Work Text:
"Just a few more photos, and then we'll be good for today."
Jamal smiled politely, holding his shirt up so that Bernard could take a photo of his rib. It was for health reasons, he had been told, so that they could keep track of his injury day by day.
He wouldn't really refer to it as an injury, just a bruised rib from a collision with Mathys that was purpling. Nevertheless, he followed Bernard's instructions, posing in different ways that accentuated the bruise from different angles, the cold air of the medical room making him shiver.
"Okay, good job," Bernard said, flicking through the reel. "Now, I'm gonna need you to take your shirt off completely."
Jamal raised an eyebrow. "I only have a bruise on this side though," he reasoned, "like, there's nothing anywhere else."
"It's just so that we can get all of the angles we need."
Jamal shrugged, guessing that it made some sort of sense in the long run, and pulled his shirt over his head, setting it down next to him on the massage bed.
Bernard walked around him, snapping photos of his midriff and chest. Jamal swallowed uncomfortably, as the camera was lowered to his waistline, the photographer reaching for his shorts.
"Wait," Jamal said, moving away. "What are you doing?"
Bernard moved the camera out of the way, looking up at him. "We need to get a good angle, the best one will be if you take your shorts off, so that there isn't any fabric in the way."
"But it's my ribs that are bruised," Jamal complained, hating the way he sounded like a whiny child.
The professional expression on Bernard's face flickered for a second, being replaced with a sliver of anger, before his features settled back into a polite smile. "Jamal, this is my job. I think I know more than you about my own field. Please, take your shorts off."
Jamal waited, staring warily at Bernard, before sighing in compliance, standing up so that he could pull his shorts off.
He fought the urge to cover his body as he shivered, the cold air stinging his mostly bare skin. Bernard walked around him, snapping photos every so often, before milling through them and repeating the process.
Jamal felt like a still life model, standing still and exposed, an audience peering into every crack and crevice he possessed, drawing out every imperfection.
A hand on his back shocked him out of his thoughts, and he tried to turn his head, only for a hand to harshly grip his chin, keeping him looking forward.
"Let's do this the easy way," Bernard whispered into his ear. Jamal noticed the camera set down on the massage bed, and his heart beat faster, panic bubbling up in his throat as Bernard's free hand travelled down his spine, landing on the waistline of his boxers.
"Don't panic," Bernard said, sounding almost delirious, "this is part of my job."
The second a finger slipped under the waistband, Jamal yelled.
“Help me!" He cried out, trying to pull away from Bernard's tight grip. "Someone! Help me!"
"You stupid bitch," Bernard growled, wrapping his arms around Jamal's neck, cutting off his screams.
Jamal struggled, gasping and wheezing as the air was choked out of him, and he fought back, kicking and punching mostly the air, little bursts of resilience pulsing through him whenever he made contact with skin.
"Jamal?" He heard someone call from behind the door. Bernard looked at the door in horror, making to let go of Jamal's neck as the handle turned, and Thomas walked in.
If you were to ask him later, Jamal would say that he doesn't remember most of what happened after that.
He knew there was pain and cold, dropped on the floor, wheezing and gasping as Thomas held him. Distantly, he heard skin on skin, the telltale sounds of punches and violence.
Looking up with blurry vision, Jamal say Joshua pinning Bernard against the massage table, yelling something undiscernable at him.
"Hey, bambi," Thomas said gently, drawing away Jamal's attention from the violence. Jamal looked up at him, noticing his position, curled up in Thomas' arms.
"Thomas," he murmured, not trusting himself to get out a full sentence. "I know," the older man responded. "We're going to make sure he never works at a football club again."
"He got pictures of me," Jamal said, swallowing uncertainly. "There were a lot."
"It's okay," Thomas shushed him. "We'll make sure no one ever sees them."
Jamal nodded tiredly, letting his head rest of Thomas' shoulder. He heard the sound of Michael's voice, the dulcet tones of English, and suddenly, something was being dragged over his ankle.
His eyes shot open, and Jamal pushed away from whatever it was.
"Hey, wait!" Michael yelped, and Jamal watched him jump back in shock, holding Jamal's shorts. Thomas kindly rubbed his back until his breathing evened out, and Jamal swallowed.
"Sorry," he mumbled, reaching out to grab the shorts. "Don't worry about it, man," Michael said, a reassuring smile on his face.
Between the three of them, Jamal managed to get dressed whilst still on the floor, not trusting his legs to support him if he stood up. His rib still throbbed, a dull sort of pain that didn't really hurt unless you through about it.
"What the fuck is this?" Jamal heard Manuel's voice, and he looked up to see the keeper in the doorway, looking at the scene in horror.
"Manu," Thomas said urgently, "come and take Jamal to Kompany's office, make sure he isn't left alone."
"What's going on?"
"I'll explain later, just take him please."
Manuel nodded, and Thomas and Michael helped Jamal stand up, shaky on his feet. Manuel came to him, wrapping an arm around him for support, and helping him leave the room.
As soon as Jamal left, the remaining two turned to face the rest of the room's inhabitants. Bernard was laying on the floor, a bloody messy, his nose in an awkward position, his eyes swollen and purple.
Joshua was standing over him, watching his every movement carefully, his knuckles slightly bloody, a bruise on his cheek.
Leon was standing in the corner, typing furiously on his phone, angry covering his face.
“This is so fucked,” Leon said, looking up at his team mates. “Like, so incredibly fucked.”
”I know,” Thomas replied, side eyeing Bernard. “Did you call the police?”
”On the way, security will be here in like a minute too.”
”Good.”
They stayed in an uncomfortable silence, taking turns not-so-discretely looking at the man on the floor. The offending camera remained on the massage bed, and Thomas had half the mind to smash it to pieces, but stopped himself, knowing that he shouldn’t destroy the evidence.
He knew though, that if that man had gone any further, he would’ve killed him with his own bare hands.