Work Text:
11 missed calls
Ben: jack can you answer me?
Ben: jack please
Ben: just let me know you’re ok
Ben: i know you’re busy
Ben: but i’m just asking for one text
Ben: please reply to me
Ben: jack i’m getting really worried
Ben: jack????
Ben: fucking reply to me i’m serious
Ben: i can’t cope with this
•
There’s this thing about Jack, some sort of quality that he’s always had, that just seems to piss other people off. He doesn’t even need to do anything, doesn’t have to say anything half of the time. He’s under people’s skin like he belongs there. The most fouled player in the premier league. It doesn’t bother him, Jack seems to find it all quite amusing, he says he takes it as a compliment, but it’s not like he really has many other choices. He can’t sit and complain about it, that’s just not Jack.
Ben, on the other hand, is bothered. At best, it pisses him off, because Jack is a nice person, and some people just seem dedicated to bringing out the worst in him, antagonising him like children poking a bear with sticks at the zoo. It’s unfair, and Jack deals with it, but he shouldn’t have to. At worst, it scares the shit out of Ben, because Jack is a nice person but he can only be so patient. He’ll push back, and he’ll be calm about it, say his piece and plan to move on, but once people get a rise out of him, they tend to want to see it through. That’s when people start to get hurt. That’s when Ben starts to get worried.
So it’s not a surprise that those same atletico players who took a strong dislike to Jack last week, despite him barely being on the pitch for twenty minutes and being completely unbothered by them, continue with the same shit this week. Jack wasn’t even playing, and so Ben thought everything would be fine, but then Phil is on the floor and Savic is trying to drag him up, and suddenly everyone floods to the pitch in his defence. Jack is straight in there, and Ben can’t blame him, because it’s Phil, who Jack loves like a little brother, who Jack would protect with his life. Jack shouts something, and then Savic is pulling his hair. Bens breath hitches, but it’s broken up before much worse can happen, and he sighs in relief. Jack goes back to the bench, where he’s safe and far away from whatever catastrophe is continuing on the pitch, and he stays there until full time. That’s all fine. Jack is fine. They have their moment to celebrate on the pitch, and then they walk off, and everything is fine.
But then the commentators start speaking with a half sort of rushed tone, something important, something dramatic. All Ben hears are the words “physical altercation” and “Jack Grealish”, but it’s enough to stop his heart.
It’s John Stones who eventually picks up the phone, after more than half an hour of desperation, Ben urgently trying to get in contact with Jack like his life depends on it, calling anyone and everyone who might know what happened.
“Chilly,” John greets. “What’s up?” he asks, calm as anything, as if nothing had even happened.
Ben doesn’t have the time or the patience for friendliness. “Do you know where Jack is? Is he ok? Did you see what happened?”
“Uh,” John says, like he’s having trouble following, and Ben realises he’s probably more than a little taken aback by the urgent panic in Ben’s tone. He takes a few breaths, trying to relax. “I was on media duty when it all kicked off. Sorry, mate, I didn’t see anything. All I know is what I’ve heard from everyone else.”
“Which is?” Ben prompts hurriedly.
“Not a lot. There was a fight, and now Jack’s with the medical team. That’s all I know.”
Ben’s heart stutters. He feels sick. “The medical team,” he echoes, voice hollow.
“Oh,” John says, realising his mistake. “It’s probably just procedural. I’m sure he’s fine. Phil and Kyle are in there too.”
Ben tries to breathe, tries to bring himself to string a sentence together, to press John for more information. He can’t. And he’s aware that it might be an overreaction, and John probably thinks this is completely ridiculous, but it’s Jack. Impulsive, passionate, protective, stupid Jack. Jack who has the self-preservation instincts of a suicidal duck. Nobody knows what could happen when it comes to him, and Ben can’t stand running the possibilities through over and over again in his head.
“Look,” John continues, “you’d be better off talking to Ruben. I heard he was trying to keep them away from each other. I’d put him on the phone now, but I think he’s still talking to the police.”
The police. Fuck. Ben is certain he’s going to throw up. “Police?” he repeats, a little frantic.
“Well, yeah,” John says, completely unbothered. “It was a fight. Of course there’s going to be police. Just calm down, ok?”
Ben runs a hand through his hair, trying to relax. “Ok. I’m calm.”
“I’ll tell Jack to call you as soon as I see him,” John offers in conciliation. Ben thanks him, and then hangs up, getting the sense that John is a little too busy to properly deal with this right now, which is understandable.
•
It’s two and a half hours later when Jack finally calls. Ben answers on the first ring, adrenaline spiking already. He thinks his heart is about to thump through his ribcage, the panic almost unbearable. “Jack,” Ben chokes, and his brain blanks. He can’t think of anything else to say, he just needs to hear Jack’s voice.
“Ben,” Jack says, very quietly, and doesn’t offer anything else. It does very little to alleviate Ben’s concern.
“Are you ok?” he asks, voice shaking. He almost dreads the answer.
Jack is quiet for a long moment. The seconds seem to stretch on forever, and Ben can feel his stomach turning over, dreading the worst. Eventually, Jack speaks. “What are you getting yourself all worked up for, hm? Of course I’m fine.”
“You were in a fight,” Ben states, in case Jack has forgot. “You scared the shit out of me. I had no clue what happened, and you weren’t answering me, and John told me you were with the medics.” He’s rambling now, voice dangerously close to breaking, and he’s not really sure why. Jack is fine. Jack is on the phone and talking and it’s all fine now, but Ben just can’t calm down. “I thought you–. I don’t know. I don’t know what I thought.”
“I’m sorry,” Jack says softly, genuinely sincere. “I didn’t think anything like that would happen. I didn’t think he was serious. I promise. I didn’t think it would upset you, either.”
Ben closes his eyes, rubbing two fingers against his temple. It’s sort of embarrassing now, hearing Jack so clearly unbothered, like he hadn’t even considered the situation to be a big deal. Ben hates it, the way he gets so emotional sometimes, let’s himself get worked up so easily. Still, this situation doesn’t feel small, because Jack might not have been in any actual danger, but it was still stupid. It had already been a hard day for Ben, trying to be there for the rest of the team who were feeling run down after last night, and maybe this had just been the thing to push him over the edge. “You know I panic like that sometimes,” he says, unsure if it’s an accusation towards Jack or himself.
“I know. I swear, Ben, I didn’t do anything. I was trying to walk away and he just came after me. Ask Ruben, he’ll tell you the same thing,” Jack says, and Ben believes him, because it’s not like Jack to start things unnecessarily.
Ben braces himself before asking his next question. “Go on then,” he says, “tell me what happened.”
“Did you see what kicked off on the pitch?” Jack asks.
“I saw you call him a cunt.”
“Yeah, well,” Jack defends, “he was being a cunt. Grabbing Phil like that. Then he came after me in the tunnel, calling me every fucking name under the sun. One thing, though, he knows an impressive amount of homophobic terms. Seriously, I haven’t even heard half of those. I couldn’t believe it.”
The nausea Ben was feeling earlier comes back in full force, but this time it isn’t born from fear, or any kind of panic, it’s just pure anger. Once again, he finds himself with nothing to say, no words to encapsulate what he’s feeling. He hates it, the thought of anyone speaking to Jack like that, but there’s nothing he can offer to make it better, because Jack will say he doesn’t care even if he does. Ben swallows thickly, but prompts Jack to continue.
“Ruben was trying to get me away, like I should be afraid of that prick. Maybe I should’ve been, ‘cause as soon as Ruben stepped back, he swung for me.”
Ben holds back a gasp. Or maybe a gag, he’s not sure. “He hit you?” he asks, shocked, as if he didn’t already basically know that. It feels so much more real, though, when he actually hears Jack say it. He can’t breathe.
“Yeah. People kept trying to pull him off me, but he pushed straight through them all. It was mental, like he was possessed or something,” Jack says, all casual, laughing lightheartedly like it doesn’t even matter. Ben wants to shake him. More importantly, Ben wants to hug him, to hold him close and tight where nobody else can get to him, to protect him from all the people who want to hurt him. “Don’t worry though, I got my fair share in.”
Ben’s stomach clenches. He bites down far too hard on his lip, and flinches when the pain hits him. “That’s really not what I was worried about.”
“Well, what are you worried about?” Jack asks, and regrets it instantly, before Ben can even say anything. “I didn’t mean it like that, so don’t even start. I just mean, you know I can handle it. Even if he did any serious damage, you know I’d be fine. It doesn’t bother me.”
“It should bother you,” Ben tells him, voice low. It’s sickening, how little Jack values his physical safety. “It’s not about whether you can handle it or not. You shouldn’t have to. How would you feel if that was me?”
“Would never happen,” Jack states simply. “Everyone likes you. Teammates, opposition, coaches, even the refs hate you less than they hate everyone else.”
Ben sighs. Loving Jack can be so, so exhausting sometimes. “Just answer the question,” he pleads. It’s not about Jack’s answer, not really, Ben just wants him to think about it, to understand why he can’t do things like that and then not answer his phone for three hours.
Jack is quiet for a second, and when he answers, his voice takes on a hard, edgy quality. “If I saw someone touch you like that, I’d be on a plane to Madrid in seconds. I’d never let anyone do that to you.” It’s exactly what Ben had expected to hear, and he leaves it hanging in the air for a second, giving Jack the time to think it through. “Oh,” Jack whispers when it finally hits. “You’re upset because you love me. You love me, so you don’t want anyone to hurt me.”
“Yeah,” Ben says softly. It should’ve been obvious, but it wasn’t to Jack. Sometimes these things aren’t, and that’s ok.
“But I wasn’t trying to get hurt,” Jack defends. “It wasn’t my fault. I tried to ignore him.”
“You didn’t have to call him a cunt,” Ben tells him, accusation in his voice. “You know what Savic is like. You knew he would target you. You should have stayed away from him to begin with. Everyone else was defending Phil, you didn’t need to get involved.”
Jack sighs, but Ben can tell he’s finally accepted the point. “I’m sorry,” Jack says. “But I’m ok, promise. Nothing to worry about. I love you.”
Ben gives in. “I love you too.”
“Hey,” Jack says, and Ben’s heart sinks yet again, nervous for whatever it is Jack’s about to tell him now. He can’t handle any more bad news. “I’m gonna get a different plane from everyone else, come to London so I can see you. It’s alright if you’re sleeping by the time I get there, I’ve got a key.”
For the first time in hours, Ben feels himself settle, exhaling deeply in relief. There’s nothing he wants more than to see Jack right now, to hold him in his arms and prove to himself that there’s nothing wrong. “You’re only doing that because you know you’ve upset me,” he mutters, not entirely sure why, because he’s sure that’s not the only reason, and even if it was, he wants to see Jack.
“I’m not,” Jack says, but he doesn’t sound offended. Ben assumes Jack simply doesn’t have the energy for any more arguing tonight, which is understandable. “I was planning to do that anyway, before this Savic shit even happened.”
“Ok,” Ben accepts. “That’s nice of you.”
“Just one thing, though,” Jack adds.
Ben really, really can’t cope. He doesn’t know how one man can inflict so much stress on him. “What is it?” he asks, nerves fraying.
“You can’t say anything about my face.”
“What?” Ben thinks is heart is going to stop. “What do you mean? What’s wrong with your face?”
“Nothing,” Jack says quickly, in a way that is meant to be placating, but really isn’t. “Just a little bruise. It’s barely noticeable, honestly. Just wanted to warn you so you wouldn’t get all upset and go mad at me again.”
Ben swallows, hard and thick. “He hurt you?” he asks, voice shaking, because he knows things got physical, but he doesn’t know how bad, and the thought of Jack being seriously hurt is unbearable.
“No. Honestly, Ben, it’s nothing. It doesn’t even hurt. Promise.” Jack’s voice is relaxing, something in it that makes Ben always want to believe him.
“Ok,” Ben accepts, because he trusts Jack. “Try not to fight anyone at the airport, will you?”
“No promises,” Jack teases. Ben can hear the grin in his voice, and it’s reassuring enough to calm him. He lets Jack hang up, significantly relieved, a lot calmer than he had been before.
•
It turns out, the ‘little bruise’ that was ‘barely noticeable’ and ‘didn’t even hurt’ was in fact a large blue and yellow patch of swelling across Jack’s left cheek, dried blood leaking through the white plaster placed across it. Not only that, but the bruise was accompanied by an ugly looking black eye on the right side of Jack’s face. The whole thing made for a particularly awful display.
Ben felt like gagging, examining Jack’s battered face under the light of his kitchen. Ben had stopped breathing when he opened the door to see Jack like that, smiling brightly as if he hadn’t been lying through his teeth over the phone. Even now, gripping Jack’s jaw, running delicate fingers over his bruised face, Ben still doesn’t think that the air is going in quite right.
“Everything alright, nurse?” Jack quips, fluttering his eyelashes. The smile had dropped from his face immediately upon taking note of Ben’s shock, but he still seemed incapable of understanding why this is a big deal. Ben wanted to slap him. Ben might have slapped him, if he wasn’t so beaten up already. “Don’t tell me. I’m dying, aren’t I?”
“It’s not fucking funny, Jack,” Ben snaps.
Jack frowns. “I’m not laughing, am I?”
“You said it was a small bruise! I wouldn’t even notice it, you said!”
Jack sighs, pulling himself to his feet so that he and Ben are looking straight at each other, Ben’s furious eyes staring into Jack’s bruised black and blue ones. “I didn’t want to worry you, did I?” Jack explains. “You know the medical staff have already checked me over, right? I don’t think you’re going to spot anything they didn’t.”
Jack’s nonchalance only makes everything worse. It’s the way that he disregards Ben’s concern so easily, acting like there’s no reason for Ben to be upset. The lying doesn’t help, either, and maybe Ben would have just worried more if Jack had been honest, but at least he would’ve had time to prepare himself before seeing Jack. At least he would know what to expect. Jack tries to pull him into a hug, but Ben is quick to step out of his grip, shooting Jack an irritated look in warning. “I can’t believe you lied to me,” he says, trying to sound angry, but it comes out just a little too broken.
“I’m sorry,” Jack says. He doesn’t offer anything else, but it wouldn’t be enough even if he did.
Suddenly, Ben remembers something. “Earlier, you said you didn’t think he was serious. What did you mean by that? Serious about what?”
“Oh.” Jack steps back, guilty expression on his face, and Ben doesn’t think there’s anything left that can make this worse than it already is, but Jack clearly seems to think otherwise.
“Just tell me,” Ben insists, pinching the bridge of his nose. His head is pounding, a dull ache seeming to press through his skull.
“Don’t be mad, ok?”
“Have you done something that’s going to make me mad?”
“No,” Jack says quickly. Then, more honestly, “I don’t know. Maybe. Last week, after the first leg, he said he was gonna come for me in Madrid. I didn’t think he actually would, thought he would be over it by then, but obviously not. That’s all.”
“Someone threatened you, and you didn’t think to tell me?” Ben clarifies, voice dangerously low.
“I did think about it!” Jack argues, as if that makes it better. “I thought about telling you, and I thought that it would just make you worry. What would be the point in that?”
“Right, what would be the point in being honest with your boyfriend?”
“You’re twisting my words,” Jack says, and he sounds lost, almost vulnerable. “You always do this.”
“Don’t try to turn this around on me,” Ben fumes. He’s not the one in the wrong here. He’s not the idiot who walked straight into a fight without a single second thought. “You’re the one who lied to me.”
“I didn’t lie,” Jack frowns. Ben has managed to keep his voice relatively level, and he’s just about to break that, to shout something that he would probably regret, but then Jack is putting a hand to his cheek, looking at him through big, bruised, honest eyes. “I’m sorry. I should have told you, I know.”
Ben is so, so tired. He knows he shouldn’t give in, but it’s been such a long day, and he hasn’t seen Jack in weeks, and all of the fight is drained right out of him with only a single touch. All he wants is to be in Jack’s arms, to rest his head on Jack’s shoulder, and he can’t stop himself anymore. Jack’s arms are quick to wrap around Ben’s waist, and his lips graze over Ben’s temple. “Why’s it always have to be you?” Ben mumbles, words muffled against the skin of Jack’s neck.
“I don’t know,” Jack says, and he really doesn’t. They’ve spoke about this before, the excessive hatred Jack seems to receive from rivals. Jack insists he isn’t bothered, but Ben can tell it puzzles him sometimes, leaves him wondering what he could have done wrong, because Jack is so nice, and he always wants to be liked by people. “I didn’t even do anything in the first leg,” Jack adds. “He just showed up in Manchester already fucking fuming at me.”
Ben lifts up his head so that he can look at Jack, trying not to wince at the sight of his face. Jack is looking back at him, all soft and loving, the relaxation in his expression clearly new and long awaited. Ben presses a quick kiss into his lips, careful to be delicate just in case there’s any bruising there that isn’t visible yet. It’s all so tender, and Ben decides that he’s done being mad, it doesn’t matter anymore. All that matters is that Jack, his Jack, is ok. “How bad does it hurt?” Ben asks.
“Barely feel it. The medics gave me stuff for the pain. I’m all good,” Jack answers. Ben suspects that he’s downplaying it a little, but he allows it, because he knew Jack would do that anyway. Jack presses their foreheads together, and whispers, “I love you. I’m sorry if loving me is difficult sometimes.”
“It’s not. It’s not, Jack. Never,” Ben insists. How could Jack ever think that? Love for Jack courses through Ben’s veins, it’s in his blood, always has been, and he wouldn’t trade it for the world. “You really scared me, though. You can’t do things like that.”
“I know,” Jack says. He brushes their fingertips together, connecting their hands. “Come on. It’s been a long night, a shit few days. Let’s go to bed,” he offers. It’s probably the best idea Jack has ever had in his life, because exhaustion is written all over him, in the crease of his mouth and the heaviness of his eyes, and Ben feels the exact same. Ben leads Jack upstairs, and they’re stripping and collapsing into bed immediately with deep sighs of relief, their arms wrapped around each other as tight as possible.
They’re both sound asleep within ten minutes, finally relaxed as Ben holds Jack close, knowing that he’s safe here where their bodies intertwine.