Chapter Text
Just another ordinary day, hungover in his office cubicle. Ted sat staring blankly at his computer screen, fidgeting with the keys but not actually typing anything. At least, not any actual words. A throbbing pain reverberated through his skull as a reminder of the unfortunate decisions made the night before. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his forehead.
Fuck.
What a shitshow. Charlotte had been a mess. Nothing unusual. But it was gradually getting on his nerves. Sam this and Sam that. It didn’t matter how often she complained about Sam; she wouldn’t leave him. It was as if she just called Ted to vent. Nothing else. All they ever talked about now was Sam. About counselling. Good one, Ted. There’s one woman who likes you, and all she can talk about is her bastard husband.
He sank further into his cubicle, head hitting the desk with a dull thump.
Ow.
Somehow Charlotte seemed to think he wanted things to work out. Or that he cared about it “working out.” But if things got back to normal between her and Sam, then he’d have to look for someone new. Again. But for now, she was nice and sweet. When she remembered to act as if she liked him, she’d stay over, and they’d pretend. He liked it, and honestly, she was the only person who would tolerate him for more than five minutes. Even Pete was avoiding him now.
It’s not like Ted could blame him. The kid had school to worry about anyway. He wasn't important. Besides, high school was rough. He came home limping on some days. Hiding the black eyes. Ted never mentioned it; Pete didn’t need Ted to fuss over him like a mother hen; it’d just make things worse.
Peter would be fine; he was smart. He’d get a good scholarship and disappear from Hatchetfield. That’s what people did. Pete would get busy. Stop calling, stop texting. Not that Ted needed or wanted to hear about every boring detail of his loser brother’s life. It would be nice to be…alone. Just himself to take care of.
Oh god, he was at work. His eyes opened as realisation hit him, darting as he looked around the office. Paul was by the water cooler, looking...freaked. Meredith was frowning after Mr Davidson as he disappeared into his office. Everything hurt. Even moving his eyes. He didn’t know what he’d drunk, but it must have been a lot. In his memory, he was at Charlotte’s. Then home. In the bath…maybe? Getting sprayed with water by a very drowsy Pete.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
Why was he even thinking about this right now?
Fuck it. He needed some coffee.
Pushing himself away from the desk, Ted took a moment to breathe and then…smiled. Cool, he was good; no one would know. The last thing he needed right now was concern. Stepping out from behind the cubicle, he headed for the kitchenette. Or tried to. He was intercepted by Charlotte, almost crashing into her, the coffee pot in her hands splashing onto his shirt. Shit.
“Oh, hi Ted,” said Charlotte, smiling at him, seemingly not noticing the spattering of coffee stains that had spread across Ted’s shirt. She raised the coffee pot. “I was just about to ask if you wanted some.”
She looked at him, but looked… through him? Eyes glazed and smile too wide.
“Are you-” he started. Ok? Stepping closer to rest a hand on her arm. If Sam was cheating on her again, he’d hunt the prick down and fucking- he’s a cop, Ted reminded himself. Charlotte glanced at his hand, staring unblinkingly at it, then back at him.
“I’m fine,” she said, her smile widening slightly into a ‘we’ll talk about this later’ look. Was something wrong…? Ted moved his hand away quickly, dropping it down to his side. He cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. He didn’t want to know. He didn’t need to know.
“I’ll have a cup, thanks,” he said, walking behind her to grab some mugs out of the cupboard. Charlotte tottered off in the direction of Paul and Bill, offering them some, too. Jesus, he wasn’t even special. Clunk, the mugs hit the counter, starkly white against the yellowed peeling linoleum benchtop. Grabbing a cloth, he quickly scrubbed the inside of the mugs, just to have something to do. Bill was complaining like he always did, something about his wife, Alice and the Starlight Theatre. Something about a meteor. Then Charlotte started talking about Sam.
Fucking salt in the wound.
Ted walked toward the group, holding out his cup to Charlotte. The jug was full of sugar….What?
“Let’s get some new coffee,” Bill said, taking the jug from her hands and handing it to Ted.
“He was… singing. Sam was singing….” She said, shaking her head slowly. Her curls bounced as she moved. “Why was he…”
Ted stepped back, picking up a new jug while chucking the sugar-filled one into the sink. The coffee-soaked sugar spilled out into the sink and splashed onto the counter. Tiny, claggy droplets stained the bench. He’d clean it later. That was for future Ted to worry about. He’d stay back tonight anyway. He filled up Charlotte’s mug with the fresh coffee and handed it to her silently.
“Sam didn’t come home last night,” she said. Her voice shook and rose almost a full octave. Charlotte spoke like she’d watched too many old films. Her voice was vaguely transatlantic, and it got higher the more emotional she was. It was cute. No, not cute. He shook his head.
Ted scoffed, “Damn right he didn’t-”
Shit.
He looked around, coffee cup halfway to his mouth. Bill was staring at him; Charlotte was still too out of it to react, but he’d be hearing about his fuck up tonight. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“So I heard,” he said, looking away from Bill and Charlotte. The floor was very interesting today; it was so…floor-looking. He could feel Bill looking at him. But fuck them. Why did it matter if people knew about him and Charlotte? Everything felt warm, too warm. He needed to get out of here.
“I’m gonna head out,” he declared to no one in particular. He dumped his mug in the sink next to the coffee jug. “Either of you want Beanies? No? Awesome.”
He grabbed his coat and headed for the door, not actually giving them the chance to answer him. Ted just needed out. Yup, fuck that. He was not in the mood to deal with Charlotte and Sam and their never-ending bullshit. One of these days, Charlotte would see that he was better than Sam. Way fucking better than Sam Sweetly.
The cool air didn’t do much to calm him down; if anything, it made him feel more annoyed. He’d spent way too long this morning fixing his hair, and now it was going to be ruined. Whatever, it’s not like anyone would notice. He marched himself all the way to Beanies without slowing or stopping.
Like an idiot.
The Beanies shop front appeared around the corner, green flags flapping in the wind, indicating it was open. He slowed, standing a few meters away from the shop as a familiar tightness started to grow in his chest. He coughed, great, because today couldn’t get any worse. Reaching into his pockets, he fumbled for his inhaler. He shook it violently, almost losing grip on it and flinging it into the street. Bringing it up to his mouth, he inhaled, counting slowly to ten. 1...2 - What the fuck. He was an adult. He didn’t need to literally count to ten. The tightness began to clear, and he let go of the breath he was holding. After breathing slowly in and out until he was satisfied he wasn’t going to have an asthma attack on the street, he dropped his inhaler back in his pocket.
Now, priorities, he thought, replacing the inhaler with a cigarette and lighting it quickly. He only had fifteen more minutes to get through a cigarette, buy a coffee and walk back to work.
“You’re smoking again?” came a voice.
Shit.
Today could get worse. He turned to look at his younger brother, standing on the path a few meters from him. Peter was frowning at him, and he looked almost disappointed, but tired. That was fantastic. Now he’d have to figure out what he’d done this time. Sighing heavily, he leaned against the wall.
“Are you serious, Ted?” Pete said. He blinked at Ted incredulously from behind his thick glasses. Ted rolled his eyes and took a long drag of the cigarette. His eyes felt heavy and painful; fuck, he just wanted a coffee.
“I can smoke if I want to,” he said, shrugging. “I’m an adult- I’m older than you.”
His own voice filled his ears, and he grimaced at how whiny he sounded. Like a little kid caught doing something they knew was wrong. Something about his nerdy little brother brought that out of him. If Pete wanted to be an adult, one of them had to be the kid, right?
He glared at his brother, who stared back.
You and Pete look identical when you’re annoyed.
Charlotte had said once. Same face ten years apart. At least he didn’t look like a fucking nerd. He’d ditched his glasses years ago.
“Put it out,” Peter said, crossing his arms. Ted grinned at him and took a long, pointed drag of his cigarette.
“Do you want one?” Ted asked.
Seventeen-year-old Pete was now seven-year-old Pete, annoyed that Ted had broken some of his stuff. “It’s not funny- you have fucking asthma. You’re literally not meant to smoke. That’s like me not checking my blood sugar or something.”
“Relax. It won’t kill me, Petey,” he said, snuffing out the cigarette on the wall and flicking it on the ground. Maybe it’d piss off the Greenpeace girl. Give him an excuse to talk to her. He glanced around quickly, damnit she wasn’t here today. Oh well.
“Why aren’t you at work?” Pete fidgeted with his backpack, shifting his weight from side to side. Ted walked past him toward the shop. He was going to be so late.
“Why aren’t you at school?” he replied, not looking back.
“I’m on my way there.”
“Oh, well, so am I.”
“To my school?” Pete said.
“No, work, you, weirdo.”
He could practically hear his brother rolling his eyes. The bell above the door jingled quietly, and Ted looked around to see who was on. Aw man, the crabby, bitch barista was on, not the hot one. Whatever, he didn’t have time to shoot his shot anyway. He shoved his hands into his pockets, glancing at his brother.
“What do you want?” he asked Peter.
“A hot chocolate.”
Of course. His go-to when he wasn’t feeling great. Come to think of it, he looked pale today, and his hands were shaking a little. Ted had just assumed it was because he was annoyed at him or anxious about school. He frowned, a tiny, sharp pang of guilt hitting his heart for a second. It’s fine; Pete had been dealing with this stuff for ages. Since he was… uh…maybe eight. It didn’t matter. He could look after himself. Less chance of him fucking something up. His gaze lingered on Pete for a moment. He looked…strung out. Bags under his eyes, and his hair was greasier than he normally let it get. His shoulders sagged, and he seemed impatient, fidgeting with one of the bracelets his weirdo friends had made him. He chose not to ask; it wasn’t any of his business.
“Uh, you’re next, Ted.”
The line had moved up without him noticing; the guy in front of him stormed away as the barista flipped him off.
“Cool,” he muttered and sauntered up to the counter, resting his elbow on it and propping his head up on his hand. The crabby barista frowned at him as he approached. Ted squinted at her name tag….Emma, huh, he’d never noticed that before. He’d gone to school with an Emma, but she didn’t look like the Emma who went to school with him. He would’ve remembered someone so bitchy. “Heeeey, how you do-”
“What do you want?” she cut him off.
Ah. Cool. What a jerk.
He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to ward off the ever-present headache. This day wasn’t getting any better.
“A latte and a hot chocolate,” he snapped, tossing the cash onto the counter. Emma crossed her arms.
“No tip?” she said, raising an eyebrow. Oh fuck that. Jesus, when did waitresses start demanding tips?
“Look, lady, I’m all out of-”
Emma glared at him. He scowled back. No, she didn’t get to demand a tip. Who did she think she was?
“Here,” Peter said, reaching around Ted and dropping a hefty 5 bucks into the tip jar. Way more than she deserved. He patted Ted on the arm condescendingly. “Sorry, he’s an asshole.”
“Hey, I paid for your drink, man,” Ted snapped back. Emma raised her hands in a mock surrender.
“Look, guys, I’m going to make your drinks, and you’re going to sit over there and not bring your fuckass family drama to my cafe. Ok? Ok.” She said, her voice becoming sickly sweet and mocking. He pulled a face and dropped himself into a nearby chair. Pete grabbed his arm. Holding it tightly.
“Why are you like that?” he whispered. Ted pulled his arm away.
“I’m not like anything.”
“You’re an asshole, Ted,” Pete said. Tell me something I don’t know. He shook his head. Who did Pete think he was? Why did he think he had the right to criticise him like that? Whatever guilt he’d felt about not noticing Pete’s health evaporated.
“And you’re a nerdy fuckin’ loser.”
Pete fell silent. The only indication that he was still there was the sound of him shifting in his seat and the hitch in his breath. His hands gripped the chair tightly, and in Ted’s peripheral vision, he could see them turning white.
“Grow up and get a life, Peter.”
He stood up and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair, slinging it over one shoulder.
“Latte for Te-” the barista started. Ted practically snatched it out of her hands. She stared at him, too stunned to make up some snarky remark. Good. Finally, they’d all shut up. It was fine; he’d deal with Pete later. When he got home, he’d make a show of letting Peter use the TV and pick dinner or something. The kid had a memory like a goldfish.
He brushed past Pete, bumping against him as he left.
“I’ll see you at home.”
The door jingled again as he left, drowning out the sound of Pete’s answer. If he replied at all.
Later. There would always be later.