Chapter Text
Trent was expecting not to enjoy America. Perhaps it was a little judgemental of him, just a touch too British, but he was not enjoying himself in the slightest.
Nope.
Not even a little.
Well…maybe this Lasso character was a little entertaining.
“Nerd?”
Bristling, Trent turned to the other man, opening his mouth to protest that just because he was invested in his studies, that didn’t mean that he was a n- and then he saw the open box of sweets that Ted was holding out to him.
“What?” Ted’s eyes widened a little, “Ain’t it polite to offer guests food where you come from? Because if my Mama found out you were helping me study and I didn’t bring anything- “
“- What are Nerds?”
“Oh...you don’t have these in the good old UK? Crunchy on the outside, chewy on the inside!” Ted popped a few into his mouth, “I have some chocolate, if you’d prefer?”
“I- “
“- You have candy don’t you?”
“Sweets.” Trent corrected cooly, rolling his eyes when Ted just waved a hand in dismissal.
“That’s what they taste like. Shows a bit of a lack of the whole imagination thing there if that’s what you call them.”
Trent rolled his eyes, accepting some of the offered sweets and popping them into his mouth, trying not to hum in delight. He knew that he hadn’t been especially successful in that, but instead of hearing a slightly smug reply from Ted, there was nothing but silence.
He looked over at the other man, feeling a slight flush rising to his cheeks as the other man stared at his lips for a moment.
Ted was a future American Football coach (or so he liked to preach), the straightest of the straight.
There was no way that he was looking at Trent’s lips like he wanted to kiss him.
“You know…” Ted started slowly, “…there’s a candy store not too far from here. I can show you all the wonders of American candy.”
Trent examined him for a moment or two, “Thank you. That’s sounds…lovely.”
…
“This is larger than I expected.”
Other men Trent knew, wouldn’t have hesitated to make a rude joke there, but Ted just hummed. “Yeah, we sure do like our candy here.”
It was chaos.
Pure and simple chaos.
Trent was sure that his eyes were as round as the giant lollipops on the sign outside, taking in the psychedelic boxes that littered the myriad of shelves, glass cases gleaming with colour, shining plastic packaging that glistened in the bright lights of the store.
"Some of these colours shouldn't exist." He muttered, making a show of pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, “Especially not in such high quantities.”
Still, he moved from display to display, examining the sweets as Ted picked out a few for them.
“You’re really living up to the ‘kid in a candy store’ saying ya know.” Ted chuckled, seeing Trent moving about the place like he was having the time of his life, but trying not to show it.
So carefree, for once.
Smiling.
Ted liked his smile.
And then Trent saw the self-serve area and honestly, he couldn’t blame the Brit for stopping in his tracks. One entire wall of the store taken up by the large pipes that ran from the ceiling, right down to the perfect height for dispensing, and each one was filled with a single kind of candy. It was a giant rainbow of sugar, and Ted couldn’t help but look over at the other man, who looked a little overwhelmed.
“Come on.” He chuckled, “I’ll show you just how fun this little doo-hickie is.”
And if he took a photo of Trent eagerly sorting through the coloured candy, then that was between him and the camera.
…..
Fifteen years later, Rebecca Welton, once Marrion, was standing in the middle of her new office, staring at a painting.
The plan was perfect.
The new Manager would run the club into the ground and the final pieces of her revenge would fall into place. She couldn’t help but feel a twinge of delight at this.
The American coach was hired.
All she had to do was fire the existing manager before this Lasso arrived. She thought back to when she had seen the video of the man doing some ridiculous dance with an American football that he’d apparently led to victory, seeing the rest of the team dancing with him. He might have done well there, but English Football was vastly different and here that ‘happy-go-lucky’ attitude would just get him punched.
The entire team might quit and wouldn’t that be perfect.
She heard someone entering, just knowing from the shuffling footsteps that it was that shithead, Higgins.
“I gave this to Rupert on our fifth anniversary...” She hummed, still staring at the painting.
“You have exquisite taste, ma’am.”
She took it off the wall, eying it thoughtfully, “Do you want it?”
“But... it’s a Hockney. It’s worth a million pounds!”
“…Good point. Should’ve said yes.” She handed it to one of the movers, “Auction pile, please.”
She went to sit down, seeing that Higgins was looking at the newspapers that were scattered on the desk. Each one of them had a picture of her and her ex-husband.
“He gets the bimbos, she gets the bozos.” She read out, “Lounds, of course. Can you believe that it was The Independent that was the kindest?”
“That’s…odd.”
“Hmm, I suspect Crimm was possessed.” She moved them into a drawer, as Higgins took the hint and moved away.
“Oh, Mrs Mannion.” He cleared his throat, “Excuse me – Miss Welton - George is here... The manager?”
“Well, if he’s here, why isn’t he HERE?” She gestured at the space in front of her and straightened up, watching as the man, in his late fifties, strode into the office like he just didn’t have a care in the world.
He was about to have a lot of cares, very, very soon.
...
Less than ten minutes later, George was storming out of the room and Rebecca was trying not to let the hurt show on her face. “Is there someone who could pop out and fetch me a salad? No raisins please!”
“As new managers go, shall I prepare a list of candidates?” Higgins looked a little shell-shocked by what had just happened.
“No. That won’t be necessary.”
......
Ted woke up, hearing an announcement over the aeroplane speakers. Rubbing at his eyes, he looked over to his right, seeing his son curling up tighter in his seat, mouth open a little as he snored, hair a mess around his face.
They would be landing in England soon.
Good old England.
With all the memories that that entailed.
He looked over to his other side, where Beard was staring at him. Anyone who didn’t know the other man would think that there was nothing on that face, just a blank space of non-emotion.
There was sympathy there though, despite neither of them saying anything.
Of course there was, the other man had been there for it all.
“You look like shit.”
“Thanking you kindly.” Ted sighed, “Bad dreams, ya know?”
“Mm.”
“I think I might fall to pieces the first time I hear that accent.”
“You’ll be fine.”
Ted wished that he had his friend’s unwavering confidence, taking a deep breath as he muttered something about needing to use the little man’s room.
One step at a time.
One day at a time.