Title: Everything Magical
Pairing: Xabi Alonso/Steven Gerrard
Summary: A first kiss fic. Not the one video-taped at Istanbul, I promise. Well, actually, it depends on how you see it. =P
Warnings: Just a dash of sugar?
Disclaimer: We all know that this is just a fan girl's dream. Or at least it seems like a dream only. Who knows? (^^,)
Feedbacks: Are always loved.

I watched the 2005 final the other day and an old idea resurfaced.

I watched the 2005 final last night and an old idea resurfaced.

two part fic reminder: go write xabi!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Stevie

He turned to look at the person sleeping next to him. Even in his sleep, Xabi could sense Stevie's eyes on him and twitched. Stevie gathered his lover closer as he thought back to their first kiss.

Do you remember it? It was in plain sight. The whole world was watching. At that moment, kissing you was the only thought running through my mind. A lot was made about our Istanbul kiss. The one where I offered you my lips and you reached out to accept it.

But that wasn't our first kiss. No, indeed it wasn't.

Earlier that night, Gattuso caught me in the penalty box just as I was about to shoot for goal. You stepped up for the penalty.

If I could pick one player on the team to take that penalty, I would have picked you. I was confident that you'd get it right, but at the same time I was so scared that you wouldn't. It was our chance. Our one chance. 

You knew it too. 

Carra was still trying to convince the ref to send Gattuso off. You already had the ball in your hand, pale as a ghost. I could see your eyes wandering, deciding where to put it in. Your nerves were wrecked and I knew that you had to take it soon or it would get the best of you.

I stepped in between Carra and the ref, asking if we could just get on with it.

You placed the ball on the white dot and looked every which way but the one spot that you were going to kick it. I knew the spot you had in mind because I saw where your eyes were before you put the ball down.

You took a deep breath and ran.

I held my breath.

When Dida pushed it away, my heart fell. For that split second, I knew what it felt like to have my heart torn away and stomped into pieces. After such an unbelievable six minutes, it looked as thought it won't be our night after all. The match would be relegated to history books as just another Champions League final where the better team won.

Then you caught the rebound.

How can I explain what I felt? How it was like to soar from the lowest of low the the highest of high in a second? It was as if I was pulled from despair and lifted to the skies.

By you.

It took me what felt like a long moment to recover from the shock caused by the sudden turnaround of my feelings. When I finally woke up, I saw you being chased by Baros. I sprinted towards you, wanting to be the first one to celebrate with you. I didn't quite manage it.

It didn't stop me from doing the other thing I wanted. For being there, for getting the goal, for making my dream possible...

I wanted to kiss you.

I slid across the grass to get to your face. The other lads were piling on top of us, but it didn't matter. I wanted to kiss you then and I did. Just at the corner of your mouth. I put every emotion I felt into it: the joy, the grief, the relief, the gratefulness. I was sure that you knew it was different, unlike any other kisses on the cheek we've shared.

Until today, we never talked about that kiss. I wonder if you remember it. Whether that kiss was why you accepted my offered lips after we won the cup.

Because that kiss made me realize that I love you. The realization gave me the energy for the rest of the night. It was all the adrenaline rush I needed to finish the game.

You were my inspiration.

"We've got the best midfield in the world
 We've got Xabi Alonso, Momo Sissoko, Gerrard and Mascherano-o-o"

He could hear the fans cheering them on. As always, their noise unfailingly lifted his spirits, which quite frankly was sorely in need of a lift.

It wasn't turning out to be his best game. Far from it. He winced as he remembered every poor touch, every time he gave the ball away. All credit to Luton, they played fantastically and really did earn the right to play Liverpool again at Anfield.

But that was no excuse for how poorly he played. He knew it, the fans knew it, and somewhere on Merseyside, he knew that Stevie knew it too.

There was nothing he could do... other than continue and hope that he would play this malaise off. With the fans' help, he was sure that he could do it.

"Xabi Alonso, Momo Sissoko, Gerrard and Mascherano-o-o"

He couldn't stop smiling to himself every time he heard the chant. He loved it. The fans confidence in the players showed. At the same time, he couldn't stop thinking that it could be improved.

Then he remembered that interview he did weeks ago. 

He remembered going into the studio to record the interview with Claire for 'Thirty Minutes With Xabi Alonso'. She asked him some personal questions, which he answered. How he started studying engineering at uni only to later switch to business as he struggled to combine his football and his studies.

He expressed his love for the city and especially the supporters. The first time he heard his name being sung by the Kop was a really emotional moment, knowing that there's not many stadiums where the players get the support that he does here at Anfield.

Revisiting the Istanbul memory, talking about the team during half-time, his feelings when he scored and the bus parade celebration.

He remembered saying "i could see how much liverpool mean to the people. it's their passion, and religion as well. people crying from babies to old people, it's really passionate."

His goal against Newcastle.

But mostly he remembered singing what the supporters sing for the players week in, week out.

"We've got the best midfield in the world..."

His shabby attempt at singing it.

How he almost slipped.

Because in the privacy of his thoughts, he sings it differently.

"Momo Sissoko, Xabi Alonso, Gerrard and Mascherano-o-o"

He cannot bear to be parted from Stevie, not even in a song. Thus they are united. Every time the fans sing it, he remembers his own version of it.

And he smiles to himself, knowing that him and Stevie... They were meant to be together.

Always.

In every way.

I have been a married woman for 30 years. Just two months ago, I celebrated my anniversary, in the company of my husband and my only daughter. It was a happy day.

As with all marriages, there were ups and downs, Most of the downs I experienced in the beginning. When we were living just within our means. We were not poor, yet there was little money to be had for luxuries.

My husband was a good man. He should be, I left my religion in order to marry him. Before you start romanticizing my story, lend my your attention until the end of this narrative.

I am not mercenary, but I do admit that my husband's relative wealth when compared with my other acquaintances did play a partin my selection. Still, I must have loved him deeply at some point to make a decision to elope with him.

In Malaysia, to marry a Muslim, you have to be a Muslim yourself. That was the reason I converted. Surprisingly, it was my mother that objected my decision most. My father had only one concern: that my life would be difficult should my soon-to-be husband decide to take a second wife, as is within his right as a Muslim man. I allayed his fears as best as I could.

I eloped. After my nondescript wedding, I went back to my husband's hometown. Though Chinese and Malays have been living together since way before the country's independence, inter-racial marriages were rare, and almost always frowned on. The treatment I received from my husband's third stepmother (for his father had four wives) bore witness to the previous statement. It did not help matters that he had to return to the rubber plantation where he as working as the assistant estate manager. He left me there, amongst strangers.

The Malay dialect they spoke was utterly different I could barely make out what they were saying. But I had to learn. I had to proof to them that I was worthy, that I was more than equal to a Malay girl. I could cook Malay dishes for my husband. I could practice my new religion as well as any that was born into it. I had to put in my own effort in that regard since converting a year before my marriage. I bought my own books and taught myself the religous practices of Islam, almost without guidance, not even from my intended.

I stayed there, half afraid that I had been abandoned to serve his relatives as a 'slave' of sorts. Fortunately, I had my 'allies', so to speak. His mother, long since divorced from her husband, showed my kindness. So did his other stepmothers. I bore the life as well as I could, until he returned to bring me back to my new home.

As it was near my parents' home, I went back and had to face the consequences of my decisions. Again, my father had little to say. My mother burned my ears with stories of how she had to pawn her jewellery, her precious gold when they were searching for me. She still talks about it until today, thirty years on. I don't think she ever forgave me for it. But I understood. I accepted the fact that the would be repercussions from my actions.

That was the beginning of my marriage life. Through the years, I learnt to compromise. He is a hot-tempered person, my husband, and more often than not I had to give way, keep silent. It was my choice, my choice alone, and I will not live in eternal regret. My life must go on. Especially after I had my two sons, and later, my daughter.

My babies. Our children.

I see the same hot temper in my eldest that his father possessed. It lead to many head-butting that I had to mediate. Their characters were too similar for them to be able to live in harmony. My son's lack of a stable job worried me, it still does. I myself often had words with him that would end in tears on my part. What parent would not wish for the best for their children? He has so much potential in him that it makes me weep to see that he's not living up to them.

My second son is as different from his brother as a person can be. Placid, calm, never the troublemaker. He lacks the obvious mischievious trait of his brother, but that does not mean that he is any less intelligent. His recent choice of girlfriend was the first time that I was really worried for him. One reason is that she is significantly older. I had friends and family in that situation, and not one of them are really contented with their lives. But most importantly, he said that he likes the girl because she shares some qualities with myself. While I am flattered that he looks to me as an ideal character, I am worried that he is staying with his girlfriend for the wrong reasons. He must want her for herself, and not for how much of me he can see in her.

My baby girl. She was headed for so much greatness. I cannot see where I went wrong. She was at the height of her life when it seemed like she just gave up trying. She put on 20 kgs and slipped away into obscurity. From being the head girl in her high school, now she seems like a shadow of her former self. I kept pushing for her to shed some weight, thinking that it would probably solve everything: improve her health and give her confidence again. But she just doesn't seem to care and I don't know why. I told her that I've given up of trying to force her into it, but deep inside, I know that I will never give up.

I will never give up. Not on any of my children. Even though they're all adults now. That is what a mother does.

A few weeks ago, my sister asked whether I ever regretted my decision to convert and marry a Malay. It came as a surprise, for she never asked that in all the long years that I've been married. Not during the early days where I might be forgiven for having some regrets. I couldn't help but wonder what prompted her to ask the question now of all times. The answer was no. I could never regret something that I accepted with my eyes open. Should all else fail, I will still have my children.

If she asks me the question again now, I will have a different answer.

I do regret it. That I enter into a marriage without deep abiding love. The kind of love that would have prevented what had happened. I cannot help but wonder: If it was a Chinese man, would there be a less possibility that his eyes would wander?

That was what happened. One night, after a dinner function, I moved to answer his phone when it was vibrating.

I received the shock of my life.

Who would have thought that such a good man would be meeting another woman behind my back? I confronted him. He had the gall to say that it meant nothing, it was for fun. We had a terrible row where he, in typical male fashion thought that he could win my forgiveness with just a few pretty words and lots of physical incentives. I could not. Not when the pain was so fresh. He gave up and returned to the room. I stayed outside, awake all night, feeling lonely for there was no one to talk to in the early hours of the morning. The only other person in the house was my sleeping daughter, back for summer holidays. Finally succumbing to the need to talk to somebody, I called my second son, knowing that his level-headedness would help me calm down, if only for a bit. I would have called my eldest, but I dare not think of what he would do.

In the morning, I knocked on my daughter's door, crying, and told her all. For the next two days, she was my rock, being the only other person the house, serving as a buffer between me and my husband, who was under the impression that she knew nothing. I would never have thought that she could act so well.

In due time, I told my eldest and was pleasantly surprised when he took it calmly. Though the situation was horrible, I could not help but be proud at this sign that he is an adult, through and through, when it mattered most.

Putting a brave face in the wak of such events is never easy, but it is necessary. Although I have forgiven my husband for his transgressions, I cannot trust him again. Although I put up a strong front, there are always these doubts, the feeling of inadequacy. What was wrong with me that he had to look for outside 'entertainment'? These questions comes only when I am alone, when there is no need to put up my mask, when I do not have to protect others from seeing me as weak.

i wrote this little poem thingy in between questions. i felt increasingly cold as the day turned to night, and it felt as if it's the coldest yet since i got here. and i proved to be right as i checked BBC's news centre to find that the minimum temperature for tonight was set to be -3 celcius. as opposed to london's -1. might not look like much, but i assure you, it is plenty cold.

Story Title: Nothing's Ever They Way They Should Be
Chapter Title:

Summary: Everything's always perfect in the stories, right? The books, the movies... But are you sure you should believe them? Collection of one-shots with a common theme.

so this is something that has been really bugging me from before i started my exams. that was at least a month ago. it never went away. and for that i'm glad.

oh, if you couldn't find the link, it's the words that are underlined above, next to the words: 'chapter title'

not to be boastful or anything.. but even when writing the ending i couldn't help laughing.

hope you enjoy reading it as much as i did in writing it.