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Northern Attitude pt. 2

Ted Lasso x Rebecca Welton

Divorce is hard. it doesn't matter if you're the one who got left, or you're the one doing the leaving. When an unexpected blizzard puts a dangerous twist in Ted's hiking adventures he's rescued by an axe-wielding, lumber-chopping, blonde angel. Oh, and there's only one bed. Warnings: divorce mentions, mentions of Ted's dad, snow storms, depictions of childhood injuries, broken bones (past), Rupert (mentioned), let me know if you want me to add anything.

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Ted remembers falling out of a tree when he was a kid--probably only eight or nine years old. He hadn’t made it very far up the tree, but he broke his arm anyway. For a minute he’d just laid there in the grass looking up at the canopy of green leaves above him. The shock of the fall had knocked the air from his lungs and he couldn’t call out for help.

His mom had found him, and got him to the hospital to have his arm looked at. With all the adrenaline out of his system, it hurt a whole heck of a lot, but still, he was quiet; like all the fear, and hurt was trapped in his chest.

In the waiting room, his Ma just kept telling him he'd be alright, over and over again, like a mantra.

His dad was home from work when they got back, and Ted was allowed to have an extra scoop of ice cream for dessert. “So, what did ya learn today?” His father asked. “Not to climb trees,” Ted replied. “Nah,” his dad shook his head, “You just learned one wrong way to climb a tree”. When Ted got his cast taken off a couple of weeks later, he climbed right back up the same tree he’d fallen out of. He climbed almost every tree in the neighbourhood that summer. Ted’s never been a quitter.

He knows he was lucky to grow up with parents as fantastic as his folks were. For all the growing pains, and the tragedy, he can say he actually had a really good childhood. He knows guys his age carrying around the weight of the world on their shoulders. They fight their own pasts, and shadowbox their childhoods, trying not to hand down their aches and heartbreaks to their own sons. Ted hopes he manages to only pass down the good things to his.

Henry broke his arm at school a while back and it nearly sent Ted into a panic. Henry took it in stride, excited to get his cast signed when he saw his friends. He got that from Michelle, his carefree nature. Ted's always been a worrier.

“Were you scared?” Ted asked Henry that night, tucking him into bed.

“Nope! My teacher said you and mom were coming to get me. It hurt a lot though”.

“How ya feeling now?”

Henry shrugged, “I don't know if football is the sport for me. I don't think I'm very good at sports”.

Ted hummed, weighing his son's words, “ya know, I broke my arm when I was your age. Fell outta tree. Thought I'd never climb a tree again”.

Henry grinned at his father's story, “did you?”

“Lots of ‘em. Your grandpa--my dad, reminded me that we all make mistakes. But a lot of times mistakes are just lessons on how not to do something,” Ted pauses, “don't stop doing something you enjoy. Just figure out a different way to do it”.

“A different way to play football?”

Ted wasn't shocked by the question. He's always had the habit of letting his tongue get ahead of his thoughts. Words flow without thought, and even he's left piecing together their meaning.

How do you play football differently?

“They call soccer, football in England,” Ted floated the idea.

“A different kind of football,” Henry nodded in the affirmative.

When Ted's eyes flutter open again, the first thing he's aware of is the cold. Snow has found its way down the collar of his coat. And then he sees her, Diane Sawyer.

Only in his dreams.

Is he dead? The thought crosses his mind.

“Hello?” She says, “can you hear me?”

Not Diane Sawyer.

He groans trying to sit up.

“Woah, take it easy. That was quite the tumble you took,” the angel lady says, gently pushing on his chest to get him to lie down again. He doesn't fight it.

“How's your head? Are you in any pain?” She asks. Oh, that's not an accent he's used to hearing.

“Noggin feels fine,” he confirms.

She nods, letting him sit up slowly, it's easier to breathe now.

“What's your name?”

“Ted Lasso”.

“It's nice to meet you Ted. I'm Rebecca Welton”.

He hums, “it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms Welton. I gotta ask though, is that an English accent I'm hearing”.

He's got a lot of questions, come to think of it. How long was he out for? It's hard to tell just by looking at the sky, equally as grey as it was when he set out in the morning. The wind has died down, the ice rain seems to have calmed back down to playful flurries.

How far did he fall? He can't quite make out the top of the hill, but he must've fallen a fair distance. He hit something on the way down, that much he can feel for sure. His shoulder throbs, but a cursory movement confirms that it's not broken or dislocated.

She smiles softly, almost as if it's in spite of herself, “Rebecca, please. Ms Welton is my father. But, to answer your question, I'm from London, yes”.

“If that's a joke I love it. If not, I can't wait to unpack that with you,” Ted chuckled as she helps him to his feet.

Goly, she's tall. It's hard to tell in the snow but she's nearly as tall as he is. She's not wearing a heavy winter coat, and yet here he is shivering in his.

A pair of jeans, sturdy-looking boots, a cable knit sweater in the softest shade of pink, and a Sherpa-lined flannel. He looks around but can't see a backpack other than his own, a few feet away.

“Are you hiking here too?” He lets himself wonder aloud.

“No, I live here. I work here,” she tells him, “come along-- the snow has slowed down, but there's sure to be more of it, and I have absolutely no interest in catching a cold”.

Rebecca's cabin is bigger than the one Ted stayed in last night, but it's nowhere near large. It's rustic by nature but decidedly comfortable-- lived in. It's clear she's made the place her own.

The glow of a dimming fire casts a warm orange glow over the room, but blow glass wall sconces do most of the illumination work. There's a sitting area with a large leather sofa, softened by the chunky knit blanket draped over the back of it. A high-back armchair sits nearer to the fireplace. Across the room, is a small open kitchen, sage green cabinets, and a butcher block island. There's a baby pink kettle on the gas stove, and a quick sniff of the air smells like warm lemon.

There's a bathroom at the end of a short corridor. Unlike the camper accommodations, this cabin has a staircase that Ted assumes leads up to the sleeping area.

Ted accepts Rebecca's offer to take his coat from him, watching as she hangs it next to her own. He follows her lead toeing off his boots and setting them on the mat by the door.

“Make yourself at home, get yourself warmed up,” she nods towards the fire.

He does as he's told, lowering himself into the chair. He's beginning to feel the aftermath of his falls, tender spots all over his back and limbs he's sure will be black and blue tomorrow if they aren't already. His shoulder throbs but he pushes down the hiss of pain, finding a comfortable enough position to rest in.

“I really appreciate you takin’ me in like this,” Ted speaks for the first time since he entered her home, “I've read far too many online articles about people getting buried in avalanches-- most certainly how I'd like to go”.

“It's really not a problem,” she cuts his rambling short, putting the kettle on to boil again, “how do you take your tea?”

“I don't”.

She looks startled, borderline appalled for a moment before she speaks again, “sometimes I forget I'm the one with an accent here. Hot cocoa?” She tries again.

“Ooh, yes please!”

The drink warms him from the inside out. Conjuring images of winter's past. And it's easy to relax, breathing deeply and settling into the sound of the resumed inclement weather outside, and Rebecca shuffling around the kitchen.

She checks over his injuries again. Still no sign of a concussion, and she clears him to sleep tonight. He can see the irony in the fact that this trip was one he was supposed to take alone, but he's never been one to turn away from making new friends.

He sleeps on the couch, wrapped up in his sleeping bag, nice and cozy by the fire.

The moonlight wakes him, trickling through the window. A quick glance outside shows him that the front porch and steps have been completely snowed over. The blanket of snow is a good foot deeper than yesterday, and he resigns himself to know he won't be getting back on the trail today.

It's about a quarter after four when he checks his watch and he knows he's not getting back to sleep. He's been haunted by bouts of insomnia, and lack of sleep on and off his whole life; it's only gotten worse in the last year and a half.

The first time he remembers it happening he was 16, about to turn 17. He'd gone from feeling like the whole world was his to explore, with a big exciting life ahead of him, to feeling like every room he walked into was collapsing around his ears.

As a kid, he'd seen people lose people. Watched his parents and friends process loss.

He'd been too young when his grandparents passed away to fully understand or process the grief, but he can remember his Ma crying in the kitchen, her face hidden in his father's chest.

He'd had friends at school who had family pass away. When he was 13 or 14 the family dog Hank had to get out to sleep. Ted had cried himself to sleep that night. He'd lost one of his bestfriends. But none of that could've prepared him for the death of his own father.

It had taken him months to accept that he needed help sleeping. The sound of a gun shoot ringing in his ears every time he closed his eyes. He ended up having to take medication for a couple of years to combat his insomnia.

It hasn't been that bad in years, but stress still triggers him, leaving him waking at all hours, or staring at a ceiling waiting for a dreamland he knows isn't coming.

Ted has learned to cope. He's found things that keep his hands and mind occupied. Today he bakes. He hopes that his socked footsteps on the floorboards are silent to a sleeping Rebecca upstairs, and he prays that his creations are enough to cancel out any potential intrusion or overstep as he makes himself at home in her tiny kitchen.

He scrapes together enough flour, butter, and sugar to bake a batch of shortbread cookies, following the recipe he's had memorized since he was old enough to help out in the kitchen.

The sun is just starting to peek through the curtain of the clouds when he pulls the cookies out the oven, letting them cool while he makes breakfast. He can hear her moving around upstairs now, and it only makes him smile, excited to present her with the delicious little biscuits, as she'd probably call them, he's crafted.

The moment Ted had laid eyes on her, he trusted Rebecca. Kindred spirits almost. A meeting of fate. His father always told him, “there are a lot of people in this world. A lot of people you'll love, but for better or for worse there are some people you'll just know you were meant to meet”.

Ted holds that philosophy close to his heart. He was always meant to be friends with Beard. Ted was meant to be a father, and he was certain he loved Henry king before he even existed.

In a lot of ways meeting Michelle felt like destiny. The only two people in the parking lot late at night. What were the odds?

Separating from Michelle, and getting a divorce had felt like a stab straight to the heart. It challenged what he had always believed in. If he was meant to know her, then how could he lose her?

He chooses now to see it as a lesson. He sees now how he had a hunk himself down and held himself back to love her. They didn't fit together the way they should have. But loving her had taught him to see the good in the world again. Without Michelle, Ted wouldn't know Henry. And with that perspective he's learned to be grateful.

This vacation, this hike, the snow, and his fall all lead him here. When he opened his eyes and saw Rebecca with her blonde hair and green eyes he'd labeled her an angel. She'd rescued him from more than just the snow.

And now, as he scrambles eggs, and fries up some bacon, Ted knows he's more at ease than he has been in months. There's an instant familiarity, he wants to explore. He was meant to know Rebecca.

“Did you make these?” Rebecca asks pointing at the perfect rectangular shortbread pieces on the counter.

“Sure did!” Ted smiles, plating breakfast for the two of them, “I couldn't sleep, and I wanted to say thank you”.

She hesitated before lifting one to take a bite, and he watches eagerly.

“Fuck me,” she mumbles, her fingers catching the escaping crumbs. Her eyes light up in a way he hasn't seen yet. Like a kid at Christmas, pure and genuine joy, and Ted can't help but wonder when she last felt this way. She shys away after her initial outbursts, as though she's embarrassed herself somehow.

Ted's eyebrows shoot up and he allows himself to chuckle, “I've got some breakfast here for you as well”.

“You didn't have to, Ted. Thank you”.

“It was the least I could do,” he shrugs.

After breakfast, Ted showers, taking advantage of the hot water, and the superior water pressure. He layers up, putting a flannel over his thermal shirt, long johns under his jeans.

Rebecca told him while they ate that she needed more firewood, and he was expected to help. It's been years since he chopped wood. The last time was probably one of his camping trips with his dad but he's beyond happy to be of use, especially if he's stranded here for at least another day.

Rebecca is tall, strong, and powerful. Dressed in a navy blue snowsuit, her hair down in natural curls, contained only by her wool hat. She carries her ax on her shoulder, smirking at Ted's jokes about ax murders-- he's been watching too much true crime lately.

There's a tree that's already been toppled and she quickly gets to work chopping away at the section that will be split into firewood.

Definitely an angel.

The forrest is beautiful. Even more stunning in the valley they stand in now, looking up at the hills, evergreen pines, dusted white. It’s silent, every sound muffled by the snow. Indescribably peaceful, and the company hes found himself in only adds to it. A part of him wishes he could stay here forever.

When he takes over chopping the wood, his hand brushing hers as the ax changes hands, he distracts himself from the burn in unused muscles by asking Rebecca how a lovely English woman such as herself ended up in the American wilderness.

“My friend from college, I call her Sassy, she’s an ecologist. And after I got divorced, I followed her out here with her daughter to help with some research she was doing,” Rebecca explains, stacking the firewood on the tiny sled she’d dragged out.

He can tell by the way she hesitates to mention her divorce that it was probably pretty messy. Her shoulders drop, and he hates the way she makes herself smaller. “And you just stayed behind?” He asks, encouraging her to continue. He wants to know her.

“I fell in love with this place. I went home, but I kept coming back here. Hiked all the trails, saw all the sights. And then there was an opening for a summer guide and park coordinator. I took it”. “I bet you’re good at it,” Ted smiles, not missing the way she blushes. “I enjoy it. It’s a lot of kids, and families in the summer. And the coordination is mostly clerical,” she shrugs off the compliment. The ax back over her shoulder as they walk.

She’s looking at him, watching him as they retrace their boot prints back to the cabin. He lets her have her moment, and ignores the way he’s cheeks feel warm under her gaze.

Ted makes dinner. He takes his time cooking up stake and potatoes, getting Rebecca to help out cutting up carrots and root vegetables. Her laughter he’s learned is one of his favourite sounds, and he goes out of his way to do it. Rebecca is the most intoxicating mix of grace, and absolute silliness. She glows when she smiles, and it melts his heart. She dances through the kitchen as she twists the cork out of a bottle of wine, thrilled as she pours them each a glass.

“This is by far the best dinner I’ve had in ages,” she sighs, starring down at her empty plate. “I appreciate you sayin’ that. It was the least I could do”. She shakes her head, at his refusal of her compliment, “I mean it”. “I know you do,” he smiles.

The room is quiet, the crackle of the fireplace seems so loud when all he can hear is their breathing. “Rupert-- my ex. He was a real piece of shit,” Rebecca swallows before continuing, “And when I left him, I thought that all I really wanted was to be alone”.

Ted nods. He can understand that mentality, though it saddens him to hear it. She’s so full of life, so vibrant, imagining her spending her days without anyone sharing in that joy breaks his heart. “It seems silly, saying it out loud, but even in this short amount of time, I feel like I’ve known you forever, Ted,” She confesses, “And at the risk of sounding cruel, or selfish, I’m glad you feel down that hill”. Ted can’t stop his laughter, “Rebecca, I have never been happier to have made a fool of myself”.

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