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People tend to assume things about his gender. It's a hazard, Ted thinks, of working in a field well known for macho Alpha-male types. Given how generally unassuming he is, how affable, people tend to assume that he’s a beta. He lets them. He’s been on suppressants and scent blockers so long that he’s not even sure what he smells like anymore. He wonders sometimes, what it would be like to give in to those soft little urges, but then someone will say something that reminds Ted exactly what kind of career he decided on. He loves it though, wouldn’t give it up for anything.
So yes, Ted lets people assume. Has since he first presented and his Mama pressed a pill bottle of suppressants into his hand.
Beard knows. Ted’s not quite sure how. But back in college, when Ted ran out of his suppressant prescription, and couldn’t get back to the doctor, and he’s frantic and scared, Beard gives him a hug and quietly hands him a pill bottle. Ted doesn’t ask where he got it, but he’s never forgotten it.
And then years pass, and there’s Michelle, and Henry and Michelle and England.
And without really knowing the reason, he’s walking into a locker room that’s so thick with Alpha pheromones that even he can smell it, coating the inside of his mouth.
“Ok Coach?”
“Hm.” Ted rubs his nose, just trying to get a break from the overwhelming smell. “Smells like potential.” He can handle the press, he can handle them thinking that he’s stupid, can handle making a complete fool of himself, but the smell in the room has him nearly tearing up.
“More like Axe body spray.”
Ted closes his eyes, like that would help his stinging nose. “Think they call it something different here.”
Beard wanders away, and Ted hates the part of himself that screams in alarm when Beard isn’t in his immediate radius, needing safety around so much unknown.
“Bingo.” Ted looks at him, brandishing a can of unmistakably Axe-like spray. “Lynx.”
“It’s certainly,” Ted sniffs, rubbing his nose again, “strong.”
“Smell bothering you Coach?”
“Just need to get used to it.” Ted shakes his head, smiling ruefully.
Beard hums, looking around them quickly before pulling him into a hug. Ted puts his face into Beard’s neck and just breathes for a moment. Beard doesn’t have a strong scent, but Ted likes it all the same. Like green tea and the smell of rain, like home.
Beard mirrors the motion, and even though Ted barely smells like anything, the gesture loosens the tight knot of anxiety in his chest a little, enough that Ted can focus.
Ted wiggles, and Beard lets him go, watching him with pursed lips.
“Don’t make that face. I’m good, s’all good.” Ted puts his hand straight over Beard’s face.
“Okay.” It’s muffled by Ted’s palm. Even muffled, it sounds like Beard doesn’t believe him.
They hear the players before they see them, with enough time that they don’t look quite as immediately ridiculous when the players flood into the room. With them comes a flood of that same smell that makes Ted wrinkle his nose, a weird mix of aerosolized deodorant, sweat, and each of their individual scents.
“Not a friendly bunch it would seem.” The team seems to be looking around at one another with barely controlled aggression, with a lot of that focus squarely on them. Ted feels the urge to squirm under the attention, but he won’t give them that satisfaction. “I’m gonna say something.” He steps forward, the attention of the assorted alphas in front of him snapping immediately to him. “Howdy fellas,” he smiles his best smile, taking his time to look each of his new players in the eyes. “Don’t stop what you’re doing.” They narrow their eyes in seeming confusion. Now, Ted doesn’t know what the previous coach of this team was like, but based on the player’s reaction’s to him, it’s painting a pretty clear picture. “My name’s Ted Lasso, this here is Coach Beard.” Ted knows without looking that Beard has his arms crossed, and is nodding at the team.
“We don’t start quite yet, but we just wanted to pop in and say hello, get the lay of the land, so to speak.” The faces around him don’t seem to soften, despite–he has been told–his sparkling personality. It feels bad, to be on the end of this much attention, dissecting every movement he makes, made worse by the knowledge that this, this team matters. As much as he doesn’t care about wins and losses these men, these alphas do. And that’s terrifying.
But Ted does what he always does when he’s terrified, he stares the thing right in the eyes and smiles.
The players seem a little taken aback.
“It’s lovely to meet you all. I–“
“Is everyone decent?” A woman interrupts him by entering, her sweet, floral scent a breath of fresh air in the musk of pheromones hanging in the air. Ted feels his shoulders drop slightly at the sheer relief of having someone to take the attention off of him. She uncovers her eyes, pouting a little at the room at large. “Aww, boys. I’m disappointed.” She blinks, clocking Ted, his hands still in the air. “Oh!” She comes closer clearly trying to get a proper read on him. “Hello. Sorry, I just came to get Jamie.” She frowns at him, her scent light, signalling her confusion to anyone who cared to look. Familiar jealousy twists in his stomach, a long-ignored urge to just be what he is struggling to the surface. “Am I interrupting?” Ted can feel his metaphorical hackles rising as she gets into his space, still presumably trying to figure out what was going on with Ted’s lack of scent.
“No, no, quite alright.” Ted smiles, trying not to recoil from how close she is. It’s worse with all the players watching. “Go ahead.”
She purses her lips, pausing maybe a foot away from him. Ted, through subconscious movement rather than overt decision making, has been moving minutely towards Beard, and he’s close enough now that he can smell the storm in his scent. Beard would never attack anyone on his behalf, he knows that Ted can and will fight his own battles, but that doesn’t mean that he won’t help. Ted knows, through their years together, that Beard is perilously close to doing something. What that something turns out to be is another matter entirely.
“Keeley.” Jamie, surprisingly, is the one to pull her attention away from Ted. She glances at him, and they seem to do some complicated eyebrow communication that Ted can’t begin to fathom. Still, he’s glad to have the attention off him—sort of, he can still see the gruff one giving him a Look—for a moment. He glances at Beard, suddenly tired, exhausted, overwhelmed by the Task in front of him. “Sorry coach,” Jamie says, drawing Ted’s eyes to the sharp smirk on his face. Ted hums. He can read insincerity in every inch of Jamie’s body, but calling him out now won’t accomplish anything. Ted nods.
Keeley turns back towards him, a frown on her face. “He’s got his waxing appointment soon, so we’d better get going.” She’s still watching him carefully.
Jamie walks in front of Ted, brazen, all swagger. He looks back over his shoulder, that same smirk on his face. “I mean, I can stay if you want coach.” He says, almost simpering. It feels deeply patronizing, like he’s not a human, just a dickhead Alpha thinking with their knot.
“No, that’s okay,” Ted waves a hand, breaking Keeley’s gaze, letting his eye drift around the rest of the room.
“Cheers.” Jamie continues, swanning out of the room, Keeley trailing behind him.
Ted makes a low, considering noise in the back of his throat before addressing the rest of the room. “Thank you for your time.” It’s a clear dismissal, and the players one by one look away.
Chatter returns to the room slowly. Beard comes up behind him, brushing just his fingertips against Ted’s back. Ted hums again, a lighter sound this time, conveying his gratitude. Beard turns, heading into their office and Ted is quick to follow, closing the door behind them, shutting off some of the chatter and the smell.
Beard bumps their shoulders together, making a quiet rumbling noise designed to soothe. Ted wishes he could provide the usual counterpoint to the beta’s soothing, but it’s been so long that Ted’s not even sure he knows how anymore. He hums again, smiling at Beard.
“Thanks.”
The rumbling cuts out. “Of course.” Beard looks around the room taking in the desks, the general ambiance. “Come on. We’ve got some work to do.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Ted salutes, laughing when Beard rolls his eyes.
They rearrange the room. Without asking, Beard takes the desk near the door, which Ted gives him a grateful look for. With the room rearranged and decorated, Ted sits back in his chair, his eyes barely open.
“Ted.” Ted squints at Beard, leery of that specific tone of voice. “Gotta stay awake coach.”
Ted grumbles, yawning widely. He spots the gruff one—Roy—through the glass door of their office door and hurries to open the door, calling him into the office. His scent is acrid, the aggressive smell of burning plastic overtaking any other scent, a clear message even to Ted of fuck off. It fills the room, and Ted can see Beard wrinkling his nose out of the corner of his eye.
“What do you want.” Roy seems to loom over the room, and Ted has had it up to the tips of his ears with Alphas trying to loom over him. Ted isn’t even a small guy, so why do they even try.
“It was real fun watching you out there.” Ted stands tall, focused now that he’s able to do what he loves. “The boys really really respond to you.” Roy doesn’t seem to know how to react, the aggressive set of his shoulders loosening, and Ted’s able to finally pick out something other than burning plastic from Roy’s scent. Best Ted can describe it is a strong mint. “Doesn’t surprise me, you’ve had a hell of a career.” The mint mellows out, adding the tang of—is that wine? Ted’s not sure, it's a bit too subtle for him to make out.
Roy snorts. “Thank you.” His eyes narrow again, his scent getting minty again. “Never thought it would end being coached by Ronald fucking McDonald.” Roy spins on his heel, stalking out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
There’s something different about these players. Despite Beard telling him that they’re just kids, they’re not just kids, and Ted can already feel the stress headache building behind his eyes. But it’s ok, he can deal with it. He can. Ted looks out into the dressing room, now devoid of players.
“Hey.” Beard looks up from a book that he must’ve conjured from somewhere when Ted wasn’t looking. “You got any tape?”
Now that he’s noticed it, he can’t stand having the poster of Keeley displayed on the wall of the locker room, the idea of leaving it feeling like sand between his teeth. He’s most of the way through taping over it when a voice from behind him makes him start, smashing his head against the top of the locker. He whines, pulling back and standing upright, his shoulders up around his ears.
“Oh fuck—” Keeley blinks. “Sorry.” She comes closer, trying to put out calming pheromones, trying to touch him. On a better day, Ted would’ve let her, but at the moment he's tired enough that his ironclad control on what few instincts he has left leaves him. He chirps, a little bubble of sound that says leave me alone and don’t touch me, and she stops, her hands hovering near her chest. “Oh.” Keeley looks at him with her wide doe eyes. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—Sorry.” She takes a couple steps back, giving Ted a healthy amount of space.
“Sorry.” Ted forces his shoulders to relax, “you’re fine, you just—startled me is all.”
“Listen, you can tell me to fuck off,” Ted’s shoulders go up around his ears again, “but you’re a…” there’s a long pause, like she’s considering her words very carefully, “beta, right?”
Close but no cigar. “As beta as the next guy.”
“Ok.” She cocks her head, her eyes narrowing. “I just assumed you’d be an alpha, sorry. It’s just—you’re just not what I expected.”
“I get that a lot.” Ted smiles, finally relaxing. “What were you expecting?”
“Mm. Something like the last coach, I guess.” She says it flippantly, but there’s something angry in her eyes.
Ted shrugs, walking over to the low bench in the middle of the room and picking up the yellow sign on it. He can see Beard through the closed door working away at something on his deck. He turns back to Keeley. “What are you doing back here, where’s Jamie?”
“He forgot something in his locker.” She grabs a small bag, waving it in Ted’s general direction. It rattles, like there’s a bunch of small pellets rattling against hard plastic. Ted turns his back to Keeley, and even though he has nothing to fear from her, the smell and the whole day has put him on edge. He can feel fear prickling the back of his neck as he climbs up on a chair to tape the sign up there. “Right there! Perfect.” Keeley’s voice is closer than he expects, and he refuses to let out the chirp of anxiety bubbling in his chest.
Ted hops off the chair, turning towards Keeley, a smile on his face. “How ‘bout that? Nice teamwork.”
Keeley looks like she wants to move closer again, but she’s holding herself back. Ted softens a little to the other omega. Ted steps forward, keeping an eye on her body language to make sure he’s not pushing any of her boundaries before he sticks out his hand to fist bump.
Keeley lights up, reciprocating the gesture, with a light tap of Ted’s knuckles. “Old school! I like it.” She grins, carefully withdrawing from the contact. “I’m Keeley, by the way.”
“Yeah, Ted Lasso.”
“I know. You probably don’t want to go on twitter for the next little while.” She winces. “Do you tweet?”
“That's the bird, right?” She stares at him a moment like she’s trying to decide if he’s joking or not. “No, I don’t tweet.”
“Probably for the best.” She sighs, watching Ted. He can’t help but fidget, still on edge, just a little. “I am sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“No harm, no foul. Just a long day today, s’all.”
“I bet.” She leans forward like she wants to hug him, but restrains herself, her hands fluttering a little at her side. Her phone buzzes, drawing her attention away from him. “Sorry. I’ve got to run.” She looks up from her phone, apologetic. “It was lovely to meet you. Welcome to Richmond.”
Ted waves after her as she spins and trots out of the room, staring intently down at her phone. Ted sighs, opening the door to their office to look at Beard. He looks up at Ted from his book, frowning when he notices whatever Ted’s face is doing. “Ready to get going?” Ted says.
Beard wordlessly walks over to him, pressing their foreheads together, nodding just slightly. Beard lets Ted breathe with him for as long as he needs to to feel calm. Beard is warm, and Ted is close enough that he can just make out some of Beard’s scent.
It’s so—nice. Michelle never was much of a cuddler, so just having Beard there, touching him is soothing Ted in some unnamable way. Like a warm bath after years of chill.
Ted draws back reluctantly. “Ok, let’s go home.”
Beard and Ted technically have different apartments. The club really spared no expense at finding them places to live, but when Ted and Beard are standing outside of Ted’s apartment, they don’t split apart. Beard follows him faithfully upwards.
It’s sterile, and awful, and it smells heavily of alpha, of heavy chemicals and sickly sweet rot, but it’s his home for the next—however long he keeps this job. Beard immediately disappears into the bedroom while Ted makes a start on dinner, finding a lonely box of pasta deep in the empty cupboards.
“All we have is plain pasta. That alright?” Ted calls into the next room, to which Beard grunts something that Ted takes as an affirmative.
Ted puts a pot of water on the stove, casting a cursory glance across the counter for salt, when there’s none immediately obvious, Ted gives it up as a lost cause. They’re going to have stupid unsalted pasta water and both of them are going to have to deal with that.
“Beard?” Ted calls for him, wandering over to where he saw Beard last. “Did you want—Oh.” Ted stops, staring at the bedroom—at the nest—Beard has made him. Fuck. Ted doesn’t know when the last time he had been in a nest was. No one ever taught him to make one, he never made on with Michelle, never had her make one for him. “Beard?”
“I thought you might want—” Beard shifts from foot to foot. “I can take it apart.”
Ted tucks his hands close to his chest, fidgeting with the collar of his shirt. “What if I mess it up?”
“Oh.” Beard perks up before he goes crashing into the nest, disrupting the careful arrangement of pillows, and Ted can’t help it, he makes the smallest, saddest little chirp. Beard’s gaze is on him in an instant, making that same soothing low rumbling. “Sorry Ted.” Beard carefully fixes the nest. “I just wanted to show you that we could fix it.” Beard looks sheepish, smoothing the blankets around him.
“Can I—?” Ted wants so badly.
“It’s your nest, Ted. I made it for you?” Beard cocks his head in confusion, and Ted feels unmoored, fucking adrift. “Of course you can.”
And Ted just climbs in, curling in amidst the pillows and blanket. He could cry. Vaguely, Ted realizes that he actually might already be crying because Beard is making concerned cooing noises at him.
“Didn’t Michelle help you make a nest?” Beard is wiping away tears from his cheeks now, his calluses scratching across his cheeks, his face getting stonier and stonier.
“She asked once, but I—” Ted hiccups. “I didn’t think I needed one, and she didn’t ask again.”
At this, Beard gets the oddest look on his face, sadness and something else that Ted can’t name. Beard grabs one of the blankets, wrapping it around Ted so the only part of him sticking out is his hair and pulling him onto Beard’s lap. Ted just lets him, deciding that for once, he’s just going to give into long buried instincts and he chirps happily and falls asleep to the soft rumble of Beard’s purring. He is…comfortable.
So Ted gets used to it. Gets used to the constant headaches from the pheromones, gets used to how much More his players are from anything he’s ever dealt with, gets used to the constant ache in his shoulders and neck from the tension of constantly thinking about how he presents himself. He gets used to the weird looks from Nate, the way the other omega reaches for him like he would a beta, in ways Ted has no ability or instincts to respond to correctly. Ted gets used to it all.
Ted goes home at the end of the day with Beard who, despite having his own apartment, comes home with Ted every evening, curling up with him in the nest Ted can’t bring himself to dismantle.
He misses Henry desperately. He hadn’t noticed it in the miasma of moving and getting settled and everything else, but now he just misses him. It’s anxiety-inducing, not being able to see him, to know that he’s ok, to curl up around him and just talk to his son. So yeah, Ted feels vaguely like he can’t breathe any time he thinks too long about his son, but he’s doing great, he promises.
Beard nudges him out of his reverie with a hand on his elbow.
“The reporter is here.” Ted looks away from the field, where he was totally focusing on what his players were doing, yes sir. “Are you going to be ok?” Beard’s hand squeezes his elbow. He looks anxious too, his mouth turning down slightly at the corners as he looks over Ted’s shoulder.
“It's all good, Beard.” Ted actually feels a little bit like he’s going to start crying at any second, but yeah, good is about right. He glances over at Trent Crimm of the Independent, who watches them and the players with sharp, clever eyes. “Once more unto the breach, right?”
Beard doesn’t respond, but the crease between his eyebrows deepens. He shakes his head, his lips tightening into a tense line.
“I’m good, Beard.” Ted doesn’t have a way to comfort him, not really. Most omegas would be able to use their scent to soothe, but Ted doesn’t have that option. Ted grits his teeth, anxious and angry at the necessity for this whole charade. “It’ll be fun.”
He turns to Trent, smiling widely. “Hiya Trent, lovely to meet you again.”
“Hmm.” Trent says, looking him up and down. “It’s nice to meet you properly, Ted.” Trent smiles slightly before he turns back to the players. Ted steps closer, feeling devilish, like he’s tempting fate—tempting—
Trent doesn’t smell like much of anything. Most people wear it on their sleeves, or Ted supposes, the air, but Trent is wearing scent blockers. Ted frowns, cocking his head.
“Something you’d like to say?” Trent says, his voice even, a little flat. Then, he sniffs the air and he softens. Ted preens internally, even though he didn’t do anything. Trent doesn’t apologize, but he nods, coming to stand near Ted, leaning on the concrete stands. Something crows proudly in Ted’s chest, and he feels his face heat. Beard looks at him, watching him closely. Ted doesn’t want to examine it too closely, but the look on his face screams that this is trouble.
It hurts in a way, to be around all these kids and be unable to see his own. He wants to curl around his son, to smell what little he can of his scent, to hold him and keep him safe. He likes kids, likes being around them, but right now being around them is setting him on edge. He can feel the prickle of tension down his spine like cold water.
Trent keeps glancing at him out of the corner of his eye, he can tell; the uncomfortable awareness of someone watching him making his hair stand on end.
He runs a hand through his hair, trying to breathe evenly. He looks around at the kids getting picked up, can almost taste being able to go home and be for a moment. But there Trent is, still watching him, his pen and paper tucked in the crook of his elbow.
The principal comes up to him again, thanking him profusely. The principal—Mr. Melville, if Ted is remembering correctly—presses a gift card into his hand, shooing Ted and Trent out of the gate of the school yard.
“I uh—” Ted stammers, turning to Trent.
“Would you like to get dinner with me, Ted?” Trent says evenly, tucking his hands in his pockets. The movement draws Ted’s attention to his hands, inkstained and soft. “I still have some questions.”
And by god is Ted stupid, because all he says is “yes.”
The smell of the food is so deep in Ted’s nose that he’s not sure he’s ever going to get it back out again. The scent of spices and herbs that is so good it overwhelms him. It’s really hard to register anything past that, even the questions that Trent is asking him. He’s maybe a little less careful than he should be.
He can’t get over Trent’s clothes. They’re soft, and Ted wants them. For god’s sake, he wants them. He doesn’t even know why—
The food. Ted refocuses his attention of the burn of it on his tongue, almost unbearable. There’s something else now too, mixed into the scent of the spices. Ted looks at Trent, startled by—is that?
“I really should go.” Trent pushes himself up, his face red. Ted catches one last taste of something on his tongue before Trent is gone.
Ted tries never to make assumptions about secondary genders. It’s hypocritical to say the least. So when he finally smells Rebecca’s rose-water scent under the smell of scent blockers and the alcohol they’ve been drinking all evening, it’s not that it’s unexpected, it's more like that’s exactly what he expected, he had just never been able to put it into words. Beta.
“That man knows me.” She stares out at the people passing on the street, her scent twisting, becoming something dreary and dark. “I thought he knew me.” Ted places an arm around her, and her scent swells, the damp earth of sorrow fading as she takes comfort from him. “He was always telling me what to do, and I thought it was just—” she pauses looking up to where the stars should be “—honesty. But it was him. He couldn’t handle me, I was too loud, too opinionated, too beta. Fucking idiot.” Ted aches someplace deep in himself. For her, yes, but for himself too. The little remaining piece of omega instincts thrashing and clawing at his heart. “And now I’m alone.”
Ted lets the silence lapse a little too long, his tongue leaden in his mouth. “It’s brave.”
“What?” She looks at him and Ted wants to tell her in that moment, damn the consequences. The faint smell of green tea on his collar stays his tongue though. It’s more than just him.
“To be yourself. Lot’sa people aren’t.” Ted smiles faintly, looking out at a passing rickshaw, its bell ringing, desperate for a fare. “What do you say, should we get outta here?”
“No.” She straightens, raising her chin and dabbing at her eyes. “I will be brave.”
Ted wishes he were brave too.
Beard touches him on the shoulder, and Ted turns towards him instinctively. On the stage, Rupert is making a joke, off to the side Rebecca is doing an excellent job of not making it look like she’s sucking a lemon. Rebecca introduces the singer, and people flood onto the dance floor. Smells and heat overwhelm him for a moment before he turns back to Beard, his eyes closing. He breathes in measured breath, trying to pick up Beard’s scent in the din. When he opens his eyes, Beard’s grip tightens on his elbow.
“Let’s go home.” Ted isn’t sure which one of them says it, but lets Beard lead him away.
It is sheer euphoria to hold his son again, burying his face in Henry’s hair and scenting his milky, puppy smell. He can’t bring himself to put Henry down, nearly growls when some of the players get near them, only relaxes when Beard leads him and Michelle home.
Michelle stops dead at the edge of Ted’s bedroom.
“Michelle? What’s wrong?” Henry is busy, excitedly playing with Beard in the spare bedroom. His puppy’s little huffs and growls of excitement barely audible in the other room.
Michelle’s face dims, her normal, light vanilla scent going dark, tinged with myrrh. “You have a nest here.” She takes a step closer, and Ted’s omega instincts bristle.
“Beard helped me with it. Couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it.”
“Thought you didn’t need one.” Michelle won’t look at him, and Ted shifts on his feet.
“Thought I didn’t. I still don’t. I just—” Ted shakes his head. “I do fine without. I’m just—”
“Why couldn’t you just let me in, Ted?” Michelle finally turns away from the nest to look at him. “Why can’t you just admit that maybe it wasn’t fine?” She’s crying, and Ted hates watching her cry. Every instinct telling him to soothe and smooth over.
“I don’t know.”
Her face darkens into anger. “Oklahoma.” The word is her weapon, stabbing Ted in the heart with it.
“I don’t know.” Ted is stunned. “I—I don’t know.” His Mama would be so disappointed in him.
“Ted.” Her anger blows out. “This isn’t working.”
He’s hit with ice cold fear. Her nose screws up, and Ted wonders for one horrible, glorious moment if she can smell him. But then her face smooths. His wife, his mate is leaving him. It hits him suddenly. That’s what this is. That’s what it was always leading to. “Ok.” He says numbly. “I wish there was something I could—say or—or do—”
“Ted.” She says softly, stepping closer and putting a hand on his cheek.
“I don’t like quitting.” His omega instincts are screaming at him again. He shuts them down.
“You’re not quitting. You’re letting us both be happy.” She sighs. “I'll get a hotel. You take Henry for the week, he’s been desperate to spend time with you.” She hugs him, scenting him for what he realizes with abject terror is the last time. She smiles weakly as she pulls away. “We’re still family so—” She purses her lips. “See you around, Ted.” She leaves, and Ted can hear her saying a soft goodbye to Beard and Henry in the next room before the door to the apartment opens and closes.
Tears well in his eyes, but he fights them back. He doesn’t deserve to cry over this. She always tried, it was always Ted that couldn’t give her what she needed.
“Daddy?” Henry peaks over the edge of the nest. Beard, for once, waiting at the door to see if he would be allowed into Ted’s nest. “What’s this?” Henry’s little hands crease the blankets and pillows, pulling everything into slight disarray. Ted itches to fix it, but shoves the feeling away.
“It’s nothing, Henry.” Ted sits up, dismantling the nest, like he should have done the first night.
“Oh.” Henry frowns. “Can I sleep in here with you?”
“Of course buddy.” Ted smiles at him, mechanically taking Henry into his arms when he climbs up onto the bed.
“Uncle Beard too?”
Ted looks up at Beard. Beard is staring at the half-destroyed nest with some sort of deep sadness written in the creases of his face and the slight downturn of his mouth. “If he wants.”
Beard looks up, smiling slightly at Henry. “Of course.”
It had been going well. As well as it can when your wife just sent you divorce papers, but well.
And now, Ted can’t breathe.
There are people touching him, the mixing smells of his players making him sick to his stomach, but above all he can’t breathe. Which, he notes distantly, probably isn’t good.
He needs to get out.
His vision blurs as he tries to navigate the throngs of people in the club, bumping into people. He tries to apologize but he can’t catch his breath long enough to manage. He presses on further. He sees—a door.
He’s shaking visibly now, can feel sweat rolling in beads down his spine. He wants a nest, he wants to be home, he wants his son, he wants Beard. He makes a shrill, terrified noise.
“Ted?” Nate rounds the corner. It’s almost a relief. If there’s one person—someone—who should understand, it should be Nate. He smells Nate’s calming pheromones, but they just make it worse, the sense of almost imposed calm.
Nate’s face is so open, Ted can almost read the roiling discomfort on his face. Ted wishes with a desperate fervour that he still had a better sense of smell, not cut off by suppressants.
“Ted?” Nate repeats again. Ted is shutting down, he can tell. He’s not in control anymore, making a soft, pained whine. He sounds like an omega, and he hates it.
“Beard.” Ted manages to eke out. “Get Beard. Please.”
He’s spinning, the world a top, but before he sees Nate spin on his heel and head back inside, he’s almost sure he sees a flash of anger.
Sassy knocks on his door, and her sweet omegan scent fills the room. This is such a bad idea. Beard had helped him get back to the hotel, but his barely-there scent on Ted’s clothes is being quickly eroded by her sickly sweet caramel scent. His head is spinning as he follows her back into his room.
Ted sighs, chewing morosely on his sandwich. He sits on the bleachers, staring down at the empty field.
“Hiya, Ted.” Keeley chirps, sitting down primly beside him her own food perched on her lap in one of those fancy little lunchboxes. “Good job with Rupert. I wish I’d’ve been there. Do you know—” she waves her fork around “—the way I would’ve crushed him. New Rebecca.” She snorts, angrily shoving what seems to be stir-fry in her mouth. Her scent goes acrid for a moment before smoothing into something a little softer. She makes a soft chirp of annoyance.
Ted watches her. If she’s uncomfortable with it, she doesn’t show it in her smell or her face. He feels the wind blow cold across his back and he pulls his coat in tighter around him.
“Can I ask something, Keeley?”
“Well now I’m worried if you have to ask like that.” She smiles at him, bumping their shoulders together. “Yeah, Ted, go ahead.”
Ted wishes he were like her. “How do you do it?”
“By being amazing and gorgeous of course.” She giggles, free and light. “Do what, Ted?”
“You’re an Omega.”
She frowns, her scent indicating her confusion. “I am. That’s never been a secret.” She looks almost bemused for a second. “I imagine I do it the same way you’re a beta.”
But he’s not.
“Doesn’t it scare you?”
She shakes her head. “I think it’d be scarier to pretend to be anything other than myself.” She puffs her chest out, her scent swelling with pride, filling the air between them with the sweet scent of strawberries and honeysuckle. “And what I am is amazing, even if it would be easier to hide away sometimes.”
“You’re very smart.” Ted smiles at her, his chest feeling tight.
“I know. Why do you ask, Ted?”
“Feeling a little maudlin, with the end of the season coming up.”
She grabs his hand, squeezing it. For once, Ted leans into the contact, allowing himself the comfort of another omega next to him. “Well you can always talk to me. Anyone who’s not an alpha has to stick together in this place, Eh?” He nods. “And haven’t you noticed?” Her voice drops to a whisper, even though there’s no one around. She bows her head conspiratorially towards his. “You and Beard are making a difference.”
He huffs, laughing a little. “Maybe so.” He’s not quite sure, but he feels something flutter in his chest.
Ted stands at the bottom of his bed, neatly made as it had been since he had taken apart the nest Beard had built him. He has to do this now, before the buoyant feeling from his talk with Keeley leaves him, before he slinks back to hiding in the shadows. It can’t be that hard.
Ted folds the blankets, arranges the pillows. He and his instincts are aligned for the first time in—well, since Ted can remember. When he’s done…it looks terrible. But it is there. He’s so distracted by it that he loses track of time until he hears the door open.
“Ted, I’m home.” Beard calls out from the foyer. “I brought Indian.” Ted hears him shuffling around the kitchen. “Where are you?”
“Bedroom.”
Ted doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Beard stops in the doorway, frowning until he notices the haphazard nest behind Ted. His eyes are wide, taking everything in.
Beard clears his throat, taking a deep breath. “Okay.” Beards shoulders relax. “C’mon, don’t want dinner to get cold.”
It gets better, for a while. And then.
Ted, we need to talk.
This is Trent. Crimm
Hiya, Trent. The clarification is helpful but not necessary.
What’s wrong?
I’d rather not say over text.
Meet at the Night Owl Cafe?
How cryptic. Colour me intrigued
When?
Tonight? 6? Bring Beard if you want.
Must be serious then. You bet.
It is, Ted.
Ted finds the coffee shop easily, a little oasis of golden light in the dreary London evening. Beard is a faithful presence at his back as they walk in, sitting down at a booth. There are few other people around, all exhausted, all drinking copious amounts of coffee. Ted shrugs off his coat, placing it next to him on the booth seat.
At 6 on the dot, Trent slips in, ordering something before he comes to sit with them.
“Did either of you two want anything?” Trent breaks the silence first, taking a sip of his coffee. “I’ve dragged you both out on the dreadful night, it is the least I can do.”
Beard shakes his head, looking to Ted. “I think we’re alright over here Trent. Care to tell us what we’re doing here?”
He sighs. He still doesn’t smell like anything, Ted can’t help but feel on edge, Beard’s steadfast warmth the only thing keeping him calm. “It’ll be easier if I show you.” Trent fishes his phone out of his pocket, opening his text messages and pulling up one from an unsaved number. “Someone reached out to me, wanted me to write an expose. I—I don’t want to. But I’m worried—” He purses his lips at his phone before he flips it and pushes it across the table for Ted to read. Beard leans forward, peering so he can see over Ted’s shoulder.
Ted feels his heart sink. He recognizes the number.
“I don’t want to write it.”
“But someone else will write something worse.” Ted looks up at him, too sick to read anymore. He feels, more than hears Beard growling next to him, his scent going stormy. “Are you?”
Trent dips his head. “No.” He’s so elegant, poised. Ted wishes he could be like that. “Alpha.” He swallows, looking at Beard before focusing back on Ted. “But I understand it being no one else’s fucking business.” Trent folds his hands. “So what do you want me to do?”