Chapter Text
In the middle of a not-uncommon silence during his weekly session with Doc Larry (he’d introduced himself to Ted at the beginning of their consult just like that, “Call me Doc Larry, if you want,” and Ted had known he’d found his new guy), Ted flattens his palms against his legs and takes a slow, deep breath.
“Toss it to me, Ted,” Doc Larry says, recognizing Ted preparing to say something he feels uncertain about. They’d agreed early on that Doc Larry providing encouragement helped Ted feel less scared to say some things. “Put that thought ball in play.”
"Okay,” Ted says. He clasps his hands in his lap and stares at them, then looks up at Doc Larry, meeting his gaze. “We’ve talked about my anger with Nate. How I’m allowed to let myself feel it. How it’s good that I’m angry because it’s natural to be angry when you’re betrayed...”
Doc Larry nods but doesn’t speak. Ted's shoulders relax a little.
"And how it's okay if I wanna forgive Nate, but it's also okay if I don't wanna. Because it's about being at peace with my decision and not about feeling like forgiveness is gonna fix everything."
"You're thinking long-game. That's good."
Ted gives Doc Larry a small smile. "Thanks, Doc." He takes another slow, deep breath. "Trent Crimm. We've talked about him some."
"Just last week," Doc Larry says. "He's working at the club now, right? He's writing a book?"
"Uh-huh. He's been with us a week, and he's in the coaching office at Nate's old desk, and I realized the other day how weird that is. You know what I mean?" Ted doesn't wait for Doc Larry to say anything. "I go in every day, and there's Trent Crimm, the guy who let Nate tell him all my secrets and then wrote a whole damn article about them. And I think...No. No. I know. I know I'm angry at Trent for writing that article. And I don't know...I'm not just angry, you know? I'm…" Ted sighs and gives Doc Larry a rueful look. "I'm a lot of things," he says. "But I'm just now realizing angry is one of them."
"What other things are you?" Doc Larry says. "Show me the whole play."
Ted grins briefly. "You're getting real good at all the sports lingo, Doc."
"Thank you, Ted." Doc Larry wonders if Ted will use this moment to wander away from what he actually wants to talk about. It happens sometimes, Ted getting too uncomfortable with feeling less than perfectly happy, but the serious look in Ted's eyes doesn't waver, and he doesn't break eye contact. Doc Larry makes a quick note that Ted doesn't try to stop the hard part of the conversation. He's silently proud of the proof of Ted's effort.
"I'm angry, and I know I already said it, but I'm still trying to get used to using the word like we've talked about. So, I'm feeling angry. But I'm also...relieved. And sad. Grateful. Impressed. ...happy?"
"You feel like taking a lap on each of those?"
"I can try," Ted says, and he finally breaks eye contact, but only to close his eyes and take a slow breath. "Relieved," he says, eyes still closed. "Because…because Nate could have gone to someone who would have written something...mean. If he'd gone to Ernie or Bob or Jack, they'd have written something…" Ted opens his eyes. "They'd have slapped down five hundred words about how I'm too soft for soccer or too soft as a man, and they'd have mocked me. So, I'm relieved Trent was the one who wrote the article because he gave it a fair shake. Gave me a fair shake. Gave everyone who has panic attacks or mental health stuff a fair shake by being...kind in how he wrote it."
Doc Larry files away the use of kind for the moment. "Good. Now, what about sad?"
"I'm sad he wrote it. Because...I know we weren't friends, Doc. I'm not so far in the corn field I can't see the road. Reporters cover college ball, too, and they take it just as seriously. I liked Trent--I still like him--and I think that's why I'm sad. He had to quit something he really loved doing. He was real good at it, too. And it makes me sad he can't do it anymore."
Doc Larry cocks his head. "Why can't he do it anymore?" he asks. "You sound very sure he can't."
Ted huffs a nervous laugh. "Well, shoot," he says. "In fact. Shit." He laughs nervously again, looking away from Doc, but then meeting his eyes again. "I know I ask this about every third time, but I gotta ask again. It's all confidential, right? Everything I say. If you go tell anyone, you're in deep crap, right?"
"Deep shit, even," Doc Larry says because he knows it'll help Ted relax. "Sincerely, Ted, I cannot legally inform anyone about anything you say to me ever unless it's absolutely necessary to protect you or someone else."
"Right. Okay. Right. Thanks for the replay. It helps." Ted nods slowly, like he needs to convince his body with the movement. "You've always taken my word on things that Nate was the one to talk to Trent. But the reason I'm so sure about it is because Trent told me. Before the article was published. And then he got fired because he told his boss he'd given up a source. So. I'm sad he can't do what he used to because he…he respected me so much he decided to do that. To tell me, I mean."
"I'm interested that you say he respected you when discussing this."
"That's what he said," Ted says. "He said he respected me, and that's why he told me it was Nate."
"That's…" Doc Larry shakes his head. "That's a lot of information to take in all at once, Ted."
"Yeah, yeah it is," Ted says, and his laugh this time is less nervous and more surprised. "And, I know that's part of why I feel grateful. He made this huge personal decision to try and...help me? By warning me, you know? Giving me a chance to…to panic privately? I don't know. I've never asked."
"But you're also angry."
"Because he went through with it," Ted says. "Because he could have told Nate to get out or refused to write it, but then it wraps back around to how much worse it could have been if someone else had written it. So, I feel like I'm partly angry because he wrote something good. Like, good, good. Like how Superman does good." Ted goes still, then barks a laugh. "One time, in the press room, I joked he worked for the Daily Planet."
Doc Larry laughs with him. "Do you like Superman?"
"I like Clark Kent," Ted says. "And Superman's just all the real good parts of Clark Kent."
"You think anyone's ever gotten mad at Clark Kent for printing a truth about them, even if he was kind about it?"
Ted gives Doc Larry a long, thoughtful look. "That's a good thread you just pulled, Doc. That's a thread I wanna hold up to the light and see where it frays."
"Let me add another then: Do you think someone's been grateful for Clark Kent's kindness even if what he's written is something that hurts them?"
"Definitely a good thread to add."
"I'll let you sit with those and work out the frays," Doc Larry says. "But I do have one more question."
"Toss me the thought ball, Doc."
"Why do you feel happy when you think about Trent Crimm?"
"Because I like him," Ted answers instantly. His mouth screws up on one side. "And it feels like that doesn't make sense. That I'm angry at him but still like him. But...it's okay to be angry. It's okay to be angry and care about someone. I can be angry at someone and also like them."
"You can," Doc Larry says. "And it's good you can say that out loud."
"Thanks, Doc," Ted says, looking down at his hands. Doc Larry doesn't remind him he's allowed to accept praise. That's not the point of this conversation.
"You're welcome, Ted," Doc Larry replies. They sit in silence until the cat-shaped timer on Doc Larry's desk starts to meow. "And we'll pick up next week," he says.
"See you then, Doc."
*
Trent sits at his desk at Richmond and rubs the back of his hand across his nose. He's been sorting through old and older boxes of photos and documents that Higgins had personally delivered to him for his research, and he feels like he's breathed in enough dust he should be getting a warning from his doctor.
He hears the locker room door open, and then Beard's quiet greeting followed by Ted's jovial hello. Trent keeps his head down. Ted's been nothing but nice, but Trent is still determined to make it clear that he's not there to do anything more than write the club's history. He'll want to interview Ted at some point, but he's working chronologically specifically to keep the date of that interview very far away for now.
Trent hears Roy stand up from his desk and does look up at that. He and Roy nod at each other in the mornings and have had a single conversation (Roy had said, "too cold?" when Trent had stood and pulled on his blazer on the first day, and Ted had said, "No, going to lunch," and left the office to do exactly that). He never means to look up when Roy moves, but he also can't help it. Too many years of keeping track of Roy Kent on the pitch, Trent thinks. He has zero plans to ever say that to Roy or anyone. Roy also doesn't seem to notice he looks up, which helps.
Roy slides open the door that connects the coach offices. "Where you been?" he barks at Ted.
"Therapy," Ted replies, and Trent's fingers curl hard around an old match program.
"It's Tuesday. Thought you were Wednesday."
"I'm Wednesdays," Beard says.
"Right," Roy says. "We need a shared calendar."
"Now, that's an idea worthy of Edison," Ted says, and Trent hears him snap his fingers. "Well, except for the theft that you didn't commit making it your idea," he continues. "So, really, it's an idea worthy of what's-his-name, the guy with the machine." He makes a noise like zzzt.
"Tesla," Beard says.
"That's it," Ted replies. "That guy. Didn't you read a book about how he lost the bulb, Coach?"
"It was about the Chicago World's Fair and murder," Beard replies.
"Devil in the White City," Trent says.
"That's the one," Beard says as Trent goes very still as he realizes he's brought himself into the conversation.
"Why the fuck is there murder in a book about a World's Fair?" Roy asks.
"Coincidences," Beard says.
"Huh?" Ted asks.
Trent looks up when he realizes Beard isn't going to explain that statement. Ted and Roy are sharing a shrug. "America's first serial killer was active during the Chicago World's Fair in 1893," he says because he can't not explain something he knows if someone seems to want an answer. "H. H. Holmes. Erik Larson, the author, specializes in overlapping two events in the same timeframe and showing how one influenced the other."
"Now, that there is an interesting way to write a book," Ted says. "You gotta think sideways for that."
"How the fuck does this have anything to do with Tesla?" Roy asks.
"The committee that oversaw the fair wanted to show off electric lights, and it was between Edison's bulb and Tesla's. Edison's won," Trent explains. "The White City in the title refers to the descriptions of the fair when it was lit up at night with lightbulbs."
"I bet that was pretty," Ted says.
"There's photographs," Beard replies. "I'll send you my favorites."
"Thanks, Coach," Ted says, flashing a smile at Beard. He turns his smile to Roy. "Anyway, to get back to the topic, Hawaiian Tropic, we should definitely have a shared calendar."
"I'll start it," Beard says, putting down his book and opening his laptop.
"Thank you. Because I do not know how to do that at all," Ted says.
The fond laugh that escapes Trent makes Roy whip around and glare at him. Trent meets his gaze without blinking.
"Make sure the Prick's on the list," Roy says over his shoulder to Beard.
"I'm not a coach," Trent says.
"Good to know when you're not here," Roy replies, and his glare intensifies.
"Hey," Ted says, walking through the open door and tapping Roy on the shoulder. "None of that."
"He shouldn't--" Roy starts.
"He's part of the team," Ted says in a quiet, determined way Trent's never heard from him. It makes Roy roll his shoulders back and shift his stance into something one-hundredth less intimidating.
Trent was one of the first reporters to ever suggest Roy Kent was a talent worth watching. He has never seen him give ground until this moment. A hollow, hard feeling builds under his ribs. "That's kind of you to say, Coach Lasso," Trent says, having to clear his throat to keep going, "but Roy isn't wrong. I am both the metaphorical and literal elephant in the room."
"It's Ted," Ted says to Trent with a firmness that makes it clear there will be no further discussion on the topic. But there's something in his eyes, unsure but determined, that Trent can't look away from. "I'm not gonna tell Roy or Beard or anyone else how to feel about you being here, but I won't let it stink up the office. You're here because you love this team. You're one of us."
Trent crumples the old match program in his fist. He can't look away from the confusing look in Ted's eyes. After a long, quiet moment, Beard kicks his feet up onto his desk with a loud thump, and it breaks the tension.
"He's the team prick," Roy growls at Ted.
Ted glances at Trent, the confusing look in his eyes gone. It's a question, now. Is Trent okay with Roy taking this point.
"That's the nicest thing you've ever called me, Roy," Trent says, and he keeps his eyes on Roy even as he catches the quirk of Ted's smile in the corner of his eye.
Ten minutes later, Trent's email pings to welcome him to the shared calendar. Beard has named it "Coaches and that Prick Trent Crimm, Richmond Historian." He hears Roy grunt happily behind him and feels a smile form on his own face.