Work Text:
There were shirts that Trent wore amongst friends that he wouldn't generally wear to work. He wasn't hiding, exactly, but there was being out and then there was being Out.
Queen on a t-shirt was one thing. Keith Haring's dancing people and his namesake foundation was a little more explicit. Of course, it really didn’t matter how many queer references Trent wore if Colin was too young to recognize them.
Trent fussed about his desk, setting up the photo of Rajat and Eliza, the one where she clutched the little pride flag at the march the June before last. That photo had claimed pride of place on his desk at The Independent, but as that desk had been tucked away in a broom closet of an office, he’d been the only one to enjoy it.
Here, the picture faced anyone who so much as glanced into the room. That was the point.
Ted knew, already; he'd met both Rajat and Eliza in passing and hadn't even blinked an eye. He’d simply expressed his delight in meeting little Miss Eliza, what an honor, asked about the book Rajat had tucked under his arm, and been off to wherever he was going.
Not a thing had changed, the next time Trent saw him, except that Ted had weaseled Eliza's birthday out of him and sworn to make biscuits.
So, Ted was fine. Beard was ever an enigma with his obscure knowledge and… fascinating life choices, but he had never once struck Trent as unkind and, if nothing else, Trent couldn’t see him out of step with Ted on the matter. Roy might or might not revert to hating him, but Trent had survived that before. Leslie…well, Leslie was polite to a fault, but he was also CoE with a priest for a son. Hard to say how that would shake out.
Because he didn’t know, not for sure; a lifetime as a queer man had told him that he could never be totally sure about anyone’s views, or their goodness. And he had a lot less to lose than Colin.
Being visibly queer, legible to even the most oblivious of straight people, wouldn't put Trent out of his job or make him the target of national scrutiny.
He couldn't approach Colin, and he couldn't tell anyone, not even Ted, that there was a gay player. He had to be far more subtle.
He hadn’t clocked Colin until stumbling upon the young man and his partner the night before which, Trent supposed, spoke to his ability to pass. It did throw Roy's reflection into a new – and quite devastating – light. A chameleon indeed.
It was clear Colin was hiding and, good at it or not, Trent knew the constant need to do so had to be a terrible burden. So, while he cringed at the thought of making himself the center of attention, Trent could be the bait, could use himself to draw out all the reactions that neither he nor Colin were certain of.
Trent heard Leslie talking to a player out in the locker room. He couldn't make out who, but that didn't matter too much, as long as there was someone out there to hear what Trent said next.
Leslie entered Ted’s office with a cheery ‘good morning’ for them all. Trent stood, taking the two steps to lean against the doorway, rainbow mug gripped firmly in hand.
"Morning. Leslie, could I get those extra tickets you offered for Saturday's match?" Trent glanced into the locker room. A few of the players were around. "My partner’s going to bring our daughter. Eliza’s attention span should be long enough for at least a half.”
Leslie’s “of course” was drowned out by Ted.
“Oh, shoot, we’re gonna have Miss Eliza in the crowd?” Ted’s smile was blinding. “How’s she doing? Gotta be going on four and a half, by golly, what an age. And hey, how’s your handsome Rajat?"
“He's well, thank you.” Trent said, pleased that Ted had named him so readily. “Eliza is very proud of being four and a half. We've started reading Pratchett to her.”
“Phoebe was five or so when she started sitting through matches.” Roy joined Trent in the doorway. “Course, she really cared more about the pretzels than watching the play.”
“Your niece, right?” Trent asked, recalling the small blonde child who'd nailed Ted in the nose with a football. “How old is she now?”
“Eight.” Roy grimaced, but it was clearly covering a smile. “Absolute terror.”
“Both wonderful ages.” Leslie chimed in, then gestured with his phone. “I’ll have those tickets in your name at will-call.”
Whether none of the player’s had overheard mention of Trent’s handsome Rajat or they simply didn’t care enough about him to gossip, Trent didn’t notice any difference in the team’s dynamic over the next few days. No one told him to fuck off again, Colin didn’t suddenly start hanging around, and they all still fawned over Zava (excepting Jamie, of course).
He thought he caught a glance or two from Isaac, and a guilty look from Thierry, once, but he wasn't inclined to read into things: he had a sneaking suspicion that Thierry had overheard him lamenting to Beard that someone had been stealing his pens.
What did change was Roy. If Trent thought Roy had opened up after the Chelsea match – after Trent’s apology – he was practically loquacious now that he knew Trent had a daughter. Trent learned more about Phoebe in two days than he had learned about Roy in two decades.
He was delighted to learn that Roy had read A Wrinkle in Time to his niece. Ted was conspicuously absent when Roy mentioned that bit, but Trent suspected it didn't matter – it was evident that Roy had taken the message to heart.
"What's Pratchett, then?" Roy asked, after explaining why Mrs. Which was Phoebe's favorite character. "What you're reading to Eliza?"
"Oh, Terry Pratchett was a beloved children's author. He died a few years back." Trent said. "He wrote prolifically; we’re on book seven of forty some in his Discworld series.
“The plot is a little dense for her, but she likes all the voices we do for the characters."
Roy grunted in acknowledgement and Trent bit back a smile. He'd bet his last pen that Roy did silly voices for Phoebe too.
Trent was distantly aware that most everyone had headed out for the day. Generally, he would have left already, but he'd been struck by inspiration and didn't want to cut himself short.
He would have to leave sooner rather than later though as he and Rajat were hosting dinner. Trent checked his calendar to be sure it was Thursday, then the clock; he had time to finish his thought, at least.
"Trent."
Trent jerked his head around in surprise. Roy sat across from him, looking particularly broody with his arms crossed and brow furrowed.
He hadn't even noticed the other man come in, but he must have spent a few minutes tidying his desk already. The ever-growing pile of strategy books had been corralled into a corner.
Trent wondered when Roy would realize they were all regurgitating the same half-dozen theories.
"Yes?" He ventured.
Roy's mouth tightened. "You – you've got a partner? Husband?"
All of the sudden, Trent was acutely aware of how late it was. Ted and Beard were gone. The players, if any were even left, had proven they wouldn't cross Roy for anything. Trent was left with only his notebook in one hand and his cell buried in the pocket of his blazer.
It had been foolish of Trent to let his guard down and to assume Roy was simply ambivalent about his sexuality. He had put too much stock in how readily Roy had focused on Eliza and Phoebe.
Trent hadn't really been afraid in a long while. There was an inkling of it, when Roy backed him into the wall of the shower at Chelsea, old memories crawling out of the depths of his mind and instinct rearing up, telling him to hide, but that moment had been tempered by the presence of Ted and the team just around the corner.
And now, Trent had let Roy corner him with no one there to witness.
Roy, who wasn't looking at him.
And that was odd. Odd, that a bully would corner him, would point out the target Trent had painted on his own back, and then…not follow through?
It was odd enough to cause a stutter in the swelling terror. Trent looked at Roy, making himself focus on the other man and study him.
Roy seemed more defensive than anything. His shoulders were high, his head down. An absurd thought occurred to Trent then, that Roy might be – but, no. It wasn't worth pulling on that thread.
Trent lifted his chin, pushing back against the fear. "Rajat and I have been together nearly eight years but we never bothered getting married. Eliza’s adoption paperwork was quite enough to last both of us a lifetime.
Roy grunted, dismissing Trent’s faint attempt at levity. "You raise Eliza together, then. She's got you both all the time."
Oh.
Trent could feel himself relax by the millisecond, his muscles loosening and breath easing. The relief was shocking in its immediacy.
"Yes." He said. "Yes, we do. Rajat works, on and off, but we're lucky enough to both have some flexibility and a good nanny."
"I'm just Phoebe's uncle." Roy looked at Trent for a second but turned away again. “I’m not her –”
Silence fell as Roy cut himself off. Now that the blood was no longer rushing in his ears, Trent could hear the sounds of Will’s cart and conversation in the locker room.
He thought he saw what Roy was getting at, but he didn’t want to assume again.
Roy gave in and spoke. “My sister’s a doctor. She fucking saves people for a living. Am I supposed to fucking resent her for doing that cause I get stuck with her kid?
“I just…I love Phoebe. But sometimes it's like I'm the only one she has and –” Roy huffed. "I didn't sign up for it. She ought to have a better fucking father.”
Roy snapped his jaw shut with an audible click. He was turned even further from Trent now, his shoulders slumped. He looked defeated.
That was more detail than Trent had expected, and all at once, too. Roy wasn’t going anywhere, so Trent capped his pen and closed his laptop, giving himself a moment to marshal his thoughts.
“You’re allowed to feel resentment. You’re allowed to feel stressed and worn out and frustrated.”
Roy grumbled in dissent, but he was listening.
“You are. Raising a child is difficult. It is a joy and a gift and it is also bloody difficult.” Trent caught Roy’s gaze, a feat of itself. “And I say this as someone who did ask for it. Rajat and I went to a great deal of trouble for it, in fact.
“Look, you aren’t her parent. But as far as I can tell, you bear far more responsibility for raising her than most uncles would. That cannot be an easy balance to strike, and I imagine it’s quite isolating.”
Trent checked the time then looked back over at Roy, making a decision. “Why don’t you and Phoebe come over for dinner tonight? We’re hosting a few friends and Rajat always cooks far too much. There’ll be plenty to eat.”
Roy frowned at him. Trent stared back.
"I'm not trying to impose.” Roy grumbled, finally. “I don't need you taking pity on me for having to babysit my niece."
"Roy, it's not pity." Trent packed up his notebook and laptop, then stood. "Come to dinner. You'll be among friends –”
Roy rolled his eyes.
“– or close enough, and Phoebe can play with the other children. Eliza, of course, and there's always a few more. It will do you good to be around others juggling children and careers that aren’t in the field of professional sports.”
Roy frowned harder.
"Five-thirty," Trent told him, undeterred. "I'll text you the address."
"Right, Phoebe, we're going to have dinner with some of my friends." Roy said as he watched her click her seatbelt together.
"But Uncle Roy, your only friend is Keeley," Phoebe said. "And she's busy tonight."
Roy glared at his niece. "I am trying to–”
He broke off with a growl then took a deep breath. “Look, I've made friends with Trent, he's at the club all the time to write about the team."
"Like a journalist?"
"He used to be. He's writing a book now." Roy backed out of his parking spot.
"You hate journalists," Phoebe said. "You say lots of bad words and call them soul sucking parasites."
"Don't repeat that tonight." Roy sighed, imagining the column Phoebe would be adding to her ledger. "It’s personal growth, Phoebe. Trent used to be a journalist, and I used to hate him. Now, he's not a journalist, and we're friends."
He could see Phoebe's skeptical expression in the rearview mirror.
"Look, Trent and his partner have a daughter," Roy said. "She's younger than you, and there's supposed to be some other kids, I don't know how old they are. Maybe you can make some friends too, yeah?"
"I have friends, Uncle Roy," she informed him. "Megan and Bennet and Celine and – ”
"Well, I'm very glad you have friends, Phoebe." Roy felt his eye twitch. "Maybe you could at least put up with these kids so I –”
Roy cut himself off again, but it was too late.
"So you can make friends?" Phoebe asked. She rolled her eyes and sighed, a big whole-body sigh. “Okay, Uncle Roy. You do need them.”
Roy didn't really expect to fit in with Trent's crowd – he figured they were mostly the academic type – but he did…appreciate being invited.
Phoebe was right, he didn't have many friends.
Trent’s partner seemed determined to change that, though. Rajat was charming. He was delighted to meet them and his kindness towards Phoebe immediately put Roy at ease.
Rajat herded him into the sitting room where Roy wasn't surprised not to recognize anyone, but someone seemed to recognize him.
Ryan (accountant, married to Philip (Rajat’s colleague at the pharmacy)), did a double take when he saw Roy.
"Roy Kent, of course." Ryan reached over to shake his hand and Roy nodded. Trent’s friends hadn’t seemed like typical football fans, but he was used to the attention.
“Always nice to meet a fan,” Ryan said, turning from Roy to give his husband an exaggerated wink, his voice shifting up a few octaves as Roy realized they weren’t football fans at all.
Fucking figured that Trent would be friends with one of the regular queens at G-A-Y.
Roy finally managed to escape Trent’s precariously high eyebrow after that introduction (at least the man had the decency not to ask outright). He found Phoebe, who had been directed to the living room and seemed to be quite content.
For all her dramatics in the car, she had made fast friends with Eliza and a pair of twins (Mathieu and Sylvie, Marti-the-editor’s seven year olds). It occurred to Roy, as Phoebe proudly introduced him as her uncle, that none of the families here were quite…well, they weren’t mom-dad-and-kids-type families.
He hadn’t even thought to worry about Phoebe’s reaction to meeting Trent and Rajat, but had Trent? It was just…footballers didn’t tend to be all that open minded.
The world Roy lived in –that Trent had immersed himself in– was a little rough. The Richmond locker room was fairly tame all things considered, but he should probably have shut down some of the shit he'd been hearing from the boys. Probably should have done a while ago.
"Goodnight, Phoebe." Trent offered to the girl as Roy shuffled her out of the house.
She huffed, and mumbled a grouchy "goodbye" in return. Trent bit back a laugh – it was the first time he'd really seen the resemblance between uncle and niece.
Roy nodded to him. "Thanks for dinner."
"That's all Rajat," Trent said.
"What are you blaming on me?" Rajat appeared by his side.
"Your cooking."
"It was good." Roy said. He hesitated for just a moment, then nodded again, looking at Trent. "Thanks."
Trent nodded in return, but Rajat spoke up.
"You're welcome back any time, Roy. It was lovely to meet you both," He crouched down to speak to Phoebe. "Thank you ever so much for playing with Eliza. She was delighted to meet you."
Phoebe blinked at Rajat, then buried her face in Roy's side. Rajat chuckled as he stood. "Bedtime, I think?"
"Yeah." Roy nudged Phoebe down the steps without further ado.
Rajat tucked an arm around Trent’s waist as they watched their guests leave.
"He's not the footballer I expected you to bring home." Rajat said. "Still no luck with Colin?"
Trent rolled his eyes. "He remains hopelessly oblivious."
Rajat hummed sympathetically. "You've done a good thing all the same. And it's good for you, too. You can't steamroll Roy like you do everyone else."
"I do not steamroll everyone." Trent huffed.
Rajat merely raised an eyebrow and pecked him on the cheek.
Eliza's voice rose in a whine from the living room as Ryan and Phillip did their best to cajole her.
"It's past bedtime for our little one, too."
"You want to wrangle her or kick out the other two?"
"Oh, Eliza, always." Rajat laughed as he led the way down the hall. “She’s much easier to manage than those two.”
Friday morning started quietly, even as the players filtered in, filling the locker room with the usual mix of friendly banter and mundane club business.
There was a pattern, a cadence. The young men sharing stories, words of encouragement, and gentle ribbing. Will pushing his cart in endless circles around the room, distributing fresh jerseys and collecting dirty towels.
It wasn't quite like a news room, but Trent found comfort in it.
Roy entered. "Morning, Trent."
"Good morning. Was Phoebe much trouble last night?" Trent asked. "She seemed rather worn out when you left.”
Roy waved off his concern. "She was fine, out like a light two minutes after I got her home."
Trent smiled. "Eliza and the twins loved having someone new to play with. You're welcome back of course, even if you can't bring Phoebe. We host every few weeks."
“I –” Roy paused. “I appreciate that.”
Content to leave things there, Trent turned back to his desk, but Roy cleared his throat, returning Trent’s attention to him.
“I …haven’t cooked for anyone lately, but I’d like to –” Roy was clearly struggling to get the words out, and seemed relieved when a clatter from the hall interrupted him.
Trent caught a glimpse of Colin reaching down to pick up whatever he'd dropped. His eyes widened when he saw Trent watching him and he waved awkwardly before rushing away.
Roy shrugged when Trent looked back at him, then he sighed. “I’d be…happy to cook sometime. For you and Rajat and Eliza.”
“That’s very kind of you, we'd be happy to take you up on it.” Trent said. He ducked his head and turned away before Roy could see him smile.
It was sweet, really, how much Roy was trying. Rajat was right; Trent might not have reached Colin, but making himself vulnerable hadn’t all been for naught.