trashchildren | For Joan

Ted gives a laugh at 'Coach Barbecue', and then a small pained grunt at his ribs complaining. Oof. Feels good to laugh, but also, well, kind of painful.

"No clue whatsoever," he answers immediately, but he looks at her curiously to hear more.

She loves how curious he is, how eager to learn new things and be open to new information.

"Leibniz was a German philosopher in the 17th century. He's most well known for his optimism. He believed that the world we live in is the best possible world." She smiles. "Makes me think of you."

Oh! Ted's face easily shows how touched he is by that. "Sounds like a cool and smart fella," he answers with a warm smile. "Leibniz. Alright. That's really clever. Do you have anything like that for yourself?" Because that was such a great reason for a name, he's sure she can think of something better than he can.

"Mmm. Coming up with one for myself is hard." She thinks about it. "Maybe a famous doctor? Or a famous detective? Is there anything you can think of?"

She could probably come up with something, but she wants Ted to give her her name, if at all possible.

Ted considers thoughtfully, pursing his lips as he thinks through options.

"...I'm torn between Jane and Jessica," he answers after a moment. "And hey, both are J names, so that's convenient. Though Jane might be too close, actually."

"A bit close to Joan, yeah," she says with an amused smile. She considers for a moment, trying to figure out where the names come from. "I assume Jessica is Jessica Fletcher, right? And Jane...is that for Jane Seymour in Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman?"

He nods at the first part. Of course it's Jessica Fletcher. Awesome old lady. Not actually that similar to Joan, but a great character, and a sweet person.

"Ah, no, still a detective. Lotta people don't know Miss Marple's first name is Jane," he answers with a grin. There's a lot of stuff Ted doesn't know, but at least he's decently well-versed in the realms of fiction. And clearly he likes cool old ladies solving crimes.

"Ah, I did not know that!" It is also completely adorable and unsurprising that Ted knows that. She can see him being a fan of cozy mysteries. "I think I could get behind Jessica. Can't go wrong with Angela Lansbury, right?"

"Definitely," Ted agrees. "Have you seen her in Sweeney Todd? Oh! Amazing. Suddenly that sweet old red-head is baking people into pies while singing about it." Ted is also obviously a lover of musicals, especially older ones.

Then he quickly adds an addendum. "If that's a real crime you've solved at some point, don't tell me." He'd like pies to stay safe and non-creepy, please.

She laughs. "Yes, I've seen her in Sweeney Todd. No, I've never solved a crime involving people baked into pies. The closest thing was when there were a series of murders where the crime scenes smelled like cinnamon and nutmeg. This detective from a different precinct called them the work of the Pumpkin Killer."

Ted gives a 'phew' at her confirming she's never worked on a case involving people in pies. He makes a face at the Pumpkin Killer though.

"Ugh. Yeah, I'm never coming with you to a crime scene," he says definitively. "Don't want good stuff ruined for me."

"Fair enough," she says with a smile, although there's a touch of worry there, too. Her work is such an integral part of her life. It's why she and Sherlock live together, after all. It seems unlikely that Ted will never be exposed to the more unpleasant aspects of her work.

He looks at her curiously, noting the slight lessening in enthusiasm. "What's up?" he asks, giving her shoulders a slight squeeze.

He's so observant, and so good at reading people. She briefly considers saying it's nothing, but not only would he know she's lying, he's already gone all-in with her, and it feels wrong to not be open about what's bothering her.

"I was just thinking that it's going to be hard for you to not be exposed to my work," she says.

Ted wouldn't mind being told it's nothing, since even if he might not believe it, he respects Joan's need for privacy, and trusts she'll tell him things eventually. (Although, judging by today's events, she might need a little bit more coaxing than he's been doing sometimes.) It's only if it's important that he minds. Especially if it's something he could help with.

"Well, I can handle a little," he answers reassuringly. He's not that squeamish. He just doesn't want to be completely submerged in it, like she has to be.

"You know, if you want to talk stuff over with me or anything like that, that's probably fine, and I can tell you if it's too much. But, you know, going to places where people have been murdered, I can already tell you that's probably not something I'd like to do."

That's reassuring. "Going to crime scenes is definitely not something I would ask of you," she says. "And I appreciate you letting me know when things are too much."

She carefully snuggles against him again. "It's also nice to be with someone who makes me believe that people can be good, and kind, and sweet," she murmurs.

Ted likes to make people happy, but he's not a people-pleaser in the compulsive fashion. He has his boundaries, and he's conscious of enforcing them. And also capable of bending them a little, without going too far.

He smiles at that, turning his head to kiss her temple. "Yeah..." he agrees. "If your work is all about the most cruel and selfish people, it's important to remember that most people aren't actually like that. To remember what you're doing it all for."

He's definitely affected her view of humanity for the better. She suspects it's impossible to get to know Ted without gaining some newfound faith in human beings.

She's silent for a moment, just enjoying being in the arms of the man she loves.

Then her phone dings.

She slides it out of her pocket and finds a text from the airline. An electronic pre-boarding pass for her flight.

Ted buries his face in Joan's hair, looking up a little when her phone dings. He doesn't lean over to read, though. In case it's Sherlock or something.

Joan puts the phone back into her pocket, then moves so she can cup Ted's cheek and kiss him, a long, lingering kiss with just a trace of desperation.

When their lips part she presses her forehead to his, eyes closed.

"I need to go," she whispers.

Ted can almost guess what it was just based on the way she kisses him. It makes his heart ache.

"Okay..." he whispers back, but honestly it's anything but okay. It he had any idea how long she would be gone, it might've been easier, but soon she'll be on the other side of the world, and he has no idea when he'll see her again.

Joan knows that it's not okay at all. It hurts to be going away, not knowing when she'll be back. It's miles better than it would have been had she left without seeing him again and intending to never come back, but it's still so hard.

"I love you," she whispers, and kisses him again, that trace of desperation growing.

"I love you too," he answers, giving her a tight squeeze. "Hey," he says, pulling back and putting a hand on her cheek to look her in the eyes. "We're gonna be okay. And once we can see each other again, it'll be even better, cause then we can be together and not have to worry."

He gives her a soft kiss, and then an encouraging smile. He has complete faith this is going to work out for the best, and then they can be together as much as they want.

Leave it to Ted Lasso to see the bright side of everything. God she loves him.

She kisses him back, then answers the smile, actually feeling a little bit of that faith herself.

"We're going to be okay," she affirms.

One more soft kiss, and then Joan climbs out of bed and starts putting herself back together, pulling up her pants and straightening her shirt, then putting on her shoes.

Ted sits up, doing the same, and taking off his shirt. It's only been two days since he got rescued, so the bruises are still very much there all over his sides, but at least now they show the early stages of fading. An indicator that he is in fact getting better.

"Hand me the bag?" he requests quietly, nodding at the bag with his changes of clothes.

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