#slinkywrites

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.”

“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.

“Well, Arlo, we have two minutes left of the ninety, and Man City is up one nil to Crystal Palace in this game.” 

“Yes, well, Chris, it comes down to how many shots on goal. Man City goalie number 13 (Y/N) (y/l/n) has battered down and blocked everything that has been thrown their way. They're on quite the defensive hot streak today.”

“The ball is with Sharpe, Sharpe passes to Blanchard, Blanchard to Weerden, and Weerden lines up for the shot! And- It's blocked by the goalkeeper! Another brilliant save by Man City's own (Y/N) (y/l/n)”

“Listen to the roar of that crowd! Crystal Palace won't have time to score another goal.”

“Not that it would help besides tying the game; excellent save on Man City's part.”

“Yes, well- Wait, somethings wrong on the pitch… it looks as if the goalkeeper is down.”

“Well, they are holding their leg in pain; perhaps they tore something.”

“Medical has come out to assist them off the pitch… They are taking them off the field on a stretcher.”

“ Hopefully, it's not too serious.”

The alarm next to your bed buzzes to life next to your bed, on the table it sits on, raising you to some form of alertness as you reach over and smack it before rolling onto your back, staring at the ceiling, and letting out a heavy sigh before looking back at the clock, 5:25 am—a routine you had set in you for long before now. With one last sigh, you kick the warm covers from your body and force yourself to brace the cold that is your new and albeit bland Richmond flat. You look around the room and check your phone for any new notifications. The same ones you have yet to clear from old friends and family, sending you hundreds of messages you'll never open.  There's no point in removing them, but it is far too late to respond to them. Dropping the phone back onto your bed, you head out of your room to your tiny kitchen. 

The entire flat was small and bland, much like your bedroom was; it's not like you moved many things into this place, just the basics of what you would need. It was meant to fit one person, and you are one person. Walking to the stove, you grab the kettle and fill it with water. Then, you walk to the fridge and grab an apple from the bottom. Taking a bite out of it, you look out the adjacent window. The city was dark because it was still so early in the morning. The street lights were still lit, causing a gentle fuzzy yellowish-orange glow on the rest of the world; it had rained the night before, so the reflection of the light bounced in the puddles and water droplets that hung off the windows. It was peaceful and quiet. You used to enjoy the quiet time of early morning; it let you get your thoughts together. You liked it less now; being alone with your thoughts leads to thinking about things you found unpleasant. 

Finishing your apple and tea, you head back into your room and to your wardrobe to get dressed. 

Getting dressed in plain black joggers and matching black shirt, you grab crisp white trainers and some socks before putting them on, grabbing your phone before walking to the bathroom to brush your teeth and pull your hair up and out of your face, holding a white baseball cap to match your shoes. Checking the time, it was 6:07. Normally, you would leave for the Man City Club House at this point, but that was three years ago, and you couldn't kill the habit of wanting to be training early this morning. You may not be a pro footballer anymore, but you could still go for a jog, correct? You head out of your bathroom one last time, shutting off the lights as you go, grabbing your watch off the bedside table as you pass it to head towards your front door. At your front door, you hold the keys and work bag you'll need for this next chapter in your life. Slinging it over your back, you head outside, looking back at your new flat, and give it a rueful smile before locking the door and putting your headphones in to provide you with something to listen to on your morning run. 

I don't wanna let it pass through the pressure in my head

I don't want to marinate in it, in it again and again

And if I let it into me, I get a rod in there, and it's gonna ring through me again and again

Half of me is melting away. Half of me never goes away, away.

Your run takes you through all of Richmond; you've always felt the best way to visit a city was by planning a jogging course and taking that run every day. The only difference was Richmond was going to be your home now. You would have to change up your routes every so often. Still, that thought gave you something to be happy about as you smiled to yourself as you managed to jog into the car park of your new place of employment. AFC Richmond Football Club. Checking your watch, it was 8:05, which is still early for your first day. The car park was still pretty empty, with a few cars here and there, a grab bag of luxury and economy class type cars; knowing how male footballers are, you knew most of those sports cars belonged to team members. Heading inside, you head straight to your new boss's office. Jogging up the posh stairs, you stop to take your headphones out before the office door, smoothing your jumper and adjusting your hat. Taking a deep breath, shaking the jitters out. 

Were you nervous? Fuck yes, you were, are, and probably will be for a while. This wasn't just some new club owner; you could handle the old men who owned some clubs. This is Rebbeca Fucking Welton. One of four women in a position of high power in football, a gorgeous woman who could ruin your career and take your husband, and you'd apologize to her. Her divorce didn’t change your view of her, and you wanted to impress her; besides, she hand-picked you to be the new nutritionist for the team. Though you still were quite unclear as to why she had picked you. Sure, you knew football; you played all your life, your brothers played too, and your dad- well, you didn't like thinking about your dad and football. Even after your injury, you still tried to be present in football, became a registered dietitian, and worked for several footballers independently. Maybe word of mouth hit Rebecca's ears, and she felt the team needed someone to keep them on a decent diet? Who the hell knows? 

Shaking your head, you let out a deep sigh before shaking the jitters out of your whole body. Then, knocking on the ajar door before you, you hear a clear voice, like the Bells of London, chime out, “Come in.”

Stepping into the office, you look around; it's a posh office, very sleek and minimalist, the windows overlooking the pitch, but what really caught your attention was none other than Rebecca Welton, with her platinum blonde hair and her perfect work suit she wore in charcoal grey and her strong jawline. There also is another person sitting in a chair across from her. The man who had been all over the news, Ted Lasso, looked like what you’d seen on the table, with a warm smile that reached his eyes and definitely reminded you of an uncle in the best way possible. Your focus was broken when Rebecca raised an eyebrow and called out to you once more.

“(Y/N), are you alright?” Her concern was polite, but it didn't matter; you kept your boss waiting for your response.

“Sorry, I was just observing; you have a lovely taste in decor.” You chuckle awkwardly, rocking back on your heels ever so slightly, hands jammed into your pockets and balled up as you let out an awkward “so…”

Sensing the absolute thick fog of anxiety, Ted slapped both of his knees with a midwestern ‘welp’ and stood up and turned to you with the happy smile he seemed to always be wearing before speaking to you. “Well, as much as I'd like to stay, I do have to head downstairs and make sure everyone makes it in, but later, you should come to my office. Come in and know me better, man!” Ted tried to imitate a British accent towards the end of his sentence. Still, it failed as he couldn't beat his own Kansas accent, tipping an imaginary hat as he got up and headed towards the door. 

“Alright, ghost of Christmas present,” you retorted just before he got out of sight. All you could hear was “Yes! They got it!” before a loud ow and what sounded like possibly running downstairs to catch himself or the tumbling of a body. Honestly, you were unsure you wanted to tell the difference for this coach.

You sat across from Rebecca, who, unfortunately, or fortunately, was enjoying the biscuits that Ted had brought her since it was ‘Biscuits with the Boss’ time. Clearing her face and desk of any crumbs, she clears her throat and ensures she has finished her biscuits before speaking. She smiles at you ever so gently. “I'm so glad you accepted the invitation (Y/N). Our PR mastermind has been trying to get me to hire a ‘life coach’ for the team, but none of them know football the way you do, dear.” she stands, “did you want anything to drink?” she asks you as she walks to get tea for herself.

“Yes, please,” you realize you hadn't had too much to drink after your run, as the last time you stopped to get water was a while ago; yes, you had your water bottle, but you drained that of its contents a while ago. Looking at the bookshelf behind Rebecca's desk brought a small smile to your lips, seeing all her achievements on the shelves and the books. Looking over your shoulder as she offers you a glass of water, you provide a soft “thank you” and take a sip before speaking. “I've seen Keeley on Instagram and Twitter, and  I have seen the team's social media presence since she took over, and I’ll admit she's done wonderfully.” You give a kind smile before clearing your throat, “So you want me as the dietitian for the team? Do you have a list of things for me to keep in mind or-” 

“Oh nononono, as this is a newer addition to our clubhouse, I feel it most important for you to get to know the boys and learn about them yourself. Of course, I understand setting up diets for twenty people is quite a lot. Still, you'll have the coaching staff to help you, and hopefully, the team will be quite flexible to help you, and you’ll have Leslie to help you with anything you need as well.” She gestures to the door where one Lesslie Higgins, who wears a brown tweed suit and a tan and maroon striped tie with a beige button-up shirt, makes himself visible to you, enters the room, and offers a hand to shake. 

Shaking your hand, he politely smiles at you before looking at Rebecca. “I can show her to her office if you do not mind.” 

Rebecca shakes her head as she returns to looking at some information on her computer. " That would be lovely, Lesslie. The team should be out on the pitch now as it is.” She looks so incredibly focused on her work that she doesn't even notice when you and Higgins exit the office and head down the stairs together. 

Higgins gives you a detailed tour of the clubhouse and the team's history over the years, looking at the history of the clubhouse and nodding as Higgins imparts you with many tidbits of obscure soccer knowledge you'd pocket in a mental file somewhere for a rainy day. Higgins also showed you where everything was, from the locker rooms and medical rooms to the training room, the bathrooms, and even the copy room. He showed you everything you would need for your job in great detail. The only thing you two had missed on your tour was the pitch. However, you didn't mind too profoundly. Your tour ended with Higgins holding the door handle to one last room, and he cleared his throat before adjusting his tie with his free hand. This concerned you, and you raised an eyebrow, watching this jovial older man seem nervous about opening a door that you assumed was an office or corridor. 

“Right- before we go in, I must warn you that Keeley, ah yes, the sweet woman she is, might have gone a tad overboard when making sure you had everything you would need to feel comfortable. If she did, please don't hesitate to ask us to remove or exchange items."He had yet to look back at you as he fumbled with his key ring before unlocking the door to this space; when he did, he slipped in, shutting the door in your face. But not before reopening it for you with a nervous smile. Letting you step inside to the ample space. 

The space you had stepped into was a large state-of-the-art kitchen. It reminds you a lot of the ones from the American Hells Kitchen. The floor was nonstick sleet linoleum, and the light grey walls and the counters were all stainless steel. Still, they had built-in appliances; this kitchen had not one, not two, but three fridges, and you assumed equal freezer space. And you had suddenly become a woman who had five ovens in your kitchen. If it wasn't for the fact that this was your workspace, you'd just be living in your new office. Then you noticed all the kitchen gadgets linked up on your counter space, blenders, stand mixers, hand mixers, hell, even a bread maker, all in a neat row on your counters. Could you even call them yours? The semantics of the matter would have to wait as you finally cracked a small but visible smile. Walking through the kitchen and checking every cabinet for its contents. Whoever came before you was organized, but you knew this setup wouldn't work for you. You pull a notebook from a small compartment in your backpack that sits at the small of your back and a pen from the same pocket and start writing down notes about the kitchen. Engrossed in your work, you had failed to notice Lesslie leaving and leaving the key with you. 

After looking everything over in your kitchen space, you decide to head to your actual office; it was a small room right off the kitchen, with a window to see into the kitchen. It had a desk, bookshelves, and a desktop for you to use, not personalized to your taste but standard practice, and that was fine enough for you. You set your backpack down in the chair and open it, pulling out your things. You had cookbooks and recipe cards to put up on the shelves, cords to plug in so you didn't steal your home chargers, and the small but important things to get through the day. But the most important things you'd brought from home were two picture frames that you put on either side of your computer. 

The photo on the left was from your childhood, and you and your two siblings were in the photo. Both of them are in their secondary school kits and taller than you. You stood in the middle of them with a broad, slightly toothless grin. All three of you holding a football in your hands. Your kit was covered in dirt and grass stains, as were theirs; it was the first day that all three of you had a game, and your parents couldn't have been any prouder. Your sibling's numbers are their favorite numbers; yours is 13. The other photo to the right was from your debut season. You played as a goalkeeper sub for Man City in your debut year, number 13, and it's still your number. You had come to thrive with 13 as your number; people found it unlucky. Unlucky thirteen people used to say, but that was until they watched you play. It became fast learning that Man City's opponent was unlucky if you played keeper. 

Reminiscing, you failed to notice that anyone was in the kitchen as it was closed off to the rest of the world, but jumped violently at the knocking at the doorframe, “jesus-fucking-shit!” you turn to see who was at your door. Still, it was none other than the coach Ted Lasso, his eyes wide with panic, probably from scaring him by scaring you.

“I didn't mean to startle you there. (y/n) thought you heard me, though if you swear that much, I'm sure you and Roy will make fast friends.” He smiles at you. His recovery was smooth enough to make things less awkward. “Can I come in?” he asks, gesturing to your office. 

“What? Oh yeah, yeah, come in!” quickly trying to steal your racing heart, you drop your bag to the floor and sit down in the chair across from Ted, who looks like a labrador looking at his owner with a treat. Calming yourself, you sigh and put on a polite smile. " Hello, Coach Ted. What can I do for you?” you ask him to settle into your chair.

Ted gave a soft ‘oof’  as he let himself fall into the chair across from you and crossed his right knee over his left, holding it in his hands and looking off into the distance before looking back over at you with that Ted Lasso smile you've learned well from the internet, “well first off I wanted to come down and say hello and introduce myself again before you are fed to the wolves. so please just call me Ted” he chuckles at his own little joke before continuing, “secondly I wanted to apologize for scaring the bejesus out of you, you jumped so high I thought you might be a cat!” 

The concern made you laugh; you'd think he'd seen them jump from being startled, or maybe it was the goalkeeper phenomenon that all goalkeepers jumped in strange ways to protect their goals. Still, you shake your head in response, “I'm fine, Coach Lasso- I mean Ted, I'm sure this won't be the last time I get startled in my corner of the world. And I appreciate the concern about meeting the players, but I'm sure I will be just fine.” 

Ted makes the face that can best be described as the dad equivalent of ‘OK, bud, if you're sure’ before setting both his feet on the ground, smacking his knees aggressively, and hoisting himself up and out of the chair. " Welp, if you're sure about that, how bout we go for a walk so you can meet them?” He heads towards the door and holds it open for you. 

You sigh, forcing yourself out of your chair. It's not that it was comfortable, but it gave you the relief of being off your feet for the first time in a few hours. “Sure, why not?” you head out the door, following Ted towards the locker room. Ted stops you outside the locker room before stepping in and returns a few moments later to find you looking at your phone. He waves to catch your attention before waving you in with the excitement of a toddler. You roll your eyes and pocket your phone before walking into the locker room where every team member is sitting in their locker cubbies; most decent, a few people topless, but no one was in a towel. You walk to the center, where the other coaches stand in a line and wait. 

“Now, alright, everyone. This is (in) they’re joining us as the team's new dietitian, like Jenni Craig but better. So you guys need to let them know all your diet things so they can help you be the best you can be. Do you all understand?” Ted introduced you to the team, but they just seemed more confused by who Jenny Craig was, and honestly, you were a bit too. 

A coach to Ted's side, with a beard and wearing polarized sunglasses leaned into Ted's side. " They don't have Jenni Craigs, Atkins maybe.” With that comment, everyone on the team nodded and let out a collective ‘ah’ of agreement. 

However, you did hear a scoff to your right; in the number 9 cubby sat a man who was probably, if not your age, definitely younger than you. The name above 9 was Tartt. Oh yeah, you knew who this was, Jamie Tartt; he used to play for Man City, was on loan, got shipped back, and then shipped right back to Richmond. You had never met him personally. However, you'd heard from others that he was less than delightful to deal with on a good day. However, that scoff was short-lived when a man standing near him smacked him upside the back of his head. Eliciting a hiss and an “ow, what was that for?” 

The man was fit, physically muscular, had a black beard and bushy eyebrows, and wore a coach polo. You knew immediately this was Roy Fucking Kent; you’d have been stupid if you didn't know who this man was or if he was born in the last five to six years. And you were neither of those things. He was not having any of the young striker's behavior and glared down at Jamie, “shut it, Tartt,” he snapped at Jamie before turning his attention back to you. Still, his stoic, frowning face stayed the same. 

Ted looked at you and gestured to the team, “Do you have anything you want to add? Anything at all?”

You shrug and look around the room, taking in each of the team members' faces. You'd memorize them eventually, but that wasn't the point of today. Clear your throat and readjust your shoulders, squaring them back and holding your chin high. Confidence is key when dealing with people you don't know or need to convince. “Names (y/n), I'm your new diet coach; I need an updated diet form; I'll send that out in an email by tomorrow morning; I need it by Wednesday to do orders. It's simple, I need your allergies, preferences, and restrictions. If anything changes, please try to tell me as soon as possible. I don't make a habit of killing my clients.” You knew it wasn't the most admirable introduction, but you were not the nicest woman either. You think briefly before remembering something important, turning to the coaches. “Kitchen is off limits to the team now if it wasn't before; if you need something from the kitchen, message me.” with that, you head for the door. “Cheers,” you wave before walking out of the locker room. 

The locker room sits in stunned silence before everyone turns to Ted, and an amalgamation of voices hits Ted like a load of bricks before he raises his hand and raises his voice, “Hey! One voice at a time, I'm not the Complaint whisperer; that's Nate's job. Now, what's got all your ducks out of their rows?” 

“They seem like a very knowledgeable coach; where did Ms Welton find them?” Sam asked with a raised hand so that he would be noticed.

“Probably the internet; that is how most people get hired in this economy,” Jan states from beside Sam. The others around him nodded in agreement, but a few tried to shush him. 

“they seem fucking cheery, but as happy as granddad over there, fit though, ain’t they?” Jamie snickered, leaning back into his cubbyhole. He and a few others close by laughed at his comments as well.

Standing next to Coach Beard and Nate, Roy frowned before Ted smiled at the team, “Welp, you heard them. Ensure you promptly respond to their email, or you might end up on the menu.” His words fell on primarily deft ears, and with that, the coaches walked into the office. Roy shut the door behind them, and the locker room returned to its chaotic, chatty atmosphere behind them. 

Ted plopped himself right down into his chair and stretched his arms up in the air before looking at the three other coaches, who looked right back at him with a dumbfounded look; all Ted could ask was… “What?”

“That's all we get. What?” Beard asked, putting his sunglasses on top of his hat. The boss hires a new person, and all we get is a what?” he asked before crossing his arms in his chair, leaning back as far as it would let him before falling backward out of it.

“Well, I don't know what to tell you guys. I just met ‘em this morning in Becca's office before practice. They seem like nice kids to me, honestly. Oh, but don't sneak up on them. When I spooked them earlier, they looked like Shaggy and Scooby getting ready to run away from a scary monster.” Ted looked to Nate and Roy for their input. Roy scowled like usual, and Nate nodded in agreement and understanding.

“Of fucking course they are- are you fucking stupid?” Roy pinched the bridge of his nose before putting his free hand out to stop Ted from responding, “Don't answer that. I already know the answer to that. Thats, (y/n) fucking (y/l/n)” seeing the deer in headlights look both coach Beard and Ted are giving him he lets out an exasperated sigh looking to Nate for some sort of assistance on this explanation. 

“Oh-ah yes! Um, (y/f/n) they used to play for Man City about three years ago, but they retired due to a torn ACL at a finals match a few years ago and used to be an all-star goalkeeper. Also called unlucky 13 for a time,” Nate jumped onto the shelf behind him and crossed his arms, “a bit surprising that Ms. Welton would try hiring them even for a dietitian position.”

Ted's eyebrows rose at the mention of your former nickname, “because of their injury or before that?” curiosity in his eyes.

“Before that,” Everyone else in the room responded in unison. 

“But it's not all that surprising; we've been missing someone to ensure everyone can eat healthy; young boys like that will eat whatever they want. Especially if they aren't being monitored,” Beard said, looking back into the locker room where the team, now unattended by the adults, was mucking about. 

Ted nodded before getting up, “Welp, I will see you gents on the field, but I've been summoned for girl time in the office.” He pushed in his chair, waving his phone around as if to show them the text, “Now, if you'll excuse me.” With that, Ted left the coach's office, leaving the other three coaches confused and shaking their heads in disbelief. 

Ted headed down the halls and bounded up the stairs before knocking at Rebecca's office, peeking his head around to make sure that people were inside, with his goofy smile, “knock knock.” 

Rebecca looked up from the sofa she and Keeley were both sitting on, looking at something on Keeley's laptop, and she waved Ted in quite frantically, “Keeley, put that away. We will watch those later."

Keeley whines in annoyance, “Fineeee, but I want to watch more of them when we are done.” She closes her laptop, turning to Ted with a smile on her face. " Morning, Ted! What did you think of them? I think they are pretty stellar!” She is now leaning forward, her arms propped up on the arm of the sofa and her chin resting on the back of her palms.

Rebecca lets out a small chuckle, seeing Keeley's excitement about your employment, before clearing her throat: " Yes, that is why I brought you up here. I wanted to ask your opinion on (y/n). Based on my very little interaction, I don't fully understand them even if Higgins also gave me a report of his own.”  She adjusts to sit with one leg over the other, expecting Ted's praise or lack thereof. 

Ted nodded before leaning forward in the armchair, in that deep-thinking sitting position he was well known to do before looking between the two women in the room. “Welp, they seem straight to the point, I think they’re just not comfortable yet. If we give them a few weeks, they will be busier than a bee in spring and sweeter than the honey from it.” 

His analogy was lost on the two women sitting across from him before Rebecca cleared her throat, “Right, yes, well… with that in mind. I wanted to discuss something with you, Ted, and Keeley. I would also like your input on the matter.”  Rebecca had this glint in her eye, where she had something purely devilish up her sleeve.

Keeley looks over, adjusting herself to fully face Rebbeca, and nods thoughtfully, or as seriously as she can manage: " Absolutely, what are you thinking?”  before smiling, seeing how serious Rebecca looked.

Ted nods, gesturing towards the space in front of them. “Floors yours, boss,” he gave her an encouraging smile. 

Rebecca smiles a devious smile. “What I am proposing doesn't leave this office until we are ready to put it into motion.”

You had spent your entire afternoon doing tedious paperwork, sending out the survey email to the team, looking at cookbooks former staff had left behind,  and double-checking the incoming order that would be arriving on Wednesday. Your afternoon was peaceful, being able to be by yourself and acclimate to your new environment. During your time in the kitchen, you found it was basically soundproof, so you could listen to whatever you wanted, and no one would know or even care. You had your music turned up for most of the day and listened to anything that could and would keep you distracted from thinking. 

Finishing up your daily task list, you check the 5:30, a respectable time to leave work. Grabbing your bag, pack away anything you need to take home, like notebooks and order information. You look at the two pictures on your desk as you zip up your backpack and nod to them both. Standing up and putting on your backpack, you head out of your office and ensure the kitchen and office lights are off before locking the door behind you. You head towards the door and car park before you hear your name being called from overhead. 

“(y/n)!” Standing there was Keeley, waving frantically and smiling. " Where are you goin’?” she asks as she runs down the stairs that lead to Rebecca's office. You hadn't ever met Keeley in person, but you'd seen her on Instagram and knew that she and Jamie Tartt dated at one point, but anyone in football knew that. You were not expecting Keeley to hug you very aggressively, much like a koala holding onto a tree.

You tense at the contact but relax quickly and return the hug, albeit awkwardly. “Hello, Keeley. Is this how you greet everyone you meet for the first time?” You blow her hair slightly out of your face, your voice strained from the hug. 

She quickly lets go of the hug but still tightly gripping your shoulders and smiles, “No, but I've been so excited to meet you, but your office was locked, so…” she pouts slightly at the fact you had unknowingly locked her out. “No biggie, though! If you don't mind me saying love, your fucking fit! Your parents must be fucking gorgeous!” 

You let out an awkward chuckle, avoiding eye contact. “Thanks. I'll be sure to inform my dad you said so. Sure, he loves that.” Sarcastically, you roll your eyes. " But to answer you, I'm heading home for the night. I have a lot of research to do.” You manage to get yourself out of Keeley's grip somehow. 

“That's perfect! I'm heading home too! Did you drive? If not, I can give you a lift!”

You put your hands up, shaking them in a no gesture, “I didn't drive, but there's no need; my flat isn't too far from here.” it wasn't a lie; yes, your run was two hours, but that was nothing for you, and moreover, on purpose. Besides, the sun was still up, so there was no excuse for needing a ride. However, the pout on Keeley's face tugged at your moral compass, “Tell you what? If it ever rains, I'll let you drive me.”

Keeley's eyes lit up excitedly, and she let out a little squeal before hugging you again. “Oh, that sounds grand! You'll have to give me your number, or I'll message you on Instagram. You have one of those, right? " She started digging through her bag, looking for her phone. Once she found it, she began to type. 

You nod, “It's (y/n)unlucky13.” You look down at your shoes sheepishly. When was the last time you said that out loud? 

Keeley hums in response before tapping a button: " And done! I followed you, so now I can message you!” She looks at you and offers her arm to link with your own to walk outside. “Shall we then? Get our last glimpse of the boys on the pitch?” 

You instinctively link arms with her and walk outside the car park lined up to the pitch. The two of you walk to the fence and watch the team doing the last bit of practice for the day. Keeley watched with the same eagerness as a small kid. Looking over at her, you smile before returning to the field. Your arms crossed, resting on the fence, and your head resting atop them, you watch in personal silence. You study the field, watch the goal, and look at everyone's movement. It wasn't long before the team headed towards the dugout for the end of their days. You stretch and let out a groan of relief from your stretch. 

Keeley smiles, “Well (y/n), have a safe walk home.” She heads to her car, but before leaving, she rolls her window down, “See you tomorrow (y/n)! Send me your coffee order!” And with that, she is gone.

You stood there incredibly dumbfounded; how could someone make such fast friends with everyone? Was she now your friend? Actually, you liked the sound of that. You missed being surrounded by peppy people. You adjust your backpack and start your trek home for the night. Richmond in the evenings was not too much different from the morning. You passed children coming home from school, passing footballs as they went. Couples walking hand in hand, young and old. Parents running errands with their children. It reminded you of before. When you did this before in Manchester. You shake your head to force the thoughts out and return to your flat at around 6. You unlock your door, remove your shoes, and set your bag on the kitchen table.

Your phone buzzed suddenly, and you looked down to see a text from Coach Ted. You don't remember giving him your number, but you opened the message. 

Ted Lasso

Hey Doc! Well, actually, you're not a doctor, are you? Calling you chef seems odd, too. I'm going to stick with Doc. Anyway, we are glad to have you. I think you'll work wonders for the team. Have a good night!

You reread the message repeatedly, whipping your eyes as tears rose, and put your phone back in your pockets. You decided you had no energy to cook, so you ordered some takeout. You worked on building a new diet regimen while eating your own meals into the late night hours. You looked over your phone, unlocked it, and decided not to leave Ted on read. 

Thanks, Coach Ted; if you're gonna call me Doc, I'm calling you Coach. 

You press send, clean up your food, and put your work back into your backpack, only to hear another ding from your phone. 

Ted Lasso

Alright, Doc, have a good night!

You smiled, looking at the time. It was after 10, which was late, even by your standards. You shut the lights off in the kitchen and head to your room, changing into shorts and a t-shirt before brushing your teeth and brushing your hair from your hat hairstyle. Walk out and stare out the window before crawling into your bed, plugging in your phone, and watching. You check your phone one last time for the night and open Instagram to send Keeley a DM. 

Hey, here's my order. 

You attach a photo of your preferred drink and its modifications so it's easier to order in person. You put your phone down on the bedside table, missing the heart reaction Keeley gave your message. Hunkering down in your blankets, you let out a sigh of relief, and for the first time in a while, you felt your shoulders relax, your jaw unclench, and your muscles unclench. You drifted into a restful sleep for the first time in over three years. 

“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.”

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