you have an ice pack hidden in here somewhere?” he asks. A lightbulb must go off, because then he’s pointing toward the door. “If not, I can go get one. Do y’all have Arnica gel over here? That’s helpful—I had to use it a few times myself, football to the eye and all that; not fun but effective. That’d probably—”

“Ted,” she cuts in gently, an affectionate glow lingering as she regards him. “Thank you, but I’m okay. I can ice it at home.”

He nods, looking away for a moment before he meets her eyes. “Will you tell me what happened?” 

Wetting her lips, she goes for what feels the most natural, the least like a lie, because she doesn’t want to lie to him. Not completely. 

“It’s really nothing,” she says. He gives an encouraging nod. “There was a… commotion at The Crown & Anchor last night. I took an unfortunate elbow to the face.” She points unnecessarily. “The eye, specifically.” 

He tilts his head at her, eyes traveling across her face; it’s unnerving, his appraisal. 

She understands his hesitance, she does. It’s not a lie, but it probably sounds like one. She knows, statistically speaking, women with black eyes more often than not obtain them from someone with violent intent, but it wasn’t like that. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t like that. 

But of course Ted can’t know that for sure and so Ted, being Ted, remains concerned. 

“Rebecca,” he whispers, so fucking comforting she wants to burst into tears. “If someone hurt you or… if you’re in some kind of trouble…”

She shakes her head immediately, taking his hands between her own and offering what she hopes is an appeasing smile. “I’m not. I promise, Ted, it’s nothing—it was just an accident. Wrong place at the wrong time, that’s all.”

He looks as if he still doesn’t really believe her, not entirely, but he eventually does nod. 

“Okay,” he says, squeezing her hand. “But if that changes… if there’s somethin’ you want or need to talk about… I’m here. I know I’m usually all mouth, but I can be all ears and a shoulder, too.” 

God, he’s so fucking good it has fresh tears pricking at the backs of her eyes without her consent. 

“I know,” she murmurs, offering a gentle smile. “Thank you.” 

He nods once more, then carefully pulls his grip from hers. “Can I ask why you didn’t just tell me earlier?”

Rebecca sighs. “I just… I didn’t want you to worry,” she says. “I knew you would, because you’re you, and it’s really not a cause for concern.”

“I hate to break it to ya, Rebecca, but I’m always gonna worry when someone I care about is hurt,” he says softly. “Especially…” 

His voice trails off, but the you hovers there, thick in the air between them.

“It’s what friends do,” he finishes after a brief pause, his voice suspiciously strained. 

She nods. “I know.”

“Good. Now, while I appreciate you thinkin’ about me, promise you won’t go hidin’ something like this to spare me?” he requests, expression tender. She watches his gaze slide over to the bruise before meeting her eyes again. “‘Cause I’ll just worry more otherwise.”

Mouth twisted to the side, Rebecca glances down to her feet, takes a breath, and then looks back up at him. She manages a small smile, a nod. 

“I promise,” she says.

“Great,” he smiles, a soft thing. “D’you have a lot of emails left or can I walk you out to your car?” 

She considers telling him that she needs to stay a little longer to finish up what she won’t want to deal with in the morning, but as her mouth opens to say just that she catches the thinly veiled hope in his eyes and closes it. There’s something gentle in his stare, hopeful that she’ll leave the work behind and head home and eager to walk the five minutes down to the car park with her. 

So she makes a decision.

“Lead the way.”

Ted grins, his dimples making an appearance. He grabs his backpack from the floor and slips behind her desk to close her laptop for her, her purse suddenly tucked securely in the crook of his elbow. 

Angling toward her, he holds his free arm out; Rebecca smiles, sliding her hand around his bicep as she loops their arms together. 

Ted’s off-kilter for the rest of the night. 

He’d walked Rebecca to her car, waving off her offer to give him a ride. He waited until she pulled out of the parking lot, until her car was out of sight, to let out the exhale he’d been holding tightly in his lungs since the moment he saw that black eye. 

The chill of the air helps a little on the way back. It’s more difficult to spiral when he’s focused on moving, on warming his body. 

Even still, with his hands tucked into the pockets of his khakis, he lets his mind wander. 

Lets is probably an overstatement. He actively tries not to think about it, but all he can see every time he blinks is the nasty discoloration around Rebecca’s eye. 

By the time he gets back to his place, his skin is thrumming. 

He has to fight the urge to call her to make sure she got home all right and that she’s not in too much pain—just as he fights the urge to gather a care kit for her. But he has to busy himself somehow, before he does show up at her doorstep with an ice pack she doesn’t need and make a fool of himself, so he calls Beard. 

They’re at The Crown & Anchor, the scene of the crime, fifteen minutes later. 

Beard waits until they’re seated in their booth, drinks received, to narrow his eyes behind his own sunglasses, cross his arms over his chest, and tilt his chin in Ted’s direction. 

“Something the matter, Coach?”

Humming, he stares down at the table. “No,” he says, but it feels wrong. It’s a lie. There’s been a churning in his gut ever since he left Rebecca, concern swirling around with the luke-warm water he’d chugged from his training bottle. He makes a discontented sound, and then sighs. “Yes. I don’t know? Maybe.” 

“Sounds like a yes to me.” 

Ted looks over at him, indecision burning bright in his chest. Rebecca said it was nothing, and he doesn’t like not believing her; and it’s not that he doesn’t believe her, not necessarily, there’s just… something. Something missing, something she’s not saying, and it’s that something that leaves a tingling in the tips of his fingers. 

“Rebecca has a black eye.” 

Beard’s brows raise above the rim of his sunglasses. “First question: is she okay?”

“She says she’s okay. She seems all right, too. Ya know, aside from the black eye.”

He leans forward, mouth in a firm line as he gives a slow nod. “Good. Second question: do we need to bury a body?” 

Beard’s face is serious, his fingers wrapped tightly around his beer, and there’s not a doubt in Ted’s mind that he’d make good on the offer if someone did something to her.

“I’m thinkin’ she wouldn’t like that very much,” he says, taking a swig of his own beer. “She said it’s nothing, that she’s not in trouble or anything, but…”

“But you think otherwise.”

“I don’t know what I think.”

“Take a guess.”

“Take a guess about what I think?”

Beard nods.

He purses his lips. “If I had to guess, I’m thinkin’ that there’s some truth and some omission to what Rebecca told me about how she got that black eye.”

“Good,” Beard says. “Now what are you going to do about it?”

Ted shrugs. “Nothing?” It’s hesitant, a question. “There’s not much I can do unless she wants to talk. I’m not gonna force it outta her. And there might not even be anythin’ to force out. I could be readin’ things all wrong.”

“Do you think you are?” Beard asks. 

“Not really,” he admits, leaning back against the booth. “But it’s Rebecca’s business and as long as she’s not in danger, I’m just gonna have to let her come to me about whatever might or might not be goin’ on.”

“And if someone did hurt her on purpose?”

“Then we bury a body.”

They cheers to that. 

The following morning, biscuits in hand, he’s at the top of the stairs leading to Rebecca’s office when he realizes she’s not alone. 

As he reaches the landing, he can hear more clearly through the cracked door and the owner of the second voice becomes clear. 

It’s Keeley. 

Something shifts in his stomach, relief almost. Because if Keeley’s here, at least Rebecca’s talking to someone. Not necessarily about that specifically, but maybe she’ll tell the younger woman whatever it is he thinks she withheld from him. 

Girl talk and all that. 

He’s about to turn around and head back down to his office, ‘cause he’s really not trying to eavesdrop on them and he can always bring the biscuits up in fifteen minutes, but then he hears Keeley’s voice filter out into the hallway, a loud exclamation of, “are you fucking kidding me?” and he has no choice but to listen in.

“Keeley, please—”

“Uh uh. Don’t please me,” Keeley says, incredulous. “I’ll put his raggety old balls in a fucking blender for putting his hands on you.”

He does not like where this is going, not one bit. There’s a him, whoever he is, a someone who put his hands on Rebecca, and he feels a rush of cold wash through his system. 

His fist balls at his hip. 

“As… interesting as that offer is, it’s really not necessary.”

“He physically assaulted you, Rebecca. From where I’m standing that’s the bare fucking minimum—I should kill him!”

Hear, hear, Ted thinks. 

Listening still, he’s aching for someone to mention who the he is. He needs to have a name to give Beard. 

Rebecca makes a noise in protest. “It wasn’t like that, okay? It was an accident.”

“I’m not buying it.”

“Keeley…”

“No, babe, I’m sorry, but I don’t believe Rupert gave you an accidental black eye.” 

The second Rupert’s name comes out of Keeley’s mouth, Ted’s entire body freezes. He doesn’t hear whatever she says next; the only thing remaining is the sound of blood roaring in his ears. 

He places Rebecca’s biscuits on the small table outside of her office and turns around, making his way downstairs with his vision blurring around the edges. Rage fills him, the tips of his fingers prickling; he balls his hands into fists, unclenches, and then runs them down his hips. 

While he’s pacing back and forth alone in his office, the two women remain upstairs, Keeley displeased with Rebecca’s insistence that she not break all of Rupert’s bones.

“I quite like you out here with me rather than behind bars,” she says with a small smile.

Keeley sighs. “And I quite like you without bruises on that beautiful face of yours.” 

“You’re more than welcome to help me conceal them. I’ve done a shit job.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I know,” she says softly, reaching down to hold Keeley’s hands in her own. “But I’m fine, it was an accident this time, and I really don’t want to spend any more time thinking about Rupert than I already have to.”

Her friend bristles. “This time? Please, Rebecca, let me get one swing in, just—”

But Rebecca shakes her head. “I love you, but the answer is still no. And I can assure you it’s not nearly as bad as what you’re thinking of right now.”

“Any intentional harm is bad enough,” Keeley argues, her grip on Rebecca’s hands firm. 

Rebecca doesn’t think telling her that she doesn’t have any proof it was intentional, that she doesn’t know for sure, would make her feel any better. It’s more of a feeling than anything, but Keeley would tell her that feeling is more than enough.

Keeley must see the look on her face, because with a tiny breath and a small smile, she nods. “Okay, I’ll drop it.”

“Thank you.” 

“For now,” she clarifies. “But if you ever want to talk about it, or not talk about it and like, make a voodoo doll of that old bag of fucking dust, you’ll let me know, yeah?”

Laughing, Rebecca bites at her bottom lip and nods. “Yes, I promise.” 

“Good. Now come down here so I can kiss it better.”

She snorts. “Keeley, I’m not a child.”

“So? Is there a rule that filthy rich, fit as fuck premier league football club owners can’t have their scrapes kissed?”

“I thought it was tacky to add filthy in front of rich?”

“This isn’t a dating app and you are filthy rich,” she says with a wave of her hand. “Now stop deflecting and bend down.”

“Keeley.”

“Bend down or I will climb up, and you know I’m not bluffing.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes, an affectionate smirk on her face. She acquiesces, leaning down until she’s short enough for Keeley to reach. She places a palm on either cheek, rolling onto her toes and stretching forward to press a delicate kiss to the edge of Rebecca’s brow bone where the worst of the bruising lies. 

Pulling back, Keeley smiles gently up at Rebecca. “Better now?” she asks.

Fondness for her friend filling in her chest, she nods. “Much.”

Keeley winds her arm around Rebecca’s back, guiding her over to the couch. “Perfect. Now, you sit here. I’m going to go give Roy his phone that he forgot at my place when he left for work and then I’m coming back up here and we’re going to order some late breakfast.”

She still has those emails to finish from last night and she’ll have dozens of new ones in her inbox that need tending to, but right now she really just wants to sit on the couch with her best friend, eat some food, and have a little girl talk. 

“That sounds great.”

Keeley beams. “Excellent,” she says, clapping her hands together.

She bounces out of the office, but to Rebecca’s surprise she strides right back in not a minute after she’d left. And she’s holding a tiny, familiar pink box.

“Where did you get those?” 

She steps forward, handing over the box. “They were on the table outside your door,” she says, gesturing that way. “Weird of Ted not to come inside, yeah?” 

Rebecca frowns, eyeing the empty doorway before trailing her gaze to her biscuits. 

“Yeah, weird.”

She can’t quite put her finger on it, but as she shoves a biscuit into her mouth, wiping crumbs off of her lips with the back of her hand, something unsettling coils low in her gut.

They’re not fifteen minutes into their food, a piece of french toast mid-way to Rebecca’s mouth, when the door to her office swings open and a gaggle of the boys burst in. Keeley squeaks beside her and she jolts with surprise, staring wide-eyed at nearly the same crew from The Crown & Anchor, with the addition of Bumbercatch and Jan. 

The six of them rush inside, all speaking over one another. She makes out bits and pieces. 

“Coach left—”

“—actin’ weirder than usual, yeah—”

“—didn’t look good—”

She hears Rupert’s name in the mix and she pales. 

She doesn’t get a chance to confirm her worry before she feels their attention shift, their gazes falling on her face and their own expressions changing into something hard.

“Wait.”

“Why do you have a black eye?” Jamie asks, pointing at her before turning to the boys. “Why’s she got a black eye?”

Isaac straightens up. “Did Coach see the black eye?”

They’re talking amongst each other now.

“He must’ve, yeah?”

“That why he left in a fit?”

“Did that old prick give her the black eye?” Bumbercatch turns to Rebecca. “Did he give you the black eye?”

“Oi!” Jamie yells out, settling the way they’re talking over one another. He turns to Rebecca. “If he gave you that black eye you tell us, yeah? We’ll sort him out.”

They all nod. Colin pumps a fist. “We’ve got your back, boss.”

“I’ll kill ‘im,” Isaac says, his hands balled into fists in front of his chest. 

“Think Coach is ahead of ya there,” Jamie points out, pleased. 

It knocks Rebecca out of her stunned stupor.

“Boys,” she says quickly, firm. “Where did Coach Lasso go?”

They’re quiet. 

“I dunno if we should say. Think we should go help ‘im actually,” Jamie says. He crosses his arms and not-very-discreetly looks between the team, who all nod, and then he turns back to her with a too-bright smile. “Sorry to bother ya, boss. There’s nothin’ to worry about here. We’ll be on our way.”

“Oi!” she shouts, standing from the couch. They all stop their move. “Is he going to find Rupert?”

“So he did give you that black eye?”

“We can take him, he’s old.” 

“I think we should let Coach do what he needs to do.”

“I think we should help.”

That last comment comes from Keeley and Rebecca turns to look at her, incredulous. She just shrugs, a little what, you know how I feel about this look on her face.

The absolute last thing she needs right now is her team brawling with Rupert and making headlines, no matter how noble their cause may be. 

“I can’t be doing this right now,” she mutters, rounding the coffee table. She paces to her desk to grab her purse and then steps toward the boys. She stops only briefly. “Thank you for the concern, all of you. I’m perfectly fine. Do not follow me.”

And then she’s gone, leaving them in the office with Keeley while she paces down the stairs. 

Just as she turns the corner she can hear them talking and, behind the continued threats to Rupert’s life, comes a soft question from Jamie: “Keels… she’s all right, yeah?”

Her eyes burn, just a little. 

When Rebecca makes it to West Ham she doesn’t have to go very far. 

She spots him easily, sitting on a bench outside of the building, an ice pack held to the knuckles of his left hand. Her body loosens, relief and guilt mingling in her chest. 

She’s too late to stop… whatever happened here, but at least he’s in one piece. 

Sliding in quietly beside him, Rebecca reaches over and gently places her hand over one of his, the one keeping the ice pack in place. He looks over at her then, somehow not that surprised to find her here. 

Still, he offers a sheepish smile and asks: “What are you doing here?”

“I’d ask you the same thing, but I think I know the answer,” she says, aiming for mild chastisement although her voice comes out far too soft for that. “Ted…”

He shakes his head. “I know it was stupid, but I couldn’t…” His mustache twitches as he looks away, staring out into the carpark. “I didn’t mean to overhear your conversation with Keeley, but as soon as I heard that Rupert gave you that black eye I just—I blacked out. Suddenly I was here.”

“And suddenly you were punching him?”

Ted smirks, only a little. A curl at the corner of his lips and she can’t even fault him. 

“Nah. I didn’t come here to punch him.” She arches a brow. “Honest. I dunno what I came here to do, maybe yell at ‘im a little, who knows, but then he kept talkin’ and I didn’t like what he was sayin’ and I just…”

Rebecca nods, chewing on her lip. “You didn’t have to do this, you know,” she says. “Rupert will always be Rupert.” 

“Maybe. But he’s not gonna be putting his hands on you ever again, I can promise you that,” Ted says, hard. “And that alone makes this worth it.” 

Her heart stutters in her chest, her breath catching somewhere along her ribs on its way out. She knows he’s being truthful, the earnest look in his eyes as he peers at her almost too much to handle. She has to look away from it.

“I appreciate you avenging my honor,” she says, half-tease and dripping with affection. “I just wish you hadn’t come away with a battle wound on my behalf.”

Ted shakes his head. “This? Nah, this is nothing.” 

She tsks, squeezing her hand over his. “May I?” she asks. When he nods and removes his own hand, Rebecca gently lifts the ice pack away. She hisses, a frown pulling down around her mouth. “Jesus Christ, Ted. This is not nothing. Is it fucking broken?”

His knuckles are red and raw, the skin swollen, and she’s fairly certain they’re going to bruise. God, they’re quite the pair. She holds his mangled hand in her grip so carefully, scared to even apply too much pressure for fear of causing him more pain. 

“Don’t think so,” he says, eyes trained on where she touches him. “Just gonna be uncomfortable for a while.” 

“Fuck,” she whispers, gently twisting his hand in her grip. Thankfully most of the damage is contained around the knuckles. “I knew he had a hard fucking head, but…” 

Ted chuckles. “Eye sockets are pretty darn hard.” 

Her eyes fly to his. “You…” 

He didn’t.

“An eye for an eye, I guess,” he shrugs, the barest hint of a smile there. He’s pleased with himself.

“Ted,” she says, his name a rushed exhale more than anything. The laughter bubbles up unexpectedly, out of her control. “Fuck. I can’t believe you did that.”

Ted is the most non-violent, even-tempered person she thinks she’s ever met. And yet here he sits, his hand swollen and aching because he punched her ex-husband in the fucking face. 

For her.  

“Ya know, I can’t either,” he muses. “Don’t regret it though.” 

She’s quiet for a moment, processing. 

“How’d he look?” she asks then, corner of her mouth lifting. Just a little.

“‘Bout as shocked as I was that one year I stuck my finger in the wall outlet.”

“Please tell me this was when you were a child.”

“I’m gonna plead the fifth on that one.”

She shakes her head. “How did you not get arrested? I know that Midwestern charm doesn’t work on Rupert.”

“Ah,” he says, gaze dipping down to his lap. “Well, I might’ve recorded him on my phone admittin’ that he wasn’t sorry he elbowed you in the face. I think he was more concerned about me releasing that to the press than he was about gettin’ me arrested.”

Her eyes widen. “You what?”

“It seemed like a good idea. I wasn’t aimin’ to get anything incriminating, I just wanted… insurance, I guess, I dunno.” 

She nods slowly. “And he…”

“It was an accident, like you said, but he—he called it a happy accident, Rebecca, he…” 

His free hand balls into a fist and she reaches over, carefully straightening out his fingers and clasping their hands together instead. 

“It’s okay,” she says quietly.

But he looks up at her, eyes blown with indignation and hurt. “No, it’s not,” he counters, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “He said it wasn’t intentional but that he wasn’t sorry, that you should’ve been more aware of your surroundings and maybe it wouldn’t have happened, and I snapped.” 

She doesn’t know what to say to that, doesn’t know what she could tell him right now that wouldn’t make how he’s feeling even worse. Telling him that this isn’t anything new, that Rupert’s been known to do these sorts of things in the past… she worries he’d run back into that building and take out the other eye. 

Rebecca lifts her attention to his, so much misplaced guilt and discomfort clouding her eyes, deepening the green, and he shakes his head before she can even open her mouth.

“Uh uh,” he says, his fingers curling more tightly around hers. “Don’t you apologize. Not one bit of this is your fault.” 

She looks away, biting at her cheek. “Your hand is the size of a fucking balloon.”

“Rebecca, I was an American football coach. You think this is bad?” he asks, voice light, and when she looks back at him he’s smiling. “It doesn’t even crack the top five injuries I’ve gotten.” 

She huffs. “If that’s supposed to make me feel better it’s not working.”

“Just supposed to put it into perspective. This is small potatoes, boss.” 

“I still don’t like it.”

“Me either, ya know. But I hate your black eye even more,” he says. “Look, I might not condone violence,” he continues, taking a breath. “But I’m not gonna sit around and let him get away with hurting someone I… someone I really care about.”

Rebecca can feel her heart beating in her chest, the tightness there tugging at her emotions. There are so many things she’s feeling, so many things she could say but she just can’t find the words.

So after a moment of silence, still holding the ice pack to his battered hand, she finally swallows around the lump in her throat and settles on:

“While I might not love the way you went about it,” she starts, taking in his slightly chagrined expression. “I do appreciate you standing up for me. It means something that you… that you cared enough, that you would bother.”

His good hand squeezes where it’s cradled in hers. “‘Course I care,” he says quietly. “Rebecca, ain’t a thing I wouldn’t do to make sure you’re okay, and that includes takin’ up issue with anyone who hurts you. Maybe not always physically, ‘cause this feels kinda like a balloon ‘bout to pop.” 

She chuckles, soft. 

“But that don’t mean I wouldn’t do it again. I would. I think I’d come prepared with a glove, though.”

Rebecca hums. “Maybe we just avoid physical altercations all together?” 

Her thumb brushes along his skin, gentle, soothing movements. 

“Now I can promise to try, but I can’t promise to follow through.”

She lets out a small noise of dissent, shaking her head. “I suppose I’ll have to settle for that,” she says, knowing somehow that he would repeat today’s actions all over again in a heartbeat. It makes her chest flush beneath her top. “I know I probably don’t say it enough, or at all, and I apologize for that, but I hope you know that I… I appreciate you, Ted. Very much.”

Ted smiles, an easy, bright thing directed at her. “I know, boss.” 

“Good.”

“Good.”

They sit together for a few more minutes, comfortable silence covering them. Rebecca continues the tender strokes of her thumb along the back of his good hand, half-intentional and half-subconscious, though when she realizes she’s still doing it she chooses not to stop. 

It’s a nice day, the sky blue and cloudless above them, and with each gentle breeze she inhales deep with it. Her eyes slip closed as the wind brushes her cheeks.

When she opens her eyes, Ted’s looking at her; it’s a soft pass of his eyes, a light curl of his lips. 

She doesn’t know what to do with that, so she drifts her attention to their hands. She shifts the position of the ice pack to settle more securely over the affected area, but Ted winces as soon as she does and she’s had enough.

“That’s it, I’m taking you to the hospital.” 

“Rebecca, it’s fine.”

“Tell that to your face.”

“My face is also doin’ just fine.”

She doesn’t do it to hurt him intentionally, but she continues to put the ice pack where it needs to be and his eyes slam closed, his mouth in a tight line.

“Ted, you’re in pain,” she pleads.

His eyes open. “I did just hit someone,” he points out, and she raises a brow. Really? That’s your argument? “It’s bound to be sore, ya know.”

“There’s a difference between sore and in pain.”

Ted shakes his head. “Really, I’m good,” he says, forcing a smile. “We don’t need to be botherin’ any of the docs with this little thing.”

She levels him with a pointed look. That’s kind of their job.

But still, she humors him. 

“Okay,” she says. “If you can show me that you can stretch out all of the fingers on that hand, we won’t go to the hospital.”

Ted frowns. He looks down to his hand and pokes his tongue out between his lips as he tries to unfurl his fist. When he lets out what sounds suspiciously like a whine, the fingers straightening a little bit but with great effort, Rebecca puts a soft hand over his to stop him.

“Come on,” she says, standing from the bench. “At the very least, they’ll give you some pain medication and I’ll get some peace of mind.” 

That seems to push him a little more. 

“All right,” he decides, easing off of the bench to stand beside her. “It would be nice if the throbbing would stop.”

She shakes her head as she winds her arm with his, guiding them toward her car. “Ridiculous man.”

Turns out, Ted does have a broken finger.

When Rebecca lifts a brow at him, he just shrugs. “I said the hand probably wasn’t broken,” he points out, splitting hairs. “It’s just one of the fingers. And not even the main one.”

She rolls her eyes and waits for him to be tended to, sitting in a chair in the examining room. He’s given a splint for the finger, more ice for the rest of the hand, and a prescription for some decent pain pills to help keep the discomfort to a minimum. 

They’re not in the hospital for too long all together, and save for the uncomfortable corrections they had to give upon arrival—

The staff looks from Rebecca to Ted. 

“Are you okay, honey?” the front desk nurse asks, kind eyes trained on her. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” she says. “We’re not here for me.”

The woman nods softly, but asks again: “Are you sure?”

When her gaze flits to Ted stands beside her, his bruised knuckles held closely to his chest, she understands what she means. 

Rebecca nearly laughs, an incredulous thing, because seriously? Ted? Laying his hands on her? Please. The situation doesn’t even compute it’s so outlandish. 

But these nurses don’t know Ted like she knows Ted, so she does not laugh.

She just shakes her head. “Oh, no. He — ” She points to Ted, who realizes he’s being spoken about and tunes back in. “ — didn’t do this,” she says, lifting a finger to her eye. 

Naturally Ted’s eyes widen, distress written clear across his face. “No, ‘course not,” he says quickly, his own head shaking. 

The nurses smile but don’t look entirely convinced.

She considers withholding the truth, if only because if these women know who she is — and there’s a good chance they do but are simply not acknowledging it — then they’ll know who Rupert is, and the odds of this getting out increase significantly. 

But then she realizes that she doesn’t give a fuck if tales of Rupert and his cruelty get out. 

“My ex-husband did this,” Rebecca says with a wry smile. “He got that,” she points to Ted again, instructing him to lift his hand in demonstration, “from punching my ex-husband in the eye for doing this.”

Understanding and sympathy cross the nurses faces, apologetic smiles offered in their direction. 

“We’re very sorry.”

She knows they’re not only apologizing for the misunderstanding.

—their trip to the hospital is fairly painless. 

Figuratively speaking, of course, because literally… there’s a decent amount of pain. 

Ted’s a trooper, though, diligently keeping calm and jovial throughout the whole process, doing his best not to show the discomfort on his face. She sees it when he doesn’t think she’s looking, when the nurses prod at his fingers and he blows out a breath a little too harshly through his nose.

But Ted, being Ted, is all smiles the second he’s taken care of and they’re cleared to leave.

On the way out of the hospital, Rebecca’s phone rings. She considers just ignoring it, letting it go to voicemail, but then remembers her hasty leave from the club; it could be something important.

It’s Keeley, which means it’s likely not dire business, but she still answers. 

“Keeley, what is it?”

She huffs. “What is it? Don’t be silly. Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she promises. “We’re just leaving the hospital.”

Rebecca has to pull the phone away from her ear, Keeley’s voice raising in volume. “I’m fine and hospital don’t belong in the same sentence.” 

“They do when I am fine.” 

“Is Ted okay?” she asks then, hushing the background noise that sounds suspiciously like a collective of familiar footballers. “Did he kill Rupert?”

She snorts. “If he killed Rupert, don’t you think he’d be in prison and not the hospital?”

“Not if he got like, really injured in the murder. They’d have to take him to the hospital if he was bleeding all over the place, yeah?” she says, and then gasps a little. “Please tell me Ted isn’t bleeding all over the place.”

Rebecca rolls her eyes but there’s a small smile on her face. “Please tell Keeley you’re not bleeding all over the place,” she muses, handing the phone to Ted. 

“Keels?” he greets, amused. Rebecca can hear her squealing in his ear. “There’s no bleedin’ on my end. Just a banged up hand. I uh—yes, that’s what I did.” She can’t hear the other end now, Keeley quieter, but his cheeks flush. Interesting. “Uh huh. Yes, I—I promise. I appreciate y’all carin’ to check in. Right,” he chuckles. “Love you too. All right then, here’s the boss.”

He hands the phone back over. 

“Satisfied?” she asks. 

Keeley hums. “With Ted, sure. Now how are you? This is—” Her voice gets farther away, and then Rebecca hears: “AYE, quiet. I can’t hear her. Sorry—this is a lot to deal with.”

“Are you all still in my office?” 

She can practically see her shrugging. “Maybe.” 

“Why?”

“They won’t leave,” she says, quieter. “They’re worried about you, babe.”

Rebecca blanches. “Worried about me? What the fuck for?”

“Uh, you ran out of here as soon as they found out that your ex-husband gave you a black eye?” 

Right. That. 

She sighs, though something affectionate and warm settles solidly in her gut at the fact that the boys are invested enough in her well-being to want to ensure she’s okay. She’s known, of course, in some capacity—that night at The Crown & Anchor was proof enough—but it’s still somewhat jarring. 

Ted catches the look on her face and reaches out with his good hand, encircling her wrist. “Everything okay?”

She nods. “Yes, just fine,” she says, offering a smile. “Keeley and the boys are still in my office, that’s all.” 

He can tell that’s not all, not really, but thankfully he doesn’t press. 

“Keeley, can you put me on speaker, please?” she asks, quiet.

“Sure.” There’s a soft click, and then: “Okay, they can hear you.”

Rebecca takes a breath. “Hello, boys,” she says, feeling a bit awkward speaking to them through the phone. 

There’s a cacophony of voices back, tinny through the phone, each of them offering variations on the way they ask if she’s okay, if everything’s all right, if the gaffer’s still alive, if he put Rupert in the ground. 

“Woah, okay, hey,” she cuts in, her head shaking. “Boys!” 

They quiet, a few echoes of, “Sorry, boss.”

“As I said when I left, I’m okay,” she starts, Ted’s fingers brushing her arm at her side. “Everything is just fine. Yes, your gaffer is alive and… mostly well.”

Ted laughs, leaning in to speak to the phone. “The boss is exaggeratin’ there,” he promises. “I’m good to go.”

“Yeah, to the bloody A&E,” she mutters, quiet enough that she doesn’t think the phone picks it up. He shakes his head. 

“Rupert is… he hopefully won’t be a problem anymore,” Rebecca says, louder for the phone. Before the boys jump in with what she assumes is coming, she clarifies: “No, he is not dead.”

There are a litany of grumbles at that and she has to press a hand to her mouth to stifle the laugh. 

“But you’re all right?” she hears, recognizing Isaac’s voice. “‘Cause we’ll still take ‘im out for you.” 

She lets out a light breath. “I’m all right,” she promises. “You boys go on and get back to training now. I don’t want to be responsible for Roy getting upset at you lot.” 

“Oi, fuck off.” 

Rebecca huffs. She hadn’t realized he was in the room, too, but she shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Roy, what are you doing there?”

“Joining the mob ready to put Rupert’s skull through a fucking wall.”

Her chest is tight. “I wouldn’t let Keeley, Ted, or the boys go to prison. What makes you think I’d let you?”

“You wouldn’t,” he says gruffly. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t do it anyway.”

“Listen to me. All of you. I… I appreciate the support, I do. I’m grateful for each of you, okay?” 

She hears a few mumbles of assent, shy acknowledgements, and Keeley’s, “They’re looking bashful as fuck over here, babe. It’s adorable.”  

“Good,” she chuckles. “One final time, both of us are okay. You don’t need to stake out my office anymore. All of you get back to training—that’s an order.”

Thankfully, she hears Roy barking out the same order, shooing the boys out of the office. There’s a gaggle of, “Glad you’re okay, boss!” and “He’s still on our hit list!” and “Tell the gaffer good fuckin’ job, mate!” on their way out, their voices far away. 

Roy is the one to take the phone, and she can tell she’s no longer on speaker. There’s no nonsense in his tone when he asks, “You’re sure you’re okay?”

She softens at the protectiveness in his voice, so very him. “I promise, Roy.”

“Good,” he grits out. 

“Thank you.”

“Yeah, well. I’ll kill him next time he comes near you.”

She laughs, though she doesn’t think he’s joking. “Go,” she tells him. “You have training to run.”

After she hangs up the phone, one last “take it easy, yeah?” from Keeley in her ear, Ted nudges her shoulder. She looks over to find him peering up at her, all tender-eyed and soft-cheeked. 

“What?”

“Those boys adore you, you know,” he says, mustache twitching with his smile. 

She turns to look forward, the two of them approaching her car on the sidewalk. She almost wants to deflect, to tell him that’s not what it is, but she knows he’s right. That somehow, at some point, these boys started to care about her. 

She wonders, idly, if it was about around the same time she started to care about them. 

So she simply smiles back, the corners of her eyes damp, and murmurs, “They’re good boys.”

A few minutes into the drive she notices out of the corner of her eye that Ted starts fidgeting. It’s nothing major, his hands don’t shake in a way that might tell her it’s a panic attack, but his leg bounces lightly and his fingers drum on his thigh. 

The closer they get to the club, the more aggressive the bounce of his leg gets, and she thinks she realizes what the problem is. 

Rather than ask him if he’s okay and have him toss that bright, appeasing smile at her, that I’m just peachy, boss she knows isn’t true right now, Rebecca switches tactics.

“You know,” she starts, slowing down for a red light. “I don’t think I really want to head back to work right now.” 

He looks at her, concern in his brow. “Is everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine, I just…” The light turns green and she starts moving. “I’m starving. How do you feel about late lunch and a day off?”

She chances a glance over at him just in time to watch his eyes light up before she has to pay attention to the road again. Fighting against the curl of her lips, her grip on the steering wheel tightens. 

“Rebecca Welton, are you suggesting we play hooky?” 

She smirks. “I suppose I am,” she says. “Are you in, Coach Lasso?”

“Am I ever,” he beams, cheeks bunching with it. Those goddamn dimples are going to be the death of her. 

His leg is no longer bouncing. 

They end up at Rebecca’s, opting to order takeaway rather than sit in somewhere. With her bruised face and Ted’s swollen hand, they decided they’d be too much of a spectacle. 

Rebecca suggests a local lunch cafe that she frequents at least once a week and he’s quick to go along with her choice. He’s never tried it before, but—

“I trust you,” he says, shrugging when she asks what he’d like, phone in her hand. “Go on and pick whatever you think is good.” 

The small show of easy trust in her, the belief that she knows him well enough to simply choose what she thinks he might like, settles neatly in her chest. She nods, smiling as she makes her way into the kitchen with instructions tossed over her shoulder for him to make himself comfortable in her living room. 

Their food is quick to arrive. Rebecca thanks the delivery driver at the door and then joins him in the room, one hand beneath the bag to ensure it doesn’t break.

“I know you enjoy your Secret Sandwich Switch-a-Roo with Coach Beard,” she starts, taking items out of the bag one by one. “This isn’t quite that, of course, but I thought we might share.”

“I’m good at sharing.”

“Right. Well, we have a caesar salad wrap,” she says, setting it onto the coffee table. “I don’t know how you feel about caesar salad, but this is my favorite thing from here.”

Ted’s eyes soften at that, pleased to be included in one of her favorite things. It’s only a wrap, sure, a small thing, but it’s one more thing he didn’t know about Rebecca that she’s sharing with him now. 

“How ‘bout that,” he says with a smile. “Caesar is my favorite genre of salad.”

Rebecca laughs. “That works out well for us then, huh?” she says. Pulling out another wrapped item, she places it beside the caesar. “I also got an Italian-style sandwich. I’ve not had this one, but there’s meat and cheese on here I figured you might enjoy.” 

“Is it ‘cause I’m American? The meat and cheese stereotype?”

“Is that an American stereotype?”

“I can’t be sure, but I think it might be,” he says with a shrug. “Though I do love meat and cheese, so on second thought I dunno how much of a stereotype it is.”

She rolls her eyes. “As long as you like it,” she decides. “I also got you an iced tea, because… I don’t know, it just felt like something you’d drink. And there are chips for us to share.”

“It all sounds great, boss,” he says. “Thank you.”

She waves a hand. “Oh, it’s just lunch.”

“No, not—” He pauses and Rebecca looks over, cocking her head. “I know you only asked if I wanted to play hooky ‘cause you could tell how anxious I was about headin’ back to the club. I don’t mind, of course, ‘cause gettin’ to spend more time with you is better than workin’,” he says. One corner of his mouth quirks as he adds on: “Don’t tell the boss I said that.”

A light, airy laugh slips past her lips. “Your secret’s safe with me,” she says quietly. 

“Much appreciated,” he smiles. “That and this. You didn’t hafta do it, but I appreciate that ya did. I just wasn’t ready to face all’uh the boys just yet.” 

“It’s the least I could do after you defended my honor,” she says, a gentle tease. She bumps her hip against his, the two of them sitting side-by-side on the couch. “Really, though, I… I didn’t only ask you to lunch because I saw that you were struggling. It was part of it, yes, but I wasn’t lying when I said I didn’t much want to go back either.” 

His brows raise. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, sliding his iced tea over. “So we’re doing each other a favor here.”

“By having lunch together.”

“Yes,” she says, easy. “Spending time with you is—it’s calming, Ted. I enjoy our time together. And I could use some of that energy.” 

His smile widens, a gentle thing stretching across his face. He reaches over and places his good hand over hers, squeezing her fingers. “I’m happy to share it,” he says. “And for what it’s worth, you do the same for me, Rebecca.”

Her eyes find his, searching. “That so?”

“Very so.”

A slow smile blooms on her lips, one so tender she tries to bite it down. 

Before she has a chance to reply her stomach grumbles, an embarrassingly loud rumble at the smell of the food. 

Ted hums. He squeezes her hand one more time before he lets go, moving to clap his hands before he thinks better of it and self-corrects. “Let’s get this food into your stomach then, how’s that?” 

She clears her throat, swallowing before she nods. “Sounds wonderful.”

They split the sandwich and the wrap, placing the fries in between them to share. Every so often Rebecca will reach over and take a sip of his iced tea, a delicate pink on her cheeks the first time she does it without thinking. 

But Ted just smiles, nodding his encouragement with a quiet, “like I said, I’m good at sharing.” 

Their fingers brush as they reach for a fry at the same time, the tip of his thumb dancing along her skin for a brief moment. They both freeze, a bit comically, both of them rushing out—

“Oh, sorry—”

“No, you go ‘head.” 

They glance at one another, chuckling; Ted pulls his hand back and gestures for her to take what she wants, and she bites down on a smile as she does. 

Rebecca tips her head and a fry in his direction, her lips curled into a smirk. 

If she feels the phantom dusting of his touch for the remainder of the meal, well, that’s for her to know.

After lunch, Ted stays and she changes out of her work clothes. 

He insists on taking their discarded trash into the kitchen for her while she’s upstairs putting on something more comfortable. She pads back downstairs in a pair of lounge pants and a cozy cardigan over a plain tank top. 

Ted is still in her kitchen and he ignores her protests when she finds him washing her dishes, none of which he even used; she shakes her head and makes her way back into the living room. When he returns she has her list of recorded Bake Off episodes up on the screen. 

“I’m a few episodes behind, if you’d like to…” 

“Heck yeah,” he accepts, settling back in beside her. There’s less space between them now but he doesn’t seem to be bothered by it, so she doesn’t say anything. She’s certainly not bothered. “I haven’t been keepin’ up, so it’ll be a first for the both of us.”

“Perfect.”

Rebecca has six episodes and they’re all over an hour long, so she doesn’t expect Ted to stay for them all—she doesn’t expect to watch them all right now anyway—but by the time they finish the second episode he’s still a comfortable presence beside her. 

She’s migrated even closer, leaning into his side with her legs tucked beneath her, and it’s pleasant. She’s mindful of his hand, the left one, and ensures she isn’t leaning against it; moving it out of the way, Ted places his hand low on her thigh, just above her knee. 

“This okay?” he asks.

Nodding, her voice is a little breathless when she says, “Just fine.”

Somewhere in the middle of their marathon Rebecca gets multiple texts from Keeley. There’s pinging after pinging, the messages coming in quick succession.

You haven’t come back to the club
I have it on good authority Ted also hasn’t come back to the club
That’s suspicious 👀🔎

Rebecca rolls her eyes, sucking in her cheeks to keep from smiling. She loves her friend, but the girl’s also insane. 

Are you two still together???
REBECCA
ARE YOU SHAGGING TED
For being fit as fuck and for defending your honor of course
Which actually makes him even hotter now that I’m thinking about it 

Her cheeks heat up and she flits her gaze to the man in question. Thankfully he’s focused on the television and the bake happening there. 

YOU ARE SO SHAGGING TED
Good for you babe you deserve it
You two have been eye-fucking each other long enough

She might’ve choked on the tea she just made if she’d been taking a sip, which would’ve been pretty unfortunate with Ted sitting right there. 

They have not been eye-fucking. 

Certainly not.

With her heart in her throat, she taps on the keyboard and responds to Keeley. 

I see you’re still concerned for our well-being

🙄
I know you’re both fine so we’ve moved onto more important things
Like your sexual well-being 

My sexual well-being is just fine, thank you 

You haven’t had anyone properly blow your back out in ages, babe
I’m just looking out for you 

Jesus Christ.

She can feel the tips of her ears burning. Once more she catches Ted out of the corners of her vision to ensure he’s not paying attention. The last thing she needs is him somehow reading these texts. 

I assure you it’s not necessary 

Wait
Rebecca
…

Rebecca watches the three little dots appear, disappear, and appear again. 

Are you texting me while you’re shagging Ted???
That’s hot 
Give me details 

Hands are a little busy
Have to run 

REBECCA WELTON
SERIOUSLY??

No, not seriously
We’re sitting very innocently on the couch watching Bake Off reruns

She does not tell Keeley that very innocently includes their bodies pressed up against each other, Ted’s palm burning a hole in her lounge pants, and her head dangerously close to lowering to rest on his shoulder. 

Cruel, so cruel
You should be though
A nice little thank you for his efforts today 

I’m putting my phone down now

Spoilsport
I love you 

I love you too

Good, prove it and go shag him for real 
😉🥵🍆💦

I no longer love you 

😛🤭🤗❤️💙

“Everything okay?”

Rebecca jolts a little, slamming her phone face-down on her lap as she turns to Ted. “Yes,” she says, shaking it off. “Keeley being… Keeley.”

Thankfully, he accepts this easily. “Ah, ‘course,” he says. “I don’t understand, but I understand, ya know.”

“Right,” she smiles, offering a small nod. Desperate to shake Keeley’s texts from her mind, she moves her phone to the coffee table and looks over at him. “How would you like some wine?”

“I’d love some.”

After another episode of Bake Off and a glass of wine each, their bellies are warm and bodies more relaxed. The sun’s setting now, lowering in the sky and cascading in through her windows with stunning golds and oranges. 

It’s easier than she might’ve expected, spending time with Ted like this.

It’s not as if they haven’t spent time alone together before. Of course they have. They’ve had lunches in her office and walks around the Dog Track to get their legs moving after a few hours of draining paperwork and dinners after long meetings at The Crown & Anchor. But it’s never been quite like this.

Intimate—alone in her home, slotted neatly on her couch with wine and light television. 

She finds that she likes it. She finds, less surprisingly than she might’ve thought, that she’d like to do it again. 

Rebecca can’t lie and say she’s never thought of Ted in a different way, in a not-strictly-friendly way. She’s not blind, she knows he’s attractive; his personality and how genuine he is only adds to that, as Keeley has so kindly pointed out, frustratingly putting her private brain thoughts into real words. 

She hasn’t acted on it, of course, not simply because she’s too scared to be rejected kindly (though, because she’s not blind, she has seen the way Ted looks at her, too—and maybe, just maybe, Keeley’s right about the eye-fucking) but because she doesn’t want to risk losing what they have now. This friendship, this camaraderie. 

The matter of being his boss is another wrench between them. 

But glancing over at him now, his face slack with a relaxed smile on his lips, she knows it’s only been fear holding her back. Not wanting to risk their friendship is valid, but being safe has gotten her nowhere. 

She doesn’t want to be safe anymore. She wants to take risks. 

Even small ones, baby steps in the right direction. 

Ted risked everything going to find Rupert today—risked getting arrested, risked his job, potentially risked his visa should charges have been pressed—and he didn’t blink. He did it without care for what it could’ve meant for him, all because he thought the outcome would be better for her.

If he can be brave, if he can go out and show just how much he feels for her, how much he’d risk to make sure she’s taken care of, she thinks she can do the same. 

His attention moves away from the television, perhaps feeling her eyes on him, and he rolls his head toward her. When he finds her looking his face softens, the edges of his lips pulling even higher; his eyes are dark in this lighting, only the two lamps on beside the couch, and she thinks they might fucking shimmer.

“Got somethin’ on my face?” 

Rebecca chuckles, delicate. “No, it’s perfect.”

His brows raise, just a little, the gentle surprise evident. His voice is soft when his gaze meets hers and he says, “Well, that’s mighty kind. Doesn’t hold a candle to that one though.”

Her forehead creases. “Hm?”

Ted’s smile brightens as he lifts his hand to her face. It’s just a brief touch along her cheekbone—enough to have her heart beating unsteadily beneath her skin, crackling along her edges—before he tucks a rogue curl behind her ear, fingers lingering in her hair for a beat. 

“Oh,” she exhales. 

“Now that?” he says, dropping his hand and shrugging. “If we’re talkin’ perfection, well, it’s right there.” 

Rebecca’s cheeks pink as she dips her head, an involuntary smile tugging at her lips. 

Shifting his position, he angles his body back toward the episode. It’s ending now, the credits rolling. 

“One more episode?”

“One more episode.”

This time, when she settles against him, her heart hammering so wildly she wonders if he can feel it too, Ted rests his left arm behind her on the top of the couch. Twenty minutes into the episode, it finds its way around her shoulders instead. 

She snuggles in closer before he has a chance to ask if it’s okay. 

It’s a while still before Ted actually leaves.

“Don’t forget to keep icing those knuckles,” she reminds him, the two hovering in her open doorway. “I’d hate for you to lose a finger on my behalf.”

Ted chuckles. “I’ll be keepin’ all my limbs, promise.” 

“Good. And you’re sure you don’t want some company on your walk?”

“‘Course I want your company,” he says, so easily her throat tightens. “But then I’d insist on walkin’ you home and we’d just get stuck in this endless loop of walkin’ each other home.” 

Rebecca smiles with a small shake of her head. “Fair enough.” 

They continue to stand there, lingering. Ted stands on her stoop and Rebecca hovers on the step, her hip popped against the doorframe. His good hand is tucked in his khaki pockets, the swollen, splinted one hanging near his side. 

“Ted, I…” she starts, swallowing around whatever she might’ve said and taking a breath. When she lifts her gaze back to his face, it’s open, eyes kind as they observe her patiently. “I knew long before now, but today’s really highlighted just how much, and I’m not sure if I’ve ever told you…” 

He takes a step closer to her. “What is it?”

“I’m thankful for you,” she says softly. “Very much. Your friendship, your presence in my life, the care and kindness you continue to show me. I just—I needed you to know.”

A slow smile creeps in, lighting his entire face. His dimples deepen in his cheeks and her eyes are drawn to them, those tiny divots that make him look like such a boy. 

“I know, boss. Rebecca,” he adjusts, his mustache twitching. He looks down as he reaches up and runs his fingers along it, the smile widening in the process. “It’s easy to extend kindness to someone so wonderful, ya know? You deserve all of it and more, I’m just doin’ what I can.”

Her breath hitches, lips parting. “You’re—trust me, you’re doing more than you know.”

She doesn’t tell him that his brand of kindness is still so foreign, so new, that until very recently she didn’t have people in her life to show her such compassion and easy care. She suspects he knows, if the flash in his eyes is any indication, but he simply nods, his smile transforming into something more gentle. 

“I’m real grateful for you, too,” Ted says quietly. “I’m not sure you really grasp just how much of an impact you have on the people around you, but let me tell ya, it ain’t somethin’ small.” 

Rebecca’s not sure what to say to that, can’t think, can’t hear anything beyond her heartbeat in her ears. So she says nothing.

Instead, she moves off of the ledge to join him on the stoop and steps into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. Her face tucks into his neck, palms flat at his back. He hugs her back easily, solidly, arms looping around her back and holding her tightly to his chest. 

She breathes him in, allowing her eyes to slip closed. 

His hand runs up and down her back, soothing. Ted doesn’t loosen his grip until she does, content to give her as long of a hug as she needs; she might’ve been embarrassed at some point, vibrating at showing such vulnerability, but she feels nothing but contentment here with him. 

When she finally does pull back, her cheeks are a light shade of pink and there’s a shy smile tugging at her lips. She lifts a hand to run through her hair as she takes one step back, putting some space between them. 

“What a way to end the night,” Ted muses gently. “You ever need another one of those you know where to find me.”

Rebecca lets out a light laugh. “I do. I’ll keep that in mind, thank you.” 

She’s not sure what possesses her—the charged air, the emotions she’s been fending off all day, the feelings swirling around her chest and taking root, the heat of the moment—but her gaze roams his face, assessing, and then she’s reaching to cup his cheek with her hand. 

His breathing stalls, eyes widening just so. 

Her thumb brushes back and forth along the arch of his cheek, a small smile gracing her lips, and then she’s leaning in to cover his mouth with her own. It’s gentle, chaste by all measures, but it lingers long enough for Ted’s hand to find her waist and hold there. 

She pulls back and pins her bottom lip between her teeth. 

“Wasn’t expectin’ that,” he exhales, dazed. 

Rebecca chuckles, a little nervously. “Me either, if I’m honest.” 

“Didn’t mind it, though.”

She peers up at him. “No?”

“No,” he repeats, his grip on her squeezing before his hand falls away. “You kiddin’ me? Quite the opposite if we’re goin’ for honesty right now.”

She glances down to her feet, her heart caught in her throat. She isn’t sure where to go from here; she’s not used to her brain lagging so far behind her actions and she’s trying to catch up.

Blessedly, Ted doesn’t seem to be having the same problem. 

“Rebecca?” She hums in question. “Is it okay if I kiss you again?”

Her eyes fly to his, surprised somehow, and all she can do is nod. 

Ted grins, pulling her closer by the hand on her waist and slanting his lips over hers. The kiss is just as tender as the one she’d given him, his mustache grazing her upper lip in a way that has her smiling against him, a small chuckle escaping.

“If you’re laughing at me that’s really gonna be a blow to the ego,” he huffs, his forehead resting against hers.

“Your mustache tickles.”

He laughs. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” she says, pressing another peck to his lips. “Different, not bad.”

Ted makes a pleased noise in the back of his throat. They pull away for good then, something shifted between them. They both feel it. They’re both also aware, however, of the fact that it’s been an abnormally long, emotionally draining day.

“So, I’ll… see you tomorrow?” 

She shoots him an amused smirk. “We do work at the same club, so yes, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Right, right. Yup, right you are,” he manages, reaching to rub at the back of his neck. He looks over at her with a smile so dopey and affectionate she thinks she might combust. “Bright and early for biscuits with the boss?”

Rebecca’s smile is soft. “I look forward to it, Ted.” 

“Me too.” His eyes don’t leave hers as he lifts a hand, fingertips just barely brushing along her bruised temple. “You remember to ice this one too, okay?”

She leans into the touch. “I will,” she whispers. 

“Okay,” he says then, his hand falling away and tucking back into his pocket. “Goodnight, Rebecca.”

Her head tilts on a small nod. “Goodnight, Ted.”

An hour later, Ted sends her a photo of his swollen hand, an ice pack neatly placed atop it. Already on the road to recovery, he types, a thumbs up emoji tacked on the end. 

Rebecca takes a selfie, her own ice pack held to the tender skin along her brow bone, and sends it in response. Me too.

How ‘bout we get there together? he asks. 

Smiling alone in her bed, she replies.

Together sounds nice 💜