Fic: Poldi’s Plan of Perfection
Title: Poldi’s Plan of Perfection
Author: firetruckyouxx
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4451
Pairings, Characters: implied Sami Khedira/Mesut Özil, background Lukas Podolski/Bastian Schweinsteiger, cameos from the German NT
Genre/Warnings: Crack, mild nudity
Summary: Poldi develops an elaborate scheme (with the help of a very reluctant Mesut and more willing Bastian) to bring Sami to Arsenal and away from those grubby Spanish dudes from Real Madrid.
Author's Note: For fc_smorgasbord's challenge. The prompt: They are calling you home. With all the transfer rumors flying and Poldi and his antics during and after the World Cup, I just couldn’t not write this.
Mesut knows his decision is a mistake when he walks into Lukas’ hotel room in Brazil and almost every surface is covered in blueprints and papers with drawings and scribbles on them. Actually, Mesut knows his decision was a mistake even before he made it. This is Lukas Podolski he is dealing with, the king of outrageous and ridiculous plans and schemes.
“Aha, Mesut, glad you could make it!” Poldi says warmly and he strolls out of what Mesut assumes is the in-suite bathroom. His muscular arms are spread out wide and then he clasps his hands together in front of his chest. “Schweini should be here any moment and then we can get started. He just went for a coffee run.”
Mesut is thoroughly surprised by the fact that Bastian hasn’t either killed Poldi yet or demanded that he cleaned up the disaster that he created. Although Basti is not the most OCD-driven person Özil has ever met, he would have definitely had a fit when he saw the state that Poldi left it in. What you do for love, Mesut guess.
“So, what’s up?” he asks apprehensively, still eyeing the mess of papers.
“We are bringing Sami to Arsenal,” Lukas declares brightly, picking up an overstuff file and taking out the first paper in the pile. He hands it to Mesut with a bright smile and his trademark thumbs up.
“Um,” Mesut looks down at the paper in his hand, scanning what presumably is either a list or a multi-step plan. He doesn’t know which one he prefers. “Okay? How, though?”
Mesut hears a keycard being placed in the lock and the door swings open to reveal a smiling Bastian, holding three coffees and a bakery take-away bag in his hands.
“Good morning, Mesut,” he greets as he enters the suite and hands each of its occupants a coffee before setting the bag on the paper-covered desk. Mesut nods back and turns back to Lukas, who is rifling through the file.
“Aha!” Lukas exclaims happily and slips a packet out the file. “So, here’s the plan. Step of Poldi’s Plan of Perfection…”
•-•
“Just think about it, Mesut, you two would get to be together all the time again, not just at national duty!” Poldi tells him when Mesut starts to protest this whole scheme as he reads through the whole plan. “Plus, we have to get him away from those grubby Spanish guys, especially after the 2010 World Cup and Euros!”
Mesut looks at him with disbelief and glares at Bastian when he sees him nodding, too, saying, “Don’t forget about Champion’s League against Bayern.” Poldi nods at that, too, because Bayern, despite the mediocre performance there, is a team he still, and probably always will, feel protective of.
“You do realize that a large portion of the team is not Spanish, correct?” Mesut reminds them slowly as if he is talking to children, which, honestly, he feels like he is. “Also that I was on that team for a couple of years, too, and all of the guys were really nice to me, even despite my lack of understanding of the Spanish language, okay?”
“Whatever, that is not relevant, okay? Fact is that Sami is the only German on the team when he could be one of the four Germans with us at Arsenal!” Poldi says.
Mesut replies, “Actually, there are rumors flying around that Toni is considering moving to Real,” while Bastian says, “Yeah, isn’t your motto ‘You’ll never walk alone?’” Poldi and Mesut both quiet down and just stare at the Bayern player with twin incredulous looks, shaking their heads in disapproval. “What?” Bastian questions, his eyebrows
“That is Liverpool, you idiot!” Poldi finally finds his voice to speak, smacking Basti on the back on the head. Basti tries to swat away his hand, yelling at him to quit it. “How did you get us mixed up with Liverpool?” Not that Poldi has anything really against Liverpool, he quite likes Steven Gerrard and the players down there, but really?
“I don’t know, all the Premier teams are basically all the same to me; all you guys wear the same shade of red with white accents,” Bastian explains with a simple shrug after Poldi seized fire.
“You wear red, too, you idiot!” Poldi reminds him, hitting him one more time in the back of the head for good measure.
“Yes, but the difference is that everyone else has different colors in my league.”
Mesut and Lukas share an eye roll and Lukas is quick to get back on task, which is deciding what the best course of action is from there.
•-•
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Mesut tells Bastian when Poldi leaves the room in search of more paper. “I mean, Sami is very happy in Madrid. At least he was when I was there.”
Basti shrugs. “I just want to get my revenge for the Champion’s League last year.”
Özil sighs and looks down at the paper that Poldi handed him again. “Just…let’s see how the first step goes,” he says, more to himself than Bastian.
•-•
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Mesut looks unsure, as he looks down at himself. His bare legs are getting goosebumps as he stands above the air conditioning vent. “I thought this was the fifth step.“
“Yes, it will,” Poldi says firmly, “but only if you do it correctly. And the first four steps were useless anyway. We might as well just go for the kill while we still can.”
Bastian is standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, and gives Mesut two thumbs-up as he opens the door to his and Sami’s hotel room. Casting one more slightly terrified look back at his teammates, Mesut enters the room, where Sami is lying on his bed, laptop in his lap.
“Hey,” he says to Mesut without looking up, eyes intent on whatever was on the screen. And when Mesut doesn’t offer a greeting back, he looks up. The view that greets him widens his eyes and reddens his cheeks. “Um, Mesut?”
“Hi,” is all Mesut says, his cheeks stained bright red.
“Why are you wearing your Arsenal kit?” There’s a pause. “And why aren’t you wearing any pants?”
“Um.” Mesut stares down at his socked feet. He couldn’t believe the thing that he is about to say.
Sami raises a flustered eyebrow.
“There will be more of this if you join Arsenal,” he manages to squeak out, becoming impossibly redder.
“Mesut, are you okay?” Sami begins to move off the bed and closer to his friend. “What’s going on?”
Through the door, Mesut can hear Lukas shouting, “This is why you have to join Arsenal, Khedira!”
Sami groans loudly and stalks over to the door and swings it open. Lukas and Bastian share back at him with twin innocent smiles. “Nice day out, isn’t it, Basti? I wonder how the weather is back in London, hm?” Lukas queries.
“Are you starting up this campaign again?” Sami asks vainly because he knows exactly what's going here. It’s been happening since winter transfer went through and Poldi would call him all night long, talking about how great it would be if Sami came to Arsenal.
“We could create a German colony in the middle of London!” Poldi would say to him when he’d call at three in the morning. “We would be the German kings of England!” Needlessly to say, Sami would hang up and put his phone on silent.
“Maybe,” Poldi say coyly with a dazzling smile.
“Why did you get involve Mesut in your insanity?” Sami demands and then, almost as an afterthought, “And why isn’t he wearing any pants?” He looks back at the younger man’s bare legs and a slightly horrifying thought crosses his mind. “Are you wearing anything under there?!” Mesut just blushes harder and hardens his gaze on the ground. “Oh my god.”
“We have to try and appeal to you in a way the other teams don’t,” Lukas says simply, shrugging.
“And this is the way you try to do that?” Sami exclaims, his voice cracking slightly, as he flails his arms back in Mesut’s direction. “This is basically prostitution, Poldi!”
Mesut, who was still flushing red, squeaks and pushes his way out of the room, past Sami, Lukas and Bastian, and down the hallway. Just as he opens the door of Basti and Poldi’s room, he hears Sami call after him, sounding dejected. Another door opens in the hall just as Özil is entering the room and he hears a confused and slightly horrified Toni ask, “Why is Özil not wearing pants?”
Poldi turns to his younger teammate and replies earnestly, “For the greater good,” and with that, he takes Bastian by the hand and drags him back to their room and that end of the hall, the door slamming behind them.
•-•
“Okay, so we might have gone in a little too strong,” Lukas admits later, once Özil’s face turns back to its normal pale.
“You think?” he huffs sarcastically, his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his face. “How am I supposed to sleep in the same room with him now?”
“You can worry about that later,” Poldi tells him, waving his hand around as if he is trying to dispel Mesut’s negativity. “Maybe we should try step one first.”
Bastian nods thoughtfully as he reads over the plan once more. Mesut, on the other hand, is a lot less supportive as he smacks his palm against his forehead and then glares at his club teammate with a fury that is only reserved for David Villa. Why he is still in the room is a mystery even to him. He could always just hide out in Philip and Miro’s room or even Mats and Benedikt’s room if he wanted.
“So, here’s how we are going to do this,” Poldi begins to say but then, purely for Mesut’s benefit, says, “And we can’t afford any screw ups this time, okay guys? Everything has to be perfect, right, Mesut?”
Mesut feels a strong urge to throw something at the forward but instead just rolls his eyes.
•-•
“Okay, there he is!” Poldi hisses at his friends, openly pointing to Sami, who is sitting in the viewing room with a book in his lap.
Mesut slaps at his teammate’s hand and glares openly at him. “Dude, stop. He’s going to notice something is up if you keep pointing and him like that!”
Poldi pouts at his friend and turns to Bastian for comfort but the other midfielder just shrugs and mumbles, “He’s got a point, you know.” Poldi glares at both of them and crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.
A thought pops into Mesut’s idea. “Where is Per? Why isn’t he involved in this plan?”
Poldi shrugs. “I can never find him. No matter though, when he decides to grace us with his presence, I’ll just kidnap him and force him to help us out.”
Basti raises an eyebrow. “And how do you expect to do that? He is a lot bigger than you, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Poldi says, waving his hand around as if to dismiss to the comment. “He’ll help out anyway, me kidnapping him or not. Anyway, we’re wasting time arguing like this! Now, let’s commence step one, which is actually step two, now, I guess, of this plan.”
Mesut and Bastian share an eyeroll but follow their friend. They sit at one of the tables in the room, close enough for Sami to be in eyeshot of their conversation but far enough that they don’t look too “suspicious” as Lukas put it. Mesut thinks the three of them together will always look suspicious, no matter how hard they try to be nonchalant.
“So, Mesut, like we were just saying,” Poldi starts, totally cool as a cucumber, he thinks, “isn’t Arsenal just a blast? We have such a good time playing football. It’s even better than playing at Real Madrid, right?” His eyes are on Sami on the whole time, who barely looked up from his book since they entered the room.
Mesut doesn’t say anything, his lips pursed, until Poldi elbows him in the ribs. He grunts on impact and glares at him. If looks could kill, Poldi would have been dead before he was even born. “Um, yes, Arsenal is very fun.” When Poldi glares at him, he adds, “Much more fun than Real Madrid, yes.”
Lukas sends him what he probably thinks is a subtle thumbs up before turning to Basti and giving him a look. Bastian rolls his eyes, and like he is reading from a script, says, “Yes, you guys seemed to be having a good time when we played you. You guys also play good football.”
Mesut opens his mouth to mutter a comment about Real Madrid football but like telepathy, Lukas glares darkly at his companion, which makes his mouth shut with a low click. Lukas opens his mouth to continue speaking but is halted by the noise of a book shutting and a chair squeaking as it is pushed back. The three teammates turn their head to watch Sami walk out of the room, muttering about how he cannot find any peace and quiet in their hotel.
There’s a pause and then Poldi says, “So I think we can call that a success.”
Basti and Mesut share an incredulous look as Poldi turns his back to lead them out of the viewing room.
•-•
A couple days later, Poldi rounds the troops again, which consists of a tired Mesut and a panicky Basti, who is trying to tell a distracted Lukas that Philip had called the entire team down for a meeting and that they needed to be in screening room like five minutes ago. Even though Philip is not a big man, he sure is fierce when he wants to be.
“Lukas, come on, this is more important than getting Sami to Arsenal!” Bastian is trying to reason with him but Poldi is too busy scribbling in his notebook to fully listen to what he’s saying. “Lukas.”
“I hear you loud and clear, Basti, yup,” Poldi just mumbles back, aggressively crossing out whatever he just wrote.
Bastian rolls his eyes and turns to Mesut, who is looking around for a coffee mug, and says, “Come on, Özil, I’m sure there’s coffee downstairs. Let’s leave this bum so we don’t get in trouble for his stupidity and obsession with this ‘project.’”
Mesut nods and makes a move to follow him but Lukas is quicker, jumping up off the bed with a loud “Aha!” and then looks at his two counterparts. “What are you two doing? Don’t you know we have a meeting right now?” he asks dramatically before running out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
Bastian lets out a long-suffering sigh and Mesut shoots him a sympathetic look. “I don’t understand how you deal with him,” he tells him, patting his shoulder.
“Funny, I find myself wondering that all the time,” Bastian sighs in reply as they follow Poldi out of the room.
When they get down to the screening room, the whole team is already there with Philip in the front of the room. He looks thoroughly unimpressed by the late arrival, especially from his vice-captain, if the death glare he sends Basti’s way is anything to go on. Bastian is already dreading the next captains meeting Philip will no doubt call in the near future.
They sit in the back, near where Mats is falling asleep on Benedikt’s shoulder, which is what Mesut wants to be doing right now, but in a bed, not on Benny, while Benedikt is half-heartedly attempting to keep him awake. Sami is sitting closer to front at a table with Toni and Miro, who are both listening intently to whatever Philip is saying.
Poldi scans the room for an open seat near Sami, and barely holds back a triumphant “Aha!” when he finds that the couch a few feet from the table is completely empty. He pokes the back of Mesut’s head, who shoots him a lazy glare, and points at the couch. Mesut sighs and lazily slips out of his seat as Poldi drags him and an unwilling Bastian, who is trying to make up for being late by not causing any ruckus, towards the couch.
“Dude, Philip will actually kill you if you don’t stop,” Bastian hisses at him when Poldi won’t stop moving around to try and get the couch as close to Sami as possible without being suspicious. “He’s sending you the death glare. Stop before you get us all in trouble.”
Lukas sends a pout in Bastian’s direction and settle back in his seat. Bastian lets out a relieved breath when Philip’s eyes leave their direction and he hisses to Lukas, “If he makes us run extra laps tomorrow, you’re on your own.”
Poldi pointedly ignores him, eyes still on Sami with a determined gleam in his eye and Mesut just groans but doesn’t comment on his friend’s creepy staring. The rest of the meeting goes on without a hitch, mostly due to Basti and Philip’s collective glaring. When Philip dismisses all of them except for Bastian, the vice-captain sighs defeatedly and tells the two to not wait up for him. Mesut shoots him a pitying stare and sends him off with a few comforting words.
“Okay, Mesut, this is our chance!” Poldi says, grabbing Mesut’s skinny arm and dragging him over to where Sami is still sat at the table, conversing with Miro.
“No, no, no!” Özil chants quietly, trying to break out of Lukas’ iron grip. “Let go of me, you asshole! Do you even have a plan?!”
“Stop fighting it, Mesut! You’re drawing attention to us!” Poldi hisses back, glancing around at their teammates, who are rolling their eyes, used to Poldi’s antics.
“Well if you would let go of me, I wouldn’t be drawing attention to us!”
Poldi glares at him but lets up his death grip. Özil slips his wrist of his hand and rubs the red patch that is quickly forming on the lightly tanned skin.
“He’s getting away!” Poldi moans when Sami and Miro stand up and walk out of the room, still deep in conversation. Mesut rolls his eyes and drags Lukas out of the room but when he sees Sami heading in the direction of the rooms, he pulls Lukas into the opposite direction, towards the pool.
“Isn’t it a nice day out? Why don’t we plan our next course of action by the pool, huh?” Mesut asks hurriedly.
Poldi brightens up. “Yeah, I haven’t been by the pool area yet. Basti and I were going to go later but I guess he’s all wrapped up in being responsible.” He pulls out his phone and sends Bastian a quick text, telling him to meet them outside when he was done speaking with their captain.
Mesut lets out a relieved sigh and relaxes as they exit the building.
•-•
“No, no way,” Mesut says with an incredulous eyebrow raised. Poldi couldn’t be serious. “We can’t kidnap our teammate! He’s not going to want to come to Arsenal at all if we almost kill him!”
Poldi rolls his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, Mesut. We’re not going to kill him, just kidnap. There’s a huge difference!”
Basti sighs, trying not to get involved. Mesut, meanwhile, reminds the forward, “What happened to sticking with the plan? I thought we weren’t going to stray again!”
“Yes, but that will get us nowhere! We need to just go for the kill!” Poldi protests.
“Yeah, look how well that went last time,” Bastian can’t help but mutter under breath. Poldi hears it, though, and pouts at him. “Please stop that, you know it’s true, Poldi.” That, unfortunately for Basti, just makes Poldi pout more.
“I still think the best course of action is to kidnap him,” Poldi mutters.
Mesut walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
•-•
When the World Cup starts, their plans get pushed to the back seat as the focus becomes solely on football. They decimate Portugal in their first game with a hat trick from Thomas and a goal from Mats, who everyone flocks to at the end of the game, hoping his injury is only temporary. They don’t celebrate their win wildly, unlike the Americans, who (rightfully) party after they beat Ghana, but they don’t sulk in silence, like the Spaniards, who lick their wounds after being completely destroyed by the Dutch team. Poldi can’t say he really feels bad for the reigning champions, especially after the 2010 World Cup elimination and the two Euro wins.
When they get out of the group stage undefeated, Poldi almost completely forgets his quest as he watches from the sidelines with his injury as his team wins over and over again. He feels triumph and hunger for the trophy start to overwhelm him as the final begins to seem like the blinding but tangible light at the end of a dark road, especially after the monstrous win against Brazil, the hosts and a spot in the final.
Needless to say, Poldi has more important things to worry about than getting Sami to Arsenal when the transfer window doesn’t end for at least another month. That is until they do in fact win the World Cup. After the euphoria of winning and holding the trophy that he’s been dreaming about since he was a kid in his hands subsides a little bit, Poldi makes it his life mission to get Sami to sign with his club.
“Mesut, Per, come with me! I have the perfect plan!” Lukas commands his Arsenal teammates, looking around for Basti, too, because he is part of the plan as much as they are. When he can’t find in the crowd of their teammates and families, he shrugs and pulls the two he has with him over to where Sami is getting interviewed on the field.
“Should I be worried?” Per mumbles to Mesut, who just fixes him with a look that says this is Lukas Podolski, you should always be worried.
When they get into earshot of Sami’s interview, Poldi begins to chant “Arsenal! Arsenal!” over and over again. Mesut and Per look at their teammate in mild horror and fascination while Sami rolls his eyes at his antics. The press is going to go crazy, he knows, especially with all the transfer rumors floating around about him.
After Sami finishes his interview, he walks over to where the three Arsenal players are standing, well Mesut and Per are sort of hiding behind Lukas, and punches Lukas hard in the arm. Despite the pain that blossoms in his forearm, he continues to smile brightly and follows Sami when he stalks away from them and towards where Lena is standing, watching them with her hand over her mouth to try and stop the snickers that keep escaping it.
•-•
After they board the plane back to Berlin, Poldi makes an effort to sit next to Sami, or at least near him, but Sami purposefully makes it as difficult as possible for him to get anywhere close to him. Mesut and Bastian watch on, amused, as Poldi struggles to bargain with Thomas and Lisa for their seats. Eventually, Poldi gives up and slinks back to his seat, next to Bastian, and spends a majority of the first few hours pouting until some of the guys begin to start partying again.
When they arrive in Berlin hours later, they have a blast at the celebratory parties. But this time, Lukas does not forget his task, and at every opportunity he gets, tries to make Sami think about Arsenal and transferring. He continues to chant “Arsenal! Arsenal! Arsenal!” during Sami’s interviews, which sets the press off even more, and grants Sami an angry phone call from his agent, informing him that newspapers and sports blogs would not stop badgering him for information about the transfer.
The last straw is when Lukas calls Lena one night and asks, “Hey Lena, how much do you like London?”
“Oh, I absolutely love London,” she replies slyly, trying to contain the laugh that is rising up in her throat.
“And you wouldn’t mind move there, right?” he asks earnestly.
“No, of course not. London is a lovely city,” she replies, playing dumb. “Why? Is this about Sami?”
“Oh, no reason, don’t worry about it,” Lukas says innocently. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you soon, okay? Maybe we’ll grab before you guys leave for holiday, okay?”
“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later, Poldi.”
Lukas calls Sami almost immediately after he gets off the phone with Sami’s girlfriend and rushes out, “Lena wants to move to London so now you have to come play for Arsenal,” before Sami even has the chance to say “hello.”
Instead of getting angry, all Sami says is, “You do realize Chelsea plays in London, too, right?”
Poldi gasps in disbelief. “You wouldn’t--” but Sami has already hung up on him.
Sami calls his girlfriend into their bedroom and sits her down with a pointed expression.
“Can I help you?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, struggling to contain her laughter at his angry expression.
“I know what you’re doing,” he informs her with his hands on his hips. “Why do you feel the need to egg him on?” And just like that, Lena loses it, laughing so hard that she has tears in her eyes and she almost falls off the bed. Sami just groans and mutters, “I surround myself with the worst people.”
•-•
“I called my agent to ask about setting up a meeting with Arsenal, okay? So stop bothering me and getting my girlfriend to turn on me,” Sami says into the phone and then hangs up before Lukas has a chance to response. Nevertheless, Lukas lets out a loud “Aha!” and punches the arm with his fist triumphantly.
He then calls Mesut to inform him of the happy news. Mesut perks up at the news and says, “That’s fantastic!”
“Isn’t it?” Poldi replies, letting out a happy sigh. “Now all we have to do is get Basti to Arsenal.”
“Oh no.” Mesut sighs but stays on the phone as Poldi rambles about how having five Germans would be better than having four.
Author: firetruckyouxx
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4451
Pairings, Characters: implied Sami Khedira/Mesut Özil, background Lukas Podolski/Bastian Schweinsteiger, cameos from the German NT
Genre/Warnings: Crack, mild nudity
Summary: Poldi develops an elaborate scheme (with the help of a very reluctant Mesut and more willing Bastian) to bring Sami to Arsenal and away from those grubby Spanish dudes from Real Madrid.
Author's Note: For fc_smorgasbord's challenge. The prompt: They are calling you home. With all the transfer rumors flying and Poldi and his antics during and after the World Cup, I just couldn’t not write this.
Mesut knows his decision is a mistake when he walks into Lukas’ hotel room in Brazil and almost every surface is covered in blueprints and papers with drawings and scribbles on them. Actually, Mesut knows his decision was a mistake even before he made it. This is Lukas Podolski he is dealing with, the king of outrageous and ridiculous plans and schemes.
“Aha, Mesut, glad you could make it!” Poldi says warmly and he strolls out of what Mesut assumes is the in-suite bathroom. His muscular arms are spread out wide and then he clasps his hands together in front of his chest. “Schweini should be here any moment and then we can get started. He just went for a coffee run.”
Mesut is thoroughly surprised by the fact that Bastian hasn’t either killed Poldi yet or demanded that he cleaned up the disaster that he created. Although Basti is not the most OCD-driven person Özil has ever met, he would have definitely had a fit when he saw the state that Poldi left it in. What you do for love, Mesut guess.
“So, what’s up?” he asks apprehensively, still eyeing the mess of papers.
“We are bringing Sami to Arsenal,” Lukas declares brightly, picking up an overstuff file and taking out the first paper in the pile. He hands it to Mesut with a bright smile and his trademark thumbs up.
“Um,” Mesut looks down at the paper in his hand, scanning what presumably is either a list or a multi-step plan. He doesn’t know which one he prefers. “Okay? How, though?”
Mesut hears a keycard being placed in the lock and the door swings open to reveal a smiling Bastian, holding three coffees and a bakery take-away bag in his hands.
“Good morning, Mesut,” he greets as he enters the suite and hands each of its occupants a coffee before setting the bag on the paper-covered desk. Mesut nods back and turns back to Lukas, who is rifling through the file.
“Aha!” Lukas exclaims happily and slips a packet out the file. “So, here’s the plan. Step of Poldi’s Plan of Perfection…”
•-•
“Just think about it, Mesut, you two would get to be together all the time again, not just at national duty!” Poldi tells him when Mesut starts to protest this whole scheme as he reads through the whole plan. “Plus, we have to get him away from those grubby Spanish guys, especially after the 2010 World Cup and Euros!”
Mesut looks at him with disbelief and glares at Bastian when he sees him nodding, too, saying, “Don’t forget about Champion’s League against Bayern.” Poldi nods at that, too, because Bayern, despite the mediocre performance there, is a team he still, and probably always will, feel protective of.
“You do realize that a large portion of the team is not Spanish, correct?” Mesut reminds them slowly as if he is talking to children, which, honestly, he feels like he is. “Also that I was on that team for a couple of years, too, and all of the guys were really nice to me, even despite my lack of understanding of the Spanish language, okay?”
“Whatever, that is not relevant, okay? Fact is that Sami is the only German on the team when he could be one of the four Germans with us at Arsenal!” Poldi says.
Mesut replies, “Actually, there are rumors flying around that Toni is considering moving to Real,” while Bastian says, “Yeah, isn’t your motto ‘You’ll never walk alone?’” Poldi and Mesut both quiet down and just stare at the Bayern player with twin incredulous looks, shaking their heads in disapproval. “What?” Bastian questions, his eyebrows
“That is Liverpool, you idiot!” Poldi finally finds his voice to speak, smacking Basti on the back on the head. Basti tries to swat away his hand, yelling at him to quit it. “How did you get us mixed up with Liverpool?” Not that Poldi has anything really against Liverpool, he quite likes Steven Gerrard and the players down there, but really?
“I don’t know, all the Premier teams are basically all the same to me; all you guys wear the same shade of red with white accents,” Bastian explains with a simple shrug after Poldi seized fire.
“You wear red, too, you idiot!” Poldi reminds him, hitting him one more time in the back of the head for good measure.
“Yes, but the difference is that everyone else has different colors in my league.”
Mesut and Lukas share an eye roll and Lukas is quick to get back on task, which is deciding what the best course of action is from there.
•-•
“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Mesut tells Bastian when Poldi leaves the room in search of more paper. “I mean, Sami is very happy in Madrid. At least he was when I was there.”
Basti shrugs. “I just want to get my revenge for the Champion’s League last year.”
Özil sighs and looks down at the paper that Poldi handed him again. “Just…let’s see how the first step goes,” he says, more to himself than Bastian.
•-•
“Are you sure this is going to work?” Mesut looks unsure, as he looks down at himself. His bare legs are getting goosebumps as he stands above the air conditioning vent. “I thought this was the fifth step.“
“Yes, it will,” Poldi says firmly, “but only if you do it correctly. And the first four steps were useless anyway. We might as well just go for the kill while we still can.”
Bastian is standing behind him, arms wrapped around his waist, and gives Mesut two thumbs-up as he opens the door to his and Sami’s hotel room. Casting one more slightly terrified look back at his teammates, Mesut enters the room, where Sami is lying on his bed, laptop in his lap.
“Hey,” he says to Mesut without looking up, eyes intent on whatever was on the screen. And when Mesut doesn’t offer a greeting back, he looks up. The view that greets him widens his eyes and reddens his cheeks. “Um, Mesut?”
“Hi,” is all Mesut says, his cheeks stained bright red.
“Why are you wearing your Arsenal kit?” There’s a pause. “And why aren’t you wearing any pants?”
“Um.” Mesut stares down at his socked feet. He couldn’t believe the thing that he is about to say.
Sami raises a flustered eyebrow.
“There will be more of this if you join Arsenal,” he manages to squeak out, becoming impossibly redder.
“Mesut, are you okay?” Sami begins to move off the bed and closer to his friend. “What’s going on?”
Through the door, Mesut can hear Lukas shouting, “This is why you have to join Arsenal, Khedira!”
Sami groans loudly and stalks over to the door and swings it open. Lukas and Bastian share back at him with twin innocent smiles. “Nice day out, isn’t it, Basti? I wonder how the weather is back in London, hm?” Lukas queries.
“Are you starting up this campaign again?” Sami asks vainly because he knows exactly what's going here. It’s been happening since winter transfer went through and Poldi would call him all night long, talking about how great it would be if Sami came to Arsenal.
“We could create a German colony in the middle of London!” Poldi would say to him when he’d call at three in the morning. “We would be the German kings of England!” Needlessly to say, Sami would hang up and put his phone on silent.
“Maybe,” Poldi say coyly with a dazzling smile.
“Why did you get involve Mesut in your insanity?” Sami demands and then, almost as an afterthought, “And why isn’t he wearing any pants?” He looks back at the younger man’s bare legs and a slightly horrifying thought crosses his mind. “Are you wearing anything under there?!” Mesut just blushes harder and hardens his gaze on the ground. “Oh my god.”
“We have to try and appeal to you in a way the other teams don’t,” Lukas says simply, shrugging.
“And this is the way you try to do that?” Sami exclaims, his voice cracking slightly, as he flails his arms back in Mesut’s direction. “This is basically prostitution, Poldi!”
Mesut, who was still flushing red, squeaks and pushes his way out of the room, past Sami, Lukas and Bastian, and down the hallway. Just as he opens the door of Basti and Poldi’s room, he hears Sami call after him, sounding dejected. Another door opens in the hall just as Özil is entering the room and he hears a confused and slightly horrified Toni ask, “Why is Özil not wearing pants?”
Poldi turns to his younger teammate and replies earnestly, “For the greater good,” and with that, he takes Bastian by the hand and drags him back to their room and that end of the hall, the door slamming behind them.
•-•
“Okay, so we might have gone in a little too strong,” Lukas admits later, once Özil’s face turns back to its normal pale.
“You think?” he huffs sarcastically, his arms crossed over his chest and a pout on his face. “How am I supposed to sleep in the same room with him now?”
“You can worry about that later,” Poldi tells him, waving his hand around as if he is trying to dispel Mesut’s negativity. “Maybe we should try step one first.”
Bastian nods thoughtfully as he reads over the plan once more. Mesut, on the other hand, is a lot less supportive as he smacks his palm against his forehead and then glares at his club teammate with a fury that is only reserved for David Villa. Why he is still in the room is a mystery even to him. He could always just hide out in Philip and Miro’s room or even Mats and Benedikt’s room if he wanted.
“So, here’s how we are going to do this,” Poldi begins to say but then, purely for Mesut’s benefit, says, “And we can’t afford any screw ups this time, okay guys? Everything has to be perfect, right, Mesut?”
Mesut feels a strong urge to throw something at the forward but instead just rolls his eyes.
•-•
“Okay, there he is!” Poldi hisses at his friends, openly pointing to Sami, who is sitting in the viewing room with a book in his lap.
Mesut slaps at his teammate’s hand and glares openly at him. “Dude, stop. He’s going to notice something is up if you keep pointing and him like that!”
Poldi pouts at his friend and turns to Bastian for comfort but the other midfielder just shrugs and mumbles, “He’s got a point, you know.” Poldi glares at both of them and crosses his arms over his chest like a petulant child.
A thought pops into Mesut’s idea. “Where is Per? Why isn’t he involved in this plan?”
Poldi shrugs. “I can never find him. No matter though, when he decides to grace us with his presence, I’ll just kidnap him and force him to help us out.”
Basti raises an eyebrow. “And how do you expect to do that? He is a lot bigger than you, remember?”
“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Poldi says, waving his hand around as if to dismiss to the comment. “He’ll help out anyway, me kidnapping him or not. Anyway, we’re wasting time arguing like this! Now, let’s commence step one, which is actually step two, now, I guess, of this plan.”
Mesut and Bastian share an eyeroll but follow their friend. They sit at one of the tables in the room, close enough for Sami to be in eyeshot of their conversation but far enough that they don’t look too “suspicious” as Lukas put it. Mesut thinks the three of them together will always look suspicious, no matter how hard they try to be nonchalant.
“So, Mesut, like we were just saying,” Poldi starts, totally cool as a cucumber, he thinks, “isn’t Arsenal just a blast? We have such a good time playing football. It’s even better than playing at Real Madrid, right?” His eyes are on Sami on the whole time, who barely looked up from his book since they entered the room.
Mesut doesn’t say anything, his lips pursed, until Poldi elbows him in the ribs. He grunts on impact and glares at him. If looks could kill, Poldi would have been dead before he was even born. “Um, yes, Arsenal is very fun.” When Poldi glares at him, he adds, “Much more fun than Real Madrid, yes.”
Lukas sends him what he probably thinks is a subtle thumbs up before turning to Basti and giving him a look. Bastian rolls his eyes, and like he is reading from a script, says, “Yes, you guys seemed to be having a good time when we played you. You guys also play good football.”
Mesut opens his mouth to mutter a comment about Real Madrid football but like telepathy, Lukas glares darkly at his companion, which makes his mouth shut with a low click. Lukas opens his mouth to continue speaking but is halted by the noise of a book shutting and a chair squeaking as it is pushed back. The three teammates turn their head to watch Sami walk out of the room, muttering about how he cannot find any peace and quiet in their hotel.
There’s a pause and then Poldi says, “So I think we can call that a success.”
Basti and Mesut share an incredulous look as Poldi turns his back to lead them out of the viewing room.
•-•
A couple days later, Poldi rounds the troops again, which consists of a tired Mesut and a panicky Basti, who is trying to tell a distracted Lukas that Philip had called the entire team down for a meeting and that they needed to be in screening room like five minutes ago. Even though Philip is not a big man, he sure is fierce when he wants to be.
“Lukas, come on, this is more important than getting Sami to Arsenal!” Bastian is trying to reason with him but Poldi is too busy scribbling in his notebook to fully listen to what he’s saying. “Lukas.”
“I hear you loud and clear, Basti, yup,” Poldi just mumbles back, aggressively crossing out whatever he just wrote.
Bastian rolls his eyes and turns to Mesut, who is looking around for a coffee mug, and says, “Come on, Özil, I’m sure there’s coffee downstairs. Let’s leave this bum so we don’t get in trouble for his stupidity and obsession with this ‘project.’”
Mesut nods and makes a move to follow him but Lukas is quicker, jumping up off the bed with a loud “Aha!” and then looks at his two counterparts. “What are you two doing? Don’t you know we have a meeting right now?” he asks dramatically before running out of the room, leaving the door open behind him.
Bastian lets out a long-suffering sigh and Mesut shoots him a sympathetic look. “I don’t understand how you deal with him,” he tells him, patting his shoulder.
“Funny, I find myself wondering that all the time,” Bastian sighs in reply as they follow Poldi out of the room.
When they get down to the screening room, the whole team is already there with Philip in the front of the room. He looks thoroughly unimpressed by the late arrival, especially from his vice-captain, if the death glare he sends Basti’s way is anything to go on. Bastian is already dreading the next captains meeting Philip will no doubt call in the near future.
They sit in the back, near where Mats is falling asleep on Benedikt’s shoulder, which is what Mesut wants to be doing right now, but in a bed, not on Benny, while Benedikt is half-heartedly attempting to keep him awake. Sami is sitting closer to front at a table with Toni and Miro, who are both listening intently to whatever Philip is saying.
Poldi scans the room for an open seat near Sami, and barely holds back a triumphant “Aha!” when he finds that the couch a few feet from the table is completely empty. He pokes the back of Mesut’s head, who shoots him a lazy glare, and points at the couch. Mesut sighs and lazily slips out of his seat as Poldi drags him and an unwilling Bastian, who is trying to make up for being late by not causing any ruckus, towards the couch.
“Dude, Philip will actually kill you if you don’t stop,” Bastian hisses at him when Poldi won’t stop moving around to try and get the couch as close to Sami as possible without being suspicious. “He’s sending you the death glare. Stop before you get us all in trouble.”
Lukas sends a pout in Bastian’s direction and settle back in his seat. Bastian lets out a relieved breath when Philip’s eyes leave their direction and he hisses to Lukas, “If he makes us run extra laps tomorrow, you’re on your own.”
Poldi pointedly ignores him, eyes still on Sami with a determined gleam in his eye and Mesut just groans but doesn’t comment on his friend’s creepy staring. The rest of the meeting goes on without a hitch, mostly due to Basti and Philip’s collective glaring. When Philip dismisses all of them except for Bastian, the vice-captain sighs defeatedly and tells the two to not wait up for him. Mesut shoots him a pitying stare and sends him off with a few comforting words.
“Okay, Mesut, this is our chance!” Poldi says, grabbing Mesut’s skinny arm and dragging him over to where Sami is still sat at the table, conversing with Miro.
“No, no, no!” Özil chants quietly, trying to break out of Lukas’ iron grip. “Let go of me, you asshole! Do you even have a plan?!”
“Stop fighting it, Mesut! You’re drawing attention to us!” Poldi hisses back, glancing around at their teammates, who are rolling their eyes, used to Poldi’s antics.
“Well if you would let go of me, I wouldn’t be drawing attention to us!”
Poldi glares at him but lets up his death grip. Özil slips his wrist of his hand and rubs the red patch that is quickly forming on the lightly tanned skin.
“He’s getting away!” Poldi moans when Sami and Miro stand up and walk out of the room, still deep in conversation. Mesut rolls his eyes and drags Lukas out of the room but when he sees Sami heading in the direction of the rooms, he pulls Lukas into the opposite direction, towards the pool.
“Isn’t it a nice day out? Why don’t we plan our next course of action by the pool, huh?” Mesut asks hurriedly.
Poldi brightens up. “Yeah, I haven’t been by the pool area yet. Basti and I were going to go later but I guess he’s all wrapped up in being responsible.” He pulls out his phone and sends Bastian a quick text, telling him to meet them outside when he was done speaking with their captain.
Mesut lets out a relieved sigh and relaxes as they exit the building.
•-•
“No, no way,” Mesut says with an incredulous eyebrow raised. Poldi couldn’t be serious. “We can’t kidnap our teammate! He’s not going to want to come to Arsenal at all if we almost kill him!”
Poldi rolls his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, Mesut. We’re not going to kill him, just kidnap. There’s a huge difference!”
Basti sighs, trying not to get involved. Mesut, meanwhile, reminds the forward, “What happened to sticking with the plan? I thought we weren’t going to stray again!”
“Yes, but that will get us nowhere! We need to just go for the kill!” Poldi protests.
“Yeah, look how well that went last time,” Bastian can’t help but mutter under breath. Poldi hears it, though, and pouts at him. “Please stop that, you know it’s true, Poldi.” That, unfortunately for Basti, just makes Poldi pout more.
“I still think the best course of action is to kidnap him,” Poldi mutters.
Mesut walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
•-•
When the World Cup starts, their plans get pushed to the back seat as the focus becomes solely on football. They decimate Portugal in their first game with a hat trick from Thomas and a goal from Mats, who everyone flocks to at the end of the game, hoping his injury is only temporary. They don’t celebrate their win wildly, unlike the Americans, who (rightfully) party after they beat Ghana, but they don’t sulk in silence, like the Spaniards, who lick their wounds after being completely destroyed by the Dutch team. Poldi can’t say he really feels bad for the reigning champions, especially after the 2010 World Cup elimination and the two Euro wins.
When they get out of the group stage undefeated, Poldi almost completely forgets his quest as he watches from the sidelines with his injury as his team wins over and over again. He feels triumph and hunger for the trophy start to overwhelm him as the final begins to seem like the blinding but tangible light at the end of a dark road, especially after the monstrous win against Brazil, the hosts and a spot in the final.
Needless to say, Poldi has more important things to worry about than getting Sami to Arsenal when the transfer window doesn’t end for at least another month. That is until they do in fact win the World Cup. After the euphoria of winning and holding the trophy that he’s been dreaming about since he was a kid in his hands subsides a little bit, Poldi makes it his life mission to get Sami to sign with his club.
“Mesut, Per, come with me! I have the perfect plan!” Lukas commands his Arsenal teammates, looking around for Basti, too, because he is part of the plan as much as they are. When he can’t find in the crowd of their teammates and families, he shrugs and pulls the two he has with him over to where Sami is getting interviewed on the field.
“Should I be worried?” Per mumbles to Mesut, who just fixes him with a look that says this is Lukas Podolski, you should always be worried.
When they get into earshot of Sami’s interview, Poldi begins to chant “Arsenal! Arsenal!” over and over again. Mesut and Per look at their teammate in mild horror and fascination while Sami rolls his eyes at his antics. The press is going to go crazy, he knows, especially with all the transfer rumors floating around about him.
After Sami finishes his interview, he walks over to where the three Arsenal players are standing, well Mesut and Per are sort of hiding behind Lukas, and punches Lukas hard in the arm. Despite the pain that blossoms in his forearm, he continues to smile brightly and follows Sami when he stalks away from them and towards where Lena is standing, watching them with her hand over her mouth to try and stop the snickers that keep escaping it.
•-•
After they board the plane back to Berlin, Poldi makes an effort to sit next to Sami, or at least near him, but Sami purposefully makes it as difficult as possible for him to get anywhere close to him. Mesut and Bastian watch on, amused, as Poldi struggles to bargain with Thomas and Lisa for their seats. Eventually, Poldi gives up and slinks back to his seat, next to Bastian, and spends a majority of the first few hours pouting until some of the guys begin to start partying again.
When they arrive in Berlin hours later, they have a blast at the celebratory parties. But this time, Lukas does not forget his task, and at every opportunity he gets, tries to make Sami think about Arsenal and transferring. He continues to chant “Arsenal! Arsenal! Arsenal!” during Sami’s interviews, which sets the press off even more, and grants Sami an angry phone call from his agent, informing him that newspapers and sports blogs would not stop badgering him for information about the transfer.
The last straw is when Lukas calls Lena one night and asks, “Hey Lena, how much do you like London?”
“Oh, I absolutely love London,” she replies slyly, trying to contain the laugh that is rising up in her throat.
“And you wouldn’t mind move there, right?” he asks earnestly.
“No, of course not. London is a lovely city,” she replies, playing dumb. “Why? Is this about Sami?”
“Oh, no reason, don’t worry about it,” Lukas says innocently. “Listen, I have to go. I’ll call you soon, okay? Maybe we’ll grab before you guys leave for holiday, okay?”
“Sounds good. I’ll talk to you later, Poldi.”
Lukas calls Sami almost immediately after he gets off the phone with Sami’s girlfriend and rushes out, “Lena wants to move to London so now you have to come play for Arsenal,” before Sami even has the chance to say “hello.”
Instead of getting angry, all Sami says is, “You do realize Chelsea plays in London, too, right?”
Poldi gasps in disbelief. “You wouldn’t--” but Sami has already hung up on him.
Sami calls his girlfriend into their bedroom and sits her down with a pointed expression.
“Can I help you?” she asks with a raised eyebrow, struggling to contain her laughter at his angry expression.
“I know what you’re doing,” he informs her with his hands on his hips. “Why do you feel the need to egg him on?” And just like that, Lena loses it, laughing so hard that she has tears in her eyes and she almost falls off the bed. Sami just groans and mutters, “I surround myself with the worst people.”
•-•
“I called my agent to ask about setting up a meeting with Arsenal, okay? So stop bothering me and getting my girlfriend to turn on me,” Sami says into the phone and then hangs up before Lukas has a chance to response. Nevertheless, Lukas lets out a loud “Aha!” and punches the arm with his fist triumphantly.
He then calls Mesut to inform him of the happy news. Mesut perks up at the news and says, “That’s fantastic!”
“Isn’t it?” Poldi replies, letting out a happy sigh. “Now all we have to do is get Basti to Arsenal.”
“Oh no.” Mesut sighs but stays on the phone as Poldi rambles about how having five Germans would be better than having four.