Chapter Text
It’s halfway through a match with Crystal Palace when Roy notices.
How Jamie had started the game with his usual unbeatable energy and unfailing confidence, but now he’s barely keeping up with the ball, and he’s missed every pass that’s been made to him in the past few minutes, every attempt at an assist dribbling off in some opposite direction and into the grasp of their rival team.
Ted’s shouting out reassurances across the pitch, clapping his hands together to support the team from a distance, as he always does, trying not to let a concerned frown win out over his determined, gritted smile.
But Jamie’s barely responding to any of it, and he’s looking more and more confused with every passing moment, like he’s got no idea how he’s arrived at where he is, and when the ball ends up at his feet again, he falters for a moment, as though he can’t figure out what he’s supposed to do with the thing.
Then Roy spots it, and he feels as his heart drops like a stone through the pit of his stomach.
Because the player is swallowing repetitively, and his mouth starts to move up and down in a motion that is all too familiar, too reminiscent of that scene from the locker room just a handful of weeks ago, and all of it snaps into focus in Roy’s head.
“Get Jamie off the fucking pitch, right fucking now.” Both of his fellow coaches turn to look at him at the sudden burst of speech.
“He’s just having an off moment, Roy. I say we give-“
“He’s not having a fucking off moment, he’s about to have a fucking seizure. Fucking call it!” Roy nips Ted’s attempt at optimism in the bud, eyes fleeting back over to the pitch where Isaac and Dani’s attention is now also focussed entirely on Jamie, Crystal Palace carrying the ball past the two with ease where they’re no longer paying attention to the game at hand.
There’s a rumble building in the stands, disgruntled crowds voicing their opinion about how half of Richmond’s side haven’t taken note of the ball’s location in the last minute of play.
Instead, their vision is glued to following their star player, who’s staring off into the distance now, unresponsive to the game still unfolding on the pitch, and the members of his team who are now slowly flocking towards him, a handful of them desperately glancing across to where their coaches are standing on the sidelines, clearly trying to flag the elder staff’s attention.
Ted’s eyes are wide as he tries to catch the attention of the linesman, while Beard turns back to the bench to call up another player, and Roy turns to face the pitch again, opening his mouth to call Jamie off.
Only they’re all a beat too late.
Because Roy’s just finished drawing in a breath in preparation to shout across to the younger man, when the striker drops like a dead weight to the grass.
“Shit, shit, shit-“
The referee blows his whistle, and Roy can vaguely hear the commentary team explaining that there’s some sort of unknown injury, but it’s all drowned out as he watches Jamie’s limbs start to spasm, eyes rolled back in his head, right there in the centre of the pitch.
And he knows, deeply settled in the back of his mind, that it’s against the rules. That there’s clear guidelines disallowing him from crossing the white painted boundary around the edge of the pitch now that he’s a coach, but Roy’s sprinting towards the scene before he has another second to even breathe, bad knee be damned, making his way to the player as quickly as possible.
Ted and Beard are doing the same, and Roy spots that there’s an emergency medical team heading in the same direction, while the players on the pitch are all still hovering in their positions, unsure of what to do.
He makes it to the spot, knee aching in protest, cursing in pain as he gives it a harsh shove from one side to set the bone back into it’s assigned position.
And by the time he’s limped across the last handful of steps to see Jamie’s whole body make it into view, it’s already worse than last time.
Jamie’s gone down in such a way that one arm is trapped underneath him as he seizes, shoulder stretching backwards at an unnatural angle, and there’s a stream of foamy, bloodied saliva bubbling up and out of his mouth, audible choking noises escaping his throat where it attempts to close around air that can’t get through.
Roy can do nothing but stand and watch as two of the team’s medics force Jamie’s body up and onto one side in a desperate attempt to stop him from choking, and a sickening popping emits from the boy’s shoulder as they do so, strikingly loud in the newfound silence that’s fallen over the stadium.
Dani’s on the other side of Jamie from the coaches, barely holding himself together, hands trembling and tears in his eyes as he watches the scene unfold in front of him, scratching at the skin around his elbows where he’s got his arms firmly crossed over his chest in an attempt to disguise the shaking of his limbs.
Isaac, Colin and Sam are screaming at a nearby camera crew to back off and give Jamie some privacy, hands fanned out in front of the lenses of the equipment, prompting the other Richmond players to stand with their backs to Jamie, linking arms and creating a wall of bodies to block the scene from view, Crystal Palace’s side joining them in solidarity only a few moments later.
The seizure is blissfully short, over and done with after only a couple of minutes, leaving behind only a series of lingering aftershocks in the on-and-off tensing of Jamie’s muscles.
Except then one of the medical team is sticking two fingers into Jamie’s mouth, scooping out blood, and spit, and what Roy realises after an extended moment is a chunk of Jamie’s tongue, that gets haphazardly thrown into a cup of ice by a secondary first aider.
Dani stumbles over to one side and vomits on the grass at that, Beard jogging over and laying a hand on his back, although the man’s eyes are still firmly fixed on their player on the ground as he rubs careful circles into their second striker’s spine.
Jamie’s shorts are dirtied at the back with the obvious signs of an accident, and Roy doesn’t think twice about unzipping his jacket, throwing the material down over Jamie’s hips in an attempt to preserve at least some of the boy’s dignity as they prepare to move him back out into the view of the wider crowds.
A stretcher that’s been ready and waiting from the moment that Jamie first collapsed is carried over, and there’s a rush of people as, in one sweeping whirlwind of movement, they get Jamie laid out on it and hurry him off the pitch.
And then, as quickly as it had all started, it’s suddenly over.
The players are separating themselves again, turning to look at their coaches for any sort of guidance, a sea of terrified concern as they wait for any word of what to do.
Dani’s sitting on the ground with his head between his legs, Beard crouched beside him, mouth moving in a string of quiet reassurances to the distraught player, hand still a constant, grounding presence at the base of his spine.
Ted’s still staring at the spot where Jamie’s body had been only moments earlier, eyes scanning the grass there like he’s not quite sure if any of it has just happened, until he’s pulled from his trance by Arlo’s voice ringing over the speakers.
“I’m pleased to say at this time that we can confirm the safety of Richmond’s Jamie Tartt. However, in light of the sudden and concerning situation, today’s match has been called off, and will be rescheduled at a later date.”
Part of Roy is expecting some blow back from the crowd, or at least from the Palace fans, but instead comes a wave of applause, that slowly trickles into the singing of Jamie’s ‘Baby Shark’ theme tune, the players on the pitch joining in with the crowd in gratitude.
Ted’s looking lighter once they draw to a close, so he rounds up the team and everyone filters off back to the locker rooms, leaving behind the mutterings of the crowd now slowly making their way out of the stands.
Roy’s overwhelmingly grateful all of a sudden that they’re playing at home, within the safe confines of Nelson Road where everything comes with an air of comforting familiarity, as they bundle the team into the locker room and pull the blinds to a close.
Sam’s sitting at Dani’s side on the centre benches, where the latter player is having a water bottle coaxed towards him by Will, and his skin is unnaturally pale, only making the tears rolling down his cheeks all the more obvious before he attempts to sweep them away with trembling fingers.
“Alright fellas, uh- Listen in. I know- I know that was tough to watch out there. But Jamie’s in the best possible hands right now. And those good folks are gonna make sure he’s safe, and fighting fit to get back with us as soon as he can, okay?”
There’s a quiet echo of, “Yes, Coach,” from around the room, followed by a couple of beats of silence before Colin’s nervous voice cuts through the tension.
“Is he still here? Can we see him?”
A number of heads shoot up across the space at that, eyes wide in silent questioning as they look to where Ted and Beard are standing just outside of their office.
Roy’s gaze follows them, picking up on the ever-so-slightly sympathetic wince that Ted offers up, and how Beard shifts his gaze down to the floor while he anticipates the head coach’s reply.
“The medics let us know that Jamie’s already headed to the hospital in an ambulance.”
There’s the beginnings of an outrage stirring amongst the players before Ted pushes on, in a slightly firmer, louder tone that leaves no room for argument.
“Jamie’s gonna be pretty tired. Y’all can message him and see when he wants the extra company, but for now, we’ve gotta give him a little space, alright?”
“With respect, Coach. I don’t think that any of us feel comfortable with Jamie being on his own after that. No matter how safe he might be.” Sam pipes up quietly from his spot next to Dani, receiving a wave of agreement in the form of silent nods from the other players in the room.
“We know that, Sam. And hey, we appreciate you looking out for your teammate. I’m gonna go see Jamie in the hospital. Take Coach Kent with me, make sure he’s got people around him that care about him. We won’t let him be alone, I promise you that, alright?”
The words seem to placate the players, and Roy nods along silently, starting towards the front of the room so that he and the eldest Coach can make their way out to the car park, until his eyes fall to Dani, sitting with his head in his hands and his back jumping up and down with the intensity of his still-gasping breaths, and he hesitates in his movement.
He thinks back to the pair sharing Dani’s petite apartment, to their tender, careful touches in the wake of Jamie’s last seizure, and the way that the younger player had immediately calmed in the presence of the Mexican’s comforting demeanour, and he doesn’t think for another moment before he’s tapping Dani lightly on the shoulder as he passes the player.
“C’mon, Rojas. You too.”
Ted eyes him a little suspiciously at the choice, but Roy simply responds with a single, firm nod of reassurance, and the American coach raises his hands a little in acceptance of the decision, the pair hanging back for Dani in the doorway as he scrambles on trembling legs to snatch up his and Jamie’s belongings from around the locker room.
Roy drives the three of them to the hospital, Dani still nervously fidgeting in the back seat, while Ted sits in the passenger side, attempting to keep up quiet small talk with his fellow coach to fill the anxious silence that’s settled over the group, and it reminds Roy all too much of when he’d driven Jamie and Dani home all those months ago.
Except this time the youngest player isn’t safe and settled in his teammate’s arms.
Where he is instead, and where they find him as they’re rushed through to a private room in the hospital by a nurse on their arrival, is propped up in a bed.
Shoulder strapped and set in place across his chest, lips swollen and stained as he sleeps with his mouth slightly open, head tilted to one side, pillow below him dampened with red-streaked saliva that’s dripping from his chin.
“He should be waking up soon. He can be discharged as soon as he’s feeling ready, but only into somebody else’s care. You’ll need to come to the nurses station to sign him out when you’re all ready to leave. He’ll be on a soft food diet only for the next few days while his stitches heal. And he’ll need regular checks on his shoulder. Okay?”
Thankfully Ted’s the one that steps up to reply to the woman, while Roy finds himself preoccupied with getting adjusted to just how tiny the player on the bed seems to look, and Dani’s already moving towards the bed somewhat unconsciously, snatching up a handful of tissues from a box on the small shelf beside where Jamie’s head is laying, using them to dry the chin of the younger striker.
“You got it, ma’am. We’ll keep him safe and sound! Cross my heart.”
The nurse nods once in response before turning to exit the room, slight hint of a smile being the only thing to give away that she’s not as unimpressed by Lasso’s regular niceties as she tries to imply.
It’s only when the elder coach turns his full attention back to the room that he lets the overwhelmingly positive facade fall a little, before turning to Roy beside him and raising an eyebrow after a moment as he becomes aware of the way that Dani’s joined his hands with Jamie’s own, eyes still tearful as he continues to quietly fuss over the boy lying there.
“Good for him to have one of the lads here, isn’t it? After something like that.”
Roy offers up the sentence with little other explanation, only eyeing Ted with a stern glance that invites no other questioning of the situation between the players, to which the Kansan’s lips simply tug up in an understanding smile, and he nods along in quiet agreement, hands raised placatingly.
“Jamie?”
Dani’s voice from over near the bed pulls the attention of the pair again, looking across to see the Mexican player lightly cupping one side of Jamie’s face in his hand as the younger striker’s eyes begin to blink open, quiet groans escaping his bloodied lips as he screws up his face in the onslaught of the hospital lighting.
“Hola, mi vida. You are okay, take it slow.”
Roy and Ted are across the room in seconds, standing around the bed and watching as Jamie is finally able to open his eyes beyond a squint, shifting his head a little on the pillow to take in the sight of all three of them.
“Hey kiddo. Had us pretty scared for a minute there. How you feelin’?”
Jamie’s brows pull together in a frown at Ted’s softly spoken words, swallowing a couple of times before he moves his mouth to mumble out a response.
“Wh’appen?”
He barely ties the words together before he’s wincing around the pain in his tongue, words trailing off with his inability to properly enunciate all of the letters through the swelling of his injuries.
“You had a seizure, buddy. Went down pretty hard, got yourself all beaten up. Worried the heck outta half’ve Richmond while you were at it, too.”
Ted’s words come packaged with a gentle smile and a mildly playful tone, but Jamie’s frown only deepens further and he moves his head again to meet Roy’s concerned gaze.
“Match?”
Again, the word is barely formed, but Jamie’s eyes plead with Roy in a way that makes the elder man’s heart fall a little in his chest, and he offers up what he hopes comes across as a reassuring smile.
“Wouldn’t be Jamie fucking Tartt if you did anything by halves would you, you little prick? Concede one goal to Palace and you find a way to get us a fucking do-over.”
Jamie’s devastated expression barely lets up at Roy’s attempt to lighten the situation, and for a split second he wonders whether he should be back-tracking. Stumbling back over the words and approaching the situation in a more serious way, when it’s Jamie’s uncharacteristically sad eyes that are the ones looking tearfully up at him.
Only just as he’s about to start up with a more serious approach, Lasso pipes up again to his left.
“Brains and beauty. That’s why they love him, Roy.”
Roy hesitates for another moment at the words, glancing up at Ted’s waiting expression, and down again at the deepening frown of their youngest striker, only to realise that it’s slowly morphing from one of embarrassment and hurt, to a mildly offended scowl, vaguely reminiscent of a grumpy toddler.
“Don’t go fucking encouraging him, Lasso. Look at him - Pretty face like that all pouty and shit? He’ll get any magazine cover he likes after this. Never gonna get my morning coffee in peace again without seeing his face splashed all over the news stand.”
Roy accompanies his words with a teasing eye roll, Jamie’s tensed up demeanour relaxing further with each new comment thrown into the pile, frown fading into a barely-concealed smirk while he works hard to keep up his pouty facade.
“Now Roy, I’ve lived here long enough to know this one’s already on the cover of at least two papers a day without showcasing his best audition for the next season of Grey’s Anatomy?”
“Two a day is only when he is on his best behaviour, Coach. Usually it is many, many more!”
Jamie finally moves a little, if only to lightly swat Dani on the arm for joining in with the coaches’ teasing at the sound of the elder player’s voice, unable to hide his smile as he does so, making Dani’s face light up with delight in the process.
“Well, we’re honoured to have you as our number one trouble-maker, Jamie. Even if Roy’s morning coffee run’s gonna have a little extra decoration for the next couple weeks.”
“Should be thanking you anyway, really. Fucking up your tongue like that. Not gonna have to hear your accent for weeks-”
Roy’s cut off by Jamie tugging a pillow from behind his head with his good arm, flinging it at the grizzly coach’s face with as much strength as he can manage, Roy deflecting it with ease, but grinning widely at the slight giggles that are now making their way out of Jamie as he lies back on the remaining padding of the bed.
“Whaddya say you give Jamie his pillow back and let him get a little more sleep before it’s time to head home, eh Roy? You and me can go and grab a round of hot cocoa from the cafe, get all the boring paperwork out the way while we’re at it. Leave this one in Dani’s capable hands for a little while.”
Roy nods in agreement at the suggestion, while Dani smiles shyly at the head coaches’ words, squeezing a little around the hand of Jamie’s that’s still resting in his palm, the mancunian smiling up at him in response, albeit with a hint of pink rising up on his cheeks.
“Glad you’re okay, you fucking muppet. Get some rest, alright?”
“Wh’ever y’say, Granda’.”
Roy rolls his eyes again at Jamie’s attempt to wrap his tongue around the practised nickname, but otherwise only smiles as he turns with Ted to exit the room, the elder coach leaving Jamie with a gentle pat on the arm and a promise to be back soon, and the pair both feigning ignorance when Dani leans down to press a chaste kiss against Jamie’s lips in the split second before the door latches shut again behind them.
And when the following morning there’s a stack of papers, all baring pictures of Jamie and the events of the match the day before, sitting on his doormat with a tiny, scrawled out note and his regular coffee order sitting atop, Roy simply scoops them up and smiles.
saved you the walk. enjoy my pretty, pouty face, grandad. jamie fucking tartt x
& dani! :)