Archive of Our Own

For the first time in years, Rebecca Welton felt as though she was in control.

The timing was ironic, of course - the general public certainly didn’t view her in this way. The poor, hapless bimbo who hadn’t known for years that her husband was cheating on her with harrowing frequency. Or the cutthroat bitch who’d overreacted and stolen her husband’s football club. Whichever.

But despite all the nonsense in the press, she felt like she could finally take a solid, deep breath, because she knew what she had to do.

She was going to burn it all to the ground.

The idea to hire an American as the manager was one that had occurred to her as she was tossing out old photographs of moments she no longer had any desire to remember. One of them had been of her and Rupert at some event or another; beside her ex-husband stood another man, whom she only vaguely recognized as being a US businessman of some kind, with a crooked grin. It was then that she remembered Rupert saying how much he hated Americans - how god-awful they were, how distasteful, and how little they understood his precious sport of football.

So that was that, then.

She’d found an American football coach with a modicum of press coverage (who only worked at the amateur level). During their first call, when she offered him the job, there was an extended pause on the other end of the line.

Finally—

“Yeah. I’ll do it.”

So there it was.

Richmond had a new manager, and her plan was set to begin.

It seemed her conscience wasn’t going to let her off the hook for it, though.

On an ordinary Monday morning in her office, the sounds of training floating up to her just as usual, Rebecca sat at her desk, drinking her customary cup of tea. She should have been getting work done for the club, but she instead found herself scrolling through the latest tabloid headlines about Rupert and herself, a sickly taste climbing up the back of her throat as she went.

It was as she was clicking on her fourth headline of the morning that the air around her seemed to shift, a prickle going down her spine at the significant, yet unexplainable change in the atmosphere.

“Boy, it sure is chilly in here.”

Rebecca nearly dumped her tea over her laptop in her fright, whipping around to see a man casually sitting on the couch in her office.

“Who the fuck are you?” she snapped, too flustered to be any more eloquent.

The man, who looked to be around her own age, wasn’t a club employee that she recognized, despite the Richmond sweater that he was wearing. But nothing could make it more apparent that he didn’t belong than his voice — an American accent with a distinctive twang that was wholly out of place.

In response to her outburst, the man merely blinked owlishly at her. His confused eyes darted around the space, cataloguing details, before eventually returning to her.

“Not really sure, but it seems I don’t exactly belong here, do I?”

Her knuckles were white as she gripped the edge of her desk. “Who let you up here?”

Frown lines appeared on his forehead. “Uh… No one?”

“What do you mean, no one let you in? Did you fucking climb in through the window?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t believe I have the parkour abilities for that. No, what I mean to say is… I have no memory of getting here. Just… I wasn’t, and now… I am.”

Before Rebecca could respond to this utterly ludicrous claim, Higgins was knocking on the door and entering. Normally, the sight of the man put her on edge, but in this moment it made her sag with relief. Good . Now someone could escort this (clearly very confused) stranger out of her office.

“Higgins—” she began, but was quickly interrupted.

“Sorry to bother you, Ms. Welton, but these contracts need to be signed as quickly as possible.”

Rebecca opened her mouth, ready to point out the intruder that clearly required security be called at once.

But when she looked to the couch, he was gone, with not a single indicator that he’d even been there.

As baffling as the experience was, Rebecca didn’t have time to puzzle over the incident — an hour later, she was greeting her new American coach and ushering him into a room full of vultures, ready to pounce on their new prey.

On Coach Beard’s second day at Richmond, the stranger reappeared in her office.

Her fear response was no better than the previous day’s had been, her pen clattering to the floor when she noticed the man on her couch.

“How did you do that?” she blurted out, heart rate greatly accelerated as her voice shook.

Still as guileless as before, the man squinted at her. “Do what?”

Rebecca waved her hands uselessly in the air. “Before! The fucking — disappearing thing, that you did when Higgins entered my office yesterday?”

“Well, now, I don’t know who Higgins is. Or who you are, as a matter of fact. Say, what’s your name? In my head I just call you the sharp blonde lady, and that doesn’t feel very respectful. And before you ask, sharp is a compliment. Like you dress nice, not that you actually wanna stab me.” He paused. “Guess you do kinda look like that too, at the moment, but I mean that in the most respectful way possible.”

Rebecca pinched the bridge of her nose, shaking her head. “I don’t have time for this. Either get out of my office, or tell me what you want.”

“What I want? Well, world peace and an end to starvation, for one thing. Universal healthcare is up there, although based on your accent you might be a heck of a lot closer to that than I am—”

Rebecca stood to her feet, marching around her desk. When she reached the stranger, she moved to grab his arm and bodily drag him out of the room — he may be a man, but he wasn’t giving off the most threatening of auras. She wasn’t particularly concerned with facing a violent reaction.

Except her hand passed through air where his body should have been.

There was a long moment where her brain didn’t comprehend the situation. Where she couldn’t process what she was seeing, right in front of her eyes.

Because it wasn’t possible.

And yet.

“That doesn’t look right,” the man said, looking down at her hand hovering where his forearm should be. He appeared almost as shocked as she was.

Rebecca stumbled back, her hand flying up to cover her mouth in an attempt to stop a high-pitched, strangled noise from escaping.

There was a fucking ghost in her office.

Rebecca was rattled. Understandably so.

As a young girl, she’d believed in the supernatural, certainly. Tales of the undead and spirits beyond the grave were often spread at school, and she’d found them endlessly fascinating.

But those flights of fancy hadn’t lasted much past puberty; by that point, it had become clear to her that there were plenty of things in the real, tangible world to be afraid of instead.

Did she really believe she’d seen a ghost the other day? She wasn’t sure.

But Rebecca wasn’t about to let something take away her control. Whether they were a person, a ghost, or something altogether different.

So the next time he appeared, she was much more prepared.

The same shift in the air occurred to announce his arrival, and Rebecca straightened up to find the man on her couch once more.

“Why are you haunting me?” she said without any kind of preamble.

His brows furrowed. “Haunting? I’m not—“

“There’s no other explanation for what’s happening.” Rebecca’s face paled as the only other plausible option presented itself to her. “Unless I’m going crazy.”

“Hey now, you shouldn’t talk about yourself like that. Positive affirmation and self love is important.” He paused. “For what it’s worth, I don’t think this is just in your head. Though in order to be a ghost, I would halfta be dead, so that option seems off the table, too.”

Rebecca didn’t say anything. She watched as the man’s posture wilted, the genial smile on his face slipping and the light in his eyes dimming slightly. Despite her hardened exterior, Rebecca suddenly felt a little guilty.

So what if he was a ghost sent to haunt her? Or a figment of her tortured subconscious? No matter who he was, he didn’t deserve to be treated like shit.

So Rebecca sighed, and turned to sit back down at her desk. “All right. If you absolutely must spend your days here, I suppose I can’t stop you.”

He brightened, already seeming to revert back to his normal, upbeat self. "I appreciate your hospitality, ma'am. Even to an unknown being like myself."

“Rebecca,” she corrected, giving him a small, hesitant smile — the first one she could remember extending to someone else in a long time. “My name is Rebecca.”

There was something–compelling, about his kind eyes. “Great to meet ya, Rebecca.”

It was strange. How she hadn’t even realized how alone she’d been feeling until a friendly ghost insisted on invading her space.

“All right, let’s see, what about — first concert, best concert.”

Rebecca didn’t look up from her computer. “I’m busy.”

Her ghost hummed, in a way that was far too knowing for someone who had only just met her a few days ago and didn’t even technically exist. “Would tell you mine to get the ball rolling, but it seems as though I don’t have access to any old memories.”

“Which begs the natural question of whether or not you’re even another person at all.”

He waved her off, as though the question of his own corporeality didn’t bother him in the slightest.

He’d been in her office every single morning, without fail, since the day he’d first appeared, and each time he asked her inane questions in an attempt to get to know her. Weirdly enough, he seemed to retain memories from encounter to encounter, but continued to possess zero concept of anything outside of that. He knew facts about the world, sure — knew pop culture references and world history and the mechanics of a variety of sports. But there was not a single thing he could recall about who he was.

Rebecca would have gone to see some kind of specialist about it, but every time the ghost opened his mouth and said something that she didn’t know, or would never think to say, her doubts that it was all just in her own head multiplied.

She wasn't a spiritual person. But if the evidence was there...

A cacophony of sound from out the window caught her attention, and Rebecca peered down at the pitch to find the team jumping together in a huddle, clearly celebrating a play gone well.

They looked awfully chummy. Rebecca scowled.

The time she’d been spending on this ghost mystery had distracted her. Enough was enough. It was time to get her plan back into motion again.

She called the American coach into her office on Friday as her first step back into making Rupert pay.

“Wanted to see me, boss?” Beard asked, stepping carefully into the room and settling into the chair across from her.

Rebecca settled her clasped hands atop the desk, a pleasant smile firmly in place. “Yes, I did. I was just hoping to make sure you’re settling in all right here. I know it was a big life change for you, coming all the way from the States and all.”

Beard gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “Been a little bumpy, but we’re on our way.”

“Glad to hear it. And your flat is in order?”

“Perfectly serviceable, yep.”

“Wonderful. Have any plans for the evening?”

Beard squinted at her. Rebecca rolled her eyes and huffed out a breath.

“Not propositioning you, Coach Beard. Just trying to be a friend.”

He settled. “Ah. Then no, I don’t.”

“Well, if you were looking for something, I know of a club that I’m certain you’d absolutely adore. Here.” Reaching for a piece of paper, she scribbled out the name and address of the place, before handing it to him with a flourish. “I hear you like to dance.”

Beard considered her before giving a single nod, accepting the note from her hand. While she was still learning to read the odd man, Rebecca had a feeling that this was a good sign.

“Anything else?” he asked.

Shaking her head, Rebecca leaned back in her chair. “That’s all.”

Beard gave another nod of acknowledgement, before standing up. “Have a good night, boss.”

Rebecca watched him exit, before sliding her phone across the desk’s surface to find the person’s name she was looking for.

“Higgins. I need a favor.”

Making sure the paparazzi were tipped off to the gaffer’s location didn’t feel great, but she knew that the rage in Rupert’s eyes when the club went down in flames certainly would.

Late that evening, Rebecca was getting ready to leave her office for the day when her phone buzzed. 

Picking up the device, her jaw tightened reflexively when she saw Leslie’s name on the ID.

She was curt as she answered, but quickly appeased as he assured her that he had the photos that she’d requested. When she pulled the phone back to open her texts, she studied the images. They were exactly as she’d hoped - Beard dancing, slumping over, gulping down a pint. Not very becoming of a Premier League coach.

She was about to command Higgins to send them off when a voice startled her so much that she dropped the device with a loud clatter.

“Maybe you shouldn’t do that.”

She looked up from her phone, now resting on the floor, to meet the eyes of the mustachioed man, soulful brown eyes making her stomach wrench in sudden discomfort. Distantly, she could hera Higgins’ confused voice on the other end of the line, and quickly stooped down to grab the phone.

“I have to call you back,” she said, before hitting the end button. She turned back to the ghost then, crossing her arms defensively over her chest.

“So you are my conscience,” she concluded, somewhat dully. “How unfortunate for you.”

“I’m not sure that’s the case. Don’t think a conscience would disappear and reappear the way I seem to.”

His measured calm was infuriating, and she turned away, deciding instead to grab her coat and head home like she’d originally intended. She would deal with Higgins and the photos later.

“Hey, listen. I’m not tryin’ to tell you what to do. But I think you might be makin’ a mistake, here, with this whole tabloid photo thing.”

Shrugging her coat on, Rebecca gave him a sharp look. “If you aren’t my conscience, then I don’t exactly have to listen to you, now do I?”

He continued on, ignoring her hostile tone. “Whatever your reasons are, Rebecca, I’m sure there’s a better and easier way to solve your problem than this. Than hurtin’ other people.”

“There isn’t,” she said definitively, stubbornness in every line of her body.

The ghost pursed his lips, a rare glimpse of frustration. “Listen. Beard is a good guy. He doesn’t deserve to be run through the mud just for havin’ a good time. But that’s what’s gonna happen if you run those photos.”

The familiarity with which he spoke about the gaffer confused her, and she threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. “What do you know about him? You don’t even know your own name.”

She’d stepped much closer to him throughout the course of the argument, and she went to take a step back before remembering, with a twist of hysteria, that it didn’t matter how close she stood to him. Because he wasn’t fucking real.

He regarded her carefully. “You’re right. I don’t know my name, or where I’m from, or anythin’ else for that matter. But my gut’s tellin’ me that he and I have some sorta history together. You don’t have to believe me, but I know it’s true. But even if it wasn’t, I still wouldn’t want anything bad to happen to him.”

The thought prickled at something in her brain, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Could this ghost really be connected to Coach Beard somehow? He was American, and they did show up around the same time. Logically, it would make some sense.

But if that was the case, then why was he always appearing to her ?

“I can’t tell you what to do, really. But if you could, just… Think about if makin’ a man feel sad is what you really want to do. If it’s really worth it.”

Before she could come up with a reply, he vanished, and Rebecca was left alone.

While she had been loath to admit it, the ghost had made a great deal of sense in his argument, and as a result, she hadn’t gone through with sending the photos to the gossip rags.

In the days that followed, she couldn’t stop wondering about the potential connection to Coach Beard.

She subtly tried to ask the gaffer about it. Maybe he was seeing things, too. Maybe she wasn’t alone in this insanity.

She asked if his time in London was going well - nothing. If he was settling in all right - crickets. If there was anything she could assist him with - not a one.

Despite not having the photos published, Rebecca still felt itchy. Like there was something under her skin she just couldn’t quite get out.

So maybe Beard hadn’t been the route to taking the team down. But there was more than one way to skin a cat.

Before the cursed cowboy could appear to her again to talk her out of it, Rebecca made a call.

“Trent Crimm, the Independent speaking,” the droll voice on the other end of the line answered.

“Trent,” Rebecca said, skipping the pleasantries as she knew they both preferred. “How would you like an exclusive interview with Richmond’s new gaffer?”

It didn’t take much more arm-twisting than that, and Trent quickly agreed to a day of observation out on the pitch.

As she hung up, feeling better already about this new version of her plan, she turned to find the ghost watching her from the couch.

The guilt was an instinctual blow to her gut, and she scowled over at him. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He merely raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t sayin’ anything.”

She was getting ready for bed the night after Trent’s visit when Higgins sent her a message.

Trent Crimm just posted the article.

Rebecca clicked the attached link with baited breath. As her eyes skipped through the words, she could feel her jaw tightening and her teeth gritting.

Trent Crimm, massive curmudgeon, had gotten along with Coach Beard. He didn’t know if Richmond would succeed, but he also wasn’t hoping for them to fail.

“Fuck!”

As she fell back onto her bed, pressing her face into her hands, Rebecca half expected her ghost conscience to pop up and chastise her for being upset, for using such aggressively profane language.

But he didn’t. Her bedroom remained as still and silent as ever.

Strange.

For whatever reason, he only seemed to show up in her office

On the morning of the annual benefit gala raising money for a children’s charity, Rebecca was doing her level best not to spiral from stress. She stood in her office, leafing through a rack of dresses and attempting to discern which would cause her the least headache, both for herself and from outside observers. Naturally, the ghost was there, peering over her shoulder.

“That’s a lot of real pretty dresses,” he commented. He didn’t say it in a lecherous way, and Rebecca eyed him as she pushed aside yet another option, the fabric far too cheery for such an event.

“Your personal knowledge base wouldn’t happen to include fashion advice for aging women, would it?”

“‘Fraid not, ma’am. But it does have a crap-o-meter, and you callin’ yourself ‘aging’ just now dinged it.”

The words made a smile tug at her lips despite herself. “Forget I asked, then.”

The next dress in line that she pulled out piqued her interest, and she sighed as she gazed at it longingly.

“So lovely. But I don’t think I could get away with this. Not anymore.”

She heard an annoyed huff, and was surprised to find the ghost, arms crossed over his chest, giving her a stern look. “Sure you could, come on now. Quit bein’ so down on yourself. You’re gorgeous. And I’ll have to curse you or somethin’ if you keep goin’ on about not believin’ it.

Rebecca was a little speechless, but managed to reply, “You can cast curses?”

“No idea. But gosh darn it, I’m gonna try if you keep tryin’ to convince yourself that you’re not a grade-A stunner.”

It was absurd, that a complement from some being that didn’t even exist could make her duck her head in a blush. Sure, she’d had moments of hyping herself up in the mirror where mantras of you’re fit, your body is fucking amazing would play on loop.

But this was different. Sweet, personal. Like she was beautiful for who she was, not just for how she could benefit other people. 

She cleared her throat a bit awkwardly. “Fine. I’ll wear the dress. Happy?”

He shrugged, but the grin was clear. “Not about me bein’ happy. Just remindin’ you that you deserve to be, too, Rebecca.”

Rebecca shook her head fondly as she replaced the hanger on the rack, decision made. “Well, thank you. Now if I’m not mistaken, you still haven’t asked me any inane questions this morning. So come on then, let me have it.”

His chatter and his smile was almost enough to make the stress of the day melt away.

The hustle of the crowd was buzzing in her ears and the room was too stuffy and Rupert was smiling at her with that sickeningly patronizing smile and–

“Excuse me,” she said, and turned on her heel.

It took everything within her not to leave the room at breakneck speed, instead taking measured steps towards the door and counting the seconds until she was free.

She just needed a moment to herself, was all. Some fresh air. Then she’d go back in and push through until the night was over.

Her breathing was shaky as she stepped outside, the cool air refreshing on her overheated skin. Rebecca closed her eyes, and slowly began to feel her tight shoulders relax and her racing heartbeat slow. Despite the calm beginning to settle over her, she could feel tears pricking at the back of her eyes, and she was helpless to do anything other than let them fall.

It would always come back to this. Him causing hurt, and her being alone.

It wasn’t long after that she felt a presence appear beside her. Rebecca opened her eyes, ready to snap at whoever had joined her and put her walls back up where they belonged, before she stopped.

It was the ghost, wearing a suit and watching her with those damn gentle eyes of his.

“You—“ she spluttered, wiping ungracefully at her cheeks. “I thought you only showed up in my office.”

He didn’t seem to register what she’d said, concern clear on his features. “Are you okay?”

She turned away, unwilling to meet his gaze any longer. “Oh, yes, just wonderful.” She barked out a harsh laugh.

“I can see that’s not true.”

She curled her hands into fists, just so they weren’t hanging so uselessly at her sides. “Does it matter?”

“It does to me, yeah.”

She was wholly prepared to lash out at him, make some jab about how nothing he thought mattered. But something made her pause, considering.

If she couldn’t tell him the truth, then who could she?

So instead, she let out a long, shaky exhale.

“My ex-husband is in there,” she said dully. “Prancing around like the living legend everyone seems to think he is. He’s set on reminding me that without him, I am nothing. Just a—” she swallowed, trying not to choke on her words. “Just a broken woman who’s completely alone.”

For once, the ghost didn’t say anything, instead letting her sit in the silence for a moment. 

When he spoke, his voice was exceedingly gentle.

“I think you’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit for, Rebecca. But l also think that you should allow yourself to feel whatever it is you’re feeling. Divorce is hard even under the best of circumstances—gotta cut yourself some slack.”

“Yes, well. You’re a figment of my subconscious, so.” She attempted a laugh, but it just sounded empty. “Don’t think you have much of an understanding of what it’s like to be divorced.”

He frowned, tilting his head slightly. “Huh. You know, you might not believe me, and I can’t quite be sure, but I think that maybe I… have?”

She blinked. “Have… been divorced?”

He looked troubled. “Yeah, I just got this feeling like I… know exactly what you’re feelin’.”

“If you’re a part of me, then of course you would understand.”

“But it’s not—exactly what you’re describin’. The anger? That’s not… really there. Think if I was feelin’ everything you are that would be a pretty prominent feature.”

He was right on about that.

Rebecca didn’t bother continuing the argument. It wasn’t like they were going to solve it, after all. Some things were just meant to be left to mystery, it seemed.

“For what it’s worth,” he added, “I would give you a big ‘ole hug right now if I could. Seems like you could use it.”

She gave him a tentative smile. “I’m not much of a hugger, so it’s all right that you can’t.”

He simply hummed at this, as though maybe he disagreed but wasn’t going to call her on it.

“Thank you,” she said, meaning it. “For the talk, and for… being there for me. Even if you don’t have a choice in the matter. It’s still been… nice, to have someone around.”

“Well good. And I’m always happy to be there for you.”

“What do you attribute your recent streak of wins to?”

The press room was full to bursting, as it had been ever since the American had become Richmond’s manager, and Rebecca watched as he gave a shrug in response to the reporter’s question.

“We got two aces. Can’t lose with two aces.”

The press conference ended, and Rebecca made her way back to her office, her mind swirling.

Ever since the arrival of Dani Rojas to the team, along with Jamie Tartt’s sudden willingness to not be a colossal twat all the time, Richmond was beginning to do well. So well, in fact, that they had a real shot at avoiding relegation.

Anger bubbled up inside of her as she thought back to one of the team’s recent victory celebrations, which she’d been invited to but had politely declined. Of course the moment she needed them to be rubbish they’d start pumping out wins left and right.

But there was still a way to salvage this. She just had to think.

The idea came to her at her desk, paging through paperwork about the two players in question.

If she ended Jamie’s loan, their winning streak would be over, and she could watch the club crumble as originally planned.

Putting in the call to Man City was all too easy, and she felt nothing but distant satisfaction once the deed was done, hanging up the phone and returning to being surrounded by nothing but a ringing silence.

Until the ghost appeared to tell her off about it.

She didn’t even have time to react to his appearance before he was in front of her desk, the most disapproving eyes she’d seen from him yet.

“Rebecca, why would you do that?”

There was a plaintive note to his voice, and she couldn’t stand to look up at him any longer, choosing instead to fiddle with her laptop. “I’m the owner of the club. Sometimes I have to make hard decisions.”

“That’s bullshit.”

The curse shocked her so badly she whipped her head back up. “Excuse me?”

“Look, I’m sorry for sayin’ that. But you and I both know this isn’t about that. Now I might not know what the real reason is, but is the only answer to whatever problem you’re facing really to get rid of Jamie? Who’s just starting to mesh with the team again? Feel like he’s a part of somethin’?”

She didn’t bother asking how he knew any of those details. “Yes, it is.”

“It just doesn’t seem right. He’s a good kid, and he doesn’t deserve to be a pawn in some game. Just like Beard didn’t.”

“Well, maybe if you were actually a real person, you could convince me to change my mind. But you’re not. So you can’t.”

She knew the words were too harsh, hit too close to the chest. But by the time they’d escaped past her lips, it was too late.

His face sort of — shuttered. There was a long, paralyzing moment where nothing happened; he simply stood, stock-still, on the opposite side of her desk. Eventually, he began to back up, giving a slow, careful nod as he went.

“You’re right. I’m sorry for botherin’ you. I’ll get out of your hair, now.”

He vanished, and Rebecca stared at the empty space where he’d been standing for a long, long time.

She felt utterly shitty about snapping at the ghost.

Which really was ludicrous. But true nonetheless.

She should apologize. She wanted to apologize.

But she couldn’t just… call him up to tell him - his visits were entirely random and out of her control.

She found herself scanning every room in the club for him, but every day she searched, he was nowhere to be found.

Perhaps he’d finally had enough of her. She couldn’t say she blamed him.

Rebecca just wished she could have seen his goofy smile one last time.

The team won against Everton, a feat that hadn’t been accomplished in more than sixty years, and even Rebecca wasn’t immune to the joy that filled the air. There was shouting, dancing, and that infernal chant that even had her laughing giddily along.

In all the excitement, with her, Sassy, and Keeley joining the fray of the locker room, Rebecca happened to spot a familiar face in the crowd. Her ghost, watching the group with a proud grin, noticed her from across the way, and gave her a salute.

Rebecca couldn’t stop herself from beaming in return.

That night, the entire team went out to celebrate together at a local karaoke bar. Everyone was made to sing something; even Rebecca was coaxed on stage by her friends, and while she was initially reluctant, she couldn’t deny the thrill that rushed through her as she stepped up onto the platform and opened her mouth to begin.

Music had long been something she’d loved, but as a consequence of her marriage to Rupert, it was a passion she’d spent many years neglecting..

But that day, in that karaoke club, she felt free.

She got off the stage to raucous applause, adrenaline still running high as she laughed with Keeley and Sassy about the experience.

She was about to agree to dance with them when she spotted Beard by the bar, alone. A beer bottle dangled between his fingers, and his eyes were downcast. A far cry from the exuberant man she’d just witnessed performing on stage.

Excusing herself, Rebecca wandered over to the gaffer, her curiosity piqued. “Mind if I sit?”

He barely glanced up at her before replying, “Sure.”

She settled herself onto the stool beside him, watching carefully as she faced him. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, ‘course.”

She waited him out, knowing.

After a few beats, he let out a heavy breath before he began speaking.

“I have this friend, back in Kansas, Named Ted Lasso.”

The name, as peculiar as it was, rang some kind of tiny bell in her brain. But she couldn’t possibly understand why. She nodded, encouraging him to continue.

“He’s my best friend. We did everything together, ever since college. I suppose I just… find myself really wishing he could be here for this.”

Rebecca wasn’t sure she understood, but could tell that consolation wasn’t what he really needed from her, anyway.

So she waved the bartender over, paid for the gaffer’s beer, and left him alone with an acknowledging nod, which he returned.

She stepped outside for some air, the adrenaline from karaoke wearing off.

“You got a real nice singing voice.”

The mustachioed ghost stood beside her, a quiet smile on his face. Something in her relaxed at the sight of him, and she turned to face him, words spilling out of her.

“I am—so sorry for what I said the other day. It was uncalled for, and you didn’t deserve it. You were just… trying to get me to do the right thing. I had no right to be so cruel.”

There was a twist of irony to his mouth as he replied, “Yeah, well, I appreciate you sayin’ that. But you may not have been wrong “

Her heart sank. “What are you talking about? Of course I was.”

“We don’t know that. I could be a figment of your imagination, or a guardian angel who doesn’t exist beyond your life.” He looked away from her then, eyes shining and throat bobbing as he swallowed thickly. “But I wouldn’t mind either of those scenarios too much. What really scares me is the idea that I’m dead. What if I was once a real, living person, and there’s a family out there that’s gotta live without me?” He reached up to wipe at his cheeks. “I think that would be the worst answer, for me.”

She didn’t know what to say to that. How to comfort him. But she had to try.

“If it is,” Rebecca began haltingly. “I will… help you find them, and help them find peace.”

He looked at her then, appreciation clear. “You would do that?”

“Of course I would.”

He slowly breathed out. “Thank you, Rebecca.”

The smile she gave him felt a little easier, a little more certain. “Anytime, Angel.”

It was a few weeks later that Rebecca found herself stepping through the doors of the Crown and Anchor. She wasn’t looking forward to the meeting she had at the well-known Richmond pub - the Milk sisters were such terribly dull company, and they quite literally never shut up.

In hindsight, she would have preferred to sit with the Milk sisters for days.

Rupert was there, the young woman she’d seen him leave the gala with by his side. He gestured for her to come sit with a flourish, and bile rose in her throat.

“Rebecca! Come join us.”

Rebecca moved towards the table as though she was underwater. “I have a meeting to attend to.”

“Oh, with the Milk sisters? They won’t be coming. They sold their shares of the club to Bex, here.”

Bex smiled.

Rebecca sank down into the seat across from them, a sort of haze covering her vision as she watched Rupert’s arm hang over the younger woman’s shoulders. She startled slightly at a thunking sound, only to relax when she saw Mae, setting down a pint in front of her with a knowing look.

“Thank you,” Rebecca muttered, and Mae nodded.

“So many things to celebrate. My return to Richmond, the club’s success. Oh!” He turned his razor-sharp eyes back to her, and even before he spoke she knew with a sinking stomach that he was going in for the kill.

“And Bex and I are engaged.” The menacing grin directed at her morphed into something much more bland, and he raised his voice. “So drinks are on me!”

The pub cheered at the news, and Rebecca was pretty sure she was going to be sick.

She was on her second pint, the assembled crowd eagerly watching as Rupert and Bex played a game of darts, when she heard it.

“You could probably just leave.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she turned to see the ghost, seated in the chair beside her. She knew better than to reach out and check to see if he was real - he never was. And she didn’t want to look crazy in front of Rupert.

So she kept her eyes firmly forward as she spoke into her glass. “I can’t. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.”

A thought occurred to her, and she scanned the room for Coach Beard. He was nowhere to be seen.

Rebecca frowned. How could her ghost be here, if the man that had always accompanied him wasn’t?

Perhaps their theory had been wrong.

The crowd cheered as Bex’s dart hit the board, and Rebecca scowled.

The ghost’s hand appeared suddenly beside her drink, and she blinked over at him in confusion.

“Think we should teach him a lesson or two?”

She had no idea what he was getting at, but the offer was intriguing. “How?”

He kept his gaze on hers. “Do you trust me?”

Rebecca bit her lip. For whatever reason, she did.

“I suppose I do.”

“Then challenge Rupert to a game.”

Immediately, she was shaking her head. “No, absolutely not.”

“But you said you trusted me.” His eyes were sure, and she didn’t know what it was, but in that moment, she chose to believe him.

Fuck it.

Standing up, Rebecca downed the last of her drink before making her way up to the dartboard. “How about a game, Rupert? Between old friends.”

Rupert cocked an eyebrow at her. “Really? You’d like to play?”

She willed her tone to remain even and her gaze steady as she replied, “Yes.”

Rupert considered her, gaze calculating. “How about a friendly wager, then? Say, ten thousand pounds?”

“I think we can do something a little more interesting than mere money. How about this; if you win, you can pick the starting lineup of the next three games. But if I win, you aren’t allowed in the owners box. Not while the club belongs to me.”

Rupert seemed to think this proposition over for a moment, before giving a single nod.

“You’re on.”

This was insane. What was she doing ? She was going to make a fool of herself. She was already making a fool of herself.

Then the ghost was beside her, and against all odds, his gentle smile made her pounding heart settle. He stepped up beside her, and quietly, in her ear, said, “Pick up the dart and aim it, but don’t throw.”

Exhaling slowly, she obeyed, her fingers only trembling slightly. She stared at the dartboard, heart thundering in anticipation. 

What was she waiting for?

Then, it happened.

There was a sudden warmth in her body, and Rebecca watched in both fascination and terror as her arm, entirely without her permission, pulled back and then released the dart from her fingers, hitting the board squarely in the triple twenty.

The crowd whooped, but Rebecca was too stunned to join them.

What the fuck?

Even Rupert couldn’t hide his surprise, and it filled her with a sick kind of satisfaction to remind him that no, he didn’t know her as well as he thought he did.

The next two throws went exactly the same, and when her final dart hit the bullseye perfectly, she couldn’t stop the grin that split her face.

As she watched Rupert and Bex leave, his tail clearly between his legs, she figured there was only one thing left to do.

“Drink are on me!” she hollered, and the pub erupted in joy.

“Had no idea you were left-handed,” Mae commented as she was passing back her credit card, and Rebecca’s heart was suddenly leaping into her throat.

“There’s a lot people don’t know about me,” she eventually managed, but her mind was still far away.

Left-handed.

He was left-handed.

Despite the momentary shock of this revelation, Rebecca was positively giddy from getting a win over Rupert. All throughout the rest of the day, she felt as though she was floating, not a single thing capable of bringing her down.

She was humming to herself in her office as she worked, and when the ghost appeared in front of her, she beamed at him.

“God, I can’t believe it. Thank you so much for what you did earlier.”

He smiled crookedly back at her, the expression quite a charming one. “It was no problem. Was happy to help.”

“And now that we know you can-” Rebecca struggled to find the right words, waving her hands in the air between them, “-do that , we could probably more easily work together to figure out who it is that you are.”

His eyes went wide at the prospect. “Really? You’d wanna do that?”

“Of course I would. I said I would, didn’t I? You’re a wonderful man - you deserve to know the truth.”

He looked down, color appearing high on his cheeks at the compliment. Still, he looked a bit unsure.

“And if we can’t find anythin’?”

Without thinking, Rebecca reached out her hand slowly. She kept it suspended in midair, and when her eyes met his she tilted her chin down towards it.

He carefully reached out his own hand until the two were touching. Even though neither one of them could feel the contact, the image of his hand hovering over hers gave her the same warmth that a physical touch would have.

“I will do my very best to not let that be the case.”

Rebecca thought the pub encounter was the last she would see of Rupert for quite some time.

She’d been wrong.

She was having one of her usual morning chats with her ghost when there was a knock on her door.

“Come in!” she called out, expecting to see Higgins push open the door.

But when it opened, it wasn’t Higgins bumbling in to tell her something.

It was Rupert.

“Rupert,” she said, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

“Can’t a man pay a visit to his ex-wife in this day and age?”

“Not when he was very recently advised not to, no,” she replied archly.

“Come now, we can be civil, can’t we? I won’t stay long, anyway. Just wanted share some big news with you in person.”

“I know you’re engaged. Did you already forget that you told me?”

“It’s not that, darling.” He paused, letting the tension ramp up for whatever he was about to say.

The bomb didn’t disappoint.

 “Bex and I are having a baby.”

There was so much white noise in her ears, suddenly, that she could barely comprehend her surroundings. Even the ghost looked shocked, mouth dropping open and eyes swinging to her, worry clear in their depths.

Rebecca carefully counted her breaths - one, two, three - before standing to her feet. “Well, now I know. So you can find your way out, now.”

Rupert held his hands up, a mock surrender. “All right, all right. I’ll be on my way. Do be well, Rebecca.”

Rupert was stepping towards the door when he suddenly lurched, a curse leaving him as he stumbled forward. He angrily stomped the rest of the way out, face blotchy with color, and let her office door fall closed with a slam behind him.

The ghost stood near the doorway, his leg still extended. When she gave him an incredulous look, he merely shrugged.

“Guy had it comin’.”

The action gave her a brief moment of levity before her smile dropped away again, the truth settling in her bones.

This cycle of hurt had to end. Nothing she did would ever touch that man, and she was done letting him control her world. In any and all ways.

“I need to tell him,” she whispered, the resolve settling in her bones.

The ghost’s soft, concerned eyes were trained on her. “Tell who, what?”

“Beard.”

“Beard,” he repeated. “Tell Beard what?”

She croaked. “The reason I really hired him.”

The walk down to his office felt as though it lasted ten years, and dread and despair made every step feel slow and agonizing.

She stopped in his doorwary, and carefully shut the door behind her. “I have to tell you something.”

Beard looked up from the book loosely held in his hand, eyebrow raised.

“I hired you because I wanted this team to lose. I had photos taken of you outside of that club to try and discredit you, and I arranged the transfer of Jamie Tartt. It was all me, in a ploy to… get revenge, for everything that Rupert put me through. But it was wrong, and unfair, and I am… so truly sorry.”

There was a long silence. Rebecca could feel her heart fracturing further every second he remained motionless.

Then—

“Okay.”

Rebecca blinked. “What?”

“Okay.” Her expression must have shown her continued bewilderment, so he elaborated. “I get it. The ex-husband seemed like a real prick.”

“He is,” she said faintly. “I — you’re not angry?”

Beard shrugged.

“Are you gonna stop? The sabotage?”

“Yes, of course, absolutely. It was childish, and moronic, and—I won’t do it anymore.”

“Then okay. We’re good. You comin’ to the game on Saturday?”

She oculdn’t believe it. That it was that easy for him to just brush it off like that.

But meeting his eyes, she knew he was being genuine. So she swallowed and took a breath.

“Do you… want me there?”

“Think all the boys would like you there, yeah. Good for morale to have the owner’s support.”

“Well, all right then. I’ll see you there.”

He offered her a rare smile, and it was that, more than anything else, that told her things would be all right.

When she returned to her office, the ghost was waiting, gaze instantly snapping to her when she walked through the door.

“How’d it go?”

Rebecca pressed a hand to her mouth, still a little disbelieving. “I did it. I told him the truth,” Her voice was still a bit shaky from the whirlwind of emotions.

The ghost smiled genuinely. “That’s amazin’, Rebecca. How’d he take it?”

She chuckled ruefully. “Surprisingly well. Thought he’d get angry, but I guess he’s interacted with Rupert enough times to understand where I was coming from.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Rebecca sat down none-too-gracefully on the couch beside him. She was close enough to him that if he was real, their shoulders would be brushing. But instead of contact, all she felt was a vague sense of comfort filling her. Frankly, she wouldn’t mind spending the rest of the day sitting just like this.

“Now I have to actually try and run a club with the goal of winning,” she mused absently. “How terrifying.”

When he didn’t answer, she looked over, and frowned.

He was gone.

Rebecca didn’t notice, at first. 

She was far too busy with the end of the season, the looming threat of relegation, and the logistics of running a club with the goal of helping it actually succeed for a change.

So when the ghost didn’t appear in her office for a while, she thought nothing of it.

It wasn’t like he’d ever really shown up on a consistent basis in the past. So a prolonged period of absence wasn’t really something to be concerned about.

But she soon began to wonder. 

A full week passed without him unexpectedly showing up, and it made her chew her lip in worry, furrow her brow in concern.

By week three, a sense of dread had overtaken her that she couldn’t seem to shake.

She didn’t want to think it. But the longer she went without seeing him, the more the possibility couldn’t be ignored.

What if he was gone for good?

Maybe now that she had overcome her plot for revenge, his quest to save her soul or whatever was finished. She didn’t need him anymore.

The irony was, Rebecca felt as though she needed her angel now more than ever.

It was the worst in the mornings, when she didn’t have anyone to enjoy her morning tea with.

No, not anyone. Him, specifically. With the wrinkle of his nose saying how much he hated tea, or the bouncing in his seat when he’d share fun facts about different farm animals, or the laugh he would let out every time she said something dry and offhand.

It was most certainly selfish of her, to miss a being that had clearly ascended beyond whatever being in her presence had been.

Rebecca just hoped with an ache in her heart that, wherever he was, he’d found peace, or final resting, or whatever it was he had been looking for.

She felt a brief spark of hope when she entered the locker room after their devastating loss against Man City which had solidified their relegation. It was a somber affair, but selfishly she knew that if the ghost was ever going to reappear, it would be in this moment.

She thought she saw a flicker of something as Beard gave a short, comforting speech to the group on how it was okay to be sad, in this difficult moment. But before she could blink, it was gone, and she was left wondering if it had really all been her imagination the whole time.

With the team on summer break and the spirit who’d been keeping her company missing in action, Rebecca felt more alone than she had in a long while.

So it was a bit of a shock to have Coach Beard knock at her door one morning. 

“Hey boss,” he said, moving to sit across from her. He was surprisingly chipper for a man who’s team had just been relegated.

“Coach Beard, hello. What can I do for you today?”

“I was hoping to ask for a favor.”

“Certainly. What is it?”

He sobered a little. “You remember that friend I talked about once? Ted Lasso?”

Rebecca nodded. It wasn’t the sort of name one could forget.

“He was in a coma. For a really long time. The doctors-” He seemed to get a bit choked up, quickly swiping a hand across his eyes to dispel the emotion. “They really thought he might not make it for awhile, but he pulled through. He just woke up.”

Rebecca gave him a smile, genuinely relieved that this person he cared about was going to be all right. “That’s wonderful. I’m so glad to hear it.”

“If it’s not a hassle, I was hoping you could help me arrange a visit for him around the start of next season. He’ll be a little more recovered by then, and I’d really like to show him around the place.”

Rebecca nodded, her mind already spinning through the logistics of such a visit. “That’s absolutely not a problem. I’ll get on it straightaway.”

It was the least she could do, after all she’d put him through in her ridiculous revenge plot.

As she got on her laptop to start making arrangements, she absently hoped that wherever he was, her ghost was smiling down at her, proud.

On a crisp day in September, Rebecca heard her phone buzz on her desk.

When she saw Leslie’s name on her screen, she smiled fondly. Picking it up, she read the message: it was a reminder that Beard’s friend was visiting this week.

With the hustle and bustle of preparing for the new season, she’d nearly forgotten. Rebecca sent him a grateful thanks in reply, Opening her chat history with Beard, she let him know to come to her office as soon as they arrived, so she could get Ted Lasso set up with everything he could possibly need for his stay in London. She set the device back down and resumed her work.

About twenty minutes later, there was a knock on her door, signaling their arrival. Rebecca looked up from her laptop to see Beard entering, another man following close behind him.

“Hey boss. Sorry we’re a little behind schedule. Traffic at the airport and all.”

“It’s not a problem, don’t even wo-”

That’s when she got a proper look at him. Ted Lasso.

Her entire body went still.

Him. It was him. It was her ghost.

He was alive. He was real .

Beard stepped aside, apparently not noticing the look on her face and gesturing with his arm. “This is Ted. And Ted, this is—”

“Rebecca,” Ted breathed, eyes wide and shining as he took a tiny step towards her. “Her name is Rebecca.”