And I Thank You For That Blessing, Namaste

The news broke at half past six. 

TED LASSO PANIC ON THE PITCH

A  conversation that you and only a few had been privy to had become the headline for the entire world to see. Seeing the headline light up your phone, you felt your stomach drop. The silence before the storm of every news outlet in the world getting the story and reprinting the same story about how Ted had a panic attack during a game. You felt the knots in your stomach forming. Every ding of your phone is another version of the same story, forcing you to put your phone on mute as you sit back in your chair at your dining room table, hands over your face. You knew what this must have felt like; you knew the panic and the fear, but you were sure that everyone who knew Ted was feeling bad for him. You sigh, close your laptop, leave your work half done, and grab your phone. Sure, everyone was probably checking in on Tedd, but you knew for some reason you might resonate better. You pushed your laptop into your bag and headed towards your bedroom to change your clothes. Today was going to be a long day. 

- 

You drove yourself to work, parked your car, and headed inside. The building held onto a tense atmosphere you could feel deep in your bones. People clearly knew too much about things they didn't need to know about. Every single one of those people was feeling far too guilty about something they couldn't change. It was suffocating, even if you weren't the victim. You walked to your office, dropped your bag in one of the chairs across from your desk, plopped down in your own seat behind the desk, and logged in to your desktop. You couldn't help but be bombarded with notifications from every news outlet about Ted; it felt like your computer had a virus like when you used Limewire as a teen.

You glanced up, hearing the kitchen door click open and then shut quietly; seeing Rebecca enter your workspace felt somewhat tense, as you usually went to her. Not the other way round. She was looking around before she knocked gently on the door frame to your actual office. Before she sat down in the empty chair across from you. Handing you a pile of papers. You took them with a raised eyebrow. 

"What's this then?" You leaned back in your chair, thumbing through the pile to see what she had even brought you. 

"Resumes, if I have to replace you, I'd rather replace you with someone you picked." She sighed a heavy sigh, shoulders tense with the weight of her club suffering a blow she didn't know how to recover from. "How are you doing? Hopefully well." 

You nod, setting the pile to the side, "I responded to the email about the friendly between the two leagues." Hoping to put Rebecca at a bit of peace. 

She nods, eyebrow raising in anticipation, "And what did you say?" 

You shrug, "I accepted, I've started training again, and I play at the local pitch twice a week. Jamie is worried, though, said I'm picking up too much too quickly." 

She nods, leaning back in the chair, a small smile crossing her face, "he's worried because he likes you, and given your injury history, I'd be worried too. However, I'd trust you not to overdo it. Two games a week is about what they play; besides, it's not like you run drills for work anymore."

You chuckle and nod, "I miss the free physical therapy. Always felt better after that." You look at the photo on your desk, and a small smile comes to you. "I just want to go back to the way it used to be. I know I can't, but I miss being around the pitch every day like before." You clear your throat, "Anyways, how's Tedd?" 

Rebecca lets out a sigh, and her shoulders drop. "You ever meet someone and wonder how can they be so chipper all the time?" 

You nod, "I've met Tedd, yes." 

She nods, continuing, "I just wish he would get mad, fight back, you know? Want to know who the source was! He has no bark or bite; how does he live like that?!" 

You shrug, "I mean, he's always been like that. Trauma does wild things to people, Becca. I became jaded and cut off from people; Roy became an arse. Life ruins everyone differently." 

Rebecca nods, looking at the time, "I hate to cut this short, but I do have to go to some meetings. Have a good day, dear." With that, Rebeca stands up and leaves you in the office by yourself. 

You wave Rebeca off as you sink into your seat, stuck in the executive dysfunction of your mind trying to decide how to confront the day ahead of you. 

On one hand, you could pretend everything was normal and go about your day.

On the other hand, you could try to talk to Ted about what happened. 

Or the secret third option: go on like normal and help Tedd feel like normal. 

The idea hit you like a bolt of lightning striking a clock tower; there was always something more comforting in accepting the truth and being treated as if everything were fine, without pity. Someone very important taught you that; it was only fair you did the same. 

Pulling out your laptop, you got straight to work. Everything you ever knew about Ted would be put to the test. And everything you knew about cooking also was about to be called into question too. You didn't know much about American cooking, let alone Kansas cooking. You knew of BBQ and pizza from Chicago and New York. But you wanted to make Ted something he would like to eat if he could go home right now. While you were buried in your research, you missed Jamie trying to get your attention. 

That was until you felt an arm wrap over your shoulder and watched a large hand gently close your laptop in front of you. Looking up, seeing Jamie above you, you planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. Causing him to smile with boyish glee before looking at you. 

"What's going on here?" Jamie was looking over your shoulder at your computer screen, curiously reading the screen. 

"Thinking of inviting Ted over for dinner tonight. Yeah, know, to keep his mind off things." You let out a deep sigh before leaning back in your chair. "Never hurt anyone to ignore life, right?" 

Jamie shrugs before looking down at you, "You met yourself?" 

You roll your eyes, gently pushing him, "fuck off- you're gonna be late for drills."

Jamie glances at the clock and lets out a sigh before giving you a quick kiss and running out the door, "See you later!" He yelled as the door to your kitchen slammed shut with a heavy thud. 

You roll your eyes before returning to your computer screen and hunt for American food recipes you can make that will hopefully taste as good with the difference in British ingredients vs the American version. 

-

Tedd, Coach Beard, Roy, and Nate all stood on the sidelines watching the teams run drills over and over. While everyone was focused on the team and attempting to coach, Tedd's mind was wandering. The overwhelming feeling of anxiety loomed over him and was wrapping around his neck like a noose that would hang him if he wasn't careful. The mood in the office was dreary this morning, and the team was practically walking on eggshells to help him feel better. Words of support and encouragement were offered to him, and while they were, in theory, helpful, they fell on the shoulders of a man trying to feel some semblance of balance in his brain. 

All the while, Nate stood to the side, watching Tedd mentally spiral. 

Beard nudged Tedd, pulling him out of his spiral, only to alert him that the team was heading inside. Tedd followed, but it felt like he wasn't in his body, sitting in the back seat to himself, on autopilot. The locker room was silent as he walked through, just like a ghost of himself, as he sat at his desk, head in his hands, attempting to ground himself. The others around him were chatting about the game coming up, their last chance to get back into the Premier League. Tedd could hardly listen, and his responses were vague but enough to make it through the conversation. He had seen Jamie walk into the office, but he wasn't really hearing the words until they were truly directed at him. 

"What's wrong with him?" Jamie stood in the doorway of the office, staring at Tedd; his voice was a loud whisper. Next to him was Roy, who stood there with his arms crossed and a frown set on his face. 

"The fucking paper, you idiot." Roy was angry about the whole affair and wanted to strangle whoever was the rat that outed Tedd; he had a feeling, but he didn't have proof. 

"Ah yeah… forgot about that," Jamie slowly nodded, "so what do we do about it?" 

Beard, in his infinite wisdom, shrugged, bewildered, "let the storm pass as it will. And play football." 

Jamie and Roy both turned to Beard with raised eyebrows of confusion, shaking their heads, both letting out a "nah." And went back to watching Tedd. A moment of silence in watching Tedd, Jamie remembered his conversation with you from earlier and piped up. 

"Oi, coach, (y/n) is making dinner tonight and wants you to come over." 

It took a moment for the words to sink in for Tedd before he looked over at Jamie, finally gaining the front seat drive to his own conscience and body. He gave Jamie a weak smile before shaking his head, "That's real sweet of them, Jamie, but I'm not sure I can accept." 

Jamie shook his head; he had learned by now when to push and when to pull back, and this was a push. 

"They are looking up Kansas barbecue for you, and seemed really excited about it." Jamie smiled, thinking back on your conversation from earlier. 

Roy piped up at this bit, knowing you far too well for his own liking, "they aren't going to take no for an answer." 

There was a long pause before Tedd forced his signature smile onto his face and nodded, "alrighty then, what time is supper then?" 

"Uh…" there was a pause before Jamie just shrugged, "probably half past six. Usually when we eat, yeah?" 

The other adults in the room gave a mix of responses to Jamie: Tedd raised an eyebrow, Beard made the yikes face before pretending to read his book again, and Roy just rolled his eyes and walked away to his office. 

Tedd nodded, "alrighty, go on then, get out of here so the coaches can do coach things." Shooing Jamie out of the office. 

Jamie nodded as he exited and shut the door behind him. With the click, Tedd let out a long sigh and slid down in his chair, practically becoming mush in his seat. Beard glanced over the top of his book, looking at his best friend. 

"You good, coach?"

"Peachy keen, coach."

"Alrighty."

"Alright."

-

The one nice thing you'll say about Jamie's house is that it has a beautiful, spacious kitchen. The cons of this kitchen, however? Would the people prefer the list alphabetized, or in the order you witnessed the grievances? 

Since the start of your relationship, you have been slowly migrating your cooking wear and buying actual food into his kitchen. While yes, it still looked like a kitchen out of a House and Garden magazine your mum would forget that she had a subscription to. Granted, he was a footballer, so it was unlikely that he would make much more than high-protein meals that were more bland than the usual British food. Unfortunately, you have been witness to him asking you to make beans on toast more than once. Earning a hard scolding and an egg omelet loaded with good stuff in it. 

For all the brilliance of the tools you brought into his home, and the space and the raid of the local grocery shop, you couldn't help but sit on the floor in front of the oven staring at the pan inside, baking away in frustration. Not because it was a hard recipe, or at least that's what you had thought when deciding to tackle corn bread for the first time. 

The first batter was too dry.

The second did not break down enough during mixing. 

The third one you didn't even want to think about.

But this one? You were hoping it would be just fine. Sure, your pride as a good cook was on the line, but you were hoping it would be edible by now. And while you wouldn't dare besmirch the name of Kansas barbecue without a smoker to cook it in, you found other food you could cook. Steak was an option, and so was fried chicken. You had also read about chili and cinnamon rolls, but ultimately decided on the steak because it was easy enough to make and you knew you wouldn't mess it up. 

You heard the front door open, the loud sound of tired grunts, and the distinct sound of shoes being kicked across the house's foyer. Followed shortly by the sound of keys being put away. You continued to watch the oven intently, making sure nothing burnt. 

"Babe, I'm home!" Jamie's voice rang out loud and clear through the entire house; honestly, it surprised you that he didn't alert the neighbors. 

"Kitchen!" You heard the swift pounding of feet as Jamie came in and sat beside you, now also watching the oven. 

"What did you bake?" Curiosity on every word as the two of you sat there. 

"Corn bread, and it was not easy…" The sound of your timer going off forced you off the ground and to open the oven, careful not to hit Jamie with the door. 

Jamie had scooted back on the floor to give you room as you pulled out the cornbread with an oven mitt and placed it onto a fabric coaster for hot pans. You grabbed a fork out to do the clean fork test, making sure it was completely clean, and nodded in approval of your work. Jamie was grabbing dishes to set the table when the doorbell rang, alerting both of you to the front door. 

"I got it, you good?" Jamie placed the plate in his hand down, heading towards the door. 

You nodded, grabbing the steaks out of the fridge, which had been marinating in seasonings. "Yeah, I'm good." You took the steaks towards the back garden. While Jamie didn't cook much, he did have an unused grill. An unfortunately unseasoned grill, but you could make it work for now.  

Jamie nodded, watching you before heading to the door and opening it fully, knowing Ted would be standing there. The surprise was that he came bearing gifts of booze. Jamie looked his still well-put-together coach up and down once.

"Ello Coach." 

"Good evening, Jamie. I appreciate you having me." He smiled at Jamie and offered the bottle over to Jamie. 

Jamie took the bottle before stepping off to the side to let Ted in the door. "Of course, (y/n) is just in the back garden. Started the grill up." 

Ted raised an eyebrow but nodded, stepping inside the house, letting out a long whistle, observing the fancy house that you had started to make feel like a home. Pictures of both you and Jamie, Man City memorabilia littering the house, and your hobbies in nooks and crannies everywhere. Disheveled couches with blankets and pillows from movie nights, not cleaned up, but a life well lived for the two of you. 

"Nice place you got here, Jamie; must have cost a fortune," Ted comments, following Jamie to the kitchen. He caught a Whiff of the cornbread. "(Y/n) making cornbread?" 

Jamie nodded while they walked, "cost a pretty penny I guess." He looked over to the cooling pan of cornbread and nodded, "yeah, they said they wanted to make something to remind you of home." He looked towards the back garden, "I'm sure they would like the help, yah know? Kansas man and all." 

Ted nodded before excusing himself from Jamie and walked outside, only alerting you by the sound of the sliding door closing. He took a look around the yard, seeing the pool and ample space to entertain guests, which he assumed Jamie used to host parties when he was younger and not as mature as he is now. He turned, seeing you lighting the propane grill and chuckled as you were struggling. 

"You gotta ease her on, can't just jump to the full power of a beauty like her." Luckily, he didn't manage to startle you this time; if he did, he was sure you'd hurt yourself. 

You turn your head slightly, "Maybe I'm purposely trying to be bad at this so you can help me with it, Ted. Ever think about that?" You flash him a smile before moving away from the grill. 

Ted lets out a chuckle, "Either you're really good at acting or really bad at grilling." He joins you and kneels to adjust the propane coming from the tank, then helps light the grill to warm it up. "Slow and steady, like you're gonna make love to it." He was definitely more focused on the grill than you are now, but it was clear he was distracted by it. 

You cross your arms and nod, watching him in his element. "Well, Ted, gonna show me how to grill properly? I would like the pointers, as I'm not a grill master." You gesture to the steaks prepared next to the grill. 

Ted glances at them and nods, "Didn't feel like hunting down a smoker?" He closes the grill lid. "I'd love to show you some tricks, but I'm not a grill master; that comes with age." He looks back inside to the house where Jamie had yet to emerge. "What's Jamie up to?"

You glance through the windows and shrug, "Either setting the table or taking a shower. He always takes one when he gets home, so he doesn't go to bed overheated, yah know?" You sit in a chair close to the grill. 

Ted nods, letting out a small "Ah," and sits down with you. Both of you sit in the silence, Ted bouncing his foot, hands clasped together. You knew this was out of anxiety and his mind must be racing; you go through it too. 

You think for a moment and get up. "Ted, I'm going to grab a water. Do you want a drink? We have beers, water, sparkling, and still." 

Ted glances up, almost in panic, but that smile of his quickly hides it, "I'll take a beer if that's alright." 

You nod, stepping inside to grab a water and beer for Ted. You and Jamie tended to keep the alcohol free in the house, mainly because if you used it for cooking, you found you liked the taste far better than the alternative, and without thinking too much, you grabbed one of those and a bottle of water. You headed back outside, tossing the can to Ted, and sat down with your bottle. You and Ted cheered before cracking open your drinks. You two sat in silence again but this time Ted seemed a bit more at ease. 

"What kind of beer is this? It tastes pretty good!" Ted piped up after a while, looking over the can, "BrewDogs? Non-alcoholic?"

You nearly choke on your water for a second, "Sorry- I grabbed you one of the ones I cook with; it's alcohol free." You go to stand, "I can grab you an actual beer, Ted."

He shakes his head, continuing to sip on it, "It's pretty good; I'm gonna finish it. Thank you." He smiles, standing, and grunts, "Shall we throw those steaks on the grill then?"

You let out a breath of relief and nod, "Sure, coach, teach me your ways of the grill." 

Ted chuckled as he opened the grill back up, "let's get started then."

-

Dinner had come and gone; you and Ted were in the kitchen cleaning up the food you had made. While yes, there was a dishwasher in the kitchen, you and Ted were doing them by hand at your recommendation to make him stay longer. You had grabbed the two actual beers to drink as you cleaned, and somewhere along the line you turned on some old 70s music to listen to while you worked together. 

You were elbows deep in soapy water, scrubbing the cornbread pan clean, when Ted finally moved from the light-hearted atmosphere you had created, comfortably uncomfortable with the feelings he felt and was willing to put out into the world. 

"I appreciate this, it was very kind of you." Ted gestures to the house, mainly to the dishes in the sink he was rinsing. "It was nice to feel normal for a bit and not someone everyone was trying to cheer up, yah know?" 

You nod, handing over the dish for him to rinse, "Yeah, I do know, and I'm glad it helped even just a little bit. You deserve a break from being the center of attention. In a negative way, of course." 

Ted let out a laugh; it was hollow and lonely, and it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, it's been like that the last two years, huh? I don't know what I'm doing, and I'm always in the spotlight for something. This soccer, I mean football, thing ain't easy." 

You nod and nudge him with your shoulder, "If it were easy, it wouldn't be worth the time, and it sure as hell wouldn't be fun." 

Ted nods, the small real smile crossing his face, and for the first time since the story broke, the light reached his eyes. Followed by the tearing up of a tired and broken man who needed a break for once. 

"You know something? This is the most relaxed and at home I've felt since coming over here. Thank you." Ted tries his best to dry off his hands before hugging you. 

Surprising you, but you give Ted a tight hug in return. "You're welcome, Ted. I hope you continue to feel at home here. And if you ever want to come over for dinner, you're always welcome." You squeeze the big man once before letting him go. 

Ted also lets the contact end quickly before looking at the time, "Well, I should let you get on with your night. See you later, alright?" He was heading towards the door. 

You follow him to walk him out, "Of course, Ted. Have a good night." You open the door for him as he bows his head slightly and heads on his way home. 

You shut the door and just stand there for a moment before heading upstairs to the bedroom you share with Jamie. Gently knocking on the door before you walk in on him watching a video on his phone, he glances up at you and shoots you a grin before looking back at the clip on his phone. You roll your eyes before plopping down on the bed next to him, looking over his shoulder to see what he was watching. 

It was an old highlights reel, compilation really, of all of your best saves, from every season you had; it wasn't super long, but long enough to be an impressive-length YouTube video. From what you could tell, it was roughly thirty minutes; you hope whoever posted that got to make some money off ad revenue. That's besides the point.

"Is that how you get off when I don't come over?" You ask as you attempted to grab his phone so you didn't have to hear praise about yourself from former announcers. 

Alas, all attempts were mute as Jamie kept his phone from your grasp, the two of you laughing the entire time. He had thrown his phone at some point and turned to face you completely, held your hands in his directly in front of you, and kissed your nose, a cute little action that always made you smile. 

"If it was, would you hate me for it?" He asks gently, his voice cautious. 

You shrug, "nah, Keeles gets off to Roy crying." You squeeze his hands in yours before kissing his hands gently. His hands were larger than one might assume, and very soft; to be fair, he cared more about his skincare routine than you did most days, so it's not far-fetched to say that he was constantly applying lotion. 

Jamie rolled his eyes, making a face of disgust and shaking his head to get the image out of his head. "Does Ted feel better?" He may not have been able to read the room most of the time, but he was worried about the man who cared enough to bring him back and help him get better. 

You shrug, "We will have to see; I'm not a mind reader." You let out a sigh, "Honestly, I hope so, and if not, well, I tried my best, and we will all get through it." 

Jamie nods before kissing you on your forehead, and in the same motion, pulled you close for a cuddle, resting his forehead against you. Forcing you to be the little spoon for once, as you usually were the big spoon.

"You did everything you could: food, beer, and spent time with him. I think he will be alright." 

You nod, listening to Jamie's heartbeat and matching your breaths to his as you two stayed this way until you both drifted off. 

-

Normally you'd be with the coaches and part of game plan meetings, but somehow today you were part of the fans. Wearing a warm black coat and Richmond scarf with earmuffs sandwiched between Keeley and Rebecca, with a thermos of Brovil in hand as you sat there, knee bouncing in anxiety from, for once, not being in the room where it happens. 

Keeley gently placed a hand on your shoulder, yanking you from deep inner turmoil. A worried expression on her face, "Love, you alright? You look proper nervous."

You nod before giving her a smile that she frowned at, "I'm fine, just nervous. Usually I'm down there." You point to the pitch, "But today I'm the furthest I could get." 

Keeley nods in understanding as she takes your empty hand in hers, "That's understandable, but sometimes separation is important; can't have football be all you and Jamie talk about, can you?" 

You roll your eyes but squeeze her hand, "And if it was?" You had turned into Jamie, or maybe he was turning into you, the small grin crossing your lips. "Nah, we have hobbies and other interests."

Keeley playfully bats at your shoulder with a gasp as the team finally takes the field and the two of you turn to the pitch as the teams walk out, the two of you cheering loudly for the boys, seeing how focused everyone was and excited to pull off a victory to become a premier team again. 

-

"It's the 83rd clash between these two teams and there's never been more at stake. Brentford with the lead but Richmond are still in their unusual false nine formation. I don't like it, Arlo. The last match of the season for promotion. It's a funny time to be pulling out a new strategy."

"Richmond trying to even it up before the half, but they give away possession, and Brentford have numbers."

"And that's 2-nil to Brentford."

"You try new tactics this late with this much at stake and everyone loses their heads."

-

You lean back in your seat, biting at your thumb, arms crossed, and let out a long sigh. Disappointed with the first half of the match. “Well, that could have gone better, I suppose…” You take a sip of your drink. “Anyone else have something shitty to add to this?”

Both Keeley and Rebecca share glances of discomfort over your head. 

Rebecca leans over to you, “I know it’s not the time, but Rupert has bought west ham.” Her voice low as to not alarm anyone around you two. 

You glance over to her with a look of shock and horror: “Absolutely not!” You tried to keep your composure; unfortunately, your voice was sharp, almost a shriek. 

She nods, handing you her phone to read the article, her nervousness evident: “I found out this morning; I thought you had seen.” 

You scroll violently, skimming the article faster than the human eye could read and faster than her phone could really take. You turn in your seat completely and lock eyes with Rebecca. “Well, what are we gonna do about it?” 

She sighs before shrugging, “Compete and destroy him after we get back into the premiere.” Her voice was confident, to the point that you found yourself nodding in full belief of her vows. 

You turn to Keeley, “got anything?” 

She shrugs, “Oh yeah, you know… I’m leaving to become the head of my own PR firm..?” Her voice was quiet and squeaky as she leaned away from you, afraid you might be upset, based on your reaction to the West Ham purchase.

You stop to just stare at Keeley before just hugging her tightly. Clearly catching her off guard, she gives you a hug back, letting out a laugh. “I thought you’d be upset by it!” 

You shake your head, hold her at arm's length, and smile widely. “Absolutely not! That’s great news!” Your smile does dim a bit. “It just means you won’t be here all the time…” 

She nods, patting your shoulder, “I’ll still visit; you can count on that. Since  it is the team's sponsor.” 

You nod, pulling her in one last time before the sound of the team returning to the pitch pulls you to focus elsewhere. 

-

"Richmond down two, sticking with their false nine formation as Brentford are on the attack. Chris, is time running out on Richmond's chances to control their future?"

"Only if you think of time as linear, Arlo."

"Yes, Chris. I do. Good pressure from Rojas. That's lovely from Tartt. Obisanya is in. He scores!"

"And thanks to that Obisanya goal, Richmond's hopes for promotion are still alive."

"That's how you play a false nine, Arlo."

"Pack the midfield, stay organized."

"Look for the gaps. Well done. "

"All the other results are in. AFC Richmond, miraculously, after a historically dreadful start to the season, are only one point out of second place."

"If they can somehow salvage a draw, Richmond will be promoted back to the Premier League."

A long ball from the Dutchman. Tartt is there! Is this the moment for Richmond?

"The referee has called a penalty."

"We have to think Tartt will be the one to take it. He hasn't missed a penalty all season."

"It looks like Tartt is giving the ball to Rojas, who hasn't kicked a penalty since, well..."

"Richmond have done it! With that goal, they'll finish in second place and will return to the Premier League in their very first attempt."

-

Just like that, with the final kick, the final penalty kick, the final point, Richmond had tied up the game. 

Richmond was back in the premier. 

The stadium lit up; cheers and screams of excitement, tears of joy and relief could be felt in the soul of everyone who dared to dream for Richmond. Everyone around you was up on their feet screaming and cheering. Hugs and high-fives were exchanged with people close by; the excitement pulled everyone in, the entire stadium singing and chanting "We are Richmond till we die" loudly, ringing in your ears; the buzz of excitement had pulled you in as well, exchanging hugs and handshakes with people around you. You couldn't hold back your happy tears; everything the team had gone through this season had built up and been resolved in the best outcome it could have, and you couldn't have been happier. 

Rebecca gently nudged you, moving so you could pass her if you needed, "Go, go congratulate him." 

It was all she needed to say; you nodded, excusing yourself and heading inside from the owner's box, towards the elevator, pressing the first-floor button. You bounced and paced in place as the elevator slowly descended to its planned stop. The second the doors opened enough, you pushed yourself out, glancing around to see if anyone was around, and upon seeing no one, you were bounding towards the locker room, only pretending to walk if you passed anyone; those you passed paid you little mind, or even cheered you on towards your destination. 

You slammed the locker room door open with your arrival; the entire team turned to see you in the doorway and cheered. Starting another round of "We are Richmond till we Die" around you all over again, the team pulled you into the chant, and you couldn't help yourself from singing with them, high fives, hugs, and fist bumps shared amongst the team. You glanced to see Jamie absorbed into the affair, right beside you. Both of you making eye contact. He flashed you a smile, and with that you made your move.

Amidst the chaos, you had grabbed Jamie by the collar of his kit, pulling him into a feverish kiss. One full of every feeling you had been holding in, a release of the pent-up energy that you had been holding. A kiss full of every ounce of Love and care you had for him, as if you'd never be able to kiss him again. It was messy, it was hot, it was passionate. It was met with the same level of passion, although, being surprised, Jamie had recovered quickly, holding your face in his hands, in a way to hold you as close as possible, his pent-up feelings hitting yours back and mingling and intertwining with yours. The two of you only separating when needing air. The two of you laughing and resting foreheads against each other. 

The entire locker room had started hooting and hollering at you and Jamie's display of affection, teasing him, but in complete jest. 

"Oooh Tartts got a lover!"

"Better hope they can handle your personality."

"And his hair care routine."

"Tartts in loveeee"

"Jamie and (y/n) sitting in a tree!"

Jamie puffed up his chest with a grin, "I do got a lover, a partner, more than you lads got!" his arm found your waist in a childish display.

The team let out a bunch of boos or rolled their eyes at him because Jamie wasn't wrong.

But he wasn't done. Jamie nodded with pride, "(y/n) is the best person I've ever met, you'd be lucky to meet someone as good as them!"

You couldn't help but roll your eyes at the childishness of the others around you. And nudge Jamie ever so slightly, "Go shower, I've got plans for us."

"Got it! I'll be quick!"  Jamie's face lit up like a Christmas tree as he stole another kiss from you and disappeared into the showers.

You chuckle, shaking your head, and turn back to the team. 

We're Richmond till we die

We know we are, we're sure we are

We're Richmond till we die

“You know, staring at your phone like that isn't going to make you feel better.” The cheerful voice of the night shift charge nurse rang clear in the quasi-quiet emergency department. Lena was looking over to her left, where the Night shift senior Attending had parked himself to do some charting and check his phone for the hundredth time in what was probably less than an hour.

The doctor in question, Jack Abbott, Senior Attending, did not glance up, nor did he acknowledge the voice that spoke to him. Instead, he continued to stare at his phone, at the photos of time and people long gone. Some due to moving, others due to tragedy, and others due to heartbreak. Jack was a sentimental man; he never wanted to forget people. If he forgot them, then the memories and legacies those people had fought so hard for, sacrificing so much for, would die. He could never bring himself to let himself be the last person to forget them, so he kept those people close to his chest.

Lena frowned, watching him fully now, before she scooted her chair across the tile floor and placed her hand over the screen of his phone, but not touching it, to catch his attention. “Jack, hun, are you ok?" Lena's voice was soft; the world knew who she spoke to. Jack spoke in soft voices, and the world around them crumbled. The existence of someone so important to Jack was such a secret to the world, with good reason.

Jack looked up, startled by Lena giving him a small, surface-level warm smile before putting his phone down on the lip of the desk. “Hm? Oh yeah, I'm fine. Just looking at old photos,” he pocketed his phone before looking at the patient board. “My therapist says it's healthy to miss missing people, as long as it doesn’t consume you. I'm trying not to let them consume me, you know?”

Lena nods, placing her hands on top of Jack's and gives them a squeeze, “Of course, if you need to talk, though, I'm here for you. I know how much they meant to you.” She gives Jack a sympathetic smile.

Jack nods, patting her hand before pulling away to take care of a patient.

---

“I enlisted.”

Jack's voice broke the silence between you as you sat together on the couch in your parents' basement. The space doubled as a secondary living room, the TV on with some random movie playing on cable. The coffee table had pizza, wings, and sodas, half-eaten. You and Jack watched close together—close enough that if anyone walked in, you didn't look suspicious. Still, people might assume you two were young and in love.

You glance up, a frown forming on your face, “Yeah?”

You and Jack had been friends for a long time, ever since your family moved to the neighborhood. You did everything together: summer camps, school, sports—anything you could think of. You also shared everything: secrets, deepest fears, crushes. Your parents always joked that you and Jack would get married if you could, and you’d both laugh it off. Jack never thought of it that way—or so you believed. So you kept your crush secret. His telling you about enlisting felt like a sucker punch, but you fought hard not to let your disappointment show.

Jack still stared at the TV. "Yeah, I want to do something good, and they'll pay for school. Being a medic, saving lives—it's good work, helping people, you know." He smiled gently, finally glancing at you.

You felt your face flush, skin prickling with sudden anxiety as his smile caught your eye. Quickly, you tore your gaze back to the TV and swallowed—hard. "Yeah, but what if you get somewhere dangerous?" Your voice wavered, the fear in your chest leaking out in tremors. He was your best friend; the thought of losing him squeezed your heart. Still, you forced your trembling question, unable to hide the raw edge in your tone.

"Well, yeah, it's not like I'm joining to sit in a cubicle," Jack said, rolling his eyes. He draped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you close. "I want to help people, and if it's dangerous, so be it." He felt you stiffen, but didn't let go. "Besides, guys look better in uniform."

His joke earned a weak eye roll, but your hands clenched in your lap. How could you accept the risk your best friend might not come home? A chill raced down your spine, dread pooling in your chest. You shoved the ache—and everything you felt for Jack—into a quiet corner of your heart. Finally, you met his gaze. "Fine. When do you leave?" you asked, voice-controlled but raw.

Guilt flickered across Jack's face. He couldn't meet your eyes. He had waited so long to tell you that now it was the day before he left. The silence hung between you, thick as smog.

The silence said everything.

"Jack." You jerk away, swiveling to face him fully. Your voice was level, but your eyes brimmed, and the aching pressure behind your ribs threatened to crack through your calm.

"I leave tomorrow." His words came out barely above a whisper, his gaze still unable to reach yours. He sat on your parents' couch, his hands in his lap, shoulders hunched in on himself, terrified. He let out a shaky sigh, burying his own panic in each word. "I didn't know how to tell you..." His voice was softer than you thought it could ever be with you.

You stared at him, pain flashing in your face. Seeing your best friend shrink away twisted your insides. Your breath hitched, hands shaking as you raked your fingers through your hair, then pinched the bridge of your nose. You hunched, elbows on your knees, burying your head in your trembling hands, fighting for steadiness.

“unbelievable...”

Jack looked up at you in concern, wanting to console you but retreating his hand away from your shoulder, “I’m sorry- I couldn't find the right time to tell you and like that... well, I leave tomorrow.” he let out an awkward laugh, “There goes asking you to drop me off.”

You glance up, scowling even more than before, “What? Were you just going to surprise me by enlisting me, dropping me off at basics with no context? Jack Abbot, are you insane?”

He shakes his head, much to your bemusement; he looks like a child who is being scolded by their parents. “No- well, I dunno, seemed like not a half bad idea at the time... but I didn't want to see you upset when you realized what I was going to do. So I'm telling you now.”

You stare at Jack in utter bewilderment before hitting him with a pillow. “Jack Abbott, you’re a fucking jerk!” You kept hitting him with the pillow mercilessly. Anger quickly faded into amusement, and soon both of you burst into laughter as the one-sided assault became a playful war between two best friends.

-

The next morning, you left before dawn. Your parents had already prepped your car for the long drive, packing Jack's things and yours until it was full. The drive was quiet, Jack getting as much sleep as he could while you focused on the road. You changed stations when the radio faded and stopped for gas frequently so you wouldn’t get stranded. Your hands gripped the wheel tightly. Occasionally, Jack woke when you stopped for food or gas, and you checked if he needed anything.

The parking lot for people dropping off enlistees was packed, with so many recruits and families to support their loved ones, and you felt like a fish out of water.

Jack looked around at the large crowd and let out a low whistle. “This is a lot of people...”

You nod, trailing behind him, staring at your shoes. Each step feels heavier, a chill crawling up your spine. The cold wave of despair you’d tucked away rises, squeezing your heart. You watch families cling to their sons and daughters, the air thick with tearful goodbyes. A hard lump forms in your throat, panic whispering that this could be your last glimpse of Jack. Your mind tumbles: Will he ship out now? Will he come home in a box? "Promise me you’ll write?" Your voice cracks, barely audible.

Jack had been distracted, looking around, and stopped dead in his tracks. Hearing your voice broke him out of his stream of excitement, and he whipped his head around to look at you. He stood there for what felt like an eternity before he pulled you into a tight hug. His hand gently rubbed your back as he cooed and shushed you like a parent, clearly flustered that their child was crying. His head rested on your shoulder. "Of course I’ll write. Please don’t cry, (y/n)."

You gripped the back of his shirt tightly, the tears you had tried to push back finally surfacing. Burying your face into Jack's shoulder, you couldn't help but cry now. The emotions of people around you were getting to you, or that's what you had told yourself. “I'm trying not to,” you choked out in an attempt at humor.

“I know, I know.” Jack let out a chuckle, still holding on to you before lifting his head ever so slightly, adjusting, and getting a look at your face, and studying it.

He was afraid he might forget it, the lines that had started to form from the amount of time you spent frowning at people in disappointment. Your facial expressions were always loud and clear, even if you never said anything. He looked at your lips, thinking about the way they curved into a smile, the signature grin you'd wear when you were getting away with something dastardly. he held you tightly for as long as he could, before shouting could be heard for all the new recruits.

Reluctantly, Jack grabbed his bag out of the backseat, slamming the car door after he had put his bag on his shoulders. He let out a disappointed huff before turning back to you one last time. Standing square with you, Jack gently and quickly gave you a kiss on the forehead. The shock of it made your ears burn red, and your world feel slightly dizzy.

“Don't forget to write!” Jack called. Before you had time to react, Jack was already walking away, waving you off as he disappeared onto the government-issued travel bus that would take him away for the next several weeks, leaving you all alone, watching the bus drive off into the distance.

You don't know how long you stood there; it must have been a long while, but you finally got back in your car for the long drive back to Pittsburgh by yourself, and the loneliness that came with it.

---

"He looks like someone died." John took a long sip of his iced coffee, standing in the hallway with his arms crossed, watching the far end. "He looks like a sad puppy." He glanced at the other attending next to him, who was finishing up orders for a patient.

Dr. Ellis, Parker, barely glanced down the hall. She knew John meant Jack, and rolled her eyes before clocking out. "Maybe someone did. You should ask," she said with a snide smirk, patting John. "Then tell me how he scolds you," she added, walking away.

John quickly followed after her, “It's not my fault, he looks so miserable! I thought it was just age!” John followed Ellis to the nurses' station.

It had been mostly quiet, a few traumas here and there, but nothing horrendous. The two doctors sat down to catch up on charting, perched within earshot of their Senior Attending and Charge Nurse, hoping to hear what was distressing Jack. Ellis and John knew Jack didn't talk much about his feelings, but they worried about him. He buried those feelings well, but sometimes it was too much.

"So..." Jack put his hands in his pockets and looked at the patient board, bouncing on his feet and avoiding Lena's eyes. "If I wanted someone to talk to, and not get therapy advice, would you be willing to hear me out?"

Lena had just returned to her desk after getting herself a cup of coffee and nodded. “I can, but only if you want me to.” She looked at Jack with her arms crossed, “Why? What's going through that head of yours?”

Jack shrugged, almost defensively, “Nothing, nothing, just... missing them, you know?”

Lena nodded, deciding to believe Jack at face value rather than fight him. "Of course, hun, missing people you care about is always hard."

Jack shrugged, “Usually it's not this hard, you know?"

Lena raised an eyebrow, “Jack you know better than anyone that grief is never linear, its always going to come back and hurt, maybe not as bad as before but its still hard."

Jack let out a dry chuckle, “Yeah, that's fair...”

Lena nodded before she started to work on her desk work, as he turned to check on one of his patients in the north wing. Lena glanced over at the other two attending who had been lurking. “I’m sure he will be fine.”

Ellis and John nod before leaving the nurses' station. Lena rolled her eyes before continuing to type away at her computer.

---

The cafe was unusually loud for this time of day. Students were studying, friends chatted, people took work calls, and the sounds of coffee beans grinding and orders being called out filled the air. You looked down at your laptop, working on a paper and comparing medical journals. This was another doctorate for you, another thesis—this time more for fun than anything else. Finishing your residency not long ago felt like such a milestone, but as you moved away from Pittsburgh to complete it, you hadn’t expected how hard it would be to find a job somewhere new. Coming back felt almost like defeat, but also like relief; Pittsburgh was familiar, comforting in a way that made you almost resent it. A swirl of feelings followed you: uncertainty about what the future would look like, pride at what you’d accomplished, guilt for feeling lost even after so much success. Would you ever feel truly settled? Or was ambition just another way to keep moving so you didn’t have to feel stuck? You glanced at your watch to check the time.

16:37

You sighed and took a sip of your coffee, which felt like your lifeline these days. You were just passing time before heading to the airport. Your flight was at the brutal hour of 4 a.m., but you’d rather sleep at the airport than bother your parents. This was your third year being away from home like this. Patients Without Borders was never easy. This time, you were headed to the Middle East again. It wasn’t your first trip there, and you knew it wouldn’t be your last. You loved your work and felt it was truly meaningful. You started typing again, but then felt the table shift, as if someone had sat down across from you. Most of your friends had moved away for residencies or school, and you’d lost touch with your high school friends long ago. Your parents were probably at home, watching a home improvement show while your dad tried to talk your mom out of renovating the whole house. You looked up to see who had joined you.

You looked up and saw a handsome face with honey-brown eyes, slicked-back brown hair, and a goofy smile. You almost spilled your coffee on your laptop in surprise. You probably looked ridiculous—wide-eyed and mouth open. Sitting across from you was Jack, your Jack, Abbot. He laughed, then propped his elbows on the table and rested his chin in his hands, just smiling at you.

“You know I did try to get your attention before I sat down.” Jack's voice was like music to your ears; it had gotten a bit gruff from the years apart, but still had that boyish shine to it.

You hurried to clear the table, nearly knocking over your coffee again. Jack caught it while you packed up your laptop and books, dropping your bag to the floor with a thud. For now, nothing mattered except that Jack was here.

“Yes, well, I’ve been busy trying to write a medical journal article, which is honestly much harder than the board exams.” Your cheeks hurt from smiling so much, but you couldn’t stop.

“Yeah, I heard the journal committee rejects papers eight times or more before they finally print one. You’re on your ninth, right?” Jack joked, but he wasn’t far off.

“Tenth, but I’m working with a few others on it.” You let out a relieved sigh. “When did you get back?” you asked, grabbing his hands from under his chin and holding them, just to make sure he was really there.

“Not that long ago, maybe a few weeks?” He smiled at you, holding your hands and giving them a firm but gentle squeeze to show he was really there.

A quiet moment passed between you. Jack's gaze dropped to the tabletop, his fingers toying with the paper coffee sleeve as if searching for something to say. He shifted in his seat and glanced out the window, jaw clenched ever so slightly. When you caught his eye, he managed a half-smile that dimmed at the corners. He seemed about to speak several times, but the words didn’t quite make it out. Finally, he shrugged one shoulder, and you noticed the way his leg angled differently beneath the table, the way his hands held yours tightly, knuckles white. There was a tiredness in his eyes, a weight that hadn’t been there before, and though he joked and smiled, something painful flickered beneath the surface—like he was still figuring out how to fit inside his own skin.

You hadn’t forgotten Jack, but school kept you busy, and over time, you talked to him less and less until you stopped altogether. Sometimes, in the quiet between assignments, you’d thought about calling him, but it had always felt too awkward. In his absence, you filled that space with new people, but it was never quite the same. You hated that you let your best friend slip away, that you’d let unanswered calls and too-long silences build a wall between you. Even now, sitting across from him, guilt twisted in your stomach—your chest felt tight and your mouth dry, as if the words you owed him had been trapped there for years. Life had gone on without him, but there were moments, like this one, where you wondered how much you had lost by letting him go.

“So… what are you doing after this? Maybe we could get dinner, grab a drink, or hang out at my place? You know, just to catch up.” Jack’s thumbs gently stroked the back of your hands.

You smiled, feeling a wave of guilt. “Sure, as long as you promise to take me to the airport by three a.m.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

Jack raised an eyebrow in surprise but kept holding your hands. “Oh? Yeah, of course. Where are you going?” He was genuinely curious, since you were usually a homebody. “Going on vacation now that you’re done with residency?” he joked.

“If you call the Middle East a vacation, and working for a year a vacation, then sure,” you joked back, though just mentioning the Middle East made things tense. You tried to move on. “I’m going to do Patients Without Borders. It’s my third year with them.”

Jack nodded, let go of your hands, and stood up. He picked up your bag and smiled. “Well then, I’d better make the most of our time. We have a lot to catch up on.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, grabbing your suitcase. “I guess we do. Can we get pizza or something? I need something that’ll put me in a food coma before my flight.” You followed Jack out of the cafe, the two of you chatting as if no time had passed.

—

The late-night hours were always tough. But eventually, the sun always came up. Hard nights ended with the sunrise. On the hardest nights, Jack found himself on the roof, standing behind the safety bar. By seven in the morning, another shift was done. The quiet of Pittsburgh at night faded as the city woke up. Jack stood at the edge, watching the world come alive. He wasn’t alone. His best friend and partner in crime joined him, and together, they took in the view.

“I’ve said it before, but if you die on my shift, that would be pretty rude.” Robby spoke quietly, like he was talking to a wild animal that might turn on him.

Jack gave a small laugh. “You’re right.” After a long pause, he cleared his throat. “It’s their birthday today.”

Robby nodded. “You should visit. You can’t run from your ghosts forever.”

Jack looked over at Robby. “You’re one to talk. You never take your own advice, and it always backfires.”

Robby laughed, scratched his neck, and leaned over the railing to meet Jack’s eyes. “Yeah, that’s fair. I deserve that. It’s the perfect excuse.”

Jack nodded, silent for a moment. “It would be if I did it every year. But I haven’t, and I'm not sure I'm strong enough to do it.”

“You can’t raise what isn’t there.” Robby patted Jack’s shoulder. “Come on, you can't run from it forever, it will kill you.”

Jack nodded, stayed out a few more minutes, then followed Robby into the busy emergency department, where life kept moving no matter what.

-

COVID had been rough.

An understatement.

COVID had been a nightmare. Each day brought a fresh wave of anxiety, leaving you feeling helpless and raw. Uncertainty gnawed at you, and fear settled in your chest, tightening with every update. Your worry shifted from mild inconvenience to aching dread for your family—especially your parents, isolated and vulnerable. The separation from colleagues compounded your loneliness. Trapped in New York for a conference, licensed to practice medicine, you worked day and night alongside others, saving a few lives and losing too many. The exhaustion was bone-deep. Therapy couldn't reach the depth of your weariness. You pushed through, afraid that admitting your pain would shatter you completely, and you simply couldn't afford to break.

​You sat hunched on the ambulance bay curb, head in your hands, desperate for a scrap of peace. The moment shattered with your phone’s sharp ring. Your hand trembled as you answered. The tension in your throat almost choked your words, and you didn’t know if you were crying or just gasping out sounds. Frustration and anguish tangled together: had you lost the ability to even know your own feelings? How could the world have become this hopeless?

“(y/n)? Hey, you ok?”

Jack

Jack Rabbit called you.

The sound of his voice jolted you, like sunlight piercing fog. It pulled you out of your mental cage and reminded you that you were still alive, still fighting a war in medicine. Relief and grief collided as you realized Jack was well. Suddenly, tears pricked your eyes—tears you’d barely felt begin—and you choked out an exhausted laugh, no longer able to hold anything back.

“I'm here-... I'm ok, I'm fine,” you rasped. Tears slid faster down your cheeks; you shoved trembling fingers at them, but more kept coming. You stared numbly at the alley wall by the ambulance bay, all power stripped away.

“You don't sound like it. Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?” Jack's voice was concerned, always the hero he was. However, he couldn't protect people from something you all, as doctors, could hardly understand. You also couldn't ask him to travel. You managed a laugh—hollow, rough, stripped of light. “I can't ask that of you… Just...” You dragged in a breath, wrangling your voice down. “Please, just stay on the line with me.”oice. “Just stay on the phone with me.”

There was a silence,  and you could hear shifting on the other end of the line, but it was short-lived.

“I'm here. Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to just talk about things?” Jack's voice was soft, comforting, warm, and best described as round. It was all-consuming, a“Just talk about things. I'm so tired, Jack.” Your voice cracked, heavy with weight and fatigue. “I just want to go home, but I’m nailed here, can’t even leave New York. I want to see my parents. I want something as simple as a home-cooked meal. Everything hurts. I just want this all to stop.” Make, I just want this hell to be over.”

There was a long silence on Jack's end, just the sound of shifting clothing and the distinct crinkle of the COVID PPE suit. He let out a tired sigh—an old man sigh. “Well then, I'm not sure what to talk about because that's been our lives for the last few months… Is it warm in New York?”

You shrug, “I think I've gotten used to it; it was fucking cold when I first got here, and I thought Pittsburgh was horrible.”

Jack lets out a small chuckle, “Yeah, but I mean, the snow must suck when they get it.”

You could feel a smile creeping back. “Yeah, that was awful. I don't think I've been that deep in snow before.” You sigh, scratching the back of your neck. “Hey, Jack?”

“Yeah?”

“I miss you.”

-

7:00 am

The end of shift.

Handovers had been completed before then; it was time to hit the road. Jack was always the first to encourage his staff to leave early for their mental health. He was no different but stalled as long as he could, finally forced out by Robby. He contemplated every choice and made every excuse to not come, avoiding his ghost. He wished the ghost would linger, but the house was too quiet, and your scent was long gone. The brightness of his life was gone. The therapy helped, but couldn't bring back the dead. He sat in his car, staring out, trying to steel his nerves. Flowers, your favorite, sat in the passenger seat. You'd only mentioned them once as teens, but he held onto that forever.

Jack let out a heavy sigh, forcing himself out of the car. He grabbed the flowers, slammed the door, and trudged across the large, grassy expanse. Every step toward you weighed on him. He wanted to turn around, to run, but he was past his own point of no return.

The walk felt forever.

He finally approached you, kneeling down and brushing the grass and dirt away before setting the flowers down with gentle care. He sighed deeply, the weight of his sorrow pressing on him. He sat fully, burying his face in his hands, as he listened to the birds and the city in the distance.

“The new intern cycle started again.”

He was trying to find anything to help him process missing you. He started updating you on his life, even though you couldn't respond. At least it felt like you could listen.

“They are a good batch of kids. Santos is a bit rough around the edges, but she and Robby get along well,” he let out a small chuckle. “Robby finally took a vacation. He was in a dark place, but I think he's doing better.”

The silence of his imagining what you'd say in response ate at his heart; he was biting back tears to keep talking. Maybe if he kept talking, he wouldn't cry; he could outrun himself.

“He was in a really dark place after everything the past few years. I'm glad he's doing better. I'm doing ok. I'm seeing a therapist; they're great. I'm a SWAT medic when needed. I know you'd yell at me for putting myself in harm's way on my day off, but I feel like it's good. You understand, right?”

The silence was suffocating. Jack swiped at his damp cheeks, struggling to steady himself as tears spilled over. He tried to clear his throat, but emotion constricted his voice. A hollow, shaky laugh escaped—half sadness, half surrender to the pain.

“Everyone misses you. You would love the kids the most. Whittaker is such a farm kid. Santos would learn from you. Javadhi would teach you about being young, and you'd teach her about self-worth. Dana sends her love.”

He forced himself to take a deep breath . “I miss you. I miss your laugh, your smile, the way you'd scold me when I burned myself out thinking it would fix everything. I miss the feel of your hand in mine. I miss all of it. Every piece of you.” He lingered in the quiet until he forced himself upright, standing over you. The smile he shaped was jagged, painful, more wound than comfort. He exhaled, shuddering. out a long breath he had been holding.

Oh, to be a surgeon.

standing over someone and trying to keep their heart beating. You’re doing everything you can to save this teenage girl’s life, hoping your efforts are enough. Her life is slipping away because of something she couldn’t control, and no one should have to go through this. What would you say to her parents? How would you even begin? The world around you fades away. Tunnel vision and adrenaline push you forward. But what does it cost you?

Your arms start to ache, burning from the effort as you keep doing chest compressions. You can’t stop. You have to save her. You can’t let her die because you didn’t try hard enough. Suddenly, someone makes you stop. Voices swirl around you, but it’s like you’re underwater and everything sounds muffled.

“Time of death: 17:58,” you called out, barely recognising your own voice.

Everything blurs as you try to blink away your tears. There’s no time to break down. Everyone is looking to you, the doctor. You shake your head and try to hold it together.

“Elsswin, close her up.” Your voice shakes as you give the order. You leave the room, putting your fellow attending in charge. In the sterilization room, you wash your hands, trying to scrub away the feeling of failure. Through the window, you watch your student finish the close-up, and see the girl you couldn’t save lying on the table.

You just want this to be over.

—

Your alarm clock blares, dragging you out of a sleep that barely felt like rest. You reach out from under the comforter to hit snooze, but a larger hand covers yours. Warm fingers lace with yours, and a heavy arm pulls you back against a familiar chest. You feel the soft scratch of a well-groomed beard on your neck as he plants gentle, teasing kisses. When you finally turn over, you see his lazy smile and the crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes as he kisses your forehead.

Michael ‘Robby’ Robinivitch. He’s handsome, with a sharp jawline, a neat beard, and dark eyes that show he’s seen a lot. He’s a senior attending at Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center, a bit of a grump, but the kind who brings you flowers when you’re having a rough day. He tries to send you memes to make you laugh, even if he’s not great at it. For all his bluster, he always makes sure you know you’re loved, whether through words or actions.

“Morning, sunshine.” Robby’s voice is low and rough, clearly his first words of the day. The soft dawn light falls on him as he kisses your forehead, then gets out of bed, leaving you in the cool space he left behind. He groans and stretches before shuffling off to the bathroom.

You roll your eyes and push yourself out of bed. You grab your deep purple scrubs from the dresser, a sign of your job as a surgeon, and a backup set just in case. You don’t forget your underwear and socks, then head back to the bedroom. Since you showered last night, you get dressed quickly and head to the kitchen to make coffee and breakfast for both you and Michael.

Soon, Michael joins you in the kitchen, humming as he makes fried eggs and turkey bacon for both of you. The quiet of the early morning and the smell of coffee and breakfast fill the apartment, making everything feel slow and peaceful. You lean against Michael and watch him cook.

Michael breaks the silence. “I’ll drive today. It’s too cold for a walk.”

You hum quietly, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

He chuckles. “I don’t control the weather, and Pittsburgh decided freezing was the only option.” He turns off the stove and puts food on two plates.

You nod and pour coffee for both of you. “Hell did freeze over. Did you want to drive together?”

Michael nods and carries the plates to the table. “Let’s just hope your surgeries don’t run long.”

You roll your eyes and set his coffee in front of him. “And as long as there’s no major problems in the real world, your day runs long.” You sit down and quickly eat your breakfast.

You and Michael eat together, sharing quiet conversation and comfortable silence. Breakfast and coffee have become your morning ritual, a calm moment before the chaos of work. He’s the Senior Attending in the ER. You’re an attending in Surgery, trauma certified, but mostly working as a general surgeon. The trauma team reports to you, so you still get called down when needed. You were there for the Pittsfest mass casualty, working closely with Dr. Walsh to handle the ORs and save as many lives as possible. The hospital saved 106 people that day.

The quiet of your morning continues during the drive to work, with Michael’s playlist playing in the truck. He might have a motorcycle, but he also drives a pickup. The first time you saw it, you rolled your eyes, but you always feel safe when he’s driving. Maybe it’s his skills, but you trust him, even when the roads are bad.

—

The bright lights of the emergency department never failed to shock you out of your morning fog. Between the bright lights and the general loud noise of the ER, it was a shock that anyone, staff or not, held it together long enough to get through their time down here. Not that it was much better on your floor, but most of your patients were quiet, either from the toll the surgeries took on their bodies or from the anesthesia. You always walked in this way with Michael. Something about leaving him down here in the pit made you nervous. You knew he could and would take care of himself, but you couldn't help the feeling of dread that would occasionally wash over you if you didn't walk with him into the pit. You knew it was childish, but it was rooted in trauma, and he knew that; he never pushed to talk about what you went through. You and he walked in sync, but he walked off to put his bag and coat in his locker, leaving you alone at the nurses' station. Both Lena and Dana were at the desk, doing their morning ritual, the hand off, and both of them looked up, seeing you hovering.

“Well, good morning sunshine, how was your drive?” Dana, the mother hen of the day shift, blonde badass who honestly intimidated you as she should, put her glasses atop her head, watching you watching the ER patient monitor.

You shrug your hands in your coat pockets, “cold as hell out there, hear it's supposed to snow again, but honestly, the ice is what's getting really bad out there.”

Lena lets out a sigh, “Welp, welcome to Pittsburgh.” She smiles, seeing some of the other attendings coming in from the cold. “Hope that it's not too bad for your shift, weather like this usually keeps people home,” she then immediately knocked on the wood of the desk to keep from jinxing your shift.

Dana rolls her eyes, “Honestly, with how badly people drive, I don't doubt we have another bad pileup. Remember last year? 40 cars! I don't think I got home until maybe ten that night.”

You nod, remembering that, for a pile up like that, your department was dealing with a lot of broken bones, and Ortho actually had to come down for consults promptly for once. You look over at the charge nurses and crack a smile, “I think I might have slept here that night, ortho had so many bones to fix.”

“Good, bout damn time they answer a page within a year,” the sarcasm dripped from Dana's voice, but she wasn't wrong. Ortho took forever on a routine consult; in crisis, they actually got their asses in gear to help people.

Lena rolled her eyes but smiled as you heard and felt the doors behind you open, “Good morning, Frank, how was the drive? Do your boys have school today?”

Ah, yes, Frank Langdon, the would-be prodigal son, and someone Michael used to see as his prodigy. However, that wasn't the case anymore, though you wish it were. Frank got clean, and he was doing so much better. Of course, there are always bad days with recovery, but he wanted to be better, and that's what made him better than most people. You turned to smile at Langdon as he stopped at the desk. He smiled at Lena before looking up at the monitor.

“Yeah, canceled last night, both are with Abby, sucks though, I would love to be at home in my warm house.” he brushed some snow off the top of his head and proceeded to do the same to you. “The board looks rough.” Langdon pulled a Red Bull out of what seemed like thin air, cracked open his can, one hand on his hip, before looking at you with a raised eyebrow, “Avoiding upstairs?”

You bat Langdon's hand away with a cheeky glare. “Waiting for Robby to come back before I head up.” Your eyes light up as Robby makes his way back to the desk, talking to Jack Abbott, his hand-off with him coming to a halt as he approaches you.

Michael's hands were in the pockets of his hoodie, which he wore over his scrubs. “Dr. (y/l/n), don't you have somewhere you should be right now?” His face was serious. Still, his tone made it clear he was joking with you. He gave you a small smile, gesturing to the elevator with his chin: “Get out of here, go play god or something.”

You smile back at him, giving a mock salute as you make your way upstairs. From the elevator, you wave at him; he waves back before the doors shut on you, taking you to the fourth floor.

—

The snow may have kept many people off the road, but it didn't keep everyone off. You had plenty of consults down in the pit, but most were minor, and some didn't even need you or Dr. Garcia. Hell, by 2 pm, you found yourself lounging at the nurses' station, feet kicked up into a clear spot, hands behind your head, just watching the pitt move around you like you were invisible. Not that you minded it much; it just meant you got to watch Michael work for a change. Louie was already in for the day, and you hadn't seen Merna, so there was that. Michael was with a kid who hit his face pretty hard on the ground when he slipped outside. He was going to need stitches. You let out a small sigh before Dana returned from her adventure into the unknown for you. She pushed your feet off the desk and sat down in her chair.

“I know you were not raised in a barn, don't act like you were.” She put her glasses on as she began typing something into someone's chart. “That slow up there, kid? Or are you on Melinda's shit list?”

You roll your eyes, sitting upright to read over Dana's shoulder, “Melinda loves me, it's just slow up there, most surgeries today are scheduled specialty stuff. So I'm really just waiting for someone to page me, then I have to beat Yolo down here.”

Dana looked over her shoulder and pointed to the cabinet below her desk, “Grab a snack while you can, Snow’s picking up, and I'm sure someone's gonna be stupid. Already had frostbite today,” she sighed, opening the weather app on her computer. “7-9 inches. God save us all.”

You grab a granola bar from the snack drawer and a sealed water bottle she also kept stocked. Well, between her and Lena, they made sure there were snacks available for everyone on the floor in case it was busy.  You leaned back in the chair you were sitting in and began to spin, before your chair came to an abrupt halt. Looking up, seeing that fine Attending, Dr. Rabinovitch. You smiled up at him, earning a raised eyebrow of confusion.

“If I didn't know any better, Dr.(y/l/n), you have nothing to do upstairs?” his tone with you always had a hint of love in it, teasing but always professional with you to the best of his abilities, given your relationship.

“Can't do much when you guys don't have people to send,” you wink at Robby, earning a groan from Dana.

“Get a room, you two,” she was holding her head in her hands, peaking over at you and Michael, somehow flirting through work conversations. “Or at the very least, try to act like you’re not madly in love with each other.”

Robby let out a chuckle, “My apologies, Dana. I can't have people thinking I'm an open book.”

You shrug, “You cried in front of Whittaker, and McKay probably figured it out day one.” You take your phone out, feeling it buzz.

EMERGENCY ALERT: SEVERE

PITTSBURGH ALERT: I-579 Southbound is closed near Mile marker 11 due to multiple vehicle crashes. Seek alternate routes.

You didn't even have to read all of the alerts, as everyone else's phones in the ER were going off with the same alert, and Dana’s phone at her desk started to ring.

Dana picked up the phone, “Pittsburgh metropolitan emergency department.” A moment of silence, “right… understood. Got it.” And as quick as she answered, she hung up. “We got a pile up, they are sending us the rigs, we got at least nine incoming. First two are five minutes out.”

Robby nods, clapping his hands together, garnering the attention of all the staff on deck. “Not the worst we’ve had for a pileup, let's make sure everyone in those rigs gets home. Alive preferably.” Robby's words sounded like a command to the ER staff, and you got out of your chair. Staying down here was your best option, since you didn't know what would be coming through those doors.

—

The ER admitted more than twenty people in less than an hour. Between broken bones, cracked ribs, one girl had glass all over her arms from her windshield shattering on impact. Plenty of head CTs and MRIs to be done, so radiology was buried in incoming patients. A few people had come in and been sent up to the operating room. You felt it in your stomach, however, that this general calm was going to come crashing down around you. You must have had a look on your face as you came back down into the ER. Dana stopped you as you passed the desk. A look of concern on her face. She was telling you something, but your hearing was buzzing. You shook your head, looking Dana in the eye to force yourself to hear her words.

“Hey, Kiddo, you good?” she asked, her hands on your arms, squeezing gently but also pushing you down, in a grounding way. Her concern was etched in every line of her face.

You force yourself to nod and swallow dryly. Your mouth felt like sandpaper, or you had just inhaled a gallon of sand yourself. You gave Dana a smile that never met your eyes when you were like this. “I'm fine. I got a page?” Your voice came out strained, but hopefully not enough to alert Dana to your panic attack bubbling under your skin.

She frowns, looking you over one last time before letting go of you, “Yeah, trauma two. A seventeen-year-old girl was pinned between the back of a trailer and an SUV that rear-ended her. She's in rough shape.” Dana looked over her shoulder at the team in Trauma Two.

Langdon, Whittaker, and Santos were attempting to stabilize the girl on the bed with a neck brace, and you could hear the cries of pain when they moved her to the hospital bed. Jessie and a few other nurses were also in the room, helping to stabilize this girl, as the heart rate and blood pressure monitors loudly signaled something was wrong. Every single one of them was in their protective gear, and you were about to be one of them.

You entered the room, putting on a gown and gloves, and your protective glasses slid into place as you knocked them from their resting place atop your head. “How's she looking over there?” The ER doctors alerted you to your arrival.

“Not great, hypotensive with BP at 70 over 50.” Jessie fills you in on the stats as you approach the table, “heart rate is 140, she's got one liter of fluids in. Her BP is also falling as we speak. We already pushed ketamine and intubated, the blood bank has also been called, she's lost a lot of blood."

“She has a compound fracture of the left Fibula,”  Santos comments as she is trying to assess a compound fracture before looking up at you from the end of the stretcher, as you come around to assess it. “Think ortho will look at it?”

You peer over her shoulder, looking at it and nod, “Well, they won't look at it if she dies before they get to her,” you comment offhandedly as you round back to the side of the table. Looking at the poor girl who was clearly awake and could hear everything.  You felt yourself tense up; you had to force yourself to look away. “Besides the fibula and major internal bleeding, what are we working with here?”

“She has been complaining of sharp pain in her stomach since she came in,” Whittaker comments from beside you, “mild tenderness to palpation to the neck bilaterally, but no masses, no trachea midline. No c-spine tenderness.”

That'ss good, no broken neck, just whiplash.” You look to Langdon, who's next to you. “How's her stomach?”

“Severe tenderness to palpitation, but no rigidity and otherwise soft.” Langdon looked up at you from across from you. “Pelvis is unstable for all exams. X-rays came back, diastasis of the right sacroiliac joint with possible dislocation.”

You frown. More than likely, with an open-book fracture, she's going to need surgery.  Alright, Jessie, call up and let them know I'm on my way. Too early in the day to be losing lives,” you comment on your way out.

Jessie nods, walking to the phone to call up to surgery to make sure you were set when you got up there. The other nurses help you wheel the bed towards the elevator to take her up to surgery. You pass Dana on your way, “taking her up to surgery,” you call out.

Dana gives you a thumbs-up. “OR six is ready for you.”

Robby watches you go as he approaches the nurses' station. A hard-to-understand look on his face as he turns to Dana. “Any information on that kid? Have we called the parents?” his eyes do not leave you until you disappear behind the shut doors of the elevator.

Dana glances up while on the phone with the charge nurse in surgery. “Ellis Parkewood. Her parents are on their way in. She was driving to work.” She looks over her shoulder. “Hey, they will be ok. I promise.”

Dana's words fell onto deaf ears as Robby shrugged and nodded. Robby was going to respond to Dana, but was quickly pulled away from his conversation with her by an incoming trauma. He gave Dana a look before disappearing to save someone’s life.

—

The calm of the storm of incoming traumas had cleared, and everyone else that was coming in was yellow-level concerns or green-level concerns. But surgery? Besides the scheduled procedures, at least seven surgeries were in progress. One thing about generalized surgery was that if you needed to hop in for someone, you easily could. So you had been in and out of surgery for the past few hours, and still were in one—that teen girl. You and an orthopedic surgeon were working on her. Between the major internal bleeding and her pelvis being broken, the two of you had your work cut out for you.

It was an uphill battle to begin with; she had gone through more blood than you had anticipated, and the pelvis was far more damaged than the X-ray suggested at first. Her fibula was also a problem that needed to be remedied to avoid possible amputation. She had already crashed once, and you were concerned she might crash again. If she did, there might not be a way to bring her back from it. You couldn’t help but be concerned. Yes, you are a good surgeon, but you are not and never will be as much as a surgeon's ego might let on. Her body had been through the wringer, and you didn't know how much more she could take. The strain on her body was beginning to become too much, as you and Dr. Elsswin, who was an ortho surgeon, attempted to set her pelvic bone.

The door opened as a surgical nurse stood outside, a surgical mask covering her face; neither you nor your fellow surgeon looked up from your patient.

“Dr.(y/l/n), her parents are here.” The nurse announced. “Is there any update I can give her parents?”

You glance at Dr. Elsswin, who was also looking at you. You frown and take a breath, “let them know we are doing everything we can, but it doesn’t look good.” You look down at the young girl on the table under your hands. “Ask them in case we can’t if she’s a donor.”

Dr. Elsswin doesn’t argue with you, but you can see he’s unhappy about the fact that this girl's future was bleak in front of both of you. “We will do our best, but it does look bad.” He calmly backs you on your call.

The nurse nods, “Thank you, doctors. I’ll ask.” And as quickly as she appeared, the nurse disappeared.

You glance back at Dr.Elsswin. Eyebrow raised, “What is it, Pat?”

He shakes his head, “If she becomes a donor, you’ll get out later than him.”

You chuckle dryly, “So let’s make sure she doesn’t code on us.” Your voice cracked like a soft prayer to some god you were never sure was listening.

—

Hours had passed since the first ambulance arrived, and the interstate was cleared. There were a few stragglers that came in from the pileup, but for minor sprains, a few cracked ribs, concussions, and other injuries that did not require surgical treatment. To be honest, it had been a calm afternoon after the accident. However, Michael hadn’t seen you since that page, and he was starting to get worried. Every time surgery was paged, he would perk up to be let down by someone else showing up; this time, it was Garcia.

Garcia was growing up to join the fray of the current trauma in the room. If I didn’t know any better, Robby, you’re disappointed to see me.”

Michael rolled his eyes, helping move the patient from the EMT stretcher to the bed in trauma, “Me? Disappointed to see you? Never Yolo.” He gave her a sarcastic smile, “Alright, what we got?” He turned to his students to take over the trauma as he stepped back, watching his residents and med students work.

Garcia shrugs, “(y/l/n) has been in surgery since the first ambulance; they should be done before your bedtime.” Finally gowned and gloved, she came over to check the patient, they were a GSW with no exit wound to the upper shoulder, right below the clavicle. So they were admitted to surgery relatively quickly when the stat CT came back clear to operate.

Michael had excused himself quickly under the guise of seeing another patient, but he made his way to the nurses' station, looking around and scratching the back of his neck out of stress.

Dana looked up and said, “You want me to call up and see what’s going on?”

Michael shrugged, “Surgery takes time, and I’m sure that they are fine.”

Dana rolled her eyes as Princess approached them at the nurses' station, “The girl who got pinned, her parents are here. I sent them up to the surgery's waiting room.” Princess announced her arrival.

Dana nods and looks at the phone, “Thanks, Princess, I’m gonna call Linda. See if she’s got a timeline on that surgery.”

Princess nods and walks off to help Langdon with another patient, as Dana picks up the phone to make the call, holding eye contact with Robby. “Hey Linda, it’s Dana. Yeah. Robby was asking about-… alright. Yeah. I’ll be sure to let him know. Thanks, hun, yeah, got it. Bye.” She took a deep breath before hanging up the phone.

Michael waited for Dana to speak, his face stoic, trying to hide his genuine concern. “What’s going on?”

Dana pinches her nose in frustration before giving Robby an apologetic smile, “Surgery went south. More damage than imaging showed, and they are not sure the kid will make it out. So it’s a bit as many hands on deck as it can be.”

Michael nods. He knew this was likely; the poor thing's stats were bad when she came in, and she had lost a lot of blood on her way. He looked at his watch with a frown, “Poor kid… welp, it's nearly shift change. Let me know if you need anything.” he left to keep himself busy with his work.

—

Your team sat at the table quietly among themselves: nurses, Dr. Elsswin, other assisting surgeons, and your anesthetist. Everyone in that operating room sat together at the table, their heads hung in a moment of reflection as you quietly shut the door behind you, and no one looked up, but the understanding of a moment of silence had begun for her. You lean back in your chair before letting out a sigh.

“We did everything we could, and sometimes that's not good enough. She had more internal damage than expected. I know that everyone in this room did exactly what they would have done any other day of the week.” You start, feeling the entire team's gaze fall on you. Their mental and physical exhaustion is weighing on your shoulders. You looked at each of them, acknowledging their pain. The exhaustion of their lives set in everyone's bones, including yours.

The room gave way to soft chatter about the other patients they had seen today who had survived their injuries and would be able to see their families later today. Today was hectic, but they had also helped many people survive and go home in one piece. The weather was no better than before, and people still needed to be careful getting home. You did not guide the conversation; you let the people around you grieve as they needed to. Letting them reflect on the loss in their own way.

You looked up at the clock on the wall, and then to the team who still chatted, “We will have our Morality and Morbidity meeting later this week, but for now, I want you all to go home. It's been a long day.” Your words were tired as you stood from your chair, “Drive home safe, I'll see you all later.” You walked out of the conference room, stopping in front of the room where the family was still in after you had to deliver the news. You stopped briefly but forced yourself onwards to your locker. You couldn't bring people back from the dead.

You walked yourself to your locker, typing in the code as you grabbed your coat and bag, then changed into your outside shoes. Sitting down on the bench behind you to just take a moment to collect yourself. You could feel the tears forming. You didn't care if anyone was around. And you let yourself feel your emotions that you had put on the shelf for the moment: the anger, the sadness, the grief, the stress. Every feeling rushed its way to the surface and out of you. You could feel the tears falling as you looked up to the ceiling. Praying to whatever god you felt would listen to you in this moment, your moment of self-hatred and anger at yourself for not being good enough for this young girl who needed you to be there.

“I'm sorry,” your voice felt like nails on a chalkboard in your throat as you forced the words out through your tears.

“Please forgive me,” you felt your tears continue to fall as you forced yourself up and placed your work shoes back in your locker.

“Thank you,” you had barely choked out as you walked out of the locker area, thinking about someone else, a life similar to yours, you couldn't save once. Someone far closer to you, but the situation remained unchanged. Your guilt continued to grow in the rift of your heart, and this was the catalyst.

I love you

You couldn't get the words out as you walked out of the hospital; it felt like running to escape yourself as you just wanted to leave, go home, see your salvation in human form.

—

The day continued at hospital standards, normal for an emergency department, to the point that by the time shift change started, Michael still hadn’t seen you. He would periodically ask Dana for updates, but by seven, he had wrapped up his day and went out to the truck to warm it up for when you would finally arrive.

Five minutes turned into fifteen, then thirty, then an hour. He thought about calling Melinda or her night shift counterpart, Callen, but as he was pulling out his phone to do so, you had walked into the parking ramp. Hair messy, a change of scrubs, and your jacket on, you were clearly lost in thought as you walked towards the truck. Michael quickly got out of it to open your door as you approached. You didn’t look at him, but he could tell by the way you were walking that you had been crying. You climbed into the truck in silence, aside from the hum of the heat running. He shut the door before climbing in on his side. He didn’t speak as he pulled the truck out of its parking spot, just squeezed your hand as he drove, rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb.

The drive was silent, and even the walk into the apartment was. Once inside, you dropped your bag at the door and kicked off your shoes. You made your way into the living room, sitting on the couch with a gentle thud. You were hunched over yourself, holding your head in your hands, trying to remember every step you took during that surgery, steps you could have changed, things you missed. If you had more time, could things have gone differently?

Everything

You were running back in your head over and over in an attempt to find some sort of closure that you couldn't bring yourself or that child's parents. The look of heartbreak when they heard they had just lost their child, the sobs of a mother who would never be able to hold her child again, the anger of a father who was trying to rationalize and argue that you as surgeons didn’t know how to do your jobs, but was also hurting because he was trying to also be strong for his wife. The twenty-plus minutes of CPR, even if you did get her back, she would have had brain damage from lack of oxygen to the brain. Every ounce of blood that you put into this girl, that in the end didn't matter because it couldn't save her. You were no god, and you sure as hell were a false prophet.

Michael watched you from the kitchen, a mug in hand, a steaming cup of honeyed tea to help calm you when you were ready. He still had his scrubs on but had taken off his jacket and his shoes. He was giving you time to decompress before he walked into the living room. He set the mug down quietly on the end table to your side. Kneeling in front of you, Michael took both of your hands in his, gently resting his forehead against yours. He didn't need to look at you to know you had been quietly crying; he knew you, and he knew you were a damn good surgeon. However, not every day can be everyone's day. He sits in silence with you, letting you come to him.

You let out a shaky laugh, trying to wipe your tears away and sniff in a weak attempt to still your nerves. You look at Michael, who watched you with no expectations of perfection, only with care and support for you in his heart. The man who had watched your many overwhelmed breakdowns and tears, losses, and successes as a surgeon and as a human being. He had let go of your hands and had them resting on your knees, gently applying pressure to help you ground yourself in reality. Knowing you were more needing grounding than flowery words and praise that you wouldn’t accept even if you wanted to. Self-hate is a powerful thing, and you were horrible to yourself.

“She was seventeen… she was going to work, she picked up a shift since school was closed.” Your voice cracked as you tried to talk through your feelings. Your tears started again as you rubbed them away. “She got into an argument with her dad before she left, and… now she’s gone, and he will never be able to see her again.” You looked away, trying to avoid eye contact. You hated looking weak in front of anyone. Including Michael.

Michael listened to you quietly. There wasn’t much he could say to you to comfort you, if anything at all. He knew that was not what you needed. You needed him. You needed him to hear you, see you, be near you. He waited for you to regain yourself, still sitting in front of you, his knees would hate him for this later, but it wasn’t about that now.

He squeezed your knee gently. “You did everything, and you had the best people beside you. Sometimes we are just unlucky.” He stood up slowly, hoping not to knock the coffee table behind him. Offering his hand to you, waiting for you to take it. “Come on, let’s go lie down.” His voice is low and warm, safe.

You take his hand carefully. As he pulls you up, he pulls you into a tight hug, kissing the top of your head. He had been so calm in caring for you, but he was going through his own internal storm. He held you this tight out of fear of you disappearing on him, dying on him, leaving him. All things he had been through before. The tight grip of his large arms from years of experience, his worn hands from life, the sound of his beating heart echoing in your ears as your face is lying against his chest. You could feel the fear that had set into his bones, paranoia from your day seeping into his.

The two of you stayed close like this for a long time; the only reason to separate was to walk into your shared bedroom. You had gone to take a shower, Michael had gone to pull out a change of clothes for both of you, and maybe burn your scrubs without your knowledge, he left the change of clothes by the sink for you. knowing youd take a long shower to decompress. While you showered, Michael had gotten changed into comfortable sleepwear, flannel pants, and a t-shirt that he bought in his college days, before your time, as he would say. He was already in bed, reading a book with the TV on in the background as you emerged from the bathroom. pajama pants with Snoopy and Woodstock on them, and a shirt that was generally used for cleaning, as it was covered in bleach stains.

​You climbed into the shared bed, under the warmth of the blankets, and slid as close to Michael as you possibly could. He only shifted to lift his arm so you could wedge yourself into his side comfortably as he continued to read his book in the busy space of the bedroom. You watched the TV, unable to truly make out what was being said, but you had the closed captions turned on so you could read. An old episode of ER was playing. You didn't know the episode, and you didn't care to get acquainted with it, as you lay beside Michael, listening to him breathe and the turning of the pages in his book. At some point, he put the book down and took off his glasses. shifting down to lie comfortably next to you, his face close to yours. The two of you nose to nose. Michael planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Do you want me to change the channel?” Michael's voice was soft, trying not to disturb the peace of the universe that is your bedroom.

You shake your head, “I think that Dr. Kovac and I both need to go through our paces in peace today.” You look at Michael and place a hand on his cheek, just looking at him.

“At least I'm not Dr. Ross. I like to think I'm better looking.” he gives you a smile, the crinkles showing in his skin bring a small smirk to your own face, and a well-deserved eyeroll.

“Yeah, just remember I used to be a lot like Carter, does that mean you're Dr. Greene?”

“I think you turned out better than John Carter in every way. If I were Dr. Greene, I would be long dead, and you would miss me.” Michael chuckles, kissing you gently. “Get some sleep, we can go do something tomorrow, maybe the aquarium.”

“Welcome back to Sky Sports Soccer Saturday, sponsored by Gillette Labs. My name is Jeff Stelling, and my co-accompanying hosts are Chris Karma and George Cartick. This morning, we are starting with some news on the free agent side. Former Man City defensive player and Goalkeeper (Y/N) (Y/L/N) 's contract has been put back into the free agent pool after nearly three years of inactivity from the player following an almost career-ending ACL Tear injury. They have yet to comment on the motion, except for an Instagram post of them wearing a Richmond jersey with their number 13 on the back, captioned “Feeling Unlucky Yet?” Chris, what do you think of this?”

“I can’t say I'm surprised, Jeff; since seeing them with the coaches at the Richmond vs  Sunderland game earlier this season, there has been absolute chaos in the fan bases, hoping they would be returning to the pitch sooner rather than later. However, I'm surprised they haven't been snatched up by anyone yet. We are talking about a goalkeeper with a reputation for excellence and dedication. I doubt they will stay a free agent for very long.” 

“Well, I am surprised. They have been inactive for four years now. Who would even want a player who probably hasn't touched a ball or a pitch in years? They will be lucky even to get an offer for League Two. You cannot expect someone out of the game to compete with those in their prime and still train daily. They are out of practice and will be overly cautious. Or they will turn into Roy Kent, and we see what happens to him. He couldn't keep up and was worse off for it.” 

“That's not fair, George. Roy may have left Chelsea, but Richmond has come a long way since then, and Roy is an amazing coach for those gentlemen. The Roy Kent Effect is alive and well with them.” 

“Alright, gentlemen, we aren't here to fight, as much as you two would love that—”

Rebecca turned off the TV on the wall in her office. Her hair was perfectly in place, her dress was perfectly pressed, and her makeup was perfectly blended, accenting all of her features in the best possible ways. However, the look on her face was that of a woman who had no damn thing in her life put together. She gently set the remote on the coffee table and turned to get a drink. She needed something substantial. So here she was with a bottle of bourbon, and she took a swig before she turned back toward the couch and sighed in disappointment. Only a mother, in your case, could have been your boss. 

“What was that?” Rebecca gestured to the TV, her voice sharp. She wasn't necessarily angry, but she was surprised. 

“Well, I believe the program is Soccer Saturday with Jeff Stelling and Chris Karma… and that pig named George,” you mutter while sipping your cup of water. It's still not sparkling. You couldn't help but smile at Rebecca even though you could feel her radiating frustration. 

Sitting next to you, Keeley tried to stifle a laugh and looked down the entire time. Knowing Rebecca was glaring at her now. “Come on now, Becca, it's not that bad! The photo was great, vague, and people would eventually find out that (y/n) is a free agent.”

Rebecca held her head and leaned against her desk, the bottle still in her hand, muttering that she ‘doesn't get paid enough.’ She looked up at both you and Keeley, who were watching her. “You should have said something to me, and I could have helped with a press conference at the very least- now I have to start looking for your replacement—do you even know where you want to go? Have any owners contacted you? What if you end up in another country?!” Ah, she wasn't mad. She was incredibly worried about you and trying to look out for you, just like any mother duck with her ducklings. 

You set your cup on the table and scoot over on the couch to make space for her. “Come here,” you pat the seat next to you. 

She frowns and walks over, setting her alcohol on her desk. She sits down beside you so poshly, her brow still slightly furrowed. “You do realize how much work you've created for me, correct?” 

You roll your eyes and pull your boss into a hug. “I'm sorry I didn't tell you what my plan was. However, I think a press conference is a bad idea. I was never good at those.” 

Rebecca hugs you back, letting out a small laugh of your self-analysis, “You and Roy are ever the same, even at this point in your careers. Are you sure you wouldn't even talk to one reporter? What about Trent Krimm of the Independent?” she asks, looking at you now, holding you at arm's length away. 

You shake your head and smile, “I couldn't ask you to do that for me; you've done a lot for me.” You see Keeley watching you and Rebecca as if you two were in a Hallmark movie. “Get in here, you nerd.” 

Keeley smiles, crawls across the couch, and joins the group hug. " Even if (y/n) leaves us and goes to God knows where, they will always love us.” She looks at you with a glimmer in her eye that you could have sworn was tears. 

You sighed, “I never said I was leaving the UK. Nor did I say anyone has contacted me yet because it just became public knowledge that my contract is on the market. I'd like to return to Man City to answer Becca's questions, but Man United wouldn't be bad either. However, Man City fans might hate me…” You had a moment of internal dialogue before returning to the conversation, “Yeah, no, Man City would be best. Or New Castle, I suppose.” 

Keeley and Rebecca look at each other and give a disgusted face before shaking their heads and turning back to you. 

“No. New Castle is a No. It's too far! You would never come to visit us!” Keeley puts her hands over hers, “Besides, Jamie will throw an actual fit, and you're too far.” 

Rebecca went to speak before looking towards Keeley with a raised eyebrow. " I know they are friends, but I don't think Jamie would have the bandwidth to recognize his friend left for work, or he'd be extremely supportive, and those are two drastic sides of a spectrum I'm not sure I'd care to witness.” 

Both you and Keeley shrug. Keeley is leaving it to you to tell your boss you were making out with her star striker while she was messing around with Sam and couldn't decide if she wanted to commit. 

“It's only about an hour away from here, you two, but I think Jamie would be more upset that I left. Still in that honeymoon phase where you are unsure how to be with someone you know properly,” you shrug. “With that note- I should start looking to find my replacement now, shouldn't I?” You smile and quickly walk out before Rebecca or Keeley can stop you. 

Rebecca looks at Keeley, “Are they? You know—an item?” she asks in disbelief. 

Keeley, who looked like her eyes were about to pop out of her head, shrugged and aggressively unlocked her phone to text someone, most likely Jamie. “I dunno, but I'm about to get to the bottom of this!” She sprang to her feet, stomping from the office, forgetting her shoes. 

“Keeley dear—oh well then…” Rebecca put her shoes by the office door and returned to her desk to take another drink from her bottle. 

—

“He's acting different.” Roy stood by Ted's desk, glaring into the locker room as the team prepared for practice. By watching the team, he was specifically observing Jamie, noting his body language and his apparent happiness. It rubbed him the wrong way, and his frown deepened. 

Beard, leaning back in his chair, didn't glance up from his book. “It's because he's in a relationship. He's in the puppy dog phase.” The book in question? The Boy and His Horse, by C.S. Lewis. 

Roy rolls his eyes, “Who would date that prick?”

Beard glances up at Roy now, “You know the answer. You just don't want to admit it.”

Roy grunts before turning away from the window. “They deserve better than that idiot, a good boy like Collin or Will.” He looks over to Ted, who is staring at his phone. “Tell me I'm wrong.” 

Ted looks up from his phone, now staring at Roy, a confused expression on his face. “Hm?” he says, putting his phone away and smiling at Roy. “What are we talking about?” He looks between Beard and Roy.

Roy rolls his eyes again and sighs, “For fucks sake. Tartt and (y/n). That prick doesn't deserve that kid.” He states. It was a fact, and anyone who argued with him was wrong. 

Ted puts his elbows on his desk and rests his chin on the back of his hands. “Well, I’ll be sweeter than a sweet potato! Did those two get around telling each other how they feel?” Seeing how the other two coaches gave him the most confused looks he’d seen in a while, he shrugged. “Jamie asked for advice on healthy relationships.” 

Beard scoffs, “Yeah, because you are the pinnacle of healthy relationships.” He puts his book down but looks over his shoulder at Roy. “Come on, stop your brooding and just think. He can't get any worse than he was before. 

Roy just grunts and walks out of the office in a huff.

Ted and Beard exchange glances but return to their previous activities. 

—

The entire team was hanging around the locker room. They were on their mid-day break, which was time for them to eat and get any physical or mental therapy they needed. However, most of them were just in the locker room talking amongst each other or on their phones talking about this and that. For the most part, everyone was just chatting and shooting the shit. 

Except for Jamie, who usually participates in the conversation. Yet he sat in his cubby on his phone, smiling at it like it was the most precious thing in the world. And that would be accurate because the person on the other end was pretty dear to him. Jamie had also failed to notice that the entire team was now on the other side of the locker room, just watching him, trying to figure out what he had so enraptured. 

“Maybe it's just a mobile game,” Dani whispered to Sam, who shook his head. 

“No. He's too happy for it to be a game. Most people tend to get frustrated with those after a long while.” Sam whispered back, just watching and seeing Jamie typing. I've never seen him type so fast since I've known him.”

Collin, who was also with them, shrugged. "Maybe he's just looking at pictures of himself and posting them to Instagram or something.” This got a collective head nod from most of the group—except Isaac, who had been watching with a frown on his face. 

“Nah, mate, it's something else. Gotta be.” he was about to call out to Jamie when the door to the locker room flung open to an angry-as-ever Roy standing there. 

“Oi! Tartt!” 

Roy's yelling made everyone flinch, including Jamie, who nearly chucked his phone. 

“What?! I didn't do anything!”

“Boot room. Now.” With that, Roy walked out of the locker room, slamming the door behind him. 

The entire team turned to look at Jamie, their expressions questioning. Jamie, confused as they were, shrugged, getting up to follow Roy to the boot room. 

“Right then, what's this all about?” When Jamie entered the boot room, Roy was turned away from the door, arms crossed, probably trying to slow his heart rate. But the second that door clicked shut, Roy was glaring absolute daggers at Jamie. Roy didn't speak. 

“I don't know what I've done wrong, but if you're gonna yell at me, yell at me.” Jamie bounced a little on the balls of his feet. “I can take it.” Acting as if Roy was going to throw punches, he pulled his guard up to at the very least protect his handsome face since you liked it so much. 

Roy takes a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose, he mutters some sort of prayer to some sort of god,  “They are too good for a little prick like you, even if they can be an even bigger prick than you on the pitch. I hear you murmuring about doing anything so stupid as to miss a single text message from them. I will destroy your life personally. You understand me?” Roy was mere inches from nose-to-nose with Jamie. 

While yes, Roy was in Jamie's face and not backing down. Jamie's resolve was solid; he nodded firmly, locking eye contact with Roy, “I ain't planning on being shit to them, granddad.” before offering a hand to shake, “I ain't the same shithead I was before.”

Roy frowned, only deepening it, “This is different, Tartt. You will have to deal with their brothers and me. Do you understand me?” He looked at Jamie's hand, an eyebrow raised, “I'm not shaking your hand.”

Jamie shrugged,  pretended to shake his hand, and nodded, “soooo… I'm taking this as permission then, right? I mean, I can always ask their dad.” he gave Roy a shit-eating smile. 

It took Roy a moment to process exactly what Jamie had just said, but it took less time for him to be storming out of the boot room. 

“FUCK” 

Jamie stood there, in stunned silence for a moment before leaving with a shit eating grin that could best be described as being possessed by the Cheshire Cat. 

—

The one thing you forgot about being a free agent without a manager was how many clubs would reach out to attempt to catch your interest, even if it was a team in another country, talking about Real Madrid,  Borussia Dortmund, or even Paris Saint-Germain.  Clubs with big names, big crowds, big stakes. All of these emails sat in your inbox unopened. You have been staring at your laptop for about 20 to 30 minutes now. They wouldn't know whether you opened the email, but there was just a long list of teams vying to offer you a contract. Some had actually sent you copies of contracts to review for further negotiations, and others had sent you messages to set up a conference. There were a few more minor league teams that were piquing your interest, and a few bigger ones you wouldn't be afraid to entertain. Scrolling through the list, there was one that grabbed your attention. 

Barclay & Premier 

Barclay and Premier? The two of them together could only mean one thing. But your curiosity was piqued. Clicking the email, you started reading it. 

Dear (y/f/n)(y/l/n),  With the announcement of your return back to the playing league and your contract out for grabs for many premier league teams, we at Barclay and Premier wish to extend to you the opportunity to join us on one of the two teams for the Premier and Barclay co-ed teams for a friendly match to showcase up and coming and existing talent of players from all over the world. Each team will be sponsored by one of the two leagues and selected in a raffle-style event. If you have any further questions or are interested in joining us for this game. In that case, we have included contact information for easy communication, attached below.  We are excited to hear your decision.  Barclay & Premiere

You had to reread the email three times before it even truly sank in. Barclay and Premiere hosting a co-ed friendly? Did they assume this would end well? Some of the men who must have been contacted, or even agreed to this, must be real pieces of work, and not every player was exactly the nicest mate on the field to avoid rougher play styles. And the women are equally bad. Honestly, you felt like it was just a fake email. 

Your brain was starting to hurt when your office door swung open. The door hit the wall with a loud thud and swung back closed before the shadow of a person stopped that from happening. The shadow looked not pleased and was panting like an angry beaver. You turned to get a better look at who was seething so hard you could feel it through a wall. 

It was Roy. 

So you went back to analyzing the email.

“Why the hell would you start dating Tartt?! He's a selfish little prick who can't help but be the center of attention, and he's an immature twat! You really want to sleep with that?” Roy was raving before he really took notice of you staring at your computer screen.  “What are you looking at?” he walked over, so he stood behind you and looked at the computer screen with you, looking at the email. “What's this then?” 

You shrug, looking at the email, “I have no idea, and I also have no idea if it's legit? As for sleeping with Jamie, that is none of your business because you're his coach, and sleeping with his ex-girlfriend.” You smile up at Roy. “Have I missed the memo on some co-ed friendly?” 

Roy shrugs, “heard some murmurs of it and some shit. Didn't think they were going through with it. Does it have any information?” he asks, pulling out his phone to presumably either Google it or ask the other coaches in their group chat. 

You shake your head, “nah, mate, just what's in the email.” You sigh, minimizing the tab, “So… Man City. Think the boys will be ok?” You lean back in your chair, watching Roy. His body language was tense, and he shook his head. 

“They will play like they always have; however, Tartt needs to keep his fucking head in the game. He's been distracted, and it's not because of you. Something else is bothering him. Also, let's face it, Man City can be fucking intimidating,” he shakes his head. “Our best hope is not to get our asses kicked.” 

You nod, look at the gloves on your desk, and pick them up. “Well, let's see how our boys do against a former Manchester City goalkeeper.” You stand from your desk and walk out of the office, Roy shaking his head but in tow with you as you two make your way out to the pitch. 

—

That evening, you were home before Jamie left work. Usually this wouldn't have bothered you if it wasn't for the fact you had been home for several hours before you had even heard the doorknob to your flat jingle in an attempt to unlock itself, You had spent your entire afternoon between cleaning your flat, making dinner for you and Jamie, doing laundry and dishes, like any normal person, just like any other day. Yet, it now felt uncomfortable to sit in silence like this. The lack of another voice, the absence of another body, made it a bother to be alone in your flat, as you'd grown accustomed to spending time with another person again. You Facetimed your nephews, who were excited to see you. However, they were probably more excited about getting ready to see a football game with their dad and wanted to share it with you. And you had already set up a weekend with Claire three weeks from Friday, and you would have to pick her up from the train station. 

All this work was done, but you were still alone. 

It was crushing you where you stood.

That was of course, when the aforementioned sound of the door unlocking rang through the flat, you could hear the shuffling of shoes being removed, a heavy bag being dropped by the door and the trudging body of the handsome man who now spent more nights in your bed with you than anyone else in the entire world lately, walked over to the couch and dropped all of his weight into the sofa with a solid thud, letting out a sigh of exhaustion. He placed his head on your shoulder, smelling fresh like Old Spice Swagger, and while you'd never admit out loud if you didn't like it initially, it's definitely grown on you since he started sleeping here, or you've gone nose blind, and that was not a problem either. You gently pat his head before giving him a gentle kiss on his temple. He was exhausted, and you could only begin to wonder or guess why he looked as miserable as he did. So you waited for him to speak first, him to tell you of his woes and troubles, the same way he listened to your own. The two of you sat in silence as you watched Sky Sports News, the volume low, and the subtitles on in case you cared to look up and see what the anchors were talking about on TV. At the moment, the channel was talking about Crystal Palace's loss to Arsenal that afternoon. Still, nothing too exciting had you focused —just the two of you resting together. 

You turn to look at Jamie, who was staring at an unanswered text from a contact you didn't know, and he kept deleting and rewriting the same message. You nudge him gently, “babes… everything ok?” You couldn't help but worry about him; he had been through a lot with your own mental state, and you felt like you were starting to take advantage of him. 

He lets out a sigh of annoyance, not at you but at his phone, before looking over at you, turning his phone over in the process. “Your dad is cool and shit, and like I like him a lot, honestly, I kind of wish my dad was like that. Or maybe your dad was my dad.” his shoulders droop slightly, “he's bugging me for tickets to the man city match. I felt like I couldn’t say no… how do you say no to people like that?” his voice was so small and shaky, he couldn't meet your eyes, and for the first time, you could truly see how bone exhausted he was from just dealing with this man. You pull him into a tight hug, your fingers playing with his hair and just coddling him, hoping to make him feel a bit of security in you that you felt in him. 

“It's hard, Jamie, complicated, but… sometimes it takes just telling them no to get them to stop, but other times… something else has to happen. Drastic measures, you know?” You could feel his shoulders relax ever so slightly in your grip, and he rested his head in the crook of your neck and nodded ever so slightly. Comfortable in your arms. You smile softly to yourself, “Come on, love. You need to eat, and I'm famished, love.” Forcing yourself up, you dragged Jamie out to the kitchen to eat the food left in the oven for when he came home, and the two of you spent the night chatting, sharing memes, and enjoying the quality time of silence in the flat. 

The two of you were lying in bed; you had enforced a strict PJs rule in your flat, and Jamie, although annoyed at first, had complied. He was scrolling through Instagram when he turned to look at you, curled up in the blankets, a look of contentment on his face. You couldn't help but smile at him and kiss him on the cheek. The moment that the two of you are here brings you such joy. Jamie leans in and gives you a gentle kiss, nothing beyond fluttering motions. If you blink, you might miss your handsome footballer's touch. It's all the same as he sits there with you, until both of you drift off in the warmth of each other. 

-

The next morning was hectic beyond any reason it needed to be, between Jamie getting up far earlier than usual and, in turn, waking you up, the fact that you had to be to work an hour earlier than you usually had to be, and sitting on the bus with all the team, it was beyond hectic. At one point, you nearly forgot their lunches. Ted nearly forgot the play sheet; luckily, Beard had a spare in his pocket. You all nearly left Nate behind, but only stopped because someone left their lucky kit at the building. For some reason, Rebecca needed Roy to grab something from her office. If the whole day didn't feel like something worse could happen, it was because the team's anxiety was already through the roof. The four-hour bus ride was filled with many pregame rituals and the heavy silence of a team anxious and hopeful. You were no exception to this rule; you sat with the coaches in the back row of the bus. Holding your hands together, head lowered as if praying. Muttering a mantra to yourself, not that anyone could hear.  

You look up, hearing the shuffling of the coaches around you, and lock eyes with Roy, who was also in a similar position, muttering to himself. When you two catch each other's eye, you both crack a small smile before returning to your independent prayers of a footballer. 

Tedd must have sensed the heavy tension and, to the best of his abilities, walked to the front of the bus and said something to the bus driver before messing with a DVD player that was installed in the bus, and kept the volume low so as not to disturb those who slept on the ride. The video that started playing was a highlight reel of the team's best moments on the pitch, as if to remind everyone they were good players and not to stress out so much. While the team started to talk amongst themselves, hyping each other up, you and Roy couldn't help but take the piss out of each of them, talking about footwork, or defensive positioning, kick forms, anything to be a bit of an arsehole to each of them, the two of you laughing. 

You only stopped when you received a text 

DAD Hello love, coming to the game today!  I'll be in the family box since you're technically a coach? I have no idea, ask your brothers?  Anyway, dear, see you soon.  Love you.

You grin ear to ear, seeing your text messages, and get out of your seat, slowly making your way up to Jamie, who was sitting next to Danni, and lean over the seat, gently tapping him, “Babes, I know you're nervous, but I think I have something that would make you less nervous.” Your voice was soft, barely above a whisper, and so close to Jamie's ear that you could see him shudder from the heat of it; it must have taken all his willpower to keep his mind out of the gutter. 

Danni, watching Jamie, just smiled the all-knowing smile of telling when someone is in love, “That Jamie, that is the smile of a man who has met his only love! Hello (y/n)!” Danni waved before being pulled into a conversation with Sam and Isaac behind him. 

“What, no that's-” Jamie let out a sigh of exasperation before turning to look at you standing over him. “Hey, babe, what you got?” he was clearly flustered from your arrival and truly attempting to avoid as much eye contact with you as possible. However, his plan was thwarted because, unlike him, you could easily crouch to keep his eye contact. 

You pulled your phone from your back pocket, “I know we talked about your dad, but how would my dad being there to see you make you feel?” you ask carefully, you didn't want to spring this information on him if he would be upset or stress out more, now having two people to impress. 

His eyes now looked at you but you could tell that he was thinking of an answer, but before you could ask if he was alright he smiled sadly, “I wouldn't mind but what if things go to shit yah know? He would be disappointed too. Not that I care what my old man thinks-” you cut him off before he can continue. 

“My dad would never be disappointed in you for playing with your heart; he will only worry if you don't. Unless you play for West Ham, he would be furious if you ever played for them. He hates them with a passion.” Your nose wrinkles at the mention of West Ham, and you are delighted to hear the laughter of Jamie from beside you.

“Well then, I'm sure he will watch to see me beat Man City's sorry ass,” he smiles, and that's enough to please you. 

“Good, he's got seats in the family box.” With that, you get up and head back to your seat.

-

While everyone was in the locker rooms, you decided to get a peek out at the field. The team had gotten a chance to see the pitch with no crowd, and so had you, but you wanted to get a peek at the crowd. Of course, because you were there as team staff, you could do this, as long as a Wembley staff member was with you. So you and your babysitter, whom you had learned was named Sue, walked out to the pitch. Your overcoat didn't give you away as a Richmond staff member. The two of you walked the length of the field. The yelling and excitement of the fans were something you had prepared for by wearing earplugs, as it had helped you in the past few games. You and Sue walked past the section where family members had been given tickets to the match. You have your back turned when Sue taps you to turn right round to see your father at the fence of the area, smiling. He wore a tan long coat with a warm cap that covered his ears, and mittens to keep his hands warm. The scarf around his neck was a Richmond one, and under his jacket, he had a large smile on his face when he saw you.

“Fancy seeing you here!” Your father yelled, waving you over. 

You rolled your eyes and walked over shielding your eyes from the sun with your hand, “Surprised you came all this way! It's, what a quarter of an hour ride on the tube?” you couldn't help but tease the old man you called dad, “where you seated? Surely you could have gotten box seats?” you couldn't help but question the old man. 

He shrugs his shoulders, "I like being able to actually see the teams play the sport, so what if I freeze to the seat, you know? But I'm sitting right up there, in front of the three men in Man City kits, a real rowdy group will tell you that. One says he's your lad's dad, you know? Gods above, I hope that's not the case… seems like a right problem.” Your dad and you both watched as the older man in the middle of the group he pointed towards, rooting for Man City in the wrong section, and shouting about how Jamie would be better back at Man City. You felt your jaw clench.

Watching some fucking prick talking like he knew shit and he didn't. Your father noticed. 

“Breathe, you can't strangle him with your eyes,” he called out to you, and you let out an exhausted sigh.

“No, but I sure as shit can try though.” You smile at your father, and he rolls his eyes in response. “Well, Dad, I have to go. Enjoy the game, see you after!” and you and Sue walked back towards the locker rooms before he could get a word in against you. 

Your father smiled, waving you off briefly, before making his way back to his seat and taking off his jacket to show off the Jamie Richmond kit he wore with warming shirts under it so he didn't get too cold. He could hear the man that he assumed to be Jamie's dad scoff behind him. Your father turned to face this other man with a hand out to shake, “Sorry, I don't believe we've met. My name is Jim, Jim (y/l/n).” The smile that your father wore so calmly caused the area around him to fall silent in a curious fashion. 

James Tartt rolled his eyes but shook Jim's hand with a sneer, “he was better off playing for Man City, yeah, you know, and I should know, that boy is my son.” The glint of malice shone in his eyes as he firmly, almost painfully, shook your dad's hand. 

Jim just nodded at James, “I know, I heard you the first time. Used to watch him play for Man City too. He was good then. But not as good as mine then, though.” Jim was willing to crush James's hand in their shake. Still not letting go. 

“Oh yeah, mate? Who is it then?”

“The one who kept Man City from losing. Number 13.” With that, Jim let go of Jamie's father's hand and turned back around, chatting with the people sitting around him with a smile as if nothing ever happened in the first place. 

—

You had since returned to the locker room, watching as all the boys seemed to be stressing, and headed to the office to the four coaches and Higgins, exchanging things they had been holding to themselves, walking into Beards' confession of being high on mushrooms at the Port Vale game earlier in the season.

“There was one game this season where I was accidentally on mushrooms." 

“‘Accidentally'?” Nate looked over at the Beard, confused and mildly astonished. And all the coaches looked at him in surprise, well, except for Roy, as he was trying to place what game it was at.

Beard continued, “I'd been at Jane's house, and I drank tea from the wrong pot.” His confession was paired with him looking down in shame, away from the other coaches.

“The Port Vale match?”  It was phrased as a question, but everyone knew Roy was making a statement. 

“Yeah.’

“Yeah.”

“ It won't happen again,” Beard put his hand back in the hand pile that was in front of him. 

“Thanks, guys, thank you.” Ted was about to lead the coaches through the cheer before he caught eyes with you, leaned against the door frame just watching them, and the smile spread across his face, “How bout you, Doc, got anything you'd like to get off your chest? This is a safe space.” 

You shrug your shoulders and push yourself off the doorframe, putting your hand in the pile, “The first week I was here, the reason I didn't eat lunch with anyone or socialize was that I was afraid I'd get lost. So I'd come in early to make sure I knew where everything was. I just used my run as an excuse.” 

The others nod in understanding.

“All right, let's go kick their butts.” 

“Butts on three.” 

“Works for me. One, two, three.”

“Butts!”

—

“Wembley Stadium, the Taj Mahal of English football. The setting for every young footballer's dreams. A sporting battlefield, pockmarked with the footprints of giants. Hoping to add another upset to this fabled ground's storied list, humble AFC Richmond. Never won a major trophy. The last London club to make their Wembley debut. Renewing hostilities against the undisputed greatest team in the land, the mighty Manchester City. It was only 11 months ago that the Richmond side were heartbreakingly relegated by City. Jamie Tartt was a City player then, and he helped send Richmond down. Then City sent him down the M40, and he's a Greyhound again. City are after another trophy. Richmond is after revenge. It's ready to blow, it's under the arch, it's Wembley Stadium. It's the FA Cup semifinal, and it starts now.”

“ Goal Manchester!”

“It's a corner kick for City.  And a goal! It's 2-nil.”

“This free kick could be dangerous, Alro.”

“And that's because it is. It's 3-nil now, Chris. They'll be searching for solutions on the Richmond bench.”

“Can Richmond turn it around in the second half? Oh, no. It's an own goal. And it's 4-nil.” 

“And City removes any shred of doubt about the outcome of this match.”

“If this were a fight, they would stop it. Frankly, Arlo, all fights should be stopped before they even start.”

—

The atmosphere in the locker room was suffocating, to say the least. All the boys on the team were quiet; the defeat was horrid for them, and even the coaching staff was going through it. You were far from an exception. You were sitting next to Jamie, texting your old teammates about the game on your phone, and you congratulated them as they sent you condolences over Richmond’s loss. There was nothing anyone could say or do to rectify the loss everyone was feeling. A text came through from your dad, though. 

DAD You think Jamie would be down for Nando's?

Ah, yes, you had forgotten what it was like to lose a match, but you had forgotten more of your post-loss tradition with your dad from when you were a kid. Any time you or your brothers lost a match, your dad would take you to Nando's, not that it would lessen the sting, but distract you for a while, and even possibly make you more driven to win your next match. 

Probably, we’ll see. 

“Excuse me, (y/l/n), you have a visitor in the hall.” A staff member called from the door, pulling you from your phone.

You nod, looking at Jamie kissing his temple, “I’ll be back, love.” Jamie barely nodded, but he squeezed your hand before you walked out into the hall. 

Out in the hallway, you saw the man your father had been complaining about earlier arguing with another staff member. However, the person waiting for you was your father. Who was still proudly wearing the Richmond jersey and holding his jacket now in his arms. He beamed when he saw you and pulled you into a hug. 

“Quite the loss out there. Bet those boys are feeling like rubbish… how are you taking it?”

You hug him back and shrug, “a loss is a loss, can’t say it doesn’t sting. However, it’s over now, so what can you do?” pulling away from the hug first, “However, Nandos after a game like that it’s well earned.” You smile at him, taking in the man wearing the kit of the man you loved deeply. “Look at you, Dad, someone looking as fit as you could pull some baddies at the pub,” you tease him as he spins in a slow circle with a laugh. 

“As much as i easily could, doesnt mean i should my dear child.” he chuckled to himself, looking over seeing the door opened to the locker room, the lad that had escorted you out here to your father, was leading the other man who was out here with your father inside the locker room, catching the end of his jollyness over City winning. A frown crossed your father's face. “Slime of the earth that one. Piss luck, Jamie has to have a dad like that. Piss poor, I say.” he crossed his arms, looking over at you, “I hope that Jamie didn't hear anything that fuck had to say.” 

Your face must have given away your surprise. You had heard your father swear a few times, but always in conversations you hadn't been privy to, so hearing him swear now was beyond surprising to you, as you were the only one to hear. All you could do was nod in agreement. And as quickly as that man had disappeared into the lockerroom with the staff member, he had returned outside the locker room, being forced out by Coach Beard. Both you and your father watched with surprise, but you remembered he used to be an American football coach, so the surprise was more momentary than anything. 

Your father leaned into you, “That Coach Beard fella would do wonders in rugby,” he whispered to you. 

You nod, “American football is a wild sport.” You pat your dad on the shoulder, walking him into the locker room, and both of you stand in the doorway looking at the sight in front of you

All the players sit in their cubbyholes, in astound silence and tension that has filled this room now. The sound of soft weeping fills the room as Jamie, in the center, stands, held by Roy, and cries into Roy's shoulder. Your father looks off to the side where Tedd has walked away to the office and walks after Tedd; you can't hear their conversation as it's not yours to hear, and no one has noticed your return. You can hear roy talking to Jamie, but you can feel that it isn't sinking in, more that Roy is attempting to soothe Jamie more than anything.

The uncomfortable pit returned to your stomach, so you walked to the staff office to get your backpack. Everything was loud and bright, but it wasn’t the time to disassociate. You're packing your bag when you hear the gentle knock on the door and turn to see Jamie standing there, puffy-eyed and much smaller than you are used to. He watches his feet instead of looking at you; you know he's afraid to start crying again in front of you. 

“I was really shit out there. Wasn't I?” his voice was soft, but bitter. This wasnt a question. He was telling you. 

“To be fair, City has played here before, Richmond hasn't, it's terrifying to play Wembley.” You lean against the table, arms crossed lazily. “It's one bad game, albeit in a list of plenty of bad games, but you played the best you could.” You watched the match, you knew it could have been worse, but you also knew it could have gone much better in the second half. 

He shrugs and lets out a dry scoff, “Yeah, and I could have-” 

“Could have what? Many things could have gone differently. It doesn't change what did happen.” You cut him off, you didn't mean to sound so sharp, but you were not about to let this man, the man you were so fond of, loved, and wanted the best for, spiral down the endless pit of what ifs and could haves.  

Your tone must have resonated because his head snapped up, and he finally looked at you, was hearing you, seeing you. And you were doing the same for him. The tiredness of years of playing to impress someone who genuinely didn't care how good you were, as long as they could use you for their own benefit. The exhaustion of trying to be the best, even if it got him absolutely fucking nowhere in his life, and the hiding behind the fake self-portrait at the expense of his physical and mental health. He's tired, he's run down, and above all, he needs a break. Time of silence that wasn't about football. You could see the tears returning to his eyes, but as quickly as you did, he attempted to hide them from you. You could feel him starting to pull back and shut down from you. It stung, but you did the same shit to him. 

You walk over and pull him in for a hug, tightly holding Jamie, not allowing him to pull away from you. Jamie doesnt attempt to pull away but does not attempt to hug you back right away, “loosing sucks but it doesnt change how hard you tried, and that you did what you could. Your dad is a fucking asshole.” you gently stroke Jamies back with one hand and gently play with his hair with the other, its only then he hugs you back, too tired to start crying again. 

“I cant ever do enough for him.” jamies voice came out nearly a whisper, a long pause loomed before he continued, “I can never do enough to make him proud of me, and he hates that i came back to richmond, and I hate him too… but i want him to be proud of something i did, and maybe thats why i was such a prick for so long was because of him- i dont want to be like him.” Jamie's voice cracked as he lay his head in the crook of your neck; you could feel the wetness of his tears soaking into your shirt and exposed skin. 

You nod, holding him here, resting your head atop his. “You're nothing like him, Jamie Tartt. Absolutely nothing like him.” You can feel him nod, but the two of you fall into another lull of silence as Jamie needs to be held, as much as you need to hold him. Only interrupted by the face of your father peeking in the doorway, seeing you holding Jamie. 

“Ah, I see I'm interrupting you, am I? Should I go get Nandos myself and bring some back to your place?” your dad whispers as if not to disturb Jamie, who at this point may have fallen asleep on your shoulder. 

You look down at Jamie, whose breathing has leveled, but not to the fact that he's clearly sleeping, “babes… You want to go home, or do you want to go eat junk food to feel better?” Your voice, rumbling softly in your chest, draws Jamie to attention. He looks up at you with those baby brown eyes. Exhaustion ragged in the bones of a pro footballer, setting in heavy. He barely lifts his head, but he nods, walking to grab your backpack for you, leaving you next to your dad.

Anyone who knew you knew you would say you were nothing like your father, but those people also knew that you and your father had the same mannerisms, from how you walked, talked and at current, waited hands on hip left foot out slightly further than your right, proud posture, and sipping a cup of coffee, since your dad brought you a cup. 

Jamie turned, seeing you standing next to your dad, and the slightest smile appeared, “You two stand the same.” 

Your father looked pleased to see Jamie smiling, then looked over to you before smiling, “I say they look like their mother.” he then opened the door to the office, “I hope you don't mind, Jamie, but I told Lasso that I would be stealing you early so we can go get junk food.” Jamie nods sheepishly before walking out the door, seeing his team packing up to get ready to get back on the bus. “Do you do this with all your kids?” he asks, confused. 

Your father nods, patting Jamie on the shoulder. “Old traditions die hard,” he smiles, before leading you and Jamie to the car park. 

Jamie looks over to you, “I just thought it was because he likes me.”

You nod and kiss his temple, “Of course he does, you're Jamie Tartt,” and you follow after your father, tugging Jamie along. 

-

By the time you had gotten to Nando's, it was dark outside. You, your father, and Jamie squished into a tiny corner booth, eating your late-night meal: your father with a half chicken, mashed potatoes, and rice on the side. Jamie was eating one of the double chicken burgers, chips, and some drink, which you hadn’t cared to see what he had gotten because you were eating your own meal without a care in the world, the meal had been relatively quiet since you and your father had nothing honestly to talk about and jamie didnt want to talk about the game, or what happened with his dad, and he had every right not to. Anyone who was still around at the time saw the match and gave their condolences to Jamie, but quickly moved on. At some point, you had excused yourself to go to the restroom before your trek back to Richmond. Leaving Jamie and your father alone at the table in silence. 

The silence was heavy but not uncomfortable, the two of them eating in silence before your father put down his fork, wiped his mouth with a napkin, and looked out the window. 

“Heard you got into it with your old man.” He didn't ask, he knew. Everyone who was in that room knew. 

Jamie didn’t look up from his plate, pushing around the remaining items. “Yeah…” he trailed off, putting his hands in his lap.

Your dad nodded, then looked back at the dejected Jamie and sighed. “Can I tell you a story? I think you might be able to relate to it.” Your father's voice was low, as if to comfort Jamie, but serious.

 Jamie only nodded in response, looking up to meet your father's gaze. “Yeah, go for it, I guess.” 

Your father nodded, “When I was not much younger than you, I wanted to be an artist. I always had a camera in hand. I preferred taking photographs of the things around me. My father thought being a photographer was sissy work. His words, not mine.” Your father pauses, looking back at the window. 

“My mother passed away when I was young, so my father was doing his best for his children, without much help. So he raised his boys the way an older man would. I grew to resent him over time, and the straw that broke the camel's back was the day I left for Uni. I had everything packed except my camera. Couldn’t find the damn thing,” your father let out a long sigh. 

Jamie finally looked up, just listening to your father fully engaged, “What happened to it?” 

Your father let out a dry chuckle, “he broke the thing. I had worked hard to get that camera, and now my dreams were on the kitchen floor. I left that house so angry, I couldn’t forgive him, and that hate filled me for a long time, and allowed me to push forward, to prove that old man wrong.” You dad looked back over to Jamie, “he only ever acknowledged my work when I became a decently popular photographer. I was a sports photographer. He saw my work in the paper. Was the only time he called.” 

Jamie nods, “What did he say?” 

Your father looks back down to his plate, a sad smile on his face, “he didn’t ever say what I wanted to hear, if that’s what you mean. And I lived with that for a long time. He was never part of my life after that either, not my wedding, the birth of any of my children, none of it. However, what I regret is letting him be the force that pushed me forward.” He takes Jamie’s hands into his own. Giving them a solid squeeze. 

“Hating someone is exhausting, spite is a powerful thing, but what will you do when that runs out?” 

Jamie locks eyes with your father, surprise etched acrossed it. He never thought about it before, and he didn’t have an answer for it either. He had been running on his hate for so long that he had never thought about when it would run out. “I dunno.. never thought about it before.” 

Your father nods, “Think on it, Jamie, you’ll figure it out when it’s time.” He smiles warmly at Jamie, “Besides, you can always use the care and support from others to drive you forward, like Roy and Tedd, hell, you can use (y/n) love to drive you forward. It’s a powerful thing, love is.” 

Jamie could feel his ears burning from being called out so bluntly about his feelings towards you, even if he had never fully verbalized them to you. He had definitely thought it, how wonderful you were. 

He loved that, for as deadpanned as you could be, your smile was always so warm. 

He loved that you were always down to do something or nothing. Be it your own likes or his, you two always had a good time together. 

He adored sleeping next to you; he found it funny that you made him have his own duvet because he would hog yours and you would get pouty over a blanket. 

He thought about how picky you were over your own food but always down to try something to appease others, and how if you didn’t like it, your nose would wrinkle like a rabbit. 

All the things he loved and more, he wasn’t even sure he deserved them in honesty. 

Your father could see it in Jamie’s face, the battle of self-worth and love for others, and he chuckled, breaking Jamie from his inner turmoil. “Now that, that is the face of a man who is mad in love. Remember that and use it to your advantage.” Your father's warm smile was a comfort to Jamie in these times. Someone who didn’t know him too deeply but offered such sound sage advice that he didn’t spit at before. 

“Yah know I thought you’d hate me, because of who I used to be.” Jamie laughed to himself slightly. “Guess I was worried over nothing.” 

Your father chuckles alongside Jamie, “can’t hate a boy who hasn’t grown up yet. You’re doing just fine, Jamie. Tedd may be a few dust bunnies short of a full vacuum, but he gives good advice.” 

Jamie snorts, “Yeah, sure he does.” 

You had finished up in the washroom and rejoined the table, “Miss anything good?” You slide back into your seat beside Jamie. 

“Nah, just telling Jamie how proud of him I am.” Your father collects all the garbage and takes care of it. “Be right back.” And he slipped away from the table. 

Jamie nods his head in the direction your dad walked. “You have a good dad, wish I had a dad like that.” 

You nod and poke his arm, “You do.” 

Jamie’s eyebrows furrowed, “I don’t know if you noticed (y/n) I really don’t.”

You shake your head, “You do because you have him, too, Jamie. He may not be your dad, but he’s my dad and by extension now your dad.”

Jamie nodded, taking it in before taking your hand in yours, the natural grin of a wild Jamie Tartt returning to his face. He squeezed your hand gently.

“Let’s go home.”

TAG LIST

 I am dreaming of a white Christmas With every Christmas card, I write May your days, may your days, may your days be merry and bright May all your Christmases be white

“You know, Christmas is right around the corner. What are you planning for this year?” 

“I dunno, probably stay in? I have no idea?”

“You're going to stay in for the holiday?” 

You'd been avoiding this conversation for a while now; not even a few months ago, you ignored any holiday invitation. You'd receive invites for birthdays, anniversaries, and family holidays. Still, it was casually ignored and spent inside with nothing but snacks, movies, and the mind-numbing existence of dissociation. Now, you couldn't help but look dead in the face, as neither of your brothers sat in front of you at the cafe where you get your morning cup from with Jamie every day.  It was the day before Christmas leave, and for some reason, both of your brothers decided to visit you and corner you on the simple matter of inviting you to Christmas. You could understand for Archie that it was an hour's drive at worst to visit you, and he made an effort to at least call you once a week now to make sure you hadn't died on him or, worse, shut him out again. However, Mathias was confusing. He and his wife lived in Walthamstow, and that was, at best, a four-hour drive. 

Where Archie was a bigger guy who looked like he could probably bench press Nathan with one hand, he played as a fullback. Even after retiring, he hadn't lost his build. Being a parent to two young boys and one of Sunderlands' head coaches helped keep him in good shape. You couldn't get the image of him looking like the original Jake from the State Farm commercial that Ted showed you after the last Sunderland vs. Richmond match because Archie was wearing a red polo and khakis then. You also learned that it spurred an entire line of insurance commercials. There was also a conspiracy theory where people thought the original “Jake from State Farm” had died. He didn't. You also learned about the  Jerad from Subway scandal in the same lecture. Mathias, on the other hand, was smaller in height and stature. He was a lean powerhouse of a left winger and was unafraid to cause a fuss when on the pitch. He was a real Mohamed Salah. He plays hard and is good at his job, but sometimes forgets that there are limits to the rules. He has had many moments where he got into trouble. He's grown up since the start of his career, when he had behavioral issues, married a lovely woman, and had a beautiful little girl named Claire. Get him talking about either his wife or daughter. Mathias will never shut up about it. 

So, there you were in a café with your brooding dad-type big brother and your other older brother, who was texting as if there was no tomorrow, giving off influencer energy. Deciding if you ever wanted to traverse the complicated Christmas of the (Y/L/N)’s. Who would host Christmas Eve? And Christmas day? And let us forget Boxing Day. Oh, the Christmas spirit of it all. 

How… joyful.

The look of disdain for the holiday spirit must have been palpable as both your brothers stopped what they were doing to look at you. Their faces were concerned and confused. They glance at each other and then back at you. 

“(y/n)? You alright?” Archie's voice was low and slow as if approaching a bear. He put his phone face down on the table and put his hand over one of yours to squeeze it. “It's just Christmas day; come over, see the boys, and head home if it's all you can manage.” Archie gave your hand another gentle squeeze, supporting your emotional plight. 

Mathias nodded in agreement and leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, forcing the chair onto its back two legs. “Yeah, and it’s not like we are asking you to host. It's not like you still have your old place in Manchester.” He was stretching until Archie elbowed him in the ribs. " Ow! What was that for?!”

“Apologize.” Archie was drinking his tea tiredly with his free hand. 

“Now hang on, their flat has to be tiny! You've seen team lodging before!” Mathias looked at you with the "save me" look but pleaded with the wrong person. You roll your eyes, watching the two bicker back and forth before breaking it up: “If I could get a word in edgewise, I'd tell you I was planning on making the trip unless something came up.” You watch as both smile with childish glee when you tell them this. 

“Really?! As in, you'll be there, and we can have the family Christmas movie night before we all have to return to being adults?” Mathias asked as if the Energizer Bunny had zapped him. 

“(y/n), I'm glad you'll be joining us. You do not need to force yourself to get anyone anything, though.” Archie kicked at Mathias' feet to get him to come over but didn't look away from you, studying every part of your response. 

Your eyes widen at hearing Archies' words, “No gifts for Christmas?! I'm not the Grinch or Ebenezer Scrooge! I'll let you know I got the children gifts they will like!” You didn't mean to sound so offended, but your pride as the favorite fun adult to the children in question was on the line.

Your brothers looked at each other and you; they hadn't seen you this pumped for anything since your first league match. 

Mathias put his chair completely back on all four legs. " To be fair, you're competing with us, and we know our children; however, they will be delighted to see their favorite (y/n).” 

You nod primitively, “As they should be. Since I'm equally excited to see them. They are going to love their gifts.” your declaration of gifting domination led to a silence that fell over the three of you after Mathias declared support. It wasn't tense or suffocating, but rather one that brought a pause to accept and understand each other as siblings and as individuals. Archie was the first to break the silence. 

He was getting up to leave. He looked at his watch with a frown, putting his coat draped across the back of his chair, along with a scarf. “Well, I do have to get going. I promised the boys to take them to watch The Polar Express at the cinema as part of some Christmas showing,” he smiled at you before patting your head. “We will see you. Oh, and feel free to bring someone with you.” Before you could say anything to him, he was out the door into the cold. 

You nod, more confused than anything by Archie's invitation. You had failed to notice that Mathias was also getting up. 

“It was nice seeing you (y/n), but I must return. The wife wants to do a fun Christmas-themed movie night with Claire, and it's a four-hour drive back.” He was putting on his coat and looking at the time. “Don't stress over it too much. They are children.” Mathias gave you a tight hug. “See you later.” he was also out the door before you could say anything more. 

So here you sat, alone and with your thoughts. Inviting someone wouldn't be so bad. Honestly, the only people you could even think of were a few select people in your life, but every one of them either was busy with existing plans or was going to be at Christmas already. The only person you kept drifting back to was Jamie. Your sisters-in-law would love him since, I mean, he's fit and charming. And your niece and nephews would love for him to play football with them in the garden or even play Mario Kart while the other adults prepare dinner. The idea of him being there and being part of the family was one you enjoyed as you felt he would fit right in, how handsome he would look in an ugly Christmas sweater, and joining your family in traditions. It made you feel warm in your chest. 

Gods, you were down bad for this man. 

You sighed as you got up to put on your coat. If not for your job, you had to return to work to give your coworkers Christmas presents. Throwing your takeaway cup into the proper receptacle, you headed back to Nelson Road, deep in thought on your drive back. You were on auto-pilot until you reached the coach's office, where you watched the coaches exchanging their gifts for each other from the outside. You felt a wave of discomfort wash over you, like a heavy blanket of social despair, but you mentally folded that blanket up and put it away to deal with later. Entering the office, you stood next to Roy, “Did I miss anything?” you whispered to him. 

“Nah, just the team trading in booze and Ted giving them a half day for the holiday,” he mutters back at you as he rolls his eyes, watching the team outside the window celebrating and having a good old time. 

You nod, watching Ted hand Beard a bag of something that Beard looked into but then did nothing to offer any clues of what was in said bag. You watched with raised eyebrows but didn't say anything about it.

Finally realizing you've joined the party, Ted smiles endearingly at you, “Well, if it isn't Doc (y/n), how are you doing on this fine day?” That damn smile was contagious, and you stood by that motion: " Pretty good. Coach Ted finished a few loose ends in the kitchen before the holiday break.”

Everyone nodded in understanding. 

“So, what are your plans for the holiday?” Ted watched you with anticipation. 

 You look up from the bag you had been rooting through. “Oh, I'm just going to spend it with my brothers and their families. Maybe I'll get a Christmas call from my parents, but I plan on spending a lot of time with my nephews and niece. " With that, you pull out a stack of small wrapped presents. “Oh! Before I forget, I do have gifts for you all.” 

“Oh, come on now (y/n), you didn't have to do that for us!” As much as he tried to dissuade you from handing out the gifts, he also took his in earnest, looking over the brown paper wrapping with a twine knot holding it in place. It wasn't heavy and was about the size of a standard book. 

Beard took his gift and weighed it in his hands, eyes squinting. “Is it a copy of Forever and the Earth? By Ray Bradbury?” You couldn't tell if that was an accurate guess because you'd never read that book, but he did begin to open it, not seeing your reaction.

“Oh, I wonder what it is-” Nate seemed quite giddy to receive a gift from you, not that you two interacted much. He gave off the feeling that he would be challenging to work with, so you were polite to him, but nothing more than that was needed for your work relationship.

Roy grunted as you handed him one, “Thanks.” he took it, weighing its weight before looking at the beard, “closer to any of the Witcher books.”

Ted shook his head. " This is too big to be that. The Witcher books are usually in small print—tiny books—the size of a flashcard, you know?”

Everyone, including yourself, nodded in agreement with Ted, but you said, “Come on then - go ahead and open them up!” You stood there anxious as they each opened their gifts. 

Each had received a leather-bound journal with their name embossed on the cover. The leather was a reddish hue, and on the first page of each journal was a handwritten note addressed to each coach—your handwriting. You spent quite a bit of time on these journals, and you wanted to make sure that the letters conveyed the meaning that each coach had to you since coming to work here. 

The silence was heavy in the office as each coach looked over their respective journals and read their notes as if they would vanish. You had noticed how tenderly Roy handled his before walking away to put it into his bag. Ted kept re-reading his letter repeatedly, and you thought that man was about to start crying because of you. Beard was hard to decipher; he was quiet, but he placed it in the top drawer of his desk. Nate read his note before setting it down on the cabinet he was perched on.

Ted broke the silence. “Thank you. This is a beautiful gift. I just wish I could get you something!” He seemed to reach for his wallet, probably to give you money as an impromptu gift.

Everyone thanked you, and Roy just grunted, but you knew it meant he liked it. 

You shake your head, “None needed. Much like you and your books, I think people should write to help them discover things about themselves.” You smile at the coaches, “Well, with that, I should get going. I'll see you a lot after the holiday break. Have a happy Christmas, Cheers!” You head out of the office as the coaches all call their goodbyes after you.

Exiting the office, the team was exchanging their Secret Santa gifts with each other. Isaac sat atop the center platform in a comfy chair, wearing his Santa outfit, which made you wonder why he had it. You stood to the side, watching them all having a grand time; as you had arrived towards the end, no one had noticed you watching them except Will, the kitman. He was a charming young lad. He waved at you to show you what he had gotten for Christmas from the team, and you gave him a thumbs-up and a smile. Around this point, the team noticed your arrival as they prepared to leave for their half-day. 

Dani walked up to you and gave you a very tight bear hug, “Feliz Navidad (y/n)! Have the best of holidays!” Surprised by the hug, you could truly only get out a faint “cheers” as he walked out after practically squeezing you to death.

Next was Jan Maas. he put his hand out for a proper handshake, which you returned in earnest, “Happy Christmas.”

“And to you as well, Jan Maas,” you said, and with that firm handshake, he walked out of the locker room with his Secret Santa booze in hand.

Following after was Colin, who seemed to falter between a handshake and a hug, so you chose the sweet lad and pulled him into a hug, “Happy Christmas, Colin. Be safe on holiday. Tell your mum hi for me.” 

Collin hugs you back and nods, “I will, oh! She did want to send you more recipes; I'll bring them back with me.”

You nod and let him out of the hug. “That's very sweet of her,” you say. “Tell her thank you for me.” 

Isaac was right behind Collin, and he and you exchanged firm nods and then immediately dabbed each other up before going back to stoic versions of yourselves. 

“Cheers Isaac.”

“Cheers (y/n).” 

Sam walked up and handed you a wrapped box; it wasn't heavy or anything, but it was rather clunky, and it didn't make much noise either. " This is from me for you. You have been a wonderful addition to our team, and I hope you continue to support us. From us to you,” he smiled kindly at you. “Open it; I'm sure you will like it.”

You smile back, unwrapping the gift at his encouragement. Inside was a kit, but not just any old kit - it was a Richmond kit and the goalkeeper colors. The best part was that it was in your name. Y/N 13. You stare at it in disbelief. “Is this for real? You guys didn't have to!”

Sam nodded, “Glad to see you enjoying your gift. Of course, for all the help you have provided us with this year so far, it's the least we could do for you.”

 A large smile cracks through, and you give Sam a quick hug. “Thank you, Sam. Give me just a moment!” you say, and then you quickly head to the showers. You throw on the kit as soon as you can before reappearing in the locker room, where Jamie is waiting for you. 

“Fuck, (y/n) you look fucking fit.” his jaw was agape, looking at you before catching himself; he cleared his throat and looked away from you. You in a kit was hot to him. Noted. 

You chuckled and smoothed it out with a childish smile, “I don't think I've ever been happier to see my name on a kit than right now; who came up with the idea?” 

Jamie shrugged, but he had a cheeky little smirk on his face, clearly proud of himself for giving you a gift that you liked, and the entirety of the team pitched in because they wanted to, but he was the original mastermind, and that made him special. “The idea was mine, but we all wanted to know yah?”

You nod and give him a big hug. “That is incredibly sweet of you, Jamie; thank you,” you say. You let him go as quickly as you grabbed him. “I have to show this off.” you walked out ahead of Jamie into the hall where, surprisingly, everyone was waiting to see you, and with them seeing you in your kit, the hall erupted into cheers.

As everyone started to chant, you included. 

We're Richmond till we die.  We know we are,  We're sure we are,  We're Richmond till we die.

As the chants came to an end, everyone trickled out of the building for their holiday; people who were leaving town had their bags packed in their cars already, and others had headed home, but you stood in the car park watching your friends all leave for their holidays and looked at your phone, you had yet to receive a call from with of your parents for the holidays, and you knew your brothers where busy, so it felt a bit empty. 

“You stare off like that a lot, you know.” Jamie stood next to you in layers of less-than-optimal clothing for the cold. 

You nod and look over at him, “Yeah, I do a lot of internal dialog between fighting my mental demons and having to talk out my next move. It's a losing battle.” you nudge him. “Going home to mums’ for holiday?”

He nods, “Only till tomorrow, though; heading out tonight. Why gonna miss me or something?” he asks with that coy smirk he wears too well. 

Rolling your eyes, you chuckle, “It's possible, but… I was wondering if you're free on Christmas Day evening. I go up to my brothers, and they invited you, and I mean, you won't have to, and it's kinda weird since we are friends, and you'll be spending it with my in laws, and you know what, never mind.”

Jamie watches you and waits for you to finish your spiral before he dares to interrupt you. “It's not weird; we are friends, and they invited me, so I should go; who's gonna be there for you if you need someone?” he wasn't wrong. I mean, you were going to be with family, but you didn't want to put that on them. 

You raise an eyebrow at him, “You sure you want to do this?”

Jamie nods, “I stand by my word, but you have to meet my mum next time.” 

Cracking a smile, you shake your head in amusement, “I would love to meet her any day of the week, Jamie; that's not a fair tradeoff.” 

He puts his hand on his chin, pretending to contemplate what you said, “You meet my mum; I meet your brothers personally instead of professionally. I don't see the difference?” 

You gently pat him on the shoulder, “I just hope my folks bail out.” Then you head for your car, waving to Jamie, “Have a safe drive! Tell your mum Hi for me!” 

Jamie watches after you, waving as your car fades out of the sightline of the car park. 

—

Christmas morning was just as it had been for the past three years: silent. No calls, texts, or one to wake you up and wish you a merry Christmas. However, it wasn't a bad thing. You enjoyed the silent morning of Christmas Day, a whole morning to relax and enjoy yourself the way you wanted. Usually, it meant sleeping in or something, but not this time. You still had to load your car with the presents you had bought for the children and make sure you had gifts for the adults involved. Also, since you'd be going, you needed to make a dish to pass. So you spent your entire morning going back and forth between loading your car, drinking your morning wake-up drink of choice, and making something delicious to share. 

So when knocking on your flat, you were startled to realize what time it was. 

2:53 pm 

It was an odd time for someone to knock, but you walked to your front door and opened it to Jamie standing there with a large pile of presents in his arms. He seemed to be struggling with them, causing you to laugh as you took some off his hands. “Jamie, what is all of this?” you asked as you held the door wider for him to walk in with the rest of the gifts. You follow him inside, letting the door shut behind you, not bothering with the lock since you'd be leaving soon enough as it was.

Jamie mustered a small thank you as he walked into your flat, placing gifts on the table. " I told Mum about you a few weeks ago, and she decided to buy you some things—I also bought you gifts, but most of these are from my mum.” He turned and flashed you that Jamie smile before looking around your flat as if looking for something. Why does your flat smell like peppermints?” 

You place the rest of the presents down on the table next to the pile Jamie put down, “Your mum didn't have to do that- tell her I said thank you.” you turn to the stove and gesture to it with your head, “oh I've been making peppermint bark. Since I'm heading over to my brothers soon, I figured I would bring some sort of dish.” you walk over to your stove and gesture to the fridge. “Grab the trays out? I need to break them.” 

Jamie nods and walks over before taking out two 9x13 baking sheets from the fridge and setting them on the counter. Each had a thick layer of peppermint bark, ready to be shattered and enjoyed. Jamie tried sneaking a piece before you batted his hands away. “Hey! I just want a piece!” 

You shake your head at him, “Tsk, tsk, tsk—you spoil your dinner, Jamie Tartt. Help me break it so we can head out. I prefer to be early.” You hand him a wooden mallet that you used for this specifically. 

He pouts, takes the mallet, and begins breaking the candy for you, putting it in the container you pulled out for him. When done, he turns to you, who is holding a huge box. “Is that even going to fit in your car?” 

You nod as the box slips through your hands, and you must hold it up with your knee. “If I keep the back seats down, yes - it's how I got it here in the first place. Can you please open the door?”

Jamie hurries to the door, realizing you are struggling, “I can get it-”

“I'm fine, Jamie. Finish packing that up,” you say, hurrying to drop this box off in your car. After settling the box into your vehicle, you look back at the door to your building to see Jamie holding the peppermint bark in containers you'd pulled down to put them in —and him with a large chunk in his mouth. You smile at him, shaking your head, “Well, come on then—I don't have all day for you to eat my peace treaty.” 

Jamie rolled his eyes but walked over, putting the containers in the back. He still had the large chunk in his mouth as he approached the side, climbing into his seat. He had claimed it by now and got pouty if anyone adjusted it, but the thing was, he was the only one who had adjusted it even slightly and then proceeded to get upset at himself for changing it. Buckling himself in, he smiled at you and broke off a stolen piece of bark, “for you.”

You roll your eyes, take the candy, and snack on it during your drive. 

---

The traffic to Sunderland was about as bad as you expected on the A1(M) as it was Christmas day, so those driving at this time were probably heading to see family. You and Jamie spent the entire drive talking about his Christmas with his mum, and it consisted of you mostly listening to him adoringly as he told you about some of the most minute details of his Christmas. And honestly, you enjoyed every second of it; you learned much about his mom and her partner, Simon. And how great Simon was to his mom, and you wanted to meet both of them, primarily as Jamie's partner but even just because you two are good friends. 

Wait

…

Partner? 

You shook your inner voice opinions out of your head and drove the rest of the way to your brothers' house. 

Your brother's house was in a suburb outside the city, like one of those copy-past job housing areas but with more personality than the usual Housing Council would often permit. It had two floors with a deep blue front door, their siding was grey, and they had quite the back garden, all fenced in and safe looking. In the drive, you spotted their two cars, a mini-van and a smaller car, a Subaru. The two vehicles parked side by side. The car blocking the mini-van was a Range Rover. You knew your brothers were here, but you hadn't expected a small sports car next to the Range Rover. 

… 

Your father was over for Christmas. 

You park your car, blocking in your brothers' car, gripping the steering wheel in a vice. Your knuckles were white as you felt any blood drain in your face. A physical wave of ice-cold panic washed over you, and your jaw clenched. 

Your father was over for Christmas.

Jamie looked up from his phone, noticing your body language. He checked to make sure the car was in park before turning the car off on you in case something happened. He then gently took both your hands off the wheel of the car and held them in his own, giving them a squeeze, not in a painful way but in an attempt to ground your spiraling. 

“Hey, talk to me. What's wrong?” His voice was soft and low, not to startle you more. It was like he was trying to soothe a small child, and it was working. 

You don't look up at him, but you can feel your shoulders drop a little of their tension, and you squeeze his hands back. “My father is over for Christmas,” you whisper, feeling your own voice shake. You can't help but feel small and scared.

Jamie continues to hold your hands and turns his body. Hence, he's better facing you, “Hey, you have every right to be here as he does, and if he tries to start something with you, I'll set him straight. I promise.” he sounded so sure of himself as if he could handle your dad even though he couldn't handle his own, but that's the thing right? We all struggle to confront our demons, but we will be the first to protect others because that's how we are. However, this isn't the case with your dad. 

You let out a soft laugh, not a sarcastic one, but a soft and real one. " Thank you, love. I appreciate that.” You take a deep breath before giving his hands one last tight squeeze. " Alright... I think I'm ready.” 

Jamie smiled. He allowed himself to gloss over the fact that you just referred to him as love, but he was going to ride that wave for a while. “Alright, do you want help bringing everything in?” 

You nod, “Yeah.” you two both unbuckle your seat belts and get out of the car; opening the boot of your vehicle, you two grab all the gifts and the peppermint bark you made and head to the front door. Knocking on the door firmly on the door so that someone might hear you inside. 

It takes a few seconds before anyone opens the door. 

Standing before you is a little girl, about eight or nine; her hair is done up in twin pigtails, a spitting image of her father. She frowns at you and Jamie, but not out of disdain but more of confusion. “Uncle Archie, I thought (y/n) was coming by themselves!” 

It takes a second before Archie comes to the front door and looks at you and Jamie standing there with several boxes. He takes a few from you: “I said (y/n) might bring a friend; I didn't know for sure. Speaking of welcome, come in. Shoes by the door, please—Claire, go find your cousins, please. " He looked so tired.

Seeing your niece run off, you smile and turn back to your brother. “You didn't tell me dad would be in town.”

Archie sighs; I didn't think he would be, but I mentioned off-handedly that you had agreed to be here, and well, that's how we got here, isn't it?” he gives a strained smile, “I should have texted you, and I'm sorry for the lack of communication with you. It's something I need to work on, and I have been.” he turns to Jamie and smiles, “Welcome into my home, Tartt; come with me so we can drop off these gifts by the tree.” and with that, he walked away taking now all the boxes you had once held. 

Jamie looks at you, surprised and confused, “I guess I'll be right back?” 

You nod, “He won’t bite you. He only bit a player once, and it was well deserved.” Of course, you were joking, but it seemed to not land, given that Jamie was staring at you wide-eyed and concerned. “Did he?”

You shake your head and turn him around, pushing him forward to follow the way Archie had walked. 

Leaving you in the entranceway, you take off your shoes and walk towards the back of the house. The children were probably upstairs playing with their new toys, and your sisters-in-law were perhaps in the kitchen, not because they were cooking but because they were probably catching up. You were heading to the kitchen when you passed the door to the back garden, where you watched your nephews and your niece passing a football around. You smiled at yourself and headed towards the door to go out. Remembering you'd taken off your shoes, you stopped and turned back down the hall to put them back on and then returned to the initial pursuit of going to watch them. 

Entering the back garden, the children stopped to look at what adult had interrupted their attention from their game. Seeing you, all three seemed rather shy and huddled close together. They hadn't seen you in years. It wouldn't be that they didn't remember you, but we're not sure you wouldn't just disappear again on them. 

Crouching down to their level, you held your knees for balance. As you had crouched low enough that you actually were looking up at them, you offered a gentle smile to all three of them. “Jason, I heard you play a mean defensively. Your dad has sent me videos, and you do a good job.”

Jason, your oldest nephew and definitely the tallest, was standing in front of his younger brother and cousin as if blocking you from them. “(y/n) What do you want?” His tone was rude, but it was understandable. 

Your smile doesn't fade or shift. " Well, I wanted to say hi to you three and apologize to you boys.’

The boys look at each other, but Jason responds, “Apologize? Why?”

You let out a sigh, readjusting your standing. “I know you boys came to the Sunderland vs. Richmond game and probably saw that I took off after seeing you boys and your mum. I wanted to apologize if that made you feel that I didn't want to see you or if you felt that I may hate you somehow. My anxiety is not an excuse; however, I also couldn't let you three see me at my lowest point at that moment. Instead, your feelings were damaged, and I'm sorry.” 

Both boys frown and seem to be thinking it over, but Ian, the younger boy who looked exactly like his mother, walks over to you, not saying anything, and hugs you around the neck as tightly as his small frame will allow him. “We missed you,” he whispers into your shoulder. 

You hug him with one arm and hold out your other arm for Jason. He frowns. " You're not going just to leave again, right?” 

You shake your head, “the universe would have to strike me down for me to leave again.” 

He nods and walks over tightly, hugging you. 

All three of you look to Claire, awkwardly standing off the side. “What?” she asks.

Jason pulls her into the group hug. “You’re part of this too!” 

The four of you laugh and hug each other momentarily before the children pull away from you. “Mum said dinner would start at five. So, will you play with us until then?” Jason asks, grabbing the abandoned football. 

You nod, ruffling his hair. "However, you three will have to go easy on this elder. I'm not even sure I know the rules anymore.” You tease the children, who all roll their eyes and bring you into their game. 

—

Jamie followed Archie through the house and into the living room. When they arrived, four other people were sitting in the living room: Mathias, whom Jamie had recognized from playing many matches against, a woman sitting across from him with lighter hair, and another woman with darker, almost black hair chatting while sipping on wine. The women both looked over to Jamie, acknowledging his arrival. They smiled, but they were quick to return to their conversation. Then, this older man was sitting in a leather chair with glasses hanging off the edge of his nose. He looked at his phone while talking to Mathias about something tedious and unimportant. Archie put the gifts down by the tree and gestured to Jamie to do the same; Jamie did and then stood by Archie awkwardly, not knowing what to do. 

Archie placed a firm hand on Jamie's shoulder and cleared his throat. " Dad, this is Jamie Tartt. He's a footballer for Richmond, (y/n) brought him.” 

The older man turned away from his middle child, momentarily looked Jamie up and down, and smiled at him. " Hello, Jamie. It's a pleasure to meet you. I'm (y/n) 's father, but you can call me Jim.” He then offered Jamie his hand to shake. Jamie nodded, trying to steel himself for whatever conversation would come if he had to protect your honor against your father. He shook your dad's hand with a polite smile. “Ah yeah, nice to meet you too.” 

Jim smiled before letting go of Jamie's hand, sitting back in his chair, and getting comfortable in his seat. " Well, young man? How is your career going? Are you having a good time in Richmond? Are you happy there?” All of these questions caught Jamie off-guard. The two brothers smiled and looked to Jamie for his answer. 

Jamie shrugs, “My career is doing well. I'm having fun playing for Richmond. Coach Lasso and Beard are a bit strange, but Granddad—I mean, Roy is a coach, and we've been winning, so there's that.” He sits down next to Mathias and has his hands together, his leg gently bouncing, trying to gauge his dad.

Jim smiles and nods, “Ah yes, the Roy Kent effect. He would be a wonderful manager someday, I think. When he grows up, that is.” 

Mathias rolls his eyes. " Dad, you do not need to analyze everything Tartt says. I'm not even sure he knows what he's talking about half the time anyway.” 

Jamie, who was about to say something to his defense, was beaten to the punch, literally and metaphorically, as Archie whacked his brother upside the head, telling him to knock it off and play nice. And Jim, who shot his son a glare. 

“The Immaturity of the past gives way to the learning and growth of the present.” Jim turns to Jamie, “I apologize. He has the same sharp tongue as his mother. Speaking of parents, did you spend any time with yours? I hope (y/n) didn't put you in a tough spot.” 

Jamie nods, “I spent Christmas Eve with my mum and this morning with her too, and (y/n) didn’t I want to be here. For them.” Jamie holds a challenging look with Jim, who nods and smiles at him as if Jamie's challenge is nothing. 

“Ah, that's good. To be honest, I was worried. (y/n) hasn't come to Christmas the last few years, and granted, neither have I. But I'm glad they have made a new companion from you, Jamie” 

The conversation simmered and turned to discussing careers and football, which was easy. And honestly, your dad was winning Jamie over, not because of the conversation but because he could see that your brothers enjoyed their dad's presence. It was calm and welcoming, unlike when he was with his dad, which was tense and uncomfortable. So then, why did your dad being here put you so on edge?

---

Some time had passed, and everyone moved their conversation to the dining room, as it was time to eat. No one moved to grab the children as most of the adults were sitting, but they were waiting. 

“Should someone get (y/n)?” Jamie asked hesitantly. Noticing that your family was in no rush to grab you or the children. Archie shakes his head, “No, they will be inside shortly.” He was cutting the turkey up so it wouldn't be a hassle later. 

Children laughing in the hall could be heard as if on cue. Everyone momentarily turned to the hall to listen before the boys entered the living room. Jason sat by Jamie because one of the best footballers was in his house, and Ian went and sat by his mom. 

“Dad! (y/n) says that they got us cool gifts this year!” Jason buzzed excitedly, bouncing in his chair and causing the table to bounce slightly. 

Archie raised an eyebrow, “Jason, please, calm down- did they now? Did they say what they got you?” completely unaware of what you got them. 

Realizing the table shaking, he tried to still himself: " Oh right, sorry.” But he shook his head at his father's question: “Nah, just that we would like them!”

Jenni, Archie's wife, and Sam, Mathias's wife, both smirked while drinking their wine. They knew 1000% what you had gotten the kids, including something specific that may not sound like much but would be very touching to them in the end. 

You arrived a few minutes after the boys, with Claire sitting firmly on your hip. She was still light enough for you to carry her around like this, and you two were talking about her school and how she was doing this term. She was very animated and nearly fell out of your grip, but luckily, your grip was tight enough to save this child from herself. 

“Sorry, putting coats and stuff away,” you mutter your apology, letting Claire down as she was wiggling and wanted to sit by her dad. 

You went to sit by Jamie, but your nephew took your spot. You stuck your tongue out at him and sat beside Sam, who smiled sweetly at you. And you returned the smile. Exchanging hellos, everyone began making plates to enjoy the holiday meal. 

---

After everyone had finished eating, you and your sisters-in-law began cleaning up while everyone else went back to the living room to hang out until you three joined them for presents. You were grabbing containers to put the leftovers in but turned to see both your sisters-in-law staring at you, arms crossed and eyebrows raised, “What?”

“What do you mean, ‘what’? Since when the hell did you start dating Jamie Tartt?!” Sam gestured to the door, whisper-yelling since they would hear her otherwise.

You blink for a moment, caught off-guard; before you could even respond, Jenni interjected. 

“Is he good to you? He seems like he would be a prick and not care about your feelings… are you sure that this is a healthy relationship? Because even if the sex is good, if the relationship is poor, it's not a good situation-” Jen was quickly cut off by you now. 

“Woahwoahwoah—I'm not sleeping with him! Nor am I dating him!” You wave your hands to get them to stop and listen. 

Sam and Jenni looked at each other and then at you. “Does he know that?” they both asked. 

You frown, confused, “huh?”

Sam sighs, holding her head and shaking it. " Babes, he looks like a lovesick puppy every time he looks at you and talks about you—the entire time you were with the kids, he was gushing about you like you were his world when you came up.”

You stand there, baffled more now than before, “huh???”

Jenni sighs, holding her head in her hands. " Okay, but you were doing the same thing. You couldn't stop looking at him, and by the love of God, you invited him to Christmas! Who invites their friends to a family Christmas?” 

Jenni was right, of course. You knew you liked Jamie, and you couldn't deny it was odd to ask a friend to a family Christmas like this. You had imagined being with Jamie for a while, in the mundane moments, not just in romance or sensual ways. You had already come to terms with this fact, but you couldn’t derail his career and didn't want to derail your return. 

Your silence spoke volumes to Sam and Jenni. Because they both gave you the ‘oh honey.’ 

You put a hand up to stop them. “I do like him. I imagine the mundane parts of my life with him, like grocery shopping and driving, holding his hand in mine. Growing old together, stuff like that—I mean, yeah, I imagine the other parts too—but I cannot derail his success, and I need to focus on returning to the pitch, you know?” 

Hearing you, neither one had processed the end of your statement. 

Sam sighed, patting your shoulder. " You're so in love; it's depressing, but I understand not wanting to get in the way of his career. I felt that way, but look at me and your brother. We make it work.” She smiled and put stuff in the fridge. 

Jenni shrugs, “You're allowed to do what you want. Just remember that you can say something to him, too. " She is putting dishes into the dishwasher. 

It was almost instantaneous, but both suddenly snapped their heads at you. 

“WHAT?!” 

There was a muffled call out from the living room to check on you three, but very quickly, you three were now in the living room as Sam dragged you by your wrist and Jenni pushed you forward from behind. Everyone looked at you, confused, and Sam and Jenni sat by their husbands. 

“Tell them what you just told us,” Jenni urged you, putting you on the spot. The only people who knew were Rebecca, as you had only told her a few days ago. You hadn't told anyone else because you didn't know how, but you had to do it now. 

You let out a tense sigh and look at your feet, trying to calm your heart. “Alright... I plan on submitting for being a free agent player available for a contract next year.” 

There was this solid moment of silence. No one spoke or moved; honestly, it felt like time had frozen in place. 

Your father was the first to speak. 

“(y/n). Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you’re ready for this?” There was no anger, no malice, only the love, care, and unconditional support of a father who spent the last three years doing everything he could for his child, who was far too stubborn to accept the help of anyone around them. 

You froze. How were you supposed to respond to that? You spent this long trying to convince yourself you were ready, are ready, and that question alone was enough to shake your resolve. Except it wasn't this time; instead,  you were much more afraid of disappointing your father if you didn't make the right choice in his eyes. You quickly excuse yourself and walk outside, grabbing your shoes as you head to your car just to sit for a moment. Alone. 

The room was silent for a moment. 

“Jenni, that was uncalled for. Why did you put them on the spot like that?” Archie looked at his wife, not mad, just disappointed. 

She looks down at her hands, “I'm sorry. … they said it so casually, but it's not small. It's a big decision, and I thought they might want to tell everyone!” She sighs, “No, that was rude of me. I will apologize to her properly when they are ready to talk.”

Sam gently pats Jenni's knee, “Glad to see the couples therapy is working for you two.” 

Jenni and Archie smile at each other.

Ian looks up at Jamie, “does that mean (y/n) will be playing again?” he asks softly. 

Jamie nods, “If a club wants to buy their contract, yeah, it would mean they play again, but they probably have to go through a lot to get to that point again. Three years is a long time.” Seeing that Ian seemed disappointed in the second half of his explanation, he smiles and ruffles Ian's hair, “but I'm sure they will be fine.”

Ian nods but turns back to his cousins, who are all sitting and looking at the gifts they have gotten but haven't opened yet. 

Mathias looks at Jamie with a serious expression. “Go check on them, " he says before turning his attention to the kids. 

Jamie nodded, excusing himself. He quickly put his shoes on and ran out to the car. He quietly got in the passenger side, gently closing the door. He didn't talk or dare touch your hand unless you moved first, as you were working through something. 

You lay back in your seat, your eyes closed, and you sat there for a long while before sighing. You reached out, grabbing Jamie's hand, but this time, fingers interlocked, and you just sat there for a moment. In the silence of no expectation, it was terrific.

“I sprained my ankle when I was thirteen because I moved the wrong way on a wet pitch. It was a small sprain, staying off of it and ice for a couple of days.” you pause, thinking of how to word this story. “The time the doctor told me to take care of it was quick,k but even after that, my dad was beyond worried… constantly checking in with me. I ensured I was okay and would be okay walking around with my mates after school. So, when I tore my ACL, my father was beyond concerned. He was there for every PT appointment, and he almost lost his job because he wanted to make sure I was alright.” You laugh to yourself dryly. “I'm afraid of him because I don't want to disappoint him. I know he's proud of everything his children have done, but I'm so scared that this will be the one thing that makes him less proud of me.” 

You turn to face Jamie, hands still intertwined; somewhere along the way, he has started rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand in a calming rhythm. “I am so beyond scared I will get hurt again, that I will have to retire, and that even if those things don't happen, I won't be good enough… but I want to believe in myself and just show up and show out.” you smile at him, “I cannot imagine my life any other way anymore, I'm not some young 17 year old but I'm not out of my prime yet and I dunno… I don't think I'd be at this point if it weren’t for this job.” 

Still holding your hand, Jamie brings it up to his face and kisses the backside, giving you a teasing look: " What can I say? It's the Tartt effect.” 

You smile, then you laugh, a genuine laugh that, if you let it go for too long, you will start crying. " Oh, is that how it is, Tartt? For all we know, it's the Ted Lasso Effect!” 

Jamie scrunches his face up a bit, shaking his head, but then stops, contemplates the idea, and nods, “Ted makes all of us better people- if it wasn't for him, I don't think we would have ever met. Or if we did, 'd be a little shit prick who bullies people and thinks making my girlfriend jealous is a smart idea to the point she breaks up with me and dates Granddad-” he frowns, having a moment of clarity in front of you, “I am so glad we didn't meet when I was like that.” 

You chuckle to yourself and pat his shoulder with your free hand. " I'm glad I also met you like this. I prefer the emotional and personal growth and maturity you've gotten over the past—what year?”

He nods, “Something like that, yeah.” 

You nod and gently squeeze his hand, “I love you like this.” You sigh, “Alright, let's head back in. I want to see the kids' reactions to their gifts.” And with that, you quickly get out of the car, as it dawned on you that you had just admitted to Jamie that you were in love with him at the very least. You slam the door to your car a bit harder than you intended as you quickly ran back inside. 

Jamie sat there for a minute, stunned by your confession, if it could be called that. He couldn't get out of the car right away, as he was trying to get his heart to stop beating as if it was trying to escape his body. 

---

Returning inside, your family was opening their gifts; your brothers had seemed to exchange theirs early, and Sam and Jenni had their boxes next to them. The children were surrounded by opened boxes, mostly from their grandpa. Jason opened one of the boxes you had gotten him as you walked toward the doorway. He shook it to see if he could hear anything before tearing into it and gasping excitedly, a new pair of football boots. Boots is just like his favorite defensive player but in his size. He was yelling excitedly, showing them off to his brother and Claire. The gifts were all opened for the children, and you brought the large box next to Claire's mom. You got Claire a telescope since she loved space and looking at the stars. 

The only thing left was three envelopes, one for each child. They each gently ripped into them, careful not to damage the card inside. Each of them opened their cards to pull out what looked like a paper banknote. However, under the careful eye of a child, it was more like a coupon. 

“Weekend With (y/n) is good for four times and expires next Christmas..,?” the children read out loud. Then they looked at each other confused and seemed to ask their parents, who didn't know what was happening or play along until you announced your presence. 

You clear your throat from the doorway. " It means you can pick four weekends you want to spend with me. Either I come to you, or you spend the weekend with me in Richmond, and we go do whatever you want to do, and I cannot say no—as long as what you want to do is within reason, of course.”

The realization of this gift slowly dawned on not just the children but also your brothers. This was a way for you to spend much-missed time with them and for your brothers to spend with their wives. All three children ran over, hugging you tightly and thanking you for the gifts. 

Jamie had also reentered the room at some point and was sitting down watching this. 

There was one last gift under the tree. It was a medium-sized box wrapped in brown paper with a green bow. The name on top? (y/n), of course. But who was it from? Your dad. 

“Well, I suppose we have one last gift to open.” Your dad walks over and hands you the box. Since the children don't want to leave your side, you sit on the ground; this is the only option. 

You gingerly take the box from him, unable to look him in the eyes from your earlier outburst. You carefully rip the paper, exposing an unassuming box. You gently open the box, and your face is blank momentarily before you look to your dad, “I threw these out.” 

He nods and looks down at his hands. " I know, and I took them out of the bin. Just in case you wanted them again.” He gives you a gentle smile. 

The children peer into the box to see what you have gotten. They seem confused, as does everyone else since they cannot see what you got. Setting the box down in front of you, you carefully put on gloves. However, not just any gloves—your lucky goalkeeper gloves. Tightening them to how you prefer them, you smile and flex your fingers. 

Your dad smiles seeing you, “Whenever any of you got injured, I was so worried that we had pushed you into playing football that you want out, and I always wanted to make sure you children had a way out if you wanted it, but I realize that I was overbearing and second guessing what you three wanted. And I'm sorry if I ever made you feel you disappointed me… I want you to do what you feel is best, and I support you (y/n). I always will.” 

You sit there dumbfounded, and your brothers look equally dumbfounded by your father's apology. You get up slowly and walk over to your dad, pulling him to his feet and confusing him. You tightly hug him. He stands there stunned for a moment before hugging you back tightly. Your brothers join the hug as the kids use this time to play upstairs, and your sisters-in-law start cleaning up the living room. 

Your father pulls back, holding your face. " I love how strong you have grown up to be. And I cannot wait to see you kick absolute ass on that pitch. But remember to take care of yourself, alright?”

You let out an airy laugh as if you'd been crying now: " Yeah, I'll do my best, Dad, I promise.”

He smiles and plants a kiss on your forehead. “That's my (y/n).” 

—

You and Jamie left shortly after that since you two needed to return to Richmond for a game the next day. You had said your goodbyes to the kids, your brothers, and their wives. Your father had left before you. Your drive back was peaceful and flew by quickly.  

You and Jamie stood outside, near his car, as he had left it at your apartment. You were just talking about stupid things, but it was comfortable and easy. Jamie did not want to leave you, nor did you want him to. However, you hesitated to invite him in because you knew if you allowed yourself even the possibility of him being here, you would cement your feelings. 

“One of these days, you’ll have to spend the night at my place.” Jamie’s words broke you out of your thoughts. 

“I'm sorry?” You looked him in the eye. God, those greenish blue eyes held such confidence and calm on their own, but deep down, they had as much uncertainty and self-doubt as anyone else but the will to stay stronger than anyone else. 

He smiles at you and shrugs, “Ya know, I come over here, but you've never been to my place, and besides, my place has way more room in it. You can leave a toothbrush and some of your clothes.” He looks away from you, but you know what he is implying. 

You have to stop your jaw from gaping. “I could say the same thing about the toothbrush and suitcase.” what a witty comeback. 

He thinks about it. " I could do that, but you would also be able to spend more time basking in my essence. " He opens his arms wide with a smirk, clearly teasing you.

You roll your eyes. " Are you riding the high of me telling you I love this version of you?” You meant it, and damn, were you willing to continue saying it to his face.

He stops smiling, surprised, but the smile creeps back much more aggressively, and he nods, “I mean, I also love this version of you, not like there's another version, you know?” 

You nodded and walked over to him. 

He looks at you with an eyebrow raised, “Yeah?”

The space between you was slim, and the air between you two was warm from the mix of your breaths. The heat of your bodies next to each other was comforting. You look Jamie in the eye before you gently hold his face. He made no move to fight your touch but instead leaned into the calloused hand from your years of football and savoring your touch and warmth. You smile to yourself, and seeing his lips gives the smallest smile. You gently kiss him, ever so gingerly afraid he will disappear from your touch.  You're not expecting anything to come from this, but at worst, he pulls away from you in disgust. However, you are so very wrong. 

Jamie wraps his arms around you in a comforting embrace and kisses you tenderly and carefully as if he's afraid you’ll also disappear from him. 

So here you two stood, in the middle of your car park to your apartment, kissing the famous Jamie Tartt. 

He pulls away, resting his forehead against yours with a small smile. " So I should bring a toothbrush and some clothes next time I come over?” His voice has traces of a teasing tone.

You roll your eyes, “Perhaps. Or invite me over sometime.” you gently kiss his nose. “You need to go to bed, and we have a game tomorrow.” 

He pouts, putting his head into your shoulder and mumbling into your shoulder. 

“Tartt, I speak toddler and child, not mumble. You have to complain properly. " You started playing with his hair. 

He turns his head so his voice reverberates against your neck, “Let me spend the night.” 

You sigh. It was late, and you didn't know if he was tired. Plus, he had done a lot of driving today, so truly, this was the safest option. You nod. “Fine, but we are going to bed. You must be exhausted, and I'm plum tired.” 

Jamie nods before letting go of you. You'd complain, except he held onto your hand. “I honestly feel like I could sleep for a week right now.” 

Rolling your eyes, you two walk into your flat. 

Christmas wasn't so bad after all.