#Concussion treatment | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sortofanobsession · 1 year ago

Note

If you look up Lionel Messi and soccer, you’ll find a bunch of articles about his problems with gagging and vomiting during matches. I’d like to plant a story idea in your head about Jamie having that same issue.

Author's Note: I know I promised this earlier, and I know I promised a birthday sequel, but this is the most chaotic week of my entire year for work. So the other might be a bit delayed. Sorry about that.

Zava is a bit out of character in this. He's meaner than he actually was on the show. I did that because I needed a sort of trigger for Jamie's anxiety. Jamie is confident, or at least presents himself to be, and absolutely sure of his own abilities, Zava in the show does make him doubt himself, but not enough to create this level of anxiety. My husband has the same type of anxiety, especially when it comes to his job. He went thorough a program to help him, but my husband was dealing with it for the first time. Jamie, I have him set to have sort of dealt with it before, because with Jamie's history he probably would have. But again, this is all canon divergent.

Pairing: RoyJamie

Word Count: 6k+

Content warning: Anxiety, vomiting, nausea, panic, fear, manipulation, verbal harassment, physical violence, bruising, injury, blood, head injury, ultimatums, concussions, stitches, angst, anger, swearing/cursing/cussing.

With a little help

Jamie used to be better at managing his anxiety. Or at least he thinks he was. Maybe he was just better at, what had Keeley called it? Right, compartmentalizing, a weird word, but yeah. He really didn't know much about this stuff. Maybe it was just easier when he was a prick and didn't care what anyone thought. He knew he was the star, and he was fucking brilliant. But now, he had so much more to lose. Sure, it had wracked his nerves thinking he couldn't lose and his dad would punish him. But the anxiety over that was manageable as long as he was winning. But things are different now. Zava was the star. Zava was taking his friends from him. His dad must be pissed about that. Jamie feels like he’s going to be sick for, well, he’s lost count.

Roy looks around the locker room and everyone is there and eager for the match, all but one.

“Where the fuck is Tartt?!” the coach demands.

“Loo,” Jeff tells him.

“Again?” Sam asks.

“The fuck you mean ‘again’?” Roy did not like the sound of that.

“Been in and out of since he got here,” Colin says.

“Does he plan to play sick because that is not a very good idea,” Jan Maas says.

Roy heads to find him, and Jan Maas might be on to something because he can hear Jamie throwing up. Something uneasy shifts the coach’s own gut. But Roy knows what he is feeling, just now why. He knocks on the door. He hears a bunch of noises, including rushed movement and water. Jamie rushes out and glances at the clock. And Roy does not like what he sees. Jamie is already sweating and shaking slightly.

“Shit, sorry coach, I’ll go-”

“Nope,” Roy states. “Cockburn can start, you-”

“I'm fine, coach, I can play,”

“Not if your fucking sick, if it's contagious-”

“It's not, I swear, coach, it's not like the flu or something,” Jamie tried, but Roy knew what he heard. He eyes Jamie skeptically and surprises himself as he reaches up to feel Jamie's forehead. Roy ignores the odd feeling in his chest at seeing Jamie’s cheeks color.

“I-I told you,” Jamie insists. “It's not like that, not a fever.”

“Something you ate?” Roy asks.

“...maybe?”

But Roy isn't sure if he should believe him. The coach sighs. “Get cleared by the med team, and you can go in, but until then, Cockburn goes in.”

And Roy is a bit surprised when Jamie doesn't fight him.

The team is too busy getting ready and listening to Zava for Roy to tell them.

“You're going in for Tartt,” Roy tells Cockburn.

“That bad?” The forward asks.

Roy grunts but doesn't give him a direct answer as he goes to the whiteboard and makes a few adjustments. Not that it changes much but the team finally notices.

“Cockburn is in,” Roy tells the other coaches.

“What happened? Is Jamie okay?” Ted asks.

“Waiting to see if fucking med clears him for the second half,” Roy states. “Fucking Tartt.” But as annoyed as he might be, he doesn't like the idea of Jamie not being alright. The team was finally set up to have a real chance at winning. Jamie Tartt had seen to it. Hopefully, he'd get it out of his system. But it wasn’t just that. Some part of Roy was just not happy that Jamie was unwell. He’s just not sure that bugs him so much.

“How is he?” Roy asks Gail at the half.

“A bit dehydrated, but good to go,” she tells him.

“Fucking good,” Roy says, and he means it because he feels more relieved knowing Jamie is okay than he had expected. “Let's go, Tartt! You're going in!” The match goes well, but Roy can tell something isn’t right with Jamie Tartt. So he decides to keep a closer eye on the forward.

It happens again before a few training days. And Jamie brushes it off as adjusting to a new morning routine. Again, Roy doesn’t really believe him, but he doesn’t force the issue. Not when Jamie is still up and training. But he can’t ignore it during their next match. Jamie actually throws up on the pitch and gets pulled from the match. Roy glares daggers at Zava as the newest striker complains about Jamie being a distraction. And it's not the first time he has. Roy makes his way to the treatment room and waves off the med team. So it is just him and Jamie.

“Alright, Tartt, fucking out with it,” Roy says. His arms crossed over his chest like he was trying to keep how worried he'd been growing inside his chest.

“Think I already did on the pitch,” Jamie winces.

“We both know that isn't what I fucking meant,” Roy tries to keep it together because he knows Jamie's history. He knows about Jamie's father. But Jamie isn't helping himself here, so.

Roy is going to have to be the one to do it. “Tartt, I need to know what is going on with you because this isn't the Jamie Tartt I know. And I don't fucking like it one bit.”

The way Jamie sinks deeper into himself has Roy quickly adding. “You fucking dying or something? You're fucking freaking me out, Tartt.”

“I’m not dying,” Jamie tells him. “Not even actually sick.”

“Then tell me what the fuck this is,” Roy says, and Jamie doesn't answer. Roy ignores the voice in his head with worse-case scenarios and moves to stand right next to Jamie. “Jamie,” he says in a softer tone. “I cannot help you if you don't talk to me. I need you to-” Roy doesn't even get to finish before Jamie sobs. Roy is momentarily gobsmacked before, without even really thinking, the coach pulls Jamie against his chest.

“Fucking hell,” he mutters more to himself than Jamie, but Jamie must think it's directed at him because Jamie just cries harder. So Roy just holds him tighter. Everything inside Roy Kent is telling him that he needs to do something. Because seeing Jamie like is like a knife in the heart, he'd do anything to cheer the striker up. And his brain doesn't seem to have much input either because Roy hadn't even realized his hand had gone up and was running through Jamie's hair, over and over to help calm him. But he doesn't stop because it actually seems to be helping as the sobs slowly turn into sniffles.

“I've got you, Tartt,” he says as he does. And when the treatment room door opens, and Jamie goes to pull away, Roy doesn't let him. The last thing he wants is for Jamie to close off and shut him out.

“I…uh…just need to grab a few things,” Gail says. The look on her face is one of surprise and slight amusement. “You're good.” She grabs what she needs and leaves.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” Jamie sniffles, it's muffled in Roy's shirt. And Roy huffs a laugh.

“It's fucking fine, just breathe and maybe tell me what is wrong.”

Jamie shifts, so it’s mainly just his forehead against him, and he takes Roy's advice. He takes a few deep breaths. He doesn’t pull away yet. Not fully. He’s almost too scared to look at Roy. But the way Roy's hand is now rubbing soothing circles on his back has him shifting and glancing up at Roy.

“Will you tell me now?” Roy asks.

“It's…it's just anxiety.”

Roy’s hand stills as that sinks in, but he recovers. His hand moves again because he doesn't want to make it worse. Doesn’t want Jamie to think that upsets Roy. He knows how Jamie gets when he thinks he’s upset someone.

“Okay, that's…okay,” Roy says. The coach is trying really hard to police his actions now. “Is this new or just worse than it was?”

And Jamie isn't sure if he'd ever heard so many words without the older man swearing, ever. And Jamie isn't sure how to feel about it. He didn't know if he should tell him that it was because of Zava.

“It's not new, but I thought I beat it ages ago,” Jamie says honestly.

“Okay, what changed?” Roy asks. And the coach can feel the striker’s muscles tense as Jamie starts to pull away. That didn't bode well. So Roy changes his tactic.

“Jamie,” Roy starts. “Tell me how I can help you?”

And that surprised Jamie. “You…you want to help me?”

“Of fucking course I do,” Roy says honestly.

“Because you're my coach?”

“Because I need you to fucking be okay. So what do you need from me?”

“Help me?” Jamie says. And the sad way Jamie says it grips Roy’s heart. He puts a hand on the back of Jamie's neck.

“Fucking easy, done. Just tell me how.”

“Train me?” Jamie asks, and Roy nearly laughs because if Jamie just needs some extra one-on-one to get past this, he will spend every minute he isn't with Phoebe or the team training with Jamie.

“Fuck, yeah, we can do that,” Roy grins because he has had worse-case scenarios going through his mind, and this, this is something he can and will do. “We can start tomorrow if you want.”

“Yeah, really?”

“Yes, Tartt, really.”

They train every morning before joining the team for official training. It's mostly just conditioning and talking. Roy hopes it helps Jamie get a handle on his anxiety and gets his confidence back.

Roy goes to Jamie before their next match.

“How you feeling?” Roy asks him.

“I'm okay,” Jamie says.

“You sure?”

“I think so.”

“Well, if that changes, let me know.”

“Sure, coach,” Jamie nods. When he turns back, the striker notices a few of his teammates looking at him funny. “What?”

“He didn't swear once,” Cockburn points out.

Jamie just shrugs. And Jamie thinks he might be okay until right before the game.

“Try not to lose your lunch or the game this time,” Zava nudges Jamie's shoulders as they head out.

And that has the knot in Jamie’s stomach returning. And he thinks he might get sick, so he slows down as they exit the tunnel. But Jamie hadn’t noticed that Roy had been watching him like a hawk. And the look on Jamie's face for just a moment before the striker can mask it is all Roy needs to see. The coach has to count to 10 to avoid murdering Zava on Sky fucking sports. He goes straight to Jamie.

“Whatever the fuck he said, ignore it,” Roy tells him.

“I don't know if I can-”

“Jamie, look at me,” Roy grips Jamie's shoulders. “You are Jamie fucking Tartt, and unlike that prick, you don't need to take your teammates down to be the star.”

“But I used to,” Jamie argues.

“But you matured, got better. He is a massive fucking prick. He wants to fuck with you because he KNOWS you are the only threat to his stardom on this fucking team. Stay focused on doing your job. Ignore him. And if you get the ball, do what you think is best.”

Jamie nods. “Okay, yeah, thanks, Coach.”

The match goes well, Zava still has to have the most attention, but Roy doesn't give him any. Ted and the others can manage that. Roy goes to Jamie.

“Well done, Tartt,” Roy tells him.

“I didn't do much, barely got the ball,” Jamie says with confusion.

“But you played without incident,” Roy insists.

“Guess training is paying off,” Jamie says. “Thanks, Coach.”

Roy smiles. Jamie’s stomach flips, but not due to anxiety or feeling sick. No, this is different. This is a good feeling because Roy fucking Kent is smiling at him and telling him he did well.

“Training tomorrow still?” Jamie asks.

“I think you earned a day off,” Roy says.

“What if I don't want one?” Jamie says honestly.

Roy considers it. He still has to meet the rest of the coaching staff to go through tapes. And oh boy does Roy have a point to make during that, but the last thing he wanted was Jamie backsliding.

“Tell you what, we can go over the match over breakfast,” Roy offers.

“Deal,” Jamie nods.

Roy thought they were finally getting in front of the issue as Jamie seemed to be doing better. Until one morning, Jamie fails to meet him for training. And he wasn't answering his door. Roy had never been so glad he had talked to his sister about Jamie's anxiety. She had insisted Jamie give someone a spare key. Because someone, mainly someone who lived closer than Manchester, to help make sure that his issues don't escalate. That someone needs to make sure Jamie isn't a danger to himself. Jamie picked two someones. Roy and Keeley. And without hesitation, Keeley had agreed to help. But this was the first time Roy had considered using the spare key Jamie had given him for emergencies.

Roy's heart is pounding in his chest as he opens the door. He begs the universe that this isn’t one of the worst-case scenarios his sister had told him after he asked her for help. He closes Jamie's door.

“Tartt?” He calls out. Nothing but silence greets him, and that makes his stomach churn. He digs his phone out of his pocket and heads straight for Jamie’s bedroom. He hoped he wouldn’t need his phone, but just in case, he pulled up the call screen.

“Jamie?” He calls out again. Nothing at first. He calls again and hears a noise in Jamie's bathroom.

“Jamie?” He says and knocks. He hears a sniffle. “I'm coming in.” And before Jamie can tell him no, Roy opens the door and finds Jamie leaning over the sink. His grip is so tight his knuckles are white on the edge of the sink. From a slight distance, Roy does his best to look Jamie over for any sign of injury. No blood. That was good. But he could tell this hadn’t just started by the bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes that looked at him with regret and possibly fear.

“Overslept,” Jamie manages. “Sorry.

Roy takes a deep and calming breath. Jamie is in better shape than he had expected, but the what-ifs still nag at him. He hauls Jamie into a hug.

“Roy?” Jamie asks in confusion.

“It's fine,” Roy says. “Everything's going to be fine.” Jamie isn't sure if he is saying it for him or not, but he doesn't fight it. He grips Roy's jacket tight. They stay like that for a bit.

“Come on,” Roy says, tugging Jamie by the wrist. “In,” Roy says, gesturing to Jamie's bed.

“But we have training,” Jamie says with confusion.

“Not for a few hours,” Roy states.

Jamie opens his mouth to argue, but his brain fails him when Roy removes his jacket and kicks off his shoes. “You going to stand there like a fucking prick, or you going to do as you're fucking told?”

Jamie silently crawls into his bed. He then watches in shock as Roy does too. Roy checks his phone, sets an alarm, and looks at Jamie.

“Fucking relax, Jamie,” Roy says, then lays down. Arms open in invitation. “You look fucking knackered, and you had me fucking worried. So make up your mind.”

Jamie is not sure if he is dreaming, but he isn't going to argue. He cuddles into Roy's chest, and Jamie has never felt warmer or safer in his life.

“Sleep, Tartt,” Roy tells him. And he does.

Jamie wakes up warm and content for once. He reaches for his alarm but realizes it's on the wrong side of the bed. Then he remembers what happened. It was Roy's phone. Roy was the warm body beside him. And Jamie's heart soars. Roy had been the only reason Jamie has been able to function recently. He really adores Roy.

“Feeling better?” Roy ask.

“Mmhmm,” Jamie hums.

“Good because we have training, so up you get,” Roy says.

Once Jamie is up and dressed, he heads down to find Roy in his kitchen drinking a cup of tea. He holds out a shake because he's gone over Jamie's routine with him multiple times. And Jamie knows he is officially lost on Roy fucking Kent. And Jamie knows there isn’t a way he is coming away from this anything but in love with his coach. Well, more so than he had been most of his life. He had fancied Roy for ages, but that had been that. Now Roy is in his kitchen and has spent the last hour sleeping in Jamie's bed with Jamie.

“Jamie?” Roy calls, snapping Jamie out of his thoughts. He shakes the drink again. “Yes or no? If you can't, then we-”

Jamie accepts the shake with a quiet thank you. And Roy watches Jamie. He seems to be doing alright now. But Roy doesn't want him to get antsy, so the coach looks down at his tea.

They head to Roy’s G wagon, Jamie not even arguing. It's quiet until Roy parks at Nelson Road.

“Now, you don't have to tell me what happened to cause what happened this morning, but…” Roy says, looking at Jamie.

“Just something Zava said yesterday got under my skin. You said to ignore him, and I'm trying. It's just not easy. Didn't sleep well, but I'm okay now.”

“Okay.” Roy reaches over and grips Jamie's shoulder. “If you need a break, tell me. We can take one.”

“Thanks,” Jamie smiles at him.

Shouting in the locker room has the coaches rushing out of the office. Dani Rojas and Colin Hughes stand between Jamie and Zava.

“The fuck is wrong with you?!” Jamie spits.

“I saw you with -” Zava starts, but Roy isn't having it.

“Everyone shut the fuck up!” Roy shouts. Jamie's eyes snap to his. And Roy sees a red mark on Jamie's face and would have lost his shit if Beard hadn't gone to check Jamie's face. Jamie lets him. Beard doesn't miss how the striker keeps glancing at Roy.

“Nothing broken,” Beard assures them.

“What in the blue blazes is going on in here?” Ted demands.

No one says anything—a number of players glancing at an irate Roy.

“Fine,” Ted says. “Beard, maybe a few laps will jog their memories.”

The team groans, but they go out.

“Not you,” Ted says to Jamie. Roy glares at the gaffer. The assistant coach swears he sees Zava smirks as he leaves.

“You fucking kidding me?” Roy snaps, but much to Jamie's surprise, it isn't directed at him but at Ted.

“Look at his fucking face, and he's the one that in-”

Ted shakes his head. “You strangling the team’s wringer in front of them might damage morale a bit, coach.”

Roy grunts but doesn't say anything else because Ted has a point. If Zava had opened his mouth again, he’d have the imprint of Roy’s boot all over him. It’s a dangerous thought but an undeniable one. Zava touched Jamie, and that is just not fucking okay in Roy’s opinion. He’s still fucking livid though.

“You alright, Jamie?” Ted asks the player.

Roy’s anger gives way to concern at the way Jamie’s hands bunch up in his kit. The striker looked like a kid who got caught stealing biscuits.

“Jamie,” Roy says as he goes over and tips Jamie's face up to look at him. A slight bruise forms and that has a mix of emotions swirling in Roy’s chest. “How much does it hurt?” Roy needs to know.

“‘m fine, Roy, nothing I can't handle it.”

“You used to handle broken ribs and not tell anyone,” Roy counters. “I need more than that, Tartt.”

Neither of them sees how shocked Ted is as he watches the pair. Roy went from furious to soft spectacularly fast in the gaffer’s book. And he isn’t sure he’d ever seen his assistant coach this gentle with anyone other than Phoebe.

“The team ended it before it could get worse,” Jamie says.

That gets Ted’s attention. “What exactly was ‘it’?” the head coach asks. Jamie looks between the coaches. Roy just reaches over and rubs Jamie's back. And Ted has even more questions now. But he knows he needs this answer first.

“Zava told me I should be benched, that I'm a distraction, especially…” Jamie hesitates, looking up at Roy. Roy just nods. Jamie looks back to Ted. “Especially to Coach Kent.” Roy lets out a bitter laugh but doesn't say anything. His hand did not stop its repeated course along the striker’s spine.

“How did that lead to you having a bruised face?” Ted asks.

“He had leaned into my space to say it, and you know me, I'm in and out of everyone's space always. So it shouldn’t have bothered me, but I didn't like it. I didn't want him there. So I shoved him back towards his spot. He didn't like that.”

“So a scuffle broke out until the boys stopped it,” Ted finishes.

“Not exactly. It was more the team scrambling to protect Zava, and I don't know who, but I took an elbow to the face. I…I don't think it was intentional.” They look up as the door opens. A couple of members of the med team enter. “But he kept saying that he knew. Didn’t make any sense.”

“Right, okay,” Ted says. He waves them over to look over Jamie's face. He taps Roy's shoulder and nods at the office. Roy nods. Ted goes to the office.

“You good?” Roy asks Jamie.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, offering the coach a weak smile. “Not like I'm going anywhere.” He gestures to the medics.

Ted closes the door once Roy is inside.

“Something you need to tell me, Coach?”

“Zava's a fucking prick and has been giving Jamie a hard time.”

“That’s it? I thought you helping train Jamie was working,” Ted says. “That he was right as rain.”

“I thought so, too, but he missed training this morning. Turns out Zava got under his skin yesterday like he just fucking did now, and with the anxiety Tartt already has, he barely slept. Found him crying and fucking gripping his counter like he didn't trust his own fucking legs. I got him to get a bit more sleep.” Ted didn't need to know that he did so by joining him in bed. “He is off his game already, and Zava just tipped the fucking scales. And now Zava thinks he fucking won. I'm not going to fucking sit here and let that prick isolate and bully-”

“And what is Jamie to you, huh? What's your next word, Roy? Your what?”

“Player,” Roy growls. “My fucking player. Because whatever you are implying, well, you can fuck off. And I'm fucking disappointed in you, Lasso. You made me put an end to the hazing of the kitman that fucking betrayed you. Betrayed all of us. But now that it's Zava targeting Jamie, who has been a fucking punching bag his whole fucking life, and you know it, it's nothing. Not on my fucking watch.”

“Alright, fair point,” Ted says.

It is painfully silent until Ted goes to check on Jamie.

“He's good to play, just a bruise,” the medic tells them.

“Great, let's get you out there,” Ted says, clapping Jamie on the shoulder. Jamie looks at Roy.

“Right behind you,” Roy assures him.

Ted decided to keep a close eye on Zava, especially when he was anywhere near Jamie. Things went fine during drills. He didn't miss the way a few players glared at Jamie as they finished running laps. Ted called Beard over and sent him inside after a few words. Isaac had confirmed that Zava had been talking to Jamie, Jamie shoved Zava, and the team stepped in. No one owned up to knowingly elbowing Jamie. So Ted had them run drills. More glares. Jamie’s shoulders slumped, but he looked over at Roy. Roy went over.

“They're fucking idiots,” Roy tells Jamie. “He’ll fuck up eventually. Tip his hand. Don't let him drag you down. He did this. Not you. Keep going.”

Jamie nods and joins the team.

Ted isn't sure he likes how Jamie keeps his head down. And Roy was right. Whenever someone glares at Jamie or ignores the other striker, Zava doesn't stop them. Zava seems to find it amusing. That was not good.

A bit later, Beard comes out with a tablet. He waves Roy over. Jamie's attention is drawn to the coaches when he hears Roy swearing and leaving the field. Jamie fights the urge to follow him. He turns to head back to drills when a ball hits him in the head painfully hard.

Roy hadn’t even reached the tunnel. When hears several people shout Jamie’s name. Roy's blood ran cold as rushed back to the field.

“He was distracted,” he hears Zava say, and the only reason Zava isn't picking his teeth up off the pitch is because Beard catches him, followed by Will.

He knows what happened without even having to look. Although Jamie was waiting with all the other players, the drills were running away from him. Jamie had gotten hit. Hard. This means someone did it intentionally or had gotten very bad at the basics.

“Jamie needs you,” Beard says. And that doesn't quell the other assistant coach’s rage, but it does change his direction.

“How is he?” Roy asks as he reaches Ted.

“Conscious,” Ted tells him.

“For Zava's sake, he better stay that way. I swear-”

“I know, Roy,” Ted says. “Go with him. We’ll handle it.”

“You fucking better,” Roy grits out before following the med team as they take Jamie away.

“Roy!” Keeley joins him where he is waiting in the hall. He was watching the med team work through the glass window. “Rebecca said it was Jamie. What happened?” Roy hands her the tablet he had retrieved. Much like the locker room video, the video of what happened on the pitch was sent to him. Keeley played the video and gasped. Zava had kicked the ball directly at Jamie. And the striker had one hell of a kick. Jamie went down instantly. Jeff and Sam were there in seconds, followed by most of the team.

“Poor Jamie,” Keeley says as she hands him the tablet.

“Stay with him,” Roy instructs as he walks away.

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To make sure this is fucking handled!” He spits back.

Rebecca startles as the gaffer’s door is thrown open.

“Roy,” Ted says as the manager drops back down in his chair. “The wall didn't deserve that, but I think we can ignore that for now.”

Rebecca frowns but agrees.

“How is he?” She asks.

“Three fucking stitches and a concussion at least,” Roy says, going to grab a number of things from his desk. “Maybe worse, they were still with him.” He kicks his drawer when it doesn't close—the pair wince.

“Why aren't you?” Ted asks.

“Keeley’s there,” Roy states.

“That's good,” Rebecca says.

“You say that now,” Roy tosses the tablet on the desk. The video paused on Zava kicking the ball.

“Roy…” Ted starts.

“Don't fucking, ‘Roy’ me. Fuck no. This fucking prick goes, or I do, Tartt too. I fucking told you he was fucking with him.”

“You don't mean-” Rebecca starts, but Roy cuts her off.

“Fucking do it, or I will send that video to Sky fucking sports. I am FUCKING DONE!” Roy slams the door as he goes into the locker room. The handful of players in there flinch. He isn't sure if it's a blessing or a curse that Zava isn't there.

“What’s going on, Coach?” Sam asks as Roy moves to collect Jamie's things.

“Is Jamie hurt bad?” Dani Rojas asks.

“Like any of you fucking care,” Roy angrily states.

“It's Jamie,” Dani says. “Of course we do.”

Roy bitterly laughs. “Could have fucking fooled me.” Once the coach is sure he has what he needs, he turns towards the team.

“I have never been so fucking disappointed in any fucking team in my life. This is exactly what he was terrified would happen. You fucking pricks didn't even fucking notice.”

The locker room was unusually quiet as the team prepared to leave after training. Zava isn't even there anymore. And no one has heard anything about Jamie yet. Roy had not come back.

Sam checks his phone.

“Oh no,” he says.

“What?” Colin asks. “What is it?”

“Check the team chat?”

Colin frowns.

One by one, the team is shocked that Roy and Jamie's numbers are removed from the team chat.

“That's not good,” Jan Maas says.

“No, it isn't.” Sam agrees.

Keeley had been keeping Jamie company after the med team said he could go when the coach got back. She smiles at the way Jamie sits up as there is a knock at the open door, relaxing when he sees it’s only Roy. Jamie’s never been truly afraid of Roy, but she knew that Roy being there made Jamie feel safer. Like nothing, and no one is getting past Roy to get at him. It was actually rather adorable. Roy was like that with people he cared for, especially those he loved. And she had a feeling Jamie was now one of those very select few. Roy loved Jamie. Jamie loved Roy. She knew it. She just hoped they’d figure it out sooner rather than later.

“Time to go,” Keeley says. She gets up and kisses Jamie's less injured cheek. “Call me if you need anything. Get better, babe.” She pats Roy’s cheek as she passes him.

“Here,” Roy sets Jamie's stuff. “Can't have you in your bloody kit. Then we can head out.”

Jamie goes to stand up and wobbles on his feet, and Roy knows that's not going to work. He kicks the door closed. “Right, let's get this done.” He carefully helps Jamie change. He avoids making eye contact with the striker as he does because that was a line Roy couldn’t cross now. He wasn’t sure his fucking heart could take it. A bruised Jamie Tartt, shirtless and trusting Roy to look after him. That did fucking things to Roy that Roy was not ready to deal with. Especially since Jamie had a concussion.

“Thanks,” Jamie mumbles since his system is flooded with painkillers.

“Ready?” Roy asks.

“Yeah,” Jamie says with a nod. He winces at the flair of pain that causes.

“Alright, words are fine. No need to rattle your brain even more.”

“Yeah, okay.”

Jamie barely says anything as Roy drives to Jamie's flat. He manages to get the injured striker inside, cleaned up and in bed. Jamie is in and out of it most of the day. It's not until the following day that Jamie really wakes up, his head throbbing, and realizes that Roy has spent the night and has been taking care of him. Jamie finds pills and water beside his bed and a note telling him to take them and come downstairs. Jamie can barely look at his own face in the mirror as he does what he needs to in the bathroom. He shouldn't be surprised to find Roy in his kitchen again, but this time Roy moves to meet him as Jamie makes it down the stairs.

“Morning,” Roy says. “Seem more steady on your feet already.”

Jamie hums and shuffles to the kitchen.

“Sit,” Roy tells him, and Jamie does. Roy gets him a cup of tea and a plate of food. “Eat.” Jamie looks unsure.

“Jamie,” Roy says, lowering himself to Jamie's eye level. “You need to eat, or those pills will tear up your stomach. And with all the stomach issues you’ve had recently, we don't want to make it worse.” Jamie agrees and eats. That's when he notices the time. The team would be well into training. And Jamie understands why he isn't going to training. But Roy should be there.

“Not going in?” he asks.

“No,” Roy states. Jamie can't see all that well right now, but he can still tell that Roy doesn't look happy.

“Roy, you don't have to babysit me,” Jamie insists.

“Your loss,” Roy says. “Phoebe thinks I'm a fantastic sitter.”

“She's 8, and you are her most favorite person in the world,” Jamie says.

“Yeah, because I'm the best fucking sitter,” Roy says with no sign of sarcasm or humor.

“You're serious, aren't you?” Jamie asks.

“You're head's fucked enough, you don't need me being a prick.”

“Okay, but-”

“I'm not going in because I told them if they don't fucking deal with Zava, then I'm not going back.”

Jamie can’t believe Roy gave them an ultimatum because of him. “You have to go back,” Jamie tells him.

“Not really,” Roy assures him.

“The team needs you,” Jamie argues.

“The team needs not to have a fucking asshole that does this kind of shit on fucking purpose.” And Roy knows he fucked up when Jamie rushes to his feet. Roy follows Jamie as the younger man barely reaches the toilet to lose what little he has eaten. Unfortunately, that means his meds too. And between the pain and the anxiety, Jamie can't take it. He sobs, and Roy holds him tight.

Roy doesn't move other than to comfort the injured man. Only when Jamie can breathe without gasping does he even consider it.

“Why?” Jamie manages to ask.

“Why would I not go back?” Roy asks for clarification.

Jamie nods.

“Because I'm not going to work for a fucking hypocrite. Lasso made me deal with you when you were a prick, and you changed for the better. He let Zava do the same shit too long, and it's only because he pulled this shit in front of the whole fucking team and was caught on security cameras; it’s a problem. Told them to deal with it, or I would send the video to Sky Sports.”

“Is that even legal?”

“He knew what the fuck he was doing,” Roy tells him. “And so do I. Zava wants to keep his fucking reputation, then he has to fucking leave.”

“And if we start losing again?”

“Is the league worth the fucking pain? Seriously, this fucking idiot is beyond fucking help. I won't watch him ruin your life just so the team wins. I'm sure the team would agree if they knew.”

In the afternoon, Jamie's phone is practically blowing up with messages, and his head hurts. So Roy tucks him back in and takes his phone so he can let the pain meds work and get some rest.

“The fuck did you do?” Roy answers his phone.

“Hello to you too, Coach,” Ted says. “How is he?”

“I had to take his phone away because he threw up his morning meds, and it was constantly going off.”

“We showed the team the video,” Ted says. “So they could understand why Zava is off the team.”

“So he's gone, good. Fucking took long enough.”

“Had to ensure he wouldn't try to turn this around on us. Or worse, you and Jamie.”

“If any of those idiots show up here and ring the doorbell, I will make them miserable.”

“They shouldn't. They know he needs to rest and heal.”

“Good.”

“I’ll tell him when he wakes up.”

Roy sits on the edge of Jamie's bed. He gives in and runs his hands gently through Jamie's hair to wake him. He can’t lie to himself any longer. He cares for Jamie a lot more than he should, but he can’t help himself. He smiles at the way Jamie hums and leans into Roy’s touch.

“Got good news,” Roy says, which seems enough to wake Jamie the rest of the way. “Zava's off the team, and the team’s more worried about you than anything.”

“He's gone, and they aren't mad?”

“Not mad at you, for you, maybe, but not at you.”

“Not mad at you either, right?”

“Maybe, but only because I took your phone away so they couldn't talk to you.”

That makes Jamie chuckle.

“This means you're going back, right?” Jamie asks.

“Yes, now up you get. Food. Meds. Then you can have your phone.”

Jamie hates sitting on the sidelines as the team struggles to score match after match. Knowing he's the reason Zava is gone twists something in his stomach. And knowing that the team has a friendly in fucking Amsterdam, of all places, makes him even more anxious. Roy is worried even before anyone packs for the trip. Keeley had texted Roy that she was supposed to help him pack since she hadn't spent much time with Jamie recently, but Jamie's not acting like his usual self. He might get to play in Amsterdam, so they both figure it's nerves about getting back into it. So Roy goes over. The three of them get dinner, but Keeley has to leave after. Roy thinks Jamie's doing okay, but the minute the coach asks what Jamie's going to do outside of the match in Amsterdam, he sees how Jamie starts to sweat and pale slightly.

“Jamie, look at me,” Roy says, and when Jamie seems to be too in his own head, Roy grips the striker’s face as gently as he can since he is still a bit sore. “I'm here, Jamie. You don't have to be scared of anything. You can tell me or don't tell me. But I'm not going to leave you like this. Fuck, I'll pack your fucking bag, you might not like it, but I will.” That earns a breathy laugh from the player. “I'll be with you every step of the way if you need me to.”

Jamie can't help it. He leans his forehead against Roy's and closes his eyes. Because that actually is extremely helpful. It does make him feel so much better.

“Fuck it,” Roy mutters. With a hand on the back of Jamie's neck, he shifts until his lips find Jamie’s own. He feels that Jamie shutters at the sensation before it's like the younger man puts all his energy into returning the kiss. When they break for air, Roy checks to ensure Jamie's cuts don't reopen. Jamie crawls into Roy's lap and kisses him.

“Feeling better?” Roy says, a slight grin pulling at his features.

“Fucking fantastic,” Jamie grins.

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