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Chapter Text

Jamie Tartt watches England’s dream for a World Cup title die, not from the pitch, but from a Qatar hospital bed. Frustrated, he throws an ice pack against the far wall as the referee blows the final whistle after ten minutes of injury time. Guilt coursing through him as he eyes the discarded ice pack, Jamie gingerly climbs from the bed, slowly hops over to it, and cautiously bends to pick it up. The return trip to the bed seems like an odyssey of its own. Jamie’s breathing heavily by the time he settles back onto the bed, foot elevated and kit sweatier than mere moments earlier.

The thin mattress vibrates as Jamie slams his fist in frustration, frantic at not knowing when he’d wear England’s crest on the pitch the next. Jamie drops his head into his hands dejectedly, taking a few loud exhales, trying to calm his breathing. The stunned disbelief of being injured and alone in Qatar as the Three Lions’ World Cup dreams come to a close weighs heavy on him. All Jamie’s hard work, twenty-plus years of playing football, working towards one goal, to represent England in the World Cup, and now it was all for nothing.

Failure seeps from Jamie’s pores, threatening to drown him and he wants nothing more than the mattress to swallow him whole. It’s depressing enough that he couldn’t play, but now they’d all be heading back to England, having fallen short of their goal. Jamie feels like a disappointment to his team, his family, and himself. He doesn't know how he’s going to face them all. All Jamie wants is  a functioning foot and if he can’t have that then disappearing from the hospital, the country, and even the Earth would be the next best thing at the moment.

Lying on the lumpy hospital bed, Jamie stares at the stained ceiling, trying not to wonder where the discolourations came from. He replays the match: every touch, every dribble and all the things that could have gone differently. If he had just gotten to that last ball faster, maybe he wouldn’t be lying injured and alone. He can’t run, physically or metaphorically, at this point. He can’t hide from this. All he can do is wallow in his own self-pity.

Georgie, Roy, and the lads had all put their faith in him, and he had let them down. He didn't know how he was going to face them. They’d all been so proud of him when they sent him off to Birmingham. Jamie has homemade cards from Phoebe’s classmates displayed in his hotel room. He’s read through them before each match, reminding him why he plays and sacrifices his time, his social life and now his body.

The one card he keeps in his bag, Phoebe’s, he removes, fingering her handwriting, wishing him luck and the drawing of him, Roy and her. It’s the only thing he’s strong enough to look at right now as he ignores all the texts vibrating through his phone. He can’t bear the pity in their words, can’t bear their concern. So, Jamie ignores all the texts. Every text but those from his Mum.

Jamie: Sorry, Mummy, there’s no service here. I’m alright. Waiting for a doctor.

It’s all a lie, of course. Service is fine, but Jamie can’t handle his Mum’s voice right now. Sitting alone and injured, with Georgie and almost everyone he loves a continent away, Jamie might cry if he hears her voice. It’s unfair to his Mummy; he knows she’s worried, as is everyone else whose texts he ignores, but he can’t bring himself to do anything about it. It’s not their fault. If anyone’s to blame, it’s his fucking right foot. And after all he’s done for it, for it to betray him now, to betray him here? Well, it’s just rude, innit?

Jamie scowls at his offending appendage. Just before the half, he was chasing a ball along with a French defender. He heard a crack as their feet were tangled, his studs caught in the grass, and they spilt unceremoniously to the pitch. Jamie attempted to rise to his feet, pretending he hadn’t heard anything, pretending he hadn’t felt anything. But his body betrayed him immediately as he fell back to the pitch. This wasn’t like at Etihad, where he could at least limp halfway up the pitch before his ankle gave out. This was his body telling him no way, no how. Do not pass go. Do not collect £200.

The medics were on him before he had a chance to attempt to stand again, to even think about trying again. They’d pulled off his boot, splinted his foot, and loaded him onto a stretcher before Jamie could even protest. Before Jamie could say, there’s no way he’s leaving the World Cup on a stretcher. Before Jamie could tell them, he was fine. Because he was fine. He was fine. He had to be fine.

But no, Jamie Tartt was not fucking fine.

Thankfully, the doctor speaks English. But when the man tells Jamie he’s broken the fifth metatarsal in his foot, Jamie doesn’t care what language he hears it in. The only word he hears is broken. Then his ears are ringing, there’s cotton filling his mouth, and there’s a weight on his chest. The doctor’s lips move, but Jamie doesn’t hear a word. Ultimately, it doesn’t really matter what the doctor says. He’s going home with his foot in a boot and his tail between his legs. Jamie’s hopes for a World Cup title are as broken as his foot. Jamie and the Three Lions will have to put their dreams on hold for another four years. At least there’s hope for the Lionesses in 2023.

Some bloke from the England staff, John? Joe? comes to collect him at the hospital once he’s been discharged with a pair of crutches on two days' worth of painkillers. The ride back to the hotel is silent, besides the radio playing music in a language Jamie doesn’t understand. Jamie’s polite but makes it clear to the staff member that he’s not in the mood for small talk, not that the poor lad tries.

Jamie still hasn’t texted anyone besides his Mum but scrolls through his phone, pretending to be doing just that. But he checks his texts one final time before they arrive at the hotel. There’s a text from his Dad, but Jamie can’t bring himself to read it. There’s only so much Jamie can handle now, and James Tartt is not on the list. Instead, he reads the texts from Roy.

Roy Kent: Fuck.

Roy Kent: You alright?

Roy Kent: Jamie, Fuck. Answer me. Please.

Roy Kent: I’m fucking worried.

Roy Kent: Southgate said your foot’s broken. Fuck.

Jamie exhales loudly. Of course, Southgate already knew. Jamie shouldn’t be surprised Roy went to his former manager when he didn’t hear from Jamie. The staff member, Jamie, belatedly thinks his name might actually be Steve, looks at him but doesn’t say anything. He should reply to Roy. Jamie knows the gaffer will keep trying if he can’t reach him. And Jamie doesn’t fancy Roy Kent banging on his Qatar hotel room door at 4 am if he doesn’t hear from Jamie.

Jamie Tartt: Yeah

Jamie Tartt: Fuck

Jamie Tartt: Can you tell the team and Keeley?

Jamie Tartt: I don’t feel like texting everyone.

Roy Kent: Of course. I can get you from the airport, or the training grounds. Just send me all your shit when you’re coming back.

Jamie Tartt: Thanks Coach

The footballer shoves his phone in his pocket, scrubbing a hand down his face as they arrive at the hotel. He extracts himself from the car with Steve's help. Jamie thanks maybe-Steve at the door to his hotel room. Moving to the bathroom, Jamie gingerly removes the air cast boot, and it takes Olympic-level exertion to remove his pasted-on sweaty Three Lions kit. Jamie briefly wonders if he should’ve asked the bloke for help before waving him off but needing a near stranger's help to undress is an insult he’s not ready to face along with his injury.

Jamie takes a precariously balanced shower, trying to keep his weight off his broken foot as much as possible. The painkillers help some, but the injury is still painful. A physio knocks on his door, and Jamie quickly pulls on some shorts and a t-shirt before he opens the door, his hair dripping onto his shoulders. The man reviews the hospital's discharge papers, taking photos with his phone for their records, promising to forward everything to Richmond as well. The physio gives Jamie instructions on icing and elevating his foot before the flight home tomorrow, leaving ice packs with him that he can activate and discard.

Knowing he can delay it no longer, Jamie calls his Mum once he collapses into bed, trying to elevate and ice his foot as instructed. Georgie gives him the usual Mum pep talk, and he half-heartedly argues with her about coming to London early. She and Simon had planned to come down a few days before Christmas and attend the Boxing Day match. The last thing Jamie wants is for his Mum to change her plans to care for him. She didn’t need to work, not really, but it fulfilled her, and her clients depended on her, especially this time of year.

Jamie spends his last night in Qatar sleepless, uncomfortable and disheartened. During the few moments Jamie manages to sleep, he dreams of his final match. It’s the same scenario that led to his injury, yet, in his dream, he lies on the pitch in pain and alone while his England team, his Richmond team, Georgie, Simon, Keeley, Ted and even his Dad stand around and stare. No one helps him. No one comforts him. No one tells him it’s going to be okay.

When Jamie wakes, it’s with a whimper caught in his throat. His chest heaves, and pain shoots through his injured foot. Jamie breathes heavily through the pain, squeezing his eyes shut, willing away the tears, but they escape through his closed lids as he grips the sheets with white knuckles. It's enough to make Jamie wish he hadn’t talked Georgie out of coming to London early. Injured and alone, all Jamie really wants is a hug from his Mum.

Chapter Text

The flight to Birmingham on Sunday is long and arduous. Jamie's uncomfortable despite the physios having him ice and elevate his foot during the charter and giving him more painkillers. His injured appendage is swelling against the confines of the boot by the time the team lands back on English soil, and Jamie’s lonely from having sat alone in order to have the space to prop up his broken foot. Jamie’s dreading the two-hour drive home to London by the time he collects his bumbag and maneuvers his way off the plane.

“Is that Roy Kent?” Jude Bellingham says from a couple of rows ahead of him. “Hey Tartt, looks like your gaffer’s come to collect you.”

A number of unexpected things have befallen Jamie in the last twenty-four hours, so maybe he shouldn’t be surprised that Roy Kent is waiting on the tarmac. Jamie hadn’t bothered to tell Roy his travel plans because of the guilt he felt having Roy drive the two hours to pick him up and then another two hours back to London. Jamie should’ve known Roy, who played for the Three Lions for years, would know who to contact to cancel the driver he scheduled.

Jamie hands off his crutches to a helpful physio and slowly hops down the aeroplane stairs, the medical staff hovering nervously lest he tumbles down the metal staircase. Jamie breathes heavily at the bottom of the stairs as he thanks the physio and accepts his crutches, slowly making his way towards his manager.

“Hiya Coach,” Jamie greets, forcing a smile to his face.

Roy nods at him, then grabs Jamie’s bags as they’re unloaded from the plane. Jamie leans on his crutches, watching as Roy, no longer simply Jamie’s best friend but now the Legendary Roy Kent, greets Southgate, other players and staff members. Jamie exhales loudly, hopping a few steps towards Roy on his crutches. Once Roy picks up Jamie’s bag, he motions for Jamie to follow him to his nearby car. Jamie places the crutches into the back seat of Roy’s Mercedes and hops towards to the front seat, gingerly climbing into the SUV. Jamie pulls the phone from his pocket, texting his Mum that he’s on his way back to London.

“Thanks for getting me, mate,” Jamie says, looking at Roy. “Didn’t have to.”

“Wouldn't be here if I didn’t want to,” Roy says simply. “I know it sucks.”

“Yup,” Jamie sighs, glancing out the window at his remaining teammates.

Jamie hears a cracking noise and turns as Roy thrusts an ice pack at him.

“Here. Flying sucks with injuries.”

“Oh, thanks,” Jamie says, unclasping the boot and placing the ice on his foot.

“They give you painkillers?”

“Yeah, got them in my bag,” Jamie replies, patting the bag in his lap.

“You due for another one?”

When Jamie doesn’t say anything immediately, Roy takes the bag and thrusts it at his chest.

“You have to stay ahead of the pain. They gave them to you for a reason. Don’t be a fucking muppet. And if you don’t want to listen to me, we can call Sarah, and she’ll tell you the same.”

“Fine, Grandad,” Jamie grumbles, unzipping his bag and taking the medication as instructed. “I don’t like the way they make me feel.”

“No one does, but it’s better than being in pain for no reason. Med staff got you an appointment with some famous fucking orthopedist tomorrow. Maybe he can give you a different painkiller. I already brought my bag, so I’ll stay with you and bring you to the appointment tomorrow.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can stay by meself.”

“No,” Roy says. “I want to help.”

“You don’t have to, mate. I’m sure you have better things to do.”

“No, I don’t. Just fucking let me help you. I want to.”

Jamie knows better than to argue with him further. And if Jamie’s being truthful to himself, he doesn’t want to deal with staying alone.

“Only thing worse than being fucking sad is being sad and fucking alone,” Roy says.

“That sounds like something Lasso would say,” Jamie grins.

“Fuck off.”

“Thanks, mate,” Jamie says, smiling despite the situation.

An hour into the ride home Jamie’s crawling out of his skin. It’s tough enough to have been forced to sit still on the plane and then in the car, but his injury makes him uncomfortable. He’s grateful he took the most recent pain pill, not that he’d tell Roy that. He takes out his phone to distract himself. Jamie still hadn’t replied to the majority of the messages he’d received via texts, Instagram and WhatsApp.

He answers Keeley first because she’s Keeley, and she’s sent about a hundred messages all with hearts and lips and well wishes and encouragement. Jamie sorts through the messages from the Greyhounds next, smiling at the various messages and gifs sent to cheer him up. He sorts through the rest, replying or at least reacting to them. And when Jamie can put it off no longer, he opens the text from his father.

“Dad”: Hope you’re alright son. Call me when you can.

“What’s wrong?”

“What?” Jamie jumps.

Has Roy really learned to read him so well? Jamie blames the pain medication for lowering his guard. The last thing he wants to do right now is talk about his father, especially since Roy doesn’t know about Jamie’s visit to see him over the summer.

“What the fuck’s wrong?” Roy asks again. “You’re tense all of a sudden and more fidgety than normal.”

“Just a long ride after the plane,” Jamie lies.

“Want me to find somewhere to stop so you can stretch out?”

“Nah, mate, I just want to go home,” Jamie says, not meeting Roy’s gaze, but he can feel his eyes on him. “My foot hurts. I just want to elevate it. Thanks, though.”

It was a low blow to distract Roy from what was really bothering him. Jamie gives the older man what he hopes is an appreciative smile and puts away his phone, willing thoughts of his father from his mind.

Jamie’s never been so happy to have a ground-floor guest room than when he glances at the stairs leading to his second floor bedroom. In his current condition, the stairs resemble Mount Everest more than simple stairs. Jamie’s injury the day before left him unable to do his usual post-match recovery, leaving him sore and achy on top of the broken foot. Attempting to climb stairs would only exacerbate the situation.

Originally, Jamie wanted nothing more than to change and grab some things to move to the guest bedroom, but now he’s second-guessing his decision. It’s barely been 24 hours since his dream of winning a World Cup was snatched from his fingers. Jamie can't think of anything other than sleep after six hours on a plane and then two hours in a car a day.

Still, Jamie pauses at the bottom of the stairs, looking longingly up the stairs and sighing heavily.

“You need help?” Roy asks.

“What’re you gonna do? Carry me? Then we’ll both need fucking crutches,” Jamie huffs.

“I was gonna offer to get your stuff, you prick,” Roy jokes.

“Like I trust you to pick out my clothes,” Jamie scoffs but smiles. “Can you just grab me a shirt to sleep in? Top drawer on the left. We can get the other stuff tomorrow. I’m too fucking tired.”

Jamie sighs, waiting for Roy to nod in understanding. Once Roy does, Jamie slowly makes his way to the kitchen. He’s grateful that Roy was there to help him but also feels a pang of guilt. He knew that Roy is probably worried about him, and Jamie wouldn’t be back on the pitch for who knows how long. As a manager, Roy was undoubtedly worried about AFC Richmond playing without him as well.

Roy drops the t-shirt for Jamie in the guest bedroom, along with his bag and plugs in Jamie’s spare phone charger for easy reach by the bed. Jamie wants to reassure Roy the team will be okay without him. Total football is instinct to the Greyhounds at this point, and part of that instinct is knowing how to play if someone is missing. Fill in the gaps and see what the situation needs. It’s easier with Jamie on the pitch, but Jamie knows the team is more than capable of playing without him. Something he’d never have been able to admit three years previously, no matter how much it pains him to now.

The doorbell rings as Jamie’s about to broach the subject with Roy. Jamie hadn’t even realised Roy had ordered food or that he’d ordered from Jamie’s favourite Thai place. Food is distributed and eaten without Jamie managing to work up the nerve to discuss anything with Roy.

He's unsure whether because of practicality or cowardice, but still, Jamie decides he’s better off waiting until after his appointment tomorrow anyway. At least, that’s what he tells himself. Maybe the doctor will tell him he just needs to stay off his foot and wear the boot for a few weeks, and he’ll be back on the pitch in a little over a month. Beckham was only out for seven weeks, after all.

Exhaustion was quickly overtaking Jamie as they finished dinner. He longs to be sleeping in his own bed after weeks in Qatar, but a bed in his own house is the second-best thing Jamie could think of at the moment. The stairs are too much of a challenge in his injured state. He’s grateful to Roy for helping him, and he knows he would be in a lot more pain if he tried to climb the stairs on his own.

“Brought this,” Roy says, pulling out a pillow Jamie can elevate his foot.

“Oh,” Jamie says, eyeing the speciality pillow Roy must’ve had from his knee surgery. “Thanks, Coach. That was dead nice of you.”

Roy rolls his eyes but manages not to shrug off Jamie’s thanks. He ensures Jamie has water and his phone within reach, and he’s taken his most recent pain pill. Roy gently opens Jamie’s boot so he can adequately ice his injured foot.

“Need anything else?”

“Nah, I’m sound, thanks, Roy. For everything. This–it’s been a lot, but you being here means a lot, makes it a little easier.”

“Where else would I be you fucking muppet?” Roy asks and rubs a hand through Jamie’s grown-out walnut mist hair and turns off the light. “I’ll come back and grab the ice in twenty minutes. I’ll try not to wake you.”

“Or..or you could stay if you want. And can just read your book, or we could talk. You could tell me everything you’ve been up to the last few weeks.”

It’s easier here in the darkness when he can’t read Roy’s face. Jamie doesn’t want to see any more of the worry he knows is pressed between Roy’s impressive eyebrows. He’s already had a lifetime of Roy Kent worry directed at him over the last six months. Jamie needs a break if he’s going to deal with it for the next six or however many weeks.

“You sure?” Roy asks tentatively.

“Said it.”

Jamie feels the mattress depress as Roy lays down on the other side of the bed, but Jamie’s asleep before he’s even finished icing his foot.

Chapter Text

“You have what we call a Jones Fracture,” Dr Hamilton, the allegedly world-famous sports orthopedist, says, pointing to a spot on the x-ray of Jamie’s foot. “Normally, with a non-displaced fracture, we wouldn’t perform surgery, but Jones Fractures are notoriously slow-healing and prone to refractures. So, I’d like to put a pin in the fracture to speed up the healing process and get you back on the pitch as soon as possible.”

Jamie stares blank-faced at the doctor. He hoped the doctor would tell him a few weeks in the boot, and he’d be back playing with the Greyhounds soon. Maybe a little physical therapy, but just a tiny blip in the season. Jamie deflates even more than when he was initially injured. Then, at least, he was blissfully unaware of the recovery he would be facing.

“When would the surgery be, and what’s the recovery?” Roy asks, thankfully taking over when Jamie can’t manage to form words of his own.

Unfortunately, doctors' offices, sports injuries, and sometimes complicated recoveries are not new to Roy Kent.

“I could do…” the surgeon says and scrolls through his tablet. “Wednesday morning, actually. It’s a day surgery, so we could take you first thing in the morning. Then it would be around six to eight weeks in a cast, and if all goes well, we’d get you into a walking boot for another four weeks or so.”

“And without surgery?”

“That’d be closer to twelve weeks in the cast. And as I said, there’s a higher risk of refracture or non-union, which would delay a return to play further and you would end up requiring surgery eventually,” the doctor explains. “I really would not advise the conservative route in this case. Studies have shown surgery to decrease healing time by up to 50 percent.”

“Jamie, what do you think?” Roy asks, turning to the younger man.

Jamie scrubs a hand across his face. “Not much of a choice, innit?”

“Jeanine at the front desk can schedule and give you all the relevant information, and I will see you on Wednesday.”

Roy ensures Jeanine has all his contact information to send the surgery details and the aftercare instructions. He tells Jamie to wait while he pulls the car around. Jamie’s stone-faced when he gingerly climbs into Roy’s SUV. Roy jumps out to help him, but Jamie waves him off.

“I’ve never had surgery before,” Jamie says unprompted once Roy pulls away from the building.

“Is that what you’re worried about? It’s perfectly safe. Besides, Dr Hamilton is world-class or some shit like that. Here, don’t say anything.”

“Call Sarah Kent,” Roy says to the bluetooth.

“Why can’t I talk?” Jamie asks, confused.

“Fuck off and listen,” Roy says while the phone is ringing through the car.

“Hi Roy, you alright?” Sarah answers.

“Yeah, good. Listen, I just left Jamie’s doctor’s appointment, and the ortho suggested surgery. What do you think?”

“Is Jamie with you?”

“No,” Roy lies, bringing his finger to his lips which Jamie responds to by exageratedly rolling his eyes.

“How’s he doing?”

“Just tell me what you think about the fucking surgery.”

“Fuck’s sake, Roy. Yes, if the doctor suggested it as the best course of treatment, he should get it. I can’t give a true opinion without reviewing his x-rays. But you said it was Dr Hamilton, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, he’s one of the best there is, especially as far as athletes are concerned. And I assume it’s a day surgery? It’s completely safe. Obviously, with any surgery, there are potential–”

“Thanks, Sarah,” Roy interrupts.

“You’re welcome,” Sarah sighs. “And Jamie?”

“Yeah?” Jamie says, forgetting himself, and they can hear Sarah laugh on the other end of the phone.

“You’re in good hands with Dr. Hamilton. Try not to worry. Phoebe and I will visit once you’re settled. And if Roy gives you any trouble, call me.”

“Sorry, bad connection,” Roy says, ending the call. “See. Nothing to fucking worry about.”

Jamie spends the remainder of the ride home nervously gnawing at his hands. It’s not just the aspect of having surgery that has Jamie worried. Intellectually, he knows people have surgery all the time, and it was just a pin. It wouldn’t even leave a big scar, not that it would matter. It wasn’t like it was heart or brain surgery. But the thought of being under anaesthesia still freaks him out a bit.

His hopes for a short recovery had been dashed as well. It’d be fucking February before he’d be even wearing two trainers again, let alone two boots. Jamie was already sick of the crutches, and now he’d be in a cast, too, which meant dealing with further trouble showering. Not to mention the whole hot downstairs situation he has going on.

It was winter, and the ground was sure to be covered in ice or snow half the time. He can't balance on crutches on such slippery surfaces, and he knows Roy would rather tie him to the bed than risk him falling and injuring himself further. So he'd be housebound for much of the time. Jamie typically spends more of the day upright and moving than sitting, and he’s felt the closest he’s been to being bed-bound the last almost 48 hours.

As much as Jamie loves Roy staying with him, he still mourns his independence. Not enough to ask Roy to leave, even if he feels he’d be able to function fully on his own. Jamie hates feeling trapped in his own home. He’s torn between not wanting to burden his friend to not wanting to push him away if he isn’t the perfect patient. And then he’d be what he feared, injured and alone. So Jamie will be the model patient. He’ll take his pills and eat whatever Roy makes, and he won’t complain.

When they arrive back at Jamie’s house, he tries to rush from the car as fast as he can. Jamie’s never been more disappointed than when Roy, even with a bum knee, can get around and help him before he’s retrieved his crutches from the backseat. This will take some getting used to, but the alternative he won’t allow it to happen. He’s going to do the best with what he’s been dealt.

“Here, take these.”

Jamie thrusts his crutches at Roy, grabs the railing, and starts to hop up the stairs.

“You sure you want to do this now?” Roy calls after him.

“Yup,” Jamie grinds out.

Jamie’s breathing heavily by the time he reaches the top of the stairs, pausing momentarily for Roy to catch up and return his crutches. Roy helps him collect some clothes and what Roy deems far too many skincare items. Eventually, everything is deposited into the spare bedroom and bathroom. Roy props him on the couch, and Jamie lets the older man fret over him. Jamie fakes his smile for Roy and thinks he says everything the manager wants to hear. He doesn’t let his face fall until Roy closes the door to the spare room when it’s time for bed. Only then does Jamie give in to the tears he’s held back all day.

Chapter Text

The first few moments when Jamie wakes are the best part of his day. He usually sleeps on his stomach and he wakes on his back, which throws him off at first, but not much. Jamie knows he’s in his house and belatedly realises it’s not his bedroom. And as the world adjusts, it tilts off its axis as he remembers why he’s in his spare bedroom. No, he wasn’t too drunk to stumble upstairs like he hoped, even if that had only happened once.

He pushes his fists into his eyes, willing the memories of the match, of his injury, back into whatever recess of his brain they were hidden in before. His body notifies him of two things then: he really has to piss, and his foot really fucking hurts. The en-suite bathroom seems so far away, even if it’s just a few meters. Jamie lowers his foot slowly to the floor, ignoring the pain as the blood rushes back into the injured limb. He grabs his crutches from where they lean on the nightstand and drops one, it clattering loudly to the floor.

Fuck it.

Jamie precariously pulls himself to stand and limps on his boot-covered foot to the bathroom. He’ll handle a little pain over peeing the bed and explaining to Roy why he needs to change the sheets. Ignoring the small whimper that leaves his lips as he goes, Jamie’s panting by the time he sits on the toilet. Another indignity of his injury is having to sit to pee. Still, there was no other option at the moment, afraid as he was to lose his balance.

Once he finishes, Jamie steals himself to stand again, limping to wash his hands, then half-limping, half-hopping, and leaning on whatever he can until he collapses back into the bed, dignity bruised but intact. His chest heaves at the exertion. He’s a premier league footballer who just played in the World Cup, and he can’t even make it to the fucking bathroom and back.

Jamie throws his forearm over his eyes but sits up as his phone vibrates on the nightstand. He groans when he sees “Dad” on the screen.

“Dad”: Hey there son, checking in again. News doesn’t have any info, was hoping I’d hear from you.

No chance to put this off any longer.

Jamie: Sorry, Dad. Surgery tomorrow. Will check in later.

He desperately hopes that’s enough to put his father off for now. He can’t deal with his Dad on top of everything else. Jamie lays back down and closes his eyes. Maybe he can just lay here and pretend the world doesn’t exist. Perhaps he can pretend he still has two working feet. He’s not five minutes into his pity party when his phone rings. It vibrates since it hasn’t been set to ring since 2012. Jamie’s about to chuck the phone across the room, assuming it’s his father calling, when he sees his Mum’s face fill the screen.

The picture is from last summer. Jamie convinced Georgie to go to Italy during his short break when he wasn’t playing for England during the off-season. They’d done the tourist things in Rome, the Vatican, the Pantheon, the Colosseum, made a wish in the Trevi Fountain and all of that. Then they’d gone to Sicily and spent four days on a beach doing fuck all.

Georgie’s contact picture was from Sicily at dinner on their last night as the sun set behind her. The most beautiful thing he’d ever seen was his Mum with a smile and an Italian sunset at her back.

So Jamie took a deep breath and answered the phone.

“Hi, Mummy,” Jamie exhales.

“Baby, how’re you feeling? How’d you sleep?”

Jamie had called Georgie the night before, putting her on speaker so Roy could help fill in any details about the upcoming surgery he forgot. And they’d both managed to keep Georgie to her original plan to drive down on the 23rd with Simon. They’d stay through January 5th, and while Jamie wished he could hug his Mum right now, two-plus weeks with her was going to be bloody fantastic, even if he’d be practically fucking housebound.

He lies through the phone call, grateful she hasn’t chosen FaceTime today. Yes, he slept well, he tells her. He feels fine, barely any pain, he lies again. He and Roy have a busy day ahead. They don’t. Eventually, Jamie’s able to get off the phone, and he feels guilt crawl up his spine as he ends the call. His Mum’s worried about him, and he wants to reassure her any way he can.

It’s eleven, and Jamie still hasn’t left his bed. Knowing Roy, he was probably waiting on the other side of the door, torn between not wanting to wake Jamie and making sure he was hydrated and fed and taking his latest painkiller. Jamie’s willing to bet a paycheck if he calls Roy’s name right now; even quietly, Roy would appear as if summoned. Jamie makes a mental note to try and say Roy Kent three times later and see if he appears like Beetlejuice.

Instead, Jamie slowly sits up and lowers his leg out of its pillowed perch. He must admit Roy’s old man pillow is dead comfy, considering the situation. Jamie unlatches and slowly pulls the boot off so he can easily pull some joggers on. Are these going to fit over his cast? Some of the bottoms are definitely more restricting in the ankle than others.

Jamie changes the sock on his fractured foot slowly and carefully. His foot’s not as swollen as he would’ve thought it would be. Still, he remembers the doctor saying something about the decreased blood flow to the area, the exact reason why healing is sometimes slow for an injury like his. Jamie pulls on his pants and his joggers, balancing carefully. He sits back down and sets to pull the boot on the way he was taught at the hospital. Jamie rests on the bed, breathing through the pain and exertion.

When Jamie reaches his kitchen, he’s ready for a nap. As predicted, Roy is waiting for him and deposits breakfast, water and a pill in front of Jamie before checking he’s elevated his leg on a nearby chair. It’s a full English this morning, and Jamie digs in, his stomach growling with approval. Jamie tries to ignore Roy staring at him while he eats, but it’s hard with those shark-like eyes staring at you, innit.

“Something on your mind, coach?” Jamie asks with a mouthful of beans.

“Eat up. You need your strength.”

It’s going to be a long six weeks.

Chapter Text

Twenty-four hours later, Jamie’s sitting in a wheelchair, being pushed towards Roy’s awaiting Mercedes by a kindly nurse, foot covered in a cast to his knee, still slightly loopy from the remnants of anaesthesia but thankfully pain-free thanks to a nerve block. Roy forces him to sit in the backseat to elevate his foot in that orthopaedic pillow he brought to the Surgery centre. Roy’s car is warm, his exposed toes having almost frozen in the five meters from the door to the SUV. Jamie tentatively wiggles them, the sensation from the pain medication odd.

“You alright?” Roy asks in the rearview mirror as he pulls away.

“Just tired,” Jamie slurs, taking his eyes from his offending foot to look out the window.

They’d been up since five, Jamie insisting on showering since he knew it’d be a pain after surgery with a cast on his leg. It was almost half one as they drive through the streets of London to Jamie’s Richmond home. Jamie feels a sense of relief as he dials his Mum's number. When she picks up the phone, he feels his stress levels decrease. Georgie reminds him this is the first and most crucial step in his recovery, and the unknown part was over. He could concentrate on his rehabilitation now.

Jamie hangs up the phone as they arrive at his home. He’s exhausted, and his front door suddenly seems far from his parking area. Jamie sighs heavily as Roy walks around and opens his door, steadying him once he slides out onto his good foot. Jamie rests his hands on Roy for balance as the manager retrieves his crutches and holds them out for him.

Slowly and unsteady, he swings towards the house. Roy’s hand is secure on his lower back if Jamie needs it. Roy ushers Jamie to the breakfast nook, gently propping his foot on the bench with a pillow. The former player quickly reheats some soup he’d made so Jamie can get something into his stomach before he takes a nap.

Roy helps him into bed again, propping his foot back onto the pillow for protection.

“I can do it, you know,” Jamie sighs.

“I know,” Roy replies, his hands still resting on Jamie’s casted foot.

Jamie sinks back to the pillows of the bed.

“Thanks, though, Coach.”

Roy gently pats Jamie’s leg above the cast.

“Good lad. Shout or call if you need me. Or I’ll wake you for supper.”

“Okay, thanks, Roy.”

Jamie’s grateful for Roy. Thankful he doesn’t even have to ask him to do everything he’s been doing even if Jamie isn’t used to being taken care of by anyone beside’s his Mum. Jamie closes his eyes and wills himself to forget his broken foot, forget the reason there’s something to feel grateful for.

Once Jamie is sleeping peacefully while the nerve block is still in effect, Roy updates the team, coaches, Keeley and Sarah.

Roy: Home. He’s sleeping now. Don’t text him until at least five.

Roy put Jamie’s phone on silent earlier, but he wants to ensure the injured man still got a restful sleep while he could. Unfortunately, the uncomfortable sleep of an injured man was all too familiar to Roy. And sleep and rest are the best things for Jamie’s body right now. Roy hopes Jamie is able to doze peacefully tonight before the nerve block wore off. Hopefully, the painkillers would do their job after that.

Roy is grateful Jamie managed to sleep almost four hours before he woke on his own. Jamie’s quiet voice calls out his name, nearly shattering Roy’s heart at how young Jamie sounds. Roy had forgotten how early the sun set this time of year and hadn’t thought to leave a light on for Jamie. When Roy made it into the room, Jamie flinches at the bright light Roy switches on and Jamie fumbled around for the bedside lamp, unable to fully reach it as his leg was properly secured in the orthopaedic pillow.

The nerve block is still working, so Jamie wasn’t in any pain but complained about the odd feeling of his foot with the numbness. Roy checks Jamie’s toes like Sarah taught him, making sure his numbness is from the nerve block and not a too-tight cast or something worse. Roy helps Jamie sit and then follows him into the kitchen, ensuring he doesn’t overdo it since he doesn’t have the pain to act as a warning. Roy remembers those first unsteady days on crutches when you’re still attempting to find the proper balance with your limb braced or in a cast and resemble a newborn giraffe. Jamie might be a gifted athlete, but injuries are a great equaliser.

Roy settles Jamie at the table, propping his foot on another pillow, while he finishes cooking dinner. Jamie looks exhausted due to the stress of his injury, flying home from Qatar, and now surgery catching up to him. Roy’s going to make sure Jamie does fuck all for at least the next few days. The lad needs rest, generally speaking, and especially for his foot. Jamie would be doing nothing but elevating and icing his foot until Roy decides otherwise.

But Roy knows that is easier said than done. Jamie is used to mentally pushing his body to the limits daily. He wouldn’t take well to such a rapid stop to any activity. No doubt Jamie was experiencing physical and emotional whiplash on top of everything else. Going from the high of playing in your first World Cup to the low of being injured and forced off the pitch for the next few months would be vertigo-inducing for just about anyone.

So Roy vows to do whatever he could to ensure Jamie kept his wings this time or got his wings back, whichever the case may be for the man sitting in front of him. It was his duty as a coach but also a friend, even a best friend, and one he did not take lightly. First things first, which includes making sure Jamie eats.

“Made your favourite,” Roy says, depositing the plate before Jamie.

It wasn’t a cheat meal. Jamie had his hangups with those, and Roy wants to ease into things, so he made Jamie’s favourite Richmond Nutritionist approved dinner. Something Roy knew Jamie enjoys but wouldn’t set his brain spiralling into what he “should” and “shouldn’t” eat.

“Thanks,” Jamie says, offering Roy a soft smile before digging into the food.

In a reversal, Roy spends most of the meal talking. He fills Jamie in on the past few weeks, how they had watch parties for every match, Isaac hosting at his house when they all needed a break from the club. Keeley, Phoebe and Sarah joined for the last game because it was a Saturday night.

“Guess it’s not kissed by God anymore,” Jamie says, looking down at his dinner. He’s eaten half the plate, pushing the rest around with his fork. “Don’t have to question your faith anymore.”

“What’re you going on about?” Roy asks.

“Don’t you remember?” Jamie asks, and Roy briefly sees the eager twenty-two-year-old Jamie, whom Roy met that first day in July before the Prince Prick of all Pricks emerged. Roy shakes his head.

“When you told me to have Colin and Isaac stop picking on Nate. You said they looked up to me because my right foot was kissed by God, and it made you question your faith.”

Jamie looks down at his plate again, continuing to push the food around. Roy bites his tongue so he doesn’t tell Jamie he needs to eat. He’s trying not to be too overbearing for Jamie, at least with it being the same day as Jamie’s surgery. Too much time as a patient means Roy knows when to pace his nagging.

“Oh, right,” Roy says, ignoring the food issue for the moment and remembering the conversation in the weight room.

“Pissed me off at the time,” Jamie says, still looking down.

“It was a fucking compliment,” Roy sighs. The last thing he wants to do right now is remind Jamie of their tumultuous relationship during Roy’s final season.

“Yes and no. A bit condescending, innit?” Jamie says, finally looking at him. “I didn’t make it to the Premier League without working my fucking arse off.”

“You’re right,” Roy agrees, and Jamie’s eyebrows shoot to his hairline, mouth gaping open slightly at the agreement. “I didn’t realise then how hard you worked. Just saw you as a prick. I couldn’t see past my issues. I’m sorry, Jamie.“

“If anything on me is God-kissed, it’d be me face. I mean, look at me,” Jamie says, finger pointing to his face.

“Fuck off. We can’t all be Nike models,” Roy says, laughing.

Jamie’s face drops and Roy doesn’t know where he misstepped, but he feels immediate regret. Shit. What had he missed? Roy had been seeing the fucking commercials and billboards for months and always took the piss with Jamie about them. Jamie always replied with smiles or a joke of his own.

“They wanted me to shoot another campaign in a couple of weeks,” Jamie says, back to pushing the food around his plate.

Fuck.

“I’m sure Keeley can work her magic and have them reschedule,” Roy tries.

“Yeah, yeah, right,” Jamie says, nodding but not meeting Roy’s eye.

If Roy knows Keeley, which he did, she probably already worked something out with the Nike people. But that wouldn’t matter to current Jamie. He’d fixate on what he was missing. It’s what Roy would’ve done as an injured twenty-six-year-old, after all. Roy made a mental note to talk to Keeley about the Nike thing to see if she could reassure Jamie about it.

Jamie’s morose when Roy helps him into bed that night. He smiles at Roy at the right times, but Roy isn’t fooled by the false bravado.Roy knew the first few days after an injury were the worst. Surgery extended the timetable. And tomorrow would be worse once the nerve block wore off.

He knew Jamie needed all the support from the team he could get as well. The problem was that half the Greyhounds are scattered across the globe, taking advantage of the remainder of their International Break. Colin, Dani and Zoreaux had gone to Wales, Mexico and Canada, respectfully, after they lost in the group stages of the World Cup. Bumbercatch had followed to Switzerland after their loss the week before.

At least Roy assumed he was in Switzerland. With Bumbercatch, you never knew, and Roy knew better than to ask. Similarly, Roy had yet to learn where Beard had gone during the first few weeks of International Break, and Roy had no plans to inquire. Some things are best left to mystery.

Jamie was the last Greyhound left competing for his country. Now he slept in the next room, foot in a cast, sadder than Roy’s seen him since that fateful night at Ola’s a year before when Roy offered to train him or when he’d nearly capsized under the heavy pressure of total football before the Man City match. They’d come a long way since that night.

Jamie had turned into the team player Roy never imagined he could be. Roy owed him an apology for what he couldn’t see before that fateful day in the Arsenal changing room when Jamie made everything finally come together for his teammates. Total football had shown his football intelligence was otherworldly, better than his own Roy would readily admit. Jamie had worked hard, both on the pitch and with his teammates. He was a far cry from the little bitch Primadonna Roy met in 2019.

Roy had hoped he had changed as well. Since offering to train Jamie, he’d tried to be more open and less quick to anger. Doctor Sharon was helping him with that as well, and he’d even joined the fucking Diamond Dogs. And while he’d never be Dani Rojas, he hoped he’d at least become less likely to be recommended for anger management classes. And in some games, the refs really tried to test his newfound resolve and mindfulness.

Now, his newest challenge snored softly nearby. Roy had sniffed his hair this morning, checking for the tell-tale scent of his conditioner, and thankfully smelled it so they weren’t at wings-loss level depression yet, but Roy knew if he didn’t intervene, they’d be there soon.

The truth is, the Nike photo shoot was just one small aspect of everything worrying Roy about Jamie. He knows first-hand how devastating injuries were, both mentally and physically. Roy hadn’t been injured during the World Cup, but being taken off the pitch on a stretcher on the world stage had to sting.

Roy knows Jamie has hang-ups related to his father and being “soft”. There is nothing soft about being injured. There is nothing wrong with showing a softer side to people you care about, to people in general. Jamie’s drive to leave his father’s criticism behind had led him down a road where naturally sweet Jamie turned cruel and mean. Roy didn’t want to see that version of Jamie again, and he didn’t want to see Jamie ever think anything about him should be different.

Still, Jamie has to feel the sting of both insult and injury, having broken his foot in the match England was bounced from the tournament. In a way, Roy was happy they lost. He knew it’d be worse for Jamie to watch from the sidelines of an event that only occurred every four years. An event that Jamie’s worked his whole life to get to, only to leave not under his own power.

As much as Roy wants to be able to turn Jamie around on his own, he knows this is a bigger job. It’s Jamie. He needs everything in his arsenal to prop Jamie up. Jamie had crutches to help him walk while his foot healed. Now, Roy needs all the metaphorical crutches to help him walk while his soul did the same.

Adding to everything was the date. It’s December 14th. Eleven days until Christmas. Roy pulls out his phone and starts a new group chat. And if he’s going to pull Jamie back up to recent Jamie Tartt levels of chipper, he needs a fucking Christmas miracle.

Chapter Text

Pain pulls Jamie from his sleep Thursday morning. It pulsates from his broken foot as the nerve block wears off. He blindly reaches for his phone, seeing it’s half-four. A year ago, Jaime would have been half an hour into a workout with Roy, and now he couldn’t even walk to the bathroom unaided. Jamie wants to throw his phone against the wall, but he knows it ultimately won’t help anything.

So instead, Jamie calls a human ray of sunshine. Jamie googles quickly and happily sees that it is only 1030 in Guadalajara.

“Amigo!” Dani answers gleefully. “How are you feeling? The surgery went well, yes?”

Dani is one of the many missed texts Jamie briefly saw on his phone yesterday. He knows Roy texted everyone an update, but Jamie had only managed to talk to his Mum in the haze of post-surgery. Calling or texting anyone else felt like an enormous task. Only now, spurned on by pain and anxiety, had Jamie managed to call a friend.

“Good, yeah. Everything went well, I guess. Home now.Stuck in a cast, though.”

“I know, hermano, recovering from an injury is not fun. But you will be back on the pitch before you know it!”

From anyone else, Jamie would find comments like that condescending. But from Dani, they’re somehow comforting. Dani knows what it’s like to be sidelined with an injury, so he’s not doing it in a pat on the head and stop-complaining way. He’s doing it in an emphatic way that Jamie appreciates and a way that only Dani Rojas can.

“Wait, amigo, isn't it very early in London? Why are you awake?”

Busted.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Jamie admits.

“Ah, I understand. Did you take the medication from the doctor?” Dani asks; when Jamie doesn’t answer, he continues. “Jamie Tartt, there is no reason for you to be in pain when you do not need to be. Your body is healing, and you have to help it. And that means rest and sleep. And sleep means taking whatever the good doctors over there have given you.”

Jamie eyes the pill bottle on the nightstand. Roy had left it there the night before, knowing Jamie might wake up in pain. Nerve blocks worked differently for everyone, so Roy knew Jamie might need assistance, and he also knew Jamie wouldn’t be waking Roy for help. Which is fair. Jamie is already bristling at needing so much assistance. He’s not about to hamper Roy any more than necessary.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right, muchacho, I know,” Jamie sighs.

“I wish I did not have as much experience in your situation.”

“Me too, me too. Alright, I’m going to try to go back to sleep. I’ll call you later?” Jamie says, unsure when Dani’s returning to London.

“Yes, please do Jamie Tartt. And I am flying back to London on Sunday, so I will come see you very soon,” Dani says, reading Jamie’s mind.

“Give me best to everyone. Big love, amigo.”

Jamie hung up and stretched to reach for the pill bottle. Dani’s right. He needs sleep, and as much as he hates the fuzzy feeling the pain medication left him with, at least if he falls asleep, he could doze through some of it. Jamie downs a pill and swallows some crackers so he’s not taking the drugs on an empty stomach. Then Jamie puts on the sound machine app and wills himself to dream of the next time he’ll be on the pitch with Dani Rojas.

Jamie does manage to sleep a few more hours. He’s still slightly loopy from the pain medication when he wakes up, and it takes him a little while to comprehend where he is and why. The memories slam back into Jamie, and he groans at his current situation. The medication is still working, so the pain is minor considering. Still, the cast feels cumbersome and heavy, and he scowls at the crutches leaning against the bedside table.

He’s been told he’ll get used to the cast, but it feels like a weight on his foot and his soul right now. Eventually, he forces himself from the bed and goes to the living room, where Roy, feigning nonchalance, reads his latest book. Jamie hasn’t been able to test his Beetlejuice theory yet and reminds himself to try later. He can see how much Roy is trying, though.

They’re both tiptoeing separate tightropes. Jamie does not want Roy to be a step away from an in-home nurse. Roy, Jamie knows, is trying his best not to smother Jamie. No matter how much he wants to, Jamie can’t bring himself to allow Roy to hand on his hand and foot, no matter how much a part of him wants to.

“How’d you sleep?” Roy asks.

“Good, yeah,” Jamie lies.

“What do you want for breakfast?”

Jamie’s not really hungry, but his stomach is upset, so he tentatively accepts some toast and tea to help it settle. Roy brings it to him on the couch after assisting Jamie to elevate and ice his foot. Jamie aimlessly scrolls through his phone while he eats, replying to all the texts he missed yesterday. He vaguely remembers promising to update his Dad, so he does that quickly before his father decides to reach out to him instead.

Jamie: Surgery went well. Home now.

“Dad”: Good to hear son. When will you be back on the pitch?

Jamie groans. Of course that’s what his father is worried about. Why would he even bother asking how Jamie was feeling?

Jamie: Not for a while. Sorry I won’t get to visit. I’ll send your gift up though.

“Dad”: That’s okay kid. Leaving here soon enough. Could visit you sometime.

The hairs on the back of Jamie’s neck stand up. He cannot think of this now on top of everything else. James Tartt is not something he’s equipped to handle now.

Jamie: Yeah maybe. I’ll call you soon.

Jamie hopes that’s enough to put his father off from visiting. Maybe he’ll send him an extra gift to appease him. Either way, Jamie pushes it from his mind. The day passes slowly with nothing but television to watch, books to read or fathers to think about. Jamie thinks about downloading a podcast, but he can’t get his brain to concentrate on anything for too long. He absentmindedly rubs his knee above his cast, willing his uncomfortableness to go away.

“I have to go to a meeting at the club. Would you be okay without me for a couple of hours? Won’t be too long,” Roy asks.

“Oh yeah, of course. Think I can manage, mate,” Jamie smiles.

Jamie’s simultaneously looking forward to and dreading the time alone. They’re distracted by a story on Sky Sports about Zava. Jamie had managed to avoid him at the World Cup but hadn’t escaped the media coverage. At least his former teammate was eliminated before Jamie and England were. Jamie feels his foot throb just thinking of Zava.

“Prick,” Jamie mutters under his breath.

“Hey, you’re better than him, don’t you fucking forget that,” Roy says, pointing.

“Yeah, because you trained me,” Jamie says, pulling the sleeves of his shirt down over his hands.

“I had fuck all to do with making you better than Zava. You didn’t need me to make you better than Zava. Why do you think all we did was conditioning?”

“What’re you talking about? Of course, I needed you. Wasn’t better than him before we started training,” Jamie scoffs.

“I didn’t make you better, though. Not really. You made you better. You needed to get out of your fucking head. And maybe you needed a friend so you didn’t slip back into prick mode without getting the signal first,” Roy says, trying to impress upon Jamie the importance of what he’s saying. “And maybe, maybe, I needed a fucking friend too. Maybe it was as much about me as it was about you.”

Jamie looks at him with those doe eyes of his, and Roy barely manages to keep his composure. “You mean that?”

“I told you I was proud of you. But I didn’t thank you, and I should have.”

“Maybe that’s just what best friends are for.”

“I don’t know if I’ve ever had a best friend before,” Roy admits.

“Well, you got one now, Royo. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

“Yeah, Beard,” Roy teases.

“Fuck off!”

“Where’s Phoebe?” Jamie asks a few hours later as Sarah walks into the house as Roy leaves.

“I’ll pretend you aren’t disappointed to see just me,” Sarah teases.

“You didn’t have to come stay with me. I would be fine for a few hours on me own, you know,” Jamie says.

“Roy’s done enough babysitting for me; it was time I returned the favour,” Sarah grins. “Kidding. Of course, you don’t need a babysitter, but it makes Roy feel better, and I need to pick your brain for what to get Roy for Christmas and Hanukkah anyway. I can not buy another black shirt.”

“What about dark heather charcoal?”

“Fuck off.”

That cheers Jamie up a bit. He loves buying gifts for people, and as nervous as he was on Uncle’s Day, he knows his gift was very well received, even if it cost him a pound. He’s not sure Sarah truly needs his help with gift ideas, but he appreciates the discussion anyway. She also offers to pick up anything he can’t order online for gifts. Jamie’s grateful. He hasn’t thought that far ahead with presents and being able to venture out with his injury. The important items he’d planned to buy his Mum, Simon and Roy were purchased ahead of time, knowing he’d be busy with the World Cup and right back into training. However, he still needs some minor things for them.

The same goes for his Secret Santa. After the debacle of the first year, Jamie made sure to have a proper gift. He still followed the example set forth by everyone else by buying an expensive bottle of alcohol, which he hadn’t picked up yet. Jamie has Cockburn this year and wants to give him more than an impersonal bottle of booze. Jamie remembers his friend saying coconut toto was a favourite dessert his grandmother used to make every Christmas, and Simon had promised to help Jamie make it.

Sarah promises to wrap any presents he needs as long as he lets her hide anything from Phoebe at his house. Sarah raises an eyebrow when he asks her to mail the gift he’d gotten for his father but doesn’t object or comment, something he’s grateful for. Jamie can only imagine what Roy told her about his father, but with their own relationship with the Kent patriarch and Sarah’s with Phoebe’s Dad, he knows the doctor understands it's more complicated than Jamie wishes it was.

Gifts sorted, Jamie feels slightly better about his housebound status. Not better for the reason of it, but less stressed about making Christmas special for his Mum and Simon. Sarah even agrees to talk to Roy about letting him attend training sooner rather than later. They settle on the couch and play their favourite game: sharing embarrassing stories about Roy. Jamie is an engaging listener, and in true little sister fashion, Sarah is happy to share with anyone who will listen. Sometimes, she even brings photos.

Roy might eventually regret leaving the two together.

“Thank you everyone for coming,” Phoebe says, looking around. “I call this meeting of Operation Rudolph to order.”

Phoebe looks around the table at her team. She holds a clipboard and is wearing a Santa hat. Sam, Isaac, Keeley, and Roy sit around the kitchen table at Roy’s house with Georgie, Simon and Colin on speakerphone.

“Operation Rudolph?” Isaac asks.

“Yes, because Jamie is #9 and Rudolph is the ninth reindeer,” Phoebe grins. “And Operation Cheer Up Jamie Tartt is too long.”

“Brilliant, Phoebe,” Sam says, nodding.

“I have assigned everyone code names,” Phoebe says, reading off a piece of paper on the clipboard. “I’m Father Christmas, or FC for short. Isaac, you’re Prancer. Keeley, you’re Vixen. Sam, you’re Comet. Georgie, you’re Mother Christmas. Simon, you’re Dasher, Colin is Dancer, and Mummy is Cupid.”

“What the fuck’s my code name?” Roy asks. “Am I Donner?”

“No. Donner is Rudolph’s mean Dad, so no one is Donner. We don’t allow Donner here,” Phoebe says seriously. “You, Uncle Roy, are Yukon Cornelius.”

Phoebe plasters her smile back on and giggles as Roy growls, which just makes Phoebe giggle more.

“I think those are great code names, Phoebs,” Keeley says.

“I agree. Great job, love,” Georgie says from the phone. “But one question: if you’re all there, who’s with Jamie?”

“My Mum. We told Jamie that Uncle Yukon had a meeting at the club,” Phoebe explains.

“Ah, thank you, Phoebe,” Georgie replies.

Phoebe coughs exaggeratedly.

“Sorry, love, thank you, Father Christmas.”

“Thank you, Mother Christmas. Okay, everyone, so here are my ideas.”

Chapter Text

It’s only been Jamie’s second full day home after his surgery, and he’s already figuratively crawling the walls. And he would give anything to be able to do it literally. But salvation came in the shape of a four-and-a-half-foot-tall blonde ball of energy. Phoebe Kent to the rescue. Sarah dropped Phoebe off earlier, but Roy had to run an errand, so it was just the two of them.

And apparently, Phoebe had the whole afternoon planned.

“Are you ready to do arts and crafts?” Phoebe asks, smiling.

“Buzzing, Phoebs. What’re we doing?”

“Well, I thought we’d decorate your cast first. It looks very boring right now,” Phoebe tells him.

“Good point, that,” Jamie says, frowning at his cast.

“Don’t worry, we’ll fix it!”

Jamie’s cast is half covered in doodles from Phoebe and Jamie twenty minutes later. Phoebe made sure to leave room for everyone else to sign, but Jamie was unsure who everybody was. Most of the Greyhounds are still enjoying their International Break and will be busy with training once they return to London. He has to admit that looking at his newly decorated cast and watching Phoebe concentrate so hard while trying not to tickle his toes accidentally has cheered him up a bit. A white cast is properly dull on its own. And boring is not very on-brand for Jamie Tartt.

It’s hard to feel down with Phoebe around. Jamie’s sure this is something Roy has figured out and is why she’s been over the past two days. Yesterday, for dinner after Roy returned from his meeting at the club, Phoebe was in tow, and now, today, He can almost forget about the pain in his foot when she’s around like a tiny human painkiller. Phoebe’s officially on Christmas break, so Jamie’s confident he will see more of the youngest O’Sullivan over the next week while her Mum works and probably whenever Roy wants an excuse to hang with her.

“Okay, what’s next?” Jamie asks.

“Snow globes!”

“We can make snow globes?” Jamie asks. “By ourselves?”

Phoebe helps him to his uninjured foot, and he crutches slowly over to his table, awkwardly lowering himself into a chair. She adjusts the pillow on another chair so he can elevate his foot on it.

“Thanks, Phoebe,” Jamie says. “Your Mum half as good as a Doctor as you are? You want to be a Doctor when you grow up as well?”

“No. I want to be a veterinarian for wild animals,” Phoebe tells him while pulling supplies from a box to make the snow globes. There are a few glass jars, trees, a gingerbread house, ornaments and other miniature items.

“That’s mint, Phoebe. I bet you’ll be wicked good at it, too,” Jamie says. “Now, how do we make the snowglobes?”

“So you glue whatever you want to the lid,” Phoebe says, unscrewing the lid to show him. “Then, once it dries, you fill it with distilled water, glitter and glycerin, and it’s a snow globe.”

“That’s mad, Phoebe. Who knew it were so easy?”

“We made them at school,” Phoebe smiles.

Phoebe plugs in the glue gun, and the two start glueing items to the lids. They’re concentrating so much that they don’t hear the door but smile as Roy returns home.

“Uncle Roy, we have a little problem.”

“What is it?” Roy asks apprehensively, looking between Jamie and his niece.

“Jamie glued his hands together.”

“Little help, Coach,” Jamie says, holding up his stuck hands.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Roy laughs.

Soon after Roy unsticks Jamie’s hands, Sarah arrives to pick up Phoebe, and Roy convinces them both to stay for dinner. The continued distractions of the O’Sullivans help boost Jamie’s spirit. But eventually, the mother and daughter leave the two former rivals alone for the evening.

“Are you tired?” Roy asks. “Because I can help you take a bath if you want. You have glue in your fucking hair.”

Jamie reaches a hand up and feels a small clump in his hair. He hadn’t bathed since the night before his surgery, settling for wet wipes Sarah left yesterday and dry shampoo. Roy had brought a shower chair he’d used with his last surgery, but Jamie wasn’t ready to suffer that indignity yet.

“You don’t mind?” Jamie asks tentatively.

“Wouldn’t have offered it if I did. Jamie, I want to help you. Let me fucking help you, you muppet.”

“Alright then, yeah,” Jamie says, smiling.

The tub, unfortunately, is upstairs. It’s a slow hop to the second floor, but Jamie manages and begins to undress slowly as Roy fills the tub. The older man wraps up Jamie’s casted leg as a precaution and helps him finish undressing before easing him into the bath's hot water, propping his injured limb on a towel on the tub's edge.

“Fuck that feels good,” Jamie groans.

Roy wets Jamie's hair with warm water and then applies a generous amount of shampoo. He massages the shampoo into Jamie's scalp, and Jamie is practically purring under his coach’s hand. Roy rinses it thoroughly, careful not to get any in Jamie’s eyes. Next, he applies conditioner to Jamie's hair and leaves it in for a few minutes. Finally, he rinses the conditioner out and hands Jamie a loofah for his body.

“Lean forward.”

Roy washes Jamie’s back and then, convinced Jamie is thoroughly clean, lets Jamie sit in the tub while he reads his latest book. When the water eventually cools, Roy pulls the plug on the tub, helps Jamie to his good foot, and helps him dry off. Roy wraps Jamie in an insanely fluffy robe and slips one of the hospital socks with the grippy feet on Jamie’s good foot. Jamie thinks it’s ridiculous, but Roy won’t let him crutch around in only a sock unless it has proper traction.

Jamie demands Roy blow dry his hair or it’ll cause split ends if he goes to bed with it wet, despite the satin pillowcase. Roy half-heartedly objects but does as he’s asked. And he’s rather good at it, Jamie thinks.

By the time Jamie is dressed and back in bed downstairs, he can barely keep his eyes open. Roy props the injured player around the many pillows in the bed to make Jamie as comfortable as one can be sleeping with a broken foot. Roy brushes hair out of his eyes, and Jamie subconsciously leans into his hand. And as Jamie drifts to sleep, he feels content for the first time since Qatar.

Chapter Text

“Jamie?” Phoebe asks. “Can Curtis come in, too?”

With Roy out picking up muffins and scones, Phoebe and Sarah let themselves into Jamie’s house and find him on the couch. Sarah’s spending the day Christmas shopping, so Phoebe and Roy plan to do their own shopping in the afternoon after Keeley arrives to keep Jamie company.

“Whose Curtis? Sarah, do you have a new boyfriend?”

Sarah laughs, shaking her head.

“His name’s not Curtis. And he’s a cat,” Sarah explains. “He’s in his carrier. I can leave him in the car. But it’s so cold that I’d rather not use all my petrol.”

“Of course, yeah. Bring in the little lad.”

Sarah returns a minute later, partially struggling with the carrier, the cat yowling his displeasure from inside. She deposits the cat carrier on the floor and whispers something to the meowing animal inside. Whatever she says, it calms him.

“Thanks, Jamie,” Sarah says, turning around and coming to sit by him on the couch.

“Are you going to tell me why you have a cat in your car?” Jamie asks.

“Oh, right,” Sarah says. “One of our neighbours passed away last week, and Phoebe convinced me to take in his cat. But Dauphine keeps picking on him, so we’ve kept them separate, but it’s unfair to either of them. So, I have to bring him to the shelter, but they don’t open until later.”

“He’s adorable, Jamie,” Phoebe coos at the cat through the caged door. “Mummy, show him a picture.”

Sarah unlocks her phone and then hands it to Jamie. The fattest, fluffiest orange cat Jamie has ever seen looks back at him.

“He’s mad cute, Phoebe. Always wanted a cat, but Mummy said they’re not allowed in council estates,” Jamie says. “You can take him out of the cage if you want. The poor little lad must be frightened.”

“Are you sure?” Sarah asks.

But Phoebe already has the cage door open and is pulling out an enormous cat.

“Whoa!”

Phoebe unceremoniously drops the cat onto Jamie’s blanket-covered lap. Jamie makes a noise that can only be described as oomph.

“Careful, Phoebe,” Sarah admonishes. “Jamie’s still hurt.”

“Sorry, Jamie. He just looked like he wanted to meet you. Are you alright?”

“All good, Phoebs,” Jamie says.

He absentmindedly wiggles his toes. Roy’s been forcing the painkillers on Jamie on a strict schedule, so his pain is minor, but he’s still achy all over between the crutches, the awkwardness of the cast and his body not used to his new sedentary lifestyle. Jamie picks up the cat from his lap and holds him in front of his face.

“You wanted to meet me, eh lad? Are you a football fan?”

“I think he is,” Phoebe nods enthusiastically.

“His name is Curtis?” Jamie questions.

“No. His name is actually Roy,” Sarah laughs. “Phoebe thought it would be confusing because of Uncle Roy, so she’s been trying new names on him.”

“Roy?” Jamie asks him. The cat meows. “Guess you’re a Roy then. Don’t worry, we won’t confuse you with human Roy.”

Roy meows again, and Jamie places the cat back in his lap. The cat then walks down the couch, sniffing Jamie’s leg until he reaches his cast-covered foot. Cat Roy briefly pauses, then continues sniffing until he reaches Jamie’s toes. He sniffs his toes with more interest than the cast and then gives his toes a tentative lick. Jamie and Phoebe giggle at the cat, who then walks back towards Jamie, lays down, and nuzzles into Jamie’s thigh. His purrs echo through the room as Jamie rubs him.

"Oh, he likes you, Jamie," Phoebe claps. "I told you he was cute."

“Maybe we should put him back in the crate,” Sarah says. “I don’t want him to ruin your carpet.”

“You won’t ruin my carpet, will you, Roy?” Jamie says, still patting the cat and not taking his eyes off him. “Did you say you’re taking him to a shelter?”

“It’s not fair. He shouldn’t have to go to a shelter; he’ll be sad and all alone, and it’s Christmas!” Phoebe runs off, distraught.

“Phoebe!” Sarah says and stands up.

Jamie grabs her wrist before she can follow her daughter.

“What if I kept Roy?” Jamie asks, looking up at Sarah.

“You want to keep him?”

“Yeah, I mean, maybe,” Jamie says.

“Cats can be a lot of work, Jamie. You’re still on crutches for another few weeks. He could trip you. You won’t be able to carry him anywhere or change the litter box,” Sarah says, sitting back down.

“Yeah, but it’s Christmas,” Jamie looks at Sarah, giving her his best puppy dog eyes that Phoebe taught him. They were foolproof against both Kent siblings. “He’d be all alone at the shelter. And I’ve always wanted a cat. Please Sarah?”

“Well, I could come over and change the litter box while you’re recovering,” Sarah says, and Jamie can tell he has her on the ropes. “And he already has a timed feeder because he’s on a diet.”

“See, we can both follow the same nutrition plan!”

“The same?” Sarah raises an eyebrow.

“Okay. A nutrition plan.”

“Are you sure, Jamie? This is a big commitment.”

“I think he already likes it here,” Jamie says, motioning at cat Roy, who is sleeping in his lap.

“Phoebe!” Sarah yells after her daughter.

“Shhhh, you’ll wake him!”

Sarah rolls her eyes, stands up, and heads to find her daughter. The two O’Sullivans return with the cat’s supplies a few minutes later. Jamie instructs them where to put the litterbox, a cat bed and the food. Sarah fills the water bowl and the feeder with a few days worth of food, putting the rest away in a cabinet.

“Are you really going to keep him, Jamie?” Phoebe asks.

“Do you think he likes it here?” Jamie asks her.

Phoebe giggles, “I think he does, Jamie!”

The trio hears the door open, followed by the heavy footsteps of Roy entering Jamie’s house.

“Is that a fucking cat?” Roy asks.

“Yes,” Phoebe nods excitedly.

“Human Roy, come meet Roy,” Jamie says.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Roy asks, looking between Jamie, the cat and his sister.

“Well, that’s my cue. Jamie, I’ll coordinate when I’ll come by to change the litter box, or Phoebe will do it next time she’s here. Have fun, poppet, be good!” Sarah says, kissing her daughter on the head and turning to leave.

Roy follows his sister to the door, standing in the doorway as she steps outside onto Jamie’s landing.

“Did you trick Jamie into getting a fucking cat?” he asks pointedly.

“Me?” Sarah says, hand to her chest, giving her older brother her best innocent face. It didn’t work when she was eight, and it doesn’t work now. “No idea what you’re talking about, Roy. Have fun!”

“Why is his name Roy?” he calls after his sister, but she’s already closing her car door. “Why is his name Roy?”

Roy gives Sarah the middle finger as she waves and drives away.

“Fucking little sisters.”

“Jamie, since when did you get a cat?” Keeley asks as a large cat winds himself through her legs.

“Oh, right. This morning. Keeley, meet Roy,” Jamie introduces.

“Roy?” Keeley asks, raising her eyebrows.

“Yup.”

Keeley looks to Phoebe for confirmation, and she nods her head enthusiastically.

“You named him after Roy?”

“It was already his name. Couldn’t change it on him, could I?” Jamie asks as the cat jumps onto the couch and plops beside him.

“Won’t you get confused?” Keeley asks.

“Nah, human Roy understands pretty well.”

“I’m not human, Roy. He’s fucking cat Roy if anything!”

“Human Roy doesn’t like it when we call him human Roy,” Jamie says, and Phoebe shakes her head.

“Fuck off. Come on, Phoebe, let’s go,” he says, grabbing his niece’s hand and leading her out of the house, her giggles echoing behind her until they hear the door shut.

“Alright, babe,” Keeley says, clapping her hands together. “Are you ready for a day of pampering?”

Like all of Jamie’s friends and family, Keeley was stressed and worried watching Jamie get injured during the match against France. She felt her heart sink as he went down, and she couldn't help but think the worst. Keeley knew how much football meant to Jamie, how much playing for England meant to him, and she couldn't bear the thought of him being injured.

She flashed back to all those months ago, sitting in the box at Etihad, hands covering her mouth as she watched Jamie limp up the pitch and then collapse back down. Keeley held her breath as the medics came onto the pitch in Qatar, and her heart dropped even more when Jamie left, not with his arm around a physio for support, but on a stretcher.

Keeley had never cared much for football when they were together. She watched his matches as the dutiful girlfriend but only cared how Jamie felt after the game, whether he would be happy or upset, not the outcome for the Greyhounds. But years after the breakup, Keeley cared more than ever about Jamie; therefore, the result mattered to Keeley whenever he was on the pitch.

Playing for England, especially the World Cup, had been a dream come true for the Mancunian. Keeley couldn’t have been happier for or prouder of him. Her pride as his publicist was only eclipsed by her pride as a friend. Though, after supporting Roy through his career-ending injury and a lifetime of dating footballers, she knows how much of their self-worth is tied to their ability to play. So Keeley worried for Jamie’s physical health, as well as his mental health.

Keeley was determined not to fuck it the same way she did in that Manchester hotel room in May. Since Jamie was injured last weekend, she’d spent the days texting him and conferring with Roy over how she could help him. So when Keeley received Roy’s text about what Phoebe now dubbed Operation Rudolph, Keeley dropped everything to sign up. And Vixen planned to commit to Operation Rudolph like she did everything, with enthusiasm and more than a bit of glitter.

“Ready,” Jamie smiles but continues to pet cat Roy.

“Your hair looks good. Did you wash it? I thought we were going to do that?” Keeley says, running her fingers through Jamie’s hair.

“Yeah, Roy helped me last night. Got glue in me hair doing crafts with Phoebe. Did you see the snow globes we made?” Jamie points to the snow globes on his table.

“Whoa, you made those?” Keeley questions and snaps a photo with his phone, and Jamie nods. “I’ll have to show Barbara. She moved around a lot when she was with the VC and bought a snow globe for every place she was in. She has a table just like overflowing with them.”

“Oh yeah, it was pretty easy, minus the glue.”

“Okay, well, since your hair is all nice and washed, we’ll move on to step two,” Keeley says, digging through her bag. “Oh, and I brought the dry shampoo I use for you. It’s the best, and it smells amazing. You’ll fucking love it. But now, face masks!”

Keeley pulls out sheet masks and selects the trashiest reality show she can find, Lust Conquers All-Stars. Roy provided instructions for when and how long to ice Jamie’s foot, so Keeley grabbed some ice and gently placed it on Jamie’s elevated foot. She opens the sheet mask packages, smoothing it on Jamie’s face and then her own.

Roy meows interest at them, smelling Jamie’s face, but then curls up next to him when the cat realises it’s not food.

“So, are you ready to talk?” Keeley asks.

“No,” Jamie says, stroking the cat but not looking at her.

“Okay,” Keeley says, eyeing her ex-boyfriend.

“It just sucks.”

“Oh! So you are ready to talk!”

“No. Yes. I guess so,” Jamie says, still avoiding eye contact.

“Okay, here, take this,” Keeley says, handing Jamie a pillow and then sitting cross-legged, pulling her own pillow into her lap.

“Okay, so tell me, how’re you doing?” Keeley asks, then makes a vague motion with her hands. “You know, with everything?”

“Okay, good, yeah,” Jamie says automatically, still petting cat Roy.

“Jamie.”

“Okay, okay. It just sucks, yeah? I mean, we lost, and that’s bad enough, but now I can’t play. I’m no good at staying still, you know that. I have all this like energy vibrating through me, and I have nowhere to send it.”

As if on cue, the cat rolls over, offering his belly for Jamie to scratch.

“Well, it seems there’s someone who is happy to have all your energy directed at him,” Keeley says, smiling. Jamie looks up at her, returning her smile with a sad smile of his own. “I know it’s tough to be sidelined like this, and I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“You’re not going to tell me that I’ll be back on the pitch before I know it, and adversity makes me stronger?”

“No, would it help if I did?” Keeley asks.

“No.”

“Then I won’t say it, even if I think it’s true. Look, Jamie, you know this last year has been one of the toughest of my life. But I’m better and stronger for it, and you will be too. But I know that’s the last thing you want to hear. So just know I’m here for you, no matter what, yeah?”

“Why’s everyone being so bloody nice to me?” Jamie asks.

“Babe, we love you. We want to make sure you’re taken care of,” Keeley tells him.

“Yeah, but you’re all so busy. You don’t have to-”

“Babe,” Keeley interrupts. “We want to. We’re never too busy for you, yeah?”

Keeley curls into Jamie, snuggling into the side opposite of cat Roy, hoping she’s assuaged his concerns.

“Thanks, Keels,” Jamie says, pulling his arm around her and Keeley smiles. “Now, be honest, I’m way fitter than Danthony, right?”

“Not even a contest, babe.”

The former couple spends the day with face masks, feet (or foot in Jamie’s case) masks, and under-eye masks, watching shit telly and eating the food Keeley brought over. They’re giggling on the couch when Roy returns hours later.

“You got a package,” Roy says, tossing a padded envelope onto the couch next to Jamie.

“Careful! You could’ve hit Roy!” Jamie says, incredulous at his current roommate’s disdain for the safety of their newest roommate.

“It wasn’t anywhere fucking near him,” Roy sighs. “And he’s getting a new name.”

“No, he’s not,” Jamie says while opening the package. “It’s from Bumbercatch. I think it’s a hat for Roy. Oh, it’s Richmond colours and everything. But how’d he know?”

Jamie holds up a small knitted object in red, blue and yellow. He tries to put it on the cat, but cat Roy just yowls and gently swats at it.

“Babe, I don’t think it’s a cat hat, though Roy would look killer in it. I think it’s to cover your toes because it’s so cold out,” Keeley says. “Look.”

Keeley takes the knitted item from Jamie and gently pulls it over the toes of his casted foot, covering halfway up his foot.

“Oh, yeah, that makes more sense. Dead thoughtful, that,” Jamie smiles and wiggles his toes, then grabs his phone to snap a picture. “Sending it to the Hounds chat.”

The three spend the rest of the night laughing together. Roy had hidden away some bags but showed them what he and Phoebe had bought for Sarah. Roy leaves briefly and returns with a cat tree.

“Royo, you softie,” Keeley smiles.

“Phoebe made me buy it,” Roy sighs. “Besides, you don’t want him scratching up all your stuff, do you?”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you, Roy?” Jamie asks the cat, scratching him under his chin.

“He’s getting a new fucking name!”

“No, he’s not!”

Later that night, Keeley sits in her car, adjusting the temperature, willing it to warm up faster, as she looks at Jamie’s house. There was a time she would’ve left Roy and Jamie alone and feared for their safety. She thought that time had passed until they showed up bloody and bruised at her door in May. And while she’d unceremoniously booted them from her house that night, she never stopped caring about either. But now, leaving Jamie in Roy’s capable hands, she knows they're both exactly where they’re supposed to be.

Chapter Text

One thing about recovery Jamie has come to appreciate the most is naps. Roy puts him down for a nap like a little baby most days, and Jamie doesn’t even complain. He simply snuggles under the comforter, bad foot sticking out and propped on Roy’s special pillow. There’s nothing to get up for, no training, no match, no photo shoot; there’s just him and his comforter. Well, now him, his comforter and Roy.

The cat lies pressed against his hip, having roughly moved one of the many pillows propped around Jamie out of the way with the force of a cheetah and its prey. The cat seemed to immediately appoint himself Jamie’s protector, watching him or following him everywhere, much to the dismay of his similarly named roommate.

“He’s giving me a dirty look,” Roy complained, and returning said look with a side eye of his own.

“He’s a cat, human Roy. I promise he’s not giving you a dirty look.”

The cat was definitely giving Roy a dirty look.

Still, cat Roy seemed to know immediately this was his home, making himself more comfortable than even Jamie felt at times after three years. Maybe with Roy, he'll finally make it into a home rather than simply a house he lives in. It already felt more homey with the cat bed and tree. Maybe he should ask Keeley to help him decorate more now that he’d have more time and be forced into spending more time at home. Keeley’s house was undoubtedly Keeley; maybe she could help him find something that made his house more him.

The only room Jamie really felt represented him was his bedroom. Fuck, Jamie missed his bedroom. The guest room was fine, comfy bed and posh but minimal decorations. It looked more like a showroom than somewhere in someone’s home. The rest of Jamie’s house was more the same. He’d put some little touches, like the lamps and the Transformers he’d envied as a kid but would never dare ask for once he learned of price tags, how money worked and how much they had and didn’t have while he grew up. But overall, the house was how you’d expect a posh person's house to look.

It felt more like he was house-sitting than he actually lived there. How had Jamie gone from council estate to a house larger than he’d ever dreamed of having? And his house wasn’t even that large or as ostentatious compared to some of the lads on the team. Colin had a fish tank filled with all these expensive fish he couldn’t even name. Isaac had a couch that cost more than his Mum had made in a year.

But Jamie’s bedroom, now and in childhood, had always been his sanctuary. The place he could be himself. Mummy always let him be when he was in there, usually praying to his Roy Kent poster. Jamie would never get used to real Roy Kent being his friend, nay best friend. It was like he was a kid in a movie who made a wish, and the guy from his poster came to life. Only in movies, the guy from the poster probably wouldn’t be as grumpy as Roy Kent, but that was just part of his charm, innit?

Jamie had unsuccessfully tried to convince human Roy to join him and cat Roy for a nap today. But an emphatic no had been his only answer. Maybe human Roy was a bit jealous of cat Roy after all. They’d bring human Roy to their side eventually. If history had shown Jamie anything, it was that Roy Kent would eventually succumb to his charms.

Usually, when Jamie wakes up from his nap, it’s time for lunch, but today, he awakens to voices. Roy’s hearing must be going if the television is this loud. But then a Mexican accent makes its way to Jamie’s ears. And not any Mexican accent, an unmistakably joyful one that can only belong to one Dani Rojas.

Jamie sits up faster than he should have, Roy meowing his displeasure at having been disturbed from his nap. Blood flows rapidly back into Jamie’s broken foot after he lowers it to the ground too quickly. He grips the duvet tightly and breathes through the pain while sliding his good foot into a slipper, ignoring the slight whimper that escapes through his gritted teeth. But even pain can’t dampen his excitement at hearing Dani’s voice. He hadn’t seen Dani in person since the last time they were at Nelson Road before they all left for the World Cup. Dani Rojas in a Mexico uniform is very different from Dani Rojas, Greyhound, so Jamie didn’t see him when they were both in Qatar.

Cat Roy meows his displeasure at being left alone but climbs to lie fully on the orthopaedic pillow.

“Sorry, lad,” Jamie whispers, offering Roy a scratch behind an ear as an apology before pushing himself upright, balancing on his good foot and heading toward the sound of Dani’s voice as fast as his crutches can carry him. These fuckers were really slowing him down, Jamie thinks, as he fumbles to push open the door to the bedroom with a crutch. Roy mentioned needing to go to the club and then was going to Sarah and Phoebe’s for the first night of Hannukah, so he must’ve called Dani to keep him company while he was gone. Jamie rounds the corner into his living room and spots not Dani Rojas but another human ray of sunshine, Sam Obisanya. Roy is nowhere to be found, but Jamie also sees Declan, Colin, and Jeff. Disappointedly, Jamie realises Dani is also nowhere to be found as he skids to a halt.

“Amigo!” Dani greets exuberantly, waving from Declan’s phone. Ah, the voice had to come from somewhere.

“Hola muchacho. Hi, lads,” Jamie greets with a smile.

“Hola hermano,” Dani says through FaceTime. “I’m sorry I could not make it. My flight was delayed. I am stuck at the airport in Mexico City. Oh, wait, I think my flight is boarding, though. See you soon, Jamie Tartt!”

Dani and his girlfriends, the Elenas, wave to the camera before disconnecting. A grin spreads across Jamie’s face at the FaceTime, and then he looks around the room at his teammates.

“What’re you lot all doing here?”

The doorbell rings before anyone can answer.

“Hold that thought, boyo!” Colin says as he heads to answer the door.

Jamie watches dumbfounded as Isaac, Richard and Jan Maas enter, carrying a massive Christmas tree between them.

“What the fuck is this?” Jamie manages to squeak out.

“Got you a tree, bruv. Christmas, innit?” Isaac says as if it’s the most obvious thing. And alright, fair. “Where do you want it?”

Despite Jamie suggesting the best place for the tree, Jan Maas, Richard, and Colin soon argue about where they believe it belongs. Sam comes over and squeezes him into a bone-crushing hug, but he’s careful of his friend’s precarious balance on his crutches.

“I’ll be back tomorrow after training and making you jollof rice. And Daddy sends his well wishes.”

“Tell him thanks. Is that the stuff you made last time I were over? Sick!”

“I will make sure you have leftovers too.”

“Oh shit. I just thought of something, lads,” Jamie says, looking at the tree. “Do you think Roy will knock it over? What if he tries to climb it?”

The other Greyhounds exchange looks.

“Not even Roy Kent is that big of a Grinch to knock over a Christmas tree,” Declan says.

“Not human, Roy,” Jamie rolls his eyes.

“Jamie, do you have a concussion?” Jeff asks seriously.

“Roy! Roy!” Jamie yells. “Roy, come out here, little lad!”

He exhales loudly and leans forward on his crutches, waiting for his feline friend to appear. The looks from his teammates become increasingly more concerned the longer it takes for the cat to appear. Eventually, Roy saunters into the living room, rubbing against Jamie’s good leg before blinking lazily at the Greyhounds.

“This is Roy Cat,” Jamie says, smiling smugly. “Get it? Like Roy Kent but Roy Cat. Clever, innit?”

“You named your cat after Roy?” Jan Maas asks, eyebrows raised.

“No,” Jamie sighs, “He were already named Roy. I didn’t want to change it for the poor kid. He’s already bounced around enough. His owner died, so he stayed with Sarah and Phoebe but didn’t get along with their cat. So now he’s here.”

Sam picks up the cat and strokes his soft fur.

“Hello, kitty,” Sam says to him, then looks at Jamie. “I don’t know if I can call him Roy.”

“He does look like a Roy, though,” Colin says, scratching under the cat’s chin.

“Told you, lads,” Jamie says.

Jamie crutches over to sit in one of his chairs, lifting his foot to rest on one of the others. He notices the many bags and bins scattered across his living area he hasn’t seen before. Not only have they bought him a tree, but they bought him everything to decorate for a proper English Christmas.

“This is, this, you all didn’t have to do all this,” Jamie says, leaning forward, looking at them each.

“Well, we just asked ourselves, what does this situation need?” Sam says, smiling, repeating Jamie’s words when the team came together after Ola’s was vandalised.

“And this situation needed us,” Jan Maas finished again, adjusting the tree slightly.

“What we need right now,” Richard interrupts. “Is lunch. And wine. Sorry, Jamie, but Coach said you cannot have any wine.”

“I don’t even like wine,” Jamie mumbles. “But what’s for lunch?”

Jeff had apparently picked up Nandos for the group, complete with more sauce packets than Jamie had ever seen. The group sits around Jamie’s table and breakfast nook, eating and laughing, telling stories of their International Break. Jamie had grown to love his England teammates but missed the camaraderie he only shared with his Richmond teammates. Jamie doesn’t think he’s laughed this much since he was injured.

Jamie does feel slightly guilty when Isaac tells him he lost a bet with Richard over the result of the France versus England match. Bad enough, they lost, and Jamie was injured. He felt personally responsible for Isaac losing money. Not that Isaac couldn’t afford it, or the team’s loss fell solely on his shoulders, but Jamie felt the guilt nonetheless.

“How about a double-or-nothing bet for today’s final?” Jamie asks the Frenchman.

The final was scheduled to kick off in less than an hour, with the defending Champions taking on Argentina for the title.

“I’ll cover it if you lose,” he whispers to Isaac.

“Come on, bruv, you nervous?” Isaac taunts. “Afraid the French will fold like they always do?”

And Richard, the only Greyhound with close to Roy Kent levels of temper, takes the bait, spewing off in French for a minute before he accepts the bet. Jan Maas shakes his head at the Frenchman.

“We don’t have to watch the match, though, right, lads?” Declan says.

“Yes, we do not have to watch,” Richard adds, which raises Jamie’s spidey senses. Why wouldn’t Richard want to watch his country try to repeat a World Cup win?

“Why wouldn’t we watch the match? It’s the final,” Jan Maas asks.

“Not now, Jan Maas,” Sam scolds gently. “Sorry, Jamie.”

“Jamie loves football. Why would he not want to watch?” Jan asks, looking around. “Oh, because he is injured? Jamie would not be playing; England lost. He would be watching from home anyway.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jan Mass,” Isaac barks.

“No, Jan is right. I do want to watch the match,” Jamie interjects.

“I told you,” Jan Maas says.

“How about we finish decorating first?” Sam asks, changing the subject.

Before long, the team distributes themselves throughout Jamie’s ground floor, decorating the tree and placing various other decorations throughout the house. Jamie balances on one foot, crutches forgotten, attempting to help hang ornaments on the tree. Roy has settled into a nap under the tree, curled up in a ball on the furry tree skirt. Jamie precariously balances, trying to snap a photo of his sleeping cat. Jeff catches him before he falls and forces Jamie to the couch while they finish decorating, but he takes his phone to take the photo.

Jamie’s house resembles the North Pole when the Greyhounds are finished. The tree is lit, and Roy still looks like a tiny angel under the branches. They spend the rest of the day watching the match, Roy occasionally meowing his disapproval if they yell too loudly.

Cat Roy has taken an exceptional liking to Colin, sleeping at his feet when not under the tree and following the Welshman if he leaves the room, waiting patiently while Hughes goes to the bathroom.

“Think you have a new fan,” Jamie tells him.

“I’ll have to get him a little Colin Hughes jersey,” Colin says, scratching the cat behind his ears.

“Over my dead body,” Jamie says, pulling Roy into his lap.

Cat Roy makes a noise of objection but settles quickly into Jamie’s lap. As much as the cat likes Colin, he dislikes Richard more. The Frenchman was either yelling incoherently in French or jumping and pacing around Jamie’s living room. He climbed onto the table when Kylian Mbappe scored two goals within the same minute to tie the match with ten minutes left. The cat growls. Richard growls back.

Both Argentina and France scored in injury time, with the latter tying with a third Mbappe goal with two minutes remaining. And when Argentina wins in a shootout, 4-2, Jamie is more worried about Richard knocking over his newly decorated Christmas tree than he was about the cat doing it. He silently apologises to cat Roy for doubting him. Isaac gleefully accepts the cash from Richard for winning the bet.

By the end of the day, Jamie’s stomach feels like he’s done a thousand crunches from all the laughing and his cheeks hurt from smiling. His Mum had once said that friends were the best medicine, and today, especially, Jamie couldn’t help but agree. Eventually, only Isaac is left as the rest of the Greyhounds head to their respective homes. Jamie had been so distracted all day he hadn’t thought once of his Dad until almost everyone had left.

“Your hair still looks good,” Isaac says, steering Jamie from thoughts of his father.

He’s giving Jamie an appraising look as their current FIFA game finishes. Isaac had given Jamie his yearly cut before Jamie left for the World Cup a month earlier. The captain runs his fingers through Jamie’s hair, moving his head gently from side to side so he can inspect his work from all angles.

“I could give you a trim, though, if you want, before Christmas.”

“Already got my yearly cut.”

“I could make an exception.”

“Nah, what would everyone else think?”

“Fuck everyone else, bruv,” Isaac replies. “They know better than to question. Well, maybe everyone but Jan Maas, but no one listens to him anyway.”

Jamie doesn’t want to take advantage of Isaac’s kindness but always feels better after a fresh cut. He bites his lip, thinking about it when Isaac decides for him.

“Okay, fuck it. We’re doing it. You showered yet today?”

“Uh, no,” Jamie says absentmindedly, sniffing himself.

“You probably want to take a bath, yeah? Where’s your tub?”

Isaac follows Jamie on the slow walk and then hop up the stairs to the bathroom and begins filling the tub for his teammate, checking the water temperature and finding the Epsom salts and bubbles from under the sink. Isaac helps Jamie with the cast cover Roy had bought for Jamie’s foot and then assists with undressing him. Cat Roy appears, watching them inquisitively, sitting on the bathmat, his tail lazily wagging behind him. Jamie’s helped into the tub, Isaac propping Jamie’s injured limb on a towel on the ledge.

“Alright, relax, bruv. I’ll be right back,” Isaac says, then points at the cat. “You watch him, yeah?”

Roy lets out a meow in response, moving closer to the side of the tub. Jamie reaches his hand over the side of the tub to scratch the cat on the head. He purrs softly under Jamie’s hand, moving his head to and fro so Jamie’s fingers reach the perfect spots on his head for scratching. Jamie is convinced he might melt down the drain; he's so relaxed when Isaac returns.

Jamie sits up so his captain can appropriately wash his hair. Isaac’s touch is more practised than Roy’s but is similarly solid and gentle. Taking great care, Isaac wet Jamie's hair and then massaged the shampoo into Jamie’s scalp. He takes his time, massaging Jamie’s temples and full head.

“Alright, head back, lad,” Isaac instructs, rinsing the shampoo from Jamie’s hair, one hand over his friend’s closed eyes as a precaution.

Isaac applies conditioner to Jamie’s ends and washes Jamie’s back, letting the injured player wash the rest of himself while the conditioner sets. Cat Roy jumps onto the sink to get a better look at what Isaac and Jamie are doing. Eventually, he curls into the sink to lie down. Isaac repeats the process of rinsing the conditioner from Jamie’s hair before wrapping it in a towel. When the water cools, Isaac pulls the plug on the tub, pulls Jamie to his uninjured leg, and helps him dry. Isaac helps into a robe and a fresh sock for his good foot before guiding him back downstairs.

Jamie settles in one of his chairs, propping his broken foot on a pillow on another. The trek upstairs and the bath has zapped all of Jamie’s remaining strength. He feels like a jellyfish as Isaac wraps a towel around Jamie’s shoulders and combs out his wet hair, applying detangler and leave-in conditioner. Isaac expertly trims Jamie’s ends before blow drying his hair, tousling Jamie’s hair with his fingers as he goes.

“You been using that conditioner I got you?” Isaac asks.

“Yeah, that stuff is mint,” Jamie replies. “The bottle upstairs is the second one.”

“Looks good,” Isaac says, moving Jamie’s hair around with his hands. “Okay, almost done, bruv.”

Isaac cleans up the sides with the clippers, adjusting the attachments accordingly. Cat Roy has returned from his sink nap and is winding his way around Jamie’s chair, alternating rubbing against Isaac or Jamie and eventually disappearing into the downstairs bedroom. Once Isaac is satisfied with his masterpiece, he removes the towel from Jamie’s shoulders, shaking out the loose hair in the trash. By the time he returns, his teammate’s yawning.

“You need help getting into a shirt and into bed?” Isaac asks, knowing from being Jamie’s roommate on road trips that the Mancunian sleeps naked from the waist down.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“Alright, I’ll be upstairs. If you need anything, just text.”

“Wait, you’re sleeping over?”

“Yeah, bruv, where’d you think I was going?”

“I mean, I didn’t. I don’t know. But you don’t have to. I can stay alone in my own house,” Jamie says.

“I know. But the gaffer's celebrating the first night of Hannukah with Phoebe and his sister. Why be alone if you don’t have to?”

Jamie thinks for a second. He has no defence to that thought.

“Alright, let me know if you need anything then,” Jamie says finally.

“Alright, same, sleep tight, Jamie.”

Isaac leaves him at the door to the bedroom, shutting it gently behind him. When Jamie reaches to plug in his phone, he sees a stuffed shark in a Santa hat in the middle of the bed, cat Roy cuddled against it. Jamie had a lot of moments of self-doubt related to his acceptance on the team. That first practice when Dani joined the team, and Jamie stood on the sidelines seemingly forgotten by everyone but a mocking Roy. Or when he returned to Richmond, tail between his legs, asking forgiveness, for some things deserved, others not. Those dark weeks with Zava when the team all fell under his spell, and Jamie was left alone in the cold of Zava’s shadow. Any lingering doubts were replaced. And if he ever felt any again, well, he only had to snuggle the stuffed shark.

Chapter Text

When Issac leaves for training the next morning, Jamie feels a pang of jealousy in the pit of his stomach, though he plasters on a smile and tells Isaac to give his best to the lads. He appreciated seeing so many of his teammates the day before, but he desperately wished he could be on the pitch with them today. The first day back after the international break is always fun, like the first day back at school after vacation, minus the boring school bits. And with this break extra long due to the World Cup, he missed his teammates even more than he would normally.

Jamie sighs and turns away from the door, reminding himself to be patient and wait for his foot to heal, though he scowls at his casted lower leg for good measure. He couldn’t wait to be back out there, muscles straining and his lungs burning. Jame could almost taste the sweat on his lips and feel the wind in his hair. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath and clomps back towards the couch. FIFA would be the closest he’d get to playing football for a while, though he would give anything to be at Nelson Road, even as a spectator.

There’s a thin layer of ice outside courtesy of recent rain and freezing temperatures, which means less than optimal conditions for crutching or sitting around watching training. Neither Isaac nor Roy were willing to take the chance Jamie might slip, even if he could’ve watched training from inside. Roy drops Phoebe off as a compromise. It allows Sarah some sleep after her night shift, and with Phoebe on holiday break, it keeps both her busy and Jamie from his loneliness.

“Jamie, behave for Phoebe. And no fucking glue guns,” Roy warns them both before disappearing out the door to training.

Phoebe immediately searches the house for Jamie’s cat, Roy, finding him still sleeping on Jamie’s bed. She awkwardly carries the large feline to the living area, where she deposits him next to Jamie on the couch.

“I’ll be right back, Jamie,” Phoebe says. “Mummy said I should change Roy’s litterbox.”

She giggles to herself at the use of her Uncle’s name for the cat but does as her mother asked.

“Thanks, Phoebs,” Jamie says when she returns. “That’s very nice of you. I’m sure I can figure it out the next time, though.”

“That’s okay, Jamie. Mummy says it’s the least we can do since we tricked-“

Phoebe cuts herself off, hand over her mouth, eyes large as saucers.

“You tricked who, Phoebe?” Jamie asks.

“No one,” Phoebe says, then turning away from him. “I think I left my bag at the door.”

“Phoebe Kent O’Sullivan, get over here. You know I can’t chase you like this,” Jamie says in a faux stern voice. Phoebe drags her feet every step over to Jamie, head down. “Did you and your Mum trick me into keeping Roy?”

Phoebe nods her head, and when her lower lip begins to tremble, Jamie begins to worry. He sits up straighter and pulls her onto the couch and into a hug.

“Oh Phoebs, come here, I’m not mad or nothing, yeah? Just taking the err-pee out of you,” Jamie says, pulling away but holding her at arm's length so she’s looking him in the eyes. Jamie’s unsure if piss counts as a curse word, but he’s not taking any chances. “I wouldn’t have said yes if I didn’t really want him. And I love little Roy now. I’m so chuffed to have him.”

“Are you sure?” Phoebe asks.

“I am. Phoebe, can I tell you a secret?”

“Yes,” Phoebe says, nodding. “Of course, Jamie.”

“I was a bit sad when I got hurt. So having Roy here,” Jamie says, stroking the cat. “And Uncle Roy as well, I suppose, but especially this Roy, has cheered me up properly.”

“That was what Mummy said would happen,” Phoebe smiles.

“Oh yeah? Your Mum must be where you get your smarts from,” Jamie winks and gently taps Phoebe on the temple before pulling her closer to him. “We know it’s not from Uncle Roy.”

Phoebe offers a giggle of agreement, and Jamie hooks a thumb at the cat.

“So what’s the real story on the little lad then?”

“Mummy’s friend volunteers at the shelter where we got Dauphine and told her they had a cat who had just been surrendered because his family had to move. His name really is Roy. Anyway, they close down for the holidays, so he wouldn’t have anyone to adopt him until after the New Year. So Mummy had the idea to bring him here to see if you liked him, and if not, we would bring him home as a foster until someone could adopt him.”

“So Dauphine didn’t bully him?” Jamie asks.

“No,” Phoebe says, dropping her head then snapping it up just as quickly. “But she might have.”

“Did Uncle Roy know about this plan?”

“No, Mummy said he wouldn’t agree to it.”

“Makes sense. He probably wouldn’t have. I don’t think he likes it when I call him human Roy, but he’s just going to have to get used to it.”

“Has he been a good cat so far?”

“Very good,” Jamie says. “He’s been extra snuggly and a proper gentleman, using his litter box and not destroying anything.”

“Oh good! You know Mummy says we rescued Dauphine, but I think she rescued us. I think it’s the same is true for you and Roy.”

“I think so too, Phoebs,” Jamie says, stroking the cat and putting his other arm around Phoebe. “I think so, too.”

That’s how Sarah finds the three when she arrives to pick up Phoebe hours later. Christmas movie playing on the television, the fireplace roaring, and Jamie, Phoebe and cat Roy cuddled asleep on the couch.

“Do you mind if I light my menorah?”

Jamie’s surprised to see Roy looking what one might describe as sheepish.

“Of course, mate,” Jamie tells him. “I didn’t know, I didn’t know how much you celebrated Hanukkah.”

“Yeah, I mean, I didn’t for a long time. After I went to Sunderland, I was with a family who wasn’t Jewish, so I didn’t celebrate for a while. But after Sarah left her ex she wanted to teach Phoebe about our Jewish side so Phoebe celebrates Hanukkah and Christmas.”

“That’s great, Roy.”

“Sarah has the family one, but she and Phoebe bought me one last year. You’re supposed to light it where you’re eating and sleeping, and well, that’s here,” Roy explains.

“Well, I’m happy to have you and your traditions here, mate. Maybe you can teach me about everything? I don’t know much about Hanukkah and how it all works.”

And Jamie’s repaid with a genuine Roy Kent smile, bright enough to light a candle, Jamie thinks.

“You ready to get your arse fucking handed to you?”

Roy’s just cleared away the dinner plates, he and Jamie still at the dining room table.

“Oh, it is fucking on, Grandad!” Jamie says, rubbing his hands together, and Roy growls softly, which cat Roy returns, unsure human Roy doesn’t mean his cat Dad harm. “Oh, don’t you worry, kitty, he’s all bark and no bite. Don’t think I’m not going easy on you just because you’ve been so bloody nice to me since I got hurt.”

“Yeah, and don’t think I’m going to let you win because you broke your fucking foot,” Roy responds.

“Fuck off. This is a long time coming. And I could beat you without any feet.”

“You don’t need feet for this, you bellend,” Roy says.

“Yeah, well, I’d still beat you even if I didn’t have any.”

Roy rolls his eyes at the prick, then gets up briefly and returns with two boxes, placing one in front of Jamie.

“Let’s fucking do this!” Roy yells.

Jamie wipes his brow half an hour later. He’s sweating. Roy doesn’t look much better. His brow furrows as he tilts his head back and forth.

“You ready to concede?” Jamie asks.

“Fucking never.”

Jamie wipes at his sweaty forehead again, smearing frosting. The table is a mess. There’s frosting, gumdrops, and other candies spewed across the table. But they’ve finished, and now it’s time to let the people decide who the victor is. Jamie takes photos and uploads them to his Instagram story.

Vote which Gingerbread house is the best. It’s okay to let @roykent9 down easily.

“I tagged you so you can share it to your story,” Jamie tells him.

“No,” Roy says plainly. “You know, I don’t actually use Instagram. Keeley made me get it when she started working at the club.”

“Okay, whatever, just means more of my fans will be voting.”

“Fuck, show me how to share it then,” Roy says, and Jamie laughs.

“I didn’t say whose house was whose. That wouldn’t be fair. I’d destroy you. And I’m not listening to you say it was rigged until next Christmas.”

Roy growls lightly at him. Jamie shoves the phone back in his hoodie pocket and crutches slowly over to the couch where cat Roy sleeps in front of the fire. Roy scrutinises Jamie’s movements as the younger man sinks gratefully onto the couch. Roy knows from experience sitting for extended periods with a leg injury isn’t the most comfortable. Roy’s spent years watching Jamie pretzel himself into different positions, and having to elevate his foot means he cannot fidget and change his sitting positions like usual in the stiff chairs.

The couch at least allows Jamie smaller movements that don’t jostle his foot. The cat stirs from his bed as Roy follows to the couch moments later, bringing them water. Roy, the cat, scrutinises them both before curling up next to Jamie on the settee. Sky Sports continues playing in the background, Jamie playing idly on his phone while Roy pulls out his most recent book to read.

“What’re you reading?” Jamie asks.

He always asks.

“Fade Away.”

“It any good?” Jamie asks.

He always asks.

“Yeah. I like the author. Easy to read, suspense, thriller types,” Roy explains.

“Anyone I know?”

“Harlan Coben. Remember we watched The Stranger on Netflix with the guy from The Hobbit?”

“Martin Freeman?”

“No, the other guy.”

“The wizard guy?”

Roy exhales loudly. “Nevermind. You liked the show, though. It’s based on another of his books.”

“Ohhhhhh. What’s this one about then?” Jamie asks.

He always asks.

“It's a series about a guy who blows out his knee, so he becomes a sports agent but then ends up having to solve these mysteries,” Roy explains. “In this one, he has to investigate when his former rival goes missing.”

“Did he play football?” Jamie asks in a small voice, not making eye contact.

Roy’s the one with the fucked knee. He didn’t expect that plot point to affect Jamie the way it was.

“No, basketball. Boston Celtics, I think the team is called.”

Jamie nods along exaggeratedly, face filled with either thinking too much or no thoughts at all. For once, Roy was hoping there were no thoughts in that beautiful head of his.

“Do you want me to read some of it to you?” Roy asks.

He always asks.

“Might fall asleep if you do,” Jamie yawns and stretches. “Feeling a bit knackered. Who knew construction was so difficult?”

“It was a gingerbread house,” Roy sighs.

“Still,” Jamie says, sitting up.

Roy can tell Jamie’s trying to decide what to do, if he should go to bed or stay up. Even when it’s just the two of them, Jamie’s concerned he’ll miss out on something.

“Why don’t you get in bed, and I can read some to you there, so if you fall asleep, it’s okay?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’m tired too,” Roy lies.

Roy hands Jamie his crutches as the younger man slowly lowers his broken foot to the floor; Roy pretends not to notice the grimace on his face as he pushes himself upright.

“Bring Roy in with us,” Jamie says, nodding at the sleeping cat.

Roy sighs again but does as he’s asked, the cat wiggling and jumping from his grip after he pries him from the couch. The cat follows Jamie, and Roy’s grateful he doesn’t have to chase the cat around the house like he usually does Dauphine. Dauphine seems to dislike him as much as this cat does. Roy refuses to think of them sharing a name or acknowledging that two cats disliking him is anything but a coincidence.

Roy sits on one side of Jamie’s bed while Jamie brushes his teeth and prepares for bed. The cat lifts his head briefly at the clanking produced by Jamie returning to the bedroom, and Roy lifts the covers from Jamie’s side of the bed. The footballer sits and slides his good leg under the covers, placing his broken foot in the pillow and then lying back. Cat Roy gets up and snuggles into the space between Jamie’s legs.

“Ready?” Roy asks.

Jamie shimmies himself a bit in the bed, careful not to disturb the already sleeping cat. Jamie exhales loudly and looks at Roy.

“Ready.”

Roy smiles and starts to read.

“‘Just behave.”

“I am behaving, man! I haven’t even done anything,” Jamie says, pushing himself up on his elbows.

“Not you, you twat. That’s the first line of the fucking book.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

Roy rolls his eyes affectionately.

“‘Just behave.’

‘Me?’ Myron said. ‘I’m always a delight.’”

“I like Myron already,” Jamie interrupts.

“Myron Bolitar was being led through the corridor of the darkened Meadowlands Arena by Calvin Johnson, the New Jersey Dragons' new general manager.”

“What’re New Jersey Dragons? Are they like the Denver Broncos?” Jamie asks.

“How the fuck do I know? I think they’re made up for the book. Now be quiet and fucking listen.”

Jamie hums a noise of annoyance, and Roy keeps reading. Roy wasn’t sure Jamie would make it this far, but he was still awake, and Roy continued Myron’s tale as he met with the owner of the professional basketball team.

“‘You already had eighteen points that game. Not bad for a rookie in his first scrimmage. That was when fate took over.’

Fate took the form of big Burt Wesson of the Washington Bullets. There had been a collision, a searing pain, and then nothing.”

Roy felt Jamie stir beside him, but he continued reading, trying to read faster through the parts of the owner offering Myron another chance at the NBA in order to investigate the disappearance of Myron’s former rival and to get to the less sensitive parts.

“‘You could be the poster child for life after sports. A fine example to your fellow athletes. Your whole career crashed down around your ears, but you rose to the challenge. You went back to school–at Harvard Law, nonetheless. You started up your own business–a growing company in the field of sports representation. You still dating that writer?”

“Do you think I could get into Harvard Law? Do the whole Elle Woods thing and become a solicitor?” Jamie asks.

“No–,” Roy says plainly.

“Hey!” Jamie interrupts.

“Let me fucking finish,” Roy sighs, and Jamie mimics, zipping his lips shut and tossing the key. “I said no because you couldn’t wear the robes and the wigs. You’d be cutting the fucking sleeves off or something. You’d never last.”

“Okay, fair play.”

Roy continues reading. He assumed Jamie would have drifted off by now, but he seems to be listening intently as Roy reads through the story, no longer interrupting except to ask for clarification on something. He doesn’t even make a comment when the story describes Myron sharing an ex-girlfriend with his missing former rival or the arrival of Myron’s friend to help him break into the missing basketball player’s home.

Roy’s about to call it a night since the chapter is finished, but when he looks at Jamie, he sees the younger man is already asleep and snoring softly. Roy slowly slides to the corner of the bed, trying not to disturb Jamie. He massages out his bad knee before pulling himself upright. Roy reaches for the lamp on the bedside table, switches it off and then does the same for the one on Jamie’s side of the bed when Jamie stirs.

“What if my foot is like your knee?” Jamie asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Or like Myron’s in the book. Shit sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Roy flicks the light back on. He wants to make sure Jamie hears him and listens.

“No, it’s okay, Jamie. I retired at 38. And yeah, my knee is fucked, had been fucked for a while. But 38, that’s elderly in football years.”

Jamie opens his mouth to say something, but Roy interrupts.

“Don’t even fucking say it,” Roy says, pointing a finger at him, but he’s smiling. Jamie wisely closes his mouth but smiles back at his manager and snuggles himself deeper into the bed.

“But I sometimes didn’t care for myself the way I should have. None of us did. But I’m your manager now, and it’s not going on my legacy that I fucked up Jamie Tartt.”

Jamie smiles even wider at that, and Roy feels the weight of admiration heavy on his shoulders. He thinks of the poster, the poster. Jamie grew up watching him play, loving watching him play. Never thought he’d play with Roy Kent, let alone the legend would make himself personally responsible for Jamie’s future. But Roy had done exactly that. Somewhere between a career-ending tackle and a hug in a Wembley dressing room, Jamie Tartt had become his.

“We’re linked, you know,” Roy says.

“Yeah, Phoebe already told me I’m your best friend. You forget that too, Grandad?”

“Fuck off. I meant football-wise. The last thing I ever did in the Premier League was tackle your muppet arse.”

Roy swats at Jamie’s arm good-naturedly, but Jamie stills.

“I’m sorry,” Jamie says with a face that looks like Roy just kicked cat Roy.

“No, Jamie, you have nothing to be fucking sorry about. I tackled you, remember?”

“Yeah, but—“

“No fucking butts. I just meant, fuck, I’m saying this all wrong,” Roy says, pausing to organise his thoughts. “I didn’t end my career on a nobody. I tackled Jamie Fucking Tartt. That means something. It’s going to mean something even more when we’re done.”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“No. No fucking maybes! The sky is the fucking limit for you. I know after watching you this last year and seeing how hard you work.”

“I am pretty amazing, aren’t I?” Jamie grins.

“Fuck off. I’m saying don’t borrow grief from the future,” Roy says. “There will be plenty of time to mourn your career when it’s over. And it sucks, it does. But it’s not over yet. Not if I have anything to fucking say about it.”

“Okay. Thanks, Roy,” Jamie says, nodding.

Roy ruffles Jamie’s hair and then reaches past him to turn the light off.

“Now go the fuck to sleep.”

“Night, Roy.”

“Night, Jamie.”

Chapter Text

Sam taps nervously on Jamie’s front door before walking inside and removing his shoes. At training earlier, Roy was clear that Sam should let himself in so Jamie wouldn’t have to crutch over to open the door. Roy had a strategy session with Nate and Beard in anticipation of the match on Monday. With Jamie out indefinitely, they were working overtime to be prepared and have Roberts comfortable enough with his new place among the starters.

Sam was looking forward to spending time alone with Jamie but also feeling anxious. Sam watched plenty of teammates and friends struggle through injuries like Jamie was currently, but it never became easier for Sam to witness. He wished he could take their pain away, but all he could do was be there for them. Sam grappled with the helpless feeling that accompanied a teammate being hurt. Daddy told him couldn’t change his friend's pain, but he could give them something to smile about, so that is what Sam aims to do.

It would be an understatement to say Sam’s relationship with Jamie had been rocky over the years, as well as Jamie’s relationship with the team as a whole. Since their first meeting, Sam witnessed various versions of Jamie: mean, pompous, cruel, apologetic, unsure, self-sacrificing, giddy, angry, funny, humble, depressed, loyal. The other day, Jamie had been happy but reserved, buoyed by the attention and goodwill of his teammates. But what version of Jamie Tartt would Sam find when it was only the two of them tonight?

Cat Roy greets Sam before he sees Jamie, appraising him with large eyes, deciding if he’s a friend or foe. He must decide friend because he starts toward Jamie’s living room, as if telling Sam to follow him. Sam still didn’t feel comfortable referring to the cat as Roy. He didn’t call his manager Roy anymore, preferring the honorous Coach or Coach Kent, but he referred to him as Roy plenty of times when they were teammates. Enough that he wouldn’t be referring to the feline as Roy anytime soon.

“Jamie?” Sam calls out quietly, not wanting to startle the older player.

“In here,” Jamie yells, and cat Roy trots towards his voice, tail swaying behind him.

Sam finds Jamie sitting on the couch and Sky Sports on the television. A fluffy blue blanket covers Jamie’s lower body, his casted foot sticking out from under the blanket, propped on a pillow. A new tall cat perch is in one corner, and a bed is in front of the lit fireplace. The cat climbs into the bed, no doubt enjoying the warmth from the roaring fire.

“Hey, Sam,” Jamie greets easily. “Thanks for coming by and cooking. I’ve been drooling all day thinking about it.”

“Simi sent me with puff-puffs too,” Sam says, holding up a Tupperware.

“She didn’t!”

“She did!” Sam smiles widely, some of his nerves dissipating.

“Tell her she’s too good to me. And you too,” Jamie teases, sticking out his tongue.

Sam sets about emptying the bags, putting some items into the refrigerator and leaving some on the counter. He’s rummaging through Jamie’s cabinets for all he needs when the Englishman pulls himself up from the couch and crutches over, carefully hopping the one step into the kitchen area.

“Need help finding anything, mate?”

“I think I found it all,” Sam says; he’s cooked in Jamie’s kitchen before, so he has a general idea of where everything is. “Why don’t you sit back on the couch and relax?”

“Nah, I want to help,” Jamie says, depositing himself in one of the stools at his island, propping up his crutches and pulling his casted foot gingerly onto another chair. “Put me to work.”

Jamie rubs his hands together in anticipation of an assignment.

“Okay,” Sam says, smiling, placing a cutting board, knife and four plantains in front of the footballer before demonstrating. “Cut a slit in the skin along the length of each plantain like this, and then peel it apart. Then cut each in half lengthwise, then into 1-inch pieces. Okay?”

“Yes, chef!” Jamie replies enthusiastically.

Another smile spreads across Sam’s face as he gets to work on the jollof rice. He had seasoned the chicken before coming over, so he set to boiling it. Sam washes the rice and then strains the stock through a fine sieve.

“Is this good?” Jamie asks as he finishes up with the first plantain.

“Perfect,” Sam praises as he checks Jamie’s handy work.

Jamie nods happily to himself and sets about slicing the second plantain. Sam watches his friend work happily. Jamie’s tongue pokes slightly through his lips as he concentrates on the task at hand and Sam returns to the stove, dumping the premade tomato stew base and tomato paste into a pan to fry. After a couple minutes, he adds stock, water, curry powder, thyme and seasoning cubes, allowing it to all boil.

“How does this taste? Does it need more salt?” Sam asks, bringing a spoon over to Jamie, holding his other hand below in case it spills.

“It tastes fucking amazing, man,” Jamie says, starting in on the third plantain.

Sam tastes himself and adds a small pinch of salt before adding the rice and turning the heat up. As Sam grills the chicken, he rechecks the rice mixture, reducing the heat and covering it.

“Jollof rice is so good,” Jamie says. “I could literally eat it every day.”

“Daddy always says if anyone says you eat too much jollof rice, cut them from your life; you do not need that kind of negativity.”

“Ola is a very wise man,” Jamie smiles.

“Jollof rice makes or breaks any social gathering in Nigeria. If it is not good, like when my Uncle Malcolm makes it, the party will not be very good.”

“Remind me not to go to Uncle Malcolm’s house then,” Jamie teases.

Sam salts the diced plantains and fries them while the jollof rice cooks.

“Anything else I can do?” Jamie asks.

“I think I am good, but thank you, Jamie,” Sam smiles, checking on the chicken and plantains.

While Sam’s back is turned to him, Jamie rises from his stool and hops over to pull two plates from a cabinet.

“Jamie! What are you doing?” Sam asks, rushing to his friend.

“Sam, it’s okay. I can hop just as well as the next guy. It’s like a meter away,” Jamie says, still holding the plates.

“I do not care; give me those,” Sam says, taking the plates from his friend's hand. “Stay–wait!”

Sam tries to keep his friend still so he can bring him his crutches but Jamie has already hopped back to his stool and climbed back onto it. The injured footballer sticks out his tongue at his friend’s shocked face. Sam opens his mouth to scold Jamie gently, then remembers the food and rushes back to the stove, placing the plates down.

“If you do not behave, I am going to have to tell Coach Kent,” Sam says, finally turning back around.

“You wouldn’t dare, mate!”

“I would,” Sam defends. “Because if you fall and hurt yourself, then he will murder me, and I would very much like not to be murdered.”

“That’s fair. I wouldn’t want you murdered on my behalf. And also, then Coach will murder me, so I’d like us both to make it to Boxing Day.”

“Good. Now eat up!”

Sam deposits a plate of food in front of Jamie and one next to an empty stool, followed by a napkin, knife and fork for each. He fills water glasses for both of them and returns to sit on the chair not occupied by Jamie or his broken foot.

“Mate, this is amazing,” Jamie says, groaning joyfully after swallowing his first bite.

“Thank you, Jamie.”

“No, Sam, thank you,” Jamie says, sipping his water and cutting more chicken. “Seriously, though, for everything. Helping with all this the other day and dinner and all the texts checking in on me, and really, just really, everything. You’re a good friend.”

Sam feels his cheeks burn slightly, but his stomach warms at the compliment. He’s distracted from further praise when he hears a meow and looks down to see the cat sitting between them, looking up expectantly, tail swaying behind him. Jamie feeds him a bit of chicken and then shoes him away.

“You are a good friend, too. I know you would do the same if our roles were reversed.”

Jamie nods vigorously through a mouth full of food, pausing only to take a sip of water before taking another bite of rice. They finish eating, and Sam fills Jamie in on training so far this week. It’s been unseasonably cold, and Sam misses the warmth of Nigeria during spells like this. Jamie, Sam knows, has been begging Roy to let him come to training, but it’s been too cold, and there’s been frost on and off, and Roy was too nervous he’d take a spill and be injured more.

The two teammates are laughing and watching Home Alone when Roy returns hours later. Roy heats up Sam’s leftovers and joins his two players on the couch to eat. Sam takes in Roy’s tired form. His manager has taken on a lot this season, and Jamie’s injury has stressed him further. Sam hopes his time spent with Jamie and the leftovers available in his refrigerator has eased some of his coach’s worry, even if just for the night. When the movie finished, young Kevin MacCallister was finally reunited with his family. Sam reluctantly peels himself from his friend’s comfortable couch.

Sam starts his car and offers to help Jamie into bed. He volunteers his assistance as Jamie finishes in his ensuite and then assists his teammate in undressing and settling into bed. Sam gently lifts his friend’s casted foot onto his pillow, not missing Jamie’s smile wince as he adjusts himself. The cat, seemingly concerned as well, lets out a warning meow at Sam before spinning and settling against Jamie’s hip.

“Thanks, Sam,” Jamie says as his friend prepares to leave. Sam smiles as he hears Jamie yawn.

“Sleep tight, Jamie,” Sam whispers, rubbing his friend’s hair gently and turning the light off.

Sam has felt a lot of things towards Jamie Tartt in the past three-plus years: envy for his skills, anger for his bullying attitude, resentment at his return, gratitude during the Dubai Air protest, friendship during the ensuing season, worry after Zava joined the team, honoured when Jamie chose to wear #24 when playing for England for his first cap, pride when Jamie was named Player of the Month, worry when his friend was depressed and then injured in Manchester, happiness at watching Jamie play in the World Cup and eventually despair at his friend’s broken foot. But today, today when looking at Jamie, Sam Obinsanya mostly feels love.

Chapter Text

Dani Rojas was keenly aware of what it felt like to be lonely during the holidays. During his first full season at Richmond, he missed his parents, sisters, and other family members immensely. Christmas at the Rojas house was always lively, filled with presents, yes, but mostly with games, laughter, good food, good drinks and good people. The last two Christmases, though spent with a team Secret Santa and then a party at the Higgins’ house, lifted Dani’s spirits. Still, there was always the ache of missing his family in his heart.

With the World Cup this year, Dani was fortunate to have spent some time at home in Guadalajara during the break before returning to England. In Qatar, Mexico finished 1-1-1 in the group stage, losing to the eventual Argentinian champions. While Dani was disappointed, he was honoured to represent his country in another World Cup and grateful for an extended time in Mexico.

While home, Dani was blessed to participate in many of his family’s traditions. The Feast of the Virgin of Guadalupe celebration usually starts on December 3rd, but in Jalisco, it begins on December 1st, the day before Dani flew home from Qatar. The novena leads up to her feast day on December 12th with festivities and traditional processions to the church for brief mass and blessings.

Dani always enjoyed celebrating with his family, watching the processions of children carrying banners, and watching charreadas and bicycle races. There was dancing and good food throughout, and in the final days, the parades and festivities took place around the clock. It all culminates in an extensive fireworks exhibition on the feast day late at night.

This year was the first time Dani’s girlfriends, Elena and Alaina, had accompanied him home and been welcomed with open arms by his large family. Dani had been blessed with three more nephews and a niece since the last time he was able to participate, and the love within his family has grown exponentially with each new member.

Dani’s heart was full as he flew back to London, but not as full as he would have liked. Jamie Tartt weighed heavily on his heart and mind. Dani watched from Mexico as Jamie was injured during his team’s final match in Qatar. Knee injuries have plagued Dani’s professional career, so he knew all too well the mental and physical anguish his friend was going through.

Jamie was upbeat over text, and his calls with Dani, but Jamie was always cheery when he spoke with Dani. Sometimes, people matched his energy, whether they realised they were doing it or not. Dani was not always happy, contrary to popular belief. Even outside of the tragedy with Earl the Greyhound, Dani had good and bad days, just like everyone else. Dani wore his smile like armour; it protected him in battle, and he only shed it when he was sure he was safe.

Dani no longer needed his armour at Nelson Road. So most of the time, Dani woke and chose joy because that made him feel good. Some people were taken aback if he wasn’t smiling Dani Rojas that day, but his Greyhound teammates had come to accept all versions of Dani. After all, we all contain multitudes. And Dani had come to appreciate all versions of Jamie Tartt, as varied as they were.

So when Dani reached out to Isaac, he knew the captain would already be working hard to cheer up his injured teammate. He was ecstatic to be notified of Operation Rudolph and happily signed up under the codename Dancer. He had hoped to have been there to help decorate Jamie’s tree and house, but a flight delay meant he didn’t arrive at Heathrow until late Sunday night. Still, Dani knew Jamie would be smiling again in no time with their help, even if they couldn’t have another crossbar challenge for a while.

“Your house is very festive, Jamie Tartt!” Dani says as he follows Roy into Jamie’s living area.

“Muchacho!” Jamie greets excitedly and struggles to rise off the couch, casted foot hindering his ability to move as quickly as he wants to.

“You stay right there, hermano. I am coming to you!”

Dani drops his bags onto Jamie’s table, rushing over and enveloping his friend in a hug that could quite possibly dent Jamie’s couch. Jamie grips him tightly, and Dani feels a rush of sadness as to not having seen his friend earlier. Joy quickly replaces sadness as Dani pulls back to see Jamie’s smiling face.

“I hope you are both hungry,” Dani says. “I brought three different types of tamales. You will have to try them all and tell me your favourite.”

Dani helps Jamie onto his good foot and hands him his crutches. Dani spent more time than he would like balancing on the walking aids to know they were a necessary evil while recovering from an injury. Satisfied Jamie is secure enough on his foot, Dani returns to the dining table to distribute the food from the bags. Roy returns with plates, napkins and utensils, then with drinks as Jamie slowly makes his way over.

Dani assists Jamie in sitting and propping his broken foot on another chair when a cat jumps onto the table.

“Oi, what’re you doing up here, sir?” Jamie scolds.

Jamie stretches his arms out for the cat, but the cat moves just out of his reach, sniffing at the packaged food. Jamie grunts as he tries to lean forward as much as possible to get the cat, hindered by his foot and the cat that keeps moving just out of his grasp.

“Hola, michi,” Dani says, scooping up the cat and petting it. “Jamie, when did you get a cat?”

“Last weekend. His name’s Roy,” Jamie explains, beaming.

Dani does not question the cat's name as he gently deposits him back on the floor. Dani does not question anything about Jamie Tartt’s relationship with Roy Kent. During Dani’s time in El Chapo’s Youth League, he learned not to ask questions, which continues to serve him well. It’s none of his business, and if they want to tell Dani, they will. In the meantime, if it doesn’t affect Dani, then he’s better off not knowing.

The three eat while Roy and Jamie argue about their favourite tamale. Jamie prefers the tamales de Puerco while Roy prefers the tamales de rajas con queso. Dani briefly worries about Roy’s well-known problem with dairy but decides the Coach can figure it out on his own. Dani’s not one to deny the joy of queso to anyone. What happens later is Roy’s problem to work through.

The table is littered with food and drinks and Dani and Jamie sit across from Roy while the fireplace on the other side of the couch fills the room with warmth. The lighting from the Christmas tree bathes the room in mood lighting. Their laughter is the only thing louder than the crackling of the fire. The cat periodically reappears, rubbing against Dani’s leg or meowing for Jamie’s attention.

Dani tells Jamie and Roy about his time at the World Cup and his trip home, and he’s delighted when even Coach Kent laughs at the stories of his nieces and nephews. Any smiles Dani pulls from Roy increase Dani’s joy exponentially. However, Dani has to admit that his manager has been smiling much more in the last couple of years than when they were teammates.

“Okay, and now, if you want, we can do the puzzle I brought,” Dani says.

“Oh, I love puzzles,” Jamie replies. “You in, coach?”

“I think I’m going to call it an early night. Rojas, make sure Jamie’s in bed and settled before you leave?” Roy asks.

Dani does not miss the growling of Roy’s stomach before he agrees. “Yes, coach. I promise. Jamie Tartt is in good hands.”

Jamie rolls his eyes affectionately, but Dani and Roy take the caring of Jamie Tartt very seriously.

“Great. Night, lads,” Roy says and rushes off faster than either player thought Roy’s knee could take him.

“Dairy,” they say simultaneously, looking at each other and then laughing.

“I am going to start the champurrado. It has to steep for an hour,” Dani explains.

Dani stands and walks to Jamie’s kitchen, pulls out a saucepan, fills it with water, cinnamon sticks, and an anise star, and sets it on the stove to boil.

“Do you want to make the puzzle here, or would you be more comfortable on the couch?” Dani asks.

Jamie adjusts himself in his seat, then looks at the sofa and back, apparently thinking.

“This works.”

Dani grabs the puzzle from his bag and hands it to Jamie. He opens the box and dumps the pieces onto the table, flipping them all to the picture side up one by one. Roy jumps back onto the table, and Jamie reaches for the cat, who moves just out of Jamie’s grasp. The cat starts swatting puzzle pieces one by one onto the floor.

“Hey!” Jamie says, reaching for the cat again.

Again, the cat moves just out of Jamie’s grasp. He strains, trying to reach as far as possible, but is handcuffed to his chair by his cast-covered foot. Dani picks the cat up again, whispers something in Spanish to him and then gently deposits him on the chair Jamie’s foot is propped on. Roy promptly nuzzles against Jamie’s leg and lies down. Dani returns to the kitchen briefly and, seeing the water boiling, removes it from the heat to let it steep.

He returns to the table to help Jamie turn the puzzle pieces over. An hour later, they’d finished the puzzle, and Dani returns to the kitchen, removing the cinnamon sticks and anise star from the water and turning it on low.

“How do you make it?” Jamie asks, making his way slowly to a stool, resting his crutches against the island.

“You let it steep for an hour, and then you remove the cinnamon sticks and the anise star,” Dani explains. “Then you turn the heat back to low, add the masa harina or corn flour, and whisk it in very slowly.”

Dani demonstrates as he moves the whisk expertly through the mixture.

“Then you add milk, Mexican chocolate and piloncillo,” Dani says, adding in the ingredients and continuing to mix as he turns the heat up, waiting for it to boil and then reducing it once it starts to boil. “Now we let it simmer for ten minutes, and we can enjoy. If we are feeling cheeky, we would add rum or another alcohol. We will have to make it again once you have recovered.”

Dani smiles brightly, and the delightful smell of the champurrado fills Jamie’s kitchen. It reminds Dani of home. England wasn’t home for a while, but the people he’s met, people like Jamie, have slowly made it feel like a new version of home. It would never be Guadalajara, where he grew up and where his family is, but London has become a close second.

“Do you make this a lot at home?” Jamie asks.

“It’s made a lot during December, yes. But also, if it was very cold at home, my Mama would make it for us before school to keep us warm.”

“That sounds nice,” Jamie says as Dani pours the champurrado into glasses for Jamie and himself.

Jamie holds the warm cup in two hands, bringing it to his face to smell the drink before sipping. Dani does the same while watching Jamie intently, hoping the younger man enjoys the drink. Dani finds it quite tasty, but it reminds him of home, family, and being loved. He hopes it brings Jamie the same type of feeling.

He hopes this evening has brought Jamie the comfort he meant to. Food is a love language of its own. Same with quality of time. Dani can’t heal Jamie’s broken foot, but he can show him he’s loved and cared for, and that’s the next best thing.

Chapter Text

“Show me to my laboratory!”

Georgie laughs at Simon’s predictable greeting to Roy or Yukon Cornelius, Georgie thinks to herself as she and Dasher arrive at Jamie’s house. Simon spent more than enough time in Jamie’s kitchen, including the last two Christmases, to know his way around. Still, it’s very like her husband to make any attempt to lighten the atmosphere, with Roy just as worried about Jamie as they are. Despite her laughter, she resists the urge to shove aside both men, run for her son and commence her portion of Operation Rudolph. It’s been a long week and a half since Georgie watched her son injured on national television.

Having a son like Jamie, one who, growing up, was either playing football or running around somewhere he shouldn’t be and then became a professional athlete, Georgie had spent more time than most fretting over an injured child. But seeing Jamie hurt never became any easier, and having her son injured on a different continent was one of the most worrying experiences of Georgie’s life. She’d been stressed watching him limp up the pitch before collapsing at Etihad, but then she’d been only kilometres away. Even though she spent the week after that worrying over him, that worry was nothing compared to the concern she felt on December 10th.

It had been the longest week and a half of Georgie’s life. Save maybe the last ten days of her pregnancy with Jamie, when all her friends had started at Uni, and she was stuck at home, a week past her due date. Georgie was living on her own for the first time and with a man who she learned more and more about each day and liked less and less. She felt as big as a house, and the son in his stomach, the son who quite enjoys kicking a ball about, it turns out, had taken to using her bladder and ribs as the next best thing to a football.

At least this sleepless almost fortnight, she had a supportive and loving partner to help her through the long days and nights. And this time, this time she also had wine. Thank the Lord for wine. Georgie made Jamie FaceTime or talk on the phone every day since he was injured, and she never thought she’d be texting Roy Kent, let alone daily. Years of glancing at Roy Kent on her son’s wall had inadequately prepared her to stay at her son’s house with him. But here she was, excited to spend time with her son and his childhood hero, only under different circumstances than first planned. Georgie pulls Roy into a quick hug, whispering a rushed thank you into his ear and hurrying past him faster than any Premier League player. No footballer can hold a candle to the speed of a Mum to her injured child.

“Jamie! Jamie!” she shouts.

Georgie slides into the living area, finding Jamie attempting to push himself up from the couch.

“Ah!” she shouts and runs the rest of the way, haphazardly dropping her purse to the table, not caring that it bounces to the floor.

She pulls Jamie gently but sturdily into a hug. Georgie doesn’t want to let go, but she feels him wobble slightly in her arms. She readjusts her grip and helps lower Jamie slowly back onto the couch.

“Let me see that foot.”

She gently lifts Jamie’s injured limb onto the pillow by him. Simon comes over and pulls a sitting Jamie into a hug. Georgie knows her husband is whispering something to his stepson. Still, Georgie can’t hear him, her heart shattering at the cast covering her son’s broken foot. It never became more manageable, and even a week and a half couldn’t prepare for the ache settling around her heart. Jamie had sent pictures, first complaining, then after Phoebe decorated his cast and when his teammate sent the knitted sock, but seeing it in person shattered her anew.

“My poor, sexy little baby,” Georgie says, grabbing Jamie’s face on each side and then pulling him into another hug.

“Mummy,” Jamie breathes into her ear. “Mummy, I can’t breathe.”

It takes every ounce of Georgie’s strength to let go of the hug, and she only does it because she’s concerned he might be telling the truth. She straightens her jumper, settling for squeezing the hand closest to her. She jumps when something rubs against her leg.

“Jesus, Jamie, forgot you got a cat,” Georgie says, hand to her heart, eying the tabby. “You sure you want to keep the name, Roy?”

“Yes. You know your name is Roy, don’t you?” Jamie asks, and the cat meows, jumping into Jamie’s lap.

The cat sniffs Georgie appraisingly, and nearby, Simon sneezes loudly.

“Have you taken your antihistamines yet, love?”

“Going to take it right now,” Simon says, rummaging through a bag and pouring himself a glass of water. “Anyone need anything?”

“Simon, please tell me you aren’t allergic to cats,” Jamie questions.

Jamie hadn’t thought to ask previously; he probably assumed Georgie or Simon would’ve told him. Still, Georgie wasn’t about to ruin Jamie’s excitement when he told her about the cat.

“Just a hair,” Simon deflects. “Well, I guess it’s the hair and the dander, innit?”

Simon chuckles softly to himself. Jamie grimaces slightly, but Georgie smiles at her boys.

“Shit. I’m sorry, Simon,” Jamie says, frowning. “I didn’t even think to ask.”

Roy meows in response as if offering his own condolences before laying solidly on Jamie’s chest, purring with pleasure as Jamie scratches him behind his ears.

“That’s what antihistamines are for, son, don’t you worry,” Simon says cheerily as he unpacks in the kitchen.

“Phoebe has to take them for Dauphine,” Roy offers. “Remind me to tell you later what the first ones she took did to her fucking breath. Think when Dani mixes up his dirty socks and then combine that with the time Richard left that cheese in his car, and then thinking of something worse than that.”

“Don’t worry, Jaim,” Georgie says, leaning over to pat the cat currently purring on her son’s chest. “Simon doesn’t mind, really. We’re just happy to be with you and that you have Roy. And human Roy. And the team. But especially this, Roy.”

Simon has always been adaptable, so Georgie wasn’t worried when he sheepishly revealed his allergy the other day. Meeting Georgie as a single Mum with a surly teenage son was difficult. Still, Simon had rolled with everything Jamie tried to throw his way. Jamie did his best to scare Simon away, but when he realised Simon wasn’t going anywhere, he ignored him. Simon hadn’t been phased. Years later, Simon continued to be unflappable regarding anything related to his stepson and loved him all the same.

Roy grunts in agreement with Georgie and offers his help to Simon while Georgie and Jamie catch up from the couch. So far, cat Roy is as adoring of Georgie as human Roy is. He nuzzles into her hand, purring softly. As much as she feels sorry for poor Simon and his allergies, she’s happy her son has a pet. Georgie knows how much Jamie loves animals, and she thinks it’s lovely for him to have a furry friend to keep him company.

Georgie’s spent so much time googling and reading about the foot in the last week she thinks she could be a podiatrist. But she’s also found articles about the therapeutic benefits of pets. Georgie even found an article linking the frequency of cat purrs to promote pain relief, bone growth and fracture healing. Georgie wasn’t sure she believed it but knew it couldn’t hurt. At the very least, Jamie would benefit emotionally from cat Roy’s presence.

Of course, she also worries about Simon’s allergies. Still, she’s confident they can manage them with medication and careful cleaning. The cat most likely hasn’t been in the guest bedroom they’ll be using, and they can keep the door shut to make sure he isn’t. And from what Georgie can tell, Roy spends most of his time lying on his bed or on top of Jamie.

It’s only a fortnight, after all. She’s sure Simon will be able to handle it. And Simon’s always made it clear he loves Jamie as much as she does. Well, maybe not exactly as much as a mother loves her child, but as close as possible. Georgie is determined to ensure the situation works for everyone. Well, Jamie first, then everyone.

Georgie barely lets Jamie out of her sight all day. She’s delighted when Phoebe and her Mum come by later, and she officially meets the young girl who’d taken charge of Operation Rudolph. She’s every bit as wonderful as Jamie and Roy described. Roy leads them through lighting candles for Hanukkah and explaining the traditions associated with the holiday. Simon has to be almost physically removed from the kitchen to allow Roy to cook dinner, but otherwise, things go well.

“Nice job this week, Father Christmas,” Georgie whispers to Phoebe at one point and gives her a high five.

“What’re you two whispering about?” Jamie asks.

“Nothing,” Georgie and Phoebe say simultaneously.

“We might need to keep these two separated,” Jamie tells Roy and Sarah. “I know trouble when I see it.”

Georgie’s unsurprised when Jamie’s cat follows them into Jamie’s room later that night. He’d barely left Jamie’s side all day, alternating between being curious and wary of the two new people invading his space and their intentions for his injured cat Dad. Simon had kept his distance from the slightly furrier Roy; still, Georgie had already taken to picking him up when she needed an extra cuddle.

It seemed everyone at Jamie’s house needed a bit of an extra cuddle. Jamie was taking his injury in stride, at least outwardly, but Georgie could tell her son’s usually blinding light had dimmed. Roy was a ball of stress, and Georgie worried some vein in his neck might pop if he didn’t unclench his jaw at least once a day. He’d also kept his distance from his feline namesake, but Georgie thinks that has more to do with the cat’s moniker than his existence.

Georgie observes Sarah with the stress levels most Mums experience leading up to Christmas. She could only imagine the added planning that went with celebrating both Hanukkah and Christmas, plus working in a busy A&E. Sarah’s doing it all as a single Mum with no Dad insight, something Georgie was all too familiar with. Georgie doesn’t think Phoebe’s Mum knows Jamie very well compared to her daughter and brother. Still, Sarah, like Georgie, seems to adopt anyone who cares about those she loves.

With just one look, anyone could see Phoebe was not only obsessed with her Uncle Roy but had also taken to Jamie. Jamie was always great with children, and Georgie loved to experience it first-hand. Now Georgie could add cats to the list of people and animals her son manages to charm easily. In fact, the only people who didn’t fall head over heels for her boy were opposing defenders, well, and Jamie’s father, but Georgie did her best to never think of that toe rag at all.

Georgie climbs onto the bed after she settles Jamie. She leans her back against the headboard as he wraps himself around her, carefully keeping his foot elevated in the orthopaedic pillow. Roy Cat jumps in the bed right after Georgie. He sniffs at Georgie again, then settles against the pillow supporting Jamie’s broken foot.

“How’re you doing baby?” Georgie asks, stroking his hair.

“Okay,” Jamie says quietly. “Talked to Dad.”

“Oh yeah?”

Georgie feins nonchalance. As much as she never wants to think about Jamie’s father. She’d never refuse to discuss him if it was something Jamie wanted to do. Jamie’s the only good thing James ever gave her. She feels an immense hatred towards the man for how he’s treated her son, and she has an idea that Jamie has hidden more from her than he’s shared; she can’t ever wish she never met him.

“What’d he say, baby?”

Georgie refrains from the many descriptive adjectives she wants to use for her ex.

“Uh, not much,” Jamie says, and Georgie knows he’s stalling.

Fuck nonchalance.

“What’d the shit bag say?”

“Nothing,” Jamie sighs. “It’s just—it’s just the way he says things. Like he can never just say he’s proud of me or I did something well. It always comes with something else. Like he’s proud of me for being in the World Cup but too bad I didn’t get more playing time before I was hurt. Or just asking when I’ll be back on the pitch like that’s all that matters, not everything I’m going through now or going to have to go through to get back. Like there’s not a bunch of fucking rehab I’m going to have to do. It’s like he’s allergic to just being a normal fucking Dad. But he’s still sober. So he says. So I gotta be supportive of that, you know.”

Georgie exhales loudly, turning Jamie’s head gently so he’s looking at her, “Jamie, listen to me carefully. You don’t owe that piece of a shit a single thing, yeah?”

“Yeah, I know, but—“

“No, buts, Jaim. He’s the father. You’re the son. You don’t owe him anything just because he’s managed to stay sober for more than six months for the first time since before you were born.”

Jamie doesn’t say anything; he just continues running his finger along her jeans.

“Did you talk to your therapist about him?” Georgie asks.

She’s been so proud of Jamie and his work with Doctor Sharon and then his work with the new therapist after she left the club. And she also knows sometimes you just need to hear something from someone other than your Mum.

“Yeah, I talked to her yesterday,” Jamie says.

As much as she wants to, Georgie never asks for more. She’s just so grateful for Doctor Lee in the first place.

“You know I support whatever decisions you make with your father, right? As long as you're safe,” Georgie says, and she can feel Jamie nod. “But he has to earn his forgiveness. I love what a big heart you have. I just don’t want to stand by and watch him break it. Again.”

Jamie bites his lip, and Georgie runs her fingers through his hair, gently scratching his scalp. He leans into her touch the way Roy the cat does. Georgie and Jamie stay like that for a while until, eventually, Georgie hears soft snores from her son. She stares at his face for a long time, amazed at how grown up he looks. 26, she can hardly believe it. Her baby, grown in the blink of an eye.

Pride swirls through her chest as she watches him sleep. The life he’s built here in London, with so many people who love him, makes Georgie’s heart swell. So many people willingly signed up under Project Rudolph with any excuse to bring a smile to Jamie’s face. Her son had battled on and off the pitch throughout his life. She’d done her best to show him the type of love he deserved. Still, sometimes, she thought he didn’t think he was worthy of such love. But seeing Jamie accept it, accept that people want to love and care for him, well, that might be what Georgie’s most proud of.

Chapter Text

Jamie wakes from his morning nap to find bowls filled with popcorn, biscuits baking in the oven, pulled pork in the slow cooker, and cat Roy sleeping in front of the fire. It’s so fucking Norman Rockwell Jamie might cry. If he wasn’t witnessing it all while leaning on crutches because of a broken foot, he’d wonder what he did to deserve it.

“Is that a new blanket?” Jamie asks Georgie, nodding at one in his usual spot on the couch as his Mum sits cuddled under an identical one.

“Yes! I bought them for us this morning at the shops,” Georgie smiles, then holds out her arms. “Come give us a cuddle.”

Jamie hurries over to his Mum as quickly as someone in his condition can. His cat, the traitor, declined to leave Georgie’s side when Jamie took his nap earlier. He lifts his furry head briefly to glance at the clomping noise produced by Jamie’s crutches, then sees it’s his cat Dad and lets out a small sigh as he lays his head back down. Jamie collapses into his Mum. He buries his head on her chest and breathes in her familiar scent as she strokes his hair.

He pauses cuddling briefly to lift his casted foot onto the familiar pillow on the couch. Roy bought him another orthopaedic pillow for the settee, and there are other “Jamie” pillows throughout the house so Jamie can prop his foot whenever he needs to. And according to Roy, he always needs to. His foot has been mostly pain-free lately, so Jamie’s not about to argue with the man. But all the crutching leaves the rest of his body sore in other ways. He’s scheduled to meet with the physios soon and is looking forward to letting them work on his sore muscles with their practised hands.

“Are you ready for a movie marathon?” Georgie asks.

Even though they had little money while Jamie was growing up, Georgie always worked overtime to make Christmas memorable. They’d drive around to different neighbourhoods at night, looking at all the lights. And Christmas movies, they’d watch all the Christmas movies Jamie could think of. Most of his friends had DVD players when Jamie was a kid, but Georgie had recorded every holiday movie imaginable on their sturdy VCR, so there was never a limit to the movies they could watch.

“Yes, buzzing, Mummy. What’re we watching first?”

“A Muppet Christmas Carol,” Georgie says, which Jamie remembers as Roy’s choice.

It was Georgie’s idea for everyone to each pick a movie when Jamie and Roy began to argue about which movies they would watch in which order. The options were placed in a mug and would be picked at random. Jamie unfurls himself from his Mum just long enough for her to make lunch plates for the two of them. The four settle back into the couch to enjoy lunch while the movie plays.

Jamie spends half the movie watching Roy, and he can feel Georgie watching him in turn. The coach has a wide grin spread across his face most of the movie, even laughing, a sound Jamie rarely hears from the Coach.

“How old were you when this came out, Roy?” Georgie asks.

“I think I was ten?” Roy replies.

“That explains it. Movies of your childhood just hit differently,” Georgie says. “I have to say, Roy, I knew you had a softer side based on Jamie’s stories of you, but it’s still nice to see it.”

Roy actually blushes. Jamie was unsure Roy would even have a favourite Christmas movie. But it makes sense Roy would’ve been ten when it came out. He knows the host family he stayed with in Sunderland wasn’t Jewish, so they likely watched the movie. And Jamie’s convinced Roy is also a fan of the muppets in general.

After the movie finishes, plates are cleared, and drinks are refilled. Jamie adjusts himself on the couch, stretching as best he’s able with his casted foot. Cat Roy stretches lazily from his bed and jumps onto the sofa. He sniffs the new blanket across Jamie’s lap, then kneads into Jamie’s thigh with his paws.

“You making biscuits, sir?”

“What the fuck did you call it?” Roy asks.

“It’s called making biscuits,” Jamie explains. “Phoebe taught me.”

“Well, isn’t that adorable,” Georgie says, reaching over to scratch behind the cat’s ears as he settles against Jamie’s leg.

Roy rolls his eyes in the affectionate way only he can. Simon’s movie choice, the original Miracle on 34th Street, plays next as Simon refills the snack bowls.

“Roy, mate, did you see this in the theatre?” Jamie asks.

“Fuck off,” Roy says, throwing popcorn at Jamie, which he catches in his mouth and smirks back at his manager.

Jamie makes it through a third of the movie before he dozes off. He wakes to the credits playing. His chest is heavy, and Jamie is briefly alarmed until he notices an orange blur covering it. Jamie’s really going to need to invest in some lint rollers. His clothes the past week have been covered with a thin layer of orange fuzz. Jamie strokes the cat, and Roy purrs in appreciation. The light vibrations flow through Jamie’s chest.

He holds the cat tightly against him so he can sit up more but grimaces as his foot falls off its designated pillow. Each time he wakes, it takes Jamie a moment or two to remember his broken foot, and the disappointment is crushing each time. But it’s lessened slightly each time, and the weighted blanket of his cat is comforting in itself.

“You okay, baby?” Georgie says, appearing and gently adjusting his cast-covered leg back on the pillow.

“Yes, Mummy, thank you.”

The cat adjusts, moving to curl into a ball by Jamie’s hip. Jamie’s fingers curl through his soft fur.

“Good lad, Roy,” Jamie whispers to the cat.

“What?” Roy asks from Jamie’s other side.

“Not you, human Roy,” Jamie sticks out his tongue.

“I told you to stop fucking calling me that.”

“Well, I have to differentiate somehow, don’t I?”

“You could change his name,” human Roy offers.

“Nah, he likes it.”

As if to prove Jamie’s point, the cat gets up, spins, lays down, and then decides to move again. He walks across Jamie’s lap towards his human counterpart. The cat sniffs idly at Roy, then jumps from the couch to head to one of his cat beds by the fire.

“He’s here! He's there! Here’s every-fucking-where, Roy Cat!” Jamie cheers as Georgie and Simon laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Roy says, and the three turn to look at him, then admits, “Okay, that’s a bit good.”

They take a break from the movies so Roy can light the menorah candles and lead them through the sixth night of Hanukkah. Roy’s been so patient, answering all of Jamie’s questions and then answering most of the same ones from Georgie a few days later. They didn’t really know any Jewish families in Manchester, so they only knew of Hanukkah in passing and especially hadn’t been able to experience it.

Eventually, they return to the couch to watch Elf, Jamie’s pick. Simon pops in and out, cooking dinner, laughing from the kitchen at the bits he can hear but not see. Jamie exchanges affectionate glances with his Mum. He’s grateful for Simon. So far, he’s been a trooper concerning the cat and his allergies. Georgie had purchased blankets not only for Jamie and her but Roy and Simon as well, and Jamie would be willing to bet the allergies were part of that.

Jamie’s also grateful for Simon being in his life in general. He doesn’t think he would’ve agreed to the Richmond transfer if his Mum hadn’t had Simon. He’d also endured rough patches with Georgie and Simon, but they’d always supported and cared for him. Simon learned football for him even. And he was always tinkering with recipes to ensure they were more meal plan friendly when Jamie was around.

It had been a bit of a whiplash meeting Simon. He was kind and supportive with no ulterior motive other than making his Mum happy. During those rough few years when Jamie wouldn’t offer Simon more than a cursory exchange or occasionally was downright rude, Simon always believed it was more about Jamie than it was about Simon himself. He was wrong.

It was about Simon. Simon was too good, too lovely, too accommodating. It wasn’t that Jamie thought it was fake. It was that he knew it was precisely who Simon was. And Jamie fucking hated him for it. He hated that he had gotten a father who was none of those things when people like Simon existed in the world, just waiting for people to love. That Jamie was one of those people Simon wanted to love took some time to accept.

Of course, Georgie loved him; she was his Mum, and it was part of the deal. But understanding that someone like Simon would choose to care about Jamie without an agenda, well, that was a harder pill to swallow. Coming to Richmond had opened his eyes to more people like Simon in the world. This past almost two weeks had shown him even more people who love Jamie simply for Jamie, not because of the things he can do with his body or buy with his money.

Cat Roy jumps next to him as if to reinforce this. He wondered what the cat thought then, how he seemed to know right away that this was his home and Jamie was his. The cat proceeds to climb over Jamie, trying to find what he deems a comfortable position. If there’s one thing the cat doesn’t know, it’s what personal space is, not that Jamie would have it any other way. Roy sighs as he finally settles in an acceptable spot against Jamie’s thigh.

“Dinner is served!” Simon announces.

“Sorry lad,” Jamie whispers to the cat as he carefully removes himself from the couch with Georgie’s help.

They eat at the dining table before returning to the couch for Georgie’s choice of movie, Christmas Vacation. Roy watches in amusement as Georgie and Jamie recite half the film to each other. It’s clearly one that’s been watched continuously by mother and son. Simon smiles at the pair, reminding Roy of the first night he met Jamie’s Mum and stepdad. Roy wonders if Simon’s ever jealous of their relationship and if he ever feels like the third wheel. It was something that Roy worried a bit himself before Jamie’s Mum arrived if he would feel displaced as Jamie’s caretaker. But just like in Manchester, Simon doesn’t seem to mind.

Fuck, Roy was worried about Jamie then. It was an eye-opening experience for him. Not only meeting Georgie and Simon but everything Jamie leading up to the match and after. Roy had witnessed many versions of Jamie over the years. That was the only one that truly scared him. He spent the past six months checking the contents of Jamie’s conditioner bottle, literally and figuratively. He’d pushed the lad too far last season. But now Roy was learning the balance between working his players' bodies and taking care of their bodies, active recovery being as important as training, and mental health is as important as physical health.

A lot had changed since Roy broke into the league. A time Jamie never gives up a chance to remind Roy was last century. Never mind, it was four months shy of 2000, but Roy couldn’t fight Jamie too hard on it. It was true. And the grin on Jamie’s face was almost worth the insults. But back then, way back then, Jamie’s voice said in his head, no one cared about mental health. And any emphasis placed on physical health was only just enough to get you on the pitch.

When Roy accepted the manager’s position from Rebecca, he did so under the condition that he cared about the team as men first, then athletes. It’s something Lasso had tried to do, but it floundered at first without the experience coaching at the professional level, coaching adults, not college students. So Roy took the best bits of the Lasso way and melded them with the Kent way.

And the Kent way incorporated from others where he knew he was outmatched. The Kent way began to include the Beard, Shelley and Higgins way. And when he brought in Doctor Sharon, the Fieldstone way. He made them a family in the Jones way. And when he needed it, they’d learn from the Tartt way or the Obisanya way or whatever player had something to contribute.

Each player and person at Nelson Road had found their way into Roy’s heart. The same heart he once thought was only big enough to fit Sarah, Phoebe and Keeley. Now, one of the most significant pieces in his heart belonged to Jamie Tartt. Fuck, when had that happened? Was it the hug at Wembley? Or had it started the first time Roy reluctantly offered coaching advice? The curse fire? I used to love watching you play?

Or had every interaction since the two met been a small step towards the love, the friendship they shared today?

Roy glances at Jamie, watching as he recites another line with his Mum, and they break into a fit of laughter. A smile ghosts across his lips at the interaction. He no longer wonders if Simon could be jealous of the two or worries if he’s been displaced. Because anyone, that loves Jamie the way his Mum obviously does could never make Roy jealous. Because anyone who can make Jamie smile the way he is now, anyone who makes Jamie feel warm, and soft, and loved, well, that’s nothing to be jealous of. That’s something to celebrate.

Chapter Text

“Are you sure the ears aren’t too big?” Jamie asks, balancing on his good foot and looking at himself in the mirror by the door.

“You’re a fucking reindeer. They’re supposed to be big,” Roy sighs.

“Alright, alright, don’t get your knickers twisted,” Jamie says, doing one last adjustment.

“Don’t forget the nose, Rudolph,” Sarah says.

“Oh, right!” Jamie says, grabbing the red nose and securing it to his face, then turning to Roy. “Do I look sexy?”

The Kent siblings can’t help but laugh, and Sarah wishes she could bottle the smile on Roy’s face and save it for a rainy day. She hears Phoebe and Georgie laugh from the other side of the foyer.

“My sexy little baby,” Georgie says, smiling at her son.

“Alright, let’s go,” Sarah says, handing Roy a Santa hat. “Phoebe, be good for Georgie and Simon. We’ll be back soon.”

Sarah kisses her daughter on the head as Roy hands Jamie his crutches, then holds the door open for Jamie and then Sarah, and they all pile into Roy’s Mercedes. The ride to the hospital passes quickly. Roy pulls to the valet, and the three climb out of Roy’s SUV. As Jamie is about to collect his crutches from the back seat, Sarah stops him.

“Hold on there, Rudolph. We have an early Christmas present for you,” she says, smiling, pulling a knee scooter with a big bow from the boot. “So you don’t have to use the crutches.”

“For me?” Jamie asks, eying the contraption. “That’s mint, Sarah!”

Sarah brings it over while Jamie balances holding on to the open door while a patient valet employee looks on. Sarah’s not worried; she knows Roy will tip the lad well. Sarah adjusts the height of the handlebars, and Jamie experimentally pushes off on the scooter with his good foot. His face lights up with the ease that comes with it. Jamie pulls Sarah into a half hug as she gets closer before they head into the hospital, the Kent siblings laughing at Jamie’s excitement.

“Thanks, Sarah, thanks, Royo!” Jamie calls over his shoulder.

Keeley and the lads are waiting inside, where Jamie almost collides with Colin on the scooter.

“Watch it, boyo!” Colin says good-naturedly as he jumps out of the way.

“Thanks for helping set this up, Sarah,” Keeley says.

“Happy to,” Sarah says. ”I think it’ll be great for the kids and the lads as well.”

The former Sarah Kent completed her residency at King’s College Hospital and loved working in the Variety Children’s Hospital there. She and Keeley had brainstormed the team visiting with Children there before Christmas, and they knew it would cheer Jamie up as well. Jamie was so good anytime she’d see him with children; she knew having him and the other Greyhounds visit the hospital would bring joy to everyone involved. And this was definitely the time of year to spread joy.

Sarah had been apprehensive when Phoebe met Jamie for the first time after a season’s worth of stories from Roy led Sarah to think of Jamie as the Prince Prick of all Pricks. Keeley had vouched for him, and Phoebe seemed to like him, so that was the first sign that there was more to Jamie Tartt than Roy had let on. And then, as Roy spent more and more time with Jamie, she watched as Roy’s descriptions of Jamie changed from prick (derogatory) to prick (affectionate). Friendship was a good look on Roy Kent, and Sarah knew the more people who cared about her curmudgeonly older brother, the better.

Sarah introduces Keeley to her former mentor, Dr Tripp, who set up the visit. They break into groups, with some players going with Dr Tripp, some with Keeley, some with Roy and some with Sarah so they can cover all the children's wards.

“You’re a menace on that,” Sarah says, laughing as Jamie quickly wheels down the hallway. Colin has almost been hit by the scooter at least three times, and Declan has taken to walking behind Jamie at all times lest he end up in a dangerous position. “I can only imagine all you put your poor Mum through growing up.”

Jamie just grins and wheels farther down the hallway. Tim Margera, a rookie on the Greyhounds, follows after Jamie like an eager puppy.

“Colin, make sure he doesn’t run anyone over,” Sarah instructs, then turns to Declan. “At least we’re already in a hospital if he does. Does he always have this much energy?”

“More,” Declan laughs. “But I’m glad to see him so happy right now.”

“Same,” Sarah smiles. “You know it’s hard to picture the Jamie that Roy talked about two years ago compared to this Jamie. Any chance my grumpy brother was exaggerating?”

“Unfortunately not,” Declan laughs. “To be fair to Roy, Jamie was a bit of a prick before. And to be fair to Jamie, Roy was, well, a bit of a grump.”

“Was?” Sarah laughs. “But I’m sure you lads know my brother’s much more bark than bite. At least nowadays.”

Declan and Sarah catch up with Colin, Jamie and Tim in another patient’s room. Jamie’s leaning on Colin, casted foot propped on the bed so the young girl can sign his cast. What was once half empty is now almost filled with signatures and doodles from various inpatient children. Sarah snaps a photo and sends it and the others she’s taken to Keeley to share on Richmond’s social media. Sarah had exchanged phone numbers with Georgie when she left Phoebe with her and Simon earlier, so she also sends the photos of Jamie to her. Mums always love pictures of their kids, no matter the age. A few minutes later, she receives a photo of Phoebe and cat Roy and updates her phone's background.

Jamie had fallen asleep on the couch after returning from the hospital, and Phoebe left with Roy and Sarah. Georgie must’ve tucked him in because the television was off when he woke, but cat Roy was sleeping on his chest. Careful not to disturb the feline, Jamie stretched his head to try and see his Mum or Simon.

His Mum was asleep on the other end of the couch, snoring slightly. He smiled at the sound. After all, he got his snoring from her. Poor Simon. He wondered where Simon was, probably reading somewhere nearby or last-minute shopping. Jamie closes his eyes and falls back asleep under the soft hum of his cat’s purrs.

It’s dark out when Jamie wakes later. Simon and Georgie are curled into each other, reading their own books. Jamie stretches exaggeratedly to alert them that he’s awake. Roy Cat meows at the disturbance to his sleep from his same spot on Jamie’s chest.

“Ah, sleeping beauty is awake,” Simon smiles.

Jamie can’t help but smile back. “When’re we going to bake?” Jamie asks.

“Whenever you’re ready!”

Jamie stretches again; cat Roy meows and removes himself from Jamie, going to lay in his bed by the fire, dragging one of his new toys from Phoebe with him. Jamie’s unsure which of the three is the most excited for Jamie to be baking with Simon.

“Now, okay?” Jamie asks.

Simon nods and helps Jamie into a sitting position. Jamie then gently lowers his casted foot to the ground, and Simon pulls him to stand. Georgie hands him his crutches, and he follows Simon to the kitchen area, hopping the step onto the area by the island.

“If you bring me the scooter, I can stand at the counter,” Jamie says to Simon.

Georgie had banned the scooter earlier when Jamie almost ran over the cat for the third time. As long as he’s not moving, Georgie and the cat should have no objections. Simon brings the scooter over and takes Jamie’s crutches as Jamie leans on it in front of the stand mixer Simon had brought on the counter.

“What’re you making again, love?” Georgie asks, walking over.

“Jamaican Toto, or I think it’s called Caribbean coconut cake. Cockburn said his grandmother made it back in Kingston every Christmas.”

“Lovely, that,” Georgie smiles and points to the scooter. “Careful of poor Roy. Simon, make sure he behaves.”

“Yes, my love,” Simon says, then turns to Jamie. “Here, put this on.”

He hands Jamie an apron that says Let’s Get Baked while he puts on one that says We Wisk You a Merry Christmas. Simon preheats the oven and places brown sugar and white sugar before Jamie.

“100 grams of each into the mixing bowl,” Simon says as he cuts the softened butter into smaller pieces.

Jamie carefully measures the sugars before pouring them into the stand mixer. At Simon’s encouragement, he turns it on, creaming the butter and sugars together. Simon checks over the recipe from his iPad as Jamie waits patiently. Simon pulls over the vanilla and eggs.

“Two eggs and a teaspoon of vanilla.”

Jamie concentrates on measuring the vanilla and then cracking the eggs into the bowl, depositing the shells onto a paper towel and ensuring none end up in the batter. Simon places another bowl, flour and baking powder in front of Jamie as the vanilla and eggs mix with the butter and sugar.

“345 grams of flour,” Simon says, watching Jamie predictably splatter flour on himself and the counter while measuring with the flour sifter.

“Oops, innit.”

Roy jumps onto the counter, curious about what the two humans are doing.

“Sorry, kitty,” Simon says, scooping the cat into his arms, who meows in opposition to being removed before he can adequately sniff anything.

Simon sneezes, reminding Jamie of his allergy before he deposits the cat back to the floor and washes his hands.

“Now sift in three teaspoons of baking powder,” Simon says over his shoulder from the sink. “Then, one teaspoon cinnamon and one teaspoon salt. Then a quarter teaspoon nutmeg.”

Jamie does as he’s told, mixing in the cinnamon, salt and nutmeg.

“Excellent,” Simon smiles.

He coaches Jamie through slowly mixing the dry ingredients into the stand mixer with the butter and sugar mixture. Simon brings over the evaporated milk as well as the coconut milk.

“Add in the evaporated milk, 100 grams at a time,” Simon says while supervising. “Brilliant. Now 25 grams of coconut milk.”

Jamie’s tongue sticks out partly from his mouth as he concentrates on measuring, pouring, mixing and attempting not to spill.

“Wonderful, Jamie,” Simon praises. “Now, the shredded coconut, 50 grams at a time.”

Once the mixture is thoroughly combined, Simon holds the greased pan for Jamie to pour the batter into. Simon places the cake into the oven and sets the timer while Jamie scoots back to the couch, careful that Roy is on his bed. He collapses beside his Mum, tired from standing, even with the scooter. But Jamie’s excited, both to have baked with Simon and to know how happy Declan will be. He wouldn’t have trusted himself to bake on his own, but with Simon’s careful supervision, he knew the cake would be delicious.

Jamie realises he’s still wearing the apron and sits up to untie it before carefully removing it, trying not to dislodge any additional flour onto his couch. Roy Cat jumps onto the couch to sniff at the flour on his shirt, meowing at his cat Dad. Jamie scratches under the cat's chin, a spot he has realised is one of his favourites.

Later, once the cake is finished cooking, Jamie sprinkles more coconut and some powdered sugar onto the cake under Simon’s supervision. Simon cuts the cake and transfers the cut pieces to a festive box, which Jamie ties a big red bow around. Jamie can’t wait for tomorrow to give the cake and, of course, the bottle of Declan’s favourite liquor to him.

Jamie, Georgie and Simon settle back on the couch for one last Christmas movie. Roy is spending the night with Phoebe and Sarah, a tradition started after Sarah’s divorce. They were living with Roy after Sarah left her husband and while they started celebrating Hanukkah, Phoebe had also been celebrating Christmas since she was born. Living in a new house, Phoebe was afraid Father Christmas wouldn’t be able to find her. Roy and Sarah promised he would and since then Phoebe insisted Roy stay over on Christmas Eve just in case.

The few nights without Roy have left the house feeling empty. Like Jamie’s waiting for the older man to walk through the door any moment. Jamie even thinks Roy’s feline namesake is looking for him. But his Mummy’s there, and Simon, and his new cat’s cuddled against him, so there’s nothing else Jamie could want for.

“Time for bed, love,” Georgie tells Jamie, when his third yawn in the last thirty seconds escapes his lips. “Besides, Father Christmas might not come if you’re not in bed.”

Georgie scoops the cat up in her arms, so Jamie pushes the scooter, smiling at each push. How had he not purchased one of these earlier? A few areas in his house are just one step, like into the kitchen, but he can still use it pretty well throughout his ground level. He’s grateful to Roy for it, even if Roy the cat might not be as grateful. His feline friend has taken to following Jamie around, so he’ll just need to double-check from now on. Maybe he can put Roy in the basket. He thinks the little lad might like that.

Jamie smiles, looking at his cast and it’s fresh graffiti as he places it in the grooves of the pillow on his bed. He loved spending time at the Children’s Hospital and wanted to talk to Keeley to see if they could visit more often as a team or even on his own. The forced downtime during the previous fortnight had given Jamie a lot to think about, and one thing was the many ways he wanted to give back, both with his money and his time. Maybe he could talk to Higgins about the money part. Higgins always seemed to know what was going on. He figured the man could at least point Jamie in the right direction.

He looks away from the children’s signatures on his cast when he feels his Mum’s eyes on him. She’s cradling the cat against her, looking at him with that look she sometimes gets. It makes Jamie feel like a jellyfish, bones and tendons turned soft by his mother’s love. She places the cat on the bed, and he saunters to Jamie, curling against his hip. Georgie follows the cat to the bed, lying on her side looking at him. Jamie turns his head so they’re looking at each other.

“Do you remember Christmas Eve when you were little?” she asks, a smile ghosting across her lips.

Georgie’s in her twenties again in Jamie’s eyes. She’d barely been eighteen when he was born. She always said they’d grown up together, but Jamie thinks she was more grown at eighteen than he is at twenty-six. Jamie couldn’t fathom the idea of having an eight-year-old now. His Mum was around his age when his father came back into their lives. It seems impossibly young now.

Georgie doesn’t look much different from what Jamie remembers her looking when he was a child. Her jewellery is a little more posh, courtesy of gifts from Jamie, but other than that, only a few minor signs of ageing had kissed her skin, a few more lines on her face, but Jamie knew they were smile lines because Georgie was always smiling when Jamie was around.

“We’d bake cookies to leave out for Father Christmas.”

“You’d always insist we leave extra for Mother Christmas and carrots for the reindeer,” Georgie says.

“Yeah, well, everyone leaves them out for Father Christmas, but what about her? She’s doing everything back at the North Pole. She deserves cookies, too.”

“You are the sweetest boy, my love,” Georgie says, stroking his cheek. “How did I get so bloody lucky to have you?”

“I’m the lucky one. I may not have realised it then, but everything you did for me, all the sacrifices you made for me,” Jamie says, his eyes filling with tears as he attempts to blink away. He doesn’t want to cry because then Georgie will cry, and it’ll be a whole thing. “I can never repay you, Mummy.”

“Jamie, baby. There’s no repayment for Mums,” Georgie says.

Jamie wonders if the same is true for fathers as well. Or if it’s only wrong when it’s his own father.

“You are the greatest gift I’ve ever received. The only thing I want is for you to be a good lad and do what makes you happy, and that makes me the luckiest Mum in the world.”

Jamie closes his eyes and leans into her touch.

“I love you, Mummy.”

Georgie kisses him on the forehead.

“Love you too, Jaim. To the moon and back.”

Chapter Text

Jamie might be twenty-six, but Christmas morning was still Christmas morning. Even when he was a kid, and they had little money, Georgie always made Christmastime magical for Jamie. Looking back, she must’ve saved for months to put presents for him under the tree. He’s spent every Christmas since he signed his first contract trying to return the favour.

This Christmas morning in London, Jamie slowly pulls himself out of bed, his cat meowing at the disruption to his sleep.

“Sorry, lad,” Jamie tells cat Roy, giving him a scratch under his chin as an apology offering.

Jamie pulls on a pair of flannel pyjama bottoms, ones to match his Mum and Simon that she’d given him last night, along with a fluffy sock for his good foot and a hoodie, grabs his crutches and pulls himself upright. It’s been two weeks since he broke his foot in Qatar, and he’s not allowing his injury to put a damper on his Christmas, not after everything Keeley, Roy and the lads have done for him.

“Merry Christmas!” Simon greets Jamie as he makes his way slowly to the kitchen.

“Happy Christmas, Simon,” Jamie says and leans down to kiss his Mum on the cheek before depositing himself on a stool at the island beside her. “Happy Christmas Mummy.”

“Happy Christmas, baby,” Georgie says, ruffling Jamie’s hair and propping his bad foot in her lap.

“Do you remember waking me up at 4 am when you were little to see if Father Christmas had come?”

“Yes. Sorry, Mummy,” Jamie laughs. “Loved Christmas as a kid. We’d spend all day in our pyjamas, watching movies and playing card games.”

“Well, those will have to wait for later. Roy’s picking you up for training in an hour, yeah?”

“I’m buzzing to see the lads,” Jamie says. “And for the match tomorrow. I wish I were playing, but being there is the next best thing. You two are still coming, yeah?”

“Course, Jamie,” Simon answers. “Now, let’s eat!”

The three make their way to the table, already piled high with pastries. They laugh as they eat, sharing stories of their favourite Christmases past.

“I think my favourite might be the first Christmas after I married your Mum,” Simon says.

“Yeah?” Jamie asks.

“I always spent it with my parents, of course, and Christmas dinner with my brothers and their children, various cousins and aunts and uncles through the years, but I never had a family of my own. And even though you were much past believing in Father Christmas, waking up in the same house and opening presents and sitting by the tree with my own family, it felt right and was something I didn’t know I was missing until I met the two of you.”

“What a sweet thing to say, Simon. You’ve never told me that before,” Georgie says, kissing him on the cheek.

Simon shrugs, and Jamie tries to remember that same morning. He’d taken a bit to warm up to Simon due to his own issues with father figures. But Simon never scared off, no matter how much he tried. Simon kept showing up, and eventually, Jamie accepted him as part of his life. Eventually, Jamie welcomed him as part of his life. Simon was good to his Mum, good to him. He was treated like a son more than his father ever had.

“Well, we’re lucky to have you as a part of the family,” Jamie offers. “I’m lucky to have both of you, especially with times like this.”

“You two are going to make me cry,” Georgie says, fanning in front of her face. “I love you both so much. Now finish eating, Jaim, or you’ll be late for training.”

Jamie reluctantly changes from his matching pyjamas with his Mum’s help and into some joggers. He slips a trainer on his left foot, having forgone shoes for slippers most of the time during the past week and a half, and ties it while his Mum slips Bumbercatch’s knitted sock over the exposed toes of his casted foot. He’s ready just in time to hear Roy beep outside to signify his arrival. Cat Roy yowls his displeasure briefly from his spot still curled up on Jamie’s bed.

“Be back soon, lad,” Jamie tells the cat. “And we’ll have a proper Christmas dinner.”

Georgie and Simon follow Jamie to the door, Simon helping him hop down his front stoop while Georgie places the knee scooter in front of him on the walk. The couple follow as Jamie glides towards Roy’s awaiting SUV. Simon stows the knee scooter in the boot while Georgie helps her son into the front seat. She smiles when she sees Roy laid a pillow on the passenger seat floor for Jamie to rest his foot. Simon stores Cockburn’s Secret Santa gift in the backseat and says goodbye to the two men.

“Have fun, lads,” Georgie kisses Jamie on the cheek before carefully shutting the car door.

“Bye, you,” Roy says as the door shuts.

“Are you going to be awkward around me Mum forever?”

“I’m not awkward around your Mum.”

“Yes, you are. You were better the last few days but were proper fucking weird just now.”

“Fuck off.”

“Is it because she’s so fit? I mean, you’ve seen me Dad. I had to get my good looks from somewhere.”

“You’re not going to threaten to cut my fucking eyes out or something if I call your Mum fit?” Roy asks, eying Jamie suspiciously.

“No, because I’m super mature, unlike you, and can handle that my Mum is fit. Doesn’t mean anything if you acknowledge something that’s true. Just means you have good taste.”

Roy growls in response, and Jamie takes it as a victory. With his Mum being so young, he’s always had friends or kids at school comment about her. It’s never bothered him. It’s not like she would ever take up with any of them.

Jamie is vibrating with excitement as they pull into the car park. It’s been over a month since he’s been at the Dog Track, and he’s struck by how much he’s missed it. There was a time when Jamie didn’t think he could picture himself anywhere outside of the Etihad campus. However, Nelson Road has become home somewhere along the road between cleansing ceremonies, cancelled loans, mea culpas, prick signals, and promotions.

Richmond ‘Til We Die.

“You truly are a menace on that thing,” Roy says as they go down the hall towards the changing room. “I’m going to have to talk to Sarah about that. You’re worse than when Phoebe had her first Power Wheel.”

“Sorry, Coach, can’t hear you!” Jamie yells over his shoulder as he rolls into the dressing room, almost colliding with Colin.

At least Colin was accustomed to collisions and near misses when wheeled vehicles were around. And Jamie was still better on the scooter than Colin was in his Lamborghini. A chorus of cheers erupts as the group lays eyes on their injured teammate, and Jamie loses sight of Roy as the manager enters his office.

The team is due on the pitch soon, and after hugs and handshakes, the group disperses themselves as Jamie glides towards the physio's office. The medical staff greet him excitedly before Gail takes him to the formerly haunted treatment room. The team doctor joins them, reviewing everything the surgeon sent over. Jamie’s due for a follow-up with the Orthopaedist in a few days, but the team doctor said all reports were good and he’d connect with the surgeon after Jamie’s next appointment.

In the meantime, Gail ran Jamie through some of the surgeon's assigned exercises and then worked on his sore muscles. His leg, back and arms were slightly less sore after not relying only on crutches for the last day, but Gail’s practised hands still worked out any of the tension he was carrying. She strapped some electrodes to his thigh, something she explained would activate the muscle without him having to exert his injured foot.

By the time he finishes with Gail, the team is streaming by to head to the showers. Jamie makes his way to his locker, sitting in front of his cubby and propping his casted leg on the parked scooter. He waits not so patiently while everyone showers and changes until Isaac, dressed again in his Santa suit, calls everything to order.

Each player is called one by one and presented with their gift by their Secrret Santa. So far, almost everyone has been gifted with a bottle of some expensive liquor, but there have been more and more out-of-the-box gifts each year, following Bumbercatch’s lead. Will was presented with a box full of cash again, Dixon commenting how much the kit man had enjoyed it before, so he repeated. Jamie nervously waits his turn, and eventually, Cockburn is called. Declan excitedly jumps up to stand before Isaac, looking around in anticipation.

“Guess who, mate?” Jamie says, laughing and waiting for his friend to return to his spot beside him on the bench.

Declan slides back onto the bench as Jamie hands him the heavy gift bag. Cockburn pulls the bottle from the bag, grinning, but then seems to realise there’s something else in the bag. He places the bottle on the floor and pulls a tin from the gift bag. Declan slowly removes the lid and smiles at the cake.

“Jamie! Did you make this?”

“I did!”

Cockburn pulls him into a tight hug.

“Jamie, thank you. This is amazing,” taking a bite of the dessert and groaning in delight.

“I brought more, too,” Jamie says, pulling out a tin. “So everyone can have some, but you don’t have to share.”

Cockburn’s smile is so bright, and Jamie is so pleased with himself that he almost misses Isaac calling his name last.

Isaac cleared his throat.

“Jamie Tartt, you may remain seated. May your Secret Santa present himself to you,” Isaac decrees.

Sam jumps from his seat across the changing room and runs into the shower. He returns quickly, holding a large, rectangular wrapped gift. Jamie raises his eyebrows but accepts the large item from Sam. He awkwardly holds it, with Sam’s help, so he can unwrap it. Under the wrapping paper is a large frame, in it his England kit from the World Cup. Jamie hadn’t even bothered to find out what happened to them after the disappointing end of the tournament, but seeing it here made Jamie tear up at his accomplishment.

“I know it didn’t end the way you wanted,” Sam says, looking nervous. “But it’s a great accomplishment, and I thought you should celebrate it. Plus, I am still honoured you chose to wear number 24 to represent your country and on such a big stage.”

“I love it,” Jamie says, pulling Sam into a hug, afraid if he tries to speak more, he’ll lose any semblance of composure he has left.

They’ve come a long way since their first season together, and Jamie couldn’t wait to see where else this journey would take them.

“Can I say something?”

They’ve all sat down to eat around Jamie’s table for Christmas dinner. Georgie, Simon, Roy, Sarah and Phoebe all look at him expectantly. They’re all wearing paper crowns from the Christmas crackers, a feast in front of them on the table.

“The past two weeks haven’t been easy. And getting injured the way I did has been one of the toughest things I’ve had to deal with football-wise.”

Jamie takes them all in. Phoebe’s smile drops slightly, worry and concern wrinkling her brow. Roy briefly looks down at his plate, his face a mirror of his nieces, but Georgie, Simon and Sarah hold his gaze. Cat Roy rubs against Jamie’s good leg under the table, offering his own support.

“I can never thank you all enough for everything you’ve done for me and for showing me the true meaning of Christmas: being with the people we love. So, thank you all.”

Glasses are clinked. Food is enjoyed, Simon and Roy having prepared a feast for Christmas dinner. The meal is perfect to Jamie, as the group shares stories from different Christmases or Hanukkah’s past and the various gifts from the team earlier. Plates are cleared, and Simon returns cheerily.

“Christmas pudding time!” Simon says, bringing the seasonal dessert to the table.

“I think I’ll pass,” Roy says.

“Can’t,” Jamie tells him. “Traditional, innit? Besides, Simon made it so it’s actually quite good.”

Roy grumbles but accepts a slice anyway. Simon distributes plates to Jamie, Georgie, Phoebe and Sarah as well. Roy, the cat, jumps onto the table, sniffing at the figgy pudding. He jumps off the table before anyone can grab him, and Jamie feels the cat rub against his leg under the table, again, no doubt wondering where his slice is. Jamie takes a bite of the Christmas pudding and coughs as he feels something solid in his mouth. Sarah stands up, apparently intent on giving him the Heimlich Maneuver, when Jamie holds up a hand and then slowly pulls a coin from his mouth.

“Jamie!” Phoebe squeals. “You found the coin! That means you’re going to have good luck next year.”

“Well deserved,” Roy says, smiling at him.

Jamie smiles. He’s ready for some good luck.

Half an hour later, Jamie’s watching his cat nuzzle through different pillows, trying to make himself comfortable on Jamie’s couch. Jamie was banished to the sofa while everyone else finished cleaning up.

“Hey! Watch it, Roy!” Jamie says as the cat accidentally knocks Phoebe’s bag to the floor.

“What’d you say?” Roy calls from the kitchen.

“Nothing, Human Roy!”

As Jamie carefully puts everything back into the bag, he holds what he thinks is a blank piece of paper, but he realises it has writing on the other side. Jamie bites his lip as he reads it.

Operation Rudolph #9

CODE NAMES

Jamie - Rudolph

Phoebe - Father Christmas

Uncle Roy - Yukon Cornelius

Keeley - Vixen

Mummy - Cupid

Sam - Comet

Isaac - Prancer

Georgie - Mother Christmas

Simon - Dasher

Dani - Blitzen

Ideas

Decorate Jamie’s cast - everyone

Crafts - Father Christmas

Christmas Tree! - everyone

Gingerbread House - Yukon Cornelius

Hot Chocolate & Puzzles - Blitzen

Movie Marathon - Mother Christmas, Dasher and Yukon Cornelius

Pampering - Vixen

Cooking - Comet

Cat - Cupid

Jamie tries to stop the tears from falling. Everyone visiting him had nurtured his soul all week, but this was something else entirely. He had been feeling down and lonely, but now he felt surrounded by love and support. Not only had his friends and family gathered around to hold Jamie up when he needed them, but they’d also come together as a team to ensure Jamie had non-stop support and love.

Jamie slides the paper back into Phoebe’s backpack, careful not to disturb anything lest they find out he caught on to Operation Rudolph. Sitting alone in the Qatar hospital a fortnight earlier, Jamie couldn’t have imagined all the love he would experience from his friends and family since then. What had Roy said when he picked him up in Birmingham? The only thing worse than being hurt was being hurt and alone. Watching his chosen family around his kitchen, music playing, laughter filling his ears, Jamie might still be injured, but he sure as hell wasn’t alone.