Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roy is stuffing his feet into his kit trying to ignore the prick on the other side of the locker room flaunting about. They might have had their temporary peace at the charity gala this weekend, but the stunt Jamie pulled that got Keeley to pull her own stunt on Roy is still a tender bruise. So the annoyance is back in full force.

A distraction from wanting to punch his face in, comes in the most unlikely of shapes. Because right as Roy is starting to contemplate if voicing his annoyance would encourage Jamie or get him to shut the fuck up, the door to the locker room slams open to reveal… a child?

Overall, a child in the locker room isn’t the strangest thing, though it’s not usual. While most footballers are young and stupid and not responsible enough to have a baby that doesn’t stop all of them and to be fair, most of them do grow out of that phase at some point.

However, the sudden appearance of a child Roy has never fucking seen before mixed in with the fact that at Richmond he doesn’t think any of his teammates have a child, not to mention that it is not Henry Lasso, because it’s impossible to be around Ted for more than a day and not know what his son fucking looks like. He is still surprised and confused, freezing for a moment alongside the others.

The child in question seems oblivious, just scanning the room, before his eyes fall on someone and he grins widely, running forward again as he yells: “Daddy!”

Like that, everyone is snapped back in motion as they look around to see who’s fucking child it is. Roy nearly chokes on his spit and he’s sure some of the others actually do, when Jamie Fucking Tartt of all people wipes his startled expression off his face and turns it into a soft grin, dropping to one knee and opening his arms as he exclaims: “George, my sexy little lad! What are you doing here?” as he catches the child, George, apparently.

Everyone is too shocked to do anything but stare as Jamie – fucking Jamie – reunites with his son. And Roy feels his eyebrows creep to higher on his forehead as George excitedly says: “The school was gonna blow up, so they made us all go home.”

“What?” Jamie shrieks, pulling back from the hug to look at George with concern on his face. “What do you mean your school was going to blow up? Are you okay? Where’s your mummy?”

It’s highly discombobulating to watch Jamie with all that parental concern over his face. It hadn’t really sunk in yet what this means, that Jamie is a parent. A dad. The father of a son, who looks to be around Phoebe’s age, while Roy’s sister definitely is older than Jamie by a good few years. Mentally he does the math, assuming George is around six, like Phoebe, that makes Jamie seventeen when he was born.

Fucking hell.

Before he can even begin to think about whatever he might be feeling, they’re interrupted again. This time by a young woman, who looks to be about Jamie’s age. She has her eyes covered, but it’s not playfully like Keeley used to do. G-d fucking hell, did Keeley know about this or is this another shitty thing Jamie did?

“I am so sorry, he just ran off,” the woman says. “He is here, right? I promise I didn’t meant to waltz in here. I texted you in the parking lot, but he was too excited and ran off.”

“He’s here and everyone’s decent, Liz,” Jamie smirks, which is the most Jamie like he’s looked since George’s appearance. He stands up again, taking George with him as he goes. It makes it all the more real to see him standing there, holding the child in his arms.

Liz peeks out from behind her hands, before dropping them entirely and relaxing a little when there are not a bunch of naked men surrounding her and her child. She smiles kindly at Jamie – which is a fucking choice in Roy’s opinion – but there doesn’t seem to be a deeper affection there.

“Uh, Liz, why is George here telling me his school was going to blow up?” Jamie asks, returning back to his concern with Liz there.

“Oh,” Liz huffs out an amused laugh. “There was a potential gas leak in the area. Send everyone home for the day, just to be safe.”

“Ahhh,” Jamie nods in understanding. Then asks: “So what are you two doing here? You know you can’t just show up here.”

Roy scowls at that alongside Liz, of fucking course the twat is like that about his own fucking child. I mean, there’s a reason none of them even knew the prick was a dad, even if Roy can understand that he didn’t want his teen parenthood to be common knowledge.

“Because, Jamie, I have class today and I can’t miss it,” Liz tells him, tone a lot sharper than it had been earlier. Roy likes her instantly.

Jamie clenches his jaw, but in a twist of maturity he doesn’t say anything, just looks down at George and forces a smile, before jutting his head towards the door. Liz nods and the three of them make their way out of the locker room, hushed whispers starting up in their wake.

The whispers cover up a lot of what might be going on outside and maybe that had been the point. Roy couldn’t care less about Jamie or what everyone has to say about Jamie, but he’s always been protective about children and a part of him can’t bring himself to trust Jamie, even though the lad hasn’t done anything around George to earn it. Still, his behavior around Sam and Nate is fresh on Roy’s mind, so he doesn’t feel bad about listening in through the cracked door.

“Hey, big man,” Jamie says, putting George down. “Can you go fill this for me, water fountain is right down there.” Filling bottles is Nate’s job, but Roy can admit it’s a good strategy for getting the boy out of the way for a serious talk without losing sight of him.

Both Jamie and Liz follow George until they deem him far enough out of range. Then Jamie says: “Why can’t you take him today?”

“Because I have classes and a mock trail and I can’t bring George to those,” Liz answers, a law student, Roy mentally files away.

“Can’t you just miss it for a day?” Jamie asks.

“No, I can’t just miss a day, Jamie, this is my future. You can’t miss a day of training like that either, now can you? Mock trails are important,” Liz shoots back.

“That’s different,” Jamie tells her and Roy growls lowly, even though no one hears, because that is a fucking prick thing to say. What a fucking twat.

Liz agrees with him swearing: “Oh you fucking prick.”

“What, it is!” Jamie exclaims, actually sounding indignant about it. “I’m earning money ‘ere. Money I’m using to fund your studies. And George and everything. You don’t need a career.”

“Yeah, as long as you have one, is that what you mean?” Liz snaps, her own Mancunian accent becoming stronger as she gets angry. “Maybe I like a back up option, Tartt. One that doesn’t rely on you, ever thought about that?”

“Fuck off.” Now Jamie is getting mad too. “I pay my child support. Much more than I have to. You know I fucking do. I won’t just leave you and George to fend for yourself and I thought you fucking knew me better than that.”

“Maybe you do, Jamie. Maybe. But that’s now and we both know it hasn’t always been like that, huh, has it? And what if he gets his paws in your finances again? I’m not going to be like all those single mums at the estate, waiting, hungry. I’m going to be financially independent and that means I can’t just miss class,” Liz hisses.

“Don’t talk shit about those mums,” Jamie snarls in a way that tells Roy it’s personal.

“I’m not talking shit,” Liz huffs. “You know I’m not. I’m just not going to be like them.”

Mulishly, Jamie says: “ Course, you’re not going to be like them. Ever. I got a whole system set up now, paying via mummy, no direct ties to me. He’s- He’s not going to cut you off and I won’t let him in. Swear down.”

“I know, Jamie,” Liz says, her voice gentler. Roy wonders who the fuck they could be talking about, doesn’t like the way his gut coils as they mention this mysterious someone. Doesn’t like how it makes his knuckles itch with familiarity.

Right as he thinks they’ve made up, that that’s it, Liz says: “So you’re good to take George today? I have to run soon.”

Jamie scowls: “You could have hired a babysitter. It’s not like it’s easy for me to watch him at work either,” and Roy is back to wanting to strangle him. If it weren’t about a child, it would have been comforting to have that back, now it just makes Roy feel like shit.

“Maybe he was just excited to see his daddy now that he’s close and not keeping away,” Liz tells him, which is more in line with what Roy assumes Jamie to be like as a father.

“Oh like I’m the only one that was out of his life for a while,” Jamie snipes back. “At least I had a good fucking reason to.”

“Don’t act all high and mighty with me, you arsehole,” Liz snaps. “I had my reasons too.”

“I’m not,” Jamie exclaims. “I’m trying to fucking look out for him, even if you think you’re too good for it. You can’t just show up at my work like this.”

“Ugh, I can’t with you right now,” Liz groans frustrated. “Go hire a babysitter yourself if you’re so keen to be rid of him, I have to go.” Then she turns on her heel and stalks off.

Roy can hear her say bye to George and tell him to be good for daddy, which Roy thinks Jamie doesn’t deserve. As she goes, he watches Jamie through the crack in the door, his fist balled and his jaw set, scowl in place. He also watches Jamie forcefully shove that all down when George presumably makes his way back over to Jamie. It’s a small point for Jamie, even if Roy is reluctant to give him as much, vowing to keep an eye on the prick today.

The locker room falls silent again as they return. George looks around with wide eyes at everyone, clutching the bottom hem of Jamie’s shirt and pressing in close to his thigh. The way George is clearly comfortable in Jamie’s space is soothing and he doesn’t think Liz is the kind of woman to allow any nonsense around her kid, which is good.

But Roy can’t just shake it all off either. He’s felt off kilter from the moment the locker room door slammed open.

His off kilter-ness is not at all helped by George spotting him. His little eyes go wide and he stares slack jawed at Roy, before quickly snapping it closed and look up at Jamie. He tugs on the shirt then in what is meant to be a whisper, but is much louder in a kid’s way, he says: “Daddy, it’s Roy Kent.”

Somehow, after everything that has just gone down in the past few minutes, that statement and the awe it’s said with, bowls him over. Knowing who his dad is makes him a bit suspicious, but he’s not going to be an arsehole to a child, because his dad happens to be a massive prick. So gives George a friendly nod and says: “I am. Hi.”

“Daddy, you’re playing with Roy Kent,” George says hushed but urgently, tugging on Jamie’s shirt once more.

“Yeah, lad, I am. Told you I did, didn’t I. You saw me matches where we played together,” Jamie replies, looking vaguely amused and embarrassed.

“I guess, but that’s matches, I didn’t know they let you play together every day. I mean, it’s Roy Kent,” George says and he is quickly becoming one of Roy’s favorite people.

At that Jamie actually gets affronted, though he does so playfully. He pouts: “Of course they let us play every day together. I’m also really good. I play for Man City, remember.”

“Of course, daddy, you’re amazing and Man City is the best, but still… it’s Roy Kent.” He keeps saying Roy’s name like that, like it means something. First and last name. It usually bugs him when people do that, but George doing it is okay. Kind of nice really.

He’s been feeling his decline for a while already and this year has been the worst thus far. He knows that he isn’t who he used to be, that his status as the best is slowly fading until only the legendary status remains. Having this child – Jamie’s child – look at him with awe and worship as he currently is, is great for his ego.

“Well, I’m glad you still think I’m amazing,” Jamie huffs and rolls his eyes, but it’s fond and there is affection in his eyes and a gentleness in the way he ruffles George’s hair.

George beams up at him and Jamie matches his smile. For all his complaining to Liz earlier about her dropping George off here, he doesn’t actually seem to mind. Makes Roy wonder if he was just complaining to make her life harder, or if there is actually something going on; the latter wouldn’t have been a thought if he hadn’t felt that gut feeling when they were talking and he didn’t see the way Jamie acts with George now.

“Anyway, you can go up and talk to big man Roy Kent yourself, if you want, lad,” Jamie says, snapping Roy out of his musings.

“I can?” George asks.

“Yeah, he won’t bite,” Jamie grins down at George, then gives Roy a cautious look, as if he is unsure about letting Roy near George, as if he fears Roy will treat the boy the same as he does Jamie. Like he thinks Roy actually fucking bites.

“Uh-huh, I only bite journos,” Roy butts in, hoping to make George more comfortable and assure Jamie he’s not going to be a prick to his son. Like seriously, who the fuck does Jamie think he is?

“You bit that one guy when you played for Sunderland still in 2002,” George points out, though he is tentatively stepping away from Jamie and towards Roy.

It’s a deep cut, despite the more violent nature of it. With all the fights he’s had over the years his Sunderland escapades had shifted to the background. It was definitely from well before George’s time, so for him to know must mean that he was introduced to it by someone. That he watched more than just past peak football, but actively went down his career. Or a family member happened to be a Sunderland fanatic, but that seemed unlikely with the Man City cult Jamie comes from.

He realizes that the someone George probably watched that game with was likely Jamie. That it had to be something they had done over a long time for George to be this up to date and quick with it. The confession Jamie had made at the gala about having a poster of him on his wall suddenly flashing through his mind again.

Indeed, when he looks over to Jamie, he seems bright pink and not meeting anyone’s eye as he looks to the floor as if it’s the most interesting thing there is.

Everyone has been pretty quiet thus far, just watching the whole thing play out in front of them in shock. Now, though, murmurs and snickers start to go through the crowd as they also put together who George inherited that Roy Kent fanboy-ism from.

That revelation makes Roy grin, but he doesn’t push it, lets it speak for itself instead as he just replies to George: “Technically speaking, he ran into my mouth. Foul tackle that. Special case, not my usual biting habits.”

Apparently that is enough for George to lose some of his shyness and bounce over to Roy in a way that is hard to not find familiar. Fuck, that really is Jamie’s son, innit. “Okay,” he says cheerily, which is not Jamie at all, thank fuck. “Do you think daddy will ever be as good as you? He says he’s gonna be better, but maybe he should be realistic.”

George slows down on the longer word, but he does know it. Having heard Liz talk and knowing she is becoming a lawyer, Roy can guess who he gets that from. However, it doesn’t matter much if George knows big words, because he has given Roy gold with his words.

Around them, multiple people burst out in laughter and Jamie looks like he wants to sink into the ground and disappear. Roy gets a near gleefully menacing look on his face as he says: “I don’t know about better, but with enough training, he might get close.”

“Really! That’s so cool,” George gushes, clearly oblivious to the damage he has done to his father’s reputation with that.

Roy has to give credit where credit is due, because Jamie just takes it. He knows what George is doing to the person he’s built himself up to be, how it’s getting destroyed right in front of his eyes, but he doesn’t say a word. Not even to defend himself or soften what George is saying. Nothing that could make George feel bad about saying it, about being enthusiastic to meet Roy. Makes Roy think that Jamie might not be a terrible overall, despite being the Prince Prick of all Pricks.

This notion is encouraged by Jamie nudging George softly and encouraging him. “You know, George, if you wanted Roy Kent to sign something for you, this would be a great moment to ask.”

That makes George shy again and he presses up against Jamie once more. Jamie gently pulls his arm from around his leg and kneels down next to him. “What’s up, big man? Don’t you want Roy Kent’s signature? Talk to me, yeah?”

George bites his lip, then whispers something in Jamie’s ear, while Jamie listens with rapt attention, nodding along to whatever George is saying. It’s kind of cute and Roy hates that he is thinking that about Jamie of all people.

“Alright,” Jamie says, giving George a comforting squeeze, before getting back up. His face tells Roy that he’d rather be doing anything else right now, but he doesn’t let that stop him. With his jaw set proudly, he asks Roy: “George would love it if you could sign something for him. Do you mind?”

Roy doesn’t direct his answer to Jamie, instead turning to George as he says: “Of course I could sign something for my biggest fan.”

“Thank you!” George exclaims, earlier shyness forgotten once more as he jumps up and down. Then he suddenly turns sad and he says: “I don’t have my kit with me for you to sign. It’s at home.”

Filing the knowledge that Jamie’s son has a Kent kit away for later teasing, Roy quickly makes a decision as he shrugs out of his training kit and pulls out a sharpie from one of his bag pockets. It sometimes makes him feel like a proper twat, but he’s learned to be prepared when it comes to signing things.

He signs the training kit, knowing he has have spare somewhere in his kit bag and presents it to George. “Here you go, lad. It might not have my name printed on it or anything, but that’s pretty fucking rare.”

George stares at the signed kit with big eyes, like he can’t believe he’s allowed to touch it, let alone keep it. He looks back over to Roy and breathes: “Thank you so much,” before the excitement catches up with him and he throws his arms around Roy as he yells again: “Thank you so much!”

While hugging George back, Roy meets Jamie’s eyes over his head. Surprisingly, Jamie is watching this happen fondly. When he catches Roy looking at him, he mouths: “Thank you,” and Roy nods in response. It might be the closest to an understanding that they’ve ever gotten.

Right as George returns to Jamie’s side, signed kit clutches tightly in his hands, probably about to start blabbing excitedly about it, they’re interrupted by Ted and Beard coming in. They have missed the earlier commotion that was George’s arrival, but have been called out by George’s yelling just now.

“Okay, y’all what’s all this-” Ted starts, before seeing seeing George standing in the middle of the locker room. His eyebrows do a funny motion as he takes in the scene, before he pivots and kindly smiles: “Well, howdy there, kiddo. What’s your name and what are you doing here, huh?”

Instantly, George presses into Jamie’s side again. Softly but firmly he says: “Sorry, mister, daddy told me not to trust strangers with a mustache.”

More snickers go around the room as Jamie cringes at the words. “Uh, it’s okay, George. This is my coach, Ted. I told you about Ted, didn’t I?”

At Jamie being the one that speaks up after George, identifying himself as the dad to Ted and Beard, Ted’s face does a complicated thing.

Roy doesn’t blame him, it’s been quite a shock to everyone, it is kind of impressive how well Jamie has managed to keep this out of the press. Especially with how long he’s managed it. Roy has learned most things can’t be hidden forever, no matter how hard you try. It makes him wonder how hard Jamie works to keep this hidden and why.

He gets Jamie might be embarrassed about getting a girl pregnant at seventeen and it wouldn’t have been good for his career for it to come out then. But he’s twenty-three now and a well established name, even if he is on the rise still. This scandal won’t do him in, especially since footballers being good with kids always does well and Jamie is definitely good with George.

As Jamie does the song and dance to introduce Ted and Beard to George and vise versa, again assuring George that the mustache is okay, that it wasn’t that serious of a rule. He ends with: “School got unexpectedly canceled and his mum can’t take him today. Can he stay and watch training?” which Roy half hadn’t expected with how he acted when she first showed up with George.

“Keeley?” Ted asks, sounding kind of shocked and unsure what to do with that shock. It makes Roy want to snort at him, but he’s too dignified to do anything close to laughing where people can hear.

“Oh no, no. Liz. Me and her used to play footie at the estates, before I got scouted. I only met Keeley when I moved down here for me transfer,” Jamie quickly says.

“Alrighty, okay, no worries. George over here is more than welcome to watch practice,” Ted smiles broadly.

“Training,” Beard corrects.

“Ah, yes, training. Thank you, coach,” Ted says with a snap, making George giggle, which clearly pleases Ted greatly.

“Coach,” Beard nods back, because the two Americans are weird like that.

“Thanks, Coach,” Jamie tells Ted gratefully, sounding genuine for what might be the very first time since Ted’s arrival this year. It appears to take them both by surprise and Jamie instantly goes to cover it by clearing his throat and turning to George again. “Come on, lad, pee break if you wanna go out there with me.”

George whines with embarrassment, but goes to walk out the door as instructed.

Jamie follows him, but stops when he reaches the door. He glances down the hall, then turns his attention back to everyone, who have been gawking at him. He jabs his finger at all of them and completely serious, he says: “If this is on the cover of The Sun tomorrow, I’m ripping the balls of whoever did it, understood?”

Everyone is surprised by the threat. Despite Jamie’s general attitude in the day to day, he is more cutting than outwardly violent. Never really threatened anyone in the time he’s been there now that Roy thinks about it. It makes him respect Jamie for this threat and he follows the rest with his own nod.

“Good,” Jamie says, before turning and walking out to catch up with George and direct him to where the bathroom is.

Once he’s gone, the room explodes into noise again with everyone discussing everything that just went down. Isaac nudges Roy in the side, saying: “Did you see that coming, bruv? Jamie’s boy being a Kent fan.”

“Fuck off,” Roy growls, because if he actually answered that, it might become embarrassing for him too and he just gained the upper ground.

Isaac frowns at that, but lets it go with an eye roll, leaning over to where Colin is to gossip more.

After letting this go on for about another minute or so, Beard yells loudly to get everyone to quiet down. When they are quiet again, Ted speaks: “Ah, thank you for that, Coach. Now, I know that was all very exciting and unexpected, kind of like waking up that first time that the Elf on the Shelf moved. A little weird too, but still crazy yet fun. I get it. But we still got training to do. And we’re going to respect Jamie’s choices about his kid. Am I clear? No distractions, no being weird about it.”

“Yes, coach,” they all chorus, like a bunch of fucking preschoolers. Roy wonders when they all got embarrassing like that.

“Good. Now, onto the field with y’all.”

“Pitch, coach.”

“Ah, yeah, pitch. Thanks, coach.”

They’re just starting to run their first lap, they hear George’s voice echoing down the tunnel: “Quicker, daddy, or you’ll be late. You have to say sorry to the class when you’re late.”

“Can’t have that now can we,” they hear Jamie reply, before he comes running onto the field, jogging a little faster to catch up with everyone when he sees them close by still. George is on his back, shrieking with delight at the piggy back.

On the last stretch of that first lap, George is still on his back and Jamie doesn’t complain or get ready to make a move to put George down when they pass the coaches. The reason becomes clear when Ted calls out: “We can watch out for him, Jamie. No problem,” and George clutches Jamie tightly.

“It’s alright, Coach, I can manage,” Jamie calls back, a little out of breath, but on his back George relaxes slightly. Despite his grand entrance, egotistical dad and spitfire mum, George appears to be a bit on the shy side.

Jamie ends up running all the laps with George on his back, keeping up with everyone else despite the extra weight making it more difficult. Reluctantly, Roy respects him for that as well. G-d, what the fuck is today that Roy has had to begrudgingly respect Jamie Fucking Tartt twice.

Still, Jamie is clearly out of breath when they finish, putting George on the ground and then collapsing onto his back as he tries to catch his breath. George cheerily throws himself across his dad, knocking the wind out of Jamie’s lungs once more, even when he catches George in an embrace without complaint.

Ted looks on with a strange melancholic fondness, while the rest just stare. Roy isn’t proud to admit he’s also one of them, but he is. He can’t help it, it’s just too fucking weird.

“You did really well, daddy,” George says with a big smile.

“Tha- Ta, lad,” Jamie manages, catching his breath a bit more as he asks: “Wanna help me stretch?”

“Yes!” George exclaims, scrambling off Jamie and accidentally kneeing him in the side as he does. It’s a little funny to watch Jamie’s face and multiple people snicker.

As it turns out, helping Jamie stretch is actually Jamie stretching as George plasters himself to his back, arms thrown around Jamie’s neck under the guise of pushing him down more. He’s not actually being helpful, but Jamie is pretty good at pretending he is.

It makes Roy wonder if it’s a common thing for Jamie to work out while George uses him as a jungle gym. Roy didn’t figure out Phoebe just wanted to be a part of his day to day life until he was much older than Jamie – though to be fair, he didn’t have any reason to figure out childcare at Jamie’s age – and it makes him wonder how much time the two spend together, since it seems to be much more than could be assumed by what he overheard.

Before Roy can actually think about Jamie Tartt’s domestic life of all fucking things, Isaac asks: “So, George, bruv, you plat footie like your dad?”

The question is pretty basic seeing the circumstances, but it’s always a good opener when talking to kids that are fans and getting them to be comfortable. Of course, since George is part Tartt, he has to send them all spinning when he answers: “No, playing footie is boring, only watching footie is fun!”

Eyes nearly bulge out of sockets at that, since none of them can comprehend that being an answer for anyone. Jamie looks the closest to genuinely pained he’s ever done and that includes him having to ask Roy for a fucking autograph just now. Still, he doesn’t make an easy joke about it and instead forces cheer in his voice as he grimaces: “Nope, this sexy little lad likes climbing and tag.”

“And crafts!” George interjects, wanting to make sure his list of actual fun hobbies, that apparently doesn’t have fucking football on it, is complete.

“And crafts,” Jamie corrects himself, then adds: “but I ain’t good at those,” which might explain why he forgot to add it earlier. Him playing tag makes perfect sense to Roy, he has the mental age for it.

George pats Jamie’s head in a replica of something that’s been done to him and earnestly says: “Don’t worry, daddy, I like your drawings.”

Giggles ripple through the group again, but Jamie is a good sport about it, merely touching a hand to his chest as he goes: “I’m flattered,” before moving into his next stretch.

It’s still strange. How fucking good of a dad Jamie is.

Roy feels vaguely guilty for thinking that, for judging Jamie without having any reason, but he can’t help it. Jamie is the Prince Prick of all Pricks. The prickiest prick Roy has ever had the misfortune of meeting and he has met a lot of pricks. Jamie is childish and selfish and seems to find it incredibly difficult to conceptualize other people have feelings and that being nice is an option. None of that makes him good father material.

Yet from the second George showed up in that locker room, Jamie has been nothing but sweet to the boy. Unless you want to count the fight he had with Liz, but even then he made sure George wouldn’t hear them.

The whole thing is fucking confusing, that’s what it is. But in a good way. But also a bad way. Roy has had a very clear image of who Jamie is from the moment he arrived, maybe even before that if he’s being honest, and this Jamie is blowing all those expectations out of the fucking water, leaving Roy with… this.

This meaning how Jamie is acting with George, capable of being kind and patient and not a huge arsehole to anyone who might breathe in his direction and forcing Roy to reconsider if maybe, just maybe he had been too hard on the lad when he first got here. That maybe Roy had been wrong about him.

Admitting that to himself is not fucking comfortable in the slightest. But fucking Coach Lasso has been forcing him to admit he’s been a shit Captain and dropping the ball. It just sucks that the more he is aware of it, the more new shit he dropped becomes apparent. Fucking Lasso.

They do so more drills and Jamie gives George a piggy back ride through all of them. His arms must be fucking killing him, but he doesn’t complain. Not once.

It’s not until they go scrimmage that that has to change. Jamie puts George down again and kneels in front of him saying: “You ready to be my hype man, lad?”

“No, I wanna stay with you,” George immediately says, eyes big and pleading, his face suddenly so much like his father.

“I know,” Jamie sympathizes, cupping George’s cheek, “but it’s not safe. We’re kicking the ball pretty hard and you could get hurt, can’t have that, can I? So, you can’t come with me while I play, buuuuut, you can stay and watch with the coaches on the side.”

George pouts more, gripping Jamie tightly, like he can prevent Jamie from going out there to play if he just holds on tight enough. It’s adorable and a little heartbreaking. Roy wonders how Jamie deals with this clingy-ness in the day to day, especially since he didn’t appear to be too involved all the time… which honestly could be a reason for the clingy-ness.

And it fortunately means Jamie has practice in gently prying George off him, because he smiles gentle at him and again goes: “I know, lad, I know. But Coach over ‘ere,” he points to Ted, surprising everyone including Ted, “has a bunch of funny stories and,” he puts on a theatrical whisper, “he could use a few football tips from an expert like you.”

At that George giggles and Jamie grins: “Ah, there he is,” wrapping George into a hug and spinning him around as he gets the two up from the ground. When he puts George down at the end with a ruffle to his hair, George has let go of him and Jamie can go onto the pitch.

Chapter Text

It’s kind of funny how George being there doesn’t change how Jamie plays at all, in fact, it might even make it worse.

Roy had half assumed that the softer version of Jamie they got with George would carry over to the pitch, but it doesn’t. Jamie is still hogging the ball, not passing, showing off instead even. And Roy hates that it’s harder to be annoyed with him about it when every time he does something show-y, he looks over to where George is, grinning in a less prick-ish way than normal, while George cheers for him.

Fuck him, Jamie wants to impress his fucking son. Fuck.

However, the whole thing takes an interesting turn when Ted calls out: “Jamie! Jamie! You got to make the extra pass. We talked about this. Pass more.”

And George pulls the most disgusted face Roy has ever seen a six year old make – and he is the one that tries new foods with Phoebe – as he turns to Ted and exclaims: “Why the fuck would he do that for?” which sends multiple players into hysterics.

Jamie flushes slightly, but looks proud enough, because of fucking course he does. Yet he surprises everyone by scolding: “Oi, you know what your mummy says about swearing.”

“Sorry,” George apologizes embarrassed, kicking the ground as he sways from side to side. “’s just stupid to make you pass.”

Almost more surprising than Jamie scolding George about swearing, is that he has the decency to look embarrassed by George claiming it’s stupid to have him pass. And that’s fucking fair, because it’s pretty fucking clear where the fuck George got that sentiment from.

However, like everything else, Ted just takes it fucking stride with that stupid American placidity that drives Roy up the fucking wall. In a gentle and curious tone, that is somehow also a little amused, he asks: “And why would you say that, kiddo?”

George looks at him like he’s mad and Roy has to admit it’s a little funny to watch this child give Ted the same attitude the rest of them have only half managed to internalize. “Because daddy scores all the goals. He needs the ball to do that.”

“You make a good point there, sport,” Ted nods, not at all deterred by this. “But I’d like to ask you this, a little puzzle, or an imagination game if you will… or maybe more of a riddle, the whole chicken and the egg situation, which I never got, since other animals lay eggs and they existed before chickens, though I assume they’re talking about chicken eggs when they say it. Though, you know what they say about assume.”

Before Ted can say what he actually wanted to say, George cuts him off by politely but bluntly informing him that: “You talk confusing,” which is honestly something Ted needed to hear.

“Oh,” Ted says, stunned beyond words for what might be the first fucking time in his life. A sheepish smile comes on his face, then he says: “Apologies for that, kiddo. What I meant is, did you ever consider that your daddy scores so much, because he never passes. That he doesn’t give everyone else a chance to share in on his fun?”

“But what if they’re not good?” George asks, sounding genuinely curious. G-d, this boy doesn’t have any of his dad’s prick-ishness, but maybe he inherited a bit of his thickness, poor lad.

Ted makes a pained expression while keeping his smile plastered on. “Well, we won’t know that until your daddy there passes and they won’t get any good if we don’t let them practice. This is still training, not a match yet.”

“But if you already got someone who can play the game, why do you need everyone else?” George asks and he’s so earnest about it too. If this is what he has got from Jamie talking, it’s no wonder the prick doesn’t get Ted.

“Because soccer – I mean, football – is a team sport,” Ted answers, never losing his patience, despite the frankly stupid questions. “You can’t play tag by yourself, ain’t that right? No, you need someone else and you need more people to make it fun. Can’t play football by yourself either. Your daddy needs the other people around him to get better, so they can all play better together. You feel me?”

George pulls a thinking face at that, clearly mulling the whole thing over. When Roy chances a glance over to Jamie – who has been watching this interaction alongside everyone else, scrimmage forgotten in the face of something more interesting – his face is going through a matching journey of realization as George while listening to Ted.

Fuck, maybe they should bring in the lad all the time. Clearly, he functions as a better translator between Jamie and Ted, which is clearly necessary. Shit, Roy hadn’t even realized that Jamie might just have had a hard time following what Ted was trying to say. What his angle was. Could explain some of the hostility.

“I mean, I guess,” George says in a small voice, kicking at the grass as he scuffs his foot. “But daddy’s here to score goals. If he doesn’t score goals, he’ll get send back again and I- I won’t get to- to see him.” The boy’s voice breaks and he starts crying.

Everyone freezes, unsure what to do.

Jamie moves first.

He’s halfway across the pitch in an instant, wrapping George up in his arms and rocking him back and forth. “It’s okay, lad, it’s okay. I won’t leave. Even if I do get send back, you’ll see me again. I’m not going to disappear on you. Swear down.”

“But you did,” George wobbles. “You did.”

Ouch, jikes, Roy thinks at that, mind going to Phoebe. It’s something he’d already guessed about Jamie, but to have it confirmed still makes him ache for George. However, Jamie looks so fucking anguished about the words, in a way that the the shitstain that donated the sperm for Phoebe never could. Roy doesn’t know the whole story there, but something about it, makes him want to give Jamie a bit of grace, something he never would have considered doing before today.

“Uh, I’m gonna-” Jamie doesn’t really finish the sentence he started to Ted, instead gesturing awkwardly, before whisking the still crying George down the tunnel and out of sight.

For a moment, they all stand there in stunned silence, brains trying to catch up with whatever the fuck just happened. Then Ted clears his throat and claps his hands: “Well, fellas, apologies for the interlude, why don’t we go again. Chop, chop.”

Next to him, Beard whistles, so they’re all off again, but the atmosphere is fucking off. Usually Roy would think that not having Jamie on the pitch is a good thing, that is would make the game run smoother, make the team gel better.

But after all that, Jamie’s absence is felt heavily and everyone is distracted. They play terribly and while Roy knows that Ted is right and they all need to get better, he also knows that Jamie is a little right too, because without him there, it’s a lot harder.

Thinking that tightens a knot in his stomach as he remembers what George said. How Jamie promised he wouldn’t leave, but didn’t dispute what the lad thought.

If Jamie truly thinks that if he doesn’t score, doesn’t win, he’ll get send back to another city away from his own child, then it’s no wonder he’s so keen to hog the ball. If Roy’s time with Phoebe was dependent on how he performed on the field, maybe he would be more of a dick about it too.

Fucking hell, this whole day has made everything a lot more fucking difficult, hasn’t it. Fucking fuck shit. Roy wishes Liz hadn’t had any classes today, that he didn’t have to deal with emotional revelations regarding Jamie Fucking Tartt… yet here he is. Can’t change that now.

After playing like shit for about ten minutes, they are put out of their misery by Jamie and George returning.

While his cheeks are ruddy with red rims under his eyes, clear indicators that he has been crying, George looks more than cheered up, happily munching on a chocolate bar from the vending machine their diet plan bans the players itself from as he holds Jamie’s hand.

Jamie guides him over to where Ted and Beard are, giving them a nod, before ruffling George’s hair and joining the others on the field again. As he comes jogging he gives them all a cocky smirk, like nothing out of the ordinary had just gone down. The only clue something is different is him correcting himself as he calls out: “Oi, miss me? Hope you didn’t play too shi- too badly without me.”

“Piss off, Tartt,” Roy scowls. He swears in front of Phoebe and she’s fine, he’s not going to change that for the little prick. Even if fuck would have been a better word there.

“Whatever, granddad,” Jamie rolls his eyes, then sets to stealing the ball like he always does.

However, it becomes quickly apparent that it’s not at all like normal and that something must have gone down when Jamie talked to George… or he voluntary bought into Lasso’s nonsense, which seems unlikely given the genetic material they are working with. Either way, Roy doesn’t care, it’s absolutely golden and worth it to see George holler at Jamie: “Pass, daddy, pass!”

And Jamie does pass. Continuously. Though, the way he does it would make one think he’d rather do anything other than that, like the spoiled child he is. Roy mentally snorts, Jamie looks like an embarrassed older brother forced to take his little brother to hang out with his cool friends.

The moment he’s thought it, Roy feels bad about it. Because the only reason Jamie looks like a child, because he’d been a child when George was born and still practically is one. But fuck, he’s so clearly lad’s dad and he so clearly loves him and the only reason he even fucking looks like that is because he was too G-ddamn young when he had George. Way too G-ddamn young.

Sure, they have a sibling age gap, but that doesn’t make Jamie a sibling, he’s George’s fucking dad. It’s not up to Roy to discredit that, just because Jamie is still growing up himself.

It makes Roy ache for that version of Jamie he never even knew. A child holding a baby, having that responsibility and trying , because by G-d is it obvious that Jamie is trying for George.

Roy feels even guiltier about how he’d judged Jamie before, about how he was cautious for him being around his own son, kept an eye on him. Jamie doesn’t deserve that. He at least made the fucking effort for his child, which was more than Phoebe’s father can claim and he had over a decade on Jamie when she was born, he didn’t have the very valid explanation that Jamie has about why showing up for his child was so fucking hard.

The anger he feels at it all makes him play better than he has in a while, which also pisses him off. But it’s good. Training is good. With Jamie passing the ball to make his son happy, the team is actually running like it should. Makes it seem like they might actually have a chance at avoiding relegation for another year.

When they’re done running themselves ragged Ted is looking mighty pleased with himself, cheerily giving them one of his weird talks. Though, Roy is pretty sure this one isn’t a pep talk, but a complimentary talk. It’s hard to tell the difference though.

He’s also pretty sure no one is listening too closely to the gaffer, since most of them are still busy staring at Jamie, who has George on his lap, letting the lad play with his fingers while he rests his head on the tiny crown in front of him, hugging him close.

Once Ted is done talking, Jamie gently pushes George to his feet and starts to gather his bags. “Come on, lad, say bye to everyone. We’ll shower at home, yeah?”

“But daddy, you stink and I wanna stay with Roy Kent,” George whines.

Jamie looks conflicted at that for a moment, before he shakes his head. “Sorry, lad. Roy has a busy life, can’t stick around forever. Maybe some other time,” Jamie says. George pouts and Jamie folds a little, saying: “We can stay a few more minutes.”

“Thank you!” George cheers, throwing his arms around Jamie, who grins fondly, ruffling George’s hair again.

“Come on, you can pick out a Lynx scent. Since apparently I smell,” Jamie says, playfully grabbing at George, who shrieks under the tickle assault.

Going off the way everyone is starting at the duo with gobsmacked expressions, Roy is pretty no brain is going to recover from watching this spectacle. Fucking shame too, the lads can use all the brain power they still have.

“Roy Kent?” George softly calling out his name gets his attention.

He looks over to where George is very carefully going through Jamie’s collection of Lynx body sprays from his position on the bench, Jamie hovering behind to catch him, should he fall. “Yeah,” Roy grunts, curious what the lad could want from him.

“Which one do you use?” George asks.

“Uh…” Roy hesitates for a moment, unsure what to say beyond ‘fucking none of them, because I’m not a fucking child’ something Jamie knows, because he sends Roy a big eyed look, begging him not to say that exact thing. “… I like the wood one,” Roy lies, in the end, feeling a bit like a knob as he does, but it’s too late now. Fuck, he hopes there’s a wood one.

George nods, like he has just imparted great wisdom onto him, instead of lying about what kind of body spray he uses. “Thank you,” George says, before asking Jamie: “Daddy, which one is the wood one?”

“This one,” Jamie picks it out of the line up. He points at the letters. “See, W-O-O-D. Wood. There’s more on there too, because it’s fancy-” Of course Jaime would find Lynx fancy “-but that’s the important part right now.”

He waits until George indicates he gets it, before spraying it on. It hasn’t been that long, but Jamie is probably counting on George not being able to tell time yet, because once it’s on he says: “Come on, lad, time to go.”

“Noooooooo,” George whines, apparently having become more comfortable with everyone throughout the day, or more wrapped up in his dad to forget his audience.

“Yeeeeesssss,” Jamie replies in the same tone of voice, because despite all the maturity he has shown himself capable of today, he is still Jamie Fucking Tartt, who is an immature brat.

“But it’s so fun here, home is boring,” George whines. “Daddy, pleaseeee.”

Jamie takes a deep breath, swallowing whatever childish retort he was going to give and instead attempts to bargain: “If we go home, we can call Gigi. Won’t you like to talk to her? I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

Fucking hell, did Tartt already have a new girlfriend? He’d just been dumped by Keeley this weekend. And to take her to meet his son already? Or having already met him, going off George’s excited nod as he scrambles of the bench.

“Gigi?” Isaac frowns, implicitly voicing the concerns Roy just had.

“Oh, uh,” Jamie hesitates for a moment, before explaining: “Gigi’s my mummy, she didn’t wanna be grandma or grammy or whatever when George was born. I don’t think she’s quite forgiven me for making her a grandma at 32, but she loves this sexy little lad to pieces, ain’t that right, George?” He ruffles his hair once more as he directs his words to him. “Made Gigi forget all about being mad at me, huh?”

“Holy fucking shit.” Roy doesn’t know who said it, but he agrees with the sentiment.

“Did the maths, eh?” Jamie winces, understanding what they figured out. “Don’t worry, George here ain’t gonna have any babies before he’s twenty, isn’t that right, lad?”

“Uh-huh, I promised,” George nods enthusiastically, though Roy isn’t sure he knows exactly what he promised, or how Jamie is going to make it happen.

Besides, twenty is still pretty young to have children. If Phoebe comes home at that age pregnant, or if his sister had been pregnant that young, Roy doesn’t know what he’d do. However, given that Jamie became a parent at seventeen and his mom had him at fifteen, he supposes twenty is pretty decent.

“Anyway, say bye, George,” Jamie pivots the topic again, already herding George to the door as he does. He appears eager to leave, though Roy can’t blame him for wanting to escape these fucking hounds with a newly shiny bone.

“Bye, everyone!” George calls out with a wave and like a bunch of dorks, they all echo back: “Bye, George.”

With that, they’re gone.

It’s quiet for all but two seconds, before the room explodes into chatter. Roy doesn’t blame them, today sure has been a fucking day, but he feels a headache coming and the last thing he wants to do is think or talk more about Jamie Tartt.

So, he stomps off into the showers, wanting to get done so he can get home as soon as possible and forget about all this. (He knows he won’t be able to, but it’s nice to pretend he can lie to himself sometimes).

He has just left the chaos of the locker room behind him and is about to get into his car to get the fuck home when his phone rings. It’s his sister, so of fucking course he picks up. “Yeah?”

“Hey, Roy, my shift got extended. Can you pick Phoebe up from a friend’s house? Her school had a potential gas leak, but Marissa’s mum – you know Marissa’s mum right? Phoebe’s played with her before – she offered to take her today, just need you to pick her up there.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck.”

“Is that a yes?” his sister asks. “I think it’s a yes, but it’s not like your other yeses. Did something happen today?”

“None of your fucking business,” Roy tells her, because despite his dislike for Jamie he has enough respect for George to not give his sister this sensitive information over the phone in a parking lot where anyone could hear him. “I’ll pick her up. You working the night shift?”

“Yes, I’m sorry,” she says apologetically. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times he’s assured it’s okay, she’ll always feel guilty and he hates the shitstain for doing that to her.

“If it were a fucking problem, I’d say no,” he grunts, then hangs up. Today has just gotten worse, but at the same time, he’s going to see Phoebe, so it’s going to get better.

With Phoebe checked over and buckled in, Roy let his curiosity get the better of him. “Oi, Phoebe?” he starts as he always does.

“Yes, Uncle Roy?”

“You have a classmate called George?”

Phoebe tilts her head to the side, as if she’s confused and judgmental about him asking. “Yes, I do. Why?” she rightfully asks.

Roy grunts, hoping to convey that it’s none of her business and he has his reasons, but he respects her for asking even if he isn’t going to answer. “He an okay bloke?”

“He’s nice,” Phoebe says. “He plays tag with us during recess, but he’s not my friend. He doesn’t like the color purple. Who doesn’t like purple?”

“Beats me,” Roy says, not minding the out he gets to that conversation. He realized he shouldn’t have asked it a moment too late, not getting a reason to push more is good. If he found out Jamie was interrogating George about Phoebe, he’d probably strangle him.

The rest of the afternoon and evening is spend with Phoebe. They play princess and dragon, listen to the fucking Frozen soundtrack too many times, he tries to convince her that lettuce isn’t all that bad, then reads her a story and tucks her into bed.

Overall, it’s a good fucking rest of his day. In fact, he has mostly forgotten about Jamie and his surprise fatherhood… until he lays down in bed, alone with his thoughts once more.

It’s fucking confusing, is the thing. Before now, Roy thought Jamie just wasn’t capable of not being a prick. That he was just being a twat, because he hadn’t figured out how to be anything else. A little prick, who had always been praised for being a little prick, growing up around other little pricks and being stuffed into an Academy where prick-hood was celebrated. Someone, who honestly had never stood a fucking chance and who had reached twenty-three without anyone ever telling him he needed to stop his little Pre-Maddonna bullshit.

Today has proven that false. Jamie is perfectly capable of not acting like a prick. He knows how to not insult everything that breathes in his direction, knows how to take a breath and not blurt out whatever rude thought has come into his head. He is capable of compassion, patience and kindness. He can do it, he just fucking doesn’t. For some G-d awful reason.

With Cartick in charge, he could maybe understand wanting to fit into the mold of the locker room he’d entered in, since it’s not like the environment fostered kindness when he got there. But now Lasso is here and he’s touting his American peace and love bullshit all the time, so if it was that, Jamie should have fallen in line with everyone else. But he hadn’t done that.

So yeah, confusing.

Why would Jamie actively be choosing to be an arsehole? Why when it has gotten him dumped by his girlfriend, ousted by his team and on the bad side of his coach? Was it really that he thought that if he weren’t scoring goals, they’d send him back to Manchester and he’d lose contact with his son? Would today have been enough that he realized it wouldn’t be like that and tomorrow he’d be a different Jamie all over?

Roy doubts it, even if it is an option. But Jamie’s loan will be up at the end of the season anyway, so he’ll have to go back regardless. Maybe he is looking to get traded to a London club, but then he is definitely burning bridges at Richmond, going the way he has been. Besides, even George still had a lot of pride in Man City while living here, so he doubts Jamie would want to give it up.

No, there was something else. Something Roy couldn’t place. Something that niggled at his brain, but escaped him as he tried to unravel it.

He sleeps like shit that night and decides to blame Jamie for it. Just like he tries to rationalize looking for George or Liz or even fucking Jamie when he drops Phoebe off.

When he sees Jamie in the parking lot, he figures he might have just missed him or that Liz or a babysitter or something dropped George off at school today. He shouldn’t care and he’s about to make his presence known when Jamie’s words catch his attention: “I fucking know you’re mad at me ‘bout yesterday, Liz, but you ain’t listening. I didn’t mean it like that.”

There’s a moment where he listens to Liz’s response to those words.

“Don’t be condimenting like that,” Jamie complains. A beat. “Condescending, whatever,” he rolls his eyes. “What I wanted to say, was sorry, yeah. I’m trying to keep him safe. Who knows who the fuck saw ‘im here and who might say shit. It’s risky. Dangerous. You can’t be doing that.”

As Jamie listens to Liz’s reply, Roy stands there frozen, knowing he shouldn’t be listening, but unable to stop himself either. The more he finds out about Jamie, the more of an enigma the lad becomes. It’s frustrating in a way he can’t place. He doesn’t like to talk about how he’s feeling, but he definitely doesn’t like thinking about it or figuring it out either.

After a moment, Jamie bashfully says: “It’s alright. Didn’t mean to snap either. So we’re good?” A beat. “Good,” Jamie nods. “I got George to school safely this morning. He feels like a proper big lad, getting to walk the last block by himself. I don’t think he’s figured out I’m following ‘im in me car yet, but he looks both ways before crossing.”

Ah, that explains why Roy didn’t see him there then. It’s smart, he supposes, if you don’t want anyone to find out about your connection to the child, but also don’t want the lad to figure out you’re trying to avoid being seen with him.

Suddenly feeling too embarrassed about eavesdropping on a private conversation, Roy comes stomping on loudly, pretending he hasn’t been standing there before he did. “Oi, Tartt, what are you loitering about for. Mush.”

“Yeah, yeah, granddad, keep your wig on,” Jamie rolls his eyes. “Just taking a phone call, you know what that is? Or do you still write letters with a quill like they did when you were a wee little lad.”

“Fuck off,” Roy snarls, though a part of him is glad with the return to the status quo. As much as he’d love for Jamie to be less of a prick and actually work with everyone, it’ll suck to have to figure out a new way to behave around the man.

He leaves the prick in the parking lot to finish his G-ddamn phone call. He’s done enough overhearing and needing to readjust his mental image of Jamie these past twenty-four hours to last him a fucking lifetime.

Because he abandons Jamie to his fate, since he’s not some weirdo who is going to wait for Jamie Fucking Tartt of all people, he’s in the locker room before him. Some of the chatter is clearly about yesterday, but there is also the inane bullshit of the normal locker room talk mixed in. Roy ignores it like he usually does and goes to his cubby.

A few moments later, the locker room falls silent, one look at the door and it’s clear why; Jamie.

Despite his usual love for attention, he looks a little uncomfortable with the way everyone has turned to stare at him. Like he doesn’t have a script for this kind of attention and he’s floundering in the face of everyone’s expectations.

“Bruv, you gotta have fucking baby pictures, right?” Isaac asks, both breaking the ice for everyone there and acknowledging the elephant in the room without making it uncomfortable or too personal. It is a flash of the maturity Roy had always known he was capable off that has become more prominent under Lasso’s guidance.

“Uh, yeah, course I ‘ave,” Jamie says, managing to stumble awkwardly and preen like a peacock as he snaps back into motion.

“Let’s see then,” Isaac waves him over.

Because Isaac is right fucking next to Roy and Jamie has no regard for personal space or pissing people off, he drops right between the two, pulling out his phone. More people crowd around to see and a part of Roy wants to get the fuck away from everyone, but a bigger part is also curious to see.

Jamie navigates to a password locked file on his phone that upon entering the password – which Roy is pretty sure is ‘password’ – reveals a bunch of pictures of George. There are a lot. Like a lot a lot and from all stages of George’s life. If Jamie had been out of his life for a while, these photo don’t paint that picture.

When he gets to the bottom, he clicks on a picture that is by the looks of it, taken on a much shittier phone camera than the one he has now.

In it is a teenager that is starting to take shape to form Jamie. His limbs are more gangling and thin and his hair is floppy and less groomed, baby fat still clinging to sharp cheek bones. However, the essence of Jamie is still there, even if this proud grin is very different from the cocky, bragging expression he wears so often these days.

In his arms is a tiny bundle of who Roy assumes is George. He looks like every fucking baby out there wrapped up in a little Man City blue blanket, that might be a repurposed shirt now that Roy looks a little closer.

Despite the fact that every baby looks alike and there is nothing particularly special about this one, save that the parent of him is right there showing everyone said picture, most of the lads around coo over the baby, because it’s common fucking courtesy. Roy doesn’t because he has a reputation and he only broke it for Phoebe.

Jamie is in the middle of it all and Roy is surprised that he still appears to not know what to do with all the attention he’s getting. From what Roy has seen, Jamie would prefer to be the center of attention all the fucking time, but right now he just looks confused and overwhelmed. Another puzzling piece that has been revealed.

And fucking hell, Roy wants to fucking help the fucker, G-d, truly, what is his fucking life? This… apparently. Fucking Lasso.

He nudges Jamie and waits until Jamie looks at him – which is almost instantly – then says: “Really, Man City colors? In this locker room?”

It might not be the nicest thing to say, especially since he’s said nothing about George, but he forgives himself for it when Jamie snorts and relaxes slightly. “Oh piss off, old man, you know I come from a Man City nest. It’s still my club. Wait, I’ll have something you enjoy.”

Roy has no fucking clue what that could fucking mean, but he’s done enough charity work for today, so he doesn’t try to figure it out and just waits curiously as Jamie scrolls through his endless photos of George. As he does, Roy sees some of the other lads exchange looks. Seems like all of them are wondering what baby photo Jamie was going to pull up after that description.

“Aha,” Jamie hums, clicking on the picture he must have been looking for and tilting his phone so Roy could see better, the rest of the lads encroaching further on his space to see as well. Usually half of them probably wouldn’t have been this interested in baby pictures, but given the whole situation, Roy can’t blame them for being curious.

In the picture George appears to be around one and a half or so. He has blond, bordering on brown curls on his head, but that’s not what catches Roy’s attention. No, that is the fact that little George appears to have thick eyebrows and a beard drawn on… and the fact that he is in a Chelsea kit of all things.

“You dressed him up as me?” Roy asks, unsure if he should be flattered or weirded out by that fact.

“Uh, yeah,” Jamie says, sounding as if he only now realizes that might be strange. “Dressed him up as a football for his first Halloween, but doing a repeat is boring, but I don’t have much else going on in me life next to football. So, Roy Kent.” Jamie shrugs awkwardly. “George’s a fan,” he adds as a defense, like George at that age would have an opinion and they hadn’t figured out Jamie used to be a fan of Roy too yesterday.

“Didn’t Liz have opinions about the costumes?” Colin asks, which is a sensible enough question and a nice way to keep the ball rolling, before Jamie could get too defensive about the costume.

“I dunno,” Jamie answers. “She wasn’t in the picture then. Wanted to finish her KS5s first. Came back pretty soon after this though. Round Christmas. Then I got swept up in… football shit, so she kind of took over. Though, me mummy was helping a lot those first years.”

The way he says it makes Roy think there is more going on than just ‘football shit’, remembering the conversations he’s overheard. That twisting feeling in his gut returns when Jamie says that. It makes him itch to shake Jamie, tell him what is going on, but he knows he can’t. Not really.

So he focuses on the other things Jamie shared, remembering Jamie accusing Liz of also walking out when she was mad at him yesterday. That makes sense now. It also means Roy has to reassess his image of Jamie once more, because apparently Jamie was the single parent for a while, even if he had help from his mum.

“How does that work? Now that you’re back in it and all. Can imagine that’s weird with you and her not shagging. Or are you shagging?” one of the lads asks, Roy can’t figure out which one and he doesn’t care much either.

“None of your fucking business,” Jamie snarls, tightness creeping back into his shoulders as he does. In a way, Roy saw this coming, Jamie has been too nice all morning… comparatively.

Though, it’s not entirely back to normal, Roy supposes, watching Jamie flip through baby pictures in a manner that seems like he’s trying to soothe his nerves… like really Jamie Tartt and nerves? Seems made up.

Before it can explode more, they’re interrupted by Ted, who startles half the players there as he pipes up over all of them: “Now what is this congregation for? It’s more crowded than a Kansas Church on a Sunday and let me tell you, those get busy, so this seems mighty interesting.”

“Jamie was showing us baby pictures of George,” Sam speaks up, being too kind in covering for Jamie’s outburst and giving this a positive spin, which granted it had been pretty positive overall up until just now, another new and strange development.

“Oeh, can I see?” Ted asks, sounding excited as he wiggles into the crowd that parts for him until he’s right in front of Jamie, which also puts him right in front of Roy.

Jamie eyes him suspiciously for a moment, then slowly and cautiously turns the screen so Ted can see the picture he’s on now. It’s of floppy haired teenage Jamie holding baby George’s hands as he stands on wobbly legs. In the foreground is a baby sized football, it almost seems like Jamie is trying to get George to kick it. Fuck, that’s probably exactly what he was trying to do, Roy realizes, before having to cope with the fact that it made him feel fond of all things.

“Wow there, Jamie, that kid of yours is a cute as a button,” Ted tells him with a big gentle smile. Then he looks at Jamie, sees the same expression George wore the day before when he informed Ted he was confusing and amends: “Means, George was a cute baby. And we all know he’s a sweet kid now.”

“Thanks, Coach,” Jamie says, again in that tone that makes it seem like he is unsure what to do with that kind of compliment, even if he seems pleased to hear it.

The more Roy finds out about Jamie’s family dynamics, the more confusing it gets and the less sure he is that he wants to figure it out. Even if the not knowing also kills him, because he is a lot more nosy than he would like to admit and something about the whole thing itches at him.

“Course. I mean it, cute kid. Always welcome here,” Ted smiles, giving Jamie a nod that is returned, before turning to everyone and telling them to hurry up getting ready, because the pitch is waiting, even uses pitch instead of field.

And G-d fucking shit, they might be on the brink of some sort of break through that Roy never thought Ted would be capable of achieving. Roy doesn’t like not being right, but if it means he gets to spend his last years in this sport with less shame than expected when watching that first press conference with Ted, he is willing to accept being wrong for once.

…Naturally this means it seems he’s going to be right not even a few minutes later.

Chapter Text

Any and all thought or flicker of hope that yesterday’s training had gotten through to Jamie, that he had finally gotten what they were trying to do here, flies out the fucking window the second they get on the pitch again. He is still not passing, hogging the ball and he is acting like a fucking prick to anyone who looks like they might want to say something to him that is anything other than positive.

It makes Roy wants to rip his fucking hair out. Jamie has always made him feel like that, from the moment he came flouncing into the locker room like he was the savior from up high, younger and fitter than Roy would ever be again. But it’s different now. It’s fucking different, because Roy actually had hope for a second, knows Jamie can do it, just doesn’t know how to make Jamie do it again.

Fuck, he’s going to punch something. A wall or Jamie, just something.

“Extra passes! Extra passes!” Ted calls out, his voice as close to frustrated as he is probably capable of being. “We can do it. I know you can, Jamie. Come on.”

“Oh, fuck off,” Jamie grits through his teeth, not nearly as out of breath as Roy thinks he should be, annoying twat.

Then he goes and tackles Sam, who isn’t even on the opposite team, just because he fucking felt like it for some reason. It’s not a bad tackle, nothing that should injure or even hurt much, but that is besides the point. It’s especially beside the point when Jamie rolls his eyes at Sam and mutters: “Oh give me a break,” when Sam doesn’t immediately jump back up but blinks confusedly at his teammate, who is on his side of the scrimmage, that just took him out.

“Alright that’s it. Jamie, laps!” Ted cuts in, which Roy respects him for. There have to be lines and Jamie balances along them every day, but today he fucking crossed them.

“What-fucking-ever,” Jamie grits, kicking the ball harshly as he hunches in on himself, before he starts jogging. The ball lands in the fucking goal, because all of them are still reeling and Jamie is a talented fucking prick, who Roy wishes would care more about what he can do with that when he takes the prick part out of that, but alas.

And so the once hopeful looking training devolves into something fucking shit. It feels like the story of Roy’s life these past few years. Fucking hell. He should have fucking disappeared over the first break after that last kick to his knee at Chelsea, bought a fucking boat or some shit and faded into obscurity with a bang. Not this.

Ted lets Jamie run laps for the rest of training. Without him there, it goes how Roy thought it would go yesterday when Jamie had been off with George. No weirdness, just a smoother sailing without their wild card fucking everything over.

However, he also isn’t blind. They are missing something out on the pitch without Jamie, something that gives them an edge. Something Roy used to give the team, before he got old and decrepit. It pisses him the fuck off. That Jamie can still have that if he’d just apply himself and he doesn’t. That he’s throwing it away for no good reason.

So once they’re done – Jamie with jelly legs, though he valiantly tries to pretend he doesn’t, snarling at anyone who might allude to him having a muscle ache after hours of running – Roy is done. Angrily he goes through the motions of getting dressed, before squaring up and grunting: “Oi, Tartt.”

For some reason the twat points at himself to confirm, like Roy could be talking about anyone else right now. Then he scowls, that mean edge overtaking the confusion. “What the fuck you want from me, granddad?”

“To know what you’re fucking problem is,” Roy demands, because fuck Jamie and fuck not dressing him down in front of everyone. Roy is angry at him, he doesn’t need to give Jamie space and privacy to tell him what the fuck is going on with him, the prick needs to be fucking scolded like a child.

“I ain’t got a problem,” Jamie spits at him. “It’s not my fault you no longer got what it takes, you dusty old fart.”

Roy roars, blood rushing past his ears, because this- this utter twat knobhead dick has been getting on his last nerves for G-d knows how fucking long and here is is being a total prick once more when Roy knows he doesn’t have to be and it just- ugh! He wants to strangle him.

“Hey, hey, keep your wig on,” Jamie says at that, taking a step back while still having a cheeky smug grin on his face. “Take some pills for that blood pressure, old man,” he quips, then ducks out of the locker room, leaving Roy standing there like a complete knob.

G-d, he somehow hates Jamie most for how stupid he makes Roy feel. How he just dismisses him and fucks off, like he doesn’t care about whatever insult he’s just thrown his way, like none of it fucking matters.

Ignoring the way everyone looks at him, he rips his jacket of the hook in his cubby, snatching up his bag and stalks out of there.

He keeps fuming all the way home, unable to shake the anger like he usually does. It only serves to to piss him of even more. He used to be able to shake off Jamie’s prick behavior, because who gives a fucking shit what that arsehole thinks of Roy (even if he did manage to figure out every single button there is to push in a staggeringly small amount of time with an unnatural accuracy), so why can’t he now? He doesn’t want that prick in his head.

And he can’t fucking figure out why.

Jamie is a child, who is arrogant and selfish and has never even grown up, so what if he’s good at being a bully and spotted a few weak spots. He’s repetitive in his insults and the ones he takes are open goals, it’s nothing the pundits haven’t been sating for awhile already. Prick probably didn’t even come up with it on his own.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Jamie isn’t just a selfish, arrogant child, who has never grown up, is he? Or maybe he is.

Fuck.

Maybe Jamie is a child, who never got to grow up. I mean, shit, he had a child at seventeen, single parent for the first year, maybe first two years, trying to built a career for himself in an industry Roy knows doesn’t help anyone grow up. He fucking didn’t until much later, now did he? So, Tartt definitely didn’t stand a chance, given he appears to have been born with a shit personality to boot.

But being a child is no excuse, especially since Roy knows he can step up, that he can be better than how he’s acting. That’s the thing that is different this time. That Roy knows there is something more to Jamie than being a bully.

It gets under his skin in a way he can’t explain. The rage at the untapped potential he can see. G-d, it pisses him the fuck off.

And he doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get how Jamie can’t seem to see that he keeps fighting people that just want to help him. That’s not Lasso vs. Jamie, or even Roy vs. Jamie, but that they want to work with him, not against him. How can he not get that through his thick fucking skull?

Fuck, it’s so infuriating. Jamie is so infuriating. He just fucking keeps winding Roy up and he hates it, hates how he falls for it every fucking time. How he fell for it again today….

He groans, rolling onto his back and staring into the blackness of his room. He just wants to go the fuck to sleep, but apparently he is now at a point in his life where’s lying awake thinking of Jamie Fucking Tartt of all people.

Fucking shit.

After a long while of angrily tossing and turning, he wakes up feeling like shit and pissed off that he feels like shit. He vows to not let Jamie get to him again. He’s sick of the little prick getting under his skin without his permission.

Getting to Nelson Road, his attitude is enough to keep people away from him and he’s happy for it. He just wants to ignore everything and everyone today. Including Jamie.

The twat shows up like he always does and pulls the same shit he did the day before. This time no baby photos and anyone who dares to mention George gets their head bitten off. Jamie spends the second half of training running laps once more. How he managed to piss Ted off enough two days in a row is the true fucking miracle.

Roy tries not to give a fuck as he leaves the dressing room, this time without a word. He has a niece to pick up from school and she deserves his attention a lot more than anyone there.

Phoebe sleeps over at his again. She does it often, even has her own room at his house. Roy will never admit it, but the nights she is there are his favorites. It makes his house feel less empty, his life less lonely and sad. Which is probably pathetic, since he’s a grown man, who probably should have more friends than just his six year old niece.

Still, he is grateful for her company. He loves the little idiot. She is growing up so much better than he ever could have imagined and he is so proud of her. She makes him want to be better, so that she doesn’t have to be like him. He wants that for her so much that it aches sometimes. And seeing her be happy in his house, makes him feel content.

So, he does his best to shake of the pathetic feeling and has fun instead. He is teaching her how to cook, small stuff and mostly letting her throw stuff he already cooked into a bowl or some shit, but it is a fun distraction and he doesn’t think of Jamie Tartt once all day.

Until the next morning when he’s dropping Phoebe off at school and he is reminded of the fact that she is in the same class as Tartt’s offspring.

Without conscious thought he starts scanning the crowd that always descends onto the school in the morning, going over all the kids playing outside. He wonders why George never came up to him, since he is a fan, doesn’t even remember him passing through on the kick about he and Ted had here when Trent did that article on him earlier.

Maybe Jamie said something to him, Roy thinks, didn’t want his son close to Roy, didn’t want Roy figuring it out.

That thought spawns a second realization in his mind; had Jamie known this whole time? Roy has only just semi-incidentally found out Phoebe shares a classroom with George, because Jamie has been carefully keeping his distance from George in the public eye, but Roy hasn’t been doing the same with Phoebe.

Of course, he has broken enough cameras that the fucking paps know to stay the fuck away from him, especially when he’s with Phoebe. However, the fact that he watches her is pretty well known around here and he is a very familiar face at her school. With George being a fan, there is no way he wouldn’t have told his dad about it.

Yet Jamie has never mentioned it. Not that it would have made sense, seeing as Jamie didn’t want any of them to know about him and George. But a part of him would have had expected a few well aimed barbs about it, looking back. Jamie could have claimed common knowledge about it.

The fact that he hasn’t is another one of those inconsistencies Jamie has about him, the ones that Roy hadn’t even noticed until he was surpris e introduced to George.

At that moment, he spots the lad walking onto school grounds, indeed looking as if he feels like a proper big lad, the words he heard Jamie say on that overheard phone call echoing through his mind again at the sight.

Without conscious thought, his eyes dart over to the street where Jamie should be in his car, if what he told Liz was correct. Indeed, Jamie’s flashy Aston is parked right in front of the school. If George truly hadn’t seen it following him yet, he’s as observant as his father, Roy snorts, before he can properly take in Jamie behind the wheel.

He doesn’t appear to have seen Roy yet, eyes glued onto George instead as the lad makes his way over to another bloke, who is clearly his friend.

Roy observes Jamie as he watches George. It’s not the Jamie he knows, nor a Jamie he’s ever seen before, not even when George came into the locker room two days ago. There is just this soft yet gutted look on his face. This ache as he watches the school. The glass of the car never so visible before.

G-d fucking shit, the prick is fucking moping. Hidden away, just out of sight and licking his wounds, while sticking close to the thing that is torturing him, because it’s also what makes it worth it. Just like Roy pretending it’s not sad that Phoebe is the person closest to him, because being her uncle is the best thing that he’s ever had.

Jamie is hurting like that now. There’s not a doubt in Roy’s mind about that. How could he not be smarting when he can’t even walk his fucking son to school, can’t give him a hug or a ruffle his hair, before saying goodbye to him. He can’t take him on public outings or let him come to games to cheer him on. Can’t talk about it.

How much and for how long has Jamie suffered in the shadows like this? And for what exactly? Roy knows there is something that much was clear in the way Jamie spoke to Liz about it. Something or someone, who can’t know George exists. Someone other than the press, who would hound and invade, possibly endanger, but are manageable at the end of the day.

Of fucking course the Muppet would snap and snarl with that exposed, even if it’s not all the hurt Roy is seeing now, just the vulnerability that George’s arrival has revealed to all of them would be enough .

Fuuuuuuuuuck.

Confronting Jamie in the locker room probably wasn’t the right move. Though, in all fairness, Roy wanted to have a chat in private, give the lad a chance to say his piece, give him some fucking grace about what the fuck is going on with that. Jamie’s retorts just kind of… undid that.

Still, Roy should have been fucking better than that, shouldn’t have let Jamie get to him the way he did. He is older here, wiser too. He’s the Captain. He has to lead by example. He might not want to do it, might hate it, but he has to, there isn’t anybody else.

Some of the days, he really fucking hates Lasso and today is definitely such a day. Alas, he was going to follow the gaffer’s advice… even if he hated every single moment of it.

So, he tears his eyes way from Jamie, pretends not to see or notice him and doesn’t look back to see if Jamie has spotted him instead. He just calls Phoebe back over to him from where she’d ran off to play hopscotch with her friends, tells her he loves her and to have a good day, before giving her a final hug and fucking off to Nelson Road.

With his decision made, he lies in wait until Jamie arrives, promising himself once more to be fucking patient or some shit, before stepping out in front of the twat.

“Ah!” Jamie yelps, jumping a little at his appearance. Roy would have laughed at that on another day, but now he just watches on grumpily as Jamie’s expression morphs into another scowl. “What the fuck do you want?”

“Why are you a dick to Sam?”

“What?” Jamie replies, as if he can’t believe that Roy is asking that out of all the things he could have asked.

Roy also doesn’t know, but in a way, it gets to the crux of the situation, so he repeats slowly: “Why. Are you. A dick. To Sam?”

“Cause he needs it,” Jamie answers, stupid cocky look on his face, as if Roy is weird for even asking, not Jamie for giving an insane answer.

“Why the fuck does he need it?” Roy growls, because seriously, no one needs to get bullied and Jamie is definitely bullying Sam.

Jamie scoffs: “Are you serious? Have you seen him play? Annoying pushover lets everyone just walk over him. I’m doing him a favor, mate.”

“A favor?” Roy repeats incredulously. Fuck, this day is getting weirder by the second.

“Yeah,” Jamie nods, his tone close to how one would say ‘duh’.

“So Sam just needs to stand up to you and you’d leave him the fuck alone?” Roy checks, because outside all the bullshit, that is what Jamie’s words come down to.

“If he’d do it consistently, yeah,” Jamie shrugs, volunteering that information easily, as if someone had only needed to ask why he was doing this earlier, as if it was a logical and normal thing to say. As if it was truly just him wanting to teach Sam… what? To stand up for himself? What a fucking joke.

Roy is about to explode, before reminding himself that he was going to be patient, even if the prick made his blood boil. Still, that doesn’t prevent him from going for a low blow: “You teach George how to stand up fro himself like that to? Are you a dick to him to until he fucking talks back?”

Jamie rears back as if slapped, eyes flashing as he snarls: “Of fucking course, I don’t. What the fuck, mate, who the fuck do you take me for?”

“Someone who apparently thinks bullying is a good way to teach someone a lesson,” Roy replies coolly, crossing his arms as he turns himself into an unmovable object.

That makes something Roy can’t decipher flash over Jamie face, before his jaw sets angrily and he hotly says: “I would never do anything to hurt George. Ever. Fuck you for saying that. Him and Sam are totally different.”

Okay, they are maybe getting somewhere here. “Why are George and Sam different?”

“Uh, cos George is a fucking kid and Sam is – despite what you and Lasso seem to think – an adult, who should know how to do his fucking job and how football works,” Jamie informs him snidely.

“So you’re just waiting until George is an adult before being a prick to him,” Roy summarizes, purposefully misinterpreting what Jamie is saying a little bit to get a rise out of him, get him to snap and spill what is going on in his brain, because Ted has already proven that a gentle hand will just get bitten.

“No!” Jamie exclaims vehemently. “What’s your fucking problem, you old hairy twat? What are you accusing me off here?”

“Nothing,” Roy says, which is true. Despite everything he knows about Jamie and his behavior, he doesn’t think he’d ever be capable of hurting George.

“Then what the fuck are you doing?” Jamie spits.

“Trying to figure out what fucking wires in your brain got crossed that you can’t seem to understand that you can’t treat Sam and everyone else like shit,” Roy growls. “I fucking know you can do it, that you can be fucking nice, so why the fuck don’t you? It’s literally the only thing Coach is fucking asking of you.”

“Because it’s football! It’s fucking football! Coach don’t know shit about football and I ain’t listening to him ‘bout it,” Jamie yells, looking as taken aback by his outburst as Roy is.

Roy blinks a few times, trying to work out what the fuck Jamie means with that. It’s not too hard to figure out, because Roy practically asked what wires were crossed and Jamie answered that the football ones were. That somehow his brain thinks that the bullying is football behavior.

In a way, Roy can’t fully fault him for that, because he’s also grown up living and breathing football and he knows the culture around it. He has seen the locker room posturing, the fighting over the ball, the hooligans in the stands, the vitriol that gets pushed. How there is no space for anything other than being a man.

So, it makes sense for Jamie to think that is what football is. That yeah, Lasso might being trying to change their locker room culture, but he doesn’t know football, so what does he know? That he can separate the way he is a cunt here from the way he is with George. It makes sense and Roy hates that it does.

At least it’s something he can work with. A silver lining to this shit show. As calmly as he can, he says: “Well, Lasso is the gaffer now. His way of football is the way you’re going to play football. No more bullying, no more being a prick. You pass and you play nice. That’s football now.”

And Jamie just looks at him in response.

Roy can’t describe it any other way.

He just stares at Roy for a long moment, working through the sentence, then looking at his face to see if he cracks, if he’s joking. Roy’s not joking. Jamie seems to realize that too.

For a moment, an anguished look flashes over Jamie’s face and he chokes: “I- I can’t,” before he locks it back up and Roy has to watch how Jamie plasters on a smirk in front of his eyes, as if Roy hadn’t seen anything else, as if this is Jamie walking into a post-match interview after a hard loss. “I’m not an ancient soft fuck like you. Sam needs to learn not to fold, or he’ll never get past a defender,” Jamie says, pushing past him and stalking off.

As he watches him go, Roy wants to be fucking angry. He wants to be angry so bad, because being angry with Jamie is easier than whatever the fuck he’s feeling now. But he can’t. That brief anguish haunting him along with overheard words.

‘But that’s now and we both know it hasn’t always been like that, huh, has it? And what if he gets his paws in your finances again?’

‘Who knows who the fuck saw ‘im here and who might say shit. It’s risky. Dangerous. You can’t be doing that.’

‘I- I can’t’

His gut churning with that horrid feeling, that foreboding feeling he hates. Knowing that there is a piece of the puzzle he’s missing. That there is something bad that is hanging around. And he wants to know what it is, wants to fix it.

Ted is the one that made him care about all these pricks, the one that forced him into stepping up, who dragged him kicking and screaming into taking his Captaincy seriously. If he didn’t want Roy to – G-d forbid – include Jamie in that, he should have fucking said so.

During training, he keeps looking over at Jamie, studying him, trying to figure him out. Jamie notices him staring, because of fucking course he has to turn observant today. Every time Jamie catches him looking, he sticks his tongue out at Roy, like Roy is some groupie who has spotted him in the bar and is trying to get his attention. It makes him scowl, but it doesn’t stop him from looking. Which means he sees Jamie frown to himself every time he looks away.

But the frown doesn’t stop him from doing what he’s doing. The prick is still acting like he always does, especially these last few days, because he’s off running again for the last quarter of training. It’s an improvement though, since it was half of training yesterday.

Roy wonders what Jamie thinks of the punishment, because he always takes it without complaint. If Roy would have had to guess before this, he’d guess that Jamie would complain about it until he’s blue in the face. But he doesn’t.

Instead, Jamie just pushes and acts out until Ted gets fed up with him and pulls him off the pitch to go run laps. Then he does. He runs until training is over and he can stop. No words, no complaints, just pushing until ordered.

It feels like a pieces to a puzzle Roy doesn’t know the shape off yet.

Jamie on the whole is like a puzzle. He used to to be so simple and now Roy can’t figure him out. He never used to be so complicated before, right? Or maybe he’d always been, but Roy just hadn’t noticed, because these past few days he has discovered he probably doesn’t really know Jamie at all.

That is an uncomfortable realization. He feels like the arrogant twat he often accuses Jamie of being, one too blinded by faith in himself that he assumed he knew, while he’d only been groping in the dark instead. It’s unsettling.

But not something he can just solve, because in order to solve it, Jamie would want to open up to him and Roy isn’t exactly a welcoming person that people feel comfortable talking to. Especially not Tartt, Roy had made sure of that.

So, he just observes and tries to figure out a way to make Jamie trust him enough to open up, to tell him about whatever it is that makes him act the way he does.

He’s the only one that does, everyone else seems to be content with giving Jamie a wide fucking berth and not end up in his path if they can help it. Another time, Jamie might be upset with that, always seeming to crave being at the center of all the attention, but he appears strangely content with being left the fuck alone.

When the day is over, Roy still isn’t closer to an answer, nor is he the next day. However, Jamie seems to have calmed down a little. He’s on the pitch with them for the entirety of training and is at his usual level of prick. The only thing that is different is that he doesn’t hang around after to either talk everyone into going out with him or recap why he was amazing at training, instead just packing his shit and getting out of dodge like Roy prefers to do.

After that it’s Saturday, match day. Roy dreads it more than he usually does. They were already likely to lose, but with this strange added tension, it’s bound to be worse. The team’s even more misaligned than it already was.

Indeed, the first crack shows when they’re all in the dressing room. Thierry – in a, in Roy’s opinion, stupid attempt to break the tension – asks: “So, Jamie, George in the stands for you today?”

And Jamie, who’d been fussing with his hair as he kept to himself, snaps his head towards him. A dark look has filtered across his features and his shoulders are tense. He scowls: “No.”

“No?” Thierry repeats, sounding surprised and seemingly missing Jamie’s foul mood that spiked at his first question. Around them everyone kind of freezes as they flick their eyes between the two.

“No,” Jamie spits. “He’s not.”

“Why?” G-d fucking shit, Thierry have some self preservation.

Jamie only hunches further in on himself, lip curling into a snarl. “None of your fucking business, mate. Maybe try focusing on not looking like a fumbling baby twat out on the pitch instead of what other people got going on and this team could be less disgraceful than it already is.”

Thierry pulls a face at that, but doesn’t respond, nor does anyone else. Everyone just kind of glowers at Jamie as he pulls on the rest of his kit then stalks off, missing the pre-game speech and only appearing when it’s time to walk onto the field.

As predicted, the match is an absolute shitshow. Even more than Roy could have predicted. And it’s not just because Richmond is kind of a shit team this time. Well, that too, but it’s mostly because no one is fucking passing to Jamie.

A week ago this would have been delightful to Roy, even if he would be a little annoyed by how it lowers their chances of winning. He found Jamie to be an egocentric, arrogant prick, who deserved to be knocked down a peg or two and going off the increasingly frustrated and almost desperate look on Jamie’s face, he is getting knocked down for sure.

However, it’s not a week ago and Roy feels fucking conflicted about this mutiny against their star player. Because he fucking gets it, it makes him want to puke to pass to Jamie and after the shitshow that was last week’s training, he gets why no one is pleased with him.

Yet there is also that desperate edge to his eyes – one Roy probably wouldn’t have noticed unless he was looking for it and after all the overheard snippets he’s definitely looking for it – and the loss that is creeping up on them.

Well, not creeping up on them, washing over them more likely, bowling them over. It’s nearly fucking half time and it’s two-nill. When Roy gets the ball, he finds himself wanting to pass to Jamie just so they go into half time in a less embarrassing manner, but the pass is too risky and he ends up shooting the ball over to Bumbercatch.

Bumbercatch passes to Colin, who passes to Sam, who… gets fucking tackled and loses possession. Roy can’t help but remember Jamie’s barbed words about Sam being too much of a pushover to get through defense. Bullying definitely not the way to go to get Sam there, but there was a kernel of truth in Jamie’s words.

As the opposing team makes their way through their shit defenses and sinks the ball into the net – making it three-nill just before half time – Roy makes eye contact with Jamie right as he starts to boil over, already stomping to the edge of the field before the whistle has even gone.

Roy can’t even fucking blame him. He half expects they will arrive into a destroyed locker room or something, but instead it’s eerily silent. Jamie is nowhere in sight.

However, it doesn’t take long for him to make an appearance. Ted has just clapped his hands encouragingly, readying himself for whatever pep talk he’s got cooked up, when the door slams open, revealing Jamie.

He just stands there in the doorway. His eyes are wild, but with an edge that seems like he might break down at any moment – crying or screaming, Roy can’t tell – his face is wet, like he’d just splashed water on it. He is breathing heavily, shoulders going up and down as he stares at all of them.

It’s quiet for a moment, the shock of Jamie’s appearance silencing them. Then Jamie raises a shaking finger, pointing at all of them as he demands: “Fucking stop.”

The words snap everyone out of their stare and it becomes very clear that the Greyhounds are not going to ‘fucking stop’ just because Jamie asks. In fact, multiple players cross their arms, jutting their jaws stubbornly as they do.

“We’re fucking drowning out there, it’s embarrassing,” Jamie tirades. “I already have to be a part of this shit fucking club, I’m not letting you all humiliate me out there even more. You can pull this sort of shit when you can actually score or even fucking defend, which clearly none of you fucking can.”

He is spewing his usual bullshit, but there is an edge to his voice as he does. Roy can’t pinpoint what it is yet, but there is something more than embarrassment brewing.

“Fuck you, bruv,” Isaac spits, getting fed up with just taking it.

“Fuck me? Fuck me?” Jamie repeats, voice getting higher pitched as he screams. “You all can’t fucking do it without me!” he roars. “Do you have any fucking clue who is watching? Huh. Do you? No, you fucking don’t. This is fucking serious.”

Again something about the way Jamie says that makes Roy question what is wrong with him, what might be going on. Who is watching indeed?

“We’re not fucking scoring,” Jamie says, a little bit calmer after his outburst, but still a little unhinged sounding. “You’re not letting me score. Stop. It. Because it’s not fucking funny or whatever the fuck you think.”

“So, it’s not funny when someone doesn’t pass the ball?” It’s Colin who speaks up for all of them, highlighting what they want to show Jamie.

Jamie fucking snarls at him and snaps: “Not when the person you’re not passing to actually knows what they’re fucking doing.”

Okay, someone has to stop this. The tension is only rising and they still have a second half to play. As he looks over to Ted, it’s obvious the man has no clue what to do with this, fucking figures that Ted won’t be able to Yee-haw them out of this fucking revolt against Jamie.

That cursed line from that cursed book rolls through his mind again. ‘That it has to be me. It can’t be anyone else’. Fucking hell.

Chapter Text

Assessing the situation, Roy decides he needs to get some sort of grip on whatever has Jamie so upset right now – beyond the being humiliated thing – because it’s pretty easy to gather why the rest of the team is so fucking worked up. So he snaps: “Tartt.”

“What, granddad?” Jamie replies sharply and quickly.

“Why the fuck are you so prissy about this?” Roy barks, internally cringing instantly. He probably could have worded that better.

Jamie scoffs. “That not fucking obvious? You going senile? Do we have to call the care home to come and take you?”

Roy wants to fucking strangle him, but he’s being mature or some shit, taking responsibility as a captain of the team. So he just takes a deep breath and calmly goes: “Something’s fucking up with you and you know it. Something other than this. What the fuck is it?”

For a moment, Jamie sways backwards, as if wanting to flinch or step back, but like he’s been trained out of the response. Then he scowls: “I don’t know what the fuck you’re on about, mate,” but his heart isn’t really in it.

A murmur goes through everyone and some of the lads drop their more defensive stances for curiosity, picking up on the fact that there is… something. In response, Jamie becomes smaller. He doesn’t curl in on himself or hunches more, but he seems to take up less space regardless.

“Jamie,” Roy says, surprising everyone including himself with the usage of Jamie’s name and the gentleness of his tone. “Who is fucking watching?”

Across from him, Jamie is fucking silent, ignoring the way everyone is looking at him to look at Roy, hesitation written all over his face. Then his jaw squares and he grits: “None of your fucking business.”

It’s not a ‘no one’ or some other dismissal, just a deflection. A bad deflection at that. Still, Roy really hates having to be the bigger person sometimes, but he does it anyway, voice only slightly terse as he he prompts (or maybe threatens): “Jamie.”

In response, Jamie just looks at the fucking floor, his frame still shaking slightly. Though, Roy thinks it’s no longer out of anger now.

“Does this have to do with those conversations I overheard? The ones with Liz. The person or danger or whatever the fuck you two mentioned? The reason George is such a secret?” Roy asks, feeling a little bad about laying all that out in front of everyone, but he’s also trying to fucking help Jamie.

Jamie’s head snaps up, the look in his eyes that of a cornered animal. “You listening in on my private conversations? Dusty old creep. And I told you, it’s none of your fucking business.”

“Then don’t be fucking shit at having private conversations, you prick,” Roy retorts, unable to stop the sharp words. However, he manages to reign himself in, saying: “I don’t need your fucking life story right now, Tartt, It’s a fucking yes or no question.”

There is a beat of silence. Then. “Yes.”

“Good,” Roy nods, pleased that Jamie answered him, though also fucking twisted up inside at whatever it may be. It’s not the time, though, second half is almost there and they have a much bigger audience than Roy wishes for either of them. “I’ll fucking pass to you. But you better get a fucking assist first or I’m not fucking doing it again. Deal?”

Jamie looks like he’d rather eat a pile of shit, but he nods and grits out: “Fucking deal.”

Roy nods approvingly again, then says: “And we’ll fucking talk about this later,” with that he’s pushing past Jamie and leaving the locker room before the lad can say anything.

Not wanting to be caught up in whatever questions and having the correct faith in Roy that he wouldn’t want to talk more, Jamie walks out after him. He still looks like a loaded spring, but he’s quiet as the two of them wait to get back out there. It might be the most civil half time they’ve ever had.

The others arrive, giving Jamie looks, but he brushes of anyone that comes close to even attempting to talk to him, so they stop. Doesn’t mean the weird looks stop. G-d, Roy doesn’t even want to begin to guess what public perception of this fucking match will be.

Once the whistle has gone, it’s clear everyone is hesitant about it. However, Roy gave his word and they fucking need the prick, so he’s the first to make a pass to Jamie that game.

Jamie receives the ball beautifully, before seamlessly weaving through the defense and setting off towards the goal. For a moment, Roy is sure the prick isn’t going to keep up his end, but then Jamie passes to Colin at the last second.

It’s clear Colin had as much faith as, if not less than, Roy, because he doesn’t expect the ball at all and fumbles what could have been their first goal. The look on Jamie’s face is wrathful, but he keeps his mouth shut as they’re off again.

When Jamie gets the ball once more, Roy supposes that technically Jamie passed, even if it hadn’t been an assist, so he decides to let it slide if the fucker scores. Naturally that means Jamie surprises them by passing the ball to a wide open Sam, his face determined, if not pissed off as he does so. Sam sinks the goal, Jamie doesn’t celebrate with him.

After that, it seems like Jamie feels his end of the bargain is fulfilled and all bets are off. He plays with an anger Roy hasn’t seen in him before, like the grass is nipping at his feet and he has something to prove. He plays like a man possessed, dominating the game and sinking two more goals by himself, pulling them from an embarrassing loss to a draw by sheer force of will.

Around them, the crowd is chanting his name and Roy wants to be pissed off about it, because this will not help Jamie’s ego problem in the slightest. Yet he can’t deny that Jamie played fucking beautifully today.

Curiously, Jamie doesn’t do his usual solo celebration. He isn’t yelling ‘Me’ or whatever other stupid shit he does, nor is he pointing at the name on his back or sticking out his tongue. He just stands in the middle of that field, eyes closed, head tipped up to the heavens, still basking, but looking very alone as he does.

They got a tie.

A tie is so much better than a loss.

No one celebrates.

They all stumble into the dressing room like zombies and Roy knows his time with the physio in a moment is going to absolutely suck. But first a shower. He needs to feel more human before facing Gail with her scary fingers. Not to mention he’ll have to confront Tartt again, after he’s done with his victory soak out there.

However, when Roy comes out of the shower, Jamie’s bag is gone and the set of clothes he was going to wear after is gone too. Prick left without showering, probably to avoid that same fucking confrontation Roy was dreading. Arsehole.

Roy is too tired to get too worked up about it, though. Instead, he just trudges off to a treatment room and plans what he’ll watch in his ice bath. Jamie can fucking wait.

The next day, he wakes up with a groan. He’s sore all over and there is still a hard conversation with Jamie ahead for him. Fucking great. G-d, why the fuck did he make that a part of their fucking deal yesterday? What was he thinking?

An annoyingly reasonable voice in the back of his head reminds that what he was thinking was that Jamie clearly needed someone to shake him until he spilled, because he wasn’t really asking for help, more like crying out for help in his own prick-ish way that got lost in translation and would be bad for the team as a whole. However, right now Roy wants to tell that voice to go fuck itself.

After a good long sulk in bed, Roy puts on his big boy pants and sends Jamie a text, asking for an address so they can talk, generously adds that it can be a public place if Jamie doesn’t want him in his house. Then he rolls out of bed and stumbles into making breakfast.

When lunch rolls around and Roy still hasn’t gotten a reply back from Jamie, he is starting to suspect that the twat is ignoring him. This is confirmed when Jamie leaves him on read two hours later. Roy doesn’t know what the prick thinks to achieve by this, since they’ll have training together tomorrow, but he curses him out over text anyway.

He glowers around the house for the rest of the day. He re-watches the match they played yesterday, feels very old in the process, but also curious. So, instead of watching himself struggle to keep up, he watches Jamie slowly realize no one is passing to him.

The first time, he looks confused, then rolls his eyes with a scowl. The second time he frowns and looks around, as if trying to figure out why he wasn’t passed to, like there would be an explanation somewhere around him. There isn’t. The third time, realization hits him and he glares at Sam, who hadn’t passed to him, before his eyes go over to the side, to somewhere specific.

It’s brief and Roy rewinds two times – first to figure out if he’s hallucinating, second to figure out where he’s looking – before determining it’s to the stands. It’s not to where the Richmond supporters are, but to the small section where supporters for the other team could be sitting.

As the match continues on, Jamie gets more and more frustrated and every time he gets snubbed, he glowers, before glancing over to that spot.

At first, Roy thinks he’s looking over to see if anyone is seeing this shit, commiserating with someone, who’s there. But that doesn’t make sense, because why would he look to where opposing supporters are? And why would his look be almost scared?

‘Do you have any fucking clue who is watching?’

No, he fucking doesn’t and it bugs the shit out of him. There still is no message on his phone from Jamie and that bothers him more than he’d like to admit. How it worries him. How he fucking calls the prick then gets annoyed at his voicemail.

Sitting on the couch alone isn’t that appealing anymore. He’ll just fucking stew in his thoughts. In his fucking worries, or some shit. So, he texts his sister instead and goes over to her house for dinner, then stays over, because with both their busy schedules they really don’t hang out enough, only really keeping up with each other through Phoebe.

He tries to forget about Jamie and whatever his deal is in ignoring him, promising himself that he’ll only allow himself to actually get concerned about the twat, if he doesn’t show up for training tomorrow. He is only mildly successful.

It takes up more of his brain than he’d like and it leaves him a little blindsided when his opportunity arrives earlier than expected. He’s been half planning his rant to Tartt in the boot room – because he is going to be nice enough to drag him there – when he spots the familiar Aston at Phoebe’s school once more when he drops her off.

In it is Jamie, who is, if possible, looking even more downtrodden than the last time Roy spotted him parked in that spot.

Last time, he let the man sulk, this time, he isn’t that nice. Deciding there are worse places for his car to be parked for a day if Jamie panics and takes off, he walks over to Jamie’s car to pull open the door then gets in.

Jamie lets out a startled yelp when he does – much to Roy’s satisfaction – before he gathers himself enough to bitch: “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Dropping off my niece,” Roy answers, not seeing a reason to lie. “She and George are in the same class, I heard.”

“How’d you figure that out?” Jamie asks suspiciously. “Have you been stalking my kid?”

“No, I had to pick her up from a friend’s house last Monday because her school got shut down due to a potential gas leak and I’m not an idiot,” Roy tells him, electing to leave out that he did ask Phoebe about George once, because he regretted it and didn’t do it again.

After a last suspicious look, Jamie decides to take his word for it and moves on to the other pressing issue, which is asking: “So why the fuck are you in my car?”

“You fucking ignored me yesterday.”

“Tsk, what are you? A twelve year old girl with a crush? You don’t have to stalk me like a creep just cause you wanna fuck me, granddad, loads of people do.”

At times like these, it’s really hard to remember he was going to be nice to Jamie. It was honestly so much easier when he didn’t give a single flying fuck about any of the pricks at the club, but unfortunately, here he is.

He growls: “I don’t want to fuck you,” before struggling with getting out the rest of his sentence. “You didn’t reply and I got… worried.”

Roy almost can’t bear to look at Jamie, too embarrassed by having to admit that, but he forces himself anyway. He’s glad he did, because he can see how Jamie looks completely surprised by the admission, maybe even overwhelmed, before his face shuts down and a cocky grin gets plastered on. “Don’t strain yourself, old man.”

“You can’t pull that shit,” Roy glares, ignoring Jamie’s deflection. “I know something is up with you, so you can’t disappear like that.”

“You’re not my keeper,” Jamie glowers back. “And nothing fucking happened. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

G-d, Jamie is frustrating and good at pushing all of Roy’s buttons. For a moment he’s tempted to say fuck it and leave Jamie to drown in his shit, but then he realizes that is probably exactly what Jamie fucking wants.

So he stays right where he is and pretends it’s not Jamie, but Phoebe to enable him to scrounge up the last bits of patience he possesses. “Don’t pull that shit with me. We were going to talk. Now fucking talk.”

“You added that after I already agreed,” Jamie says petulantly.

“Still fucking counts,” Roy replies, unimpressed and undeterred.

“I don’t even know what you want me to tell you,” Jamie tells him as he slouches in his car seat and crosses his arms, the look in his eye telling Roy he’s going to be stubborn about this.

Sadly for him, Roy can out-stubborn the best of them. He just stays calm and asks: “You can start by telling me who was watching.”

The question earns him another glare and then a silence. It drags on for such a length that Roy almost thinks he’s not going to get anything out of Jamie. Despite how he usually can’t seem to shut up or sit still, he is actually going to outlast Roy. Right as the thought crosses his mind, Jamie softly says: “My dad. I was worried ‘bout my dad.”

Roy had already suspected an answer like that, though he hadn’t let himself think it fully, scared that doing so would speak it into existence. Yet, the words feel like a punch in the stomach anyway. “What did the fucker do?” It’s the same question he asked his sister, the only one he knows how to ask.

Jamie lets out a humorless laugh, then looks out the window. He shrugs: “Nothing as bad as you’re probably thinking. He’s real delicate with me now. Can’t play footie hurt, now can I?”

It’s more candid than Roy had expected Jamie to be, but what is there to hold back? The truth is already out, might as well let it set him free or some shit. What does Roy know about Jamie’s motivations and inner world?

“Fucking hell,” Roy finds himself cursing anyway, because the ‘now’ in that sentence implies that it hasn’t always been that way, which is enough to make him sick, and it adds a new element to the whole secret child thing, which makes Roy capable of filling in: “But he did enough to make you hide your son from him.”

“Kind of,” Jamie answers. “Old man was actually in jail for assault when George was born. Made it real easy to not tell him. Got out of it when he was a year and a half.”

“When Liz came back,” Roy checks.

“When I asked Liz to come back,” Jamie corrects. “Don’t wanna shit talk her or nowt, she was just a kid when it all happened. Seemed alright during the pregnancy, but got out after the birth. She don’t wanna be like the other mums living where we did. She wants diplomas, security. She loves George to bits, best co-parent I could ask for, but it ain’t always been easy to do that. Had to ask her to come back, cause my dad started coming ‘round again.”

Roy nods along with that. It adds an interesting new layer to the fight he overheard. How it made it seem like Jamie was the reluctant deadbeat, who was still trying to come back, while Liz struggled on her own. But that is not the case and it makes him wonder what made Jamie distance himself, how his own father pushed him out of the life of his son.

He’s always been better at listening quietly than at prompting someone to continue on. He hopes Jamie will want to share enough to continue.

When that doesn’t seem to be the case, Roy grunts encouragingly, which thankfully does prompt Jamie to go on without words from Roy being necessary. “Dad loves footie, wants me to be the best. He has always pushed me to be the best. So, he just kept coming around again and again, you know. I- I didn’t want that for George.”

Jamie sounds almost embarrassed to admit that. Like he is waiting for a judgment from Roy about not wanting his dad to have a relationship with George. Well, Roy isn’t going to, he just says: “Good fucking riddance.”

“Yeah?” Jamie asks, almost hopeful.

“Yeah,” Roy nods. “Sounds like a piece of shit, you don’t let those around kids.”

That makes Jamie smile a little bashfully, which shaves years off his face in a way the cocky grin he often wears doesn’t. Roy hates how he keeps being confronted with the fact that Jamie is still a fucking child. That he is so young, being forced to figure out hard shit and probably had no one to tell him he was doing okay. Roy doesn’t know what he would have done with himself if he hadn’t had his sister there, telling him he was doing okay with Phoebe.

So, here he is. Sitting in a car. With Jamie Fucking Tartt. Who is blushing a little and staring at his shoes bashfully.

Fucking hell.

Clearly his throat, Roy forces himself to encourage Jamie to continue on. “So you wanted to keep your dickhead dad from you son. What next?”

With the encouragement, Jamie seems happy to talk: “Yeah, uh, I were. Me and mummy were still living together then, she helped me with George. More a second mum than a grandma to him sometimes, you know. But my dad, he knew where she lived and he kept coming ‘round, banging on the door and shit. Scared George half to death.”

He says that last bit with so much pain, it makes Roy ache. He tries to imagine Jamie then, must have been eighteen with a one year old, stuck in a house with a man he knows is dangerous right outside, unable to do anything.

Gaining a little bit of steam once more, Jamie goes on: “So I asked Liz to come back, be a mum. She was doing a gap year, saving up for uni and all that. We made a deal that she’d take care of George and I’d pay for uni. I’d just signed with City then, so I had money. She grew to love being a mum, but that was the deal first, you know.”

Roy already knew where this was going the second Jamie mentioned money, because it’s always about the fucking money. Roy can’t fully blame the people around Jamie either. Like Jamie, Roy comes from below the poverty line, he understands the power of money, but there is a line.

Jamie confirms what Roy had already feared when he softly adds: “My dad also knew I had money. He wanted in. He molded me, made me who I was. He deserved a cut of the pay.”

Without conscious thought, Roy growls at the words that Jamie is clearly parroting. From the way he says it, he still seems to half believe it too. Fucking shit.

The growl earns him a small glance, before Jamie swallows, looking down. Then he softly admits: “He got into me finances. Tried to get control of it all, succeeded here and there. Nearly had to go to court about it to prove myself competent enough. Only stopped when it delayed me placing on the premier team by a year.”

That comment solves the mystery about why Jamie temporary stopped paying for Liz and George, who the ‘he’ was that got into his finances. His fucking dickhead dad.

“But he wouldn’t leave,” Jamie says, his voice unlike Roy had ever heard before from him. “He just kept being around me, so I had to make sure the places he’d look for me, wouldn’t be places George would be and then Liz transferred to London and we just… drifted. I had George during summer break, came by when I could and when we were on away games, called a lot, but it’s not the fucking same. It is not the fucking same.”

There are tears in his eyes and he stops himself, before they spill out, looking out the window and biting his fist.

Roy had already suspected there was a lot more to Jamie from the moment they met George, however this conversation is fucking enlightening, placing a whole lot of Jamie’s behavior in an entirely new context.

For Jamie, football is the place his father is, outside of football is where he tries to keep the man out. It explains the split in how he acts, how he seems determined to stay rigid in it, the defensiveness that jumped out the second he was challenged in it. Roy hates how well it explains how Jamie has been behaving this past week. Shit, how Jamie has been behaving this past season .

Jamie takes a shaky breath, then looks at Roy for the first time since he started talking. “You dominate in football or you’re a good for nothing pussy. I can’t do Lasso’s football. I don’t care how much he fucking pushes.”

And this is where Roy hesitates, because he doesn’t fucking know how to have a fucking conversation about feelings and the mess Jamie is in with his dad.

He wants to tell Jamie to block his good for nothing dad and be rid of him, but he knows it’s not that easy. That he can’t force Jamie into that, no matter how much he wants to. If he forces Jamie into it and Jamie isn’t ready, the man will just worm his way back in.

But he also knows that Jamie has to adjust. Has to become a part of a team, or he won’t be playing football at all. Not only will that be bad for Jamie, whose father sounds like he won’t take well to that, but it will also be bad for Richmond, which needs the fucking Muppet.

After a few moments of silence, Roy figures out something to say, though it’s probably incomplete, focusing on the wrong thing and not the best answer to have. “Your dad has no fucking clue what the fuck he’s on about and if you don’t play Lasso’s football, you’re gonna get booted back to City, with the way you’re going on. Or did you fucking forget how the team mutinied against you last match?”

Jamie blanches, probably not having realized the getting booted bit. Roy doesn’t like being the person who breaks the news to Jamie, but he knows the lad needs to hear it.

“Lasso can’t send me back,” Jamie says with big worried eyes. “I- I just- I just got my sexy little lad back in me life. He can’t take that.”

“His job isn’t to worry about your son, but to worry about the team,” Roy tells him, knowing full well that Ted will probably be susceptible to Jamie’s story and need to stay near his son.

“Fuck!” Jamie curses, slamming his fist down on the wheel. “I can’t-” he makes a frustrated noise. “I can’t just fucking do that.”

“Why not?” Roy asks, wanting to know the extend of what they’re dealing with.

“Cause my dad watches my matches. Well, he doesn’t watch them, per se. He’s a City supporter through and through, wouldn’t be caught dead at a Richmond game without City there, but he always knows what happened. If I start passing and playing like a pussy, he might come down here. I like him not being here.”

G-d, this is fucking complicated. Roy is happy that Jamie isn’t alone to deal with this shit, but still wishes Lasso could have had this conversation instead of him. Sadly, it is him having this conversation and he is reaching the end of his rope. “Fucking cut your dad off then. Get a fucking restraining order or some shit and he’ll never come close to you or George again.”

“I can’t do that,” Jamie gasps, almost appalled that Roy would suggest that. “He is my dad.”

“He’s a piece of shit.”

Jamie glares at him for a second, but he seems more mad at himself than Roy. Then he hits Roy with something that makes him ache again. “He went to prison for assault for two years. That wasn’t fucking nothing. You need to break skin for that shit. You think a fucking restraining order is going to work? It will only make him pissed.”

Roy also doesn’t have too much faith in the pigs, so he gets it. Still wishes Jamie would at least fucking consider it. But seeing as it doesn’t work, he tries: “Okay, but if he doesn’t care about anything other than City, why not transfer. Get onto a London team, put distance between you.”

“Already trying that,” Jamie says with a crooked smile. “Why the fuck do you think I’m down ‘ere? It’s not working.”

“You’re on loan here,” Roy corrects. “It’s different. He thinks you’re coming back, if you leave for good, he might lose interest.”

“Or he’ll get fucking pissed and I’ll have to get a new door again,” Jamie points out and Roy really hates the presence of the word ‘again’ in that sentence.

Deciding that arguing about Jamie’s dad isn’t effective and he’ll need to built more of a relationship – ugh – with Jamie in order for that to work, Roy pivots to football. Football is something they can both understand. Football is less complicated. Roy should be able to solve the football bit at least.

“Fine, whatever, not talking you into that. Just fucking consider it,” Roy says. “But we gotta figure out how to make you play with us.”

“I already told you, I can’t,” Jamie repeats empathetically.

“I fucking know, you twat, let me think,” Roy growls. Then he muses: “We can actually use you being a prick on the field. Gets into the other team’s head.”

“What?” Jamie crows, almost looking delighted, earlier mood forgotten. “You like me being a prick?”

Roy glares at him. “I don’t like it, I said it was useful. That’s fucking different.”

“You totally like me, mate,” Jamie grins and Roy wants to hate him, but he can’t deny that a part of him is glad to see Jamie is no longer on the brink of crying.

“Fuck off,” he says anyway, because he has a reputation. “We can talk to Ted, figure out a way to use your way of playing without fucking up the team. But you’re going to pass sometimes. Fucking compromise or some shit.”

Jamie looks unsure about it but gives in in the end, muttering: “Fucking whatever, might as well fucking try. Not like I got any better ideas.”

“Good lad,” Roy nods, ignoring how that makes Jamie perk up again. “Now fucking drive, because we’re fucking late.”

“Don’t you got your own car?” Jamie asks.

“Maybe, why the fuck do you care?” Roy counters. He knows he can drive himself, but he feels that if he leaves the relative peace they’ve created here, Jamie will manage to overthink it and ruin it before they get to Nelson Road. Or maybe Roy will.

“You’re fucking weird,” Jamie informs him with a final odd look, before pulling away from the school and onto the street. As he does, he asks: “You think Coach is going to be double mad at me for being late, even if it ain’t my fault?”

“We’re late because we talked, that’s basically Lasso’s wet dream,” Roy scoffs, pretty confident in that assessment. “We’ll be fine.”

The comment makes Jamie snort and they actually manage to drive the first few minutes in companionable silence.

Then Roy starts to notice Jamie giving him tentative looks, seemingly hyping himself up to say something, before petering out. After three rounds of that, Roy grits: “Just fucking spit it out, Tartt.”

“You think Phoebe would want to have a play date with George?” Jamie asks in a small voice, surprising Roy with the question. Before Roy can respond, Jamie quickly rambles: “She doesn’t have to, I know they’re not really friends, but I can’t really do play dates usually, since, you know, everything and I- I just want to be able to do… that… for George…. But she totally doesn’t have to and I know you’re her uncle and you can’t decide that, I just-”

“Yeah, I can ask my sister if she’d be okay with that, if Phoebe wants to,” Roy cuts Jamie off, stopping him for spiraling more.

“Oh.” Jamie blinks, then smiles. “Thanks.”

“Don’t get all sentimental on me now,” Roy grunts.

“Fuck off,” Jamie rolls his eyes, but the words don’t sound malicious, they almost sound fond. Fuck, what a fucking week it has been.

After a few more beats of silence, Jamie asks: “Do you know why they’re not friends? You think our feud is like genetic or some shit.”

“No, of course not. It’s because they’re dumb little Year 2s, who make friendships for no good fucking reason,” Roy says bluntly. “They’re not fucking friends, because George doesn’t like purple.”

“He doesn’t?” is all Jamie says to that. “Why the fuck not?”

“I don’t know, he’s your fucking child.”

If Roy thought that was a good come back, he’d be wrong, because all it does, is make Jamie smile a wide and goofy smile. “Yeah, he fucking is. Probably likes pink or yellow better. Way cooler than fucking purple.”

“Oi, nothing wrong with purple,” Roy counters, because he has to defend Phoebe, right?

“Whatever you say, granddad,” Jamie smirks and the ‘granddad’ doesn’t feel hurtful anymore. It’s just what Jamie calls him.

“You prick,” Roy replies, voice probably sounding the same as Jamie’s did.

He’s not looking forward to arriving to Nelson Road and having to have another talk, this time with Lasso of all people, where he’d have to fucking defend Jamie Fucking Tartt. And he knows that it’s not going to be so fucking easy as to be solve by a simple fucking chat.

However, it feels nice. Feels hopeful. Like it’s not all about to go to shit and they might actually have a chance and making this whole team work. Like Lasso’s crazy ideas about friendship and teamwork are actually going to pay off. Like what might be Roy’s final season, isn’t going to be a total and utterly humiliating affair.

Like the parent trap Ted pulled on them at the gala actually fucking worked…

G-d fucking shit, he’s never going to be able to fucking live this down ever. If no one else, he knows his sister is never going to let him forget it. The little shit.

Still, looking over at Jamie, who appears to be the most relaxed Roy has seen him the entire season, absentmindedly rambl ing on about the merits of different colors, before moving to brainstorm potential play date ideas, Roy can make peace with that.