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The ankle is swollen, a prominent ball in mottled red and purple. Jamie's face is tight, creased with pain and with the tension of holding back from crying out while his leg is poked and prodded. Then he's given a pill and an ice pack, and left alone for the moment.
"...Shit," Roy finally says.
Jamie rolls his eyes and says nothing.
"At least it's the off season," Roy offers. "You probably won't even miss much."
"Yeah," Jamie agrees without much enthusiasm. Then he sighs. "It's just so stupid."
"Shit happens," is Roy's best attempt at consolation. Roy's shit at it, he knows. But what can he say?
"I just tripped. Of all the ways to go down," Jamie laments.
"That pavement's a hazard," Roy grunts. "A couple of weeks ago Phoebe skinned the fuck out of her knee in that same spot." Doing the same thing, he doesn't add, paying too much attention to her ice cream and not enough attention to her feet. But he doesn't say that. Jamie's feeling enough like shit, and his leg is actually worth money, like with signed insurance papers and shit.
Jamie makes a noise that isn't agreement and isn't not, simply acknowledging.
Roy waits, but Jamie doesn't say more, only holds the ice pack to his leg and stares into space.
"You're gonna be alright then?" Roy finally says.
Jamie give a half-shrug. "Sure. I'll sleep in the guest bedroom downstairs, so I don't have to go up the stairs... Live on takeout and shit."
Roy bites his lip. Something's bugging him and he's not sure what.
"Can you stay with someone? A girlfriend, or your mum?"
"My mum's in Torremolinos," Jamie says, not dignifying the other option with a response. That was what they'd been talking about over ice cream, before all this happened: his declaration of love to Keeley.
Roy had invited him for a walk, taking his therapist's advice that being in a public place would help him overcome his 'angry reactions', which is the phrase she agreed to use instead of her original 'violent temper outbursts'. They had the conversation, Jamie had his own therapist-approved speech where he explained to Roy that he will always love Keeley as a friend, as someone who was very important in his life, but that he would never try and ruin her relationships or come between them. Roy had grunted, and then worked hard to dredge up enough words to actually tell Jamie it's alright, and he doesn't own Keeley and doesn't get a say on her conversations anyway. Then, in the spirit of a very grudging truce, they had ice cream. And then Jamie tripped over that fucking crack in the pavement and landed so badly Roy had to bring him to the fucking hospital. Perfect ending to a perfect outing.
Roy pushes all that out of his mind. "Fuck, for real? Only I'm just going down the coast from there..."
Something niggles at him. The same thing that bugged him before. He takes a few steps back and squints.
Jamie stared back at him questioningly. Sitting all alone on a hospital bed, against the dreary backdrop of the grey wall. Leg stretched on the bed, holding the ice to it, pain still clear on his angular face, the corners of his eyes tight with it.
"...to Marbella," Roy finishes, thoughtful. "For six weeks. R&R, sun and tapas."
"With mates?"
Roy doesn't wince. Not externally anyway. "Keeley's got that new job going."
"I know," Jamie says slowly, "that's why I said, with mates?"
Of course he knows. Roy does glare, externally and all. Jamie just shrugs and goes back to staring into space.
"No mates," Roy finally says.
He does have a few mates here in London who would love a free all-expenses-paid holiday, but he's not in the mood for lads out on the prowl, not in the mood for loud drinking. Besides, half of them have kids that they probably can't dump on someone on short notice. They have jobs. Most of the ones on a football schedule, like him, already have plans.
He wants to let himself be miserable, but he knows that's a trap. Another point to the therapist. He doesn't want to stay and bother Keeley when she needs her space, but he does want someone with him, someone who might understand what it's like to want to be miserable without Keeley.
And the thing that bugs him takes shape: he doesn't want Jamie to mope around alone and miserable in his house, pale and pained, limping on that leg to the door for his food and then back to the couch, on his own all summer.
"You could come with," he blurts, then curses himself.
Jamie looks up at him guilelessly, unaware of Roy's inner turmoil. "What, to Spain?" he asks, incredulous.
"Yeah," Roy ploughs onwards bravely. "If you're gonna lounge about doing nothing, might as well do it in nicer weather."
Jamie just stares at him, mouth open.
"Could go visit your mum maybe once or twice. If you want to," Roy offers, not sure why he's trying to sell Jamie on that idea, not sure why he volunteered in the first place, not sure why he cares.
"...D'you really mean that?" Jamie asks, suspicious but softening. Roy nods. "Fuck," Jamie says, "that's... fucking decent of you."
"I'm a decent guy," Roy says dryly.
"No you're not," Jamie says, and Roy should be offended but he's just pleased to see Jamie laughing, even if it's at his expense. Then that wide grin softens even more. "But yeah. If you mean it. Sure, I'd love to."
"Right then," Roy says, all business now that the feelings part gave way to necessary planning. "Get you released with pain meds, get you crutches, then I'll drive you to yours to pack up."
"Wait, what? Now?"
Oh, right. He forgot to say. "We're leaving tomorrow."