fatal flaw, part I.
Title: Fatal Flaw
Chapter: 1 / 6
Characters: Fernando Torres / Sergio Ramos, Xabi Alonso / Steven Gerrard, David Silva / David Villa, Frank Lampard / John Terry, Raúl / Guti, Cesc Fàbregas, Fernando Gago, Iker Casillas, Xavi Hernández, Rubén de la Red, Pepe Reina, Daniel Agger, Sami Hyypiä, Gonzalo Higuaín, Didier Drogba, Santi Cazorla, Álvaro Arbeloa, Sergio "Kun" Agüero, Rafael Benítez, José Mourinho. Not all characters appear in every part and in equal measure.
Rating: R
Warnings: AU. Infrequent language, violence and sex.
Disclaimer: It's about superheroes - how real could it possibly be?
Summary: The Force is a group of superheroes determined to save the city of Despertia from the unfathomable and relentless attacks of villains Raúl and Guti. But sometimes it is the heroes who need to be saved from their own fatal flaws.
Notes: Based on a wonderful prompt by nahco3 at footie_exchange. Apologies to those who have already seen this.
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
The distinct stench of burning rubber and scorched metal ran through the thick, summer air, the sky tainted with a dull grey cloud of smoke as Iker wearily raised a shaking hand to wipe his brow. Sheltered by clear glass, and stories up in the air, he gazed down at the rubble which had once been a building opposite his.
He turned at the sound of footsteps frantically running down the corridor, a panting Rubén jerking to a stop at the open office door.
"Iker - Mr Casillas, sir," Rubén stammered, "I can't get hold of Sergio. He's not picking up his phone, nobody's seen him."
Iker closed his eyes in frustration. Of all the times for the kid to go missing . . .
"Is there anyone else working on this? I sent Miguel out there, but really, we should have more people getting information," Iker muttered agitatedly. "We're the closest to the site - we're across the fucking road! I don't want Verda getting more on this than we do."
Rubén crossed the room to stand beside Iker at the window, turning his head to look at his boss hesitantly. "Apparently they've already got cameras around the back. A lot of footage. Miguel's rounding up our sound guys now, but -"
Iker groaned, slamming a fist against the thick glass before him. "I told Xavi that all those lay-offs were a bad idea." Rubén quickly reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the marks left on the window by Iker's hand. "Stop doing that," Iker sighed. "What's the point, we're going to be sunk any day now."
Rubén slowly drew his hand back and turned to face his boss properly, his eyes wandering over Iker's face with concern as he spoke gently. "I know you don't trust them, but -" he paused, shifting his gaze to glance briefly at the framed picture of David Beckham adorning Iker's desk. "But they'll fix all of this," he continued, gesturing towards the world beyond the window. "It's not about us against Verda TV - you know that more than anyone." Iker remained still, his eyes now glassy and unseeing as he continued to stare ahead, his breath leaving faint traces of heated mist on the window pane. "We shouldn't get in their way. If we do, who knows how many people will be hurt."
Iker's chest heaved slightly as he bit his bottom lip. Turning to look at Rubén exhaustedly, his shoulders sank. "You're too young to understand this," he said, his voice a mere whisper as the crashing of flames and screaming voices were dulled but still penetrating the walls. "I can't trust them. I can't know that they'll succeed, when last time -" He swallowed. "When last time, they failed so badly."
Rubén inhaled deeply as he moved back, understanding that Iker was not to be moved. Turning to rearrange the papers scattered all over Iker's desk, he jumped a little when the boss spoke again, his voice firmer this time, laced with an icy determination.
"So fuck staying out of their way. Fuck leaving it all up to the good guys, giving them space, giving them our trust," Iker snapped. "They're just humans - flawed humans. Freaks. I'd rather spend my time and energy making sure this network stays afloat than chasing after a bunch of clowns in masks."
Rubén stared. "They're trying to save us."
Iker turned away from the window. "They're trying to save the world. I'm trying to save us."
* * * * *
Fernando rolled his eyes as Sergio paced the floor in agitation, the black rubber suit around his body pulled down to his waist, revealing a taut, sweaty, heaving torso.
"Where the fuck was Cristiano?" Sergio spat. "He goes on and on about how fucking superior he is, but damn it, when we need him, where the hell is he?"
Fernando sighed, he too pulling his suit down and relishing the contact between sticky skin and air. "I told you as soon as he got signed up, he isn't reliable. Goes off cavorting with civilians and forgets to come back and do his job."
Sergio turned to look at Fernando fleetingly, his eyes dark and angry in the dimly lit room, the faint noise of traffic leaving a trail of hushed noises in between his padded footsteps.
"There's no point telling me that, I'm not the one who took him on," he said irritably, a hand running absently through damp tendrils of hair. "We're just fucking lucky that we got that mess sorted today, otherwise who knows what the hell would have happened."
Fernando shrugged. "At least Verda got a good story out of it. Did you see Daniel and Martin outside the building? They must have gotten some amazing footage."
Sergio at last ceased his relentless pacing. "Is that all you can think about? Your fucking ratings?"
Fernando looked down - he should have known better than to bring up that up. "I'm sorry, it's just - well, where were your guys? It's not like we bought rights to the coverage - you just didn't have anyone there."
Sergio clenched his jaw. "We rescue fifty people from a burning building, and all you care about is getting a good story for your nine o'clock news slot." He shook his head as he continued walking. "I don't even know why you're here."
"Oh, come on." Fernando rolled his eyes, getting up exhaustedly from his armchair, leaving traces of sweat on the creamy leather. "It wasn't a disaster, we managed okay." His voice took on a pacifying lilt as he reached out a hand to still Sergio in his tracks. "And we'll lend you our tapes. You know I'm okay with that."
Sergio breathed heavily under Fernando's touch, refusing to face him, choosing instead to glare ferociously at the curtained window. "He's starting to realise, you know. Iker," Sergio said bluntly.
Fernando's breath stalled. "Realise what?" he asked sharply, his fingers immediately tensing up around Sergio's shoulder.
"No, not that," Sergio said dismissively. "He's starting to realise that all my work is the same as yours. My 'interview' with Higuaín was shot from the exact same angle as yours, Nando. Obviously people are going to notice."
Fernando moved his hand around Sergio's bare shoulder to rest it upon his chest, the thumping heart underneath revealing his tension in battered rhythms, each thump a triumphant mark of vitality, of survival. Sighing softly, Fernando wrapped his other arm around Sergio's waist and pressed a soft kiss to his neck, closing his eyes as he took in the familiar scent of his lover, exhilarated and spent.
"So what?" Fernando murmured into Sergio's hot skin. "The worst he can do is fire you. You'll always have this job."
Sergio chuckled humourlessly, instinctively reaching a hand up to meet Fernando's as it closed on him. "Yeah, because this job is so much fun, and pays so damn well," he said sarcastically, his voice faltering just a little despite his lingering infuriation.
"We can make it fun," Fernando purred, a dangerous tone seeping into his voice as his hot breath struck Sergio's neck. Leaning further forward, his lips met Sergio's jawline and he felt his lover weaken, his curves dipping into Fernando's, his back arching against Fernando's torso as his eyes fluttered shut. "How about we celebrate our victory today?"
Sergio squirmed in Fernando's embrace, turning in his arms to meet him face-to-face. Gazing at him exhaustedly through overwhelming heat and layers of sweat and tired grime, he sighed in defeat. "Why do you have to kiss me like that? You know I'm not in the mood."
Fernando smirked. "You're always in the mood," he said before bringing his mouth closer and closer to Sergio's, teasing him with wet lips and the temptation of taste, until Sergio could no longer resist and kissed him languidly.
* * * * *
Villa's fingers crept further up, Silva just able to register the hand against his skin as his head remained floating in an oblivious haze. He could sense Villa's intrigue, the way his breath quickened, the faint tremble in his fingertips as they floated across the curves of Silva's body and protested against the secrets held within it.
The fingers reached his jawline, then his chin, then his mouth, slick and red, tasting of Villa and Silva all at once. Silva's eyes closed as he felt Villa deftly touch the hard edge of his mask, resting just above his upper lip, so vulnerable, so easy to tear away.
"No," Silva whispered, a smile reshaping his lips as Villa exhaled over him.
He opened his eyes to see Villa's disappointed ones staring him down. "I want to know what's under here," he murmured, the faintest accusation in his tired voice.
Silva reached up a hand to hold Villa's, stopping it before the finger could creep between the mask and his face. "I can't let you. If I do, I won't be able to keep doing this."
Villa's eyes crinkled in a frown. "Please, baby."
Silva sighed. "I can't."
Villa, his hand still enclosed in Silva's, gave up and collapsed his stiffened body on top of Silva's, his bare chest heaving on top of his lover's. Silva closed his eyes as he felt Villa shuffle slightly. Villa's naked face against his chest, a cheek brushing a nipple, gradually slowing breaths just skimming the taut surface.
"It's not quite the same if I can't see your eyes glaze over when I'm fucking you." Silva could hear the smug laughter in Villa's otherwise complaining tone. Sighing, he lifted his head slightly to look at the man atop him, tufts of hair just brushing against his chin. Reaching down, he held Villa's face gently and forced him to turn his eyes in his direction.
"I wish you could," Silva said softly. "Maybe one day, hey?"
Villa closed his eyes, that familiar sign of frustration as he sank his head back onto Silva's barren chest. "Yeah," he sighed. "One day."
* * * * *
"Police are yet to attribute blame for what is the third in a series of destructive attacks on civilian property within the past two weeks. However, Sergeant Drogba did have the following to say with regards to popular claims that the Force may be responsible for the incident."
The frowning face of Didier Drogba filled the screen, his eyes narrowed as he tried to ignore tens of microphones thrust towards his mouth. "The police can confirm that there is no conclusive evidence which suggests that the Force were involved, and we are refusing to ignore other possible leads in favour of what is, ultimately, a rumour. At the moment, we cannot discount the possibility of terrorism, and we are thoroughly investigating the crime scene and associated personnel in order to find a lead."
The screen again cut back to Pepe Reina's beaming face. "Well, there you have it, folks. The police of central Despertia seem certain enough that the Force are innocent - do let us know what you think by logging onto our website and taking part in our viewer poll. And now to weather! Sami, any news on how long this drought will continue? We certainly could have used some rain on that spectacular fire today -"
Guti snapped up the remote control as Sami's laughing face replaced Pepe's on the television screen. "Fucking idiot, that newsreader is," he muttered, folding his arms as Raúl got up to put their coffee cups away. "Nah, let me do that," he said, bounding up and taking the cups. Heading over to the kitchen, he only had to wave his hand absently for the sink to fill with water.
Raúl watched him, a careful frown lining his face. "We haven't made enough of an impact," he said, his fingers absently raking through his curls as Guti quickly soaked the dishes. "And it doesn't help having that idiot leading the police."
Guti turned around, his hands immediately dry as he rested them on his hipbones. "We just have to work harder, that's all," he said matter-of-factly.
Raúl shook his head in quiet frustration. "Terrorists? People are still buying that shit?" He spat out his words angrily. "It's always the fucking terrorists. Why are they suddenly so reluctant to blame the Force now?"
Guti shrugged. "Well, Drogba obviously plays a role in that," he conceded. "But we can get around him. We just need to up the stakes. Bring the boys out of their shells."
Raúl licked his lips as he thought, Guti's eyes immediately flying to that wet mouth.
"You're right," Raúl said softly. "We need to hit them where it hurts. Get them on their knees to save their loved -"
Guti stared as Raúl froze, watching his quietly troubled frown turn lighter, his lips twitching upwards in a wry smile. "What?" Guti asked, that familiar feeling of weighted expectation overwhelming him whenever Raúl had that delicious look on his face.
Raúl grinned, and Guti instinctively smiled back, not knowing quite why he was suddenly feeling so relieved, but always subconsciously trusting of his partner. "I think we've got some recruitment to do," Raúl said, his voice now dangerously low. "Is Fernando Gago still alive?"
* * * * *
"So, I was watching Stentor TV last night, and it appears that one Sergio Ramos has been copying our footage."
Xabi turned to look pointedly at Fernando, who promptly hid his face behind a huge bagel. "Idunowhayotohinbout," Fernando said through a mouth full of lightly buttered carbohydrate.
Xabi rolled his eyes. "I thought that maybe the Higuaín debacle was a one-off - that he'd somehow managed to grab that one interview. But it seems that he's gotten a lot more."
Fernando shrugged, swallowing hard as he brushed crumbs off his front, his shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal glistening forearms. "I have nothing to do with it," he said simply.
"Fernando." Xabi's voice was stern, Fernando remembering countless rebukes he'd received from the older man since he'd moved to the city. "The guy spends half his time with his cock up your ass. Don't even try pretending that you haven't been feeding him all our work."
Fernando sighed as he stretched his arms up lazily, glancing over at the reading on the airconditioner as the air pressed in around him, relentlessly hot and stuffy. "Why do you care, anyway? Everyone knows that we get the dirt first. The viewers do, anyway."
Right on cue, Daniel burst into the room, Xabi almost knocking his cup of coffee off the desk as he jumped in surprise. "Do you never knock?" he asked Daniel wearily.
"Sorry." Daniel was beaming, clearly not sorry at all. "Have you seen the ratings for last night's bulletin?" He waved a piece of paper at Xabi's face, the latter completely incapable of reading the flying numbers, as Fernando raised his eyebrows with interest. "We wiped the floor with the other networks. Stentor was thousands of units below us."
Xabi turned to glance at Fernando, who was smiling smugly. "See?" the blonde said knowingly. "It's going to take a lot to knock us off top spot."
Daniel continuing grinning across at them. "Reckon I've got a better chance at snagging that anchor spot now?" he asked hopefully.
Xabi snorted. "Yeah, good luck," he said scornfully. "The only reason why your report rated higher than Stentor's was because they didn't actually have anyone on the scene. Don't kid yourself, Agger - you're not impressing anyone with shaky shots of rubble and crying mothers. The world is desensitised to that now - you need to get something more groundbreaking if you're going to kick Carra off the desk."
Daniel frowned. "Pepe said the report was one of the best all year," he protested. "He said I'd be sitting next to him in no time."
"Pepe also thinks he's the best thing since cordless microphones," Xabi said carelessly. "I wouldn't trust his judgement."
As Daniel left the room, scowling and muttering to himself, Fernando raised his eyebrows. "Harsh," he said accusingly. "I thought it was a pretty good feature, myself."
Xabi downed the rest of his coffee and stood up, ready to leave Fernando for his own office. "Well, maybe you could send the transcript to Sergio, huh, and have him dub it over? Don't think you've quite made your network betrayal quota for this week yet."
"Oh, get the fuck out," Fernando snapped wearily. "And don't come back."
"Oh, I won't," Xabi drawled as he headed for the door. "Since we're due at headquarters in, oh, ten minutes."
"Fuck," Fernando muttered, bounding up and grabbing his jacket as Xabi chuckled.
* * * * *
"Oh, come on," Sergio complained. "Is this really the best time to introduce a new guy? What happened to Cristiano?"
Rafa looked away awkwardly. "He got distracted on the job," he said, unwilling to give away too much unnecessary information. "He got tangled up with someone - a domestic situation. It ended in a pretty nasty way."
"He got his face burnt, the idiot," José interrupted, unable to stop a few sniggers from escaping. Rafa turned to glare at him, causing him to straighten up and cough in an effort to calm himself down. "Sorry," he sighed in defeat. "But yes, as Rafa said," he addressed the rest of the room, "we can no longer rely upon Cristiano - he's left us. So we've had to find an alternative. Well - Rafa found him," he added with a disapproving glance in his partner's direction.
"I think he'll fit in amongst you all very well," Rafa said encouragingly. "He's bright, and quick, and could possibly be even better in the air than Cristiano. Please welcome Cesc Fàbregas, everyone."
The heroes' heads turned as José opened the door and a diminutive figure entered, wearing a bright grin. "Hi there," he said enthusiastically. "I'm Cesc."
"We know," Xabi responded coolly through the thick silence.
"So this is who you've found to replace Cristiano?" Fernando asked the coaches.
"Oh, that's just typical," Cesc muttered before either could answer. "I'm always a poor man's Cristiano."
"What?" Fernando snapped back irritably.
"As I said, I think you could be better than our Cristiano," Rafa interrupted, addressing Cesc. Turning to face the others, noting with particular disapproval Steven's look of incredulosity, he sighed. There were always issues when they tried to bring in someone new. "Silva!" he suddenly boomed, causing Silva to snap his head up anxiously. "I'm making it your job to take Cesc under your wing. You're probably the most like him in terms of ability, so it'll be your responsibility to help him out."
Sighing, Silva hoisted himself up out of his seat and headed towards Cesc with a reluctant smile, the new recruit beaming back at him as the others broke into personal conversations. Sergio and Fernando murmuring in each other's ears, Silva shook his head and wrapped a friendly arm around Cesc's shoulder. As Xabi immediately turned on Steven to launch into what looked like the continuation of an unhappy dispute, Rafa wearily sank back into his chair as José did the same next to him.
"I don't like the look of this boy," José murmured, surveying Cesc with a wary eye.
"Well, tough," Rafa said firmly. "The last thing Arsène said before he got sucked into that volcano was to keep an eye out for this kid."
"Arsène also told us that Thierry Henry was a good prospect, and look what happened to him."
Rafa sighed. "You really have to get over that," he said decisively. "Nobody expected Thierry to jump into the volcano after him. He was just trying to rescue him."
"Yes, in a boiling pit of lava. I don't trust Arsène's judgement, alright? I think this kid could be a liability."
"You're just jealous because none of our recruits have ever cared about you that much."
"Look, just because that Mascherano idiot tried to take on Raúl one-on-one on your behalf, does not mean that I expect the same," José huffed. "Besides, I'm sure any of these boys would make sacrifices for me, too. Wouldn't you?" he asked the room at large.
The boys lifted their heads, stared for a moment in silence, before resuming their conversations.
"Nice one, José," Rafa said with a smug smile.
* * * * *
"Higuaín's holding a press conference tomorrow morning," Iker said shortly. "You'd better fucking be there."
"There's no need for profanities."
"There most certainly is!" Iker snapped. "Where the hell were you this morning? Actually, forget that - where were you yesterday?"
"I was working," Sergio replied simply. "You wanted someone at the environmental summit, didn't you?"
"Well, why weren't you picking up your phone?"
"I turned it off, the activists would've gotten pissed off if my ringtone interrupted their passionate screaming," Sergio explained casually. "They might have thrown vegan weapons at me."
Iker sank deeper into his chair as Sergio restlessly shifted in his. "Do you think the Force are behind all this?"
Sergio blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Uh," he hesitated, "I think it's the same people who did New Year's, if that's what you mean."
Iker considered Sergio, watching the younger man's hesitation with interest. "Do you think that the Force did New Year's?"
Sergio looked away, thinking hard as Iker looked at him. "Well, they did, but - you know - it might not be the same Force this time around . . ." His voice trailed away as Iker continued to stare. "Why?"
Iker sighed. "I just don't buy all the crap that the police are trying to tell us," he explained wearily. "All this shit that the Force are trying to stop all this chaos, and that someone else is behind the actual fuck-ups. I know that not many people agree with me - like Rubén, and you, I guess -"
He was interrupted by Xavi Hernández bursting through the door, a bright smile on his face and a leaflet in his grasp. "Hey guys, 'sup?" he asked brightly.
"Ah, not you," Iker groaned, holding a hand up in Xavi's direction. "Please, just walk away right now. Don't come any closer to me."
Xavi raised his eyebrows. "What's up your ass? New boyfriend?" he asked with a suggestive grin.
As Sergio sighed at the company chairman's lack of tact, Iker's eyes made that familiar flight to the picture of Beckham on the desk.
"Alright, I'm sorry," Xavi said hastily. "I just came to give you this." He thrust the leaflet onto Iker's desk, the exhausted Chief Operations Officer looking at it with vague confusion. "They did my sister's wedding last year - they're fabulous."
As Xavi made his way out, Iker lifted his head. "What the hell do we need catering for?"
"Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it," Xavi said airily, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face as Iker and Sergio watched him warily. "We're having a company party this weekend, to celebrate our new CEO." Iker stared. "Oh, don't worry, he's no threat to your position," Xavi continued. "He'll just be making sure everything's on track. Can't keep losing out on ratings, now, can we?"
As Iker grumbled and flicked through the leaflet in frustration, Sergio judged it best to leave after Xavi.
"Oh no, you don't," Iker said sharply, holding out a hand to block Sergio's path. "You can call these cooks. I don't care who the hell Hernández thinks he is - I'm not doing fucking receptionist work."
Sergio sighed. "I'll get Rubén to do it," he said, taking the leaflet and glancing at the front. "Amphoras? I hear they're pretty good."
"Unless a news spot on them is going to get our viewers back, I couldn't fucking care less," Iker grumbled. "Now piss off, I have to figure out why the hell the sports department keeps fucking up our basketball broadcasting rights."
* * * * *
Silva chopped quickly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, accentuating the nervous restlessness that descended upon him when he realised that Villa was watching him. He could see his wry smile out of the corner of his eye, trying hard to focus on the coriander in front of him but increasingly taken over by the man next to him.
"What?" he asked nervously. "Why are you staring?"
Villa laughed. "You remind me of someone, that's all."
Silva's chest tightened just slightly, his fingers freezing for a fraction of a second before they gripped the knife tightly again. "Yeah?" His attempts to sound casual had never really worked.
"Yeah, my father always got stressed when he had a knife in his hands, too," Villa continued. "He hated it when people would interrupt him while he cooked, just in case something slipped."
Silva's breathing eased again, but the painful constriction in his throat seemed to remain. "I thought you were going to say -" He stopped himself. Damn, he thought. He always came so close to royally screwing everything up.
"Say what?" Villa asked, that smirk still seeping through his voice.
Silva was spared having to answer as Santi burst into the kitchen looking animated - well, more animated than usual.
"Biggest. News. Ever." Santi grinned as Silva and Villa gazed back expectantly. "We've been hired by Stentor to cater one of their big bashes in - get this - one week," he announced, his eyes sparkling. "Senna just got the call."
"Shit," Silva breathed, impressed. "Is the pay going to match what we got for the wedding?"
"No," Santi admitted, looking down. But a mischievous smile crept onto his face, and he couldn't hold off any longer from adding, "They're doubling it!"
Villa grinned across at Silva, who smiled back, somewhat dazed from the news. "I guess a global economic crisis doesn't mean anything to the Hernández empire, then," Villa said laughingly.
"Guess not," Silva murmured in reply. "I suppose he's covering costs by sacking half his workforce."
"Huh?" Villa asked vaguely.
"Nothing, never mind," Silva hastened to respond, remembering that he wasn't supposed to know anything about the inner workings of Stentor TV.
"Well, anyway," Santi spoke again, "you'd better get changed." He nodded to Villa, who checked his watch.
"Oh, shit, it's nearly five-thirty," he muttered. "I hope it's not as crowded as last night - do you remember that nightmare couple by the window?"
"Oh, with the woman who accused you of eating her food? Ha!"
"What the fuck? Honestly, why would you -"
"Well, you do have the appetite of a whale."
"Fuck you, man!"
Santi laughed in reply as they carried their conversation out of the kitchen. Silva paused in thought for a moment, memories of the night before having clouded his mind with Villa so close, the scent of his perfume so familiar and tempting and -
The buzzer sounded. "Quit daydreaming, buster, and get back to chopping," Villa's voice said through the speaker.
Silva looked up to see Villa laughing at him through the window of the kitchen door, receiver in hand. He sighed, and continued massacring the coriander which tried to stubbornly to mask Villa's lingering fragrance in the air.
* * * * *
Gago was quickly abandoned by the ageing housekeeper, and began slowly pacing the main room. It wasn't nearly as big as he'd expected. Ornate - yes - and sophisticated, but surprisingly modest. His scuffed shoes padding across the cream carpet, he dragged his fingers along the wall, its wooden panels smooth and untarnished beneath the pads of his fingertips. His eyes fell on paintings, all of them dark and morose, featuring warped interpretations of the world outside that the thick curtains firmly hid - whirling hurricanes, barren deserts, volcanoes, the somehow beautiful yet depressing image of fallen leaves on lonesome concrete.
He inhaled deeply, the rich mahogany of the walls, floor and furniture unsuitably warm for such a place. His eyes fell on the fireplace, its flames having been mercifully replaced by the gentle whirr of the airconditioner. Above the fireplace, Gago's gaze froze on two enormous brass letter F's, back to back, bold and imposing.
"Fire and flood," he whispered to himself, his hand reaching upwards to touch the letters.
"Precisely," a voice said behind him. Gago quickly withdrew his outstretched hand and whirled around to see Guti standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as he held a glass of wine in his hand. "You're a lot more - well - whole, than I expected you to be."
Gago merely looked back for a few seconds. "You're a lot younger than I expected," he said coolly - a prepared response. "Considering you're supposed to be a veteran."
Guti smiled. "I like you already." He held out the glass of wine, which Gago took hesitantly. "I haven't poisoned it, or anything. Although you'd know if I had, wouldn't you?"
"Damn right I would," Gago muttered. "Is González here?"
Guti shook his head. "There are only two of us - we have to split the workload," he explained. "Seriously, though - I don't want to harp on about this or anything - you do look a lot better than I expected. Here we were thinking you were dead. Couldn't imagine that you'd be standing here, so pristine, so - pure."
Gago allowed his lips to curl into a small smile. "Well, I wouldn't be much use if I were an ugly piece of shit, would I?" he asked frankly.
"I suppose not," Guti conceded with a grin. "Particularly not for the kind of work we've got in mind for you."
Guti led the way into the kitchen, where he poured another glass of red for himself. Gago could sense his excitement, he even could feel it creeping into himself. Clenching his jaw, he refused to allow himself to get carried away. Objective consideration, he reminded himself. This is no time for fun.
"You'll obviously want to know what's in it for you," Guti began.
"Oh, I already know," Gago replied quickly. "But that doesn't concern me."
Guti paused. "Why did you come, then?"
Gago smiled dangerously. "That hardly matters, now, does it?" He took a sip of his wine as Guti watched him, refusing to break the stare. "I'm here, and I'm willing. And that's all that counts, right?"
* * * * *
It was comical, the sight of a lion stubbornly pressing its shoulder against an enormous iron block, managing to push it mere millimetres, heaving growling sighs. The stuff of animated film, and surreal dreams penetrating those restless, incomplete nights of slumber after days of sleeplessness. Steven smiled wearily as he watched - so, the world was going to be saved by the Lion King?
"Xabi," Steven shouted over the lion's snarls. The lion promptly stopped pushing and turned its head, a sight which would have rendered any civilian absolutely terrified. Seeing the lion transform into the very human Xabi Alonso was, arguably, a scarier prospect.
Steven tutted as he walked further into the enormous room, the door closing softly behind him. Weaving his way through the various obstacles scattered on the floor - everything from blocks of metal for strength work, to three-metre-tall tanks of water for stamina training - he approached Xabi, who was panting, and glaring furiously in his direction.
"You're bleeding," Steven pointed out.
"You're interrupting me," Xabi snapped back.
Steven sighed, ignoring Xabi's huffs of annoyance and turning him around, waving a hand casually over the deep cut that the block had left in Xabi's shoulder. In a matter of seconds, the skin repaired itself.
"That's the sixth time you've missed dinner in the past two weeks, Xabi," Steven said with something of a warning in his voice. "No wonder you can barely move the thing, you've got no fuel in you!"
"You sound like a nagging mother," Xabi muttered.
Steven stepped back and folded his arms. "Is it really that wrong for me to expect you home before two in the fucking morning?"
Xabi looked him straight in the eye. "Look, I realise that you don't give a shit about any of -"
"I do give a shit," Steven protested. "I just don't let it take over my life."
"Well, some of us actually need to work on physical strength," Xabi snapped back. "We can't all wait here at headquarters while the others do the dirty work -"
"I haven't got a bloody choice, do I?" Steven's voice got louder as Xabi's eyes began to blaze over with dark resentment. "I belong here, and you know it. I'm not here to fight, I'm here to make sure you lot don't cark it while you're off being heroic and violent."
"You could come if you wanted to," Xabi argued. "We don't all go around pushing things and putting out fires and pulling people out of floods."
"The people who really make a difference do."
"Fernando doesn't do that. Silva doesn't do that. You could use guns and explosives like them - you just choose not to."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that you're lazy," Xabi said firmly, ignoring Steven's rising temper. "You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself to make up for your lack of -"
"My lack of what, exact-"
His words were interrupted by a loud siren. Steven's heart sank, Xabi's eyes widening opposite his. They stood, frozen, waiting for that familiar voice.
"Precinct Twelve. Town Hall. Flood."
Steven groaned, Xabi throwing him a dirty look as the remaining echoes of the announcement bounced mockingly off the metal surfaces surrounding them.
"Well, are you coming?" Xabi asked.
Steven simply stared back.
Xabi sighed. "I'll take that as a 'no' then."
And with that, he darted out of the room, his dying footsteps echoing in Steven's ears as he watched him go.
Part II
Chapter: 1 / 6
Characters: Fernando Torres / Sergio Ramos, Xabi Alonso / Steven Gerrard, David Silva / David Villa, Frank Lampard / John Terry, Raúl / Guti, Cesc Fàbregas, Fernando Gago, Iker Casillas, Xavi Hernández, Rubén de la Red, Pepe Reina, Daniel Agger, Sami Hyypiä, Gonzalo Higuaín, Didier Drogba, Santi Cazorla, Álvaro Arbeloa, Sergio "Kun" Agüero, Rafael Benítez, José Mourinho. Not all characters appear in every part and in equal measure.
Rating: R
Warnings: AU. Infrequent language, violence and sex.
Disclaimer: It's about superheroes - how real could it possibly be?
Summary: The Force is a group of superheroes determined to save the city of Despertia from the unfathomable and relentless attacks of villains Raúl and Guti. But sometimes it is the heroes who need to be saved from their own fatal flaws.
Notes: Based on a wonderful prompt by nahco3 at footie_exchange. Apologies to those who have already seen this.
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
The distinct stench of burning rubber and scorched metal ran through the thick, summer air, the sky tainted with a dull grey cloud of smoke as Iker wearily raised a shaking hand to wipe his brow. Sheltered by clear glass, and stories up in the air, he gazed down at the rubble which had once been a building opposite his.
He turned at the sound of footsteps frantically running down the corridor, a panting Rubén jerking to a stop at the open office door.
"Iker - Mr Casillas, sir," Rubén stammered, "I can't get hold of Sergio. He's not picking up his phone, nobody's seen him."
Iker closed his eyes in frustration. Of all the times for the kid to go missing . . .
"Is there anyone else working on this? I sent Miguel out there, but really, we should have more people getting information," Iker muttered agitatedly. "We're the closest to the site - we're across the fucking road! I don't want Verda getting more on this than we do."
Rubén crossed the room to stand beside Iker at the window, turning his head to look at his boss hesitantly. "Apparently they've already got cameras around the back. A lot of footage. Miguel's rounding up our sound guys now, but -"
Iker groaned, slamming a fist against the thick glass before him. "I told Xavi that all those lay-offs were a bad idea." Rubén quickly reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe the marks left on the window by Iker's hand. "Stop doing that," Iker sighed. "What's the point, we're going to be sunk any day now."
Rubén slowly drew his hand back and turned to face his boss properly, his eyes wandering over Iker's face with concern as he spoke gently. "I know you don't trust them, but -" he paused, shifting his gaze to glance briefly at the framed picture of David Beckham adorning Iker's desk. "But they'll fix all of this," he continued, gesturing towards the world beyond the window. "It's not about us against Verda TV - you know that more than anyone." Iker remained still, his eyes now glassy and unseeing as he continued to stare ahead, his breath leaving faint traces of heated mist on the window pane. "We shouldn't get in their way. If we do, who knows how many people will be hurt."
Iker's chest heaved slightly as he bit his bottom lip. Turning to look at Rubén exhaustedly, his shoulders sank. "You're too young to understand this," he said, his voice a mere whisper as the crashing of flames and screaming voices were dulled but still penetrating the walls. "I can't trust them. I can't know that they'll succeed, when last time -" He swallowed. "When last time, they failed so badly."
Rubén inhaled deeply as he moved back, understanding that Iker was not to be moved. Turning to rearrange the papers scattered all over Iker's desk, he jumped a little when the boss spoke again, his voice firmer this time, laced with an icy determination.
"So fuck staying out of their way. Fuck leaving it all up to the good guys, giving them space, giving them our trust," Iker snapped. "They're just humans - flawed humans. Freaks. I'd rather spend my time and energy making sure this network stays afloat than chasing after a bunch of clowns in masks."
Rubén stared. "They're trying to save us."
Iker turned away from the window. "They're trying to save the world. I'm trying to save us."
* * * * *
Fernando rolled his eyes as Sergio paced the floor in agitation, the black rubber suit around his body pulled down to his waist, revealing a taut, sweaty, heaving torso.
"Where the fuck was Cristiano?" Sergio spat. "He goes on and on about how fucking superior he is, but damn it, when we need him, where the hell is he?"
Fernando sighed, he too pulling his suit down and relishing the contact between sticky skin and air. "I told you as soon as he got signed up, he isn't reliable. Goes off cavorting with civilians and forgets to come back and do his job."
Sergio turned to look at Fernando fleetingly, his eyes dark and angry in the dimly lit room, the faint noise of traffic leaving a trail of hushed noises in between his padded footsteps.
"There's no point telling me that, I'm not the one who took him on," he said irritably, a hand running absently through damp tendrils of hair. "We're just fucking lucky that we got that mess sorted today, otherwise who knows what the hell would have happened."
Fernando shrugged. "At least Verda got a good story out of it. Did you see Daniel and Martin outside the building? They must have gotten some amazing footage."
Sergio at last ceased his relentless pacing. "Is that all you can think about? Your fucking ratings?"
Fernando looked down - he should have known better than to bring up that up. "I'm sorry, it's just - well, where were your guys? It's not like we bought rights to the coverage - you just didn't have anyone there."
Sergio clenched his jaw. "We rescue fifty people from a burning building, and all you care about is getting a good story for your nine o'clock news slot." He shook his head as he continued walking. "I don't even know why you're here."
"Oh, come on." Fernando rolled his eyes, getting up exhaustedly from his armchair, leaving traces of sweat on the creamy leather. "It wasn't a disaster, we managed okay." His voice took on a pacifying lilt as he reached out a hand to still Sergio in his tracks. "And we'll lend you our tapes. You know I'm okay with that."
Sergio breathed heavily under Fernando's touch, refusing to face him, choosing instead to glare ferociously at the curtained window. "He's starting to realise, you know. Iker," Sergio said bluntly.
Fernando's breath stalled. "Realise what?" he asked sharply, his fingers immediately tensing up around Sergio's shoulder.
"No, not that," Sergio said dismissively. "He's starting to realise that all my work is the same as yours. My 'interview' with Higuaín was shot from the exact same angle as yours, Nando. Obviously people are going to notice."
Fernando moved his hand around Sergio's bare shoulder to rest it upon his chest, the thumping heart underneath revealing his tension in battered rhythms, each thump a triumphant mark of vitality, of survival. Sighing softly, Fernando wrapped his other arm around Sergio's waist and pressed a soft kiss to his neck, closing his eyes as he took in the familiar scent of his lover, exhilarated and spent.
"So what?" Fernando murmured into Sergio's hot skin. "The worst he can do is fire you. You'll always have this job."
Sergio chuckled humourlessly, instinctively reaching a hand up to meet Fernando's as it closed on him. "Yeah, because this job is so much fun, and pays so damn well," he said sarcastically, his voice faltering just a little despite his lingering infuriation.
"We can make it fun," Fernando purred, a dangerous tone seeping into his voice as his hot breath struck Sergio's neck. Leaning further forward, his lips met Sergio's jawline and he felt his lover weaken, his curves dipping into Fernando's, his back arching against Fernando's torso as his eyes fluttered shut. "How about we celebrate our victory today?"
Sergio squirmed in Fernando's embrace, turning in his arms to meet him face-to-face. Gazing at him exhaustedly through overwhelming heat and layers of sweat and tired grime, he sighed in defeat. "Why do you have to kiss me like that? You know I'm not in the mood."
Fernando smirked. "You're always in the mood," he said before bringing his mouth closer and closer to Sergio's, teasing him with wet lips and the temptation of taste, until Sergio could no longer resist and kissed him languidly.
* * * * *
Villa's fingers crept further up, Silva just able to register the hand against his skin as his head remained floating in an oblivious haze. He could sense Villa's intrigue, the way his breath quickened, the faint tremble in his fingertips as they floated across the curves of Silva's body and protested against the secrets held within it.
The fingers reached his jawline, then his chin, then his mouth, slick and red, tasting of Villa and Silva all at once. Silva's eyes closed as he felt Villa deftly touch the hard edge of his mask, resting just above his upper lip, so vulnerable, so easy to tear away.
"No," Silva whispered, a smile reshaping his lips as Villa exhaled over him.
He opened his eyes to see Villa's disappointed ones staring him down. "I want to know what's under here," he murmured, the faintest accusation in his tired voice.
Silva reached up a hand to hold Villa's, stopping it before the finger could creep between the mask and his face. "I can't let you. If I do, I won't be able to keep doing this."
Villa's eyes crinkled in a frown. "Please, baby."
Silva sighed. "I can't."
Villa, his hand still enclosed in Silva's, gave up and collapsed his stiffened body on top of Silva's, his bare chest heaving on top of his lover's. Silva closed his eyes as he felt Villa shuffle slightly. Villa's naked face against his chest, a cheek brushing a nipple, gradually slowing breaths just skimming the taut surface.
"It's not quite the same if I can't see your eyes glaze over when I'm fucking you." Silva could hear the smug laughter in Villa's otherwise complaining tone. Sighing, he lifted his head slightly to look at the man atop him, tufts of hair just brushing against his chin. Reaching down, he held Villa's face gently and forced him to turn his eyes in his direction.
"I wish you could," Silva said softly. "Maybe one day, hey?"
Villa closed his eyes, that familiar sign of frustration as he sank his head back onto Silva's barren chest. "Yeah," he sighed. "One day."
* * * * *
"Police are yet to attribute blame for what is the third in a series of destructive attacks on civilian property within the past two weeks. However, Sergeant Drogba did have the following to say with regards to popular claims that the Force may be responsible for the incident."
The frowning face of Didier Drogba filled the screen, his eyes narrowed as he tried to ignore tens of microphones thrust towards his mouth. "The police can confirm that there is no conclusive evidence which suggests that the Force were involved, and we are refusing to ignore other possible leads in favour of what is, ultimately, a rumour. At the moment, we cannot discount the possibility of terrorism, and we are thoroughly investigating the crime scene and associated personnel in order to find a lead."
The screen again cut back to Pepe Reina's beaming face. "Well, there you have it, folks. The police of central Despertia seem certain enough that the Force are innocent - do let us know what you think by logging onto our website and taking part in our viewer poll. And now to weather! Sami, any news on how long this drought will continue? We certainly could have used some rain on that spectacular fire today -"
Guti snapped up the remote control as Sami's laughing face replaced Pepe's on the television screen. "Fucking idiot, that newsreader is," he muttered, folding his arms as Raúl got up to put their coffee cups away. "Nah, let me do that," he said, bounding up and taking the cups. Heading over to the kitchen, he only had to wave his hand absently for the sink to fill with water.
Raúl watched him, a careful frown lining his face. "We haven't made enough of an impact," he said, his fingers absently raking through his curls as Guti quickly soaked the dishes. "And it doesn't help having that idiot leading the police."
Guti turned around, his hands immediately dry as he rested them on his hipbones. "We just have to work harder, that's all," he said matter-of-factly.
Raúl shook his head in quiet frustration. "Terrorists? People are still buying that shit?" He spat out his words angrily. "It's always the fucking terrorists. Why are they suddenly so reluctant to blame the Force now?"
Guti shrugged. "Well, Drogba obviously plays a role in that," he conceded. "But we can get around him. We just need to up the stakes. Bring the boys out of their shells."
Raúl licked his lips as he thought, Guti's eyes immediately flying to that wet mouth.
"You're right," Raúl said softly. "We need to hit them where it hurts. Get them on their knees to save their loved -"
Guti stared as Raúl froze, watching his quietly troubled frown turn lighter, his lips twitching upwards in a wry smile. "What?" Guti asked, that familiar feeling of weighted expectation overwhelming him whenever Raúl had that delicious look on his face.
Raúl grinned, and Guti instinctively smiled back, not knowing quite why he was suddenly feeling so relieved, but always subconsciously trusting of his partner. "I think we've got some recruitment to do," Raúl said, his voice now dangerously low. "Is Fernando Gago still alive?"
* * * * *
"So, I was watching Stentor TV last night, and it appears that one Sergio Ramos has been copying our footage."
Xabi turned to look pointedly at Fernando, who promptly hid his face behind a huge bagel. "Idunowhayotohinbout," Fernando said through a mouth full of lightly buttered carbohydrate.
Xabi rolled his eyes. "I thought that maybe the Higuaín debacle was a one-off - that he'd somehow managed to grab that one interview. But it seems that he's gotten a lot more."
Fernando shrugged, swallowing hard as he brushed crumbs off his front, his shirt-sleeves rolled up to reveal glistening forearms. "I have nothing to do with it," he said simply.
"Fernando." Xabi's voice was stern, Fernando remembering countless rebukes he'd received from the older man since he'd moved to the city. "The guy spends half his time with his cock up your ass. Don't even try pretending that you haven't been feeding him all our work."
Fernando sighed as he stretched his arms up lazily, glancing over at the reading on the airconditioner as the air pressed in around him, relentlessly hot and stuffy. "Why do you care, anyway? Everyone knows that we get the dirt first. The viewers do, anyway."
Right on cue, Daniel burst into the room, Xabi almost knocking his cup of coffee off the desk as he jumped in surprise. "Do you never knock?" he asked Daniel wearily.
"Sorry." Daniel was beaming, clearly not sorry at all. "Have you seen the ratings for last night's bulletin?" He waved a piece of paper at Xabi's face, the latter completely incapable of reading the flying numbers, as Fernando raised his eyebrows with interest. "We wiped the floor with the other networks. Stentor was thousands of units below us."
Xabi turned to glance at Fernando, who was smiling smugly. "See?" the blonde said knowingly. "It's going to take a lot to knock us off top spot."
Daniel continuing grinning across at them. "Reckon I've got a better chance at snagging that anchor spot now?" he asked hopefully.
Xabi snorted. "Yeah, good luck," he said scornfully. "The only reason why your report rated higher than Stentor's was because they didn't actually have anyone on the scene. Don't kid yourself, Agger - you're not impressing anyone with shaky shots of rubble and crying mothers. The world is desensitised to that now - you need to get something more groundbreaking if you're going to kick Carra off the desk."
Daniel frowned. "Pepe said the report was one of the best all year," he protested. "He said I'd be sitting next to him in no time."
"Pepe also thinks he's the best thing since cordless microphones," Xabi said carelessly. "I wouldn't trust his judgement."
As Daniel left the room, scowling and muttering to himself, Fernando raised his eyebrows. "Harsh," he said accusingly. "I thought it was a pretty good feature, myself."
Xabi downed the rest of his coffee and stood up, ready to leave Fernando for his own office. "Well, maybe you could send the transcript to Sergio, huh, and have him dub it over? Don't think you've quite made your network betrayal quota for this week yet."
"Oh, get the fuck out," Fernando snapped wearily. "And don't come back."
"Oh, I won't," Xabi drawled as he headed for the door. "Since we're due at headquarters in, oh, ten minutes."
"Fuck," Fernando muttered, bounding up and grabbing his jacket as Xabi chuckled.
* * * * *
"Oh, come on," Sergio complained. "Is this really the best time to introduce a new guy? What happened to Cristiano?"
Rafa looked away awkwardly. "He got distracted on the job," he said, unwilling to give away too much unnecessary information. "He got tangled up with someone - a domestic situation. It ended in a pretty nasty way."
"He got his face burnt, the idiot," José interrupted, unable to stop a few sniggers from escaping. Rafa turned to glare at him, causing him to straighten up and cough in an effort to calm himself down. "Sorry," he sighed in defeat. "But yes, as Rafa said," he addressed the rest of the room, "we can no longer rely upon Cristiano - he's left us. So we've had to find an alternative. Well - Rafa found him," he added with a disapproving glance in his partner's direction.
"I think he'll fit in amongst you all very well," Rafa said encouragingly. "He's bright, and quick, and could possibly be even better in the air than Cristiano. Please welcome Cesc Fàbregas, everyone."
The heroes' heads turned as José opened the door and a diminutive figure entered, wearing a bright grin. "Hi there," he said enthusiastically. "I'm Cesc."
"We know," Xabi responded coolly through the thick silence.
"So this is who you've found to replace Cristiano?" Fernando asked the coaches.
"Oh, that's just typical," Cesc muttered before either could answer. "I'm always a poor man's Cristiano."
"What?" Fernando snapped back irritably.
"As I said, I think you could be better than our Cristiano," Rafa interrupted, addressing Cesc. Turning to face the others, noting with particular disapproval Steven's look of incredulosity, he sighed. There were always issues when they tried to bring in someone new. "Silva!" he suddenly boomed, causing Silva to snap his head up anxiously. "I'm making it your job to take Cesc under your wing. You're probably the most like him in terms of ability, so it'll be your responsibility to help him out."
Sighing, Silva hoisted himself up out of his seat and headed towards Cesc with a reluctant smile, the new recruit beaming back at him as the others broke into personal conversations. Sergio and Fernando murmuring in each other's ears, Silva shook his head and wrapped a friendly arm around Cesc's shoulder. As Xabi immediately turned on Steven to launch into what looked like the continuation of an unhappy dispute, Rafa wearily sank back into his chair as José did the same next to him.
"I don't like the look of this boy," José murmured, surveying Cesc with a wary eye.
"Well, tough," Rafa said firmly. "The last thing Arsène said before he got sucked into that volcano was to keep an eye out for this kid."
"Arsène also told us that Thierry Henry was a good prospect, and look what happened to him."
Rafa sighed. "You really have to get over that," he said decisively. "Nobody expected Thierry to jump into the volcano after him. He was just trying to rescue him."
"Yes, in a boiling pit of lava. I don't trust Arsène's judgement, alright? I think this kid could be a liability."
"You're just jealous because none of our recruits have ever cared about you that much."
"Look, just because that Mascherano idiot tried to take on Raúl one-on-one on your behalf, does not mean that I expect the same," José huffed. "Besides, I'm sure any of these boys would make sacrifices for me, too. Wouldn't you?" he asked the room at large.
The boys lifted their heads, stared for a moment in silence, before resuming their conversations.
"Nice one, José," Rafa said with a smug smile.
* * * * *
"Higuaín's holding a press conference tomorrow morning," Iker said shortly. "You'd better fucking be there."
"There's no need for profanities."
"There most certainly is!" Iker snapped. "Where the hell were you this morning? Actually, forget that - where were you yesterday?"
"I was working," Sergio replied simply. "You wanted someone at the environmental summit, didn't you?"
"Well, why weren't you picking up your phone?"
"I turned it off, the activists would've gotten pissed off if my ringtone interrupted their passionate screaming," Sergio explained casually. "They might have thrown vegan weapons at me."
Iker sank deeper into his chair as Sergio restlessly shifted in his. "Do you think the Force are behind all this?"
Sergio blinked at the sudden change of subject. "Uh," he hesitated, "I think it's the same people who did New Year's, if that's what you mean."
Iker considered Sergio, watching the younger man's hesitation with interest. "Do you think that the Force did New Year's?"
Sergio looked away, thinking hard as Iker looked at him. "Well, they did, but - you know - it might not be the same Force this time around . . ." His voice trailed away as Iker continued to stare. "Why?"
Iker sighed. "I just don't buy all the crap that the police are trying to tell us," he explained wearily. "All this shit that the Force are trying to stop all this chaos, and that someone else is behind the actual fuck-ups. I know that not many people agree with me - like Rubén, and you, I guess -"
He was interrupted by Xavi Hernández bursting through the door, a bright smile on his face and a leaflet in his grasp. "Hey guys, 'sup?" he asked brightly.
"Ah, not you," Iker groaned, holding a hand up in Xavi's direction. "Please, just walk away right now. Don't come any closer to me."
Xavi raised his eyebrows. "What's up your ass? New boyfriend?" he asked with a suggestive grin.
As Sergio sighed at the company chairman's lack of tact, Iker's eyes made that familiar flight to the picture of Beckham on the desk.
"Alright, I'm sorry," Xavi said hastily. "I just came to give you this." He thrust the leaflet onto Iker's desk, the exhausted Chief Operations Officer looking at it with vague confusion. "They did my sister's wedding last year - they're fabulous."
As Xavi made his way out, Iker lifted his head. "What the hell do we need catering for?"
"Oh, I must have forgotten to mention it," Xavi said airily, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face as Iker and Sergio watched him warily. "We're having a company party this weekend, to celebrate our new CEO." Iker stared. "Oh, don't worry, he's no threat to your position," Xavi continued. "He'll just be making sure everything's on track. Can't keep losing out on ratings, now, can we?"
As Iker grumbled and flicked through the leaflet in frustration, Sergio judged it best to leave after Xavi.
"Oh no, you don't," Iker said sharply, holding out a hand to block Sergio's path. "You can call these cooks. I don't care who the hell Hernández thinks he is - I'm not doing fucking receptionist work."
Sergio sighed. "I'll get Rubén to do it," he said, taking the leaflet and glancing at the front. "Amphoras? I hear they're pretty good."
"Unless a news spot on them is going to get our viewers back, I couldn't fucking care less," Iker grumbled. "Now piss off, I have to figure out why the hell the sports department keeps fucking up our basketball broadcasting rights."
* * * * *
Silva chopped quickly, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, accentuating the nervous restlessness that descended upon him when he realised that Villa was watching him. He could see his wry smile out of the corner of his eye, trying hard to focus on the coriander in front of him but increasingly taken over by the man next to him.
"What?" he asked nervously. "Why are you staring?"
Villa laughed. "You remind me of someone, that's all."
Silva's chest tightened just slightly, his fingers freezing for a fraction of a second before they gripped the knife tightly again. "Yeah?" His attempts to sound casual had never really worked.
"Yeah, my father always got stressed when he had a knife in his hands, too," Villa continued. "He hated it when people would interrupt him while he cooked, just in case something slipped."
Silva's breathing eased again, but the painful constriction in his throat seemed to remain. "I thought you were going to say -" He stopped himself. Damn, he thought. He always came so close to royally screwing everything up.
"Say what?" Villa asked, that smirk still seeping through his voice.
Silva was spared having to answer as Santi burst into the kitchen looking animated - well, more animated than usual.
"Biggest. News. Ever." Santi grinned as Silva and Villa gazed back expectantly. "We've been hired by Stentor to cater one of their big bashes in - get this - one week," he announced, his eyes sparkling. "Senna just got the call."
"Shit," Silva breathed, impressed. "Is the pay going to match what we got for the wedding?"
"No," Santi admitted, looking down. But a mischievous smile crept onto his face, and he couldn't hold off any longer from adding, "They're doubling it!"
Villa grinned across at Silva, who smiled back, somewhat dazed from the news. "I guess a global economic crisis doesn't mean anything to the Hernández empire, then," Villa said laughingly.
"Guess not," Silva murmured in reply. "I suppose he's covering costs by sacking half his workforce."
"Huh?" Villa asked vaguely.
"Nothing, never mind," Silva hastened to respond, remembering that he wasn't supposed to know anything about the inner workings of Stentor TV.
"Well, anyway," Santi spoke again, "you'd better get changed." He nodded to Villa, who checked his watch.
"Oh, shit, it's nearly five-thirty," he muttered. "I hope it's not as crowded as last night - do you remember that nightmare couple by the window?"
"Oh, with the woman who accused you of eating her food? Ha!"
"What the fuck? Honestly, why would you -"
"Well, you do have the appetite of a whale."
"Fuck you, man!"
Santi laughed in reply as they carried their conversation out of the kitchen. Silva paused in thought for a moment, memories of the night before having clouded his mind with Villa so close, the scent of his perfume so familiar and tempting and -
The buzzer sounded. "Quit daydreaming, buster, and get back to chopping," Villa's voice said through the speaker.
Silva looked up to see Villa laughing at him through the window of the kitchen door, receiver in hand. He sighed, and continued massacring the coriander which tried to stubbornly to mask Villa's lingering fragrance in the air.
* * * * *
Gago was quickly abandoned by the ageing housekeeper, and began slowly pacing the main room. It wasn't nearly as big as he'd expected. Ornate - yes - and sophisticated, but surprisingly modest. His scuffed shoes padding across the cream carpet, he dragged his fingers along the wall, its wooden panels smooth and untarnished beneath the pads of his fingertips. His eyes fell on paintings, all of them dark and morose, featuring warped interpretations of the world outside that the thick curtains firmly hid - whirling hurricanes, barren deserts, volcanoes, the somehow beautiful yet depressing image of fallen leaves on lonesome concrete.
He inhaled deeply, the rich mahogany of the walls, floor and furniture unsuitably warm for such a place. His eyes fell on the fireplace, its flames having been mercifully replaced by the gentle whirr of the airconditioner. Above the fireplace, Gago's gaze froze on two enormous brass letter F's, back to back, bold and imposing.
"Fire and flood," he whispered to himself, his hand reaching upwards to touch the letters.
"Precisely," a voice said behind him. Gago quickly withdrew his outstretched hand and whirled around to see Guti standing in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame as he held a glass of wine in his hand. "You're a lot more - well - whole, than I expected you to be."
Gago merely looked back for a few seconds. "You're a lot younger than I expected," he said coolly - a prepared response. "Considering you're supposed to be a veteran."
Guti smiled. "I like you already." He held out the glass of wine, which Gago took hesitantly. "I haven't poisoned it, or anything. Although you'd know if I had, wouldn't you?"
"Damn right I would," Gago muttered. "Is González here?"
Guti shook his head. "There are only two of us - we have to split the workload," he explained. "Seriously, though - I don't want to harp on about this or anything - you do look a lot better than I expected. Here we were thinking you were dead. Couldn't imagine that you'd be standing here, so pristine, so - pure."
Gago allowed his lips to curl into a small smile. "Well, I wouldn't be much use if I were an ugly piece of shit, would I?" he asked frankly.
"I suppose not," Guti conceded with a grin. "Particularly not for the kind of work we've got in mind for you."
Guti led the way into the kitchen, where he poured another glass of red for himself. Gago could sense his excitement, he even could feel it creeping into himself. Clenching his jaw, he refused to allow himself to get carried away. Objective consideration, he reminded himself. This is no time for fun.
"You'll obviously want to know what's in it for you," Guti began.
"Oh, I already know," Gago replied quickly. "But that doesn't concern me."
Guti paused. "Why did you come, then?"
Gago smiled dangerously. "That hardly matters, now, does it?" He took a sip of his wine as Guti watched him, refusing to break the stare. "I'm here, and I'm willing. And that's all that counts, right?"
* * * * *
It was comical, the sight of a lion stubbornly pressing its shoulder against an enormous iron block, managing to push it mere millimetres, heaving growling sighs. The stuff of animated film, and surreal dreams penetrating those restless, incomplete nights of slumber after days of sleeplessness. Steven smiled wearily as he watched - so, the world was going to be saved by the Lion King?
"Xabi," Steven shouted over the lion's snarls. The lion promptly stopped pushing and turned its head, a sight which would have rendered any civilian absolutely terrified. Seeing the lion transform into the very human Xabi Alonso was, arguably, a scarier prospect.
Steven tutted as he walked further into the enormous room, the door closing softly behind him. Weaving his way through the various obstacles scattered on the floor - everything from blocks of metal for strength work, to three-metre-tall tanks of water for stamina training - he approached Xabi, who was panting, and glaring furiously in his direction.
"You're bleeding," Steven pointed out.
"You're interrupting me," Xabi snapped back.
Steven sighed, ignoring Xabi's huffs of annoyance and turning him around, waving a hand casually over the deep cut that the block had left in Xabi's shoulder. In a matter of seconds, the skin repaired itself.
"That's the sixth time you've missed dinner in the past two weeks, Xabi," Steven said with something of a warning in his voice. "No wonder you can barely move the thing, you've got no fuel in you!"
"You sound like a nagging mother," Xabi muttered.
Steven stepped back and folded his arms. "Is it really that wrong for me to expect you home before two in the fucking morning?"
Xabi looked him straight in the eye. "Look, I realise that you don't give a shit about any of -"
"I do give a shit," Steven protested. "I just don't let it take over my life."
"Well, some of us actually need to work on physical strength," Xabi snapped back. "We can't all wait here at headquarters while the others do the dirty work -"
"I haven't got a bloody choice, do I?" Steven's voice got louder as Xabi's eyes began to blaze over with dark resentment. "I belong here, and you know it. I'm not here to fight, I'm here to make sure you lot don't cark it while you're off being heroic and violent."
"You could come if you wanted to," Xabi argued. "We don't all go around pushing things and putting out fires and pulling people out of floods."
"The people who really make a difference do."
"Fernando doesn't do that. Silva doesn't do that. You could use guns and explosives like them - you just choose not to."
"What are you trying to say?"
"I'm saying that you're lazy," Xabi said firmly, ignoring Steven's rising temper. "You're too busy sitting around feeling sorry for yourself to make up for your lack of -"
"My lack of what, exact-"
His words were interrupted by a loud siren. Steven's heart sank, Xabi's eyes widening opposite his. They stood, frozen, waiting for that familiar voice.
"Precinct Twelve. Town Hall. Flood."
Steven groaned, Xabi throwing him a dirty look as the remaining echoes of the announcement bounced mockingly off the metal surfaces surrounding them.
"Well, are you coming?" Xabi asked.
Steven simply stared back.
Xabi sighed. "I'll take that as a 'no' then."
And with that, he darted out of the room, his dying footsteps echoing in Steven's ears as he watched him go.
Part II