TITLE : What Do You Get The Boy Who's Lost Everything?
AUTHOR : Zan
EMAIL :
PAIRINGS : Mostly Steven Gerrard/Danny Murphy, with a bit of Michael Owen/Jamie Carragher
RATING : PG-13
SUMMARY: He's out of the Champion's League. He's suspended for the beginning of next season. He's just had the first disastrous season of his career. He won't tell you what's wrong and he can't even get excited about turning 23. Frankly, Stevie needs help. But what can Danny do when he's just been invalided home again?
DISCLAIMER : Yeah, they're not mine and this has never and could never have happened. Although I think it'd be a bit insulting to suggest that the idea of Danny going to great lengths to ensure Stevie had a great birthday is entirely fictional.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Thanks as always to my long-suffering beta-reader Fireborn; and also to Rosemary who suggested some of the elements essential for a birthday fic. Although I haven't been able to get as much kissing into it as she might like - trouble with the protagonists being in different countries half the time. This fic changed shape so many times with all the comings and goings that injuries wrought on the England squad - first Danny was in, then he was out, then Carra was out, then he was in...And just when I'd finally got it all finished I realized that Louise and baby Gemma were actually out in La Manga with Mikey rather than still at home. But if I changed it again, this thing wouldn't get posted in time for Stevie's 28th, so you're just going to have to take the parallel universe route on that one. Oh, and as Becks isn't around to answer the question, the colour Stevie doesn't know the name of is midnight blue.
FEEDBACK: Yes please

*Danny*

********

History repeats itself; the first time as tragedy, the second time as farce.

*You got that right*, Danny thought as he pushed his luggage through Customs.

Last summer, when he'd been invalided out of the England squad, the flight home from the Far East had taken the better part of 24 hours.

This summer, they'd flown him home from *London*. Sensible in that the trains were too unreliable and a long coach journey not the best treatment for an injured neck, but still faintly ridiculous. You barely had time to read the safety instructions before landing.

Last summer he'd been alone, with nothing but the sound of his own despairing thoughts to accompany him.

This summer he'd had to act as a babysitter for his fellow Merseyside casualty, who'd made the journey feel much longer by prattling as only a 17 year-old could prattle. Danny had kept expecting Wayne to actually come out with 'Are we there yet?'

Last summer he'd come through the arrivals gate and right into the media maelstrom, cameras clacking in his face until he didn't know which way was up.

This summer of course, they were all there to see the kid. Not that he minded that much: he might be a bit under-appreciated by the press, but he certainly didn't envy the poor little sod that non-stop spotlight.

Last summer, Stevie had come to meet him. He'd still been blinking away the flashbulb dazzle when he'd heard 'Dan! Dan! M'over here!' And there he was. He'd even waved, bless him. As if Danny might not have noticed someone who was six foot one and beaming brighter than a set of floodlights.

This summer, Carra's greeting wasn't quite so winsome.

'Oi, wanker! Will yer stop doin' this? It ruins me pose of not carin' about gerrin' picked when you get invited and then voluntarily opt out.'

Mind you, for Carra, that was the equivalent of Stevie picking you up, spinning you around, and giving you a big wet kiss. Carra's idea of demonstrative affection was acting as if the only reason he let you exist was because you didn't hassle him too much.

After an entire morning with Wayne though, Carra's companionable silence was just what he needed. He stared out of the car window as Liverpool's rain-soaked streets passed by.

It really was farce this time. It wasn't that he didn't mind missing out on yet another cap - of course he minded - it was just that the injury didn't send him spiralling into a long dark teatime of the soul the way it used to.

Stevie had a lot to do with that. Even in his darkest times now, there was Stevie.

Then again, it hadn't ended up as tragedy last summer, either. It was funny when he looked back...right up until the very second Stevie had kissed him, Danny could honestly say that all he'd been thinking was *You're me best mate, you. You're brilliant.* And then suddenly they'd been snogging and all he could think was *Jesus Stevie, you're gorgeous...and who taught you to kiss, cos I think someone should give her a medal.*

When he was down, Stevie was the one who put him back on his feet.

So why couldn't he seem to return the favour?

'Is Mikey sleepin' alright?' Carra asked suddenly.

'Sleeping?' Danny dragged his thoughts back to the present. 'I assume so...s'not something we've discussed in depth.' He contemplated asking why, but guessed correctly that if Carra wanted to explain, he would.

'He sounds tired.' Carra kept his eyes fixed on the road. 'Really tired. Every time I ring 'im.'

Danny tried not to grin. As ever, there was only one person who could get through Carra's defences enough for him to show concern in public. 'Well, he's been working hard' he said aloud. 'Bein' all vice-captainly.' A contemptuous snort from Carra. 'You know what he's like on England duty. Wait till he's home. Then we can see that he rests.'

Carra shook his head. 'He'll be lookin' after the baby again. When's he s'posed to get a break?'

'Other parents manage it.'

Carra's silence was pointed. I'm not talking about other parents, it said. I'm talking about *Mikey*.

'Stevie alright?' he asked after a while.

Danny frowned. 'I don't know...he says he is, but...I think he's still brooding about that Chelsea game.'

'Needs to get another one under his belt.' Carra opined, as he pulled up outside Danny's house. 'Kickin' some South African shins, that'll make him feel better.'

'Maybe...'

'Comin' for a drink tonight? Or are you too knackered?'

'Um...yeah, can we make it tomorrow? Could do with an early night.'

'Give us a ring then.' Just before he drove off, Carra unbent enough to say 'Don't dwell on it, Spud. Just get yerself right for next season, eh?'

Danny nodded absent-mindedly. But for once it wasn't his own shortcomings he was thinking about.

Danny tucked the phone under his chin as he sorted through the post that had accumulated in his absence.

*I'll let it ring ten times and then I give up.*

*I said that ten rings ago.*

*One, two...bill, bill, bank statement...five, six...pick up Stevie, come on...you may have already won a trip to South Africa, ha fucking ha...Stevie where are you? Eight...Nine...*

Ten. He sighed, let it ring a few more times just in case, and hung up.

*Stevie*

********

His first conscious thought was *...fucking alarm...* Then he realized it was the phone. He trailed a hand out of bed to pick it up, but instead of the expected feel of cold plastic there was a 'cloink' noise and suddenly he had no phone and a wet hand.

Oh now hang on, he knew this one. What was liquid, came in things that made 'cloink' noises and was likely to be in abundance just next to his bed?

Lager!

The answer presented itself at the same time as his hangover. He leaned over to inspect the damage, groaning.

Was lager bad for mobiles?

Phone. Needed to answer. Might be Danny. He glanced at the display. Was Danny. He grabbed the slightly sticky handset, clamped it to his ear, and tried to say 'Danny?', but his tongue got stuck to his teeth half way through and it came out more like 'Dn?'

In any case, there was no answer but the dial tone. And now he had Heineken all over his ear.

He put the phone on the bedside table, away from any more stray cans, and spotted the note.

'Told them all you ate something that disagreed with you, so no one'll be surprised if you look like death when you come down to breakfast.

If you come down to breakfast, that is.

                      M.O.

P.S. Not that impressed mate, to be honest.'

Stevie eyeballed the note.

*Who're you, me mother?*

Then he hid his head under the pillows until Michael's handwriting stopped looking at him disapprovingly.

*Danny*

********

Danny slumped at his kitchen table, staring at the phone as if it had all the answers.

Perhaps he was imagining it. When you got right down to it, twenty-three...by the time you reach twenty-three you've kind of calmed down a bit on the whole...you don't go mental when...

Who was he trying to kid? However ridiculous it sounded, it was the truth: he knew something was wrong with Stevie because Stevie wasn't getting excited about his birthday.

The Stevie he knew did not react to all enquiries about birthday party arrangements with a non-committal shrug. The Stevie he knew, when it was obvious that Danny had brought all his presents with him on England duty and hidden them as best he could in their hotel room, would not then pass up the chance to rummage through them the moment Dan's back was turned, and give each parcel an experimental rattle or squeeze.

The Stevie he knew - and it wasn't just some immature previous incarnation of Stevie, because it'd been well in evidence just five months ago at Christmas - the Stevie he knew woke him at a ridiculous time in the morning because he couldn't wait a second longer to open all his gifts.

Danny smiled at the memory. He hadn't been at all amused at being roused at such an ungodly hour and Stevie had needed to come up with some rather fun ways to placate him.

And that was another thing.

It had happened *again* the night he left. Or rather, *hadn't* happened. Just like it hadn't happened every night since the end of the season. And that was *really* unlike Stevie.

England duty was like being in a zoo: the press was everywhere, and the FA officials, everyone watching you to see that you stayed on-message all the time, never giving you a moment's peace. After a few days of that he got afraid even to *look* at Stevie properly, let alone do anything else.

Getting into bed at night was a release; the only place you could relax and let your guard down. Plus, it was their last night together for weeks. And Stevie had felt so good in his arms, and it had been such a relief not to have to be so bloody careful for once, and maybe he'd gone a bit too far, too fast, because before he knew it, Stevie had pushed him away. Gently, but insistently, and he'd given him that little shame-faced look that had become so familiar and said 'Dan...I'm really knackered...'

Then he'd just rolled onto his side. Away from him. And since the last thing you needed when you weren't in the mood was someone else's hard-on drilling into your back, Danny had been forced to just lie there until he'd calmed down enough to snuggle up behind him.

Yet even then...it was amazing how such a big lad like Stevie could shrink into himself. He hadn't said anything, hadn't even moved - just gave off the distinct impression that he didn't want to be touched. So Danny had shuffled over to the other side of the bed apologetically and had spent the next hour staring at Stevie's unresponsive back.

*Where have you gone?*

*Come back to me.*

*Michael*

Yes Mr Eriksson, he was feeling much better thank you. He was pretty sure he'd be ok to take training. Well, if the doctors insisted then of course he'd sit it out. Just to be on the safe side. No, he'd just have some toast, thanks.

Michael kept his carefully impassive press-conference face on during this exchange between his manager and his mate. Then, once Sven had turned away, his expression darkened from 'I'm just taking things one game at a time' to 'You're a jammy sod.'

'Fuck off,' Stevie scowled.

'You want to tell me what all that was about?'

'Inescapable side effect of excessive alcohol consumption, Mike. Maybe you've heard about it.'

Michael leaned across the table. 'You got drunk on England duty!' he hissed. 'What the fuck d'you think you're playing at, Stevie?'

'Ah, it's days till the game.' Stevie's attempts to sound nonchalant were distinctly unconvincing. 'I just needed to relax.'

'If that's the only way you can relax, you're in trouble. Have you called Danny?'

'Eh? He only left yesterday!'

'Have you two fallen out?' For a second there, Michael thought he saw more than simple annoyance in Stevie's reaction to that, but it passed. 'It's just...you've been a bit distant ever since the season ended, and normally Dan's the one who can get through to you, but even with him you're...'

'For god's sake!' A couple of heads turned at Stevie's outburst and he dropped his voice again. 'Why's everyone checkin' up on me all of a sudden? I'm fine, alright? I can look after meself. Now if you don't mind, I'm gonna abuse me invalid's privileges and have a lie down.'

*Danny*

*********

*You spend all season waiting for the summer and the chance to have a lie-in and get away from the constant routine, and when it finally comes, what do you end up doing? Spending all your time back at the club, you nutter.*

There were the physio sessions, the press statement duties, since he was one of the few players not on international duty somewhere...he'd even been invited to dinner chez Houllier, an event that Danny suspected was designed so that the gaffer could check he hadn't suffered his usual crisis of confidence over the injury.

He hung out with Carra a lot too, and well...when you were in town you just tended to gravitate towards Anfield. Home away from home and all that. There were always current or former Reds there to catch up with. Also, he had to admit, he never got tired of 'accidentally' bumping into one of the stadium tours, just to see the kids' faces when a real live player turned up.

So plenty to keep him occupied.

But he still hadn't heard from Stevie. Not a word since the squad had flown out to South Africa.

Strange to think how someone could always seem to be out of his room or in the shower whenever he called. Or at least, he'd have thought it strange if Michael hadn't been such a crap actor.

'Er...he's...not here...again' had been his attempt last night.

'Yeah, whatever.' He'd even given up asking for Stevie to call him back.

Sometimes Danny wondered if it might be easier if everyone knew. Then he imagined their reaction if he were to say 'I know Stevie's depressed cos, well, we're an item and he's off his sex. Any tips?' and got a grip on himself.

It wasn't as if he couldn't understand Stevie being down about the way the season had ended, particularly that final day. They were all trying to deal with it, in their own way.

Michael was throwing himself into England duties and fatherhood. Carra was acting like he couldn't give a toss, although for once he wasn't being entirely convincing. He seemed to be on the phone to Michael a lot more than usual, and most of the conversations contained the words 'Steve', 'Finnan' and 'transfer'. And the other day when he'd paid a visit to the Owen mansion in his unofficial uncle capacity, Louise had joked that Carra was taking more looking after than the baby. Not that she'd said anything to either of them of course. Somehow Louise always seemed to know when to give Mikey and Carra their space. He wished some of his old girlfriends had been that understanding about him spending time with his best mate. Mind you, with hindsight, they'd been right to be suspicious, hadn't they?

And of course he himself was dealing with it by suppressing his own concerns in favour of fretting about everyone else.

Now *Stevie's* usual method of dealing with it would have been to have a knock-down no-holds-barred shouting match about it and then, the air cleared, he'd spend the rest of the summer rallying the rest of them. Truculent silence and the complete withdrawal of physical contact were new and unwelcome developments.

He dialled Stevie's number, more out of habit than anything else.

'...yeah?'

*Fuck me, Murphy's Law.*

''ullo stranger.'

'Dan.'

*Well that's nice. I've missed you too y'know.*

'Stevie, where've you been?'

'Ah you know how it is...no spare time...'

*Stevie, I've *been* on England trips. You've got spare time coming out of your ears. And anyway, I'm your feller. You're s'posed to *make* time.*

Aloud, he said, 'Saw the match last night. You were good.'

'Danny, I was fucking *rubbish*' Stevie's voice dripped with scorn. 'Couldn't get a pass on target all night.'

'Well, it wasn't the surface for passing, was it? You were the best in our midfield, no question.'

Stevie made a grudging sort of 'neurgh' noise. 'S'just meaningless though, innit? Giving out noncy little medals for a scrappy game like that. No point to it at all, and we come out of it with a captain injured. I don't see why we have to wait this long for the Slovakia game anyway.'

Danny shrugged, then realized it was a pointless gesture on the phone. 'Politics, mate.'

'Well they shouldn't fucking allow it! We play a full season, then they expect us to fanny about for another month preparing for this qualifier, and then they wonder why we're so fucking knackered.'

'Stevie, just tell me what's wrong.'

'What?'

'You're not just pissed off about FA red tape, you've been like this for weeks. Ever since the Chelsea game.'

Danny could practically hear Stevie wince. 'I'm fine about that.'

'Yeah. Right.'

'I am! S'not like it's never happened before.' And then more quietly, 'S'not like it won't happen again, neither.'

'The missing out on the Champions League or the getting sent off?'

'Either. Both.'

'Aw come on Stevie...we're all down about how the season went, but next year'll be different, you know it. This year was just a mistake...it won't happen again.'

'It's not a mistake, Dan.' Stevie's voice was resigned. 'S'pretty much an average season when you look at the last ten years. It's the Treble that was the mistake. Maybe we should just accept it...it's never gonna be like it was in the old days.'

'Stevie, you can't seriously think that...' Danny began. Where the hell did he start with this one? 'Look at the gaffer's first season, remember? Same thing...no consistency, bottled it in the run-in, no Champion's League...everyone saying we couldn't handle it with the big boys anymore. And the next year we won the Treble. And look at you, for god's sake - it's hardly an average season by your standards, is it? Just a couple more months and you can put all this behind you and get on with winning us the title again.'

'Bit difficult doing that when you can't stay on the pitch for more than five minutes at a time.'

*Ok. He thinks he's useless and I'm re-assuring him. What's wrong with this picture?*

Danny found himself at a loss as to how to respond. Stevie's prodigious self-belief was such an intrinsic part of his personality that it had never occurred to him to develop damage control plans if it ever disappeared.

This time when Stevie spoke it was in the forlorn little-boy-lost voice he only used when he was absolutely positively fed up to the back teeth with life.

'Danny, why aren't you here?'

'Stevie, I can't...'

'You could come over to Spain just to be with us all, just to be in on the tactics and everything, you wouldn't have to train...I want you here.'

'They'd never stump up for me to fly out just for that...'

'You could come over on your own' Stevie pleaded. 'Just to see me...'

*Stevie, don't make me say this.* Danny knew what the reaction would be if he tried to give a rational answer to the request.

'The physios say I shouldn't be doing any long journeys.'

'Oh. Yeah. Forgot.' Just as he'd feared, Stevie's voice was cold and closed off again. 'You get fit. That's what's important.'

'Don't be like that...'

'Yeah, well, I've got to go.'

'Stevie, wait...' But he'd already hung up.

Danny stared at his mobile for a second and then suddenly stood up and flung it at the wall as hard as he could. The handset split apart on impact and fell to the ground in two pieces.

*Oh, very productive, you tosser.* He went to pick up the debris, muttering obscenities under his breath.

Stevie was right. Why wasn't he there? Every fibre of his being ached to jump on the next plane to South Africa. Just thinking about Stevie's sad little voice was like twisting a knife in his gut. He should be there. He *needed* to be there. He needed to see Stevie and hold him and tell him that he was a complete moron who needed to get over himself and that he loved him and that he was talking utter bollocks.

He'd just got the mobile put together and was wondering whether it was still working when it rang.

'Stevie?'

'Do I sound like I'm from Huyton fer feck's sake?'

'Oh, Carra. Sorry, I thought...'

'Look, if 'e's being this much of an arse, I'll give 'im a good slappin' for you when I get there.'

Danny was perplexed. 'Get where?'

'Terry's crocked. They need a stand-in defender.'

Danny rolled his eyes to heaven and laughed. 'God, you're in, you're out...it's like the fucking hokey-cokey.'

'You think *that's* funny? They're makin' me chaperone Rooney an' all.'

'If he gives you any stick, threaten to take away his Pokemon cards.'

'We're flyin' out tomorrow. You got any messages?'

'Sort of...' An idea had just occurred to Danny. 'Can you deliver something? Besides the slapping, I mean...'

*Stevie*

*********

*Well that's just fine. If he'd rather stay home and nurse his poorly neck while I'm out here wallowing in the pit of despair then that's that, innit?*

*Where the fuck d'you have to go to get a drink in this place?*

*Michael*

*********

The ironic thing was, Michael had been looking forward to this trip to get some peace and quiet. He slumped onto his bed and stared at the ceiling, trying to take advantage of the La Manga siesta.

Of course he loved Gemma: he loved her more than life itself, loved her so much it scared him. The first time he'd held her he'd realized that if anyone so much as breathed near her in a funny way, he would cheerfully tear them limb from limb. That had been quite disconcerting.

But she was rather high maintenance. So a trip away with the England team had seemed like the perfect break. Train, train, press conference, train, play match, train some more...everything simple. Everyone doing their utmost to ensure that he remained relaxed and stress free at all times, right? Wrong.

If it wasn't Carra having a crisis of confidence back home, where he couldn't reach him, it was Stevie having one right in front of him and just as unreachable. At least Carra would be here soon - but then again, up until now he'd been able to keep an eye on Stevie as roommates. Now Stevie was stuck in a room on his own with one of the many empty beds left by the injury merry-go-round.

And then there was having to jump into Becks' shoes a fortnight earlier than expected. His arms still ached from lifting that bloody trophy. But with the Man U lads all looking on and all those South African FA twonks practically patting him on the head he couldn't exactly back down, could he?

And he still couldn't sleep. He'd naively assumed that his sleeping patterns would return to the pre-baby state they'd been happy with for the previous twenty-three years. But no, he was still in full-on New Dad Mode, waking up at the slightest hint of noise or movement in a flat panic. Which only got worse when his half-unconscious brain processed that there was no baby crying in the immediate vicinity. If he couldn't hear her, his bleary synapses reasoned, where the hell was she?

*Be nice to get home...* he thought, rolling over in the hope of finding some position that might be conducive to at least a light nap. *She cries, you get up, she cries, you get up...least it's not complicated...*

It could have been minutes or hours later when he awoke. Either way, his head felt like a lead weight and someone was moving on the bed behind him. Michael groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

'It was my turn last time...' he whined, which was his habitual response whether it was his turn or not. Then other bits of him woke up enough to notice that whoever had joined him was a lot bigger than Louise. And smelled different. Someone kissed his shoulder.

'Get some rest, yer little sod.'

Smiling, he rolled over into Carra's arms, snuggling into the familiar embrace.

'Oh god, who invited you...' he mumbled, but sleep was already washing over him.

*Jamie's here. No worries. Looks after me. Keeps me safe...*

For the first time in weeks, Michael was out like a light.

*Stevie*

*********

Why was he torturing himself like this? Why, when Michael had been giving him the school prefect treatment all trip, was he voluntarily going to his room for some company?

Why, when he'd been studiously avoiding Danny, was he intending to grill Carra about what exactly Dan had been up to since he got back?

And why, when he was almost crippled with guilt at how much of an arsehole he'd been when Danny had called, was he putting off calling back to apologise?

*Because it wouldn't do any good. I'd only go and fuck it up again.*

He was starting to dread going back home. Out here, he was just another cog in the machine: Becks took all the heat for being the terrace hero, as well as the responsibility for leading the team and running the midfield. He didn't even need to worry about being the most high-profile Liverpool player on show. Easy to keep his head down and get by. Even on the pitch - just being competent had been enough to satisfy them in the South Africa game.

The moment he got back home, all that would stop. Back to being fan's favourite, future captain and backbone of the side. Back to the awkward questions: what were you playing at, getting sent off? How does it feel to be suspended for the beginning of the season? What do you have to say about the fact that after four seasons at this club, you're right back where you started - United on top and no Champion's League?

Back to skulking in corners trying to avoid being asked whether he'd got himself a new bird.

He was tired of hiding. He hadn't wanted to turn away from Danny like that, certainly not for so long, but...He just felt so stifled. At home, no one minded if he and Danny spent a lot of time together. It had always been like that, ever since they'd met. He could even throw an occasional arm around Dan without anyone batting an eyelid. They all knew he was just a very tactile bloke.

Not here. Eyes everywhere. All strangers, all suspicious. Having to be so fucking furtive all the time. No touching unless they were in their room. Couldn't even risk making a noise when they...it made him feel guilty. Like being with Danny was wrong. And he'd never felt like that. That was the whole point - from the very beginning, it'd felt so right, so perfect. He didn't ever want to pollute that feeling, and if that meant not touching Dan while he was out here, then so be it.

Except he hadn't said anything to Danny about that, had he? And now he was at home all confused and upset, and Stevie was out here having all the spirit sucked out of him and suddenly all his reasons seemed pathetic and unbelievable and so what was the point in offering them? Dan'd end up even more pissed off than when he started.

Better just not to think about any of it. That was what the drink had been about. Helped him not to think. He wasn't stupid enough to make a habit of it. Besides, he was finding Michael's lectures just as effective in taking his mind off things. He knocked on the door.

But the Michael who opened it wasn't exactly in lecture mode. Too giggly, for a start. 'Help me' he gasped, pulling Stevie into the room. 'I've been invaded!'

'I can't get a straight answer out of 'im' Carra appeared at his other elbow. 'C'mon.'

' "Why hello Stevie, how're you?" ' Stevie grumbled to himself. 'Ah, not so bad, Carra - and yerself?'

Carra stopped him in mid-sentence by brandishing something navy blue in his face. 'What the fucking hell is this?'

Even in his depressed state, Stevie couldn't prevent himself grinning. 'It's a cardigan, James.'

'I know it's a fucking cardigan. Yet still I ask - what the fucking hell is this?'

'Part of the Official England Team Suit.' Michael collapsed onto his bed as the giggling threatened to overtake him again. 'And can I just say I've been dreading this moment?'

'What total space cadet came up with that one?'

'I'll give you three guesses.' Stevie told him, sitting down on the other bed. 'And the first two don't count.'

'If 'e tries to make me wear this thing, I'm breakin' 'is other thumb.'

'Why d'you think I welched out of meeting Mandela?' Stevie said. 'Biggest hero of the century and I'm gonna show up looking like a geography teacher? Fuck that.'

'But you went, didn't you?' Carra turned to Michael with an expression of genuine horror. 'Oh Mikey, tell me it's not true...'

Michael gave him a guilty puppy look. 'It doesn't do for the vice-captain not to attend official events...' he began.

'...or contradict the captain's opinion on sartorial matters.' Stevie finished for him.

Carra glared at Michael. 'You'll be gettin' noncy plaits like him next.'

'*Hardly*' Michael ran his hands through his hair. 'What have you got against Becks anyway?'

'Crimes Against Hair,' Carra started counting on his fingers. 'Playing For United With Malice Aforethought, Possession Of An Offensive Wife...'

Michael's brow wrinkled in mock-puzzlement. 'Sorry, remind me - why is it you don't get picked for England that often?'

'Cos I don't go smarmin' up to 'is highness every five minutes.' Carra jumped onto the bed and attempted to wrestle Michael onto his back - not very difficult, as Michael had succumbed to the giggles again. 'Seriously, you should hear yourself. "Ooh David, you're so great...I want to be just like you when I grow up"...sycophant !'

Stevie began to feel distinctly surplus to requirements. 'Erm...I'd tell you two to get a room...but yer in it. So...'

'Oi!' Carra struggled back upright. 'You're not going anywhere until you tell me what's up with you and Spud.'

'Jesus, what's wrong with you people?' Stevie threw his hands up. 'There's *nothing* up with me and Danny. Why's everyone so convinced there is?'

'Cos you keep protestin' too much about it' said Carra.

'And you keep avoiding him when he phones' added Michael.

'And he's wanderin' about at home with a face like a wet weekend' Carra finished.

Stevie had a brief argument with himself. His Ego said 'Hey, Dan misses me!', his Super-Ego countered with 'Yes, so don't you think you should phone to cheer him up?' and his Id trampled over both of them with 'So? Like I should care.'

'We'll sort it out when I get home' he muttered, staring at his feet.

'So what're you gonna do about the presents?' Michael prompted from his prone position.

'Presents?'

'Birthday presents, divvy. You're having your birthday with us. Makes more sense to make up before you've got to thank him for his prezzies.'

*Well if you're gonna get technical about it...* 'Er...dunno.'

'What else are you gonna do?' said Carra, relishing the bad cop role as always. 'Ring him up and say 'hey, ta for the socks, but yer still a bastard'?'

'Course I'm not gonna do that...' Stevie began, and stopped. ''Ang on, are you tellin' me he's bought me *socks*?'

At that, both Michael and Carra burst out laughing.

'Ah, shut up.'

Michael used Carra as an anchor to lever himself upright. 'Just *phone* him, Stevie.'

Stevie pondered the wind-up potential of the fact that Michael seemed to have forgotten he was still clinging onto Carra, but decided to drop it. Michael hadn't looked this relaxed for weeks. Instead he whined 'I can't...I'll look like a twat...'

Carra looked bemused. 'But you *are* a twat.'

'More of a twat, then.'

'It'd be impossible to look more of a twat than you already do.'

Stevie picked up a pillow and chucked it at him. 'I am bigger than you these days, remember.'

'So?' Carra ducked the missile and jerked a thumb in Michael's direction. 'I could kick your arse if I was his size.'

'One day I'm gonna make you put your money where your mouth is on that one.'

'Yeah, and that day'll be soon if you two don't sort things out.'

'It's my business.' Stevie growled. 'End of story.'

*Danny*

*********

And still the phone call never came.

To Danny's intense discomfort, during dinner with the gaffer he not only had to practice his French, but was also asked for an update on Stevie's well-being. At least that bit was in English, thank god. He umm-ed and ahh-ed under Gerard's penetrating gaze before admitting 'I think I'll have a better idea after his birthday.'

The gaffer smiled. 'Just the pick-me-up he needs, eh?'

Danny chewed his bottom lip. 'Depends what he thinks of his presents.'

And still there was silence.

On the night of the 30th, he made last attempt to call Stevie.

'He really is in the shower this time' said Michael. 'We're about to have tea.'

'Are you gonna be able to do everything like we talked about?'

'Yeah...they let us have a spare key when we explained. You sure he won't wake up?'

'Mike, Stevie sleeps like the dead, you know that.'

'It's still a risk.'

'Worth it though. Just to see his little face.'

'You soppy old git.'

'Feck off' Danny laughed. 'Are you sure you hid the stuff where he couldn't find it?'

'Oh yeah. He looked, but we put them somewhere he'd never dare go.'

'Which is?'

'Wayne's laundry bag.'

'Mike, you're a sick, sick man.'

'Joke, you nerk. They were in Sven's office. Look, I've got to go, he's coming out.'

'Yeah.' Danny tried not to let his mind stall on the image of Stevie fresh out of the shower. 'Tell him it doesn't matter what order he opens them in, ok?'

'No problem. See you soon, Dan.'

'Bye, Mikey.'

*Carra*

********

'I dunno who's dafter' Carra yawned as they got back to their room. ''im for insisting on all that bollocks or us for going along with it.'

Michael shrugged. 'Stevie likes acting like a big kid...Danny likes making Stevie happy. Simple as that.'

'Still doesn't explain us though, does it?' Carra collapsed onto his bed and tried to take his clothes off in the least energetic way possible. 'Well, you maybe, cos you've got all this to come with the sprog an' all, but why me?'

'You've got to practice too' Michael pointed out. 'She's gonna be your goddaughter.'

Carra shifted uncomfortably. 'I still en't said yes to that.'

'Ah go on Jamie...' Michael went into his 'please sir can I have some more' routine, something Carra had always found hard to resist. 'Pleeeease? It'd mean a lot to us...'

'You 'ave to stand up in church and say you renounce the devil and all his works! I can't do that, I'll get struck by lightning!'

Michael pulled his shirt over his head. 'You're not evil. You just like people to think that.'

'And you know the truth, eh?'

'Well yeah...' Michael walked over to stand in front of him. 'I've seen the real you, haven't I?'

Carra looked up at him, surprised by the edge in Michael's tone. 'What're you up to? Don't think you can get around me like that, sunshine.'

'Oh I think you'll find I can...' And before Carra knew it, Michael was on him, pinning him to the bed and kissing him fiercely.

*Well *that* doesn't happen very often these days...*

Whenever it did happen he was always amazed at the strength in Michael - the memories were all of the little stripling Mikey had been, not the grown man in his arms now.

'What was that for?' he said, when he was finally allowed the use of his lips again.

Michael shrugged. 'Felt the need to relive me youth.'

'You still *are* a youth.'

'Not anymore.' Michael shifted to lie with his head on Carra's chest. 'That's why I want you to do it. I could do with the moral support.'

'For what?' Carra was thoroughly confused now.

'Because I'm *scared*! I have to act like a grownup now. All the time. For the rest of her life.' Michael clung to him, suddenly every inch the boy Carra remembered. 'Which is the rest of my life, when you think about it.'

Carra put his arms round Michael and rolled him to one side so they were face to face. 'Is she worth it?'

'Of course she's bloody worth it.'

'Then you know what you have to do.' He kissed Michael's forehead. 'And I'll be there if it helps.'

Michael leaned into his embrace, still needing reassurance. 'It's just this huge thing...and it doesn't even hit you until they hand her to you and you just think, "I can't look after one of these things! I'm a complete berk!"'

'You only have to be a grownup for her.' Carra said gently. 'Not for everyone. Not for me, anyway.'

Michael looked up at him and smiled. 'Promise?'

''Course. You'll always be me little Mikey.'

'Told you you were a total sweetie deep down.'

'Alright, don't take advantage of me good humour, son.' Carra leaned over him to switch out the light.

'Jamie?' came a little voice in the dark.

'Yeah?'

'This not being a grownup with you thing...does that include having the occasional frivolous for-old-times-sake shag?'

'S'pose it'd have to.'

'Oh good. Can we practice?'

*Stevie*

*********

There's nothing quite so depressing as waking up on your birthday knowing you're guaranteed not to get a celebratory leg-over.

Stevie hadn't moved since he woke up, just lay on one side staring at the little red numbers on his alarm clock. Mikey and Carra wouldn't be up for hours. So he had to wait and wait and wait and then go to their room and then wait some more while they went to wherever it was they'd hidden his prezzies. He knew they weren't in their room because he'd *looked*.

Hours to wait.

No one loved him.

*It weren't like this at Christmas.*

He didn't know how Dan had managed it, because they'd both gone to sleep at the same time on Christmas Eve, and Stevie'd definitely been the first one up the next morning, but somehow when he'd gone through to the lounge all the presents had already been laid out under the tree. And he'd teased Danny and pointed out that he'd forgotten the half-drunk glass of sherry left out for Santa an' all, but it'd been brilliant, really. It'd taken them all morning to open everything; not that there was lots, but every now and then he'd looked up from his enthusiastic paper ripping and find that Dan had stopped in mid-unwrap and was just gazing at him, and they'd sort of locked eyes and...well...gifts were put aside for a moment.

Best Christmas Ever. End of.

Wouldn't be any of that today. No surprises, no fun, no impromptu shag-breaks during the unwrapping.

No Danny. No point.

And still hours until everyone else woke up. Stevie heaved an enormous sigh, rolled over onto his other side, and for the first time got a look at the spare bed in his room.

It was covered with presents.

*How the fuck...?*

He sat up, trying to disguise the fact that his insides were doing somersaults of glee, and then remembered that there was no one to see him anyway, so he broke into an extremely dopey grin.

*You soft bastards.*

*I love me mates.*

Maybe he should wake the others before he opened them anyway. But no, on closer examination there was a note from Carra on top of the pile which read 'Wake me before breakfast and I will hurt you.', so that wasn't something he had to worry about. He surveyed his hoard.

*Mine. Aaallllll mine...*

Danny must have chased up everyone to have their presents ready to be taken out with the squad, because they were all here, starting with one from his mum that almost certainly *was* socks, all the way to something bearing the worrying label 'To Uncle Stevie, love from Gemma', both of which re-enforced his deeply held belief that having children sent you round the twist.

And right in the middle, all done up in red paper, three parcels labelled in Danny's handwriting. He'd even been careful not to write anything too intimate on the gift tags in case anyone else saw them. Stevie suddenly experienced an irrational desire to hit himself over the head with the bedside lamp.

*He's brilliant. He's fucking *brilliant*. And he's probably never gonna speak to you again, and why? Cos when you get your sulk on you just can't accept that anyone might actually care about you. Proof, if proof were needed, that you are the most colossal fuck up that ever walked the earth.*

He reached for the first of the three, birthday euphoria and boyfriendly guilt giving him a strange mixed-up feeling, and started unwrapping.

'Yes! Nice one, Dan!'

There was a note too:

'Replacement copy. Have contacted Guinness Book Of Records as I suspect you are the first person on this planet to actually wear out a DVD. I fear you.'

Right. So. Breakfast, training, lunch and then...he could either commandeer Mike's PS2 to watch it in the afternoon, or delay his enjoyment until after dinner. He could already hear Carra's reaction: 'Jeezus, you've got a real thing for hairy Aussies in leather skirts, you know that?'

*Fuck off...S'me birthday. I wanna watch me favourite film.*

Still absent-mindedly clutching the Gladiator DVD to him, he picked up the next parcel.

*Hang on, this is bendy. What the hell would Danny buy me that's flexible?*

He ripped off the last of the paper and gawped at the thing in his lap.

*Dan, this is a shirt.*

*You bought me a shirt. You got me *clothing* for me birthday.*

*I'm never gonna let you live this down, yeh big fairy. I mean what's next? Saucy underwear?*

Stevie held the shirt up against himself experimentally. It was actually really nice. Sort of dark blue, not quite navy. Becks probably knew what it was called. Not that he was ever going to ask him, because that was just one step away from asking to borrow his nail varnish.

*Fucking hell, is this *Prada*?? Darling, you shouldn't have.*

Stevie put the shirt to one side, once again relieved that there was no one around to see how he was smiling.

*But I'm glad you did.*

One more to go. Not bendy. Quite large. Wildly curious to see what Danny had produced for his piece de resistance, he tore open the wrapping, only to be confronted by a layer of bubble wrap and another note.

'Got Carra to bring this over with him (don't worry, he hasn't seen what's in it). Hope it helps you sort some things out. Love, Danny.'

Ok, now he was really confused. What was it s'posed to help? And why was it good that Carra hadn't seen it? He pulled aside the bubble wrap.

*Oh.*

*Oh wow.*

*That's...that's against Villa in the Worthy. When Dan got the winner.*

He picked up the framed photo and stared at it intently.

He'd ended up over the touchline, just in front of the advertising hoardings, and Danny had slammed the ball into the back of the net on the run and just carried on running, right into Stevie's arms. The photographer had caught them in mid hug, about a split second before they'd collapsed in a rather indecorous position and been buried under a pile of delirious Liverpool players.

*Is this how I look when I'm with you?*

*Blimey, why do we bother to hide it? It's bleedin' obvious.*

That night...even when Villa had pulled it back to 3-3, he'd known they'd win. Even though the defence was throwing a major wobbler, he'd known. It was just one of those nights where everything he did went right. Every pass found its target. Every tackle took the ball clean and fair...and nearly killed the player, which was always an added perk.

He'd kept shouting instructions at Danny, but he hadn't needed to - Dan had kept moving into spaces before he'd finished ordering him there. They hadn't needed to say anything. They'd just *known*.

With the winner...he'd been running up the right wing. Danny had started it - put the ball just in front of him so he could run onto it, then he'd dashed into space to get it back, and Stevie had passed it and let his momentum take him over the touchline and even with his back to goal, almost before Dan had even *hit* it, he'd known it was in. He'd started celebrating even before the fans realized.

You could look your whole life without finding someone who understood you like that. Someone you clicked with; someone who got on your wavelength so you didn't even have to think about it anymore, just let the instinct take over. Sometimes he felt he could be blindfold and still pick out Danny anywhere on the pitch. It wasn't always perfect like that night, but he could feel the roots of it in every game they played together.

And sometimes it *was* perfect. Nights like that were what made it all worthwhile.

Nights like that were worth a thousand sendings off.

Nights like that were what kept you going when you had the worst season of your career.

*Where the fuck's me phone?*

*Danny*

***********

His first conscious thought was *...fucking alarm...* Then he realized it was the phone. And *then* it hit him that only one person was likely to call him first thing in the morning on the 31st of May.

'Stevie?'

'I'm a complete twat.'

Danny closed his eyes and smiled. 'And that news is so earth-shattering it couldn't wait until a more civilized hour?'

A pause. Then a little voice at the other end of the phone said 'Oh Danny...'

'Ah, Stevie, don't...' Danny wasn't sure what was more overwhelming - his relief at Stevie's calling or the ache of not being there with him. 'You're back. That's all that matters.'

'But I've been such an arse...'

'Listen to me.' Danny sat up in bed as if somehow that would put his point across more forcefully.

'I love you. I realized that the moment I kissed you. And I'd probably been in love with you a lot longer than that. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. Even when you're being an arse. Just next time, Stevie, next time promise me you'll let me help when you're upset, ok?'

'Ok...' Stevie's voice sounded shaky. 'Promise you still love me when I'm being an arse?'

'Stevie, I'd still love you even if you never kicked a ball again. I'd still love you if you were a pot of geraniums.'

Stevie laughed. Danny couldn't believe how much he'd missed the sound. 'Don't be daft, Dan. How would we have sex?'

'Well, we weren't having much last time I saw you human-shaped, were we?'

'Oh my god...' Stevie was horrified. 'I've not had a shag in over three weeks! Why aren't I dead?'

'Stevie...'

'I mean, how did I let that happen? I don't think I've gone that long without it since I *started*...'

'Stevie...' Danny bit his lip, worried. 'You've not...um...stopped fancying me or anything?'

'No! *Fuck*, no. I was just...I was depressed. And pissed off at hiding. And a complete twat. And...fuck it. I'm done with it. No more hidin'. I'm gonna make as much noise as I like and if they don't like it they can just lump it.'

'I think you lost me there.'

'Long story. S'just...God, I've got to wait until I get home now! And all the time you were out here with me and I didn't...Jesus, I'm a moron...'

'You don't have to wait, y'know' Danny pointed out slyly. 'I mean...what are you wearing?'

'Nothin', I've only just got up.'

Danny swallowed. 'Bloody hell Stevie, are you telling me you've been having this whole conversation *naked*?'

'Well yeah. I'm hot.'

'...fuck...'

'Dan?'

'...I bet you're all tanned an' everythin'...'

'Danny, are you alright?'

'Oh god, when I get you home...'

'Oh? What then?'

'You won't know what's hit you, that's what then,' Danny growled. 'I'm not letting you out of bed till pre-season starts.'

Frustrated whimpering from the other end of the phone. 'Can't we start now?'

Danny grinned evilly. 'Nah...I like keeping you in suspense.'

'Pleeeeease?'

'So tell me about your presents, then.'

'*DANNY!!*'

'Have you opened all of them?'

A 'humph' noise from Stevie. 'No. Just yours.'

'Oh.' Suddenly Danny wasn't quite so sure of himself. 'So. Um. What did you think of the er...the...'

'The word you're lookin' for wouldn't happen to be 'shirt', would it?' Stevie was audibly glad to have the upper hand again.

'I didn't go out looking for it specific or nothin'' Danny protested feebly. 'I was getting some stuff for meself and I saw that and thought it'd suit you...and on reflection this sounds even more poncy than if I'd just gone out and bought you a shirt.'

'I really like it, Dan.'

*Oh, thank fuck.*

'The photo's the best, though.'

Danny melted. 'Yeah...I was hoping you'd like that one.'

'That was a great goal an' all.'

'You set it up.'

'You started the move.'

The problem with mobiles, Danny reflected, was that there was no cord for you to twist round your fingers when you went all bashful. 'I picked that one cos...well...cos it's *us*, isn't it?'

'Yeah...' Stevie didn't need to say anything else. Danny just *knew*.

After a moment he said 'How long till you're home?'

Stevie sighed. 'A week tomorrow.'

'I'm gonna try and get tickets for the games.'

'Don't try. Just do it.'

'God, I miss you so much...'

There was another moment of silence. Then '...Dan?'

'Yeah?'

''M still naked...'

'Oh alright then. If you *insist*...'

'Blow out your candles then. And make a wish.'

'No point...it won't come true.'

'Oh I dunno...they've made some amazing advances in plastic surgery recently.'

'Carra! That's no way to talk to the birthday boy!'

'Mike, I dunno what's weirder: the fact that your daughter's gettin' me birthday prezzies or the fact that it's whiskey. I mean, shouldn't you be worried about that? I'm old enough to be 'er dad an' she's tryin' to get me drunk...'

'Aren't you hot in that shirt?'

'Roastin''

'So are you gonna take it off?'

'Nope.'

'Hey Carra, any more of that cake left?'

'How many slices have you 'ad?'

'Just the one, like.'

'Wayne, this is a fellow Bluenose askin'.'

'...three.'

'Bloody hell, Wayne, if I ate as much as you I'd be...well, as fat as you.'

'I am *not*...I'm just...big-boned, that's all.'

'Ignore 'im son, 'e's just panicked yer gonna nick his record. Mike...Mike! Put that plate down!'

'Right, all back to mine then? Film starts in ten minutes - bring a bottle!'

'Great, what're we gonna w...oh, not frigging Gladiator *again*!'

*Stevie*

'I mean, what could anyone have against Gladiator?' Stevie asked later.

'Nothing.' Danny assured him. 'The first hundred times, anyway.'

Stevie lay back in bed. 'You never mind watchin' it.'

'I like watchin' you watch it. You get all caught up in it.'

'I don't want to hang up' Stevie whispered. 'At least when I can hear you I can pretend you're here. Where are you? What're you doing?'

'I'm in bed. Just talkin' to you.'

'Except right at the other end of the country.'

'It's not long to go...and I'll get to those games even if I have to volunteer as a steward. We'll see each other...even if it's just for a few hours.'

'Phone me every day.'

'I *have* phoned you every day!'

'Well keep phoning me. I won't be a dickhead again, I promise.'

'Of course I'll phone.'

'Still would have been nice to have you here for me birthday though.'

'We'll just have to do somethin' extra special for our anniversary.'

'I've got to go' Stevie sighed. 'If Sven finds out I've been up this late, I'm dead. You're gonna have to hang up first. I don't think I can.'

'You hopeless romantic, you.'

'Don't take the piss, I mean it.'

'I know.'

'Say one more thing and then hang up.'

'Happy Birthday, Stevie.'