Fic: If I go crazy then will you still call me superman? [Raul/Guti] [14/?]
Title: if I go crazy then will you still call me superman? [14/?]
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Raúl/Guti, Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard Pepe Renia, Iker Casillas/David Beckham, Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos, Sergio Ramos/David Beckham
Rating: R
Word count: 10,280- so long it has to be split into parts XD
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summary: Guti is a superhero with a history of mental illness. Raúl is a good psychiatrist, but he’s never faced anything like this before. Will he be able to help Guti, and more importantly, will Guti even let him?
Notes: When I said Superman was going on hiatus, I lied. Because on this day a billion years ago, back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, snuzzie entered the world, and the world became a better place because of it. So HAPPY BIRTHDAY snuzzie, I LAHV YOU, and I hope this ~little chapter~ makes you happy ;)
I have so many thanks to give. In writing this chapter, I was helped by an ~amazing~ team of pre-readers and cheerleaders and spot-checkers. So, in alphabetical order, thank you: baronessbadger, ellamoonie, liroa15, shana0809 and zoemargaret. Thank you guys so much, I couldn’t have done it without all of you! Extra special thanks to my amazing beta liroa15 for the best speed-beta ever. Thank you so, so much bb, I love you and you are the best ♥
WARNING: As the description indicates, this fic contains discussion of mental illness and depression. It also contains discussion of suicide attempts. Please do not read if that is triggering for you.
Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12a | 12b | 13
There’s a silence in the kitchen as Raul goes running out the door, chasing after Guti. Then Steven shakes his arm, jerking it out of Xabi’s grip. “Jesus, Alonso,” he growls, “you can let go already. I’m not going to interfere with your precious … whatever the fuck is going on.” Xabi hastily pulls his hand back, and Steven stares down at his forearm, at the red and white half-moon indentations where Xabi’s nails have dug in. “Goddamn, do you have to be so fucking vicious? You need to get some self control.”
“I have plenty of self-control,” Xabi snaps. “You would just test the limits of a saint.”
“Don’t you try to make this about me, Alonso. Your inability to behave in a respectful or professional manner is all on you.”
Xabi’s about to snap back when a barked “hey!” from Pepe interrupts him. “The two of you need to cut it out,” he says, stern. “We’re here because of a patient we are supposed to be taking care of, who was so upset by your antics that he had to leave. Now, can we put aside our differences and behave like adults, or at least the doctors we’re being paid to be?”
Steven and Xabi fall silent, looking chastened. “That’s better,” Pepe says. “Now, we can all act like reasonable people, right?” Xabi snorts, and Steven shoots him an angry glance, opening his mouth to say something no doubt scathing.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Pepe snaps his finger and points at Steven. “I know what you’re going to say, Steven George Gerrard, and you had better not say it.”
Steven shuts his mouth, and this time it is Pepe he glares at. “I’m the one in charge here,” he says a touch resentfully.
“Once you act like an adult, you can be in charge,” Pepe tells him. Xabi coughs. “And you,” Pepe says, turning to point a finger at Xabi, “this is a two-way street you know. Stop trying to provoke Steven.” Xabi’s mouth compresses into a thin line, but he nods reluctantly.
“Right,” Pepe says. “Now we have to decide how to do what’s best for Guti. This toxic environment we’ve been creating clearly isn’t it.” Both Xabi and Steven glance away, looking faintly guilty. “Well?” Pepe looks between Xabi and Steven. Both are silent. Pepe sighs. “Come on, we’d better work out our disagreements now, while Guti’s not here, so that we don’t end up constantly fighting in front of him anymore.” Xabi shifts, crossing his arms over his chest in a slightly belligerent posture, and Steven mirrors him.
“He should go first,” Xabi says, jerking his head in Steven’s direction, “since he’s the one who seems to have the problem.”
“Ah-ah-ah!” Pepe says, frowning. “None of that. We won’t make progress if we keep accusing each other.”
“Fine,” Xabi sighs and makes a grand gesture in Steven’s direction. “Well, would you like to go first, Dr. Gerrard?”
Steven’s about to say something when Iker suddenly taps his earpiece, listening to someone on the other end. The normally upright colonel’s posture stiffens even further. Everyone turns to watch him with interest as his hand falls back to his side. “Senor Gutierrez has left,” he reports flatly.
“What?” Steven and Xabi demand at the same time, and then glare quickly at each other before returning their attention to Iker. “What do you mean, ‘left’?” Steven questions.
“He’s not here anymore,” Iker says in that same flat voice. “GPS reports his tracker is giving a location several klicks off, over the water and moving further away.”
“You mean he’s flying?” This from Nando, whom everyone else had forgotten was there. Iker nods.
Xabi buries his face in his hands. “Great,” he says, “this is just great.” He pulls his hands back. “If you hadn’t driven him off …”
“Me?” Steven snaps. “You think I drove him off? What about you and your …”
“That is enough!” Pepe barks, loud enough to override whatever else Steven had been about to say. Once he’s sure he has everyone’s attention, he turns back to Iker. “What about Raul?”
Iker frowns, muttering something into his earpiece. “Arial surveillance reports no sign of Dr. Gonzalez, and he hasn’t breached the perimeter. We’re acting under the assumption that he’s with Señor Gutierrez.”
“Like … Guti’s carrying him? As he flies?” Nando asks.
Iker nods. “That’s the likely scenario, yes. Señor Gutierrez is certainly rated to carry much greater tonnage than that in flight.”
Pepe gives a low whistle. “Okay,” he says, “okay. This is …”
He’s interrupted by the appearance of David and Sergio at the entrance to the kitchen. “What’s up?” David wants to know. “Something wrong? We heard yelling …” he trails off, looking around at all the tense faces.
“Guti’s left and taken Raul with him,” Xabi reports tonelessly.
“What?” David looks shocked.
“Yes,” Steven cuts in. “So if you civilians could excuse us, we’ve got a situation to deal with.”
“Don’t think for a second you’re dismissing me as just a ‘civilian!’” Xabi says heatedly, stepping towards Steven.
“You are a civilian,” Steven tells Xabi stiffly, “and this is a security matter.”
“My patient has been driven into running; that seems like a psychiatric matter to me!”
“Your patient?” Steven sneers. “Oh, this is rich!”
Meanwhile, David and Sergio have moved closer to Fernando. “What happened, Fer?” Sergio asks.
Fernando glares resentfully at his boyfriend. “He,” he jerks his head towards Steven, “started giving Raul all kinds of shit for having Guti sleep in his room, and Guti got pissed and went down to the beach, and Raul went after him.”
“What?” Sergio looks confused. “Why the hell was Guti sleeping in Raul’s room?”
“Why do you think, Sergio?” Fernando questions.
“I have no idea,” Sergio tells his boyfriend blankly. “And why are you so angry, anyway?”
“Why am I so-? Why am I so angry?” This question is the last straw for Fernando. “Why do you think I’m angry?” he snaps. “Whose fucking fault do you think this is?”
Sergio holds up his hands as if to ward of Fernando’s angry words. “Whoa, Fer. Whatever’s going on, you need to caaalm down. I have no idea whose fault you think this is, but …”
“This is your fucking fault!” Fernando yells, voice loud enough to interrupt the argument Pepe is trying to break up between Steven and Xabi. “If you weren’t such an enormous slut, Guti would never have ended up sleeping in Raul’s room in the first place, and none of this would have happened!”
“… What?” Sergio looks equal parts shocked, confused, and hurt. “Nando, what the hell are you …” His look turns defensive and angry. “What do you fucking mean, I’m a slut, and this is my fault?”
“You’re a slut because you can’t keep your dick in your pants,” Fernando snaps, ignoring the way everyone in the room is staring at the three of them, all his ire focused on Sergio.
“We have an open relationship,” Sergio interrupts, “which you’ve told me over and over you’re okay with!”
“Fernando,” David says tentatively, “I’m sorry if…”
“I don’t fucking want to hear it from you!” Fernando snaps at David.
“Don’t talk to David like that!” Sergio yells at Fernando. Fernando’s face, which had been flushed, now turns crimson, his freckles standing out angrily.
“Fuck you, Sergio Ramos,” he spits, before turning and storming towards the back door. Sergio watches him go, arms crossed, jaw clenched. When the door slams behind Fernando, Sergio snorts, looking away again.
“Sergio,” David says carefully, “don’t you think you should go after him?”
“Fuck him!” Sergio says, but he sounds more upset than angry.
David’s face is patient and tender. “Sergio … this is your boyfriend you’re talking about. Don’t you care about him?”
“… Of course I do!” Sergio looks even more upset now.
“Then go talk to him, kiddo,” David says gently. “Something’s obviously bothering him. Find out what, and make it better.”
“I know what’s bothering him. The fact that I’m evidently a slut,” Sergio mutters resentfully.
David sighs. “That’s just his anger talking, and you know it. Now come on, you care about him. Go talk to him, okay?” He leans over, giving Sergio a kiss on the forehead before pushing him in the direction of the door. With a sigh, Sergio slowly goes out onto the verandah.
Once Sergio is gone, David turns back towards the rest of the men, whose conversation had fallen silent as they watched the drama unfold.
"Well. That was ... quite a display," Steven deadpans.
Almost immediately, Pepe reaches over and smacks Steven in the arm, hard.
"What the hell, Reina!"
Pepe rolls his eyes. "You and Alonso are just as bad.”
"What? What d’ya mean?" Steven frowns, forehead wrinkling.
Pepe rolls his eyes some more. "I'm saying the two of you can pull each other's pigtails later. Right now we have work to do."
“Pull each other’s whats?” Steven splutters.
“You know what I meant,” Pepe says. Steven glares.
Meanwhile, Iker has stepped off to the side and is again speaking to someone with his earpiece, voice pitched low enough that no one else can make out what he’s saying.
David takes a step forward. "Is there something I can do?"
"Probably not." Pepe looks over at Iker, waiting for the next report. Iker looks up, and Pepe repeats David’s question.
"Until Guti lands, there's not much anyone can do," Iker tells them.
"Is there anything that can be done at all? Unless Guti decides to come back on his own ... it's not like you lot can force him." Xabi glares at the military men as if this is somehow their fault.
Steven opens his mouth to retort angrily, but Pepe holds up a hand to stop him. "Xabi is right," he says. “All we can do is wait."
+++
The thing is, they’re high enough right now that if Guti drops him, Raul will probably hit the water hard enough to break most of the bones in his body. Maybe all of the bones, Raul’s not sure. He pictures breaking all of his bones and winces, because really, that doesn’t sound very pleasant. Would each of his vertebrae fracture, spine exploding into millions of pieces? Raul gets a sudden mental image of being broken up like a puzzle, and Guti putting him back together again. Is that the twinges of the beginnings of hysteria? He thinks it is.
“Don’t worry,” Guti says, amusement somehow coming through clearly, even over the noise of the air rushing past, “I’m not going to drop you.”
“What? How did you know what I was thinking?” Raul demands, his recent thoughts making his tone a little sharp. “Are you psychic?”
He can practically hear Guti’s lips curling into an amused smirk. “It’s only that you make it so easy,” he says. “Try making it a challenge once in a while.”
If Raul could remove his hands from the death grip he has on Guti’s shoulders, he would probably thump Guti on the arm. Or maybe smack him upside the head (if he wasn’t sure Guti’s head is so hard it would break his hand).
“Seriously,” Guti says, and his voice sounds gentle now, “I’m not going to drop you, ever. I promise. Please relax?” He asks the last like he’s asking a favor of Raul, like Raul relaxing would be for Guti’s benefit, not his own.
Raul finds himself nodding shakily. “Okay.” He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, and then another. Suddenly, he feels the pair of them falling through the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!” he exclaims, eyes flying open again as he tries to tighten his death grip on Guti even further.
“Hold on,” Guti says, and as suddenly as they had begun to fall, they stop. “Is that better?” he wants to know. Raul manages to pry his eyes away from where they were staring at Guti’s face in panic and looks down, only to see that they’re hovering about two feet above the ocean.
“…Ye…ah.” He exhales a shaky breath. Really, now that they’re not moving, he does feel a lot better. Now that they’re not moving, the hovering thing is kind of … nice.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Guti says, voice even softer because his mouth is right next to Raul’s ear.
Raul turns, leaning back so that he can look at Guti’s face. “You don’t,” he says because his instinctive response is to give reassurance.
Guti snorts. “Yeah, right.” He drops his gaze to stare down at the water.
“You don’t!” Raul quickly contradicts, trying to twist so that he can look Guti in the eye, but Guti’s determinedly staring away from Raul. Guti makes a slight face of disbelief. “Well, not any more than I can handle,” Raul amends. Guti’s expression still doesn’t change. “I’m an adult, Guti, you don’t have to …”
“Don’t have to what? Don’t have to care about your feelings?” Guti’s watching Raul now out of the corner of his eyes. Now, he can meet Raul’s gaze without having to turn so that his face is right in Raul’s face.
The problem with having a conversation with a person to whom you’re clinging on, Raul thinks, is that it doesn’t leave any personal space, literally or metaphorically. “You know I don’t mean it like that,” he says, pursing his lips in a frown.
Guti continues to eye him with that sideways glance that leaves Raul feeling all exposed, like he’s a book and Guti can read the layers of him with his eyes. “What do you mean it like then?” Raul hates that tone of voice-that flat, neutral tone-as if Guti is being so, so careful. It just doesn’t sound like Guti.
“I mean it like …” Raul has to pause for a minute, to think of what it was he even originally said. “You don’t have to worry about me; I’m here to worry about you. I'm a professional worrier, okay? It’s my job.” He tries a smile, but it comes out more tentative than he would like.
Guti shakes his head fractionally but doesn’t respond, instead dropping his gaze down again.
“Guti?” Raul leans in a little closer, (closeness, at this point, being extremely relative). “Guti, what is it?”
Guti shakes his head minutely once more. “Let me get you some place where you can be on the ground.”
Raul frowns, about to say something, but his words get swallowed when they start to move again. Guti’s flying more slowly, and closer to the water, so this time Raul has time to catch his breath and regain his equilibrium. As a result, he’s able to look around as they fly, and notices the approaching island before they land on it.
As soon as they land, Guti sets Raul down and steps back quickly as if he wants to get Raul out of his space, or he wants to get himself out of Raul’s.
“So,” Raul says, raising his hand to shade his eyes. The sun’s rays seem to be picking up individual strands of Guti’s hair, highlighting everything until it positively glows.
Guti looks away, avoiding Raul’s gaze. “I’ll get the military to send a helicopter so you can ride back instead of having to have me carry you.”
It takes Raul a second to parse what Guti has said. “Wait, what? We just got here, why are you talking about leaving?”
Guti’s mouth tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, continuing to stare out at the water.
“Guti …” Internally, Raul sighs. These sudden changes of attitude, running hot then cold, are probably part of Guti’s depression, Raul knows. He has to tread very carefully here. He reaches out, touching Guti’s arm. “You said you wanted to go somewhere where we could talk …”
Guti’s still silent. Raul waits. Finally, he’s about to open his mouth, about to try to prompt Guti again, when Guti starts to talk. “What if,” he says slowly, “there was one thing in the world you wanted? Just one thing. You didn’t care about anything else, didn’t care about the things you were supposed to care about, didn’t care about the things normal people cared about. You just cared about this one thing. And you didn’t want to be selfish, didn’t want to keep it all to yourself, didn’t want all its time … well you did, you wanted to be selfish as hell, but you knew you didn’t deserve it. You just wanted a little bit of time, just the tiniest bit. Even a few moments would make you beyond happy. And,” when Guti finally turns to look at Raul, his blue eyes pierce Raul to the core, “someone kept taking that one thing away.”
This time it is Raul who is silent. His heart hurts. “… Basing your happiness on just one thing isn’t a solution, Guti,” he finally says.
“I’m not asking for it to be a solution!” Guti says, and he takes a step forward, reaching out to gently touch Raul’s cheek. “I just … please, Raul. I feel human with you.”
Raul shuts his eyes, swallowing as Guti’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, just the lightest, gentlest pressure of his fingertips and palm. “We can’t cross that line,” he says thickly. “In order for treatment to work, there has to be a line between psychiatrist and patient, a clear division, an understanding of roles, and we can’t cross that line.”
“Who says we can’t change the roles?” Guti asks emphatically, almost desperately. “As long as there’s a clear understanding, a clear division, … as long as everything is clear, and everyone knows what’s going on, why can’t we change the roles?”
Raul finally opens his eyes, brown ones staring helplessly into blue. “I can’t shut it off,” he says, words being drawn from him as if by a force unknown. “I can’t stop being a psychiatrist, can’t stop looking at everything in that way.”
Guti gives a tiny huff of laughter. “I wouldn’t want you to,” he says gently. “I like you for you; I like you just the way you are.”
Raul shuts his eyes again, swallowing against the emotion sticking in his throat. “Guti …”
“I don’t want any promises,” Guti quickly says, voice quiet and tinged with pleading. “I just want a chance. I just want to know that I even have a shot. I want to know you think of me the way I think of you even once.”
“I … it doesn’t matter how I think of you. It can’t.” Raul is getting desperate now, and it’s coming through in his voice.
“It does,” Guti contradicts, both hands cradling Raul’s face now. “It means the world to me.”
Slowly, Raul opens his eyes. Guti’s face is inches from his own, but somehow that doesn’t surprise Raul, doesn’t startle him. Somehow it feels right. Blue eyes gaze steadily into brown, searching, searching, and Raul wonders, what does Guti see there? What is he searching for in Raul’s eyes? Raul’s sure his eyes are ordinary, just the plainest, most normal brown, yet under Guti’s gaze, he almost begins to feel special. Raul’s not a person to think about appearances too much. He likes his face well enough, he supposes. His nose is probably too big, but he’s gotten used to it. His hair is nice. He likes the way it curls, but he wouldn’t say it’s anything out of the ordinary. Standing here under Guti’s gaze, on this nameless island, away from everyone else, Raul feels special. “I don’t know what you see in me,” he whispers, and it’s probably the truest thing he’s said so far.
Guti’s eyes are shining. “Everything,” he whispers back, and then he leans forward, pressing their mouths together.
This time, Raul sees it coming. He shuts his eyes, lets Guti press his lips, soft and gentle, against Raul’s, lets himself be kissed. When Guti finally pulls back, Raul gives a rueful, almost inaudible chuckle. “I can’t win against you, can I?” He gazes at Guti, a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Guti smirks in return. “I didn’t think it was about wining,” he teases.
Raul rolls his eyes, but it quickly turns into a sigh as he realizes the enormity of what has just happened. “I can’t, we can’t…”
Guti reaches up, pressing his finger to Raul’s lips to shush him. “No can’ts.”
“Guti,” Raul says around Guti’s finger, starting to sound annoyed. “You can’t just will away consequences because you want to.”
Guti winks. “I love it when you talk sexy to me.”
“Guti!” This time Raul actually smacks him in the arm, and yes, Guti’s muscles are just as hard as Raul was expecting they would be. Raul shakes out his hand, wincing. Instantly Guti’s face clouds. “This is, you can’t … see, you need to work on this stuff!” Raul admonishes him. “You can’t be in a relationship with a person when you’re constantly worried about hurting them, whether it be physically or emotionally.” Guti is silent. Raul frowns. “I refuse to be in a relationship with someone who refuses to address their issues!”
Guti instantly hones in on five simple words. “Be in a relationship with?”
“A potential relationship!” Raul quickly corrects. “Whatever! The point is, you need to be getting psychiatric help, and not just because I told you to, and you want to placate me. Okay? There can’t be any kind of … emotional blackmailing in a relationship. You can’t do things just to try to get me to date you, and I can’t do things just to keep you on an even keel. That isn’t the basis of a healthy relationship!”
“You keep using the word relationship,” Guti says. “Do you …”
“You’re missing the point!” Raul quickly says.
“I’m not,” Guti says confidently, his face starting to blossom into a smile. “The point is you are talking about a relationship.” And then he reaches down, wrapping his arms around Raul’s waist and picking him up, twirling him lightly in a circle before setting him down once more.
“Guti!” Raul squawks, but Guti is laughing, bangs falling into his eyes as he leans forward, nuzzling into the side of Raul’s neck.
“I can’t help it,” he mumbles against Raul’s skin. “I really like you. I really, really like you.”
“That’s …” Raul has no idea what to do with a superhero who is now nuzzling him like a giant cat. “That’s nice Guti, but can you, will you please be serious for one second?” He’s not blushing and stammering like a schoolboy. He’s not, damn it.
Guti pulls back, arms still around Raul’s waist, and attempts to compose his face into some semblance of a serious expression. His twinkling eyes give him away though. “Yes, Raul?”
“There have to be ground rules!” Raul tells him sternly.
Guti’s face is quickly becoming more serious. “Okay,” he says, nodding.
“You have to seek psychiatric help for yourself. Not because I’ve made it some kind of prerequisite to dating,” Raul says. This is the most important point, and he’s afraid of how Guti will respond.
In a Guti-like fashion, it turns out. “… How would you know the difference though? I mean couldn’t I just say I wanted to do it?” he wants to know.
“I would know the difference. You’re not going to make serious progress in any kind of mental health treatment program without first admitting that you need the treatment. Going through the motions just because I want you to won’t have the same result.”
Guti nods.
Raul almost breathes a sigh of relief, but there’re more points that need to be settled. “Secondly,” he says, “You can’t try to emotionally blackmail me in any way whatsoever. I’m completely serious, Guti. Nothing like that time you tried kill yourself because I rejected you.”
“I didn’t…” Guti starts to protest, but Raul cuts him off with an upraised hand.
“Never again,” he repeats firmly. Slowly, Guti nods.
“Thirdly,” Raul says, taking a deep breath, because this may be the hardest point of all, “you have to give me space. You do your treatment, and we’ll see what happens, okay?” His mouth twists, but it needs to be said. “You said you didn’t want any promises, and I’m not making any promises. You work seriously on getting better, and then, then we’ll see, okay? Maybe something will happen, maybe nothing. I can’t predict the future and,” his eyes twinkle wryly, “I don’t think you can either. Don’t do your therapy with the idea that once you reach a certain point, I’ll date you. I am not saying that. I am saying you do your therapy for you, and then … then we’ll see.” As soon as he’s done with this speech, Raul holds his breath, worried about what Guti’s response will be.
What he’s not expecting is for Guti to pick him up again, cradling Raul against his chest as he kisses him, short but fervent and sweet. “Thank you,” Guti whispers against Raul’s mouth. “Thank you. All I want is a chance. Just a chance.”
At the look in Guti’s eyes, Raul’s heart almost melts and breaks at the same time. This whole thing is an incredibly bad idea, he knows. It goes against everything he is as a psychiatrist, goes against everything he knows about how to treat a patient. Yet standing there, staring into Guti’s joyous, hope-filled eyes, Raul could never say no, not in a million years. Guti’s got Raul captivated just as surely as Guti is captivated by Raul.
+++
David glances around the tense-faced kitchen. “Ooh, is that an espresso maker?” he asks, pointing to the counter behind Pepe.
“Help yourself,” Pepe says distractedly. “I was making people cups, but you can manage on your own, can’t you?”
“Well, I normally don’t drink coffee,” David says, “I suppose though, on vacation, I can make an exception.” He looks at the other men. “Anyone else want some?”
“I do, if you don’t mind,” Iker says.
“I’m fine,” Steven says.
“I’m also fine, but thank you, David.” If one could gather energy by glaring, Xabi would have enough to power himself for a month by the way he’s staring at Steven. Steven grimaces, muttering something into his cup as he glares back in return.
“Oh good God!” Pepe throws his hands up in the air. “I have seriously had it with the two of you. You are going to behave like fucking adults, and you are going to do it right now. Come here.”
And then he puts a hand on Steven’s shoulder, pushing him toward the exit of the kitchen.
Steven shrugs him off, looking annoyed. “What are you on about? We need to hear if Iker has anything new to report.”
“If Iker has anything new to report,” Pepe says, now trying to herd Steven towards the door, “he will come find us. Iker is a big boy, he can walk the 10 yards between kitchen and the office.”
“I really don’t think this is necessary…” Xabi frowns.
Pepe jabs his finger in Xabi’s direction. “Don’t start with me, okay? If the two of you are actually adults, you can stand to be in each other’s presence in a room for 10 minutes. Now come on.”
Reluctantly, the two psychiatrists follow Pepe through the door. Once the three of them are in the office, Pepe shuts the door, closing them in the room. He turns to find both Steven and Xabi staring him with suspicion.
Pepe sighs at them as if they’re recalcitrant children and gestures to the two seats in front of the desk. Reluctantly, Steven and Xabi take them. Pepe positions himself in the chair behind the desk, propping his elbows on the mahogany surface, and steepling his fingers for effect. "So," he begins, "what’s your problem with each other?"
Xabi shifts in his chair. "I don't have a problem with Dr. Gerrard," he says stiffly. "We just ... disagree on some aspects of psychiatry."
"Bullshit you don't have a problem with him!" Xabi's mouth compresses in a displeased line. Pepe turns to Steven. "What about you? What's your problem with Alonso?"
"Just professional disagreement," Steven says, also shifting in his chair.
Pepe rolls his eyes. "The two of you fight like an old married couple. Clearly, there’s something going on here."
Steven and Xabi exchange unfriendly glances. "We have professional differences," Steven says.
"Strong professional differences," Xabi adds.
"And the name calling? And the hair pulling and the being little bitches?" Pepe prompts.
"Really, Reina, I don't think this is at all called for or necessary." Steven starts to rise from his seat, and seeing this, Xabi starts to follow.
"Both of you sit back down." Pepe sighs, rubbing at his temple. "Okay, we're gonna play this game a little differently. Alonso, what are the first words that come to mind when you think of Gerrard?"
Xabi frowns, but says nothing.
"No one here has delicate sensibilities. You don't have to worry about offending any of us," Pepe encourages.
"Rigid." Xabi says after a moment.
"Rigid?" Steven scoffs. "I am not bloody rigid!"
Xabi turns to glare at him. "You are the most unreasonable, inflexible person with whom I have ever had the displeasure of having to work!"
"Oh, is that how it is?" Steven demands, turning to glare at Xabi. "Why don't you tell us how you really feel, Alonso? Hurt that you can't flitter about practicing your sorry excuse for what you call psychiatry without anyone holding you to account?"
Xabi splutters. "My sorry excuse? What about your sorry excuse? I've seen better patient interaction from a corpse! The corpse would probably do less harm too!"
"Do less harm? Do less harm?!" Steven's grip is tightening on the arms of his chair, knuckles slowly growing whiter.
"That's what I said," Xabi snaps. "I've never known a psychiatrist to drive their patient into running away in less than two days."
"With that distorted view of the world, it's a wonder they let you near patients at all!"
Xabi is about to angrily retort when Pepe interrupts. "All right, all right," the trauma surgeon says, "that's more like it. Now Xabi, when you think of Steven, you think ..?"
"An anal-retentive ass who does more harm than good.”
"And Steven, when you think of Xabi?"
"An unprofessional child who can't even control himself, let alone help other people."
Xabi scoffs incredulously. "The one who is a child here is ..."
"Okay, okay, I get the general idea," Pepe interrupts. "The two of you hate each other's guts, and there's no one with whom you'd less like to work. Am I close?"
Xabi glances away, and Steven looks down at his hands. “Hate is a very strong word,” Xabi hedges.
“Oh come on, Alonso,” Pepe laughs. “You hate him, why not say it?”
“I find him incredibly aggravating,” Xabi concedes.
Steven rolls his eyes. “Aggravating? The aggravating one here is you!”
“Okay, enough! You’ve proved you’re both equally annoying!” Pepe cuts the argument off before it can gather steam once more. “Now, how are we going to fix this, so that the two of you can genuinely work together to help Guti?”
Xabi coughs, and then glances to the side. “I’m not sure I can work with him,” he says delicately.
“I’m definitely sure I can’t,” Steven growls in return.
Pepe sighs and rolls his eyes towards Heaven, as if asking for divine help. “I already knew the pair of you were morons; you don’t have to keep proving it!” he chides. “Now seriously.” He turns a stern gaze on each of them in turn. “Guti’s mental health is in your hands. You cannot honestly tell me you’re going to let some personal dislike or whatever stand in the way of helping him, can you?”
Xabi has the grace to look slightly abashed. Steven just looks more annoyed, forehead creasing further as he frowns.
Xabi is the first to speak. “You’re right,” he says with a sigh. He turns, extending a hand towards Steven. “Truce?”
Steven eyes the hand like he expects it to be a trick, then slowly, reluctantly shakes. “Fine. Truce.”
“Fine,” Xabi says. They start to withdraw their hands.
“Great!” Pepe says, clapping his hands together. “Now that that’s settled, I expect you two to be able to work this out without a babysitter to referee your hair-pulling. Adults. Remember you’re adults!” With that, Pepe leaves the room.
Steven and Xabi watch him go and then turn warily to face each other again. “We’re going to have to do things my way, you know,” Steven says.
“Excuse me?” Xabi’s eyebrows rise and then draw together.
“You heard me,” Steven says. “I’ll work with you, but, I’m not going to risk compromising Guti’s health by doing things your way.”
Xabi stares. “Well I’m not going to risk compromising Guti’s health by doing things your way!”
Steven’s jaw tightens. “I am acting based on scientifically and medically sound dictates, whereas you seem to do whatever your feelings tell you …”
“My feelings tell me to pay attention to the patient and notice when something isn’t working for him and needs to be changed!” Xabi snaps.
“That kind of vacillation isn’t something someone with a serious mood disorder needs. He needs stability …”
“Which you are not supplying!” Xabi snorts contemptuously. “You’re confusing stability with the rigid pole you’ve got shoved up your ass, which makes me wonder what kind of issues you have of your own!”
“Excuse me, Alonso?” Steven’s voice has gone low and dangerous, and Xabi can’t help but shiver, knowing he’s crossed a line. Still, he tightens his jaw, unwilling to back down in any way in front of the other man.
“You heard what I said,” he says stiffly.
“You,” Steven says carefully, enunciating each syllable very clearly, “had better take that back.”
Xabi swallows, the unexpected anger Steven is showing making him shiver more. “… Maybe I went a bit to far.”
“Maybe you went a bit too far?” Steven takes a step towards Xabi. “Maybe you went a bit to far? What I want to hear from you, Alonso,” another step, “is not excuses.” Now he’s practically in Xabi’s face, “It is a fucking apology.”
“Physical intimidation is not necessary,” Xabi says as stiffly as he can while trying to resist the urge to lean away from Steven, whose face is inches from his own.
“Physical intimidation is not- physical intimidation is not- …” Steven gives a strangled kind of laugh as he turns his head away to the side, then suddenly he snaps his head back around to face Xabi, eyes blazing. “You drive me fucking insane, you know?” he growls. “You just … you, everything about you. From your logic to the way you talk, you are just …”
“I’m just what?” Xabi asks stiffly.
Steven stares at Xabi’s mouth for a long moment. “… You’re a fucking nuisance,” he says contemptuously, eyes dismissive as he steps away again.
“Don’t you …“ Xabi reaches out, grabbing Steven’s arm as the other man pulls away. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me I can’t call you names when it’s okay for you to call me whatever you feel like.”
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Steven snarls, shaking his arm out of Xabi’s grasp and spinning so that he’s right in Xabi’s face again.
“Well don’t you fucking walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” Xabi spits, equally enraged now.
“I’ll fucking walk away whenever I damn well feel like it!” Steven practically shouts.
“You won’t walk away until we are done with this conversation!” Xabi is getting into Steven’s personal space just as much as Steven was getting into Xabi’s only a moment ago.
“I’ll decide when we’re fucking done,” Steven growls. “If I say we’re done, we’re done.” He tries to pull away again.
“I don’t fucking think so!” Xabi grabs for Steven’s arm once more.
One second, Steven is standing there, and the next second, he has Xabi pinned up against the wall, forearm pressing across the top of Xabi’s chest, face right in Xabi’s face. “I said,” he over-enunciates, “don't fucking touch me.”
Xabi is staring at him, wide eyed, “what the fuck is wrong with you that you think it’s okay to push people around?!” he demands. “Is this what they teach you in the army? No wonder you’re so messed up in the head!”
When Steven speaks, it isn’t so much words as growling. “What did you say? What did you say? Who was fucking grabbing me in the first place, you asshole?”
“I was not the one shoving people around like someone who should be in anger management therapy instead of being a psychiatrist!”
Grabbing Xabi by the shirtfront, Steven pulls him forward and then slams him into the wall again. “You hypocritical little piece of shit, don't you dare …” The words ghost across Xabi’s lips as Steven’s breath comes in harsh pants, mouth fractions of an inch from Xabi’s own.
“Don’t I dare what?” Xabi snarls back, eyes locked on Steven’s mouth.
There’s a pause as both men breathe heavily. “You fucking disgust me,” Steven breathes, and then he’s pulling away, taking his heat and his anger and his presence away with him.
Xabi sags at suddenly being let go, then snaps forward, hand shooting out to land on Steven’s shoulder. “Don’t you fucking …”
This time Steven throws him against the wall, both hands braced against Xabi’s chest, their faces practically right pressed together. There’s a pause, then, “I would never fucking touch you,” Steven snarls softly into the space between them.
“What?” Xabi half gasps, half demands, but Steven is already gone, slamming out the door. Xabi’s left leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, staring at the space where Steven was.
+++
part 2
Author: foot_faults
Characters/Pairing this chapter: Raúl/Guti, Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard Pepe Renia, Iker Casillas/David Beckham, Fernando Torres/Sergio Ramos, Sergio Ramos/David Beckham
Rating: R
Word count: 10,280- so long it has to be split into parts XD
Disclaimer: this is an entirely fictional story with fictional characters. Any resemblance to real life is a coincidence.
Summary: Guti is a superhero with a history of mental illness. Raúl is a good psychiatrist, but he’s never faced anything like this before. Will he be able to help Guti, and more importantly, will Guti even let him?
Notes: When I said Superman was going on hiatus, I lied. Because on this day a billion years ago, back when dinosaurs ruled the earth, snuzzie entered the world, and the world became a better place because of it. So HAPPY BIRTHDAY snuzzie, I LAHV YOU, and I hope this ~little chapter~ makes you happy ;)
I have so many thanks to give. In writing this chapter, I was helped by an ~amazing~ team of pre-readers and cheerleaders and spot-checkers. So, in alphabetical order, thank you: baronessbadger, ellamoonie, liroa15, shana0809 and zoemargaret. Thank you guys so much, I couldn’t have done it without all of you! Extra special thanks to my amazing beta liroa15 for the best speed-beta ever. Thank you so, so much bb, I love you and you are the best ♥
WARNING: As the description indicates, this fic contains discussion of mental illness and depression. It also contains discussion of suicide attempts. Please do not read if that is triggering for you.
Previous chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12a | 12b | 13
There’s a silence in the kitchen as Raul goes running out the door, chasing after Guti. Then Steven shakes his arm, jerking it out of Xabi’s grip. “Jesus, Alonso,” he growls, “you can let go already. I’m not going to interfere with your precious … whatever the fuck is going on.” Xabi hastily pulls his hand back, and Steven stares down at his forearm, at the red and white half-moon indentations where Xabi’s nails have dug in. “Goddamn, do you have to be so fucking vicious? You need to get some self control.”
“I have plenty of self-control,” Xabi snaps. “You would just test the limits of a saint.”
“Don’t you try to make this about me, Alonso. Your inability to behave in a respectful or professional manner is all on you.”
Xabi’s about to snap back when a barked “hey!” from Pepe interrupts him. “The two of you need to cut it out,” he says, stern. “We’re here because of a patient we are supposed to be taking care of, who was so upset by your antics that he had to leave. Now, can we put aside our differences and behave like adults, or at least the doctors we’re being paid to be?”
Steven and Xabi fall silent, looking chastened. “That’s better,” Pepe says. “Now, we can all act like reasonable people, right?” Xabi snorts, and Steven shoots him an angry glance, opening his mouth to say something no doubt scathing.
“Ah-ah-ah!” Pepe snaps his finger and points at Steven. “I know what you’re going to say, Steven George Gerrard, and you had better not say it.”
Steven shuts his mouth, and this time it is Pepe he glares at. “I’m the one in charge here,” he says a touch resentfully.
“Once you act like an adult, you can be in charge,” Pepe tells him. Xabi coughs. “And you,” Pepe says, turning to point a finger at Xabi, “this is a two-way street you know. Stop trying to provoke Steven.” Xabi’s mouth compresses into a thin line, but he nods reluctantly.
“Right,” Pepe says. “Now we have to decide how to do what’s best for Guti. This toxic environment we’ve been creating clearly isn’t it.” Both Xabi and Steven glance away, looking faintly guilty. “Well?” Pepe looks between Xabi and Steven. Both are silent. Pepe sighs. “Come on, we’d better work out our disagreements now, while Guti’s not here, so that we don’t end up constantly fighting in front of him anymore.” Xabi shifts, crossing his arms over his chest in a slightly belligerent posture, and Steven mirrors him.
“He should go first,” Xabi says, jerking his head in Steven’s direction, “since he’s the one who seems to have the problem.”
“Ah-ah-ah!” Pepe says, frowning. “None of that. We won’t make progress if we keep accusing each other.”
“Fine,” Xabi sighs and makes a grand gesture in Steven’s direction. “Well, would you like to go first, Dr. Gerrard?”
Steven’s about to say something when Iker suddenly taps his earpiece, listening to someone on the other end. The normally upright colonel’s posture stiffens even further. Everyone turns to watch him with interest as his hand falls back to his side. “Senor Gutierrez has left,” he reports flatly.
“What?” Steven and Xabi demand at the same time, and then glare quickly at each other before returning their attention to Iker. “What do you mean, ‘left’?” Steven questions.
“He’s not here anymore,” Iker says in that same flat voice. “GPS reports his tracker is giving a location several klicks off, over the water and moving further away.”
“You mean he’s flying?” This from Nando, whom everyone else had forgotten was there. Iker nods.
Xabi buries his face in his hands. “Great,” he says, “this is just great.” He pulls his hands back. “If you hadn’t driven him off …”
“Me?” Steven snaps. “You think I drove him off? What about you and your …”
“That is enough!” Pepe barks, loud enough to override whatever else Steven had been about to say. Once he’s sure he has everyone’s attention, he turns back to Iker. “What about Raul?”
Iker frowns, muttering something into his earpiece. “Arial surveillance reports no sign of Dr. Gonzalez, and he hasn’t breached the perimeter. We’re acting under the assumption that he’s with Señor Gutierrez.”
“Like … Guti’s carrying him? As he flies?” Nando asks.
Iker nods. “That’s the likely scenario, yes. Señor Gutierrez is certainly rated to carry much greater tonnage than that in flight.”
Pepe gives a low whistle. “Okay,” he says, “okay. This is …”
He’s interrupted by the appearance of David and Sergio at the entrance to the kitchen. “What’s up?” David wants to know. “Something wrong? We heard yelling …” he trails off, looking around at all the tense faces.
“Guti’s left and taken Raul with him,” Xabi reports tonelessly.
“What?” David looks shocked.
“Yes,” Steven cuts in. “So if you civilians could excuse us, we’ve got a situation to deal with.”
“Don’t think for a second you’re dismissing me as just a ‘civilian!’” Xabi says heatedly, stepping towards Steven.
“You are a civilian,” Steven tells Xabi stiffly, “and this is a security matter.”
“My patient has been driven into running; that seems like a psychiatric matter to me!”
“Your patient?” Steven sneers. “Oh, this is rich!”
Meanwhile, David and Sergio have moved closer to Fernando. “What happened, Fer?” Sergio asks.
Fernando glares resentfully at his boyfriend. “He,” he jerks his head towards Steven, “started giving Raul all kinds of shit for having Guti sleep in his room, and Guti got pissed and went down to the beach, and Raul went after him.”
“What?” Sergio looks confused. “Why the hell was Guti sleeping in Raul’s room?”
“Why do you think, Sergio?” Fernando questions.
“I have no idea,” Sergio tells his boyfriend blankly. “And why are you so angry, anyway?”
“Why am I so-? Why am I so angry?” This question is the last straw for Fernando. “Why do you think I’m angry?” he snaps. “Whose fucking fault do you think this is?”
Sergio holds up his hands as if to ward of Fernando’s angry words. “Whoa, Fer. Whatever’s going on, you need to caaalm down. I have no idea whose fault you think this is, but …”
“This is your fucking fault!” Fernando yells, voice loud enough to interrupt the argument Pepe is trying to break up between Steven and Xabi. “If you weren’t such an enormous slut, Guti would never have ended up sleeping in Raul’s room in the first place, and none of this would have happened!”
“… What?” Sergio looks equal parts shocked, confused, and hurt. “Nando, what the hell are you …” His look turns defensive and angry. “What do you fucking mean, I’m a slut, and this is my fault?”
“You’re a slut because you can’t keep your dick in your pants,” Fernando snaps, ignoring the way everyone in the room is staring at the three of them, all his ire focused on Sergio.
“We have an open relationship,” Sergio interrupts, “which you’ve told me over and over you’re okay with!”
“Fernando,” David says tentatively, “I’m sorry if…”
“I don’t fucking want to hear it from you!” Fernando snaps at David.
“Don’t talk to David like that!” Sergio yells at Fernando. Fernando’s face, which had been flushed, now turns crimson, his freckles standing out angrily.
“Fuck you, Sergio Ramos,” he spits, before turning and storming towards the back door. Sergio watches him go, arms crossed, jaw clenched. When the door slams behind Fernando, Sergio snorts, looking away again.
“Sergio,” David says carefully, “don’t you think you should go after him?”
“Fuck him!” Sergio says, but he sounds more upset than angry.
David’s face is patient and tender. “Sergio … this is your boyfriend you’re talking about. Don’t you care about him?”
“… Of course I do!” Sergio looks even more upset now.
“Then go talk to him, kiddo,” David says gently. “Something’s obviously bothering him. Find out what, and make it better.”
“I know what’s bothering him. The fact that I’m evidently a slut,” Sergio mutters resentfully.
David sighs. “That’s just his anger talking, and you know it. Now come on, you care about him. Go talk to him, okay?” He leans over, giving Sergio a kiss on the forehead before pushing him in the direction of the door. With a sigh, Sergio slowly goes out onto the verandah.
Once Sergio is gone, David turns back towards the rest of the men, whose conversation had fallen silent as they watched the drama unfold.
"Well. That was ... quite a display," Steven deadpans.
Almost immediately, Pepe reaches over and smacks Steven in the arm, hard.
"What the hell, Reina!"
Pepe rolls his eyes. "You and Alonso are just as bad.”
"What? What d’ya mean?" Steven frowns, forehead wrinkling.
Pepe rolls his eyes some more. "I'm saying the two of you can pull each other's pigtails later. Right now we have work to do."
“Pull each other’s whats?” Steven splutters.
“You know what I meant,” Pepe says. Steven glares.
Meanwhile, Iker has stepped off to the side and is again speaking to someone with his earpiece, voice pitched low enough that no one else can make out what he’s saying.
David takes a step forward. "Is there something I can do?"
"Probably not." Pepe looks over at Iker, waiting for the next report. Iker looks up, and Pepe repeats David’s question.
"Until Guti lands, there's not much anyone can do," Iker tells them.
"Is there anything that can be done at all? Unless Guti decides to come back on his own ... it's not like you lot can force him." Xabi glares at the military men as if this is somehow their fault.
Steven opens his mouth to retort angrily, but Pepe holds up a hand to stop him. "Xabi is right," he says. “All we can do is wait."
+++
The thing is, they’re high enough right now that if Guti drops him, Raul will probably hit the water hard enough to break most of the bones in his body. Maybe all of the bones, Raul’s not sure. He pictures breaking all of his bones and winces, because really, that doesn’t sound very pleasant. Would each of his vertebrae fracture, spine exploding into millions of pieces? Raul gets a sudden mental image of being broken up like a puzzle, and Guti putting him back together again. Is that the twinges of the beginnings of hysteria? He thinks it is.
“Don’t worry,” Guti says, amusement somehow coming through clearly, even over the noise of the air rushing past, “I’m not going to drop you.”
“What? How did you know what I was thinking?” Raul demands, his recent thoughts making his tone a little sharp. “Are you psychic?”
He can practically hear Guti’s lips curling into an amused smirk. “It’s only that you make it so easy,” he says. “Try making it a challenge once in a while.”
If Raul could remove his hands from the death grip he has on Guti’s shoulders, he would probably thump Guti on the arm. Or maybe smack him upside the head (if he wasn’t sure Guti’s head is so hard it would break his hand).
“Seriously,” Guti says, and his voice sounds gentle now, “I’m not going to drop you, ever. I promise. Please relax?” He asks the last like he’s asking a favor of Raul, like Raul relaxing would be for Guti’s benefit, not his own.
Raul finds himself nodding shakily. “Okay.” He shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath, and then another. Suddenly, he feels the pair of them falling through the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait!” he exclaims, eyes flying open again as he tries to tighten his death grip on Guti even further.
“Hold on,” Guti says, and as suddenly as they had begun to fall, they stop. “Is that better?” he wants to know. Raul manages to pry his eyes away from where they were staring at Guti’s face in panic and looks down, only to see that they’re hovering about two feet above the ocean.
“…Ye…ah.” He exhales a shaky breath. Really, now that they’re not moving, he does feel a lot better. Now that they’re not moving, the hovering thing is kind of … nice.
“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Guti says, voice even softer because his mouth is right next to Raul’s ear.
Raul turns, leaning back so that he can look at Guti’s face. “You don’t,” he says because his instinctive response is to give reassurance.
Guti snorts. “Yeah, right.” He drops his gaze to stare down at the water.
“You don’t!” Raul quickly contradicts, trying to twist so that he can look Guti in the eye, but Guti’s determinedly staring away from Raul. Guti makes a slight face of disbelief. “Well, not any more than I can handle,” Raul amends. Guti’s expression still doesn’t change. “I’m an adult, Guti, you don’t have to …”
“Don’t have to what? Don’t have to care about your feelings?” Guti’s watching Raul now out of the corner of his eyes. Now, he can meet Raul’s gaze without having to turn so that his face is right in Raul’s face.
The problem with having a conversation with a person to whom you’re clinging on, Raul thinks, is that it doesn’t leave any personal space, literally or metaphorically. “You know I don’t mean it like that,” he says, pursing his lips in a frown.
Guti continues to eye him with that sideways glance that leaves Raul feeling all exposed, like he’s a book and Guti can read the layers of him with his eyes. “What do you mean it like then?” Raul hates that tone of voice-that flat, neutral tone-as if Guti is being so, so careful. It just doesn’t sound like Guti.
“I mean it like …” Raul has to pause for a minute, to think of what it was he even originally said. “You don’t have to worry about me; I’m here to worry about you. I'm a professional worrier, okay? It’s my job.” He tries a smile, but it comes out more tentative than he would like.
Guti shakes his head fractionally but doesn’t respond, instead dropping his gaze down again.
“Guti?” Raul leans in a little closer, (closeness, at this point, being extremely relative). “Guti, what is it?”
Guti shakes his head minutely once more. “Let me get you some place where you can be on the ground.”
Raul frowns, about to say something, but his words get swallowed when they start to move again. Guti’s flying more slowly, and closer to the water, so this time Raul has time to catch his breath and regain his equilibrium. As a result, he’s able to look around as they fly, and notices the approaching island before they land on it.
As soon as they land, Guti sets Raul down and steps back quickly as if he wants to get Raul out of his space, or he wants to get himself out of Raul’s.
“So,” Raul says, raising his hand to shade his eyes. The sun’s rays seem to be picking up individual strands of Guti’s hair, highlighting everything until it positively glows.
Guti looks away, avoiding Raul’s gaze. “I’ll get the military to send a helicopter so you can ride back instead of having to have me carry you.”
It takes Raul a second to parse what Guti has said. “Wait, what? We just got here, why are you talking about leaving?”
Guti’s mouth tightens, but he doesn’t say anything, continuing to stare out at the water.
“Guti …” Internally, Raul sighs. These sudden changes of attitude, running hot then cold, are probably part of Guti’s depression, Raul knows. He has to tread very carefully here. He reaches out, touching Guti’s arm. “You said you wanted to go somewhere where we could talk …”
Guti’s still silent. Raul waits. Finally, he’s about to open his mouth, about to try to prompt Guti again, when Guti starts to talk. “What if,” he says slowly, “there was one thing in the world you wanted? Just one thing. You didn’t care about anything else, didn’t care about the things you were supposed to care about, didn’t care about the things normal people cared about. You just cared about this one thing. And you didn’t want to be selfish, didn’t want to keep it all to yourself, didn’t want all its time … well you did, you wanted to be selfish as hell, but you knew you didn’t deserve it. You just wanted a little bit of time, just the tiniest bit. Even a few moments would make you beyond happy. And,” when Guti finally turns to look at Raul, his blue eyes pierce Raul to the core, “someone kept taking that one thing away.”
This time it is Raul who is silent. His heart hurts. “… Basing your happiness on just one thing isn’t a solution, Guti,” he finally says.
“I’m not asking for it to be a solution!” Guti says, and he takes a step forward, reaching out to gently touch Raul’s cheek. “I just … please, Raul. I feel human with you.”
Raul shuts his eyes, swallowing as Guti’s hand comes up to cup his cheek, just the lightest, gentlest pressure of his fingertips and palm. “We can’t cross that line,” he says thickly. “In order for treatment to work, there has to be a line between psychiatrist and patient, a clear division, an understanding of roles, and we can’t cross that line.”
“Who says we can’t change the roles?” Guti asks emphatically, almost desperately. “As long as there’s a clear understanding, a clear division, … as long as everything is clear, and everyone knows what’s going on, why can’t we change the roles?”
Raul finally opens his eyes, brown ones staring helplessly into blue. “I can’t shut it off,” he says, words being drawn from him as if by a force unknown. “I can’t stop being a psychiatrist, can’t stop looking at everything in that way.”
Guti gives a tiny huff of laughter. “I wouldn’t want you to,” he says gently. “I like you for you; I like you just the way you are.”
Raul shuts his eyes again, swallowing against the emotion sticking in his throat. “Guti …”
“I don’t want any promises,” Guti quickly says, voice quiet and tinged with pleading. “I just want a chance. I just want to know that I even have a shot. I want to know you think of me the way I think of you even once.”
“I … it doesn’t matter how I think of you. It can’t.” Raul is getting desperate now, and it’s coming through in his voice.
“It does,” Guti contradicts, both hands cradling Raul’s face now. “It means the world to me.”
Slowly, Raul opens his eyes. Guti’s face is inches from his own, but somehow that doesn’t surprise Raul, doesn’t startle him. Somehow it feels right. Blue eyes gaze steadily into brown, searching, searching, and Raul wonders, what does Guti see there? What is he searching for in Raul’s eyes? Raul’s sure his eyes are ordinary, just the plainest, most normal brown, yet under Guti’s gaze, he almost begins to feel special. Raul’s not a person to think about appearances too much. He likes his face well enough, he supposes. His nose is probably too big, but he’s gotten used to it. His hair is nice. He likes the way it curls, but he wouldn’t say it’s anything out of the ordinary. Standing here under Guti’s gaze, on this nameless island, away from everyone else, Raul feels special. “I don’t know what you see in me,” he whispers, and it’s probably the truest thing he’s said so far.
Guti’s eyes are shining. “Everything,” he whispers back, and then he leans forward, pressing their mouths together.
This time, Raul sees it coming. He shuts his eyes, lets Guti press his lips, soft and gentle, against Raul’s, lets himself be kissed. When Guti finally pulls back, Raul gives a rueful, almost inaudible chuckle. “I can’t win against you, can I?” He gazes at Guti, a self-deprecating smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Guti smirks in return. “I didn’t think it was about wining,” he teases.
Raul rolls his eyes, but it quickly turns into a sigh as he realizes the enormity of what has just happened. “I can’t, we can’t…”
Guti reaches up, pressing his finger to Raul’s lips to shush him. “No can’ts.”
“Guti,” Raul says around Guti’s finger, starting to sound annoyed. “You can’t just will away consequences because you want to.”
Guti winks. “I love it when you talk sexy to me.”
“Guti!” This time Raul actually smacks him in the arm, and yes, Guti’s muscles are just as hard as Raul was expecting they would be. Raul shakes out his hand, wincing. Instantly Guti’s face clouds. “This is, you can’t … see, you need to work on this stuff!” Raul admonishes him. “You can’t be in a relationship with a person when you’re constantly worried about hurting them, whether it be physically or emotionally.” Guti is silent. Raul frowns. “I refuse to be in a relationship with someone who refuses to address their issues!”
Guti instantly hones in on five simple words. “Be in a relationship with?”
“A potential relationship!” Raul quickly corrects. “Whatever! The point is, you need to be getting psychiatric help, and not just because I told you to, and you want to placate me. Okay? There can’t be any kind of … emotional blackmailing in a relationship. You can’t do things just to try to get me to date you, and I can’t do things just to keep you on an even keel. That isn’t the basis of a healthy relationship!”
“You keep using the word relationship,” Guti says. “Do you …”
“You’re missing the point!” Raul quickly says.
“I’m not,” Guti says confidently, his face starting to blossom into a smile. “The point is you are talking about a relationship.” And then he reaches down, wrapping his arms around Raul’s waist and picking him up, twirling him lightly in a circle before setting him down once more.
“Guti!” Raul squawks, but Guti is laughing, bangs falling into his eyes as he leans forward, nuzzling into the side of Raul’s neck.
“I can’t help it,” he mumbles against Raul’s skin. “I really like you. I really, really like you.”
“That’s …” Raul has no idea what to do with a superhero who is now nuzzling him like a giant cat. “That’s nice Guti, but can you, will you please be serious for one second?” He’s not blushing and stammering like a schoolboy. He’s not, damn it.
Guti pulls back, arms still around Raul’s waist, and attempts to compose his face into some semblance of a serious expression. His twinkling eyes give him away though. “Yes, Raul?”
“There have to be ground rules!” Raul tells him sternly.
Guti’s face is quickly becoming more serious. “Okay,” he says, nodding.
“You have to seek psychiatric help for yourself. Not because I’ve made it some kind of prerequisite to dating,” Raul says. This is the most important point, and he’s afraid of how Guti will respond.
In a Guti-like fashion, it turns out. “… How would you know the difference though? I mean couldn’t I just say I wanted to do it?” he wants to know.
“I would know the difference. You’re not going to make serious progress in any kind of mental health treatment program without first admitting that you need the treatment. Going through the motions just because I want you to won’t have the same result.”
Guti nods.
Raul almost breathes a sigh of relief, but there’re more points that need to be settled. “Secondly,” he says, “You can’t try to emotionally blackmail me in any way whatsoever. I’m completely serious, Guti. Nothing like that time you tried kill yourself because I rejected you.”
“I didn’t…” Guti starts to protest, but Raul cuts him off with an upraised hand.
“Never again,” he repeats firmly. Slowly, Guti nods.
“Thirdly,” Raul says, taking a deep breath, because this may be the hardest point of all, “you have to give me space. You do your treatment, and we’ll see what happens, okay?” His mouth twists, but it needs to be said. “You said you didn’t want any promises, and I’m not making any promises. You work seriously on getting better, and then, then we’ll see, okay? Maybe something will happen, maybe nothing. I can’t predict the future and,” his eyes twinkle wryly, “I don’t think you can either. Don’t do your therapy with the idea that once you reach a certain point, I’ll date you. I am not saying that. I am saying you do your therapy for you, and then … then we’ll see.” As soon as he’s done with this speech, Raul holds his breath, worried about what Guti’s response will be.
What he’s not expecting is for Guti to pick him up again, cradling Raul against his chest as he kisses him, short but fervent and sweet. “Thank you,” Guti whispers against Raul’s mouth. “Thank you. All I want is a chance. Just a chance.”
At the look in Guti’s eyes, Raul’s heart almost melts and breaks at the same time. This whole thing is an incredibly bad idea, he knows. It goes against everything he is as a psychiatrist, goes against everything he knows about how to treat a patient. Yet standing there, staring into Guti’s joyous, hope-filled eyes, Raul could never say no, not in a million years. Guti’s got Raul captivated just as surely as Guti is captivated by Raul.
+++
David glances around the tense-faced kitchen. “Ooh, is that an espresso maker?” he asks, pointing to the counter behind Pepe.
“Help yourself,” Pepe says distractedly. “I was making people cups, but you can manage on your own, can’t you?”
“Well, I normally don’t drink coffee,” David says, “I suppose though, on vacation, I can make an exception.” He looks at the other men. “Anyone else want some?”
“I do, if you don’t mind,” Iker says.
“I’m fine,” Steven says.
“I’m also fine, but thank you, David.” If one could gather energy by glaring, Xabi would have enough to power himself for a month by the way he’s staring at Steven. Steven grimaces, muttering something into his cup as he glares back in return.
“Oh good God!” Pepe throws his hands up in the air. “I have seriously had it with the two of you. You are going to behave like fucking adults, and you are going to do it right now. Come here.”
And then he puts a hand on Steven’s shoulder, pushing him toward the exit of the kitchen.
Steven shrugs him off, looking annoyed. “What are you on about? We need to hear if Iker has anything new to report.”
“If Iker has anything new to report,” Pepe says, now trying to herd Steven towards the door, “he will come find us. Iker is a big boy, he can walk the 10 yards between kitchen and the office.”
“I really don’t think this is necessary…” Xabi frowns.
Pepe jabs his finger in Xabi’s direction. “Don’t start with me, okay? If the two of you are actually adults, you can stand to be in each other’s presence in a room for 10 minutes. Now come on.”
Reluctantly, the two psychiatrists follow Pepe through the door. Once the three of them are in the office, Pepe shuts the door, closing them in the room. He turns to find both Steven and Xabi staring him with suspicion.
Pepe sighs at them as if they’re recalcitrant children and gestures to the two seats in front of the desk. Reluctantly, Steven and Xabi take them. Pepe positions himself in the chair behind the desk, propping his elbows on the mahogany surface, and steepling his fingers for effect. "So," he begins, "what’s your problem with each other?"
Xabi shifts in his chair. "I don't have a problem with Dr. Gerrard," he says stiffly. "We just ... disagree on some aspects of psychiatry."
"Bullshit you don't have a problem with him!" Xabi's mouth compresses in a displeased line. Pepe turns to Steven. "What about you? What's your problem with Alonso?"
"Just professional disagreement," Steven says, also shifting in his chair.
Pepe rolls his eyes. "The two of you fight like an old married couple. Clearly, there’s something going on here."
Steven and Xabi exchange unfriendly glances. "We have professional differences," Steven says.
"Strong professional differences," Xabi adds.
"And the name calling? And the hair pulling and the being little bitches?" Pepe prompts.
"Really, Reina, I don't think this is at all called for or necessary." Steven starts to rise from his seat, and seeing this, Xabi starts to follow.
"Both of you sit back down." Pepe sighs, rubbing at his temple. "Okay, we're gonna play this game a little differently. Alonso, what are the first words that come to mind when you think of Gerrard?"
Xabi frowns, but says nothing.
"No one here has delicate sensibilities. You don't have to worry about offending any of us," Pepe encourages.
"Rigid." Xabi says after a moment.
"Rigid?" Steven scoffs. "I am not bloody rigid!"
Xabi turns to glare at him. "You are the most unreasonable, inflexible person with whom I have ever had the displeasure of having to work!"
"Oh, is that how it is?" Steven demands, turning to glare at Xabi. "Why don't you tell us how you really feel, Alonso? Hurt that you can't flitter about practicing your sorry excuse for what you call psychiatry without anyone holding you to account?"
Xabi splutters. "My sorry excuse? What about your sorry excuse? I've seen better patient interaction from a corpse! The corpse would probably do less harm too!"
"Do less harm? Do less harm?!" Steven's grip is tightening on the arms of his chair, knuckles slowly growing whiter.
"That's what I said," Xabi snaps. "I've never known a psychiatrist to drive their patient into running away in less than two days."
"With that distorted view of the world, it's a wonder they let you near patients at all!"
Xabi is about to angrily retort when Pepe interrupts. "All right, all right," the trauma surgeon says, "that's more like it. Now Xabi, when you think of Steven, you think ..?"
"An anal-retentive ass who does more harm than good.”
"And Steven, when you think of Xabi?"
"An unprofessional child who can't even control himself, let alone help other people."
Xabi scoffs incredulously. "The one who is a child here is ..."
"Okay, okay, I get the general idea," Pepe interrupts. "The two of you hate each other's guts, and there's no one with whom you'd less like to work. Am I close?"
Xabi glances away, and Steven looks down at his hands. “Hate is a very strong word,” Xabi hedges.
“Oh come on, Alonso,” Pepe laughs. “You hate him, why not say it?”
“I find him incredibly aggravating,” Xabi concedes.
Steven rolls his eyes. “Aggravating? The aggravating one here is you!”
“Okay, enough! You’ve proved you’re both equally annoying!” Pepe cuts the argument off before it can gather steam once more. “Now, how are we going to fix this, so that the two of you can genuinely work together to help Guti?”
Xabi coughs, and then glances to the side. “I’m not sure I can work with him,” he says delicately.
“I’m definitely sure I can’t,” Steven growls in return.
Pepe sighs and rolls his eyes towards Heaven, as if asking for divine help. “I already knew the pair of you were morons; you don’t have to keep proving it!” he chides. “Now seriously.” He turns a stern gaze on each of them in turn. “Guti’s mental health is in your hands. You cannot honestly tell me you’re going to let some personal dislike or whatever stand in the way of helping him, can you?”
Xabi has the grace to look slightly abashed. Steven just looks more annoyed, forehead creasing further as he frowns.
Xabi is the first to speak. “You’re right,” he says with a sigh. He turns, extending a hand towards Steven. “Truce?”
Steven eyes the hand like he expects it to be a trick, then slowly, reluctantly shakes. “Fine. Truce.”
“Fine,” Xabi says. They start to withdraw their hands.
“Great!” Pepe says, clapping his hands together. “Now that that’s settled, I expect you two to be able to work this out without a babysitter to referee your hair-pulling. Adults. Remember you’re adults!” With that, Pepe leaves the room.
Steven and Xabi watch him go and then turn warily to face each other again. “We’re going to have to do things my way, you know,” Steven says.
“Excuse me?” Xabi’s eyebrows rise and then draw together.
“You heard me,” Steven says. “I’ll work with you, but, I’m not going to risk compromising Guti’s health by doing things your way.”
Xabi stares. “Well I’m not going to risk compromising Guti’s health by doing things your way!”
Steven’s jaw tightens. “I am acting based on scientifically and medically sound dictates, whereas you seem to do whatever your feelings tell you …”
“My feelings tell me to pay attention to the patient and notice when something isn’t working for him and needs to be changed!” Xabi snaps.
“That kind of vacillation isn’t something someone with a serious mood disorder needs. He needs stability …”
“Which you are not supplying!” Xabi snorts contemptuously. “You’re confusing stability with the rigid pole you’ve got shoved up your ass, which makes me wonder what kind of issues you have of your own!”
“Excuse me, Alonso?” Steven’s voice has gone low and dangerous, and Xabi can’t help but shiver, knowing he’s crossed a line. Still, he tightens his jaw, unwilling to back down in any way in front of the other man.
“You heard what I said,” he says stiffly.
“You,” Steven says carefully, enunciating each syllable very clearly, “had better take that back.”
Xabi swallows, the unexpected anger Steven is showing making him shiver more. “… Maybe I went a bit to far.”
“Maybe you went a bit too far?” Steven takes a step towards Xabi. “Maybe you went a bit to far? What I want to hear from you, Alonso,” another step, “is not excuses.” Now he’s practically in Xabi’s face, “It is a fucking apology.”
“Physical intimidation is not necessary,” Xabi says as stiffly as he can while trying to resist the urge to lean away from Steven, whose face is inches from his own.
“Physical intimidation is not- physical intimidation is not- …” Steven gives a strangled kind of laugh as he turns his head away to the side, then suddenly he snaps his head back around to face Xabi, eyes blazing. “You drive me fucking insane, you know?” he growls. “You just … you, everything about you. From your logic to the way you talk, you are just …”
“I’m just what?” Xabi asks stiffly.
Steven stares at Xabi’s mouth for a long moment. “… You’re a fucking nuisance,” he says contemptuously, eyes dismissive as he steps away again.
“Don’t you …“ Xabi reaches out, grabbing Steven’s arm as the other man pulls away. “Don’t you fucking dare tell me I can’t call you names when it’s okay for you to call me whatever you feel like.”
“Don’t you fucking touch me!” Steven snarls, shaking his arm out of Xabi’s grasp and spinning so that he’s right in Xabi’s face again.
“Well don’t you fucking walk away from me when I’m talking to you!” Xabi spits, equally enraged now.
“I’ll fucking walk away whenever I damn well feel like it!” Steven practically shouts.
“You won’t walk away until we are done with this conversation!” Xabi is getting into Steven’s personal space just as much as Steven was getting into Xabi’s only a moment ago.
“I’ll decide when we’re fucking done,” Steven growls. “If I say we’re done, we’re done.” He tries to pull away again.
“I don’t fucking think so!” Xabi grabs for Steven’s arm once more.
One second, Steven is standing there, and the next second, he has Xabi pinned up against the wall, forearm pressing across the top of Xabi’s chest, face right in Xabi’s face. “I said,” he over-enunciates, “don't fucking touch me.”
Xabi is staring at him, wide eyed, “what the fuck is wrong with you that you think it’s okay to push people around?!” he demands. “Is this what they teach you in the army? No wonder you’re so messed up in the head!”
When Steven speaks, it isn’t so much words as growling. “What did you say? What did you say? Who was fucking grabbing me in the first place, you asshole?”
“I was not the one shoving people around like someone who should be in anger management therapy instead of being a psychiatrist!”
Grabbing Xabi by the shirtfront, Steven pulls him forward and then slams him into the wall again. “You hypocritical little piece of shit, don't you dare …” The words ghost across Xabi’s lips as Steven’s breath comes in harsh pants, mouth fractions of an inch from Xabi’s own.
“Don’t I dare what?” Xabi snarls back, eyes locked on Steven’s mouth.
There’s a pause as both men breathe heavily. “You fucking disgust me,” Steven breathes, and then he’s pulling away, taking his heat and his anger and his presence away with him.
Xabi sags at suddenly being let go, then snaps forward, hand shooting out to land on Steven’s shoulder. “Don’t you fucking …”
This time Steven throws him against the wall, both hands braced against Xabi’s chest, their faces practically right pressed together. There’s a pause, then, “I would never fucking touch you,” Steven snarls softly into the space between them.
“What?” Xabi half gasps, half demands, but Steven is already gone, slamming out the door. Xabi’s left leaning against the wall, breathing heavily, staring at the space where Steven was.
+++
part 2