#Jamie Tartt whump

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

When I’ve posted snippets two days in a row and neither have included Jamie Tartt.

[dangerouscoffeetheorist]

Tattle

Jamie thinks if these were normal people - normal friends, they probably wouldn’t care as much as they do. Wouldn’t be this perceptive. However, he has somehow managed to make best friends with none other than Dani Rojas and Sam Obisanya. They are both warm rays of warm sunshine. Cups of tea on cold days. Bright lights at the end of a tunnel. Warmth and hope, and friendship.

Surprisingly, also two of the most perceptive players on the team, and bloody traitors apparently.

-/-/-/-

A series of times when Jamie realises he has actual friends now, who actually care about his well-being; enough to tattle on him every time something bad happens. Sick, hurt and misunderstood Jamie being looked after by the team

[rarelyrad]

I have posted my day six Whumptober with the prompt “crying self to sleep” in which Jamie cries himself to sleep after the man city match when Roy’s career ended: angsty as fuck am I right

Read that shit here bb:

[claracivry]

Hi! I love reading your fics! If you're still taking Jamie prompts, what if Jamie is in or has an accident and has a career ending injury and Roy is the one who helps him through it and accept it.

I know it's been a million years but here it is (x)

Have some Jamie angst and helpful Roy :)

[jamiesfootball]

”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

He should've never let him play. When Jamie stormed into the locker room, running late and snapping at his teammates for asking why, Roy should've seen the red flags for what they were.

Everton at home wasn't the same as Everton away; he could've spared them all the misery. They could've spared Jamie, except that it was Roy's debut season as manager of AFC Richmond, and if he had a pound for every time that season Jamie had shown up to training in an utterly foul mood, he'd have more pounds than Phoebe.

So instead he'd barked, "Oi! Check the prima donna act at the fucking door. You're ten minutes late, and you've got sixty seconds to kit up or else you're watching the game from the bench. Got it?"

Fire flared in Jamie's eyes. That too should've been a warning sign. But he put his head down to undo his laces with a muttered 'yes Coach' and Roy, stupid as he was and knee deep in therapy he didn't like, counted his breaths and decided that this was a fight that could wait for later.

The match was a disaster from first touch.

The fight didn't wait for later. Whether it was how he walked onto the pitch or how he immediately set about cutting Everton to pieces, the opposing team picked up on Jamie's mood and magnified it back with an intensity that could set the grass on fire.

Jamie matched it back tenfold - once per each player outside the goal area, and only then because Richmond's press couldn't make it that far down the pitch.

The first yellow card failed to appear at the six minute mark. That set the tone for the rest of the match.

By the time a third dirty tackle sent Jamie's legs flying out from under him, even Sam was shouting at the referee to do something. The team's interim captain gestured furiously at Jamie, who shrugged off his teammates help, slapping them away as he limped onto his feet.

Jamie tested his leg. The second he put weight on it, he flinched. He turned towards the coaches, demeanor stoically blank apart from the obvious question in his eyes.

Roy stared back. After a few moments, Jamie nodded. He fell back into position and the ref motioned for the game to resume.

Sam sent a decidedly dirty glance in Roy's direction. His disappointment cut sharp.

So many red flags.

Roy had plenty of chances.

A few minutes later, Jamie snapped something at the Everton player marking him. Something cruel by the sneer across his lips and the way it painted the opposing player's face an even deeper shade of red.

The man reared back like a bull. In one quick motion, he headbutted Jamie square in the face.

The ref finally blew his whistle.

Jamie didn't get back up.

After the match, Sam followed Roy to hospital.

"You should not have done what you did today." Those were the only words the younger man offered on the ride over.

Fair enough.

Concussion, the physios had reported, as if that weren't fucking obvious from the loss of consciousness.

All things considered, if they'd arrived at hospital to find Jamie confused, dizzy, and a little deflated, things probably would've gone smoother.

Instead they walked in to find bristles and a scowl. The nurses fluttered around him, making soft noises as they briskly addressed his bruises- and there were a lot of bruises. Hard not to be banged up after a match like that, but there were an awful, awful lot of them and not all of them looked new. Roy's chest twisted as he tried to recall if at some point in his bullheaded inattention, he'd missed the signs of Jamie pushing himself too hard again.

The nurses left, packing away their tapes and tubes and syringes and all the other bits they used to mend things whole. Then all that was left was Jamie, Jamie's attitude, Sam, Sam's disappointment, Roy, and Roy's fury fighting for space in the tiny hospital room.

Jamie shifted uncomfortably against the pillows. Bruised ribs, the nurses had mentioned, and Roy could strangle the twat for not saying something sooner- for not pulling himself off the pitch sooner. What the fuck was he thinking?

"What the fuck were you thinking?"

Jamie recoiled on the bed. He blinked stupidly at Roy.

"Do you think this is a fucking joke?"

Their injured player opened and closed his mouth, at a loss for words. "I don't?"

"Oh really." Roy stepped forward until all that separated them was the rail at the edge of the hospital bed. "Because you could've fooled me. Seems to me like you were goading Everton into taking the first hit."

Jamie's jaw clenched in response. It was as good as an admission of guilt, and it made the anger simmering in his chest threaten to boil over.

"Who cares, mate? It's just Everton, yeah?" Jamie said casually, like they were discussing the merits of Aston Villa's new away kits. Like he wasn't laid up in fucking hospital. "Not like they hit that hard anyways."

Roy saw red.

"Sorry, am I the one who hit my head? Am I the one who missed the back half of the match? We lost three-nil you little twat, all because your teammates were too busy worrying about you to focus on the game. You lost us the match, you prick."

"Roy," Sam objected.

His breathing came sharp and fast, and it was almost dizzying the way he couldn't seem to suck in enough air. Tightening his grip around the edge of the bed, he growled, "For fuck's sake, Jamie. If we wanted to watch you get knocked around on the pitch, we'd just do it ourselves-"

"Roy!"

Sam's bare-faced outrage doused him in ice.

He'd crossed a line.

Under Roy's looming presence, Jamie looked very small.

He took a shallow step back, feeling sick to his stomach. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he swore, "Shit. Jamie-"

"Shut up."

When Sam Obisanya told you to shut up, you shut up.

"That was uncalled for," Sam said levelly. He paused for a moment, allowing his words to sink in deep, dealing damage to Roy the whole way down. Then Sam refocused his attention on the person more deserving of it.

"Jamie, Roy didn't mean that. He is upset - as we all are - but that is no excuse for him to speak to you in this manner."

Jamie's mouth twitched into an uncertain shape. It made him look softer, and younger, than he'd look in months, but it also made the damage stick out vividly, the bruise across his head dark and bleeding under his skin.

A strangled little noise bubbled out of him. He swayed towards Sam like a sunflower to the light, and he sounded oddly hoarse as he tried to quip. "Thanks, twenty-four. Nice to know that someone's got my back against that hairy arsehole."

"But you are also in the wrong."

Jamie faltered, something lost and sad filtering through his defenses. "But you just said-"

"You went into that match with no regard for yourself," Sam snapped. ”Did it ever occur to you that maybe we don’t want to see you get hurt?”

Jamie's mouth clicked shut. In the resulting quiet, only Sam's harsh breathing punctured through the beep of the medical equipment.

"It is not fair-," said Sam, his fists clenching at his side, "-for you to treat yourself with such disrespect. Not when there are so many who love you and want to see you well."

Jamie swallowed. A mistiness glimmered in his eyes. "Sam-"

"Jamie-"

Tripping over each other's words, they both stuttered to a stop.

Sam cupped his hand over his mouth. To Roy's horror, his chest shook as he stifled a violent sob.

"I can't do this right now," he said mournfully, their titan of a captain clearly close to crumbling. Blinking rapidly, he murmured, "Excuse me."

As he turned to leave, he stopped to level Roy with look so full of misery it made him want to sink through the floor.

"Fix this," he whispered, full of sorrow and love.

Sam left the room.

In the wake of Sam's departure, arguing about anything else felt... petty.

"That was uncalled for," Roy admitted in a harsh rasp. It was the bare minimum he could say- that he needed to say. "Sam's right, I shouldn't have..."

He gestured lamely to the room at large. At the shadows his anger had left, and Jamie sitting weakly in a hospital bed, and the overall fucked-ness of the situation in general.

"Sorry," he finished lamely.

Jamie blinked at him wearily. Now that some of the anger had fizzled out, the obvious signs of the concussion clamoured for attention. He wasn't quite tracking Roy's position, and the way he held himself stiffly made Roy suspect he was bracing himself against a tidal wave of dizziness.

Honestly, Sam should've kicked dirt over Roy on the way out, what with the hole he'd dug himself.

"Whatever. Was being a prick, so I probably had it coming, yeah?" Jamie shrugged. "Didn't even have the signal, did I?"

"You haven't had it in a while," Roy pointed out. "Not that that seems to be stopping you lately."

He half-meant it as a joke, but Jamie didn't respond.

"Come on," Roy tried, letting his voice drop into something quieter. "Talk to me- what's been going on with you, eh? Showing up late to training; skipping out of dinner at Sam's. Now you're snapping at Colin when he asks to borrow deodorant and ignoring play strategy to pick fights during matches? The fuck's going on here? This isn't like you."

"Maybe it is," Jamie grumbled. He picked mulishly the sheets, and Roy could strangle him for how fiercely the worry scratched at his chest. "Maybe I'm the same prick I've always been, and I'm just not fighting it anymore."

"Bullshit," growled Roy. "You're better than that, Jamie."

Jamie flinched back as if Roy had struck him.

He didn't argue.

He just sat there, picking at the sheets, twisting everything into knots, and pretending like Roy wasn't even in the fucking room.

Roy scoffed. Despair filled his chest, mixing with worry and anger and a deeply frightening sort of love that made him want to go up to the roof and scream until the clouds came crashing down. Maybe Sam had the right idea, removing himself from the situation. Roy needed to take a moment to collect himself, lest he dig the hole deeper saying words he'd only regret.

Roy turned to leave.

You couldn't help someone who didn't want-

"Coach?"

Roy paused at the doorway. Jamie, carefully looking down at his restless hands, still wouldn't look him in the eye. His shoulders curled up like he was bracing for a fight.

"I know you're busy and stuff. Being the gaffer and all. But-"

He paused. Anxiously, he rubbed his hands against his thighs. Roy frowned; he was missing something here, but he couldn't make the dark forest for the trees.

When Jamie continued, it was in a low mumble that was hard to hear over cacophony of the machines. "Do you think that maybe we could start doing morning trainings again? Doesn't have to be a full one - could just do half. That way we could start at six, and you'd still have the time at night to recharge your Terminator batteries."

A sharp snort escaped Roy. Down the hallway, some sort of alarm started going off, and he shut the door to block it out.

Crossing his arms, he looked Jamie up and down. "Why?"

Jamie shrugged. "Miss it, is all. Plus it's nice, innit? Having a reason to get out of the house."

In the forest Roy couldn't make out, something lurked in the dark. Some sort of low level radiation, maybe. It was like they'd taken a wrong turn and stumbled into Chernobyl without knowing.

Perhaps the way out was back the way they'd came.

(And honestly, he'd missed it too.)

"Fine. After you're cleared for play again. 6am."

An alarming amount of gratitude flooded Jamie's eyes. A sunflower reaching blindly for the heat of the sun.

"Thanks, Coach."

Roy grunted. This bit, at least, he didn't feel like he'd messed up too bad.

He thumbed at the door, where the hallway and the journos and the rest of the world waited. "I'm going to check on Sam. Then I'll update the team. Anyone else I should call? Your mum?"

"No!" Jamie blurted out. He tried to shake his head, only to remember too late that he was still concussed. He buried his head in his hands, hissing in pain. He tried again, "No, no need. Don't want to freak her out, or she'll drive down here and- I'll call her later. For now just tell the lads I'll make it up to them, yeah?"

Roy squeezed his eyes shut. "Fucking hell. Look, that was a shit thing for me to say, alright? No one actually blames you for losing the match. Not them and not me. It'd be a dick move to blame someone for getting carted off after a blow like that."

On the bed Jamie turned an ashen grey. He looked like he was about to throw up.

"Oi, you good?" Roy scanned the room. "What's going on- do you need a bucket? Or a nurse?'

"Huh?" Jamie jumped. He looked startled to find Roy still standing in his room. "Oh, uh. I'm good, Coach. Just thinking you're probably right.

"You'd have to be a real dick to blame someone for losing the match like that."

[aceofwhump]

Jamie Tartt crying in Ted Lasso 3x11

[babytarttdoodoo]

fresh concrete in my mouth

((Winner of Whumptober Poll #1 | Day 3 | “Make it stop.”)) 

The door opened and Roy ignored it. Either it was Beard, who knew better than to say something, or Nate, who wouldn’t know how to say something, or it was someone who wouldn’t think to look for him on the floor behind his desk.

“Coach?”

Roy groaned, louder than intended. Because of course it was Jamie Fucking Tartt.

Sure enough, a mop of blonde hair invaded Roy’s view of the ceiling tiles as Jamie bounded around the desk, still full of energy after a full day of training.

Prick.

Jamie’s brow scrunched up in confusion as he took in the sight of Roy sat against his own desk drawers, legs stretched out in front of him. “What you doing down there?”

“None of your fucking business,” Roy grit out, annoyed enough already without stupid questions making it worse. “What do you want?”

Jamie’s nose wrinkled, adding to the overall scrunchyness of his face. “I were just wondering what your dinner plans are. You alright?”

“Do I look alright?” Roy snapped, frustration hot in his chest, and immediately regretted it when Jamie’s expression blanked and he held up his hands.

“Okay, okay, don’t got to bite my head off,” he chided, edging around Roy like he was keeping his distance from a wild animal. It was almost funny, that he thought Roy had a hope in hell of being able to reach him if he lashed out right now.

Except for all the ways it wasn’t funny at all.

Roy sighed, guilt cloying his throat as much as the pain. “Right. I don’t have dinner plans but I’m going to be here a while.”

“Okay…” Jamie drew the word out, head bobbing from side to side. “Why?”

“Because my knee fucking hurts!” It burst out of him without permission: too loud, too angry. But once it was out, Roy didn’t want to take it back, the words flowing through a wrecked dam of pride. “It fucking hurts, and it always fucking hurts, but apparently I can’t even stand still at the side of a bloody pitch in shitty weather without it fucking..."

He snarled wordlessly, gesturing at the offending limb in an attempt to encapsulate the throbbing, sickening, familiar sensation of pain that had sent him to the floor in desperation.

“And if it isn’t fucked because of the shitty fucking rain, it’s swollen from the heat because it’s shitting summer and everything’s awful and I can’t do this.”

His voice had risen to a shout and the silence became another entity in the room as he panted from the effort and Jamie stared.

Roy dug the heels of his hands into his eyes until stars burst into the darkness behind his lids. He tried to breathe through the inarticulate rage and helplessness that threatened to drag him under.

"I just want it to fucking stop hurting," he admitted quietly, as much to himself as to Jamie. “It never bloody stops.”

He gentled the pressure of his hands but didn’t drop them, still hiding his face behind his fingers so he didn’t have to see whatever stupid expression Jamie had conjured up in the name of empathy.

Though, it was quiet for longer than he expected. Instead of speaking, Jamie moved around quietly and there was a nearby rustle of clothes before Roy felt him settle in against his side, pressed up next to him on the floor.

“I don’t think saying ‘sorry’ is going to help much,” Jamie finally voiced, subdued and so careful that Roy was obligated to give him proper attention. He turned to look at him, blinking the haze from his vision.

Jamie’s eyes were fixed across the room, his mouth downturned and brow furrowed. He was so expressive, all the time, and Roy still found him so incredibly difficult to read.

“Not sure anything I say can help much. I don’t know what you’re going through.” He shrugged a little, as though that simple admission didn’t strike through Roy with all the precision of a scalpel. “But we’re here for you, mate. You’ve got good people around you.” He nudged him with his elbow and slid his eyes across to meet Roy’s. “You’ve got me, coach. Whatever you need.”

Roy didn’t know what to do with his soft smile. With being gently given permission to feel the way he did.

And worse, whatever Jamie saw in his face prompted him to continue.

“You’re allowed to be human, Roy.”

“Fuck.” Roy choked on a sob that punched out of him, unbidden, and slammed a hand across his mouth.

His knee still ached. But the sensation of a warm arm around his shoulders was familiar too.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

What would have happened if Roy agreed to come on as coach before Jamie returned to the team? Perhaps it would have played out the same but in parallel: the team first angry, then softening, Roy ignoring him, then softening – but perhaps not. Would we have had a Trent Crimm sort of situation, with Roy being very clear that no one is to talk to Jamie? Would that have hastened the team’s (already fairly quick) acceptance of Jamie, because they feel a bit bad for him? Or would it – more fun for whump purposes – rather have served to prolong their animosity, Roy’s dislike feeding into their own, and their tacit approval fanning his darker tendencies?

Or maybe Roy would have been quicker to warm to Jamie if he’d actually gotten to see the team take some of their frustration out on him, and Jamie taking it with reaonsably good grace and (for Jamie) humility? After all, Roy needs a bit of time to process things, so I think him walking into a situation where everyone else was already cool with Jamie while Roy was still very much on a “I hope he dies” kick messed with him, and played a part in him electing to just ignore Jamie completely, because he had no idea how to deal with that.

(I tend to think that Roy would have voted an emphatic no on Jamie returning, but only because he trusted that Ted would bring him back anyway; he knows their chances of being promoted back to the Premier League is that much better with Jamie on the team, but he just cannot stomach the notion of being seen as in favour of Jamie being there.)

[everyday-is-uncle-day]

This collapse / is the perfect storm ⛈️ of

PHYSICAL PAIN 🤕

meets ❌

EMOTIONAL PAIN ❤️‍🩹

Jamie’s not been coping emotionally 🖤 with stress and now injured it wrecks him.

Which is why he says: mostly the painkillers & adrenaline helps him temporarily recover *but* the talk also helps. He needs both.

[fanficfanattic]

Except the deliciousness is Jamie Tartt whumping.

[puppypeter]

me: i swear i don't always want my fave to go trough it in fics... I swear

also me: but what if james & co took jamie to amsterdam again? like i know s.3 jamie is a grown man who could kick their asses or alert someone before he gets on the plane etc but *trauma* + threats (do they have videos/pics they shouldn't have? will they hurt someone he loves? is georgie safe? have they led him to believe she isn't even if she's fine? have they got hold of royjamie private pics ft roy is not ready to come out so jamie is scared? do they just simply physically intimidate him with threats of different kinds? he is under the influence of some drugs where he looks alert enough to not alarm airport security but is hurt enough to go along? have they threatened to tell the papers about amsterdam 1.0 or tell roy that james was more than just waiting outside?)... does jamie make it all the way to amsterdam? does he get chased trying to run away? does he try and fail to grab someone's attention with subtle hints all the way to and trough the airport? does someone on board notices how he's acting and calls the police to be there on arrival?

[jamietarttsnorthernattitude]

Making a post to keep all my @whumptober stuff together. All of this is subject to change (okay I guess some of it not all lol). I’ll add links as I post each day. Still working on ideas for the blank slots. The rest are at least WIP stages and some are done ✔️

Feel free to share any prompts or ideas of what you’d want to see! Esp on the blank days.

Jamie gets a concussion falling out of a tree trying to save Dauphine the cat.

Jamie is sick and Dani takes care of him.

Ted helps Rebecca through a migraine.

Jamie is injured during the decoy play (Part 1/2)*

Jamie and the team are caught in an earthquake while spending a night out. (Part 1/2)

Jamie finds out the real reason for his father’s sobriety (Fuck Jamie’s Dad)

Jamie is jumped in an alleyway. Sam takes care of him.

Part 2/2 of Jamie is injured during an earthquake.

Jamie is injured during that first rough practice when he returned to the team, hides it and doesn’t handle it well when it’s discovered.

Jamie breaks his phone hiking.

Jamie has a nightmare at an away match and Declan comforts him.

Mom City introspective.

Roy gets an appendicitis.

Jamie, Isaac and a few others take a boat trip that almost takes a turn for the worse.

Jamie hides an injury post first West Ham match so he doesn’t lose more ground to Zava (Part 1/3)

Jamie hides an injury post first West Ham match so he doesn’t lose more ground to Zava (Part 2/3)

Jamie sprains his neck attempting a trick on a playground to impress Phoebe.

Ted steps in when he sees Jamie with his Dad in the season finale but when Jamie goes back to Manchester that night his father isn’t happy at being interrupted.

Jamie hides an injury post first West Ham match so be doesn't lose more ground to Zava (Part 3/3)

Jamie has a minor slip down the stairs and thinks he’ll miss celebrating his birthday. (Happy Birthday Jamie Tartt 🥳)

Jamie doesn't show up for training in 1x06 after James paid him a visit after he was pulled from the match (as requested by @vigilanteavengerqueen and part 1/3)

Jamie & Roy are in a car accident. (Part 1/3)

Jamie is injured during the decoy play. (Part 2/2)

Roy hadn’t meant to hit him, he really hadn’t.*

Jamie doesn’t show up for training in 1x06 after James paid him a visit after he was pulled from the match (Part 3/3)*

The car had come from nowhere and disappeared just as quickly.*

Jamie has his tonsils out.*

A look at Roy Kent and his sister’s relationship from her marriage through her divorce, the first Uncle’s Day and his retirement.

Roy reflects on the end of his career and Richmond’s relegation.*

Keeley faints from overworking and Roy & Jamie are there to take care of her thanks for the request!

in the morning i’m bulletproof chapter 8/epilogue aka Rupert Mannion takes Jamie out before the final game of the season.

* means I used an alternative prompt so could be moved around

[dangerouscoffeetheorist]

Help. Everybody Moved On

When Jamies walks in to the locker room, head down, shoulders stiff, arms tightly by his sides; Sam immediately clocks something might be up. It could be nothing. A bad mood. Something as trivial as a bad hair day knowing Jamie. But something.

Two weeks ago Sam wouldn’t have thought much of it at all. Two weeks ago Sam was still undecided on Jamie Tartt. He liked him well enough and he knew Jamie was making a real effort with Richmond and the boys. They were friendly and played well as a team, but he was getting to know a person all over again. That takes time.

Then Wembley happened.

-/-/-/-

Two weeks after the Wembley locker room incident Jamie comes to training, looking not so hot. Everyone has to take it into their own hands to show Jamie that he is cared for. Roy will do it, even if he has to kidnap the muppet and force him to rest.

Hurt/comfort Jamie, caretaker Roy Kent.

[abubblingcandle]

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

Thank you for all the hoard roses!! Ch5 of Karma has hit 10k tonight and so to celebrate here's a little bit!

Roy lingered in the doorway taking in the scene for a moment before he was noticed. Jamie was sat on a chair up on the random box seat with a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He was grinning in the way that Roy had so painfully missed while he was gone and looking around at the hype team that did consist of all of the greyhounds. Isaac was in full flight, scissors carefully trimming away the walnut mist tips and cleaning up the area around Jamie’s newly healed head wound. Jamie was glowing in centre stage and there was a low thrum of banter that kept the sides of his eyes constantly crinkled. The pessimist in Roy really hoped he had medical clearance for this but there was no way that Roy was interrupting this moment to find out. Jamie needed the team. The team needed Jamie. The power of a fucking Isaac McAdoo haircut. God when had Roy become such a sentimental bastard? Damn you Ted Lasso.

[claracivry]

TWO MORE!

Sneezing (x) with Kaz Brekker from Shadow and done

Corporal punishment (x) with Jamie Tartt from Ted Lasso

[jamiesfootball]

i would LOVE to see what you do with “when will you learn?” for the prompt drabbles MWAH

All Rebecca had texted her mother that morning was, "Hope things are well [heart emoji]."

And then this shit.

"Again?! Mother, that's the third time this month."

"You know your father. He just gets a bit whimsical when things are going well."

"No. He's trying to buy you back. That's what he's doing."

"Well, they've all been lovely gifts!"

"Of course they are, mother. Because he's a miserable, shriveled up cock who thinks he can buy your affections because you let him get away with it."

"I'm not naive, Rebecca. I know exactly what kind of man your father is. You're the one who seems to need the reminder. Honestly, Sausage, when will you learn?"

"Argh!" Rebecca smashed at the middle finger emoji, the frustration only growing when she hit a pink heart instead and her handbag slipped out of her arms. "Shit!"

"Um. Everything alright?"

Rebecca swiveled on her heels; her coat slipped off, fluttering to the ground to join her handbag.

Standing next to his car, Jamie Tartt watched wide-eyed as his boss made a silly little fool of herself.

Perfect.

"Here, I can get that for you," he offered, already jogging towards her before she could respond.

Rebecca closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Jamie. Sorry, this whole morning has been a disaster."

"Not a problem," he insisted. He picked up her coat and, in an oddly solicitous gesture, gave it a little shake before holding it and her handbag out towards her with a formal, "Here you go, Ms. Welton."

"Rebecca, please," Rebecca corrected out of habit. She shuffled the items in her arm, trying to figure out how to free a hand. She had her keys, her scarf, a briefcase-styled handbag that she hadn't had the time to swap out that morning but that didn't work with the outfit she had on, her gym bag because Keeley insisted they move Pilates to after lunch this week, a to-go cup she'd impulsively asked the driver to stop for-

Her phone dinged. She jumped, nearly dropping the whole lot of it on the ground. "Shit."

"Do you need to get that?" asked Jamie. As if anticipating standing in for her coatrack, he carefully clutched her coat and the handbag that did work with her outfit against his chest. It did not match his iconography at all.

Rebecca waved him off. Flicking her phone over to silent, she complained, "No, no. My mother's just lost her fucking mind this morning."

She attempted to juggle everything again. Eventually, she noticed the silence. When she looked up, she found him staring at her uncomprehendingly.

The thing was that between Keeley's love of girl talk and the promotional materials Jamie regularly did for the club, Rebecca had an entire encyclopedia of knowledge about him stored in her head that she'd never even asked for. Jamie Tartt. Richmond's newly returned striker. Debuted at eighteen. Preferred whites over reds, evening showers, and knew a surprising amount about high-end cars. He also, somehow, regretted none of his tattoos.

It just felt like she already knew him.

Meanwhile back in reality, they'd only spoken a handful of times, and most of that had been contract negotiations and welcome schmoozing.

Probably not a good icebreaker then- maligning one's own mother at half-eight in the morning.

"Not that I speak to her like that," said Rebecca, the need to defend herself overriding any foot-to-mouth filters. "She's just been going through a rough patch with my father, and I think she's being stupid."

Well done, Stinky.

"Right. Um." He opened his mouth. Closed it. Held his arms out and asked, "Do you want help carrying all this in then?"

Gratitude filled her chest at the change of subject.

"Yes. That would be lovely, thank you."

Jamie smiled, lips and opinions kept tightly to himself. He popped off ahead of her to grab the door. With one more glance down at her phone, Rebecca found that at least one heart had flung free, sailing itself into her mother's waiting arms.

Her mum had sent one back in return.

The walk up to her office passed in relatively painless silence. She'd always assumed -- from the everything she knew about him -- that Jamie would be more of a talker. But then in the handful of months since he'd returned to Richmond on a permanent basis, he'd made himself eager to please and keen not to make waves with anyone whose name wasn't Roy Kent.

This was bad news for Rebecca, who personally could have used a small wake to clear the embarrassment lingering in the air. Where was Ted when you needed him?

Driven by mad compulsion and lack of Lasso, she found herself volunteering, "Really, I normally get on with my mother."

"It's alright, Ms. Welton. You don't have to explain anything to me," he answered. He chewed on the inside of his cheek. Then with a small grin, his eyes flicked towards her. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be judged on how I talk to my parents either. Doesn't make sense to judge anybody else on how they talk to theirs, you know?"

"Ooh, I like that. That's practically wisdom." She offered him her own commiserating smile. "I take it you don't get on with yours?"

Jamie shifted like he was about to put his hands in his pockets, only to remember at the last moment that he was actively carrying stuff. He settled for a half-hearted shrug. "I do with my mum, yeah. When I see her, that is."

"Does she live in Manchester?"

Jamie snorted. His eyes lit up. "Always. She'll never move either. Won't even let me buy her a new house or nothing. I tried to surprise her with a new car a while ago, and she asked me how I thought I'd be getting back to London with two cars."

"She sounds like a firecracker."

A fond smile broke out across his face, only to be reeled back in, dulled down into something wistful. "Yeah. She- yeah, she's great."

Without any flourish, he stepped ahead to open a door for her. She could see what Keeley meant when she described him as 'thoughtlessly sweet.' When he wasn't trying to push people's buttons, he was easy to like.

Not that he'd ever tried to push hers. Oh, no- she just hadn't liked him because Rupert had liked him.

Her heart stirred. That kind of behaviour she wasn't proud of anymore.

Pushing down the emotion knotting in her throat, she asked, "Does she have any plans to come see you play at any of our upcoming matches?"

"Nah," Jamie huffed. "No plans for any upcoming matches, no."

"Well then perhaps you should invite her." When he turned towards her with a question written in his furrowed, handsome face, she elaborated, "You know we always have spare tickets set aside for friends and family."

"I do know that, yeah." His eyes darted away from her. Some of the excitement faded from his expression. "Really, I appreciate the offer, but she doesn't come out to my games in Manchester either. She's good with catching me on TV when she can."

All signs indicated that she had hit a sore spot. She shouldn't interfere. Really, that would be the height of hypocrisy- her telling anyone what they should or shouldn't do about their parents. But with her hand gripped tight around the heart in her phone-

She was trying to do better.

Her mother had chosen gladly to stay in the ivory tower her father built. Rebecca might not be able to talk her into coming down, but perhaps she could convince Jamie not to leave closed a door that served him better open.

So she pressed, "How about you invite her to our semifinal match at Wembley?"

He froze up next to her.

"I know that we're playing against your old club, but really, it's a huge accomplishment for the team to have made it this far, and we wouldn't have done it without you," she told him bluntly. His ears caught pink. Emboldened, she continued, "And even if she doesn't care for football, I'm sure she'd love to see you. You can make a special occasion of it. Treat her to a night in London. I know two weeks is rather short notice, but I'm sure Higgins can help arrange some wonderful accommodations-"

"That's not going to happen," he cut her off sharply.

No. No, it wasn't a door at all. Rebecca knew that icy chill. For more than five years, she'd wake to find it haunting the cracks of her reflection in the mirror. Attention focused his straight ahead, not from awkwardness at the situation but in pure dismissal. Every one of Jamie's expressive features was schooled in position of bland indifference, a perfectly sculpted shell made out of a person.

Tower or not, he dawned his armour all the same.

"My apologies," she spoke softly. "I shouldn't have pushed."

They continued their walk up the stairs in silence.

When they arrived, he held up her coat and bag and asked in a nonchalant tone that bordered on boredom, "So where do you want these, then?"

It was exactly the attitude she'd expected from him at the start. Disappointment crawled into her chest and made a home.

"Right there on the tree by the door is fine," she sighed.

His brow furrowed. "Right there by the what- woah." He took a step back, eyeing her coat rack tree up and down appraisingly. "Nice. That's fucking mint, that is. You've got good taste."

A sharp laugh escaped her. "Why thank you. I happen to think so as well."

He hung her bag up. Then, gingerly, he arranged her coat on the other, smoothing out any wrinkles.

Guilt and care made for a strong mix at half eight in the morning. It would take a crueler person than her to leave things on such a sour note when he'd been nothing but darling company before she opened her mouth.

Willing to make a fool of herself one more time, Rebecca called out before he could leave- "Jamie."

He halted, already halfway out the door.

"I- apologise, if my earlier remark made you uncomfortable. I truly didn't mean for it. I only meant to say that-"

She took a step towards him. He stepped back, one foot out of the office.

Her heart felt positively chilled.

"The door is always open," she finished, defeat numbing her ears to her own pitch. Nonetheless, she perserved, determined to say her part even if the wind stole it away. "If you ever do change your mind, talk to Higgins. He'll see to it that she's treated like a VIP. Anyone important to you is important to this club."

A shadow crossed over his face; some dark presence moving in the tower just out of sight.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said cautiously. Then, as simple as snapping his fingers, he closed back up. The armour latched shut, and in it's place was the usual cocky arrogance -- the one she found herself growing reluctantly fond towards. He gave her a wave. "Thanks, Ms. Welton. You've been a help."

She frowned. Gathering the only name she'd never shared with disappointment to her chest, she shouted after him, "It's Rebecca!"

He was already gone, the sound of his footsteps on the stairs the only response.