meretricula | fic: day winding like dreams (football rpf)

title: day winding like dreams
fandom: football rpf
pairing: Andres Iniesta and Victor Valdes gen (implied Andres Iniesta/Pep Guardiola)
rating: G
word count: 1700
summary: The flight back to Madrid from South Africa
notes: thank you, thank you, thank you to

vlieger for betaing this and reassuring me it was not crap! originally written for

cornerflag. (there are more notes at the end.)

Andrés sat beside Victor on the plane both coming and going. On the way to Africa he managed to doze off, awkwardly contorted in his seat (no matter how expensive the plane, it was still miserably uncomfortable to sleep on a ten-hour flight) as he listened to the steady sound of Victor inhaling and exhaling a foot away. Going home, though - going to Madrid, anyway, and he could go home properly soon enough after that; he didn't mean to be ungrateful for his country's affection - Andrés found that he was almost too tired to sleep. Everything seemed too loud, although nobody was even talking much since they had had to sit and fasten their seatbelts; he couldn't get comfortable no matter how he fidgeted, and now that the adrenaline and excitement were wearing off, the bruises and scrapes from being tackled what had felt like a thousand times were beginning to ache. Andrés spared a brief thought for Fernando and Xabi a few seats back, but they were both so loopy on painkillers that they probably wouldn't have understood it if he had gone over to offer his sympathies. He hadn't taken the pills the team doctor had offered, because he'd wanted to be able to think, but he wasn't sure now that it had been the right choice.

Victor shifted, and Andrés opened his eyes. "You should get some rest," Victor said. His hand on Andrés' shoulder was a warm anchor to reality, but at least it was a pleasant one, unlike the way his shins were starting to really hurt. "It's going to be a long day once we get to Madrid."

"I," Andrés began, and stopped when a loud burst of sound abruptly made clear to all of the passengers on their plane, to varying degrees of amusement or annoyance, that somebody had let Pepe get his hands on a portable stereo. David was laughing loudly as he stumbled along behind Pepe, and Andrés would not have put any money against Sergio jumping up to join them soon. Iker was off with Sara back in economy class, and it certainly wasn't like Jesús Navas was going to be able to restrain him. "Well, nobody is going to get any rest now," he said wryly.

Victor shook his head, smiling. "You know, I think I'm glad Pepe's in England most of the year."

"You know you'd miss seeing him," Andrés teased, suddenly and deeply happy that he had Victor here with him this time. The Euros had been amazing but it felt strange to be on a team without him.

"Yes, but a few times a year is enough. More than enough." Victor laughed and dug around in his pockets, eventually coming up with a pair of earplugs. "Xavi told me it might get loud on the plane. I thought you were going to warn me about all the dangers of the national team, Andresito."

Andrés made a face at him. Xavi was allowed to call him that - he was Xavi, and anyway it wasn't like a diminutive could ever really sting coming from him - but Victor had only ever been his friend, never his idol. "Oh, shut up."

"You should be nice to me, or else I won't give you my earplugs," Victor said. He was grinning, though; he was always telling Andrés to stand up for himself more.

"Oh - no, you should use them. I won't be able to sleep anyway." Pepe, David and Sergio had gotten Xavi to join them, but then they'd all gone off, music blaring, to economy class. Presumably they would be busy harassing Iker and the poor journalists for a while, and at least the sound was a little muffled.

"Only one of us played for a hundred and twenty minutes against a bunch of homicidal Dutchman, and it wasn't me. I really think you should try to rest." Andrés didn't say anything, and Victor sighed. "Well, all right, but tell me if you change your mind. I'm not tired."

"Are you sure?" Andrés smirked a little. "I thought it was going to be a long day once we get to Madrid."

"You're a cheeky brat," Victor said fondly, and ran his hand over Andrés' scalp in a gesture that would have been described as ruffling his hair, if Andrés had had enough hair to ruffle. "See if I give you Pep's message now."

Andrés, who had been gingerly starting to relax back into his seat, jerked forward. "You talked to Pep?" he asked sharply.

"Hey, settle down," Victor said, startled. He put his arm across Andrés' chest and pushed him back down. "He called while you were talking with the press, that's all. I told him you'd want to talk to him, but he didn't want to bother you when you had so many people trying to get your attention."

"What did he say?" Andrés demanded. His fingers dug into Victor's bicep.

"Ow! Stop that, you're being ridiculous. He said he was really proud of you and he was looking forward to the start of the season so he could see you in Barcelona." Andrés let go of his arm and sat back as the tense muscles in his shoulders slowly unwound. "You're being ridiculous," Victor repeated softly. "You know he's always proud of you."

"Oh," Andrés said. "Well. Good." His cheeks felt hot; he turned his face towards the window in a pointless attempt to hide his flush from Victor. Victor let him pretend, though, and he was quiet for so long that in spite of everything - his aching bruises, the still-audible sounds of Pepe and his cohort on the rampage, and the sunlight streaming in through the window - Andrés must have fallen asleep.

The next thing he was hazily aware of was Victor tucking a blanket around him. He blinked and started to say something, but Victor shook his head and held a finger to his lips. "Shh," he murmured. "Cesc is sleeping."

Andrés frowned and followed the direction of Victor's gaze, climbing up on his knees to look at the row of seats behind them. Cesc and Piqué were asleep, all right. "Should he be holding that?" he whispered, a little scandalized by Cesc's loose grip on their trophy - their trophy, and how wonderful was it even to think that - like a child's on a favorite stuffed toy.

"It isn't hurting anything," Victor said, amused, as Andrés dropped back into his seat. "Why not? Anyway, we didn't want to disturb him. He and Geri were up all night; he needs the sleep."

Andrés bit his lip on the comment he wanted to make. They'd all seen the writing on the wall, even if Xavi and Puyi and especially Geri didn't want to admit it, and Geri was going to be more than a little heartbroken when he had to face up to the fact that all the wishing in the world wasn't going to get Cesc to Camp Nou next season. "Well, they're still young," he said at last. "I think they'll be all right."

"And you're an old man at twenty-six," Victor snorted, though he was still careful to keep his voice down. "Go back to sleep, Ilusionista," he added, shoving a pillow in Andrés' face. "I'll wake you up when there's food."

Andrés tucked the pillow between his head and the wall and the blanket over his legs, and curled up as much as he could. He was still groggy from his interrupted nap, and he thought he could probably fall asleep again without too much trouble. Through his half-closed eyes, he saw Victor settle back, still watchful, into his seat, like a wall between Andrés and the rest of the world. But of course Victor was a goalkeeper, and that was what he did, Andrés thought, and closed his eyes the rest of the way.

Notes:

1. Spain won the 2010 FIFA World Cup in South Africa, defeating the Netherlands 1-0. It was an extremely violent final, with a record 14 yellow cards handed out by the referee. Andrés Iniesta scored the title-winning goal in extra time.

2. Andrés Iniesta and Victor Valdes did indeed sit together on the flight both to and from South Africa.

3. In fact, almost all information about the flight is true to the best of my knowledge. Xabi Alonso and Fernando Torres sat together at the back of the first-class cabin and looked distinctly out-of-it (although that may have been from all the beer they were drinking) and were both hurt during the final (Fernando injured his groin and Xabi got kicked in the chest). Iker Casillas went to sit with his journalist girlfriend, Sara Carbonero, during the flight, and Pepe Reina, David Villa, Sergio Ramos and Xavi went to the back of the plane to "serenade" them, complete with iPod and portable speakers. And Cesc and Pique sat together right behind Victor and Andrés, and at some point Cesc was photographed sleeping with the World Cup trophy in his arms.

4. 2010 was Victor Valdes' debut with the Spanish national team. His Barcelona teammates looked out for him and helped him settle into the team, especially Andrés, whom Victor had looked out for in similar fashion when Andrés broke into the first team at Barcelona.

5. Xavi calls Andrés "Andresito", or "little Andrés". It's a somewhat ironic sobriquet coming from Xavi, who at 5'7'' is just as short as Andrés.

6. Pep Guardiola is Andrés and Victor's coach at Barcelona. Andrés idolized him as a child, and from the first time Pep saw Andrés play when he was 14, Pep was extremely impressed by and supportive of Andrés. Andrés' teammates at Barca in general, Victor included, have been very protective of Andrés, who is extremely shy and used to get overlooked in the media.

7. The dramatic saga of Cesc Fabregas' will-he-won't-he transfer from Arsenal to Barcelona (he didn't) has been much reported in the media. Xavi, Puyol, David Villa, Andrés (most reasonable of the bunch) and Pep have all been vocal in their desire to have Cesc at Barcelona.

8. El Ilusionista is one of Andrés' nicknames in the Spanish media. It means "The Magician", but also "The Dreamer".

9. The title and cut-text are taken from the song "Go Places" by The New Pornographers.