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When he starts awake, all he can do is stare at the ceiling, body rigid, tense, eyes not believing what he’s seeing.
He clenches his eyes shut. Reopens them. Same image.
The ceiling fan has a little spot of paint on one blade from when they repainted that no one ever bothered to scrape off. An off white he really doesn't like now. The highest setting of said fan doesn't ever get used because the whole thing shakes like it's about to take flight.
He knows where he is. It is familiar to him, even if it feels like another lifetime ago.
After seconds? minutes? hours? he finally finds it in him to turn his head and it sends a wave of terror through him.
That hair is blonde but not right – too honey, not platinum. Too long, too wavy and he feels his whole body start to tremble, hands clenching in the blankets on his chest.
What the fuck?
How did he get–
He sits up with almost painful slowness, pulling himself from the bed carefully. He looks around the room when he stands and it's…
This has to be a dream. This can't be real. She doesn't even live here anymore.
His breath starts coming shorter, shallower, and his feet carry him from the bedroom, desperate to be out of there, hunting for fresh air, jolting to a stop three steps down the hall when he meets a door with a big H on it.
Henry.
He takes a second to get his breath as even as possible before he pushes the door open.
He stares at his little boy.
He can't be more than 7 years old.
Seven.
The Millennium Falcon they built together years ago is in pieces on the floor.
Can’t be real. It can’t.
He pulls the door closed and his feet take him to the back door, fingers fumbling to unlock it. He stumbles out onto the porch then the dark yard and he feels completely hollow. An empty vessel just for fear to fill him.
The air is still and warm. Fresh Kansas night air.
"No," he breathes. "No, no, no."
There's no garden of flowers Rebecca painstakingly planted, there's no cloud cover. There's no London, no Richmond, no football club owner in this bed, no biscuits on this kitchen counter and he feels his knees hit damp grass as panic floods him.
He digs his nails hard into the tops of his thighs, then his palms, panting, "Wake up, wake up."
Is this the dream? Or was that?
He crumples forward, covering his face as he gasps into his hands, unable to make sense of what the fuck is happening, because it can't be this, it can't be real, he didn't spend one night dreaming a whole 6 years of finding happiness.
No.
He feels the cool gold of his wedding ring on his cheek and pulls his hands away. He knows immediately it's too yellow, too shiny, but he tears it off anyway, spinning it and spinning it, frantic to find the little heart and tiny R engraved inside. He makes at least six revolutions before he lets the ring fall from his hands as a sob tears through him.
He's going insane. He really did go crazy, except that exchange never happened, did it? He never sat outside a karaoke club in Liverpool with his boss's hands holding his, bringing him back to calm water from this storm in his chest.
He stares at the glint of gold in the grass, a scream perched at the back of his throat.
This can't be happening.
When he wakes it's with a jolt, like he'd been falling and just slammed into a brick wall of consciousness. His eyes open sharply then clench shut again. There's a lot of sunlight – too much sunlight, and when he cracks them open again, the ceiling is stark white, too high.
More sensations come – the sheets are impossibly smooth, the air too cool, the unfamiliar clock next to him reading 6:01am.
He has no idea where he is.
He hears breathing and his whole body tenses.
No.
He rolls his head very slowly and dread fills him.
He's not hungover. No part of him at all feels like he's spent the night having sex and that's the only relief he gets because what the fuck is going on.
He stares at the woman next to him, takes in her face, willing his brain to place her somewhere in his memory and there's just…nothing.
His heart starts to race in his chest and he tears himself from the bed, stumbling until his back hits a wall and he barely keeps his knees from giving out under him.
He hears a "Ted?" and he watches her rise and come around the bed toward him but he holds out a halting hand. She stops, her brows coming down. "You alright? Ted?"
She…she has an English accent. She knows his name. Which is good, right?
"What's happening?" she asks him and he almost laughs.
"I don't have any idea," he says. His breath comes short and he can't figure out why he can't seem to get his lungs full, his vision narrowing and blurring. "I have absolutely no idea what's happening."
Her brows come down further but she doesn't try to come any closer. "Take a deep breath, Ted."
"I…can't, I don't…what's wrong with me?" he asks himself more than her.
"Sweetheart, you're going to have a panic attack if you don't try to relax, take a breath," she says, her voice full of worry, but her words just ratchet up the tightness in his chest.
"Panic attack? I–"
He loses the fight against his knees and slides down the wall and loses his will against keeping her away from him. She drops to her knees next to him as he tries to gasp in air.
"Ted, sweetheart, you need to breathe."
"I can't," he chokes. "I can't."
"You can." He feels her hands land on his, clenched tight on his knees, and he doesn't know this woman but she seems to know him and he lets himself trust her right now because he thinks he might be dying. "4-7-8 breathing, okay?"
What?
He doesn't ask, just does his best to mimic her, inhaling and exhaling when she does and parts of him begin to relax, the rushing in his ears dulling as he finally gets a lungful of oxygen.
"Okay," she says as his breathing evens out. "It's alright."
It's not though, because he still doesn't know where he is, or who's calling him sweetheart, when it’s not his wife doing it, though she hasn’t called him that in years, but still, for God’s sake, he’d never cheat–
"Come on, up." The woman stands, tugs him up after her and he rises, letting her guide him to a comfy looking armchair in the corner. He sits, dropping his head in his hands as she squats before him, a hand rubbing over his knee, intending, he's sure, to be comforting, but her familiarity just scares him all the more.
"What's going on, love?" she asks gently.
Words spill from him though he tries to keep a tight grip on the emotions that follow just behind them. "I have no idea where I am or who you are or what the hell just happened to me."
She doesn't answer for a long minute and he goes to his go-to, trying to force some levity into his voice. "Though it seems like I don't need to introduce myself, huh?"
"Ted," she says, sounding almost painfully concerned. "Can you look at me please?"
He lifts his head and does, really looks at her for the first time.
She's very lovely but she is most definitely not his wife.
"You don't know who I am?" She sounds calm, but it seems forced.
He shakes his head slowly.
"You don't know this place either?" She gestures around the room.
He shakes his head again as he looks around.
Her eyes flick between his quickly, her brows coming down and he can't help but apologize. "I'm sorry."
"No," she says, squeezing his knee. "It's okay. I just don't know what to…"
He watches her roll her lips between her teeth as she looks away, thinking.
"What's the last thing you remember doing?" she asks, turning back to him, green eyes searching him.
He shakes his head a little, shrugging helplessly, still trying to place this setting in his memory.
"Yesterday?" she prompts.
"It, it was like most of my days…saw my son off to school, went to work, came home, made dinner 'til my wife got home…" He shrugs, unsure, confused how he ended up here. "I'm certain I got in my own bed next to my own wife last night."
Her face loses all its color. "Michelle?" she says carefully.
His brows come down, wondering how and why she'd know his wife's name.
"Okay…okay," she says, taking a deep breath. She looks away again, thinking. He watches her hand as it rubs the top of his thigh almost mindlessly, comforting herself with the gesture more than him now, and he marvels a little bit that she apparently would be soothed by the knowledge that he's here, close at hand.
She must look back, see him watching it, because she pulls it away. "Sorry, that's…force of habit."
Not a single thing she's said makes sense to him – including that – until, "I'm…I'm going to call Beard, I think."
"Beard? You know Beard?"
She smiles at him gently, brows still drawn, and he tries not to have any thoughts about how beautiful she is. "I do. You remember Beard?"
He nods.
"Okay, good. Familiar face might help right now."
She rises and squeezes his shoulder, rounding the bed for her phone.
She has to listen past the ringing in her ears to hear Beard speak.
"Take a deep breath, Rebecca, and tell me again."
She drops herself at the island, giving up on trying to make tea and coffee with her shaking hands.
"He woke up panicking," she says carefully, voice trembling as bad as her hands. "He doesn't know who I am or where he is, Beard. He said yesterday he took Henry to school, made dinner for his family. Still…still married to Michelle."
Beard is quiet for a moment, processing that.
"Can you come over please?" she asks quietly. "Please, he remembers you, and I know he's gotta be scared and I can't…can't comfort him if he doesn't know me."
"Of course," he says. "Of course, I'll be right there. Just try to relax, okay?"
She nods, biting her lip, "Thank you."
She takes a few deep breaths once she hangs up, then stands and starts again. She makes herself a tea, goes with decaf for him, knowing how jittery he must already be.
He doesn't…remember her. Their house.
She's leaning against the counter, arms crossed over her abdomen and chewing at her cheek when his voice startles her. "You okay?"
She looks up and he's in the doorway, watching her with concern. She almost wants to laugh at him being worried for a virtual stranger to him even when he's as confused as he is. It calms her a little actually – he's still very much Ted.
She nods, smiling as best she can. He looks around as he steps into the kitchen and she spins, fixing his coffee, unable to watch the lack of recognition in his face.
He's opposite her at the island when she turns again and she slides his mug towards him. He looks at it for a moment, then her, before he lifts it and takes a sip. There's surprise in his face as he lowers it, but he doesn't ask how she knows, just looks more baffled as he murmurs a quiet, "Thank you."
"Beard's coming," she says.
He nods, looking relieved at that, but his brows quickly come down again. "I should call my wife, I think."
That lashes at her heart, though it shouldn't, because he's not trying to hurt her. She's glad he hadn't found his own phone upstairs, seen the lockscreen of her and him and Henry, tried to call Michelle and just gotten even more confused.
"Let's wait for Beard, okay?" she says.
He nods and she's a little surprised at how easily he trusts her. What choice does he really have though? All he could do is leave and then–
Oh, God, if he thinks he's in Kansas that would just–
She takes another deep breath. She can't freak out right now.
When she finally looks up, she finds him scowling down at his hand. It takes her a long moment to realize he's looking at his wedding band, a different shade, a little thinner than his previous one.
Her heart seizes in her chest.
His eyes creep across the counter and find her hand and she feels an irrational urge to hide it, pull her hand, her matching gold band from his view.
He opens his mouth but a knock cuts him off and she's glad. She's too…she's at a loss right now.
She abandons her tea on the counter, murmuring, "I'll be right back."
She pulls open the front door, forgoing a greeting for a, "He's in the kitchen."
Beard nods, but pulls her into his arms, squeezing her briefly before she pushes at him. "Ted."
She follows behind and watches Ted's face flood with relief as he lays eyes on him. "Beard."
"Hey, Coach," he says, stepping into Ted's arms.
She takes her tea, catching Beard's eye and nodding to him as she leaves Ted in more familiar hands.
He doesn't know how long he spends kneeling in the grass, trying to breathe. His pajama pants are soaked through at the knees by the time he sucks a full breath into his lungs.
He sits there until the sky lightens, mind still racing, trying to make sense of this. Willing something to happen. To wake up, to be poofed back when he belongs.
Trying to understand how he went to sleep next to his second wife and woke up next to his first one.
If it was a dream, it's the most vivid one he's ever had, covering the most time, with far too much detail.
It can't be. It can't, it was too specific, too real, too…
But what else can it be? He went back in time? Jesus Christ.
He scrubs his hands over his face, trying to remember if he's pissed off any sorcerers lately.
He lets out a pained laugh.
He's losing it.
He takes a deep breath, wishing his wife was here, his Rebecca, who'd tell him he's not going to be able to even think straight until he calms down.
Rebecca.
Fuck. If she's even real, more than a figment of a horrifyingly immersive dream, she's across an ocean from him now and his heart feels like it's going to shatter in his chest.
He glances at his bare wrist before remembering his watch is probably on his nightstand, his phone too, but he's desperate to know the date.
He got Henry the Millennium Falcon for his 7th birthday. So 2019. He's still married, obviously. She'd be just divorced, scheming and planning and…and finding a silly video of him dancing on YouTube, deciding he might make a perfect fit to bring AFC Richmond to the ground.
If any of it even happened.
She's your wife, Ted.
It takes two repetitions of the words for him to make sense of them. It lands right on top of the rest of the things Beard's trying to tell him that are just not sinking in.
He's in London. In a house he lives in, but hasn't ever seen before. He coaches soccer?
Henry's on the other side of an ocean, though Beard assures him he just spent a month and a half here in Richmond.
With him and his wife.
Who's the lovely woman he woke up next to.
Not the one that divorced him.
Beard says everything with a delicacy that makes Ted feel fragile, and after this morning he can't say it's inaccurate.
"That's my wife?" he asks incredulously. "The woman who's name I don't know in the other room? The gorgeous one that I wouldn't have dared talk to even when I peaked at 26?"
Beard barks a chuckle and Ted manages to smile at him briefly before shaking his head. His smile fades as he tries to think. "Why don't I remember her?" he says quietly. "Why don't I remember any of this?"
"That I don't know," Beard says, squeezing his knee. “You know the date?”
Dread fills him. “August twenty-something.”
“Close enough, but not what I was looking for and you know it.”
He pauses, eye flicking between Beard’s, “2019?”
Beard’s face doesn’t change but his eyes flicker and Ted knows that’s not right.
“Tell me.”
“2025.”
Six years. Six years?
"I'm gonna make a couple calls for you, alright?" Ted nods numbly as Beard continues. "Sharon – she's a psychiatrist who's familiar with you, and can probably recommend a neurologist to take a look at you, make sure nothing's wrong."
Ted nods again, a new fear blooming that he's not just simply forgotten what seem like several very important years in his life but that something is physically very wrong with him.
"Don't get ahead of yourself, Ted," Beard says. "It's gonna be fine."
"Yeah," he says, but it sounds hollow. He watches his own hands clench together between his knees.
"You okay with Rebecca for a little bit while I call?"
Ted nods. "She's very kind."
Beard's quiet for a moment before, "She loves you. A lot." Ted looks up at that, meeting Beard's eye, soft but concerned. "A lot more than…"
He doesn't finish, and Ted knows why, but it doesn't make it hurt any less.
A lot more than Michelle did.
"Ted?"
He doesn't stand, feeling exhausted, like someone's picked up his body in giant hands and wrung him out like a damp rag.
He doesn't want to look. He wants it all to dissolve away and someone to laugh and say gotcha!
"What on earth are you doing out here? Are you alright?"
The sky's a pale grey blue now, morphing into the yellow of dawn as her voice penetrates. Not the voice he needs right now.
"I'm fine," he says numbly. "Needed some air."
There's a beat before she just accepts it. "Alright."
He thinks back, way way back, trying to remember things he's supposed to know and be used to, schedules he's meant to keep.
He doesn't even know what month it is. It was August when he went to sleep, in Richmond, with Rebecca…the yard was in full bloom and the trees leafed out and green and a new season was just starting–
It's not going away.
He pulls himself to standing and turns to Michelle, already in scrubs, and he feels relieved to know she has to work, will be gone for at least ten hours.
There's no relief in the dullness of her eyes, though, the persistent unhappiness he never allowed himself to see. Knowing what he knows, even if he isn't sure what the hell is happening…it's plain as day to him, so stark against how he's used to seeing her.
"Jesus, Ted, you…you don't look so good," she says, eyes taking him in, damp muddy knees and tired eyes. He tucks his hand in his pocket, remembering the ring that's meant to be on his finger that he’ll have to find. "You want me to just take Henry to school on my way to work? You look like you need about ten more hours of sleep."
"No," he says immediately. If there's any joy to be had out of this situation, it's gonna be being with Henry again so soon.
Even if he’s half a decade younger than he was two weeks ago. And he was with him just yesterday, probably, in this…time, or life or…
His head is starting to throb.
"No, I'll get him up."
She nods, brows still drawn in concern. "I'll see you tonight then."
She doesn't close the distance, doesn't try to kiss him goodbye and he moves his date estimate a little further down the line.
"Have a good day," he says.
He watches her go back into the house, letting out a deep breath, feeling wrong. Everything feels false, fake, like one tap to the landscape around him would send it falling back like a painted sheet of plywood.
This isn't his life.
He watches her for a moment from the doorway.
She really is beautiful. He feels better about thinking it now, knowing the only one he's meant to be faithful to is her, knowing that that's his…his wife.
Not Michelle. Michelle got what she wanted.
But he looks around him and…apparently his life didn't end with that decision, the way he's always felt it would. Apparently, he got another chance.
She's chewing on her lips again, looking terrified as she stares down at her phone before sliding it away from her on the dining table.
She turns in the chair, scrubbing her hands over her face as she takes a deep breath, elbows on her knees. He moves into the room, nearly silent on the soft rug, and sits himself sideways in the chair next to her, so they're face to face.
She doesn't look up, though she must know he's there, and his heart aches for her.
She loves you. A lot.
This has to hurt, his not remembering her.
He gently pulls one hand from her face, taking it between his own and she lets out a shaky breath.
"You don't have to…" She shakes her head, trying to let him off the hook even as she clutches at his hand.
"The last thing I'd ever want any wife of mine to have is this look of despair you're wearing," he says quietly.
She hitches out a breath and he squeezes her hand tighter, "I'm sorry."
She shakes her head again. "Don't apologize." She sits up and her green eyes are bright with an extra layer of moisture. "Are you okay?"
"Lot to wrap my head around," he says. "Moved to a different country, got a new job, got divorced and remarried all overnight." He pushes a smile across his lips, "Beard's weekend in Vegas has nothing on me now."
She looks like she's trying to smile but just can't make it happen. "Least I know my own name," he grins weakly.
She finds a small smile for him and he feels a little satisfaction from it.
"Beard's making some calls," he says. "A doctor named Sharon, he said."
She nods again, clearing her throat, sitting up straighter. "Good. I should've thought of her first probably."
He looks at her for a long moment and gets the sense that she's a very capable person and prides herself on it. "We were both a little shaken this morning."
"A little," she concedes, smiling like she knows they're underselling it.
"I wanted to ask you about yesterday,” he says. “What did I do? Did anything happen?"
She shakes her head, "Not that I know of. We didn't have to work, we just, we woke up slowly, had – had a bit of a lie in." Her cheeks pink in a way that tells him a lot more than her words and he can't even process that, the thought that yesterday he had lazy morning sex with this woman when he would swear on his mother's life yesterday he was married to someone else on the other side of the world.
"We went for a walk," she says. "Shopping. Lunch. You left me for a bit while I stocked up on skincare and then we stopped by the club, came home." She shakes her head. "I don't know what could've…could've done this."
He nods, rubbing his hand over hers, "Alright. I was…I was just wondering."
How does he lose six years just like that? For no reason? No injury, no incident, just…gone.
"I'm…I don't understand," he muses, brows pulled down, throat tightening. "These seem like very important years in my life for them to just…"
"I know," she says. Her other hand lands on his, still holding hers, a stack of fingers and palms in his lap.
"Why is yesterday so clear?" He stares down at their hands. "There was a guy with a beard in a red pickup that almost clipped me on my way home from work. I had leftover lasagna for lunch and it gave me heartburn. Michelle wore green scrubs to work. Why would I remember all that?"
She looks pained and he regrets mentioning Michelle. "I don't know, darling."
He takes a deep breath, shaking his head, fighting the tightness in his chest.
"When did I start having panic attacks?"
"Moving here, getting divorced, a new job with more push back than you deserved…" she says softly. "It's a lot of upheaval at once."
"Sounds like it," he whispers.
Wish I could remember it.
He pulls 8:20 from his memory and trusts it, then doubts it, finds his laptop, pulls it open, finds the elementary school's webpage and makes sure.
He was right at least.
He sits on the edge of Henry's bed and looks at him for a long time. He looks so small.
He shakes him awake, gets a groan in response and smiles as Henry rolls over, turning away from him.
"Good morning, kiddo."
"Hi."
"Whatcha want for breakfast?"
Henry rolls to his back, squinting up at him, and Ted feels an unmistakable urge to call him out and spend the day with him.
"Cheerios," Henry mumbles.
He nods, makes sure Henry's on his feet before he leaves him so they can both get dressed.
Ted spends a long minute seated on the edge of his bed, staring first at his wallpaper of Michelle and Henry, then the date that reads August 27th, 2019.
He looks at his calendar, finds nothing, looks at his notes app, finds a few confusing coaching ideas typed out, checks his email, sees one from Beard and feels a little bit calm for the first time since midnight.
He gets some Cheerios and a banana in Henry, smiling at his little boy the whole time he makes a lunch for him, glad this still feels second nature enough to get him by. He gets him on the bus with a long hug that makes Henry whine, "Dad," before he releases him, waves him off, then drops into a dining chair.
He takes a long, very deep breath before he picks up his phone and calls Beard.
"What's up?" His best friend skips a greeting and his voice is the most comforting thing he's heard all day.
"Something is seriously wrong with me," Ted says. It's certainly not a lie. "You okay today without me?"
"Should be fine." Beard says shortly, but with curiosity in his voice. "Just conditioning today."
"I appreciate you."
“Everything okay?” he asks and Ted can feel his concern bleed through the phone.
It makes his throat tight.
“I’m alright,” he says.
He debates for a while after he hangs up whether he should've elaborated. He doesn't think Beard would go right to having him committed but…even he doesn’t know what to think right now. He flattens his hands down on the tabletop, his head dropping down to rest on them, grateful to finally have a moment to think that isn't completely clouded by anxiety.
He hopes there isn't anything else he was meant to do today. The date doesn't stick out to him but he doesn't think it would after all this time for anything less than a major life event.
Like, you know, going back in time.
He takes a deep breath. He has to do it. He has to know if it's…if she's…
He drags his laptop toward him, opening Google.
He types rebecca welton into the search bar and stabs enter before he gets too scared.
He thinks he should've added more, richmond london or something, but it isn't necessary, because the page loads and there she is, expression devastated as she hovers above news headlines too biting to read.
She's real. He didn't dream her up. She's over there, in London, finally escaping a cruel husband but still having her heart broken again and again as people belittle her and mock her.
His eyes fill as he looks at her face, throat seizing up for all that she's going through right now. In this second, there's only one thing really stopping him from opening a new tab and finding a plane ticket.
Yesterday he'd woken up in her arms, watched her smile spread as she woke to his kiss against her cheek. He'd slid his lips down her chest, pulling giggles from her with the tickle of his mustache, pressing his lips between her breasts. They'd spent the day wandering town with his hand in hers, sunlight glittering off her wedding ring in a way that made his heart sore for how full it was.
It feels full of fear now. It was a long road to get there. They worked hard for that. He cannot lose it. If he fucks something up here and never gets that life, or gets back to his time and he's…ruined it or something…
He takes a shuddering breath and one last look at her face before he closes the tab and shuts his laptop.
He has to figure this out. He has to get back.
"It doesn't sound like he's in any immediate danger."
Rebecca nods as Sharon continues. "But I got him an appointment tomorrow to get some scans. I'll email you the details."
"Alright," Rebecca says. "Thank you."
"In the meantime, just be gentle,” she says. "You can try and jog his memory if he feels up to it but try not to stress him."
"No, no," she says. "No, I don't want to push him."
"I'd like to see him once we hear from the neurologist, too."
"That's probably a good idea. I'll call you after his appointment tomorrow?"
"Don't hesitate to call if anything else changes," she says.
"I will," Rebecca assures her.
Sharon pauses for a moment. "Try not to worry. I know this is hard on you too, Rebecca. Don't hesitate to call me for yourself either."
Rebecca bites her lip hard, sucking in a deep breath. "Thank you, Sharon. I'll talk to you tomorrow."
She hangs up, handing Beard's phone back to him. "Thank you for letting me talk to her."
"He is your husband," he drawls.
"Where he's at right now?" She shakes her head, "I think he might be more your husband than anyone's."
"Rebecca," Beard says, voice low and serious.
She shakes her head harder, "What if I can't do it again? Get him to…What if it was just chance and circumstance that he fell in love with me, what if he can't–"
She sinks her teeth into her lip again, fighting the tightness of her throat.
"Stop," Beard demands. "Take a deep breath."
She complies, albeit shakily.
"There is not a Ted in existence, this or any other, that could not fall in love with you," Beard says with conviction. "You don't see the way he watches you, or hear the way he talks about you. He's in a strange place right now, that's very true, but do not doubt him. Or yourself."
She nods, taking a steadier breath. She lets his words sink in. This isn't about her anyway. She needs to focus on Ted.
"Thank you, Beard, for coming over," she says.
"Roy can handle training by himself," Beard remarks, and oh, God, the team. How do they explain this? She sends thanks for the small mercy of Henry having just left, for him not having to experience this, though she should probably call, let them know, she just doesn't know–
Beard lays a hand over hers and squeezes it. "I'm gonna tell you the same thing I told him." He waits for her to look up and meet his eye before continuing. "Don't get ahead of yourself, alright? Bit by bit, we're gonna figure this out."
"Right," she nods, exhaling. "Right."
Beard nods, straightening from where he'd been leaning against the island. "I'm gonna head over to the club, talk to Roy. Do you want me to talk to the team, too?"
Rebecca wavers – they should know, especially if Ted won't be back to work for at least a few days, but she'd really like to be there for that, talk to them herself…
She nods anyway. She needs to be here and they ought to know.
Ted comes in then, apparently finished with his self guided tour, just as Beard straightens up.
"You takin' off?" Ted asks with a tiny smile, coming to a stop next to his friend.
Beard nods, taking Ted's face in his hands. "I am. You're in more capable hands than you even know, Coach."
Ted nods between his palms, smile growing. "I appreciate you helping me out."
"Anytime."
"Well, hopefully this'll be the only time like this," Ted jokes.
Beard leaves them and the two of them end up exactly where they started this morning, standing across the island from each other.
"How are you feeling?" she asks.
He nods carefully, smile still in place, "I'm doing okay." She eyes him a little bit, trying to decide if she really believes him. "Some things are sinkin' in. Some are more stubborn."
She smiles at him gently. "What's being stubborn?"
"Not sure how I landed such a beautiful woman," he says. He grins as he says it but she can see it, how strange the words feel on his tongue when they're for someone other than his wife. At least, who he remembers being his wife.
"Ted," she says softly, rounding the island to lean a hip on it next to him. He turns to face her and she can see a lot more unease in his eyes than he's letting on. "I don't need you to say or do anything that you're not feeling, okay? I don't need you to play act at, at being my husband when I know where you're at in here." She taps his forehead gently with a fingertip. "Probably better than you would guess."
His brows come down a bit but he still smiles, "I'm fine, really. This is gonna be fun–"
"Ted."
He sighs, nods, looking down at his hand on the marble, "Yeah, okay. Oklahoma, huh?"
She tries to smile a bit but it hurts her to think of him backtracking so much, more insecure and shuttered than she's ever seen him. "Always. You and I, we live in a constant state of Oklahoma here."
He looks up at her, meeting her eye, searching her for a moment. "Is that so?"
She nods, grinning. "Wind just constantly sweeping down the plain," she says.
She takes a moment to watch his eyes glitter a little, a smile – a genuine one – spreading across his face, and then tries to make good on her claim. "Though I'll admit, right now I'm a little scared of making you uncomfortable by being too affectionate."
He shakes his head slowly, still watching her. "I like affection."
She bites back a smile at that innocent admission. "I know you do."
"And I like hearing that we're honest with each other," he says quietly.
She bites her lip for a different reason at that.
"In the case of which, I should tell you something, Rebecca."
She nods easily, ready and waiting, practically begging for anything.
"I'm starving."
She smiles wide, then chuckles as he returns her smile. "Alright," she says. "I should tell you, you did not marry me for my cooking. So we can order in, or I can turn you loose in the kitchen, or I can manage something simple…"
He shakes his head, wearing an expression she lovingly calls his Bravery Face. "Take me somewhere," he says. "Somewhere we like."
He lays on the couch, forgoing the bed for obvious reasons, and tries to relax. Really relax. Clear his mind of racing thoughts before he makes any attempt at making sense of this.
He takes a long breath in, lets it out slowly.
In, and out. In. Out.
Forces his toes to relax, flexing them to make sure he really gets it all out. Then calves. Thighs. Glutes. Abdomen, chest, shoulders. Arms, fingers, neck, face. He finishes with the muscles under his ears, making them wiggle. A smile comes as he remembers trying to teach Rebecca.
"Right here," he'd stroked the skin just before her earlobe with a gentle fingertip. "Pull it back."
"What are you talking about?" she'd said, shaking her head.
He'd giggled as she wiggled and clenched her jaw instead, eyebrows leaping around just to join in.
"Stop," she'd laughed and swatted at his chest. "I'm going to get it."
He sinks into the couch, eyes shut, just floating.
He dozes for a long time, his early morning clinging to him like a wet blanket.
He floats.
Something did this. Something changed, something he did messed with something very important.
Or–
Shoot. Something this Ted did.
But no – he would've remembered this.
Wait. Wouldn't he?
Hell, where did this Ted even go? Is he just…inside him or…
He takes a deep breath. Not helpful.
Something he did.
They walked around town yesterday. Started at the cafe for tea and coffee and a muffin. Bookshop to swap his novel and her biography for something new. Groceries. Took the groceries home. Pub for lunch. The beauty shop she gets her face things – the one that makes him feel tall and clumsy and like maybe he does need to shrink his pores, so he always just lets her roam free in, unhindered by him. The weird shop he'd never seen before. Then the wine shop–
Right. Okay.
That should've been his first thought probably.
The sign says Curiosities and, well…he's basically a cat.
It looks old but wrong, like the building squeezed itself between two existing ones with a little "'scuse me, pardon me," until it had its own door and windows.
It doesn't look particularly friendly either. But the sign on the door says Always open (closed Tuesdays) and it makes him even more curious. He has time to kill while Rebecca shops anyway.
He pushes the door open to the cluttered little space and the smell of old books and something musky and smoky hits his nose, the draft rustling dried leaves and flowers on every vertical surface and papers on every horizontal one.
It's spooky. But he loves a good ambiance.
Once he shuts the door, it's dead silent.
He takes one step in, bumps a very tall candle holder, nearly taller than him, and sends it into a slant. He catches it and the – thankfully unlit – candle resting on top. He releases a breath as he rights it, then steps forward again, trying to make it to the glass case not three steps from him, and hits a chair leg with his foot, sending a book slamming to the floor.
He replaces it, thinking maybe he should just take himself and his limbs back outside when a voice comes from the back.
"Watch your step."
He thinks it's a little late for that, but looks down and finds two bright orange eyes in the shadow he's about to step in. He teeters a little as he redirects his foot, the fluffy black cat blinking at him, unimpressed with his footwork.
"Can I help you?"
The voice sounds equally unimpressed, but he smiles anyway, though he has no idea who is talking or from where.
Spooky.
"Was just curious," he jokes. He makes it to the case without incident, looks down and finds it's…empty.
"What do you see?"
His brows come down, looking around for who keeps shop here. "I'm sorry?"
"In the case."
He shakes his head, tapping the glass with a knuckle, "Looks like you need a restock."
"Empty?" He nearly jumps out of his skin when the voice comes from right in front of him, head jerking up to find someone standing right behind the case, fluffy black hair cascading around a weathered face, peering at him.
"Howdy," he greets, bringing a hand to his chest as he catches his breath.
"There's nothing in the case?" they ask again, insistent and curious.
His brows come down a little bit but he looks again. "Not a thing. Whatcha usually got in there?"
"Fame. Wealth. Love. Beauty," they list and his eyebrows shoot up.
"Ooh. Some big ticket items right there," he grins. "Can see why you keep 'em in the back."
They eye him, lips pursing. "Strange."
He almost laughs at that. "You're not the first to say it."
They don't respond, just watching him and he taps the glass with a knuckle again. "Well, I'll get outta your hair."
He smiles and makes to go but they stop him with a, "Ted."
He turns back and they point to a little candy dish by the door. One he's almost certain was not there when he came in. "Help yourself," they say, smiling. "Mind the yellow ones. I don't think you'll like them."
"Yellow ones taste like boogies or something?"
"Something like that."
He picks up a hard shiny square candy, half black, half white, and lifts it in their direction. "Thanks," he smiles as he pulls the door open, popping the sweet in his mouth. It's full of flavor, though none he can actually place, and when he bites down it's actually soft – it pops in his mouth like a bubble gum bubble, sending white hot sparks along his tongue for the span of maybe half a second before the whole thing is gone.
It leaves a sweet taste in his mouth, like he's just eaten a bowlful of that white chocolate raspberry ice cream Rebecca's got him on.
"Come back and see us on Tuesday," the mystery person says just as his foot lands outside and he pulls the door closed.
He's left standing there, staring at the sign on the door.
Well, that was cool as all get out.
"Ted," he hears a ways down the street, his eyes finding Rebecca waving him down. He joins her, taking her hand as she smiles. "There you are. You getting into trouble?"
He smiles, "None that I know of."
It's lovely. It really is.
He wishes it felt like it was truly his.
She'd walked them around the lovely green park just across from her home – their home, passing shops he's probably been in, beautiful homes he's probably already marveled at, friendly people he should know the names of. She'd taken his hand on pure instinct as they'd stepped out, then immediately apologized, pulling away, but he'd taken it right back.
“I’m afraid I might need a little reminding of it but…I am in fact your husband,” he’d said, smiling gently at her. “You can hold my hand.”
She’d nodded, looking grateful, and they’d started off towards…wherever.
She starts to slow eventually, turning to look at him as they walk. “We spend time at the pub more than anywhere, but a lot of people will recognize you, probably want to stop and chat,” she explains. “There’s other options, though, if you’d like somewhere quieter.”
He thinks he’d be okay, though his heart twists in his chest at her consideration of him. He has a burning curiosity about his life – it feels like someone else's shoes he’s standing in, though the clothes he'd found in her – their – closet, the shoes lining the entryway were all undeniably his.
He can’t shy away from all of it. It’s his life, memories or not. He needs to just hold his breath and jump in.
“Let’s do the pub,” he says. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
She smiles at him, warning, “You’re a popular man, Ted.”
“Suppose we’ll have to have fun with it then,” he says. “How many different stories you think I can make up about why I lost my memory?”
She smiles, huffing a laugh as she shakes her head. It’s the realest, most genuine smile he’s gotten yet and something in this heart in his chest, some part of him that knows her better than he does sings at the sight.
“With you? The number is infinite.”
She’s right – though the pub is far from full before lunch on a weekday, almost everyone in the place at least waves at them as they find a booth in the corner.
A short older woman drops off menus and waters with a fond smile. “You two playing hooky today?”
“As if I’d allow it,” Rebecca scoffs playfully. “You know I run an even tighter ship than you do, Mae.”
The woman – Mae – chuckles as she leaves them and Ted just sits back, watching Rebecca for a moment as she pulls a menu in front of her. When she looks up, finding him just gazing at her, she lifts a brow, glancing between him and his untouched menu. “Thought you were hungry?”
He just smiles, “I’m in your hands. Get me my favorite.”
She nods, “Alright.”
“Though I think I’ll pass on any alcohol at the moment.”
She tilts her head, setting the menu with its mate at the edge of the table. “I think that's very – maybe even shockingly – sensible of you.”
“Shockingly?” He makes a wounded noise, a hand against his chest, and she just chuckles as Mae returns.
“What are we having?”
Rebecca orders for them both and Mae glances at Ted as she takes the menus. “Someone make a bet with him again for how long he could go without talking?”
Rebecca just laughs and he mimes zipping up his lips and throwing away the key.
Mae snorts a laugh and leaves them again.
“See? This is easy.”
Rebecca just smiles, bringing her water to her mouth. He watches her for another moment before, “Will you tell me something?”
She nods, her eyes softening on him. “Of course. Like what?”
He shakes his head a little, lifting a shoulder. “Something about us. You. Doesn’t have to be big.”
He needs something, something to connect him to this, some stepping stone from what he remembers to where he sits. Because it seems like a hell of a leap.
“Mmm,” she hums, thinking as she traces the edge of her glass with a fingertip. She’s quiet for a long time but he doesn’t mind watching her sift through memories. He wishes he knew what thoughts matched what expression.
"A few days before our wedding, I had a panic attack," she says, voice quiet and even. "I don't usually have them; my anxiety's more just…a low constant thing when I have it, not a build-up like that. But I was stressed with all the attention, all of our family around, and overthinking and I kept…kept having these horrid dreams that were just a jumble of our wedding and my first wedding and my ex-husband…"
She shakes her head a little bit, clearing it before she gives him a small smile. "And you helped me through it, of course. Got me breathing again and just held me for what felt like hours before you told me…you told me that if I asked you to, if I told you I just couldn't do it, we would call it all off, send everyone home and that'd be that. No harm, no foul. That it didn't matter, that you'd spend the rest of your life with me either way."
She rolls her lips into her mouth, overcome as she looks away from him, out the window, seeing something far out of his line of sight.
What he can see, though, plain as day, clear as glass, is how he fell so hard for this woman.
"Looks like we did the deed, though, hmm?" he murmurs, wiggling the fingers on his left hand, ring glittering, narrower, lighter than he's used to.
She looks back at him, down at his ring, then hers, and smiles just the widest, most gorgeous smile. "We did," she says. "I knew how much you wanted it – to make that commitment official, to call me your wife, to lay claim to the title of my husband. And I…I don't think I knew how badly I wanted it myself, with you, underneath all that…that trauma."
She looks up at him, her green eyes bright and misty from the memory. "It's just something that I don't think I'll ever forget. A moment of you just, being right there, and loving me so much, giving me everything I needed to…to be stronger."
He feels tears pushing at the backs of his eyes, swallowing against the lump in his throat. It's hard, impossible even, to not be affected by the wealth of love in her eyes as she looks at him.
But it…it's not his. He didn't earn it. He feels like a poor imitation of the man she's seeing, describing – one whose love gives strength. Safety. Hope.
His love doesn't do that. His love is…intolerable.
He takes a deep breath and the air shakes slightly as it leaves his lungs. Her eyes tighten with concern and she stretches a hand across the table, taking his and squeezing it. "It's alright," she murmurs.
He nods, letting her grip hold him right here, ground him in this moment, her care for him feeling like a safe port from the storms inside him.
He paces the living room without seeing it.
Relaxing and staying calm might have fallen to the wayside a little bit.
The shop. The cat. The person. He feels stupid for not immediately going "Hmm, I wonder if the unusual building that seemed to appear overnight had anything to do with this."
But what can he even do? The shop is on the other side of the ocean. Six years from now.
He can't do that. He can't wait that long, he can't–
He takes a deep breath.
It must've been the candy – he remembers what it looked like, tasted like, how it felt like a sparkler on his tongue.
He shudders to think what the yellow one would've done.
So it must've…what? Thrown him back six years, thrown this Ted…where? Forward?
His steps come to a halt.
If this Ted is…is there, where he belongs, with no idea where he is, or what's going on, or who–
Oh, God. Rebecca.
His knees give out and he lands heavily on the couch, heart tearing apart in his chest.
He won't know who she is.
Oh, baby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have…
He just lets his tears come, hoping, praying she's okay, that she isn't too scared or worried or…
A sob punches through his throat and he just lets it out.
"Rebecca, honey, I'm sorry."
He takes a shuddering breath, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes.
Hell, he's probably terrified, too.
He takes a moment, thinks back, tries – a little begrudgingly – to revisit where he was mentally at this point in his life and he…
His eyes well again.
He hopes he's feeling all the love he has in Richmond. Hopes that his Rebecca is catching on, making that version of him feel as wanted and cared for as she makes him feel everyday.
He takes another breath, trying to focus.
A plan. He needs to figure out what to do. What he can do from here and now.
Which is almost nothing.
His only option is to wait. Wait until he magically wakes up right again. Or wait until he gets that email, that perfect life-changing email, and can get to Richmond, find that person again, ask them to fix him.
The longer he spends here the more he's gonna screw things up – he can't be this Ted again.
But he can't just leave. Can't just…abandon his family and go to London on a hope and a prayer.
If tomorrow, he's still…if things don't right themselves, maybe he'll think something up. A trip, an excuse. He can tell Beard what's going on, what's happened, maybe he'll help him.
Hell, he wishes he would've just told him this morning. He feels like he's going insane.
He pushes to his feet, searching for a distraction. He needs a break, he needs to eat. He's made all the guesses and assumptions he can for the moment.
His fingers itch to bake. But all he knows by memory is Rebecca's biscuits and it turns his stomach to think of them here, in the wrong house, in the wrong time. In Michelle's mouth.
He makes himself a sandwich, cleans the kitchen up while he munches on it. He wanders his own house like a stranger, peeking in rooms, refreshing his memory.
He wanders into Henry's room, stepping over Legos, looking at the pictures on the walls, drawings and photos and paintings. It helps fill his heart up. He's happy – everyone is – with the arrangement he and Michelle have now, splitting Henry's time between them, but it doesn't mean he doesn't still miss his boy when he's away from him.
He should've called him out from school. He feels so restless. Or he should've just gone to work. It would be so good to see those boys again, to be in that locker room.
But he doesn't for one second believe he could act anything close to normal.
He sits on the edge of Henry's little bed, wondering what the hell he's supposed to do with the rest of his day, trapped in a past better left in the past.
"Would you like to just head home?" she asks him, her hand sliding around his elbow as they leave the pub.
He shakes his head, "No, let's…let's walk a little."
She smiles and nods and then guides them down the alley. "This is where your flat was when you moved over here," she says, tipping her head towards a door, looking up with a fond smile. He looks up, hoping against hope it'll bring something to the surface.
It doesn't. But she just continues on, no expectant silence, no hopeful gaze that he suddenly knows where he is. "Beard's is over here."
She gestures across the alley.
"Should've invited him to lunch," he muses but she shakes her head.
"He's at the club," she says. Her brows come down a little as her eyes find his again. "He wanted to talk to the team, and Roy, the other coach, about what's going on and I didn't even think to…I'm sorry, Ted."
He doesn't have the slightest clue what she'd be sorry for. So he asks.
"You should've been a part of that decision. You're the one it's happened to. We didn't even ask you." There's a little line between her brows, one that'd been present all morning that he's pretty sure he's seen far too much of.
He pulls them to a stop and turns to her, taking her hand in his. "If you'd asked, I would've told you to do whatever you thought was best. You know them, you know me, you know the situation far better than I do right now."
She nods, the tension in her face easing slightly.
"And I think it's safe to say this is happening to a lot more people than just me, darlin'." The endearment falls from his tongue without forethought, or permission, and he just pushes past it. "This is piling an awful lot on you right now and I'm just sorry that I…that I'm not…"
She shakes her head, her hand rising to rest against his cheek, brushing over stubble he hadn't had the focus to get rid of this morning. "You don't have anything to be sorry for, Ted."
He nods against her hand before it falls away, leaving his cheek warm, taking his as they continue on. He reads the signs as they pass, wondering idly which ones he's been in, which ones they might frequent. He doesn't ask her, content to just wander quietly, until he thinks of something else.
"Will you show me the places we went yesterday?"
She looks at him for a moment, tilting her head, "Sharon said not to push it."
He shakes his head, "I'm not really trying to force myself to remember anything. I'm just curious."
She nods then and tugs him along. She takes them through the day, pointing out a cafe they'd passed earlier, a bookstore, a grocer.
She takes them out a little further from the square, down another shop-filled alley. "I went down to the end," she gestures down towards where they're strolling. "And met up with you down here."
"Any idea what I did?"
She shrugs. "Not really. But nothing was amiss all evening."
He just hums, looking around, trying to see what might've caught his interest. Nothing sticks out, but something has his head turning as they pass an empty storefront.
There's no sign hanging above or in the windows.
No sign on the door. Nothing but…
There's a little folded piece of paper taped to it.
It just has a Ted inked on the front.
"Uh, Rebecca," he says quietly, pulling them to a stop.
"Hmm?" She stops with him, turning to look. He looks at her, watching her brows come down before her eyes move up the building.
"What are the odds that–”
"It's for you," she says immediately.
"Right, yeah, okay," he says, stepping forward and pulling it off the door.
Ted, it reads.
I fear I may have made an error. I think I should've had you take a yellow one. The black and white…those are nasty business. I apologize.
I hope your little switcheroo adventure isn't too inconvenient for you. Rest assured, if you find yourself at wits end everything ought to right itself by tomorrow.
I think.
If not, most certainly by the end of the weekend.
Either way, enjoy your little glimpse into the future! Or the past! I don't quite remember how those buggers work.
Apologies.
E
Right. What the–
"What the fuck?" She says it before he can even finish thinking it.
"Okay," he says slowly.
He reads it again.
She takes it from his hands and also reads it again.
"What the fuck?" she repeats, softer, staring at the dark script on the page.
He chews his nails down to nothing until finally he hears the bus pull up. He watches from his seat on the stoop as Henry runs up to the house and feels a smile spread over his face.
"Hi, Dad!"
"How was school, kiddo?" he says, rising and heading into the house with him.
The house had begun to feel stifling, air heavy and thick with memories and emotions he doesn't have and doesn't want and he'd spent the last couple hours out here. The fresh air, the hot sun, swaying grasses, just watching the neighborhood go about their lives had been far easier to contend with.
If he hadn't just been in Kansas for a week with Rebecca when they flew out to bring Henry home with them, he'd be relishing it a lot more.
All he wants now is smog and cobblestone.
He listens as Henry recounts his day with a specific brand of exuberance only kids have. It soothes his jangled nerves and eases the rolling tides in his mind to just chat with him as he eats an after school snack.
"How much homework you got?"
"Not a lot," he says innocently.
"You sure?" Ted squints at him.
Henry rolls his eyes, "Just one sheet of math and some spelling."
"Alright," Ted nods. "Then how 'bout we go work on the Falcon for a little bit, huh?"
"Yeah!" Henry pops up with excitement and heads for his room. Ted grins as he puts his dishes in the sink and follows after him.
They spend the afternoon on his bedroom floor in a sea of little blocks, piecing together a spacecraft and he tries to keep his mind off the fact that he's not meant to be here.
Eventually Ted calls it quits and drags Henry back out to the dining room to get started on his homework. Ted digs through the fridge a little, finds something he can make for dinner and gets it started.
Henry talks as he works, saying words as he spells them out, and one of them has Ted freezing in front of the sink.
"Tues-day," Henry sounds out.
Come back and see us on Tuesday!
Okay. Okay…
The only way he'd be able to do that is if he's back, right? If he's back in his own body, in his own time.
They wouldn't have said that if he wasn't going to be back.
He's found a basket and in go all of his eggs.
Tuesday. It'll be back to normal by Tuesday.
It has to be.
If he opens his eyes on Tuesday and sees that off-white ceiling, he's telling Beard and taking a trip.
Tuesday.
He lets out a relieved laugh, praying, hoping, once again, to whatever might be listening.
"You okay, Dad?"
He turns to Henry, gives him a smile. "I'm okay. You okay?"
Henry gives him a toothy grin. "I'm okay."
He nods. "We're all okay."
They sit on her couch, side by side, staring at the note.
"Switcheroo?"
Rebecca just stares at it some more before, "Enjoy your glimpse into the future. Or the past."
There's no way it's a coincidence.
"So I didn't forget," he muses. "I'm from the past?"
She turns and lifts an eyebrow at him.
"I mean, it makes sense," he argues. "Whatever happened, whatever I – he did, switched us around. Looks like it wasn't intentional, though."
"Would explain why you remember your yesterday so clearly," she muses, thinking it over before meeting his eye again. "This is crazy."
He shrugs, "Is it really any more crazy than suddenly forgetting six important years of your life overnight for no discernable reason?"
She stares at him for a moment before she lets out a breath, "I suppose not."
She scrubs a hand over her face, but then sits up sharply, turning to him, "Switcheroo?"
He lifts his brows at her.
"So he got sent back? To 2019?” she says, something bordering on panic in her voice.
Fuck.
"Oh God," she breathes. "Oh my God."
"It's okay, hey." He lays a hand on her back, leaning closer to speak softly into her ear. "It's gonna be fine. It says right here, it'll be all sorted out tomorrow. I'm gonna take a guess that it means the same way it got jumbled, you know, while we're sleepin'. You're gonna wake up tomorrow with your Ted back and all's well, okay?"
He doesn't expect the ache that comes with the words, with the thought of leaving her, that this isn't his life now. He spent all morning trying to wrap his head around the fact that he needed to accept these changes and now he's…now he's going back.
He shoves it aside for now.
"He's gotta be terrified," she breathes, staring off into nothing. "If he doesn't know what happened, he…he probably thinks he's gone insane."
"Hey, c'mon, look at me," he insists, feeling how sharp her breathing is under his hand. She complies, meeting his eye. "It's gonna be okay."
She nods, taking a deep breath, then another one. ”This is insane."
"Yeah," is all he can answer to that. "Yeah."
The long day starts to wear him down as he cooks, the relief of his Tuesday theory only carrying him so far. It starts to catch up with him, the exhaustion of waking so early, panicking so hard for so long this morning, an entire day spent worrying, with his only reprieve being the two hours he'd spent with Henry.
When Michelle finally comes in, he almost feels too tired to be any more anxious.
She does a double take as she greets them both and he thinks he must look as bad as he feels.
He puts on a smile. He was good at that back then – back…now. "How was work?"
"It was fine," she says. "You?"
Right. Shoot.
Well, he probably shouldn't lie.
"I called Beard, made sure he could handle today without me," he says. "I'm not feeling so hot."
She nods, "You don't look much better than this morning."
"Well, I can't say I feel much better," he muses. He sees an opportunity and takes it. "Might turn in early."
She simply nods again before she joins Henry, sitting with him as he finishes his homework, chatting about his day.
He finishes dinner. They eat dinner. He gets through it fine, stays mostly quiet. He just watches the two of them.
Michelle…she's a specter of the woman he knows in his own time. The last time he'd seen her, she'd been bright and glowing with happiness – engaged, excited, content.
So far from this. Both of them have come so far from this, from these ghosts of themselves, pretending they're anything but.
He doesn't know what he's meant to be doing here, if there's something he's supposed to learn by being forced to witness this again but…he hates it. He's not discovering anything he didn't already know.
That they're both much better off apart.
She offers to clean up and he lets her, sending Henry off for some TV time, intending to follow but she gives him pause.
"Ted," she says, voice a little tense. He stops, gives her his full attention. "Have you thought any more about what we talked about?"
He needs no clarification on that. At this point there was only one thing she really wanted from him. Space.
"I have," he says. "I promise you, I…I am thinking about it."
She looks surprised at that answer and he wonders what she expected – a deflection, maybe, or a joke, or a shut down. He can't remember what it's like to be closed off with his wife.
He moves to start for the living room but pauses again, still terrified to mess with things up, but simply unable to leave it there.
"Michelle," he says, and she turns back to look at him. "You know I just want us both to be happy, right? You know that's, that's all I want."
She looks at him for a long moment, but it's been too long, he can't read the miniscule changes happening in her face.
"Just…" He thinks, and thinks fast, trying to remember what he needed from her back then, anything he was too scared to ask for, reaching for something he can do to make this Ted's go of it easier when they switch back.
They will switch back. He's no longer entertaining any other possibilities.
"Give me some time," he says finally. "A little mercy. We're…we're gonna get where we need to be, I promise."
She takes a deep breath, still watching him, trying to read him, and he knows she's wondering what's gotten into him, but he doesn't know what he can do about it.
She just nods and he returns it before he goes.
He sits with Henry until she joins them and then takes his leave, kissing his son goodnight, giving him an extra long hug just in case he gets his wish and wakes up in the right year.
God, he hopes he wakes up in the right year.
He curls himself up in the bed, shuts his eyes, and instantly knows that sleep will be long off, despite his exhaustion, despite how bad he wants it.
Nothing feels right. Nothing's comfortable. It's like trying to sleep in a hotel, or in a bed you know isn't yours. It doesn't matter how tightly he closes his eyes – the very air feels wrong against his skin.
He doesn't count sheep, he doesn't even have the coherency to put together any more hopes and prayers.
He falls asleep chanting a desperate chorus of please, please, please in his head.
They turn in early.
Of course they do – they're both tired. They're both a little on edge. They're both wondering who they'll wake with.
She needs this fixed. She needs the man that knows her back, no matter how much she wants to wrap this one up in her arms and not let go, too.
She's greedy like that.
Beard had stopped by in the evening, heaving a packed tote bag that he'd dropped unceremoniously on the kitchen island, both her and Ted looking on with raised brows.
"From the team," he'd explained simply.
She'd dumped it out to find snacks, chocolates, candies – all Ted's favorites. And she'd told him so with a soft smile.
Then Beard had handed him a card, every inch of it covered in writing, different colored pens differentiating each person's notes. And Ted had stared at it in disbelief before he looked up with wide eyes.
"I made them stick to one, otherwise I'd be handing you a whole tree's worth of greeting cards."
It took him an hour, but he'd read every word, reading a few of his favorites out loud before he finally handed it to her to read.
We've got you, Coach, whether you know us or not.
Offsides will be easier to learn the second time, I'm sure.
Gonna be fun to get to tell you all you've done for us.
Sucks that you forgot about us. We're pretty great.
We love you, Coach.
Her vision had gone blurry as she looked it over.
She loves those damn boys so much.
They'd snacked on the tote goodies, claimed that as dinner and called it a night.
And now she's laying side by side with him, feeling his unease practically radiating off of him.
"Ted," she says gently, rolling to face him, unable to stand seeing him so tense.
He doesn't answer but she watches him work his jaw against tears in the soft light of her bedside lamp.
"Ted," she repeats, curling a hand over his arm. She watches a tear slide down his temple and her heart clenches in her chest.
She swipes it up with the back of her knuckle and he lets out a sharp breath.
"Talk to me, love."
She doesn't care what Ted she's talking to, what time in his life he's from, it's Ted and she loves him and she can't stand to see him hurt like this.
"He's got a real nice life here," he says, trying to sound normal and failing.
"There's a lot–" He chokes up and bites his lip before he tries again. "There's a lot of love here. Everywhere. All around him."
He clears his throat, pushing tears back, all his emotions. "'S good. I'm glad. I'm–”
He stops for a moment, then, "I'm sorry I stole a day of it from him."
"Sweetheart," she says, shaking her head at him. "This is your life."
He shakes his head, face tensing, "I don't know what he did, I don't know how– how he earned this but this isn't…none of this is mine."
Another tear spills over and she catches it too, wishing he'd look at her. "I'm gonna fuck it up," he whispers, breath catching. "I'm gonna try too hard and I'm gonna go the wrong ways and I'm never gonna make it here because I can't– I'm too–"
A sob cuts him off and she has to blink to clear her blurry vision, eyes filling and heart breaking for him.
"Listen to me," she says, laying a hand on his cheek turning his face toward her. He doesn't look at her, his eyes down cast, brows drawn and lips tight as he tries to manage his emotions. "The Ted you think you're stealing from is you. He was exactly where you are."
"What if this fucks it up?" His eyes finally lift to hers and he looks so desperate, so scared. "I'm pretty sure he would've mentioned it if he jumped ahead six years for a day."
His face crumples as he looks at her, more of his tears spilling over. "I want this," he admits quietly, like it's a grave confession of sin. "I wanna be him, I wanna deserve this."
"You will be. You are," she says emphatically. Her hand clutches at his face, willing him to understand. "You already deserve this, my love."
He takes a shuddering breath, still shaking his head, and she just gives in to her instincts, sliding forward and kissing him. He chokes out a tiny sob against her lips before he presses back gently.
She pulls back and he just breaks, crying in earnest as he shakes his head again, "Those are his."
"Yours," she insists, holding his face in her hands. "Yours, Ted."
She pulls him into her arms, wrapping him up, grateful for the length of them for this purpose alone. She feels his breath hitch as she does and a memory surfaces – an offhand comment from early on that she's never forgotten.
That last year or so, just before things ended, was…she barely touched me, even casually.
She pulls him closer, squeezes him tighter as he cries into her shoulder and she lets a few tears slide into his hair.
"There's nothing here to be earned, Ted," she murmurs to him, her voice and throat tight. "There's no test, no competition. It was a long road here, I won't deny that, but you won us all by showing up, by being you, by loving us first."
He takes a shaky breath, tears beginning to ebb, "Even you?"
Her brows come down. "What do you mean?"
There's a beat before he whispers, "How'd you fall in love with me?"
She closes her eyes, pressing her face into his hair, and thinks of all thousand and one ways she could give him. Instead, she gives him something solid, something tangible, something that always has and always will mean a great deal to her.
"I love shortbread."
She feels his confusion and loosens her arms as he pulls back to look at her. "What?"
"I love shortbread. It's my favorite." She pushes his hair back off his forehead, giving him a soft smile. "Just keep it somewhere in the back of your mind."
He just nods dubiously, watching her. "I don't know if I'm gonna remember this. I don't know if I want to. Can't tell if it'll make everything easier or harder."
"That I can't tell you," she says softly. He closes his eyes for a long moment, taking a deep breath, and when he opens them, there's still so much fear there, so much doubt.
She slides a hand down his side and lays it flat against his belly, "Just listen to your gut, Ted." She smooths her hand to rest over his heart and almost laughs at the thought of stealing his words to give back to him. "And on your way to your gut, check in with your heart. And you'll find your way to us, I promise."
She smiles at him, relieved when he returns it with a small one of his own.
"I love you," she says pointedly, eyes intent on his.
He nods in response, eyes shining, and she presses a long kiss to his forehead.
He lets out a slow breath as she pulls back, his eyes closed. "Thank you, Rebecca," he murmurs.
"Sleep," she whispers. "Rest. You've got some big years coming up soon."
He smiles but doesn't open his eyes, like he's locked in his last image of this experience and he doesn't want to lose it. She breaks away from him briefly, rolling to flip her light off as he whispers, "I hope I'm up for it."
"You are," she reassures him. "Believe it."
When he wakes, it's to a stark white ceiling.
He barely has time to process it before he hears a tentative and accented, "Ted?" to his right and then he's launching himself to sit up.
"Oh, thank fucking God," he breathes, tugging Rebecca into his arms, hearing her sharp intake of breath.
"Oh, Christ," she chokes into his shoulder as he clutches at her, his face pressed into her neck, breathing her in. Her fingers press hard into his back, his threading through her hair, one low on her back holding her tightly to him in his lap.
Every breath, every sound, every point of contact, sends another thank you thrumming through him.
Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you.
"You scared the shit out of me," she sobs against him.
"I'm so sorry, sweetheart," he pushes out, throat tightening. "I didn't mean to. There was a store I went in and it was real spooky, but you know I love that so I–"
She cuts him off in his favorite fashion, pressing her lips hard against his. He kisses her back gladly, gratefully, soaking her in for a long moment before she releases him.
"Over by the beauty shop," she exhales, picking right back up, and his brows come down.
"How'd you know that?" he asks, unable to resist taking her face in his hands, wiping at her damp cheeks with his thumbs.
"We went over there," she says. "Retracing our steps."
She pulls away from him, stretching to reach something on the nightstand before she comes back to him, pressing a folded square of paper to his chest.
"We?" he asks, taking the paper but watching her.
She smiles, but it's tinged with sadness. "Ted."
"The one I displaced?" he says carefully.
She nods.
"So we did switch. He was here," he says. "And he met you and…"
He takes a deep breath.
She watches him, laying her hands on his face so tenderly he feels his eyes well up a little bit. She looks positively heartbroken.
"He was so scared," she breathes, voice trembling. "That he'd never be able to get here, like, like ending up happy and loved wasn't even possible for him."
He just looks at her for a moment, then nods.
"Ted." Her voice breaks and he pulls her against him again, feeling her nose press into his neck.
He remembers feeling Michelle slip away from him and thinking that that was it. That was his chance at a happy life, at making someone else happy, and it was just…gone.
He's learned a lot about second chances since then. In more ways than one.
"It was a long time ago, honey," he murmurs, rubbing his hands over her back. "For me anyway."
Her arms tighten around him and she takes a deep breath. Her exhale washes over his shoulder, warming his shirt, his skin, and his eyes fall shut as he just holds her.
"I feel like I should tell you I kissed him," she mumbles after a few long moments.
He just laughs, tipping his head against hers. "Good," he says. "He needed it."
She pulls back again and takes his face in her hands, trying to relax. "What about you?" she asks gently. "Are you okay?"
He knows what she's asking and he feels any lasting tension leave him as she peers at him, loving and concerned. "It was a long day," he breathes.
He'll tell her about it. And she'll listen, and probably hold him while she does, but right now he wants to revel in this, in being safe, being home.
She reads him like a book, because she just nods, smoothing a hand over his cheek.
He pulls his hand from her back, bringing the little folded paper she'd handed them between them again. "Now what's this?"
"It was taped to a door," she says. "On an empty storefront."
His brows come down. It sure as hell wasn't empty when he was there. "Empty?"
She lifts a shoulder, "Door was locked. I knocked." He lifts an eyebrow and she tilts her head back and forth. "Okay, pounded. Yelled a little bit maybe."
He just shakes his head before he unfolds the note and reads it.
Then reads it again.
It…was an accident.
Alright.
"Well," he says after a long moment. "My mother did, in fact, tell me not to take candy from strangers. That's a lesson learned, I guess."
Rebecca blinks at him. "Candy?"
"They got me with a sweet," he nods, kissing his teeth.
She closes her eyes slowly, shaking her head fondly but with exasperation, her arms circling his neck. "For God's sake, Ted."
"I know, I know."
She sighs, tipping her forehead against his.
He missed her so much.
"Are we taking a day, or should we go tell the team just kidding, you do know who they are?"
"Oh, boy," he says. "Who all thinks I forgot 'em?"
"Pretty much the whole club now, I'd guess. Roy, Keeley by extension, who's going to kill me for not calling her right away. Beard. Sharon. Whatever neurologist you have an appointment with today."
Jesus Christ. He did scare her.
"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers.
"It's okay," she whispers back, taking a deep breath, letting it out slowly. "I thought I was gonna have to make you fall in love with me again."
He puffs a little scoff. "Like that would've been hard."
She's quiet, unamused, and he leaves the note on the bed and lifts his hands to her face, separating them to look at her.
Her eyes are lined with tension and he knows she isn't kidding, that she was actually worried she couldn't have managed it.
"Rebecca, darlin'," he shakes his head, shoving all the love he has for her into his gaze. "It would not have been hard."
She nods, just his words and his look enough to ease that tension.
"I'll bet you he was halfway there when he went to sleep last night." He smiles gently, and she returns it slightly, worry still buzzing behind her eyes.
"Is he gonna be alright?"
Ted smiles wider, heart filling for how much she loves him, all of him, any of him.
"Yes," he says with conviction. He nods, her green eyes lightening, brightening as he answers. "He's gonna be just fine."
He wakes to too much sunlight and can't explain the twist in his heart for those brief seconds that he thinks nothing's changed.
But he opens his eyes and there's a spot on the fan and he lets out a breath. There's a flood of relief. There's an ache of loss.
There's a sprout of hope.
He thinks of yesterday, grasps at the memory but already it's hazy, still barely living just at the outskirts of his mind.
But he checks the date and it's true – he's lost a day.
It happened. But its edges are fading already.
He feels the loss keenly but knows it's for the best. The memories will only trip him up, having him second-guessing every choice.
He's gotta get there on his own.
He turns and the bed's empty next to him, a note there that almost makes him want to laugh.
It's got a little Ted scrawled on the front.
I got Henry to school and I called Beard for you. Thought you could use the extra rest – you really didn't look like yourself yesterday.
That, does in fact, have a laugh snorting out of him.
Thank you for thinking about it. I'm sorry if I've been pushing you or pressuring you, Ted.
I just want us both to be happy too.
M
He sighs, folds the note slowly, fingers sliding along the crease of it.
He doesn't know what he said to her, his future self, but…he trusts him, he trusts that man, the one that garnered so much love and respect.
Trusts himself.
The memories of his day in the future fade fast – by the end of the week he can't picture any of it, can't remember a single name. He knows, if he forces the thought, that he spent a day in the future, that he lost a day of his present. But he no longer knows what he did, where he went, what happened.
Things float through once in a while but dissolve when he grabs at them, like a dream that skitters away the more desperate you are to remember.
It's like his brain knows he isn't meant to have those memories. Like his heart knows it isn't meant to have those feelings yet.
Two weeks later, when he gets an email from a Leslie Higgins at the behest of Rebecca Welton, Owner AFC Richmond, the name sparks through his memory like tiny fireworks but only fills his mind with a soft grey-green color he can't place.
He sighs, seeing the chance for what it is, and answers before he even talks to Michelle. He knows what she'll say.
Within a month, he has a new job and a flat in a lovely little London borough.
He's chipping away at a team's determination to reject him, a boss's resolution to hold him at no less than three arm's lengths, and his own stubbornness to cling to someone he's already lost.
He's looking into soft grey-green everyday and finally placing the color, wondering idly late at night, when he's just at the border of sleep and wakefulness, how he possibly could have known.
He's seeing her walls and fences and hurdles and thinks more than anything he'd like to do something nice for her, something kind. With so many defenses, he can imagine she's used to life picking the stick over the carrot.
He turns it over in his head for a while before he finds himself in the kitchen, leaning over a cookbook.
He should bake something.
He's got a feeling she really likes shortbread.