Where the wind whispers

Title: The Captain and The Kid (Part 1 of at least 2, could be more)
Pairing: Bojan Krkic, Iker Casillas ; Sergio Ramos, David Silva, Fernando Torres, Xavi, Carles Puyol, Gerard Pique implied
Rating: PG-13 [for now ;-)]
Prompt: 004. Spain
Words: 1371 (apparently my days of writing little fics are over O_o)
A/N: Totally and 1000% notsostrange’s fault. Completely fiction too because I have no idea when Bojan will be called up again and who they would play when it happens. So…FICTION!!! =-D Sorry if it’s not as good as it could be, I’m putting my energy into NaNo so I apologize if it’s not brilliant =-\



Bojan was really starting to grow tired of the looks.

Sure he was younger than everybody here, sure he wasn’t as ‘experienced’ as the others when it came to practicing with them. Sure he was nervous, who wouldn’t be, right? Did that give anyone the right to stare at him as if he were a specimen sample underneath a microscope?

No matter what he thought about the situation, he soon came to realize that not only were Barcelona fans staring at him, as they had always done, but now Spain fans across the world were as well. The press followed his (as they did the others), fans started to hound him even more for autographs, and random people on the street were watching him as if he were challenging King Juan Carlos for his throne.

He had taken to staying in his room for most of the day when he did not absolutely have to come out. He refused to call it hiding; he would never admit to that. His roommate, Silva, was quiet and usually left him in tranquil quiet. Silva offered Bojan the option to come along every time he would go out, but Bojan refused politely. The quiet Canarian would shrug it off and leave for several hours on end.

Gerard, Xavi, Carles, and even Andres had come by to make sure that he was okay. Each offered that if he needed anything at all (or as Pique had said, “Beer? Women? You need it, call me.”) that he was simply to ask and they would come running. Bojan had nodded and politely refused each of their offers, citing that he just wanted to be alone.

It wasn’t that he did not want the company, he wouldn’t mind it if his friends hung around for a while. He just didn’t want to see their stares, the questions in their eyes, or even the fear or worry that he wouldn’t make it on the squad. Bojan already had those fears on his own; he didn’t need a reminder from his friends.

In training, Bojan would make sure that he could play just as good as any of the others. He wanted to prove that, while he may be young, he was just as good a footballer as the rest of the members of the squad—even the ones that had been there a while longer.

And then that day happened.

It was another day in practice, regular routine drills, and then Bojan was assigned to practice penalties against Iker. At first Bojan had just been flat out nervous that he would try to put one past their leading goalkeeper, and the captain.

As he approached the place where they had set him up to take the penalty kicks, Iker walked out to talk to him for a minute. Bojan had to swallow at the sheer aura that Iker Casillas had about him. The last time Bojan had seen him this up close had been when the man had welcomed him to the squad in the first place.

“Relax, breathe.” Iker said when he noticed how nervous the boy was. “It’s just another penalty. This is practice anyway. These kicks don’t matter.”

“I-I don’t take penalties.” Bojan confessed and felt his face flush red-hot. Iker just continued to look at him. “At Barça they never—”

Iker nodded and put a heavy hand covered in keeper’s glove on his shoulder and squeezed. “Well then,” his voice was light and teasing. “Take your frustrations out on me.”

Iker winked and walked back to take his place in front of the goal. Bojan swallowed. Iker had winked at him; he had teased him. It wasn’t the teasing from the other’s either, this was the kind of teasing that helped him.

Iker made the motion that he was ready and Bojan took a few steps backwards. In his mind, he didn’t see a man standing in front of a net. He saw the frustration of not starting at Barça, the looks he received from his friends, the looks he was receiving almost on a daily basis from everyone who came in contact with him.

As he ran forward, Bojan kicked the ball with as much force as his small frame could muster, which proved to be quite a lot.

Iker dove to the left, ball passing his fingers by mere centimeters. As Iker righted himself, he had a stunned grin on his face. Around the pitch, others were watching him with stunned amazement.

“I knew you could do it.” Iker said as he came to him again. He winked once more before he backed off so Gerard could congratulate him with a huge hug that lifted him off the ground.

Amidst the congratulatory pats on the back for getting one past San Iker, all Bojan could see was the man in front of the net, adjusting his gloves and waiting for another practice penalty shot.


That night, as Bojan lay in bed reading a book, he thought about Iker. He was a good captain; he was quiet but knew how to put people in line if they needed it. Bojan had overheard Sergio telling Fernando that Iker was available again…whatever that meant. Bojan didn’t even know the man had a girlfriend and why should Sergio be so excited over that anyway?

A knock came on his door and Bojan couldn’t help but groan. Gerard had come by twice already to ask if he wanted to go eat to celebrate his amazing string of penalties during practice (he had gotten eight out of ten by the time practice was over).

Bojan groaned and flung open the door with closed eyes. “As you can see, I’m already for bed so the answer is still no.”

From the silence, Bojan opened his eyes and felt his entire body flush. Iker had an amused lift to his lips. “Should I be asking what the ‘no’ was answer to?”

Bojan squeaked, something he would never admit to, and ducked back inside to find a terry cloth robe that the hotel was always providing for its guests. “Come in, sorry, sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Relax kid, you’re fine.” Iker says as he shuts the door behind himself. Bojan frowns at the word ‘kid’ but doesn’t comment; he was focused more on trying to cool his face down. “I just came by to check on you. You’re never at the ‘team bonding’ things, like…poker night.”

“I don’t play poker.” Bojan says and sits down on his bed. “I’m fine. I was reading.”

Iker looks over at the book and raises an eyebrow. “Impressive reading.”

Bojan blushes again. “Thanks.”

Iker looks around the room, looking for what Bojan doesn’t know. When he seems satisfied that he has found whatever it was he was looking for, Iker speaks. “Well, feel free to come join us one night. The boys are pretty fun when they all get together. And remember kid, we were all new once too.” Iker considers that for a moment. “Except we weren’t as young as you. At least we don’t feel like it now.”

Iker laughs at a joke inside his head, it’s a humorless laugh.

The other man stands up and starts for the door. “You did very well in practice today.” Iker shoots him a smile over his shoulder. “Very well.”

Bojan nods grateful for the praise, especially from a seasoned player. “Thank you.”

Iker nods and smiles once more. “Well, I’ll leave you to your reading. I’ll see you in the morning for breakfast. Eat light, we have a match to play tomorrow.”

Bojan absorbs the instructions and nods as Iker lets himself out. Before the door closes, Iker calls back into the room. “Goodnight.”

Bojan sighs. “Goodnight.” The door is already shut now so the goalkeeper didn’t hear him.

He relaxes against the pillows and opens his book to the page he left. He would just be sitting on the bench tomorrow anyway. A few extra strawberries wouldn’t hurt him and besides, he loved strawberries.

Bojan licks his lips at the thought of his breakfast in the morning and begins to read, completely unaware of the things that were already in play for his future.