Licking The Wounds
Mar. 22nd, 2010 01:40 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
tempered-rose.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
tr_ficTitle: Licking The Wounds
Pairing: Jamie Carragher; Steven Gerrard/Fernando Torres, Daniel Agger/Martin Skrtel, Dirk Kuyt, Pepe Reina, Ryan Giggs briefly
Rating: PG-13
Words: 895
Summary: Jamie does a little observing…
A/N: For all the suffering bbs. I know it hurts *hugs all of you tight*
Some days it felt as if there was magic being made. A simple touch of the ball with just amount of force and grace would send it into the net in a perfect arc and heads would be held high in victory. On those days, the air was lit with energy and crackled with unseen sparks. Victory was so close that it could be tasted and the itch to have it teased so many fingers.
Then, unfortunately, some days life really did just flat out suck. Shoestrings break, bag snaps break, tires go flat, God forbid an injury find its way to a broken bone. Defeat was so heavy in the air that all that was wanted was an escape—a fast ticket way out of the dark heaviness that surrounded everything and find the light once again.
Maybe it was all those cracks he stepped on as a lad when he was walking towards his car in the car park. Maybe it was the black cats that he had scared when he was a boy. No matter what it was, Jamie wished he could go back and undo whatever horrid mistake that caused this, this humiliation of a season.
If ever there be a reason to need a helping hand from fate, Jamie thought now was about the right time. They had lost almost everything at this point. The extraordinarily slim chance they still had in the Europa League was only a small pinprick of light in the vast darkness—and it was still unseen. It was hidden away, waiting for them to find it as it had been waiting all season for the Champions League and the Premiership. Would this one too be snubbed out before the light could be seen and basked in?
He swore to whatever deity that no it would not. They could find the light this time; they had to.
Jamie watched his broken, battered, and defeated lads walk in to the dressing rooms in the bottom of Old Trafford. It was with a bitter taste of irony, he thought, that he find his musings dwell to the future here. He hated this place more than any other stadium in the planet, except perhaps Everton’s.
He watched Steven and Nando sit silently close together. They didn’t have to speak; their bowed heads and lowered eyes and hardly touching bodies said enough to the team not to bother them. Jamie knew that the silence was helping them get over the wounds, it was the way they went about things. In a few minutes, when most of the lads had gone to shower and they were relatively alone, Nando would turn his big eyes to Stevie and Steven would kiss away the dark thoughts and worries that plagued him. Nando would return the favor and they would be in a slightly better mood till they got home to have the proper conversation.
Jamie had seen it all before a hundred times. It was nice to have that consistency.
And speaking of consistency, he looked over to see Danny and Martin also in silence but also close together. Danny kept looking to the floor in shame and Martin kept looking at Danny in hopes of trying to get the Dane to look up into his eyes.
It would take a bit of prodding but Jamie knew that Daniel would be all right. He just had to realize that this was a team failure, not a one manned event of epic destruction.
As if he had read Jamie’s thoughts, Dirk hid behind the closest person he could find, Pepe, and tried not to be seen. Jamie would have laughed at the attempt at hiding, but he really was not in the mood. Dirk had definitely had better matches than this one but it was not completely his fault.
They had failed as a team, been destroyed in detail as a team. It hurt worse than a scraping across glass and then having salt added to the fresh cuts. It always did when at the end of the match it said that United was ahead of them.
“Enough of this.” Jamie said to himself about his thoughts. When eyes focused on him he realized that he had spoken aloud. He saw that he could look like a twat and keep silent or perhaps try and cheer up his lads, he opted for the latter.
“Enough of these sad faces. Haven’t we seen enough disappointment for one season? We are a good enough team to win and we will. We’ll show all of them. We’ll show these bastard Mancs what it’s like to lose at Old Trafford next year. All right? No more sad faces?”
They watched him with awed curiosity, as if it was amazing that he had even spoken at all. Stevie watched with hazy eyes as if he recognized something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Nando’s face had a flicker of hope on it.
Finally, it was Pepe that spoke. “Yeah, I’m tired of seeing your sad mugs all the time. And Dirk? Get out from behind me, it’s kind of weird having you back there.”
As Ryan walked by the Liverpool dressing room he briefly looked in and saw them throwing wet towels at each other and laughing. He shook his head and continued on his way.
“Odd Liverpudlians.”
Pairing: Jamie Carragher; Steven Gerrard/Fernando Torres, Daniel Agger/Martin Skrtel, Dirk Kuyt, Pepe Reina, Ryan Giggs briefly
Rating: PG-13
Words: 895
Summary: Jamie does a little observing…
A/N: For all the suffering bbs. I know it hurts *hugs all of you tight*
Some days it felt as if there was magic being made. A simple touch of the ball with just amount of force and grace would send it into the net in a perfect arc and heads would be held high in victory. On those days, the air was lit with energy and crackled with unseen sparks. Victory was so close that it could be tasted and the itch to have it teased so many fingers.
Then, unfortunately, some days life really did just flat out suck. Shoestrings break, bag snaps break, tires go flat, God forbid an injury find its way to a broken bone. Defeat was so heavy in the air that all that was wanted was an escape—a fast ticket way out of the dark heaviness that surrounded everything and find the light once again.
Maybe it was all those cracks he stepped on as a lad when he was walking towards his car in the car park. Maybe it was the black cats that he had scared when he was a boy. No matter what it was, Jamie wished he could go back and undo whatever horrid mistake that caused this, this humiliation of a season.
If ever there be a reason to need a helping hand from fate, Jamie thought now was about the right time. They had lost almost everything at this point. The extraordinarily slim chance they still had in the Europa League was only a small pinprick of light in the vast darkness—and it was still unseen. It was hidden away, waiting for them to find it as it had been waiting all season for the Champions League and the Premiership. Would this one too be snubbed out before the light could be seen and basked in?
He swore to whatever deity that no it would not. They could find the light this time; they had to.
Jamie watched his broken, battered, and defeated lads walk in to the dressing rooms in the bottom of Old Trafford. It was with a bitter taste of irony, he thought, that he find his musings dwell to the future here. He hated this place more than any other stadium in the planet, except perhaps Everton’s.
He watched Steven and Nando sit silently close together. They didn’t have to speak; their bowed heads and lowered eyes and hardly touching bodies said enough to the team not to bother them. Jamie knew that the silence was helping them get over the wounds, it was the way they went about things. In a few minutes, when most of the lads had gone to shower and they were relatively alone, Nando would turn his big eyes to Stevie and Steven would kiss away the dark thoughts and worries that plagued him. Nando would return the favor and they would be in a slightly better mood till they got home to have the proper conversation.
Jamie had seen it all before a hundred times. It was nice to have that consistency.
And speaking of consistency, he looked over to see Danny and Martin also in silence but also close together. Danny kept looking to the floor in shame and Martin kept looking at Danny in hopes of trying to get the Dane to look up into his eyes.
It would take a bit of prodding but Jamie knew that Daniel would be all right. He just had to realize that this was a team failure, not a one manned event of epic destruction.
As if he had read Jamie’s thoughts, Dirk hid behind the closest person he could find, Pepe, and tried not to be seen. Jamie would have laughed at the attempt at hiding, but he really was not in the mood. Dirk had definitely had better matches than this one but it was not completely his fault.
They had failed as a team, been destroyed in detail as a team. It hurt worse than a scraping across glass and then having salt added to the fresh cuts. It always did when at the end of the match it said that United was ahead of them.
“Enough of this.” Jamie said to himself about his thoughts. When eyes focused on him he realized that he had spoken aloud. He saw that he could look like a twat and keep silent or perhaps try and cheer up his lads, he opted for the latter.
“Enough of these sad faces. Haven’t we seen enough disappointment for one season? We are a good enough team to win and we will. We’ll show all of them. We’ll show these bastard Mancs what it’s like to lose at Old Trafford next year. All right? No more sad faces?”
They watched him with awed curiosity, as if it was amazing that he had even spoken at all. Stevie watched with hazy eyes as if he recognized something he hadn’t seen in a long time. Nando’s face had a flicker of hope on it.
Finally, it was Pepe that spoke. “Yeah, I’m tired of seeing your sad mugs all the time. And Dirk? Get out from behind me, it’s kind of weird having you back there.”
As Ryan walked by the Liverpool dressing room he briefly looked in and saw them throwing wet towels at each other and laughing. He shook his head and continued on his way.
“Odd Liverpudlians.”
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