Work Text:
Ted's silent for a long while.
“Ted?”
“Well,” he chuckles. “I ain't got a headache, but the contents of my medicine cabinet are lookin’ real appetizin’ right about now.”
A choked noise comes from Beard's mouth. He's at the door before he realizes, kicking on mismatching shoes in his haste.
“Ted. Have you taken anything?”
Ted shakes his head before realizing Beard can't see him.
“No, sir.”
“Good. Good. You in the bathroom?” Beard asks, needlessly, because he can hear the faint echoing of Ted's voice over the phone. He doesn't bother to lock the door behind him. There's not much besides his books and his axes, and Ted needs his help. Fear threatens to freeze his arms and legs as he heads towards Ted's flat.
“Yeah.”
“Wanna go sit on the couch for a sec until I get there?” he asks, breathless, as he runs as fast as his legs will let him to Ted's, the familiar path feeling sickening now.
Ted lets out another little laugh. “Sure,” he says flatly, but there's no sound of movement.
“Just hold on, Ted, alright? Hold on, I'm almost there.”
Beard’s breath is coming shorter, not just from the running. This has happened a handful of times over the years. Mentally, Beard kicks himself. He should have been keeping a closer eye on him - especially after Rebecca's confession, after the relegation, after Jamie - and especially after Roy had stomped into the office last week.
“Oi,” he’d snapped, gruff voice tinged with…something else. “Your best friend always trying to walk into fucking traffic, or only when he's plastered?”
Beard had stared at him over his book.
“Last night?” he finally asked.
Roy tipped his head in half a nod.
Beard’s jaw had clenched, self hatred slamming through him. He'd yelled at Ted, hadn't he? Called him selfish and left him to drink alone…Jesus, he's a terrible, terrible excuse for a friend.
“I'll take care of it. Thank you.”
He hadn't. He'd let himself laugh at Ted's distracted jokes, let his hollow gestures slide, let Jane distract him from everything else in his life.
Beard shakes his head. Dwelling on it won't help Ted now.
“You still there, Coach?”
“Mhm,” Ted says distantly. “Love you, Beardo. Thanks for…for coming.” His voice slurs a little at the end.
“Don't be an idiot. Of course I'm coming. You still haven't taken anything, right?”
Ted sniffles wetly into the phone. “No. Scout’s honour,” he finally says, just as Beard thinks he might have a heart attack at the lack of response.
“I'm by the pub now. I'm coming. Don't do anything rash, Ted.”
Beard almost drops his keys with how hard his hands are shaking, his neck protesting the awkward angle as he squeezes the phone between his shoulder and ear.
The door finally bursts open, and it slams behind him as he sprints to the bathroom, ignoring the twinge in his knees as he collapses in front of Ted.
“Shit, Ted, shit. Shit.” He takes in the bottle of whiskey next to him, takes in Ted's shaking shoulders, how he's raked his fingernails along the length of his forearms so hard there's angry welts covering his skin.
“Fuck.” He grabs Ted's face roughly. His skin is splotchy and red, and tears leak freely from glassy eyes. Beard shakes him. “Ted. I'm here. I'm here. It's alright.”
Ted's lips turn up into a twisted smile. “You're like the mailman. Can always count on you, Beardo,” he rasps, before tipping his head back against the wall.
Beard stares at him, heart pounding out of his chest, before his eyes slide down to the neat line of little cardboard boxes and vials on the bathroom rug. The medications are arranged alphabetically, and Beard wants to vomit.
He hurls them all to the other end of the bathroom as hard as he can.
Beard shakes Ted's shoulder urgently, knocking his head against the wall, but that's the last thing he's worried about right now. “Jesus Christ, Ted. Fucking look at me right now. Have. You. Taken. Anything.”
Ted chuckles, his eyes meeting Beard's before they drift away again. “Now why would I do such a thing? You really are a weirdo, Beardo.”
“Because you're fucking suicidal, Ted, fucking answer me.” He shakes Ted again.
“That you and your dirty mouth, Roy?”
“It's not funny.”
The sharpness of his tone wipes the twisted smile off Ted’s face as he looks at a spot past Beard’s ear. “My dad,” he says quietly, after a moment. “My dad, he killed himself when I was sixteen.”
Beard's pieced that much together over the years, at least. He's silent. What does he even say to that?
“I thought as much,” he finally settles on.
“He shot himself. I was in the house, but he didn't know. Maybe if I'd…called out to him when I went inside. Maybe he wouldn't have done it.”
“Ted…”
“I found him, you know.” Ted laughs again, flat and empty. “Obviously. I called 911, even though he was clearly…” he swallows. “Didja know there’re people who clean up crime scenes and such? Never knew that was a possible career. They cleaned it all up. But we moved, me and my mom, a couple weeks after the funeral.”
“Fuck, Ted. Jesus. I'm so sorry.”
“I didn't even go to the funeral. Still don't know if I regret that or not.”
Beard's hand slides down to grip Ted's. “I'm sorry,” he says again.
“Ain't your fault. It's his fault. Most selfish fucking thing you could do.” Ted's eyes squeeze shut. “But it's my fault too, you know.”
“That's not true. You gotta know that.”
“It is.” Ted sighs a little, softly. “I never…never talked to him anymore, you know? Only wanted to hang out with my friends. Maybe if I'd just…”
“You were a darn kid, Ted. You were a kid.”
“Still.”
Beard shakes his head. They're getting distracted.
“Ted.” He forces Ted's chin up to look at his eyes. “Did you take anything?”
“I…no. Not - no.”
“Not what?”
“Not really. Just uh. Just Tylenol,” he mumbles. “Maybe Advil too,” he adds after a second, barely audible.
Beard grits his teeth. “How much?” Ted just looks at his hands. “Ted,” he says sharply. “How much did you fucking take?”
“Two? Maybe three.” He stares at the baseboards. “Or four. And those muscle relaxants for my back,” Ted whispers. “Was hurtin’.”
“Your goddamn liver, Ted.” His voice cracks as he pulls his phone from his pocket. “I'm calling an ambulance.”
“No,” Ted's eyes widen, and he grabs Beard’s hand, looking more alert than he has all night. “No, I don't need it, Beard.”
“Yes, you do. Alcohol and drugs? Not a good combo. I'd know.”
Ted's brow furrows. “I'll drink some water.”
“No.” He unlocks the phone.
“Don't wanna…don't wanna pay, we -” Ted protests weakly.
“It's free here, you goddamn…” he trails off, shaking his head. “Ambulance,” he says into the phone.
Ted closes his eyes, and half-listens to Beard rattle off his information and address.
It’s a blur after that. Paramedics crowd his bathroom, attaching things to him and asking Beard to collect all the meds he'd chucked against the wall, just in case. He assures them that he's fine, but they tell him in placating tones that they're just gonna get him checked out.
He sits in the back of the ambulance. They race to the hospital, sirens wailing, and everyone only nods and smiles tightly when Ted says they don't have to make such a big ol’ fuss over him.
Beard sticks by his side the whole time they take blood and ask the basic questions. He doesn't say much, but it's not the mutual quiet they've come to know. Beard is tense and stony-faced, and Ted stares at his Nikes until the doctor calls him in for an assessment.
“Mr. Lasso.”
“Ted.”
“Ted. I'm glad to say that your blood and urine came back alright.”
“See, that's what I told all those nice paramedics.”
The doctor half-smiles, but it's more like pressing her lips into a crooked line. “Ted. It seems like you've been having a bit of a tough time lately. I think it might be helpful if you stayed here for a little bit, so we can figure out the best way to go forward.”
“I…Doc, I don't think that's necessary.”
She eyes him, making a note in her notebook.
They tell him to sit on a chair in a side room while the doctor goes off to do something or other. Ted fiddles with the plastic bracelet on his wrist. Beard jiggles his foot.
“Ted,” he finally says, and Ted’s head shoots up, alarmed at the pain evident in Beard’s voice, and his eyes widen at the sight of tears on his cheeks.
“Hey. Beardo. Don't you cry, I'm -”
“Please stay here and let them look after you,” Beard chokes out. “Please. I can't lose you, I can't. None of us can.”
“I'm alright, the doc said -”
“Please,” Beard begs, and Ted's stunned. He's never heard Beard like this, not even when he'd been at rock bottom. “Ted, you need help. You can't keep going like this. It coulda ended real bad tonight.” He grips Ted's knee tight, bordering on painful.
“Beard…”
“Please,” Beard says again. “I'm begging you, alright? I'm begging you. I don't want you to hurt yourself, the team doesn't, Nate and Rebecca and Leslie and Keeley and…and you can't do this to -”
“Don't.” Ted's voice is harsh.
Beard knows it's a low blow. He knows.
“You can't do this to Henry. You know exactly how much it would hurt him.”
“Fuck you, Beard.” His voice shakes. “How dare you.”
“I don't care. Please, Ted. I just want you to be okay. That's what Henry would want, you know that -”
But that's when Ted bursts into silent tears, crumpling into himself, hands pressed over his mouth, keeping his sobs in with all his might.
He shakes and shakes and cries and cries, and Beard wraps an arm around his shoulders and cries with him, and it feels wrong but it feels right at the same time. Crying just isn't something they do in front of each other, but Beard knows that’s part of how this all came to pass in the first place.
“Okay,” Ted finally croaks out between shuddering, gasping breaths. “Okay.”