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Stomachaches aren’t a new phenomenon for Roy Kent. You don’t shit yourself on the bus during your first stomachache. So when Roy has one, he’s more or less used to it. He knows which bathrooms to use, how much time he has to make it home or to his sisters, and which shops have the cleanest public toilets.
But today, today was different. Today, the pain was a little sharper, but nothing he hadn’t worked through before, nothing compared to what he’d played through before. And Phoebe had talked him into ice cream the night before, after all. But today was also the first Champions League match for the Greyhounds. And the first with Roy as manager. So, a nervous stomach wasn’t out of the question.
Thankfully, most everyone left him alone, attributing his mood to pre-match preparation and maybe jitters. However, no one would openly accuse him of any said jitters. Roy Kent didn’t get nervous. At least not when he’s off the pitch. Not when he’s relegated to the sidelines, unable to do much more than cheer his lads on. He’s not the one facing defenders, after all.
“You doing okay, coach?” Jamie asks, stopping Roy on his way to the bathroom for the third time this hour.
“Shouldn’t you be warming up, Tartt?” Roy barks a little rougher than necessary, but if anyone is used to Roy’s mood changes, it’s Jamie. Roy doesn’t let himself stop to think if that’s fair to Jamie or not.
“I was just seeing if you were okay, man,” Jamie says so earnestly that guilt creeps up Roy’s spine at the younger man’s concern. “You look a little pale.”
“I’m fine, Tartt. Thank you for your concern,” Roy growls, then turns softer. “Now, go fucking warm up.”
Jamie reluctantly walks away, looking over his shoulder as Roy hurries towards a toilet. Pre-game nerves are all it is, he tells himself. The match is uneventful, literally. The teams leave the pitch tied nil-nil after ninety-plus minutes. Roy briefly talks to the team and then the press. He goes through both on autopilot, not fully remembering either beyond the pain in his stomach.
Neither Keeley nor Rebecca texted him afterwards, so he must’ve not said something too horrible. Or too daft since he didn’t receive any texts from Ruth either. He’s home and in bed before anyone else has time to text him potentially.
He wakes up in his own sweat the following day, surprised at having slept through to his alarm. Roy wasn’t regularly working out with Jamie this season, but his body was still conditioned to waking up early. Roy was adamant about not showing any favouritism towards Jamie now that he was the manager. He was also busier than he thought he would be. The team had a number of additional games in the Champions League and less time available with the international travel that goes along with it. Roy was conscious of not wanting to overwork Jamie, so he insisted he discontinue the almost daily four a.m. workouts as well. Roy still set up a workout plan for the younger man to follow and joined him when he could, but he ensured Jamie had more rest days built in and fewer three-a-day workouts.
The Greyhounds are on a scheduled rest day post-match, but the coaches are in for tape review. Roy pops some paracetamol, thinking he might be coming down with something. But Roy played half his career basically on one leg, and he could handle watching tapes with a little cold or whatever he was dealing with.
Beard and Nate are already there when he arrives, vídeo cued up in their office. Nate and Beard analyse most of the match, Roy adding in anything when he can, but he spends most of the time trying hard to concentrate. He gets up to use the toilet, not bothering to say anything because he doesn’t think he can.
And because nothing is simple for Roy Kent the past two days, he quite literally bumps into Jamie in the hallway.
“Coach, you alright?” Jamie asks, concerned, having clocked Roy’s sweaty and pale face as soon as he sees him.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Tartt?” Roy deflects angrily. “Today is a fucking rest day. You’re supposed to be home doing fuck all.”
“I am resting, Christ man,” Jamie answers defensively. “I was just getting treatment on my hamstring. That’s it.”
“Oh,” is all Roy can reply. He vaguely remembers Jamie’s hamstring bothering him in the post-match report from the physios. He’d felt so miserable last night he barely read them.
“You really don’t look good, mate,” Jamie says, briefly disarming the coach at the use of his first name. “You need me to get one of the physios or call Ruth?”
“I’m fucking fine.”
Roy walks off, leaving Jamie standing awkwardly in the hallway. When Roy returns to his office, he’s thankful Jamie is no longer in sight. He’s not in the mood for any more questions. Unfortunately for Roy, he’s not getting his way anytime soon.
“You okay, Coach?” Beard asks.
Traitor, Roy thinks. He thought the older man, and he had an understanding.
“You look a little pale,” Beard continues.
Nate makes some noise in agreement. After his return and Ted’s departure, the youngest coach is still finding his footing in the organisation.
“Want me to see if any of the physios are still here? Have you taken anything?” Nate asks.
“I’m. Fucking. Fine,” Roy growls.
And it’d be much more convincing if he didn’t follow it up with vomiting into a nearby trash barrel.
Roy has just enough time to say, “I don’t feel so good,” before the floor rushes up to meet him.
“Roy, Roy, wake up.”
Someone’s calling his name. He can feel something touching his face. Roy realises slowly, someone is slapping his face. His eyes open reluctantly, and Beard and Nathan swim into view. The world spins and eventually rights itself.
“Thank God,” Nate says when Roy’s eyes finally focus.
“It’s Jamie. Come on, let’s get you up,” Beard says.
Mentioning the younger man is like an injection of adrenaline to the manager. He lurches to a sitting position and groans only slightly as the two assistant coaches pull him to his feet. Twin pangs in his knee and side, but he pushes through them to get to Jamie, who he sees on a treatment table in the changing room. The physio, Gail is at his feet, moving his right ankle around.
“Fuck, Jamie, what happened?”
“I dunno, man,” Jamie says through gritted teeth. “I was coming down the stairs, and something tripped me.”
“You fell down the stairs?”
“No, I told you, something tripped me,” Jamie insists.
“This is my fault,” Nate says quietly. Roy feels a sense of Deja Vu. “I saw you in that treatment room. I should’ve stopped you.”
“We did the fucking ceremony, the ghosts are gone, it’s not haunted any more.”
“I think Nate’s right,” Beard says. “I think it was a temporary thing. Or maybe it’s a ghost that wasn’t exorcised. But I’ve noticed things lately, and now, well, Jamie’s injury confirms it.”
“You couldn’t mention this an hour ago?” Jamie yells, face tight with pain.
“Fuck. Nate, go get Higgins and Rebecca,” Roy says.
“Coach, you still don’t look good. Maybe you need this table more than me,” Jamie says, then goes to move off the treatment table only to wince in pain. “Fuck, never mind. But still, maybe you should sit down.”
“I’m fucking fine, Tartt,” Roy snaps, ignoring the growing pain in his side and the increasing nausea, then turns to Gail. “What’s the verdict on his ankle?”
“He needs an x-ray,” Gail explains plainly.
Rebecca and Higgins arrive at the changing room with worried looks. And then, without warning, the power goes out. Beard shrieks. Roy does, too, though he’d never admit it.
“Okay, I’m fucking out of here,” Gail says. “I don’t get paid enough for this shit.”
Roy hears rather than sees Gail leave in the darkness. Fair enough, he thinks.
“I thought you got rid of these bloody ghosts,” Rebecca says.
“We did,” Roy says. “I’ve been in that room tons of fucking times.”
“But not recently,” Nate says quietly.
“Jamie, you doing okay?” Roy asks him, and they hadn’t even gotten a chance to get him ice for his ankle before they lost power.
“Fine, mate,” Jamie says, and Roy can tell from his voice he’s lying.
“Lindsay’s meeting me for lunch. He should be here any second,” Higgins says.
“I’m here,” a voice says from the door, and Roy jumps.
The young priest stands in the doorway, face illuminated by a flashlight. Beard and Higgins quickly explain to Higgins’ oldest what happened and the room’s history.
“Show me the room,” Father Lindsay says. “All of us should go.”
Roy and Beard reluctantly hold Jamie up between them, and they help the player limp towards the treatment room again. Once they arrive, Father Lindsey instructs them all to hold hands as he lights a candle.
“Whoever is here, we ask you to come forward. We are here to help you. Please come to talk to us,” Father Lindsay begins. “Use our bodies and our energies. Now is the time to come forward and make yourself known to us.”
The room is quiet, save for their breathing.
“Someone is here,” Lindsay says suddenly.
“I sense someone, too,” Nate adds.
“I see a crying woman, a nun,” Father Lindsays says. “Sister, come forward. She’s scared. What is your name, Sister? She doesn’t want her brother to leave, to go to war. She’ll do anything to keep him home.”
“Oh God,” Rebecca whispers under her breath and screams.
The candle goes out. Jamie makes a whimpering noise, and Roy turns to where Jamie is standing beside him. Only he feels ice in the hand that’s supposed to be holding Jamie’s. Bones creak until his hand, and Roy drops it as if it’s burned him. Roy desperately tries to see Jamie in the darkness.
“Jamie?” he yells.
“Roy, Roy, stay with me. Come on, mate, please?” Jamie begs, but his voice is lost in the darkness. It sounds like it’s coming from everywhere rather than one stagnant place.
“Jamie?” Roy turns again, trying to find Jamie in the darkness, but instead, he comes face to face with a nun. There are black sockets where her eyes should be. Blood streams down her face from her missing eyes. She inches terrifying closer to Roy until their noses are inches apart – and then she screams.
The darkness envelopes Roy. Screams the only sound in his ears. He vaguely realises it’s his voice screaming before the blackness engulfs him.
Roy wakes up to bright lights, fluorescent bulbs and concerned looks on the faces filtering in and out of his hazy vision.
“Mr. Kent?” someone asks, though he has no idea where the voice comes from.
Where the fuck did the nun go? They have to get out of here. Roy tries to sit up and groans as the pain hits him again.
“Jamie?” he tries to ask but doesn’t know if the words make it out of his mouth.
He hears the words morphine and closes his eyes, grasping to stay awake but losing the battle once the pain relief hits him.
The next thing Roy is aware of is beeping. It’s quite fucking annoying, actually. Did he miss his alarm? No, it’s not that kind of beeping. He eventually stirs awake, only to be greeted by the nun again. Roy shrieks out a noise until he realises it’s not the nun but Jamie.
Jamie squeaks a noise at him, startled by Roy’s shriek.
Roy realises he’s no longer in the treatment room, not at Nelson Road.
“Roy, thank fuck you’re awake! How are you feeling?” Jamie asks him.
Roy’s voice is weak; he tries to say something. To ask about the Nun, Father Lindsay, Jamie, anything, but the words won’t form.
“Oh fuck, hold on,” Jamie says, grabbing water and bringing a straw to Roy’s lips. “Here, small sips, though lad. Take it slow.”
“Am I dead?” Roy asks him, finally.
Jamie’s worry only increases.
“No, Roy, you’re in hospital.”
“You shouldn’t be walking on your ankle,” Roy tells him.
“Mate, what’re you talking about? My ankle’s fine. Been fine for months. Did you hit your head when you passed out? How many fingers am I holding up?”
Roy ignores him, and the two fingers he lifts into Roy’s eyesight. “Your ankle. The stairs. The fucking ghosts.”
“I should get a doctor. You’re not making any sense, man,” Jamie says to him, eyebrows knitting together in worry.
He had to be hallucinating.
“What happened?” Roy asks tentatively.
“Your appendix ruptured. You could’ve died, Roy. If it happened at night and no one found you until the morning or something. They had to do emergency surgery.”
Roy scrubs a hand over his face, trying to comprehend everything that happened didn’t happen. So, no ghosts, then. He should be happy. But it felt so fucking real, terrifying, really.
“Are you in any pain? Want me to get a nurse?” Jamie asks.
“No, I’m okay,” Roy answers truthfully. He’s a little fuzzy, and other than being slightly sore, the pain is much less than it was earlier today.
“What’re you doing here?”
“Where else would I be? Did you not hear me? You fucking collapsed. When the ambulance arrived, I was just getting to my car, so I told Beard and Nate I’d follow you here.”
Jamie explains as he gets his phone out to update Beard, Keeley and Ruth. Jamie had hoped Ruth was working as he tried to call her on the way over, but she was away for the weekend with Phoebe on some brownies trip. They’d be back tonight and stop by on their way home. There was no way Phoebe would go without seeing her Uncle when he was sick.
“So you didn’t fall down the stairs and break your fucking ankle? The treatment room’s not haunted again? Higgins’ priest son didn’t come in and try to bless it or do an exorcism or anything?” Roy asks.
Jamie absentmindedly rolls his ankle.
“Fuck no,” Jamie says again, and Roy relaxes a bit. He must’ve hallucinated when he passed out.
“Thank fuck,” Roy breathes out.
“You sure you feel okay? I can get a nurse, really,” Jamie says.
“No, no, I’m good,” Roy says, relieved Jamie’s not injured and he doesn’t have to deal with any more fucking ghosts.
“Okay, well, in that case,” Jamie says, standing up to lightly hit Roy with a pillow. “What the fuck, man? You fucking twat, I asked you if you were okay, and you lied right to my face.”
Jamie’s voice goes from angry to scared. Roy realises guiltily.
“Fuck, I’m sorry. I thought it was just a stomach ache,” Roy defends.
“I was so scared, Roy. I didn’t know what to do when they rushed you into surgery. Ruth’s so far away. Keeley’s in America meeting with that client.”
Roy reaches out and grabs Jamie’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“I know, Jamie. I’m sorry for worrying you like this. I didn’t-”
Jamie squeezes Roy’s hand back.
“Fuck. Don’t apologise. I’m just relieved you’re okay. And yeah still a bit fucking peeved at you, but mostly glad you’re okay. If this were me, you’d still yell at me for not taking care of meself.”
Roy struggles to sit up a little, wincing in pain.
“Ouch, that hurts more than I expected.”
Jamie reaches out to help Roy adjust his pillows, trying to be as gentle as possible.
“Fuck maybe I should get a nurse,” Jamie tells him. “Don’t move.”
Jamie rushes out of the room, and Roy tries to comprehend all that’s happened in the last few hours.
“I thought I could power through.”
“You thought you could power through an appendicitis?” Ruth asks arms crossed and impressive eyebrows raised.
Phoebe and Ruth had arrived in a whirlwind, balloons and cards somehow already made despite being on the road half the day. After reassuring Phoebe he was going to be okay, Jamie had asked Phoebe to take him to the cafeteria for something to eat to give the siblings some alone time.
“I didn’t know it was appendicitis then, did I?”
Roy wished Jamie and Phoebe hadn’t left him to defend himself against a worried Ruth.
“You’re lucky you weren’t alone,” Ruth says, her voice quivering slightly. “Promise me you’ll get anything checked in the future, or at least tell me?”
Roy rolls his eyes exaggeratedly. Moving his eyes is about the only thing he can do right now without feeling uncomfortable. Ruth reaches over and pinches his arm.
“What the fuck was that for?” Roy squeals.
“I was worried about you. Once you retired, I wasn’t supposed to be on this side of a hospital bed for you anymore.”
“Love you too, Ruth,” Roy says to his little sister.
Phoebe and Jamie return shortly, Phoebe rushing over to gently hug her Uncle again. Roy makes Jamie agree to leave the hospital with Ruth and Phoebe—no way Roy is having him stay overnight in an uncomfortable hospital chair with his sore hamstring and having another match in a couple days. Ruth and Jamie promise to return tomorrow morning, and Phoebe after school.
Ruth is still talking when Roy decides to rest his eyes, ignoring her blabbering about his aftercare. He’ll worry about everything else with his recovery later. For now, he’s just happy to have three of his four favourite people fussing over him. He would deny to both Ruth and Jamie his dying day that they were in the top four, though. Roy’s usually the one doing the fussing, so he’ll let them take care of him for once. He drifts asleep to the sounds of Jamie and Ruth arguing over what the scariest movie is.