Fandom: German National team
Disclaimer: I still don't know people mentioned in this story and I still hope it isn't true. The plot is still only my fantasy
Summary: and to the quarterfinal.
Author's notes, previous chapters and music here
Timeline for the series is here
Daniela reaches out to take the book from the shelf. She has to stretch, and the chair creaks and wobbles for a moment. Half-frightened, half-funny yelp escapes her lips before she manages to grip the shelf and steady herself, and though he's jumped up instantly to catch her if need be, she's already standing on the floor, purple-colored volume in her hand.
- I hope it's the one you need, I'm not going to climb there once more, - she laughs but her fingers are shaking a little.
- Exactly the one, dear, I have no words to express my gratefulness, - he laughs and kisses her on the cheek.
- Got interested in Eastern novels? - She sits down again.
He bends down to whisper conspiratorily in her ear.
- Jogi told me to read it or else.
Laughter they share is a bit strained and fades into silence, unexpectedly uncomfortable.
- Markus... - She trails down.
He keeps his silence, waiting for her to continue.
She looks at him, suddenly fierce stare makes him start.
- Has he called you?
- Yesterday, - and he sees her face fall, lips almost starting to tremble, and he hastens to add, - He said he didn't want to worry you, to upset you, that's all.
- I know, - answers she quietly.
At the moment all he wants is to hug her, but refrains. She'll probably start to cry, and he still hasn't learned how to deal with woman's tears. The mere fact scares him as much as it did when he was 15 and his first girlfriend started to cry because her mom didn't buy her a purse.
The thought appears at the back of his mind, rather unnecessary - Jogi is cheating on her, on this same woman who looks so worried and stressed, as if she's the one who is going to be banned to the tribune today and not her husband. Can it really be that Jogi doesn't care about anymore...
He can't imagine such a thing. And it somehow makes him even more assured that there's no need to imagine it - why?
- Don't worry, - he says, usual phrase to be used in such cases. - It'll be alright, and he'll call after the match.
She nods, not reassured at all, and smiles at him.
- Good of you to visit me.
He kisses her again and flees - before she really decided to start crying.
His phone rings when he's opening the door to go out to the street. He takes the call, not even looking at the screen, watching the stairs instead, trying not to trip.
- So I'm the coach now, funny, isn't it? - Without greeting, straight to the point.
- You are indeed. - The rain is falling, drops of water glistening on the windows of his car.
- Would be hard for Jogi, this match. - Again, matter-of-factly statement.
- It will be. So? - He turns the motor on.
- Wish me luck.
Is he calling because of it?!
Does it really matter to Flick?
He starts along the driveway.
- Good luck. - No, not to Flick, but to the man Flick will be representing at the pitch today. Or maybe...
Flick will need luck. All the team will need it.
- Thanks, dearest, - and the connection is broken instantly, letting him wonder - what it was about.
As the clouds disappear and sun
Begins to shine.