Fic: Things Don't Always Go Your Way
This is ridiculously late, I know! Sorry! But it's stuvac and having this lying around for me to tinker with is distracting me from study - so hence it has been finished and posted!
Also, this fic was written over quite a spread of weeks, and my various moods may have left their mark on the parts that I wrote at those corresponding times.
Title: Things Don’t Always Go Your Way
Pairings: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Fernando Torres/Martin Škrtel, also sort of Daniel Agger/Martin Škrtel and Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, Pepe Reina, Lucas Leiva
Rating: R to be safe. But probably only a PG-13
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Follows the squad from the Fiorentina match all the way to the United match.
A/Ns: Was only able to watch the Fiorentina match - all other matches have been based on second hand information from reports/discussions. Apologies for any mistakes.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Things Don’t Always Go Your Way
He had his own match to think about the next day, but Champions League matches have always been an almost romantic part of Liverpool’s history. He opened his closet and ran his hands down that brilliant flash of red, which hung there, in the dark. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping they would win, and yet, there was that unperceivable twinge of guilt that told him he had well and truly immersed himself as one of Madrid’s own. It’s funny how one can feel like they belong to two entirely differing and opposite components.
Still, he settled down to watch the tie between Italy’s Fiorentina and his own, Liverpool, his nerves tingling as if it was he who was about to walk out of that tunnel and play for the Liverpool faithful.
*****
Finally, all that hard work is paying off. Those hours of extra training he put in, the extra laps he ran. He was going to play a competitive match of football again. For sure, it wasn’t in Italy with the rest of the first team, but it’s a start. And the boys in the reserves weren’t bad anyway. He’d gotten to know a few of them over the last year or so when he was continuously hampered by injury. The boys, funnily enough, loved him and looked up to him and well, he thought they were a pretty nice bunch, too.
However, he wasn’t targeting the reserves. They were but the stepping stone back to first team action.
*****
Xabi Alonso sat with his hands clasped tightly and his heart sinking. Fiorentina was outplaying Liverpool. They were organised, quick, determined and they were getting the result. Liverpool on the other hand, was falling apart. He had to give it to Fiorentina, they worked the off-side trap to perfection and got in behind Liverpool’s back four for the first goal. The second was unlucky for Liverpool, Martin Škrtel’s header only clearing to the edge of the box and was re-introduced into the danger area where upon Jevotic gave it a flick on and Reina was beaten.
It was like watching Liverpool play against themselves. Only, Fiorentina was beating them in their own game. Fiorentina operated on a similar method; defend stoutly and counter rapidly. Speed was essential and the heavy defending made it difficult for Fernando to engage in the match. Most painfully obvious was the lack of composure and control Liverpool had in the middle of the park. Xabi noticed that one guiltily and knew that had he been there, were he out there with the rest of the team instead of in Madrid, the match could be developing very differently. Even if Mascherano were there, the defensive block which operated so well last season would be more complete. But as it were, Lucas and Aurélio were not able to contain Fiorentina and their strikers operating in the gap between Liverpool’s midfield and defence were causing lots of trouble.
Xabi could only watch as the frustration got to the Liverpool players. Once, twice, three times, did Martin run in for a wild tackle. Alonso was shocked that the ref had still not shown him a yellow card. Fernando, increasingly isolated up front, began to display those tell tale signs of anger and irritation. Liverpool hardly had any opportunities at goal and ironically the best chance came when Martin Škrtel, of all people, managed to dribble past Fiorentina’s backline to feed Fernando, but the Spaniard was far too wasteful and Xabi could only groan at the miss.
The whistle went, mercifully ending the dreadful match. Xabi picked up his phone and punched in the number he knew by heart. However, he paused before he pressed dial, contemplating. On one hand, Stevie would need someone to talk to at times when he felt he had failed as a Captain, but on the other, he would not welcome it from someone whose absence could be construed as the cause of the current situation. Pursing his lips, he opted for a safer alternative and texted Pepe instead.
******
“Stevie,” Pepe called out to his Captain. “Stevie, wait for me.”
Steven paused momentarily to allow the goalkeeper to catch up before continuing. Pepe elbowed Steven Gerrard congenially, trying to brighten the sour mood that hung over the Englishman. “Hey, we’ll bounce back, Stevie. We are Liverpool, we can do it.”
Steven remained stony faced.
Pepe steadied himself, then took the plunge. “You know, Stevie, remember how you and Xabi could play just like that -” he clicked his fingers to emphasise the point, “- well, I think that’s what the team needs right now. We’re not very in tune with each other. Like how Fernando completely mis-kicked Martin’s cross at the end. I thought for sure, that’s going to be our away goal, but somehow our Niño missed. So, what do you say we get them ah, more…acquainted with each other?”
Stevie turned to look at Pepe. He heard what the Spaniard said, but he wasn’t sure if Pepe meant what he thinks Pepe said. “Excuse me?” he asked, pointedly.
“Well, to be honest, the whole team knew you two were seeing each other, and we figured that’s why you were so good at playing with each other,” Pepe trailed off, leaving Steven to follow his train of thought.
“So, you want Martin to sleep with Fernando so they can play with a better ‘connection’?”
Pepe beamed. “Of course. Worth a try?”
Steven snorted. “I can’t imagine Škrtel wanting to, but Fernando might be amendable to the idea.” He shrugged as he considered the idea. “Hey, wait, even if that’s what’s needed, how are you going to get them together?”
******
“Martin, Martin,” Pepe ran up after the tall defender who, like Steven Gerrard did, had stopped to wait for Reina. “You know it’s not really your fault. It’s a team thing. Everything’s a team thing. That’s what I have to keep telling myself, otherwise, I won’t be able to sleep at all with all the goals we’ve been conceding of late.”
Pepe’s amiable chatter floated over Martin. The Slovakian slung his bag over his shoulder and sloped slowly down the hallway to allow the goalkeeper to keep pace with him. He wasn’t really listening to Pepe. He didn’t want to hear any more of his well meaning, consolatory remarks. If everyone just told themselves it wasn’t their fault, then no one will ever improve. It was a defending issue and he had not cleared the ball well enough. As a defensive unit, they had failed. He wasn’t going to make any excuses. But Pepe had good intentions and he didn’t want to seem unappreciative.
As Martin continued to nod absentmindedly at what Pepe was saying, he found himself in a room with Pepe waving goodbye to him as the room’s only door clicked shut and the lock fell into place. Suddenly alert, he stared flabbergasted at the closed door before turning sharply on his heels to assess the rest of the room and look for alternate escapes. The room was dark and there were no windows. He cursed his own inattentiveness which led to this prickly situation as he searched for a light switch.
Upon flicking the lights on, he found further reason to curse his neglect to what Pepe had been saying.
“What did they say to get you in here?” Fernando Torres smiled wryly as he rested against the wall on the far side of the room.
Speaking through clenched teeth, Martin hissed, “I have no fucking clue because I wasn’t fucking listening, which is my fucking problem.”
“Do you know why we’re here?” Fernando asked. He leaned forward suggestively, yet his face was a picture of innocence.
Martin Škrtel’s blue eyes narrowed and his lips turned down into a frown. Oh, he knew, all right. But he wasn’t going to play their game. At least, not with Fernando. He had no intention of bedding the striker. He surveyed the room with one raised eyebrow, then shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his back. Studied his feet. An awkward silence filled the room. Fernando watched Martin with amusement. It’s not often one finds Martin Škrtel this discomforted.
Glancing up at Torres, Martin warned firmly, “Don’t even think about it.”
Fernando merely shrugged and crossed his arms. “We’ll just have to wait for them to let us out, then.”
Martin observed the Spaniard warily before settling down to wait as well.
*****
“What do you think, Pepe?” Steven clapped his hands enthusiastically as he admired the closed door that represented their handiwork. “I’m actually feeling a bit worried for Nando in there.”
“Ah, don’t be, Stevie. Nando can surprisingly hold his own when the time requires it.” Pepe placed an arm around his Captain and led him to a comfortable couch to sit and wait. ‘Okay, distraction set, now for the real thing,’ Pepe thought, ‘I hope this is what you want, Xabi, because this is all I can give.’ Turning to look Steven square in the eyes, Pepe clasped his hands together and started.
*****
Fernando’s thoughts were far away as he fiddled with the lumpy carpet that covered the floor of the little room he was stuck in. There he was, inhaling in the same air the annoyed defender was exhaling. He lifted his eyes to peek at Škrtel again. It’s funny to think had Pepe led in the other defender, how differently things would be inside this mini prison they were in. He was sure he could win Danny around. The carpet might be a bit disgusting, but what’s a little carpet burn compared to…
“Hey,” Martin’s voice interrupted Fernando’s thoughts. “How long are they going to leave us in here for?”
A little irritated at the disruption, Fernando replied sharply, “Well, I’m a superb endurance lover so it’ll be a couple more hours before they even consider opening that door. After all, nothing makes men angrier than an intrusion during coitus.”
“Too much information, Fernando, too much information.”
“I was being sarcastic. I don’t know when Pepe will open the door. Stevie took my phone as well when he left me here, do you have yours?”
“No, Pepe relieved me of my bag which held my belongings.”
“Well, then we’re at their mercy.” Fernando sighed.
Silence returned.
Martin fidgeted. He hated not being in control and he could definitely think of someone better to be spending time locked up inside a little room with. If only said person was not just recovering. He wondered how that reserve match went. It was great news to hear that Daniel Agger was playing for the reserves. A pity he hadn’t made it in time to come to Italy with them, but one has to start the return to full fitness somewhere. The thought of Daniel Agger engaging in illicit relationships returned Martin Škrtel to Fernando Torres.
Rumour has it that Fernando and Dan were, how does one say it, involved? Although Steven Gerrard and Xabi had made things a bit more complicated. Well, just Steven now. Bringing all this together in his mind, Martin chuckled. Ironic that in all probability, Fernando Torres was sitting across from him wishing that he was Daniel Agger, just as he was sitting here wishing Torres was Daniel Agger.
“What?” Fernando asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Oh, nothing.” Martin replied, offhandedly. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”
*****
Steven’s mind hurt. He didn’t want to listen but his ears betrayed him. Snippets of what Pepe said filtered into his tired being and laid bare what he had always known but had tried to deny. He couldn’t face up to it, as if disbelieving in what had happened could really unmake all the decisions that had been made. He needed to hold onto the belief that it’s all a joke, that the next day, perhaps, Xabi would turn up at Melwood, dressed in Liverpool gear and everything would return to normal. He knew, of course, that wouldn’t happen. Still, call it self-preservation.
‘Xabi’s not here anymore. He’s not coming back, we don’t have someone like Xabi pulling the strings in midfield, we don’t have someone to provide that safety net. And we have to start playing like we acknowledge that fact.’
Steven squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force that memory out of his mind.
‘We need to adapt, Stevie, we can’t just sit still and mope. Rafa’s tactics won’t work if we keep pretending that Xabi is somehow with us on the pitch. We have to stop forgetting that he’s not here. We’re still a team, and we can still win. Without Xabi. We can do it. We just need to stop thinking he’s coming back. Move on, heal, and improve..’
Pepe is right. There is no point in mourning what’s lost. Xabi wasn’t coming back. The longer Liverpool FC do not bounce back from that, the longer it’s going to hurt in the long run. And the more it’s going to impact on their attempt to bring the league trophy back to Liverpool shores.
‘In terms of football, Stevie, Xabi no longer exists. We can’t cling to someone who’s no longer at our disposal.’
Steven remembered crying out angrily as Pepe spoke those words. How can someone who had been Xabi’s friend say something like that? How can Pepe of all people be so cold and unfeeling?
Yet Pepe’s next words had made all the difference.
‘Spain is not so far away, Stevie. In your private lives, no one says you have to give it all up. You have Xabi’s number. All you have to do it call it. Just keep it off the pitch. It’s time we started playing like we used to again.’
*******
Both teams headed into the fixture on the back of a loss. Both teams wanted the chance to bounce back and return to winning ways. They were familiar enemies, having played each other countless times in cup competitions as well as in the league over the recent years, but it didn’t make the tie any less nerve-wracking.
Xabi Alonso followed his old team fervently. He had been worried for the last few days, with Liverpool’s defeat leaving a bad taste in his mouth and he desperately wanted a Red win to cleanse that out of his system. He remembered only too well, how the match had unfolded the season before. A deflected shot which later had been credited to whoever it was the ball deflected off. But to Stevie, the team, and to himself, it will always be his shot. It had been a lovely victory, that match.
While the butterflies flapped up a storm inside his stomach, he read the line ups for both teams. Noted quickly that Danny was on the bench. Good for him, he thought, ‘High time the boy got back onto the team sheet’. Chelsea’s line up looked dangerous, too, but don’t they always.
There would be no repeat of last season’s match. Liverpool lost the match, 2-0. It would be unfair to say that Chelsea didn’t deserve the win… still, it was disappointing for any Reds supporter to see their team lose another three points in succession. But Chelsea got it right on the day.
Now, footballers are often very superstitious beings. Put a thought in their heads, and it will hound them forever. Was it this, they may think; would things have been different if…?
As it were, as the team trudged back to the changing rooms, their heads down after their second defeat in a row, a crazy thought buzzed unrelentingly around Martin Škrtel’s and Fernando Torres’s mind. What if they had just bitten the bullet and slept together after the Fiorentina match. Would today’s result have changed?
Martin shook the thought out of his head. It was ridiculous to believe that sleeping together could improve their ability on the pitch. Whoever even thought of that? Yet it was frustratingly irritating how entertaining that idea had left him with a teeny, tiny bit of doubt that cultivated into something very illogical. He hated illogical ideas. He hated illogical people. The irony of his current situation gnawed at his gut and he felt unsettled, like he had to do something to purge himself of this taint that is spreading inside of him.
As he turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of blonde scurrying by. Recognition gripped him and he dropped his bag to run after the Spanish striker. Fernando, sensing pursuit, only hurried faster. Still, Martin’s long legs served him well and before the Spaniard could round the next corner, Martin had reached him. In one fluid action, Martin stopped Fernando with a hand on the shoulder, flipped him around, and had his lips on Fernando’s.
“What are you doing?” Fernando panted angrily as he broke from the Slovakian’s grip. The scarlet leapt to his freckled cheeks as he glowered at Martin.
Unlike Fernando, Martin’s skin remained deathly pale, but his eyes burned intensely as he returned the look. Fernando crossed his arms as he waited for a reply. Finally, Martin shrugged.
“We’re still not winning, are we?” He stated, simply.
“No,” Fernando said slowly, one eyebrow raised, “But what does that have to do with the kiss?”
“Well,” Martin paused as the words choked in his throat, “You know how Pepe locked us in after the Fiorentina match? What if they’re right?”
Fernando stared at Martin incredulously. He couldn’t believe that Martin had come to the same conclusion as he had, but he didn’t want to let on that he, too, was consumed by something that absurd. So faking a laugh, he scoffed, “You can’t believe that it works that way.”
“But what if?!” Martin looked pained.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Fernando turned to walk away, hoping that the defender would stop him.
“Wait!” Martin reached out and grabbed Fernando’s wrist to prevent his departure. Fernando looked down at Škrtel’s long, bony fingers encircling his wrist and allowed himself a brief smile. Glancing back up, he saw anguish in the normally cool eyes of Martin. Clearly the defender had argued with himself for days over this thought and even now, he seemed conflicted.
Martin Škrtel hated to plead, to beg, but the consequences of not doing so now was worse. Gritting his teeth, Martin said, “If we don’t do this, and we lose our next match, it’ll haunt me. We’ll never know if we don’t try it.”
“You’re fucking out of your mind! And -” Fernando never finished his sentence as Martin slammed his body up against Fernando’s and manoeuvred them both into the bathroom.
There was no resistance this time, from the striker. Fernando responded to Martin surprisingly effortlessly. The unfamiliarity of each other’s body injected a bit of excitement amidst the guilt they felt from doing something they knew was improper. Still, the illegality of the deed made it all the more exhilarating. Frustration masqueraded as passion as the two men went at each other in an almost primeval fashion. Fuelled by a week’s worth of anger and disappointment, they didn’t care for soft caresses or murmured sweet nothings. The need to exert dominance and regain control came with the hot flush of blood that pumped into their groins. Ink layered over ink and perfect, smooth, flawless skin mingled with freckles.
Only as they fell apart, did Fernando look to the ceiling and think of Daniel Agger. Biting his lip, he shook the Dane from his thoughts and turned back to the sweat-soaked, spent defender standing limply beside him. His eyes scanned across Martin’s satiated face and rested on his plush, startlingly red lips. A voice in his head whispered, ‘Daniel’s lips are thin and pale.’ Fernando sat up abruptly and suddenly felt the need to escape. It had been a good idea at the time, but now he was definitely regretting the deed. Dragging his clothes on roughly, Fernando didn’t even touch Martin before he ran out of the cubicle and slammed the door behind him.
Watching Fernando leave hastily, Martin told himself they had only done it out of necessity. But still, it would take a heart of stone to not feel rejected at the Spaniard’s unceremonious departure. Picking up his clothes from the cold, tiled floor, he dressed slowly. The sudden burst of exertion left his muscles weak and tired, so he took his time. No one was waiting for him, anyway. Daniel would not be waiting for him.
*****
International break came as a blessing for Liverpool players. It was a chance to get out and immerse themselves in an alternate background, instead of the string of unfortunate runs the team had been suffering. The interruption gave them hope that the slump that looked frightfully like it was the start of a long line of misfortune could be stopped. Winning with their national teams could give them the confidence they need to boost their team’s morale. To let them know that they are good players, that they can win matches. Besides, it was world cup qualifiers and there was still work to be done before some players could say whether or not they were going to South Africa the next summer.
For Daniel Agger, it was an opportunity to return to the pitch. Being considered for the Chelsea match was a start, but he’d not made it off the bench. Granted, in Rafa’s shoes, he probably wouldn’t have put himself on as a sub either, given the circumstances, but truth was, he chose this profession because he wanted to play. Hence, the opportunity to be back on the grounds and playing the game brightened his day immensely and the contentment sung through his veins.
Elsewhere, Martin and Fernando blessed the timing of the international break. Facing up to the other would be awkward, but perhaps with the break, they can bury the discomfort before they returned to Liverpool.
******
Unfortunately for Liverpool, the international break only brought what it always did - misery. Injuries to the two of their most important players were only the tip of the iceberg. Their fortunes did not change for the better at all and their squad, devoid of Steven Gerrard, Fernando Torres and Javier Mascherano fell to Sunderland by a beach ball interference. How things could have changed had the referee been up-to-date on his rule book. Still, Liverpool never looked threatening enough, which only added fuel to the hype, however erroneous, that Liverpool truly was just a two-man team.
Perhaps the only good thing to come out of the break was the fact that Dan Agger returned with some more fitness. For the Lyon match midweek, Rafa opted to use Agger ahead of the out of form Martin Škrtel to partner Carragher at the back.. With Daniel and Carra in the middle of defence, the hotly criticised defending improved a bit. Xabi also noticed the addition of Martin Kelly in the right back position, playing in Glen Johnson’s stead due to injury to the latter. The young Englishman repaid Rafa’s trust well until a knock forced him out of the match. The ensuing substitution moved Carragher out to the right and left the two twenty-four year out defenders together in the middle. On paper, they looked indestructible. The classy, calm Dane, partnered with the no-nonsense, hard man in Škrtel. However, translated onto the pitch, it appears the two still have a few kinks they have to iron out before they can live up to the crowd’s expectations. Or perhaps it showed just how crucial Carragher’s experienced presence is to their performance. Xabi looked on worriedly as Martin continued to play in a shadow of his form last season. It was unlike Liverpool to throw away the lead and submit to a loss in the Champions League. Having lost Stevie early on to injury, the home side despite starting brightly, never really looked at their best, but then again, it was hard to fault the French side. They clearly hungered for the win and translated that in the way they played, leaving Liverpool a victim of what is often their own modus operandi - the stoppage time goal.
After the upset to Lyon. Xabi Alonso was starting to resent picking up the papers and seeing a Liverpool defeat. What with the Manchester United tie coming up next, Alonso was not looking forward to next reading about his old club. Already, the papers were swarming with damning articles about Liverpool’s demise. How Rafa had lost the plot, and the league in mere October! Journalists were lauding the fact that Liverpool hadn’t had a run this poor since before the current players were even born.
With Steven Gerrard definitely missing the tie and Fernando still a doubt, Xabi, despite all his beliefs in his teammates, could not help be feel a bit nervous about the tie. Losing to United was always that much more distressing and while the articles may be more than a bit hyperbolic, it is true that United had been on a great run, while Liverpool have not. It would be hard to find a neutral who would not be anticipating a United victory. The Liverpool in him made Xabi hold on to a bit of hope, of faith, that Liverpool can turn their fortunes around. For a moment, he considered returning to Anfield to join the supporters in the crowd, only to push the thought away as he remembered that Stevie would be there, too, and that his wfe, Alex, would be with him.
*******
The Liverpool-United clash formally began with a shrill whistle. Again, Daniel Agger was chosen ahead of Martin Škrtel in the heart of defence. Without Steven Gerrard, the midfield was populated by Mascherano and Lucas in the middle, along with Fabio Aurélio and Benayoun, who was entrusted with bringing the creative flair. Dirk Kuyt played behind the surprise inclusion, Fernando Torres. It was a risk, to deploy the Spaniard, but his presence was crucial.
It had been, in a way, the perfect match to cap off their miserable few weeks. A must-win, they say in order to remain a viable option as a top four finish. Who better to vent all their frustrations on than Manchester United? The stakes were high, but didn’t the team know it?
It was amazing how much character and belief Liverpool displayed. United wanted a win, for sure, but Liverpool wanted it more. The match was not without its controversies, with a penalty claim waved away early on when Carragher ploughed into Carrick, but the stand-in skipper was not about to get sent off in such an important match. Later on, Carragher would find himself again, in the middle of a discrepancy. Returning ex-Liverpool star, Michael Owen got no sympathies from the Kop as both he and Carragher tumbled to the ground in front of the goal. Sir Alex Ferguson was fuming when Carra only saw yellow, but the referee held his ground on his decision.
When finally, a goal came, it was from the home side, and who else but Fernando Torres? It was a sublime ball in from Benayoun and a finish that was inch perfect. United did not just lie down after that, they attacked, and it took a brilliant defence line, and a bit of luck, to keep the score-line at 1-0. Valencia was awfully unlucky to see his shot rebound off the top bar after Michael Owen slipped him the ball inside Liverpool’s defence, and the kop was left breathing out their sigh of relief. Deep in injury time, David N’gog sealed the win with a calm finish after Liverpool caught United’s back line short.
Of course, what’s a Liverpool-United match without the cards? Nemanja Vidic must have thought all his nightmares were coming true at once when he saw Fernando’s name on the teamsheet. The United defender seemed hell bent on physically blocking Torres’s movements in whatever way he can and it was only a matter of time before he was reprimanded for it. A yellow card came after he hacked at Fernando, twice, even after the Spaniard had gone down to the ground. Then for the third time running, Vidic saw red in a Liverpool-United clash. It was only a second yellow, but it could easily have been a straight red for pulling Kuyt down at the halfway mark as the Dutchman looked to break free after a ball threaded through United’s defence.
Similarly, Liverpool also seemingly love their red cards in these matches and again, it was the same man who was last sent off who also got his early shower. Javier Mascherano epitomises the word passion, but sometimes passion needed to be reeled in with a bit of common sense. The feisty midfielder committed one too many a late challenge, and received his marching orders.
Despite the disciplinary issues, that victory was immense in that not only did it revitalise a demoralised team, but it showed just what Liverpool is capable of. Everyone was undoubtedly over the moon at ending their losing streak and while it was at the back of everyone’s mind it takes more that just beating United to win the title, they were too excited to worry about that for now. The smiles on everyone’s faces were heart warming and Steven Gerrard watched his teammates with a bit of envy. He would have liked to be there with them, to be part of the momentous event.
Inside the changing rooms, Fernando and Martin were hovering near Daniel Agger. The Dane was too busy being off in his own little world to notice the two men circling around him like vultures. He was enjoying the feeling of playing again, playing well, and getting the results. Footballers lived for moments like these. As Dan finally zipped everything up inside his bag, he looked up to find both Torres’s and Škrtel’s faces uncomfortably close to his own.
“Um…” Daniel started, as he inched slowly away from his team mates, “Hello?”
“Daniel-” Fernando and Martin glared at each other as their voices merged together as they both tried to speak.
Speaking quickly in an attempt to quench any unrest that may be swirling between his two friends, Daniel said, “I’m going to meet Sami, he came back to watch us play.”
Fernando arched an eyebrow; Martin narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, the two rivals were united by a common goal.
Worry set into Daniel’s face as he saw the shift in his friends. Backing away warily, the Dane tried to make his escape but was firmly caught, sandwiched between his teammates.
Their line of thought was: if they can’t have him, then no one can.
“So, Daniel, where are you meeting Sami?” Fernando crooned sweetly.
“Yeah, we would like to see him, too.” Martin smiled sardonically, “We do miss him so much.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your heads.” Daniel warned, but he appeared to concede defeat. “You know I love all of you,” he teased playfully, smiling that lazy smile of his. Turning, he kissed first Martin, then Fernando, on the cheek and then patted them both fondly. “But I think this is a private kind of meeting, if you get what I mean.”
Daniel waited until he was a few blocks away, safe in his car, before he allowed himself to succumb to laughter. The looks on both their faces had been priceless and he loved the fact that both of them were going to drive themselves insane as they tried not to think what he was going to be doing with Sami. As a matter of fact, it was only a casual afternoon tea to catch up, but he couldn’t resist planting a more devious image in both Fernando’s and Martin’s mind. He did love them both; they are his friends and he has an almost fierce devotion to them, despite his appearance of being detached from everyone. But they were also hilariously pliable and he just wanted to have a bit of fun.
Although, on a more sombre thought, he would have to let them know, soon, that he wasn’t interested in the way that they are in him. He feared what that might do to their friendship which was why he continually procrastinated over revealing the truth. Well, he’ll think about that after he talked to Sami; perhaps his mentor will have some advice as to what to do, and how to go about it. Perhaps he could be swayed. Dan pondered that option for a while, but the question then arises; by whom, and how could he even begin to choose between the two of them?
*****
Xabi Alonso allowed himself a smile, no, more than just a smile. He allowed himself a whoop. Liverpool had done it again - they had beaten United. That deed always brought him immense joy, the rivalry between the two clubs making the victory all the more sweet. He resisted the urge to call Steven as he used to do after matches for he did not want to risk having Alex pick up the phone instead. Suddenly, he hated the distance he had placed between them.
He closed his eyes and brought up the memory of Steven Gerrard’s exuberant expression that he wears after winning matches like these. He whispered an apology to the empty space in the room and hoped that Stevie was happy, because that is what matters the most.
******
Meanwhile, one lone figure remained on the pitch, kicking a ball to and fro, aiming one between the sticks every now and then. He’d been one of the better players, and yet he will not receive any plaudits. He understood the reason why. However, it left him in an impossible situation. He’d never be Xabi Alonso, that will never happen. But Lucas Leiva is determined to show that he can be as important as Xabi Alonso was to the team, and to Steven Gerrard.
Also, this fic was written over quite a spread of weeks, and my various moods may have left their mark on the parts that I wrote at those corresponding times.
Title: Things Don’t Always Go Your Way
Pairings: Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso, Fernando Torres/Martin Škrtel, also sort of Daniel Agger/Martin Škrtel and Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, Pepe Reina, Lucas Leiva
Rating: R to be safe. But probably only a PG-13
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Follows the squad from the Fiorentina match all the way to the United match.
A/Ns: Was only able to watch the Fiorentina match - all other matches have been based on second hand information from reports/discussions. Apologies for any mistakes.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Things Don’t Always Go Your Way
He had his own match to think about the next day, but Champions League matches have always been an almost romantic part of Liverpool’s history. He opened his closet and ran his hands down that brilliant flash of red, which hung there, in the dark. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t hoping they would win, and yet, there was that unperceivable twinge of guilt that told him he had well and truly immersed himself as one of Madrid’s own. It’s funny how one can feel like they belong to two entirely differing and opposite components.
Still, he settled down to watch the tie between Italy’s Fiorentina and his own, Liverpool, his nerves tingling as if it was he who was about to walk out of that tunnel and play for the Liverpool faithful.
*****
Finally, all that hard work is paying off. Those hours of extra training he put in, the extra laps he ran. He was going to play a competitive match of football again. For sure, it wasn’t in Italy with the rest of the first team, but it’s a start. And the boys in the reserves weren’t bad anyway. He’d gotten to know a few of them over the last year or so when he was continuously hampered by injury. The boys, funnily enough, loved him and looked up to him and well, he thought they were a pretty nice bunch, too.
However, he wasn’t targeting the reserves. They were but the stepping stone back to first team action.
*****
Xabi Alonso sat with his hands clasped tightly and his heart sinking. Fiorentina was outplaying Liverpool. They were organised, quick, determined and they were getting the result. Liverpool on the other hand, was falling apart. He had to give it to Fiorentina, they worked the off-side trap to perfection and got in behind Liverpool’s back four for the first goal. The second was unlucky for Liverpool, Martin Škrtel’s header only clearing to the edge of the box and was re-introduced into the danger area where upon Jevotic gave it a flick on and Reina was beaten.
It was like watching Liverpool play against themselves. Only, Fiorentina was beating them in their own game. Fiorentina operated on a similar method; defend stoutly and counter rapidly. Speed was essential and the heavy defending made it difficult for Fernando to engage in the match. Most painfully obvious was the lack of composure and control Liverpool had in the middle of the park. Xabi noticed that one guiltily and knew that had he been there, were he out there with the rest of the team instead of in Madrid, the match could be developing very differently. Even if Mascherano were there, the defensive block which operated so well last season would be more complete. But as it were, Lucas and Aurélio were not able to contain Fiorentina and their strikers operating in the gap between Liverpool’s midfield and defence were causing lots of trouble.
Xabi could only watch as the frustration got to the Liverpool players. Once, twice, three times, did Martin run in for a wild tackle. Alonso was shocked that the ref had still not shown him a yellow card. Fernando, increasingly isolated up front, began to display those tell tale signs of anger and irritation. Liverpool hardly had any opportunities at goal and ironically the best chance came when Martin Škrtel, of all people, managed to dribble past Fiorentina’s backline to feed Fernando, but the Spaniard was far too wasteful and Xabi could only groan at the miss.
The whistle went, mercifully ending the dreadful match. Xabi picked up his phone and punched in the number he knew by heart. However, he paused before he pressed dial, contemplating. On one hand, Stevie would need someone to talk to at times when he felt he had failed as a Captain, but on the other, he would not welcome it from someone whose absence could be construed as the cause of the current situation. Pursing his lips, he opted for a safer alternative and texted Pepe instead.
******
“Stevie,” Pepe called out to his Captain. “Stevie, wait for me.”
Steven paused momentarily to allow the goalkeeper to catch up before continuing. Pepe elbowed Steven Gerrard congenially, trying to brighten the sour mood that hung over the Englishman. “Hey, we’ll bounce back, Stevie. We are Liverpool, we can do it.”
Steven remained stony faced.
Pepe steadied himself, then took the plunge. “You know, Stevie, remember how you and Xabi could play just like that -” he clicked his fingers to emphasise the point, “- well, I think that’s what the team needs right now. We’re not very in tune with each other. Like how Fernando completely mis-kicked Martin’s cross at the end. I thought for sure, that’s going to be our away goal, but somehow our Niño missed. So, what do you say we get them ah, more…acquainted with each other?”
Stevie turned to look at Pepe. He heard what the Spaniard said, but he wasn’t sure if Pepe meant what he thinks Pepe said. “Excuse me?” he asked, pointedly.
“Well, to be honest, the whole team knew you two were seeing each other, and we figured that’s why you were so good at playing with each other,” Pepe trailed off, leaving Steven to follow his train of thought.
“So, you want Martin to sleep with Fernando so they can play with a better ‘connection’?”
Pepe beamed. “Of course. Worth a try?”
Steven snorted. “I can’t imagine Škrtel wanting to, but Fernando might be amendable to the idea.” He shrugged as he considered the idea. “Hey, wait, even if that’s what’s needed, how are you going to get them together?”
******
“Martin, Martin,” Pepe ran up after the tall defender who, like Steven Gerrard did, had stopped to wait for Reina. “You know it’s not really your fault. It’s a team thing. Everything’s a team thing. That’s what I have to keep telling myself, otherwise, I won’t be able to sleep at all with all the goals we’ve been conceding of late.”
Pepe’s amiable chatter floated over Martin. The Slovakian slung his bag over his shoulder and sloped slowly down the hallway to allow the goalkeeper to keep pace with him. He wasn’t really listening to Pepe. He didn’t want to hear any more of his well meaning, consolatory remarks. If everyone just told themselves it wasn’t their fault, then no one will ever improve. It was a defending issue and he had not cleared the ball well enough. As a defensive unit, they had failed. He wasn’t going to make any excuses. But Pepe had good intentions and he didn’t want to seem unappreciative.
As Martin continued to nod absentmindedly at what Pepe was saying, he found himself in a room with Pepe waving goodbye to him as the room’s only door clicked shut and the lock fell into place. Suddenly alert, he stared flabbergasted at the closed door before turning sharply on his heels to assess the rest of the room and look for alternate escapes. The room was dark and there were no windows. He cursed his own inattentiveness which led to this prickly situation as he searched for a light switch.
Upon flicking the lights on, he found further reason to curse his neglect to what Pepe had been saying.
“What did they say to get you in here?” Fernando Torres smiled wryly as he rested against the wall on the far side of the room.
Speaking through clenched teeth, Martin hissed, “I have no fucking clue because I wasn’t fucking listening, which is my fucking problem.”
“Do you know why we’re here?” Fernando asked. He leaned forward suggestively, yet his face was a picture of innocence.
Martin Škrtel’s blue eyes narrowed and his lips turned down into a frown. Oh, he knew, all right. But he wasn’t going to play their game. At least, not with Fernando. He had no intention of bedding the striker. He surveyed the room with one raised eyebrow, then shoved his hands into his pockets and hunched his back. Studied his feet. An awkward silence filled the room. Fernando watched Martin with amusement. It’s not often one finds Martin Škrtel this discomforted.
Glancing up at Torres, Martin warned firmly, “Don’t even think about it.”
Fernando merely shrugged and crossed his arms. “We’ll just have to wait for them to let us out, then.”
Martin observed the Spaniard warily before settling down to wait as well.
*****
“What do you think, Pepe?” Steven clapped his hands enthusiastically as he admired the closed door that represented their handiwork. “I’m actually feeling a bit worried for Nando in there.”
“Ah, don’t be, Stevie. Nando can surprisingly hold his own when the time requires it.” Pepe placed an arm around his Captain and led him to a comfortable couch to sit and wait. ‘Okay, distraction set, now for the real thing,’ Pepe thought, ‘I hope this is what you want, Xabi, because this is all I can give.’ Turning to look Steven square in the eyes, Pepe clasped his hands together and started.
*****
Fernando’s thoughts were far away as he fiddled with the lumpy carpet that covered the floor of the little room he was stuck in. There he was, inhaling in the same air the annoyed defender was exhaling. He lifted his eyes to peek at Škrtel again. It’s funny to think had Pepe led in the other defender, how differently things would be inside this mini prison they were in. He was sure he could win Danny around. The carpet might be a bit disgusting, but what’s a little carpet burn compared to…
“Hey,” Martin’s voice interrupted Fernando’s thoughts. “How long are they going to leave us in here for?”
A little irritated at the disruption, Fernando replied sharply, “Well, I’m a superb endurance lover so it’ll be a couple more hours before they even consider opening that door. After all, nothing makes men angrier than an intrusion during coitus.”
“Too much information, Fernando, too much information.”
“I was being sarcastic. I don’t know when Pepe will open the door. Stevie took my phone as well when he left me here, do you have yours?”
“No, Pepe relieved me of my bag which held my belongings.”
“Well, then we’re at their mercy.” Fernando sighed.
Silence returned.
Martin fidgeted. He hated not being in control and he could definitely think of someone better to be spending time locked up inside a little room with. If only said person was not just recovering. He wondered how that reserve match went. It was great news to hear that Daniel Agger was playing for the reserves. A pity he hadn’t made it in time to come to Italy with them, but one has to start the return to full fitness somewhere. The thought of Daniel Agger engaging in illicit relationships returned Martin Škrtel to Fernando Torres.
Rumour has it that Fernando and Dan were, how does one say it, involved? Although Steven Gerrard and Xabi had made things a bit more complicated. Well, just Steven now. Bringing all this together in his mind, Martin chuckled. Ironic that in all probability, Fernando Torres was sitting across from him wishing that he was Daniel Agger, just as he was sitting here wishing Torres was Daniel Agger.
“What?” Fernando asked, his curiosity piqued.
“Oh, nothing.” Martin replied, offhandedly. “I was just thinking, that’s all.”
*****
Steven’s mind hurt. He didn’t want to listen but his ears betrayed him. Snippets of what Pepe said filtered into his tired being and laid bare what he had always known but had tried to deny. He couldn’t face up to it, as if disbelieving in what had happened could really unmake all the decisions that had been made. He needed to hold onto the belief that it’s all a joke, that the next day, perhaps, Xabi would turn up at Melwood, dressed in Liverpool gear and everything would return to normal. He knew, of course, that wouldn’t happen. Still, call it self-preservation.
‘Xabi’s not here anymore. He’s not coming back, we don’t have someone like Xabi pulling the strings in midfield, we don’t have someone to provide that safety net. And we have to start playing like we acknowledge that fact.’
Steven squeezed his eyes shut and tried to force that memory out of his mind.
‘We need to adapt, Stevie, we can’t just sit still and mope. Rafa’s tactics won’t work if we keep pretending that Xabi is somehow with us on the pitch. We have to stop forgetting that he’s not here. We’re still a team, and we can still win. Without Xabi. We can do it. We just need to stop thinking he’s coming back. Move on, heal, and improve..’
Pepe is right. There is no point in mourning what’s lost. Xabi wasn’t coming back. The longer Liverpool FC do not bounce back from that, the longer it’s going to hurt in the long run. And the more it’s going to impact on their attempt to bring the league trophy back to Liverpool shores.
‘In terms of football, Stevie, Xabi no longer exists. We can’t cling to someone who’s no longer at our disposal.’
Steven remembered crying out angrily as Pepe spoke those words. How can someone who had been Xabi’s friend say something like that? How can Pepe of all people be so cold and unfeeling?
Yet Pepe’s next words had made all the difference.
‘Spain is not so far away, Stevie. In your private lives, no one says you have to give it all up. You have Xabi’s number. All you have to do it call it. Just keep it off the pitch. It’s time we started playing like we used to again.’
*******
Both teams headed into the fixture on the back of a loss. Both teams wanted the chance to bounce back and return to winning ways. They were familiar enemies, having played each other countless times in cup competitions as well as in the league over the recent years, but it didn’t make the tie any less nerve-wracking.
Xabi Alonso followed his old team fervently. He had been worried for the last few days, with Liverpool’s defeat leaving a bad taste in his mouth and he desperately wanted a Red win to cleanse that out of his system. He remembered only too well, how the match had unfolded the season before. A deflected shot which later had been credited to whoever it was the ball deflected off. But to Stevie, the team, and to himself, it will always be his shot. It had been a lovely victory, that match.
While the butterflies flapped up a storm inside his stomach, he read the line ups for both teams. Noted quickly that Danny was on the bench. Good for him, he thought, ‘High time the boy got back onto the team sheet’. Chelsea’s line up looked dangerous, too, but don’t they always.
There would be no repeat of last season’s match. Liverpool lost the match, 2-0. It would be unfair to say that Chelsea didn’t deserve the win… still, it was disappointing for any Reds supporter to see their team lose another three points in succession. But Chelsea got it right on the day.
Now, footballers are often very superstitious beings. Put a thought in their heads, and it will hound them forever. Was it this, they may think; would things have been different if…?
As it were, as the team trudged back to the changing rooms, their heads down after their second defeat in a row, a crazy thought buzzed unrelentingly around Martin Škrtel’s and Fernando Torres’s mind. What if they had just bitten the bullet and slept together after the Fiorentina match. Would today’s result have changed?
Martin shook the thought out of his head. It was ridiculous to believe that sleeping together could improve their ability on the pitch. Whoever even thought of that? Yet it was frustratingly irritating how entertaining that idea had left him with a teeny, tiny bit of doubt that cultivated into something very illogical. He hated illogical ideas. He hated illogical people. The irony of his current situation gnawed at his gut and he felt unsettled, like he had to do something to purge himself of this taint that is spreading inside of him.
As he turned the corner, he caught a glimpse of blonde scurrying by. Recognition gripped him and he dropped his bag to run after the Spanish striker. Fernando, sensing pursuit, only hurried faster. Still, Martin’s long legs served him well and before the Spaniard could round the next corner, Martin had reached him. In one fluid action, Martin stopped Fernando with a hand on the shoulder, flipped him around, and had his lips on Fernando’s.
“What are you doing?” Fernando panted angrily as he broke from the Slovakian’s grip. The scarlet leapt to his freckled cheeks as he glowered at Martin.
Unlike Fernando, Martin’s skin remained deathly pale, but his eyes burned intensely as he returned the look. Fernando crossed his arms as he waited for a reply. Finally, Martin shrugged.
“We’re still not winning, are we?” He stated, simply.
“No,” Fernando said slowly, one eyebrow raised, “But what does that have to do with the kiss?”
“Well,” Martin paused as the words choked in his throat, “You know how Pepe locked us in after the Fiorentina match? What if they’re right?”
Fernando stared at Martin incredulously. He couldn’t believe that Martin had come to the same conclusion as he had, but he didn’t want to let on that he, too, was consumed by something that absurd. So faking a laugh, he scoffed, “You can’t believe that it works that way.”
“But what if?!” Martin looked pained.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Fernando turned to walk away, hoping that the defender would stop him.
“Wait!” Martin reached out and grabbed Fernando’s wrist to prevent his departure. Fernando looked down at Škrtel’s long, bony fingers encircling his wrist and allowed himself a brief smile. Glancing back up, he saw anguish in the normally cool eyes of Martin. Clearly the defender had argued with himself for days over this thought and even now, he seemed conflicted.
Martin Škrtel hated to plead, to beg, but the consequences of not doing so now was worse. Gritting his teeth, Martin said, “If we don’t do this, and we lose our next match, it’ll haunt me. We’ll never know if we don’t try it.”
“You’re fucking out of your mind! And -” Fernando never finished his sentence as Martin slammed his body up against Fernando’s and manoeuvred them both into the bathroom.
There was no resistance this time, from the striker. Fernando responded to Martin surprisingly effortlessly. The unfamiliarity of each other’s body injected a bit of excitement amidst the guilt they felt from doing something they knew was improper. Still, the illegality of the deed made it all the more exhilarating. Frustration masqueraded as passion as the two men went at each other in an almost primeval fashion. Fuelled by a week’s worth of anger and disappointment, they didn’t care for soft caresses or murmured sweet nothings. The need to exert dominance and regain control came with the hot flush of blood that pumped into their groins. Ink layered over ink and perfect, smooth, flawless skin mingled with freckles.
Only as they fell apart, did Fernando look to the ceiling and think of Daniel Agger. Biting his lip, he shook the Dane from his thoughts and turned back to the sweat-soaked, spent defender standing limply beside him. His eyes scanned across Martin’s satiated face and rested on his plush, startlingly red lips. A voice in his head whispered, ‘Daniel’s lips are thin and pale.’ Fernando sat up abruptly and suddenly felt the need to escape. It had been a good idea at the time, but now he was definitely regretting the deed. Dragging his clothes on roughly, Fernando didn’t even touch Martin before he ran out of the cubicle and slammed the door behind him.
Watching Fernando leave hastily, Martin told himself they had only done it out of necessity. But still, it would take a heart of stone to not feel rejected at the Spaniard’s unceremonious departure. Picking up his clothes from the cold, tiled floor, he dressed slowly. The sudden burst of exertion left his muscles weak and tired, so he took his time. No one was waiting for him, anyway. Daniel would not be waiting for him.
*****
International break came as a blessing for Liverpool players. It was a chance to get out and immerse themselves in an alternate background, instead of the string of unfortunate runs the team had been suffering. The interruption gave them hope that the slump that looked frightfully like it was the start of a long line of misfortune could be stopped. Winning with their national teams could give them the confidence they need to boost their team’s morale. To let them know that they are good players, that they can win matches. Besides, it was world cup qualifiers and there was still work to be done before some players could say whether or not they were going to South Africa the next summer.
For Daniel Agger, it was an opportunity to return to the pitch. Being considered for the Chelsea match was a start, but he’d not made it off the bench. Granted, in Rafa’s shoes, he probably wouldn’t have put himself on as a sub either, given the circumstances, but truth was, he chose this profession because he wanted to play. Hence, the opportunity to be back on the grounds and playing the game brightened his day immensely and the contentment sung through his veins.
Elsewhere, Martin and Fernando blessed the timing of the international break. Facing up to the other would be awkward, but perhaps with the break, they can bury the discomfort before they returned to Liverpool.
******
Unfortunately for Liverpool, the international break only brought what it always did - misery. Injuries to the two of their most important players were only the tip of the iceberg. Their fortunes did not change for the better at all and their squad, devoid of Steven Gerrard, Fernando Torres and Javier Mascherano fell to Sunderland by a beach ball interference. How things could have changed had the referee been up-to-date on his rule book. Still, Liverpool never looked threatening enough, which only added fuel to the hype, however erroneous, that Liverpool truly was just a two-man team.
Perhaps the only good thing to come out of the break was the fact that Dan Agger returned with some more fitness. For the Lyon match midweek, Rafa opted to use Agger ahead of the out of form Martin Škrtel to partner Carragher at the back.. With Daniel and Carra in the middle of defence, the hotly criticised defending improved a bit. Xabi also noticed the addition of Martin Kelly in the right back position, playing in Glen Johnson’s stead due to injury to the latter. The young Englishman repaid Rafa’s trust well until a knock forced him out of the match. The ensuing substitution moved Carragher out to the right and left the two twenty-four year out defenders together in the middle. On paper, they looked indestructible. The classy, calm Dane, partnered with the no-nonsense, hard man in Škrtel. However, translated onto the pitch, it appears the two still have a few kinks they have to iron out before they can live up to the crowd’s expectations. Or perhaps it showed just how crucial Carragher’s experienced presence is to their performance. Xabi looked on worriedly as Martin continued to play in a shadow of his form last season. It was unlike Liverpool to throw away the lead and submit to a loss in the Champions League. Having lost Stevie early on to injury, the home side despite starting brightly, never really looked at their best, but then again, it was hard to fault the French side. They clearly hungered for the win and translated that in the way they played, leaving Liverpool a victim of what is often their own modus operandi - the stoppage time goal.
After the upset to Lyon. Xabi Alonso was starting to resent picking up the papers and seeing a Liverpool defeat. What with the Manchester United tie coming up next, Alonso was not looking forward to next reading about his old club. Already, the papers were swarming with damning articles about Liverpool’s demise. How Rafa had lost the plot, and the league in mere October! Journalists were lauding the fact that Liverpool hadn’t had a run this poor since before the current players were even born.
With Steven Gerrard definitely missing the tie and Fernando still a doubt, Xabi, despite all his beliefs in his teammates, could not help be feel a bit nervous about the tie. Losing to United was always that much more distressing and while the articles may be more than a bit hyperbolic, it is true that United had been on a great run, while Liverpool have not. It would be hard to find a neutral who would not be anticipating a United victory. The Liverpool in him made Xabi hold on to a bit of hope, of faith, that Liverpool can turn their fortunes around. For a moment, he considered returning to Anfield to join the supporters in the crowd, only to push the thought away as he remembered that Stevie would be there, too, and that his wfe, Alex, would be with him.
*******
The Liverpool-United clash formally began with a shrill whistle. Again, Daniel Agger was chosen ahead of Martin Škrtel in the heart of defence. Without Steven Gerrard, the midfield was populated by Mascherano and Lucas in the middle, along with Fabio Aurélio and Benayoun, who was entrusted with bringing the creative flair. Dirk Kuyt played behind the surprise inclusion, Fernando Torres. It was a risk, to deploy the Spaniard, but his presence was crucial.
It had been, in a way, the perfect match to cap off their miserable few weeks. A must-win, they say in order to remain a viable option as a top four finish. Who better to vent all their frustrations on than Manchester United? The stakes were high, but didn’t the team know it?
It was amazing how much character and belief Liverpool displayed. United wanted a win, for sure, but Liverpool wanted it more. The match was not without its controversies, with a penalty claim waved away early on when Carragher ploughed into Carrick, but the stand-in skipper was not about to get sent off in such an important match. Later on, Carragher would find himself again, in the middle of a discrepancy. Returning ex-Liverpool star, Michael Owen got no sympathies from the Kop as both he and Carragher tumbled to the ground in front of the goal. Sir Alex Ferguson was fuming when Carra only saw yellow, but the referee held his ground on his decision.
When finally, a goal came, it was from the home side, and who else but Fernando Torres? It was a sublime ball in from Benayoun and a finish that was inch perfect. United did not just lie down after that, they attacked, and it took a brilliant defence line, and a bit of luck, to keep the score-line at 1-0. Valencia was awfully unlucky to see his shot rebound off the top bar after Michael Owen slipped him the ball inside Liverpool’s defence, and the kop was left breathing out their sigh of relief. Deep in injury time, David N’gog sealed the win with a calm finish after Liverpool caught United’s back line short.
Of course, what’s a Liverpool-United match without the cards? Nemanja Vidic must have thought all his nightmares were coming true at once when he saw Fernando’s name on the teamsheet. The United defender seemed hell bent on physically blocking Torres’s movements in whatever way he can and it was only a matter of time before he was reprimanded for it. A yellow card came after he hacked at Fernando, twice, even after the Spaniard had gone down to the ground. Then for the third time running, Vidic saw red in a Liverpool-United clash. It was only a second yellow, but it could easily have been a straight red for pulling Kuyt down at the halfway mark as the Dutchman looked to break free after a ball threaded through United’s defence.
Similarly, Liverpool also seemingly love their red cards in these matches and again, it was the same man who was last sent off who also got his early shower. Javier Mascherano epitomises the word passion, but sometimes passion needed to be reeled in with a bit of common sense. The feisty midfielder committed one too many a late challenge, and received his marching orders.
Despite the disciplinary issues, that victory was immense in that not only did it revitalise a demoralised team, but it showed just what Liverpool is capable of. Everyone was undoubtedly over the moon at ending their losing streak and while it was at the back of everyone’s mind it takes more that just beating United to win the title, they were too excited to worry about that for now. The smiles on everyone’s faces were heart warming and Steven Gerrard watched his teammates with a bit of envy. He would have liked to be there with them, to be part of the momentous event.
Inside the changing rooms, Fernando and Martin were hovering near Daniel Agger. The Dane was too busy being off in his own little world to notice the two men circling around him like vultures. He was enjoying the feeling of playing again, playing well, and getting the results. Footballers lived for moments like these. As Dan finally zipped everything up inside his bag, he looked up to find both Torres’s and Škrtel’s faces uncomfortably close to his own.
“Um…” Daniel started, as he inched slowly away from his team mates, “Hello?”
“Daniel-” Fernando and Martin glared at each other as their voices merged together as they both tried to speak.
Speaking quickly in an attempt to quench any unrest that may be swirling between his two friends, Daniel said, “I’m going to meet Sami, he came back to watch us play.”
Fernando arched an eyebrow; Martin narrowed his eyes. Suddenly, the two rivals were united by a common goal.
Worry set into Daniel’s face as he saw the shift in his friends. Backing away warily, the Dane tried to make his escape but was firmly caught, sandwiched between his teammates.
Their line of thought was: if they can’t have him, then no one can.
“So, Daniel, where are you meeting Sami?” Fernando crooned sweetly.
“Yeah, we would like to see him, too.” Martin smiled sardonically, “We do miss him so much.”
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s going on in your heads.” Daniel warned, but he appeared to concede defeat. “You know I love all of you,” he teased playfully, smiling that lazy smile of his. Turning, he kissed first Martin, then Fernando, on the cheek and then patted them both fondly. “But I think this is a private kind of meeting, if you get what I mean.”
Daniel waited until he was a few blocks away, safe in his car, before he allowed himself to succumb to laughter. The looks on both their faces had been priceless and he loved the fact that both of them were going to drive themselves insane as they tried not to think what he was going to be doing with Sami. As a matter of fact, it was only a casual afternoon tea to catch up, but he couldn’t resist planting a more devious image in both Fernando’s and Martin’s mind. He did love them both; they are his friends and he has an almost fierce devotion to them, despite his appearance of being detached from everyone. But they were also hilariously pliable and he just wanted to have a bit of fun.
Although, on a more sombre thought, he would have to let them know, soon, that he wasn’t interested in the way that they are in him. He feared what that might do to their friendship which was why he continually procrastinated over revealing the truth. Well, he’ll think about that after he talked to Sami; perhaps his mentor will have some advice as to what to do, and how to go about it. Perhaps he could be swayed. Dan pondered that option for a while, but the question then arises; by whom, and how could he even begin to choose between the two of them?
*****
Xabi Alonso allowed himself a smile, no, more than just a smile. He allowed himself a whoop. Liverpool had done it again - they had beaten United. That deed always brought him immense joy, the rivalry between the two clubs making the victory all the more sweet. He resisted the urge to call Steven as he used to do after matches for he did not want to risk having Alex pick up the phone instead. Suddenly, he hated the distance he had placed between them.
He closed his eyes and brought up the memory of Steven Gerrard’s exuberant expression that he wears after winning matches like these. He whispered an apology to the empty space in the room and hoped that Stevie was happy, because that is what matters the most.
******
Meanwhile, one lone figure remained on the pitch, kicking a ball to and fro, aiming one between the sticks every now and then. He’d been one of the better players, and yet he will not receive any plaudits. He understood the reason why. However, it left him in an impossible situation. He’d never be Xabi Alonso, that will never happen. But Lucas Leiva is determined to show that he can be as important as Xabi Alonso was to the team, and to Steven Gerrard.