Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s not like Roy hadn’t known.

They’d all been briefed a number of times by the team’s medical staff about what to do in the event of one of Jamie’s seizures. He’d sat through the talk now as both a player and a coach, dutifully taking the information in about when to move Jamie, and what might happen, and who to call.

But Jamie’s on medication. He’s almost two years seizure free. It’s in his fucking file.

So he’s not actually prepared for it.

Not when he’s alone in the office after Ted and Beard have to leave early for some owner’s lunch with Rebecca, and he’s sitting enjoying the quiet of the space until Colin is sprinting in, door banging against the wall in his haste, eyes wide in panic.

“Something’s wrong with Jamie.”

Roy’s up and out of his chair in a second, and he follows the player back around the corner and into the locker room where the whole team are crowded around Jamie’s cubby.

Most of them are keeping their distance, but Isaac is crouching in front of Jamie and waving a hand back and forth in front of the man’s face, and Dani’s just off to his side, eyebrows knotted together in concern as he watches the interaction.

Jamie himself is staring at Isaac like he’s never seen the man before in his life, mouth opening and closing on repeat like a goldfish, in a way that Roy would usually find amusing if the player didn’t look so fucking lost.

“Oi. Jamie. Can you hear me? What the fuck's going on?” The coach immediately works his way closer to Jamie, filling the gap that Dani leaves for him once he sees that the older man has arrived.

“He started trying to say something but he just... sort of drifted.” Isaac’s lowered voice is the only giveaway that his usually calm demeanour is under any threat.

“Did he hit his head in training?” Roy directs the question at Isaac first, getting a negative shake of the head, before he turns to the other players to hear their responses, and is given the all clear by everybody standing there.

“Right. Okay. Good. Fine.” Roy nods to himself, somewhat reassured in the knowledge that Jamie’s not been sitting on a concussion for the last hour without any of them being aware of it, until it occurs to him that now he’s actually got no fucking idea what this is.

“Jamie? Can you hear me?”

Roy figures it’s at least worth a try at grabbing the boy’s attention again, even when it renders no results, and the player is still staring off, mouth bobbing up and down, only now he’s been like that for long enough that there’s a stream of saliva escaping one side of his mouth that only serves to make Roy more concerned.

“Right. Help me get him on the floor. I’ll have to call someone from medical.” Roy is silently cursing Ted for allowing the health team to leave as soon as the team had filtered off the pitch, healthy as ever, only forty minutes earlier.

Isaac however, is just glad for the instruction. He stands a little from where he’s crouching, taking one of Jamie’s arms gently in his hands, and using his other palm to guide the player off the bench by the base of his spine.

It’s easier than Roy had imagined, somehow. Cause Jamie might be unresponsive, but his arms and legs move like jelly when the pair work together to get him flat out on the floor.

And a few moments later, when Jamie finally makes a sort of strangled noise from the back of his throat, Roy thinks that maybe the move has helped, that it’s shaken Jamie from whatever trance he was in.

He doesn’t have the time to act on the relief that the thought offers, however, when Jamie’s left arm starts twitching. Followed by his left leg. And then his head is jolting repeatedly to one side. Until eventually, his whole body is in the throes of what is the first seizure Roy has ever seen in his life.

And it’s fucking terrifying.

All at once he’s aware of how close he is to Jamie’s body, and how close Jamie’s body is to the corner benches they’ve just moved him from. He’s staring at the pairs of haphazardly thrown aside boots, and the kit bag that’s close enough to Jamie’s arm that he’s skimming it with every movement.

He looks up from the fitting player and sees how the whole team are still crowded around, staring at Jamie with wide eyes and pallid faces, and they’re too fucking close.

“Right! Everyone back the fuck off! Isaac, get all this shit out of the way. Will, towel, now.” The words are loud enough to shake the room from it’s frozen state, the team backing away and fanning out through the wider space in the room, Isaac following them just a moment later with arms full of loose items of clothing and belongings that he’s scooped up from the ground.

Will is the only one that gets closer, rushing over with a stack of clean towels that he deposits on the bench before disappearing again to the back of the crowd.

Roy tugs the top two from the pile, cushioning Jamie’s head with them against the harshness of the linoleum floors, before he too backs away a few more inches, eyes fixed firmly on Jamie’s mouth and throat, checking for anything out of the ordinary there that might hint towards danger.

“Shit. Fuck. What time is it? We’re meant to fucking time them. Fuck!” The thought comes to Roy a minute too late, when he’s already been kneeling there with baited breath for at least 30 seconds, rifling through the medical staff’s information pamphlet in his mind as he waits for the seizure to be over.

“I’m doing it. He’s been down for about a minute and a half.” Jan pipes up from the centre of the distant crowd, eyes locked on his phone screen where a stopwatch is running, and Roy nods thankfully at the ever-calm Dutchman.

It’s another minute past that point when Jamie’s jerky movements finally seem to slow, and Roy feels at last that it’s safe to breathe again.

When Jamie’s body has stilled completely, Roy once again closes the distance between himself and the player, checking Jamie’s airways before rolling the younger man onto his side and into the recovery position, trying to pointedly ignore how the boy’s hips are sitting in a puddle of urine that’s soaked right through the fabric of his shorts.

“Right. He’s safe. Under five minutes is fine. You lot get off home, okay?”

There’s an immediate onslaught of arguments from everybody in the room, which Roy silences with a loud growl, glaring at the team.

“Oi! Listen. He’s gonna be fucking embarrassed enough without you lot fucking gawking at him. I’ll check he’s alright. I’ll get him home. You lot can see him later if he asks you to. But for now, fuck off home and let him be, alright?”

It seems to get the message across, cause the other players pack up their bags and start filtering out of the room one by one, offering Roy quiet goodbyes and well-wishes for Jamie, until it’s just Roy, Jamie and Dani left in the room, the latter standing awkwardly by the benches squeezing nervously at the strap of his bag.

“What the fuck did I just say, Rojas? He’s fine, alright? Go home.” Roy’s voice has none of its usual harshness, he can’t bring himself to really be angry when Dani’s usually unfailingly smiley face is still the image of terror.

“He’s staying at mine, coach. Jamie’s father has been- He’s staying in London with some friends and they have Jamie’s address. So he’s staying with me. Just until they’re gone.”

There’s so much that Dani leaves unsaid, but Roy nods in grim understanding, dragging a hand over his face and letting out a sigh for the boy on the floor, distantly remembering one of the team medics explaining to the coaches how increased emotional stress could up the likelihood of Jamie’s seizures.

“Do me a favour then and grab him a spare pair of shorts. Don’t want to go rifling through his fucking bag.” Dani nods and turns back to the main wall of lockers, digging around in his own to retrieve a clean pair of shorts.

It’s then that Jamie makes another noise, and his lips open and close a couple of times, and for one terrifying moment Roy wonders if it’s about to happen again.

But then the player’s eyes blink open slowly, and he swallows deeply a couple of times as he tries to focus his eyes on the coach in front of him.

“Wh’appened?” Jamie’s voice cracks halfway through the mumbled sentence, and he coughs to clear his throat, turning a little to lay flat on his back.

“You’ve had a seizure, mate. Give yourself a minute.”

Jamie screws his eyes shut against the lights in the room, shuffling a little to try and move into a sitting position, only to put his hand in the puddle around his midsection.

“Shit.” Jamie scrunches his nose up in disgust, shaking his hand off to one side.

“Not quite, mate.” Roy hopes the joke will land well, unsure of how to really deal with the situation, although he passes another towel to Jamie and averts his eyes as the man wipes off his hand before moving to sit on the material.

“You’re not fuckin’ funny, grandad.” Jamie finally glances up at Roy again, unimpressed, but he doesn’t appear to be too offended, and his speech is already stronger than it was, so Roy lets his shoulders relax a little.

“Did… Did the team see?” It’s the first time since Wembley that Roy’s seen genuine shame on Jamie’s face, the player casting his eyes down at his sodden shorts where he’s fiddling with the still-dry edges of the fabric.

“Yeah. They did. Sorry, mate.” Roy knows it’s not his fault, that he’s just telling the truth, but he feels unbearably guilty when Jamie’s head drops a little lower, and the boy nods silently without another word.

“They are just worried about you, amigo. Nobody thinks lesser of you for something that you cannot control.” Dani pipes up from across the room, and Jamie jumps a little at the introduction of a new voice, looking up with wide eyes as though he’s worried there might be a whole audience there waiting for him.

He calms a little after just a moment and nods, looking at least slightly less crestfallen, while Dani finally approaches the pair on the floor and hands Jamie the fresh shorts he’d been holding.

“Come on then. Let’s get you up.”

Roy stands from his place on the ground, warning the two teammates when he has to crack his bad knee back into place, before he leans back down and puts a hand under each of Jamie’s armpits to support him as he stands up on shaky legs from the floor.

“Is there anything else you need?”

“Just a drink, maybe. Get like, a weird taste in m’ mouth before it happens. Always takes a bit to go away.” Jamie explains quietly as he begins shuffling himself across the room to the showers to rinse off and change.

Roy nods and leaves the boy some privacy as he heads down the hall, returning a few minutes later with a bottle of lucozade sport, and his own bag and jacket thrown over his shoulder.

Jamie’s standing back by his locker now, in quiet conversation with Dani who’s holding both of their belongings, still resting a steadying hand on Jamie’s bicep.

“Right. Let’s get you home. You taking him back to yours, Dani?” Roy passes the drink to Jamie, who nods in thanks and takes a few sips, while Dani turns his attention to the coach in the room.

“Jamie drove us here this morning.” Roy rolls his eyes but nods nontheless, digging his car keys from the pocket of his jeans and beckoning for the players to follow him as he begins to head out of the room.

“Fine. Give me your address, I can drive you both home.”

Dani does as he’s told, and the three pile into Roy’s car, Dani sitting beside Jamie in the back seat. The pair are silent the whole way, and Dani still looks uncharacteristically nervous every time Roy glances into the rearview mirror, despite the fact that Jamie is gaining more colour in his cheeks with every passing minute.

Roy thinks he understands a little more though, when they pull up to the address that Dani’s given and walk Jamie up the path and inside, and Roy realises it’s a simple, one-bed flat. No spare room where Jamie could be staying, and no emergency set of bedding lying out on the sofa to suggest he’s camping out there either.

And Roy watches the way Dani is still carefully steadying Jamie with gentle hands as he gets the younger player settled on the settee, asking whether he wants a hot drink or needs anything to eat, and Jamie, even through his exhaustion, is smiling softly up at the Mexican player and offering up quiet reassurances, fingers curled around Dani's wrist to slow the fussing.

So he nods to himself, satisfied that Jamie’s in safe hands, suddenly feeling like maybe he’s intruding.

“I’ll tell Lasso and Beard what happened. So expect some fucking yankee-doodle bullshit about how he’s only a call away if you need him. I don’t want to see you at training tomorrow unless you’re feeling 100-fucking-percent, alright Tartt?”

Jamie nods again at the question, but his eyes are barely staying open, and he’s already curling himself into the corner of the couch, head resting on the back cushions, burrowing under a blanket that he’s pulled from the arm of the sofa.

So Roy says a quick goodbye to them both, before heading back outside and climbing into his car to head home.

And when he arrives at Nelson Road the next day, it’s to the sounds of Jamie’s Mancunian accent rippling through the hallway from the locker room, followed by a round of cheers and well-meaning laughter from the rest of the team, and he smiles to himself at the sound.

Chapter Text

It’s halfway through a match with Crystal Palace when Roy notices.

How Jamie had started the game with his usual unbeatable energy and unfailing confidence, but now he’s barely keeping up with the ball, and he’s missed every pass that’s been made to him in the past few minutes, every attempt at an assist dribbling off in some opposite direction and into the grasp of their rival team.

Ted’s shouting out reassurances across the pitch, clapping his hands together to support the team from a distance, as he always does, trying not to let a concerned frown win out over his determined, gritted smile.

But Jamie’s barely responding to any of it, and he’s looking more and more confused with every passing moment, like he’s got no idea how he’s arrived at where he is, and when the ball ends up at his feet again, he falters for a moment, as though he can’t figure out what he’s supposed to do with the thing.

Then Roy spots it, and he feels as his heart drops like a stone through the pit of his stomach.

Because the player is swallowing repetitively, and his mouth starts to move up and down in a motion that is all too familiar, too reminiscent of that scene from the locker room just a handful of weeks ago, and all of it snaps into focus in Roy’s head.

“Get Jamie off the fucking pitch, right fucking now.” Both of his fellow coaches turn to look at him at the sudden burst of speech.

“He’s just having an off moment, Roy. I say we give-“

“He’s not having a fucking off moment, he’s about to have a fucking seizure. Fucking call it!” Roy nips Ted’s attempt at optimism in the bud, eyes fleeting back over to the pitch where Isaac and Dani’s attention is now also focussed entirely on Jamie, Crystal Palace carrying the ball past the two with ease where they’re no longer paying attention to the game at hand.

There’s a rumble building in the stands, disgruntled crowds voicing their opinion about how half of Richmond’s side haven’t taken note of the ball’s location in the last minute of play.

Instead, their vision is glued to following their star player, who’s staring off into the distance now, unresponsive to the game still unfolding on the pitch, and the members of his team who are now slowly flocking towards him, a handful of them desperately glancing across to where their coaches are standing on the sidelines, clearly trying to flag the elder staff’s attention.

Ted’s eyes are wide as he tries to catch the attention of the linesman, while Beard turns back to the bench to call up another player, and Roy turns to face the pitch again, opening his mouth to call Jamie off.

Only they’re all a beat too late.

Because Roy’s just finished drawing in a breath in preparation to shout across to the younger man, when the striker drops like a dead weight to the grass.

“Shit, shit, shit-“

The referee blows his whistle, and Roy can vaguely hear the commentary team explaining that there’s some sort of unknown injury, but it’s all drowned out as he watches Jamie’s limbs start to spasm, eyes rolled back in his head, right there in the centre of the pitch.

And he knows, deeply settled in the back of his mind, that it’s against the rules. That there’s clear guidelines disallowing him from crossing the white painted boundary around the edge of the pitch now that he’s a coach, but Roy’s sprinting towards the scene before he has another second to even breathe, bad knee be damned, making his way to the player as quickly as possible.

Ted and Beard are doing the same, and Roy spots that there’s an emergency medical team heading in the same direction, while the players on the pitch are all still hovering in their positions, unsure of what to do.

He makes it to the spot, knee aching in protest, cursing in pain as he gives it a harsh shove from one side to set the bone back into it’s assigned position.

And by the time he’s limped across the last handful of steps to see Jamie’s whole body make it into view, it’s already worse than last time.

Jamie’s gone down in such a way that one arm is trapped underneath him as he seizes, shoulder stretching backwards at an unnatural angle, and there’s a stream of foamy, bloodied saliva bubbling up and out of his mouth, audible choking noises escaping his throat where it attempts to close around air that can’t get through.

Roy can do nothing but stand and watch as two of the team’s medics force Jamie’s body up and onto one side in a desperate attempt to stop him from choking, and a sickening popping emits from the boy’s shoulder as they do so, strikingly loud in the newfound silence that’s fallen over the stadium.

Dani’s on the other side of Jamie from the coaches, barely holding himself together, hands trembling and tears in his eyes as he watches the scene unfold in front of him, scratching at the skin around his elbows where he’s got his arms firmly crossed over his chest in an attempt to disguise the shaking of his limbs.

Isaac, Colin and Sam are screaming at a nearby camera crew to back off and give Jamie some privacy, hands fanned out in front of the lenses of the equipment, prompting the other Richmond players to stand with their backs to Jamie, linking arms and creating a wall of bodies to block the scene from view, Crystal Palace’s side joining them in solidarity only a few moments later.

The seizure is blissfully short, over and done with after only a couple of minutes, leaving behind only a series of lingering aftershocks in the on-and-off tensing of Jamie’s muscles.

Except then one of the medical team is sticking two fingers into Jamie’s mouth, scooping out blood, and spit, and what Roy realises after an extended moment is a chunk of Jamie’s tongue, that gets haphazardly thrown into a cup of ice by a secondary first aider.

Dani stumbles over to one side and vomits on the grass at that, Beard jogging over and laying a hand on his back, although the man’s eyes are still firmly fixed on their player on the ground as he rubs careful circles into their second striker’s spine.

Jamie’s shorts are dirtied at the back with the obvious signs of an accident, and Roy doesn’t think twice about unzipping his jacket, throwing the material down over Jamie’s hips in an attempt to preserve at least some of the boy’s dignity as they prepare to move him back out into the view of the wider crowds.

A stretcher that’s been ready and waiting from the moment that Jamie first collapsed is carried over, and there’s a rush of people as, in one sweeping whirlwind of movement, they get Jamie laid out on it and hurry him off the pitch.

And then, as quickly as it had all started, it’s suddenly over.

The players are separating themselves again, turning to look at their coaches for any sort of guidance, a sea of terrified concern as they wait for any word of what to do.

Dani’s sitting on the ground with his head between his legs, Beard crouched beside him, mouth moving in a string of quiet reassurances to the distraught player, hand still a constant, grounding presence at the base of his spine.

Ted’s still staring at the spot where Jamie’s body had been only moments earlier, eyes scanning the grass there like he’s not quite sure if any of it has just happened, until he’s pulled from his trance by Arlo’s voice ringing over the speakers.

“I’m pleased to say at this time that we can confirm the safety of Richmond’s Jamie Tartt. However, in light of the sudden and concerning situation, today’s match has been called off, and will be rescheduled at a later date.”

Part of Roy is expecting some blow back from the crowd, or at least from the Palace fans, but instead comes a wave of applause, that slowly trickles into the singing of Jamie’s ‘Baby Shark’ theme tune, the players on the pitch joining in with the crowd in gratitude.

Ted’s looking lighter once they draw to a close, so he rounds up the team and everyone filters off back to the locker rooms, leaving behind the mutterings of the crowd now slowly making their way out of the stands.

Roy’s overwhelmingly grateful all of a sudden that they’re playing at home, within the safe confines of Nelson Road where everything comes with an air of comforting familiarity, as they bundle the team into the locker room and pull the blinds to a close.

Sam’s sitting at Dani’s side on the centre benches, where the latter player is having a water bottle coaxed towards him by Will, and his skin is unnaturally pale, only making the tears rolling down his cheeks all the more obvious before he attempts to sweep them away with trembling fingers.

“Alright fellas, uh- Listen in. I know- I know that was tough to watch out there. But Jamie’s in the best possible hands right now. And those good folks are gonna make sure he’s safe, and fighting fit to get back with us as soon as he can, okay?”

There’s a quiet echo of, “Yes, Coach,” from around the room, followed by a couple of beats of silence before Colin’s nervous voice cuts through the tension.

“Is he still here? Can we see him?”

A number of heads shoot up across the space at that, eyes wide in silent questioning as they look to where Ted and Beard are standing just outside of their office.

Roy’s gaze follows them, picking up on the ever-so-slightly sympathetic wince that Ted offers up, and how Beard shifts his gaze down to the floor while he anticipates the head coach’s reply.

“The medics let us know that Jamie’s already headed to the hospital in an ambulance.”

There’s the beginnings of an outrage stirring amongst the players before Ted pushes on, in a slightly firmer, louder tone that leaves no room for argument.

“Jamie’s gonna be pretty tired. Y’all can message him and see when he wants the extra company, but for now, we’ve gotta give him a little space, alright?”

“With respect, Coach. I don’t think that any of us feel comfortable with Jamie being on his own after that. No matter how safe he might be.” Sam pipes up quietly from his spot next to Dani, receiving a wave of agreement in the form of silent nods from the other players in the room.

“We know that, Sam. And hey, we appreciate you looking out for your teammate. I’m gonna go see Jamie in the hospital. Take Coach Kent with me, make sure he’s got people around him that care about him. We won’t let him be alone, I promise you that, alright?”

The words seem to placate the players, and Roy nods along silently, starting towards the front of the room so that he and the eldest Coach can make their way out to the car park, until his eyes fall to Dani, sitting with his head in his hands and his back jumping up and down with the intensity of his still-gasping breaths, and he hesitates in his movement.

He thinks back to the pair sharing Dani’s petite apartment, to their tender, careful touches in the wake of Jamie’s last seizure, and the way that the younger player had immediately calmed in the presence of the Mexican’s comforting demeanour, and he doesn’t think for another moment before he’s tapping Dani lightly on the shoulder as he passes the player.

“C’mon, Rojas. You too.”

Ted eyes him a little suspiciously at the choice, but Roy simply responds with a single, firm nod of reassurance, and the American coach raises his hands a little in acceptance of the decision, the pair hanging back for Dani in the doorway as he scrambles on trembling legs to snatch up his and Jamie’s belongings from around the locker room.

Roy drives the three of them to the hospital, Dani still nervously fidgeting in the back seat, while Ted sits in the passenger side, attempting to keep up quiet small talk with his fellow coach to fill the anxious silence that’s settled over the group, and it reminds Roy all too much of when he’d driven Jamie and Dani home all those months ago.

Except this time the youngest player isn’t safe and settled in his teammate’s arms.

Where he is instead, and where they find him as they’re rushed through to a private room in the hospital by a nurse on their arrival, is propped up in a bed.

Shoulder strapped and set in place across his chest, lips swollen and stained as he sleeps with his mouth slightly open, head tilted to one side, pillow below him dampened with red-streaked saliva that’s dripping from his chin.

“He should be waking up soon. He can be discharged as soon as he’s feeling ready, but only into somebody else’s care. You’ll need to come to the nurses station to sign him out when you’re all ready to leave. He’ll be on a soft food diet only for the next few days while his stitches heal. And he’ll need regular checks on his shoulder. Okay?”

Thankfully Ted’s the one that steps up to reply to the woman, while Roy finds himself preoccupied with getting adjusted to just how tiny the player on the bed seems to look, and Dani’s already moving towards the bed somewhat unconsciously, snatching up a handful of tissues from a box on the small shelf beside where Jamie’s head is laying, using them to dry the chin of the younger striker.

“You got it, ma’am. We’ll keep him safe and sound! Cross my heart.”

The nurse nods once in response before turning to exit the room, slight hint of a smile being the only thing to give away that she’s not as unimpressed by Lasso’s regular niceties as she tries to imply.

It’s only when the elder coach turns his full attention back to the room that he lets the overwhelmingly positive facade fall a little, before turning to Roy beside him and raising an eyebrow after a moment as he becomes aware of the way that Dani’s joined his hands with Jamie’s own, eyes still tearful as he continues to quietly fuss over the boy lying there.

“Good for him to have one of the lads here, isn’t it? After something like that.”

Roy offers up the sentence with little other explanation, only eyeing Ted with a stern glance that invites no other questioning of the situation between the players, to which the Kansan’s lips simply tug up in an understanding smile, and he nods along in quiet agreement, hands raised placatingly.

“Jamie?”

Dani’s voice from over near the bed pulls the attention of the pair again, looking across to see the Mexican player lightly cupping one side of Jamie’s face in his hand as the younger striker’s eyes begin to blink open, quiet groans escaping his bloodied lips as he screws up his face in the onslaught of the hospital lighting.

“Hola, mi vida. You are okay, take it slow.”

Roy and Ted are across the room in seconds, standing around the bed and watching as Jamie is finally able to open his eyes beyond a squint, shifting his head a little on the pillow to take in the sight of all three of them.

“Hey kiddo. Had us pretty scared for a minute there. How you feelin’?”

Jamie’s brows pull together in a frown at Ted’s softly spoken words, swallowing a couple of times before he moves his mouth to mumble out a response.

“Wh’appen?”

He barely ties the words together before he’s wincing around the pain in his tongue, words trailing off with his inability to properly enunciate all of the letters through the swelling of his injuries.

“You had a seizure, buddy. Went down pretty hard, got yourself all beaten up. Worried the heck outta half’ve Richmond while you were at it, too.”

Ted’s words come packaged with a gentle smile and a mildly playful tone, but Jamie’s frown only deepens further and he moves his head again to meet Roy’s concerned gaze.

“Match?”

Again, the word is barely formed, but Jamie’s eyes plead with Roy in a way that makes the elder man’s heart fall a little in his chest, and he offers up what he hopes comes across as a reassuring smile.

“Wouldn’t be Jamie fucking Tartt if you did anything by halves would you, you little prick? Concede one goal to Palace and you find a way to get us a fucking do-over.”

Jamie’s devastated expression barely lets up at Roy’s attempt to lighten the situation, and for a split second he wonders whether he should be back-tracking. Stumbling back over the words and approaching the situation in a more serious way, when it’s Jamie’s uncharacteristically sad eyes that are the ones looking tearfully up at him.

Only just as he’s about to start up with a more serious approach, Lasso pipes up again to his left.

“Brains and beauty. That’s why they love him, Roy.”

Roy hesitates for another moment at the words, glancing up at Ted’s waiting expression, and down again at the deepening frown of their youngest striker, only to realise that it’s slowly morphing from one of embarrassment and hurt, to a mildly offended scowl, vaguely reminiscent of a grumpy toddler.

“Don’t go fucking encouraging him, Lasso. Look at him - Pretty face like that all pouty and shit? He’ll get any magazine cover he likes after this. Never gonna get my morning coffee in peace again without seeing his face splashed all over the news stand.”

Roy accompanies his words with a teasing eye roll, Jamie’s tensed up demeanour relaxing further with each new comment thrown into the pile, frown fading into a barely-concealed smirk while he works hard to keep up his pouty facade.

“Now Roy, I’ve lived here long enough to know this one’s already on the cover of at least two papers a day without showcasing his best audition for the next season of Grey’s Anatomy?”

“Two a day is only when he is on his best behaviour, Coach. Usually it is many, many more!”

Jamie finally moves a little, if only to lightly swat Dani on the arm for joining in with the coaches’ teasing at the sound of the elder player’s voice, unable to hide his smile as he does so, making Dani’s face light up with delight in the process.

“Well, we’re honoured to have you as our number one trouble-maker, Jamie. Even if Roy’s morning coffee run’s gonna have a little extra decoration for the next couple weeks.”

“Should be thanking you anyway, really. Fucking up your tongue like that. Not gonna have to hear your accent for weeks-”

Roy’s cut off by Jamie tugging a pillow from behind his head with his good arm, flinging it at the grizzly coach’s face with as much strength as he can manage, Roy deflecting it with ease, but grinning widely at the slight giggles that are now making their way out of Jamie as he lies back on the remaining padding of the bed.

“Whaddya say you give Jamie his pillow back and let him get a little more sleep before it’s time to head home, eh Roy? You and me can go and grab a round of hot cocoa from the cafe, get all the boring paperwork out the way while we’re at it. Leave this one in Dani’s capable hands for a little while.”

Roy nods in agreement at the suggestion, while Dani smiles shyly at the head coaches’ words, squeezing a little around the hand of Jamie’s that’s still resting in his palm, the mancunian smiling up at him in response, albeit with a hint of pink rising up on his cheeks.

“Glad you’re okay, you fucking muppet. Get some rest, alright?”

“Wh’ever y’say, Granda’.”

Roy rolls his eyes again at Jamie’s attempt to wrap his tongue around the practised nickname, but otherwise only smiles as he turns with Ted to exit the room, the elder coach leaving Jamie with a gentle pat on the arm and a promise to be back soon, and the pair both feigning ignorance when Dani leans down to press a chaste kiss against Jamie’s lips in the split second before the door latches shut again behind them.

And when the following morning there’s a stack of papers, all baring pictures of Jamie and the events of the match the day before, sitting on his doormat with a tiny, scrawled out note and his regular coffee order sitting atop, Roy simply scoops them up and smiles.

saved you the walk. enjoy my pretty, pouty face, grandad. jamie fucking tartt x

& dani! :)