4 Things Pepe Noticed About the Liverpool Squad & the 1 Thing He Missed

[tempered-rose.livejournal.com]

Title: Four Things Pepe Noticed About the Liverpool Squad and the One Thing He Missed
Characters: Pepe Reina; Kenny Dalglish, Steven Gerrard/Jamie Carragher, Dirk Kuyt, Daniel Agger/Martin Skrtel, Jordan Henderson, Stewart Downing/Charlie Adam, Andy Caroll/Luis Suarez, Martin Kelly mentioned
Rating: R (language, and suggestive other things ;) )
Words: 2,916
A/N: this was written for footballverse’s Writing Big Bang. I hope you like it, because I know I do. :D

Five.

Anfield is a busy place, anyone with eyes can see that. There is an excitement in the air, the much welcomed replacement to the horrible feelings of doubt, threats to sell, players and friendships gone due to cover an enormous debt. The debt itself is gone and a strange feeling knowing that it has suddenly disappeared is welcome, a relief to the large weight that had settled in the pit of every stomach that walked into Anfield.

So many things have gone in the past few years, many in just the past few months alone. It makes one look around to see what has stayed, stayed through the thick winning spirits and through the thin wearing on a man’s soul that stretched tempers fine and thin. Many smiling faces look around when they notice the return of the King, officially this time, even though many already knew that he would return. Many smiling faces, so many smiling faces.

Pepe Reina is one of them. He does not lament for the fact his friends have gone, Xabi, Nando, others. While some, like Xabi, would have stayed under different circumstances, they still left no matter the reasoning and they wouldn’t be returning any time soon. Pepe didn’t lament this fact, instead he looked to the future and all the promise that Liverpool now had. He was honorary Scouse and he loved it.

In the changing room, before the game against Man United of all people, there is a nervous anticipation, excitement that causes sparks to pass with every contact between the players. Grins rise on the faces with every contact made with eyes, every brush of an arm. Jokes run through their ranks, causing those spirits to rise. They are shaky, untested against United at Anfield with Kenny back, but they are confident. There is that promise there and they thrive on it. The Mancs aren’t too far away, but for all they care they could be miles away and it wouldn’t matter. They’re going to win, somehow, they feel it.

It comes as no surprise to Pepe when he sees Jamie and Stevie disappear into the back for a moment or two. Those two were closer than brothers, bound together by a lot more than blood ever could. They were two halves of the same person, the same drive and focus existed between both of them. That need to win at any cost, especially against this team, was higher than any other priority right now. Pepe smiled a little to himself and finished putting his gloves on. The kiss that he saw pass between them was sweet, but private. Not something to be seen by just anyone, so he adverted his eyes and engaged Dirk in a good luck talk which the blonde happily returned. Some things were private; some things were special.

Four.

Injuries are not a pretty thing, especially when they are made frequently or for someone else’s mistake. However, Daniel is far more patient than Pepe would be. He thinks it is because Daniel’s been injured more than he has so he knows to deal with the aggravation and lack of patience that comes with being medically sidelined.

He knows he is fortunate because he rarely gets hurt bad enough to be out of the next game. Fortunate for being a goalkeeper, he thinks and then settles back into the sofa at Carra’s house. The defender decided a night of ‘sympathy drinking’ was in order for the rest of them. Some focused on Daniel’s injury, others on the draw that they had. At least it hadn’t been a loss, Pepe had said earlier, but now the private pain he felt of not having done enough to keep a goal out—the equalizing goal—rose to the surface and he could not make it go away. This was his private pain, so he hid behind the green glass bottle of beer he drank in the corner and waited, waited…waited for something he couldn’t remember.

In his waiting, he watched. Pepe saw the concerned looks and gentle touches that Martin gave to Daniel, or Dan as Skrtel called him. It wasn’t surprising that they were together, he noticed and felt no moment of realization dawning on him. It was a simple fact to accept that Martin and Dan were together, just as easy as if someone had told him the sky was blue and he looked up to see that yes, indeed it was. It was as simple as two plus two is four and that obviously peanut butter and jam go together on a sandwich. Easy, simple, obvious. Martin and Dan, Dan and Martin. Easy, Pepe wondered what it would be like to share that amount of comfortable ease with someone else, another man.

He sat there and watched Martin touch his Daniel and he wondered and watched, watched and wondered.

Three.

Realizations are a bad thing for a goalkeeper to suddenly make note of, especially in the middle of a match, when the other team’s attacking midfield is headed right for you, but needless to say, it did happen. Pepe had to stretch a bit more than was comfortable to make the save, but he did make it and that was the important part. As he prepared his goal kick, he looked over to see if he was indeed correct about what he had just noticed.

If you had asked him before that moment, he would have been positive, certain, that Charlie was not involved in any way with Stewart because Stewart was with Henderson. After all, Jordan and Stewart hung out all the time—almost as bad as Jamie and Stevie or Martin and Daniel—and they always seemed to arrive to Melwood together. It hadn’t been much of a stretch, Pepe had thought.

He took the goal kick and sent the ball flying down to the Liverpool midfield and he got back into position in the mouth of the goal and retraced his assuming steps. Jordan, now, was not anywhere near Stewart. Charlie, though, was. A gentle hand on his arm, concerned look it appeared to be on his face, before he ran off to chase the ball back down. The tackle had been a foul, anyone should’ve seen that, but of course the referee had not. Charlie had been the one to help Stewart up, the one to brush off his back, the one to hold his hand unnecessarily as he did so, and the eye contact shared between them was almost a guarantee that something else was going on more than just a friendship.

Pepe thought back to Downing and Henderson. They were together a lot, yes, but they didn’t ever touch hardly. They were simply together and that was all. However, Charlie and Stewart were together but only at team functions and that was for the necessary socializing. They didn’t appear to walk the same lines as the others did. Perhaps they had been trying too hard, Pepe thought and continued this in his mind while the other goal was under attack.

Perhaps, just maybe, they were apart for appearance’s sake. Maybe there was something between the Scotsman and the Englishman. Maybe. Pepe thought he would look into it again at a later date, when he had less important things to do.

All of his thoughts about the pair stopped when the ball was launched down the pitch again. Focus replaced idle thought and he ran out to catch the ball when it entered the box. Goalkeeper refocused on the match at hand, back to business as usual.

Two.

Eccentricity is something common in footballers, whether it be from their car to their house or their rituals before a match. Every footballer has something, even if they refuse to admit it. Pepe has his own crazy things, he knows that (the fuel gauge thing, for instance), but he also knows that Andy Carroll has quite a few oddities up his sleeves. His companion in the odd department is Suarez, a pair that Pepe finds peculiarly interesting at best.

Right sock, right boot then left sock and left boot for Andy, the reverse for Luis. Always, every game. He notices Andy and Luis’ habits before, separately, but he doesn’t say anything because he doesn’t put the two together until much later.

Andy’s overly flirtatious nature and the fact he can be temperamental sometimes doesn’t sit well with the almost-always-calm Pepe. Pepe’s moods do not swing with the lubricated-hinge style that Andy’s does. But Luis…Luis can be almost as bad as Andy, sometimes. He does not flirt to the same degree, but he does sometimes flash that brilliant smile of his and it works, oh how it works, to get what he wants. Luis also has got quite the temper, anyone who aggravates the boy knows that. Where Andy is bark with enough bite to make you think twice, Luis is more bark than bite, but still equally painful when he does finally lash out.

Perhaps it was their temperaments that brought them together, Pepe thinks while lying back on the grass after training. The others are stretching to make sure they don’t get a cramp; he has already done so. Perk of being a goalkeeper, he thinks again, being able to start your laps first and finish first. Today, he lays back and looks at the sky and the blueness, a rare day in Liverpool, and he almost feels like he is back at home once again. Almost, but there is not the Spanish sun or the sound of the city so close by at hand here. Almost…almost but not quite.

He lets his mind drift back to the two strikers with comfortable ease. Temperament is similar, though not quite the same…and perhaps it was the demand of having to perform at this club in their position that maybe did it. Maybe Andy was just flirting and Luis felt like taking him up on it. Who really knew what happened that pulled the two together? Who really cared?

With a hum and a smile, Pepe let himself pretend that he was still in Spain and that later he would be off to the beach to enjoy looking at all the pretty things there was to see.

One.

Things should not take a goalkeeper by blind-siding surprise. Goals are the most horrible things that occur when done by fault, error, or complete and utter surprise. Pepe hates not being one-hundred percent focused and lets one in sometimes. He hates it, hates that part of himself for making him think about something stupid or unimportant that someone else took advantage of his wandering mind.

Fortunately, Pepe is rarely surprised in such a way. Most goals he allows are error of his own part, or few times of his defenders, or sometimes the talent that causes the strike against Liverpool is too much even for him. Sometimes…sometimes things just happen and he can’t be everywhere at once. Sometimes, sometimes he does fail. And other times, it really is the fault of those defenders…

It is not Carra to blame for this mistake, nor is it Daniel or Skrtel. No, it’s the other Martin, the young Martin. Pepe knows his age and inexperience allow for errors, but that doesn’t mean he can’t feel angry about it just after it has happened. The locker room has emptied quickly, a loss at home is not something they want to hang around and think about if they can help it. Pepe has cornered the young Kelly, though, and he doesn’t care that Martin is ready to leave and he is only in his towel after a shower. He wanted a word with the young defender, and by God he was going to have it!

The inch of difference that separated them disappeared when Pepe’s anger had taken over. He shouted at him for being so far off his area that there was no excuse for it. That the goal that had sealed their opponent’s win had been entirely Martin’s fault. Pepe blamed him and asked how he had expected Carra, Daniel, and the other Martin to cover his area in addition to their own, how had he allowed such a hole to be so blatantly open? How? How? Why?

Pepe’s angry rage caused him to look past the hurt, guilt, and regret he otherwise would’ve seen in Kelly’s eyes. That anger didn’t allow him to see past his own need to give Kelly a good talking down to. His anger didn’t allow a response or defense, he had already been condemned.

When he had finished, none too soon from Martin’s point of view, he had turned and strode back across the room towards his own locker. He left Martin standing against the wall where he had seemingly towered over the boy and had given him his stern lecture. He didn’t look over, choosing instead to give the boy a few moments’ privacy to take from that harshness what he would. Pepe’s anger had vented; he had let the venom from his body and would be all right now.

Martin, however, did not agree.

“I’m sorry,” he said stiffly, quietly. Too quietly.

Pepe didn’t answer and simply grunted as he reached for his clothes.

“Sorry that you don’t think so much of your own mistakes.”

Pepe’s hand stilled with his hand on his jeans. He looked over his shoulder and saw fire flashing in the young defender’s eyes. His jaw was set, eyes hard, and his hands were clenched by his side. He looked every bit as intimidating as the little lion that had found his roar. For the first time Pepe realized the implications of his sharp-tongue-lashing and how Martin must have taken it.

“I accept that I made a few mistakes, lad.” Pepe said calmly, turning back to his clothes.

“A few? I was covering for you when that hole opened. If you’re going to yell at someone, perhaps you should be in front of a mirror next time.”

Pepe turned again and saw that Martin was pushing off the wall and turning to leave. Pepe wasn’t about to let him flounce after such a declaration.

“You were off your lines more than I was off mine. You’re young, but you shouldn’t be making such simple mistakes. Perhaps you should be the one watching from the sideline more often.”

Martin turned on his heel, anger flashing and his nostrils flared. “I work damn hard to make this team!” He strode across the floor and threw his bag across the room till it hit the wall a few meters away from Pepe’s hand. “Damnit, I try my best every fucking game! I’m sorry that I fucked up this one time but that doesn’t mean you need to berate me like this!”

Pepe listened to him, his anger gone or just almost, and he dropped his towel to begin redressing once Martin had finished.

“Are you even fucking listening to me?” Martin asked, voice higher in frustrated annoyance.

“I would have to be deaf not to.” Pepe replied simply and slid into his jeans.

Martin didn’t answer and with a simple look, Pepe confirmed what he thought. He was building himself up until he could boil over with rage, the way Pepe had done earlier. That or he was trying to find the nerve to do so.

Pepe turned after sliding on his shirt and moved closer. This time, he had a kinder look and a gentler touch when he rested his hand on Martin’s shoulder. His voice was the opposite of what it had been and he was kind, far kinder than others (like Carra) would have been.

“I should not have yelled at you, I’m sorry. You made a mistake, but we all made some mistakes today. I know you try, you do well in your trying, but you did commit an error today and it was your fault that goal went in. However, I should have been there to block it better. It is not entirely your fault.”

Martin looked blankly back. “Was that supposed to make me feel better?”

Pepe released a small breath. “Actually no. That was supposed to let you know of your mistake and to remind you never to do it again. Otherwise I’ll have Carra deliver this message later.”

Martin huffed out a heavy breath, so Pepe continued.

“What was intended to make you feel better, is something I’m not sure you’d be inclined to do.” Martin’s eyebrow rose. Pepe seemed to think for a moment before he shrugged and gave in. “Ah, well, I can blame it on the fact I’m Spanish.”

He leaned in and kissed Martin lightly on the lips. The boy was too much in shock to do anything in response, and Pepe took a moment to see if there was any other connection there. He didn’t find one so he stepped back.

“Guess you were not inclined.” He said and smiled slightly before he turned back to get the rest of his things together.

Surprise and rushed surprise are things a goalkeeper should always be on the look out for. For the second time that day, Pepe Reina was not prepared.

Martin pushed himself along Pepe’s back so that the entirety of his body was along Pepe’s. He nibbled at Pepe’s neck, what little of it he had access to and murmured into the Spaniard’s ear.

“I don’t bottom.”

Well now, that was unexpected.