Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The first time it happens —well, Jamie doesn't even know if it’s the first time it happens, but it’s the first time he notices— it’s not much after Ted leaves to go back to the United States. 

Jamie thinks there might be some pretty good reasons for the confusion, after all, Roy has had a bit of a rough couple of weeks: being announced as Richmond’s new head coach, starting therapy —which Jamie knows how awful and exhausting it can be— and getting the knee surgery that’s been put off for years. 

The lads throw a Happy Knee Replacement Surgery party just before most of them leave on holidays or go back to their countries, Roy’s grumpy about it but that’s not a surprise. He doesn’t see Roy much immediately after the surgery, but he knows that Roy’s sister is taking care of him. 

The day before the calendar marks two weeks since the surgery, he gets a message from Roy. Just like he’d promised at the knee surgery party, Jamie’s holiday is over and they’re going back to training. Unlike their mid-season workouts, they’ll be starting at eight, which is four more hours of sleep Jamie gets and instead of starting with a run, they’ll be going to the weight room at the training centre. 

Jamie’s trying to be supportive, after all Roy just had knee surgery and is probably crippled for the foreseeable future, so he texts Yes, coach! and next morning, he’s parking his Aston Martin at the car park next to Roy’s G-Wagon, which he is confused about. 

"Are you actually allowed to drive right now?" Jamie says as soon as he sees Roy in the weight room. 

Roy’s just there, which Jamie didn’t really expect, he’d thought Roy would be using a wheelchair or crutches or a cane or a walker like a proper granddad. But Roy’s just there, sitting in one of the benches, no mobility aid in sight. 

"I took my medication after getting here," Roy says, "So yes." 

"The fuck does that mean?" Jamie asks. 

"None of your fucking business," Roy says easily. He looks around the room, there’s something a little off in Roy’s gaze. His eyes land on the bench press, "I forgot I can’t spot you. We’re going outside, you’ll run around the pitch." 

Jamie sighs and looks down at his shoes, the gym trainers he brought because Roy explicitly had said they would be doing weight training. He’s about to complain to Roy, but he sees him just staring blankly at the bench press. 

"Fine," Jamie grits out, "I’ll go find some other trainers, then." 

He leaves Roy just there, staring at fucking nothing and turns back around to the hallway and then the boot room. Unsurprisingly, Will’s there. 

"Hey, mate," Jamie greets. 

"Oh, hi, Jamie," Will looks up from the boots he’s sorting. It looks like he’s sorting through all the boots they have in possession, which is a lot, and they also look very old, some of the styles are ones Jamie remembers seeing on the telly when he was young. 

"Have we got any running trainers here?" Jamie asks. 

"Uh, yeah," Will nods and stands up from the bench. He rounds one of the stands and puts out a box, "These are your size, they should fit." 

"Cheers," Jamie grabs the box. 

"Are you here with Roy?" Will asks. 

"Yeah," Jamie sighs, sitting down at the bench to change his trainers, "Fucking told me that we’d be doing weights, and now he wants me to run around the pitch." 

Will snorts a little. 

"I’m trying to be supportive," Jamie says, trying to sound happy about it, "since he just got knee surgery and all, like. But he’s acting fucking strange." 

"Happened to my nan with the meds after her hip replacement," Will shrugs, "He asked me for water to take his." 

Jamie looks up from the trainer he’d been tying, Will’s making an uncomfortable grimace and then shudders. Jamie switches legs and ties the other trainer. 

"Alright," Jamie sighs once he’s got both trainers on, "I better go find him. And train, I guess." 

"Good luck," Will calls out. 

He doesn’t see Roy in the hallways, he even makes his way to the dressing room and the coaches’ offices, but Roy’s not there either. He goes out to the training pitch, it’s the only place where Roy might be and he’d said that that’s what they’d be doing today.

"Shit," Jamie says when he sees Roy. He’s on the entrance, leaning against the wall. 

Jamie runs there, "Are you okay?"

Roy’s eyes are closed and he’s leaning against the wall in a way that his weight doesn’t fall on his left knee. Jamie knows under the loose trousers Roy’s wearing, there are stitches there. It was an old injury, Jamie thinks he can even remember the first time Roy Kent was subbed out for an injury on his knee. 

Roy nods, "Yeah, I’m alright, Phoebe," 

Jamie blinks. 

"Did you just call me Phoebe?" He asks.

Roy opens his eyes, glaring, "No, I didn’t." 

Jamie opens his mouth to reply that Yes, you did, but Roy moves right in that moment, pushing himself off the wall and trying to walk towards the training pitch. Jamie grabs Roy’s arm, putting it over his shoulder. 

"Shut up," Roy says roughly, but he doesn’t shrug off Jamie’s help, "I’m fucking high right now. The meds make me loopy. And Phoebe’s a much better name than Jamie. James. Whatever."

"Yeah, Phoebe’s a brilliant name," Jamie agrees easily, "But I like James too."

They continue towards the pitch, though Jamie’s already decided that there won’t be any training with Roy today. It’s still easier to walk from the training pitch to the car park than it would be to return through the building. Stairs and all. Who even knows how Roy made it all the way down. 

"Do you actually?" Roy asks. Jamie can feel Roy’s eyes on him, "Like your name."

"Yes," Jamie nods. 

"Huh," Roy says. He sounds confused, but also surprised.

Jamie sighs. It’s not hard to guess anyone would be surprised to hear him say that he likes his name just fine. They continue walking.

"I weren’t actually named after me dad, you know?" Jamie says when they finally reach the training pitch, "Mummy just loves James Bond. It’s why I went and bought an Aston Martin." 

Roy stops and looks at him.

"Are you taking the piss," Roy grumbles. 

"I’m not, I swear," Jamie says, though for some reason, he can’t stop smiling, it always happens when people think he’s lying. He knows why Roy would think he’s lying, he considers for a moment before nodding and sucking in a breath, "Maybe me dad’s name had something to do with it, but she was eighteen, man, of course she named me after James fucking Bond."  

Roy snorts and they continue walking. 

"I’m tired," Roy says when they’re halfway through the training pitch towards the car park. 

"Uh-huh," Jamie nods, "That’s why we’re going home, yeah?" 

"I can’t drive," Roy says, "I just took my meds. That's why I’m tired." 

Jamie nods at the explanation, even if he’d already assumed before.

"I know, big man," Jamie says, "I’ll drop you off." 

It happens again when they have a light day of training, it’s still pre-season but there’s only a couple of weeks left until they receive Southampton at Nelson Road for their first Premier League match of the season. 

Since they played their last pre-season friendly last weekend they only do some stretching and a game review. Jamie takes his time in the shower even though he’s not sweaty at all, but he still needs to do his long hair wash routine. Almost all the lads are gone by the time he comes out of the showers and when he’s done moisturising and dressing up, everyone’s gone. 

He goes to the car park, it’s unsurprisingly empty, and gets into the Aston Martin. He makes sure the AC is on its lowest setting because he doesn’t want to ruin his hair and then he drives. 

It takes just about one minute or two after leaving the car park for his car to stop working. First, there’s a horrible noise, then there’s a very worrying grey smoke coming out of the front of the car. Jamie sighs, puts on the emergency lights and tries to park as close to the kerb as he can.

He doesn’t really know much about cars, more than the basic stuff one has to do —change the oil, change the tires, funny lights mean go to the mechanic and grey smoke is definitely not a good thing— and the pretty cool stuff one can do —add one drop of essential oil to the diffuser so it smells like heaven and take it every week to the washers so it’s clean— and that it’s the same car brand James Bond uses and Daniel Craig is fucking hot.

Jamie gets out, opens the cap and makes sure nothing is on fire. He goes back to the driver’s seat and calls the breakdown cover people he’d been paying monthly for years and barely used it. But it is really helpful in this sort of situation, so he doesn’t regret paying the monthly fee. Even if it’s what he and his mum would’ve spent on groceries for a whole month. 

(Just for a moment, a tiny tiny moment, his brain goes ‘a real man would know how to fix this by himself’ but he shuts it off quickly because it’s not really a helpful thought and mechanics exist for a reason). 

Then, Jamie waits until the tow car appears and talks with the older man, explaining the situation and then his Aston Martin is being secured to the tow car. The older man tells him where he’s taking Jamie’s car and asks if Jamie wants to ride along there. 

It’s in the opposite direction of his house. He says, "No, thank you though." 

"Alright," the older man says, shrugging, "The mechanics will call you tomorrow, probably." 

Jamie nods. Then, just as the man turns around towards the tow car and Jamie takes his phone out to call an Uber—

"Oi," a gruff voice says.

Jamie doesn’t need to look up to know who the voice belongs to, but he does anyway. It’s Roy in his black G-Wagon pulling up with his window down just a little behind where Jamie’s Aston Martin had been.

"What happened?" Roy asks, nodding towards the tow car. 

"Car engine got busted," Jamie shrugs. 

"Fuck," Roy says.

Jamie nods in agreement. 

"Bad word, Uncle Roy," Phoebe calls out in a singsong tone. 

"Oh hi, kid," Jamie tries to lean in to look at the back of the car, because he hadn’t realised Phoebe was there too. 

"Hi, Jamie!" Phoebe says and the backseat window rolls down. She’s sitting on the opposite side of the driver’s seat on a pink glittery car seat booster. 

"School’s started, has it?" Jamie gestures at the school uniform Phoebe’s wearing. 

Phoebe nods, "Today was my first day!" 

"Mint," Jamie says. He looks down at his phone, where he’d just looked up the Uber app, and it’s there ready to be opened with a tap, and then looks up to Roy, whose face is doing something weird. 

Roy sighs, like he’s regretting something, "Do you need a lift?" 

"You live in Barnes," Jamie says, tilting his head. It’s literally in the opposite direction of Jamie’s house in Wimbledon. 

"We’re going to get ice cream first," Phoebe says, "Do you want to come with us?" 

"He can’t have ice cream," Roy says before Jamie can even open his mouth to say ‘Fuck yeah’.

"Oh, are you lactose intolerant like Uncle Roy?" Phoebe asks. 

Jamie snorts. 

"Oi," Roy grunts, looking back at Phoebe. 

Phoebe shrugs with an innocent smile. 

"The league starts in two weeks, he’s training," Roy explains in a growl. He nods towards the passenger seat beside him and there’s a click of the car’s doors unlocking, "But he can watch us eat ice cream." 

Jamie glares at him, but he walks around the car. 

"They’ve got protein ice cream now, y’know," Jamie says after closing the door and buckling his seatbelt. 

"Don’t care," Roy says and presses the button to roll up both windows, "I’m the head coach now. You have to do what I say."

Jamie looks at him and then turns to the back, twisting his neck to look at Phoebe who’s shaking her head dubiously and mouthing ‘Nah’.

"Stop conspiring against me," Roy says. He hits Jamie’s arm with his elbow. 

"Ow," Jamie says even though it was barely a tap and it doesn’t hurt. He rubs his arm dramatically. Roy rolls his eyes and shakes his head lightly, the way he always does at Jamie. 

"Seatbelts?" Roy looks at Phoebe in the back and then at Jamie. 

"Yes, Uncle Roy," Phoebe says. 

"Yes, Uncle Roy," Jamie repeats, looking down at the seatbelt. He hides a smile.

With a nod, Roy starts driving. It doesn’t take long for them to get to a traffic light and Roy has to stop, Jamie takes it as a sign, he wants Roy’s undivided attention for this. 

Jamie turns towards Roy with a sly smile, "Do you remember the ‘wear your seatbelt’ ad you did?" 

Roy’s reaction is immediate, pure horror washes over the almost permanent scowl. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Roy says. He looks at Jamie, completely and utterly betrayed. 

"What!" Phoebe almost screams from the back. Jamie can’t help but giggle. 

"Did you really do a road safety advert?" Phoebe asks, her voice is full of admiration. The light turns green and instead of answering, Roy drives. 

"He did," Jamie nods, pulling out his phone and going to YouTube because that video still has to exist somewhere on the internet. He looks up at Roy, "I was ten, I reckon. Even started wearing me seatbelt ‘cause of it. Not that mummy had a car, like, but still."

"That is so cool, Uncle Roy," Phoebe says. 

"Yeah, it’s so cool," Jamie nods. He selects the video, it’s shit quality, but it’s enough. He turns around to give the phone to Phoebe and looks at Roy, "Seatbelts are cool,"

Roy growls. 

Phoebe squeals in the back, "Your hair!" 

"You’re running extra laps tomorrow," Roy says. 

"Worth it," Jamie slumps back on his seat. He moves his head to the music coming out of the phone. The final tune starts playing, Jamie makes sure to look at Roy then.

"Remember, seatbelts are cool," The Roy from Jamie’s phone says. 

"If Jamie started wearing his seatbelt because of you," Phoebe says, reaching out to give Jamie the phone back, "imagine how many other kids did! You saved lives, Uncle Roy!" 

"Yeah, seatbelts are cool," Roy says, "Whatever. If either of you speaks before we get to Toucan’s, we’re all having sour cream ice cream." 

Jamie hears Phoebe gasp in the back, but she doesn’t say anything, so he doesn’t say anything either. Roy lets out a relieved sigh and keeps driving. 

Not much later, Roy parks the car near a shop that looks like an unicorn vomited on it, in a cool way. It has a terrace with some colourful tables with colour matching umbrellas. Immediately, Roy turns off the car and gets out.

"Toucan’s is the best ice cream shop in all of London," Phoebe says, "Uncle Roy and I have tried all of them." 

"Really?" 

"Yeah! You’re going to love the ice cream here, Jamie," Phoebe says excitedly. She takes off the seatbelt just as Roy rounds the car and opens the door to the backseat on her side. 

Jamie’s phone vibrates just then, he checks it with one hand while taking off his seatbelt with the other. It’s just Dani reminding him that their Tiktok streak of three hundred and twenty one days is about to die. He opens the door. 

"The pink table is free, Uncle Roy!" Phoebe says, "It’s your favourite!" 

Jamie doesn’t look up from his phone though, Dani might actually never forgive him if he lets their streak die, for the second time. They’d been way past their previous streak of two hundred and eleven days. 

"Fine," Roy grunts, "Go claim the stupid table."  

He turns on the seat, still holding his phone, trying to open the Tiktok app so he can send the first one to come up to Dani, and makes a move to get out of the car. It’s a shit move, though, his muscle memory is trained for a smaller car that is much, much closer to the ground. He trips on air, and he goes down, though he is able to put his hands in front of him before landing on the pavement.  

"Oi, be careful, Phoebe," Roy says. 

Jamie looks up, "What?" 

"I said be careful," Roy says. He walks over to Jamie, extending a hand out, "You almost hit your head on the pavement." 

"Oh," Jamie blinks. He really could’ve sworn Roy said Phoebe’s name. His phone is on the pavement in front of him, face down. He doesn’t really want to pick it up, but he does anyway. Its screen is shattered, with a sigh, he takes Roy’s hand. 

"Did you hurt yourself?" Roy asks, pulling him up. 

Jamie shakes his head. His hands are red and dirty, though. He dusts them off on his trousers, "Would’ve been bad, innit? Can’t start the season without your best player." 

"Right," Roy rolls his eyes, "Go wash your hands and sit."

"I can’t believe you’ve done this to me, Roy," Jamie says. 

Never in all his life he’d ever imagined that something like this could even happen, all those years as a young lad staring at his Roy Kent poster, watching fucking Chelsea matches with a sky blue bleeding heart, he’d never thought Roy fucking Kent could do something like this. 

He really should’ve known better, he’d been too blind to see the warning signs. 

"Jesus fucking Christ," Roy says. 

Jamie grabs the couch cushion next to him and throws it to Roy. 

"Don’t fucking say that. You betrayed me," Jamie says, "And to think I was about to let you be my best friend." 

"Could you be any more childish, Tartt?" Roy throws the cushion back at him.

Since Jamie’s Aston Martin had been taken to the mechanic a whole month ago, everyone at the club had taken a turn at picking up or dropping off Jamie from training or for match days. Colin had told him to just buy a new car, but it wasn’t just any car, it was Jamie’s Aston Martin. He couldn’t just replace it, besides, the replacement part they needed for the car was supposed to arrive any day now. He’s perfectly okay with getting free lifts from everyone, even if he’d had to endure Colin’s mad driving skills and taking the bus with Bumbercatch. 

It’d been Roy’s turn again, but Roy had to wait until Phoebe was out of school to go pick her up, so they’d just been in Jamie’s living room, watching Bake Off when Jamie saw the notification light up Roy’s phone.

"Fuck off," Jamie says, grabbing the cushion and smoothing it down on his lap. He looks up at Roy, "I’m not messin’, I can’t believe you and Sam text every day. What do you even chat about?" 

"None of your fucking business," Roy says.

"I don't think even Simi texts Sam this much" Jamie scoffs, "And she’s his girlfriend." 

Roy rolls his eyes, "They see each other every day, they don’t need to text every day." 

Jamie gapes, "You see Sam everyday!" 

Roy shakes his head lightly and grumbles something under his breath that Jamie can’t exactly hear, but he probably knows what Roy’s saying anyways. 

Jamie eyes him and crosses his arms over the cushion, "I’ve always known that he was your favourite, y’know." 

"Right," Roy sighs.

"No, I’m proper serious, mate," Jamie uncrosses his arms to tap Roy’s, "Like, I may be your best friend and you may think that I’m the best player in Richmond, but Sam’s still your favourite, yeah?" 

Roy turns to look at him, eyebrows furrowed, "Are you twelve?" 

"I’m serious!" Jamie repeats, "First day at Richmond, Sam gets a handshake. Me? You stared at me like I kicked your balls." 

"Sam got a handshake because he was not a fucking prick," Roy says. He leans to grab his phone from the coffee table and unlocks it to start typing a reply to Sam.

"He’s still your favourite!" Jamie replies. He leans over Roy’s shoulder to look at the message being typed, "I really liked it. It’s really grounded, even if it’s science fiction— What kind of conversation is this?"

"None of your fucking business, Tartt."

Jamie reaches over with a hand to scroll up the chat, Roy tries to stop him, but he isn’t very successful. The messages alternate between blue and grey, the date doesn’t change much despite the lengthy scroll. 

"You even heart his messages!" Jamie notes, "I ain’t ever got one of those!" 

"Fucking kill me." 

"Go to my chat, Roy," Jamie taps his shoulder a few times, "Come on." 

Roy rolls his eyes but he exits Sam’s chat and types. 

P h o e —

Jamie looks at Roy. 

Roy looks back and then back down at his phone to delete the letters. Roy shrugs, "Habit." 

"You text Phoebe?" Jamie tilts his head. He’s making the decision to believe Roy, or at least ignore whatever that is for now.

"Of course I fucking text my niece," Roy says incredulously, "She’s actually my favourite." 

Roy types something on his phone and extends it to Jamie. 

"Fair. But I didn’t know she had a phone, did I?" Jamie says. He grabs the phone and looks at it for a moment before sending Roy a sharp glare, "You have me saved as Tartt, parenthesis, Man City, parenthesis, and you have Sam as Sam Obisanya, football emoji no team name! I haven’t played for City in two years!"

Roy leans back on the couch, "That’s just how he saved his contact on my phone." 

Jamie gasps, "I didn’t save my contact in your phone!"

"Fucking hell," Roy pinches the bridge of his nose, "Fine, change it." 

Jamie grins and settles against the arm rest of the couch. He starts looking for the crown emoji and the shark emoji so he can put them next to Jamie, Best Player Ever.

Jamie’s trying really hard not to freak out. 

He’s trying. He’s not succeeding at it, not really. He wants to shake everything off, move around, fucking do something. But he can’t, they told him that he needs to sit down —which he does because he doesn’t know what else to do— and that he needs to hold the towel against his face. He presses it harder against his forehead. 

"Fuck," Jamie whispers. He wraps his free arm against his chest, pulling his legs up on the couch to press against it. His heart is beating so fucking fast and his vision’s going dark, he closes his eyes tightly before it gets any worse. 

Or perhaps it’ll still get worse, but at least Jamie won’t notice. 

There’s people around him, talking to each other or trying to ask him questions, Jamie hears them, but he just can’t fucking form a coherent thought, much less a sentence to reply. Instead, he tries to calm his heart down by breathing in and out. 

"Are you hurt anywhere else?" Someone asks. Jamie opens his mouth, but he can’t speak. He breathes out. 

"Did security catch the man?" Another person asks, they’re not asking Jamie though, but the question really doesn’t help. He breathes in and out shakily.

The breathing exercise he’s trying to do is not fucking working. He puts more pressure on the towel. 

"I’ve been trying to get in contact with them—" Someone else starts speaking but they’re interrupted by a door opening harshly.  

"What the fuck happened?" 

There’s just a moment of silence, Jamie is able to breath in properly, but then, all the people —stadium security and Richmond assistants— in the small office Jamie had been directed to, while holding his head and blood streaming down his arm with no fucking idea where his team went, start speaking again. 

"It was one of those hooligans," Someone says, "Red Army—" 

Jamie wants to nod, because it had been a United fan, the fucker. Bright red shirt, bright red beanie, but fuck, all he can think about in that moment is sky blue shirts, white and sky blue stripped scarves and a different stadium. He can’t nod, so he breathes out. 

"—Jamie was much more behind than—"

"He was just walking past me—"

"—must’ve been pissed because of the goal—"

It’s so fucking stupid, it’s not like this has never happened before to Jamie, he’d already seen violence because of goals he scored, because of goals he didn’t. For fucking reasons not related at all to football. He breathes in.

"—was running away," Someone says, "Don’t know if security caught him—"

He’s still fucking trying to breathe, he’d already breathed out, right? He tries to breathe in. He chokes. 

"Fuck," Someone says and again, there’s silence but there’s also movement, "Alright, everyone get the fuck out and someone find me Trevor or Gail." 

Jamie still keeps his eyes shut, he thinks he can hear people moving around in the room and then there’s silence. He can finally fucking think, though now there’s the feeling creeping up on him that he’s alone. He concentrates on breathing instead. 

He breathes in, waits a bit and then breathes out, he repeats it. There’s footsteps coming towards him, it makes his breath hitch and Jamie wants to open his eyes, but he thinks if he does, it might make things worse. 

"Oi," The person calls out, like he’s correcting Jamie on something, "Keep breathing." 

Jamie tries to nod, he’s not really sure if he manages it. 

"Go on," The voice says, it’s closer now, like the person is in front of Jamie, "Breathe in, hold it. Keep holding. Breathe out." 

They keep doing that, the person telling Jamie when to breathe in, how long to hold and when to breathe out. Jamie doesn’t know how long they’d been at it, but it must be quite a while because his grip on the towel he’s been holding to his head slips. 

"Shit, give me that," The person says, "You keep breathing." 

The towel is taken from him, his forehead now feels cold where air hits him suddenly. He can feel something wet start dripping down his cheek and jaw. He almost starts to panic again before he feels dry towel dabbing on his face.

"It’s okay, I got it," The person says. There’s more dabbing gently before the pressure settles on his eyebrow. The person taps the side of his knee, "Come on, breathe in."

Jamie goes through one cycle of breathing before there’s a shy knock on the door and then it opens slightly. Someone calls out, quietly, "Coach Kent, we have some updates."

"Keep breathing," The person says quietly to Jamie, and then more loudly, he says towards the door, "Yes?" 

"Security found the man," The person at the door says, "We’re currently getting in contact with the police." 

Jamie almost pauses mid inhaling, but he shakes his head lightly and keeps breathing in. He holds and holds, then breathes out.

"Okay," The person in front of him says. Jamie thinks the person might've nodded, "Anything else?" 

It’s not that hard to breathe anymore, but Jamie keeps going through the cycle, it still helps to calm him down. It doesn’t feel like he’s on the edge of a cliff staring down at nothing or like he’s about to have a heart attack. 

"Coach, the presser—"

"Get someone else to take it," The person replies immediately. There’s a shift on the towel on Jamie’s forehead, "Good job, Phee,"

It surprises Jamie —or it doesn’t, but it distracts him and maybe that’s better— so he blinks his eyes open. And yeah, it’s fucking Roy sitting on a coffee table in front of him. Roy’s not looking at him, though, he’s looking at the door and the person behind it. Jamie can’t turn to look in that direction, though. 

"Um—" The person at the door hesitantly says. 

"Nate," Roy says, just a little exasperated, "tell Nate to take the presser. Did anyone find a physio?"

The person sighs, it sounds a little worried, "Not yet."

There’s a twitch on Roy’s face, "Next person to open that door better be medically trained."

There’s silence for a moment and then the door closes quietly. 

"Roy," Jamie says.  

"Fucking hell," Roy sighs before turning his head to look at Jamie. He puts down the towel, "You alright now?" 

Jamie’s still a little out of it, if he were to admit it, but he won’t so he says nothing. He wants to bring up the nickname Roy’s just called him, he’s heard both Roy and his sister call Phoebe, Phee, but now that he intends to do it, he’s worried that Roy actually hadn’t done it and he’d imagined it for some weird fucking reason. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time it happens when he’s freaking out. 

Roy frowns, "I think your scar got reopened." 

Jamie moves his hand up to touch his eyebrow, but Roy grabs his hand to stop him. Roy unfolds and folds the towel again, somehow finding a dry spot void of any blood. He puts it up against Jamie’s eyebrow again. 

Jamie sighs. 

"There was a boy," Jamie says, after a moment. Now that he can think clearly, it’s easier to remember, he continues, "His dad was in a United kit, but he was wearing a City one. It had a fifty one, me number. I signed it." 

"That’s why you were behind," Roy says.

Jamie nods against the towel.

"Shit, Jamie," Roy says, it sounds a bit sad, "I’m sorry, lad."

"Do you think he saw?" Jamie asks, "The boy, I mean." 

"I don’t know," Roy frowns, "Hopefully not." 

Jamie hums and looks down. He’s startled by a couple of knocks on the door. 

"Who the fuck is it?" Roy asks loudly.

"It’s me," Trevor says, peering behind the door.  

"Thank fuck," Roy sighs in relief. But Roy doesn’t leave, he stays there in front of Jamie until Trevor takes the towel from him. 

Then, Roy switches to sitting next to Jamie on the couch while Trevor examines the wound.

Jamie’s not the last one to read A Wrinkle In Time. 

The first one to read it is technically Jeff, who read it in school for an assignment when he lived in the United States for a year. The second is Roy, who reads it when Ted gifts books to all of them. Then, apparently, Roy loans the copy Ted gave him to Sam. Isaac follows after that, also getting Roy to loan him the copy, and Colin is next. 

Dani, one to never be left behind, buys a copy in Spanish but then also reads the book again in English with Roy’s copy, it’s easier that way, apparently. Richard buys it in French as well and Zorro reads the French copy after him. Bumbercatch likes the idea of common goods, so he reads the French one first and then also reads the English one, simply because he can. 

The possession history of Roy’s copy gets a little blurry then and Jamie no longer knows who read it after Bumbercatch, he just knows the book doesn’t make it to Roy’s bookshelf at home, he’d checked plenty of times. It takes him a long time until he sees Arlo reading the book one day before training. 

He keeps a watchful eye on Arlo the following days, and as soon as he sees Arlo take out the copy from his bag and walk towards Roy’s office, he runs behind him and claims his turn. Roy only rolls his eyes a little before giving him the book. 

It’s a much easier read than The Beautiful and The Damned, the book that Ted gave him. He doesn’t have much time to read, but he tears through the chapters at home, on the walker and on the bike. 

And it’s there, on the bike, passing the page, when Jan Maas interrupts him. 

"You have a copy of A Wrinkle In Time too?" Jan asks, putting his towel over his shoulder and setting down a water bottle on the bench nearest to Jamie.

"Huh?" Jamie looks up.

"Can I borrow it when you’re done?" Jan asks. 

"Uh, it’s not mine," Jamie says, "It’s Roy’s. You gotta ask him." 

"I did," Jan says a little bluntly, "But he said Phoebe was reading it." 

Jamie just stares at Jan for a second and blinks. It takes him a moment to understand what that means, but it’s very clear once he remembers all the other times Roy has called him Phoebe, or Phee. Jan seems to get to the same conclusion.

"It must be weird," Jan says. He grabs a dumbbell with each hand and looks at Jamie through the mirror in front of them, he clarifies, "The implication of Roy calling you by his niece’s name, I mean."

Jamie looks at him sharply because it is weird, isn’t it? 

The first time was understandable, after all, Roy was high on whatever medication he’d been given after his surgery. But the other times? Either Roy hadn’t noticed he’d called Jamie Phoebe or he’d made it seem like it didn’t happen. It was mind games. Fucking Pavlovian or Freudian or whatever that psychology shit was.

Fucking Roy. 

The situation, as Jamie likes to call it, keeps running through his head and the problem is, he can’t make sense of it. There really is only one person that can help him deal with this thing, whatever it is.

"Doc," Jamie says as soon as he sits down on the couch at his next therapy session, "what does it mean when someone calls you someone else’s name?" 

"Trouble in bed?" The doc looks up from her notes, tilting her head to the side a little, "I thought you weren’t sexually active at the moment." 

"What? No, I’m not!" Jamie shakes his head. He looks at the doctor seriously, "Doc, I hope you know, it’s never happened to me, that." 

Doctor Adella lets out a laugh, and though at the beginning Jamie had not been happy about getting a new therapist like Doc Sharon had suggested —because apparently there were different kinds of therapists to deal with different kinds of issues—, but Doc Adella had turned out to be fun. An old lady that liked joking, laughing and always offered him home baked cookies on rough sessions. It reminded him a little of Simon’s cookies. 

"Okay, Jamie, you know I believe you," Doc Adella says gently, "Why don’t you explain to me the situation?"

"Okay," Jamie sighs, "Roy keeps calling me the wrong name. It’s just— he keeps doing it, calling me the wrong name. I don’t know what’s up with him or what the fuck it is. Maybe he’s senile already, or maybe he did too many headers when he played. Or maybe it means something fucking mental. Pavlovian or Freudian." 

"Okay," Doc Adella nods, "Let’s go through these, when Roy calls you the wrong name, is it like a slip up, or does he continue to make the mistake in that moment?"

"No," Jamie shakes his head, "He knows I’m Jamie, I think. Even when he was off his head on his painkillers after surgery, he still called me the right name after. It’s like a slip up but I don’t fucking get why." 

"It doesn’t seem like you need to worry about brain injuries or diseases for this, Jamie," Doc Adella says, "This happens to everyone all the time. Did you ever call your school teacher ‘mum’? 

"No," Jamie frowns. His teachers had all been old ladies and his mum was not, and is not, old. No fucking chance in hell he’d ever confuse those mean old hags with his lovely mum. He makes a face, "Why would I do that?" 

"Well, I did, more than a couple times," Doc Adella admits sheepishly, "My mum was a teacher, she worked in the school I went to, but she never taught my class. My teacher was older than my mum by a lot, they didn’t even look alike. My mum had long black hair and my teacher wore it really short. 

"These two older women were not exactly the same figure for me," Doc Adella continues, "but they had many things in common. They were kind, caring and they taught me so much, but they were also women I respected, admired and had authority over me. Our brains like to put the people in our lives with a similar role in a box together, so sometimes when I went up to Ms. Road, I’d end up saying ‘Mum, may I go to the bathroom?’" 

Jamie laughs with a small nod. He might have never called his teacher mum but he thinks that maybe once he slipped up and called Ted Simon.

"It’s really nothing to worry about," the doc reaffirms. She puts her pen down on her notebook and shrugs, "Our brains just end up pulling the wrong name out of the box every now and then, especially if we’re doing something out of habit." 

"Like muscle memory?" 

"Just like muscle memory," Doc Adella nods, "Did Roy call you by one of your teammates’ names?" 

"Uh, no," Jamie clears his throat, "That’s the odd part. He keeps calling me Phoebe."

"Oh," Doc Adella says cautiously, "Who is Phoebe?" 

"His niece," Jamie explains, "I told you about her, didn’t I?" 

"Oh, you did." Doc Adella nods in understanding, "Just not her name." 

"But it’s fucking odd, right?" Jamie says, "Why the fuck would I be in the same box as his niece?" 

Doc Adella blinks at him, "From what you’ve told me about coach Kent and your relationship with him, I don’t think it’s weird at all," She puts the notebook on the coffee table between them and leans over to look at him, "You and Roy are pretty close, much more than any of the other Richmond players, correct?" 

"I guess we did get pretty close last season," Jamie admits, "And I am his best friend." 

The doc nods thoughtfully, "You’ve also mentioned how Roy has, in certain situations, taken care of you." 

Jamie blinks. It’s not like he hadn’t noticed or realised how much Roy has helped Jamie before, but it feels different when someone else points it out to him. He thinks of Wembley and how Roy stormed through the dressing room to hug him and then didn’t let Jamie go back home alone. Or how Roy was the one to check on him, sort of, when all the shit with Zava was happening and even offered to train him. Then when he was freaking out about playing in the Etihad, Roy —and Keeley— followed him to make sure he wasn’t doing anything stupid. And just a few weeks ago, at Old Trafford, Roy got everyone out of the stuffy office and helped him calm down.

There’s probably times Jamie hadn’t even noticed or can’t even remember too.

"Yeah," Jamie nods. 

"I would imagine that he takes care of his niece a lot too," Doc Adella says, "It doesn’t mean that you and Phoebe mean the same to him or that he views you the same way he sees his niece." 

Jamie laughs at the thought of Roy seeing him as a ten year old girl. Though Roy would probably say there’s not much difference.

"But," Doc Adella continues, "maybe there’s an overlap somewhere between his relationship with his niece and his relationship with you."

"Okay," Jamie sighs, "makes sense, that." 

"Okay," The doc nods. She grabs the notebook from the coffee table and opens it, "Did you do the homework I left you last time, Jamie?" 

"Oh, yeah, I wrote it on me phone," Jamie nods. 

Things go back to normal. 

In fact, Jamie doesn’t even notice if Roy ever calls him Phoebe again, perhaps Roy does call him Phee or Phoebe, but Jamie doesn’t realise it, it somehow now registers in Jamie’s brain as a normal thing. And he has much more important things to worry about than the boxes in Roy’s brain. 

He does notice when there’s a change, he doesn’t know if it’s the first time it happens, it’s a sneaky word that Roy has used before to refer to him and Jamie sees it often, the video went viral when it first came out and every other month or so, it gets published on Greyhound fan spaces. He likes keeping an eye on them. 

Unfortunately, the day he takes notice of it is not really a good day and it’s been a week and a half full of bad days and it’s all because fucking Thompson from fucking Leicester tackles him, resulting in a mild ankle sprain and then Jamie has to sit out during the first international break of the season. He’d been called for the England squad this time too.

It’s a shit week, he’s not allowed to train like the rest of the lads that weren’t called for their countries so he goes up to Manchester and spends time with mummy, eats Simon’s cooking —that Simon assures him is okay for his diet, though frankly at this point, Jamie finds it hard to care— and visits his dad the afternoon before returning to London. 

Visiting his dad is shit too because he’d relapsed —though it’d been only a sip of some sparkling shit, his dad’s sponsor tells him, and his dad had not even realised— and apparently that means all the hard work and the five months his dad had been sober have to start all over again. 

Fucking accountability, Jamie hates it because he understands, he just wishes it didn’t matter so much to him. 

He returns to Richmond, goes through his first half day of training and the next day he goes through his second. And because everything seems to be going wrong for him, he gets tackled again. It doesn’t even hurt more than it did before, it doesn’t even feel like a bad tackle. 

But Jamie wants to stay there, laying on the grass and cry. 

"Shit, I’m sorry, Jamie," Jeff gets up and looks over at him. 

Isaac walks over, "You alright, bruv?" 

"I’m fine," Jamie says through gritted teeth. He sits up, extending his legs and twisting his ankle to check. The ankle feels fucking fine. 

Jeff extends his hand towards him. It makes him livid. 

"I said I’m fucking fine!" Jamie says. He just barely catches his own hand as it rises up to slap Jeff’s hand away. He grips the grass with his fingers instead.

Isaac looks at him, as if measuring something and then sends Jeff away towards the rest of the lads. 

"We know something’s wrong," Isaac says, crossing his arms, "You know we support you with whatever it is, bruv. But you can’t do that shit you just did here. Not again." 

Jamie nods and tries to swallow the knot in his throat. He says quietly, "I know."

Isaac nods, "Any way we can help?" 

Jamie shakes his head. Isaac sighs and Jamie thinks for the first time in his life, he’s actually seeing him disappointed. Isaac starts walking away slowly, seeing Isaac’s broad back turned to him scares him a little. It feels like he’d just gone too far and he can’t turn back now. 

Jamie takes a deep breath and somewhere in his head, there’s a voice that sounds suspiciously like Doc Adella and Doc Sharon at the same time telling him that there are many, many things one can try to fix. 

"Isaac," Jamie calls out, "Can you get Roy?" 

Isaac looks back with a small smile, "Of course, bruv." 

Jamie stays there, sitting on the grass as Isaac walks across the pitch to where the coaches are, he sees Beard and Nate exchanging a look beside Roy and Roy saying something to Isaac, and then he starts walking over. 

"Fuck," Jamie says. He tries to shake off the shit feelings, moving his hands but before he can finish, Roy’s already there, blocking the sun that was hitting Jamie’s face.

"Come on up, you muppet," Roy says. Like Jeff, he extends a hand towards Jamie. 

"Fuck off," Jamie says. He doesn’t push Roy’s hand away, but he doesn’t take it either. 

Roy rolls his eyes and sighs, "Fine, just get up. Let’s go inside." 

Jamie does, he gets up, cleans up his shorts and his hands. He follows Roy towards the building, down the hallways and finally, to the empty dressing room. It’s quiet when they enter, only the sound of Jamie’s boots echoing in the room with every step. 

Jamie sits down at his cubby, Roy takes a moment but he ends up sitting next to him. He looks at Jamie expectantly, but Jamie still says nothing. 

"Okay," Roy says, nudging Jamie’s arm with his elbow, "Out with it." 

A wave of frustration comes over him, but Jamie takes a deep breath

"I missed two caps for the Lions because of this stupid fucking sprain," Jamie says and he kicks the heel of his boot against the floor. 

Roy looks at him unimpressed. 

"Yeah, that was shit," Roy agrees easily, "But it was a minor injury, you’ll play this week against Arsenal, we still have at least four Champions League matches and you’ll go to the World Cup."

"You don’t know that," Jamie says. 

"Yes, I fucking do," Roy says, "You haven’t missed a squad call up since March. And I’ve played four World Cups, I know what I’m fucking talking about."  

Jamie glares at him, and because he can’t find any other words to say, he says, "Fuck you, Roy." 

Roy sighs. Jamie looks down at his feet, at his ankle that doesn’t really hurt anymore but it’s the fucking reason an avalanche of bad things started coming down on Jamie. He sort of wishes he’d stayed in London for the international break with the rest of the lads. 

"What else?" Roy asks.

Jamie frowns at his feet, "What do you mean?"  

"I know you’re not only pissed because you missed two Nations League matches when you’ll be playing at least three, probably more, at the World Cup," Roy says, "What else is bothering you, muppet?" 

There’s that fucking word again. He turns his head to look at Roy.

"Fuck you," Jamie says, he extends his hand to hit Roy’s arm, "Stop calling me that." 

Roy rolls his eyes, but Jamie knows there’s just the slightest lift on the corner of his mouth. He thinks of that interview, then of Roy coming to coach at Richmond, and Wembley. He thinks their conversation in Amsterdam, riding bicycles to find a fucking windmill. 

Jamie sighs, "I went to Manchester during the international break to see mummy and Simon." 

"I know," Roy nods, "You told me."

"And," Jamie winces, "I went to see me dad too because… you know, how me dad’s sober?" 

Roy’s face is already displeased at the mention. Jamie didn’t tell his mum before leaving, about what had happened with his dad, he didn’t want to make it seem like a big deal, yet it felt like a big deal. Even if it was just a tiny mistake, his dad had been upfront about it and so had his sponsor. Fucking accountability, it’s fucking weird when people are being accountable to Jamie.

He hadn’t told his mum, but at least he could tell Roy.

"Well," Jamie pauses, "he’s not anymore."

"Jesus Christ," Roy growls, "Did he—"

"It weren’t a big deal, honestly," Jamie continues quickly, "He went to this bash at his new job and the waiter got the cups mixed up. He had a sip before they even realised."

"Oh."

"He explained to me why he ain’t getting the six months sober chip anymore," Jamie says, "His sponsor said usually they wouldn’t see a small mistake like that as a relapse, but dad wanted to be fucking accountable."

He puts his arms on his knees and looks at his boots again. It’s quiet now, so different from the usual ambience of the dressing room. Over the last two days, Jamie has not participated in any conversation or interaction, the last time he did was before the Leicester match. It’s been so fucking long he can barely remember what the last gossip he’d heard, or the last video game he’d played with any of the lads. 

Hadn’t he promised to visit Colin’s Animal Crossing island just before the Leicester match?

"It’s just…" Jamie’s voice cracks, just a tiny bit, "It’s shit, Roy. Everything’s shit." 

"I know," Roy says. 

Jamie feels a strong hand landing on his shoulder. He sighs and then looks at Roy, it’s easy to see the restraint on his face. 

"That’s all?" Jamie asks. 

"I’m trying really hard not to be judgemental," Roy shrugs. 

"Are you succeeding?" 

"No," Roy scoffs, "But I don’t think you’d like to hear my thoughts about your dad."

Jamie gives him an impressed look, "Wow, I knew doc Sharon was good, but she’s really good," 

"Ha," Roy rolls his eyes. 

"You’re right, I probably don’t want to hear it." Jamie nods. He bites his tongue before releasing a breath and looks at Roy hesitantly, "But go on, tell me anyway." 

Roy raises an eyebrow and Jamie nods decidedly. Roy sighs. 

"He’s doing the bare fucking minimum," Roy says, "You owe him nothing and he owes you everything. If he were a fucking decent person, he’d make sure to stay away from you for the rest of his miserable life. But he’s clearly not. It’s shit that you have to deal with his rehab and his relapse, it’s just making you worry because you have a fucking legitimate reason to be worried after all the shit he’s done." 

There’s still some restraint showing on Roy’s face, but Jamie gets the idea. What Roy said is true, it’s making Jamie worry, though he doesn’t know if he’d prefer to not know about any incidents, just the thought makes his skin itch. 

"Do you wanna go home now?" Roy asks when Jamie doesn’t say anything, "You were supposed to do a half day anyway." 

"Yeah, thanks," Jamie says. He sighs, "Should probably check with my therapist to see if she has time today or tomorrow." 

"Good idea, muppet," Roy nods. He stands up from the bench. 

"Jesus, Roy," Jamie frowns, "What is it with you calling me that?" 

Roy rolls his eyes and turns around towards the door. 

Jamie glares at Roy’s back, "The Muppets are cool, anyway." 

Roy stops and turns around slowly. 

"You wish you were as cool as The Muppets," Roy says flatly. Jamie can tell that he actually, really means it. 

Jamie doesn’t really give much thought to being called a muppet. Though, it is an interesting turn of events to find out that Roy fucking Kent liked them and thought A Muppet Christmas Carrol was the best Christmas movie ever. It definitely wasn’t in the Twenty Roy Kent Fun Facts issue feature that Jamie had read in a magazine when he was twelve. 

It’s just a thing. And Jamie is almost completely sure that Roy doesn’t hope he dies of being a little bitch anymore. 

But then, one Monday when they don’t even have training because they’d played the previous night and instead have their match review in the afternoon, just as he’s turning off his car and stepping out, another car pulls into the car park. Some of the lads are just arriving, so there’s a lot of people hanging around at the moment the Land Rover pulls in. Everyone turns their heads to look, they have never seen this car before, much less at Nelson Road. But Jamie has seen it before. 

It doesn’t take long for one of the back doors to open, Phoebe coming out with a high ponytail and a backpack on her shoulders. 

"Oi," Roy says loudly. He’d also just been arriving and had been next to his G-Wagon when the Land Rover came in. He walks towards the other car, "What are you doing here, muppet?" 

It’s pure instinct the way Jamie turns his head towards Roy and it takes a second to register that Roy isn’t talking to him. Roy’s looking at Phoebe. 

"Oh," Jamie says in realisation. He can’t help the snort, some of the eyes in the car park turning towards him. He tries to hide his amusement by clearing his throat. 

Phoebe just smiles brightly, "Hi, Uncle Roy." 

The driver’s window rolls down. 

"Sorry, Royo," Ruth says, sending an apologetic look towards Roy, "Just got called in. I tried to call the nanny, but she’s sick. I don’t want Phoebe to get sick." 

"Yeah, alright," Roy nods easily. He gestures towards the entrance of the building, "You can help me and the coaches criticise these idiots." 

"Yes!" Phoebe nods enthusiastically. 

"Thank you, Roy," Ruth says, her eyes landing on Jamie, "Oh. Hi, Jamie." 

"Hey," Jamie greets. He can barely contain the grin he’s been fighting this whole time. 

She gives him an amused look before looking at Phoebe, "Don’t be too harsh with the lads, Phee."

"I won’t, mummy," 

"Alright, be a good girl. I love you. Bye, Phee!" Ruth says from her car, "Bye, Roy! Bye, everyone!"

The window rolls up, and the car takes no time to turn around and leave. Jamie still can barely contain his grin as Roy walks across the car park holding Phoebe’s hand and carrying the pink glittery backpack on one shoulder. 

"What the fuck are you laughing at, Tartt?" 

"I’m not!"