Fic: Soon Enough
Title: Soon Enough
Rating: PG
Pairing: Iker Casillas/David Villa, implied Fernando Torres/David Villa (if you squint)
A/N: He'll be back.
No.
That's the first thing he thinks. The pain is sharp and then sour, and he feels the cold panic seeping into his chest, and all he thinks is no, this, I can't be. He looks up, over to the sideline which seems so far when he's sitting on the ground. Stupid. How could I be so stupid? He puts his hand up, gestures, keeps his face straight. Maybe it isn't that bad. He knows it is. He'd felt the crack, that sickening finality that told him it wasn't just a sprain. The medics come on with a stretcher, Alexis comes in for him. It hurts on the stretcher, it hurts but there are cameras and press and his teammates and thousands of people watching their tv. He glances up, sees a lens. Looks away.
*
"David." Pep leans in and kisses him on the temple, lips gentle and firm. David smiles. He isn't really hurting at all but he feels a little woozy from the painkillers. He thinks he's smiling a lot. There's the cameraman in front of him.
"It'll get better in time," Pep tells him. That makes David think of the song, that English song Iker had shown him once, obsessed with it. Hadn't that started 'it's been the longest summer without you'? He was going to be out for six months at least.
"You'll be back." Pep's voice is calm, worrying but calm, a promise. He squeezes David's thigh. "When you heal, we're going to get you back good as new."
"It's going to hurt when it heals too," David says. He doesn't remember too much from his femur break when he was a boy. But this, this was worse because he wasn't. Wasn't.
Pep looks at him straight on, just the right amount of sympathy in his eyes and no pity, which David is grateful for. "It won't - not enough for it to matter."
*
Pepe calls him when he's on the bus from the hospital to the airport in Tokyo. His phone rings in his bag, which is on the chair across the narrow bus aisle. But David looks, knows it's too far to lean, risk bending over his cast. The phone keeps ringing and the doctor fumbles into David's bag, pulls it out and hands it to him.
The photo is one with him and Pepe and he recognizes it from the World Cup, and maybe it's stupid but the reminder of that, of the upcoming Eurocopa, of. He tears up a little and he twists away from the doctors as he answers, as much as his leg will allow.
"Guaje," Pepe greets him. "Hermano, don't go thinking shitty thoughts."
David smiles despite himself. Pepe's voice is warm and comforting and he wishes, he wishes. "I'm not."
He pictures Pepe shaking his head. "You do, Guaje. You're the most pessimistic about yourself, always. How can you be so good with cheering others up and so crap with yourself?"
David says, without conviction, "Shut up."
By the time he gets off the phone with Pepe, he has the courage to give those cameras a genuine smile as he is wheeled into the airport.
*
He wakes up. He'd fallen asleep on the plane. His leg is the first thing he sees, the cast white, already getting antsy to move. How could he not move his leg for six fucking months?
The doctor catches his eye. He shuts them and pretends to go back to sleep.
*
(10) missed calls.
David thumbs his phone. Two from Iker, two from Fer, one from an unknown out of area number. The other five are from England - Nando, Juan, David.
He jumps when his phone starts to buzz in his hand again. It's Fer's face that appears on his screen. It's from Bilbao, after a match; David remembers Fer seizing his phone, taking a photo of his own grinning face.
"Hey," he says, weakly. Tries to settle into the airport waiting chair. Someone has set a bottle of German water beside him but he isn't thirsty.
"Guaje, where are you?" Fernando's voice is deep, reassuring and familiar. "I figured you were on the plane just now."
"Germany," David says, glancing at a nearby shop to confirm. "Waiting. I'll be doing a lot of that."
Fer says, "Yes, you will, I'll make sure of that. Guaje, you're going to start when you can and you'll be brilliant, ok? Juan's right."
"Juan?" David asks. "What?"
"Oh, it's just," Fernando tells him. "What he said on his twitter. A bunch of us have said stuff, you know. For you. And I mean the real ones, not the agent-run ones."
"Right," David says. "That's...that's nice."
Fernando says, "Fucking 'tibia' is trending."
David hears himself laugh. Realises he hasn't in a while.
*
He reads Juan's tweet. It's exactly the right things to say, exactly what had been twisting David's stomach with worry.
Coldplay starts in his iPod - it was a long and dark December. He rips his earphones out.
*
Nando gets through to him in Barcelona, his voice rough like when he's just woken up. David can see him in his mind, blonde-brown hair messed up from the night before. Bending to pick up his shirt from the carpet.
"Hey. I'm glad I got to you." Fernando breathes into the phone for a while, doesn't say anything. David shuts his eyes, waits, calms down. He'd thought he had been calm but now his heart just starts losing that bitter sour fear, loosens slightly.
"I don't need you to," he whispers. Nando knows.
David smiles.
*
Japan. He answers, and it's Cesc's voice in his ear, a little breathless, saying, "David!"
"Hey," David says. "Hey."
"Are you good?" It's Leo now. He feels a pang, wonders if it's the whole team gathered together, calling him. But then Cesc pants,
"David we love you. This is Leo and Cesc by the way. Lionel Messi and Cesc Fabregas?"
"He's not got amnesia, for god's sake," Leo says. Probably rolls his eyes at Cesc. "David, how're you?"
"I'm sorry," David says, feigning a confused tone. "Leo, who are you with?"
Sounding stricken, Cesc says, "C-Cesc?"
"No, this is David," David says. He hears a sound like Leo is muffling his laughter with a hand. It could easily be crying, though, and he imagines Cesc staring at Leo and at the phone in shocked horror.
"David," Cesc says. "Don't fuck w-with me."
David grins. "Watch your language, kid."
Cesc laughs a little shakily, then adds in a defensive tone, "You were quite out if it after the painkillers at first! I went to see you and you kept calling me Nando."
David flinches. "Oh yeah?"
Leo puts in, "But you're going to be great. It'll be a long six months without you. Fuck."
"Yeah," David says. "Thanks."
"We'll miss you. We already are," Cesc tells him sincerely.
*
Iker sits next to his bed. Stares at his cast. His hand twitches in his lap.
"You can touch it," David says. Iker looks up, smiles and reaches forward to stroke the rough fabric. Pauses briefly over where the break line is. Was.
"I want you at the next call up," Iker says.
David laughs. "Are you crazy?"
Iker smiles, shakes his head, playing with a loose end of the cast on David's foot. "Not to play, but I want you there. I. It's selfish, I know. It's incredibly hard to move, isn't it?"
"Yeah," David says, softly. Iker touches David's toes, moves to drag his chair further up the bed. He slides his hand up to find the other end where the cast finishes, fingertips warm on David's inner thigh.
"I," Iker says. "Is it hard watching everyone struggle for words?"
David smiles, slowly. "It's painful."
Iker leans in, until their lips touch, and they kiss for a long while, eyes closing. David pulls Iker closer with one hand, who has to brace himself slightly against David's stomach to keep from crushing his leg.
"I need you to know," Iker breathes against David's mouth, "I need you back, Villa."
David kisses him to shut him up. "I will be back, idiot. Don't - don't cry."
Iker's lips curve slightly. "M'not crying." His eyes have welled up. David looks at him, a wry smile on his mouth.
"Seriously, Iker?"
"Seriously," Iker bites out.
Before he leaves, he says, "Take your time, David, but know we're not forgetting you out there."
Rating: PG
Pairing: Iker Casillas/David Villa, implied Fernando Torres/David Villa (if you squint)
A/N: He'll be back.
No.
That's the first thing he thinks. The pain is sharp and then sour, and he feels the cold panic seeping into his chest, and all he thinks is no, this, I can't be. He looks up, over to the sideline which seems so far when he's sitting on the ground. Stupid. How could I be so stupid? He puts his hand up, gestures, keeps his face straight. Maybe it isn't that bad. He knows it is. He'd felt the crack, that sickening finality that told him it wasn't just a sprain. The medics come on with a stretcher, Alexis comes in for him. It hurts on the stretcher, it hurts but there are cameras and press and his teammates and thousands of people watching their tv. He glances up, sees a lens. Looks away.
*
"David." Pep leans in and kisses him on the temple, lips gentle and firm. David smiles. He isn't really hurting at all but he feels a little woozy from the painkillers. He thinks he's smiling a lot. There's the cameraman in front of him.
"It'll get better in time," Pep tells him. That makes David think of the song, that English song Iker had shown him once, obsessed with it. Hadn't that started 'it's been the longest summer without you'? He was going to be out for six months at least.
"You'll be back." Pep's voice is calm, worrying but calm, a promise. He squeezes David's thigh. "When you heal, we're going to get you back good as new."
"It's going to hurt when it heals too," David says. He doesn't remember too much from his femur break when he was a boy. But this, this was worse because he wasn't. Wasn't.
Pep looks at him straight on, just the right amount of sympathy in his eyes and no pity, which David is grateful for. "It won't - not enough for it to matter."
*
Pepe calls him when he's on the bus from the hospital to the airport in Tokyo. His phone rings in his bag, which is on the chair across the narrow bus aisle. But David looks, knows it's too far to lean, risk bending over his cast. The phone keeps ringing and the doctor fumbles into David's bag, pulls it out and hands it to him.
The photo is one with him and Pepe and he recognizes it from the World Cup, and maybe it's stupid but the reminder of that, of the upcoming Eurocopa, of. He tears up a little and he twists away from the doctors as he answers, as much as his leg will allow.
"Guaje," Pepe greets him. "Hermano, don't go thinking shitty thoughts."
David smiles despite himself. Pepe's voice is warm and comforting and he wishes, he wishes. "I'm not."
He pictures Pepe shaking his head. "You do, Guaje. You're the most pessimistic about yourself, always. How can you be so good with cheering others up and so crap with yourself?"
David says, without conviction, "Shut up."
By the time he gets off the phone with Pepe, he has the courage to give those cameras a genuine smile as he is wheeled into the airport.
*
He wakes up. He'd fallen asleep on the plane. His leg is the first thing he sees, the cast white, already getting antsy to move. How could he not move his leg for six fucking months?
The doctor catches his eye. He shuts them and pretends to go back to sleep.
*
(10) missed calls.
David thumbs his phone. Two from Iker, two from Fer, one from an unknown out of area number. The other five are from England - Nando, Juan, David.
He jumps when his phone starts to buzz in his hand again. It's Fer's face that appears on his screen. It's from Bilbao, after a match; David remembers Fer seizing his phone, taking a photo of his own grinning face.
"Hey," he says, weakly. Tries to settle into the airport waiting chair. Someone has set a bottle of German water beside him but he isn't thirsty.
"Guaje, where are you?" Fernando's voice is deep, reassuring and familiar. "I figured you were on the plane just now."
"Germany," David says, glancing at a nearby shop to confirm. "Waiting. I'll be doing a lot of that."
Fer says, "Yes, you will, I'll make sure of that. Guaje, you're going to start when you can and you'll be brilliant, ok? Juan's right."
"Juan?" David asks. "What?"
"Oh, it's just," Fernando tells him. "What he said on his twitter. A bunch of us have said stuff, you know. For you. And I mean the real ones, not the agent-run ones."
"Right," David says. "That's...that's nice."
Fernando says, "Fucking 'tibia' is trending."
David hears himself laugh. Realises he hasn't in a while.
*
He reads Juan's tweet. It's exactly the right things to say, exactly what had been twisting David's stomach with worry.
Coldplay starts in his iPod - it was a long and dark December. He rips his earphones out.
*
Nando gets through to him in Barcelona, his voice rough like when he's just woken up. David can see him in his mind, blonde-brown hair messed up from the night before. Bending to pick up his shirt from the carpet.
"Hey. I'm glad I got to you." Fernando breathes into the phone for a while, doesn't say anything. David shuts his eyes, waits, calms down. He'd thought he had been calm but now his heart just starts losing that bitter sour fear, loosens slightly.
"I don't need you to," he whispers. Nando knows.
David smiles.
*
Japan. He answers, and it's Cesc's voice in his ear, a little breathless, saying, "David!"
"Hey," David says. "Hey."
"Are you good?" It's Leo now. He feels a pang, wonders if it's the whole team gathered together, calling him. But then Cesc pants,
"David we love you. This is Leo and Cesc by the way. Lionel Messi and Cesc Fabregas?"
"He's not got amnesia, for god's sake," Leo says. Probably rolls his eyes at Cesc. "David, how're you?"
"I'm sorry," David says, feigning a confused tone. "Leo, who are you with?"
Sounding stricken, Cesc says, "C-Cesc?"
"No, this is David," David says. He hears a sound like Leo is muffling his laughter with a hand. It could easily be crying, though, and he imagines Cesc staring at Leo and at the phone in shocked horror.
"David," Cesc says. "Don't fuck w-with me."
David grins. "Watch your language, kid."
Cesc laughs a little shakily, then adds in a defensive tone, "You were quite out if it after the painkillers at first! I went to see you and you kept calling me Nando."
David flinches. "Oh yeah?"
Leo puts in, "But you're going to be great. It'll be a long six months without you. Fuck."
"Yeah," David says. "Thanks."
"We'll miss you. We already are," Cesc tells him sincerely.
*
Iker sits next to his bed. Stares at his cast. His hand twitches in his lap.
"You can touch it," David says. Iker looks up, smiles and reaches forward to stroke the rough fabric. Pauses briefly over where the break line is. Was.
"I want you at the next call up," Iker says.
David laughs. "Are you crazy?"
Iker smiles, shakes his head, playing with a loose end of the cast on David's foot. "Not to play, but I want you there. I. It's selfish, I know. It's incredibly hard to move, isn't it?"
"Yeah," David says, softly. Iker touches David's toes, moves to drag his chair further up the bed. He slides his hand up to find the other end where the cast finishes, fingertips warm on David's inner thigh.
"I," Iker says. "Is it hard watching everyone struggle for words?"
David smiles, slowly. "It's painful."
Iker leans in, until their lips touch, and they kiss for a long while, eyes closing. David pulls Iker closer with one hand, who has to brace himself slightly against David's stomach to keep from crushing his leg.
"I need you to know," Iker breathes against David's mouth, "I need you back, Villa."
David kisses him to shut him up. "I will be back, idiot. Don't - don't cry."
Iker's lips curve slightly. "M'not crying." His eyes have welled up. David looks at him, a wry smile on his mouth.
"Seriously, Iker?"
"Seriously," Iker bites out.
Before he leaves, he says, "Take your time, David, but know we're not forgetting you out there."