Work Text:
Do you think the universe fights for souls to be together?
Some things are too strange and strong to be coincidences.
– Emery Allen
It’s quite a nice send-off, she thinks.
In the warm evening glow of the Crown and Anchor she nurses her third gin and tonic, the cool condensation from the glass a welcome relief from the flush that’s enveloped her body, settling high on her cheeks. She’s tucked herself into the corner of the pub that’s been filled to the brim, enthusiastic exchanges and raucous laughter bubbling up in conversations scattered across the room.
Ted’s sat in the center of it all, his pint glass balanced precariously on his knee as he animatedly recounts some anecdote of years past. Rebecca can’t help the fond smile that pulls at the corner of her lips at his antics, his impassioned recounting striking up something warm in her chest.
She’s kept an eye on him all evening, some invisible string inevitably pulling them back into each other's orbit when one strays a bit too far.
He’s enjoying himself, that much is evident, with the perpetual grin he’s had across his face as the night has passed by. Still, there’s been something drawn in his expression that’s she’s caught once or twice — in the fleeting moments she’s seen him looking towards her there’s been something different creeping in around the edges of his smile, settling in his gaze.
She feels it too — and despite her best efforts she’s had to resign herself to the background, the very notion of subscribing herself to more enthusiastic small talk on the eve of his departure making her head spin.
He’s doing the right thing.
In her very core she knows it’s true — that returning to Kansas is what’s best for Henry — is what’s best for him.
But still — she can’t help but feel as though her world has come crashing down around her.
Rebecca downs the rest of her drink in one sweeping gulp, the burn a welcome reprieve from her thoughts. Setting her glass on the countertop she starts making her way towards the door, weaving her way through the crowd of bodies pressing in around her. Immediately she can sense his gaze on her back, tracking her slow movement through the crowd. It’s when she tilts her head a bit to the side that she catches his eye, his body already half out of his chair, moving to meet her.
The evening air is a welcome relief to her skin, a soothing balm for the ache that seems to have encapsulated her form, her yearning for a different outcome physically paining her. She stops at the edge of the pavement, her gaze transfixed upon the Green, admiring the way that the inky evening has settled amongst the trees, drifting down through their branches and settling gently amongst the grass.
For a moment she just breathes, listening to the familiar cadence of Ted’s steps as he slowly makes his way towards her, Nikes scuffing across the ground. He pauses just beside her.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it, Ted?” She can’t beat back the melancholy that seeps into her tone, her words indicative of more than just the view.
Briefly his fingers skirt across the back of her hand, the touch, tentative, searching. Without thought she weaves her hand through his, her thumb skirting gentle circles on the inside of his wrist.
“I don’t think I’ve ever told you how proud I am of you,” she continues, refusing to meet his gaze. “How proud I am of what you’ve built here — of all that you’ve done.
“You’ve changed my life with this.” The words are quiet, yet sure. She smiles then, tilting her head back towards the pub, the conversation pouring out from the establishment indicative of joy — of a family. “But more importantly you’ve changed theirs.”
Only then does she allow herself to meet his gaze, an expression she can’t quite place painting his features. Ted hangs off her every word, his lips parting as he takes a grounding breath, prompting her to continue.
“I owe you so much,” she breathes, and the words unsaid hang at the end of her sentence, floating up towards the heavens.
The gentle squeeze he gives her hand is telling enough.
“Thank you for everything, boss.” The words rumble in Ted’s chest, quiet, intimate — meant just for her.
“I mean it, Rebecca,” he continues, and the use of her name feels like some sort of a bookend on this chapter of her life–
Like the end of a story that’s barely begun.
“Thank you — for everything.”
The hug he pulls her in for is impossibly tight, her fingers finding the small curl of hair at the nape of his neck. The shuddering breath he takes doesn’t catch her by surprise, but the hand that finds the back of her head does, his touch grounding and impossibly tender.
The moment is fleeting, their final moments together drawing to a close and she wills herself to take a deep breath, drawing in the gentle remnants of his aftershave, his cologne, his shampoo, of anything to ground herself in the present.
She crosses her fingers, closes her eyes, and with everything in her she wills time not to pass — to let her have him for a moment longer.
She’d stay wrapped in his embrace forever, if she could.
When he eventually pulls away her breath catches in her throat, her desperation strangling her from the inside out.
With a moment of hesitation Rebecca presses her lips to his cheek, his skin warm where she cradles his jaw. He turns his face into her open palm, his eyes drifting closed as he lets out a long breath, seemingly entranced by her touch.
Gingerly her fingers find the lipstick she’s left behind, the color painting his skin which she brushes away. He catches her hand before she’s able to pull away, fingers draped over hers as he tenderly presses his lips to the inside of her wrist. Her breath catches in her throat as he lets her hand fall; she weaves her fingers through his once more.
“Go,” she instructs, giving his outstretched hand a firm squeeze. “Be with your boy.”
From his sharp intake of breath and resolute nod she can tell it’s what he needed to hear; her blessing unnecessary yet desired all the same.
“Be well, Rebecca.” She can’t help but hear the slight rasp in his voice. She offers his hand a parting squeeze, a dip of her chin acknowledging his well wishes, and then he’s gone, cramming his hands in his pockets and shifting away.
She watches as he slowly ambles down Paved Court, willing him to turn — to offer her one last parting glance.
He doesn’t.
She doesn’t know quite how long she stands there, resting in the warm glow of the streetlamps as she contemplates exactly what to do next. She breathes out a sigh as the door opens behind her, the sound from the pub becoming almost unbearably loud before it’s muted again.
She grounds herself as the sound of heels click across the pavement behind her, her lips pulling up at the corner at Keeley’s approach.
“Babe, what're you doing out here by yourself?” she questions, her hand wrapping around her bicep and giving it a comforting squeeze. “Where’s Ted run off to?”
Rebecca takes a deep breath, her eyes glancing up towards the stars littering the cloudless sky, the depth of the heavens making her feel suddenly insignificant, reminding her of the wide expanse of the earth. She smiles then, her eyes falling shut as she soaks in the evening, feeling the way her chest expands — how the night fills her lungs.
It all becomes startingly simple then.
“Home.”
—
Ted Lasso returns to his son and takes a piece of her heart with him.
It feels as though her world has come to a standstill — like even the universe is holding its breath in rapt anticipation, the fabric of fate itself loosening at the seams.
Even so, life goes on.
—
Manhattan, New York, USA
Seven years later…
Rebecca Welton had never wanted to flee a charity gala more.
She’d been to plenty of horrid events in the past, certainly; but there was something about this evening that had her practically sprinting toward the exit.
“Yes, Richard,” she interrupts, the American club owner who had been chatting her ear off all evening snapping his mouth shut. “You’ve made your point abundantly clear.”
She shrugs off his touch, creating a gap between them as she downs her champagne, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste it leaves on her tongue.
“But Rebecca it would be a fantastic financial investment; I’m telling you, the Premier League doesn’t don’t know what they’re missing!”
“Noted,” she replies coolly. “If you’ll excuse me.”
It’s easy enough to collect her things from coat check, securing her clutch and sliding her arms through her coat. She heaves a sigh as she makes her way into the hotel’s lobby, the extravagant space dripping in ornate silver and gold decorations, an excessively large Christmas tree standing in the middle.
Every bit of her wants to take the lift up to her room, to tuck in early when she feels it — some sort of peculiar thrum dusting over her hand and pulling her towards the door.
She doesn't know why but she’s inclined to give in to the sudden impulse, pausing for a brief moment as she follows the curious urge to head towards the doors.
She nods politely to the doorman that ushers her out into the brisk New York evening, pulling the collar of her coat more firmly to her neck the moment she steps outside, a shiver wracking its way up her spine. The deep breath she pulls in sits heavily in her lungs, and she relishes in the burn she gets on her exhale, the plume billowing before her indicative of just how low the temperature seems to have dropped.
Sighing, makes her way down the front steps of The Plaza, tucking her clutch under her arm before rubbing her hands together in a futile attempt to generate warmth. In her haste she slips slightly when she makes it to the pavement, the salt that’s been scattered to stave off any impending ice grinding under the ball of her stiletto.
She tuts suddenly, coming to her senses, completely bewildered by her sudden affinity to freeze on the street corner. She’s moving to return to the warmth of the hotel when it happens.
The blare of a horn from her right startles her, and she turns briefly, just long enough to catch sight of a taxi driver gesturing wildly to a gaggle of bewildered tourists before she connects solidly with someone else. She’s only just able to register their startled oof over the sound of her panicked gasp as she’s thrown off-kilter, arms waving nonsensically as she fights to find traction on the slick ground.
She fails miserably.
Rebecca’s tumbling forward, the pavement rushing up to meet her and with sudden clarity she realizes that this is it — that she’s going to meet her end on some grimy, gum-covered Manhattan throughway with a stomach full of subpar champagne — when a grounding hand wraps around her bicep and hauls her upward, saving her from certain catastrophe.
“Oh boy,” the man starts, “Y’alright?”
And she is, really — except she’s suddenly gone lightheaded at the familiar voice of her savior, his accent just as jarring as when he’d walked into her office ten years ago.
She can hardly believe it, but the moment she shifts in his arms and their eyes meet she realizes he’s real; that this isn’t some fantasy she’s conjured up but rather some serendipitous encounter she hadn’t realized she’s been yearning for.
“Ted Lasso,” she breathes, failing to keep the awe out of her voice. “My God.”
His jaw’s gone slack and for the first time in his life he seems at a loss for words, and she’s not much better off because honestly — what are the odds?
“Rebecca?” he gasps, and fucking hell her heart still skips a beat at the reverence in his tone when he says her name, his lilt cascading over the syllables like southern honey.
She’s moving before she can stop herself, pulling him into an embrace that’s impossibly tight, his arms wrapping around her and squeezing with just as much fervor. Around them the bustle of the city seems to fade away, melting into oblivion as she relaxes into his arms; she lets out an exhale that seems to emulate from her chest, yet she can sense the way its resounding echo is carried through the breeze, some sort of entity seemingly breathing out in tandem with her, releasing its hold.
She lets her hand drift up to the back of his neck just briefly, her touch reverent and light as she settles into his hold. It’s then that his grip becomes almost unbearably tight, his arms around her as grounding and solid as the last time they’d embraced, except this time it feels different.
It feels like coming home.
A laugh bubbles from her lips as she releases him, taking a moment to properly look at him — to soak it all in.
She can’t help but run a tender thumb over the lines that have cropped up beside his eyes before smoothing down the hair at his temple, the once dark strands now intermixed with gray. A smile tugs at the corner of her lips as he leans into her touch.
“As I live and breathe,” he murmurs, and it seems as though Ted can’t help but return her grin, shaking his head fondly. “What the heck are you doin’ on this side of the Pond?”
“I could almost say the same for you,” she returns, shaking her head. “You're quite a ways from Kansas, Ted.”
He laughs in what she assumes is disbelief, and she can’t help but admire the way the skin around his eyes crinkle.
“I’m out here for Henry’s winter recital — he’s a freshman in the music program at NYU,” he tells her proudly, and she doesn’t miss the way his eyes light up at the mention of his son.
“He played at Carnegie Hall tonight, if you can believe it,” he grins, tucking his hands into the warm safety of his trouser pockets before rocking up on his heels. “I’m pretty sure he’s gonna have a solo by springtime, and that’s not the dad in me talkin’. He’d sell himself short, but my God, Rebecca — he’s a gosh darn maestro.”
“I don’t doubt it,” she replies. “He’s a Lasso.”
Ted ducks his head briefly and Rebecca isn’t surprised to see the subtle flush painting the tops of his cheeks at her praise.
“What about you?” he questions. “Looks like you’ve got some sort’a fancy event goin’ on.”
“Oh, this?” she laughs, smoothing a hand over her coat and glancing down towards the fullness of her gown. “I was just fleeing a charity gala, I’m afraid. Too many pompous, arrogant arseholes in one room.”
“Yeesh.” Ted grimaces in sympathy. “Tough crowd.”
She waves a dismissive hand. “Such is the company you keep owning a football club. The hors d'oeuvres could’ve been better though.”
That pulls a hearty laugh from him, his breath billowing out in the space between them before beginning its lazy accent upwards.
“Well, I know you’re bailin’ on the gala and all — but what’re you up to tonight?”
She pauses at the question, drawing her lip between her teeth as she glances back towards the bustling doors of The Plaza; to be completely honest she’s not entirely sure.
“I was just popping out for a bit of air, really… I haven’t quite made it that far.”
The blare of multiple horns pulls their attention, slicing through their reverie and tossing them back into the bustle of Manhattan.
All at once she’s reminded that they’re stood on the pavement thousands of miles from either of their homes; that as she plummeted to her certain doom Ted Lasso was inevitably the one to save her from herself — unexpected yet remarkably right on time.
She can’t help but be reminded of the first time he’d metaphorically knocked her off her feet all those years ago.
As she turns back she catches him studying her profile, something she can’t quite decipher reflecting in his eyes. It’s soft, maybe — hopeful even. His voice is gentle when he addresses her.
“It looks like you and I are all dressed up with nowhere to go.”
She quirks an eyebrow playfully. “Are you suggesting a night out on the town, Ted?”
“Yeah,” he grins, scuffing his shoe across the pavement, the sound rough. “I guess I am.”
She lets out a bemused laugh before nodding. “Where should we head first, then?”
“I dunno,” he starts. “I was thinkin’ you could take the lead, if you’d like.”
“Oh?”
He hums, his expression so open and earnest it makes her heart ache. “But I was hopin’ you’d be amenable to picking up where we left off.”
Something shifts into place inside her — some longing desire that she’d pressed down for years finally settling comfortably in her chest, its warmth encapsulating her form. Her breath catches in her throat as she reaches for his hand, allowing herself to weave her fingers through his.
She feels it then, that same pull she’d felt in the lobby — a gentle tug lapping along the edge of her pinky before weaving itself around their woven digits, firmly securing her hold in his.
“Whaddya say, boss?” he breathes, and the appellation falls from his lips like an endearment. “Wanna get the heck out of Dodge?”
It feels symbolic — the two of them stood outside a gala, on the precipice of something else — something more.
It feels like a second chance.
“I’d like nothing more.”
There’s a beat of silence before a magnificent grin breaks across his face, his joy encapsulating his form.
“Alright then,” he starts, his voice low and rumbling as he loops his elbow and extends it for her to take. “Lead the way.”
She sets the pace, slow and leisurely as they cross West 59th Street and enter Central Park.
The pathways around the pond are bustling, filled comfortably with tourists and residents alike admiring the festive lights scattered about the open space. The path before them is illuminated warmly by the streetlamps, the impressive skyscrapers beyond casting a low glow that permeates the inky darkness of the evening.
There are carolers tucked into a quaint nook near the bridge, the lyrics of old Christmas hymns sweeping gently through the air. They pause briefly at a roasted nut stall, the sweet smell of sugar and spices promising a delectable treat. She holds out the bag in offering to Ted who takes a few, offering his thanks in return.
“You know I’ve always wanted to come to New York at Christmas Time,” she admits, leaning more against his side, her gaze affixed upon the carolers. “As a little girl it was my dream to see all of the shop windows on 5th — to skate in the park.”
He hums in interest, his arm tightening around hers as they continue their stroll, urging her to continue.
“It’s just — there’s something so magical about it, really. You feel as though anything’s possible.”
Ted chuckles, ducking his head briefly before turning to face her, a soft smile gracing his lips.
“Y’know, I’m startin’ to feel the same way myself.”
She’s about to take them around the bend, loop around the pond when Ted’s fingers weave through her own, pulling her the opposite direction.
“Ted,” she starts, befuddled. “Where are we going?”
“C’mon,” he grins, tugging lightly on her hand. “The rink’s this way.”
Wollman Rink is just as majestic as she’d always imagined, a fantastic stretch of ice nestled among the trees, resting along the backdrop of the brilliant Manhattan skyline. It’s busy, but not overwhelmingly so, looking every bit the quintessential New York destination she recalls from the films she watched growing up.
It’s utterly perfect.
“You’ll be alright in your dress, right?” Ted asks. “Probably should’a thought this through a bit more.”
She tugs gently at the bottom of her dress, inspecting the way the hem falls at the middle of her calf. Twisting deftly from side to side she admires the way the tule swishes together, creating a beautiful, flowing silhouette.
“I suppose we’ll find out.”
Lacing up her skates is simple enough, and by the time she’s gained her footing she spots Ted standing by the edge of the rink, his hesitant gaze affixed upon the ice.
“Are those tight enough?” she questions, tapping his skates with the side of her blade, holding back a breathy chuckle at the sight of what must be a triple knot securing his laces.
“Well, I’d hope so,” he replies, giving them a quick glance. “I’m losin’ feeling in my dang toes.”
Rebecca grimaces. “Would you like some help?”
“Nah, I’m alright — don’t want them goin’ nowhere,” he breathes, hands tightening on the railing as he peers over the ledge. “I appreciate you though.”
Rebecca moves to the side to let a family pass by, their daughter eagerly pulling her parents towards the rink. Turning back, she catches Ted with a pensive look on his face, his lip caught between his teeth.
It dawns on her then.
“Ted, are you nervous?”
“No.” His reply is so immediate and tinged with a hint of petulance that she can’t help the laugh that bursts forth from her belly, bright and airy. Ted’s cheeks flush.
“It’s just — I’m not the best at skating.”
“What, they don’t have skating in Kansas?” she teases.
“Oh, they do,” he assures her, breathing deeply. “It’s just me and the ice aren’t friends, s’all.”
“It’s alright,” she soothes, expertly stepping out onto the rink and extending her hand out for him to take. “I’ve got you.”
He latches onto her with both hands, precariously wobbling the second both skates are on the ice.
“Bend your knees,” she instructs, starting to slowly pull him along. His eyes widen almost comically when they slide over a crevice in the ice, jostling them the slightest amount. She lets out a breathy laugh but tightens her grip regardless, moving to face him, easily skating backwards.
He grabs on to both of her hands with renewed vigor, exaggeratedly bending his knees and letting her pull him along.
“How the heck are you–” he cuts off with a panicked gasp, leaning precariously to the side as he dodges a child that flies by their slow-going procession. “How’re you so good at this?”
“Lessons,” she replies easily, glancing over her shoulder as she continues to weave her feet back and forth. “My mum had me in figure skating courses all the way through primary school.”
“Well thank God for Deborah, then,” he gasps, fighting to keep his footing. “Otherwise we’d be toast.”
“I don’t think we’re out of the woods, yet,” she reminds him, a small smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth. Ted hisses when he slips slightly, grabbing firmly at her forearm in his panic.
“Not too far from the wall.”
It takes a couple of laps before Ted’s able to release his death-grip on her, allowing her to slot more comfortably by his side. They continue their leisurely pace, keeping close enough to the side that he can grab ahold of the wall for balance should he need it. Through it all Ted never lets go of her hand, and the solidness of the appendage in hers causes something warm to settle within her gut.
“Why were you so keen to come skating when you knew you wouldn’t enjoy it?” she questions as they round the bend, stealing a glance at him.
“Who says I’m not enjoyin’ myself?” He smiles, and for a moment she’s breathless at the way the Christmas lights above them illuminate his face, something twinkling in his eye. He shrugs a careless shoulder.
“It’s not just about me,” he replies easily. “You wanted to go — that made my answer easy as pie.”
And quite honestly? Rebecca’s never felt more loved.
They’re moving a bit faster now, Ted seemingly building confidence in his ability evident in the way he stands up a bit straighter, relinquishing his ironclad grip on her hand. She skates ahead freely, allowing herself to get in a spin or two before, relishing in the way her dress billows.
Turning back she’s met with the sight of Ted grinning from ear to ear; she can’t help the fondness that seeps through her at the way he’s got his arms outstretched, wobbling his way towards her with all he has.
It’s quite adorable, she thinks, his commitment — unfortunately it’s not enough to keep him upright.
He yelps as he loses traction, his arms flapping wildly as he fights vainly to keep his balance. Rebecca can only watch as his legs kick out in front of him, his backside landing on the ice with a solid thud.
Momentarily she’s worried he’s hurt himself, that he might need help — but when he lets out a hearty laugh, bracing his hands on his thighs, she’s able to relax.
“Are you alright?” she calls, a hand coming up to smother her giggle.
“Yeah!” he calls back, sheepishly. “Might needs some help gettin’ back up, though.”
She weaves through the throes of other skaters with ease, coming to a controlled stop just in front of him. She offers a hand which he takes, and Ted fights to find his footing again as he moves to his knees before testing out standing.
“You’ve got it,” she coaches, bracing her other arm under his armpit as he bobs, his legs shuffling precariously.
Rebecca has just a moment of foresight that he’s going to slip again before he does, his legs kicking out haphazardly and pulling her down with him. She lets out a startled gasp as she connects solidly with his chest, her fingers locking around a fistful of his shirt as they move through the air, seeking any semblance of control.
The ice is just as unforgiving the second time around, and Ted lands flat on his back, this time with Rebecca plastered across his front.
For a moment she just breathes, watching her breath materialize in short puffs before her. It’s then that she realizes she’s resting her head across the wide expanse of his chest, his hand arm wrapped around her shoulder blades, holding her body to his.
Slowly she lifts her head to find him staring up at her, his face mere centimeters from hers.
“I think that’s enough for now,” she breathes, and she can't help but watch as his tongue darts out to wet his lips, his gaze transfixed on her own.
“Yeah,” he agrees, his words no louder than a whisper. “You might be right.”
By the time she’s able to guide him off the ice and return their skates, a light flurry of snow has begun descending from above. Somehow the walking path is quiet, a rarity for any city, and she takes a moment to study his profile as they make their way back towards her hotel. In the warm glow of the streetlamp she can see how the cold has tinged his cheeks and the tip of his nose pink, and she fights the urge to brush the back of her hand across his face.
It's then she realizes there’s nothing stopping her anymore.
Lightly she trails the back of her fingers across his cheek; when his only response is to swallow, his gaze downtrodden, she can’t help but round him, cupping his jaw in her palm.
“Ted?” she questions, thumb sweeping over his chin.
"I had to leave, you know?"
The words she’d assumed would remain unspoken hang heavily in the air, stealing the breath from her lungs. His voice is quiet, hesitant — she can sense the emotion creeping in around the edges of his admission, strangling his words.
"Of course I do," she whispers.
He nods, taking a shaky, stilted breath, his lips pulling back into a reluctant grimace.
"Y'know I'm still sorry for the way I left… It's just–" He cuts himself off with a harsh sigh, raking a clawed hand through his hair.
"There's so much I wanted to say to you — so much I couldn't."
"I know, darling, I–"
She stops herself short when he finally lifts his head to meet her gaze, a glistening of tears reflecting in his eyes. When one falls unbidden she stalls it's decent with the crook of her finger. His pained smile tells her all she needs to know.
"I loved you," he admits, and from the way his body all but collapses in on itself she can tell a significant burden has been lifted off his shoulders; one he's carried for far too long.
"I loved you, Rebecca — and I still do."
There’s a beat of silence as the weight of his admission sinks in. She swallows thickly, her thumb coming to pull tenderly at the corner of his mouth before she’s moving, pressing her lips to his with such reverence she fears she might break — might collapse under substantial shift that has permeated the rest of her days.
She swallows his gasp, tongue moving slowly against his as her hands start exploring the expanse of his chest, wrapping around the back of his neck before scratching gently at his scalp. When his hands find her hips, firmly pulling her body flush against his she can’t help the sigh that escapes her, leaning into his embrace.
Their pace is unhurried and painfully tender as they make up for all the time gone by — not time missed, she decides, no.
Simply time gone by.
Breathlessly she pulls back, a small gasp falling from her lips.
“Ted?” she breathes, eyes still closed.
He hums, resting his forehead against hers. “Yeah, darlin’?”
“Do you believe in fate?”
He ponders that for a moment.
“Y’know, I didn’t before,” he replies, pressing his lips gently against hers.
“But I'm startin’ to.”