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It all started because of Jamie’s shitty immune system. It was annoying, how susceptible Jamie tended to be to things like the common fucking cold. He was a professional athlete, he was the pinnacle of human health, and yet every flu season, without fail, he would get laid out by one thing or another. It was fucking ridiculous.
This year, almost as soon as the weather turned, it happened. It wasn’t enough that Jamie wore three layers every time he left the house because of how cold he already was, it wasn’t enough that he took vitamins and ate healthy and exercised. No, almost as soon as winter settled in, Jamie got the first tale signs of sickness creeping up on him in the form of the sniffles.
And look, the thing you have to understand about Jamie is that he cannot stand being sick. He’s miserable about it, hates being laid up. It makes him feel like he’s missing out on things, like he’s going to fall behind. Toughing out being sick became a familiar thing for him before he’d even made it to double digits. He’d go to school with a stomach ache, and he’d play games with chills. Nothing kept Jamie down, but especially not something as small as being sick.
Half the time, he wouldn’t even tell his mummy he wasn’t feeling well. He’d just continue as he was until one day she pressed a kiss to his forehead, realised he was running a fever and forced him into bed. But mummy wasn’t in London with him and he was a grown adult, so there was no one to call him on it when he dragged himself from bed with his snotty nose and dutifully resigned himself to just ignoring whatever bout of sickness had come his way until it resolved itself. He’d just bring a pack of tissues with him to training.
Jamie knew, if he told Ted or Roy or even Beard that he wasn’t feeling well, they would tell him to stay home and rest, in fact Roy would probably man handle Jamie back to his car and demand he not be a twat and take care of himself. The thing was that Jamie did actually feel fine. It was just a runny nose. No itchy eyes or sore throat or fever to accompany it. They would come, in time, and Jamie would ignore those too, in time, but for now he could get away easy. Besides, he didn’t want things to be weird again.
After his meltdown of epic proportions on the pitch over a scraped knee, Jamie talked to Dr Bailey about it. Dr Bailey was the therapist Dr Sharon had referred him too before she left Richmond, and Jamie liked her a lot.
She wasn’t much older than Jamie, and she always wore vintage style tees that usually had silly quotes from shows or memes on them that were done up all fancy so you couldn’t tell they were inappropriate until you looked a bit harder. Her office was nice too, painted a soft green colour with a shit ton of art decals all over the place and a box of things to fidget with that was always in reach. It felt safe, and calm. Which Jamie supposed was the point of a therapist’s office.
“Why do you think you reacted so strongly?” She had asked, after Jamie relayed it all to her. She laughed when he made jokes and redirected him when those jokes verged on cruelty to himself.
“Dunno,” Jamie admitted. He had been holding a pink and blue tangle, twisting in his fingers. He always played with that one when he could find it in the box, and he suspected that Dr Bailey had begun leaving it on the top for him. “Thought you might.”
“I can’t tell you how you feel,” Dr Bailey reminded, which she did every time Jamie tried to get her to just tell him what was wrong with him, “but, I can tell you something I’ve learnt over the years.”
“Alright then,” Jamie said, because it was better than having to figure it out on his own.
“When someone is experiencing prolonged abused, they’ll often be in a constant state of fight or flight.” Dr Bailey told him. They’d been through fight or flight before, how it was his brains way of keeping him safe. The way he acted when he first went to Richmond was fight, quitting City to do Lust Conquers All was flight. “So, your brain doesn’t let you process any of those overwhelming emotions that might make surviving an already hard thing even harder. It’s not uncommon that once you have made it through the trauma and are safely on the other side, all of those unprocessed emotions come back up.”
“So, it’s going to happen again?” Jamie asked miserably. Dr Bailey had nodded. She was always quite honest, about how much dealing with things in a healthy way could suck.
“It’s more than likely.” She said, chuckling lightly when Jamie groaned very dramatically at the realisation. “Can you tell me why that bothers you?”
“don’t like crying,” Jamie said simply. He hadn’t wanted to get into it yet. It wasn’t a box he was ready to unpack, so Dr Bailey let him mark it for later and moved on to talking about other stuff. Like coping mechanisms and ways to emotionally regulate and the benefits of actually letting himself feel his emotions.
Which was helpful, because Dr Bailey was right and Jamie did end up a crying mess again. In fact, Jamie ended up a crying mess again a lot. It was like that day on the pitch, getting taken care of after, just flipped a switch in his brain that let it know it was time to open the floodgates Jamie hadn’t even been aware were installed. Thankfully though, because Dr Bailey knew her shit, it didn’t end in any kind of catastrophic public meltdown again.
No, for the most part when Jamie found himself tearing up, often over ridiculous shit like the nature documentary he was watching about a mother bear and her cubs trying to make it to the fish place or his favourite cereal not being delivered with the rest of his groceries, he was able to breathe through it and calm himself down. He had taken to carrying Blahaj around with him when he was at home, because it was nice to just hold something until the emotions passed.
None of the lads had really asked him about what happened, despite the very obvious desire too. Even Jan Maas had kept his mouth dutifully shut. It was pretty clear that they had all sat around and discussed Jamie’s meltdown while he wasn’t there, and came to the conclusion that they would not be bringing it up unless he did as a group. Jamie was thankful for it, because he thinks having to explain any of that shit to his friends might make him start crying again from the humiliation of it alone.
It didn’t take long for things to go back to normal. The first day back, right after it happened was a bit weird, everyone treating Jamie with fucking kids gloves in case he started bawling his eyes out again. That didn’t last long though because as soon as Jamie realised what was happening, he had given Roy a pleading, puppy dog look that Phoebe had taught him how to do, until the man had let him spend an entire scrimmage playing a game of How-many-teammates-can-Jamie-get-to-foul-him. The answer was three. Bumbercatch really didn’t appreciate Jamie’s joke about bagging both of his parents.
Jamie didn’t want it to get weird again just because his body didn’t get the memo that it was supposed to be healthy and function a normal amount even when it was a bit cold outside. It wasn’t like he made a habit of playing sick anyway, he just had a shit immune system and the whole world wasn’t going to grind to a halt just because poor Jamie Tartt had a case of the sniffles.
So, Jamie dragged himself out of bed at 3:40 in the morning, getting ready for when Roy inevitably showed up ready to run him ragged. He didn’t really do anything different, except shove a packet of travel tissues in his pocket and finally surrender to the mortification of putting on gloves and a hat. He had a Richmond beanie that he barely ever wore, because he thought it made him look like a twat, but he was fucking cold and he refused to get any sicker than he already was. The gloves were at least a bit cooler, cause they didn’t have any fingers. And, if when Roy arrived, he found it strange that Jamie was extra bundled up, he didn’t say anything about it.
Isaac thinks he might be cursed. That was the only viable explanation he could come up with for how he ended up this way. Just a few short years ago he was care free, oblivious to everything going on around him, the only thing taking up space in his mind being football, making sure Colin didn’t die in a tragic road accident, and FIFA. Then he’d gone and accepted the stupid captain’s armband from Roy and cursed himself with the burden of responsibility and caring. Roy probably knew what he was doing too, and didn’t tell him so Isaac would actually accept the offer with stars in his eyes and hope in his heart like a naive idiot.
And a naive idiot Isaac had been. He’d been shocked, when Roy had handed him the armband. At the time, he hadn’t thought Roy gave a single shit about Isaac or what he did, let alone thought he was good enough to lead their team. It had been an honour, to be trusted with that kind of thing. Isaac had been touched, deeply in his soul in a way that was uncomfortable to feel. Now, Isaac knows it was all a damn scam and he’s significantly less touched at being saddled with the burden of caring about everything so much all the time.
He hadn’t known accepting the armband would flip some kind of switch in his brain, and make him a world class mother hen to a bunch of grown men. He had always assumed that being the captain would be fun, a privilege that came with respect and authority, which was the kind of thing Isaac mistakenly believed would be easy.
He’d been tricked, duped, deceived, some-other-synonym-for-tricked. Because now, Isaac had a constant stream of thoughts running through the back of his mind at all times, monitoring his friends for any kind of upset or change that might need tending too as their captain.
Was Dani having nightmares again? Was Sam overworking himself at Ola’s? Did Bumbercatch really commit a crime last night or was he just saying shit for the sake of saying shit? If Jan Maas got paired with Colin for training again, would Colin end up crying in the showers or punching Jan Maas? Which of those two options was easier to deal with? Two years ago, Isaac never had to deal with this shit, and Roy’s an arsehole for not giving him a proper rundown of how much having people look up to him as a leader was going to rewire his brain. Especially because all of this stupid brain rewiring has got him fretting about Jamie fucking Tartt.
It wasn’t super obvious that there was anything wrong with Jamie. In fact, Isaac had only barely noticed because he got to training a bit earlier than usual and had found Jamie bouncing around the coaches office bothering Roy. That in itself wasn’t unusual, Jamie as a rule tended to follow Roy around like an excited puppy if he didn’t have any other things to be doing.
Normally, but especially in the mornings, Jamie was all over Roy. Telling him about some movie he watched a few weeks ago or a weird dream he had where Roy got into a fight with Madonna and Keeley had to break it up because a drag queen dressed as a fireman was going to arrest him. It was Roy’s own fault, because he always got Jamie coffee after their early training that was some kind of sugary monstrosity and everyone knew what Jamie was like when he had sugar and caffeine. None of that was what tipped Isaac off to a potential issue. for all intents and purposes, Jamie was being his usual self.
But he was wearing a beanie. Jamie had a loud and vocal distaste for beanie’s, every time Roy tried to force him into one when the prick was shivering on the field because of his dogshit circulation, Jamie would throw an obstinate fit claiming he’d rather his ears fall off from frostbite than wear a beanie and look like a twat. Isaac thought that was dramatic and stupid, because Jamie was always cold and wearing a beanie would make him warm, but you couldn’t argue with crazy.
So, Jamie wearing a beanie was weird. Weird enough it tipped off Isaac’s rewired brain that now had a built-in sensor for when his teammates were up to some weird shit. So, Isaac kept an eye on Jamie during the day. He didn’t crowd him, because the last time they tried to crowd Jamie he’d gone and gotten Roy’s permission to be an absolute menace to them all and Isaac didn’t want to be on the other end of Jamie’s sanctioned prickishness again because then he can’t even complain to Ted about it. But he kept an eye out.
There were a couple of things Isaac noticed, in his eye out keeping. One, Jamie’s nose was red. That might not seem like a huge deal, because it was cold out and half of their faces were pink from the cold, but Jamie’s was properly red, well on its way to looking rubbed raw. Two, his eyes were watery. Not in a tearful way, because he was smiling and happy basically the entire day hanging off of Dani and Sam like a leech, but watery nonetheless. Three, he was carrying around a packet of tissues with him, and blowing his rubbed raw nose every time he thought no one was looking. Those three things led Isaac to his current conclusion, which was that Jamie was fucking sick.
That wouldn’t be a big deal either, if it were literally anyone but Jamie. Because Isaac trusted everyone that wasn’t Jamie to actually rest when they were sick, he trusted them to tell one of their coaches they weren’t feeling well and take the time they needed to recover. He did not trust Jamie to do any of those things, even a little bit. So now he was fretting. Stupid fucking captain armband curse. He stabbed at his salad a bit for violently than necessary, and Colin looked at him funny.
“who pissed in your cornflakes?” He asked, eyeing Isaac with amusement.
“Jamie’s sick,” Isaac muttered, nodding his head to where said man was sitting on the cafeteria table with his legs crossed and gesturing broadly as he told Dani some kind of funny story.
“Looks fine to me.” Colin said, scrutinising Jamie with a furrowed brow. and yeah, Jamie did look fine, he’d even take off the beanie that started this whole mess in the first place, but Isaac knew in his stupid rewired brain that Jamie was sick.
“He was wearing a beanie this morning,” Isaac said stubbornly. Colin feigned shock, gasping dramatically with a hand held to his heart.
“A beanie? when it’s cold out? we’ll have to call the pressers and tell ‘em Jamie Tartt is dying.” he carried on, so Isaac flicked one of those stupid little bread things that came in his salad at Colin’s face. Colin just laughed, flicking it back at Isaac. He cast another appraising look at Jamie, and Colin tapped his hand lightly, looking at him with more sincerity now before he spoke, “He’s fine, Isaac.”
Isaac grunted, turning back to his salad. He didn’t believe Colin that Jamie was fine, but it wasn’t like there was much else Isaac could do about it except for terrorise his salad and keep an eye on Jamie. At best, it was just a runny nose that would clear up in a day or two, so all of Isaac’s current fretting would be for nothing. But Isaac had long since learnt that the best-case scenario usually wasn’t how thing went down. So, he kept terrorising his salad, and keeping an eye on Jamie.
Jamie’s sniffles didn’t go away by the end of the day, not that he had been expecting them too. Jamie was well versed in being sick, given his shit immune system. When he was younger, and still lived with his mummy, he used to cling on to her the entire time. He’d toddle around behind her with his snotty nose and sweaty forehead demanding all of the love and attention she could possibly spare him in order to cure him of all his sickness.
When his dad came back for the first time when Jamie was nine, and started filling his head with all kinds of shit about being a pussy for wanting his mummy to hold his hand when he was hurt, Jamie had stopped doing that.
He remembers, vividly, the first time he ever got sick around his dad. It had started as a good day, his dad had been sort of sober, and taken Jamie to a carnival in town. James had let him buy whatever junk food he wanted and run himself ragged on the rides in the way mummy never did, that made Jamie think his dad was the coolest ever. Of course, that was a bad idea because then Jamie was barely nine years old and ended up eating so much fairy floss with absolutely no adult intervention, he’d puked in the grass. He’d ended the night in the backseat of his dad’s car, crying about wanting to go home to mummy because he didn’t feel well.
Honestly Jamie, his dad had to sneered while he drove, not to the safety of his mummy’s house but instead his dad’s flat that smelt like mildew and left-over Chinese food, swerving the car unsteadily as he ranted at Jamie, you’re too old to be pulling this kind of shit, what kind of a pussy are you crying for your mummy over every fucking thing. Grow up, fucking hell. Of course, it didn’t end at an angry rant. James had taken it upon himself to show Jamie what happened to pussies who couldn’t handle themselves.
After that, Jamie always handled being sick on his own. He’d drag himself out of bed to make himself toast or soup so he wouldn’t starve, he’d pilfer through the medicine cabinet by climbing up onto the bathroom sink in a way that would give his mum a heart attack if she ever saw it. He’d wash his own thrown up on sheets and clean up whatever other mess he made with stubborn, feverish determination. His mum would help, whenever Jamie would let her, but Jamie didn’t often let her.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want help, because help would have been fucking lovely any of the number of times Jamie had gotten sick since that first time with his dad. But it was hard to accept it, past the burning humiliation that came remembering his dad’s “lessons”. It wasn’t a time in his life Jamie was proud of.
Dr Bailey liked to tell Jamie the way his dad treated him wasn’t his fault and that he had nothing to be ashamed of, and Jamie knew that to an extent. But it was hard, to remember that he never fought back, that he just let it happen. It didn’t matter to Jamie that he was nine years old at the time, and his dad was bigger and stronger even when he was swaying on his feet drunk. He could’ve tried harder to help himself. They were working on unpacking that too.
Besides, one thing James had been right about was that Jamie wouldn’t always have his mummy around to take his temperature and blow his nose for him. Jamie was an adult, and taking care of himself when he was sick was just part of the whole being an adult shtick. So, when he got home from training and his sniffles had turned into a sore throat and sinus headache, he did what he did best. He took care of it himself.
Jamie’s medicine cabinet was kind of pitiful, because he never remembered to stock it until he was already in the middle of being sick and needed to use the things in there, but it had enough paracetamol and cough medicine that he’d survive at least until he could get himself to a chemist.
It was a familiar routine really; he had this kind of shit on lock. He kicked his shoes off when he got inside and went about making himself some comfort food. mac and cheese was simple enough for him to work through the steps on autopilot, even through the growing ache in his head. He would take some medicine with his food, and then he’d go to bed to sleep off the worst of the headache. By the time morning came, he’d feel better. He wouldn’t be cured by any means, but Jamie was familiar with how being sick tended to take him out once the sun set. He’d wake up in the morning and the exhaustion that was settled into his bones would be alleviated enough that he could pull himself together for the day.
Honestly, if not for the fact he had training, Jamie would probably just sleep through the entire ordeal. Unfortunately for him, he did have responsibilities he had to tend too. So, after his pasta and painkillers for dinner, he got himself ready for bed. He took a long, steaming shower that soothed the budding ache in his muscles and kept the lights off the appease the relentlessly growing pounding in his head. He put on some comfortable pyjamas, chills overtaking him once he stepped out from the hot spray of water, and cuddled up in his soft bed with his soft pillows, Blahaj tucked securely against his chest to stave off that miserable lonely feeling.
Part of him, the little part of him that never really went anywhere despite his dad’s brutal attempts to drown it, the little part of him that had been buried under layers of bravado and cruelty for years, that missed when his mummy would make him soup and sing to him when he wasn’t feeling well, wished he would just tell someone. Jamie knew that no one at Richmond would react the same way his dad did. If anything, they would smother Jamie with affection the very second, he even implied he wanted some. But he and Dr Bailey hadn’t gotten that far yet, and Jamie didn’t know how to ask past the burning in his chest that turned his tongue to ash. So, he pulled the covers up over his head, and closed his eyes. These kinds of thoughts only ever bothered him in the dark. It would all be simpler in the morning.
Colin wouldn’t say it to his face, but he thought Isaac was being paranoid about Jamie. Ever since yesterday, it was like Isaac’s one and only focus had been on the younger player. When Colin had arrived at Nelson road that morning, it had been to Isaac standing at his cubby and eyeing a perfectly fine Jamie who was minding his own business getting ready for the day with intense apprehension. During training, Isaac’s focus was split down the middle between their drills and whatever it was Jamie was up too a few meters away.
Even during lunch, rather than just sitting with Colin at their usual table, Isaac had beelined over to where Jamie was sitting with Dani and Sam to eat lunch with them. Not that Colin was complaining, because he was friends with the lot of them, but it was because of Isaac’s weird little fixation that it happened. Jamie, for all that Colin could tell, was absolutely fine. He was smiling and joking, he was keeping up in training, whatever it was that Isaac was seeing, Colin couldn’t.
Until meditation. Team meditation happened after lunch, because Ted had discovered the downside of having a team that liked each other was that getting them back on task after their break was near impossible without forcing them into some quiet time where they weren’t allowed to speak to each other. It was the gaffers’ own fault, going and making them all friends. Colin, personally, hated meditation.
He found it deeply and fundamentally boring. He didn’t need to sit with his thoughts and practice his breathing. He was plenty good at thinking and breathing already. Jamie happened to share Colin’s sentiment on this. So, when meditation rolled around, they usually paired up to sit in the back and whisper at each other until Beard or Roy got sent to separate them for disturbing the others.
They had been doing just that, debating the merits of baby powder for chaffing, when Jamie choked all of a sudden. Like literally, actually choked on nothing. He’d been mid inhale when his breath hitched and then suddenly Jamie was coughing and gasping for air as quietly as he could manage. Like when you tried to muffle a sneeze in the middle of a test.
Colin had abandoned any pretence of meditating and shifted onto his knees to pat Jamie’s back gently, coaxing him through his violent coughing fit. The others were looking at them out of the corners of their eyes, because trying to be quiet didn’t mean Jamie was actually being quiet while he was busy dying from asphyxiation, but Ted wrangled their focus away from Jamie pretty quickly once the sputtering died down.
The room was quiet as the rest of the team continued with the YouTube meditation, and Colin crawled over to the side of the room to grab Jamie’s water bottle while Jamie took some deep, measured breaths, probably savouring his newfound open airways.
“you all good boyo?” Colin asked, looking at Jamie through the dim light in the room. His eyes were bloodshot and watering, his chest rattling with each breath he took. Jamie took the water bottle and sipped at it slowly. Roy had gravitated over to them and was hovering silently.
“Yeah, ‘m fine.” Jamie mumbled, voice a little hoarse and nose blocked, “just choking on my own spit.”
and honestly, Colin probably would’ve written it off as exactly that, if when they went back to pretending to meditate and whispering to each other he couldn’t hear the wheeze with each rise and fall of Jamie’s chest. It sounded like he’d swallowed a chew toy. So, loathe as he was to admit it, come the end of the day when they were all packing up their things and getting ready to go home, Colin sought out Isaac.
“You were right about Jamie,” he said without any preamble. Isaac, who was actually still watching Jamie as he went about shoving his things into his bag while keeping up a conversation with Dani about something or other, nodded once like he had been completely expecting Colin’s concession call by the end of the day.
“I told you so.” It was earned, so Colin didn’t refute it.
“are we gonna do anything about it?” Colin asked instead. Because now that he had seen it, it was hard to unsee it. Sure, Jamie was putting up a good front of being perfectly healthy, but the slope of his shoulders and bags under his eyes told a different story. He was clearly exhausted, even if he was bouncing around just the same as usual.
“Nothing to do about it.” Isaac said simply, glowering at a wall and clearly not very satisfied with the situation. Which, yeah, Isaac was a fixer. He liked to be given a problem and have a solution for it ready to go. Jamie, unfortunately, was less of a problem and more of an extremely complicated rubix cube.
“We could kidnap him,” Colin suggested, eyeing Jamie up. Colin probably couldn’t take Jamie because while they were the same height Jamie was quite a bit stockier, but Isaac was absolutely more than capable of picking Jamie up and carrying him off. They could stick him in Colin’s boot. “force feed him soup, knock him out with some cough medicine.”
“The fact that you ain’t joking is worrying, bruv.” Isaac said, leveling him with his captains look.
“well, it’s not like he’ll take care of himself,” Colin defended “whys the little idiot at training if he can’t even breathe right?”
Colin knew the answer to that actually. So did Isaac, probably. They both had front row seats to the James fucking Tartt show back at Wembley, they had both been sort-of friends with Jamie way back before Ted was even around and it didn’t take a genius to put two and two together to get fucking four. Jamie was at training because he didn’t know how to do anything else, didn’t know how to exist outside of pushing himself to the very brink. Because he’d been taught, he was nothing without football, and Jamie would rather crumble to dust on the pitch than ever be nothing.
It was depressing to think about, so Colin tried not to. He couldn’t go back in time and give Jamie a dad that wasn’t a piece of shit, but he could be a good friend in the present, so that was what he was going to do. And Colin decided that a good friend would kidnap him to force feed him soup.
“We are not kidnapping Jamie.” Isaac insisted. “we can’t crowd him; you know what he’s like.”
Isaac was right, annoyingly. Jamie was sort of like a feral cat that you had to lure from it’s hiding spot in that space at the top of your car wheels. He didn’t take to gentleness naturally, he had to be coaxed into it through a combination of treats and blatant trickery. Otherwise, he got defensive, raised his hackles and swiped with practiced intent to draw blood. Still, Colin didn’t like it.
“I think we should at least consider kidnapping Jamie.” He replied. Isaac sighed, all long-suffering and rude like. Colin thought Isaac didn’t have a leg to stand on, because he chose to be Colin’s best friend and he also chose to care about a twat like Jamie who didn’t know how to be cared about. Whatever heart palpations he was having as a result was on him.
Three days into being sick, the fever settled in. Jamie had been expecting it, he had even been prepared for it. It was only a low grade one, enough to make his skin kind of clammy and cheeks flush but not quite enough to keep him down. That didn’t make it suck any less. The day before his sniffles had evolved into an official cold, phlegm rattling around in his chest making his throat itch. He’d almost choked to death during team meditation because his body decided it was just going to give up on its ability to breathe at the most inconvenient time possible.
By the end of the day, he was having to pause whatever he was doing to have a coughing fit every few minutes. It only got worse, over the next few days. His voice was rough, and his skin was pale. The aches and chills settled in not long after the fever did. Thankfully, the coughing only lasted for a night or two. There was no hiding it anymore though, so Jamie turned to the last tool in his arsenal to get everyone to leave him alone; outright denial.
He’d brushed of Sam and Dani’s polite urging to go home and get some rest; he’d been straight up avoiding both Isaac and Colin because they kept whispering to each other and looking over at Jamie in a mildly alarming way. On the flip side, Jan Maas was straight up avoiding Jamie, on the grounds of he did not want to get sick. Jan had even used a broom he stole off Will to nudge Jamie away from him when he stood too close at one point.
The coaches hadn’t said anything, because though Jamie wasn’t looking too hot, he was still performing just fine. Years of playing sick meant Jamie was able to function just the same on the pitch as he always would. Sure, he paid for it when he got home and the adrenaline wore off, but what mattered was he was able to train and play as normal.
He was sure Ted was itching to say something to him, but Jamie had made a game of dodging and weaving the man’s attempts at a private conversation like he was a dancer in the fucking ballet. Roy kept glaring at him though, like he was hoping he’d be able to telepathically knock some sense into Jamie. They all knew he was sick, and Jamie knew they knew he was sick, but they couldn’t prove it unless Jamie admitted it and any time anyone asked if he was feeling alright, Jamie would put on a bright, cocky grin and tell them that he was absolutely perfect, thanks.
He cancelled his appointment with Dr Bailey for the week, because he didn’t want to know what she had to say about him going to work sick and refusing help from anyone about it. Probably something about how he wasn’t a burden and he wouldn’t be punished for receiving help.
Which, Jamie did know, honestly. He had his hang ups about asking for help, he knew that well enough. He didn’t know how to ask for what he needed a lot of the time, didn’t even know how to recognise what he needed just as often. It was one of the main things Jamie worked on with Dr Bailey. Figuring out what he was feeling, why he was feeling it and how to fix it.
He knew that he was embarrassed, to admit that he was sick. It felt like admitting defeat, like it was tangible proof that he wasn’t Jamie Tartt, the invincible professional footballer who never cried and never lost that he’d built up to keep himself safe. It felt like admitting he was still just Jamie, the kid crying in the backseat of his dad’s car.
He knew he was afraid too. Not of his friends acting the way his dad did, because he knew they wouldn’t. He was afraid of missing out, more than he was afraid of anything else. Growing up, Jamie was constantly on the outside of everything. Just a bit too weird, or too arrogant, or too soft, to be part of the crowd. He didn’t want to give his friends the chance to realise they liked it better when Jamie wasn’t around.
So, he knew what he was feeling, and he knew why he was feeling it. He also knew somewhere in his mind that his reactions to it weren’t on the list of healthy responses to emotions he and Dr Bailey had come up with, but he decided he got a free pass this time. It wasn’t hurting anyone but himself, and he’d survived it before.
So, even with the fever making his forehead sticky with sweat and the exhaustion heavy in his bones, he got up and ready for training. Roy had cancelled their early morning training for the rest of the week, citing that he had Phoebe with him for the week and didn’t want to drag her out of bed at four in the morning, playing along with Jamie’s game of denial while still getting what he wanted from it.
Jamie still woke up at four though, because it was hardwired into his brain. He spent most of the morning lazing in bed with his shark, and then wandering around his house as he packed his bag sluggishly. By the time he had eaten, packed and gotten dressed, he still had a couple of hours before he needed to be at training. He figured he would just head in early, in case he ended up falling back asleep and missing training entirely.
The locker room was predictably empty, when Jamie arrived. The lights were on though, likely because Will was tottering around somewhere in the building doing his job. If he wanted too, he could have gone to the gym and done some light exercise, but truthfully, he felt like shit and didn’t want too. Instead, he curled up on the bench in front of his cubby with the book he and Phoebe were reading together.
Jamie was never a big reader as a kid. He was always so occupied with football, and his teachers had deemed him a lost cause early on when it came to reading anything beyond simple sentences. But Phoebe had gotten him back into it, after demanding that Jamie had to be the one to read her a bedtime story when he had been at Roy’s at the same time as her.
She was patient with him, when he stumbled through the words on the page, reading along and sounding things out with him. She never made fun, or got mad that Jamie wasn’t very good at it, so Jamie had ended up enjoying himself, and enjoying the book. He enjoyed it enough that he’d gone and bought his own copy so he could finish it. And then he’d gone and bought every other book by the same author as he could. He and Phoebe had both been steadily making their way through Roald Dahls books for the past few months.
So he read, keeping his focus off of the pounding in his head or the itching in his throat and on the pages in front of him. He paused only briefly when Isaac arrived to nod a polite greeting. Isaac tended to go about mornings silently, and Jamie didn’t feel a need to invade his space that early in the morning. He just kept reading quietly. He didn’t even notice when his eyes began to shut.
Days at Nelson Road always tended to start the same way. Sure, there was the odd disruption that threw off the atmosphere but Sam had become accustomed to the familiar routine of arriving at Nelson Road to his team getting ready and chatting amongst themselves about their nights or weekends. So, it was a little bit odd when Sam arrived, only to find everyone standing silently in a huddle at the centre of the room.
“What on earth is going on?” He asked, making his ay further into the room only to be frantically shushed by several people, including Dani. Who, Sam would admit, was not someone Sam ever expected to be shushing him in any kind of situation.
“shh amigo,” Dani murmured, stepping aside enough for Sam to get a decent view at what everyone was staring at. “He is sleeping.”
Sure enough, it was Jamie who was sat at his cubby, dead asleep. His head was tipped back to rest against the wall, his lips parted as he snored softly, and the book (Charlie and the chocolate factory) he had clearly been reading was still open in his lap. His breathing was coming out in a concerning kind of wheeze, and there was a flush high on his cheeks.
“Told you he was fucking sick,” Isaac murmured to Colin, who held his hands up in surrender.
“And I am man enough to admit I was wrong.” He conceded. Much like the rest of the team, he was eyeing Jamie’s sleeping form apprehensively.
“How long has he been like that?” Sam asked, garnering the attention of the little audience that was watching Jamie with various degrees of concern and amusement. Richard was taking pictures of him asleep, likely for blackmail purposes.
“was awake when I got here,” Isaac said, gesturing to Jamie broadly. “ ‘e was reading in his cubby all quiet like, and then I heard ‘im snoring. Didn’t know what to do with him so I just left him.”
“He is clearly unwell.” Jan Maas said, “It is flu season, and he has a poor constitution.”
“What’s a piece of paper a bunch of dead Americans signed got to do with Jamie and the flu?” Colin asked. Jan Maas turned to look at Isaac blankly, like it was his fault Colin was like this. When Isaac did not offer up any explanation, he turned back to Colin.
“It means Jamie has a poor immune system,” Jan Maas said slowly, “he gets sick easily.”
“How do you know that?” Sam asked. Jan Maas shrugged, like his strange intimate knowledge about Jamie’s immune system was a totally normal thing.
“He was sick no less than four separate times last winter.” He answered simply “I watched him drink cough medicine straight from the bottle at least twice. I’m not surprised none of you noticed, that seems to be how he wants it.”
That concerned Sam for several reasons, the least of which being that Jamie apparently did not know how to take medicine in a normal manner.
“Why wouldn’t he want us to know?” Dani asked forlornly, face pulled into an expression of dejection as he looked at Jamie, who didn’t so much as stir despite the crowd. “we are his friends no? He knows we would take care of him.”
“Would he though?” Bumbercatch of all people chimed in. There was a general, unsettled murmur running through the team now as they all realised, collectively, that No, Jamie probably wouldn’t know that they would take care of him. He had an unsettling habit of not realising that he was cared about or loved, like it didn’t even occur to him that the people around him would want him to be okay. It didn’t fit, with the arrogant narcissistic image of Jamie they all had in their minds from a few years ago.
Sometimes, the more Sam learnt about why Jamie acted like that, he wished that Jamie had been cruel because that was just how he was, and not because someone had taught him to be that way by treating him cruelly. Instead of it being some kind of desperate clawing for control after spending his entire life being kicked while he was down. It would be easier, it would hurt less, if Jamie was just bad from the start and learnt to be better, instead of knowing that Jamie had been good from the start and forced to be worse to keep himself safe.
“so, what do we do?” Sam asked, brow crinkled in thought. He did not want to leave Jamie asleep in his cubby, neck crimped at an uncomfortable angle, but he didn’t know what else to do.
“I do not think Jamie wants you to do anything.” Jan Maas said. “If he did, he likely would have told us that he was unwell.”
“Yeah, well Jamie doesn’t get a say,” Colin returned, crossing his arms over his chest in a huff. “If he didn’t want us to care about him, he should’ve thought about that before he went and befriended all of us.”
Jan Maas shrugged, and didn’t offer any alternative solutions.
“Jan Maas is right though,” Isaac said. Which, yes, Sam would admit was true. Jamie was stubborn beyond all belief, and if he didn’t want them involved, he wasn’t going to let them get involved. “Jamie doesn’t want us to know, if we corner him, he’s gonna freeze up,”
“So, we just ignore it?” Sam asked, uneasy at the prospect of just letting Jamie run around sick. He’d watched Jamie run himself into the ground before, he didn’t want to sit back and watch it again.
“Nah,” Isaac said, humming in thought the way he did when he was planning some kind of team shenanigans. “We just gotta be subtle about it. So we don’t spook him”
There was a general murmur of agreement amongst everybody. The last thing they wanted was for Jamie to shut them out even more than he already was. Isaac directed them all away from Jamie quietly, urging them to get ready and act natural, assuring them all that he would have a solution to their problem by the end of the day and in the meantime, they were to behave as they normally would lest Jamie catch on.
Sam tried to listen. He went about changing quickly and ignored the way Jamie’s chest rattled with each breath. He even pretended not to notice when Colin lost rock paper scissors with Richard and was sent to wake Jamie up so he could get ready before the coaches arrived and found him sleeping.
But it was harder, once they got out onto the field it became increasingly more obvious just how unwell Jamie was. He kept blinking sluggishly, like he was having a hard time keeping his eyes open and he swayed where he stood while Ted was giving them their instructions for the day. It was a bit harder to see, once Jamie was moving through drills with the same kind of ease he took to breathing, but it was there. He was slower, less coordinated.
Not enough to raise concerns, after all the occasional slow day could be written off, but enough that it was noticeable. So, Sam stuck a little closer to Jamie’s side on the field, muscles tensed and ready to catch him were he to stumble and need it. Jamie, it seemed, was too focused on keeping himself upright to notice that Sam had become his personal bodyguard for the day.
Sam even tried to convince Jamie to come home with him for the night, lying blatantly about wanting to try and new recipe for a kind of soup he was thinking of adding to Ola’s menu and that he could use a taste tester. Jamie, usually, jumped at the chance. This time though, he had scrunched his hands up under the fabric of his shirt and shaken his head regretfully.
” Sorry mate, not tonight.” He’d murmured, genuinely apologetic about not being able to spend the time with Sam in a way that made his heart cinch a little. “ ‘m just gonna go home and crash. Roy ran me ragged this morning.”
“Another time then,” Sam had assured him, not wanting Jamie to feel bad as he shouldered his bag. Part of Sam wanted to stop him, insist that Jamie should come home with him so that Sam could be sure that he was eating and sleeping and taking medicine. Instead, he said “will you tell me when you get home safe?”
“yeah, course,” Jamie agreed with a small, bashful smile that always appeared in the moment where people showed him they cared in ways he was not expecting, “you let me know too?”
“I will.” Sam said, and watched Jamie go. Later, when he received the text from Jamie that was butchered English and a string of emojis letting him know that he was safe at home, Sam felt some of the tension in his chest ease. At the very least, Jamie would survive until tomorrow without intervention.
On the Saturdays they had no games, Isaac would host a team bonding night. What they did depended on the week, the only rule was that the coaches were not allowed to come. It was a sacred tradition, where they would all pile together on Isaacs couch and bitch about Ted or Beard or Roy to their hearts content without feeling bad about it, or talk about all the things they didn’t want the coaches to know about.
According to Isaac, it was supposed to be a “no judgement zone” and was important for team morale. It was one of Jamie’s favourite things in the world. Which is why he was cosied up on Isaac’s couch, feeling like he was going to die.
He was pressed up against the arm of the couch with one of Isaac’s expensive fluffy blankets wrapped tightly around his shoulders, Dani to his right yelling fervently at the screen in spanish as he was being absolutely demolished in Mario Kart by Zoreaux. The rest of the team is scattered around the living room, a couple sitting way back in the kitchen too, but Isaac had a fancy open plan house and everyone could still see everyone from wherever they ended up.
Sam was sat on the same arm of the couch that Jamie was leaning against, Colin on one of the armchairs. Jan Maas, Richard and Isaac were all in the kitchen. Richard was judging Isaac’s selection of cheeses for the night and Jan Maas was acting as Richards body guard so Isaac didn’t smack him, from what Jamie could tell. Bumbercatch was hanging upside down off the other armchair, a bowl on popcorn on the ground next to him that he kept periodically grabbing some from to throw in his mouth, only missing every other time.
If it were any other day, Jamie would be having fun. He’d be yelling along with Dani or helping Richard annoy Isaac or maybe even just chatting quietly with Sam while the others caused chaos around them. But today, Jamie had woken up with that now familiar pounding behind his eyes, heat itching at his skin despite the fact he was shaking from the chills, and an uncomfortable roiling in his stomach.
He had spent the entire day blissfully asleep on his couch. He had gotten out of bed to shower, his skin sticky with cold sweat, and then he felt like his bed was too disgusting to get back into and didn’t have the energy to change the sheets. So, he’d posted up on the couch with a documentary playing and blahaj tucked under his head like a pillow, and spent his entire day there. He got up to piss, or to refill his water bottle, and for absolutely no other reason until it had been time to leave for Isaac’s. It had been great really, and now Jamie was regretting leaving the comfort of his couch.
He was fucking miserable about it actually. Barely holding himself together while the others jostled around him, being so fucking loud he felt like they were taking a drill to his skull. He didn’t know if the stinging in his eyes was from the fever, or the fact he was one wrong move away from ugly crying all over Isaacs decorative throw pillows. Either way, it fucking sucked and it was fucking embarrassing.
He knew that the others all knew he was sick. None of them had said anything, probably because Jamie hadn’t said anything, and saying something felt like admitting defeat. It meant going home and being just as miserable on his own couch as he was on Isaac’s. It meant that they would all know that Jamie wasn’t able to just stick it out, it meant conceding to that awful little voice in his head that his dad had put there way back when Jamie was nine and just wanted his mum. Jamie fucking hated being sick.
And right now, he fucking hated the smell of buttery popcorn. Bumbercatch and his bowl of popcorn weren’t even on the same side of the room as Jamie, but it was all he could smell. It was rich, and sweet, and made Jamie’s stomach churn violently, his heart leaping in his throat every few moments as a warning of what was to come if Jamie didn’t get the hell away from the smell. Jamie’s stomach had it out for him the entire day, protesting at every strong smell or suggestion of food with violent measures.
He’d managed to avoid throwing up all over himself for most of it, swallowing down bile and sipping water slowly to keep the meagre amounts of toast he’d forced himself to have that morning down, and now Bumbercatch and his popcorn were going to do Jamie in. Of course, it would be when Jamie was surrounded by the entire team, and not when he was home alone. It was karma, for him thinking he could get away with ignoring the fact he was sick in the first place.
He tried to breathe slowly through his nose to calm the unsettled turning in his gut, but all that did was make it worse as the smell of popcorn invaded his senses. Jamie didn’t even like popcorn that much when he wasn’t sick, and now he was going to outright hate it for the rest of his life.
He was so focused on not throwing up all over Isaac’s floors, he didn’t even notice when Isaac himself made his way back into the living room until there was a hand dropped against his head, a soothing pressure that startled Jamie out of his stupor.
“You all good bruv?” Isaac asked, looking down at Jamie with his brow knitted together in concern. Jamie nodded, stomach turning and heart beating in his throat. His tongue felt numb as he tried to get it to cooperate. All he needed to do was say it, open his mouth and prattle off the same dismissive lie he’d been saying all week with each concerned look or questioning glance. But, when Jamie tried to speak, he cut himself off with a sharp gag before he pitched over suddenly, retching.
Someone at least seemed to notice where Jamie had been heading, and managed to shove one of the many empty snack bowls that littered the living room under his chin before he made a mess of Isaac’s floor. Throwing up was always awful, but throwing up with an audience was fucking humiliating. It didn’t help that Jamie was already at his limit, in terms of things that he could handle like an adult. When the bout of sickness finally passed, Jamie’s mouth tasting like acid and throat burned raw, the room watching him with concerned silence, he burst into tears in front of everyone. Again.
“Alright, everybody back the fuck off of him.” Isaac announced to the room, when Jamie started crying. The sour smell of vomit lingered in the air, and Isaac was just glad he’d noticed the green, queasy look of Jamie’s face before he’d doubled over and puked on Isaac’s floor. Not that Isaac would care if he did, he could just clean it up, but Jamie probably would. Jamie was funny like that, caring about weird shit at weird times.
Thankfully, the team listened. They dispersed in silence, stepping away from Jamie. Colin took the bowl Jamie had gotten sick in with him, and Isaac would have to remember to thank the Welshman for cleaning it up once he had Jamie taken care of. Everyone vacated the living room, giving Isaac some room to work, with the notable exception of Sam and Dani, who both remained glued to either side of him, Sam stroking a hand up and down his back in comfort while Jamie’s shoulders shook. Isaac knew better than to try and force them out though, so he let them be as he got to work. First step was calming Jamie down before he worked himself up enough to be sick again.
“you gotta breathe mate,” he encouraged Jamie gently, moving to kneel in front of the lad. He looked fucking awful, had looked awful all night. Isaac had been half tempted to send him home, when he’d shown up at the door for the bonding night with clammy skin and fever radiating off of skin like a furnace, but then Isaac had figured that at least with Jamie here, he’d have someone to keep an eye on him. Jamie, thankfully, wasn’t too far gone that he couldn’t hear Isaac. He took in a slow, shuddering breath, the tears still rolling down his ruddy cheeks. Isaac nodded at him all encouraging like, repeating a quiet mantra of “that’s it, you’re alright. ‘ts gonna be alright.”
Jamie didn’t really stop crying, and Isaac didn’t blame him cause being as sick as he was had to suck, but his breathing did stop hitching and shuddering in ways that would make him choke. Jamie looked like a mess, to put it mildly. His eyes were unfocused, and there was vomit down his front. Step two would be getting him cleaned up. Which came with the complication of Dani and Sam, who Isaac had to get away from Jamie long enough that he could usher the kid into the bathroom.
“oi, you two gotta give him some space,” Isaac tried, and was met with two fierce glares. It was kind of like being stared down by a pair of kittens. Herding cats, his mum used to say about wrangling him and his sisters. Now Isaac was thinking it about his team. So, he put on his best captain’s voice, “Look, I’m gonna get ‘im cleaned up but I need you one of you to get his stuff together and I need one of you to call Roy.”
The pair of them looked between each other, having a silent conversation with their eyes over Jamie’s head that Isaac politely pretended he couldn’t see happening. Whatever they discussed, the seemed to come to a decision relatively quickly.
“you will keep him safe, yes?” Dani asked, reluctant to disobey a direct order from Isaac but certainly not above it if he felt the need too. Isaac nodded emphatically. When he’d become captain, this was not what he’d imagined he’d be doing, but he didn’t think he’d change it for anything.
“yeah bruv, I’ve got him.” Isaac assured. It was thankfully enough to satisfy Dani, who stood up with only mild reluctance and went on the hunt for Jamie’s things. Sam hovered for a bit longer, smoothing his hand over Jamie’s back in comfort, before standing. Jamie’s whine at the loss of contact was quiet, but fucking miserable to hear.
“I will call Roy.” Sam said nervously, like he wasn’t sure what else to do. Isaac made another mental note to check in with Sam too, once Jamie was sorted.
“Alright, c’mon lad.” Isaac murmured, pulling Jamie up off the couch with ease. Jamie wasn’t light by any means, but he wasn’t all that heavy compared to what Isaac could lift. Jamie, for the most part, was easy to manoeuvre. He shuffled into step beside Isaac, feet moving clumsily with Isaacs arm hooked around his shoulders guiding him towards the bedroom, so that Isaac could set him on the toilet in his en suite.
“Sorry,” Jamie mumbled as they walked, still out of it if his voice was anything to go by.
“got nothing to be sorry for.” Isaac replied resolutely, and didn’t let Jamie say another word as they stumbled into the bathroom together, Isaac shutting the bedroom door behind them, quieting the din of the noise outside. He set Jamie down on the lid of the toilet, and moved around his bathroom methodically collecting he things he needed.
Isaac was the youngest of four, with three older sisters. It wasn’t often in his life that he had to take care of people, but he was good at it when given the chance. When Isaac had been 10, his oldest sister Ava got dumped by her first boyfriend and Isaac was the only one she let into her room for weeks and he had taken the responsibility of making her feel better very seriously. Of course, taking care of one of his sick teammates wasn’t exactly the same, but he was going to take it just as seriously.
First, he retrieved his water bottle from where it was sat on his nightstand, unscrewing the lid and passing it off to Jamie so the lad could rinse his mouth out. He wasn’t worried about catching whatever Jamie had, because if he was going to get it, he was probably already fucked with how much time he spent with Jamie anyway. Isaac found a spare washcloth under his sink, and wetting it and wringing it out on autopilot while Jamie sipped at the water and swished it around his mouth. When Jamie was finished, Isaac handed him the washcloth. He took it gingerly, wiping at his mouth and his neck.
“‘m sorry bout your bowl.” Jamie mumbled, sounding genuinely devasted that he’d thrown up in one of Isaacs many popcorn bowls.
“just a bowl innit?” Isaac replied gently. “I can clean it.”
“Not your mess,” Jamie replied, shaking his head fervently and then reaching out to steady himself against the wall, because that was a stupid thing to do when your brain was rattling around with a fever.
“yeah, well I’m making it my mess.” Isaac said, like it was that simple. Because it was that simple, really. Jamie needed help, so Isaac would help. That was all there was too it.
“’m sorry for coming,” Jamie said then, when he realised his apologies about the bowl were futile. Isaac missed when Jamie didn’t feel the need to apologise for existing. “should’ve just stayed home, didn’t need you lot dealing with this.”
“shut the fuck up,” Isaac said with no heat behind it, Jamie blinked at him in bleary surprise, but with Jamie’s full attention Isaac continued. “I’m glad you came. Rather you be here where we can take care of you than chokin’ on your own vomit at home.”
“don’t need to be taken care of,” Jamie insisted, setting the washcloth aside. It might’ve been more convincing if his nose wasn’t stuffy or his words weren’t slurring together.
“who cares if you need it?” Isaac replied “you don’t gotta need something to have it. I don’t need to have decorative soap shaped like flowers, but it makes my bathroom look well nice so I have ‘em.”
For emphasis, Isaac picked up his decorative flower soap to show Jamie. Isaac didn’t know if Jamie believed him, or even understood what he was saying, but at the very least he laughed weakly at Isaacs fancy fuckin soap.
“that does look well nice,” he agreed “I’d be afraid to wash my hands with it, mess it all up.” “that’s why I have a different, not decorative soap.” Isaac answered, pointing to the regular old hand soap also on his sink. And either Jamie was delirious from his fever, or he just found Isaacs soap to be hilarious, because he cracked up into a fit of uncontrollable giggles about it. He kept giggling until he was breathless and ended up having a coughing fit. His chest was still rattly, and the coughing probably didn’t do his throat any good.
Isaac knelt beside him, patting his back gently and coaxing him through the fit with same mantra of “it’s alright bruv, just breathe.” as before.
“Sorry,” Jamie mumbled, when he got his breathing back under control.
“don’t gotta be sorry,” Isaac said again. He’d say it as many times as Jamie needed to hear it. “just let me help you yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jamie agreed quietly. breathless and tired. “Alright.”
“Good.” Isaac replied, then “I’m gonna get you a new hoodie, take that one off.”
There were a lot of ways Roy could’ve been spending his Saturday night. Date night with Keeley, hanging out with Phoebe and his sister, just spending some time to himself reading his book or hate watching a stupid reality show. Driving to Isaac’s to pick Jamie up because he’d thrown up at the players-only-team-bonding night wasn’t what he’d been expecting. He probably should have though, because the fucking muppet had been sick all week and refused to let anyone do anything about it.
He’d been halfway through an episode of bake-off when his phone rang, caller ID letting him know it was Sam, and therefore probably somewhat important so he couldn’t just ignore it. He hadn’t really known what it would be about when he’d paused bake-off and answered with a gruff “what,”
“Jamie threw up.” was what Sam lead with. And really it was all he needed to say, before Roy was muttering Fuck and heading towards the door with his keys, because somewhere in the past couple years he’d gone and made himself Jamie’s fucking minder, and that made him responsible for picking the kid up when he went and got sick at sleepovers like he was in elementary school.
“I’ll be right there,” Roy had said, before hanging up on Sam and starting his car. When he arrived, it was Colin who let him in and directed him to where Isaac and Jamie were posted up in Isaac’s bedroom, the rest of the team all milling nervously in the living room.
He didn’t bother knocking, just letting himself in. The pair of them were sitting on Isaac’s bed, Jamie leaning on Isaac in a hoodie Roy knew for a fact wasn’t Jamie’s, eyes half closed and breathing slow, rattling breaths in. It didn’t take a genius to figure out Jamie had probably been sick on himself and needed a change of clothes.
“Hey Roy,” Isaac greeted, stirring Jamie back into consciousness.
“whatre you doing here?” Jamie slurred, blinking at Roy with confusion. He looked fucking awful.
“taking you home.” Roy answered simply.
“Oh,” Jamie mumbled like that made perfect sense, eyes slipping closed again, “Okay.”
“he’s out of it,” Isaac supplied “I’ll help you get ‘im into the car.”
Which was how Isaac ended up half carrying Jamie back to his G-wagon, while Roy took Jamie’s stupid fucking bumbag and the shoes that were left by the door from Dani. Jamie was asleep before Isaac even finished setting him up in the passenger seat, which left Roy to try and put the fucker’s seatbelt on.
“take care of him yeah?” Isaac requested as he shut the door, and Roy grunted his affirmation as he tried to get the fucking belt around Jamie’s sleeping form in a way that would actually be helpful, waving the captain off.
“Yeah, I fucking got him,” Roy mumbled, finally getting the seatbelt on. Jamie slept on, as peacefully as someone with a high fever and inability to breathe through their nose could. The drive back was quiet, aside from the radio and Jamie’s snoring. When they arrived back to Jamie’s place, Roy would wake him up, probably make him take a proper fucking bath and try to eat some food to make up for whatever he’d lost. For now, Roy let Jamie sleep. He’d be okay. They all had him, even when he was a fucking twat who refused to admit he was sick.