Where the wind whispers

Title: Help Me Carry The Fire, Chapter Five of ???
Characters: Cesc Fabregas, Pep Guardiola ; Mentions: Ryan Giggs, Andy Carroll, Frank Lampard, Roy Keane, Roy Hodgson, David Beckham, Thierry Henry, Fernando Llorente, Implied past Iker Casillas/Cesc Fabregas, Iker/OFC
Rating: PG-13 this part, higher later
WARNINGS: mentions of: past abuse
Words: this part: 2,435 ; total words: 12,619
A/N: Me again with the fifth part of this story. It's moving quite along to me! Theoretically it won't take two years to finish like its predecessor did! *ahem* This chapter involves looking back to Eternal Heartache's relationship between Iker and Cesc, so if you haven't read the first one, you might be a little confused at that part. It also mentions a little bit of past abuse, so be forewarned. I hope you guys like it because you get to meet a few of Cesc's professors in this chapter ;-) Without further ado...the chapter itself :D
Previous Parts: One | Two | Three | Four



The rain had only ceased once during the day, a brief period around lunchtime, before it had continued once again. It was not always heavy, but it was constant in its variations from mist to downpour back to mist again. To try and predict how the pattern would go was almost impossible and, not for the first time since his departure, Cesc wished he had stayed in Spain where it did not rain so much so much of the time.

He was standing with his hands buried deep inside of his pockets on the platform of the Oxford train station, waiting with Pep for the ultimately London-bound train to arrive from somewhere north of Oxford. Pep was sat on a bench, newspaper held loosely from his fingers as he watched Cesc standing, looking past the platform, out into the rain-soaked horizon. His few suitcases were next to him and he was the perfect picture of composure and leisure as he enjoyed the last moments of Oxford he would have for quite some time.

Cesc turned to sit down when still he had not seen the train. Pep shot him a smile and Cesc nodded back.

“Do you like your classes and professors?” Pep inquired for the tenth time on the subject. Previously, Cesc had only given short simple answers that had provided barely any information at all. Yes he would say, or yeah. Then he would shrug it off and continue eating or walking in silence or whatever they were doing together for the week. So it was hardly surprising that Pep interrupt just as Cesc opened his mouth to speak. “And I would like an honest answer, not a simple monotone one.”

Pep smiled, though there was sincerity in his eyes that did not quite match the amused smile his lips had formed. Cesc took a breath and gave in. He formed his answer inside of his mind before he spoke, thinking over the classes he had attended the past week and the professors he had met. As he thought about it, the answer became more and more clear inside of his mind.


His first class had been history and Cesc was pretty sure that the history teacher had been there for as long as the school had, or at least some significant battles in the course he would be teaching. Professor Giggs, as he was called, wore a thin pair of wire-rimmed glasses to read his projection screen. His suit was nearly immaculate, though a few wrinkles were present. And his hair definitely had more salt than pepper, especially around his temples. He spoke with a funny accent that Cesc could not quite place, it sounded different though he was still trying to figure out all the new accents he had been exposed to. No matter his voice, Giggs did not speak with a flat tone, instead there was a certain lift in his words, a cadence that made the subject material bearable to listen to. For that, Cesc was grateful.

Second on Cesc’s class list had been one that had raised his curiosity completely. It had been the English Language and Literature class taught by Professor Beckham, the husband, David. To his credit, Cesc had paid some attention to the lesson and information Beckham had presented about his course, but Cesc still could not help his mind wander back to what Llorente had said about Andy and Beckham’s wife. He wondered what sort of man he was to tolerate such a rumor, tolerate and ignore it, it seemed. To be fair, Cesc thought it had occurred the year previous. Perhaps he had simply dealt with it and moved forward. Cesc decided he would keep this class as an interesting one, because, when all was said and done, he didn’t mind reading and the English language was something he would now have to know perfectly. It was a class that would come in quite handy. And Professor Beckham wasn’t horrible to look at either, Cesc had noticed while he had studied him out of the corner of his eye while he jotted down a few quick notes.

Third had been a class Cesc found absolutely horrid, though he had liked the teacher. Maths with Professor Lampard. Cesc hated maths, and no matter how much he liked the professor, the subject was going to be one that gave him trouble. He could already see needing a tutor in his future.

Geography was taught by a man that Cesc wished would shut up and never open his mouth again. It seemed that Professor Hodgson was a people-pleaser and neutralist to the extreme. His voice was also grating to the nerves. Cesc really, really hoped that this was because geography was the only class standing in his way from an empty morning and lunch time.

The most interesting class Cesc had had so far, though, was French. It was taught by a man that was, in Cesc’s opinion, the most attractive professor he had yet to see. He had been taken by le professeur’s charm and smile, and what a big white smile it was. Professor Henry’s class about the French Language would be a class that Cesc would not easily miss.

The one class Cesc had been warned about before ever setting foot inside the door had been Professor Keane’s psychology and philosophy class. He’s batshit, Andy had warned when learning that Cesc would have to take his course, completely batshit. Don’t ever piss him off Cesc, I mean it. Andy had refused to comment further when Cesc had inquired more into the subject and reputation of Professor Keane. Once he had actually sat through the orientation of Keane’s class, Cesc quickly learned what Andy had meant by batshit. The man was a lunatic in a frumpy suit with a caveman beard.

The rules for Keane’s class had been simple: be on time, be prepared, and don’t do anything idiotic. When one such student had thought those rules, written plain for everyone to see on his syllabus, had thought he was joking and had stood up to leave, everyone got a firsthand glimpse of ‘Keane justice’. A book had been chucked from the desk and caught the boy in the back. Keane had then proceeded to throw him out of class.

“Anyone else want to leave? Go now. I won’t have lazy brats in my classroom.” He had glared throughout the lecture hall but either everyone wanted to stay and take the course or, in Cesc’s opinion the far more likely reason, everyone was too scared to breathe, let alone leave.

Cesc had returned to his room grateful that class was over for the afternoon. He almost confided his fear of the Irish nutcase to Llorente, but Fernando just didn’t seem the type that he wanted to open up too. So Cesc had kept it quiet, even when he had had dinner with Pep that evening.

On some level, he wasn’t quite sure how big that level was just yet, being in a new place with no one to confide in was quite bothersome. He didn’t mind that Fernando was incredibly obsessively compulsive and organized. He was grateful that he was Spanish, Basque even. He really didn’t even mind the lousy jokes. As much as he tried not too, Cesc was trying to compare him to Silva and that wasn’t fair on anyone. Even if he was doing it in his mind, Cesc kept trying to match them and found them uneven. Silva was somehow better than Llorente and Cesc couldn’t figure out why.

It wasn’t as if Fernando wasn’t nice enough, he was overly much so. It wasn’t like Fernando was horrible or mean, because he was not. He just wasn’t someone Cesc felt entirely comfortable around. It was as if there was an edge to being in the same room with him—not a sharp edge, but a pointy annoyance in the side, not a thorn that stabbed, but a splinter whose aggravating pain would grow with time. Cesc simply hoped and wished that this was not the case; after all, he would be staying with Fernando for quite some time.

Cesc had met a few other students, besides Llorente and Andy, but he still had the same wary feeling about them. In history, he had met a very young freshman named Aaron. He was from Wales and Cesc immediately found himself liking the boy’s accent and smile, but Cesc still refused to let the boy get more than a few details about his own personal life from him. It was as if a mighty fortress had somehow built and fortified itself around Cesc’s personal trust and refused to let anyone enter and take it.

One name floated to Cesc’s mind when he had realized this and he had swallowed hard.

It had been months since that day, the day he had left Eva behind in the garage with Iker’s venom fresh in his mind. He remembered Eva’s words about having choices and taking them, especially while he was young and not stuck as she had warned him. He had been stuck once in his life, bogged down in misery and he remembered those days far too well. He never wanted to be in such a terrible position again.

He could easily remember the look on Eva’s face when she had left him in the garage, the sadness that was in her eyes and the grim line that was her mouth. He could remember it because while her lips may have changed into a smile, her sad eyes looked back from the page of their wedding announcement to anyone who wanted to see it.

There was a seed of bitterness planted inside of him, Cesc knew it was there, buried deep down with the resentment he still felt for Cristiano in prison and the disdainful regard he held for his mother. He knew it was there, growing, twisting with the two bitterly poisonous emotions that stayed inside him and he wanted so much for those feeling to go away, to be replaced with something lighter, brighter, better. But they stayed and grew like vines overtaking an ancient ruin. He would not yield like the ancient rock would; he would be stronger than the bitterness and free his mind from the pain. One day.

It was his loneliness that drew him back to these thoughts. He had forgotten Iker’s memory when he was still in Barcelona because he was busy. Busy spending time with Bojan for all the days they would be apart. Busy relaxing with Chente and Villa before they all went their separate ways, well he went away and Villa and Chente remained behind. Busy listening to Sergio’s band and hearing them practice. Busy enjoying Barcelona’s ambience before he would have to say goodbye for many weeks until he could return at Christmas. Busy being a person, an individual with something to look forward to. Busy being himself.

Now that he was alone, however, he became less busy. The monotonous drag of schoolwork and lectures did nothing to ease his mind of burden, only increased it with stifling imagery of what he wanted to forget. He would find himself staring off at the walls, at the rain outside the windows, replaying things Iker had done or said at the beginning before the twisted warped thing he had become later would change that into something mangled and horrible. He would remember the days when he had begged Cristiano to stop his beating but the pleas had fallen on deaf, drunken ears. He recalled when his mother would watch, eyes glazed over as if she would not be physically present when such events occurred, though her body was. He remembered the helpless hopeless dreary existence which he had known so long. He longed to be free of it, but he was not. His mind was still very much in the past when he was alone.

That was why, more than ever, he wished Pep would stay.


The train’s whistle pulled Cesc from the past and brought him crashing back to the present. Pep stood slowly as the train came round the bend towards the station; it was slowing, but it would still be at the station within only a few moments.

“I do like my classes and professors,” Cesc stumbled through the answer to the question his thoughts had derailed him from. “French will be my favorite, I think.”

Pep translated the rushed answer with ease and smiled. “I like French too. Bonne chance,” he added with a smile before moving closer and taking Cesc by the shoulders.

They looked into one another’s eyes for a long moment before Pep spoke.

“You will do well here, I know it. We will write to you, and you write to us. And don’t forget to call us or we will be over here punishing you and wanting to know why there is such silence.” Pep said and pulled Cesc into a hug as the train stopped at the station. “I love you, Cesc.”

Cesc swallowed hard and hugged his uncle back. He didn’t care what anyone thought of the way the young man was desperately clinging to the older gentleman. He didn’t care that he was like a child, hoping that his parent would not be leaving to go far away. He didn’t care that he felt his throat growing thick with emotion and that his eyes threatened to spill tears.

“I love you too, Pep.”

Pep pulled back and nodded once. “Be a good boy, and try not to get into too much trouble.”

He smiled slightly, sparkle very present in his eye before he stepped back and grabbed the suitcase he had brought. “See you at Christmas, Cesc.”

“Goodbye, Pep.” Cesc nodded and stepped back while Pep went to board the train.

He swallowed hard, but that did nothing to remove the large lump that was stuck in his throat. He watched as Pep got on the train and a few moments as he disappeared before he spotted his uncle sat in the seat by the window, waving once at him. Cesc lifted his hand and returned the gesture as the train’s last boarding call came. He kept his eyes on Pep the entire time before slowly, the train began to leave the station a few moments later. When the sound of the train had completely gone and the rain became more present as it grew in intensity, Cesc swallowed hard.

For the first time in two years, Cesc felt utterly and completely alone.