Work Text:
Ted falls.
Forward, thank goodness, toward Rebecca, a catch in her arms to hold him. Close. Two hearts broken over the loss of Mae beating in sync through layers of clothes chosen a lifetime ago to keep in heat against the cold of the world.
He’s silent.
Not crying.
Not saying anything. No folksy wisdom. No planning how to tell the team.
Just … nothing … his arms clinging to Rebecca, her throat stinging from what should have been screams of joy at the Lady Greyhounds win, but the sting is the loss of Mae, Mae, Mae.
And Ted doesn’t have to explain, doesn’t have to speak to make clear that allowing him to be quiet, allowing him to be held without demand, allowing him to hold onto Rebecca and trust she’ll hold him in her embrace … that’s keeping in the heat against the cold of the world, isn’t it? The quiet of it all. Not quiet like death. Quiet like life going on and knowing down to the marrow that someone else can be completely trusted.
That’s falling.
Forward.