“Remind me again,” Rebecca says in a grim voice, stabbing at her smoothie with a straw.

Obediently and supportively, Keeley says for the second time that morning, “You cannot call Ted’s ex-wife to shout at her about getting Henry on a plane.”

“Right, right,” Rebecca says, before lifting her head. “Remind me again about why I can’t do that?”

“Rebecca,” Keeley says, and Rebecca groans, pushing her smoothie away.

“I know, I know—it’s just going to make things harder for Ted.”

“Yeah, but it’s not your place to get in between them on this,” Keeley says firmly, before adding under her breath, “No matter how satisfying it would feel.” Rebecca looks up at this, and Keeley quickly adds, pointing at her, “That is not an excuse, Rebecca.”

Slumping in her seat, Rebecca buries her face in her hands and groans. “I know, I know. I just...I just want to fix something, and it’s driving me mad that I can’t.”

“I know, babe,” Keeley says sympathetically, reaching out across the desk to squeeze her hand. “I know, but it’s going to get better, okay? It will.”

Rebecca squeezes Keeley’s hand again, then smiles ruefully. “Almost feels like old times, having you around in my office early in the morning.”

“I know, I love it,” Keeley says, smiling back at her. “Not that I don’t love being my own boss—”

“Or running one of the top PR firms in London,” Rebecca interjects, and Keeley’s cheeks turn pink with pleasure, as though it’s the first time she’s heard that and not the hundredth.

“—but I do miss running around this place on the regular,” Keeley finishes, glancing around Rebecca’s office. Rebecca smiles back and tries, very hard, not to let her gaze dart to the couch, to the place on the floor where Ted, where he—

There’s a faint rattling, and Rebecca looks down to realize that she’s mindlessly tapping her fingernails on the surface of her desk. “I’m going to need to redecorate in here,” she says, half to herself. “I can’t—how can I work here if every time I look at the couch I just see—” She cuts herself off, shaking her head, and Keeley immediately reaches out to squeeze her hands, in comfort and in worry.

“Babe,” she says, so soft and so kind, God, it still feels impossible some days that people like Keeley and Ted really exist in the world. “How are you—really, how are you?”

“I’m fine,” Rebecca tries. Keeley’s face is sympathetically disbelieving, and Rebecca shrugs helplessly. “I’m as fine as I can be, with Ted still in hospital and me having to waste my time with this ridiculous meeting—”

“It’ll keep the minority owners happy,” Keeley says, in a perfect imitation of Higgins.

“Fuck the minority owners,” Rebecca grumbles. “Except for Alistair, he brought Ted books, he can stick around.”

“The sooner you get this done and get them on their way, the sooner you can visit Ted,” Keeley offers up next, and that is honestly the best motivation Rebecca’s going to get for this meeting.

Even so, it’s utterly horrendous. It starts with air kisses and firm handshakes, everyone asking her in hushed tones “how is Ted, really,” in between talking about their latest trips to the south of France or Thailand or where the fuck ever. And of course Bex is right on time, smiling at everyone and wearing a Chanel suit, hair falling in glossy waves over her tweed jacket, and Rebecca can feel the headache building behind her temples already, before the meeting’s even officially started yet.

Higgins, bless him, keeps things ticking for as long as he can, reviewing the club’s financial health, what the expected revenues will be for the rest of the year and going forward, so on and so forth.

And then it turns back to the same bullshit.

“I’d like to discuss the stadium redevelopment, please,” Bex says.

“Of course you fucking would,” Alistair grumbles under his breath, but subsides at a glance from Rebecca.

“It is not a ridiculous thing to ask how we expect to pay for it,” one of the other minority owners, Christian Paisley-Wolfe, interjects. He’s one of Bex’s little minions, and his 3.7% share in the club means he expects to be listened to.

“We have gone through this,” Rebecca says, with as much patience as she can manage. “The loan we’ve secured—”

“Could hamstring the club’s abilities in the transfer market for years to come,” Bex interrupts, and Rebecca raises an eyebrow at her coldly. “It’s what happened to Arsenal when they built the Emirates, it’s what happened to Tottenham when they moved from White Hart Lane—”

“They were building entirely new stadiums, not redeveloping the old one,” Rebecca says, with impatience. “And another thing, if you think we’re going to be outspending the likes of City or Chelsea in the transfer market, ever, I’ve got a fucking bridge I’d like to sell you.” Higgins shifts in his seat, and Rebecca gathers her composure around her once more. “Richmond stays competitive not by flinging money about, but by searching out emerging talents globally, nurturing our academy—”

“Snatching generational talent right out from Chelsea’s noses,” Alistair says with satisfaction, referring to Taylor Komoh, a loanee from Chelsea who’d elected not to return to his parent club once his loan was up, and forced through the move to Richmond instead. Rumor has it he’d gloated right to the faces of the Chelsea owners at some art auction three weeks after the transfer had gone through.

“Yes, but can that model survive?” Dakshesh Varadkar (4.2% share in the club) asks, forehead furrowed. “Forgive me, but it seems as though our business model is predicated in large part upon having and keeping Ted Lasso as our manager. He’s a major draw for young talent—Taylor Komoh is a great example of that—a consistent media draw, particularly in the US, and never mind the winning mentality he’s brought to the club—”

“What’s your point?” Rebecca asks, standing up very straight in her seat.

Dakshesh takes a breath and says, “If Coach Lasso has to go on extended leave or, forgive me, resign for health reasons—”

“It hasn’t even been a week, you fucking ghoul,” Alistair snaps out, outraged. “Show some goddamn respect.”

Dakshesh swells up with indignation. “How dare you talk to me in such a manner—”

The meeting devolves rather quickly from there. There’s shouting and swearing, and much pointing of the fingers, and the end of it is that everything stays exactly the same as it was at the beginning of the meeting, because every inch of this was a waste of Rebecca’s fucking time and energy and patience.

Bex is one of the last to leave, hesitating before stepping over to Rebecca and saying in a low voice, “I hope you don’t think—”

“Think what?” Rebecca asks, rubbing at her temples, not bothering to look up. “That you’re trying to undermine me at every turn? That you’ve turned every one of these meetings into a pointless soap opera? That I have wasted an entire morning on this bullshit where there are far more important—” She cuts herself off, and looks at Bex with her hardest stare. “I think,” Rebecca says, each word precise, “That you are a thorn in my side, and I don’t feel like pretending otherwise. Not today. Now, is there anything else?”

Bex looks rather pale, but says, with a tolerable attempt at poise and control, “No. Not for now, at least.”

“Good,” Rebecca spits out, and turns in her seat until Bex finally leaves, and Rebecca is left alone in the conference room with Higgins and Alistair. Rebecca holds up a hand when Higgins is about to speak, saying, “I know, I know, there will be an article in the Sun within a week, it wasn’t the smart play, I know all of it, I don’t care.”

Higgins looks at her with sympathy and says, “You’ve kept your patience with her for far longer than anyone could expect you to, Rebecca.”

Rebecca lets out a sigh, then looks to Alistair, who looks back at her, arms folded over his stomach, totally unrepentant. “Do you want me to apologize for sticking the boot in with Varadkar and that whining pustule Paisley-Wolfe?”

“Not really,” Rebecca admits, smiling. “Thank you for intervening. At least the cursing was a welcome change from the usual nonsense.”

Alistair waves it off. “Please. Like I’m going to go back to the hospital, look Ted Lasso in the face, and tell him I didn’t back you against all those vultures.” He looks at Rebecca for a moment, and says quietly, “Word is Paisley-Wolfe is thinking about selling his shares.”

“To Bex?” Rebecca asks, and when Alistair nods, sighs even more deeply. “What an unsurprisingly wretched development. Of course she’s got to sink her claws just a little bit deeper.”

“Can we cut her off at the pass?” Higgins asks. “Perhaps if you offered to purchase his shares—”

“No, Christian’s been one of Rupert’s cronies for decades,” Rebecca says. “Word has it that he’s a little cash-strapped as well, bad investments, and that ancient Northumberland manor is hardly cheap to keep up.” She’s quiet for a moment, thinking of the likely champagne toast with Rupert that Bex is sure to have tonight, then shakes her head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m going back to the hospital to see Ted.”

“I’ll come by later,” Higgins promises.

“Ask him how he’s liking the McDermid,” Alistair says, and Rebecca gives him a little salute.

“Will do,” she promises.

*

For a moment, when Rebecca is walking towards the open door to Ted's hospital room and hears the sound of Ted laughing, all the stress and frustration from her morning goes away.

Then she hears the sound of another person in the room with Ted, realizes who it is, and that momentary calm is immediately drowned out by disbelief and growing indignation.

Hardly breathing, her back stiff, Rebecca walks into the room to find Trent fucking Crimm sitting in her usual chair by Ted's bed, as though he has any right to be here at all.

It's a small (very small) comfort to see Trent's smile fade as he realizes she's come in.

"Hey, Rebecca," Ted says easily, as though one of the most unscrupulous vultures in the British press isn't sitting next to his bed.

Rebecca can feel her temples throbbing, and without preamble, she looks at Trent and says, "Whatever Ted's said to you today is off the record."

A muscle ticks in Trent's jaw, but he replies smoothly, "You know that only works if it's said at the beginning of an interview and not the end of one, Ms. Welton."

"And it's moot anyway, since this isn't an interview at all," Ted interjects. "Trent just came in to say hey and see how I was doing." He looks at Trent and says very mildly, in an echo of the teacher he once planned to be before coaching became his career, "Stop trying to bait her."

Trent dips his head in acknowledgement and says to Rebecca, "It's true, I was just visiting to pass on good wishes from myself and the rest of the press room."

"Not looking for material for a new book, then?" Rebecca asks, acid-sweet. "What a refreshing change." As Trent's expression goes stiff, Rebecca pointedly moves out of the doorway and says, "Don't let us keep you."

Trent doesn't move at first, and part of Rebecca actually wants the confrontation—but then he turns to Ted, with that faint and infuriating smile of his, and says, "Seems I've been given my marching orders. It's good to see you, Ted."

"Take care, Trent," Ted replies.

Rebecca doesn't move until Trent goes, exiting with a faintly mocking, "Ms. Welton". Once he has gone, she pointedly shuts the door behind him, spitting out, "The absolute nerve of the man. I've a mind to complain to his editors."

"Rebecca," Ted says, and the patience in his voice is, perversely, making Rebecca want to pick a fight with somebody. Preferably the asshole who just walked out of the room. "Trent wasn't trying to interview me. First thing that came out of his mouth when he walked in was a promise that the whole visit was off the record, and that I could kick him out if I wanted."

Rebecca tries to hold it in, she really does, but the words burst out of her anyway. "I don't know how you can stand to be in the same room with him."

Ted looks a little tired as he replies, "He was just doing his job, Rebecca."

Rebecca bites at the inside of her cheek to stop herself from replying, because she doesn't want to go down this same road, repeat the same argument they've been having in one form or another for years, because it never goes anywhere.

Four years ago, in the wake of Richmond winning the Premier League title, Trent Crimm had written an in-depth book all about the club's unlikely rise under Ted's coaching. For background, he'd gone to Ted's hometown of Baxter Springs, Kansas, where he'd ferreted out Ted's entire backstory—including the suicide of Ted's father. And then he'd put it all in his book, for the entire world to read.

Rebecca immediately had her lawyers slap the book with injunctions to stop it being published, but Ted, of all people, had been the one to call her off. He'd pointed out that nothing Trent had written was untrue, and the injunction wasn't worth poisoning Richmond's relationship with the press.

Maybe so. Rebecca would have considered it worth it just to keep from seeing Ted's face when the tabloids splashed his family's pain and tragedy across the front pages of all their newspapers. She'd hated every minute of that awful time, especially the moment when she’d learned from the front page of the goddamn Daily Mail that Ted was the living image of his father, right down to the dimpled smile.

Four years on, and every time Rebecca sees Trent Crimm all she can think of are those awful weeks, the helpless anger Rebecca carried for Ted, because he refused to feel it himself.

“You know you don't need to protect me from Trent, right?" Ted asks her gently as Rebecca sits in the chair Trent just vacated, dragging it a little closer to Ted’s bedside as she does.

"Don't be absurd, of course I do," Rebecca retorts. "Which of these flowers came from him, I want to make sure it goes straight into the nearest skip."

“Becca.”

He doesn’t shorten her name like that very often. Good thing too, because she melts every time that he does.

Rebecca takes a deep breath. “I know no one has benefited more from your forgiving nature than me,” she says, and continues as Ted’s eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to interrupt, “But asking me to emulate your forgiveness, to someone that hurt you, is asking rather a lot. Do you expect me to welcome Nate Shelley with a smile, if that little twat ever got up the nerve to show his face here?”

"It does seem rather unlikely, I'll admit," Ted concedes. "Rebecca—hey." He holds out his hand, and helplessly, Rebecca reaches out to take it, something in her unwinding as Ted's strong fingers gently squeeze around hers. "You were worked up even before you came in here and saw Trent. What's going on?"

"How on earth could you know that?" Rebecca asks, and Ted grins.

"The way you were stomping down the hallway in those heels," he says cheekily, before adding, "Also Higgins texted me with a play-by-play of the owners' meeting y'all had this morning."

Rebecca exhales. "That little informant," she grumbles, but without heat. "Yes, the meeting was this morning, and yes, it was absolutely wretched."

Ted lifts his eyebrows, and Rebecca gives in and gives him the blow-by-blow account of the meeting, although she refrains from mentioning how his own health and long-term prospects were at the heart of the latest row. Instead she does her best to imitate Alistair's Scottish burr and his truly inspired swearing, a warm glow of pride growing inside of her as Ted laughs heartily at her so-so impression.

But then Dr. Bhamra comes in, and Rebecca immediately brings out her notebook again and starts taking notes, as they review Ted's health (improving) and the steps he'll need to take once he's released from the hospital later this week (numerous). As Rebecca scribbles away, listening to Dr. Bhamra talk about the changes in diet and exercise, the follow up appointments, the new medications and their potential risks and side effects, a cold ribbon of worry winds around her chest, thinking of Ted alone in his flat to handle this all on his own, blithely reassuring all of his friends that everything's fine, no need to fuss, and meanwhile—

"Should we hire a nurse to look after him?" Rebecca asks.

"Absolutely not," Ted says before Dr. Bhamra can reply. As both of them raise their eyebrows, he flushes a little bit and says, abashed, "Well, I just don't think that's necessary, but I appreciate the thought, Rebecca, thank you."

"A live-in nurse is probably unnecessary," Dr. Bhamra agrees, "Though I do urge you to work closely with your cardiac rehabilitation team..." He continues on, and Rebecca keeps taking notes, but meanwhile there's a thought turning over and over in the back of her mind, coalescing into a plan.

Finally, once Dr. Bhamra leaves, Ted gives her a questioning look. "Everything good, Robin Hood?"

"Yes," Rebecca says automatically, then checks herself. "It's just…I think you should move into my place, once you're released from hospital."

She's hoping it'll sound less mad when she says it out loud, but from the way Ted's eyes are going wide, that seems to have been a foolish hope. "You think I should what now?"

"Move in," Rebecca says. "It's not like I don't have the room, Ted, I live in a mansion. I even have a gym. And a pool. You'd be able to get in your exercise in peace without worrying about the paparazzi catching you coming and going—" Rebecca realizes that he could point out, with reason, that the paparazzi catching him leaving her house would be a far bigger story, and hurriedly goes on, "And it's not like I don't have a giant kitchen for you to bake and cook in. I can even set you up on a separate floor if you're worried about running into me too often, you'll barely see me if that's what you're worried about—"

"Rebecca, Rebecca," Ted cuts in, and Rebecca finally pauses to take a breath. "That's mighty generous of you, but—you know you don't need to keep an eye on me, I'll be fine." Rebecca's face must give away what she thinks of that, as Ted adds, "I mean, I can still crash with Beard for a while, if you're worried about me being on my own—"

"Beard'll be gone all the time managing the team, that won't do at all," Rebecca retorts. Ted still doesn't look persuaded by her (irrefutable) logic, and Rebecca's stomach twists as she realizes she hasn't convinced him yet, that he still might insist on handling all this on his own, that he’ll be completely alone in that poky flat—

"Please," Rebecca hears herself say out loud. "I'll go absolutely mad with worry if you don't."

Ted's expression shifts, opens, those lovely clear brown eyes searching her face for a long moment before he says, sounding surprised at himself, "Okay."

"Really?" Rebecca blurts out, nearly as surprised as he is.

"Yeah," Ted says, still looking startled. "I mean, unless you're having second thoughts about keeping me around as a roommate, I'm not kidding about staying with Beard—"

"Nope, too late, you've agreed, no takebacks now," Rebecca says quickly, and Ted starts to laugh.

"No getting out of a deal with you, huh?"

"You're still here, aren't you?" Rebecca points out, and the corner of Ted's mouth curves up in a slow, lopsided smile.

"Yeah. Suppose I am at that."

*

Rebecca leaves late in the evening, after enjoying a delightful meal (of mediocre hospital food) with Ted, Roy, Keeley, Beard and Higgins, aside from when she kept having to redirect Roy from discussing the upcoming Champions League match with Ted, and the possible tactics for Richmond they’ll take.

She’s the last to leave, Ted insisting that she has to go home at a reasonable hour, and Rebecca eventually consents, squeezing his shoulder before she leaves.

Rebecca heads out to meet her driver in the carpark (less chances of running into paparazzi that way) and Rebecca is preoccupied thinking of how Ted’s face had a healthier color to it today, what she’ll want to do to the house to help Ted settle in once he’s released (should she buy him kitchen utensils and appliances, or bring his own things from his flat?) that she doesn’t actually notice Nate Shelley, newly-minted coach of West Ham, until she practically runs over him.

Of all the fucking coincidences. As though she’s conjured him up when she mentioned his name earlier, it is Nate Shelley, in one of the suits that always seem pretentious on him (or they do now she recognizes what a twat he is) stepping out of his own car, tugging at the cuffs to his sleeves nervously.

He’s carrying a bouquet of flowers, bright and cheerful and totally incongruous against the charcoal grey of his suit.

Rebecca just stares at him, ignoring her own car and driver waiting for her, until Nate looks over and sees her, jumping a little with surprise. For a fraction of a second, Rebecca can almost see the nervous kitman who would stutter any time she was in a room, who responded to Ted’s open-handed generosity with gratitude rather than treachery.

Then his face closes over, and Rebecca turns away and gets into her waiting car.

She watches carefully through the tinted windows, and is unsurprised when Nate chooses to get back into his own car, rather than entering the hospital to visit—whoever he was planning to visit.

*

Rebecca is up ridiculously early the next morning. In her defense, there’s quite a lot to do if her house is going to be ready for Ted to move in, starting with asking Ted if he’s comfortable hiring movers to pack up his things, or if she should do it herself. Maybe with some help from Keeley, God knows the woman loves a project.

She heads over to the hospital earlier than usual, reviewing the list of recommended dietitians for Ted, and when she hears a soft, American-accented voice asking, “Ms. Welton, ma’am,” it takes her a moment to look in the direction of who’s speaking to her, and once she sees who it is, her phone slips out of her nerveless fingers.

Voice nearly strangled from the shock, Rebecca gasps out, “Henry? Henry Lasso?”

Because it is Henry, Ted’s son Henry who is somehow standing in front of her, looking nervous and exhausted, a backpack slung over his thin shoulders, another carry-on bag on the floor by his feet, just a few feet away from the receptionist desk, here in this hospital, in London—

“Yeah, it’s me,” Henry says, his back perfectly straight, shoulders squaring as Rebecca looks at him. “I’d like to see my dad, please.”

Rebecca honestly cannot remember the last time she was at such a loss for words. “Of course, but, I don’t understand, is your mum here with you? We would’ve sent a car to pick you up from the airport—”

Henry’s shoulders somehow get even tenser. “My mother’s not here with me, ma’am.” The words genuinely don’t compute for Rebecca, does he mean that his mother dropped him off here before going to their hotel, that certainly doesn’t seem like Michelle at all…

But then realization sinks in. “You mean…Henry, did you come to London by yourself?”

Henry looks both apprehensive and grimly determined, the set to his jaw reminding Rebecca of nothing so much as seeing Ted’s face after that hideous Champions League match at Inter Milan, when he was preparing himself to go into the gauntlet of that press conference—it’s the same expression to the life, that grim awareness that everything about this task was going to be awful, and it was going to be accomplished anyway, come hell or high water. “Yes, Ms. Welton, I did.”

Rebecca asks slowly, “Henry, does your mother know you’re here?”

Henry’s chin lifts. “She might’ve found out by now. I told her I was spending the weekend at a friend’s house, but I really just flew out here.” He takes a deep breath and says next, “I know you gotta call her, I understand that, but please, I’ve been on a plane for over twelve hours, and I just really—I really wanna see my dad, please.”

Rebecca feels a burst of horror that it’s the tiny catch in Henry’s voice, the white-knuckled grip he has on the strap of his backpack, that finally brings her to her senses. “Oh my God, of course—here, God, let me take that bag, we’ll go see him straight away.”

Henry just about crumples with relief, surrendering his duffel bag to her without any protest. Rebecca hefts it up—it’s surprisingly heavy—and lets her free hand rest lightly on Henry’s shoulder as she says, guiding him in the direction of Ted’s hospital room, “Listen, we can work everything else out later, but I want you to know, your dad’s doing a lot better, okay? They are taking the absolute best care of him here, and he—” Rebecca takes a deep breath, and then says, “He is going to be so happy to see you, Henry, he really is.”

Henry looks up at her for a long moment, then nods carefully. “Thank you. Ma’am.”

Rebecca says, through the lump in her throat, “Please, call me Rebecca.” Once they’re at the door to Ted’s private room, Rebecca carefully opens it, calling out as she steps in, just in front of Henry, “Ted, darling, are you awake?”

She has a half-hearted fear that he’s still asleep, and the shock of waking up to find his son here will send his heartrate through the roof and set him back in his recovery somehow, but thank God, Ted’s awake and alert, sitting up in his hospital bed and saying, “Now you know you don’t have to show up here first thing in the morning, Rebecca—” He stops speaking at the look on her face.

“I have a visitor here to see you,” Rebecca says very softly, and stands aside to give Henry room to walk in.

She’ll never forget the look on Ted’s face, open-mouthed and completely stupefied, as though he simply cannot believe the evidence of his own eyes. “Henry?”

“Dad,” Henry says, voice wobbling, and rushes over into his father’s arms. His shoulders are shaking, and Rebecca can just barely hear his muffled sobs.

“Oh my, oh my God,” Ted murmurs, but he’s clutching his son in a fierce hug, his face turned into Henry’s mussed hair, saying soothingly, “Oh, buddy, it’s all right. I’m okay, it’s okay, I promise you. I’m all good.” He drops a kiss on his son’s head, squeezing his eyes shut as he says, his voice breaking, “Jesus God, it’s so good to see you, I’m so happy to see you.”

Her own eyes stinging, Rebecca carefully sets Henry’s bag down by the empty chair, where she sits down on legs that do not feel entirely steady. Part of her wants to leave them alone, let them have their reunion in peace together, but there’s only so much Ted can do from this hospital bed and Rebecca wants—she wants to be useful. She wants to do something.

“I wanted to see you,” Henry mumbles, pulling back only far enough to knuckle at his red, tear-stained face with his hand. “I wanted to be here and I didn’t want to have to wait for Mom or Jennifer’s stupid case to be over.”

Ted’s stroking Henry’s hair, saying distractedly, “Of course, buddy, I—” But Rebecca sees the minute that Henry’s words sink in, and Ted asks, bewildered, “Henry, isn’t your mom here with you?”

“No,” Henry mumbles, eyes downcast.

“Did she—” Rebecca can see Ted’s mind working, the knowledge that Michelle would have been very unlikely to send Henry on his own across the Atlantic, and that she absolutely wouldn’t have done so without letting all of them know first. “Henry, does your mom know you’re here right now?”

Henry looks mutinous, but doesn’t offer up the same defiant answer he gave Rebecca just a moment ago. “No, she doesn’t. I used my savings and my Christmas money to buy a ticket, and I told Mom and Jennifer that I was spending the night at a friend’s house so they wouldn’t get suspicious. Then I got an Uber to the airport.”

Ted’s jaw hangs open. “Holy mother of God,” he breathes out.

“I don’t care if I’m in trouble,” Henry says in a rush. “I had to come to London, I didn’t wanna wait anymore and I’m staying, I don’t care what Mom says.”

Speechless, Ted helplessly scrubs at his hair with his free hand until it resembles a bird’s nest.

As he’s at a loss for words, Rebecca feels the need to delicately interject, “Henry, when you say staying, do you mean—”

Sensing an ally, Henry turns to her and says, determination written all over his face, the same determination that got him all the way to fucking England on his own, “I mean I wanna stay here in London with my dad for good.”

“Oh God, okay, we gotta take this way, way back,” Ted says immediately, and Rebecca pulls back in her seat, unable to stop herself from thinking, but what if that could actually happen?

Ted, like the responsible father he is, is trying to talk Henry down from cheerfully imploding not only his living situation but the carefully crafted custody agreement hammered out between him and Michelle, and Henry, bless him, has an answer to every one of Ted’s points.

“Son, of course I want you here, but you have a whole life back in Kansas—”

“People move all the time,” Henry says. “It’s not like they don’t have schools in England. Plus, somebody’s got to take care of you.”

Ted’s expression crumples, and he says, “Buddy, I love you, but you’re the kid, it’s not your job to take care of me. I can’t imagine how much all of this scared you, but that’s just not—”

“Let’s take a breath,” Rebecca says, interjecting herself in as gently as she can manage. “Before we go any further, I think we need to call Henry’s mum, let her know where he is.”

Henry looks alarmed, but Ted agrees, rubbing a soothing hand along his son’s back and shoulders, “Yeah, yeah, you’re right.”

“And whatever else happens, I think it’s reasonable to say Henry won’t be leaving London for a few days,” Rebecca continues, calmly. “He can stay with me at my house, assuming both you and Michelle are okay with it—Henry, did you pack some clothes?” Henry nods quickly, his alarmed expression fading to one of cautious hope. “Perfect, so he’s all set.”

Ted is looking at her with raised eyebrows and a creased forehead, clearly unconvinced—but also willing to be convinced—and Rebecca lowers her voice and says, “Ted. One step at a time, all right?”

Ted looks at her, then looks at Henry and says slowly, “All right. Henry, for as long as you’re staying with Ms. Welton, I want you to be respectful, all right? You listen to her the way you’d listen to me, you understand?”

Henry nods fervently.

Ted takes a deep breath. “Okay. Rebecca, can you take Henry to get some food? I’m going to call his mom, let her know Henry’s safe and where he is.” His mouth twists a little, as he concedes, “Should be a real interesting conversation.”

*

“Holy shit, Rebecca!” are the first words that come out of Keeley’s mouth as she approaches them in the commissary.

Henry’s doing a really good job of keeping his eyes open (it’s not even four AM in Kansas yet, the poor thing is absolutely knackered) but at this, he laughs, propping his chin up on his hand in a way that is so reminiscent of Ted that it makes Rebecca’s stomach twist.

“Yes, Keeley, it is…definitely a delightful surprise that Henry is here in London,” Rebecca says very tactfully. Henry gives her a look like he knows what she’s not saying, but he holds out his hand and says, in his polite way, “Nice to see you again, Ms. Jones.”

“Oh please, call me Keeley,” Keeley says with her wide smile. She frowns at the orange juice that Henry’s drinking and says, “Oh sweetheart, that’s going to do nothing to push you through your jet lag, we need to get you some espresso, stat.”

“Keeley, he’s twelve, he can’t have coffee,” Rebecca says, then frowns, turning to Henry. “Wait, can you?”

Henry nods quickly. “I totally can,” he promises. At Rebecca’s skeptical look, Henry grins a little, and says, “I mean, I already flew by myself all the way to London, I think I can handle some coffee, right?”

Rebecca sighs, but has to smile back. “All right.”

As Henry quickly goes off to fix himself a coffee, Keeley lowers her voice and says, “Okay, not that Henry isn’t adorable and not that I’m not happy he’s here, but what the fuck, Rebecca? He flew here? By himself? Without his mum’s permission?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” Rebecca says, rubbing at her forehead. “Ted’s calling Michelle now, they’re going to have to work something out—it’s not like there’s a magic portal to Kansas we can take him through, Michelle’ll just have to understand that he’s going to have to stay here for a few days, minimum—”

“Wait, what do you mean, minimum,” Keeley says slowly, because Keeley is very sharp, and after all these years of friendship, can spot every single one of Rebecca’s tells.

Rebecca pauses, then says, “Henry…might have said that he wants to stay in London, and not return to Kansas. And I think that is an idea that has some merit.”

Keeley’s eyes grow huge. “Rebecca—”

“I know there’s a custody arrangement, I’m not saying it would be a piece of cake, I’m just saying it could happen!” Rebecca insists. “It’s not like I don’t have the room at my place.”

“Wait, your place?” Keeley asks, bewildered, and Rebecca realizes she forgot to tell Keeley about her arrangement with Ted.

“Ted’s agreed to stay at my house,” she explains. “While he recuperates, I think it’s important to have someone keep an eye on him. And if Henry’s staying here, I can just put him up at my house too, at least until Ted’s fully back on his feet.”

It’s a perfectly reasonable plan, there is no cause for Keeley to be staring at her like that, mouth open and a crease between her eyebrows, as though rapid calculations are going on in her head. “Rebecca, that…” Keeley stops and says, “Babes, that is a lot to take on suddenly. I know you want to help Ted, we all do, but are you sure—”

“Yes,” Rebecca says, quiet but heartfelt. “Yes, Keeley, I’m sure.” She swallows and says next, “You should have seen Ted’s face when Henry came in. It was like…like I was watching him become whole right in front of me.”

“Babes,” Keeley says, but Henry’s approaching them now, a coffee cup in his hand and his nose wrinkling, asking, “This is what people drink all the time at Starbucks? Really?”

“Yes, I know, it’s totally bizarre,” Rebecca says, turning to meet Henry with a smile on her face. Henry takes a cautious sip of the coffee and makes another face, and Rebecca’s about to suggest they add more sugar and milk, or that Henry try some tea instead, but Rebecca’s phone is buzzing suddenly and when she looks, it’s Michelle’s name on the screen.

Oh, Lord. Rebecca holds up a finger and answers, “Michelle, hello.” Keeley’s eyes grow huge and Henry looks like he wants to be absolutely anywhere in the world but here right now.

When Michelle speaks, she sounds absolutely exhausted. “Ted says you’ll be having Henry stay with you until I can get there?”

“Yes, I’m happy to have him—”

“I can’t get a flight out until Tuesday afternoon, Kansas time, which means I’ll be arriving….midday Thursday for you? God, I can’t figure out time zones right now.” Michelle sighs heavily and says, “Rebecca, Ted says that Henry was with you getting some food, is he there now?”

“Yes,” Rebecca confirms.

“Okay. I’d like to talk to my son, please.”

“Of course,” Rebecca says, and pulls the phone away from her ear, saying to Henry, “Henry, your mum wants to—”

But Henry’s shaking his head, his mouth tight. “No, thank you.”

Rebecca takes a breath. “Henry…”

Henry shakes his head firmly, his jaw set. Stomach twisting, Rebecca starts saying into the phone, “Michelle, Henry—”

“No, I heard him,” Michelle says, her voice distant. In the background, Rebecca can hear Michelle’s wife saying softly, honey, don’t push right now. “I…okay. Okay, I’ll be there Thursday afternoon, I’ll text you the details.”

“I’ll book you a hotel,” Rebecca says quietly. Michelle begins to protest, but Rebecca says, “Please, it’s the least I can do.”

And, if she’s going to help Henry stay in London with Ted, the sooner she starts pouring oil on these troubled waters, the better.

Once the phone call with Michelle ends, Henry—with a dark flush to his cheeks—mumbles, “I probably should get back to my dad.”

Rebecca glances at Keeley, who, bless her, immediately starts chatting about jet lag and all the tricks and tools she’s used to overcome it, and Henry’s old enough (having turned twelve at some point when Rebecca wasn’t looking) to know they’re trying to distract him, but he’s a good boy and rolls with it anyway, gamely saying that while he’s not drinking any more of “this coffee crap” he is willing to try doing some jumping jacks to get the blood flowing.

“Probably should wait until we’re not in a cafeteria though,” he adds slyly, and when Keeley and Rebecca burst out laughing, his answering dimpled smile is an exact replica of his father’s.

*

"So," Rebecca says to Ted, later that afternoon, "How did the conversation with Michelle really go?"

Henry has gone off with Beard for lunch, Beard having met the situation with his usual unflappability, which leaves Rebecca room to discuss their next steps freely.

Ted lifts a shoulder, looking more drained than before. "Well. It could have been worse." The tone of his voice indicates it couldn't have been much worse, and Rebecca grimaces.

"She doesn't blame you for this, does she?"

Ted blinks in surprise. "No, no, not like that," he reassures her. "Just, well, she's upset about all of this. Me in the hospital, Henry running off to another country...she's feeling the stress, that's all."

Rebecca takes a breath, choosing her next words with care. "I always thought you and Michelle had an amicable relationship—well, as amicable as it can be in a divorce."

Ted's watching her closely. "We do." He grimaces a little, correcting himself. "Well. We did."

He doesn't elaborate, and Rebecca leans in a little closer. "Ted," she says, "If I'm going to help you, I need to understand what's happening."

Ted's eyelashes dip low, as he thinks that over. Rebecca doesn't press, just waits him out, and she's vindicated when he sighs deeply and begins, haltingly, "It's not...we're on the same page with Henry. Or we have been until this week. And it's not about Jennifer, Jennifer's great, there's no issue there." Ted bites at his mouth, obviously working out what he's going to say as he's saying it. "It's just that...well, it's the same thing it was during our marriage. Michelle wants things I can't give her."

Rebecca keeps her expression and voice free of judgment. "What does she want?"

Ted's quiet for a moment, staring down at his hands. "She wants to be friends."

That is not what Rebecca's been expecting to hear. "She..."

"After she got together with Jennifer, after she came out," Ted says, with an effort, as if each word is costing him something to say out loud. "Michelle approached me the summer I was visiting. Her family was...they weren't being very supportive, and she wanted to thank me, for not making it harder. Then she...she started to tell me how her whole life, she was struggling to fit in, to make herself into what she thought she had to be, feel what she thought she should feel. She'd spent so long forcing herself into a box and now she was happy in her skin for the first time in her life." Ted's mouth twists. "I was happy for her. I was," he insists, as though Rebecca had argued with him. "It's just, hearing from your ex that fifteen years of marriage was a lie she needed to escape from..."

"That's a hard thing to hear," Rebecca says gently, and Ted looks up at her, his expression pleading for sympathy—as though he would even need to ask for it.

"Yeah, it was. It was, and I just—it had been four years since the divorce, and I know it's petty and small of me, but I just kept thinking, how much more hurt am I supposed to take and keep a smile on my face?"

Oh, Ted.

Ted lets out another sigh. "So, I decided to keep on being petty. I pulled back. When she asks about how I'm doing, or mentions watching the team's latest match, I just...turn the conversation back to Henry. I shut her out, and I keep shutting her out. We're coparents now and that's all. She hasn't...she hasn't called me out on it, but I know she's hurt and confused..."

"You're allowed to have boundaries," Rebecca murmurs, unable to keep silent. "You're not required to—to endlessly give everything of yourself to a relationship that's not healthy, to someone that you're not even married to anymore." Her voice gains strength as she adds, "And if Michelle can't realize that, then—" She cuts herself off when she notices Ted watching her, flushing. "What?"

"Nothing. It's just nice, having someone defend me like that," Ted says, his eyes soft. "Glad I have you in my corner, boss."

Rebecca's flush gets even worse. "Well. Likewise." She clears her throat. "So Michelle's feeling awkward and rebuffed, which would explain why she wanted Jennifer around for support when she comes to the UK...I assume you're getting along better with Michelle's wife than with Michelle these days?" she asks next, and Ted nods. "Okay. Okay, I can work with this."

"You can?" Ted asks doubtfully.

"Of course," Rebecca says. "Your relationship with Michelle is understandably awkward, but it's not hostile. Henry’s unauthorized flight to London is a bit complicated—“

“A bit complicated?” Ted repeats. “Rebecca, he lied to his mom, ran away to a whole other country—“

“Well if you put it like that of course it sounds terrible,” Rebecca retorts. “But I think we should focus on the positives.”

Ted looks at her like she’s gone mad. “The positives?”

“He got all the way to London on his own,” Rebecca says, holding her hands out. “I know he broke some rules getting here—”

“Some rules?”

“But he’s shown a great deal of resourcefulness and determination, and I think that this sort of initiative should be applauded.” While Ted continues to gape at her, Rebecca adds next, “And, should he stay here for longer, some time abroad could be quite beneficial—”

Ted’s expression shifts, because it’s Ted, who knows her to the bone, and he immediately picks up on what she’s just barely begun to hint at. “Rebecca.”

This was always going to be the biggest hurdle to get over, but Rebecca won’t let herself falter now. “Ted. If you honestly want me to shut up and stay out of it, I will.” Well, she would try, which is practically the same thing. “But I would be negligent in my duty as your friend if I didn’t ask. Do you want Henry to come and live with you in London?”

Ted doesn’t say anything at first. He just looks at her, and then turns his face away, closing his eyes as he admits, “I want it more than anything in the whole world, Rebecca. You can’t know—of course I do.” There’s a wealth of pain and longing in the words, an old wound that never healed, and Rebecca’s stomach clenches at hearing it, seeing it.

But that’s not productive. So instead Rebecca reaches out and takes Ted’s hand in hers, and when he finally looks at her again, she makes sure to smile.

“So let’s make it happen, then.”

*

Despite having an increasingly detailed plan of attack for the next week, Rebecca is admittedly more than a little nervous as she travels with Henry back to her house. She's familiar with Henry from his previous visits to see Ted, but all of them have taken place with either one or both of his parents nearby, that's nowhere near the same thing as having Henry stay with her for, at minimum, likely four to five days—longer, if this plan of hers works out.

"So," Rebecca says brightly as they move through the London streets. "Is there anything in particular you'd like to do over the next few days?"

Henry shrugs. "Don't really feel like sightseeing," he admits. "Just want to spend time with my dad, if that's okay."

"Of course it is," Rebecca reassures him.

Henry frowns a little, asking, “Ms. Welton—”

“Rebecca,” she corrects, smiling a little.

Henry gives her an abashed smile, and repeats, “Rebecca…how’s my dad doing, for real?”

“He’s doing well, I promise you,” Rebecca tells him gently, quelling a momentary urge to touch his shoulder. “He’s improved so much even in the last few days, he has more energy, his color is better…”

But Henry doesn’t look comforted by this, only more alarmed. “You mean he looked worse than this before?”

Oh, dear. Rebecca hesitates, but there’s no point in lying, not when Henry will almost certainly see through it and it’ll only harm her relationship with him in the long run. “I won’t lie, it was a…very serious heart attack that your dad had,” she says carefully. “He was in pretty rough shape. But he’s strong, and the doctors believe he’ll make a full recovery, just so long as he takes care of himself.”

“He’s not very good at that,” Henry admits in a low voice. “I heard…I heard my mom talking to Jennifer, and on the phone to Uncle Beard, and…I don’t know. Seems like he doesn’t take very good care of himself, is all.”

Her chest aching, Rebecca swallows and says, “Well, that’s why he’ll be staying with me for a while. So I can make sure he’s taking care of himself.” She looks down at her hands and says, very casually, “It’d be nice to have your help with that, as a matter of fact—between the two of us, I’m sure we can get him eating healthily in no time. Deal?”

“Deal,” Henry agrees, his face brightening.

Rebecca hasn’t considered how her house must look to others in a while, but Henry’s open-mouthed shock as she lets him in through the front door, then gives him a tour, is both charming and an eye-opener in and of itself. When they get to the pool and gym in the basement, he turns to her with wide eyes and asks, “Are you sure this isn’t a palace? Because I know y’all have a lot of palaces in England, Mom has me touring one every time we visit here, and I feel like this is big enough to count as a palace.”

Rebecca laughs. “I promise you, there would be a lot more footmen if it was.” She gestures at the pool, adding, “Obviously you can use this any time you like, but I think it’ll be good for your dad too, the doctors want him to start exercising regularly, and I think this is a safe space for him to do it, where we can keep an eye on him.”

Henry’s nodding in all seriousness. “Having a spotter during workouts is important,” he says wisely.

He’s equally impressed by the piano, and takes one look at the kitchen and says, “Dad’s gonna love cooking in there,” which gives Rebecca a warm feeling to hear—she’s thought so as well, but it’s nice to get confirmation.

After a little bit of thinking, Rebecca has Henry set up in the guest room she usually reserves for Nora, which is on a separate floor from her own bedroom as well as the room she’s tentatively marking out as Ted’s, which is next to her own—she wants to be close to Ted, in case of an emergency, and she thinks Henry, on the verge of becoming a teenager, will appreciate the extra privacy.

He does, if the way his face lights up as he looks at the room and the adjoining bath is any indication, but once Rebecca helps him unpack—making careful mental notes of what he’ll need, should he stay longer—he hesitates, standing in the middle of the room. “Are you sure it’s okay? Having me stay here with you?” Henry asks at last, looking very young and unsure of himself.

“Of course it is,” Rebecca says stoutly, placing her hands on his shoulders. “Henry, I’ve just given you the tour, you know full well I have the room to spare,” she teases, and Henry gives her a quick lopsided grin for that. “And even if I didn’t—you’re Ted’s kid. You’re welcome in my home for as long as you’re here.”

There’s something in the long, wide-eyed look that Henry gives her at that, as though he’s getting the measure of her, but then his face crumples, and he gives her a quick hug, there and gone almost before Rebecca has the chance to hug him back. “Thanks,” he mumbles, and turns away, clearly embarrassed.

Rebecca brushes his shoulder one last time, and gives him some space. “I’ll let you settle in. If you want to come downstairs and watch some TV with me, feel free. Or just let me know if there’s anything you need, okay?”

Cheeks still flushed, Henry nods. “I’m good,” he promises, and so with one last smile and look, Rebecca leaves him to it, gently shutting the door behind her.

She lets out a long, slow breath as she walks down the stairs. There’s still so much to do, so much left still to accomplish, and that’s before Ted is even released from the hospital, but for the first time in the last few days, Rebecca feels like she might be getting a handle on things at last.