TWs: Mentions of canon and OC character deaths (not in detail). Mentions of panic attacks and emotional abuses.
In the week leading up to their first official date, every time Trent wanted to cancel, he texted his sister instead of texting Ted.
This is me texting you instead of texting Ted to cancel. Please don't respond.
She would though. All five times he sent the same text.
It's all right to be nervous!
Proud of you for going after what you want!
It's going to be fine, I promise. Give him a chance.
It's a date, Trent. You've been on dates before.
This is getting ridiculous. He already told you he likes you.
Trent didn't call Ted that week, but Ted did text Trent once on Thursday night.
Is there a specific type of apple you prefer your apple pie to be?
Trent stared at that text for a solid minute before responding. It wasn't that he didn't immediately know the answer (Bramley), but it was another one of those wholly thoughtful Ted Lasso questions that completely stopped him in his tracks.
He didn't text his sister at all again after that. He didn't even talk to her until Saturday morning when he was dropping Alice off.
"Don't think I didn't notice the radio silence the past day and a half," Allie said as Alice rushed past her into the house. "I'll assume you came to your senses and will leave it at that."
"Thank you," Trent said, glad his sister was going to let him off the hook for his incessant worrying the past week.
"I won't text or call you today, unless there's some sort of emergency with Alice."
"Thank you," Trent repeated as he ran a hand through his hair. "I'll call later to check on her and say good night." Allie nodded. Trent could tell she wanted to say something but was letting him be because he was obviously still nervous about his upcoming date. "Thank you for always being there for me and Al. Mostly for me, though. You can always tell me to fuck off, you know."
Allie just shook her head. "I can't. You've been through too much. Stuff I'll never fully understand. Stuff I probably don't even know about. I'll be here for you and Al however you need me to. You wouldn't understand, anyhow—it's all in the Older Sister Handbook." She waited for Trent to acknowledge that he understood. After he nodded, she nodded back. "Go have fun, okay? Live a little. Hell, live a lot." She shrugged.
"I will do my best," Trent said quietly. He gave half a smile as he leaned in and hugged his sister.
"Let him in, Trent. And let yourself be let in," Allie whispered in his ear. "I'm so proud of you. However today goes. But I hope it goes well."
Trent nodded as he pulled out of the hug, not trusting himself to speak.
As he was parking in his spot at his building, Trent's phone beeped with several incoming messages. They were all from Ted: an address, instructions that there was no formal dress code (but to dress comfortably), and a general message saying that Ted was looking forward to seeing Trent later.
Trent entered the address into the map on his phone and saw it was nearby—well within walking distance from his flat. As it was a beautiful spring day, Trent decided he would walk to the date later. He didn't know if that would help his nerves or make them worse, but regardless it was a comfort to know that if for some reason he needed to leave he could make it back to his flat in 10 minutes.
Dressed similarly to the last time he saw Ted, though with white trainers on instead of his cheetah-print shoes, Trent left around 12:45pm to head over to the provided address. He was a bit shocked that the route was so familiar, as it took him along the park, past the Crown & Anchor, and down a winding walking area of shops. He consulted the building number Ted had given him and stopped in front of an otherwise unmarked door that looked like it lead somewhere upstairs. As he was about to text Ted that he was there, he heard the very same man call his name.
"Trent! What timin'," Ted said with a smile as he walked toward Trent holding a cardboard cup holder with two to-go cups. "How's it goin' today, sir?"
Trent smiled. He realized he'd never seen Ted in anything but his Richmond gear and work-casual attire, and it was oddly delightful seeing him in a bright t-shirt boasting the name of a Kansas City barbecue establishment, an unbuttoned plaid shirt, and fitted jeans. Ted looked more relaxed than Trent felt, but that actually let Trent loosen up a bit inside.
"Fine, thank you," Trent said. He looked at the door and then back at Ted. "I'm assuming I'm in the right place?"
"You are," Ted said. "Let me just dig my keys out…."
"Are we at your flat?" Trent asked, a bit surprised.
"We are," Ted said, as he pulled keys out of his pocket. He didn't go to open the door, though. "And I'm only just now realizin' I should have told you that before. I-I didn't mean anythin' forward askin' you here. Well… I mean, you'll see when we get upstairs. If you still want to come up, that is." Ted sighed. "Man, I knew I was gonna mess somethin' up today. I honestly did not think it'd be so soon."
From how flustered Ted was, Trent realized he was not the only one who had been nervous about their date. Even with all of Ted's confidence last weekend and assurance that he was fine, Trent recognized the same look of self-doubt on Ted's face that Trent saw in his own mirror that morning.
"I would very much like to come upstairs, Ted," Trent said softly, offering a small smile.
"Okay," Ted said as he nodded, more to himself than at Trent. He did give Trent one larger nod in his direction and then keyed his way into the building. "After you, sir. Just up one floor. First door on your right."
With Trent leading the way, they made their way to Ted's flat. It didn't scream "home," but it also felt more homey than other pre-furnished flats Trent had been in in his lifetime.
"Shoes off?" Trent asked as he hovered near the door.
"Whatever you're comfortable with," Ted replied as he kicked his own off and nudged them into a crooked pile near a couple other pairs of trainers lined up on a mat.
Trent toed his shoes off and then waited to see what Ted was doing next.
Ted handed Trent one of the to-go cups from the cardboard holder. "For starters, here's a latte from the place we went to last week. Turns out it's owned and operated by Adelaide, the young woman of foam art fame. She asked if one of these was for you. Well, she said, 'the serious fella with the glasses,' but I knew she meant you. I told her it was. So, I'm sure it got jostled on my walk back here, but know in your heart she put a heart on there for ya."
Trent's cheeks warmed. "Did you know that she had never done foam art before you asked her?"
Ted's eyebrows slid up. "Really? But she was so good at it, I thought she musta done that loads of times. Wow."
"I know," Trent said.
Ted took his own cup from the holder and motioned with his head for Trent to follow him. "And then the main event is…" He and Trent stopped in the doorway to Ted's kitchen where a basket of Bramley apples and bags each of sugar and flour, as well as other ingredients, measuring utensils, mixing utensils, bowls, and a pie tin were completely covering the table. "I thought we could make an apple pie together."
Trent's eyes didn't know where to focus. Drawings done by a child were proudly on display on the refrigerator door. There were mismatched aprons hanging on a hook on the wall. What looked like a faded handwritten recipe was unfolded on the countertop near the sink.
Ted must have taken Trent's silence for hesitancy because he kept talking as he set down the cardboard drink holder. "If you wanted to do somethin' else, though, we could go for a walk or out-out somewhere. I really wasn't tryin' to lure you over here for any reason other than bakin'. My thought was that we could keep talkin' without havin' to worry about anyone else while makin' something you like. I mean, I like it too. Who doesn't like apple pie? And I found my nana's recipe. I don't think y'all put cinnamon in your apple pies here, but if you were up for tryin' a new old version of an old favorite, well…"
His words drifted off when Trent slowly slid his free hand into Ted's and gently gave it a squeeze. Trent hadn't wanted to interrupt Ted, but he also needed to relay to Ted that everything was okay.
Everything was more than okay, actually. This was one of the kindest gestures anyone had ever made for Trent, but Trent recognized the gesture itself meant as much to Ted as it did to him. That shared pleasure, as tame as it was, made the idea of something as routine as baking a pie into something wholly intimate.
"Do we start on the crust first or the filling?" Trent asked softly.
The worried lines on Ted's forehead smoothed out and Trent watched Ted's shoulders relax as if he was thawing after hundreds of years of being frozen. Ted chewed the inside of his cheek, attempting to suppress a grin that Trent felt full from causing.
"That is an excellent question, sir," Ted said. "If you want to go the fresh crust route, we should make that first and get it in the fridge to chill. But I also bought a pre-made crust as a backup or if we felt like cheatin'."
"I'm thinking we should go the fresh crust route, Ted," Trent said as he squeezed Ted's hand once more before releasing it. He set down his coffee and slid off his jacket, ready to place it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. Ted quickly put down his cup and held his hand out, silently offering to take Trent's jacket. Trent handed over the garment. "Thank you."
While Ted was placing Trent's jacket and his own plaid shirt in the other room, Trent took the aprons off of the hook on the wall. He wasn't entirely sure Ted meant for them to be used, but Trent tied on the more ridiculous of the two (a loud floral print) and pulled his hair back into a ponytail.
"Looks like someone means business," Ted said with a chuckle as he walked back into the kitchen and saw Trent's transformation. He took the striped apron Trent held out for him and tied it on, no questions asked. "I gotta warn you, since this is my nana's recipe, everything is in American measurements."
Trent nodded. "All right." He gestured toward the recipe on the counter. "I will defer to your expertise and gladly follow your lead."
"Have you ever made apple pie before?" Ted asked as he picked up the paper and glanced at it.
"I'm sure I did when I was younger. My mother baked a fair amount. I'm more of a boxed mix person. Or a pick-it-up-from-the-bakery person, I'm ashamed to say," Trent admitted.
"Ain't no shame in gettin' things from a bakery, sir," Ted said. "Helpin' a small business is never a bad thing. Especially if you get treats outta it."
"I remember you saying you baked a lot. Are your pies as good as your shortbread?" Trent handed Ted one of the bowls from the table.
"My pies are pretty good," Ted said. It wasn't a brag by any means, nor did Trent interpret it as such. "I'm gettin' pretty decent at doughnuts. Cake doughnuts, at least. Usin' a fryer without adult supervision is still somethin' I'm workin' up to. I can also make pretty much any kind of cookie. Decoratin' is not my strong suit, but I make up for it with flavor."
"Did you bake a lot as a child?" Trent asked, genuinely curious.
Ted nodded. "School bake sales. Church bake sales. Bake sales for various sports teams I was on over the years. My mama taught me everything she knows and then I picked up some tips and tricks of my own over the years from watchin' bakin' competition shows. Y'all's British Bake Off is both entertainin' and informative."
The thought of curling up with Ted on a couch, waiting to see if Paul Hollywood would give someone a handshake during bread week, made Trent's heart ache with want.
"Are you close with your mother?" Trent asked as he peered at the recipe in Ted's hand and then grabbed the bag of flour and container of salt from the table and put them near Ted.
"I am," Ted said as he started measuring flour. "We got closer after my dad…"
Trent remembered Ted saying his dad had passed when he was a teenager. "I won't ask about him, Ted. I'm perfectly fine not talking about fathers, if you'd rather us change topics."
"Nah, it's not that," Ted said as he dumped a second cup of flour into the bowl. "I mean, it kinda is? I've been workin' on talkin' about him. See, when he died, I was told to say that he 'passed away' because that's the polite way of avoidin' conversation about him." Ted measured out a third cup of flour. "The honest truth is he killed himself and I was home when he did it." He sighed. "Doc's been helpin' me learn to be okay with just sayin' it, but shit… it happened, what, 30 years ago, and it still trips me up. I feel bad for hatin' someone because he left, you know? He quit on me and my mama. But then I get to thinkin' of all the good that came afterward because of it and sometimes that makes me feel bad. I mean, I always loved my mama. But there's no way we woulda been as close as we are now without the huge hole in our family, you know?" Ted's eyes went wide. "Shit, of course you know. I'm so sorry."
"It's all right, Ted," Trent said. "Because it's the truth, isn't it? It's something I think about all the time. It's why I had my first panic attack, actually."
"You don't owe me your story, Trent," Ted said.
"I know," Trent said. "But it's something I need to be more open about. And if you're all right to hear it, it's something I'd like to share with you because I think you're one of the few people who would actually understand."
"Sure," Ted said. "I'd be honored."
Trent gave Ted a small smile as he picked up the measuring spoons. "I didn't want kids. I loved being an uncle and that was enough for me. But when Thomas and I got back together, he said he wanted a child. He was the last Nickleby on his father's side and he wanted the bloodline to continue. I was against the idea until my sister offered to let us use eggs she had frozen after she had Jack."
"Hold on… so Alice is…"
Trent nodded. "It was the only way for our child to genetically be both a Nickleby and a Crimm."
"Wow. I'm sorry for interruptin'," Ted apologized. "Please continue."
"So we get a surrogate to carry the baby. About a month before she's born, Thomas asks me to marry him. Tells me he'd rather our child not be born out of wedlock. We had never really talked at length about marriage. It wasn't a legal option for us when we were first together at university and then by time we got back together in our 40s, it just didn't seem important. But, apparently, it was to him. So we got married. It was just at the registry hall. It wasn't a big to-do or anything. But as soon as that ring was on my finger… I felt the weight of it, you know?" Ted nodded in understanding as he handed Trent the salt.
"Just fill up about half of the smallest measurin' spoon with that when you get a second," Ted said softly.
Trent poured the amount Ted asked and dumped it into the bowl on top of the flour Ted had already measured.
"Thomas died in an accident the day Alice was born. I can't get into that right now, but, as you can likely guess, I didn't handle it well. Between funeral arrangements and having to care for a newborn, it was too much. My sister stayed with me for a while, but I was so insistent on doing everything for Alice on my own even though it meant I wasn't taking care of me. After about a week of not sleeping or eating or functioning, really, I lost it. I ended up in my bathtub, just completely folded in on myself because I didn't know how I was supposed to explain to Alice that she was stuck with the dad who had to be talked into having her in the first place."
"She ain't stuck with you. You love that kid," Ted said quietly. "She knows that."
"I know," Trent said. "I mean, I've come to know that as time has passed. It's terrifying raising a child. You understand what I mean. They don't come with instructions. There's no recipe to follow. You just want to do right by them. And I know I have for Alice. She's happy. She's loved. I'm not worried about that anymore. But I do often wonder if she and I would be as close as we are if Thomas were still here. He was going to be the stay-at-home papa while I worked. He would have been with her for everything," Trent stressed. "I'm not glad that he's gone. But at the same time I'm grateful for the time I've had with her that I wasn't planning on."
"Do you miss him?" Ted asked without even an ounce of jealousy.
"I'll tell you what I told my sister," Trent said as he frowned. "I miss him for Alice. He would have loved her and she would have loved him."
It got real quiet.
"I miss havin' a dad, but I don't necessarily miss my dad all the time because I'm still mad at him," Ted said quietly.
Trent nodded in understanding. "I was mad at Thomas a lot. He would…" Trent shook his head. "He was a leader. He liked having people following him. He liked when I followed him and expected it of me. He'd plan something—a dinner, a date, getting back together—and assumed I would be fine with it. It was mostly things I would want to do, but my opportunity to initiate a choice was almost always gone before I could make it. That's what our first fight was about. We weren't even together yet. I forgave him though. And I just kept on forgiving him," Trent said quietly, all to aware of the concerned look on Ted's face. "Christ, I'm talking far too much. We're supposed to be making a crust. This needs a liquid right? How much of what do you need?"
Ted shook his head. "If anyone's earned the right to take all the time in the world tellin' a story, it's the man who's spent his entire career tellin' everyone else's."
"It's going to take days for us to make a pie at this pace," Trent said as he picked up the recipe to see what else they needed for the crust.
"Well, I would be more than fine with that." Ted crossed the kitchen to where Trent was standing and gently took the recipe from his hand. "Though I do have that ready-made crust in the fridge we can use. I also have a whole apple pie in there from the bakery next door in case somethin' took a turn. So, whether it takes days, or if we only got this afternoon, you're not leavin' here without pie, sir."
"You've thought of everything, haven't you?" Trent asked, his eyes involuntarily darting down from Ted's eyes to his lips and back up again.
"Well, I do wholeheartedly believe in the Girl Scout motto of bein' prepared," Ted said, his voice tinged with nervous energy.
There was nothing more Trent Crimm wanted to do in that moment than kiss Ted Lasso. He couldn't, though. Not after going on about Thomas like that. Trent didn't want their first kiss to be tainted by his past.
He tried to reel them back in to the selfless date Ted had planned for him. For them.
"I think perhaps we should use the pre-made crust, though I'd hate for us to waste the flour and salt we already poured," Trent said.
"Don't worry about that. I'll put it in a Ziploc. Use it for another crust another time. It won't go to waste," Ted assured him, falling easily back into pie talk. "Shall we chop some apples? I already washed 'em, so we should be good to go."
"How many do we need and do they need to be peeled?" Trent asked as he grabbed two apples from the bowl on the table and put one on the counter by Ted. He grabbed two cutting boards and set them up on the counter as well.
Ted glanced at the recipe. "Uh… looks like five or six apples. Yes to peeled. Do you prefer sliced apples or diced apples in your pie?"
Trent cocked his head and thought for a moment. He could only ever remember eating apple pie that had sliced apples. It didn't even dawn on him that there could be another way. "What does your nana's recipe say? I want to do what she suggests."
"Well, nana says 'sliced or diced,' so it looks like you get to pick," Ted said. "Though I never remember her slicin' 'em."
"So let's dice them," Trent said. "I really want to try and replicate her recipe, minus the crust from scratch. Sorry, nana."
Ted chuckled. "She wouldn't mind. To tell you the truth, she used store-bought crust most of the time. She would let me help her cut the apples, though."
"Is there a preferred method of that that I should be doing?" Trent asked as he grabbed one of the knives Ted had set out.
"I do have a corer and a peeler, if you wanna use those. Or you could just use your knife—whatever is easiest for you," Ted said as he handed the corer to Trent. "I would suggest usin' that first and then the peeler. Or, it might be easier to peel the apple and then just cut the core out. I'm always scared of cuttin' my hand when I peel anything with a knife, so I'll be usin' the peeler. If you want, I can peel the apples and let you get started on choppin' and then I'll catch up."
"Because you know I'm going to be slow at chopping?" Trent asked teasingly.
"You just seem like someone who might be precise about it, is all," Ted said with a smile. "Which is good, really, because you want the apple pieces to be uniform so they'll cook evenly."
"Well then, yes please," Trent said as he set the knife down and grabbed his coffee and Ted's. "Peel away." He set Ted's coffee in front of him. "In case you become parched."
"Thank you, sir," Ted said with a nod. "I'll have you a peeled apple momentarily. Just gonna wash my hands first."
They took turns at the sink, with Ted passing Trent the hand towel when he was done. Their fingers barely touched in the process, but it was enough to make Trent's breath catch.
Trent admired the quick work Ted made of the apple, peeling it with ease even though Trent knew Ted knew Trent was watching his every move.
They chatted easily as they chopped the apples Ted peeled. Trent kept eyeing what Ted was doing, trying to match the size of his diced fruit. After each apple was fully diced and put in a communal mixing bowl, Ted would coat the newly added pieces with some lemon juice.
Trent offered to line the pie tin with one of the pre-made crusts from the fridge while Ted added the remaining ingredients to the filling. He smiled to himself when he saw the unopened bakery box on the top shelf. Another kind gesture from the kindest man Trent had ever met.
"This already smells divine," Trent said as Ted spooned the filling into the bottom crust. "The cinnamon gives it a kind of holiday feel, doesn't it?"
"Mmm hmm," Ted said as he put the empty bowl down and grabbed a stick of butter.
"More butter?" Trent asked, his eyebrows sliding up.
"Butter is practically its own food group in parts of North America," Ted said as he cut four squares off the end of the stick and dotted them around the top of the filling. "You got that top crust ready?"
"I do," Trent said as he carefully laid it over the mound of apples and butter.
"All righty," Ted said. "We gotta crimp up the edges real good so the middle doesn't leak out while it's bakin'."
They both laughed as they nearly knocked heads while they both leaned over the pie to fix the edges. Ted was pinching his side of the pie crust into little diamond shapes while Trent was rolling his edges to create a sort of ridge surrounding the pie. It looked rather ridiculous and perfect at the same time.
"This needs some sort of slit in the top of it, right?" Trent asked. "To let out steam?"
"Correct," Ted said as he took a knife and, after a moment, carved T + T into the top crust. "Can you open up the oven, sir?"
"My pleasure," Trent said, face flushing, as he pulled the door down so Ted could slide their pie onto the rack with both hands.
Trent shut the oven door while Ted set the timer. "Okay, so this needs about 50 minutes to an hour total. We need to check it after about 20 to put some foil around the edges so they don't burn."
"Should we get started on the dishes?" Trent asked.
Ted looked over and surveyed the huge mess they had between the counter and what was already stacked in the sink. "Nah."
"Good," Trent said as he gently put a hand on Ted's waist. Ted's eyebrows twitched at the contact, but he didn't make a move to pull away at all. "Because I would very much like to kiss you now, if that's all right."