Chapter Text
When I was eight, I broke my arm on the monkey bars.
I’ve never in my life had any sort of athletic prowess, so of course my idiotic Year 4 self had to show off on the playground the only way she knew how - by flipping over backwards.
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” my friend Raina Lopez had called out to me as I hung upside down from my knees.
“Of course!” I'd told her.
That was a lie. I had no idea what I was doing. All I knew was that I wanted to look cool, and grown up, and stuff like this was what the big kids did. The cool kids did.
I let my arms hang loose, swinging back and forth as my hair blew in the breeze, the dark brown strands nearly blocking my view.
“I do this all the time at the playground near my house.”
“Your mum lets you flip off the monkey bars with no hands?!” Raina asked incredulously, hanging from her hands on the opposite end of the bars.
I'd giggled. My mother would never have let me do something like this. In fact, if she'd known what I was even thinking of doing right now she would have locked me in my room until I turned 30.
Not in a bad way though. Never in a bad way. I’ve learned that overprotectiveness comes with the territory when you’re an only child, and it’s only ever been just you and Mum.
“You are the most precious thing in the world to me, little one,” she would say as I was growing up. Almost constantly, every day, like she was afraid I would forget.
“Me too, Mama,” I would reply, because she was my best friend, and we would always have each other.
I glanced over at Raina.
“I didn’t say I did it in front of her…”
Raina bit her lip in concern.
“Well…then maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”
“Oh come on,” I brushed her off. “Just give me a count of three, and I’ll flip off the bars and land on my feet.”
Hopefully.
“Okay,” Raina exhaled, and began to count.
I swung myself faster, trying to get enough momentum to flip myself right-side up.
On “three!” I let go and my knees left the bar. I realized right away that I was not going to land on my feet, if only because I was plummeting face-first toward the ground, and fast. I put my arms out, a worthless attempt to catch myself, and the next thing I knew a searing pain shot up my forearm, followed by a nauseating crack.
It took me a moment to recognize that the sound came from me.
Any normal eight year old would have cried. Screamed, even. Instead, I sat up and stared, feeling myself get dizzy at the sight of my arm, red and angry and bending at a slightly weird angle.
“Raina,” I breathed, trying not to hyperventilate.
I barely even processed the sound of Raina running off, screaming for the teacher on recess duty. I barely processed anything at all for the next few hours.
Eventually I ended up in A & E, where a kind nurse who smells like roses gave me some medicine to make my arm stop hurting so much.
It wasn't not until Mum showed up—or rather shoved past any hospital staff who dared tell her to wait—that the reality of my situation hit me square in the face, and I began to sob.
“I’m sorry,” I hiccuped, fearing she’d scold me as she sat down beside me on the small bed. Rather, she wrapped me in a gentle embrace.
“Oh, bunny.” She crooned my childhood nickname as if she’d never been upset a day in her life. “I’m just glad you’re alright.”
“But I was hanging…on the monkey bars…upside-down,” I managed. “And I fell. And you always…tell me to b-be careful and I w-wasn’t.”
I looked up at her and she wiped the stray tears from my face with her thumb. Her ocean eyes were shiny, the way they got whenever I was sick or in pain.
“Well I think it’s safe to say you’ve learned your lesson about that,” she said lightly.
“S-so you’re not mad at me?”
Mum looked me in the eye.
“No, darling, I’m not mad. I just need you to be more careful next time, okay? I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to you.”
I looked down toward the bed sheets, snuggling further into her embrace.
“I know I call you Monkey sometimes but that doesn’t mean you actually are one, got it?”
And even if I didn’t at that exact moment, I definitely did later that night when she tucked me into bed, and I realized how grateful I was to be sleeping at home and not on that stiff hospital cot. A lot of other people I had seen today couldn’t say the same.
“You were so brave today,” she told me, sitting on the edge of my bed and smoothing my hair. The both of us glanced down at my cast - purple, my favorite color. “And I’m proud of you. So I want you to have good dreams tonight, okay? Happy dreams, no scary dreams.”
“I will,” I replied before holding my arms up for her. “But…could you maybe…stay here with me until I fall asleep?” Despite my promise I was a little scared of closing my eyes and seeing that hospital room again.
Mum carefully grabbed my casted arm, leaving a kiss on my palm.
“Scooch over,” she said, and laid down beside me. Her flannel pajamas were soft and comforting. It was February, and both of us were constantly getting cold at night.
“Mama,” I muttered against her.
“Hmm?” she hummed, hugging me close.
“Today right after I fell, my arm hurt pretty bad, but I didn’t really feel like I needed to cry until I saw you at the hospital. It was a little scary and I was just…really glad you were there.”
“I’ll always be here when you need me, bunny,” Mum smiled at me softly. “Always, always.”
Once I closed my eyes, she reached behind her to flip off my bedside lamp.
“Sweet dreams, my love,” she whispered. The last thing I remembered hearing before falling asleep.
But the last thing I remembered feeling, was safe.
Mum might work in an office filled with a lot of men who think they know a lot of things, and wear designer suits and really high heels that make her look intense and powerful, but if Rebecca Welton really loves you, you will know it, and you will feel it.
And even as I grew older, and we grew apart, I still think of her, and I think of home.
Rebecca Welton shot up in bed, breathing heavily and covered in a thin layer of sweat. She ran a hand through her hair, willing her eyes to focus in the bedroom illuminated only by a small sliver of moonlight.
“Fucking hell,” she whispered to herself.
Rebecca had become all too familiar with nightmares throughout her marriage, but the trauma of waking up from them had come after the divorce. Like the divorce itself wasn’t enough; she would be ‘waking up’ from all of the ugliness that consumed her life for the past 12 years again and again, forever.
The only difference this time - the nightmare had vanished. She couldn’t remember it. She couldn’t see her ex-husband’s face right in front of hers like she usually did, or smell the remnants of his cologne at the memory of when he’d inevitably force her to be intimate with him, especially during their later years.
No, she couldn’t quite describe how she felt. Weird. Off. As if something catastrophic had just happened and she missed it.
She glanced over at the clock on her bedside table. It was just after 4:00am. The sun would be rising soon.
Rebecca grabbed her phone, on the off chance someone had emailed her overnight needing a response. Rare during the off season, but not unheard of, and she could use the distraction. However, upon opening the Mail app, she inhaled sharply, seeing his name.
Of course.
Ted Lasso had been back in Kansas for almost two weeks now, and Rebecca missed him more than she was ready to admit, to anyone. As much of a nuisance as she’d assumed he’d be when she hired him, she’d actually found herself growing rather fond of him as the season went on. Him, his relentless niceness, and of course, those bloody biscuits.
He had become a daily constant in her life, to the point where she actually cared how he was doing, and how he was feeling, and if he was taking care of himself. Especially after she learned of his panic attacks while the team was in Liverpool, something with which she was all too familiar. And the thought of someone else going through it and with no support broke her heart.
Of course - she woke up in the middle of the night feeling weird because her friend needed her.
Without thinking, she searched for Ted’s contact, hitting the call button.
Mmm hello? came the muffled reply on the other end after a few rings, sounding like one word.
“Ted?”
She said his name quietly but clearly into the phone.
Boss? he replied sleepily.
Fuck, he had been sleeping and she woke him up.
“I uh…I didn’t mean to wake you,” she told him. “I suppose I just…wanted to make sure you were alright.”
There was a pause at the other end.
I think so, he said, the words coming out more like a question, like he was confused she was even asking. At least I was the last time I was fully conscious.
“Okay,” she exhaled. “Okay good.”
You doin’ alright? he asked, and she could hear a lamp clicking on in the background.
“Yes,” she blinked, trying to make herself sound chipper despite the absurd hour. “Yes, why do you ask?”
Um, maybe because it’s- Ted paused. Almost 4:30am in London town and you’re callin’ to check in on me all the way in Kansas.
Rebecca frowned.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Just woke up and felt a little off I guess. I blame the hiatus. None of us knows what to do with ourselves, I suppose.”
Well, sleep might help, Ted pointed out like it was obvious.
“Ha ha very funny,” she muttered dryly, leaning back against her padded bed frame. “Well I’ll let you get back to it then. My apologies again for being a bother.”
Hey, Rebecca, Ted stopped her, and she felt herself gripping the phone a little bit tighter. Her heart always skipped a beat when he called her by name instead of ‘Boss.’
“Yes?” she managed.
Try Keeley, he said. She’s probably still young enough to be pulling all-nighters. Maybe a little 4:00am girl talk’ll do the trick.
Rebecca chuckled lightly.
“Ted…”
Look, he continued. You woke up feelin’ weird for a reason. And my advice is always listen to your gut.
“Right,” Rebecca sighed. “Fine, I’ll give it a shot. Thanks.”
There was another pause.
‘Night, Boss, Ted said.
She smiled softly, knowing he was okay.
“Goodnight, Ted.”
Next up was her colleague who was fast-approaching best friend territory. Rebecca pulled her knees up to her chest, now fully awake.
Not. Happening.
The gruff voice almost made her laugh this time, if only because she knew it belonged to a tiny woman and not a six-foot tall football manager.
“I take it you’re alright then,” Rebecca said, not a question.
Oh shit, sorry, Keeley apologized in surprise. I didn’t even realize it was you…mostly just wanted to tell whoever was ringing my phone at four in the morning to bugger off, but you’re always an exception. What’s wrong?
Rebecca knew she wouldn’t be able to lie to Keeley. She’d never been able to, especially after the two of them had grown close.
“I think…I had a weird dream,” she treaded lightly.
You think you had a weird dream, or you did? Keeley replied.
“All I know is I woke up at four in the bloody morning feeling like my insides were crawling out of my skin but I can’t remember any dream,” she said. “And that’s…I always remember my dreams. Always.” The last word came out in a whisper, and Rebecca felt a chill go through her body. “And then I immediately thought something was wrong with Ted so I called him.”
Babe, you know Ted’s in Kansas, right? Keeley said with a yawn.
“Yes, thank you, I was reminded of that fact when I woke him up too. And then he told me to call you. Apparently, 4:00am girl talk is supposed to help.”
Right, okay, Keeley said. Well, putting the fact that your subconscious told you to call Ted before anyone else aside for another conversation, I hate to tell you this but your other bestie is the one with the psychology degree.
Rebecca let out a short laugh, raising an eyebrow.
“Did you just call yourself my bestie?”
Is that not what we are? Keeley responded without missing a beat.
“Touché,” Rebecca smiled softly. “Alright fine. Sass it is.”
But hey let's do lunch together tomorrow, yeah? Or I guess, later today at this point… Keeley trailed off. I promise I’m much more conversational when the sun is up.
“You’re on,” Rebecca mumbled, sinking down into her pillows. “See you soon.”
G’night, babe.
The line went dead, and Rebecca turned onto her side. She didn’t have the energy to talk to Sassy right now, no matter how well she knew her childhood best friend would be able to psychoanalyze her. She settled on a text, in the hopes that Sassy’s weird insomniac habits might work in her favor this time.
Had a weird dream. I think. You awake? xx
Three minutes later, her phone chimed.
Lay it on me.
Rebecca relayed most of what she told Ted and Keeley, but Sassy added one thing they didn’t.
Have you spoken to Natty recently?
Rebecca swallowed, hugging one of her pillows tightly at the mention of her 25 year old daughter. Natalie was a doctor, working in emergency medicine up in Edinburgh, where she had lived for the past 12 years.
The latter was a reality Rebecca hated with every fiber of her being, and putting stock into the memories of why only led to her own lengthy episodes of panic and grief.
She had had 13 precious years with her only child at home. Her brilliant only child, the result of a one-night stand with some unknown when she was fresh out of uni, and whom she had raised entirely on her own until Rupert came into the picture, ten years later.
Overall, they had been happy, and Natalie filled a hole a 22 year old Rebecca didn’t even know she’d had.
At first, Rebecca’s ex-husband had presented himself as the ideal partner and father. Natalie had never really expressed a desire for one, but when Rupert began showing support for things she loved, like music and theatre (something she had very clearly picked up from Rebecca), science projects, and fantasy novels, Rebecca remembered her daughter asking her one night over dinner, about six months into their relationship, if this was what it was like to have a dad.
Of course, Rebecca had a father herself, but their relationship had never been ideal.
“Yes, darling, I suppose it is.”
She had smiled across the table at her dark-haired mini, and remembered the genuine feeling of warmth that had passed through her when her daughter returned it.
Maybe this is it, she had thought. Maybe I can finally give my daughter the father I never had.
Even despite Natalie’s lack of interest in sports, the little girl would beg to accompany Rupert to every game, squeezing between him and Rebecca in the owners’ box, fully decked out in various Richmond kits.
“Since when have you become so into football, Natty?” Rebecca had asked her with a laugh one morning, after seeing her daughter had slept in an oversized jersey.
“I don’t know,” Natalie had shrugged. “Rupert is. And he’s part of our family now, right? So we should support him, like he supports us.”
In the months after they were married, when Natalie was about 11 and a half, Rebecca began to notice pieces of Rupert’s ‘support’ chipping away. He no longer offered to help her with her science projects, and didn’t even bother to show when Natalie had won first prize in her school’s Year 8 science fair.
He would claim that he was ‘busy with the club,’ but he had been owner of AFC Richmond for the entire time Rebecca and Natalie had known him. It wasn’t hard for Rebecca to suspect that he was choosing to be away, and eventually, that maybe the adoration he had shown her child was all a means to an end - getting to her. That maybe he was more like Rebecca's father than he had led her to believe.
Eventually, he pushed Natalie away completely, no longer letting her read with him in his study, or telling her to be quiet whenever she sang in the house because he was trying to work. The final nail in the coffin had been when he told her having her with him at games was ‘too distracting.’
“What did I do, Mum?” a 12 year old Natalie had asked tearfully one night before bed.
“You did nothing, my love,” Rebecca whispered back, her voice heavy, holding her daughter in an embrace.
She wished she could have said more, but by that point, she realized in hindsight, Rupert had begun chipping away at pieces of her too. Her heart, her home, her personhood.
At that point, she had still had a job outside of Rupert, working at an accounting firm, yet slowly but surely he was making her world smaller and smaller.
In the fall of Year 9, when Natalie was 13, Rupert sent her away to boarding school in Edinburgh. He had said it would be good for her, ‘expose her to the real world,’ or some excuse like that.
Rebecca had fought. Oh how she had fought, with tears and anger and shouting matches. Natalie too, at first.
Her daughter had been the first to realize the futility of arguing with Rupert, ultimately conceding and agreeing to go. Rebecca had been heartbroken, but sweet Natalie had assured her it was for the best and everyone would be happy.
Never happy, Rebecca knew that much, with her child seven hours and 43 minutes away by car. Four hours and 22 minutes by train. An hour and a half by plane.
But she told herself at least this way her daughter would be far away from the monster her ex-husband was becoming. Someone who eventually controlled where she worked, what she wore, what she ate, how often she saw her kid…her entire existence.
Even early on in their marriage when Rebecca broached the subject of giving Natalie a sibling, of having another baby, he told her they ‘wouldn’t have use for one.’
And she let him.
He made her feel terrified of being alone. He convinced her no one else would ever love her. That her own daughter didn’t even love her anymore; her daughter deserved more than her, and that was why he sent her away.
Somehow, by the grace of whatever higher power was out there, Natalie continued to flourish in school, earning top A-level marks, making friends and joining the drama club, and getting accepted into one of the country’s top medical programs. And whenever Rebecca would visit, or Natalie would come home for a short break, her daughter would always greet her with that same loving disposition, of inherent goodness that Rebecca couldn’t achieve if she tried.
Yet at the same time, she would pull away. Keep Rebecca at arm’s length. Choose to stay up north for medical school and build a life there, rather than move back to London, claiming that Scotland and its people ‘felt more like home.’
And that was what became of their relationship.
Loving. Good. Yet distant.
Not for a couple of weeks since she finished up her final training year, Rebecca texted Sassy back.
As of this month Natalie was fully a junior doctor in the A & E at the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh.
Call her, Sassy messaged back, with no context.
Rebecca’s eyebrows furrowed. She knew Sassy and Natalie chatted occasionally, since Sass was her godmother—as Rebecca was to Sassy’s daughter Nora—but did she know something Rebecca didn’t?
She sent a single ? back to her friend.
Just a hunch, Sassy replied. You two were so freakishly linked when she was little, maybe she just needs to hear from her mama xx
Rebecca exhaled a long breath, flipping over onto her back. She glanced at her nightstand, at the small framed photos of Natalie as a baby, and then another of the two of them at her graduation from St. Andrews.
Without a second thought, she told Siri to call her daughter.
The phone went straight to voicemail.
This is Natalie, came the bubbly voice that pulled a smile across Rebecca’s lips. I’m either sleeping or at the hospital. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you after whichever one ends first.
“Hi bunny,” she uttered the nickname quietly. “It’s Mum. I know it’s late, or early, depending on your shift schedule this week, but well, I’m up and was just thinking of you and wanted to see how you’re doing after finishing up training. I suppose the hiatus has me feeling a bit restless. But I also wanted to tell you again, I’m…so proud of you. Hope we can catch up soon. Love you. Bye.”
Slowly, Rebecca reached over toward the night stand for the baby picture. She kissed the frame.
“Knock ‘em dead, little one.”
From the moment I completed my first rotation in training, I knew I wanted to work in emergency medicine.
Some would ask why, naturally, since I was only 23 and just getting my feet in the water, fully expecting an answer like:
“It’s so intense and fast paced!”
Or even more asinine:
“Blood and guts excite me!”
Instead I would say:
Patients come to us at their absolute most vulnerable, for both physical and mental illness, and immediately they trust us to fix them. Because we’re the ones who do, when no one else can. And I love that I get to play a small part in someone's healing from that vulnerability.
As a doctor, the first thing I always ask my patients is their name, and then I tell them mine, and if they’re especially distraught, I throw in the whole thing for good measure.
Dr. Natalie Florence Welton.
It humanizes me, when so many of these patients are going through a life-altering experience.
If they’re lucid enough, I’ll ask them to tell me three things about themselves to distract them as I begin my examinations. What town did they grow up in? What is their favorite food? If they could be any animal in the world what would it be and why? And lastly, because I am a doctor, any pre-existing conditions I should know about.
My all time favorite answer came from a 28 year old named Simon, who said he would be a honey badger because they don’t give a shit.
Best millennial inside joke ever.
I’d put some thought into my own answers over the years, mostly just as a way to keep my patients engaged.
“This is the third time I’ve landed in A & E this year and no one’s ever stayed to talk to me like this,” an elderly woman named June told me yesterday. She had come in with chest pains, and chatted my ear off the entire time I held the stethoscope to her rib cage.
“I suppose I think about when I was hospital once as a kid for a broken arm, and I realized how scary it can be if you don’t know what’s going on. Just like to make sure my patients know they don’t have to be afraid of me.” I give her a small wink and smile.
“Well I certainly hope you don’t find yourself in here like me any time soon, lassie,” June said in a thick Scottish brogue.
“If it means putting your mind at ease, June, I wouldn’t dream of it,” I told her.
Twelve hours later, I hear June’s voice before I can see or feel.
Don’t find yourself in here like this.
The 'feeling' part comes soon after. Cold cobblestone sidewalks, and liquid. Why am I lying in liquid? Why am I lying down outside, period?
It was dark. I had gotten out of my car after driving home from a night shift, and it was just after 4:00am. I live in Bruntsfield, only 15 minutes away from the hospital. My orange tabby cat, Maggie, would be begging me for extra food as soon as I walked through the door of my third floor flat, her way of expressing annoyance whenever I worked odd hours.
Except I cannot move.
I cannot see.
I cannot process that the liquid surrounding me is my own blood.
I’ve got a hit-and-run victim, female, looks to be in her mid-20’s.
A voice brings me back, but just barely. I take in the words ‘hit-and-run,’ but they sound foreign, far away.
My head feels like it’s splitting in half, and I’m being moved somewhere on a stretcher. I, however, still physically cannot move. My eyes are cemented shut.
The sound of beeping surrounds me, and a male voice says my name.
Dr. Welton? Natalie? Can you hear me? It’s James, your colleague James. We’re going to take care of you, you’re going to be alright.
James was in my training cohort, and the kind of boy you bring home to Mum. Kind, focused, driven.
He keeps talking to me until I know.
I am at the hospital.
I am the patient.
A patient who, for some ungodly reason, wished more than anything for James to ask me those three questions. If he did, I would tell him this:
My name is Natalie. I grew up in London until my heartless bastard of an ex-stepfather shipped me off to boarding school where Edinburgh became my home. My favorite food is my grandmother’s shepherd’s pie with cheesy top, just like my mum. And if I could be any animal in the world, I would be a panda. Panda bears are gentle and warm, and spend their days climbing trees and eating bamboo, whose seeds help save the forest environment.
But they are also giants, and not to be messed with when provoked.
The beeping and buzzing continues around me. I can no longer make out what anyone is saying. All I know is that this is no longer just a broken arm, and I am not okay.
I have never been further from okay in my entire life.
Sometimes I wish I could be a kid again. When you’re little, it feels like there will always be adults around to make sure you’re okay, to brighten up your world.
Mum was the very best at that, and I held onto her hand as tightly as I could, for as long as I could. I would follow her anywhere and everywhere. As a teenager I would ache from afar, knowing she was stuck in a marriage to the most manipulative of men, yet comforted knowing he probably treated her just a little bit better after he’d gotten his way about boarding school - even if I wasn’t there to see it.
As an adult, I would go to medical school and study to be a doctor, because if I couldn’t heal my own mother’s trauma, at least I could try to heal the rest of the world’s.
Even though we haven’t spoken a lot this year, I wish more than anything she were here now, because I don’t want to face this reality.
The reality that adults can’t always save you, not even if you call them Mum.