Archive of Our Own

Roy didn’t get why Cantona quit.

Yes, losing on both legs of the semi-final against Dortmund wasn’t ideal. But Eric had been a magnificent player (and an ostentatious bastard), it just all seemed a bit out of nowhere.

Still, that meant the captain's arm band had landed in his lap. Captaincy brought with it the usual fuss - extra attention, a heap load more responsibility, that tense job of being that fine line between the gaffer and the team. The bonus on top of his weekly wages didn’t hurt. 

But it often meant more trouble than it was worth on away days. 

A tidy little 3-1 win against Middlesborough at their home turf, well, not a bad way to kick off his first season as captain was it? Most of the lads had piled out to go on the lash, a pub nearby the hotel serving as a neutral ground for away fans. He can picture the carnage without being there, just hopes the boys get back before they do anything too stupid.

He’d promised Theresa he’d ring when he got back from the pitch: how’s she doing, can she feel the baby kick today, no he’s okay that tackle wasn’t too bad, okay yes he promises not to go big on the drink tonight, yes he promises to be at the scan on Monday, of course he’s still excited, can’t wait to get home and see her. 

Responsibility licks at his heels home and away - can’t escape it now. And of course, he’s more than ready and capable but, well, when most of the lads have buggered off to get absolutely smashed, one can’t help but feel like they’re missing out.

Still. A quiet pint at the hotel bar will do, just this once. 

Roy is a little relieved to see only a few striped scarves as he gets down, a little cheer from a corner of room from some away fans, he gives them a wave. 

Perhaps even more surprising, as he gets to the bar and orders a pint, is the presence of two of his young team mates. Why aren’t they on the lash? 

There was David Beckham nattering away to some pretty young girl at the bar, all gorgeous blonde hair, charming smile and London accent, a complete package if the way the lady was giggling as he spoke to her was any evidence. 

Gary Neville on the other hand. 

Well. 

He looked completely out of place. Gary with his floppy fringe, big nose and gangly limbs, still looking the wrong side of 20 years old, cow-eyed and with his smooth chin. How was the lad meant to compare to Becks? 

Gary looked half the size he normally did, curled in on himself, grabbing on to his left arm at the elbow.  He was quiet in the dressing room, sure, still figuring out his feet on the first team and all that. But that wasn’t to say he didn’t have confidence, to have made the national team at his age he had to have some gumption. The way he barked at referees about decisions certainly showed he wasn’t lacking in self belief - even if they did land the rest of the team in more trouble then it was worth sometimes.  

Well, Nev must still be shy around girls Roy figured, as he watched them from across the room Being best friends with Becks probably doesn’t help with that. 

Poor lad. Ah well, sure he’ll have a bit of luck once Becks helps him, maybe do the old “ Did you know I play for Manchester United? ” and hope the girlie will be impressed. 

He shakes his head as he wraps his hand round his pint, Roy couldn’t be more grateful that nonsense was all behind him now, ring still feeling unusual on his left hand. He just hoped it didn’t get to their heads or distract them from what's on the pitch, all that attention could-

Roy’s knocked out his thoughts by someone bumping into him, shooting half his pint up his nose and the rest splashing onto the bar. 

He snarls and splutters,  whips his head round to rip into whoever bumped into him, he hopes it’s a drunk Boro fan so he can wallop them. 

But instead he looks to see a pair of guileless brown eyes hidden under a fringe staring at him, a uncertain hand moving to grab Roy’s elbow

“Roy?”

“Gary?” Fury bleeds into annoyance, he’s not going to smack little Neville around but he certainly will have a crack at him and get the fucker to buy him another pint. He shakes Gary’s hand off him, notices the way the lad pulls his shoulders closer to himself, like he’s trying to shrink away. 

“I. Uh. Can you - “ 

“Gary, unless you’re going to apologise for spilling my pint and offer to pay for it, don’t even bother finishing that sentence” Roy snaps, not remotely interesting in letting Gary finish his thoughts. 

The lad looks to the bar, now dripping with beer, an irate man pointedly rubbing the stain with a filthy cloth, then to Roy, back to the bar and then over Roy’s shoulder. Gary seems to be breathing a bit too quickly, the colour draining from his face, and Roy backs away because, oh, Jesus, he’s seen that look on mates before they vomit the contents of the night onto the pavement. 

“I feel sick” Gary mumbles, his voice cracking. 

“Right. Well.” What the fuck does he expect Roy to do? “Off to your room then and don’t drink so much next time”

Roy reckons he’s not getting a pint out of drunk Gary, he’ll badger him for it next time, double it for the trouble of Roy having to remember his debts for him. He turns around to order another pint but then Gary is still talking . 

“Please, Roy, I-I really feel sick and, and, and” Gary grabs his elbow again, which Roy returns by grabbing the gobshite by the scruff of his polo.

“ Fuck off Gary ” he growls, no wonder Becks sent him over here, if he’d been whinging all night. 

And now he’s sniffling, big fat tears streaking down his face.  

And he’s pretty sure most of the hotel bar are now watching their little spectacle.

And now he feels just plain cruel. 

“Alright, fine, fine, lets get you to your room then” Roy lets go of Gary, pushing him forward with a hand between his shoulder blades. Gary nods, bundling the bottom of his shirt into his hands and squeezing it, Roy grateful he’s not reaching for his hand. 

Gary’s not a bad lad, he does a good job on the pitch, Roy appreciates that but Christ , he knows how to get under your skin. 

“Look, Gary” He sighs, as they stand in the lift, Gary with his back against the wall, eyes glued to his feet. “I’m - I’m sorry for grabbing you like that. It was out of line, I can admit that, alright. But for God's sake , you have got to be more careful, what’re you doing going about like that?” 

Roy looks to the side to see if Gary’s moved, he’s just fiddling with the fabric in his hands, head still low. 

Ah, whatever. He’ll save it for the morning. 

“Right” The lift opens up at Gary’s floor, Roy putting his hand out as they walk out “Pass me your key, don’t think you’re in any state to do that” 

Gary instead chooses to grab his hand and bring it down next to him, swinging it a little. 

“ Gary ,  for the love of - ” Oh he really can’t be bothered with this, shakes his hand out of Garys and just shoves him towards his door, he hears the lad make a noise but it’s just getting silly now. 

“Key. Now .” Roy fixes him with a grim look, pointing at Gary's pocket “Come on!” 

He can see Gary’s eyes brimming with tears again but he reaches into his pocket and holds the key in front of him for Roy to take off him. 

“You’re acting like a baby” Roy grumbles, unlocking the door and bringing Gary inside as he steps in, switching on the big light “It’s embarrassing” 

“I’m not - “ Gary snaps back, he’s pulled the bottom of his shirt down, although the furious tone of his voice is garbled by how tight his throat must be, trying not to cry “ I’m not a baby, Roy! ” 

“Oh really?” Roy throws the keys on Gary’s side of the room, switching the bedside light on “‘cause you’re sure acting like one to me” 

Perhaps it’s childish to have a pop at drunk Gary, hit back at his arguments, but Roy could’ve been finishing a pint right now and instead he’s stuck arguing with a drunk Gary Neville. Honestly, what’s he done to deserve this? 

“I’m not - I’m not a baby !” Gary is yelling at him now, fucking hell, where did this come from? Roy runs over to cover Gary’s mouth, keep him quiet but he manages to squeak out at him “You’re just being mean Roy” 

“I’ll show you mean if you don’t keep it down Gary, for God's sake lad, relax!” Roy manhandles a squirming Gary to the bed, gets him sat down, a vague pang of responsibility hits Roy as he looks up at him from the bed. He’s not necessarily had his finest moments tonight, and he can’t put all the blame on Gary for that.

“Do you still feel sick? Do I have to get you a bag?” He asks, Gary looking around the room, fiddling with his hands in the duvet.

“No” Gary shakes his head “No, no I - I’m just. I feel.” 

Something was clearly trying to whir away in Gary’s head, trying to come up with an answer, the way he’s chewing in lip and scrunching his forehead so that little crease appears between his eyebrows. 

Roy counts to 10 in is head, silently wills himself not to snap at Gary again and drag this charade on for any longer. 

He gets to 5 when Gary’s lip starts to wobble.

At 6, Gary blinks a few times to let a few tears roll down his cheeks. 

Then at 7, he’s using his hands to rub his face. 

And by the time Roy hits 8, he’s faced with a bawling Gary sat on the bed in front of him.

Suddenly, Roy feels very, very tired and his head is killing him, this is exhausting . He’s seen Gary upset but this is a new level, heaving in lungfuls of air as his body shakes with his sobs. 

“Alright, Gary - come on now, Gary, lad” Roy is trying, he really fucking is but this is miles outside his comfort zone “Just try and calm down okay?” 

Gary shakes his head while making a particularly awful wail, making Roy wince as it cuts through his headache. 

“Gary, Jesus, state of you. Get a grip!” He’s losing his temper and he knows it’s not exactly fair but what else is he meant to do ? 

“I’m trying, I’m trying Roy ” He sobs out, hiccups racking his chest as he lifts his hands to look up at Roy “I c-can’t help it, I, I-”

“This is ridiculous” Roy lets his emotions hit the roof, fuck this nosense, he’s storming to the door before he even finishes his sentance “Get a fucking grip on yourself Gary” 

He slams the door, stalking off to his own room, feeling his anger unfurl as the sniffling and crying from Gary starts to die down as he walks away.

—

Gary doesn’t look at him the next morning. 

Just offers him a quiet “Sorry Roy” and puts a fiver down next to his tea, before he slinks over to join Becks and Phil for breakfast at their table. 

Well , Roy thinks as he puts the fiver in his wallet, he’s willing to say it’s water under the bridge then. 

—

It hits him one day. 

He loves being a dad, more than he ever loved football. His daughter is everything he wanted and it’s utterly terrifying and joyful in equal measure. 

Roy would move the earth like Atlas for her, her crying leaves him anguished in a way no other noise does and when he sees himself in her cheeky smile or spots Theresa’s mannerisms when she babbles about her games, he can barely contain the way his heart swells. 

It’s three years later when he’s picking his daughter up off the ground after she fell off her bike, her chubby face scarlet as she screams her head off, tears and snot smeared around her face as she wipes her eyes, the grazes on her knee smeared in dirty and a few specks of blood. 

He’s by her side in a flash, pulling her up into his arms and pressing his mouth to her forehead as he takes them both inside, gently placing her in the kitchen chair. 

“It’s alright sweetheart, it’s okay, just a graze, you’ll be alright” He says, using a bit of wet paper towel to wipe the dirt and grit out her graze, the paper coming back a muddy brown and spots of pink. She’s still crying, just as hard as she was outside “Come on darling, you’ll be fine, no need for all these waterworks, eh?” 

“I’m - I’m trying ” She manages to say, his little fists trembling as she swipes her face one last time. 

And he’s suddenly thrown back to a hotel room in Middlesbrough. 

“I know you are sweetheart, I’m sorry, come here” He says and drags her back into a hug. Once she stops crying, he wipes her face gently with a cloth from the bathroom, gives her a kiss on her forehead and holds her cheeks in his hand. 

She offers him a smile, eyes still a little puffy, and Roy would do anything to keep that smile on her face. 

He sends her off to play in the living room  with a mini milk from the freezer ( “For being a brave girl, but don’t tell your mam, alright?” ) and he gazes into the bottom of a mug as he boils the kettle. 

Gary was just drunk. 

Gary was absolutely not being a child. 

Gary was sick.

Gary wasn’t sick, he was upset, and he couldn’t articulate it. 

Gary, a grown man, couldn’t articulate it because. 

Because. 

“Oh, can I have one love?” 

Theresa walks in, her voice drawing him out his thoughts, she waddles slightly into the kitchen, easing herself into the chair and careful not to knock the table with her bump. 

“Course” he says, not all together there still, going through the motions to make them tea. He puts down two mugs and sits on Theresa’s left, meaning they can both watch their daughter as she plays in the next room. 

“Make sure you give her a bowl next time” She says, dropping a chewed wooden stick on the table but there's a smile playing on her lips as she reaches for her tea.

He snorts into the mug “Ah, sorry love, she fell and I -” 

“I know Roy” she puts her hand on his “Apple of your eye and all that” 

He squeezes her hand and puts any thoughts about Gary to one side.

—

Roy tries not to let it get subdued in the changing room after a loss. It never ends well, everyone feeling sorry for themselves.

But before he can even pipe up, the boys are leaving, pulling on a jersey or a jumper, not even bothering to get changed. He gets it, knocked out the fourth round of the FA cup at home by West fucking Ham of all teams. And all because they stood around like lemmings, calling for an offside. 

It’s bloody shameful.

He huffs, fine, might as well get ready to leave, go see the girls and shower at home. He can come back tomorrow, buck themselves up and sort themselves out for the premier league  - that was looking good at least. 

He changes out his studs and shin pads, wrestling them off and shoving them in his kit bag. He’s lacing on his shoes, debating about whether it’s worth pushing Theresa to let him grab a chippie tea, he knows she’s made them cottage pie this evening but it’s cold, miserable and frankly they all deserve something to pick them up. 

Then Roy hears a sharp intake of breath and shoots his head up. 

Gary’s still here. 

He was so sure he was by himself, he had a sweep of the changing rooms and the showers, just fancied not having the buzz of small talk following him as he settled down with his thoughts. They’ve never spoken about what happened in Middlesbrough - just kept a bit of distance for a week or so and before you knew it, it was like nothing had happened. Roy didn’t want to talk about it and Gary never brought it up.

So.

“Alright Gary?” 

“Fine”

That was that then. No point saying anything, it was years ago and he’d just leave Gary humiliated if he tried to apologise now. He had definitely been drunk.

He watches as Gary sits down on the bench, gripping the edge of the wood with his hands, breathing heavily as he scuffs his studs on the floor. It’s the kind of thing the boss would leather him for, absent minded and needless destructive. It’s something that Roy should really also have a crack at him for but he hesitates, a flicker of guilt dragging at his stomach. 

Better to busy himself, Roy reasons, so he slips his shoes on and pulls on his coat, not daring to glance over at Gary, he can see him pulling off his shin pads, rolling his socks down. He fires a quick text to Theresa about tea, crosses his fingers.

He should get going, get on his way to beat the traffic across the city, especially if he’s stopping at the chippie. 

But Gary hasn’t moved since he took off his shin pads, his hands back on the bench. He looks desolate, more so than any of the boys did - and Roy is hoping to God the reason is because of the match. 

Not anything else. 

Like, say, he’s feeling sick but he can’t articulate it and he doesn’t need to be sick but

Gary doesn’t need someone,  doesn’t need Roy to help him. He’s a adult, he can take care of himself, he’ll be fine and Roy should go now instead of letting this drag on any longer than it has to. 

Gary lets out a shaky sigh and scrubs his hand over his face, before putting his hands back.

And the sound cuts through Roy’s mind. His chest aches, the same it did the other day when he picked his daughter off the floor, and he knows now what he’s got to do, knows who he has to be for Gary. He sheds his coat off and walks towards Gary, kneeling on one knee in front of him, trying to catch his eyes with his own. 

“Do you want a hand with your boots Gary?” he asks as softly as he can, Gary closing his eyes and chewing on his lower lip. 

The question hangs in the air, the slow drip of one of the showers and the shout of the groundskeeper outside breaking the silence up. Roy holds his breath, praying that Gary doesn’t suddenly kick off or bolt out the room, his grip on the wooden bench below him is white knuckled now and some instinct gets Roy to stand up, moving over to his own bag. It’s the type of behaviour he’d tell his daughter not to do, he can imagine tugging delicately on her little fingers, telling her she’ll hurt her knuckles if she keeps that up. 

He pulls out his training jersey from his bag, gives it a quick sniff, it just smells like grass and dust, nothing offensive. Roy brings it over, kneels back in front of Gary and offers it to him, like an old stuffed teddy - he hopes Gary gets what he’s trying to do, otherwise he’s going to look barking mad. 

Gary finally turns back to look at Roy and ah , he looks even younger than he did all those years ago, a flicker of relief in his eyes. He takes the jersey out Roys hands and tentatively brings it to his chest, squeezing the fabric gently with his hands. Roy feels a part of his concern soften up into something that feels like love but he’s sure it's not that, don’t be so soppy, it’s your teammate . Just glad Gary seems a little less upset and won’t be whinging about his sore hands tomorrow. 

“ Yeah - please” Gary whispers, nodding his head as he looks up briefly at Roy. 

Roy just smiles and pats Gary’s leg- he sticks his leg out a bit for Roy, placing his foot on Roy's knee so he can get the boot off for him. He’s working on tugging the laces off the boot and tipping Gary’s foot up so he can slip it off before he shifts to allow Gary to put his other foot on his knee. 

“There we are lad, pass us your boot bag” Gary uses a hand to drag his bag across on the bench, close enough for Roy to grab it, removes his shoes and put his studs away “Want me to put these on for you as well?” 

Gary doesn’t answer him, he continues to fiddle with the jersey in his hand, tugging at the label on the inside. Roy wants to give him a chance to answer, he doesn't want to rush Gary, who looks like he could still fly apart at the seams if he’s spooked. He stands up and moves to sit next to Gary, keeping his hands on his knees, letting him know he’s here if he needs him. 

Roy feels the bench buzz slightly, his phone in his coat pocket beeping to let him know he’s got a text. He should really go read it, see what Theresa has said about tea, and he makes a move to get up -

“ Wait !” Gary’s hands fly to his arm and they’re tugging him down, Roy swearing under his breath because he forgot who he was with and shit , he can feel Gary tremble and his eyes are already swimming “I don’t - I don’t know. I can’t. Roy, please ” 

This time though, this time Roy isn’t going to fuck this up, he knows what he should be doing. 

“Come here Gaz” He croons, wrapping an arm around Gary’s shuddering shoulders and bringing him close “It’s okay lad, I’m not leaving I promise” 

Gary awkwardly shoves himself half on top of Roy, one leg bent on the bench and the other balanced on Roy’s knee as he tries to shove his face under his chin, shoves his face into his top. He sobs, loud distressed gasps as he clings onto Roy like he’s lost at sea. And Roy just keeps muttering stuff, anything, to make Gary calm down, rubbing his back slowly.

“Gary, I’m sorry, I really am lad, I’m not trying to rush you, please don’t - don’t cry”

Gary’s shoulders stop shaking, his breathing evens out a little. 

“That’s it, it’s alright Gary, you’re a good lad, you know how great you were today, don’t you?”

He hears a wet sounding affirmative noise from Gary.

“You did so well, made us all proud, saw the way you headed that shot away from goal”

Gary nods his head against his top, pulls his head back a bit.

“ Yeah ?” he asks, unsure of himself. 

“Yeah sweetheart” the pet name slips out a bit too easily, Roy biting his tongue slightly “You did such a good job” 

Gary pulls himself back, shifting till he’s sat back on the bench again, a leg still dangling off Roy’s leg. His eyes are red rimmed and his face is all damp but he looks brighter, looks much more himself. Roy can’t help but put a hand round the back of Gary’s neck and gently squeezes, watching as the lad ducks his head, a blush crawling across his cheeks. 

“Why-” Roy clears his throat, his tongue feels thick, uncertainly thrumming in his veins but fuck it, he can do this “Why don’t you come stay at mine tonight Gaz? We’ll set you up in the spare room yeah?” 

Gary blinks at him and there's uncertainty etched across his face,  Roy can tell this is step forward that neither of them are so sure about.

But then Gary grins.

“Yes please, I’d like that” 

“Good lad” Roy moves his hand up to ruffle Gary’s head, his fringe sticking up at all angles which elicits a giggle, an honest to god giggle , out of Gary “Right, I’ll get your shoes on, I’ll drop Theresa a text and we’ll head home okay?” 

Gary’s face falls suddenly and his furrows his brow, Roy wondering what he’s said to -

“Will she mind? If I’m… I’m like this?” 

That makes Roy pause - well, that might be a slight issue. He’s not even sure how he’d explain it in the first place to Theresa, he’s not entirely sure what he’d call this beyond a confidence crisis. 

But he knows Theresa, knows it’ll be fine, he’ll talk about it with her one day. 

For now though:

“I’ll just say you’re not feeling yourself. Just need some company for the evening, it’ll be fine, don’t worry Gary” 

“Okay - thanks Roy” Gary wipes his face once more

He helps Gary with his shoes, pulls them on and ties the laces, before he gets up to check his phone.

Cod  n chips n fishcake pls xx

He grins, he’s a lucky man, tapping back a short response 

Gaz coming 2, feeling down. Is tht okay?

He slips his phone back into his coat and turns to see Gary dressed in his jersey, coat pulled on top, swinging his boot bag in his hands. Roy feels a tug in his chest, he can’t be doing this all the time but he’s glad at least this once he can, can make up for that time in the hotel. 

As he picks up his own kit bag and walks towards Gary, he feels his phone buzz once more, he’s not surprised it’s so quick.

Sounds grt x

He rubs his wedding ring with his thumb, sends back a kiss and puts it back in his coat.

“Come on you” Roy slings his free arm around Gary’s shoulder, letting Gary wrap his hand round his waist, walking him out of the locker room “Fancy a chippie tea?” 

Gary cheers as he moves his hand to Roy’s elbow, tugging him faster towards the exit and Roy finds he can’t help the chuckle that breaks out from him.