fatal flaw, part III.
Title: Fatal Flaw
Chapter: 3 / 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.
Previous parts: Part I - Part II
Fernando awoke in a daze, thrown casually across his bed, his body lying diagonally as his arms dangled over the side. He remembered almost nothing of the night before, staring down his body at the pyjamas that weren't his. Gingerly pulling himself up, he winced. He was sore, but thankfully with all of his limbs (and other extremities) still intact, his mind vaguely swimming with memories of water and darkness.
Searching the room for a sign of Sergio, he found nothing but missing clothes and discarded pyjamas. Concluding that he must have left for work already, Fernando rummaged through his drawer for his watch.
"Oh, shit," he muttered.
An hour late, with half an hour still to travel, he ignored the dull throbbing in his head, a hangover from a night he couldn't recall, quickly downed a banana and hurried to get dressed.
Pulling off his pyjama top to put on his business shirt, however, he felt a twinge in his arms, and looked down to see cuts and bruises around his wrists. Staggering backwards as he looked at his red, raw skin in horror, his mind travelled further down, where he felt similar pain in his ankles, and saw the same marks etched into the skin there. Gently pulling clean fabric over them, he scanned the rest of his body, which, thankfully, was untarnished.
As he dragged on his tie, he assessed himself in the mirror. Apart from the intense fatigue he felt marked all over his tired face, he bore no signs of abuse other than those which he'd now hidden behind layers of cloth which chafed his sores.
Moving faster than usual, Fernando had to double back to his apartment once he was about to enter the elevator, realising with panic that he'd forgotten to lock it as he'd left in such a hurry. As he was about to close the door properly, his eyes travelled the living room once more. Nothing looked different - there was no evidence that he should have been involved in any kind of struggle whatsoever. It looked just as Sergio left it every morning. Shaking his head frantically in distress as his pulse raced, Fernando rushed back down the corridor and made his way to the carpark.
Fernando racked his brains as he drove through the streets, which were emptier than normal given his unusual lateness. He remembered Sergio, being with Sergio, in Sergio. Perhaps he'd been drinking? Perhaps he'd passed out? Perhaps Sergio had whipped out a new pair of pyjamas and wrapped Fernando in them?
Lost in thought, Fernando's heart thumped when car horns suddenly blasted around him and he slammed his foot on the break, a little old lady just about to cross the road in front of him.
"Sorry," he muttered to the drivers and pedestrians who couldn't hear him. Tapping his fingers on the wheel, his leg jerking restlessly as he waited for the traffic lights to change back to green, he tried desperately to wade through the clouds in his head, but could find nothing. As he checked his watch tetchily, he saw again the red, bloody skin beneath his shirt cuff. Perhaps Sergio had played some sort of bondage game after getting him uproariously drunk? Fernando bit his lip - he knew he'd tried to stay away from S&M for a reason.
He practically jogged to the revolving doors once he'd parked his car, ignoring the startled looks from security guards and fellow employees as he emerged on his level, bumping into Sami with an apologetic tilt of the head.
"Hey, Sami," he said breathlessly, pulling his shirt sleeves with his fingers to cover his wrists as wholly as possible as Sami stared at him in concern. "Uh, what's the weather going to be like over the next few days?" He knew it was probably pointless to go for casual small-talk when he was so puffed out with sweat peering over his collar, and he was clearly flustered at the very least, but it was worth a shot.
Sami looked Fernando up and down. "Partly cloudly, with a ninety-nine percent chance of you losing your job," he said in a resigned fashion.
Fernando froze but for his heaving chest. "What?"
Sami sighed, shaking his head faintly as he observed Fernando's stricken face. "I would never have believed it was you," he said softly, his voice shaded with wonder. "I mean, look at you."
Fernando looked down at himself, before snapping his head back up. "What are you talking about?"
Before Sami could answer, Fernando felt a hand around his sore wrist, pulling him firmly from the side. Yelping in pain, Fernando shot Sami another confused frown as he was dragged into a room to his right.
He turned to see that he was in Xabi's tiny editor's office, the older man glaring at him as he latched onto his arm. Fernando tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but that only made the pain worse.
"Are you a complete idiot?" Xabi hissed into his ear. "Do you have absolutely no control over him whatsoever? I mean, what did you have to do to him that would make him do something so insane? I'm just - I'm at a loss here. We've been trying to contact him but he's not picking up his phone. And, I mean, it all looks pretty fucking deliberate, and what better person than him -"
"What is going on?" Fernando interrupted, gasping in pain.
Xabi finally let go as he shot Fernando another death stare and moved behind his desk to sit down in his chair. "The police are in your office," he spat out. "They'll probably be in here again, looking for you."
Fernando stared. "What? Why are - the police?" His head went into overload, a million possibilities of last night's events whirling through his mind, each as bizarre as the one before. "What happened?"
Xabi stared back. "You don't know?" he asked incredulously. "Your own boyfriend -"
Before Fernando could register that last word, the door had burst open and the familiar faces of Frank Lampard and John Terry were blocking the doorway.
"Ah, so he's arrived then?" John asked with a grin.
"Obviously," Xabi said tersely, trying and failing to replace the anger on his face with stony disinterest.
"Mr. Torres, would you mind leading the way back to your office? We'd like to ask you some -"
"It's okay," Xabi interrupted, "you can stay here." And, not looking at Fernando, he swiftly left the room.
Frank nodded towards the seat that Xabi had vacated, and Fernando moved around the desk and lowered himself down, gazing at the policemen apprehensively. John held the side of Frank's face to move it closer to his own as he whispered something, Frank releasing the smallest of smiles before coughing and straightening up again. John still smirking, the policemen sat down opposite Fernando.
Frank pulled out a dictaphone and pressed the red button. "We'll have to record this," he explained. "For legal purposes."
Fernando merely stared before shrugging slightly in weary consent.
Glancing at John briefly, Frank coughed again before speaking. "So - what can you tell us about your movements last night - between 9pm and midnight?"
Fernando was frozen in his seat. The only things he could remember were vague visions of black water.
"Uhm, not much," he said pathetically.
Frank raised his eyebrows. "Well, where were you, for a -"
His words were cut short as Fernando suddenly had a flashing image of flying fire burst into his head, jumping slightly in his seat as he recalled the vision.
"Are you alright, Mr. Torres?" Frank asked, frowning.
John chuckled as he leant back in his seat, tapping his fingers happily on the desk. "Nervy little bugger, isn't he?"
"Mr. Torres?" Frank repeated, ignoring John. "Where were you last night?"
Fernando opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. What the hell could he possibly say?
As Frank watched, John turned in his seat to whisper something to Frank again. Frank's face remained businesslike and stern until John giggled in his ear, at which point Frank's face fell into a bemused smile. Both of them smirking now, they turned back to face Fernando, whose mind was still painfully blank. He merely watched the two men across the table, John's hand sitting comfortably on Frank's armrest.
"I don't think you have any right to interrogate me without my lawyer present," Fernando said firmly, taking advantage of the policemen's distraction.
John sat up straighter in his chair, pointing an angry finger at Fernando. "Look, you - this is the police you're dealing with, you can't just -"
"Shh," Frank said, soothingly lifting his arm to wrap his hand around John's.
"He's bloody trying to wriggle out of it," John protested, but Frank raised his other hand, laying it further up John's arm, preventing him from bursting out of his seat in anger. John glared at him for a mere second before exhaling deeply and flashing him a sheepish smile.
"That's it, you calm down," Frank murmured, as John moved his free hand over Frank's.
Fernando stared at them in disbelief. "Excuse me, but can you keep your hands off each other for two fucking seconds and tell me what you're doing here? What exactly am I being interrogated about?"
Frank frowned. "You don't know?"
Fernando merely stared back as Frank's eyes widened.
John began to snigger. "He doesn't know, Frank," he chuckled. "The idiot doesn't know what's happening."
As Frank unwillingly slipped out a grin, Fernando slammed his fist against the table. "Stop laughing, you morons, and tell me what the hell you're talking about!"
"Now, now, there," John said in a pacifying voice, "don't go getting violent on us. We do have handcuffs on us if we need them, you know."
"John, shut up," Frank said with a warning in his glance but a sly smile pulling the corners of his mouth. "Mr. Torres, perhaps you should ignore network rivalries for a minute and turn on Stentor TV. I think you'll find it rather worth the pain of company betrayal."
Fernando narrowed his eyes, his heart thumping beneath his chest as he lifted a hand to nervously rub the skin under his collar. "Stentor?" he asked warily, images of Sergio seemingly plastered to the insides of his eyelids.
"Nothing to slit your wrists about," John said, nodding towards the now-exposed cuts on Fernando's wrist. "Or is it?" he added with a sly smile.
Fernando glared back at him as he hastily lowered his hand and pulled the shirt sleeve closer to his hand, covering his skin. "That's not funny," he snapped.
"I think you'll find it's a very funny situation, Mr. Torres," John said, standing up and moving around to the television in the corner of the room, turning it on.
Fernando was only vaguely aware of John's triumphant grin as he gasped, the blackness of the television screen now replaced by Sergio's glowing face.
"Based on the conclusive nature of this evidence, it appears difficult to refute the claims that Torres is one of the masked men behind last night's attack on the people of Despertia."
The visuals on the news report now showed a pile of small weapons and black fabric being carried into a lab of sorts by rubbered hands as Sergio watched, microphone in hand. "With police currently carrying out forensic testing on the highly incriminating items uncovered by us at Stentor News, it is believed to be only a matter of time before Torres is arrested on suspicion of crime against the city of Despertia."
Fernando's own image now filled the screen, his face clumsily superimposed onto the black costume which was now being tested, Fernando's heart lurching in his chest as he recognised the mirror of himself - a vision which no civilian was supposed to have ever seen. "Given the horrific events this town has seen since New Year's Eve, it is likely that the Force are not the crime-fighters many have deemed them to be, and are, in fact, the reason behind the turmoil we citizens have faced. From central Despertia police station, this is Sergio Ramos."
Fernando could only gape at the screen as John's snide voice said, "We'll be keeping an eye on you, Torres. Don't even think about leaving the city - we're having your every move watched."
* * * * *
"He doesn't look anything like a superhero," Villa mused, stirring his coffee absent-mindedly as he gazed up at the dusty screen of the television. "Fuck, I'm hungry, where are my wedges?"
As he turned his head frantically, looking for the barista, Silva tried hard to keep his facial expression neutral, and his eyes away from the television. Seeing the reflection of the screen in Villa's eyes, he swallowed nervously.
"Well, what do you think a superhero looks like, then?" he asked carefully, refusing to look at Fernando's face on the television, for fear that recognition would show on his own.
The report, which had been repeated endlessly since it was first aired at nine o'clock that morning, finally finished, and the serious yet triumphant face of Stentor boss Iker Casillas filled the screen as a lush advertisement for the channel began.
Villa pointed to the television. "That guy, I reckon," he said, smiling gratefully at the barista who, at long last, handed him his meal over the counter.
Silva snorted. "I don't think so," he said bemusedly, looking up at Iker's peaceful face.
Villa turned around, his smile, as always, sending shivers through Silva's body. "Why, who do you think looks like a superhero?" he asked, clearly curious.
Silva felt his face turn red as he hurriedly grabbed a wedge and shoved it into his mouth, trying not to wince from the heat of the food. Villa raised his eyebrows impatiently as Silva painfully swallowed the burning piece of potato. "I don't know. . ." Silva said, trying to sound casual. "I think I could be a good superhero."
Villa burst out laughing, and Silva turned redder still. "You?" Villa chuckled through a mouthful of potato. "You're a weedy little thing, as if you'd be able to pull off one of those sexy black outfits!"
Silva tried not to look humiliated, stretching his mouth into a smile. "Sexy, huh?" he asked coyly. "Since when do you lean that way?"
It was now Villa's turn to blush. "I just - well - I've always leant that way."
Silva raised his eyebrows, glad to have the attention off himself. "And you find the heroes sexy? Or - just a particular one?"
Villa turned around sharply, sending the wedges flying, but Silva managed to catch the box in mid-air before all of them could come spilling out.
"Why are you so curious?" Villa asked, narrowing his eyes, a sly smile pulling the corner of his mouth upwards. "Do you fancy one in particular?"
Just as Silva was about to answer, however, Villa's hands suddenly latched onto his neck.
"What are you -" he gasped, but Villa merely flapped away his protesting fingers and lowered his own hands down past Silva's collar and into his shirt.
"A wedge fell in here," Villa explained with a grin.
But Silva swatted at his hands, and Villa quickly removed them, his smile vanishing as he saw Silva's panicked expression. Silva found himself filled with a strange paranoia that Villa would recognise the way his skin felt beneath his fingertips - as if he didn't have enough things to worry about as he spent his nights wondering whether Villa knew his smell well enough to recognise it in the morning, or the sounds he made while breathing, or -
"I'm sorry, man," Villa said, looking away awkwardly. "Look, just because I'm gay, it doesn't mean I'm hitting on you. It was - it was just a potato wedge, buddy, you didn't have to freak out."
Silva exhaled deeply as his thoughts fell back to the present, and he took in Villa's blushing cheeks as his own reddened yet more, his hands still raised protectively around his neck.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking down as he hastily pulled out the wedge from inside his shirt and cast it carelessly onto the counter. "I'm not a homophobe, I just -"
"It's okay," Villa said shortly, standing up and tossing some money next to the wedges for which he'd waited so long. "Come on, we should be getting back, anyway, we'll be opening in fifteen minutes."
Silva sighed as he watched Villa check his watch and stride outside, the mundane world of the restaurant beckoning them away from the surreal few moments of teasing revelations that almost were.
* * * * *
Xabi had rolled his eyes when Steven sheepishly admitted to eating all of the previous night's dinner leftovers on his own. Back at home during his lunch break for some reason that Steven had yet to fathom, Xabi ignored Steven's outstretched arms appealing for an embrace and headed straight for the kitchen, the rustles of plastic and a brisk chewing of something crunchy suggesting that Xabi was again living off potato chips.
"Did you get any calls?" Xabi yelled, Steven able to hear the faint sound of a glass of water being poured.
He merely flicked the channel on the television, shifting slightly on the sofa. "What do you mean?" he called back.
He could hear Xabi tutting as he made his way back into the living room. "From the agency," Xabi nagged. "Did any offers come through?"
"Someone called about an hour ago," Steven shrugged. "But I was on the toilet."
Xabi rolled his eyes as Steven reached over to the coffee table to grab a copy of the television guide. "Did you think to check the answering machine?" Xabi asked with a hand on his hip. Making his way over to the phone, he saw a blinking red light. "Steven, there's a message here," he said pointedly.
Steven glanced back at him disinterestedly. "So, uh, play it then?"
Xabi huffed as he pressed the Play button.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Gerrard, this is Yvonne from Ballack IT. We're sorry to inform that your application for the position of senior management consultant has been unsuccessful. We appreciate your interest, and sincerely hope that our paths will cross in the future. Best of luck, have a nice day."
Steven's face remained blank. "Ah well," he said with another shrug. "I was kind of expecting that."
"Yes, well, you would expect that, wouldn't you, if you turn up forty minutes late to the bloody interview," Xabi grumbled. Steven's eyes remained engrossed in his television guide. "Well?" Xabi snapped.
Steven looked up. "Well what?"
Xabi looked dismayed. "What do you mean, 'well what'?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean, 'well what'?" Steven stared back.
Xabi sighed. "I told you this morning, Cesc's being properly kitted up today - Cristiano's old gear was so ridiculously big on him last night. And," he added firmly, "the kid would probably feel a little more reassured if we were all there with him. Besides, we have to stock up on equipment ourselves."
Steven wasn't paying attention, his eyes having slipped back to the television set after he'd last spoken. He caught the vague tapping of a foot in the periphery of his vision, the dancing colours on the game show in front of him not enough to grind away the persistent nag that Xabi provided.
"Did you watch the news today?" Xabi's voice snapped again.
Steven's shoulders twitched a fraction in a half-hearted shrug as the corner of his eye picked up Xabi's shaken head, his frustration, his disapproval. "No," he mumbled. "Why?"
Xabi didn't answer the question. "Don't wait up, Steven," he said wearily. "I'll be home late tonight."
With that, Xabi swiftly picked his suit jacket back up off the coat rack and, within seconds, had slammed the door behind him.
Steven sighed contentedly at the renewed peace, only to have his mindless distractions interrupted by a loud knock at the door.
Fucking anal retentive little shit, Steven thought bitterly to himself as he clumsily got up off the sofa and shuffled towards the door. Too fucking pissed off at the world to remember his bloody keys. Probably come back to yell some more, maybe he forgot one other little -
His thoughts froze and promptly drifted into oblivion when he opened the door and saw Fernando Gago smiling warmly back at him. His head filled with a happy innocence, the image of Xabi's angry frown rapidly being sketched over by Gago's grin and those deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes, as a hand reached out to pat him on the shoulder, and a body wormed past his and into the living room. Staring out at the empty hall, Steven vaguely wondered why Gago's face was so familiar, why he was so happy to see that face. But again, his mind clouded over with blissful ignorance as he closed the door softly and turned to see Gago making himself comfortable in the dents that Steven's lethargic frame had left in the sofa.
* * * * *
Cesc looked behind him nervously as they entered the building, the others' faces stony and purposeful. His eyes instinctively flicked towards Rafa, who was tutting impatiently as José continued to murmur into his phone.
"Will you focus?" Rafa snapped, at last losing patience. José rolled his eyes and continued murmuring. "José, I'm serious - get off the phone."
Cesc nudged Silva. "Is Rafa, uh - you know - more senior than José?"
Silva shook his head slightly, not looking back across at Cesc. "No, José's actually been here for longer. Since before New Year's. But, because of everything that happened. . ." Silva paused, biting his lip. "Well, Rafa's been keeping a tight watch over him. Reckons he's losing his touch."
Cesc raised his eyebrows. "Is he? Losing his touch?"
"José will always be a great coach," Silva mused, "but his methods are fundamentally different to Rafa's. He wants two people in every position, whereas Rafa thinks we just can't afford that. José wants us to spend more on equipment, but Rafa insists that we keeping coming back here." He nodded to the door ahead of them, before which they were waiting.
"Is this place cheaper or something?"
"It's a little cheaper, yeah," Silva conceded. "Nasri's stuff is supposedly more advanced - there are even rumours that he's supplying for Raúl and Guti - but Rafa doesn't want us exposed to any more people than necessary. He figures Álvaro's doing fine."
"And do you think -"
Cesc's question was interrupted by the crashing noise of the door flying open, as Álvaro Arbeloa emerged, wearing a bright grin. Cesc couldn't help noticing the others cringing at his appearance.
"Why, hello there," Álvaro purred, looking around at them delightedly as José finally ended his phonecall. "I expected you - well - earlier than this."
"You may or may not have noticed, but we've been a little busy these past few days," José said tersely.
Álvaro smiled back at him. "Oh yes," he said slowly. "Fernando in particular, I think." Nobody replied. "And Sergio. I notice neither of them are here?"
"We figured it was best that Fernando remain at work and stay away from us," Rafa explained stiffly. "We can't risk him looking as if he's up to something. And Sergio is - is a disappointment."
Álvaro raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit of an understatement, I think."
"Well, luckily, we don't care much about what you think," José snapped, suddenly coming up behind Cesc and latching a hand onto his shoulder. "Here's the new boy - get him ready."
Álvaro's smile remained intact. "Well, well, it's all serious business, I gather. Kun!" he suddenly bellowed over his shoulder. "He's here!" After curtly nodding to the others, they went off into separate rooms, leaving Cesc behind with Rafa and José.
Cesc watched, his fear mounting slightly, as a small figure burst out of the room from which Álvaro had entered, his arms overladen with black material.
"Take your clothes off," Álvaro ordered Cesc briskly. Cesc merely stared back in horror. "It's okay, I don't bite," Álvaro added with a wink. "Not during the daytime, anyway."
"Arbeloa," José warned darkly.
"Strip!" Álvaro barked again, rolling his eyes at José's withering patience. "You can keep your underwear on, if that'll make you feel better."
Cesc was soon having his body wrapped in squares of black fabric, measuring tapes being slapped against almost every part of exposed flesh as he blushed furiously in his nakedness. Rafa and José simply watched with serious faces as Álvaro and his assistant measured and pinned him up.
"It'll need to be more streamlined than usual, Álvaro," the other tailor muttered. "Because he's a flyer -"
"Yes, Kun," Álvaro said dismissively. "Believe it or not, I do actually know more about this job than you do. Now, take him to go and get his gear while I get this finished."
Kun rolled his eyes as he bent down to grab Cesc's discarded clothing and throw them at him. Cesc barely caught them against his stomach, and hurriedly dragged them on as Kun disappeared into the same room that Silva had slinked into.
Hopping awkwardly as he pulled a shoe over his foot, he gasped and nearly fell over once he'd entered the room. Like a massive library, the walls were completely lined with shelves, with ladders for access, the only light emanating from small lamps. Unlike a library, however, the shelves were not crammed with books, but with guns, knives and explosives.
Silva was perched high up on a ladder at the far side of the room, examining a sword with interest, squinting in the dull light to read something inscribed on the hilt.
"Hey, Kun - what does this say?" he yelled.
"Ultramotion," Kun called back. "One of our newest models - twice as swift in the air. Perfect for you."
"Sounds like it," Silva agreed.
Cesc realised that he'd been gaping, and hurriedly closed his mouth as Kun headed briskly towards the corner of the room and began rummaging through the shelves. Cesc couldn't help staring in wonder at the terrifying array of weaponry staring him down - inanimate fatality that made all of their powers seem so innocent in comparison. He flinched every time Kun impatiently pushed aside another gun or hand grenade, each little click sending a jolt of panic through him as he envisioned them slipping and crashing with a fiery blast.
"This," Kun announced, pride seeping into his voice, "is one of the only things we managed to recover out of the rubble on January the first." He was holding out a huge machine gun, which made him look almost comically small as it rested heavily in his grasp. Cesc refused to take it, content to merely look at it in horror. "Raúl and Guti managed to get away with a lot of our stuff," Kun continued, "but we were lucky enough to get this baby back."
"Baby?" Cesc said weakly.
Kun smiled. "You've got to be tougher than that, buddy. The damage that this thing has caused - well, you've got to be ready to combat that type of destruction if you want to keep this job."
He held out the gun, and Cesc, pausing yet longer, finally reached out and took it, its weight perfectly matching its formidable power. He looked nervously up at Silva, who was still balancing on a high ladder rung as he carelessly tossed a small bomb from one hand to the other.
"What if something goes wrong?" Cesc asked, finally expressing his deepest fear.
"Well, at New Year's, it did," Kun said matter-of-factly, turning back to the shelf to sift through more heavy metal objects. "Nobody expected Raúl and Guti to turn on us, nobody thought a simple mission - and it really was supposed to be so simple - would end up with our entire organisation falling apart."
"What about the other heroes?" Cesc asked, his curiosity mounting as he got slightly more comfortable with the gun in his hand and watched Kun pulling more out.
"They didn't see it coming either," Kun replied, pulling out a thick, black canvas bag from the corner of the room and promptly seizing Cesc's gun to throw it casually inside. "They were probably more shocked than we were - I mean, how would you feel if Xabi or Stevie suddenly stopped fighting with you and started fighting against you?"
"Well," Cesc pondered, his mind still preoccupied by the weapons Kun was throwing into the bag, "it sort of is happening. With what Sergio did today."
Kun shrugged. "Sure, what he did to Fernando was low. But revealing your colleague's identity isn't quite on the same level as trying to get him killed, is it?"
"What about trying to get him arrested?"
"You're so new to this," Kun chuckled. "So naïve." He paused, and finally turned away from the shelf to look at Cesc directly. "After New Year's, the other heroes were so stricken, they quit. Why else do you think we've got you lot now? We don't just change the guard because we want to, you know."
Cesc thoughts ran to his colleagues. They all seemed so self-assured, so experienced. It was hard to believe that they had only been introduced six months earlier.
"Whereas you're not about to quit on us just because Fernando's had his name released," Kun continued, turning back to the shelf and pushing aside a large gun with a bang that made Cesc jump. "What those guys went through was immense - their entire reputation was dragged into the dirt because of those two selfish idiots. They made all of us look like cold-blooded killers, out to destroy the city, those hundred or so civilians who died. You can't really blame the others for stepping down," Kun shrugged.
"But - didn't Raúl and Guti get what they wanted, then?" Cesc asked, desperately trying to understand. "Why are they still setting things on fire, and flooding buildings?"
"It's hard to know how the mind of a psychopath works," Kun said airily. "Who knows why they attacked in the first place, let alone why they're attacking now. All we can do is try to stop them before we end up with another mass of civilian deaths - because given how much they seemed to enjoy New Year's, I wouldn't put it past them to try a stunt like that again."
"Neither would I," Álvaro's voice suddenly hissed against Cesc's neck, causing Cesc to leap up into the air, yelping in panic.
Álvaro grinned. "You're a jumpy one, hey?" He held out a black outfit. "All done. You'd better hurry, the others are all finished and waiting for you."
Cesc looked up to see that, indeed, Silva had left. Turning to look at the doorway, he saw the others standing tensely outside in the hall with Rafa and José, enormous black bags at their impatiently tapping feet, no doubt full of weapons, and lumps of black clothing draped over their arms.
Cesc turned his head away from the doorway and back into the darkness to look at Kun with worried eyes. "I don't think I can do this," he whispered. "I'm not cut out to deal with supervillains and fire and floods and weapons and - and the possibility of these guys turning on me."
Kun looked back at him sympathetically, lifting a dusty hand to lay it comfortingly on Cesc's stiff shoulder. "Nobody ever feels ready," he said softly. "But if you don't do it, who will?"
* * * * *
Rafa held the door open for José, but turned his head to see his partner again digging his hand into his pocket to fish out his phone. Sighing, Rafa let the door slam shut as he rubbed his eyes, his mind drenched with fatigue. Lowering himself into his chair, the peace of the room which was normally used to hold meetings was unusually dense, without the carefree chattering of the heroes there to drown out his thoughts.
He asked himself why fate was so insistently testing him, bringing him down to his knees and tearing sleep away from him when all he wanted to do was make the world a little less hostile. Why the moment he took over had to be marred by scandal and death, why he had to inherit the biggest collapse of power the city had ever seen. Why it just kept getting harder every single day, as more and more people turned against them, and doubted them, and pinned their names to the crimes they were trying so hard to stop.
He sighed, reaching over to the shelf next to him and pulling out a bottle of brandy. At times like these, times which came around all too often, alcohol really was his only comfort.
Before he could reach back to the shelf for a dusty glass, he noticed a figure in the far corner of the room, hunched pathetically in a chair, his head buried into his knees.
"Fernando?" Rafa said gently.
Fernando lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot, his hair distressed, his wrists stained with blood. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rafa understood his silence.
Watching him from metres away, Rafa knew that Fernando was just as confused as he was, and even more horrified at what Sergio had done.
"Have you managed to speak to him at all today?"
Fernando shook his head, pressing his lips together as if to control an outburst.
"We've been trying to get through to him," Rafa said wearily, "but no luck. The people at his work say that he's too busy trying to get information on you."
Fernando let out a hollow laugh. "What does he mean, 'get information on me'? He lives with me!"
"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? You can't go home, not if Sergio's waiting to get his hands on you so that he can turn you in."
Fernando let out a shuddering breath, gazing at Rafa, his head clearly swimming with all manner of thoughts. "Where do I spend the night?"
Rafa smiled sadly. "Here, I suppose."
Fernando closed his eyes as Rafa stood up to pour the brandy. Walking briskly over to give him a glass, Rafa had to prise open Fernando's clenched fingers and force him to hold it.
"Drink, you look like you could use it," he murmured, before turning back to pour himself some liquid comfort.
"Do you know why he did it?" Fernando asked Rafa's turned back. "Why he would suddenly -"
"Yes, I think I know," Rafa replied quickly. Taking a sip of brandy, he sighed and turned back around, his fingers drumming against the glass he held as his mind raced, as Fernando stared at him imploringly, his sad eyes circled by darkness. "I've read about something like this - it's the stuff of legend, of rumour. I didn't think I'd ever see it happening."
"Are you going to find a replacement for Sergio?" Fernando asked, the words clearly causing him some discomfort.
Rafa shook his head. "We've got enough on our plate with Cesc - we can't afford another new kid right now." He paused, and sipped some more of his drink. "I'd like to see you at Higuaín's tomorrow, Fernando. Well, not see you, as such -"
"Why?"
"We've lost one. And not to mention Cristiano last week," Rafa explained. "You're lucky in that you can just hide from all of this. I assume that's how you escaped all those people crowded around your office and made it here?"
Fernando nodded.
"So you, especially, need to be at that meeting," Rafa urged him. "It's important, we could learn a lot. And not only do we not have Sergio with us, but it looks like he's turning against us."
Fernando looked back at Rafa, the coach recognising his own fears in Fernando's young face. "What if something happens to - to my powers? What if I can't turn invisible anymore? I mean, I can't even remember what happened last night, I don't think I'm in full control, you know? What if I can't - can't control myself?"
Rafa exhaled deeply before quickly downing the rest of his brandy. "All you can do is help us control whatever bastard is controlling you. José!" he called, and the door opened, José appearing with an agitated frown. "Cancel whatever plans you have tonight - we have to up the protection we have on these kids."
José grimaced. "I thought you'd say that," he sighed. "Alright, Fernando?"
"Not really," Fernando muttered in response.
"Don't worry, Rafa," José said. "I know how to handle this kind of situation. I've been there before."
Rafa raised his eyebrows. "I don't want it handled how it was handled before," he said shortly. "I know you have your preferred methods, but given how ineffective they proved to be, I think we'll be going for mine this time."
José rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, partner," he said dully, shutting the door on himself again.
* * * * *
Steven stumbled into the elevator behind Xabi, who tutted as he always did when Steven looked confused and distant. Today's events, however, were genuinely beyond him. Nudging his lover with his elbow, he tried to keep his voice low as he asked where they were.
Xabi rolled his eyes. "I know it's been ages since you've done anything with us, but you surely haven't forgotten Higuaín's office."
The name Higuaín rang no bells, although the tenseness in his colleagues' bodies suggested that it probably should have. As the two older men murmuring to each other, keeping secrets that he knew the heroes no longer cared to find out, Steven closed his eyes under his mask and breathed in deeply. He couldn't shake the feeling of purposelessness that had taken him over - a sense that he was somehow wasting his time here, that there were bigger, more important things to be done. What, he didn't know, couldn't recall. His mind drifted back to the night before, when Xabi had again launched into a drawn-out lecture on the need to find a job, with vague mentions of Fernando and Sergio thrown in between the bouts of mundane complaints. Perhaps, Steven thought airily, Xabi's whining had finally worked. Perhaps that was why he now felt an irrepressible urge to go out and do something.
But here he was, stepping out of a lift and walking briskly down an empty corridor, dressed inexplicably in black, with an uncomfortable mask pulled hard over his face, restricting the flow of air to his nose and making it inconveniently difficult to function. He struggled for a few seconds before remembering the Force's need for secrecy which he then associated with the costumes, breathing a heavy sigh of resignation and causing Rafa to turn and glare at him through his own ridiculous mask.
Steven stopped promptly at the door, gazing at the nameplate in wonder. "Gonzalo Higuaín, City Mayor." So that's why Higuaín was so important. But what would the Mayor be able to help them with?
"Healer!" José barked from inside. "Get a move on!"
Steven hurriedly slid inside and shut the door, José grabbing his arm and positioning him next to the other four heroes, all standing in a faceless, black line.
"What the hell is wrong with you today?" José hissed, lowering himself into a seat before an impressive mahogany desk.
Steven swallowed hard. He didn't quite know what was wrong. Was he not usually like this? And why was he called a healer? Was that his -?
A door in the back corner of the room, behind the desk, suddenly opened and out came a vaguely familiar figure, a beaming smile betraying the worry in his eyes. Steven couldn't place where he'd seen him before. On the television, perhaps?
"Higuaín," Rafa nodded curtly, as he and José stood up to shake the man's hand.
So this was Higuaín. No wonder he looked familiar.
"It's all looking a bit messy this week, isn't it?" Higuaín asked with a vague smile. Now this was something that Steven could most vehemently disagree with, despite his frazzled state of mind. It was certainly more than just a bit messy, judging by the rapid clenching of jaws and fists next to him.
"If it wasn't for your police, it might be a little tidier," Rafa said pointedly.
"Now, you know I can't control them," Higuaín said reasonably. "They're under the state government - I have no power. I can perhaps drop a line and ask them to stay out of your way -"
"We don't need them to stay out of our way, we need them to help us!"
Higuaín sighed. "I don't understand." Steven himself tried desperately to remember what problem the Force had with the police, a vision of an angry black policeman blurrily invading his head.
"There's one thing you can do," Rafa said firmly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a photo. "This guy. Fernando Gago - no alias. You can get the police to look out for him, because he's the biggest threat to us all."
"What, is he the one setting things on fire, and flooding my town hall?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Xabi muttered.
"No," Rafa said patiently, "but he's very dangerous. We think he's behind it all, even if he's not the one doing it."
"And why's that?" Higuaín demanded.
"Mind control," José explained. "He can manipulate your thoughts, anyone's thoughts. It's a terrifying prospect, if you think about it."
"Gosh," Higuaín breathed, squirming in his seat. "Is he controlling the villains, then?"
"So you actually believe there are villains?" Silva piped up, a distinct challenge in his voice.
Higuaín looked up. "Well, if you lot were behind all this, I don't think you'd be in here trying to help me end it," he said reasonably.
"We're not trying to help you," Xabi said irritably. "You're meant to be helping us."
"Will you all calm down?" Rafa asked, turning in his seat to glare at the heroes. "Look, Higuaín, you must have seen the news, they're trying to blow our cover -"
"Yes, I saw them taking in his weapons and things. The invisible man." Higuaín looked up at the Force, running his eyes over them appraisingly. "I notice one of them's missing. I suppose it's him?"
José turned his head just slightly towards Rafa before responding. "Yes," he said carefully.
Steven frowned under his mask - it was Sergio who was missing, not Fernando. Fernando was right next to him.
"The reporter ended up naming the wrong guy - he just chose someone from a rival network to boost ratings," José continued. "But we've decided to keep the invisible man away for now. Just in case."
Higuaín nodded. "Okay," he said slowly. "I see. Now, look - I don't want to be short with you, but the town hall is still soaking, we've got civilians in hospital with water in their lungs and - and I just need to know what you want from me."
"We need files," Rafa said bluntly. "We need details on everyone associated with Gago, his movements, his work. Everything. We need to stop him before we can get to the main perpetrators of all this. I need you to understand how dangerous this man is - you can't risk looking at him, such is the extent of his power. He can get a hold of your mind within a millisecond."
Higuaín paused, staring at Rafa blankly. "Do you want a coffee?"
"Do we look like we need coffee?" Xabi snapped.
"I could use a coffee," José muttered.
"Excellent," Higuaín smiled, clearly relieved. "Fàbregas!" he suddenly roared.
Steven felt someone shuffle at the end of the line, and heard a faint kick. "No, Cesc," he heard Silva hiss.
Higuaín rolled his eyes. "I've hired this new assistant, and he hardly ever turns up for work these days," he explained, as Steven felt the others shifting awkwardly next to him. With a rush of comprehension, he remembered that Cesc had been chosen to join the Force specifically because of his contact with Higuaín.
"Stop twitching, Cesc," Silva hissed again. "He'll be able to tell that it's you."
"But I need to -"
"No," Silva said firmly, interrupting Cesc's complaints. "Just stay put. We don't care if you get fired for not bringing him his bloody coffee - don't move."
"Is everything alright amongst you all?" Higuaín asked politely, noticing the agitation at the back of the room.
"Yes, fine, sir," Silva said, his voice full of forced assurance.
"Well then, I'll get the coffee myself, shall I?" Higuaín promptly stood up and disappeared through the door behind him.
"What a joke," Xabi breathed as soon as the door slammed shut. "The idiot has no idea what he's doing. How he got this job, I'll never understand."
Rafa ignored Xabi as he stood up and made his way towards Steven's end of the line, resting a hand gently on Fernando's shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Rafa asked Fernando softly. Steven turned to look at the boy standing next to him. A vein was twitching in his neck as he stared stonily back at Rafa before nodding shortly.
"Do you think we could see the picture of Gago?" Silva asked. "It'd probably help us to know who we're trying to simultaneously find and avoid."
José picked up the photo from the desk and casually flicked it towards Rafa, who passed it to Cesc at the end of the line.
"You," he said firmly, "need to forget your civilian job and focus on this one. Providing beverages isn't important - we'll be getting you to do some useful work here in time, okay?"
Steven barely registered Cesc's protesting response, more focused on Fernando. "Are you alright?" he whispered.
Fernando turned, apparently surprised. "Are you alright?" he retorted. "You don't seem to have any idea what's going on."
"I don't, really," Steven admitted. "I can't remember very much about all this - it's like a blur."
He could visualise Fernando's frown beneath his mask. "You - you can't remember? What do you mean? Why?"
Steven shrugged. "I don't know. It's like I'm - like I'm hungover, and everything that's happened in the past few months all took place last night, but I drank too much so I can't remember, and things just come back to me in little bursts, and -"
"No, no, I know what you mean!" Fernando replied in a frantic whisper. "I had the same thing yesterday, just before I got into work and saw Sergio's report! And now I can remember little bits and pieces from the town hall - fire, and water, and Guti grabbing my throat, and -"
"Well, what's happened to us?" Steven asked desperately, his hand drifting upwards to grab Fernando's shoulder in a hopeless appeal for comfort. "Why are we so confused, what's done this to us?"
Fernando didn't answer his question, his eyes having travelled down from Steven's face towards the photo that Xabi had just pushed into his hand. Steven looked down at it and gasped.
"Oh my fucking God," he breathed. "That's it."
Fernando nodded. "I remember him now. I remember him - talking to me. And - oh fuck, all that stuff about mind control -"
"Shit," Steven spat, suddenly growing very hot underneath his costume. "If he's done something to us -"
"Do you think he did something to Sergio?" Fernando interrupted, his eyes wide.
Steven shrugged, his answer held back by Higuaín's entrance. He bundled in with a tray of coffee cups, rolling his eyes as he held it out to José.
"Honestly, I shouldn't have to serve my own coffee," he said, more to himself than the rest of the room.
"Do we have your cooperation or not?" Rafa asked sharply.
Higuaín sighed as he sank back into his chair, twisting slightly in the spinning seat. "I can try and talk to the police. But I can't guarantee anything. They're already suspicious of you, and -"
As though they had heard his words, the three members of the police service most familiar to the Force suddenly burst through the room's main doors, badges out and guns raised.
"Don't move!" Drogba shouted, as Frank and John frantically pointed their guns in every which direction from behind him.
"What the hell -" Higuaín began, getting up from his seat.
"We have an arrest warrant for a Mr. Fernando Torres," Drogba snapped, his eyes darting from one masked face to the next at lightning speed.
"He's not -" Higuaín began, but froze as everybody's eyes flew to the figure next to Steven.
"Oh, you fucking idiots," Fernando muttered, before his body promptly vanished and Steven heard footsteps rapidly moving away.
"Get him!" Drogba shouted, and the hapless Frank and John dropped their weapons and began grabbing at thin air, Steven noticing with great relief that they seemed unable to find anything solid and Fernando-shaped.
"Everyone, grab onto me!" Silva screamed, Steven dragging his eyes away from the policemen and striding over to latch onto Silva's body as all the other black-suited arms did the same.
"How did you know they would be here?" Higuaín asked Drogba in wonder.
Drogba clenched his jaw and looked away, the junior constables behind him hurtling down the corridor, still wrapping their arms around empty space. "That's not important, what's important is stopping what is now being classified as terrorist activity -"
"Well, they told me to tell you to look out for this one guy," Higuaín said frantically, looking up at the huddle of black suits at the back of the room. "No, wait!" he yelped desperately. "I need the photo! How am I supposed to help you out if I don't know what the guy looks like!"
"Let go of it," Xabi said urgently in Steven's ear, and he reluctantly let his fingers' grasp around the photo loosen, and it fluttered innocently to the floor as the heroes disappeared, José's fingerprints around an abandoned cup of coffee providing the only clue that they had ever been there.
Part IV
Chapter: 3 / 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.
Previous parts: Part I - Part II
Fernando awoke in a daze, thrown casually across his bed, his body lying diagonally as his arms dangled over the side. He remembered almost nothing of the night before, staring down his body at the pyjamas that weren't his. Gingerly pulling himself up, he winced. He was sore, but thankfully with all of his limbs (and other extremities) still intact, his mind vaguely swimming with memories of water and darkness.
Searching the room for a sign of Sergio, he found nothing but missing clothes and discarded pyjamas. Concluding that he must have left for work already, Fernando rummaged through his drawer for his watch.
"Oh, shit," he muttered.
An hour late, with half an hour still to travel, he ignored the dull throbbing in his head, a hangover from a night he couldn't recall, quickly downed a banana and hurried to get dressed.
Pulling off his pyjama top to put on his business shirt, however, he felt a twinge in his arms, and looked down to see cuts and bruises around his wrists. Staggering backwards as he looked at his red, raw skin in horror, his mind travelled further down, where he felt similar pain in his ankles, and saw the same marks etched into the skin there. Gently pulling clean fabric over them, he scanned the rest of his body, which, thankfully, was untarnished.
As he dragged on his tie, he assessed himself in the mirror. Apart from the intense fatigue he felt marked all over his tired face, he bore no signs of abuse other than those which he'd now hidden behind layers of cloth which chafed his sores.
Moving faster than usual, Fernando had to double back to his apartment once he was about to enter the elevator, realising with panic that he'd forgotten to lock it as he'd left in such a hurry. As he was about to close the door properly, his eyes travelled the living room once more. Nothing looked different - there was no evidence that he should have been involved in any kind of struggle whatsoever. It looked just as Sergio left it every morning. Shaking his head frantically in distress as his pulse raced, Fernando rushed back down the corridor and made his way to the carpark.
Fernando racked his brains as he drove through the streets, which were emptier than normal given his unusual lateness. He remembered Sergio, being with Sergio, in Sergio. Perhaps he'd been drinking? Perhaps he'd passed out? Perhaps Sergio had whipped out a new pair of pyjamas and wrapped Fernando in them?
Lost in thought, Fernando's heart thumped when car horns suddenly blasted around him and he slammed his foot on the break, a little old lady just about to cross the road in front of him.
"Sorry," he muttered to the drivers and pedestrians who couldn't hear him. Tapping his fingers on the wheel, his leg jerking restlessly as he waited for the traffic lights to change back to green, he tried desperately to wade through the clouds in his head, but could find nothing. As he checked his watch tetchily, he saw again the red, bloody skin beneath his shirt cuff. Perhaps Sergio had played some sort of bondage game after getting him uproariously drunk? Fernando bit his lip - he knew he'd tried to stay away from S&M for a reason.
He practically jogged to the revolving doors once he'd parked his car, ignoring the startled looks from security guards and fellow employees as he emerged on his level, bumping into Sami with an apologetic tilt of the head.
"Hey, Sami," he said breathlessly, pulling his shirt sleeves with his fingers to cover his wrists as wholly as possible as Sami stared at him in concern. "Uh, what's the weather going to be like over the next few days?" He knew it was probably pointless to go for casual small-talk when he was so puffed out with sweat peering over his collar, and he was clearly flustered at the very least, but it was worth a shot.
Sami looked Fernando up and down. "Partly cloudly, with a ninety-nine percent chance of you losing your job," he said in a resigned fashion.
Fernando froze but for his heaving chest. "What?"
Sami sighed, shaking his head faintly as he observed Fernando's stricken face. "I would never have believed it was you," he said softly, his voice shaded with wonder. "I mean, look at you."
Fernando looked down at himself, before snapping his head back up. "What are you talking about?"
Before Sami could answer, Fernando felt a hand around his sore wrist, pulling him firmly from the side. Yelping in pain, Fernando shot Sami another confused frown as he was dragged into a room to his right.
He turned to see that he was in Xabi's tiny editor's office, the older man glaring at him as he latched onto his arm. Fernando tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but that only made the pain worse.
"Are you a complete idiot?" Xabi hissed into his ear. "Do you have absolutely no control over him whatsoever? I mean, what did you have to do to him that would make him do something so insane? I'm just - I'm at a loss here. We've been trying to contact him but he's not picking up his phone. And, I mean, it all looks pretty fucking deliberate, and what better person than him -"
"What is going on?" Fernando interrupted, gasping in pain.
Xabi finally let go as he shot Fernando another death stare and moved behind his desk to sit down in his chair. "The police are in your office," he spat out. "They'll probably be in here again, looking for you."
Fernando stared. "What? Why are - the police?" His head went into overload, a million possibilities of last night's events whirling through his mind, each as bizarre as the one before. "What happened?"
Xabi stared back. "You don't know?" he asked incredulously. "Your own boyfriend -"
Before Fernando could register that last word, the door had burst open and the familiar faces of Frank Lampard and John Terry were blocking the doorway.
"Ah, so he's arrived then?" John asked with a grin.
"Obviously," Xabi said tersely, trying and failing to replace the anger on his face with stony disinterest.
"Mr. Torres, would you mind leading the way back to your office? We'd like to ask you some -"
"It's okay," Xabi interrupted, "you can stay here." And, not looking at Fernando, he swiftly left the room.
Frank nodded towards the seat that Xabi had vacated, and Fernando moved around the desk and lowered himself down, gazing at the policemen apprehensively. John held the side of Frank's face to move it closer to his own as he whispered something, Frank releasing the smallest of smiles before coughing and straightening up again. John still smirking, the policemen sat down opposite Fernando.
Frank pulled out a dictaphone and pressed the red button. "We'll have to record this," he explained. "For legal purposes."
Fernando merely stared before shrugging slightly in weary consent.
Glancing at John briefly, Frank coughed again before speaking. "So - what can you tell us about your movements last night - between 9pm and midnight?"
Fernando was frozen in his seat. The only things he could remember were vague visions of black water.
"Uhm, not much," he said pathetically.
Frank raised his eyebrows. "Well, where were you, for a -"
His words were cut short as Fernando suddenly had a flashing image of flying fire burst into his head, jumping slightly in his seat as he recalled the vision.
"Are you alright, Mr. Torres?" Frank asked, frowning.
John chuckled as he leant back in his seat, tapping his fingers happily on the desk. "Nervy little bugger, isn't he?"
"Mr. Torres?" Frank repeated, ignoring John. "Where were you last night?"
Fernando opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. What the hell could he possibly say?
As Frank watched, John turned in his seat to whisper something to Frank again. Frank's face remained businesslike and stern until John giggled in his ear, at which point Frank's face fell into a bemused smile. Both of them smirking now, they turned back to face Fernando, whose mind was still painfully blank. He merely watched the two men across the table, John's hand sitting comfortably on Frank's armrest.
"I don't think you have any right to interrogate me without my lawyer present," Fernando said firmly, taking advantage of the policemen's distraction.
John sat up straighter in his chair, pointing an angry finger at Fernando. "Look, you - this is the police you're dealing with, you can't just -"
"Shh," Frank said, soothingly lifting his arm to wrap his hand around John's.
"He's bloody trying to wriggle out of it," John protested, but Frank raised his other hand, laying it further up John's arm, preventing him from bursting out of his seat in anger. John glared at him for a mere second before exhaling deeply and flashing him a sheepish smile.
"That's it, you calm down," Frank murmured, as John moved his free hand over Frank's.
Fernando stared at them in disbelief. "Excuse me, but can you keep your hands off each other for two fucking seconds and tell me what you're doing here? What exactly am I being interrogated about?"
Frank frowned. "You don't know?"
Fernando merely stared back as Frank's eyes widened.
John began to snigger. "He doesn't know, Frank," he chuckled. "The idiot doesn't know what's happening."
As Frank unwillingly slipped out a grin, Fernando slammed his fist against the table. "Stop laughing, you morons, and tell me what the hell you're talking about!"
"Now, now, there," John said in a pacifying voice, "don't go getting violent on us. We do have handcuffs on us if we need them, you know."
"John, shut up," Frank said with a warning in his glance but a sly smile pulling the corners of his mouth. "Mr. Torres, perhaps you should ignore network rivalries for a minute and turn on Stentor TV. I think you'll find it rather worth the pain of company betrayal."
Fernando narrowed his eyes, his heart thumping beneath his chest as he lifted a hand to nervously rub the skin under his collar. "Stentor?" he asked warily, images of Sergio seemingly plastered to the insides of his eyelids.
"Nothing to slit your wrists about," John said, nodding towards the now-exposed cuts on Fernando's wrist. "Or is it?" he added with a sly smile.
Fernando glared back at him as he hastily lowered his hand and pulled the shirt sleeve closer to his hand, covering his skin. "That's not funny," he snapped.
"I think you'll find it's a very funny situation, Mr. Torres," John said, standing up and moving around to the television in the corner of the room, turning it on.
Fernando was only vaguely aware of John's triumphant grin as he gasped, the blackness of the television screen now replaced by Sergio's glowing face.
"Based on the conclusive nature of this evidence, it appears difficult to refute the claims that Torres is one of the masked men behind last night's attack on the people of Despertia."
The visuals on the news report now showed a pile of small weapons and black fabric being carried into a lab of sorts by rubbered hands as Sergio watched, microphone in hand. "With police currently carrying out forensic testing on the highly incriminating items uncovered by us at Stentor News, it is believed to be only a matter of time before Torres is arrested on suspicion of crime against the city of Despertia."
Fernando's own image now filled the screen, his face clumsily superimposed onto the black costume which was now being tested, Fernando's heart lurching in his chest as he recognised the mirror of himself - a vision which no civilian was supposed to have ever seen. "Given the horrific events this town has seen since New Year's Eve, it is likely that the Force are not the crime-fighters many have deemed them to be, and are, in fact, the reason behind the turmoil we citizens have faced. From central Despertia police station, this is Sergio Ramos."
Fernando could only gape at the screen as John's snide voice said, "We'll be keeping an eye on you, Torres. Don't even think about leaving the city - we're having your every move watched."
* * * * *
"He doesn't look anything like a superhero," Villa mused, stirring his coffee absent-mindedly as he gazed up at the dusty screen of the television. "Fuck, I'm hungry, where are my wedges?"
As he turned his head frantically, looking for the barista, Silva tried hard to keep his facial expression neutral, and his eyes away from the television. Seeing the reflection of the screen in Villa's eyes, he swallowed nervously.
"Well, what do you think a superhero looks like, then?" he asked carefully, refusing to look at Fernando's face on the television, for fear that recognition would show on his own.
The report, which had been repeated endlessly since it was first aired at nine o'clock that morning, finally finished, and the serious yet triumphant face of Stentor boss Iker Casillas filled the screen as a lush advertisement for the channel began.
Villa pointed to the television. "That guy, I reckon," he said, smiling gratefully at the barista who, at long last, handed him his meal over the counter.
Silva snorted. "I don't think so," he said bemusedly, looking up at Iker's peaceful face.
Villa turned around, his smile, as always, sending shivers through Silva's body. "Why, who do you think looks like a superhero?" he asked, clearly curious.
Silva felt his face turn red as he hurriedly grabbed a wedge and shoved it into his mouth, trying not to wince from the heat of the food. Villa raised his eyebrows impatiently as Silva painfully swallowed the burning piece of potato. "I don't know. . ." Silva said, trying to sound casual. "I think I could be a good superhero."
Villa burst out laughing, and Silva turned redder still. "You?" Villa chuckled through a mouthful of potato. "You're a weedy little thing, as if you'd be able to pull off one of those sexy black outfits!"
Silva tried not to look humiliated, stretching his mouth into a smile. "Sexy, huh?" he asked coyly. "Since when do you lean that way?"
It was now Villa's turn to blush. "I just - well - I've always leant that way."
Silva raised his eyebrows, glad to have the attention off himself. "And you find the heroes sexy? Or - just a particular one?"
Villa turned around sharply, sending the wedges flying, but Silva managed to catch the box in mid-air before all of them could come spilling out.
"Why are you so curious?" Villa asked, narrowing his eyes, a sly smile pulling the corner of his mouth upwards. "Do you fancy one in particular?"
Just as Silva was about to answer, however, Villa's hands suddenly latched onto his neck.
"What are you -" he gasped, but Villa merely flapped away his protesting fingers and lowered his own hands down past Silva's collar and into his shirt.
"A wedge fell in here," Villa explained with a grin.
But Silva swatted at his hands, and Villa quickly removed them, his smile vanishing as he saw Silva's panicked expression. Silva found himself filled with a strange paranoia that Villa would recognise the way his skin felt beneath his fingertips - as if he didn't have enough things to worry about as he spent his nights wondering whether Villa knew his smell well enough to recognise it in the morning, or the sounds he made while breathing, or -
"I'm sorry, man," Villa said, looking away awkwardly. "Look, just because I'm gay, it doesn't mean I'm hitting on you. It was - it was just a potato wedge, buddy, you didn't have to freak out."
Silva exhaled deeply as his thoughts fell back to the present, and he took in Villa's blushing cheeks as his own reddened yet more, his hands still raised protectively around his neck.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, looking down as he hastily pulled out the wedge from inside his shirt and cast it carelessly onto the counter. "I'm not a homophobe, I just -"
"It's okay," Villa said shortly, standing up and tossing some money next to the wedges for which he'd waited so long. "Come on, we should be getting back, anyway, we'll be opening in fifteen minutes."
Silva sighed as he watched Villa check his watch and stride outside, the mundane world of the restaurant beckoning them away from the surreal few moments of teasing revelations that almost were.
* * * * *
Xabi had rolled his eyes when Steven sheepishly admitted to eating all of the previous night's dinner leftovers on his own. Back at home during his lunch break for some reason that Steven had yet to fathom, Xabi ignored Steven's outstretched arms appealing for an embrace and headed straight for the kitchen, the rustles of plastic and a brisk chewing of something crunchy suggesting that Xabi was again living off potato chips.
"Did you get any calls?" Xabi yelled, Steven able to hear the faint sound of a glass of water being poured.
He merely flicked the channel on the television, shifting slightly on the sofa. "What do you mean?" he called back.
He could hear Xabi tutting as he made his way back into the living room. "From the agency," Xabi nagged. "Did any offers come through?"
"Someone called about an hour ago," Steven shrugged. "But I was on the toilet."
Xabi rolled his eyes as Steven reached over to the coffee table to grab a copy of the television guide. "Did you think to check the answering machine?" Xabi asked with a hand on his hip. Making his way over to the phone, he saw a blinking red light. "Steven, there's a message here," he said pointedly.
Steven glanced back at him disinterestedly. "So, uh, play it then?"
Xabi huffed as he pressed the Play button.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Gerrard, this is Yvonne from Ballack IT. We're sorry to inform that your application for the position of senior management consultant has been unsuccessful. We appreciate your interest, and sincerely hope that our paths will cross in the future. Best of luck, have a nice day."
Steven's face remained blank. "Ah well," he said with another shrug. "I was kind of expecting that."
"Yes, well, you would expect that, wouldn't you, if you turn up forty minutes late to the bloody interview," Xabi grumbled. Steven's eyes remained engrossed in his television guide. "Well?" Xabi snapped.
Steven looked up. "Well what?"
Xabi looked dismayed. "What do you mean, 'well what'?"
"What do you mean, what do I mean, 'well what'?" Steven stared back.
Xabi sighed. "I told you this morning, Cesc's being properly kitted up today - Cristiano's old gear was so ridiculously big on him last night. And," he added firmly, "the kid would probably feel a little more reassured if we were all there with him. Besides, we have to stock up on equipment ourselves."
Steven wasn't paying attention, his eyes having slipped back to the television set after he'd last spoken. He caught the vague tapping of a foot in the periphery of his vision, the dancing colours on the game show in front of him not enough to grind away the persistent nag that Xabi provided.
"Did you watch the news today?" Xabi's voice snapped again.
Steven's shoulders twitched a fraction in a half-hearted shrug as the corner of his eye picked up Xabi's shaken head, his frustration, his disapproval. "No," he mumbled. "Why?"
Xabi didn't answer the question. "Don't wait up, Steven," he said wearily. "I'll be home late tonight."
With that, Xabi swiftly picked his suit jacket back up off the coat rack and, within seconds, had slammed the door behind him.
Steven sighed contentedly at the renewed peace, only to have his mindless distractions interrupted by a loud knock at the door.
Fucking anal retentive little shit, Steven thought bitterly to himself as he clumsily got up off the sofa and shuffled towards the door. Too fucking pissed off at the world to remember his bloody keys. Probably come back to yell some more, maybe he forgot one other little -
His thoughts froze and promptly drifted into oblivion when he opened the door and saw Fernando Gago smiling warmly back at him. His head filled with a happy innocence, the image of Xabi's angry frown rapidly being sketched over by Gago's grin and those deep brown eyes framed by thick lashes, as a hand reached out to pat him on the shoulder, and a body wormed past his and into the living room. Staring out at the empty hall, Steven vaguely wondered why Gago's face was so familiar, why he was so happy to see that face. But again, his mind clouded over with blissful ignorance as he closed the door softly and turned to see Gago making himself comfortable in the dents that Steven's lethargic frame had left in the sofa.
* * * * *
Cesc looked behind him nervously as they entered the building, the others' faces stony and purposeful. His eyes instinctively flicked towards Rafa, who was tutting impatiently as José continued to murmur into his phone.
"Will you focus?" Rafa snapped, at last losing patience. José rolled his eyes and continued murmuring. "José, I'm serious - get off the phone."
Cesc nudged Silva. "Is Rafa, uh - you know - more senior than José?"
Silva shook his head slightly, not looking back across at Cesc. "No, José's actually been here for longer. Since before New Year's. But, because of everything that happened. . ." Silva paused, biting his lip. "Well, Rafa's been keeping a tight watch over him. Reckons he's losing his touch."
Cesc raised his eyebrows. "Is he? Losing his touch?"
"José will always be a great coach," Silva mused, "but his methods are fundamentally different to Rafa's. He wants two people in every position, whereas Rafa thinks we just can't afford that. José wants us to spend more on equipment, but Rafa insists that we keeping coming back here." He nodded to the door ahead of them, before which they were waiting.
"Is this place cheaper or something?"
"It's a little cheaper, yeah," Silva conceded. "Nasri's stuff is supposedly more advanced - there are even rumours that he's supplying for Raúl and Guti - but Rafa doesn't want us exposed to any more people than necessary. He figures Álvaro's doing fine."
"And do you think -"
Cesc's question was interrupted by the crashing noise of the door flying open, as Álvaro Arbeloa emerged, wearing a bright grin. Cesc couldn't help noticing the others cringing at his appearance.
"Why, hello there," Álvaro purred, looking around at them delightedly as José finally ended his phonecall. "I expected you - well - earlier than this."
"You may or may not have noticed, but we've been a little busy these past few days," José said tersely.
Álvaro smiled back at him. "Oh yes," he said slowly. "Fernando in particular, I think." Nobody replied. "And Sergio. I notice neither of them are here?"
"We figured it was best that Fernando remain at work and stay away from us," Rafa explained stiffly. "We can't risk him looking as if he's up to something. And Sergio is - is a disappointment."
Álvaro raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit of an understatement, I think."
"Well, luckily, we don't care much about what you think," José snapped, suddenly coming up behind Cesc and latching a hand onto his shoulder. "Here's the new boy - get him ready."
Álvaro's smile remained intact. "Well, well, it's all serious business, I gather. Kun!" he suddenly bellowed over his shoulder. "He's here!" After curtly nodding to the others, they went off into separate rooms, leaving Cesc behind with Rafa and José.
Cesc watched, his fear mounting slightly, as a small figure burst out of the room from which Álvaro had entered, his arms overladen with black material.
"Take your clothes off," Álvaro ordered Cesc briskly. Cesc merely stared back in horror. "It's okay, I don't bite," Álvaro added with a wink. "Not during the daytime, anyway."
"Arbeloa," José warned darkly.
"Strip!" Álvaro barked again, rolling his eyes at José's withering patience. "You can keep your underwear on, if that'll make you feel better."
Cesc was soon having his body wrapped in squares of black fabric, measuring tapes being slapped against almost every part of exposed flesh as he blushed furiously in his nakedness. Rafa and José simply watched with serious faces as Álvaro and his assistant measured and pinned him up.
"It'll need to be more streamlined than usual, Álvaro," the other tailor muttered. "Because he's a flyer -"
"Yes, Kun," Álvaro said dismissively. "Believe it or not, I do actually know more about this job than you do. Now, take him to go and get his gear while I get this finished."
Kun rolled his eyes as he bent down to grab Cesc's discarded clothing and throw them at him. Cesc barely caught them against his stomach, and hurriedly dragged them on as Kun disappeared into the same room that Silva had slinked into.
Hopping awkwardly as he pulled a shoe over his foot, he gasped and nearly fell over once he'd entered the room. Like a massive library, the walls were completely lined with shelves, with ladders for access, the only light emanating from small lamps. Unlike a library, however, the shelves were not crammed with books, but with guns, knives and explosives.
Silva was perched high up on a ladder at the far side of the room, examining a sword with interest, squinting in the dull light to read something inscribed on the hilt.
"Hey, Kun - what does this say?" he yelled.
"Ultramotion," Kun called back. "One of our newest models - twice as swift in the air. Perfect for you."
"Sounds like it," Silva agreed.
Cesc realised that he'd been gaping, and hurriedly closed his mouth as Kun headed briskly towards the corner of the room and began rummaging through the shelves. Cesc couldn't help staring in wonder at the terrifying array of weaponry staring him down - inanimate fatality that made all of their powers seem so innocent in comparison. He flinched every time Kun impatiently pushed aside another gun or hand grenade, each little click sending a jolt of panic through him as he envisioned them slipping and crashing with a fiery blast.
"This," Kun announced, pride seeping into his voice, "is one of the only things we managed to recover out of the rubble on January the first." He was holding out a huge machine gun, which made him look almost comically small as it rested heavily in his grasp. Cesc refused to take it, content to merely look at it in horror. "Raúl and Guti managed to get away with a lot of our stuff," Kun continued, "but we were lucky enough to get this baby back."
"Baby?" Cesc said weakly.
Kun smiled. "You've got to be tougher than that, buddy. The damage that this thing has caused - well, you've got to be ready to combat that type of destruction if you want to keep this job."
He held out the gun, and Cesc, pausing yet longer, finally reached out and took it, its weight perfectly matching its formidable power. He looked nervously up at Silva, who was still balancing on a high ladder rung as he carelessly tossed a small bomb from one hand to the other.
"What if something goes wrong?" Cesc asked, finally expressing his deepest fear.
"Well, at New Year's, it did," Kun said matter-of-factly, turning back to the shelf to sift through more heavy metal objects. "Nobody expected Raúl and Guti to turn on us, nobody thought a simple mission - and it really was supposed to be so simple - would end up with our entire organisation falling apart."
"What about the other heroes?" Cesc asked, his curiosity mounting as he got slightly more comfortable with the gun in his hand and watched Kun pulling more out.
"They didn't see it coming either," Kun replied, pulling out a thick, black canvas bag from the corner of the room and promptly seizing Cesc's gun to throw it casually inside. "They were probably more shocked than we were - I mean, how would you feel if Xabi or Stevie suddenly stopped fighting with you and started fighting against you?"
"Well," Cesc pondered, his mind still preoccupied by the weapons Kun was throwing into the bag, "it sort of is happening. With what Sergio did today."
Kun shrugged. "Sure, what he did to Fernando was low. But revealing your colleague's identity isn't quite on the same level as trying to get him killed, is it?"
"What about trying to get him arrested?"
"You're so new to this," Kun chuckled. "So naïve." He paused, and finally turned away from the shelf to look at Cesc directly. "After New Year's, the other heroes were so stricken, they quit. Why else do you think we've got you lot now? We don't just change the guard because we want to, you know."
Cesc thoughts ran to his colleagues. They all seemed so self-assured, so experienced. It was hard to believe that they had only been introduced six months earlier.
"Whereas you're not about to quit on us just because Fernando's had his name released," Kun continued, turning back to the shelf and pushing aside a large gun with a bang that made Cesc jump. "What those guys went through was immense - their entire reputation was dragged into the dirt because of those two selfish idiots. They made all of us look like cold-blooded killers, out to destroy the city, those hundred or so civilians who died. You can't really blame the others for stepping down," Kun shrugged.
"But - didn't Raúl and Guti get what they wanted, then?" Cesc asked, desperately trying to understand. "Why are they still setting things on fire, and flooding buildings?"
"It's hard to know how the mind of a psychopath works," Kun said airily. "Who knows why they attacked in the first place, let alone why they're attacking now. All we can do is try to stop them before we end up with another mass of civilian deaths - because given how much they seemed to enjoy New Year's, I wouldn't put it past them to try a stunt like that again."
"Neither would I," Álvaro's voice suddenly hissed against Cesc's neck, causing Cesc to leap up into the air, yelping in panic.
Álvaro grinned. "You're a jumpy one, hey?" He held out a black outfit. "All done. You'd better hurry, the others are all finished and waiting for you."
Cesc looked up to see that, indeed, Silva had left. Turning to look at the doorway, he saw the others standing tensely outside in the hall with Rafa and José, enormous black bags at their impatiently tapping feet, no doubt full of weapons, and lumps of black clothing draped over their arms.
Cesc turned his head away from the doorway and back into the darkness to look at Kun with worried eyes. "I don't think I can do this," he whispered. "I'm not cut out to deal with supervillains and fire and floods and weapons and - and the possibility of these guys turning on me."
Kun looked back at him sympathetically, lifting a dusty hand to lay it comfortingly on Cesc's stiff shoulder. "Nobody ever feels ready," he said softly. "But if you don't do it, who will?"
* * * * *
Rafa held the door open for José, but turned his head to see his partner again digging his hand into his pocket to fish out his phone. Sighing, Rafa let the door slam shut as he rubbed his eyes, his mind drenched with fatigue. Lowering himself into his chair, the peace of the room which was normally used to hold meetings was unusually dense, without the carefree chattering of the heroes there to drown out his thoughts.
He asked himself why fate was so insistently testing him, bringing him down to his knees and tearing sleep away from him when all he wanted to do was make the world a little less hostile. Why the moment he took over had to be marred by scandal and death, why he had to inherit the biggest collapse of power the city had ever seen. Why it just kept getting harder every single day, as more and more people turned against them, and doubted them, and pinned their names to the crimes they were trying so hard to stop.
He sighed, reaching over to the shelf next to him and pulling out a bottle of brandy. At times like these, times which came around all too often, alcohol really was his only comfort.
Before he could reach back to the shelf for a dusty glass, he noticed a figure in the far corner of the room, hunched pathetically in a chair, his head buried into his knees.
"Fernando?" Rafa said gently.
Fernando lifted his head, his eyes bloodshot, his hair distressed, his wrists stained with blood. He opened his mouth to speak, but Rafa understood his silence.
Watching him from metres away, Rafa knew that Fernando was just as confused as he was, and even more horrified at what Sergio had done.
"Have you managed to speak to him at all today?"
Fernando shook his head, pressing his lips together as if to control an outburst.
"We've been trying to get through to him," Rafa said wearily, "but no luck. The people at his work say that he's too busy trying to get information on you."
Fernando let out a hollow laugh. "What does he mean, 'get information on me'? He lives with me!"
"Well, that's why you're here, isn't it? You can't go home, not if Sergio's waiting to get his hands on you so that he can turn you in."
Fernando let out a shuddering breath, gazing at Rafa, his head clearly swimming with all manner of thoughts. "Where do I spend the night?"
Rafa smiled sadly. "Here, I suppose."
Fernando closed his eyes as Rafa stood up to pour the brandy. Walking briskly over to give him a glass, Rafa had to prise open Fernando's clenched fingers and force him to hold it.
"Drink, you look like you could use it," he murmured, before turning back to pour himself some liquid comfort.
"Do you know why he did it?" Fernando asked Rafa's turned back. "Why he would suddenly -"
"Yes, I think I know," Rafa replied quickly. Taking a sip of brandy, he sighed and turned back around, his fingers drumming against the glass he held as his mind raced, as Fernando stared at him imploringly, his sad eyes circled by darkness. "I've read about something like this - it's the stuff of legend, of rumour. I didn't think I'd ever see it happening."
"Are you going to find a replacement for Sergio?" Fernando asked, the words clearly causing him some discomfort.
Rafa shook his head. "We've got enough on our plate with Cesc - we can't afford another new kid right now." He paused, and sipped some more of his drink. "I'd like to see you at Higuaín's tomorrow, Fernando. Well, not see you, as such -"
"Why?"
"We've lost one. And not to mention Cristiano last week," Rafa explained. "You're lucky in that you can just hide from all of this. I assume that's how you escaped all those people crowded around your office and made it here?"
Fernando nodded.
"So you, especially, need to be at that meeting," Rafa urged him. "It's important, we could learn a lot. And not only do we not have Sergio with us, but it looks like he's turning against us."
Fernando looked back at Rafa, the coach recognising his own fears in Fernando's young face. "What if something happens to - to my powers? What if I can't turn invisible anymore? I mean, I can't even remember what happened last night, I don't think I'm in full control, you know? What if I can't - can't control myself?"
Rafa exhaled deeply before quickly downing the rest of his brandy. "All you can do is help us control whatever bastard is controlling you. José!" he called, and the door opened, José appearing with an agitated frown. "Cancel whatever plans you have tonight - we have to up the protection we have on these kids."
José grimaced. "I thought you'd say that," he sighed. "Alright, Fernando?"
"Not really," Fernando muttered in response.
"Don't worry, Rafa," José said. "I know how to handle this kind of situation. I've been there before."
Rafa raised his eyebrows. "I don't want it handled how it was handled before," he said shortly. "I know you have your preferred methods, but given how ineffective they proved to be, I think we'll be going for mine this time."
José rolled his eyes. "Whatever you say, partner," he said dully, shutting the door on himself again.
* * * * *
Steven stumbled into the elevator behind Xabi, who tutted as he always did when Steven looked confused and distant. Today's events, however, were genuinely beyond him. Nudging his lover with his elbow, he tried to keep his voice low as he asked where they were.
Xabi rolled his eyes. "I know it's been ages since you've done anything with us, but you surely haven't forgotten Higuaín's office."
The name Higuaín rang no bells, although the tenseness in his colleagues' bodies suggested that it probably should have. As the two older men murmuring to each other, keeping secrets that he knew the heroes no longer cared to find out, Steven closed his eyes under his mask and breathed in deeply. He couldn't shake the feeling of purposelessness that had taken him over - a sense that he was somehow wasting his time here, that there were bigger, more important things to be done. What, he didn't know, couldn't recall. His mind drifted back to the night before, when Xabi had again launched into a drawn-out lecture on the need to find a job, with vague mentions of Fernando and Sergio thrown in between the bouts of mundane complaints. Perhaps, Steven thought airily, Xabi's whining had finally worked. Perhaps that was why he now felt an irrepressible urge to go out and do something.
But here he was, stepping out of a lift and walking briskly down an empty corridor, dressed inexplicably in black, with an uncomfortable mask pulled hard over his face, restricting the flow of air to his nose and making it inconveniently difficult to function. He struggled for a few seconds before remembering the Force's need for secrecy which he then associated with the costumes, breathing a heavy sigh of resignation and causing Rafa to turn and glare at him through his own ridiculous mask.
Steven stopped promptly at the door, gazing at the nameplate in wonder. "Gonzalo Higuaín, City Mayor." So that's why Higuaín was so important. But what would the Mayor be able to help them with?
"Healer!" José barked from inside. "Get a move on!"
Steven hurriedly slid inside and shut the door, José grabbing his arm and positioning him next to the other four heroes, all standing in a faceless, black line.
"What the hell is wrong with you today?" José hissed, lowering himself into a seat before an impressive mahogany desk.
Steven swallowed hard. He didn't quite know what was wrong. Was he not usually like this? And why was he called a healer? Was that his -?
A door in the back corner of the room, behind the desk, suddenly opened and out came a vaguely familiar figure, a beaming smile betraying the worry in his eyes. Steven couldn't place where he'd seen him before. On the television, perhaps?
"Higuaín," Rafa nodded curtly, as he and José stood up to shake the man's hand.
So this was Higuaín. No wonder he looked familiar.
"It's all looking a bit messy this week, isn't it?" Higuaín asked with a vague smile. Now this was something that Steven could most vehemently disagree with, despite his frazzled state of mind. It was certainly more than just a bit messy, judging by the rapid clenching of jaws and fists next to him.
"If it wasn't for your police, it might be a little tidier," Rafa said pointedly.
"Now, you know I can't control them," Higuaín said reasonably. "They're under the state government - I have no power. I can perhaps drop a line and ask them to stay out of your way -"
"We don't need them to stay out of our way, we need them to help us!"
Higuaín sighed. "I don't understand." Steven himself tried desperately to remember what problem the Force had with the police, a vision of an angry black policeman blurrily invading his head.
"There's one thing you can do," Rafa said firmly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a photo. "This guy. Fernando Gago - no alias. You can get the police to look out for him, because he's the biggest threat to us all."
"What, is he the one setting things on fire, and flooding my town hall?"
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Xabi muttered.
"No," Rafa said patiently, "but he's very dangerous. We think he's behind it all, even if he's not the one doing it."
"And why's that?" Higuaín demanded.
"Mind control," José explained. "He can manipulate your thoughts, anyone's thoughts. It's a terrifying prospect, if you think about it."
"Gosh," Higuaín breathed, squirming in his seat. "Is he controlling the villains, then?"
"So you actually believe there are villains?" Silva piped up, a distinct challenge in his voice.
Higuaín looked up. "Well, if you lot were behind all this, I don't think you'd be in here trying to help me end it," he said reasonably.
"We're not trying to help you," Xabi said irritably. "You're meant to be helping us."
"Will you all calm down?" Rafa asked, turning in his seat to glare at the heroes. "Look, Higuaín, you must have seen the news, they're trying to blow our cover -"
"Yes, I saw them taking in his weapons and things. The invisible man." Higuaín looked up at the Force, running his eyes over them appraisingly. "I notice one of them's missing. I suppose it's him?"
José turned his head just slightly towards Rafa before responding. "Yes," he said carefully.
Steven frowned under his mask - it was Sergio who was missing, not Fernando. Fernando was right next to him.
"The reporter ended up naming the wrong guy - he just chose someone from a rival network to boost ratings," José continued. "But we've decided to keep the invisible man away for now. Just in case."
Higuaín nodded. "Okay," he said slowly. "I see. Now, look - I don't want to be short with you, but the town hall is still soaking, we've got civilians in hospital with water in their lungs and - and I just need to know what you want from me."
"We need files," Rafa said bluntly. "We need details on everyone associated with Gago, his movements, his work. Everything. We need to stop him before we can get to the main perpetrators of all this. I need you to understand how dangerous this man is - you can't risk looking at him, such is the extent of his power. He can get a hold of your mind within a millisecond."
Higuaín paused, staring at Rafa blankly. "Do you want a coffee?"
"Do we look like we need coffee?" Xabi snapped.
"I could use a coffee," José muttered.
"Excellent," Higuaín smiled, clearly relieved. "Fàbregas!" he suddenly roared.
Steven felt someone shuffle at the end of the line, and heard a faint kick. "No, Cesc," he heard Silva hiss.
Higuaín rolled his eyes. "I've hired this new assistant, and he hardly ever turns up for work these days," he explained, as Steven felt the others shifting awkwardly next to him. With a rush of comprehension, he remembered that Cesc had been chosen to join the Force specifically because of his contact with Higuaín.
"Stop twitching, Cesc," Silva hissed again. "He'll be able to tell that it's you."
"But I need to -"
"No," Silva said firmly, interrupting Cesc's complaints. "Just stay put. We don't care if you get fired for not bringing him his bloody coffee - don't move."
"Is everything alright amongst you all?" Higuaín asked politely, noticing the agitation at the back of the room.
"Yes, fine, sir," Silva said, his voice full of forced assurance.
"Well then, I'll get the coffee myself, shall I?" Higuaín promptly stood up and disappeared through the door behind him.
"What a joke," Xabi breathed as soon as the door slammed shut. "The idiot has no idea what he's doing. How he got this job, I'll never understand."
Rafa ignored Xabi as he stood up and made his way towards Steven's end of the line, resting a hand gently on Fernando's shoulder.
"Are you alright?" Rafa asked Fernando softly. Steven turned to look at the boy standing next to him. A vein was twitching in his neck as he stared stonily back at Rafa before nodding shortly.
"Do you think we could see the picture of Gago?" Silva asked. "It'd probably help us to know who we're trying to simultaneously find and avoid."
José picked up the photo from the desk and casually flicked it towards Rafa, who passed it to Cesc at the end of the line.
"You," he said firmly, "need to forget your civilian job and focus on this one. Providing beverages isn't important - we'll be getting you to do some useful work here in time, okay?"
Steven barely registered Cesc's protesting response, more focused on Fernando. "Are you alright?" he whispered.
Fernando turned, apparently surprised. "Are you alright?" he retorted. "You don't seem to have any idea what's going on."
"I don't, really," Steven admitted. "I can't remember very much about all this - it's like a blur."
He could visualise Fernando's frown beneath his mask. "You - you can't remember? What do you mean? Why?"
Steven shrugged. "I don't know. It's like I'm - like I'm hungover, and everything that's happened in the past few months all took place last night, but I drank too much so I can't remember, and things just come back to me in little bursts, and -"
"No, no, I know what you mean!" Fernando replied in a frantic whisper. "I had the same thing yesterday, just before I got into work and saw Sergio's report! And now I can remember little bits and pieces from the town hall - fire, and water, and Guti grabbing my throat, and -"
"Well, what's happened to us?" Steven asked desperately, his hand drifting upwards to grab Fernando's shoulder in a hopeless appeal for comfort. "Why are we so confused, what's done this to us?"
Fernando didn't answer his question, his eyes having travelled down from Steven's face towards the photo that Xabi had just pushed into his hand. Steven looked down at it and gasped.
"Oh my fucking God," he breathed. "That's it."
Fernando nodded. "I remember him now. I remember him - talking to me. And - oh fuck, all that stuff about mind control -"
"Shit," Steven spat, suddenly growing very hot underneath his costume. "If he's done something to us -"
"Do you think he did something to Sergio?" Fernando interrupted, his eyes wide.
Steven shrugged, his answer held back by Higuaín's entrance. He bundled in with a tray of coffee cups, rolling his eyes as he held it out to José.
"Honestly, I shouldn't have to serve my own coffee," he said, more to himself than the rest of the room.
"Do we have your cooperation or not?" Rafa asked sharply.
Higuaín sighed as he sank back into his chair, twisting slightly in the spinning seat. "I can try and talk to the police. But I can't guarantee anything. They're already suspicious of you, and -"
As though they had heard his words, the three members of the police service most familiar to the Force suddenly burst through the room's main doors, badges out and guns raised.
"Don't move!" Drogba shouted, as Frank and John frantically pointed their guns in every which direction from behind him.
"What the hell -" Higuaín began, getting up from his seat.
"We have an arrest warrant for a Mr. Fernando Torres," Drogba snapped, his eyes darting from one masked face to the next at lightning speed.
"He's not -" Higuaín began, but froze as everybody's eyes flew to the figure next to Steven.
"Oh, you fucking idiots," Fernando muttered, before his body promptly vanished and Steven heard footsteps rapidly moving away.
"Get him!" Drogba shouted, and the hapless Frank and John dropped their weapons and began grabbing at thin air, Steven noticing with great relief that they seemed unable to find anything solid and Fernando-shaped.
"Everyone, grab onto me!" Silva screamed, Steven dragging his eyes away from the policemen and striding over to latch onto Silva's body as all the other black-suited arms did the same.
"How did you know they would be here?" Higuaín asked Drogba in wonder.
Drogba clenched his jaw and looked away, the junior constables behind him hurtling down the corridor, still wrapping their arms around empty space. "That's not important, what's important is stopping what is now being classified as terrorist activity -"
"Well, they told me to tell you to look out for this one guy," Higuaín said frantically, looking up at the huddle of black suits at the back of the room. "No, wait!" he yelped desperately. "I need the photo! How am I supposed to help you out if I don't know what the guy looks like!"
"Let go of it," Xabi said urgently in Steven's ear, and he reluctantly let his fingers' grasp around the photo loosen, and it fluttered innocently to the floor as the heroes disappeared, José's fingerprints around an abandoned cup of coffee providing the only clue that they had ever been there.
Part IV