TITLE : Chapter 4 - Seconds Out, Round Two
SERIES : Babysitting
AUTHOR : Zan
EMAIL :
PAIRING : Michael Owen/Jamie Carragher
RATING : PG-13
SUMMARY : See chapter 1
DISCLAIMER : None of this, bar the Youth Cup results which are LFC history, ever happened in real life. This is purely fictional blethering.
AUTHOR'S NOTES : First of all, thanks to my lovely beta-reader Fireborn. This is the first of my fics to be beta-ed and I'm definitely seeing the benefit - thanks mate! This one should really be titled 'A Day in the Life of a Mixed-up Hormonal Boy Wonder' cos Mikey's so bloody confused and inarticulate in it. At least, that's my excuse and I'm sticking to it. About the Youth Cup games: details are hard to come by, so bar the results, and how and who by the goals were scored my match reports are a bit - er - made up. Oh and all irate Welsh readers should direct their complaints to my Carra muse. It was his joke and he's sticking to it.
FEEDBACK : Yes please!

It was happening again, Michael knew it. He'd learned to recognize the signs. The stolen glances in the changing rooms: eyes that skittered away when they met his. That sucking, expectant feeling in his stomach; the growing awareness of something about to happen that had been there even before the first time, when he hadn't even known what that 'something' was. The weird thing was, this time he didn't even seem to mind.

Michael dropped his kitbag and hoisted himself up to sit on the wall that surrounded the training pitches. His eyes automatically followed the progress of the five-a-side game taking place, but he was too preoccupied to focus on it properly.

*Perhaps I'm just getting used to it.*

*Getting used to it isn't the same as sort of liking it.*

Liking it. He'd never imagined he could get to *like* it. Least of all with someone like Carra. It wasn't even as if he was that good-looking.

*Since when have I thought about whether other lads were good-looking?*

Nevertheless, there'd been others, much more handsome than Carra. More polite, too. Contrary to their bonding in that first training session, Carra still pushed him around at every available opportunity, if he wasn't ignoring him completely. But the others had been nice to him. Right up to the point where they pounced. He'd almost think he was imagining those looks; reading a deeper meaning into where certain people's gazes fell in the showers.

*Now what would that be? Arrogance or paranoia? What's that joke again? It's not paranoia if they really are all out to fuck you.*

No. No, he wasn't imagining it. He'd *seen* the way Carra looked at him, and it certainly wasn't the contemptuous expression that was his habitual public reaction to Michael. *That* one didn't make him feel all warm and anxious and suddenly eager to start checking for available escape routes.

*So why hasn't he done anything about it yet?* Michael had been tensed up for so long, waiting for the pounce, that he no longer knew whether he was dreading it or looking forward to it.

Maybe it was the other way around. What if it wasn't that he'd recognized the signs and was getting to like them? What if he was just getting to like the signs and so imagining that he saw them?

*My brain hurts.*

'Oi, big shot.' Someone was pushing up onto the wall next to him. 'Whatchyou doin' down 'ere with us oiks?'

'Coach doesn't leave for 15 minutes. Thought I'd see if there were any promising youngsters coming through.' Michael smirked at Steven Gerrard. 'Can't see any round here though.'

Stevie grinned. 'You playing today?'

'Not even on the bench. Just "soaking up the atmosphere," the gaffer says.' Michael wasn't entirely happy about that, but he'd decided to bide his time. If they won, the next leg of the cup would be in January. And if he wasn't on the team then, he'd want to know why. After all, what was the point of promoting him if he wasn't even going to play?

'So go on then,' Stevie said. 'What's it like, playing with the big boys?'

'S'alright. There's no one who can pass like you though. Well…Thommo's good. But he's more of an attacker than a provider.'

Stevie visibly swelled. 'No one as good, eh? Not even your bodyguard?'

'Carra? He's alright. Too defensive though. Just don't tell him that if you don't want to get thumped.'

'Must drive you mad having that big gorilla following you around everywhere.'

'Yeah', Michael said, thinking about the times he wished Carra would follow him around *more*. Eager to change the subject, he seized on something that had been bothering him since Stevie had turned up. 'Stand up a minute.'

They both hopped down from the wall, and Michael cast an eye over his mate. Stevie was still as skinny as ever, but?

'You've grown!'

Stevie beamed. 'You're the first one who's noticed.' Which wasn't surprising really: Stevie's head cleared Michael's by barely half an inch. But half an inch is a lot when you're the smallest lad on the team.

'But you can't grow!' Michael was horrified. 'I *like* having someone smaller than me!'

'Don't worry, I won't take the piss? Stevie paused for effect, '…much.'

'Yeah, right.' Michael looked him in the eye. Stevie attempted to look as if he meant what he said, and failed miserably. They both laughed.

'S'not fair.' Michael sighed. 'You're gonna be huge. Your dad's big, isn't he?'

'Six foot one.' There was a pause as both boys contemplated such dizzying heights.

'When did that happen, anyway?'

'Dunno. Noticed it when they sent me to that specialist bloke in Germany.' Stevie's face darkened. Michael knew he hated talking about his injuries.

'Any good?'

'He's like all of them, in'ee? Just measures me and prods me and says we won't know for sure till I'm grown.' Stevie scuffed the ground with his trainers. 'I can count the number of games I've played this season on one hand. And every time I can't hardly move the next day.' He looked at Michael imploringly. 'I've earned that half inch, haven't I?'

Michael reached out to give his shoulder a squeeze. 'You'll be alright Stevie. You have to be…none of this lot're gonna give me the winning assist in the cup final.'

'Er, am I interruptin' something personal? Would you like me to go wait around the corner?'

Michael didn't even need to think 'fuck off'. Stevie said it for him. He turned to see Carra leaning against the wall wearing the most insufferable smirk.

'Coach is ready, son.' He said. 'Time to say your tearful goodbyes.'

Michael turned back to Stevie, but there was nothing he could say that wouldn't give Carra the opportunity to take the piss. He shrugged apologetically, picked up his bag, and trudged off in Carra's wake.

Michael stared out of the window for the whole of the journey. At first he'd done it to ignore Carra, but found to his consternation that he was perfectly visible in reflection. After that, he couldn't help but stare: it was the only chance he'd get to really study Carra without a demand to know what he thought he was looking at. Carra wasn't handsome, but he wasn't…bad looking. He had a nice smile, which Michael didn't see often directly but which surfaced when he was joking around with the other lads. He had possibly the filthiest sense of humour of anyone Michael had ever met. More even than Stevie, because unlike Stevie, Carra gave the impression of actually having done some of the things he joked about.

But Michael didn't get included in the joking that often. The rest of the team was nice enough to him, but they always treated him a bit like a little brother. He didn't get included in the jokes, the pranks…the sneaking out at night. Well, he supposed he couldn't really blame them for that. He switched his gaze to his own reflection. There was no way he'd ever get served in a pub.

*They'll still be asking me for ID when I'm 30.*

Thommo was nice though. But even he was going to stick to his mates first, wasn't he? Maybe it'd be different once he actually got a game. Things changed once you'd played with someone. Once you'd actually done 90 minutes service together. After that, even if you still didn't like someone, you didn't ignore them anymore. They were accepted, part of the circle. It was an instinctive thing.

'Oi tiny,' David Lamour, one of the established strikers, reached across Carra to ruffle Michael's hair. 'Missing your mum already?'

Michael turned away from the window. 'Just thinking.' He always felt awkward around David…never sure if the Irish lad was winding him up or not.

'Aw, always difficult the first time you're away from home.'

'I *live* away from home,' said Michael pointedly. He was proud of that: he'd been at Lilleshall since he was 14. For the second youngest of five, it was hard. He missed the cosseting that he and his little sister got from the rest of the family. But for the chance to attend the FA's School of Excellence? It was worth it.

*Bet *you've* still got your mummy looking after you 24 hours a day.*

But the comment had just given David more ammunition. 'Oh yeah, Lilleshall isn't it? Well, we all know what goes on at boys' boarding schools, don't we?'

Michael blushed as other lads, hearing David's raised voice, laughed. 'There's nothing like that!' he said, hoping they'd mistake his embarrassment for inexperience rather than recognition.

'Ooh, struck a chord there, didn't I?' David sniggered. 'Maybe it's not your mum you're missin'. Maybe it's your boyfriend.'

Michael was on the point of standing up to have a proper go when Carra said: 'How come you're so fascinated, Dave? Hopin' he'll set you up with a nice fella?'

More laughs. David joined in, although Michael could see in his eyes that he hadn't appreciated Carra's crack. He sneaked a peek at Carra, but the older lad's face was impassive once more. If he felt any sympathy for the teasing Michael had got, he wasn't showing it.

'Thanks for taking my side back there.' Michael said, as they deposited their bags in the hotel room.

'Back where?'

'On the coach.'

Carra shrugged. 'S'just banter. Thought I'd better step in before you tried picking a fight with Dave. He can handle himself, you know.'

Michael found his temper rising at Carra's patronizing tone. *I can handle myself too. You don't know nothing.*

'Bit touchy about it though, weren't you?' Carra continued.

Michael forced himself to keep his breathing normal. 'Dunno what you're talking about.'

'You're a crap liar, an' all.'

Michael refused to turn around and look at Carra, even though he could feel him standing just behind him. *Count to ten. Count to ten and ignore him.*

'Still, I don't suppose you get much luck with girls? The mirth in Carra's voice was unmistakable.

*One…two…three?

'Is that how you got so fast? Cos the Welsh lads used to chase you when they got bored of the sheep?'

It happened so fast Michael didn't have time to stop himself. He turned around, swung a fist and delivered a right hook that connected with Carra's jaw in a satisfyingly audible *crack*.

*Oh shit, I did it again? Regret was pouring through him even as he sprung into a defensive posture, fists up to block the counter-attack. Luckily, Carra seemed too amazed to respond.

'You *hit* me?

'Don't tell my dad!' Michael pleaded. 'I'm not supposed to fight with lads who aren't trained!'

'Trained at what?' Carra asked, curiosity overcoming his anger.

'Boxing.'

Carra sat down on the edge of the bed and gave Michael a look of grudging respect. 'You know how to box?'

Despite his fear, Michael couldn't keep the pride out of his voice. 'Junior regional champion for my weight. Retired undefeated.'

'Bloody hell.' Carra was gingerly feeling his jaw. 'Is there anything you can't play?'

'Basketball.'

Carra looked at him for a moment, then started to laugh. Michael joined in, relieved that he seemed to have escaped immediate punishment. The thought occurred to him that this was the first friendly thing they'd done together off the pitch.

'D'you want me to get some ice?' he asked.

'Why?'

'Might lessen the bruise.'

'God, that's a point.' Carra mused. 'If the gaffer sees this, there's no way he'll think you started it.'

'Hang on.' Michael dashed out to the kitchens. It wasn't until he was half way there that the madness of the whole episode struck him.

*I hit him! I think I might fancy him and I hit him! What the bloody hell is wrong with me?*

He returned with the ice wrapped in a tea towel. Carra hadn't moved. 'How'd you get hold of that?' he asked.

'Dinner ladies like me.' Michael knelt in front of Carra and nudged his hand out of the way to apply the crude icepack.

'I had noticed.' Michael felt Carra staring a him intently, but he tried to concentrate on his task. He knew if he looked up and met that gaze he wouldn't be able to tear his eyes away.

After a moment Carra seemed to come to his senses. 'Here, gimme that,' he said, taking the icepack.

Michael stood, unsure of what to do with himself. Carra seemed to be feeling the same awkwardness, because soon he said. 'You'd best get ready. We'll be off to the stadium in a minute.'

There was only one thing worse than watching a match from the subs' bench: watching it when you hadn't even *made* the subs' bench.

*And the only thing worse than that* Michael thought, *is when they're obviously doing fine without you.*

Truth to tell, 4-2 was flattering Bradford. The reds had been on top from the moment Thommo had headed their first, and David Lamour had just popped up for the fourth, another header. They were just waiting for the final whistle now. Michael looked to centre midfield, where Carra was keeping an eye on Bradford's playmakers, making sure they didn't give him any late scares.

He was a better player than his skills suggested, Carra. He worked hard to overcome his shortcomings. But he *was* too defensive. And there was the discipline ?he'd picked up a yellow card for dissent in the second half. Mind you, Michael had talked himself into a few bookings too. The afternoon's loss of temper was by no means rare for him, he knew.

*But you can hardly blame me for getting angry about that subject, can you? It's just a dirty joke for them. Not for me.*

Michael shook his head. He was convinced he wasn't misreading the signals. Yet Carra had had the perfect opportunity to act back at the hotel, and he hadn't taken it. Michael had knelt there, weighing up whether it'd be quicker to run out of the door or into the ensuite bathroom (knowing secretly in his heart that he had no intention of doing either?…and nothing had happened. Why? Then it hit him. They'd be spending the night together. Alone. In the same room. It made sense that if Carra was intending to?he'd wait until now.

He needed to be prepared. If anything was going to happen, it would happen tonight. And with that thought came another even scarier:

*If he doesn't make it happen, I will.*

On to Chapter 5