(no subject)
title: the birthday story (2/2)
rating: pg-13
author's note: please forgive the grammar, spelling mistakes. this is unbeta'd. also, sorry for my utter lack of creativity. quite frankly, i am not funny at all. but i just want to say i had fun writing this - and hopefully it shows. enjoy!
The Birthday Story
“They’re on their way home!” Wes screams, “Wayne and Darren. They’re on their way!”
“WHAT?!”
“They’re early! And Cris isn’t even here -”
“I’m here!” He walks through the front door, no bag in hand. “What’s going on? You all look like you broke something.”
“The Scouser is coming! The Scouser is coming!”
***
“Uh oh.”
“What do you mean… uh-oh?”
“I think…”
Just then the car slows down, and Nemanja parks on the side of the road.
“Yeah, I was right.”
“What’s going on? What happened?”
“Ran out of gas.”
“VIDA!”
“I still get my E’s and F’s confused.”
“Now what are we going to do?”
“We run.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” The Serbian opens his door, “Come on!”
“Hey, hey! Wait up.”
***
“Would everyone please calm down?” Alan says through the chaos around him. “I’ll just call Darren and tell him that I forgot something at his place. That way, they’ll have to stop by.”
“Genius, genius!”
The Englishman dials the number he knows all too well, and waits for the Scot to answer. “Okay, hold the genius thought.”
“Why?”
“He’s not answering.” He puts the mobile on speaker, and Darren‘s voice fills the room, “ --you’ve reached Darren Fletcher. Hooray for you! Leave me a pretty message, okay?”
“Can we panic, now?” Michael asks. And on cue, all the lads scatter off into different areas of the house.
“Hey Gary -”
“What?”
“Can I have that?” Cris points, and Gary nods his head. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you.”
“You turned it on?”
“Turned what on?”
“The camera?”
“I turned the camera on? How do you know?”
“Not in that way!” Cris pushes the captain playfully, and shakes his head. “Gaz!”
“Geez. It’s not my fault I’m good lookin’.”
***
“Vida,” Rio says looking at the defender running beside him. “I think we should’ve stretched first. My legs are killing me.”
“We don’t have time for that. Here, jump on my back. I’ll carry you.”
“What am I? Five years old?”
“You act like it.”
Rio pushes the Serbian and turns the corner. He briefly turns his head to look behind him, and when he turns around again, he is met by a big black vehicle. After the initial realization that he did in fact run into something, he mutters a barely audible “ouch.”
“What the fuck was that?” (And although Rio felt slightly woozy from the impact, he knew exactly whose voice that was.) “Rio? What the fuck? Did you just run into me?”
“Actually, I ran into your car.”
“I see that.” And then he laughs, a full-hearty one. “You do realize you’re probably the only person on the planet to run into a parked vehicle? Just whoa.”
“Rio?” Nemanja calls, running towards the both of them. “Wayne?”
“Vida? What are you doing here?”
“I was -”
“We were going out for a run -” Rio saves. “Isn’t that right?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Wazza? Who are you talking to -” Darren says, coming out from behind the trees. “Wow. A party without the Fletchmeister I see.”
“You have no idea -” Rio whispers under his breath. “Hey, Fletch. What were you doing back there?”
“He had to tinkle. And couldn’t wait until we got to my house.” Wayne answers, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like we were that much further away.”
“For the sixteenth time! I couldn’t hold it in! I was literally going to do it in your car!”
“Where are you guys? Are you close by? Hello? Over. Over. Over.” Rio instantly grabs hold of the walkie talkie in his pockets, trying to block the sound of Wes’ voice. “Hello? ANSWER ME.”
“Your pants are talking, Rio.”
***
Ole knocks on the front of the door, which was a difficult talk since he had Wayne’s cake in his arms. After minutes of waiting, someone finally answers. “Thanks, Gerard.”
“De nada,” the young defender smiles, before running upstairs.
“Oh, wait.” Ole sighs, “A little help would’ve been nice.”
“Oh good! You’re here! I was wondering where you were. By the way, hi.”
“Sorry! I wasn’t exactly expecting to be in charge of baking the cake. And besides, Paul didn’t call me until a few hours ago to let me know.” Ole explains, “Where is he anyways?”
“Somewhere in the kitchen, I think,” Ryan waves him off. “I gotta go -”
“YOU THERE! YOUNG BOY WITH THE LISP -”
“Gary! His name is Gerard. You haven’t been out that long!” Ryan turns back to Ole, “I would help you, but as you can see, I have some things to do. Just try and be careful? All the lads are running around like mad.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The Norwegian makes his way across the living room, sidestepping a frantic Jonny Evans yelling something about a dog in the garage. “No one fucking told me Wayne had a dog - three dogs - in there!” And Patrice lying flat on the floor, trying to grab all the cups he had dropped.
He was almost care-free, walking into the kitchen, until someone backs into him.
“Watch where you’re -” Paul begins. “Oh.”
Ole doesn’t say anything, takes the rest of the cake and puts it on the counter. He turns back towards the midfielder, frosting covering his face. Paul can vaguely read the word ‘Happy’ that was now etched on his partner’s forehead. “It’s not my fault. Honest!” He stutters. “You should’ve been watching where you were going - I was merely meandering through the kitchen minding my own business - and then you -”
“Not helping, Paul.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” the Englishman smiles, “You look quite delectable. Let me get that for you.” And he walks over towards the taller man. He leans forward, and swipes his tongue on his jaw line.
***
Nemanja, Rio, Wayne and Darren all stand around staring at each other. Rio can feel his cheeks heating up, his mind racing trying to form an excuse as to why, exactly, someone’s voice was seeping through his clothes.
“Hello? Is anyone there? Over. Over.”
“Rio?”
“It’s -”
“Oh wait. Don’t tell me,” Darren laughs. “It sounds familiar. I know that voice!”
“You do?”
“Yeah! It’s that soap opera, right? The one where the man is looking for his long lost wife, fiance, girlfriend - whatever, who was kidnapped by the -”
“Since when did you watch soap operas?” Wayne asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Since Vida promised he would do that thing that I like so much - you know, that thing.” Rio winks twice, three times, four times.
“You should get your eye checked. It’s twitching.”
Wayne looks at the two defenders, eyeing them suspiciously, before muttering an, “I don’t even want to know.”
“Anyways,” the Scot begins. “Since we’re all here. Why don’t you two come along with us? I’m going over to Wayne’s to kick his ass in FIFA 08!”
“In your dreams, daddy long legs.”
“Okay,” Nemanja says, grabbing a hold of Rio’s hand. “Let’s go.”
***
“Ole, Ryan needs you in -” Chris Eagles announces, before stopping in his tracks. “Holy devil cakes! What happened to the cake?”
“You see,” Paul begins, “There comes a time where -”
“He ran into me. Cake went all over my face. To get him back, I smeared it all over him.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much the short version of the story.”
The Englishman was sitting on the kitchen counter, trying to wipe off the frosting that had gotten in his hair. “Well, Ole. Ryan needs you in the living room. Something about you being the only sane one in the house.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.” Ole nods, then turns to the other man. “I expect this place to be cleaned when I get back.”
Gary walks into the room.
“Fiddle sticks!” he yelps. “Who let out the monster?”
Paul glares at him, “I ask myself that everyday.”
***
“Guys,” Owen laughs uneasily. “I don’t plan on going as a mummy this Halloween. Maybe next year.”
“But Owen,” Michael pouts. “You look so good in all these streamers. Like a real life mummy!”
“Yeah!” John agrees. “It suits you well.”
“Mikey! Sheasy!”
“Uh-oh.”
“You do realize Wayne will be here any minute, and you two are busy wrapping the new lad.”
“It was O’Shea’s idea, Giggsy. He made me do it.”
“Lies! All lies! I refuse to be apart of your lies!”
“The both of you, go and find your hiding places, now.” Ryan orders, casting a sympathetic glance towards Owen. “I’d keep an eye out on those two if I were you. You never know what they’re up to.” And turning around, “Alright everyone! We seem to have lost contact of Rio and Vida. So we’re not taking any chances, and we’re going to go ahead and take our places! Everyone in the living room.”
“You wanted me?” Ole asks, coming up beside Ryan. “What do you need me to do?”
“Make sure Paul is far away from Gary. And I will do the same with Gary.” Ryan whispers. “You know how those two can be. They’ll ruin everything.”
“Got it.”
***
“Stop right now, thank you very much, I need somebody with the human touch…”
“Darren! Darren!”
“What?”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
The Scot pouts, pulling his knees up. “That wasn’t very nice. If it wasn’t -”
“Darren?”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up, please.”
“Hmph.”
In the back seat, Rio and Nemanja sit upright in their seats trying to catch a glimpse of the house, hoping that no one was still outside. They both sigh in relief when they see that everything seems to be ready. Once the car stopped, they both unbuckle their seat belts and sprint towards the front door.
“Boy, Wayne, you sure drive fast!” Rio yells (or screams).
“Yes! I can’t believe we are here already!” Nemanja chimes.
“Why are you two yelling?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I just feel like saying that WE ARE HERE. AND WE ARE ABOUT TO COME IN.”
“I swear, you have never been weirder.” Wayne pulls out his keys, and remembers that he had to get the mail. “Rio, catch!” He tosses him the keys. “I’ll be right back. Just got to grab the mail.”
Rio quickly opens the door, but Darren bustles past him. “Move over, move over. Prettiest lookin’ man first.”
“SURPRISE!”
Rio and Nemanja shake their heads.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“Surprise, Wayne! Happy birthday!” Owen (who was still wrapped in streamers) says, coming out from the closet next to Darren, who screams out in absolute horror. “Oh, oops.”
“What the hell? Where’s the Scouser?”
“It seems like Darren ruined everything, just like we didn’t want happening.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Paul snickers.
“Well, that just means Wayne will be here anytime soon. Places everyone!”
“Darren, get over here, will you?” Alan says, grabbing a hold of the still horror-stricken Scot, who stares wide-eyed at Owen Hargreaves who shyly smiles at him, before taking his place back again in the closet.
Wayne walks up the steps two at a time before pushing the door open. “Darren - I heard you scream -”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYNE!” the boys yell in unison.
The striker drops all the letters in his hands, as he is attacked in mob-form by his teammates lead by the ever-tiny Patrice Evra. “Happy birthday, whitie!”
All Wayne can do is grin like an idiot, as he is pulled to the floor.
“You guys!” A rustling from the closet. “Um. I think I’m locked in.”
***
That night, Wayne sits in his living room. Not ready to go to bed just yet, not ready for his birthday to be over. (Even if it had been for a couple hours.) Instead, he takes the tape that Gary gave to him (“I kind of had the video recording the whole time, and didn‘t know it,” he laughs. “I told them I wasn‘t good with this. But did they listen? No.”), and places it into his VCR.
He fast forwards through all the parts in the middle where all you could see really was Gary’s pants (he made a mental note to make a copy for Ryan later.) followed by voices from the rest of the lads.
And maybe he had a feeling there was something more waiting to be seen because he keeps watching, not daring to turn the video off. He clutches a pillow close to his chest, and watches as every teammate of his greets him a happy birthday, putting a smile on his face; some making him shake his head; some just making him laugh all together.
The tape went black for a few seconds, and Wayne figures that was the end of it - and the one person he had wanted to hear from wasn’t -
“Hi, Wayne.” His voice is loud and clear, almost as if the Portuguese was with him, at that moment. “I just want to say happy birthday.” (And Wayne realizes that he has more to say by the fidgeting of the winger’s hands) “I hope you had a fun time today.”
(The striker doesn’t realize he’s holding the pillow tighter, closer to his chest.)
“I… you know, I am not good with words.” He laughs, and Wayne wants to laugh with him. There‘s a long pause. Maybe he was thinking of what to say. Maybe he knew what he wanted to say - but didn‘t know how to say it. Maybe he was just waiting. “You are very important to me.”
Wayne can’t help the way his heart flutters in his chest.
“I love you, very much.”
And with a small smile, the Portuguese gets up from his seat, his face growing closer on the television. And turns off the camera.
The screen goes black.
FIN.
rating: pg-13
author's note: please forgive the grammar, spelling mistakes. this is unbeta'd. also, sorry for my utter lack of creativity. quite frankly, i am not funny at all. but i just want to say i had fun writing this - and hopefully it shows. enjoy!
The Birthday Story
“They’re on their way home!” Wes screams, “Wayne and Darren. They’re on their way!”
“WHAT?!”
“They’re early! And Cris isn’t even here -”
“I’m here!” He walks through the front door, no bag in hand. “What’s going on? You all look like you broke something.”
“The Scouser is coming! The Scouser is coming!”
***
“Uh oh.”
“What do you mean… uh-oh?”
“I think…”
Just then the car slows down, and Nemanja parks on the side of the road.
“Yeah, I was right.”
“What’s going on? What happened?”
“Ran out of gas.”
“VIDA!”
“I still get my E’s and F’s confused.”
“Now what are we going to do?”
“We run.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No.” The Serbian opens his door, “Come on!”
“Hey, hey! Wait up.”
***
“Would everyone please calm down?” Alan says through the chaos around him. “I’ll just call Darren and tell him that I forgot something at his place. That way, they’ll have to stop by.”
“Genius, genius!”
The Englishman dials the number he knows all too well, and waits for the Scot to answer. “Okay, hold the genius thought.”
“Why?”
“He’s not answering.” He puts the mobile on speaker, and Darren‘s voice fills the room, “ --you’ve reached Darren Fletcher. Hooray for you! Leave me a pretty message, okay?”
“Can we panic, now?” Michael asks. And on cue, all the lads scatter off into different areas of the house.
“Hey Gary -”
“What?”
“Can I have that?” Cris points, and Gary nods his head. “Thanks.”
“No, thank you.”
“You turned it on?”
“Turned what on?”
“The camera?”
“I turned the camera on? How do you know?”
“Not in that way!” Cris pushes the captain playfully, and shakes his head. “Gaz!”
“Geez. It’s not my fault I’m good lookin’.”
***
“Vida,” Rio says looking at the defender running beside him. “I think we should’ve stretched first. My legs are killing me.”
“We don’t have time for that. Here, jump on my back. I’ll carry you.”
“What am I? Five years old?”
“You act like it.”
Rio pushes the Serbian and turns the corner. He briefly turns his head to look behind him, and when he turns around again, he is met by a big black vehicle. After the initial realization that he did in fact run into something, he mutters a barely audible “ouch.”
“What the fuck was that?” (And although Rio felt slightly woozy from the impact, he knew exactly whose voice that was.) “Rio? What the fuck? Did you just run into me?”
“Actually, I ran into your car.”
“I see that.” And then he laughs, a full-hearty one. “You do realize you’re probably the only person on the planet to run into a parked vehicle? Just whoa.”
“Rio?” Nemanja calls, running towards the both of them. “Wayne?”
“Vida? What are you doing here?”
“I was -”
“We were going out for a run -” Rio saves. “Isn’t that right?”
“Uh, yes.”
“Wazza? Who are you talking to -” Darren says, coming out from behind the trees. “Wow. A party without the Fletchmeister I see.”
“You have no idea -” Rio whispers under his breath. “Hey, Fletch. What were you doing back there?”
“He had to tinkle. And couldn’t wait until we got to my house.” Wayne answers, rolling his eyes. “It’s not like we were that much further away.”
“For the sixteenth time! I couldn’t hold it in! I was literally going to do it in your car!”
“Where are you guys? Are you close by? Hello? Over. Over. Over.” Rio instantly grabs hold of the walkie talkie in his pockets, trying to block the sound of Wes’ voice. “Hello? ANSWER ME.”
“Your pants are talking, Rio.”
***
Ole knocks on the front of the door, which was a difficult talk since he had Wayne’s cake in his arms. After minutes of waiting, someone finally answers. “Thanks, Gerard.”
“De nada,” the young defender smiles, before running upstairs.
“Oh, wait.” Ole sighs, “A little help would’ve been nice.”
“Oh good! You’re here! I was wondering where you were. By the way, hi.”
“Sorry! I wasn’t exactly expecting to be in charge of baking the cake. And besides, Paul didn’t call me until a few hours ago to let me know.” Ole explains, “Where is he anyways?”
“Somewhere in the kitchen, I think,” Ryan waves him off. “I gotta go -”
“YOU THERE! YOUNG BOY WITH THE LISP -”
“Gary! His name is Gerard. You haven’t been out that long!” Ryan turns back to Ole, “I would help you, but as you can see, I have some things to do. Just try and be careful? All the lads are running around like mad.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
The Norwegian makes his way across the living room, sidestepping a frantic Jonny Evans yelling something about a dog in the garage. “No one fucking told me Wayne had a dog - three dogs - in there!” And Patrice lying flat on the floor, trying to grab all the cups he had dropped.
He was almost care-free, walking into the kitchen, until someone backs into him.
“Watch where you’re -” Paul begins. “Oh.”
Ole doesn’t say anything, takes the rest of the cake and puts it on the counter. He turns back towards the midfielder, frosting covering his face. Paul can vaguely read the word ‘Happy’ that was now etched on his partner’s forehead. “It’s not my fault. Honest!” He stutters. “You should’ve been watching where you were going - I was merely meandering through the kitchen minding my own business - and then you -”
“Not helping, Paul.”
“If it makes you feel any better,” the Englishman smiles, “You look quite delectable. Let me get that for you.” And he walks over towards the taller man. He leans forward, and swipes his tongue on his jaw line.
***
Nemanja, Rio, Wayne and Darren all stand around staring at each other. Rio can feel his cheeks heating up, his mind racing trying to form an excuse as to why, exactly, someone’s voice was seeping through his clothes.
“Hello? Is anyone there? Over. Over.”
“Rio?”
“It’s -”
“Oh wait. Don’t tell me,” Darren laughs. “It sounds familiar. I know that voice!”
“You do?”
“Yeah! It’s that soap opera, right? The one where the man is looking for his long lost wife, fiance, girlfriend - whatever, who was kidnapped by the -”
“Since when did you watch soap operas?” Wayne asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Since Vida promised he would do that thing that I like so much - you know, that thing.” Rio winks twice, three times, four times.
“You should get your eye checked. It’s twitching.”
Wayne looks at the two defenders, eyeing them suspiciously, before muttering an, “I don’t even want to know.”
“Anyways,” the Scot begins. “Since we’re all here. Why don’t you two come along with us? I’m going over to Wayne’s to kick his ass in FIFA 08!”
“In your dreams, daddy long legs.”
“Okay,” Nemanja says, grabbing a hold of Rio’s hand. “Let’s go.”
***
“Ole, Ryan needs you in -” Chris Eagles announces, before stopping in his tracks. “Holy devil cakes! What happened to the cake?”
“You see,” Paul begins, “There comes a time where -”
“He ran into me. Cake went all over my face. To get him back, I smeared it all over him.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much the short version of the story.”
The Englishman was sitting on the kitchen counter, trying to wipe off the frosting that had gotten in his hair. “Well, Ole. Ryan needs you in the living room. Something about you being the only sane one in the house.”
“Thanks. I’m on my way.” Ole nods, then turns to the other man. “I expect this place to be cleaned when I get back.”
Gary walks into the room.
“Fiddle sticks!” he yelps. “Who let out the monster?”
Paul glares at him, “I ask myself that everyday.”
***
“Guys,” Owen laughs uneasily. “I don’t plan on going as a mummy this Halloween. Maybe next year.”
“But Owen,” Michael pouts. “You look so good in all these streamers. Like a real life mummy!”
“Yeah!” John agrees. “It suits you well.”
“Mikey! Sheasy!”
“Uh-oh.”
“You do realize Wayne will be here any minute, and you two are busy wrapping the new lad.”
“It was O’Shea’s idea, Giggsy. He made me do it.”
“Lies! All lies! I refuse to be apart of your lies!”
“The both of you, go and find your hiding places, now.” Ryan orders, casting a sympathetic glance towards Owen. “I’d keep an eye out on those two if I were you. You never know what they’re up to.” And turning around, “Alright everyone! We seem to have lost contact of Rio and Vida. So we’re not taking any chances, and we’re going to go ahead and take our places! Everyone in the living room.”
“You wanted me?” Ole asks, coming up beside Ryan. “What do you need me to do?”
“Make sure Paul is far away from Gary. And I will do the same with Gary.” Ryan whispers. “You know how those two can be. They’ll ruin everything.”
“Got it.”
***
“Stop right now, thank you very much, I need somebody with the human touch…”
“Darren! Darren!”
“What?”
“SHUT THE FUCK UP.”
The Scot pouts, pulling his knees up. “That wasn’t very nice. If it wasn’t -”
“Darren?”
“What?”
“Shut the fuck up, please.”
“Hmph.”
In the back seat, Rio and Nemanja sit upright in their seats trying to catch a glimpse of the house, hoping that no one was still outside. They both sigh in relief when they see that everything seems to be ready. Once the car stopped, they both unbuckle their seat belts and sprint towards the front door.
“Boy, Wayne, you sure drive fast!” Rio yells (or screams).
“Yes! I can’t believe we are here already!” Nemanja chimes.
“Why are you two yelling?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because I just feel like saying that WE ARE HERE. AND WE ARE ABOUT TO COME IN.”
“I swear, you have never been weirder.” Wayne pulls out his keys, and remembers that he had to get the mail. “Rio, catch!” He tosses him the keys. “I’ll be right back. Just got to grab the mail.”
Rio quickly opens the door, but Darren bustles past him. “Move over, move over. Prettiest lookin’ man first.”
“SURPRISE!”
Rio and Nemanja shake their heads.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
“Surprise, Wayne! Happy birthday!” Owen (who was still wrapped in streamers) says, coming out from the closet next to Darren, who screams out in absolute horror. “Oh, oops.”
“What the hell? Where’s the Scouser?”
“It seems like Darren ruined everything, just like we didn’t want happening.”
“Thank you, Captain Obvious.” Paul snickers.
“Well, that just means Wayne will be here anytime soon. Places everyone!”
“Darren, get over here, will you?” Alan says, grabbing a hold of the still horror-stricken Scot, who stares wide-eyed at Owen Hargreaves who shyly smiles at him, before taking his place back again in the closet.
Wayne walks up the steps two at a time before pushing the door open. “Darren - I heard you scream -”
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY WAYNE!” the boys yell in unison.
The striker drops all the letters in his hands, as he is attacked in mob-form by his teammates lead by the ever-tiny Patrice Evra. “Happy birthday, whitie!”
All Wayne can do is grin like an idiot, as he is pulled to the floor.
“You guys!” A rustling from the closet. “Um. I think I’m locked in.”
***
That night, Wayne sits in his living room. Not ready to go to bed just yet, not ready for his birthday to be over. (Even if it had been for a couple hours.) Instead, he takes the tape that Gary gave to him (“I kind of had the video recording the whole time, and didn‘t know it,” he laughs. “I told them I wasn‘t good with this. But did they listen? No.”), and places it into his VCR.
He fast forwards through all the parts in the middle where all you could see really was Gary’s pants (he made a mental note to make a copy for Ryan later.) followed by voices from the rest of the lads.
And maybe he had a feeling there was something more waiting to be seen because he keeps watching, not daring to turn the video off. He clutches a pillow close to his chest, and watches as every teammate of his greets him a happy birthday, putting a smile on his face; some making him shake his head; some just making him laugh all together.
The tape went black for a few seconds, and Wayne figures that was the end of it - and the one person he had wanted to hear from wasn’t -
“Hi, Wayne.” His voice is loud and clear, almost as if the Portuguese was with him, at that moment. “I just want to say happy birthday.” (And Wayne realizes that he has more to say by the fidgeting of the winger’s hands) “I hope you had a fun time today.”
(The striker doesn’t realize he’s holding the pillow tighter, closer to his chest.)
“I… you know, I am not good with words.” He laughs, and Wayne wants to laugh with him. There‘s a long pause. Maybe he was thinking of what to say. Maybe he knew what he wanted to say - but didn‘t know how to say it. Maybe he was just waiting. “You are very important to me.”
Wayne can’t help the way his heart flutters in his chest.
“I love you, very much.”
And with a small smile, the Portuguese gets up from his seat, his face growing closer on the television. And turns off the camera.
The screen goes black.
FIN.