Miserable At Best Chapter Four
Title: Miserable At Best
Chapter: 4/6
Pairings: David Villa/David Silva
Rated: PG13
Disclaimer: Only true in my wildest dreams.... so not at all
Warning: Brief mention of femslash and psuedo polyamourous relationships. This also hasn't been beta'ed so sorry if there are mistakes I didn't catch.
Notes: Deals with Silva's move to Manchester and Villa's move to Barcelona. Lot's of angst. Also a bit crack-tastic and based off a couple in an open relationship that I knew.
Miserable At Best
Somewhere in between last June and today, you have become a god. The media hounds you for interviews and every company wants you to be their new spokesman. People in the streets stare at you with reverence and while you wanted this when you were younger, you realize how foolish that dream was. You feel like a monkey living inside a glass box. Do this, wear that, show up and talk here, receive this award, smile and pretend like you aren’t broken on the inside.
Now you’re one step away from history. Well, technically you have already cemented your name in history, but now you’re taking it one step further. You have tied with Raul as the all time goal scorer for Spain. One more goal and you’ll be the top scorer… until someone else comes along and beats your record. It doesn’t matter; you haven’t scored for Spain in a while. If you become the all time high goal scorer, does that mean you’ll be cruelly cast aside someday as Raul was?
Barcelona is still an uncomfortable fit. Your team is great and thankfully you’re playing well, but the city itself is hard to get used to. You miss Valencia and the comfort it afforded you. You miss your old teammates. You miss him- the stolen moments, waking up in a tangled mess, those smiling eyes, and the way your bodies fit together.
Perhaps it is too late, but you’ve realized how reprehensibly you have treated the man you love. Despite Silva’s belief that he is to blame for taking you away from your family, you believe any and all blame belongs to you. You played with the affections of a single man and held him back from finding any happiness away from you. Instead of letting him be in a relationship, you forced him into a secret tryst. How could he be happy knowing that he wasn’t the one you were married to? The answer is simple- he couldn’t be happy and you’re a horrible person for putting through it all.
“Daddy?”
You’ve been sitting in your living room, staring out the window, deep in thought, a wine glass in your hand. Apparently you’ve been moodier than normal, at least, that’s what you’ve heard via the grapevine (aka Patricia told Olalla who told Fernando who told you). Your own daughter looks hesitant at entering the room, a small frown on her normally bubbly face.
“Come here Zaida,” you smile at her and she launches herself onto your lap, a flurry of pink. “How are you?”
“Why are you sad, Daddy?” She stares up at you with these large eyes and you feel like someone has punched you.
“Why do you think I’m sad?”
“Because your face is sad- no smiles.” Her eyes dart around the room making sure you’re alone. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“You can tell me anything princess,” you wonder what secrets a four year old could have.
“Mommy says you’re sad because Enano is not here with you. I miss him too.”
“She said that?” Your heart skips a beat.
“Mommy says people are sad when their hearts are broken- did Enano break your heart?
The glass in your hand falls, shattering on the hard floor. Zaida’s jaw drops comically and you would laugh if you weren’t so alarmed. If your four year old knows why you are upset than your wife must also know. You take a deep breath and stand up, carefully placing your daughter on the floor far away from the glass.
“Can you please find me a garbage bag and some towels while I find the broom?” You ask her and she nods, running towards the kitchen.
She is waiting for you when you return from your search for the broom, which was ironically hiding in the back of the closet. Her innocent eyes follow you as you clean your mess, making sure there is no glass left on the floor. You will not have any of your girls bleeding or crying over your mistakes- any of your mistakes.
“Zaida,” you pick up your daughter when you are done cleaning and return to the chair, placing her on your lap. “David and I had a… we had a fight.”
“Why?”
How do you explain your sordid affair to a four year old? It is not common for a child to understand that while Daddy loves Mommy, Daddy also loves Uncle David. Daddy likes girls and boys. Daddy is cheating on Mommy. Daddy broke Uncle David’s heart.
“Uncle David and I shared something special,” you tell her sadly, “and we were not careful and it broke. Now we’re both sad we don’t have it and we don’t live close to each other and can’t fix it.”
“Can’t you buy a new one?”
You shake your head. “No, there was only one.”
“Zaida, its bed time.”
Your wife’s voice is soft and looking up, you become conscious to the fact that she’s been standing in the doorway of the room. There’s an indescribable look on her face and you know she has heard everything. You cannot pretend like nothing happened. It is time for you to confess.
“Goodnight Daddy,” Zaida presses a kiss to your cheek before scampering from the room. “Goodnight Mommy.”
You stare at your wife as your daughter’s footsteps fade away. You don’t know what to say to her. Will she cry, scream, or just ignore you? Will she leave you and take your daughters? Will she tell the press? Most important- will she ever forgive you?
“This is for you,” she hands you a piece of paper.
Scanning it, you realize it’s a plane ticket to Manchester and it was purchased a few weeks ago. How long has Patricia known?
“Patricia, I-” you just don’t know what to say as your mind is in turmoil.
“David, you don’t ever have to be sorry,” she sits in the chair across from you. “You are an excellent father and husband.”
“Excellent husbands are allowed to cheat on their wives with other men?” You throw out sarcastically.
“I would have asked you to stop if I was not okay with it.”
“I never told you. You don’t even know how long-”
“Three months before the Euro Cup,” she says with a wink and you are baffled that she is not angry and that she has not said anything for over two years. “David, I’m your wife, and a woman, of course I know these things.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
“I think you’ve suffered long enough by your own hand, and you’ve punished yourself more than I ever could.” You turn your head away from her as your eyes begin to burn with the telltale sign of tears. “Oh cariño, please don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry Patricia,” you choke out as the guilt finally overtakes you, and you press your face into your hands so she won’t see your shameful tears. “I’m so sorry.”
“David,” she stands from her chair and sits on your lap and you are reminded of when you were younger and she would sit with you when you were upset, “when we were married, I promised that I would do all in my power to make you happy. I am smart enough to see that David makes you happy and connects with you in ways that I cannot. I want you to find happiness in him too.”
“But, I …,” you trail off, not knowing how to tell her that David brings you more than happiness.
“You cannot help who you fall in love with,” she places a dainty hand over your heart and you’re surprised you haven’t burst into flames yet. “Your heart doesn’t always listen to reason or what society says is normal. We both know that you love him and are suffering without him.”
“I love you.”
“I know you love me,” she smiles reassuringly, interlacing your fingers with hers. “If I thought you didn’t, I wouldn’t be here. I would concede defeat. Life is too short to not have love. It is okay for you to love two of us- it means your heart is big enough.”
“But aren’t you…,” angry, jealous, sad, or any combination thereof?
“The love of a man is different than the love of a woman,” she tells you and something in her voice tells you she’s speaking from personal experience.
“You’re seeing someone?” You ask and she just smiles. “Who?”
“Someone who understands me like David understands you.” She leans forward and kisses you. “And no, you are not allowed to be jealous or angry.”
Jealous or angry aren’t the right words to describe the confused jumble of emotions racing through your mind. No, you’re not exactly allowed to be jealous or angry after seeing someone else for this long. You wonder if Patricia loves this woman as much as you love Silva. This was turning into a damn telenovela.
“Your plane leaves tomorrow morning before the girls will be awake,” she says, standing up and straightening her clothing. “You should say goodbye.”
You allow her to pull you to your feet and give you a gentle push up the stairs. In a fog, you stick your head into Zaida’s room and see she’s not there, but the light in the bathroom is on so she’s probably brushing her teeth. Going into the nursery, brain waves begin to occur and as you stare down at Olaya, everything clicks into place. The weekend trips to England, vacations together, and your youngest daughter’s name. The signs have been in front of you for a long time but you’ve been too wrapped up with Silva to notice that your wife was also pursuing someone else. Patricia and Olalla? A grin comes onto your face; you know something Fernando doesn’t know, but he’s right- that’s hot. You wonder if…
“No, you can’t watch,” Patricia says as she walks to the master bedroom.
Damn it.
Covering Olaya with a blanket she kicked off, you lean down and brush a soft kiss on her forehead. She frowns and her little fist comes up to batter away whatever is trying to disturb her peace. Even though she’s still a baby her irritated scrunched up face lets you know someday she’ll be delivering glares as lethal as yours, preferably at boys who are too forward. Most excellent.
Making sure her baby monitor is on you close the door to her room and zip over to Zaida’s room where you hear her speaking. You assume she’s speaking to Patricia or an imaginary friend until you see a phone pressed against her ear and you eavesdrop for a moment to figure out who your four year old felt the need to call.
“... if I find you a new one than you and Daddy can be happy again and you’ll come home,” she says and a bolt of fear shoots through you as you realize who she’s talking to. “I miss you Enano.”
“Zaida,” you say quietly, wincing as she turns around and shrieks ‘Daddy’, “who are you talking to?”
“Uh…,” her eyes look down before looking up hopefully and proclaiming, “Tinkerbelle.”
“Please don’t lie to me.”
“Fine,” she pouts and looks down at her feet. “Enano.”
“Can I have the phone?”
She grudgingly holds the phone out to you and you think that perhaps having female progeny who can bitchface as well as you isn’t such a good thing. There aren’t many things more terrifying than a pink tutu’ed, pigtailed, bitchfacing four year old.
“David?”
“Hello Villa.”
Two words from him are like the first drops of water to your parched bond and you feel that bond pulling you to him, compelling you to act now. You haven’t heard his voice in months, aside from interviews you watched on youtube in secret, and you sigh. There’s so much you want to say to him: come home, you were never my whore, we belong together, I love you. Then you realize you’re standing it what is possibly the pinkest room in existence with your four year old bitchfacing you while you breathe heavily into a phone with your ex-lover on the other end. Way to be a creep.
“I’m sorry that she bothered you this late,” you finally manage to say rather robotically.
“It’s fine, she’s never a bother,” Silva mumbles.
“… How are you?”
“Fine. You?”
Terrible, miserable, heartbroken. “Fine.” There’s another awkward pause. “David, listen, I want to tell you-”
“DAVID, what’s taking so long?” A familiar voice yells from the background.
“Is that Fernando?” You ask, wincing as your words come out with more edge than you would have liked. “David, please don’t tell me that you and Fernando-”
“David, it’s freezing, come back to bed,” you hear Fernando’s voice again and you suddenly wish you had punched the bastard out cold when you had the chance.
“Oh…” you trail off, not sure if you should feel angry or betrayed.
“We’re not-” Silva begins to say but you cut him off.
“You don’t have to explain,” you take a deep breath in and out. “I just wanted to say that I miss you.”
“David, the heat cut out and we’re watching a movie in my room because it’s the warmest room,” Silva tells you and you don’t fail to notice the sardonic tone of his voice.
“Oh,” way to be a douche bag Villa, “I’m sorry, I just, uh…”
“Assumed that I had a moral dilemma fucking a married man and ended it to clear my conscience and then started seeing another married man? Glad to know you think so highly of me.” There’s a certain venom in his voice that you’ve never heard before and your jaw tightens.
“I’m sorry; it’s none of my business.”
There’s a sigh on his end of the line. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you. Look, this isn’t a conversation I want to have right now.”
“Then when? You don’t return my calls,” you say, attempts to sound non accusatory failing.
“Then the next time we see each other in person… I guess that won’t be until February or March since we won’t get called up until then.”
“That’s months from now.”
“I have to go.”
“David, please-”
“Goodnight.”
He hangs up the phone and you sigh as you end the call on your end. You would chuck the phone at the wall but you have two good reasons not to. The first is hobbit height and angry at you for making her precious do-no-wrong Enano hang up the phone without saying goodbye to her. The second is the plane ticket in your back pocket. Nice try Silva, but there’s an ace up your sleeve he doesn’t know about. You’re not waiting three months to fix this, you’re fixing it tomorrow.