Fic
Title: Fic (I am far too tired to think of a name; any ideas would be greatly appreciated)
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Everyone is innocent until proven guilty
N/A: I’ve just written this to get what I’m feeling off my chest. I’m completely and utterly furious with the way AVB snubbed Frank yesterday (see any of the daily newspapers for further reference or indeed AVB’s post-match interview).
My fics usually have happy/hopeful endings but be warned; I was feeling in a pretty hopeless mood.
Oh and I adore JT, I’m not bashing him; I don’t believe he’d behave like this. I am however bashing AVB, and I make no apology for it.
The journey home was a long one to say the least. They should have been happy, they had won for the first time in weeks, but John’s mood was being crushed by the oppressively frigid atmosphere. Almost every other player had turned around to stare questioningly at the man he was sat next to and then, when they quickly realised they would be getting no answers, looked hopefully at him.
John knew why they were staring and he really couldn’t blame them but what did annoy him were the different expressions on their faces. The consoling half-smiles from Petr, Didi, Ash, Branislav and Danny contrasted starkly with the accusatory glances of some of the newer, younger lads, those who felt they owed their loyalty entirely to AVB. It was frighteningly clear that this team was more fractured than a victim in a motorcycle accident and it was this that truly angered him. Well, that and the fact that the 89th minute match winner sat next to him had a face like thunder and seemed far more interested in the window than ever acknowledging his presence. John knew this meant only one thing; Frank was desperately upset.
It was clear to everyone why; he had got the team out of jail tonight yet the manager had refused to comment about him in his post-match interview and had not said a word to him in the dressing room or on this coach. Frank had never been snubbed as rudely as this, and it showed. What made it far worse was that John knew that Frank had done absolutely nothing to deserve it.
John took the hand Frank had left resting on the seat between them, spread his fingers through the gaps between his, and squeezed it comfortingly.
“It’s okay; I’m here.” John said quietly. Frank’s face instantly softened and his whole body seemed to sigh. The sadness in his eyes was now more evident, to John at least, but he was grateful he wasn’t so tense. They sat like that for a good while, Frank’s head slowly making its way onto John’s shoulder, and it was the most relaxed that John had felt the entire journey.
A while later John saw the manager turn round, notice the way they were sat, and a shadow instantly cloud his features. What could only be described as a blind fury filled his eyes.
“Terry!” he shouted, and John rolled his eyes exasperatedly, wondering why nothing was ever easy. He tried to pretend he hadn’t heard, despite having been looking straight at him.
“Terry! Come here, I want to talk to you.” John felt like he wanted to throttle him but he really had no choice. He looked at Frank who had moved quickly back towards the window and was not surprised to see that his expression had hardened once more.
John got up and walked to the front of the bus where Villas Boas was sat. He was about to ask what he wanted but as he opened his mouth to speak he was interrupted.
“A captain should sit at the front of the bus. Not at the back. Sit there.” Villas Boas said quite matter-of-factly, pointing to an empty seat in front of him.
This was wrong, so wrong. He knew he should bloody well be able to sit in any seat he wanted. He looked back at Frank but he’d pulled a book out of his bag and was hiding his face in it. The thought suddenly came into John’s head that this would be by far the easiest, most peaceful option. He was tired of trying to comfort and placate Frank; the prospect of having to walk back and start all over again was beginning to seem nothing more than highly irksome. So John sat down in the seat he was told to. He felt slightly guilty but didn’t think much of it until he glimpsed the smug smile on AVB’s face. It gave him an awful feeling that he had done something he would soon come to regret.
*
The stadium was eerily quiet, strange and empty at this time of night. As soon as the bus stopped John had made up his mind to grab Frank when they got off; he had wanted to make sure he was okay and to apologise for having to move. John wasn’t even sure what room they’d ended up in, but he knew they shouldn’t be there. That however, was the least of his problems right now.
“Sorry about that.” John began, knowing he didn’t need to be more specific.
“It’s alright.” Frank attempted to reassure him, but there was no sincerity in his eyes and he refused to look at him properly.
“I couldn’t just have ignored him, you know I couldn’t.”
“Of course not, don’t worry about it mate. See you tomorrow.” He turned quickly to leave but John grabbed his hand.
“Frank look, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve told you, it’s alright. Goodnight.” He said this last word very forcefully. John knew it was a warning to let him go.
“You’ve always been a poor liar, Frank. You’re upset I know you are!” He realised very quickly what he had done when he saw anger flare up in Frank’s eyes. The only rule when Frank was truly upset was that it was never stated that Frank was upset; and John had gone and done exactly that. He had just committed a cardinal sin; there was no way back. He braced himself for what he thought would be a torrent or Frank’s anger but nothing happened. Frank just stared at him, waiting.
“What on earth do you want me to do, Frank?!” John shouted exasperatedly when the silence and tension finally became too much.
“I want you to stand up for what you think is right! Not kowtow to his every beck and call!” Frank bellowed, pulling his hand out of John’s grasp and turning away.
“I want you to support me, not pity me!”
“It’d only make things worse! You know what he thinks about us! He calls us fags any chance he gets! You didn’t see the way he looked at us earlier!”
“I don’t care what he thinks, John! I don’t…” Frank screamed, his voice breaking momentarily, “I don’t care about what… I care what you think! I care what you say and what you do! And you haven’t done anything that shows you’re bothered by this!”
He stopped screaming, emotionally drained, but he refused to turn back and face him. “And I don’t know what you think anymore…I don’t. Without you I’ve…I’m…” He couldn’t finish and he couldn’t say any more. Frank knew that John knew he was perilously close to blubbing; that his eyes were so full of tears that he could barely see the wall in front of him but he refused to let him hear it in his voice. Even if he was going to walk out of here, take everything and leave him with nothing he couldn’t bear being meaninglessly pitied any longer.
“You want to know what I think, Lampard?” John snapped with as much severity as possible. Even to him his voice sounded cruel. “I think I can’t do this anymore.” He pushed past him, strode out and slammed the door. Then he stood for a moment and listened. It was unmistakable and it stabbed at his chest; the sound of Frank breaking down and sobbing.
John felt the guilt gnawing in his stomach as he walked away. He knew, of course he did, that the way the manager was treating Frank was absolutely disgusting when he had given everything to this club for more than a decade. It was repulsive and it made him feel sick whenever he thought of it or saw it happen. What was far worse however was that he knew he had just hurt him so much more than anyone else at this club ever could. He wanted to run back in there, hug him and tell him that they would beat this injustice together. But he was terrified that if he showed what he really thought then he would be treated the same way and given his own current situation he’d be much easier to dispose of than Frank.
Frank had always found it easier to be selfless, John thought, he on the other hand, was weak. He was so fucking weak.
Ten years they had stood by each other. Ten years they had meant so much to each other.
Yet in the end it looked like it was coming down to the fact that holding on to the end of his career meant more to John than the man who had helped him through so much of it.
And he hated himself for this, because he knew none of it would mean anything without Frank.
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: Everyone is innocent until proven guilty
N/A: I’ve just written this to get what I’m feeling off my chest. I’m completely and utterly furious with the way AVB snubbed Frank yesterday (see any of the daily newspapers for further reference or indeed AVB’s post-match interview).
My fics usually have happy/hopeful endings but be warned; I was feeling in a pretty hopeless mood.
Oh and I adore JT, I’m not bashing him; I don’t believe he’d behave like this. I am however bashing AVB, and I make no apology for it.
The journey home was a long one to say the least. They should have been happy, they had won for the first time in weeks, but John’s mood was being crushed by the oppressively frigid atmosphere. Almost every other player had turned around to stare questioningly at the man he was sat next to and then, when they quickly realised they would be getting no answers, looked hopefully at him.
John knew why they were staring and he really couldn’t blame them but what did annoy him were the different expressions on their faces. The consoling half-smiles from Petr, Didi, Ash, Branislav and Danny contrasted starkly with the accusatory glances of some of the newer, younger lads, those who felt they owed their loyalty entirely to AVB. It was frighteningly clear that this team was more fractured than a victim in a motorcycle accident and it was this that truly angered him. Well, that and the fact that the 89th minute match winner sat next to him had a face like thunder and seemed far more interested in the window than ever acknowledging his presence. John knew this meant only one thing; Frank was desperately upset.
It was clear to everyone why; he had got the team out of jail tonight yet the manager had refused to comment about him in his post-match interview and had not said a word to him in the dressing room or on this coach. Frank had never been snubbed as rudely as this, and it showed. What made it far worse was that John knew that Frank had done absolutely nothing to deserve it.
John took the hand Frank had left resting on the seat between them, spread his fingers through the gaps between his, and squeezed it comfortingly.
“It’s okay; I’m here.” John said quietly. Frank’s face instantly softened and his whole body seemed to sigh. The sadness in his eyes was now more evident, to John at least, but he was grateful he wasn’t so tense. They sat like that for a good while, Frank’s head slowly making its way onto John’s shoulder, and it was the most relaxed that John had felt the entire journey.
A while later John saw the manager turn round, notice the way they were sat, and a shadow instantly cloud his features. What could only be described as a blind fury filled his eyes.
“Terry!” he shouted, and John rolled his eyes exasperatedly, wondering why nothing was ever easy. He tried to pretend he hadn’t heard, despite having been looking straight at him.
“Terry! Come here, I want to talk to you.” John felt like he wanted to throttle him but he really had no choice. He looked at Frank who had moved quickly back towards the window and was not surprised to see that his expression had hardened once more.
John got up and walked to the front of the bus where Villas Boas was sat. He was about to ask what he wanted but as he opened his mouth to speak he was interrupted.
“A captain should sit at the front of the bus. Not at the back. Sit there.” Villas Boas said quite matter-of-factly, pointing to an empty seat in front of him.
This was wrong, so wrong. He knew he should bloody well be able to sit in any seat he wanted. He looked back at Frank but he’d pulled a book out of his bag and was hiding his face in it. The thought suddenly came into John’s head that this would be by far the easiest, most peaceful option. He was tired of trying to comfort and placate Frank; the prospect of having to walk back and start all over again was beginning to seem nothing more than highly irksome. So John sat down in the seat he was told to. He felt slightly guilty but didn’t think much of it until he glimpsed the smug smile on AVB’s face. It gave him an awful feeling that he had done something he would soon come to regret.
*
The stadium was eerily quiet, strange and empty at this time of night. As soon as the bus stopped John had made up his mind to grab Frank when they got off; he had wanted to make sure he was okay and to apologise for having to move. John wasn’t even sure what room they’d ended up in, but he knew they shouldn’t be there. That however, was the least of his problems right now.
“Sorry about that.” John began, knowing he didn’t need to be more specific.
“It’s alright.” Frank attempted to reassure him, but there was no sincerity in his eyes and he refused to look at him properly.
“I couldn’t just have ignored him, you know I couldn’t.”
“Of course not, don’t worry about it mate. See you tomorrow.” He turned quickly to leave but John grabbed his hand.
“Frank look, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve told you, it’s alright. Goodnight.” He said this last word very forcefully. John knew it was a warning to let him go.
“You’ve always been a poor liar, Frank. You’re upset I know you are!” He realised very quickly what he had done when he saw anger flare up in Frank’s eyes. The only rule when Frank was truly upset was that it was never stated that Frank was upset; and John had gone and done exactly that. He had just committed a cardinal sin; there was no way back. He braced himself for what he thought would be a torrent or Frank’s anger but nothing happened. Frank just stared at him, waiting.
“What on earth do you want me to do, Frank?!” John shouted exasperatedly when the silence and tension finally became too much.
“I want you to stand up for what you think is right! Not kowtow to his every beck and call!” Frank bellowed, pulling his hand out of John’s grasp and turning away.
“I want you to support me, not pity me!”
“It’d only make things worse! You know what he thinks about us! He calls us fags any chance he gets! You didn’t see the way he looked at us earlier!”
“I don’t care what he thinks, John! I don’t…” Frank screamed, his voice breaking momentarily, “I don’t care about what… I care what you think! I care what you say and what you do! And you haven’t done anything that shows you’re bothered by this!”
He stopped screaming, emotionally drained, but he refused to turn back and face him. “And I don’t know what you think anymore…I don’t. Without you I’ve…I’m…” He couldn’t finish and he couldn’t say any more. Frank knew that John knew he was perilously close to blubbing; that his eyes were so full of tears that he could barely see the wall in front of him but he refused to let him hear it in his voice. Even if he was going to walk out of here, take everything and leave him with nothing he couldn’t bear being meaninglessly pitied any longer.
“You want to know what I think, Lampard?” John snapped with as much severity as possible. Even to him his voice sounded cruel. “I think I can’t do this anymore.” He pushed past him, strode out and slammed the door. Then he stood for a moment and listened. It was unmistakable and it stabbed at his chest; the sound of Frank breaking down and sobbing.
John felt the guilt gnawing in his stomach as he walked away. He knew, of course he did, that the way the manager was treating Frank was absolutely disgusting when he had given everything to this club for more than a decade. It was repulsive and it made him feel sick whenever he thought of it or saw it happen. What was far worse however was that he knew he had just hurt him so much more than anyone else at this club ever could. He wanted to run back in there, hug him and tell him that they would beat this injustice together. But he was terrified that if he showed what he really thought then he would be treated the same way and given his own current situation he’d be much easier to dispose of than Frank.
Frank had always found it easier to be selfless, John thought, he on the other hand, was weak. He was so fucking weak.
Ten years they had stood by each other. Ten years they had meant so much to each other.
Yet in the end it looked like it was coming down to the fact that holding on to the end of his career meant more to John than the man who had helped him through so much of it.
And he hated himself for this, because he knew none of it would mean anything without Frank.