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dreamlittleyoSafe Hands (2193 words) by dreamlittleyo
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Ted Lasso & Sam Obisanya
Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 02, Past Sam Obisanya/Rebecca Welton, Awkward Conversations, Emotional Support, workplace relationships, Power Dynamics, Protective Ted Lasso, Perplexed Sam Obisanya
Summary: When Ted takes a step back and thinks a little harder on Sam and Rebecca's relationship, he realizes there is something he needs to do.
Read the fic on AO3...
Safe Hands
For nearly two weeks after Rebecca's confession, Ted tells himself it's none of his business. Sam Obisanya is a grown man, if by far the youngest on the team, and his romantic life is none of Ted's concern. And for all the carelessness of Rebecca's choice of words—torrid affair, she'd said—Ted can't imagine either one of those two getting tangled up together if it wasn't a question of deep, real feelings. Sam is far too earnest, and Rebecca isn't that cruel. There's a reason his initial reaction was to give Rebecca his full support, even if he's since come to recognize the more uncomfortable elements of the situation.
Besides, the affair is over. What's the point of Ted sticking his nose in now, after the dust has settled? What can he possibly hope to achieve besides making Sam wildly uncomfortable? Surely it's better to let it go unremarked, as everyone involved moves on.
But as the high of Richmond's promotion finally levels out and the team—coaches and players alike—disperses for some much needed R&R, his conversation with Rebecca keeps replaying in his head on maddening repeat. It comes with a nagging sense that he screwed up. That he gave the wrong answers. That maybe none of the things he said were what the situation actually called for, no matter how powerful his desire to reassure and support a friend.
He can't shake the nagging sense that he needs to step up and… Do what? He's not sure. He only knows that doing nothing feels less tolerable by the day. Between getting ready for Henry's visit and showing up to the relative quiet of an off-season clubhouse, his efforts to focus on actual work were already operating at a severe disadvantage. He was never going to be great at keeping his attention on scouting reports and statistics under these conditions, but with his worry for Sam added to the mix, he's essentially useless.
By the end of that second week, Ted has reached an unavoidable and inconvenient conclusion: it is, unfortunately, his business.
He may not be responsible for his players when it comes to their personal lives, but Sam and Rebecca? That mess isn't purely personal. When Ted really makes himself look at the professional side of the equation—when he asks himself how he'd feel if he heard about something like this happening elsewhere, between people he doesn't know—when he imagines the questions he would have for anyone besides Rebecca Welton…
No. There's no escaping the fact that he's got an obligation to look out for every one of his players. And if he doesn't follow through—if he lets his faith in Rebecca stop him from making sure Sam's okay—then he is letting every one of them down.
He still doesn't want to stick his nose in Sam's business, but he can't put it off any longer either. So, with a string of muttered words that most people probably wouldn't consider curses, Ted stands up from his desk and sticks his head out of the empty office. There are only four players huddled up and chatting in the locker room, a disconcertingly small number that does not come anywhere near filling the massive space. With no training to bring the team in on a set schedule, only a handful of guys turn up to use the clubhouse's well-maintained workout equipment.
Ted is more than half hoping Sam won't be one of them today. It's a cowardly thought, and an unhelpful one. If Sam isn't here then Ted will need to work up the gumption to text him—a task that seems somehow infinitely more daunting than just asking him to step into Ted's office for a chat.
From here, he can make out the back of Dani's head, the shower-damp curls of Bumbercatch's hair, and Isaac's face in profile. Then the group shifts, laughter setting off a ripple of movement, and Ted sees the fourth member of the little group is indeed Sam, dressed in finer attire than the others. Everyone else, despite having changed out of their workout clothes, still looks ready to go run a lap around the pitch. But Sam has landed near the dressier end of business casual, navy trousers and a blazer over a dark shirt.
Maybe he's got a reason to be dressed up, Ted finds himself hoping guiltily. Maybe he has plans, and he'll realize he's running late, and he won't have time to stick around for a one-on-one with his coach.
"Hey, Sam," Ted says into the first convenient lull in conversation. "Got a minute to chat before you go?"
"Sure, Coach." Sam's smile is all guileless good humor. Then, instead of rejoining the conversation with his fellow players, he exchanges fist bumps and backslaps as everyone finally takes off. Ted hovers awkwardly in the open doorframe, trying not to feel out of place, waving his own goodbyes when he hears a Night, Coach tossed his way.
A moment later, only Sam remains, and Ted steps back into the office, gesturing for Sam to follow him inside. Empty locker room or not, this is a conversation that requires the certainty of privacy, not just the hope that no one will be walking by to overhear.
"What can I do for you, Coach?" Sam asks, looking a little more serious as Ted shuts the door behind them. Not worried. Not quite. But his grin has faded, and there's a wariness to the way he's watching Ted now. Hell, it's not like Ted is doing a particularly good job of concealing the fact that he's got something heavy to bring up. He needs to open his mouth and say something here, before his hesitation does get Sam worrying.
"Actually, I wanted to ask you the same question. Check in, see how you're doing. How's everything?"
Sam blinks at him, visibly perplexed. At least he looks more confused than wary now.
"Everything is fine, Coach. Is there a problem?"
Right. Of course Sam isn't going to just open up and volunteer the subject Ted wants to ask him about. Hell, he's probably not even being deliberately evasive. His expression looks far too genuine to be a false front, and it's not as though Ted would've realized anything's amiss based solely on Sam's outward demeanor. He thinks he could probably pinpoint the exact week when Sam's relationship with Rebecca ended, in retrospect and with all the benefit of privileged information. A span of days in which one of his most cheerful and outgoing players was uncharacteristically subdued.
But even while sad and quiet, nothing in Sam's behavior set off any alarm bells. And now, more than a month later, Sam is as warm and open as ever.
The pause has lasted too long when Ted finally answers, "No, no, no. No problem. But I thought I should… Well, I wondered if… Heck, there's no way to come at this without being awkward as all get out, so I'll just say it." Ted falls silent then, and it takes every scrap of stubborn resolve he possesses to conclude, "I know about you and Rebecca."
"What? How?"
Sam looks truly alarmed at this revelation, and Ted stares at him for several incredulous seconds.
"Seriously?" Ted blurts. Then, when his disbelief is met only by the young man's eyes going even wider, he says, "Sam, I sat there on Rebecca Welton's couch and listened to you explain that your feelings for me weren't the reason you turned down Edwin Akufo's offer. We really gonna stand here and pretend you were actually talking to me when you said all that?"
The shock finally fades from Sam's face, but the fidgety discomfort that replaces his surprise isn't actually an improvement.
"I see your point," Sam concedes, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Ted finds himself selfishly glad he doesn't need to admit Rebecca confessed outright.
"I been telling myself to keep my nose out of your business ever since," Ted admits. "But it turns out I can't do that. Not without making sure you're okay."
Sam's brow furrows, an expression of such sincere confusion that Ted is actually relieved when Sam asks, "Why wouldn't I be okay?"
Unfortunately, this puts Ted in the unenviable position of finding words for something he has not in any way come prepared to explain. His brain spins out for several ineffective seconds, trying and failing to come up with some delicate way to express his point. Finally he settles for blunt candor, because no amount of finesse will make this less awkward.
"She's your boss."
A complicated sequence of emotions flickers across Sam's face, so quickly that Ted only catches about half of them. Surprise. Anger. Something sad and a little bit wounded. Anger wins out in the end, strangely out of place on Sam's open and expressive face, confirming that Ted has hit a nerve.
"My feelings for Rebecca have nothing to do with football or this club. Our private life is private." It's clear from both his expression and his tone that Sam is deeply offended, that Ted's approach has gone awry.
Ted raises both hands in a placating gesture, hoping to head this train wreck off at the pass before he loses any hope of making Sam hear him. Sam is usually level-headed, more so than any other player on the team, and there is something deeply unsettling about seeing him so riled. It's painfully obvious that there's a struggle going on between his deeply ingrained politeness and his desire to turn and storm out of the office.
"Hey now, easy." Ted keeps his tone soothing. "I'm not saying… This isn't an attack, Sam. I got no intention of telling you how to feel, or who you're allowed to get close to. I'm sure as hell not going to tell anyone else your private business."
He pauses for a breath, deliberately slow, waiting to see how Sam will react. Sam does look to be calming down—looks less like he's about to bolt—so Ted carefully continues.
"Try to look at this from where I'm standing. Take you and Rebecca out of it and just… consider how easy it would be, for someone who owns a football club—or any other business, for that matter—to pressure an employee into something they're not comfortable with."
"Rebecca would never do something like that," Sam insists, but the rage has faded, taking the wind out of his sails. Those raised hackles are settling back down, as he takes the time to weigh Ted's words.
"I'm glad," Ted says, and means it so fiercely he gets a little lightheaded at the reassurance. "I really am. But I hope you can see why I had to ask. Why it was… inappropriate… for Rebecca to become romantically involved with a Richmond player. I'm not accusing her of anything. I'm just tryin' to look out for you."
Quiet descends, contemplative and heavy, as Sam studies Ted like he's not sure what to say. Or maybe, Ted reconsiders, like he's not sure how much to say.
Finally, after an eon through which Ted has to fight every second not to fill the silence with his own unnecessary words, Sam says, "I did not fall in love with her knowing she was my boss." His tone is low and confessional, and the words knock Ted flat. It's one thing, to realize there must have been something more than just a physical affair between them, knowing Sam and Rebecca like Ted does. But to actually hear Sam say it outright, just like that, full of honest feeling… That's a hell of a thing, and Ted reels a little as Sam keeps talking. "We connected on bantr. Neither of us had any idea, and then once we did…"
When Sam trails off with a helpless shrug, Ted says just as quietly, "You don't owe me an explanation." He hopes it doesn't sound like he's trying to shut Sam down, when that's the last thing he wants to do. But he also doesn't want this sweet and earnest and clearly heartbroken young man to think the situation obligates him to bare his soul and justify his behavior. "I'm not here to pass any judgment. You have my word on that. I just needed to be sure."
"Sure of what?" Sam asks, but he looks distinctly off-balance, and this time there's a canniness to the way he's watching Ted—a wordless sense that he understands, even if he still needs a nudge to acknowledge it.
"That you’re okay," Ted repeats himself, low and earnest. Sam looks outright uncomfortable now, and Ted braces himself to bring the whole weird, awful, necessary conversation home. "I promise not to bring it up again, but I need you to know you can talk to me, okay? If you want to. No pressure, I ain't gonna twist your arm, but I'm here if you need anything. Anything, Sam. I mean it."
"Thank you, Coach," Sam says, in a tone that makes it clear they will never discuss this topic again.
The End
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Ted Lasso (TV)
Rating: General Audiences
Relationships: Ted Lasso & Sam Obisanya
Additional Tags: Post-Season/Series 02, Past Sam Obisanya/Rebecca Welton, Awkward Conversations, Emotional Support, workplace relationships, Power Dynamics, Protective Ted Lasso, Perplexed Sam Obisanya
Summary: When Ted takes a step back and thinks a little harder on Sam and Rebecca's relationship, he realizes there is something he needs to do.
Read the fic on AO3...
For nearly two weeks after Rebecca's confession, Ted tells himself it's none of his business. Sam Obisanya is a grown man, if by far the youngest on the team, and his romantic life is none of Ted's concern. And for all the carelessness of Rebecca's choice of words—torrid affair, she'd said—Ted can't imagine either one of those two getting tangled up together if it wasn't a question of deep, real feelings. Sam is far too earnest, and Rebecca isn't that cruel. There's a reason his initial reaction was to give Rebecca his full support, even if he's since come to recognize the more uncomfortable elements of the situation.
Besides, the affair is over. What's the point of Ted sticking his nose in now, after the dust has settled? What can he possibly hope to achieve besides making Sam wildly uncomfortable? Surely it's better to let it go unremarked, as everyone involved moves on.
But as the high of Richmond's promotion finally levels out and the team—coaches and players alike—disperses for some much needed R&R, his conversation with Rebecca keeps replaying in his head on maddening repeat. It comes with a nagging sense that he screwed up. That he gave the wrong answers. That maybe none of the things he said were what the situation actually called for, no matter how powerful his desire to reassure and support a friend.
He can't shake the nagging sense that he needs to step up and… Do what? He's not sure. He only knows that doing nothing feels less tolerable by the day. Between getting ready for Henry's visit and showing up to the relative quiet of an off-season clubhouse, his efforts to focus on actual work were already operating at a severe disadvantage. He was never going to be great at keeping his attention on scouting reports and statistics under these conditions, but with his worry for Sam added to the mix, he's essentially useless.
By the end of that second week, Ted has reached an unavoidable and inconvenient conclusion: it is, unfortunately, his business.
He may not be responsible for his players when it comes to their personal lives, but Sam and Rebecca? That mess isn't purely personal. When Ted really makes himself look at the professional side of the equation—when he asks himself how he'd feel if he heard about something like this happening elsewhere, between people he doesn't know—when he imagines the questions he would have for anyone besides Rebecca Welton…
No. There's no escaping the fact that he's got an obligation to look out for every one of his players. And if he doesn't follow through—if he lets his faith in Rebecca stop him from making sure Sam's okay—then he is letting every one of them down.
He still doesn't want to stick his nose in Sam's business, but he can't put it off any longer either. So, with a string of muttered words that most people probably wouldn't consider curses, Ted stands up from his desk and sticks his head out of the empty office. There are only four players huddled up and chatting in the locker room, a disconcertingly small number that does not come anywhere near filling the massive space. With no training to bring the team in on a set schedule, only a handful of guys turn up to use the clubhouse's well-maintained workout equipment.
Ted is more than half hoping Sam won't be one of them today. It's a cowardly thought, and an unhelpful one. If Sam isn't here then Ted will need to work up the gumption to text him—a task that seems somehow infinitely more daunting than just asking him to step into Ted's office for a chat.
From here, he can make out the back of Dani's head, the shower-damp curls of Bumbercatch's hair, and Isaac's face in profile. Then the group shifts, laughter setting off a ripple of movement, and Ted sees the fourth member of the little group is indeed Sam, dressed in finer attire than the others. Everyone else, despite having changed out of their workout clothes, still looks ready to go run a lap around the pitch. But Sam has landed near the dressier end of business casual, navy trousers and a blazer over a dark shirt.
Maybe he's got a reason to be dressed up, Ted finds himself hoping guiltily. Maybe he has plans, and he'll realize he's running late, and he won't have time to stick around for a one-on-one with his coach.
"Hey, Sam," Ted says into the first convenient lull in conversation. "Got a minute to chat before you go?"
"Sure, Coach." Sam's smile is all guileless good humor. Then, instead of rejoining the conversation with his fellow players, he exchanges fist bumps and backslaps as everyone finally takes off. Ted hovers awkwardly in the open doorframe, trying not to feel out of place, waving his own goodbyes when he hears a Night, Coach tossed his way.
A moment later, only Sam remains, and Ted steps back into the office, gesturing for Sam to follow him inside. Empty locker room or not, this is a conversation that requires the certainty of privacy, not just the hope that no one will be walking by to overhear.
"What can I do for you, Coach?" Sam asks, looking a little more serious as Ted shuts the door behind them. Not worried. Not quite. But his grin has faded, and there's a wariness to the way he's watching Ted now. Hell, it's not like Ted is doing a particularly good job of concealing the fact that he's got something heavy to bring up. He needs to open his mouth and say something here, before his hesitation does get Sam worrying.
"Actually, I wanted to ask you the same question. Check in, see how you're doing. How's everything?"
Sam blinks at him, visibly perplexed. At least he looks more confused than wary now.
"Everything is fine, Coach. Is there a problem?"
Right. Of course Sam isn't going to just open up and volunteer the subject Ted wants to ask him about. Hell, he's probably not even being deliberately evasive. His expression looks far too genuine to be a false front, and it's not as though Ted would've realized anything's amiss based solely on Sam's outward demeanor. He thinks he could probably pinpoint the exact week when Sam's relationship with Rebecca ended, in retrospect and with all the benefit of privileged information. A span of days in which one of his most cheerful and outgoing players was uncharacteristically subdued.
But even while sad and quiet, nothing in Sam's behavior set off any alarm bells. And now, more than a month later, Sam is as warm and open as ever.
The pause has lasted too long when Ted finally answers, "No, no, no. No problem. But I thought I should… Well, I wondered if… Heck, there's no way to come at this without being awkward as all get out, so I'll just say it." Ted falls silent then, and it takes every scrap of stubborn resolve he possesses to conclude, "I know about you and Rebecca."
"What? How?"
Sam looks truly alarmed at this revelation, and Ted stares at him for several incredulous seconds.
"Seriously?" Ted blurts. Then, when his disbelief is met only by the young man's eyes going even wider, he says, "Sam, I sat there on Rebecca Welton's couch and listened to you explain that your feelings for me weren't the reason you turned down Edwin Akufo's offer. We really gonna stand here and pretend you were actually talking to me when you said all that?"
The shock finally fades from Sam's face, but the fidgety discomfort that replaces his surprise isn't actually an improvement.
"I see your point," Sam concedes, shoving his hands into his pockets, and Ted finds himself selfishly glad he doesn't need to admit Rebecca confessed outright.
"I been telling myself to keep my nose out of your business ever since," Ted admits. "But it turns out I can't do that. Not without making sure you're okay."
Sam's brow furrows, an expression of such sincere confusion that Ted is actually relieved when Sam asks, "Why wouldn't I be okay?"
Unfortunately, this puts Ted in the unenviable position of finding words for something he has not in any way come prepared to explain. His brain spins out for several ineffective seconds, trying and failing to come up with some delicate way to express his point. Finally he settles for blunt candor, because no amount of finesse will make this less awkward.
"She's your boss."
A complicated sequence of emotions flickers across Sam's face, so quickly that Ted only catches about half of them. Surprise. Anger. Something sad and a little bit wounded. Anger wins out in the end, strangely out of place on Sam's open and expressive face, confirming that Ted has hit a nerve.
"My feelings for Rebecca have nothing to do with football or this club. Our private life is private." It's clear from both his expression and his tone that Sam is deeply offended, that Ted's approach has gone awry.
Ted raises both hands in a placating gesture, hoping to head this train wreck off at the pass before he loses any hope of making Sam hear him. Sam is usually level-headed, more so than any other player on the team, and there is something deeply unsettling about seeing him so riled. It's painfully obvious that there's a struggle going on between his deeply ingrained politeness and his desire to turn and storm out of the office.
"Hey now, easy." Ted keeps his tone soothing. "I'm not saying… This isn't an attack, Sam. I got no intention of telling you how to feel, or who you're allowed to get close to. I'm sure as hell not going to tell anyone else your private business."
He pauses for a breath, deliberately slow, waiting to see how Sam will react. Sam does look to be calming down—looks less like he's about to bolt—so Ted carefully continues.
"Try to look at this from where I'm standing. Take you and Rebecca out of it and just… consider how easy it would be, for someone who owns a football club—or any other business, for that matter—to pressure an employee into something they're not comfortable with."
"Rebecca would never do something like that," Sam insists, but the rage has faded, taking the wind out of his sails. Those raised hackles are settling back down, as he takes the time to weigh Ted's words.
"I'm glad," Ted says, and means it so fiercely he gets a little lightheaded at the reassurance. "I really am. But I hope you can see why I had to ask. Why it was… inappropriate… for Rebecca to become romantically involved with a Richmond player. I'm not accusing her of anything. I'm just tryin' to look out for you."
Quiet descends, contemplative and heavy, as Sam studies Ted like he's not sure what to say. Or maybe, Ted reconsiders, like he's not sure how much to say.
Finally, after an eon through which Ted has to fight every second not to fill the silence with his own unnecessary words, Sam says, "I did not fall in love with her knowing she was my boss." His tone is low and confessional, and the words knock Ted flat. It's one thing, to realize there must have been something more than just a physical affair between them, knowing Sam and Rebecca like Ted does. But to actually hear Sam say it outright, just like that, full of honest feeling… That's a hell of a thing, and Ted reels a little as Sam keeps talking. "We connected on bantr. Neither of us had any idea, and then once we did…"
When Sam trails off with a helpless shrug, Ted says just as quietly, "You don't owe me an explanation." He hopes it doesn't sound like he's trying to shut Sam down, when that's the last thing he wants to do. But he also doesn't want this sweet and earnest and clearly heartbroken young man to think the situation obligates him to bare his soul and justify his behavior. "I'm not here to pass any judgment. You have my word on that. I just needed to be sure."
"Sure of what?" Sam asks, but he looks distinctly off-balance, and this time there's a canniness to the way he's watching Ted—a wordless sense that he understands, even if he still needs a nudge to acknowledge it.
"That you’re okay," Ted repeats himself, low and earnest. Sam looks outright uncomfortable now, and Ted braces himself to bring the whole weird, awful, necessary conversation home. "I promise not to bring it up again, but I need you to know you can talk to me, okay? If you want to. No pressure, I ain't gonna twist your arm, but I'm here if you need anything. Anything, Sam. I mean it."
"Thank you, Coach," Sam says, in a tone that makes it clear they will never discuss this topic again.
