Fic: Ultimatums
Title: Ultimatums
Pairing: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, very brief hint of Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Post match fic: Liverpool-Manchester City. Also contains some Daniel Agger contract issues. Probably contains more football than most other fics.
Word Count: 2148
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Ultimatum
They knew of the dangers this Manchester City side represented. They knew the players. More importantly, they knew what it meant should the result not go the way they want it to. The gap between first and second place opening wider still. They knew. But they could not avert from their course.
It didn’t matter that they are playing Real Madrid in mid week. Nor did it matter that Real just hammered their last opponents 6-1. All that was for later. They had to concentrate on the game at hand because this game, will all but confirm the end of the season. All the Liverpool players’ nerves were tightly strung.
Xabi stood in front of his bathroom mirror, his razor in his hand. He grimaced at the reflection, frowned at the eye-bags that were obvious under his eyes; courtesy of a young child’s bizarre sleeping habits. He brought his hand up to rub against his overnight growth. Contemplated shaving it off then changed his mind. They were going to need to stubble, even though he would not be playing. He kicked himself for picking up that fifth yellow card. Of all the times to be suspended, he had to be out when Stevie was injured. Their midfield is sorely depleted and there was nothing they could do. He knew that Stevie would be devastated too, but Gerrard has the Real Madrid match to think about - a match he hopes to be fit enough to play in.
Xabi settled into his seat at Anfield as he listened to the crowd sing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ as the teams walked onto the pitch. He sang with them, putting his heart out in song as he hoped and prayed for the exact same things as all the fans and supporters - a victory. He had faith in his fellow team mates but the truth was, once the match started the gap in the midfield centre was glaring, the passes were going astray and it seemed that all eleven of the red men out there had gone on without half their brains. No, that’s not true. Martin Škrtel was having a good game, as was Pepe. Nando was trying but not getting far. Everyone was trying. Just that finishing touch was missing, that final gloss that transformed a shot into a goal.
It only took 22 minutes before the crowd groaned with their hands on their heads as two golden opportunities were spurned, the ball somehow contrived to become stuck in the box amidst masses of bodies and refused to cross the goal line before it went out for a corner for Liverpool. Without their usual corner takers, Liverpool’s resulting corner was insipid and their chance for going ahead gone.
Martin Škrtel had heard the boss talk about Craig Bellamy’s speed and tricks. He hadn’t had the pleasure of first hand experience as many of the rest of the squad did, Bellamy being an ex-Red. However, it didn’t take long into the match to know what they had meant. Bellamy’s ability to turn on the pace is similar to Torres’s and Martin found himself stretching and lunging with his long, long legs just to keep pace with the short striker.
Counter attack - Liverpool’s staple. From a mix up in our own box the ball was passed out to Fernando Torres who wasted no time in sprinting upfield with the ball at his feet. With vision that belied his natural position as a striker, Fernando crossed the ball in with finesse. The ball rolled past one red player who opted to leave it for Riera who was thundering up, ready to smash the ball from the corner of the box. However, preferring to shoot with his left foot, Riera tried to take the extra step and ended up shooting wide. Disappointment came swiftly as the home side knew they should have been up one.
Benayoun’s skied effort with only the goalie to beat followed by a header gone wide from Kuyt summed up a rather frustrating first half and it was only because Robinho scuffed his cues that the score line was still nil all. Still, they had attacked and they weren’t behind. It was only a matter of time before they found the net. Xabi rubbed his chin, feeling the roughness of the stubble. For the first time, he allowed himself to think of some of the missing faces.
It was half time and there was nothing to do in these fifteen minutes anyway. Steven, of course, would be more annoyed with the fact that he’s not playing than that Liverpool were still not winning. Xabi often marvelled at the bond Steven had with the club. He liked to think he was an honorary Scouser and that he loved the club like any other, but Steven belonged in another league in that department. His mind wandering, he recalled his puzzlement upon discovering the Dane’s absence from the line up. He hadn’t heard of any new injuries so perhaps Danny was ill? It was unlike Rafa to not put the young defender on the bench at least. But considering the transfer issues he had faced last summer, Xabi wouldn’t be surprised if there was an underlying meaning behind Agger’s omission. He hoped his young friend was okay. Sharing long injury spells with Danny last season had allowed him to get to know the Dane more. A loner by choice, he was surprisingly determined and confident of his skills so if Rafa was proving a point with this team selection, Danny would feel it. And Danny would not be pleased. Xabi worried for Agger sometimes. It was a different type of worry to his feelings for little Jon, or Stevie, but it was worry all the same.
Xabi was staring emptily into space when Carra sprinted out of the tunnel followed by Martin. Martin. The man who has, effectively, taken over Daniel’s spot. While Xabi respected Martin, he didn’t know the Slovakian as he knew the Dane so he couldn’t help but feel slightly resentful on Daniel’s behalf. He allowed himself to observe the tall defender, to really take in who Martin is. He saw a tall no-nonsense man with almost translucent skin. The light brown fuzz that had begun to grow back on Martin’s head looked invitingly soft, which toned down the ruthless expression Martin sported nearly all the time. A little voice in his head that sounded frightfully like Steven Gerrard berated him for staring at Liverpool’s number 37. Blushing slightly, he averted his eyes just as the referee blew the whistle to signal the start of the second half.
Xabi could hardly believe it. His heart had been in his mouth since the sky blue shirts had moved the ball into the Liverpool half and the red back line had looked out of sorts. He knew, yet he didn’t want to believe, that it would happen. But it had. One mistake, one sliver of precious time was all it took to unleash a powerful swerving shot at goal. And while his teammates had been rooted to the spot, Xabi nearly jumped out of his seat, watching the ball come off Bellamy’s boot, then glance off Arbeloa and spin. He watched in dread as the ball spun towards the far post. Even though it only took a few seconds to travel, to Xabi, the moment was stalled over minutes, hours, as he urged his teammates to react, their limbs looking leadenly slow while their eyes blazed with fearful recognition and despair. All they could do was watch. Watch the ball fly over their bodies, spin towards the post and into the net.
“Fuck!” Xabi cried, before promptly apologising to the space beside him. He needn’t have bothered to, for the rest of the home crowd was echoing his sentiments. Closing his eyes, he became united with the supporters as they all prayed together for a comeback. He knew what the players were feeling, but they must not let this set back bring them down too much.
Obviously, the Liverpool players on the pitch weren’t taking Xabi’s good advice for if they had been mediocre before, they were now downright limp. Passes were going astray; any possession they gained was quickly relinquished. In the first half, there had been build ups, with just the finish lacking. Now, even the build up had gone missing. It was the blue shirts who raced down the flanks and through the middle, skipping around the red players like they were dancing around stationary obstacles. Thankfully, Pepe was alert enough to keep the goals conceded to just the one.
Perhaps in a defeated manner, Rafa chose to take off Riera and send on El Zhar. No doubt the mammoth tie against Real Madrid weighed heavy on his mind. If we are to lose this match, then we must not let our grips on the only other chance at silverware go. Still chasing the lead with fifteen minutes to go, Rafa replaced Dossena with Aurélio. Whether Aurélio’s presence made the difference or not, no one cared, for Benayoun knocked a cross in from the left flank and after Torres mis-kicked it, it fell fortuitously to Kuyt, who, from a few yards out, made no mistake this time, burying it into the net. The reds finally had their equaliser. With twelve minutes to go, hope suddenly flared up as memories of the reverse tie resurfaced. There had been late goals there too, perhaps they can do it again, nick all three points at the gasp of death?
Perhaps sensing that a more attacking option is needed, Ryan Babel was introduced. His pace would have caused the opposition trouble had he used it instead of just trying to dribble around their steady feet. Liverpool had their chances to bury the game, Benayoun, Kuyt, but to no avail. Shay Given, produced fine saves after a rather inactive match and Liverpool had to be content with one point.
Even as the whistle went, Xabi had his phone out ready to receive Steven’s call. So in tune to his captains needs was he that he had Steven’s words, verbatim, before he even heard them. “Xabi, do you think you could come over?” And he already knew what his answer would be. Standing up, he clapped his mates off the pitch before he retreated anonymously away from the no-longer intimidating red fortress and made his way towards a castle of different proportions and meanings where familiar blue eyes will greet him, warm lips will grace his own and the ache of disappointment will course through his entire body even as he lay nestled safely in the arms of his Steven.
Walking off the pitch, everyone felt that they hadn’t performed. They had salvaged a point, yes, but they shouldn’t have gotten themselves into that situation at all. That point shouldn’t have needed to be salvaged. It should have been a given. You start with a point and you look to gain two, not to go back to square one. They knew what they had passed up with this match. And knew the extra importance that now rested on the Madrid match. At least they knew that Xabi would be back, and hoped that come Wednesday, their skipper would be fit too, to join the Spaniard in the middle of the park. No one spared a thought for the Danish international whose passing skills and mazy runs would have been greatly appreciated in that dreary contest. Not even Fernando Torres had the presence of mind to miss Daniel.
As it were, Daniel returned their compliments. Sitting at home, he had watched the match. Initially, he had argued with himself over his conflicting emotions. On one hand, he wanted Liverpool to win, to stay up there, to challenge United. But on the other, every dropped point they suffered when he wasn’t playing surely said something. Each time he let that thought entertain him, he felt terribly guilty, as if it was his thoughts that caused those draws and dropped points. And yet, he couldn’t help that perverse glee that came over him as Liverpool’s ‘first’ eleven made his case for him.
After all, lovers were dispensable. He didn’t need Fernando Torres. He didn’t want Martin Škrtel. He might miss Sami Hyypiä but Steve Finnan showed him all of that didn’t matter when the Ireland man left for Spain without so much of a goodbye. Football. The only thing that matters. And he’s damned if he’s going to sit and wait much longer. So if they continued to force him out in the cold, they will learn a hard lesson. Liverpool Football Club may be one of a kind, but it wasn’t the only club that played football. It would hurt, but he will survive.
He had warned them. And he always kept his word. It was their call.
Pairing: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, very brief hint of Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Post match fic: Liverpool-Manchester City. Also contains some Daniel Agger contract issues. Probably contains more football than most other fics.
Word Count: 2148
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Ultimatum
They knew of the dangers this Manchester City side represented. They knew the players. More importantly, they knew what it meant should the result not go the way they want it to. The gap between first and second place opening wider still. They knew. But they could not avert from their course.
It didn’t matter that they are playing Real Madrid in mid week. Nor did it matter that Real just hammered their last opponents 6-1. All that was for later. They had to concentrate on the game at hand because this game, will all but confirm the end of the season. All the Liverpool players’ nerves were tightly strung.
Xabi stood in front of his bathroom mirror, his razor in his hand. He grimaced at the reflection, frowned at the eye-bags that were obvious under his eyes; courtesy of a young child’s bizarre sleeping habits. He brought his hand up to rub against his overnight growth. Contemplated shaving it off then changed his mind. They were going to need to stubble, even though he would not be playing. He kicked himself for picking up that fifth yellow card. Of all the times to be suspended, he had to be out when Stevie was injured. Their midfield is sorely depleted and there was nothing they could do. He knew that Stevie would be devastated too, but Gerrard has the Real Madrid match to think about - a match he hopes to be fit enough to play in.
Xabi settled into his seat at Anfield as he listened to the crowd sing ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ as the teams walked onto the pitch. He sang with them, putting his heart out in song as he hoped and prayed for the exact same things as all the fans and supporters - a victory. He had faith in his fellow team mates but the truth was, once the match started the gap in the midfield centre was glaring, the passes were going astray and it seemed that all eleven of the red men out there had gone on without half their brains. No, that’s not true. Martin Škrtel was having a good game, as was Pepe. Nando was trying but not getting far. Everyone was trying. Just that finishing touch was missing, that final gloss that transformed a shot into a goal.
It only took 22 minutes before the crowd groaned with their hands on their heads as two golden opportunities were spurned, the ball somehow contrived to become stuck in the box amidst masses of bodies and refused to cross the goal line before it went out for a corner for Liverpool. Without their usual corner takers, Liverpool’s resulting corner was insipid and their chance for going ahead gone.
Martin Škrtel had heard the boss talk about Craig Bellamy’s speed and tricks. He hadn’t had the pleasure of first hand experience as many of the rest of the squad did, Bellamy being an ex-Red. However, it didn’t take long into the match to know what they had meant. Bellamy’s ability to turn on the pace is similar to Torres’s and Martin found himself stretching and lunging with his long, long legs just to keep pace with the short striker.
Counter attack - Liverpool’s staple. From a mix up in our own box the ball was passed out to Fernando Torres who wasted no time in sprinting upfield with the ball at his feet. With vision that belied his natural position as a striker, Fernando crossed the ball in with finesse. The ball rolled past one red player who opted to leave it for Riera who was thundering up, ready to smash the ball from the corner of the box. However, preferring to shoot with his left foot, Riera tried to take the extra step and ended up shooting wide. Disappointment came swiftly as the home side knew they should have been up one.
Benayoun’s skied effort with only the goalie to beat followed by a header gone wide from Kuyt summed up a rather frustrating first half and it was only because Robinho scuffed his cues that the score line was still nil all. Still, they had attacked and they weren’t behind. It was only a matter of time before they found the net. Xabi rubbed his chin, feeling the roughness of the stubble. For the first time, he allowed himself to think of some of the missing faces.
It was half time and there was nothing to do in these fifteen minutes anyway. Steven, of course, would be more annoyed with the fact that he’s not playing than that Liverpool were still not winning. Xabi often marvelled at the bond Steven had with the club. He liked to think he was an honorary Scouser and that he loved the club like any other, but Steven belonged in another league in that department. His mind wandering, he recalled his puzzlement upon discovering the Dane’s absence from the line up. He hadn’t heard of any new injuries so perhaps Danny was ill? It was unlike Rafa to not put the young defender on the bench at least. But considering the transfer issues he had faced last summer, Xabi wouldn’t be surprised if there was an underlying meaning behind Agger’s omission. He hoped his young friend was okay. Sharing long injury spells with Danny last season had allowed him to get to know the Dane more. A loner by choice, he was surprisingly determined and confident of his skills so if Rafa was proving a point with this team selection, Danny would feel it. And Danny would not be pleased. Xabi worried for Agger sometimes. It was a different type of worry to his feelings for little Jon, or Stevie, but it was worry all the same.
Xabi was staring emptily into space when Carra sprinted out of the tunnel followed by Martin. Martin. The man who has, effectively, taken over Daniel’s spot. While Xabi respected Martin, he didn’t know the Slovakian as he knew the Dane so he couldn’t help but feel slightly resentful on Daniel’s behalf. He allowed himself to observe the tall defender, to really take in who Martin is. He saw a tall no-nonsense man with almost translucent skin. The light brown fuzz that had begun to grow back on Martin’s head looked invitingly soft, which toned down the ruthless expression Martin sported nearly all the time. A little voice in his head that sounded frightfully like Steven Gerrard berated him for staring at Liverpool’s number 37. Blushing slightly, he averted his eyes just as the referee blew the whistle to signal the start of the second half.
Xabi could hardly believe it. His heart had been in his mouth since the sky blue shirts had moved the ball into the Liverpool half and the red back line had looked out of sorts. He knew, yet he didn’t want to believe, that it would happen. But it had. One mistake, one sliver of precious time was all it took to unleash a powerful swerving shot at goal. And while his teammates had been rooted to the spot, Xabi nearly jumped out of his seat, watching the ball come off Bellamy’s boot, then glance off Arbeloa and spin. He watched in dread as the ball spun towards the far post. Even though it only took a few seconds to travel, to Xabi, the moment was stalled over minutes, hours, as he urged his teammates to react, their limbs looking leadenly slow while their eyes blazed with fearful recognition and despair. All they could do was watch. Watch the ball fly over their bodies, spin towards the post and into the net.
“Fuck!” Xabi cried, before promptly apologising to the space beside him. He needn’t have bothered to, for the rest of the home crowd was echoing his sentiments. Closing his eyes, he became united with the supporters as they all prayed together for a comeback. He knew what the players were feeling, but they must not let this set back bring them down too much.
Obviously, the Liverpool players on the pitch weren’t taking Xabi’s good advice for if they had been mediocre before, they were now downright limp. Passes were going astray; any possession they gained was quickly relinquished. In the first half, there had been build ups, with just the finish lacking. Now, even the build up had gone missing. It was the blue shirts who raced down the flanks and through the middle, skipping around the red players like they were dancing around stationary obstacles. Thankfully, Pepe was alert enough to keep the goals conceded to just the one.
Perhaps in a defeated manner, Rafa chose to take off Riera and send on El Zhar. No doubt the mammoth tie against Real Madrid weighed heavy on his mind. If we are to lose this match, then we must not let our grips on the only other chance at silverware go. Still chasing the lead with fifteen minutes to go, Rafa replaced Dossena with Aurélio. Whether Aurélio’s presence made the difference or not, no one cared, for Benayoun knocked a cross in from the left flank and after Torres mis-kicked it, it fell fortuitously to Kuyt, who, from a few yards out, made no mistake this time, burying it into the net. The reds finally had their equaliser. With twelve minutes to go, hope suddenly flared up as memories of the reverse tie resurfaced. There had been late goals there too, perhaps they can do it again, nick all three points at the gasp of death?
Perhaps sensing that a more attacking option is needed, Ryan Babel was introduced. His pace would have caused the opposition trouble had he used it instead of just trying to dribble around their steady feet. Liverpool had their chances to bury the game, Benayoun, Kuyt, but to no avail. Shay Given, produced fine saves after a rather inactive match and Liverpool had to be content with one point.
Even as the whistle went, Xabi had his phone out ready to receive Steven’s call. So in tune to his captains needs was he that he had Steven’s words, verbatim, before he even heard them. “Xabi, do you think you could come over?” And he already knew what his answer would be. Standing up, he clapped his mates off the pitch before he retreated anonymously away from the no-longer intimidating red fortress and made his way towards a castle of different proportions and meanings where familiar blue eyes will greet him, warm lips will grace his own and the ache of disappointment will course through his entire body even as he lay nestled safely in the arms of his Steven.
Walking off the pitch, everyone felt that they hadn’t performed. They had salvaged a point, yes, but they shouldn’t have gotten themselves into that situation at all. That point shouldn’t have needed to be salvaged. It should have been a given. You start with a point and you look to gain two, not to go back to square one. They knew what they had passed up with this match. And knew the extra importance that now rested on the Madrid match. At least they knew that Xabi would be back, and hoped that come Wednesday, their skipper would be fit too, to join the Spaniard in the middle of the park. No one spared a thought for the Danish international whose passing skills and mazy runs would have been greatly appreciated in that dreary contest. Not even Fernando Torres had the presence of mind to miss Daniel.
As it were, Daniel returned their compliments. Sitting at home, he had watched the match. Initially, he had argued with himself over his conflicting emotions. On one hand, he wanted Liverpool to win, to stay up there, to challenge United. But on the other, every dropped point they suffered when he wasn’t playing surely said something. Each time he let that thought entertain him, he felt terribly guilty, as if it was his thoughts that caused those draws and dropped points. And yet, he couldn’t help that perverse glee that came over him as Liverpool’s ‘first’ eleven made his case for him.
After all, lovers were dispensable. He didn’t need Fernando Torres. He didn’t want Martin Škrtel. He might miss Sami Hyypiä but Steve Finnan showed him all of that didn’t matter when the Ireland man left for Spain without so much of a goodbye. Football. The only thing that matters. And he’s damned if he’s going to sit and wait much longer. So if they continued to force him out in the cold, they will learn a hard lesson. Liverpool Football Club may be one of a kind, but it wasn’t the only club that played football. It would hurt, but he will survive.
He had warned them. And he always kept his word. It was their call.