Fic: Revival
Title: Revival
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres with mentions of Daniel Agger/Steve Finnan, Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso.
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
A/Ns: Follows on from A Week of Losses. Mentions the recent media interest in Fernando’s request for top quality signings and Daniel’s statement about staying regardless of this season’s outcome. Covers the Portsmouth and Lille match.
Summary: This week’s football has been much better than last week’s.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Word Count: 4752
Revival
The tension was palpable as the two underachieving squads walked onto the pitch. The pressure on both sides to win was crushing. Daniel Agger breathed the crisp air in deep into his lungs. He was glad to be on the pitch, fighting for the club he was a part of. It was different for Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher. They were Liverpool; it was almost an obligation for them. For him, it was a want; he wanted to be part of the squad who didn’t give up, who believed in themselves enough to claw their way back from the brinks. As the crowd sang ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ proudly, he cast a sideways glance at Fernando Torres. The pair hadn’t spoken since after the Lille match save for any forced conversing during trainings. But there was something different about Fernando tonight. The striker’s jaw was set stubbornly with a determination that Liverpool had missed sorely this season.
The Portsmouth players were walking past them, their hands extended for the polite exchange before a match starts. Daniel shook each proffered hand absentmindedly. Until his hand slipped in and held onto his own for a second too long. Daniel found himself watching the back of Finnan’s head as the right back moved down the line dutifully. Agger swallowed the lump that developed at the base of his throat nervously. It will be fine, he told himself. Concentrate on the match.
* * * * * * *
Xabi hadn’t invited anyone over. He would claim that he forgot to, when in truth, he just didn’t want to watch Liverpool fall apart again. Still, his doorbell had rung right on cue as the teams were warming up on screen. Switching his television off guiltily, Xabi tried to act as natural as possible when he opened his door.
“Hey, Xabi!” Álvie exclaimed, “We figured you just forgot to call us so here we are. We’re not late for the kick off, are we?”
“Um,” Xabi racked his brains for a polite way to get rid of his friends, “Kick off?”
“Yeah,” Sergio chimed in, “Liverpool versus Portsmouth, remember?”
Patting Xabi on the shoulder, the three Spaniards trooped past Alonso and into his living room. Sighing, Xabi followed them in.
* * * * * * * *
The line up was better. Maxi’s presence was welcomed after the Argentine was missed midweek due to being cup tied. With Aquilani in a rare start and Benayoun available on the bench, it seemed like a squad who could create enough to secure a win. It started brightly enough, both teams lively and playing with an ease that was disproportionate to the amount of pressure they were under. The tone of the match was set early with a rugby tackle on Gerrard by Brown only resulting in a free kick. The ref, it seems, wanted them to play.
An early goal would be lovely and Fernando Torres nearly had it. His goal bound shot hit a Pompey arm, but the ref deemed it to be unintentional and appeals for a penalty were waived. Not allowing this to affect them, Liverpool continued to press for an opening goal. The ball was passed eloquently to the feet of the red players, their recent penchant of hoofing the ball up from the defence discarded in favour of some lovely footwork and teamwork. Portsmouth weren’t just lying down either, they had a few chances too, but mostly were nullified by good, solid defending from arguably, Liverpool’s best backline.
Liverpool’s need for a goal or two showed as the Reds powered up the field hungrily. Finally, the breakthrough came. It was but a simple strike from Fernando Torres, but the way in which it was created gave the Liverpool fans something to hold onto. First Gerrard chased the ball up the field. Then he passed back to an anticipating Maxi who merely threaded the ball sideways across the goal mouth in the box to feed an old friend, Fernando. At that distance and with such a beauty of a pass, Liverpool’s number nine made no mistake and slotted in his first goal in a few matches.
The relief was insurmountable. For both Torres and the rest of the team, the fact that they had scored lifted their spirits and nourished their confidence. Torres hugged Maxi tightly as the Spaniard acknowledged his team mate’s contribution. Steven Gerrard joined in, as he often did; his usually worried face a picture of delight.
Had Daniel been watching, he might have felt a pang of jealously, watching Fernando give himself so readily to the rest of the squad. However, Daniel had his own troubles and despite the vast distances that stretched between his territory in defence and his territory in the other half, Daniel couldn’t stop his eyes wandering back to the man who started it all.
The second and third goal came in quick succession. The magical six minutes once achieved by a now fabled Liverpool squad back in Istanbul in 2005 repeated itself in a less majestic situation. Fernando Torres, the scorer of the first goal, turned creator as his first attempt at goal hit a well positioned defender. Spying Babel unmarked, he changed tack and slipped the ball to the Dutchman, who, with a skilful spot of control, released the ball towards the far post, past the goalkeeper and into the net. The third was a piece of long-awaited mastery from the Liverpool duo. Teaming up again, their intuitive connection with each other undid the Portsmouth defence. A ball passed up to Fernando was shepherded out to the wing by the defenders. But the wily striker returned the ball to Stevie with a sneaky back-heel. To compound the situation, Steven Gerrard, not able to get a clear line at goal, faked a move and let the ball roll past him undisturbed and into the path of Aquilani. The Italian relished the opportunity and smashed the ball convincingly into the net. Three goals. Six minutes. That’s all it took. Celebrations ensued.
It wasn’t a completely one sided match. Pepe Reina was not left standing alone, twiddling his thumbs. The Liverpool backline were called into action many a times and an a few instances, it seemed Portsmouth might steal a goal back. But as it were, buoyed by their sudden flood of goals, Liverpool attacked - even Jamie had a crack at goal! - and made it to half time maintaining a clean sheet. For the defence, that was the statistic that matter the most. Perhaps it did not matter as much as the three points, but it’s a matter of pride, to be able to keep a clean sheet.
The second half resumed with more brilliance from a now rejuvenated Liverpool team, however, they were always left wanting more. Finally, with less than fifteen minutes left on the clock, the fourth goal came. Fernando Torres looked like he had finally shaken off the last of his doubts as he drove the ball strongly into the net. It was a strike that spoke volumes as to just who Fernando was, and about the confidence that had returned to his play. The Spaniard collected the ball and manoeuvred the defenders with ease to cut back in and go for goal. It was, more importantly, an insightful pass up from Aquilani, who was tasked with the job Xabi had once held. To see the new plays gelling with the old brought hope for the future for all Liverpool fans.
Perhaps the only black mark of the match was a conceded goal. It would make no difference to the three points that they would take from Portsmouth, but again, it was the manner in which it was conceded that held glaring implications for the rest of the team. Carra was incensed at the midfield for letting such a ball through to the defence. Still, in the end, it was a job well done and an excellent springboard from which to tackle Lille, and their last chance for silverware this season on Thursday.
As the players clapped their way off the field, one player moved silently past others to the man he sought after. Those full lips smiled softly as the Irishman reached his old team mate and offered his congratulations.
Daniel looked down at Finnan, a strange hunted look plain in his eyes. Agger glanced sideways once, twice, to watch the blonde hair of Fernando Torres, shaking hands with another Pompey player before he returned his attention to Steve. “Thanks,” he said simply, before walking off unhappily.
Steve was confused, Daniel had all the reasons to be overjoyed, the game was won and they had played well. But unwilling to risk displaying too much intimacy on the public arena, Finnan let the boy go. He watched as Daniel approached Torres and saw how Fernando reached out to the defender with familiarity. Saw how excited Fernando was to speak to Daniel. Finnan had always suspected that something had developed between the two players, so he was perplexed when he saw Daniel shy away from the goal scorer.
Later, as Finnan wandered through the corridors he had once known well, he stumbled across the two young lovers again. Not wanting to seem like he was eavesdropping, Steve hung back in the shadows. The two twenty five year olds continued their conversation without noticing their audience.
“Why did you say that?” Daniel was asking belligerently.
Fernando looked half ashamed as he faced up to the livid Dane. “I didn’t say I wanted to leave. I said I wanted to stay.”
Daniel scoffed, “And you think that’s what the rest of the world saw in your statement? You practically said you were leaving!”
“That’s so not true!” protested Fernando.
“’If we don’t get some top quality players, you’ll leave,’” Daniel stated firmly. “That’s what you said, that’s what you meant. I don’t know whether to be more insulted that you don’t think we’re currently top quality or that you’ve thought about leaving. Jus because you’ve not done as well as you would like doesn’t mean you just give up and go!”
“I didn’t give up!” Fernando exclaimed, his brows furrowed angrily, “If you didn’t notice, we won today, and I scored two of those goals. I didn’t fucking give up, I took your stupid advice and worked hard, but you don’t care, do you? Because you’re obviously still hung up about someone else.” Pushing Daniel away, Fernando stormed off.
Wincing slightly at the situation, Finnan tried to creep away unseen, however his runners squeaked traitorously against the clean floor. Daniel’s head turned abruptly at the sound and the tension in his shoulders went away when he saw it was Steve.
“I fucked up, Steve.” Daniel sighed tiredly.
“Hey, don’t say that,” Steve came forward, comforting as usual.
“Nando’s right,” the younger man confessed. He ran a hand through his messy hair and set his sad eyes on Finnan’s.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Nando’s right about what?” he asked cautiously. Did he dare hope that it was true that Daniel still wanted him?
“He did work hard for those goals, he trained. And he didn’t give up.” Seemingly unaware of Finnan’s wants, Daniel played with his fingers as he contemplated Fernando’s words. Meeting Steve’s gaze, Daniel offered a smile, “It was a game well played. And credit to your team too, for not giving up either. We can understand the pressure.”
Steve waved the comment away, “That’s not true. We’re just waiting for relegation now, a result here at Anfield wouldn’t change that. I’m glad you got those three points. At least they might change something for you.”
Daniel straightened up and fiddled with his shirt as he glanced boyishly at the older man. He had caught onto the meaning Steve had intended when he asked that question almost immediately but had not known how to approach it. Finally, broaching the subject carefully, he said, “Fernando’s also right about the other thing he said, you know. I can’t help remembering what we had.”
Finnan looked at Daniel incredulously. The boy was biting his lip in that nervous way that made him want to hold him tight and keep him safe. And yet, despite the feelings those words stirred up in him, Steve couldn’t see how acting on them could change anything. It was obvious that Daniel also liked Fernando; he could hear the tenderness in Danny’s voice when he spoke of Fernando, could see what the two boys shared even during their altercation. Would taking the boy back to his hotel room change anything, would it bring him back into Daniel’s life? It won’t ever be the same as it used to and it could it make things worse. Steve had half a mind to just let things lie.
Steve was thankful that he didn’t say anything for Daniel’s next words confirmed that it was the right decision. Daniel had heaved a heavy sigh before announcing to no one in particular that perhaps it was time to end everything. “Football,” he said, “is the most important thing. We need to win all of our matches to fight for fourth; we can’t afford to have any distractions anymore.”
Watching the younger man leave with a resignation that was too old for his years, Finnan blurted out, “Danny, don’t dwell on the past. Sure, the club’s history, anyone’s history can be amazing. But sometimes, that’s all it is. History. You can be just as good with the present squad you have. Look to the future with who you have now, it can work. But only if you try.”
‘It was for the best,’ Finnan thought. It was time for them both to move on.
* * * * * * *
Had Finnan meant his words literally, or was there a hidden cryptic message in there? Daniel couldn’t help but think about what his friend had said. And why would Steve encourage things with Fernando if that’s what he meant? Remembering the way he and Fernando had departed, Daniel suddenly felt a headache coming on.
* * * * * * *
Sergio pressed the buttons on his phone hurriedly. Sending the message off, he hoped Fernando would take it as a peace offering.
The beep of the phone announcing a message received had Sergio scrambling for his mobile. Opening it with anticipation, Sergio relaxed as he read Fernando’s reply.
‘Definitely,’ Sergio thought happily, ‘I’d love to be friends again.’
* * * * * * *
Fernando had only just sent the message to Sergio when his doorbell rung. He opened the door to find Daniel Agger standing awkwardly on his doorstep. The defender looked uncomfortable and the way Daniel fiddled with the zip on his jacket told him that something was troubling him.
“You don’t have to explain,” Fernando brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face. He stepped aside to let the Dane inside. “Look, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said those things. We were both angry and I’m sorry. I don’t want to leave Liverpool, at all. But -” his face broke into a grin here and he teased, “- that’s why you said what you said, didn’t you? About staying and taking things one step at a time. You sought out the terrible, dreadful media to make a statement.”
Daniel shrugged, a hint of a smile dancing at his lips. And in that moment, all the animosity between them dissipated. “Well, it’s always been like that, hasn’t it? We balance each other out; so it was my turn to keep the peace.”
* * * * * * *
The old Liverpool’s never-say-die spirit was back. With a must-win match in their way, Liverpool walked out onto the Anfield pitch with a purposeful stride. The confidence boost that was Portsmouth was feeding their beliefs that they can turn this tie around and progress to the quarter finals of the Europa League. But there were ninety minutes and at least 2 goals standing in their way.
Reconciled, Fernando and Daniel walked out one behind the other in the line-up. They stood shoulder to shoulder as they welcomed the French team to their stadium. And with a last whispered good luck, they walked off to opposite ends of the pitch. They had a match to control and a game to win.
Control it, they did. The Reds showed their intent from the moment the whistle blew to open the game. Each man played their part well, pressuring the Lille players, keeping possession and passing between themselves accurately. They created opportunities, they forced errors. It was not even ten minutes into the game when Liverpool levelled the aggregate with a penalty. Lucas, reinstated in the midfield as Aqualini took ill, won the spot kick when he was taken down in the box as he ran towards the goal. As usual, the Captain stepped up to place the ball into the net. As simple as that, the tie was now balanced. But the pressure remained on Liverpool, for just one conceded goal would require Liverpool to score two to overturn Lille’s away goal advantage.
The Red’s backline absorbed the pressure well. Whenever there was an attack, the players merged together to dissolve the danger. For all the nerves that were strung tight during every single set piece or corner conceded, Liverpool’s defence dealt with each and every one. Perhaps not in a textbook fashion, but they did not falter. Still, the aptly named Hazard nearly undid them with a forging run down the middle. Several attempts to stop him failed and only Pepe’s head managed to prevent a goal. Hazard’s attempt momentarily revived Lille’s morale and the French side began to play more naturally, and more dangerously. Nevertheless, Liverpool read them well and half time came with Liverpool maintaining their clean sheet.
Second half began with a bang as Fernando Torres scored his first European goal for the season. It was almost too easy: a hopeful boot from Babel, done more as a defensive act rather than an assist, threaded the ball through a thin defence and when you give Fernando Torres that much space, all you can do is pray he misses. But miss he did not. Cool as a cucumber in front of the goal, he calmly slotted the ball around the goal keeper, into the net and doubled the score line. Despite the extra goal, Liverpool’s back line still could not relax. As it stood, Lille just need but one goal to win the tie. Anfield continued to be a highly strung and nervous crowd.
Lille never looked like they were going to get on top of this dominant Liverpool side. The Reds could not afford to lie back in spite of their lead; they had to continue to attack, continue to sniff around for their third goal. Lille just couldn’t get into the game. They did have a few more chances, most notably one from a free kick which flew over the row of players to meet a Lille player, but they saw their would-be goal fly just over the bar. Kuyt nearly added to the score board, twice, but both shots were saved well by Lille’s goalkeeper. If Liverpool were nervous, they didn’t show it until a corner for Lille resulted in a messy clearance. Pepe Reina came off the line early and moved forward to intercept the incoming ball, but he missed entirely and amidst a wild scrabble to get the ball to safety, the goal was safe.
Finally, in the dying moments of the match, Steven Gerrard surged forward after a Lille attack almost ended their hopes and tried his luck. The keeper, Landreau managed to halt it, but could not hold onto the ball, allowing it to spin away from him, loose in the box. As all good players did, Fernando Torres had followed the ball in, and breezily slots the ball home as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Three nil. There was no coming back for Lille.
With only added time to go, Rafa Benítez chose to withdraw players he wouldn’t like to see injured. And perhaps, to kill two birds with one stone, it enabled him to use up the seconds left on the clock as well, as he subbed first Agger, then Torres off the pitch. Both players had done their job today and it was a relief to see Agger walk off the pitch seemingly un-injured considering the few skirmishes the Dane had been involved in. They did, after all, have Manchester United to look forward to in a few days and those two precious players’ fitness and health were of paramount importance.
And there it was, at full time. Liverpool three, Lille nil and Liverpool were, deservedly, through to the quarters. It is their last chance of silverware but as many fans would be thinking, which is more important? Fourth place in the league or a trophy?
* * * * * * * *
“Say,” Iker started, his eyes on glued on the screen as Daniel Agger was subbed off, “Xabi, did you ever get with that boy, Danny?”
Three pairs of eyes turned to Iker Casillas as they processed his question. Xabi eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Of course not!” he huffed, “I only had eyes for Stevie, you all know that.”
“Mmm,” Álvaro added, “Besides, Danny and Xabi were just friends. They were out together a lot -”
“Out as in out with injury,” Xabi interjected hastily.
“Yeah, they were always injured together,” Álvie continued airily. “Maybe it wasn’t so much of a coincidence, you know?”
Iker and Sergio raised their eyebrows questioningly. Álvie snickered before taking back his statement, “No, I’m just joking. Xabi and Stevie - they were inseparable. Even when Fernando came. And actually, yeah, Fernando’s the reason why Danny didn’t -”
“Arbeloa!” Xabi warned, eyeing Sergio’s growing discontentment frantically. Trying to move the subject onto safer pastures, Xabi asked Iker innocently, “Why are you asking anyway?”
Iker looked around, a picture of mock angelic innocence. “Well, he’s cute for one. Secondly, he recently said he was staying to fight for his club, regardless of the outcome this season - I like that in a player, you know. Loyalty and all.” Taking in the disbelieving looks he was getting, Iker stuck his tongue out mischievously, “Yeah, okay. I just wanted to get Sergio riled up.”
Howling with laughter, Iker rolled away nimbly as Sergio grabbed the nearest cushion to attack Iker with.
* * * * * * * *
Fernando didn’t even wait for an invitation. The dressing room was still empty as the two boys had headed in earlier, after the substitution. He made a beeline for where Daniel Agger’s gear was strewn across the bench. The elation of winning spilling over, Fernando grinned broadly as he sat himself down next to Danny. Daniel turned to look at Fernando; a rare but beautiful smile lighting up his face. It felt good to be back in winning ways, and to have the distasteful troubles between them over.
Tugging his shirt over his head, Daniel flung his sweat soaked shirt at the striker, the dimple in his cheek appearing as his smile widened. “That’s two goals apiece in two matches,” Daniel congratulated, “Good work, Nando. Didn’t I say so?”
Torres merely laughed, his eyes dancing merrily as he remembered the feeling of scoring. “And I did it without cutting my hair,” he pointed out.
“Your hair’s all right,” Smiling, Daniel reached out and pulled Fernando into him, holding him close.
Fernando sighed contently before settling comfortably against the Dane’s broad chest. “You smell of grass and sweat,” Fernando wrinkled his nose in disdain, “And you really need to practise your headers. Although, I’ll give you that the first one was unlucky, hitting so many people right in front of goal…” he trailed off, his fingers walking down Daniel’s arm, tracing the intricate patterns he knew so well. “I’ve missed this,” he admitted, finally.
“Mmm?” Daniel merely held him tighter. He looked down at the doe-like eyes Fernando possessed and wondered just how was he supposed to concentrate on football when Fernando was looking at him like that.
The sound of the rest of the team heading to the dressing room reached Daniel’s alert ears. Almost guiltily, he untangled himself from Fernando and hissed a warning to the Spaniard. Fernando looked towards the empty doorway then back at Agger’s worried face.
“I don’t care if anyone sees, what’s it to them anyway?” Fernando exclaimed, and with that, he turned Daniel’s face towards his own and kissed him firmly on the lips. It had been such a long time since they were so intimate that it was almost a shock when their lips met. But in seconds, they had found their rhythm and remembered each other’s tastes. They were just breaking apart when the rest of the squad entered, headed by Jamie Carragher.
Carra took one look at the distance, or rather the lack thereof, between the two younger men and turned away. Steven Gerrard and Pepe nodded knowingly at Fernando. The rest of the squad just whooped their way into the dressing room obliviously, still immensely cheered by their recent successes.
Daniel’s face was turning pink as he tried to appear nonchalant in the presence of the team, but he was failing miserably. It didn’t help that Fernando Torres was secretly stroking his back in a manner that aroused him terribly or that the striker had leaned in to whisper seductively in his ear.
“You’ve got to learn to live dangerously, my dear.” Fernando chuckled wickedly and with a parting kiss on the cheek, he flounced away, stripping off his own shirt as he headed towards the showers. Daniel watched Torres’s bare back as he sauntered off, before grabbing his own towel to cover the rather conspicuous piece of evidence growing in his shorts.
Sliding into the space Fernando had vacated, the Captain crossed his arms and tried to hide the smirk on his face. “Good job, Danny, a clean sheet. Almost headers. No injury, right? We need you this Sunday.” Steven Gerrard was itching to cut to the chase, but insisted on starting with the small talk. “Yeah,” he continued, “The whole team did good today... mmm. Goals at 9, 49 and 89 minutes…”
Daniel looked over at Steven, not sure where the conversation was heading. Steven looked Daniel in the eye with a straight face before saying, “It’s been a day for the number nine. Maybe it’s the lucky number today. Maybe… our number nine should get lucky… if you know what I mean.”
Blushing furiously, Daniel gathered up more of his clothes onto his lap. He had no idea what to say in reply to that! And he most definitely was not about to engage in shower sex whilst the rest of the squad were still in the room. Fortunately for him, Steven’s phone rang at that moment and Jamie Carragher tossed Steven his mobile from across the room.
“Hello?” Stevie had picked up without checking caller ID. It was a lapse in concentration, for Steven always checked who it was before he answered, but it didn’t matter because the voice that replied had his heart pumping faster.
“Hello, Steven.” The beautiful, rough English with the heavy Spanish accent which had only grown stronger was music in Stevie’s ear.
Giving his Captain some privacy in what would obviously become a more personal call, Daniel got to his feet. He shoved everything he owned into his bag and forced the zip up. Walking to the row of showers, he knocked on the door he knew Fernando was behind. Everyone else was busy celebrating and changing, minding their own business. The suggestion Stevie made did sound somewhat thrilling. Fernando had told him to live dangerously. He considered their words uncertainly. Daniel glanced around him carefully, watching for people who might be looking on curiously but they were all too engrossed in their own activities. Even Steven Gerrard was too preoccupied to pay any attention to what was about to happen. Daniel shifted on his feet indecisively. Then, after deliberating, he slid his bag under the door and knocked again, this time urgently.
The lock clicked open.
Daniel pushed the door open quickly and slipped inside, turning the lock on the door silently behind him.
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres with mentions of Daniel Agger/Steve Finnan, Steven Gerrard/Xabi Alonso.
Rating: PG 13
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
A/Ns: Follows on from A Week of Losses. Mentions the recent media interest in Fernando’s request for top quality signings and Daniel’s statement about staying regardless of this season’s outcome. Covers the Portsmouth and Lille match.
Summary: This week’s football has been much better than last week’s.
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Word Count: 4752
Revival
The tension was palpable as the two underachieving squads walked onto the pitch. The pressure on both sides to win was crushing. Daniel Agger breathed the crisp air in deep into his lungs. He was glad to be on the pitch, fighting for the club he was a part of. It was different for Steven Gerrard and Jamie Carragher. They were Liverpool; it was almost an obligation for them. For him, it was a want; he wanted to be part of the squad who didn’t give up, who believed in themselves enough to claw their way back from the brinks. As the crowd sang ‘You’ll Never Walk Alone’ proudly, he cast a sideways glance at Fernando Torres. The pair hadn’t spoken since after the Lille match save for any forced conversing during trainings. But there was something different about Fernando tonight. The striker’s jaw was set stubbornly with a determination that Liverpool had missed sorely this season.
The Portsmouth players were walking past them, their hands extended for the polite exchange before a match starts. Daniel shook each proffered hand absentmindedly. Until his hand slipped in and held onto his own for a second too long. Daniel found himself watching the back of Finnan’s head as the right back moved down the line dutifully. Agger swallowed the lump that developed at the base of his throat nervously. It will be fine, he told himself. Concentrate on the match.
* * * * * * *
Xabi hadn’t invited anyone over. He would claim that he forgot to, when in truth, he just didn’t want to watch Liverpool fall apart again. Still, his doorbell had rung right on cue as the teams were warming up on screen. Switching his television off guiltily, Xabi tried to act as natural as possible when he opened his door.
“Hey, Xabi!” Álvie exclaimed, “We figured you just forgot to call us so here we are. We’re not late for the kick off, are we?”
“Um,” Xabi racked his brains for a polite way to get rid of his friends, “Kick off?”
“Yeah,” Sergio chimed in, “Liverpool versus Portsmouth, remember?”
Patting Xabi on the shoulder, the three Spaniards trooped past Alonso and into his living room. Sighing, Xabi followed them in.
* * * * * * * *
The line up was better. Maxi’s presence was welcomed after the Argentine was missed midweek due to being cup tied. With Aquilani in a rare start and Benayoun available on the bench, it seemed like a squad who could create enough to secure a win. It started brightly enough, both teams lively and playing with an ease that was disproportionate to the amount of pressure they were under. The tone of the match was set early with a rugby tackle on Gerrard by Brown only resulting in a free kick. The ref, it seems, wanted them to play.
An early goal would be lovely and Fernando Torres nearly had it. His goal bound shot hit a Pompey arm, but the ref deemed it to be unintentional and appeals for a penalty were waived. Not allowing this to affect them, Liverpool continued to press for an opening goal. The ball was passed eloquently to the feet of the red players, their recent penchant of hoofing the ball up from the defence discarded in favour of some lovely footwork and teamwork. Portsmouth weren’t just lying down either, they had a few chances too, but mostly were nullified by good, solid defending from arguably, Liverpool’s best backline.
Liverpool’s need for a goal or two showed as the Reds powered up the field hungrily. Finally, the breakthrough came. It was but a simple strike from Fernando Torres, but the way in which it was created gave the Liverpool fans something to hold onto. First Gerrard chased the ball up the field. Then he passed back to an anticipating Maxi who merely threaded the ball sideways across the goal mouth in the box to feed an old friend, Fernando. At that distance and with such a beauty of a pass, Liverpool’s number nine made no mistake and slotted in his first goal in a few matches.
The relief was insurmountable. For both Torres and the rest of the team, the fact that they had scored lifted their spirits and nourished their confidence. Torres hugged Maxi tightly as the Spaniard acknowledged his team mate’s contribution. Steven Gerrard joined in, as he often did; his usually worried face a picture of delight.
Had Daniel been watching, he might have felt a pang of jealously, watching Fernando give himself so readily to the rest of the squad. However, Daniel had his own troubles and despite the vast distances that stretched between his territory in defence and his territory in the other half, Daniel couldn’t stop his eyes wandering back to the man who started it all.
The second and third goal came in quick succession. The magical six minutes once achieved by a now fabled Liverpool squad back in Istanbul in 2005 repeated itself in a less majestic situation. Fernando Torres, the scorer of the first goal, turned creator as his first attempt at goal hit a well positioned defender. Spying Babel unmarked, he changed tack and slipped the ball to the Dutchman, who, with a skilful spot of control, released the ball towards the far post, past the goalkeeper and into the net. The third was a piece of long-awaited mastery from the Liverpool duo. Teaming up again, their intuitive connection with each other undid the Portsmouth defence. A ball passed up to Fernando was shepherded out to the wing by the defenders. But the wily striker returned the ball to Stevie with a sneaky back-heel. To compound the situation, Steven Gerrard, not able to get a clear line at goal, faked a move and let the ball roll past him undisturbed and into the path of Aquilani. The Italian relished the opportunity and smashed the ball convincingly into the net. Three goals. Six minutes. That’s all it took. Celebrations ensued.
It wasn’t a completely one sided match. Pepe Reina was not left standing alone, twiddling his thumbs. The Liverpool backline were called into action many a times and an a few instances, it seemed Portsmouth might steal a goal back. But as it were, buoyed by their sudden flood of goals, Liverpool attacked - even Jamie had a crack at goal! - and made it to half time maintaining a clean sheet. For the defence, that was the statistic that matter the most. Perhaps it did not matter as much as the three points, but it’s a matter of pride, to be able to keep a clean sheet.
The second half resumed with more brilliance from a now rejuvenated Liverpool team, however, they were always left wanting more. Finally, with less than fifteen minutes left on the clock, the fourth goal came. Fernando Torres looked like he had finally shaken off the last of his doubts as he drove the ball strongly into the net. It was a strike that spoke volumes as to just who Fernando was, and about the confidence that had returned to his play. The Spaniard collected the ball and manoeuvred the defenders with ease to cut back in and go for goal. It was, more importantly, an insightful pass up from Aquilani, who was tasked with the job Xabi had once held. To see the new plays gelling with the old brought hope for the future for all Liverpool fans.
Perhaps the only black mark of the match was a conceded goal. It would make no difference to the three points that they would take from Portsmouth, but again, it was the manner in which it was conceded that held glaring implications for the rest of the team. Carra was incensed at the midfield for letting such a ball through to the defence. Still, in the end, it was a job well done and an excellent springboard from which to tackle Lille, and their last chance for silverware this season on Thursday.
As the players clapped their way off the field, one player moved silently past others to the man he sought after. Those full lips smiled softly as the Irishman reached his old team mate and offered his congratulations.
Daniel looked down at Finnan, a strange hunted look plain in his eyes. Agger glanced sideways once, twice, to watch the blonde hair of Fernando Torres, shaking hands with another Pompey player before he returned his attention to Steve. “Thanks,” he said simply, before walking off unhappily.
Steve was confused, Daniel had all the reasons to be overjoyed, the game was won and they had played well. But unwilling to risk displaying too much intimacy on the public arena, Finnan let the boy go. He watched as Daniel approached Torres and saw how Fernando reached out to the defender with familiarity. Saw how excited Fernando was to speak to Daniel. Finnan had always suspected that something had developed between the two players, so he was perplexed when he saw Daniel shy away from the goal scorer.
Later, as Finnan wandered through the corridors he had once known well, he stumbled across the two young lovers again. Not wanting to seem like he was eavesdropping, Steve hung back in the shadows. The two twenty five year olds continued their conversation without noticing their audience.
“Why did you say that?” Daniel was asking belligerently.
Fernando looked half ashamed as he faced up to the livid Dane. “I didn’t say I wanted to leave. I said I wanted to stay.”
Daniel scoffed, “And you think that’s what the rest of the world saw in your statement? You practically said you were leaving!”
“That’s so not true!” protested Fernando.
“’If we don’t get some top quality players, you’ll leave,’” Daniel stated firmly. “That’s what you said, that’s what you meant. I don’t know whether to be more insulted that you don’t think we’re currently top quality or that you’ve thought about leaving. Jus because you’ve not done as well as you would like doesn’t mean you just give up and go!”
“I didn’t give up!” Fernando exclaimed, his brows furrowed angrily, “If you didn’t notice, we won today, and I scored two of those goals. I didn’t fucking give up, I took your stupid advice and worked hard, but you don’t care, do you? Because you’re obviously still hung up about someone else.” Pushing Daniel away, Fernando stormed off.
Wincing slightly at the situation, Finnan tried to creep away unseen, however his runners squeaked traitorously against the clean floor. Daniel’s head turned abruptly at the sound and the tension in his shoulders went away when he saw it was Steve.
“I fucked up, Steve.” Daniel sighed tiredly.
“Hey, don’t say that,” Steve came forward, comforting as usual.
“Nando’s right,” the younger man confessed. He ran a hand through his messy hair and set his sad eyes on Finnan’s.
Steve raised an eyebrow. “Nando’s right about what?” he asked cautiously. Did he dare hope that it was true that Daniel still wanted him?
“He did work hard for those goals, he trained. And he didn’t give up.” Seemingly unaware of Finnan’s wants, Daniel played with his fingers as he contemplated Fernando’s words. Meeting Steve’s gaze, Daniel offered a smile, “It was a game well played. And credit to your team too, for not giving up either. We can understand the pressure.”
Steve waved the comment away, “That’s not true. We’re just waiting for relegation now, a result here at Anfield wouldn’t change that. I’m glad you got those three points. At least they might change something for you.”
Daniel straightened up and fiddled with his shirt as he glanced boyishly at the older man. He had caught onto the meaning Steve had intended when he asked that question almost immediately but had not known how to approach it. Finally, broaching the subject carefully, he said, “Fernando’s also right about the other thing he said, you know. I can’t help remembering what we had.”
Finnan looked at Daniel incredulously. The boy was biting his lip in that nervous way that made him want to hold him tight and keep him safe. And yet, despite the feelings those words stirred up in him, Steve couldn’t see how acting on them could change anything. It was obvious that Daniel also liked Fernando; he could hear the tenderness in Danny’s voice when he spoke of Fernando, could see what the two boys shared even during their altercation. Would taking the boy back to his hotel room change anything, would it bring him back into Daniel’s life? It won’t ever be the same as it used to and it could it make things worse. Steve had half a mind to just let things lie.
Steve was thankful that he didn’t say anything for Daniel’s next words confirmed that it was the right decision. Daniel had heaved a heavy sigh before announcing to no one in particular that perhaps it was time to end everything. “Football,” he said, “is the most important thing. We need to win all of our matches to fight for fourth; we can’t afford to have any distractions anymore.”
Watching the younger man leave with a resignation that was too old for his years, Finnan blurted out, “Danny, don’t dwell on the past. Sure, the club’s history, anyone’s history can be amazing. But sometimes, that’s all it is. History. You can be just as good with the present squad you have. Look to the future with who you have now, it can work. But only if you try.”
‘It was for the best,’ Finnan thought. It was time for them both to move on.
* * * * * * *
Had Finnan meant his words literally, or was there a hidden cryptic message in there? Daniel couldn’t help but think about what his friend had said. And why would Steve encourage things with Fernando if that’s what he meant? Remembering the way he and Fernando had departed, Daniel suddenly felt a headache coming on.
* * * * * * *
Sergio pressed the buttons on his phone hurriedly. Sending the message off, he hoped Fernando would take it as a peace offering.
The beep of the phone announcing a message received had Sergio scrambling for his mobile. Opening it with anticipation, Sergio relaxed as he read Fernando’s reply.
‘Definitely,’ Sergio thought happily, ‘I’d love to be friends again.’
* * * * * * *
Fernando had only just sent the message to Sergio when his doorbell rung. He opened the door to find Daniel Agger standing awkwardly on his doorstep. The defender looked uncomfortable and the way Daniel fiddled with the zip on his jacket told him that something was troubling him.
“You don’t have to explain,” Fernando brushed a stray lock of hair away from his face. He stepped aside to let the Dane inside. “Look, you’re right. I shouldn’t have said those things. We were both angry and I’m sorry. I don’t want to leave Liverpool, at all. But -” his face broke into a grin here and he teased, “- that’s why you said what you said, didn’t you? About staying and taking things one step at a time. You sought out the terrible, dreadful media to make a statement.”
Daniel shrugged, a hint of a smile dancing at his lips. And in that moment, all the animosity between them dissipated. “Well, it’s always been like that, hasn’t it? We balance each other out; so it was my turn to keep the peace.”
* * * * * * *
The old Liverpool’s never-say-die spirit was back. With a must-win match in their way, Liverpool walked out onto the Anfield pitch with a purposeful stride. The confidence boost that was Portsmouth was feeding their beliefs that they can turn this tie around and progress to the quarter finals of the Europa League. But there were ninety minutes and at least 2 goals standing in their way.
Reconciled, Fernando and Daniel walked out one behind the other in the line-up. They stood shoulder to shoulder as they welcomed the French team to their stadium. And with a last whispered good luck, they walked off to opposite ends of the pitch. They had a match to control and a game to win.
Control it, they did. The Reds showed their intent from the moment the whistle blew to open the game. Each man played their part well, pressuring the Lille players, keeping possession and passing between themselves accurately. They created opportunities, they forced errors. It was not even ten minutes into the game when Liverpool levelled the aggregate with a penalty. Lucas, reinstated in the midfield as Aqualini took ill, won the spot kick when he was taken down in the box as he ran towards the goal. As usual, the Captain stepped up to place the ball into the net. As simple as that, the tie was now balanced. But the pressure remained on Liverpool, for just one conceded goal would require Liverpool to score two to overturn Lille’s away goal advantage.
The Red’s backline absorbed the pressure well. Whenever there was an attack, the players merged together to dissolve the danger. For all the nerves that were strung tight during every single set piece or corner conceded, Liverpool’s defence dealt with each and every one. Perhaps not in a textbook fashion, but they did not falter. Still, the aptly named Hazard nearly undid them with a forging run down the middle. Several attempts to stop him failed and only Pepe’s head managed to prevent a goal. Hazard’s attempt momentarily revived Lille’s morale and the French side began to play more naturally, and more dangerously. Nevertheless, Liverpool read them well and half time came with Liverpool maintaining their clean sheet.
Second half began with a bang as Fernando Torres scored his first European goal for the season. It was almost too easy: a hopeful boot from Babel, done more as a defensive act rather than an assist, threaded the ball through a thin defence and when you give Fernando Torres that much space, all you can do is pray he misses. But miss he did not. Cool as a cucumber in front of the goal, he calmly slotted the ball around the goal keeper, into the net and doubled the score line. Despite the extra goal, Liverpool’s back line still could not relax. As it stood, Lille just need but one goal to win the tie. Anfield continued to be a highly strung and nervous crowd.
Lille never looked like they were going to get on top of this dominant Liverpool side. The Reds could not afford to lie back in spite of their lead; they had to continue to attack, continue to sniff around for their third goal. Lille just couldn’t get into the game. They did have a few more chances, most notably one from a free kick which flew over the row of players to meet a Lille player, but they saw their would-be goal fly just over the bar. Kuyt nearly added to the score board, twice, but both shots were saved well by Lille’s goalkeeper. If Liverpool were nervous, they didn’t show it until a corner for Lille resulted in a messy clearance. Pepe Reina came off the line early and moved forward to intercept the incoming ball, but he missed entirely and amidst a wild scrabble to get the ball to safety, the goal was safe.
Finally, in the dying moments of the match, Steven Gerrard surged forward after a Lille attack almost ended their hopes and tried his luck. The keeper, Landreau managed to halt it, but could not hold onto the ball, allowing it to spin away from him, loose in the box. As all good players did, Fernando Torres had followed the ball in, and breezily slots the ball home as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Three nil. There was no coming back for Lille.
With only added time to go, Rafa Benítez chose to withdraw players he wouldn’t like to see injured. And perhaps, to kill two birds with one stone, it enabled him to use up the seconds left on the clock as well, as he subbed first Agger, then Torres off the pitch. Both players had done their job today and it was a relief to see Agger walk off the pitch seemingly un-injured considering the few skirmishes the Dane had been involved in. They did, after all, have Manchester United to look forward to in a few days and those two precious players’ fitness and health were of paramount importance.
And there it was, at full time. Liverpool three, Lille nil and Liverpool were, deservedly, through to the quarters. It is their last chance of silverware but as many fans would be thinking, which is more important? Fourth place in the league or a trophy?
* * * * * * * *
“Say,” Iker started, his eyes on glued on the screen as Daniel Agger was subbed off, “Xabi, did you ever get with that boy, Danny?”
Three pairs of eyes turned to Iker Casillas as they processed his question. Xabi eyes nearly popped out of his head. “Of course not!” he huffed, “I only had eyes for Stevie, you all know that.”
“Mmm,” Álvaro added, “Besides, Danny and Xabi were just friends. They were out together a lot -”
“Out as in out with injury,” Xabi interjected hastily.
“Yeah, they were always injured together,” Álvie continued airily. “Maybe it wasn’t so much of a coincidence, you know?”
Iker and Sergio raised their eyebrows questioningly. Álvie snickered before taking back his statement, “No, I’m just joking. Xabi and Stevie - they were inseparable. Even when Fernando came. And actually, yeah, Fernando’s the reason why Danny didn’t -”
“Arbeloa!” Xabi warned, eyeing Sergio’s growing discontentment frantically. Trying to move the subject onto safer pastures, Xabi asked Iker innocently, “Why are you asking anyway?”
Iker looked around, a picture of mock angelic innocence. “Well, he’s cute for one. Secondly, he recently said he was staying to fight for his club, regardless of the outcome this season - I like that in a player, you know. Loyalty and all.” Taking in the disbelieving looks he was getting, Iker stuck his tongue out mischievously, “Yeah, okay. I just wanted to get Sergio riled up.”
Howling with laughter, Iker rolled away nimbly as Sergio grabbed the nearest cushion to attack Iker with.
* * * * * * * *
Fernando didn’t even wait for an invitation. The dressing room was still empty as the two boys had headed in earlier, after the substitution. He made a beeline for where Daniel Agger’s gear was strewn across the bench. The elation of winning spilling over, Fernando grinned broadly as he sat himself down next to Danny. Daniel turned to look at Fernando; a rare but beautiful smile lighting up his face. It felt good to be back in winning ways, and to have the distasteful troubles between them over.
Tugging his shirt over his head, Daniel flung his sweat soaked shirt at the striker, the dimple in his cheek appearing as his smile widened. “That’s two goals apiece in two matches,” Daniel congratulated, “Good work, Nando. Didn’t I say so?”
Torres merely laughed, his eyes dancing merrily as he remembered the feeling of scoring. “And I did it without cutting my hair,” he pointed out.
“Your hair’s all right,” Smiling, Daniel reached out and pulled Fernando into him, holding him close.
Fernando sighed contently before settling comfortably against the Dane’s broad chest. “You smell of grass and sweat,” Fernando wrinkled his nose in disdain, “And you really need to practise your headers. Although, I’ll give you that the first one was unlucky, hitting so many people right in front of goal…” he trailed off, his fingers walking down Daniel’s arm, tracing the intricate patterns he knew so well. “I’ve missed this,” he admitted, finally.
“Mmm?” Daniel merely held him tighter. He looked down at the doe-like eyes Fernando possessed and wondered just how was he supposed to concentrate on football when Fernando was looking at him like that.
The sound of the rest of the team heading to the dressing room reached Daniel’s alert ears. Almost guiltily, he untangled himself from Fernando and hissed a warning to the Spaniard. Fernando looked towards the empty doorway then back at Agger’s worried face.
“I don’t care if anyone sees, what’s it to them anyway?” Fernando exclaimed, and with that, he turned Daniel’s face towards his own and kissed him firmly on the lips. It had been such a long time since they were so intimate that it was almost a shock when their lips met. But in seconds, they had found their rhythm and remembered each other’s tastes. They were just breaking apart when the rest of the squad entered, headed by Jamie Carragher.
Carra took one look at the distance, or rather the lack thereof, between the two younger men and turned away. Steven Gerrard and Pepe nodded knowingly at Fernando. The rest of the squad just whooped their way into the dressing room obliviously, still immensely cheered by their recent successes.
Daniel’s face was turning pink as he tried to appear nonchalant in the presence of the team, but he was failing miserably. It didn’t help that Fernando Torres was secretly stroking his back in a manner that aroused him terribly or that the striker had leaned in to whisper seductively in his ear.
“You’ve got to learn to live dangerously, my dear.” Fernando chuckled wickedly and with a parting kiss on the cheek, he flounced away, stripping off his own shirt as he headed towards the showers. Daniel watched Torres’s bare back as he sauntered off, before grabbing his own towel to cover the rather conspicuous piece of evidence growing in his shorts.
Sliding into the space Fernando had vacated, the Captain crossed his arms and tried to hide the smirk on his face. “Good job, Danny, a clean sheet. Almost headers. No injury, right? We need you this Sunday.” Steven Gerrard was itching to cut to the chase, but insisted on starting with the small talk. “Yeah,” he continued, “The whole team did good today... mmm. Goals at 9, 49 and 89 minutes…”
Daniel looked over at Steven, not sure where the conversation was heading. Steven looked Daniel in the eye with a straight face before saying, “It’s been a day for the number nine. Maybe it’s the lucky number today. Maybe… our number nine should get lucky… if you know what I mean.”
Blushing furiously, Daniel gathered up more of his clothes onto his lap. He had no idea what to say in reply to that! And he most definitely was not about to engage in shower sex whilst the rest of the squad were still in the room. Fortunately for him, Steven’s phone rang at that moment and Jamie Carragher tossed Steven his mobile from across the room.
“Hello?” Stevie had picked up without checking caller ID. It was a lapse in concentration, for Steven always checked who it was before he answered, but it didn’t matter because the voice that replied had his heart pumping faster.
“Hello, Steven.” The beautiful, rough English with the heavy Spanish accent which had only grown stronger was music in Stevie’s ear.
Giving his Captain some privacy in what would obviously become a more personal call, Daniel got to his feet. He shoved everything he owned into his bag and forced the zip up. Walking to the row of showers, he knocked on the door he knew Fernando was behind. Everyone else was busy celebrating and changing, minding their own business. The suggestion Stevie made did sound somewhat thrilling. Fernando had told him to live dangerously. He considered their words uncertainly. Daniel glanced around him carefully, watching for people who might be looking on curiously but they were all too engrossed in their own activities. Even Steven Gerrard was too preoccupied to pay any attention to what was about to happen. Daniel shifted on his feet indecisively. Then, after deliberating, he slid his bag under the door and knocked again, this time urgently.
The lock clicked open.
Daniel pushed the door open quickly and slipped inside, turning the lock on the door silently behind him.