Fic: Surrender
So I had just watched the Blackburn match and this idea was niggling and I thought I'll humour it and write it out so here it is.
Title: Surrender
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, mainly.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Written after the Blackburn-Liverpool match…
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Word Count: 1864
Surrender
A logical, sane person would tell you there is no such thing as curses. In a world driven by science, technology and reason, curses are something that no one really, truly believes in anymore, right? Looking at the team in red, one would beg to differ. The away game curse definitely exists in their minds. As someone who had been so far removed from the rest of the team for the past few months, Daniel Agger scorned their pathetic surrender to the psychological game. There is no such thing as a curse. Liverpool Football Club can and should be winning all these away games. So why couldn’t they do that today?
A relatively acceptable start deteriorated into failure as not one, not two, but three goals were conceded. All of which really should not have occurred. Defensive issues. Agger could shrug off any responsibility for the first two as he wasn’t even on the pitch. He didn’t know if he would have preferred to be cast in the same scrutinising glare of the media because then at least that meant he was playing, he had started the match. The third, however, he would have to share in the blame, and yet, ironically, by the time it had reached him, it was nigh un-defendable.
The media would be all abuzz, printing story after story of players’ unrest, dissatisfaction of the club and players’ performances, of the direction in which the team is travelling, about how players have become disillusioned, that they are nothing but overpaid, spoilt children refusing to give their all. There would be hours devoted to dissecting Fernando Torres’s latest ‘body language’ on the pitch and how that clearly shows that his heart is no longer in Liverpool. The rumour mills would be spinning faster than ever when Daniel Agger started on the bench, churning out ‘news’ about how the Danish defender is on the move. And despite the courageous performance, Pepe Reina will not find peace from the whispers in the air about his imminent transfer.
For someone like Lucas, and Maxi, not as loved by the club’s supporters as some of the other big name stars, it was frustrating to be playing in the midst of such unrest. For all the crap the media can stir up, players like them cannot help but wonder, just how much of it is true? Players are known to say one thing and then do another. Too many players have professed to love their club only to then turn around and leave for new horizons. While no one had come out and said they want out, one does being to wonder when they clearly are not playing with their hearts in the game.
* * * * *
Steven Gerrard struggled to keep his composure as his team slumped to yet another loss. It wasn’t so much the three lost points that hurt, although that hit him hard, too. It was the half hearted way in which the ninety minutes had been played out. He was but one man, he could not win the game himself. He needed some support, some support that was lacking from within the club. If he was the human embodiment of Liverpool, then does that mean Liverpool is slowly dying?
* * * * *
Alone in his room, Agger stretched out on his bed, his arms folded under his head, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed. It’s been a while since he had felt such dissatisfaction from playing football. A faint knock at the door had him lifting his head in surprise.
“Who is it?” he called out warily.
A muffled “May I come in?” was the reply.
Agger sniffed disdainfully. The voice, no, the accent was unmistakeable. He shrugged, indicating consent then realised Fernando Torres would not have seen it so he said, “Come in.”
The Spanish striker stepped in gingerly. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he played with his fingers, waiting for the other man to speak.
Daniel sighed and complied.
“So, why are you here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Torres replied pointedly. They had, after all, a routine back in the days. Away games meant staying together. With both players in and out of injury, it had been a lengthy time since they had both been present during an away game fixture.
Daniel made no movement towards the other man. He had his doubts about Torres, after all. How could he not, when he himself had entertained thoughts of change, of moving away. He didn’t want to, but the idea had crossed his mind, And because of that, he didn’t want to face Fernando Torres on his own. Instead, he changed the subject, “Steven only likes winners, right?”
Torres didn’t speak. Everyone knows how Steven feels about winners. They were the light in Steven’s eyes, and they shone brighter than anyone else could in his point of view. But more specifically, they knew how he felt about losers. Or the losing team. Gerrard was probably in his room right now, manfully sniffing back the tears as he tried to put on a brave face. He would refuse to speak to anybody. Losses always hit him the hardest, and it wasn’t just because he was a born and bred Scouser. It was in these situations, especially, that they all missed Xabi Alonso. Not only would they be less likely to be in such a position had Xabi stayed, but of all the people on the squad, Xabi was best at talking to their captain in moments like these. Not even Jamie Carragher had the same effect.
Daniel lifted his head from his arms and looked at Fernando wearily. “If you’re going to stay, you may as well get comfortable.”
Torres nodded hastily. He was a bit miffed at Daniel’s last accusation, as if he never thought their relationship amounted to anything, that he would sleep with the Captain so easily, that he could be swayed just like that. And yet, there was a drop of truth in Daniel’s wariness, for there was something about Gerrard that made him want to please the man. He noted Daniel’s fully clothed body on top of the duvet, then turned back to his own polo shirt. If he was going to get Daniel to understand where he stood, he needed to show him. Pulling the collar up over his head, he slipped the shirt off.
Daniel didn’t even blink. It wasn’t the same anymore. Maybe it was the melancholy that still hung over them, the defeat dragging them down, but he didn’t feel anything as Fernando Torres lay down next to him. Not when Fernando slipped his hand into his own. Lying there, his arm against the Spaniard’s, feeling the heat coming off the solid body next to his, Daniel Agger thought he knew what it felt like to fall out of love.
“What are you going to do?” It was a simple question, yet there were a thousand hidden meanings behind it and it hung between them precariously like a sharpened guillotine poised above the condemned’s neck.
Torres turned, his freckles standing out against his pale skin,“What do you mean?”
Daniel shifted, the air suddenly felt suffocating. Did he really want to know the answer to that question. Did he really want to break this off? And what was this? Did he mean Liverpool, he did want to know if Fernando had thought about what to do with his footballing career, with Liverpool; or did he mean this right now, with him, in a bed? Or was it both?
A tentative kiss broke his train of thought. When his lips curled upwards, more rained onto his face, his nose, his eyelids, his freckles. Those soft, numbing kisses he used to know so well and thought he had forgotten, how could he have been so stupid? When Fernando stopped, Daniel brought a hand up to stop Fernando’s retreat. Bringing the striker close, Daniel whispered, “Please stay.”
A flicker of confusion went through Fernando’s eyes as he pondered the plea behind those words. But he stopped, smiled and resettled into the spot beside the defender. With everything going around now, no doubt there could have been a double meaning in Daniel’s request. He wasn’t going to clarify which one Daniel wanted him to stay for.
Right this moment, he could stay. He wanted to stay. Linking his fingers with Daniel’s again, Fernando Torres savoured the familiarity of Daniel Agger and the comfort from the memories it brought with it. Finally, a moment of peace.
* * * * *
No one knew how much it hurt, how helpless he feels as he sets foot out on the green pitch these days. To hear those damning words said about him, about how he no longer cares, that he doesn’t give a shit. It hurts. It wasn’t because he wasn’t trying, he was. But something just wasn’t working, and by Jove, he wanted to find out what that was more than anyone else. Then he could start scoring again, he could be the Torres of old, he could be Liverpool’s winner. He could be everything that everyone loved about him.
Until then, he will have to cope with the rumours, the criticism. He knew how much the supporters still love him, and perhaps that made the hurt cut even deeper. To know he was so loved yet he wasn’t giving enough back. He would have to deal with his team mates doubting his commitment; he would have to live with Daniel’s mistrusting prickliness and Steven’s unhappy face.
Still, most of all, what really frustrated him was his inability to win. For there was nothing he cherished more than the feeling of victory. And right now, he was losing on all fronts. Because not only was Liverpool continuing to trail in the shadow of their former glory, not only was he a faint ghost of his old striking self, but he could feel everyone he loved slipping away from him.
* * * * *
It’s all in the mind. That’s what Steven Gerrard told himself as he scored Liverpool’s consolation goal in the game. Know that, and you can win. So explain how he had missed that penalty. He had faced tougher situations than that, and he had delivered. Why, how could he have failed? If it was all in the mind, then he just lost that battle.
Who had the cure; who had the antidote; who knew how to break the curse?
If anyone had the answer, then Liverpool Football Club wants to know.
Meanwhile, it’s players will continue to question themselves, to second guess their choices and doubt their actions. Their confidence, already at an all time low, will continue to be sucked dry. And relationships could be irreparably destroyed as self hatred unfurls its withered, cruel tendrils around them greedily.
And yet, there is an escape. For even as they trailed three goals to nil, the supporters sang their songs loudly and with a will. If the players could only harness the same hope, the same trust and belief, maybe they are not too far gone.
Title: Surrender
Pairing: Daniel Agger/Fernando Torres, mainly.
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Any fictitious relationships described within is true in the land of imagination only.
Summary: Written after the Blackburn-Liverpool match…
Feedback: Would be greatly appreciated! Good/bad, either is fine. Thanks!
Word Count: 1864
Surrender
A logical, sane person would tell you there is no such thing as curses. In a world driven by science, technology and reason, curses are something that no one really, truly believes in anymore, right? Looking at the team in red, one would beg to differ. The away game curse definitely exists in their minds. As someone who had been so far removed from the rest of the team for the past few months, Daniel Agger scorned their pathetic surrender to the psychological game. There is no such thing as a curse. Liverpool Football Club can and should be winning all these away games. So why couldn’t they do that today?
A relatively acceptable start deteriorated into failure as not one, not two, but three goals were conceded. All of which really should not have occurred. Defensive issues. Agger could shrug off any responsibility for the first two as he wasn’t even on the pitch. He didn’t know if he would have preferred to be cast in the same scrutinising glare of the media because then at least that meant he was playing, he had started the match. The third, however, he would have to share in the blame, and yet, ironically, by the time it had reached him, it was nigh un-defendable.
The media would be all abuzz, printing story after story of players’ unrest, dissatisfaction of the club and players’ performances, of the direction in which the team is travelling, about how players have become disillusioned, that they are nothing but overpaid, spoilt children refusing to give their all. There would be hours devoted to dissecting Fernando Torres’s latest ‘body language’ on the pitch and how that clearly shows that his heart is no longer in Liverpool. The rumour mills would be spinning faster than ever when Daniel Agger started on the bench, churning out ‘news’ about how the Danish defender is on the move. And despite the courageous performance, Pepe Reina will not find peace from the whispers in the air about his imminent transfer.
For someone like Lucas, and Maxi, not as loved by the club’s supporters as some of the other big name stars, it was frustrating to be playing in the midst of such unrest. For all the crap the media can stir up, players like them cannot help but wonder, just how much of it is true? Players are known to say one thing and then do another. Too many players have professed to love their club only to then turn around and leave for new horizons. While no one had come out and said they want out, one does being to wonder when they clearly are not playing with their hearts in the game.
* * * * *
Steven Gerrard struggled to keep his composure as his team slumped to yet another loss. It wasn’t so much the three lost points that hurt, although that hit him hard, too. It was the half hearted way in which the ninety minutes had been played out. He was but one man, he could not win the game himself. He needed some support, some support that was lacking from within the club. If he was the human embodiment of Liverpool, then does that mean Liverpool is slowly dying?
* * * * *
Alone in his room, Agger stretched out on his bed, his arms folded under his head, his feet hanging off the edge of the bed. It’s been a while since he had felt such dissatisfaction from playing football. A faint knock at the door had him lifting his head in surprise.
“Who is it?” he called out warily.
A muffled “May I come in?” was the reply.
Agger sniffed disdainfully. The voice, no, the accent was unmistakeable. He shrugged, indicating consent then realised Fernando Torres would not have seen it so he said, “Come in.”
The Spanish striker stepped in gingerly. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he played with his fingers, waiting for the other man to speak.
Daniel sighed and complied.
“So, why are you here?”
“Why wouldn’t I be here?” Torres replied pointedly. They had, after all, a routine back in the days. Away games meant staying together. With both players in and out of injury, it had been a lengthy time since they had both been present during an away game fixture.
Daniel made no movement towards the other man. He had his doubts about Torres, after all. How could he not, when he himself had entertained thoughts of change, of moving away. He didn’t want to, but the idea had crossed his mind, And because of that, he didn’t want to face Fernando Torres on his own. Instead, he changed the subject, “Steven only likes winners, right?”
Torres didn’t speak. Everyone knows how Steven feels about winners. They were the light in Steven’s eyes, and they shone brighter than anyone else could in his point of view. But more specifically, they knew how he felt about losers. Or the losing team. Gerrard was probably in his room right now, manfully sniffing back the tears as he tried to put on a brave face. He would refuse to speak to anybody. Losses always hit him the hardest, and it wasn’t just because he was a born and bred Scouser. It was in these situations, especially, that they all missed Xabi Alonso. Not only would they be less likely to be in such a position had Xabi stayed, but of all the people on the squad, Xabi was best at talking to their captain in moments like these. Not even Jamie Carragher had the same effect.
Daniel lifted his head from his arms and looked at Fernando wearily. “If you’re going to stay, you may as well get comfortable.”
Torres nodded hastily. He was a bit miffed at Daniel’s last accusation, as if he never thought their relationship amounted to anything, that he would sleep with the Captain so easily, that he could be swayed just like that. And yet, there was a drop of truth in Daniel’s wariness, for there was something about Gerrard that made him want to please the man. He noted Daniel’s fully clothed body on top of the duvet, then turned back to his own polo shirt. If he was going to get Daniel to understand where he stood, he needed to show him. Pulling the collar up over his head, he slipped the shirt off.
Daniel didn’t even blink. It wasn’t the same anymore. Maybe it was the melancholy that still hung over them, the defeat dragging them down, but he didn’t feel anything as Fernando Torres lay down next to him. Not when Fernando slipped his hand into his own. Lying there, his arm against the Spaniard’s, feeling the heat coming off the solid body next to his, Daniel Agger thought he knew what it felt like to fall out of love.
“What are you going to do?” It was a simple question, yet there were a thousand hidden meanings behind it and it hung between them precariously like a sharpened guillotine poised above the condemned’s neck.
Torres turned, his freckles standing out against his pale skin,“What do you mean?”
Daniel shifted, the air suddenly felt suffocating. Did he really want to know the answer to that question. Did he really want to break this off? And what was this? Did he mean Liverpool, he did want to know if Fernando had thought about what to do with his footballing career, with Liverpool; or did he mean this right now, with him, in a bed? Or was it both?
A tentative kiss broke his train of thought. When his lips curled upwards, more rained onto his face, his nose, his eyelids, his freckles. Those soft, numbing kisses he used to know so well and thought he had forgotten, how could he have been so stupid? When Fernando stopped, Daniel brought a hand up to stop Fernando’s retreat. Bringing the striker close, Daniel whispered, “Please stay.”
A flicker of confusion went through Fernando’s eyes as he pondered the plea behind those words. But he stopped, smiled and resettled into the spot beside the defender. With everything going around now, no doubt there could have been a double meaning in Daniel’s request. He wasn’t going to clarify which one Daniel wanted him to stay for.
Right this moment, he could stay. He wanted to stay. Linking his fingers with Daniel’s again, Fernando Torres savoured the familiarity of Daniel Agger and the comfort from the memories it brought with it. Finally, a moment of peace.
* * * * *
No one knew how much it hurt, how helpless he feels as he sets foot out on the green pitch these days. To hear those damning words said about him, about how he no longer cares, that he doesn’t give a shit. It hurts. It wasn’t because he wasn’t trying, he was. But something just wasn’t working, and by Jove, he wanted to find out what that was more than anyone else. Then he could start scoring again, he could be the Torres of old, he could be Liverpool’s winner. He could be everything that everyone loved about him.
Until then, he will have to cope with the rumours, the criticism. He knew how much the supporters still love him, and perhaps that made the hurt cut even deeper. To know he was so loved yet he wasn’t giving enough back. He would have to deal with his team mates doubting his commitment; he would have to live with Daniel’s mistrusting prickliness and Steven’s unhappy face.
Still, most of all, what really frustrated him was his inability to win. For there was nothing he cherished more than the feeling of victory. And right now, he was losing on all fronts. Because not only was Liverpool continuing to trail in the shadow of their former glory, not only was he a faint ghost of his old striking self, but he could feel everyone he loved slipping away from him.
* * * * *
It’s all in the mind. That’s what Steven Gerrard told himself as he scored Liverpool’s consolation goal in the game. Know that, and you can win. So explain how he had missed that penalty. He had faced tougher situations than that, and he had delivered. Why, how could he have failed? If it was all in the mind, then he just lost that battle.
Who had the cure; who had the antidote; who knew how to break the curse?
If anyone had the answer, then Liverpool Football Club wants to know.
Meanwhile, it’s players will continue to question themselves, to second guess their choices and doubt their actions. Their confidence, already at an all time low, will continue to be sucked dry. And relationships could be irreparably destroyed as self hatred unfurls its withered, cruel tendrils around them greedily.
And yet, there is an escape. For even as they trailed three goals to nil, the supporters sang their songs loudly and with a will. If the players could only harness the same hope, the same trust and belief, maybe they are not too far gone.