I tell my sorrow to the stones
by thelastfig
1999
The skies are red in the middle of the night; the breeze is unnatural and heavy with heat and sulfur. It's almost summer, but it looks like it's snowing -- if snow were made of ash, paper, and chaos. His ears are ringing and he's not sure if the dull roar outside is the screams of people or from a fire. The shrill whistles of bombs falling shriek over the warning sirens. Each explosion shakes the house, rattles him to the bone. It's slow and foggy in his mind; his eyes stare out the ruined window and he wonders why he is on the floor.
His mother is crying and he feels the strong hands of his father lifting him up off the ground. It's cloudy and it feels like he's being pulled through water, as if he is asleep. He looks down at his body and sees blood, red rivers painting his body and the carpet below him. His father tells him he'll be okay; he's seen panic and fear in his parents' faces before but never the terror he sees now. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the fog in his mind begins to dissipate.
The windows are gone, the glass litters the floor and his skin. Aleks knows pain, Aleks knows fear, and then knows no more.
*
He returns to practice after two days of boredom and anxiety; the bombs come nightly now. The season is winding down and it's not urgent for him to be there. The doctors want him to stay out for longer, but Aleks doesn't want to waste any opportunity. His parents have sacrificed so much for him; being injured is not repaying their faith in him. Scars heal with time, opportunities such as this only come around once. He's only fourteen, nothing more than a child, but he knows showing any weakness now will hurt him deeper than any physical injury. The other boys gather around him, poke at his bandages and bruises on his skin. He ignores them for the most part, puts on a stone face.
"Do they hurt?" Nemanja, Vida, asks him as they're stretching, after he's told the others to leave Aleks alone, and Aleks grimaces as he moves a certain way.
"What do you think?" Alek grumbles.
A wry smile works its way onto Vida's face and he flicks Aleks' ear. Aleks has to look away for a moment. Vida just laughs and moves off to stretch with Vlad. Aleks tells himself it is the combination of the heat and days of inaction which brings the red to his face. He keeps his head down, stays quiet. Occasionally his eyes stray to a certain center back; Vida is a hard worker and Aleks supposes he idolizes the older player a bit. It's hard not to. Vida's skill and confidence are to be envied, everyone knows he'll make the first team next season, and Aleks can only hope people will look at him someday like they look at Vida.
"You have to be a statue out there," Vida tells him later as Aleks changes out the bandages on his arms. Vida grabs the antibiotic ointment and takes care not to hurt Aleks as he helps him apply it. "Always be strong -- laugh off the pitch, not on it. Don't let people see your weakness or what you're thinking."
"Statues can crack," Aleks tells him, scowling when Vida pokes him in one of the deeper cuts.
"The day you crack is the day you lose everything you've worked for." He stands and gives Aleks a faint smile; Aleks sits there and watches him go, sad at the loss of contact.
Aleks wonders if there was a time when children were children and if Serbia will ever know a time where boys don't become men before they're ready to. Aleks has lived through a war, a dissolution of the country he was born in, and the bombing of his city; he wants to go to sleep at night knowing he'll wake up in the morning. Then again, living through this shows him he can live through anything.
He thinks of Vida, nineteen but years older. With a sigh, he grabs his bag and hopes for a night without the air raid siren.
*
2001
On the rare occasion the youth and first squad train together, Aleks finds himself partnered with Vida. It's awkward; Aleks doesn't know what to say or how to act. As it is he settles for silence, which is how they normally are anyway. What used to be a comfortable silence is now unsettling, and he wants to shake Vida, ask him if he's okay, and tell him it's okay if he's not.
Every once in a while a familiar smile makes its way onto Vida's face and he looks up as if looking for Vlad. The smile disappears and a deep-seated frown takes its place. There's an old Yugoslav saying (or is it a Serbian saying now, or does it belong to one of the other countries?) that a man is harder than a rock and more fragile than an egg. Vlad is the first crack on the self-made statue that is Nemanja Vidic.
Aleks has never had anyone close to him die. A family member or two, but no one close enough for Aleks to shed a tear and certainly not his best friend. Vida is different without Vlad next to him, as if half of him is missing. Vida looks thinner, harder than ever, and angry at the world for taking away someone so important to him.
"Nothing is certain and nothing is forever," Vida tells him. "Don't wait for anything -- take what you can before it's all gone."
Aleks knows the words really aren't for him, that these are the words Vida needs to live by to get through this. If his anger were a weapon, it would be a hologram; it's nothing more than a projection to mask self-doubt and uncertainty.
It's an effective hologram -- Aleks watches as Vida pushes himself harder into his idea of a perfect human who is not human at all. He wins the cup and is rewarded with the Captain's armband and his first senior Yugoslav call up. Aleks sees the faint reminders of uneasy times written on his arms; they each carry scars inflicted by others, collateral damage in something much bigger than either of them. Aleks wonders if it's all worth it.
*
2008
The years pass and he never manages to break into the first team at Red Star. Čukarički show interest, and when he finds out Vida is leaving for Moscow, he accepts their offer. Rotting away in the youth team isn't something Aleks wants. The first time he puts on the white jersey, he feels like it is washing away his past. White leads to blue as he bounces around the big clubs of Belgrade (except Partizan, God forbid), and eventually Lazio comes calling. He keeps his head down, puts on the mask of a hardened Balkan player, and when he's pushed humanity as far away from him as possible, he gets his senior team call up.
Aleks doesn't know what to make of this national team. When he was a child he dreamed of putting on the blue Yugoslavian jersey at the senior level. Aleks watched as his country crumbled around him, destroyed by bombs, fire, and men who twisted morality for their own gains. He's played as a Yugoslavian, a Serbian and Montenegrin, and now as Serbia and Montenegro part ways for separate independence, he pulls on a red Serbian jersey. He doubts himself, doubts whether or not he would have been called up if the two countries were still together.
It's the first time he's seen Vida in four years and he's not sure if he should still call him Vida or if he goes by his first name now. He's made a name for himself, so big he swaps the red of Moscow for the red of Manchester. If Aleks is intimidated, no one will see it on his face.
"I knew you'd get here someday," Vida says, and punches him in the arm with a big grin when Aleks calls him Nemanja. "Has Italy made you soft?" Aleks tells him to piss off and Vida smiles widely, the type of smile a shark or wolf would give to its prey. "You'll be fine."
Aleks isn't so sure. He thinks the only reason he's here is because the team split in two and Krstajic and Gavrancic retired from international duty. Aleks can't replace one of the Famous Four, but Vida presses him into trying his hardest. Aleks knows the older player is looking out for him, doing his best to protect him from the politics that plague the team, but he's not really sure why.
"If you're better than all of them, no one can touch you."
It's cold on their walk back to the team hotel. Vida has pulled Aleks back away from most of the group, out of earshot. They walk shoulder to shoulder, just shy of brushing against each other, as Vida tells him who to be wary of and who to never trust. It's a game of power and deception which infiltrates every aspect of the life he's come to know. He steers Aleks past the press waiting outside their hotel with a sharp smile and a firm 'no comment'.
"Don't talk to the press when you're with this team," he tells him when they're back in their room. "They'll twist every word you say and cause you trouble." Aleks raises an eyebrow and Vida snorts. "You haven't changed, have you?"
"I don't know what you mean," Aleks mumbles as he brushes his teeth, watching Vida out of the corner of his eye as he leans against the doorway of the bathroom.
"I think you do," he says, smiling, and Aleks feels like Vida sees right through him.
Later, when they're both in bed and Aleks is about to turn the light off, the older player turns to him and stares for a moment. It's unsettling, being the focus of Nemanja Vidic's consuming gaze, but Aleks doesn't look away.
"When people tell you you're a survivor, ignore them." Vida's voice is soft, nothing like what Aleks has come to know. "You have to be more than that. You can't settle for just surviving."
He reaches across the small space separating their beds and takes Aleks' hand. He squeezes it, gentle at first but then firmer. Aleks doesn't move except to barely nod his head. Vida lets go, but not before tracing one of the scars on Aleks' hand. Aleks sleeps with that hand against his cheek, contemplating Vida's words and trying to navigate a world he doesn't understand.
*
2010
Manchester is everything and nothing he expects. His English is rusty from years of disuse, the only person who speaks Italian other than Mancini is Mario and Mario is not one for conversations. Aleks is alienated through language, culture, and his faulty grasp on humanity. He doesn't understand these English boys with their giant smiles and a type of humor he still struggles with even after swimming through the barrier of their accents. The club supplies him with an English tutor and an interpreter, but it is not enough to keep Aleks from wondering if he's made a huge mistake.
"So the food is bad," Vida tells him with a shrug, "and the weather could be better, but the football is the best and the paycheck is more than generous."
Vida's the one who convinces him to come. They'll be playing for different teams, but he is assured it's nothing like the Eternal derby of Belgrade. In Manchester Aleks will have everything he needs to become a better player; Vida is in Manchester. He signs the papers as soon as they are put in front of him.
Serbia suffers through a horrible World Cup that leaves them at the bottom of their group and on the front of every newspaper back home. Their triumphant defeat of Germany is quickly forgotten as they fall to Australia; Vida, once cherished as indestructible, is torn apart by everyone with an opinion on football. It angers Aleks to see these people who don't see how hard Vida works call him inept. Vida carries the devastating weight of Serbia on his shoulders and the people who should support him cut him down instead. Aleks wants to hate them, but Serbia is already filled with enough of her children hating others. It is evident in the tension in his shoulders and stiffness in his neck that Vida knows what they say despite his assertions he doesn't read or watch news pertaining to their team. Aleks wants to protect Vida from them as Vida once protected Aleks.
The anger and disappointment don't extend to Manchester. Here Nemanja Vidic is a god, and if rumors are to be believed, he will be the next Captain of Manchester United. Aleks doesn't think there is anything Vida can't do. He drags Aleks to a restaurant, smiles and signs autographs, raises an eyebrow at anyone who even begins to look at Aleks the wrong way. Aleks feels like a child again as Vida explains everything to him and steers him through this new country. England shows Aleks weaknesses he kept hidden, flaws he only allows Vida to see. Someone calls him a mercenary and Aleks doesn't understand the word until Vida translates for him.
"It's not true," Vida tells him when they're back at Aleks' makeshift apartment. "They don't know what it's like to have nothing. They don't know what it's like to see their home destroyed and grow up like we did; pity their ignorance."
"I pity anyone who isn't Serbian," Aleks grumbles and Vida chuckles.
"Aleks." Vida draws the 's' in Aleks' name out and Aleks finds himself looking away so Vida doesn't see the heat rising in his cheeks. "Aleks." A laugh.
"I don't understand you," Aleks tells him and Vida raises an eyebrow.
"I think you do."
Vida's smile is wolfish and Aleks is more than aware of how close they are. He takes a step back and hits the wall. The white paint feels coarse on his skin and the heat of their bodies is trapped between them. Vida's eyes are hypnotizing and Aleks, normally in control and made of ice and stone in every situation, feels as if he is laid bare by them.
"You're so cold, Aleks." Vida leans forward and presses a smile against Aleks' frown.
'I am what you told me to be,' Aleks thinks as they stumble toward his bedroom, his heart beating in his ears.
It only takes a few minutes for Vida to overwhelm Aleks' senses, for Aleks to forget everything outside of the room, for Aleks to know everything will work out on its own accord. They're the same height, but everything about Vida seems larger, more powerful, and Aleks' head begins to spin. He doesn't question what they're doing, only knows that he wants this and if he wants it, he's going to have it.
"Aleks..." The way his name sounds on Vida's lips, the way his eyes never leave Aleks', softer than normal but still dominating -- Aleks can't remember a time when he felt as lost and vulnerable as he does now. "Is this what you want?"
Vida's whispered words are hot against his ear and Aleks has to exert all his willpower to not shiver. Aleks wants to tell him yes, wants to fall apart underneath him, but Aleks won't allow anyone to see this frailty he keeps hidden away. Instead, he bites down on the tip of Vida's ear, drawing another laugh from him. As he lies underneath him, Vida's hand encircles them both and Aleks lets out the smallest of noises as he arches up into Vida's grip.
Aleks is nothing more than clay in Vida's hands: Vida is the master sculptor and Aleks is his creation, a poor, flawed self-portrait. He holds himself back to prevent from crumbling, from showing Vida he's still that little boy back in Belgrade with bandages on his arms who needed to be protected, but Vida's having none of it.
"It's okay, Aleks," Vida tells him, and Aleks can feel his smile and teeth against his skin. "Come on."
And Aleks shatters in Vida's grip.
*
2011
They don't qualify for the Euros. Nemanja Vidic is the scapegoat of Serbia; the crowds who adored him and lifted him high have abandoned him. He turns his back on them as well, hanging up his boots for international duty. Vida doesn't tell Aleks, who finds out while walking into Carrington one morning. In an interview Vida says the criticisms of the Serbian people and media have affected him and are a part of his decision to retire. Aleks wonders if the advice Vida gave him ever meant anything; Aleks feels like he's been lied to and made a fool of. It affects his mood for the rest of the day, making him grumpy and irritable. Edin and Stefan give him space, steering clear of him as he pushes harder and plays rougher than normal. Vincent pulls him aside at one point, asks him if everything is alright, but he just shrugs and Vinnie cuffs him on the side of the head to get him focused.
Edin drops him off at home, insists on hugging him and gives him a wide smile. Aleks doesn't understand Edin, but he would like to. He wants to understand how someone who is everything he isn't has everything he wanted. Edin is laughter, good humor and compassion -- someone Aleks was wary of but devotes hours to unraveling. History and current hostilities make them enemies; Edin is the best friend he's ever had within minutes of meeting him.
"No more frowning, Aleks!" Edin giggles, giggles, as he talks, brushes a kiss against Aleks' cheek before he leaves. "Nothing is forever, the clouds will go away."
Those words echo in his mind as he takes his afternoon nap. Aleks dreams he's at the restaurant Vida first took him to. They're eating lunch when Vida begins to turn to stone. Aleks tries to warn him, but he is unable to speak or move; he is already a statue. Time passes and the world goes on around them. They stare at each other, able to move their eyes and witness their descent into obscurity. Eventually they fade, chip, and disappear; they are forgotten.
Aleks wakes up with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He texts Vida to let him know he's on his way over and thirty minutes later he standing on the front doorstep.
"You lied to me," are the first words out of Aleks' mouth and Vida raises an eyebrow at him.
"I never said I was honest."
"Why?"
"Because nothing is worth this."
And there, hidden in his words, is the implication Serbia is not worth this. Nemanja Vidic is Serbia -- struggling to survive while being destroyed from within, something whole ripped apart until no longer recognizable. Aleks sees every crack and flaw, the frail man who emerges from his broken stone shell. Even the mighty fall and in him Aleks sees the future, a future he doesn't want. He feels like he is fourteen again, but now he has no one to guide him and show him how to be.
Aleks leaves without another word.
He drives for a while, the radio off and the sound of the road his only companion. His mind is blissfully blank as he navigates through the clogged motorways and wanders onto the back roads to explore the world outside of his knowledge. It's dark before he thinks of turning around again and he finds himself near Edin's house. He pulls up in the driveway and sits in his car for a few minutes. There's a light on and he knows Edin is still awake, probably watching the terrible Bosnian TV shows he makes Aleks suffer through. When he is ready, he leaves his car and stiffly walks toward the front door. He stands on the steps for another few minutes, until Edin opens the door, peering around the corner of it with a goofy grin on his face.
"Are you a statue?" Edin asks. "You've been standing here forever." His smile fades away when Aleks doesn't return it and he opens the door all the way. "Aleks? Are you alright?"
Aleks shakes his head because no, he's not okay. Edin reaches out and puts a light hand on Aleks' shoulder and pulls him into the house and down onto the couch. He sits with him in silence, a hand on Aleks' leg applying a reassuring pressure.
"It's okay to talk," Edin tells him, patting at the side of his face. "You know that saying? Man is harder than a rock and more fragile than an egg?"
Aleks knows it well. He puts his head on Edin's shoulder and remembers how those same words would echo in his mind as he thought of Vida. Aleks closes his eyes.
"I need your help," Aleks mumbles.
A brilliant smile spreads across Edin's face as he takes Aleks' hands in his. "I thought you'd never ask."
Edin laughs and Aleks wonders if he ever knew who he really was. Aleks feels like something broken within him shatters and is restored as he returns the smile.
1999
The skies are red in the middle of the night; the breeze is unnatural and heavy with heat and sulfur. It's almost summer, but it looks like it's snowing -- if snow were made of ash, paper, and chaos. His ears are ringing and he's not sure if the dull roar outside is the screams of people or from a fire. The shrill whistles of bombs falling shriek over the warning sirens. Each explosion shakes the house, rattles him to the bone. It's slow and foggy in his mind; his eyes stare out the ruined window and he wonders why he is on the floor.
His mother is crying and he feels the strong hands of his father lifting him up off the ground. It's cloudy and it feels like he's being pulled through water, as if he is asleep. He looks down at his body and sees blood, red rivers painting his body and the carpet below him. His father tells him he'll be okay; he's seen panic and fear in his parents' faces before but never the terror he sees now. Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the fog in his mind begins to dissipate.
The windows are gone, the glass litters the floor and his skin. Aleks knows pain, Aleks knows fear, and then knows no more.
*
He returns to practice after two days of boredom and anxiety; the bombs come nightly now. The season is winding down and it's not urgent for him to be there. The doctors want him to stay out for longer, but Aleks doesn't want to waste any opportunity. His parents have sacrificed so much for him; being injured is not repaying their faith in him. Scars heal with time, opportunities such as this only come around once. He's only fourteen, nothing more than a child, but he knows showing any weakness now will hurt him deeper than any physical injury. The other boys gather around him, poke at his bandages and bruises on his skin. He ignores them for the most part, puts on a stone face.
"Do they hurt?" Nemanja, Vida, asks him as they're stretching, after he's told the others to leave Aleks alone, and Aleks grimaces as he moves a certain way.
"What do you think?" Alek grumbles.
A wry smile works its way onto Vida's face and he flicks Aleks' ear. Aleks has to look away for a moment. Vida just laughs and moves off to stretch with Vlad. Aleks tells himself it is the combination of the heat and days of inaction which brings the red to his face. He keeps his head down, stays quiet. Occasionally his eyes stray to a certain center back; Vida is a hard worker and Aleks supposes he idolizes the older player a bit. It's hard not to. Vida's skill and confidence are to be envied, everyone knows he'll make the first team next season, and Aleks can only hope people will look at him someday like they look at Vida.
"You have to be a statue out there," Vida tells him later as Aleks changes out the bandages on his arms. Vida grabs the antibiotic ointment and takes care not to hurt Aleks as he helps him apply it. "Always be strong -- laugh off the pitch, not on it. Don't let people see your weakness or what you're thinking."
"Statues can crack," Aleks tells him, scowling when Vida pokes him in one of the deeper cuts.
"The day you crack is the day you lose everything you've worked for." He stands and gives Aleks a faint smile; Aleks sits there and watches him go, sad at the loss of contact.
Aleks wonders if there was a time when children were children and if Serbia will ever know a time where boys don't become men before they're ready to. Aleks has lived through a war, a dissolution of the country he was born in, and the bombing of his city; he wants to go to sleep at night knowing he'll wake up in the morning. Then again, living through this shows him he can live through anything.
He thinks of Vida, nineteen but years older. With a sigh, he grabs his bag and hopes for a night without the air raid siren.
*
2001
On the rare occasion the youth and first squad train together, Aleks finds himself partnered with Vida. It's awkward; Aleks doesn't know what to say or how to act. As it is he settles for silence, which is how they normally are anyway. What used to be a comfortable silence is now unsettling, and he wants to shake Vida, ask him if he's okay, and tell him it's okay if he's not.
Every once in a while a familiar smile makes its way onto Vida's face and he looks up as if looking for Vlad. The smile disappears and a deep-seated frown takes its place. There's an old Yugoslav saying (or is it a Serbian saying now, or does it belong to one of the other countries?) that a man is harder than a rock and more fragile than an egg. Vlad is the first crack on the self-made statue that is Nemanja Vidic.
Aleks has never had anyone close to him die. A family member or two, but no one close enough for Aleks to shed a tear and certainly not his best friend. Vida is different without Vlad next to him, as if half of him is missing. Vida looks thinner, harder than ever, and angry at the world for taking away someone so important to him.
"Nothing is certain and nothing is forever," Vida tells him. "Don't wait for anything -- take what you can before it's all gone."
Aleks knows the words really aren't for him, that these are the words Vida needs to live by to get through this. If his anger were a weapon, it would be a hologram; it's nothing more than a projection to mask self-doubt and uncertainty.
It's an effective hologram -- Aleks watches as Vida pushes himself harder into his idea of a perfect human who is not human at all. He wins the cup and is rewarded with the Captain's armband and his first senior Yugoslav call up. Aleks sees the faint reminders of uneasy times written on his arms; they each carry scars inflicted by others, collateral damage in something much bigger than either of them. Aleks wonders if it's all worth it.
*
2008
The years pass and he never manages to break into the first team at Red Star. Čukarički show interest, and when he finds out Vida is leaving for Moscow, he accepts their offer. Rotting away in the youth team isn't something Aleks wants. The first time he puts on the white jersey, he feels like it is washing away his past. White leads to blue as he bounces around the big clubs of Belgrade (except Partizan, God forbid), and eventually Lazio comes calling. He keeps his head down, puts on the mask of a hardened Balkan player, and when he's pushed humanity as far away from him as possible, he gets his senior team call up.
Aleks doesn't know what to make of this national team. When he was a child he dreamed of putting on the blue Yugoslavian jersey at the senior level. Aleks watched as his country crumbled around him, destroyed by bombs, fire, and men who twisted morality for their own gains. He's played as a Yugoslavian, a Serbian and Montenegrin, and now as Serbia and Montenegro part ways for separate independence, he pulls on a red Serbian jersey. He doubts himself, doubts whether or not he would have been called up if the two countries were still together.
It's the first time he's seen Vida in four years and he's not sure if he should still call him Vida or if he goes by his first name now. He's made a name for himself, so big he swaps the red of Moscow for the red of Manchester. If Aleks is intimidated, no one will see it on his face.
"I knew you'd get here someday," Vida says, and punches him in the arm with a big grin when Aleks calls him Nemanja. "Has Italy made you soft?" Aleks tells him to piss off and Vida smiles widely, the type of smile a shark or wolf would give to its prey. "You'll be fine."
Aleks isn't so sure. He thinks the only reason he's here is because the team split in two and Krstajic and Gavrancic retired from international duty. Aleks can't replace one of the Famous Four, but Vida presses him into trying his hardest. Aleks knows the older player is looking out for him, doing his best to protect him from the politics that plague the team, but he's not really sure why.
"If you're better than all of them, no one can touch you."
It's cold on their walk back to the team hotel. Vida has pulled Aleks back away from most of the group, out of earshot. They walk shoulder to shoulder, just shy of brushing against each other, as Vida tells him who to be wary of and who to never trust. It's a game of power and deception which infiltrates every aspect of the life he's come to know. He steers Aleks past the press waiting outside their hotel with a sharp smile and a firm 'no comment'.
"Don't talk to the press when you're with this team," he tells him when they're back in their room. "They'll twist every word you say and cause you trouble." Aleks raises an eyebrow and Vida snorts. "You haven't changed, have you?"
"I don't know what you mean," Aleks mumbles as he brushes his teeth, watching Vida out of the corner of his eye as he leans against the doorway of the bathroom.
"I think you do," he says, smiling, and Aleks feels like Vida sees right through him.
Later, when they're both in bed and Aleks is about to turn the light off, the older player turns to him and stares for a moment. It's unsettling, being the focus of Nemanja Vidic's consuming gaze, but Aleks doesn't look away.
"When people tell you you're a survivor, ignore them." Vida's voice is soft, nothing like what Aleks has come to know. "You have to be more than that. You can't settle for just surviving."
He reaches across the small space separating their beds and takes Aleks' hand. He squeezes it, gentle at first but then firmer. Aleks doesn't move except to barely nod his head. Vida lets go, but not before tracing one of the scars on Aleks' hand. Aleks sleeps with that hand against his cheek, contemplating Vida's words and trying to navigate a world he doesn't understand.
*
2010
Manchester is everything and nothing he expects. His English is rusty from years of disuse, the only person who speaks Italian other than Mancini is Mario and Mario is not one for conversations. Aleks is alienated through language, culture, and his faulty grasp on humanity. He doesn't understand these English boys with their giant smiles and a type of humor he still struggles with even after swimming through the barrier of their accents. The club supplies him with an English tutor and an interpreter, but it is not enough to keep Aleks from wondering if he's made a huge mistake.
"So the food is bad," Vida tells him with a shrug, "and the weather could be better, but the football is the best and the paycheck is more than generous."
Vida's the one who convinces him to come. They'll be playing for different teams, but he is assured it's nothing like the Eternal derby of Belgrade. In Manchester Aleks will have everything he needs to become a better player; Vida is in Manchester. He signs the papers as soon as they are put in front of him.
Serbia suffers through a horrible World Cup that leaves them at the bottom of their group and on the front of every newspaper back home. Their triumphant defeat of Germany is quickly forgotten as they fall to Australia; Vida, once cherished as indestructible, is torn apart by everyone with an opinion on football. It angers Aleks to see these people who don't see how hard Vida works call him inept. Vida carries the devastating weight of Serbia on his shoulders and the people who should support him cut him down instead. Aleks wants to hate them, but Serbia is already filled with enough of her children hating others. It is evident in the tension in his shoulders and stiffness in his neck that Vida knows what they say despite his assertions he doesn't read or watch news pertaining to their team. Aleks wants to protect Vida from them as Vida once protected Aleks.
The anger and disappointment don't extend to Manchester. Here Nemanja Vidic is a god, and if rumors are to be believed, he will be the next Captain of Manchester United. Aleks doesn't think there is anything Vida can't do. He drags Aleks to a restaurant, smiles and signs autographs, raises an eyebrow at anyone who even begins to look at Aleks the wrong way. Aleks feels like a child again as Vida explains everything to him and steers him through this new country. England shows Aleks weaknesses he kept hidden, flaws he only allows Vida to see. Someone calls him a mercenary and Aleks doesn't understand the word until Vida translates for him.
"It's not true," Vida tells him when they're back at Aleks' makeshift apartment. "They don't know what it's like to have nothing. They don't know what it's like to see their home destroyed and grow up like we did; pity their ignorance."
"I pity anyone who isn't Serbian," Aleks grumbles and Vida chuckles.
"Aleks." Vida draws the 's' in Aleks' name out and Aleks finds himself looking away so Vida doesn't see the heat rising in his cheeks. "Aleks." A laugh.
"I don't understand you," Aleks tells him and Vida raises an eyebrow.
"I think you do."
Vida's smile is wolfish and Aleks is more than aware of how close they are. He takes a step back and hits the wall. The white paint feels coarse on his skin and the heat of their bodies is trapped between them. Vida's eyes are hypnotizing and Aleks, normally in control and made of ice and stone in every situation, feels as if he is laid bare by them.
"You're so cold, Aleks." Vida leans forward and presses a smile against Aleks' frown.
'I am what you told me to be,' Aleks thinks as they stumble toward his bedroom, his heart beating in his ears.
It only takes a few minutes for Vida to overwhelm Aleks' senses, for Aleks to forget everything outside of the room, for Aleks to know everything will work out on its own accord. They're the same height, but everything about Vida seems larger, more powerful, and Aleks' head begins to spin. He doesn't question what they're doing, only knows that he wants this and if he wants it, he's going to have it.
"Aleks..." The way his name sounds on Vida's lips, the way his eyes never leave Aleks', softer than normal but still dominating -- Aleks can't remember a time when he felt as lost and vulnerable as he does now. "Is this what you want?"
Vida's whispered words are hot against his ear and Aleks has to exert all his willpower to not shiver. Aleks wants to tell him yes, wants to fall apart underneath him, but Aleks won't allow anyone to see this frailty he keeps hidden away. Instead, he bites down on the tip of Vida's ear, drawing another laugh from him. As he lies underneath him, Vida's hand encircles them both and Aleks lets out the smallest of noises as he arches up into Vida's grip.
Aleks is nothing more than clay in Vida's hands: Vida is the master sculptor and Aleks is his creation, a poor, flawed self-portrait. He holds himself back to prevent from crumbling, from showing Vida he's still that little boy back in Belgrade with bandages on his arms who needed to be protected, but Vida's having none of it.
"It's okay, Aleks," Vida tells him, and Aleks can feel his smile and teeth against his skin. "Come on."
And Aleks shatters in Vida's grip.
*
2011
They don't qualify for the Euros. Nemanja Vidic is the scapegoat of Serbia; the crowds who adored him and lifted him high have abandoned him. He turns his back on them as well, hanging up his boots for international duty. Vida doesn't tell Aleks, who finds out while walking into Carrington one morning. In an interview Vida says the criticisms of the Serbian people and media have affected him and are a part of his decision to retire. Aleks wonders if the advice Vida gave him ever meant anything; Aleks feels like he's been lied to and made a fool of. It affects his mood for the rest of the day, making him grumpy and irritable. Edin and Stefan give him space, steering clear of him as he pushes harder and plays rougher than normal. Vincent pulls him aside at one point, asks him if everything is alright, but he just shrugs and Vinnie cuffs him on the side of the head to get him focused.
Edin drops him off at home, insists on hugging him and gives him a wide smile. Aleks doesn't understand Edin, but he would like to. He wants to understand how someone who is everything he isn't has everything he wanted. Edin is laughter, good humor and compassion -- someone Aleks was wary of but devotes hours to unraveling. History and current hostilities make them enemies; Edin is the best friend he's ever had within minutes of meeting him.
"No more frowning, Aleks!" Edin giggles, giggles, as he talks, brushes a kiss against Aleks' cheek before he leaves. "Nothing is forever, the clouds will go away."
Those words echo in his mind as he takes his afternoon nap. Aleks dreams he's at the restaurant Vida first took him to. They're eating lunch when Vida begins to turn to stone. Aleks tries to warn him, but he is unable to speak or move; he is already a statue. Time passes and the world goes on around them. They stare at each other, able to move their eyes and witness their descent into obscurity. Eventually they fade, chip, and disappear; they are forgotten.
Aleks wakes up with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. He texts Vida to let him know he's on his way over and thirty minutes later he standing on the front doorstep.
"You lied to me," are the first words out of Aleks' mouth and Vida raises an eyebrow at him.
"I never said I was honest."
"Why?"
"Because nothing is worth this."
And there, hidden in his words, is the implication Serbia is not worth this. Nemanja Vidic is Serbia -- struggling to survive while being destroyed from within, something whole ripped apart until no longer recognizable. Aleks sees every crack and flaw, the frail man who emerges from his broken stone shell. Even the mighty fall and in him Aleks sees the future, a future he doesn't want. He feels like he is fourteen again, but now he has no one to guide him and show him how to be.
Aleks leaves without another word.
He drives for a while, the radio off and the sound of the road his only companion. His mind is blissfully blank as he navigates through the clogged motorways and wanders onto the back roads to explore the world outside of his knowledge. It's dark before he thinks of turning around again and he finds himself near Edin's house. He pulls up in the driveway and sits in his car for a few minutes. There's a light on and he knows Edin is still awake, probably watching the terrible Bosnian TV shows he makes Aleks suffer through. When he is ready, he leaves his car and stiffly walks toward the front door. He stands on the steps for another few minutes, until Edin opens the door, peering around the corner of it with a goofy grin on his face.
"Are you a statue?" Edin asks. "You've been standing here forever." His smile fades away when Aleks doesn't return it and he opens the door all the way. "Aleks? Are you alright?"
Aleks shakes his head because no, he's not okay. Edin reaches out and puts a light hand on Aleks' shoulder and pulls him into the house and down onto the couch. He sits with him in silence, a hand on Aleks' leg applying a reassuring pressure.
"It's okay to talk," Edin tells him, patting at the side of his face. "You know that saying? Man is harder than a rock and more fragile than an egg?"
Aleks knows it well. He puts his head on Edin's shoulder and remembers how those same words would echo in his mind as he thought of Vida. Aleks closes his eyes.
"I need your help," Aleks mumbles.
A brilliant smile spreads across Edin's face as he takes Aleks' hands in his. "I thought you'd never ask."
Edin laughs and Aleks wonders if he ever knew who he really was. Aleks feels like something broken within him shatters and is restored as he returns the smile.