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“Oi, prick!” Roy shouts across the locker room. Nobody turns but Jamie; everyone knows whose attention he’s looking for. “Nice work out there. One of your best passes yet.” Roy nods once, then turns into the offices.
Ted relaxes into his seat – Roy and Jamie seem to have settled their differences, but when he comes in shouting like that, it’s hard not to remember the months when he and Beard would have to pull them apart, stop the fighting before one of them actually killed the other.
Now, when they call each other names, it almost sounds affectionate. Not quite how Ted would express friendship – he can’t imagine walking up to Beard and calling him “jackass” or "idiot” or anything else – but different strokes, he supposes.
Roy claps him on the shoulder as he walks by, and Ted turns halfway around to call out to him before his door closes.
“Great job today, Roy! Appreciate you!”
He hardly hears Roy’s grunt over the slamming door, but Ted knows what he means anyway. He smiles to himself and picks up the next retention form he needs to fill out, signing his intent to stay with his team for another year, and petitioning for his next visa extension. He’ll get it, he knows, it’s just a matter of making sure his ducks are all waddling in one nice and neat line.
Ted doesn’t look up again until the paperwork is done, ready for Rebecca’s signatures. The locker room is empty, everyone gone home or clubbing or to the Crown and Anchor to join Mae for a pint and a hot meal. He shrugs, even though no one is there to be on the receiving end of the gesture, and hoists his backpack onto one shoulder. When he checks the time, it’s nearly 9:30.
Take off six, makes … 3:30 back in Kansas.
His mind works the conversion quickly, and he tries not to think too hard about when “Kansas” and “home” stopped being the same thing. Because Henry, wherever he is, he’s carrying a big old piece of Ted’s heart around with him. And if it’s 3:30 for him, then he should just about be getting off the bus after school.
So as he climbs the stairs up out of the bowels of Nelson Road, Ted finds Michelle’s contact, almost without needing to look at the screen, and taps ‘call.’ They exchange pleasantries, but it’s only a minute or so before she’s passing the phone to Henry. He jabbers in Ted’s ear the entire walk home, tells him about school and his friends and how nobody else on the peewee team calls it ‘football’ in America, and everything else going on in his little 9-year-old world.
It’s the highlight of Ted’s day, even though the entire thing has been a blast, from wakeup to right this second. He’s so excited to hear from his son that he almost doesn’t notice the familiar car parked outside his flat. But he sees it at the last second, narrowly avoids walking into the bumper and jumps back.
“Whoa there! Oh, my. Henry? Hey, buddy, I hate to cut this short, but I’ve gotta let you go now, OK? No, no everything’s fine. Just some business I hadn’t realized I’d need to take care of tonight, yeah? Alright, talk at you later. You and your mom have a good night, OK? Be good for her. Love you too, bye-bye.”
He ends the call, then swipes over to his text messages. But no, he hasn’t missed anything. Or at least, if he has, it’s because the phone gremlins grabbed it of them before it got all the way to Ted’s screen.
But sure enough, when he comes around the corner of the car, there Jamie is, sitting with his back leaned up against Ted’s front door. His legs are tucked up to his chest, one arm wrapped loosely around them. His chin rests on one knee, his free hand scrolling idly through his phone.
Ted doesn’t think he’s noticed that anyone else is nearby.
“Jamie, hey!” Ted pushes all of the positive energy he can muster into his voice, trying not to let on about how concerned he is. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“You’re back?” Jamie looks up, blinking when the darkness hits his eyes. “Or, um, I mean, y-you weren’t home?”
“Nah, got a little bit caught up with work, I’d say. Used to call it paperwork paralysis, but I’m not really paralyzed if I’m still filling out the forms, huh? Either way, happens to the best of us sometimes. But what’s new with you, Magoo?”
Ted holds out a hand and pulls Jamie to his feet, then unlocks the front door.
“I, um, I don’t want to talk about it.” He’s fidgeting now, holding onto the ends of both shirt sleeves and working the fabric through his fingers.
“Hey, that’s OK. No conditions on company here, you know that.” Ted leads Jamie into the entry way, where he drops his bag and stoops down to unlace his sneakers. Jamie toes his own shoes off, without untying them, and Ted mentally adds it to the list of indicators that something is going on in his head. “Next time, you shoot me a text and I’ll make sure to come home a little earlier.”
“I, ah, didn’t want to bother you.”
“Never a bother, Jamie, I can promise you that. Besides, might’ve been good for me to put the pen down a few forms sooner than I did. Could’ve done the last of it tomorrow, taken it a little easier on my wrist.” Ted flexes the joint back and forth, exaggerating the dull ache just enough for Jamie to believe that it could have been a favor for him to be called away from the tick boxes and signatures.
Ted meanders into the kitchen. With one hand, he turns on the faucet and sticks a glass underneath the stream. He sticks his pointer finger into the open jar of peanut butter, then into his mouth. Without turning around, he speaks around the appendage.
“Can I getcha anything? Water? Cocoa? Bite to eat?” When Jamie doesn't respond, Ted cranes his neck over one shoulder. “Jamie?”
“’S fine,” Jamie shrugs with one shoulder.
“Alright. I’m gonna make a grilled cheese. Always good comfort food after a long day, huh?”
Jamie shrugs again.
“Should I make two?”
“If you want two.”
“Alright, then.” Ted pulls four slices of bread from the loaf; he has no idea if Jamie has eaten since training, but he doubts it. And he’s played this game before; any time he sat down with a snack back in Kansas, he had a tiny hand sneaking over for a share of the food.
He’ll make two, and Jamie can have one if he wants it. If not, Ted’ll eat them both. A second grilled cheese is far from the worst thing in the world.
He feels Jamie’s presence lingering as he pulls the skillet from the cupboard and sets it on the burner. The gas hisses when he flicks it on, and by the time he turns around to get the butter and cheese from the fridge, Jamie has moved from the doorway to linger awkwardly beside the table. His hands are still toying with his sleeves, but now he’s grabbing anxiously at the material by his elbows.
Ted thinks about saying something. He wants to say something, to offer some modicum of comfort against … whatever’s gotten under Jamie’s skin. But without knowing what it is that’s bugging him, he’s got a 50-50 chance of putting his foot in it. So Ted keeps his mouth shut and takes some advice from his sixth-favorite musical – talk less, smile more. It’s forced, but he hopes Jamie buys it before he turns back around to assemble his sandwiches.
They sizzle when they hit the hot pan, just as Jamie moves to lean against the counter next to the stove. He’s not quite close enough to be in Ted’s way as he cooks – not that he’d say anything if Jamie were, not tonight, not when he’s still wound tighter than a two-dollar watch – just close enough that he's in Ted’s periphery, like he’s testing how close Ted will let him get before he says something.
After a minute, Ted flips the sandwiches, wiping his palms down his jeans and turning to face Jamie.
“Jamie? What can I do for you? You don’t have to tell me what’s goin’ on in your head, but it’s pretty obvious somethin’s wrong. How can I help?”
“I’m … I …" If Ted didn’t personally know better, he’d say that no one has ever offered to help him before, for the way Jamie’s reacting to the question. He knows at least one person has, though, and he’s standing right here in front of the stove, offering again now. “I just … let me stay?”
“Anytime, Jamie. Don’t even have to have a problem; it’s alright just to want a buddy for the night.”
“Got a problem tonight, though.” Jamie doesn’t elaborate, but Ted counts it as progress that he’ll even admit to there being something on his mind.
“That’s OK. We all do sometimes.” Ted takes a step sideways, under the guise of reaching for the plates, but mostly as an excuse to put himself a little closer to Jamie, just to see what happens. Sure enough, Jamie lists forward briefly, like he’s going to lean against Ted’s shoulder. But he stops himself short and stands back upright abruptly. “Sometimes we’ve all gotta take a page from the book of Bill Withers. ‘Find somebody to lean on,’” he clarifies, when he feels Jamie’s energy switch from anxious to confused.
“Mmm,” Jamie says, but nothing else. He shifts a little closer, though. Ted slides the sandwiches onto two separate plates, holding one out to Jamie. He takes it, without seeming to notice, and follows closely behind Ted as he leaves the kitchen. He’s all but on top of Ted, nipping at his heels all the way into the living room.
Ted sits down on the couch, and Jamie drops down next to him, close enough that their arms are pressed together. He nibbles at his sandwich, tiny bites that make Ted wonder if he actually wants to eat it at all, or if he’s even aware that it’s happening. Still, it’s better than letting him starve, and he doesn’t want to draw Jamie’s attention to it and risk him changing his mind.
So he doesn’t say anything. And he doesn’t say anything when Jamie’s foot starts bouncing up and down, the rapid-fire staccato threatening to drive a hole through Ted’s floor. The worry and upset come off of him in waves, tension palpable in the air.
Eventually Ted thinks Jamie might be working toward the courage to say something, so he gives him silence to think it over. Both plates are empty, stacked on the floor by Ted’s feet, so there’s nothing for him to use as a distraction. He thinks about reaching for his phone, but doesn’t want Jamie to feel like Ted is shutting him out. The television would be too loud, in case Jamie is going to be startled by any unexpected noises. His book is all the way across the room, and his word search packet is upstairs, on his bedside table. So Ted passes the time, drumming his fingers against the sofa arm in a quiet, idle rhythm.
“Coach?” When Jamie finally speaks, the whisper cuts through the silence like a shout.
“What’s up?” Ted nudges Jamie’s knee gently with his own, acknowledges him without making eye contact.
“’M I a prick?”
“What?” Ted can’t believe the words he’s hearing.
“Am I? A prick?” Jamie hesitates between the halves of the question.
“Now what led you down this road, kiddo?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Fair enough,” Ted chuckles. “I don’t think you are. Most of the time, anyway, though I suppose we all have our moments. Heck, for me, I’m a right jackbrain when people turn on the streets without using their blinker. Doesn’t make them bad people, just good people with bad attitudes.”
“What ‘bout me?” Jamie asks, even more quietly this time. “Feels like ‘m a bad guy sometimes.”
“You’re not,” Ted says, with the same certainty he’d use to call the London sky grey, or tea a moral atrocity. “Don’t know why you’d even ask that.”
“Everyone says it,” Jamie mutters. He’s not whispering any longer; somehow his mutter is even quieter and harder for Tim to pick out. “Me dad, me whole life. And … Nate, an’ me first coach, and … and,” Jamie breathes the last name as much as he says it, and Ted feels his heart crack in two, clean down the middle. “An’ Roy.”
“Roy? What'd Roy say to you?” Ted tries to keep the anger out of his voice, but feels it starting to build in his chest. He’d thought they were past this, thought Jamie and Roy had reached some sort of an understanding.
But apparently not. At least, not from Jamie’s perspective.
Because he’s gone quiet again, Jamie has, shifting a few inches away from Ted and twisting his fingers together in his lap.
Ted lets the quiet drag on for as long as he can – not all that long, really, but long enough that he’s starting to feel all itchy under his own skin, fretting over the myriad of possible scenarios his brain has cooked up. Finally, he can’t stand the silence anymore, so he leans over just enough to make his loud whisper convincing.
“You don’t have to say nothin’, if you don’t want to. Just know that I’m willin’ to help you figure anything out, if you need. Or just to listen. Y’know, girl talk.” Ted nods, but Jamie doesn’t move, other than to draw his eyebrows together a little bit.
Maybe he’s never had anyone for girl talk before. Or, girl listen, as it were.
Instead of saying anything else, lest he somehow make the situation even worse, Ted tries to find other things to listen to. He makes a game of it, like counting sheep, only counting sounds instead. He can hear the air conditioner whirring, the clock ticking, the rustling fabric where Jamie is playing with his sleeves again. On and on, Ted listens, trying to keep himself present and focused while he waits for Jamie to say something.
Finally, there’s a quiet sniffle, just loud enough for Ted to hear over the car driving by outside and his own heartbeat.
“’T was after trainin’ today.” Jamie looks so small when Ted glances over, curling in on himself even as he speaks. “Said I did good, but he called me a prick. Jus’ like he always does.” He shrugs with one shoulder. “Might be right, s’pose.”
“He’s not,” Ted says firmly, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. Now, when he turns his head, he’s looking at the side of Jamie’s face. “But I don’t think he meant it, either. Not like that, at least.”
“How else is there to mean it? Called me a prick, like everyone else has. ‘S fine, it’s not usually so bad.”
“It’s not fine, Jamie,” Ted argues. “And you’re not a prick. ‘Scept when we give you the signal to be.”
“An’ always.”
“Nope. Not from where I’m sittin’, anyway. From my angle, you’re a good kid, who’s had a coupla rough patches maybe, but who’s workin’ hard every day to be the best version of yourself you can be. And that’s all any of us can ask of anyone, isn’t it?”
“Dunno,” Jamie mutters. “Don’ think Roy’d lie to me. Not ‘bout that.”
“Oh, and you think I would?” Ted tries to smile, but even he can tell it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“You don’t think anyone’s a prick. ‘S part’ve your … watcha call it? Midwestern charm?”
“Aw, hell, Jamie, I think plenty of people are pricks. But you’re not one of them.”
“Then why’d Roy say it?” That question stops Ted in his tracks. He doesn’t want to put words in Roy’s mouth, or feelings in his heart, without knowing if they’re true or not. It’s not his place to tell Jamie what Roy did or didn’t mean earlier, or what he does or doesn’t think.
Which only leaves him with one honest answer, and a follow up question.
“I don’t know, Jamie. I’m not going to lie to you. But if you’d like, I can give Roy a call, see what he’s got to say about it.”
He’s not expecting Jamie to say yes, not really. If anything, he’s expecting Jamie not to say anything at all, and Ted isn’t going to call Roy in on this without his explicit permission. It’s not up to him to decide who gets to see Jamie like this, not when he knows how much time it’s taken for him to build this much trust between the two of them.
But today’s already been full of surprises, huh?
“Sure, I guess.” Jamie shrugs and sniffs again. “What’s the worst tha’ happens? He says it again?”
Roy is stretched out on the sofa, almost asleep, book sprawled out across his chest where it landed when he stopped trying to focus on the words blurring together, when his phone rings. It takes a couple seconds for him to place the sound, then he has to dig the device out of his pocket and look at the caller ID, but he manages to answer before it kicks to voicemail.
“What?” It’s not quite a growl, but something harsher than a whine. “Whatever you need can't fucking wait ‘til tomorrow?”
“No, Roy, it can’t, actually.” Ted’s voice is clear in his ear; Roy’s never been able to figure out how he manages not to sound tinny on the phone. “Listen, you don’t remember saying nothin’ to Jamie after trainin’ today, do you? No name callin’ or anything?”
“No?” Roy’s brow furrows, trying to think back to the afternoon. Nothing in particular sticks out to him – they’d toyed with a new starting lineup for Saturday’s match, and everyone was at the top of their game. He remembers congratulating a few of the players back in the locker room; Sam had managed a particularly neat goal, and Colin had worked a clever defensive move that had nearly taken Dani down at the knees. Jamie had kicked a few clean passes, really shown himself to be a team player, but Roy doesn’t think he’d said anything specific about it, other than the vague praise he’s learning to dole out more frequently. Maybe that’s the problem? “Should I have?”
“Well, I’m not sure. But we’re sittin’ here, tryin’ to figure out some feelings, and it sounds like there might have been some different interpretin’ between the two of y’ns. You don’t remember saying anything at all to him?”
“I don’t think so. Told him he did good; you saw that fucking kick to Bumbercatch. Kid fucking earned the praise.”
“Alright, and you don’t think you … maybe called him any names or anything? Somethin’ that started with a P?”
“With a …" Roy sits up, letting the book fall to his lap and dragging a hand down his face. “You’ll have to fucking enlighten me.”
“Don’t suppose maybe the word ‘prick’ came into play?”
“Fuck, Ted,” Roy sighs. “You know how this goes. I call him a prick, he calls me Granddad. It’s like a … nickname or whatever. Didn’t fucking mean anything by it.”
“Well that’s the thing, isn’t it? Sometimes it don’t matter if we meant somethin’, because sometimes it happens anyway, and there ain’t nothing we can do but ride it out and fix whatever the fallout is.”
“Fallou- What are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“It’s not so much my story to tell, Roy, but it seems that maybe what you thought was affectionate didn’t land quite so well on Jamie’s end. He’s got himself a lil’ bit worked up over here, thinkin’ some things about himself that just aren’t true.”
“Like fucking what?”
“Like … that he really is a prick, because you said so today.”
“He’s …" Roy trails off.
“Yeah.”
“And you think I should do … what, exactly?”
“Well now, I don’t think that’s for me to figure out. But I don’t think Jamie’s going anywhere anytime soon, and – actually, hang on.” The line goes silent, but the call stays connected, so Roy waits for the connection to resume. “Sorry ‘bout that, just wanted to touch base with Jamie real quick, ‘fore I crossed any lines without realizin’ or anything. Anyway, he’ll be here for a little bit, at least. I can hand him the phone, let y’all chat for a minute, or I trust that you’ve still got my address?”
“You want me to …" Roy checks his watch. “It’s after 11.”
“I know, but this is where we’re at.” Ted chuckles, even though Roy can’t find a joke. “Both figuratively, in terms of the situation we’re in, and literally, as in that my living room is where we’re at.”
Roy takes a deep breath and massages his temple. The last thing he wants to do is get out of the house this late. Especially if he’s going to have to drive to Ted’s; his optometrist keeps telling him to stay in after sunset, or call a car or something. As if Roy Kent can call a fucking car anywhere in London without it turning into some Richmond fan’s kidnapping dream come true.
But he doesn’t want to leave Jamie hanging. Not when they’ve made this much progress in the last few months. Christ, for a second there, it had almost felt like they were becoming friends.
Leave it to Roy to fuck all that up, without even meaning.
“Fuuuuuuck,” he drags the word into several syllables. “Tell the prick I’ll be there soon,” As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Roy grimaces. “But, uh, pick a different fucking word for him.”
After Ted hangs up the phone, he settles back into the sofa. Jamie relaxes a little bit, dropping one foot back to the carpet, but he feels his shoulders go tense when Ted says that Roy is coming over. For years, he’d idolized Roy Kent, would have given anything to play on the same pitch as him just once, never mind for an entire season, and now with Roy as his coach.
And now, Roy is going to see him all wimpy and upset, and over what? Some stupid words he said this afternoon? Sounds like a crock of crap, if you ask him.
Except, Ted did ask him, and for some reason, he nodded. And now Roy is coming over, and Jamie has no idea how he’s meant to feel about that.
Ted seems to think it’s a good idea, though, and Jamie trusts him. If he thought it’d be a problem, Ted wouldn’t have let it happen. So Jamie doesn’t try to get up or anything. He just sits on the couch, waiting for Roy to show up and do … whatever he’s going to do.
He’s not sure where Roy lives, at all or in comparison to Ted, so Jamie isn’t sure how many minutes have gone by before the three sharp knocks on Ted’s front door.
“You gonna be alright for a second?” Ted asks, before he moves to stand up. Jamie is only mostly sure he’s being honest when he nods, but the only alternative he can see involves leaving Roy stranded on the front porch.
Ted gets up, and the door creaks open, then he hears Roy’s gruff voice, muffled by the walls and distance, on top of the embarrassment ringing in Jamie’s ears.
“So what, is this some father-and-fucking-son thing you’ve got going here?”
“Somethin’ like that,” Ted answers, without missing a beat. Something about it makes Jamie’s heart swell, even through everything else rattling around inside his chest.
Roy grunts, and the door closes.
“Alright, what the fuck’s going on?” His voice is closer now, and Jamie braces himself for Roy to come into the living room. He sees Roy’s feet before the rest of him, black sneakers against the patch of light-colored carpeting Jamie has been staring at. He looks up at Roy, but can’t find the right words for the look on his face. “Jamie?”
“I … I’m not a prick.” He means for it to come out more confident than it does. As it is, he’s reminded of standing in the locker room at Wembley, trying to stand up to his dad.
He doubts Roy would ever try and hit him, though. Not anymore.
“No, you’re not.” Roy lowers himself onto the coffee table, trying to hide a wince that Jamie notices anyway. Ted lingers in the doorway, close enough that Jamie knows he’s looking out, without leaving him to feel either smothered or ignored. “Not anymore.”
“You said I was.”
“No,” Roy sighs, and Jamie wonders just how much patience he’s got left, because it doesn't sound like very much. “I called you a prick. That’s something very different.”
“Don’t see how,” Jamie knows he’s whining, but he can’t keep himself from it. He’s too tired, too hurt, too confused as he tries to keep up with everything happening in front of him.
“Jamie, when I say that you are a prick, I’m being a fucking arsehole. But I haven't had to say that for quite a long time. When I call you prick, it’s an endearment. It means I care about you, enough that you’ve got a nickname.”
“It’s ‘Prick?’”
“I’ve been calling you that long enough, haven’t I?”
“I guess?” He still won’t look Roy in the eye, but by now he’s staring at the older man’s chin.
“Listen, Jamie.” Roy enunciates every letter of his name, like he’s trying to prove that he knows it or something. “If you don’t like it when I call you ‘Prick,’ I’ll lay off. We’ll pick something else for me to call you. But you’ve got to fucking know that I didn’t mean anything by it. And if it’s bothered you … I guess it has, hasn’t it? I mean, fuck, we’re here, aren’t we? Either way, I’m … I’m sorry if I upset you.”
“’S not just you,” Jamie mutters, before he can catch the words on his tongue.
“What?”
“’S not just you,” he repeats, a little louder this time. “Lots of people’ve called me that.”
Jamie sees Ted take a couple of steps closer, but he stops halfway across the room, loitering awkwardly in the no-man's-land between the doorway and the sofa.
“Well,” Roy’s jaw works back and forth, like he’s weighing his options. Jamie’s not sure what the options are, but he doubts they’re very good, from the way Roy’s eyebrows are set like he’s mad about something. “Well they’re wrong, alright? Most of the time, they’re wrong, and the rest of the time, they probably deserved it. And me? I’m just a fucking asshole sometimes, even when I’m not trying to be, alright?”
Jamie nods, even though he’s not completely sure what Roy is trying to say.
“Yeah, sure.”
“No, not ‘yeah, sure,’” Roy sighs. “Jamie, I need you to listen to me, because I'm not very good at saying nice things, and I’m even worse at repeating them if you don’t hear, OK? You. Are. Not. A. Prick. Not when it counts, anyway. I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have said it, but just like you call me Granddad, I call you Prick. It’s an endearment, but if it bothers you – and it clearly fucking does – then I won’t do it anymore. Because you’re not a fucking prick. Do you understand me?”
“I’m … not a prick,” Jamie lets out a shaky breath, and finally meets Roy’s eyes. “I’m not a prick.”
“Right,” Roy smiles at him. “Not a prick, just a kid trying to figure himself out.”
“’M not a kid.”
“Compared to me, you are.”
“Sure, but you’re a granddad.”
“See, Jamie, when you say shit like that, you make it really fucking hard not to call you names. Even if I don’t mean them.”
“Oh,” Jamie looks down again.
“But that doesn’t mean he’s going to do it, now, does it Roy?” Ted must have moved closer again, because it sounds like his voice is right beside Jamie. He jumps at the sound, having almost forgotten Ted was still there. “Especially because he knows it’s something that can upset you.”
“Exactly,” Roy says, like Ted has solved some great mystery of the universe. “I'll probably fuck it up a time or 10, but you have to fucking tell me if I say something stupid, and I’ll try my fucking best to not say it a-fucking-gain.”
“Oh,” Jamie says again, acutely aware that he’s a broken record at this point. It’s just that he’s never had anyone say that to him before, even in so many words. He’s never had someone own up to hurting him, and promise that they’ll try not to do it again.
He’s not sure he believes it.
He’d like to. He’d like to believe that Roy is telling the truth, that he hadn’t meant for his so-called “endearment” to get under Jamie’s skin like it has. But no one has ever said that before, no one has ever cared if what they said hurt him or not.
Except Ted.
Ted, who’s sitting next to Jamie all of a sudden, perched on the side of the sofa. He wraps one arm around Jamie’s shoulders. When Jamie relaxes into the embrace, leaning his head into the side of Ted’s stomach, Ted brushes the hair out of his face. It’s an automatic gesture, Jamie can tell, the sort of thing Ted just does, because he wants to.
Because he cares.
Jamie’s pretty sure he remembers seeing Ted do the same thing to Henry, half-asleep in his dad’s desk chair the last time Ted had brought him up to Nelson Road for training. It’s such a Dad Move, in ways he’s only just beginning to understand, more comforting than moving some bits of hair should be.
Maybe Ted believes Roy. If Ted believes him, Jamie thinks he might be able to believe him too. He trusts Ted; Ted knows how people should treat each other. And he’s sitting here now, playing with Jamie’s hair, like Jamie is good and rightly his own son.
Even his own father never played with his hair, other than to try and tell him what kind of a man wears a headband in public.
Jamie needs to ask him – Ted. All of a sudden, it’s the only thing he can focus on: if Ted trusts Roy, so can he. He has to find out.
“Ted,” he whispers, wondering when his voice got so hoarse today.
“What’s up?” Ted leans down so he can hear better.
“You think he means it?” Jamie’s gaze flicks over to Roy. He doesn’t think Roy heard him, but it’s hard to tell, from the way he’s staring at the stripes in the wooden table he’s still sitting on. Sometimes Jamie watches things that don’t move, when he’s trying to pretend he’s not listening to something. He doesn’t know for sure if he wants Roy to know what he’s said, but he supposes it’s too late to worry about that now.
Besides, Ted is talking to him, squeezing his shoulder gently.
“Yeah. Yeah, I think he does.”
Ted looks at Roy, and Roy looks at Ted, and shit, Jamie is pretty sure Roy heard the entire thing.
“Course I mean it,” Roy grumbles. “Why’d I say it if I didn’t-”
“Nobody else means it,” Jamie interrupts, still whispering.
“I’m not -” Roy cuts himself off and takes a deep breath, then tries again, This time, he sounds less growly, speaking slowly like he’s making a conscious effort not to be mean. “I’m not anyone else, Jamie. I’m just me. I don’t say things I don’t mean, unless it’s to call you a stupid fucking nickname I’m not going to use anymore. I’m not a liar, or a bullshitter, but sometimes I am a real fucking idiot, and sometimes I need help pulling my foot out of my mouth before I say something stupider than before. But I don’t say things I don’t mean. Not when it fucking counts.”
“Oh.” And he’s back on this one again.
“What I think Roy means, Jamie, is that he’s sorry he upset you, and he wouldn’t have called you a pri—that word, if he knew what it meant inside your head. But now that he does know that, he’s gonna treat it as a moment of personal growth, and not say it anymore. Right, Roy?”
Roy nods.
“Oh.” The next sentence flops out of Jamie’s mouth before he can stop it. “It’s … um, maybe it’s OK, sometimes? Like ... long as I know you don’t mean it like me dad and the rest of ‘em did? Like if it’s an … avengement, or whatever it was.”
“Endearment,” Roy supplies. “Jamie, are you sure? I don’t want to fucking say it if it’s going to do … all of this.” He waves one hand loosely in the air between them. “I can come up with something else.”
“No, it’s … I think it’s OK. Long as you’re just being a granddad about it.” Roy rolls his eyes, and Jamie grins. “Yeah, like that. Did I do it right? The endearment thing?”
“For the love of fuck, yes you did,” Roy sounds thoroughly exasperated, but not like he’s upset or anything. And isn’t that a refreshing change too? “But you have to tell me, alright? You have to fucking tell me if it starts to bother you again, or if I cross a line or whatever. Because then it’s not fucking fun anymore. For either of us.”
“How’s that sound, Jamie?” Ted nudges him, when he doesn’t respond for a long moment. “Think you can make that work? Roy can call you the P-name, when he means it like a nickname, but not when he’s upset. And you have to tell him if you’re confused about the two, or if it bugs up under your skin anyway. Sound fair?”
“Think so, yeah.” Jamie sags further against Ted, exhausted from the emotional whirlwind of the last few hours.
But Roy Kent doesn’t think he’s a prick. Not anymore, at least, unless Roy Kent tells him to be.
Ted tightens his grip on Jamie’s shoulder, like if he doesn’t, Jamie might fall all the way to the floor.
“Easy, there,” Ted braces Jamie against his hip again.
“’M tired.”
“I’ll bet you are,” Ted runs his hand over Jamie’s hair. “Sounds like you had a lot of thinkin’ to do this afternoon. Always tuckers me right out.”
“Mmm.”
“How about this: What do you say we wrap up here, let you doze for a little bit while I fix somethin’ for us to eat? I know we had dinner already, but I dunno, fresh chocolate chip cookies never hurt nothin.’” Ted shrugs, and Jamie feels his body shift a little bit. “Then we’ll get you settled in here for the night, huh?”
“Yeah, OK,” Jamie mutters, already fading fast.
“Roy, you’re more’n welcome to stay, but-”
“No,” Roy cuts Ted off. “I’ll get out of your hair, let you two get along with … whatever this is.” He stands up, running his hands down the thighs of his jeans. “Ted, we’ll talk before training tomorrow? I want to think about changing the starting lineup.”
“Sounds good, Roy. And, uh, thanks for comin’ by. I – we – appreciate it.”
“Yeah, no problem. If he’s gonna be mad at me, I at least want it to be for something I actually did.”
“Close enough,” Ted chuckles. “Enjoy your night.”
“You too. ‘Night. And, uh, Jamie?” Jamie hums. “Have a good night. Prick.”
This time, there’s no heat in Roy’s voice, no anger, even pretend, in his voice. Jamie knows he’s teasing, because it’s apparently Roy Kent’s weird way of showing that he cares.
And this time, it doesn’t sting so much. Or at all.
No, this time, as Jamie’s eyelids flutter closed, it almost feels nice. Jamie smiles against Ted’s side, and sighs.
“Mmm, night, Granddad.”