fatal flaw, part VI, part a.
Title: Fatal Flaw
Chapter: 6 / 6 (Part A)
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, and for the wait since the last chapter. Thanks to all those who have read and commented on this fic - I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed it so far, hope that you like the finale, and very much appreciate all of your lovely feedback. This chapter is split into two, because it's apparently too long for one post.
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
Previous parts: Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V
It was colder than it had been during the night - or maybe it just felt that way if you didn't sleep properly, if your room didn't have heating, if your bed-springs dug into your back every time you moved. Silva felt his skin prickling gingerly as the wind scraped it, underneath a near-absent sun.
The light outdoors was so feeble that he didn't have to hold his hands by his face and press the sides against the glass in order to see inside properly, as he had in previous weeks. The howling wind drowned out the flustered conversation of the men he had once worked with, and he instead imagined their voices, remembering that last night he'd heard them. Santi still seemed to be complaining about something, he noticed with a small smile.
He was tired of that jolt that his stomach gave whenever he saw Villa, but there it was again. It was all the more painful because Villa himself seemed sadder, quieter, fully recovered yet somehow weak, as Silva watched him serving tables with a forced smile and vague glances over the diners' heads as if to look for somebody. Or so Silva assumed - he had to miss him, surely.
He wondered which Silva he did miss - the hero, or the ordinary guy - or whether Villa had put two and two together. If he hadn't, it was most likely that he missed the hero, Silva reflected sadly. He didn't think he'd ever left much of an impression on him with his actual face, his non-life, his shyness.
Silva quickly jumped back and bowed his head as Villa looked up again, his eyes darting towards the window. With a cap, large hoodie and sunglasses, it would have been a surprise had Silva been recognised at all. But he turned and walked away all the same, as he did every evening, with a heavy heart and yet more longing to get the big day over with.
On his way to Álvaro's to stock up on last-minute supplies (a trip he wasn't looking forward to, as Álvaro had grown snappish and catty ever since Kun had walked out on him without any notice) and to no doubt endure yet another half-hour lecture from the coaches, Silva walked quickly along the footpath and kept his head bowed. He was staring down at himself from posters plastered clumsily on street walls, the word “Wanted” flashing over the photos as a mocking reminder of the increasing difficulty with which he was facing each day - the missed phone calls had seemed to grow more frantic until they'd finally stopped, and his family and friends had given up.
Since the announcement of the largest charity function the city had seen in years, the papers had been dripping in news about it. Silva walked past a newspaper stand with Higuaín's satisfied face smiling proudly up at him - the idiot clearly had no clue what could potentially happen at his precious party. Rafa and José, however, seemed to be blind to nothing, training the Force harder than they could possibly have been prepared for. Their weapons stock had been increased ten-fold, making them almost impossible to lug around everywhere as they changed motels every third night - Silva's skills were often called upon for transportation, but the task remained time-consuming and risky. When he tried to sleep at night, every time he closed his eyes, he envisioned all those hypotheticals that the coaches had laid out, spectacular and terrifying visions of everything they might face haunting the moments he should have had to himself; his fears made all the worse whenever he remembered Villa and the danger that he too was in, and the rapidly fading memories of being by his side.
He sighed as he walked. This was no life.
* * * * *
In the three months since the attack at Stentor TV's party, the city had been remarkably peaceful, with not so much as a glimmer of Raúl and Guti. But the police were still after the Force, and there was always the threat of Drogba seeing their faces in a vision, as José in particular feared he would. So the heroes and their coaches remained firmly, painfully, in hiding - except for Steven. Because nobody suspected Steven of anything.
He reasoned that it was hardly likely that Drogba should come after him when he already had the names and faces of every other hero - especially since Steven had never shown up with the others on those occasions when disaster had struck, and so, as far as anyone knew, there was no Healer to search for in the first place. Steven, CEO of Stentor TV, was the least likely candidate anyway, and he had absolutely no intention of arousing suspicion by doing something so crude as hiding. The reason why the world was hunting Steven's friends was because they had been stupid enough to let them. Steven was not about to make that mistake.
So he ignored the coaches' instructions and continued to live his public life. Where Silva, Cesc, Fernando, Xabi (surprisingly), and even Rafa and José found their pictures stamped all over the front pages accompanied by appeals to the public to report any sightings of “these armed and dangerous men responsible for irreconcilable damage”, Steven's photograph was shrouded in the glory of being the new big shot in town. People recognised him in the street, and unlike Silva (who insisted upon walking everywhere because it “cleared his head”), he met them with a friendly smile rather than escaping into thin air for fear of imprisonment. He had no reason to hide, and every reason to remain seen. Because nobody suspected him of anything.
He rarely saw Sergio at work, and when he did, he pretended not to notice him. It was Iker's job to fraternise with the journalists, so Steven let him get on with it, however much he grumbled and seemed to despise Steven for it. Since Sergio was no longer in the Force, it made no sense to form any sort of personal association with him. Besides, Sergio didn't seem to remember any prior acquaintance with Steven anyway, which he could only attribute to Gago and his mind-warping. There was no apparent recognition at all when they would accidentally cross paths, at the building entrance, or in a bathroom. But this didn't concern Steven - if anything, it reassured him. The less he saw of Sergio, the better, given all of the measures the Force was taking to avoid all contact with the outside world. And Sergio was now very much a part of that outside world.
Rafa and José remained concerned that Gago's control over Sergio surely meant that his superhuman strength could be used against them by Raúl and Guti in the future. But Steven, who seemed to be the only one still with his wits about him, was sure that if such an instance eventuated, it would be at the charity event - until then, there were no community events big enough to attack, nothing like a huge gala at the Town Hall or the biggest television network party the community had seen in years. So he convinced them to keep tabs on Sergio only once that day came around, and forget about him for the time being. For now, their focus had to remain solely fixed on Raúl, Guti, and the apparently more dangerous Fernando Gago.
Steven remembered those first few instances when Gago had turned up at his door, by his side at the party, in the back seat of his chauffered car. But he couldn't recall having given up any information whatsoever. As panicked as he had been when he saw Gago's photo in Higuaín's office, after thinking long and hard, he realised that he hadn't really been put under his spell at all. Gago had merely offered him a job, which now saw Steven making more money than he could ever have imagined, and for a week, he'd checked up on Steven at random moments to make sure that he was settling in okay. Steven didn't understand it, and soon gave up trying to. After all, Gago hadn't even dropped the slightest suggestion that he knew Steven had anything at all to do with the Force - he, too, was only present in Steven's outside world, and nothing more.
All in all, Steven was cruising along at quite a fine pace. He had finally landed an enviable and prosperous job, he was helping the Force by training and turning up to each meeting, always ready just in case something happened, his healing ability had never been stronger than after weeks and weeks of practice on everything from injured birds to hobos in the street, and he, of all the heroes, was safe from persecution. Xabi attacked him in meetings, saying that he was in denial, that there was clearly something wrong. Steven pointed to Fernando in these cases, testament to the fact that a run-in with Gago did not automatically equal loss of mind. As far as Steven was concerned, he had no recollection of anything being wrong. Everything was perfectly right - all the more so because he didn't miss Xabi one bit.
* * * * *
The final meeting before the big event was surprisingly calm. Cesc had expected lots of frantic run-throughs of every plan for every possible catastrophe, but Rafa had simply walked in, told them that they should have been adequately prepared by that stage, and suggested that they go back to the gym at headquarters for a last physical boost. Cesc was relieved - every meeting had seen him sitting tensely on the edge of his seat, completely and utterly terrified that he was going to be caught out as the traitor he was.
He knew that they wouldn't be angry, necessarily - after all, having your mind controlled by a piece of slime like Gago was hardly preventable, was it? But he remembered all the warnings that Rafa had given him, telling him to be careful. And, caught up in the glory of becoming a proper superhero, one who saved people and foiled elaborate plots for destruction, Cesc had to admit that he should perhaps have checked who his driver was before sliding into that car.
In the gym, Fernando was arguing with Rafa in the corner about something as the coach fiddled absently with stopwatches. After the announcement of Fernando's prison escape had been plastered all over the newspapers and on Stentor News, Silva had convinced Fernando to stop hiding from Rafa and José - they were all in the same boat now. Rafa had reacted badly, screaming at the blonde about his carelessness, demanding to know how he could have been so stupid as to wander around the town, invisible or not, knowing that the police were on his tail. But the need to build a force as strong as possible soon outweighed Rafa's fury - with a little pacifistic cajoling on José's part - and Fernando had rejoined them, no longer alone in his exile.
As Cesc watched, Xabi was transforming into different animals every five seconds as he lugged and pushed a weight across the room in record time, preparing himself just in case he had to knock over barriers or transport people away from harm. Cesc couldn't shake a feeling of awe - Xabi's skills had improved immensely since they'd been shielded from all possibilities of a social life and had nothing but this to do. The same went for Silva, who had always been one of the most talented in the Force, but had nonetheless gotten yet quicker in recent weeks. They both seemed somewhat sullen, a strange hollowness marring their determined expressions as they trained, but how hard they trained was all that mattered now.
Steven was simply running on a treadmill. Lacking the physical skills of the others, Steven's combat training had been limited to conventional gym work - running, cycling, weights. Cesc admired his hard work - for a man who had spent so long shying away from man-on-man fights and preferred to remain behind the scenes, the turnaround was remarkable. The others had noticed troubling changes in him - quietness, evasiveness, his reluctance to answer questions or share his thoughts - and attributed them to Gago. But Steven always denied it, and Cesc - well, he understood.
“Cesc!” José roared from the floor below. Cesc looked down, his heart jumping a little at the sudden shout as he wavered a little in mid-air. “Will you stop staring into space and get a move on!”
“Sorry, boss!” Cesc called back down. José grumbled as he readied his stopwatch, Cesc just stopping himself from rolling his eyes - trust José to do nearly nothing for six months before panicking and putting his foot down once it got too late.
Cesc quickly moved over to the side of the gym, and on José's signal, flew quickly across the length of the room at what he hoped was close to record speed. At this stage, it was all about pace, outrunning and outwitting their enemies - or so Rafa had drilled into them, with José nodding reluctantly by his side. Until now, at least.
“Not fast enough, Cesc!” José announced disapprovingly through the noise that Xabi was making. “You were almost a whole second slower than yesterday. What's wrong with you? Focus, kid!”
“I'm sorry,” Cesc said again.
José pursed his lips, looking away. “It's alright,” he muttered. “I didn't mean to yell at you, it's not your fault that you're slow.”
Cesc raised his eyebrows at José's failed attempt at kindness. “I'm sorry,” he repeated.
He was used to apologising by now, having done so every day since that meeting when he'd waved his stolen papers in everyone's faces and proudly relayed his computer-hacking exploits to his impressed peers. Because as much as he hid behind his achievement, there was always the knowledge of what he had done and how he had all but single-handedly caused this mess, unwittingly, but crucially, which weighed him down with guilt and made him more paranoid than he'd ever thought it was possible to be.
Because it was Cesc who had given Gago everyone's names, addresses, work details, strengths and weaknesses, plans and pasts. It was his faltering will in the face of Gago's immense ability which had given him all he'd wanted and filled in the information gaps which Sergio, having abandoned the Force, could no longer provide. It was Cesc's fault that they were in hiding.
* * * * *
Xabi had woken up with butterflies in his stomach, and they remained with him until he'd taken his position near the gates of the city park. The once empty grass was strewn with chairs, tables, stalls, stages - the set-up was impeccable, and people were flooding in. The huge tin cans everywhere were constantly clanging with dropped coins falling to their bases, Xabi wincing every time, already jumpy without needing sudden noises to add to his anxiety.
He was disguised, if a little crudely, in the get-up that Silva so often sported. However ineffectual it was when people really looked at him, sunglasses and a hat were basically the only available options unless you had Fernando's power. But in the safety of a car, courtesy of the ever resourceful Álvaro, and with comprehensive weaponry lining his backseat, he was surely safe enough.
He had caught a glimpse of Sergio as he had been circling the park earlier that morning to look for a parking spot. Sergio was standing close to the entrance with a cameraman, talking excitedly and peering around the grounds. Stentor TV had gotten exclusive rights to the coverage of the event, Xabi noted with lingering bitterness - despite being detached from his job for months now, he couldn't help but cringe at the competitive blow. It was all the more painful knowing that Steven was probably at the helm, with Gago dictating his every move. Xabi wondered why Raúl and Guti were so determined to gain full control over Stentor, and in turn, why Stentor was being fed so much information, but it was yet to make any sense. Xabi tried not to think about it too much, anyway - that was Rafa and José's job - as it was considerably painful to have Steven infiltrating his head all the time.
Sergio had since disappeared from that spot on the edge of the park, leaving Xabi free to observe the area without any distractions. Ever the professional, he scratched all thought of Steven and betrayal and the broken home he'd left behind, and focused entirely on the job at hand - he had always been good at separating his personal and professional lives. With intricate plans of the event (the result of Cesc's snooping), and details of Stentor's journalists' schedules (provided by Steven, Xabi remembered with a slight stabbing feeling), the Force was well prepared.
Limousines were pulling up, one after the other for a good few hours, B- and C-list celebrities pouring out and flashing their sparkling jewellery as they handed out oversized cheques that were probably worth only half of their hotel costs for the night, and television personalities (from Stentor, of course) dished out inspiring speeches. It was all something of a farce, Xabi reflected as lunchtime rolled around and Higuaín finally turned up and smugly announced, to resounding applause, the money total raised so far. Stalls selling cheap merchandise to people who had probably contributed to their manufacture, the lingering murmurs that the city's money should have been spent on the crumbling architecture of its public libraries rather than fancy transportation for politicians - it was entirely too ridiculous, yet it was incredible how blind people became when those in power pretended to put on a humanitarian face for a day.
Xabi grew increasingly bitter as the day wore on, hot and long, while he was stuck in the car with nobody for company and only his own depressed thoughts to distract him from the tedious task of searching for trouble in the crowd. Everything seemed to be going fine, and by the time the sun began to set, it was all he could do to stop himself from thinking about how much he needed the bathroom. Restless and irritable, he nonetheless remembered Rafa's strict order: Do not leave your post, or they will attack. So he stayed put, however reluctantly, and waited impatiently through his strange disappointment at the lack of disaster.
* * * * *
It all happened very suddenly. Silva had been watching the Stentor crew packing up their vans on the far side of the park from the driver's seat of his car, the now-familiar face of Iker Casillas looking tired but satisfied with a good day's work, and undoubtedly a vast amount of crowd-pleasing charity stories.
Silva's breath had hitched in his throat as he saw Sergio, at the edge of the group, suddenly joined by Gago, and he sank lower in his seat, acutely aware of Gago's power and absolutely determined not to reveal himself in his line of sight. Gago had whispered something to Sergio, and Sergio had frowned and shaken his head. Silva's phone had rung, and he'd bent down to pick it up from the passenger's seat where he'd carelessly thrown it that morning. And as soon as he'd lifted his head, Sergio and Gago were gone.
This itself was no cause for panic - concern, yes, but not outright panic. It was never a good thing to see anyone disappear with Gago, but since it was Sergio, well, Silva reasoned that he was too far gone anyway. It was the voice on the end of the phone line which caused the panic.
“You have sixty minutes to choose between saving Sergio and saving one hundred civilians. Should you choose Sergio, your reputations will be destroyed completely, we will expose you once and for all, and the only light you will see will be shining through the bars on your prison cell windows. Choose the civilians, and our game continues. The choice is yours, hero.”
Silva heard his own breath quicken against the silence at the other end of the line. “Where - where are they?”
“Home. Your time has started.”
* * * * *
He was terrified, of course. Of all the hypotheticals, from the reasonable to the ludicrous, this was one that had escaped his imagination and now left him completely lost. In a surge of self-doubt and disappointment, he registered Silva's words, staring at him as though his face would provide some sign that this wasn't actually happening. But, his responsible side taking over as Silva impatiently grabbed his shoulder and shook it, Rafa dragged himself out of his horror and told the boy to get Cesc, not bothering with costumes and masks - there was simply no time.
The news had traveled fast among the heroes - Raúl and Guti had called Xabi and Fernando as well, who in turn had phoned Rafa, who himself had just had Silva appear in front of him. And just like that, he realised that they'd all underestimated their foes, that knowing the stall arrangements for the charity function was ultimately useless, that there would always be a way to outwit the mind of Rafael Benítez.
“Don't think like that,” Cesc said quickly, peering at Rafa with concern, seconds after arriving back at the coach's post behind the main stage in the park.
“Don't think like what?”
“Don't get all disillusioned and shocked and start feeling like you haven't done your job - it's too late for that, we need to figure out what to do!”
“How long do we have?” Rafa asked.
“Fifty-five minutes,” Silva answered immediately. “Rafa - I - I think I know where home is.”
Rafa merely raised his eyebrows.
“Headquarters.”
“But they don't know where headquarters is -”
“Of course they do - Sergio must have told them ages ago! It was only a matter of time before they decided to attack it! What else could 'home' possibly mean? Think about it, boss - it's been our refuge for the past three months! If that's not home, I don't know what is.”
“I think he's right,” Cesc nodded furiously.
Rafa stared at them both in wonder. “You thought of all that in five minutes?” he asked Silva in awe.
Silva shrugged helplessly. “Well, I guess when these things happen, there's no point taking time to register it all. You just - you know . . . act.”
Rafa nodded, pushing his fatherly pride towards his student's quick-thinking to the back of his mind. “Okay,” he said, as Silva and Cesc listened attentively, “if the civilians are at headquarters, we stay there. We'll need your ability to transport them. But if Sergio's there, we'll have to figure out where this other 'home' place is, alright boys?” They both nodded. “We can leave the others to take care of Sergio. Xabi's power, combined with the weapons, should be enough physical force -”
“So we're going to save Sergio as well?” Cesc asked.
“Of course we are,” Silva said instantly before grabbing Cesc and Rafa by the arms. “Welcome to the Force,” he added before taking them away.
The far wall of the gym at headquarters was lined with one hundred civilians, a mix of genders and ages, all identical in their terror. They trembled and clung to each other in complete silence, gazing at the figure opposite, hoping desperately that he would leave them unharmed. Each piece of equipment in the room had been pushed to the side walls, leaving a massive expanse of space in the middle of the floor. Rafa, Silva and Cesc landed here, and looked up to see Guti standing over them.
“Ah, so you did decide to split up, after all.”
Guti walked casually back towards the wall opposite the civilians, throwing them a glance before turning back to Rafa and his students, who were scrambling to their feet and looking around with heightening tension. Rafa clenched his jaw as, on either side of him, Silva and Cesc quickly reached for their guns.
“Oh, no you don't,” Guti said, smiling a little as he raised his hand. “With one flick of my wrist, these civilians will all be dying a very watery death. We don't want that, do we?”
“What do you want?” Rafa asked, as intrigued as he was horrified.
“We want to ruin you,” Guti said slowly. “Ruin you the way that we were ruined - using the same weapons, the same slimy tricks. We want the Force to be hated the way that we are hated.”
“Give us a proper answer,” Silva snarled, raising his gun as a little girl in the line behind him began to cry, Rafa noticing Cesc's head snapping around quickly at the sound.
“Now, now, play nicely. Trust me, you do not want me to take preventative measures here,” Guti said lightly but with a dangerous steeliness in his eyes.
“What do you mean by 'ruining us the way that you were ruined'?” Cesc asked, his voice shaking slightly, Rafa dying a little inside at the sound.
“Now, I'm glad you asked that question,” Guti said, his smile widening as he took a step forward.
In a split second, Silva had shot his gun at the wall behind Guti, the civilians screaming as they watched.
“Don't you come near us!” Silva roared.
“Oh, you just made a terrible mistake,” Guti said darkly, raising his hand again.
Rafa and the heroes turned around to see what Guti was doing, and, his stomach dropping, Rafa saw a short young man from the line being dragged forwards by a rope tied around his waist into the middle of the room.
“David,” Silva whispered, his voice full of dread.
“Yes, I thought you might recognise this one,” Guti said, relishing Silva's horror. And, Guti's hand jerking just slightly, the young man started spluttering and coughing up water.
Silva screamed out and ran forwards, only to see the man pulled roughly to the ground and dragged further away by the rope. Silva froze as the man was pulled, torso-first, along the floor, leaving behind a trail of water that had escaped from his insides. His face turned red as water continued to spill out from his lips, veins on his neck pulsing as he choked, clearly in agony.
Silva vanished and reappeared by the man's side, only to be unceremoniously blocked off by a sheild of ice forming around the man within a second, produced by a flick of Guti's finger.
“If you want it to end,” Guti said slowly, as the other civilians began shouting, begging for mercy, “you'll let me finish my story.”
“Fine, finish your story,” Rafa said at once, as Silva's chest rose and fell sharply in front of him. “Just stop, now. Please.”
“Very well.”
Guti waved his hand again to stop the relentless flow of water from the man's lungs. He lay there coughing for a few seconds before finally heaving a dry, shuddered breath, and looking up at his tormentor.
“I think you should choose your boyfriends more wisely, don't you?” Guti asked innocently.
The man simply stared across at Silva, whose shoulders slumped slightly, and Rafa realised. He recognised the face, remembering the first time he'd seen it, that chilly night in February when Raúl and Guti had first shown up since New Year's. He remembered Silva's double-take, and his eyes always sliding back to the young man despite Rafa yelling at him to pay attention and focus on the other civilians. He remembered the way Silva's expression softened that night, the way he persistently asked what was going to happen to the injured man who had stolen his affections, the way he acted as though he was the only one who needed saving. And Rafa realised that, since that night, this one had been a little more special than the others.
“It's me, David,” Silva whispered.
“Enough with the introductions!” Guti snapped. “You, get back in line.”
The man continued to gaze in bewilderment at Silva as he stumbled his way back to the far wall, the civilians on both of his sides grabbing him and asking in terrified voices if he was okay. Rafa watched, still stunned, as the man shrugged them off, refusing to take his eyes off Silva.
“Now, where was I?” Guti mused. “Oh, right, ruining you. You see, my friends, you have been led to believe that it was myself and Raúl who were responsible for all those deaths at New Year's - for the sudden eruption of a volcano which had been sleeping for hundreds of years. You've been told that we betrayed the Force, that we plotted our friends' demise.”
“You did,” Rafa snapped.
“And who told you that?”
“José, he -”
“Exactly.”
Guti's eyes were twinkling as Rafa stared back at him in disbelief, Silva and Cesc frozen beside him.
“What - what do you mean?”
“I mean that José fucked us over and never had to pay for it. Until now.”
* * * * *
The last thing Sergio remembered was Gago telling him that he was very sorry, before pushing him into the back of a cab with Raúl already sitting inside, immediately pressing a gun to his head. Forced into his own apartment, Sergio hadn't uttered a single word - a remarkable incidence in itself, given that Sergio was always partial to an unwelcome comment here and there. More remarkable, however, was the sudden return of his memory as soon as that car door had slammed, and his eyes flew in terror to the window, through which he'd seen the sad goodbye in Gago's eyes.
He was pushed into the corner of his living room, Raúl snappishly telling him to avoid the trail of gunpowder leading from his own feet to Sergio's. Sergio had obeyed, under constant threat of the gun pointed in his direction, and the knowledge that his old friends were most likely in danger too, all the more so if he refused to cooperate.
Barely a minute had passed, during which Sergio found himself overwhelmed with memories of Fernando and the Force, when footsteps suddenly came pounding through the open door of his apartment and he found himself staring hopelessly at the man he had forgotten to love.
“How did you get here?” he asked in awe.
“Xabi,” Fernando explained breathlessly. “Fastest fucking horse I've ever seen.”
“I'm so sorry,” Sergio whispered as Fernando pulled out a gun from his pocket.
Fernando shook his head, looking at Raúl. “I knew it,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I fucking knew it.”
Behind Fernando were Xabi, Steven and José, their eyes falling to the gunpowder on the floor, and Raúl suddenly smiled and lit the end closest to himself. With a wave of Raúl's hand, a hissing flame arose, and ever so slowly began to travel up towards Sergio's trembling frame.
“And now we begin,” Raúl said, sickeningly malicious and satisfied with his work. “Alright boys - and man,” he added with a mocking nod to José, “here's the deal. If you go for the greater good and save the civilians, Sergio here feels the burn. And of course, if you let the good people of Despertia die, you will all be blamed for their deaths. Gerrard here will make sure of that, won't you?”
Sergio's eyes flew to Steven, who merely gaped and stammered some non-words in pathetic self-defence.
“You've already collected evidence, taken photos of headquarters, and so on,” Raúl explained as though he were speaking to a small child. “They're all in a bag under your desk at work. Or did Gago neglect to tell you that bit?”
“How - how do you - did I do that?” Steven asked, stunned.
“Gerrard, Gerrard - I'm the one who planned it. Why would I have gotten you such a fabulous managerial position - CEO, no less - unless I had some use for you? Thanks, by the way, for keeping all of those Stentor journalists at bay over the past few months - I could never have planned something of this magnitude without arousing suspicion if you hadn't conveniently steered each and every reporter out of my way.” Raúl's grin widened. “As well as providing me with some priceless information on the Force - for which, by the way, I am very grateful - you have the unique opportunity to reveal your colleagues' identities to the world. If those civilians die, you'll be the good citizen who turns up with the evidence to get Torres, Ramos, Silva, Fàbregas - and, of course, the coaches - convicted. Gago will make sure of that.”
Everyone merely stared at Raúl in horror, Sergio's eyes flicking down to the fiery trail as the ticking clock over his mantlepiece reminded him of the lack of time they had at their disposal.
“What about me?” he demanded through the silence. “Why did you send Gago to me?”
“Oh, you did your job early, and you did it admirably. Pushing Fernando under the microscope of the police - and the entire city, really - was the best start I could have hoped for. What better way to break down the Force than to have one hero turn in another?”
“Why?” Fernando shouted, his gun still pointed at Raúl, while Raúl kept his directed at Sergio. “Why break us down?”
“Because . . . it was the only way to get the perfect revenge.” Raúl paused, looked up at the clock and let out a little chuckle, clearly relishing the time slipping away. “We thought about it long and hard, but really, hitting you where it hurt the most seemed to be the most appropriate M.O. - attacking all of your weaknesses. And since there's no better teacher than experience, we used every mistake we made and turned them into your mistakes. If we had to have our minds controlled by Gago, then you would, too.”
The room remained silent, everyone gazing intently at Raúl, who was clearly enjoying the attention.
“There's a reason why Beckham's name - and his true identity as a superhero - was revealed last year, why his orphanage suddenly went bankrupt, why that first news report - written admirably by your friend, Daniel Agger; do be sure to congratulate him for me,” Raúl nodded towards Xabi, “ why that report signaled the beginning of the end of my Force.” He paused yet again. “I'm afraid José isn't what he's cracked up to be,” he said softly, as all heads turned to look at the coach, whose face had grown steadily paler in the past few minutes. “So our aim all along has been to show the world what he really is, and to teach him that his own blind ambition can hurt him, too.”
Chapter 6 is continued here.
Chapter: 6 / 6 (Part A)
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, and for the wait since the last chapter. Thanks to all those who have read and commented on this fic - I'm thrilled that you've enjoyed it so far, hope that you like the finale, and very much appreciate all of your lovely feedback. This chapter is split into two, because it's apparently too long for one post.
Feedback > life. If you feel the need to give constructive criticism, please do.
Previous parts: Part I - Part II - Part III - Part IV - Part V
It was colder than it had been during the night - or maybe it just felt that way if you didn't sleep properly, if your room didn't have heating, if your bed-springs dug into your back every time you moved. Silva felt his skin prickling gingerly as the wind scraped it, underneath a near-absent sun.
The light outdoors was so feeble that he didn't have to hold his hands by his face and press the sides against the glass in order to see inside properly, as he had in previous weeks. The howling wind drowned out the flustered conversation of the men he had once worked with, and he instead imagined their voices, remembering that last night he'd heard them. Santi still seemed to be complaining about something, he noticed with a small smile.
He was tired of that jolt that his stomach gave whenever he saw Villa, but there it was again. It was all the more painful because Villa himself seemed sadder, quieter, fully recovered yet somehow weak, as Silva watched him serving tables with a forced smile and vague glances over the diners' heads as if to look for somebody. Or so Silva assumed - he had to miss him, surely.
He wondered which Silva he did miss - the hero, or the ordinary guy - or whether Villa had put two and two together. If he hadn't, it was most likely that he missed the hero, Silva reflected sadly. He didn't think he'd ever left much of an impression on him with his actual face, his non-life, his shyness.
Silva quickly jumped back and bowed his head as Villa looked up again, his eyes darting towards the window. With a cap, large hoodie and sunglasses, it would have been a surprise had Silva been recognised at all. But he turned and walked away all the same, as he did every evening, with a heavy heart and yet more longing to get the big day over with.
On his way to Álvaro's to stock up on last-minute supplies (a trip he wasn't looking forward to, as Álvaro had grown snappish and catty ever since Kun had walked out on him without any notice) and to no doubt endure yet another half-hour lecture from the coaches, Silva walked quickly along the footpath and kept his head bowed. He was staring down at himself from posters plastered clumsily on street walls, the word “Wanted” flashing over the photos as a mocking reminder of the increasing difficulty with which he was facing each day - the missed phone calls had seemed to grow more frantic until they'd finally stopped, and his family and friends had given up.
Since the announcement of the largest charity function the city had seen in years, the papers had been dripping in news about it. Silva walked past a newspaper stand with Higuaín's satisfied face smiling proudly up at him - the idiot clearly had no clue what could potentially happen at his precious party. Rafa and José, however, seemed to be blind to nothing, training the Force harder than they could possibly have been prepared for. Their weapons stock had been increased ten-fold, making them almost impossible to lug around everywhere as they changed motels every third night - Silva's skills were often called upon for transportation, but the task remained time-consuming and risky. When he tried to sleep at night, every time he closed his eyes, he envisioned all those hypotheticals that the coaches had laid out, spectacular and terrifying visions of everything they might face haunting the moments he should have had to himself; his fears made all the worse whenever he remembered Villa and the danger that he too was in, and the rapidly fading memories of being by his side.
He sighed as he walked. This was no life.
* * * * *
In the three months since the attack at Stentor TV's party, the city had been remarkably peaceful, with not so much as a glimmer of Raúl and Guti. But the police were still after the Force, and there was always the threat of Drogba seeing their faces in a vision, as José in particular feared he would. So the heroes and their coaches remained firmly, painfully, in hiding - except for Steven. Because nobody suspected Steven of anything.
He reasoned that it was hardly likely that Drogba should come after him when he already had the names and faces of every other hero - especially since Steven had never shown up with the others on those occasions when disaster had struck, and so, as far as anyone knew, there was no Healer to search for in the first place. Steven, CEO of Stentor TV, was the least likely candidate anyway, and he had absolutely no intention of arousing suspicion by doing something so crude as hiding. The reason why the world was hunting Steven's friends was because they had been stupid enough to let them. Steven was not about to make that mistake.
So he ignored the coaches' instructions and continued to live his public life. Where Silva, Cesc, Fernando, Xabi (surprisingly), and even Rafa and José found their pictures stamped all over the front pages accompanied by appeals to the public to report any sightings of “these armed and dangerous men responsible for irreconcilable damage”, Steven's photograph was shrouded in the glory of being the new big shot in town. People recognised him in the street, and unlike Silva (who insisted upon walking everywhere because it “cleared his head”), he met them with a friendly smile rather than escaping into thin air for fear of imprisonment. He had no reason to hide, and every reason to remain seen. Because nobody suspected him of anything.
He rarely saw Sergio at work, and when he did, he pretended not to notice him. It was Iker's job to fraternise with the journalists, so Steven let him get on with it, however much he grumbled and seemed to despise Steven for it. Since Sergio was no longer in the Force, it made no sense to form any sort of personal association with him. Besides, Sergio didn't seem to remember any prior acquaintance with Steven anyway, which he could only attribute to Gago and his mind-warping. There was no apparent recognition at all when they would accidentally cross paths, at the building entrance, or in a bathroom. But this didn't concern Steven - if anything, it reassured him. The less he saw of Sergio, the better, given all of the measures the Force was taking to avoid all contact with the outside world. And Sergio was now very much a part of that outside world.
Rafa and José remained concerned that Gago's control over Sergio surely meant that his superhuman strength could be used against them by Raúl and Guti in the future. But Steven, who seemed to be the only one still with his wits about him, was sure that if such an instance eventuated, it would be at the charity event - until then, there were no community events big enough to attack, nothing like a huge gala at the Town Hall or the biggest television network party the community had seen in years. So he convinced them to keep tabs on Sergio only once that day came around, and forget about him for the time being. For now, their focus had to remain solely fixed on Raúl, Guti, and the apparently more dangerous Fernando Gago.
Steven remembered those first few instances when Gago had turned up at his door, by his side at the party, in the back seat of his chauffered car. But he couldn't recall having given up any information whatsoever. As panicked as he had been when he saw Gago's photo in Higuaín's office, after thinking long and hard, he realised that he hadn't really been put under his spell at all. Gago had merely offered him a job, which now saw Steven making more money than he could ever have imagined, and for a week, he'd checked up on Steven at random moments to make sure that he was settling in okay. Steven didn't understand it, and soon gave up trying to. After all, Gago hadn't even dropped the slightest suggestion that he knew Steven had anything at all to do with the Force - he, too, was only present in Steven's outside world, and nothing more.
All in all, Steven was cruising along at quite a fine pace. He had finally landed an enviable and prosperous job, he was helping the Force by training and turning up to each meeting, always ready just in case something happened, his healing ability had never been stronger than after weeks and weeks of practice on everything from injured birds to hobos in the street, and he, of all the heroes, was safe from persecution. Xabi attacked him in meetings, saying that he was in denial, that there was clearly something wrong. Steven pointed to Fernando in these cases, testament to the fact that a run-in with Gago did not automatically equal loss of mind. As far as Steven was concerned, he had no recollection of anything being wrong. Everything was perfectly right - all the more so because he didn't miss Xabi one bit.
* * * * *
The final meeting before the big event was surprisingly calm. Cesc had expected lots of frantic run-throughs of every plan for every possible catastrophe, but Rafa had simply walked in, told them that they should have been adequately prepared by that stage, and suggested that they go back to the gym at headquarters for a last physical boost. Cesc was relieved - every meeting had seen him sitting tensely on the edge of his seat, completely and utterly terrified that he was going to be caught out as the traitor he was.
He knew that they wouldn't be angry, necessarily - after all, having your mind controlled by a piece of slime like Gago was hardly preventable, was it? But he remembered all the warnings that Rafa had given him, telling him to be careful. And, caught up in the glory of becoming a proper superhero, one who saved people and foiled elaborate plots for destruction, Cesc had to admit that he should perhaps have checked who his driver was before sliding into that car.
In the gym, Fernando was arguing with Rafa in the corner about something as the coach fiddled absently with stopwatches. After the announcement of Fernando's prison escape had been plastered all over the newspapers and on Stentor News, Silva had convinced Fernando to stop hiding from Rafa and José - they were all in the same boat now. Rafa had reacted badly, screaming at the blonde about his carelessness, demanding to know how he could have been so stupid as to wander around the town, invisible or not, knowing that the police were on his tail. But the need to build a force as strong as possible soon outweighed Rafa's fury - with a little pacifistic cajoling on José's part - and Fernando had rejoined them, no longer alone in his exile.
As Cesc watched, Xabi was transforming into different animals every five seconds as he lugged and pushed a weight across the room in record time, preparing himself just in case he had to knock over barriers or transport people away from harm. Cesc couldn't shake a feeling of awe - Xabi's skills had improved immensely since they'd been shielded from all possibilities of a social life and had nothing but this to do. The same went for Silva, who had always been one of the most talented in the Force, but had nonetheless gotten yet quicker in recent weeks. They both seemed somewhat sullen, a strange hollowness marring their determined expressions as they trained, but how hard they trained was all that mattered now.
Steven was simply running on a treadmill. Lacking the physical skills of the others, Steven's combat training had been limited to conventional gym work - running, cycling, weights. Cesc admired his hard work - for a man who had spent so long shying away from man-on-man fights and preferred to remain behind the scenes, the turnaround was remarkable. The others had noticed troubling changes in him - quietness, evasiveness, his reluctance to answer questions or share his thoughts - and attributed them to Gago. But Steven always denied it, and Cesc - well, he understood.
“Cesc!” José roared from the floor below. Cesc looked down, his heart jumping a little at the sudden shout as he wavered a little in mid-air. “Will you stop staring into space and get a move on!”
“Sorry, boss!” Cesc called back down. José grumbled as he readied his stopwatch, Cesc just stopping himself from rolling his eyes - trust José to do nearly nothing for six months before panicking and putting his foot down once it got too late.
Cesc quickly moved over to the side of the gym, and on José's signal, flew quickly across the length of the room at what he hoped was close to record speed. At this stage, it was all about pace, outrunning and outwitting their enemies - or so Rafa had drilled into them, with José nodding reluctantly by his side. Until now, at least.
“Not fast enough, Cesc!” José announced disapprovingly through the noise that Xabi was making. “You were almost a whole second slower than yesterday. What's wrong with you? Focus, kid!”
“I'm sorry,” Cesc said again.
José pursed his lips, looking away. “It's alright,” he muttered. “I didn't mean to yell at you, it's not your fault that you're slow.”
Cesc raised his eyebrows at José's failed attempt at kindness. “I'm sorry,” he repeated.
He was used to apologising by now, having done so every day since that meeting when he'd waved his stolen papers in everyone's faces and proudly relayed his computer-hacking exploits to his impressed peers. Because as much as he hid behind his achievement, there was always the knowledge of what he had done and how he had all but single-handedly caused this mess, unwittingly, but crucially, which weighed him down with guilt and made him more paranoid than he'd ever thought it was possible to be.
Because it was Cesc who had given Gago everyone's names, addresses, work details, strengths and weaknesses, plans and pasts. It was his faltering will in the face of Gago's immense ability which had given him all he'd wanted and filled in the information gaps which Sergio, having abandoned the Force, could no longer provide. It was Cesc's fault that they were in hiding.
* * * * *
Xabi had woken up with butterflies in his stomach, and they remained with him until he'd taken his position near the gates of the city park. The once empty grass was strewn with chairs, tables, stalls, stages - the set-up was impeccable, and people were flooding in. The huge tin cans everywhere were constantly clanging with dropped coins falling to their bases, Xabi wincing every time, already jumpy without needing sudden noises to add to his anxiety.
He was disguised, if a little crudely, in the get-up that Silva so often sported. However ineffectual it was when people really looked at him, sunglasses and a hat were basically the only available options unless you had Fernando's power. But in the safety of a car, courtesy of the ever resourceful Álvaro, and with comprehensive weaponry lining his backseat, he was surely safe enough.
He had caught a glimpse of Sergio as he had been circling the park earlier that morning to look for a parking spot. Sergio was standing close to the entrance with a cameraman, talking excitedly and peering around the grounds. Stentor TV had gotten exclusive rights to the coverage of the event, Xabi noted with lingering bitterness - despite being detached from his job for months now, he couldn't help but cringe at the competitive blow. It was all the more painful knowing that Steven was probably at the helm, with Gago dictating his every move. Xabi wondered why Raúl and Guti were so determined to gain full control over Stentor, and in turn, why Stentor was being fed so much information, but it was yet to make any sense. Xabi tried not to think about it too much, anyway - that was Rafa and José's job - as it was considerably painful to have Steven infiltrating his head all the time.
Sergio had since disappeared from that spot on the edge of the park, leaving Xabi free to observe the area without any distractions. Ever the professional, he scratched all thought of Steven and betrayal and the broken home he'd left behind, and focused entirely on the job at hand - he had always been good at separating his personal and professional lives. With intricate plans of the event (the result of Cesc's snooping), and details of Stentor's journalists' schedules (provided by Steven, Xabi remembered with a slight stabbing feeling), the Force was well prepared.
Limousines were pulling up, one after the other for a good few hours, B- and C-list celebrities pouring out and flashing their sparkling jewellery as they handed out oversized cheques that were probably worth only half of their hotel costs for the night, and television personalities (from Stentor, of course) dished out inspiring speeches. It was all something of a farce, Xabi reflected as lunchtime rolled around and Higuaín finally turned up and smugly announced, to resounding applause, the money total raised so far. Stalls selling cheap merchandise to people who had probably contributed to their manufacture, the lingering murmurs that the city's money should have been spent on the crumbling architecture of its public libraries rather than fancy transportation for politicians - it was entirely too ridiculous, yet it was incredible how blind people became when those in power pretended to put on a humanitarian face for a day.
Xabi grew increasingly bitter as the day wore on, hot and long, while he was stuck in the car with nobody for company and only his own depressed thoughts to distract him from the tedious task of searching for trouble in the crowd. Everything seemed to be going fine, and by the time the sun began to set, it was all he could do to stop himself from thinking about how much he needed the bathroom. Restless and irritable, he nonetheless remembered Rafa's strict order: Do not leave your post, or they will attack. So he stayed put, however reluctantly, and waited impatiently through his strange disappointment at the lack of disaster.
* * * * *
It all happened very suddenly. Silva had been watching the Stentor crew packing up their vans on the far side of the park from the driver's seat of his car, the now-familiar face of Iker Casillas looking tired but satisfied with a good day's work, and undoubtedly a vast amount of crowd-pleasing charity stories.
Silva's breath had hitched in his throat as he saw Sergio, at the edge of the group, suddenly joined by Gago, and he sank lower in his seat, acutely aware of Gago's power and absolutely determined not to reveal himself in his line of sight. Gago had whispered something to Sergio, and Sergio had frowned and shaken his head. Silva's phone had rung, and he'd bent down to pick it up from the passenger's seat where he'd carelessly thrown it that morning. And as soon as he'd lifted his head, Sergio and Gago were gone.
This itself was no cause for panic - concern, yes, but not outright panic. It was never a good thing to see anyone disappear with Gago, but since it was Sergio, well, Silva reasoned that he was too far gone anyway. It was the voice on the end of the phone line which caused the panic.
“You have sixty minutes to choose between saving Sergio and saving one hundred civilians. Should you choose Sergio, your reputations will be destroyed completely, we will expose you once and for all, and the only light you will see will be shining through the bars on your prison cell windows. Choose the civilians, and our game continues. The choice is yours, hero.”
Silva heard his own breath quicken against the silence at the other end of the line. “Where - where are they?”
“Home. Your time has started.”
* * * * *
He was terrified, of course. Of all the hypotheticals, from the reasonable to the ludicrous, this was one that had escaped his imagination and now left him completely lost. In a surge of self-doubt and disappointment, he registered Silva's words, staring at him as though his face would provide some sign that this wasn't actually happening. But, his responsible side taking over as Silva impatiently grabbed his shoulder and shook it, Rafa dragged himself out of his horror and told the boy to get Cesc, not bothering with costumes and masks - there was simply no time.
The news had traveled fast among the heroes - Raúl and Guti had called Xabi and Fernando as well, who in turn had phoned Rafa, who himself had just had Silva appear in front of him. And just like that, he realised that they'd all underestimated their foes, that knowing the stall arrangements for the charity function was ultimately useless, that there would always be a way to outwit the mind of Rafael Benítez.
“Don't think like that,” Cesc said quickly, peering at Rafa with concern, seconds after arriving back at the coach's post behind the main stage in the park.
“Don't think like what?”
“Don't get all disillusioned and shocked and start feeling like you haven't done your job - it's too late for that, we need to figure out what to do!”
“How long do we have?” Rafa asked.
“Fifty-five minutes,” Silva answered immediately. “Rafa - I - I think I know where home is.”
Rafa merely raised his eyebrows.
“Headquarters.”
“But they don't know where headquarters is -”
“Of course they do - Sergio must have told them ages ago! It was only a matter of time before they decided to attack it! What else could 'home' possibly mean? Think about it, boss - it's been our refuge for the past three months! If that's not home, I don't know what is.”
“I think he's right,” Cesc nodded furiously.
Rafa stared at them both in wonder. “You thought of all that in five minutes?” he asked Silva in awe.
Silva shrugged helplessly. “Well, I guess when these things happen, there's no point taking time to register it all. You just - you know . . . act.”
Rafa nodded, pushing his fatherly pride towards his student's quick-thinking to the back of his mind. “Okay,” he said, as Silva and Cesc listened attentively, “if the civilians are at headquarters, we stay there. We'll need your ability to transport them. But if Sergio's there, we'll have to figure out where this other 'home' place is, alright boys?” They both nodded. “We can leave the others to take care of Sergio. Xabi's power, combined with the weapons, should be enough physical force -”
“So we're going to save Sergio as well?” Cesc asked.
“Of course we are,” Silva said instantly before grabbing Cesc and Rafa by the arms. “Welcome to the Force,” he added before taking them away.
The far wall of the gym at headquarters was lined with one hundred civilians, a mix of genders and ages, all identical in their terror. They trembled and clung to each other in complete silence, gazing at the figure opposite, hoping desperately that he would leave them unharmed. Each piece of equipment in the room had been pushed to the side walls, leaving a massive expanse of space in the middle of the floor. Rafa, Silva and Cesc landed here, and looked up to see Guti standing over them.
“Ah, so you did decide to split up, after all.”
Guti walked casually back towards the wall opposite the civilians, throwing them a glance before turning back to Rafa and his students, who were scrambling to their feet and looking around with heightening tension. Rafa clenched his jaw as, on either side of him, Silva and Cesc quickly reached for their guns.
“Oh, no you don't,” Guti said, smiling a little as he raised his hand. “With one flick of my wrist, these civilians will all be dying a very watery death. We don't want that, do we?”
“What do you want?” Rafa asked, as intrigued as he was horrified.
“We want to ruin you,” Guti said slowly. “Ruin you the way that we were ruined - using the same weapons, the same slimy tricks. We want the Force to be hated the way that we are hated.”
“Give us a proper answer,” Silva snarled, raising his gun as a little girl in the line behind him began to cry, Rafa noticing Cesc's head snapping around quickly at the sound.
“Now, now, play nicely. Trust me, you do not want me to take preventative measures here,” Guti said lightly but with a dangerous steeliness in his eyes.
“What do you mean by 'ruining us the way that you were ruined'?” Cesc asked, his voice shaking slightly, Rafa dying a little inside at the sound.
“Now, I'm glad you asked that question,” Guti said, his smile widening as he took a step forward.
In a split second, Silva had shot his gun at the wall behind Guti, the civilians screaming as they watched.
“Don't you come near us!” Silva roared.
“Oh, you just made a terrible mistake,” Guti said darkly, raising his hand again.
Rafa and the heroes turned around to see what Guti was doing, and, his stomach dropping, Rafa saw a short young man from the line being dragged forwards by a rope tied around his waist into the middle of the room.
“David,” Silva whispered, his voice full of dread.
“Yes, I thought you might recognise this one,” Guti said, relishing Silva's horror. And, Guti's hand jerking just slightly, the young man started spluttering and coughing up water.
Silva screamed out and ran forwards, only to see the man pulled roughly to the ground and dragged further away by the rope. Silva froze as the man was pulled, torso-first, along the floor, leaving behind a trail of water that had escaped from his insides. His face turned red as water continued to spill out from his lips, veins on his neck pulsing as he choked, clearly in agony.
Silva vanished and reappeared by the man's side, only to be unceremoniously blocked off by a sheild of ice forming around the man within a second, produced by a flick of Guti's finger.
“If you want it to end,” Guti said slowly, as the other civilians began shouting, begging for mercy, “you'll let me finish my story.”
“Fine, finish your story,” Rafa said at once, as Silva's chest rose and fell sharply in front of him. “Just stop, now. Please.”
“Very well.”
Guti waved his hand again to stop the relentless flow of water from the man's lungs. He lay there coughing for a few seconds before finally heaving a dry, shuddered breath, and looking up at his tormentor.
“I think you should choose your boyfriends more wisely, don't you?” Guti asked innocently.
The man simply stared across at Silva, whose shoulders slumped slightly, and Rafa realised. He recognised the face, remembering the first time he'd seen it, that chilly night in February when Raúl and Guti had first shown up since New Year's. He remembered Silva's double-take, and his eyes always sliding back to the young man despite Rafa yelling at him to pay attention and focus on the other civilians. He remembered the way Silva's expression softened that night, the way he persistently asked what was going to happen to the injured man who had stolen his affections, the way he acted as though he was the only one who needed saving. And Rafa realised that, since that night, this one had been a little more special than the others.
“It's me, David,” Silva whispered.
“Enough with the introductions!” Guti snapped. “You, get back in line.”
The man continued to gaze in bewilderment at Silva as he stumbled his way back to the far wall, the civilians on both of his sides grabbing him and asking in terrified voices if he was okay. Rafa watched, still stunned, as the man shrugged them off, refusing to take his eyes off Silva.
“Now, where was I?” Guti mused. “Oh, right, ruining you. You see, my friends, you have been led to believe that it was myself and Raúl who were responsible for all those deaths at New Year's - for the sudden eruption of a volcano which had been sleeping for hundreds of years. You've been told that we betrayed the Force, that we plotted our friends' demise.”
“You did,” Rafa snapped.
“And who told you that?”
“José, he -”
“Exactly.”
Guti's eyes were twinkling as Rafa stared back at him in disbelief, Silva and Cesc frozen beside him.
“What - what do you mean?”
“I mean that José fucked us over and never had to pay for it. Until now.”
* * * * *
The last thing Sergio remembered was Gago telling him that he was very sorry, before pushing him into the back of a cab with Raúl already sitting inside, immediately pressing a gun to his head. Forced into his own apartment, Sergio hadn't uttered a single word - a remarkable incidence in itself, given that Sergio was always partial to an unwelcome comment here and there. More remarkable, however, was the sudden return of his memory as soon as that car door had slammed, and his eyes flew in terror to the window, through which he'd seen the sad goodbye in Gago's eyes.
He was pushed into the corner of his living room, Raúl snappishly telling him to avoid the trail of gunpowder leading from his own feet to Sergio's. Sergio had obeyed, under constant threat of the gun pointed in his direction, and the knowledge that his old friends were most likely in danger too, all the more so if he refused to cooperate.
Barely a minute had passed, during which Sergio found himself overwhelmed with memories of Fernando and the Force, when footsteps suddenly came pounding through the open door of his apartment and he found himself staring hopelessly at the man he had forgotten to love.
“How did you get here?” he asked in awe.
“Xabi,” Fernando explained breathlessly. “Fastest fucking horse I've ever seen.”
“I'm so sorry,” Sergio whispered as Fernando pulled out a gun from his pocket.
Fernando shook his head, looking at Raúl. “I knew it,” he muttered through clenched teeth. “I fucking knew it.”
Behind Fernando were Xabi, Steven and José, their eyes falling to the gunpowder on the floor, and Raúl suddenly smiled and lit the end closest to himself. With a wave of Raúl's hand, a hissing flame arose, and ever so slowly began to travel up towards Sergio's trembling frame.
“And now we begin,” Raúl said, sickeningly malicious and satisfied with his work. “Alright boys - and man,” he added with a mocking nod to José, “here's the deal. If you go for the greater good and save the civilians, Sergio here feels the burn. And of course, if you let the good people of Despertia die, you will all be blamed for their deaths. Gerrard here will make sure of that, won't you?”
Sergio's eyes flew to Steven, who merely gaped and stammered some non-words in pathetic self-defence.
“You've already collected evidence, taken photos of headquarters, and so on,” Raúl explained as though he were speaking to a small child. “They're all in a bag under your desk at work. Or did Gago neglect to tell you that bit?”
“How - how do you - did I do that?” Steven asked, stunned.
“Gerrard, Gerrard - I'm the one who planned it. Why would I have gotten you such a fabulous managerial position - CEO, no less - unless I had some use for you? Thanks, by the way, for keeping all of those Stentor journalists at bay over the past few months - I could never have planned something of this magnitude without arousing suspicion if you hadn't conveniently steered each and every reporter out of my way.” Raúl's grin widened. “As well as providing me with some priceless information on the Force - for which, by the way, I am very grateful - you have the unique opportunity to reveal your colleagues' identities to the world. If those civilians die, you'll be the good citizen who turns up with the evidence to get Torres, Ramos, Silva, Fàbregas - and, of course, the coaches - convicted. Gago will make sure of that.”
Everyone merely stared at Raúl in horror, Sergio's eyes flicking down to the fiery trail as the ticking clock over his mantlepiece reminded him of the lack of time they had at their disposal.
“What about me?” he demanded through the silence. “Why did you send Gago to me?”
“Oh, you did your job early, and you did it admirably. Pushing Fernando under the microscope of the police - and the entire city, really - was the best start I could have hoped for. What better way to break down the Force than to have one hero turn in another?”
“Why?” Fernando shouted, his gun still pointed at Raúl, while Raúl kept his directed at Sergio. “Why break us down?”
“Because . . . it was the only way to get the perfect revenge.” Raúl paused, looked up at the clock and let out a little chuckle, clearly relishing the time slipping away. “We thought about it long and hard, but really, hitting you where it hurt the most seemed to be the most appropriate M.O. - attacking all of your weaknesses. And since there's no better teacher than experience, we used every mistake we made and turned them into your mistakes. If we had to have our minds controlled by Gago, then you would, too.”
The room remained silent, everyone gazing intently at Raúl, who was clearly enjoying the attention.
“There's a reason why Beckham's name - and his true identity as a superhero - was revealed last year, why his orphanage suddenly went bankrupt, why that first news report - written admirably by your friend, Daniel Agger; do be sure to congratulate him for me,” Raúl nodded towards Xabi, “ why that report signaled the beginning of the end of my Force.” He paused yet again. “I'm afraid José isn't what he's cracked up to be,” he said softly, as all heads turned to look at the coach, whose face had grown steadily paler in the past few minutes. “So our aim all along has been to show the world what he really is, and to teach him that his own blind ambition can hurt him, too.”
Chapter 6 is continued here.