Fic: Second Chances
Title: Second Chances
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, a little bit of Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Martin Škrtel
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Set during and after the Blackburn match (the match that was sandwiched between the 2 Chelsea matches for champions league.
A/Ns: Very sorry for the ridiculously out-of-date-ness of this fic.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Second Chances
The shiny, cool polyester shirt slipped easily onto his chest. He savoured that familiar feel of it resting lightly against his skin. That fine, fresh smell of a new, clean shirt; he inhaled the scent in deeply, satisfyingly. With his socks pulled up, his boots laced, Daniel Agger checked the drawstring on his shorts once more, just in case. It was tied neatly. He straightened out the creases on his shirt and put on the commemorative black armband. Jumped once, then twice on the spot and smiled. It was a nice, warm day and today, he was back in Liverpool red and soon to be back on the Anfield pitch.
He cast a glance towards the mop of blonde hair, held down by a strict, black elastic band. It had been a long time since he had this opportunity, to play with El Niño. But he resisted the urge to move towards the Spanish striker, and instead, fell in behind Pepe Reina. The goal keeper smiled at the boy knowingly. Patting the taller man affectionately, Pepe said, “Have a good match, Danny.” Pepe held up three fingers, fat and awkward within their bulky glove, “Three points, okay?”
Daniel’s eyelids drooped into a smile. He nodded at Pepe’s words but then looked nervously at his feet and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Waiting in the tunnel was agony. He was literally twitching to get back out onto the grass. It was his chance to prove his worth, to showcase why Liverpool Football Club should keep him. Finally, the line began to move and the sunlight streaked into his view. His eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to shield from the glare of the midday sun and his mouth moved involuntarily into a grimace as he ran head on into the blinding light.
They lined up in the centre of the pitch to observe a respectful minute’s silence for those who had never returned after going to support their team on that fateful match, twenty years ago. The whole Liverpool line, stood, their backs to the warm rays of light. The whole Liverpool line, connected by arms on shoulders, waists, backs. Each man was joined, directly or indirectly to every other. And while Fernando’s head was bowed in memory of the ninety six who are forever mourned, Daniel Agger tried not to concentrate on the feel of Fernando’s arm over his, as they both placed their hands on Pepe’s shoulders. Pepe, who had run up from his goals and squeezed in between the two friends. Banishing those thoughts from his mind, Daniel felt the significance of their club’s song in that moment’s silence as everyone rallied together to remember Hillsborough.
It was a brilliant start. Within five minutes, Torres had unleashed his lethal skills. Collecting a Jamie Carragher ball, he chested it down and volleyed it forcefully into the far corner as he turned a hundred and eighty degrees, without even glancing up. Fernando knew as soon as he saw the ball floating up the pitch, just what he was going to do. No need to look, he could feel the goals. And sure enough, his shot crashed into the corner of the netting and they were one up.
It wasn’t all easy, however. Despite controlling the match, Liverpool were guilty of being too wasteful with some of the brilliant build ups they created. By half time, only a Fernando header was added to the score-line, despite chances from Kuyt, Mascherano, Torres and many more. Insúa was having a good match, working his way energetically up and down the wings, but he had Daniel to thank for covering for him several times early on before he got into his stride.
At half time, as they walked off into the tunnel, Insúa caught Daniel’s elbow to murmur his thanks and to offer his apologies.
Daniel shrugged nonchalantly at the Argentine. “It was nothing,” he said gruffly.
“But you got booked because I let the ball through,” Emiliano protested earnestly.
Daniel sniffed then waved the comment away, “Forget it, kid,” he replied, “We’re on the same side, we look out for one another, don’t we, if we’re on the same team?” And then without waiting for Insúa’s answer, Daniel walked into the dressing room.
Torres sat down and rehydrated himself during the team talk. He wasn’t really listening; he was too busy trying to surreptitiously observe Daniel. The Dane had that far away look in his eyes, the look that appeared to show attention and concentration but in reality, meant his head was firmly amongst the clouds. Fernando wondered where Danny’s imagination was taking him, and wondered if there was a reason why Daniel still had not congratulated him on his brace. Feeling a distinct lack of interest from the Danish camp, Fernando switched his sights on the English one and was delighted to see a wide grin and a friendly nod coming from Steven Gerrard. At least someone appreciated him, he thought.
Liverpool started the second half with a distinct lack of urgency. Blackburn had seemingly given up on the match and the Reds found themselves lulled into a strolling pace, the ball was passed between players and there was not much of a drive forward. They knew this was the perfect opportunity to chalk up some more goals and improve their goal difference, for when would they next play such a submissive team? But they all felt it took too much effort to bring their football up a gear, and so, the ball trundled back and forth at the feet of the Merseyside team, without doing anything significant.
That was until Rafa Benítez, with the Chelsea game in mind, frustrated with watching his stars jog on the pitch, at risk to injuries and not trying to nail the game down, withdrew Fernando Torres. The team sat up then and they knew the boss was displeased with their lack of hunger and drive. Fernando Torres walked off to a standing ovation as his replacement, El Zhar, ran on energetically. Torres accepted the jumper offered with a nod and settled himself next to Steven Gerrard.
The captain smiled at the goal scorer with too much familiarity and brown eyes burned from the centre of Anfield as the Spanish play-maker stared at the close exchange happening between his lover and his country-man. A flurry of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he turned to see the ball being moved past him by a Blackburn player. Without thinking, he stuck out a foot and even before he heard the whistle blow, he had his hand raised in apology. Helping the Blackburn man up, Xabi accepted the yellow card without a fuss and cursed Stevie and Nando for distracting him.
A bit of more attacking play from Liverpool was disrupted by the Blackburn defence. The ball rolled into no man’s land and Daniel was the first to react. He had become a bit sick of the dull passing that they were engaging in. Their play was mediocre and he didn’t want his return to the pitch to be mediocre. He desperately wanted a goal. It would be just the thing to do to show Rafa what he had been leaving to languish on the bench. Already, he had sent balls flying goal-wards, but always overshooting, perhaps just too high, or too wide; nothing to really test the keeper yet. So when he gathered up the loose ball and the Blackburn players gave him more space time and time again, Daniel exploited it. He watched the blue and white players backing off politely with glee. A dribble here, a shimmy there, and then he gave it all he had.
His left foot connected with the ball well, he felt it hit the side of the ball, and then he was airborne. In those brief seconds, he could already envision the result. It was a good, clean strike. Only thing left to see was if the keeper could keep it out. Everyone watched, mouths opened and time stopped as the ball sailed, no, roared into the top corner of the net. Then Anfield erupted.
Though normally not one to become emotional, this time, Daniel couldn’t control himself. He had done it. He had scored. A cracker of a goal. He thought back to his debut goal. It had been eerily similar and he couldn’t help but grin at the symbolism. Daniel Agger was back, ready to return to his form before his injury. The second coming was here. He ran towards the kop, towards the fans who were cheering and screaming, because of him, and acknowledged their support with a kiss.
Steven Gerrard had leapt to his feet in astonishment and delight as he watched Dan’s ball rock the net. He clapped admirably and with genuine happiness, the honest delight lighting his face with a childish smile. That was a goal of high quality and he loved that it was Daniel who scored it. He had always liked that lad, something about the way he was quietly ambitious struck a cord with him. Next to him, Fernando was surprised. He hadn’t expected this from Daniel. Sure, he knew what Dan was capable of, but he’d never actually seen it happen. Seeing Daniel’s name appear on the board along with his own brought a strangely warm and fuzzy feeling. Only one man was displeased with the rocket of a goal; Martin stood behind Steven Gerrard and he clapped, for it would draw attention if he didn’t. But inside, he was churning. Daniel had replicated his debut goal, arguably the best goal he had scored for Liverpool. And he had done it after sitting on the bench, match after match. He hunted Daniel with his piercing eyes as the Dane celebrated in front of the kop, but for once, he was at a loss for words and actions. He had to give it to the Dane; Daniel knew how to score.
With the match too far gone for Blackburn to wrangle back, Xabi Alonso earned his break. Xabi normally hated being subbed off, but this time, he couldn’t wait to reach the bench. It was agony keeping his walk to a natural pace as he approached his friends. Squeezing past Fernando, Xabi stood between the two Liverpool heroes, his hands on his hips, waiting. Fernando brushed the hair from his face and looked up at Xabi. Realisation hit and the younger man nodded hastily as he vacated the seat next to the captain. Without saying a word, Xabi sat down. Awkward silence descended on the trio as Steven and Fernando gulped inwardly, feeling the cold sulk emanating from the peeved off Spaniard between them.
Ngog’s close range header gave them a brief moment of relief as they celebrated at fourth goal, but still Xabi remained stubbornly seated and tetchy between two standing and clapping team mates. Finally, there was reprieve for Blackburn and the final whistle mercifully ended the red dominance.
The dressing room was buzzing with exaltation; it had been the perfect way to bounce back from the defeat midweek at Anfield and definitely a great confidence boost for their second leg at the Bridge next week. The younger players crowded around Daniel. He had always been a distant idol, having played in the reserves when he was rebuilding his strength and fitness after the long lay off from his metatarsal fracture and he had never been this accessible. They gathered around the tall defender, their excited chatter bouncing off each other. Daniel accepted the praise graciously and gratefully, but he only had eyes for one man.
The blonde striker was exchanging words with Steven, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the dressing room. On the other side of the dressing room, Xabi watched the pair unhappily. Catching Xabi’s eye, Daniel brushed past Insúa and Lucas, then sauntered towards Liverpool’s most important two-some. As Daniel draped his arms possessively around Fernando’s neck, Xabi slipped in between Fernando and Steven, engaging Stevie’s attention. Steering Fernando away, Daniel glanced back at the midfielders. Steven may have been talking to Fernando just moments before, but anyone could see in the way Steven’s eyes held Xabi’s, that he was only enamoured by one Spanish team mate. Daniel watched the pair a little wistfully. He and Fernando had had that, but with recent struggles, they didn’t know if they still do.
Meanwhile, Fernando ducked out from Danny’s embrace and escaped into the showers. The conflicting actions from the Dane confused the striker somewhat. It was only at half time when Daniel had completely ignored him, so why was he so interested now? Did his company only qualify if Daniel had a good game? Is he that jealous of on-pitch successes that they couldn’t be friends unless he had proven himself on the field as well? Leaning against the shower cubicle door, Fernando tried desperately to find some sense in Daniel Agger.
Realising Fernando had once again removed himself from his presence, Daniel muttered a soft curse. He wasn’t going to beg Fernando to be with him, there was no way he was going to do that. Pivoting on his heels, he made his way back to where he had left his gear. As he did so, he bumped into an equally irate Slovakian. Between automated apologies, Daniel and Martin squared each other up with their eyes.
Daniel’s said, ‘I’m not giving in that easily,’ and with the renewed confidence the goal gave him, new hope that he could displace his competitor. Martin’s cold, blue ones answered to the challenge.
A slap on the back and cheerful congratulations from a teammate oblivious to the unfriendly exchange between Martin and Daniel interrupted their confrontation. Moving silkily aside, Martin stepped past the Dane and walked out of the changing rooms, leaving Daniel to deal with the wonderful aftermath of scoring.
In his astute observations, Martin was secretly pleased that the one person who Daniel had so dearly wanted to impress did not return his affections. Indeed, Martin’s keen eyes caught everything, including that deepening rift between the striker and defender which had started during Daniel’s lengthy absence. In a different situation, if they had met under different circumstances, Martin envisioned that he and Daniel could have been great mates. But they didn’t meet under different circumstances, and the truth was, this was a dog eat dog world. If one let emotions creep into one’s decisions, one may find that it can cloud one’s judgement and before long, one is no longer needed. Martin wasn’t going to risk finding that out. So for that reason, and that reason only, he revelled in his team mates’ discord. Twirling his car keys around his fingers, Martin whistled absently as he stepped into his car and made for home.
Unfortunately for Martin, he was wrong. When Fernando finally emerged from the showers, Daniel was sitting waiting for him. A mixture of annoyance, affection and insulted pride showed on his freckled face. Watching Fernando walk out, fully clothed and dry from the cubicle, Daniel offered him a fresh, clean towel in a sardonic fashion.
No apologies, no explanations.
They didn’t need any of that. They understood each other. It was a simple gesture, but the meaning behind it was huge. Picking up their bags, the pair walked out of the changing rooms together.
“I think my goal was still better,” Fernando joked.
“Yeah, I think so, too,” Daniel agreed amiably.
Fernando feigned shock at the way Daniel so easily conceded defeat, “No,” he protested, “Your goal was better, Danny.”
“No, it wasn’t. Yours is.” Daniel bickered back, grinning with mock graciousness.
“Oh, shut up!” Fernando punched Danny on the shoulder to emphasise his point.
Both boys burst into peals of laughter. It was a great feeling, falling back into their tight friendship after such a long disruption. The brilliant goals were the catalysts to a great victory, but their true reward came from the return of something no one else can access; the intangible, beautiful understanding between two friends.
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, a little bit of Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Martin Škrtel
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Set during and after the Blackburn match (the match that was sandwiched between the 2 Chelsea matches for champions league.
A/Ns: Very sorry for the ridiculously out-of-date-ness of this fic.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Second Chances
The shiny, cool polyester shirt slipped easily onto his chest. He savoured that familiar feel of it resting lightly against his skin. That fine, fresh smell of a new, clean shirt; he inhaled the scent in deeply, satisfyingly. With his socks pulled up, his boots laced, Daniel Agger checked the drawstring on his shorts once more, just in case. It was tied neatly. He straightened out the creases on his shirt and put on the commemorative black armband. Jumped once, then twice on the spot and smiled. It was a nice, warm day and today, he was back in Liverpool red and soon to be back on the Anfield pitch.
He cast a glance towards the mop of blonde hair, held down by a strict, black elastic band. It had been a long time since he had this opportunity, to play with El Niño. But he resisted the urge to move towards the Spanish striker, and instead, fell in behind Pepe Reina. The goal keeper smiled at the boy knowingly. Patting the taller man affectionately, Pepe said, “Have a good match, Danny.” Pepe held up three fingers, fat and awkward within their bulky glove, “Three points, okay?”
Daniel’s eyelids drooped into a smile. He nodded at Pepe’s words but then looked nervously at his feet and fiddled with the hem of his shirt. Waiting in the tunnel was agony. He was literally twitching to get back out onto the grass. It was his chance to prove his worth, to showcase why Liverpool Football Club should keep him. Finally, the line began to move and the sunlight streaked into his view. His eyebrows furrowed in an attempt to shield from the glare of the midday sun and his mouth moved involuntarily into a grimace as he ran head on into the blinding light.
They lined up in the centre of the pitch to observe a respectful minute’s silence for those who had never returned after going to support their team on that fateful match, twenty years ago. The whole Liverpool line, stood, their backs to the warm rays of light. The whole Liverpool line, connected by arms on shoulders, waists, backs. Each man was joined, directly or indirectly to every other. And while Fernando’s head was bowed in memory of the ninety six who are forever mourned, Daniel Agger tried not to concentrate on the feel of Fernando’s arm over his, as they both placed their hands on Pepe’s shoulders. Pepe, who had run up from his goals and squeezed in between the two friends. Banishing those thoughts from his mind, Daniel felt the significance of their club’s song in that moment’s silence as everyone rallied together to remember Hillsborough.
It was a brilliant start. Within five minutes, Torres had unleashed his lethal skills. Collecting a Jamie Carragher ball, he chested it down and volleyed it forcefully into the far corner as he turned a hundred and eighty degrees, without even glancing up. Fernando knew as soon as he saw the ball floating up the pitch, just what he was going to do. No need to look, he could feel the goals. And sure enough, his shot crashed into the corner of the netting and they were one up.
It wasn’t all easy, however. Despite controlling the match, Liverpool were guilty of being too wasteful with some of the brilliant build ups they created. By half time, only a Fernando header was added to the score-line, despite chances from Kuyt, Mascherano, Torres and many more. Insúa was having a good match, working his way energetically up and down the wings, but he had Daniel to thank for covering for him several times early on before he got into his stride.
At half time, as they walked off into the tunnel, Insúa caught Daniel’s elbow to murmur his thanks and to offer his apologies.
Daniel shrugged nonchalantly at the Argentine. “It was nothing,” he said gruffly.
“But you got booked because I let the ball through,” Emiliano protested earnestly.
Daniel sniffed then waved the comment away, “Forget it, kid,” he replied, “We’re on the same side, we look out for one another, don’t we, if we’re on the same team?” And then without waiting for Insúa’s answer, Daniel walked into the dressing room.
Torres sat down and rehydrated himself during the team talk. He wasn’t really listening; he was too busy trying to surreptitiously observe Daniel. The Dane had that far away look in his eyes, the look that appeared to show attention and concentration but in reality, meant his head was firmly amongst the clouds. Fernando wondered where Danny’s imagination was taking him, and wondered if there was a reason why Daniel still had not congratulated him on his brace. Feeling a distinct lack of interest from the Danish camp, Fernando switched his sights on the English one and was delighted to see a wide grin and a friendly nod coming from Steven Gerrard. At least someone appreciated him, he thought.
Liverpool started the second half with a distinct lack of urgency. Blackburn had seemingly given up on the match and the Reds found themselves lulled into a strolling pace, the ball was passed between players and there was not much of a drive forward. They knew this was the perfect opportunity to chalk up some more goals and improve their goal difference, for when would they next play such a submissive team? But they all felt it took too much effort to bring their football up a gear, and so, the ball trundled back and forth at the feet of the Merseyside team, without doing anything significant.
That was until Rafa Benítez, with the Chelsea game in mind, frustrated with watching his stars jog on the pitch, at risk to injuries and not trying to nail the game down, withdrew Fernando Torres. The team sat up then and they knew the boss was displeased with their lack of hunger and drive. Fernando Torres walked off to a standing ovation as his replacement, El Zhar, ran on energetically. Torres accepted the jumper offered with a nod and settled himself next to Steven Gerrard.
The captain smiled at the goal scorer with too much familiarity and brown eyes burned from the centre of Anfield as the Spanish play-maker stared at the close exchange happening between his lover and his country-man. A flurry of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention and he turned to see the ball being moved past him by a Blackburn player. Without thinking, he stuck out a foot and even before he heard the whistle blow, he had his hand raised in apology. Helping the Blackburn man up, Xabi accepted the yellow card without a fuss and cursed Stevie and Nando for distracting him.
A bit of more attacking play from Liverpool was disrupted by the Blackburn defence. The ball rolled into no man’s land and Daniel was the first to react. He had become a bit sick of the dull passing that they were engaging in. Their play was mediocre and he didn’t want his return to the pitch to be mediocre. He desperately wanted a goal. It would be just the thing to do to show Rafa what he had been leaving to languish on the bench. Already, he had sent balls flying goal-wards, but always overshooting, perhaps just too high, or too wide; nothing to really test the keeper yet. So when he gathered up the loose ball and the Blackburn players gave him more space time and time again, Daniel exploited it. He watched the blue and white players backing off politely with glee. A dribble here, a shimmy there, and then he gave it all he had.
His left foot connected with the ball well, he felt it hit the side of the ball, and then he was airborne. In those brief seconds, he could already envision the result. It was a good, clean strike. Only thing left to see was if the keeper could keep it out. Everyone watched, mouths opened and time stopped as the ball sailed, no, roared into the top corner of the net. Then Anfield erupted.
Though normally not one to become emotional, this time, Daniel couldn’t control himself. He had done it. He had scored. A cracker of a goal. He thought back to his debut goal. It had been eerily similar and he couldn’t help but grin at the symbolism. Daniel Agger was back, ready to return to his form before his injury. The second coming was here. He ran towards the kop, towards the fans who were cheering and screaming, because of him, and acknowledged their support with a kiss.
Steven Gerrard had leapt to his feet in astonishment and delight as he watched Dan’s ball rock the net. He clapped admirably and with genuine happiness, the honest delight lighting his face with a childish smile. That was a goal of high quality and he loved that it was Daniel who scored it. He had always liked that lad, something about the way he was quietly ambitious struck a cord with him. Next to him, Fernando was surprised. He hadn’t expected this from Daniel. Sure, he knew what Dan was capable of, but he’d never actually seen it happen. Seeing Daniel’s name appear on the board along with his own brought a strangely warm and fuzzy feeling. Only one man was displeased with the rocket of a goal; Martin stood behind Steven Gerrard and he clapped, for it would draw attention if he didn’t. But inside, he was churning. Daniel had replicated his debut goal, arguably the best goal he had scored for Liverpool. And he had done it after sitting on the bench, match after match. He hunted Daniel with his piercing eyes as the Dane celebrated in front of the kop, but for once, he was at a loss for words and actions. He had to give it to the Dane; Daniel knew how to score.
With the match too far gone for Blackburn to wrangle back, Xabi Alonso earned his break. Xabi normally hated being subbed off, but this time, he couldn’t wait to reach the bench. It was agony keeping his walk to a natural pace as he approached his friends. Squeezing past Fernando, Xabi stood between the two Liverpool heroes, his hands on his hips, waiting. Fernando brushed the hair from his face and looked up at Xabi. Realisation hit and the younger man nodded hastily as he vacated the seat next to the captain. Without saying a word, Xabi sat down. Awkward silence descended on the trio as Steven and Fernando gulped inwardly, feeling the cold sulk emanating from the peeved off Spaniard between them.
Ngog’s close range header gave them a brief moment of relief as they celebrated at fourth goal, but still Xabi remained stubbornly seated and tetchy between two standing and clapping team mates. Finally, there was reprieve for Blackburn and the final whistle mercifully ended the red dominance.
The dressing room was buzzing with exaltation; it had been the perfect way to bounce back from the defeat midweek at Anfield and definitely a great confidence boost for their second leg at the Bridge next week. The younger players crowded around Daniel. He had always been a distant idol, having played in the reserves when he was rebuilding his strength and fitness after the long lay off from his metatarsal fracture and he had never been this accessible. They gathered around the tall defender, their excited chatter bouncing off each other. Daniel accepted the praise graciously and gratefully, but he only had eyes for one man.
The blonde striker was exchanging words with Steven, seemingly oblivious to the rest of the dressing room. On the other side of the dressing room, Xabi watched the pair unhappily. Catching Xabi’s eye, Daniel brushed past Insúa and Lucas, then sauntered towards Liverpool’s most important two-some. As Daniel draped his arms possessively around Fernando’s neck, Xabi slipped in between Fernando and Steven, engaging Stevie’s attention. Steering Fernando away, Daniel glanced back at the midfielders. Steven may have been talking to Fernando just moments before, but anyone could see in the way Steven’s eyes held Xabi’s, that he was only enamoured by one Spanish team mate. Daniel watched the pair a little wistfully. He and Fernando had had that, but with recent struggles, they didn’t know if they still do.
Meanwhile, Fernando ducked out from Danny’s embrace and escaped into the showers. The conflicting actions from the Dane confused the striker somewhat. It was only at half time when Daniel had completely ignored him, so why was he so interested now? Did his company only qualify if Daniel had a good game? Is he that jealous of on-pitch successes that they couldn’t be friends unless he had proven himself on the field as well? Leaning against the shower cubicle door, Fernando tried desperately to find some sense in Daniel Agger.
Realising Fernando had once again removed himself from his presence, Daniel muttered a soft curse. He wasn’t going to beg Fernando to be with him, there was no way he was going to do that. Pivoting on his heels, he made his way back to where he had left his gear. As he did so, he bumped into an equally irate Slovakian. Between automated apologies, Daniel and Martin squared each other up with their eyes.
Daniel’s said, ‘I’m not giving in that easily,’ and with the renewed confidence the goal gave him, new hope that he could displace his competitor. Martin’s cold, blue ones answered to the challenge.
A slap on the back and cheerful congratulations from a teammate oblivious to the unfriendly exchange between Martin and Daniel interrupted their confrontation. Moving silkily aside, Martin stepped past the Dane and walked out of the changing rooms, leaving Daniel to deal with the wonderful aftermath of scoring.
In his astute observations, Martin was secretly pleased that the one person who Daniel had so dearly wanted to impress did not return his affections. Indeed, Martin’s keen eyes caught everything, including that deepening rift between the striker and defender which had started during Daniel’s lengthy absence. In a different situation, if they had met under different circumstances, Martin envisioned that he and Daniel could have been great mates. But they didn’t meet under different circumstances, and the truth was, this was a dog eat dog world. If one let emotions creep into one’s decisions, one may find that it can cloud one’s judgement and before long, one is no longer needed. Martin wasn’t going to risk finding that out. So for that reason, and that reason only, he revelled in his team mates’ discord. Twirling his car keys around his fingers, Martin whistled absently as he stepped into his car and made for home.
Unfortunately for Martin, he was wrong. When Fernando finally emerged from the showers, Daniel was sitting waiting for him. A mixture of annoyance, affection and insulted pride showed on his freckled face. Watching Fernando walk out, fully clothed and dry from the cubicle, Daniel offered him a fresh, clean towel in a sardonic fashion.
No apologies, no explanations.
They didn’t need any of that. They understood each other. It was a simple gesture, but the meaning behind it was huge. Picking up their bags, the pair walked out of the changing rooms together.
“I think my goal was still better,” Fernando joked.
“Yeah, I think so, too,” Daniel agreed amiably.
Fernando feigned shock at the way Daniel so easily conceded defeat, “No,” he protested, “Your goal was better, Danny.”
“No, it wasn’t. Yours is.” Daniel bickered back, grinning with mock graciousness.
“Oh, shut up!” Fernando punched Danny on the shoulder to emphasise his point.
Both boys burst into peals of laughter. It was a great feeling, falling back into their tight friendship after such a long disruption. The brilliant goals were the catalysts to a great victory, but their true reward came from the return of something no one else can access; the intangible, beautiful understanding between two friends.