Title:  Um Céu Roxo

Author:  Kouryuu

Rating:  PG (this chapter)

Pairing:  Ran x Ken/Ken x Ran (whichever works out..)

Status:  Sequel to "Running Away"; part 2 of ?

Summary:  see "Running Away"

Archive:  Please ask first so I know where it's at; archived at

Contact:  lonestarfruit@yahoo.com

Author's Babbles: Thanks to everyone who reviewed! Hope this chapter's up to par. I took liberties with teams and legal systems and whatnot, so as not to tread on any bigwig toes. Assume that any discrepancies are on purpose. n.n;

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"Um Céu Roxo" (chapter 2) by Kouryuu

             It was the dream again, the same one that he'd gotten periodically every few months since the day his world crashed down around him.  He always 'woke' to find himself standing in the same place: the spotlight, the same bright one that blinded him time and time again right in front of the goal.  He couldn't see anyone approaching, he couldn't see the ball flying at him.  All he could see was that bright, burning light, and the only sound around him was the roar of the crowd, deafening and dull.  It started to fade after a moment, like it always did, and he shifted his weight on the turf, the way he always had to, back and forth and back again, testing his footing and his balance.  The adrenaline sped up his pulse and soon he couldn't hear the crowd anymore.  All he could hear was his own heartbeat, loud and pounding in his ears, drowning out any other sound, and he knew then for a fact that he was completely and utterly alone.  It was never a specific match from his memory, never a specific opponent, but it always mattered, this was always the goal that'd make or break the game, it was always the tie-breaker that he had to stop, and he was the sole defense.  Perhaps it was egotistical, but he never saw it that way.  He just knew that the rest of his team was elsewhere, possibly doing something else to defend the goal, but it always came down to him in the end.  He was the goalie; that was his job.

            And then the ball would come, always from a different direction that he could never anticipate, and he'd panic for just one split second because hell, he should have been able to see it coming, he should have expected them to do that.  The same instant he was thinking that, though, his body moved automatically to block the ball, muscles bunching as he launched himself at the spinning projectile with all the ease and practice that his experience gave him, twisting in mid-air, arms outstretched.

            The ball never impacted, neither with him nor with the net behind him.  He just heard the crowd's roar again as the world went completely black (the sort of black, he fancied at waking times when he chose to contemplate the dream, that he'd encountered in tunnels on occasion when missions had required him to enter them, black that defined darkness and transcended it as well because it was just so damned bright), and this time the roar of the crowd was angry though he didn't know why... and he'd sit bolt upright in bed, covered in a sheen of sweat and breathing hard as if he'd just been running sprints.  If anyone heard him and came in to check, he just told them he'd been having a nightmare, and they left it at that.

            Ken never really thought of the dream as a nightmare, though, because he'd had nightmares after a few nights, a few missions that'd gone bad.  Hell, all of Weiss had had nightmares.  Nightmares meant fear, complete and utter fear and helplessness and sorrow and anger and all of those emotions that they couldn't show in the waking day condensed and amplified to a purer form and thrust up from the subconscious like a pulsating tumor that had to burst, had to be purged in order for the greater organism to survive.  So this wasn't a nightmare, though it never ended well.  It was simply a dream that he had at times, a dream that exhausted him and kept him from falling asleep again despite his best attempts at going back to bed.  The morning after such a sleep-deprived night he'd walk around in a more somber mood than usual, often with dark circles under his eyes, his smiles hollow, his mind focused on memories of things that he could never again have.

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            "You can't possibly be serious."

            "Trust me, amigo, I'm telling you the truth." 

            Ken stared at Alessandro blankly.  The other man leaned forward, dropping a large, tan hand onto Ken's shoulder.  It was a small contact, but somehow it forced the younger brunette to focus and he stood up, temper flaring and voice rising with indignation. 

            "Look, you can't just mess with me like this."  Cinnamon-colored eyes flashed angrily, normally-friendly features set into harsh lines.  He trusted this man, considered him a friend.  Why would he play such a cruel prank--

            "Ken."  Alessandro stood up, graceful despite the way he had to shift his weight off of his injured ankle.  His warm eyes were serious.  One stride and he caught Ken's shoulders, shaking him lightly.  Alessandro half-expected the brunette to react with violence, but Ken just looked up at him with those huge, mistrusting eyes.  "Ken, this isn't a joke.  You know me better than that.  Everything revolves around connections, brother, especially in the world of futebol.  You should know that by now."

            Ken shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut, his breathing erratic.  "You can't just take something like that back.  You can't.  It's a permanent record."  He should never have told Alessandro the truth.  Now things were getting complicated again, just when he'd started to settle into this life...  Brown eyes blinked open as he suddenly found himself yanked into a firm hug.

            "No one knew you back then.  No one was there to refute the accusations, to stand up for you.  Hell, your best friend was the one who lied about you, how could you have even stood up for yourself?  But now you have us.  We're your team, and more importantly, we're your friends."  Alessandro sighed.  "And we need you, Ken, whether you want to help us this way or not."

            Ken felt himself shaking slightly, and he could do nothing to stop the tremors.  "How can it be that simple?"  His voice grew smaller.  "How can you ask that of me?"

            "How can you refuse it?" Alessandro shot back.  "Are you really that scared of stepping back into the spotlight?  I never said it was simple but the fact of the matter is that you name has already been cleared.  You know all those drug tests you took side by side with us?  All those years of living here without so much as a parking ticket on your record?  Negative things add up, and so do good things.  We made our case, brought our evidence before them, and you're free to play again.  So far they've only cleared you on a probationary level, to finish off this season, but if you keep being your usual model-citizen self, there's no reason why they couldn't clear you for good."

            Cleared.  His name.  By Them, by the organization that had shunned him and thrown him out so that he wouldn't even think its name nowadays lest a black car pull up and drag him away from this tiny piece of something that he'd carved out for himself after Weiss.  Now Alessandro was telling him that everything was taken care of, and there was a companionable arm across his shoulders, and Ken sank -- rather comfortably -- into the numb embrace of the entity known as shock.

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São Paulo, BRAZIL - Soccer fans the world over were stunned today by an announcement by Brazil's national soccer team that one of their assistant coaches, Japan native Ken Hidaka, would be taking over the position of goalkeeper in light of goalkeeper Alessandro del Toro's injuries after the last game played against Argentina.  This announcement comes on the heels of last week's press release which revealed the fact that Hidaka had been banned from playing in the J-League on drug charges and shouldn't have been allowed to even apply for the assistant coach position.  The International Soccer League recently cleared Hidaka's name after a thorough investigation by a private firm hired by the team proved that the previous drug charges had been based on "more hearsay than concrete fact" and documented evidence by the Brazilian team's medical director that Hidaka never once demonstrated anything but exemplary behavior on or off the field since he took the assistant trainer position, officials say.  The team is confident that Hidaka, who had been a goalie in the J-League, will be able to fill in the weak spot in the team's rock-solid defense caused by the loss of del Toro, officials say.  del Toro himself was heard to make such comments in praise of Hidaka as "before Ken [Hidaka] started coaching us, I could never predict where [the ball] was going to come from.  Now I can stop one blindfolded.  He taught me that.  He's just that good."  Fans remain skeptical, sources say, but the team's enthusiasm and del Toro's own support are doing much to boost fan morale. 

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            "So are you nervous?"

            Ken glanced up from fiddling with his shin guards, an embarrassed smile dancing across his lips.

            "Me?  Why, do I look nervous?"

            Alessandro took a bite out of the red apple he was cradling in one hand, his expression shifting to one of exaggerated thoughtfulness.

            "Mmm...  Only about as nervous as someone running with those bulls in Madrid for the first time."

            He managed to duck the roll of athletic tape that Ken pegged at him, laughing.

            "See!  You are nervous."

            Ken gave up on hoping that the shin guards would stop chafing, and contented himself with just padding the straps with some rolled gauze.

            "Of course I'm nervous.  My palms are sweating so hard that the ball's gonna slide right through my hands and into the goal."

            Alessandro snorted.  "Gloves, you moron.  You'll be wearing my gloves.  Are you forgetting everything already?"

            Ken exhaled heavily and collapsed onto the bench next to the other man, who shifted a bit to make room for him.  Alessandro offered the apple, and Ken took it with a grateful little smile, crunching through a piece as he contemplated his current state of mind.

            "Yeah, I think I am.  I always got like this before games, though.  Once I got out on the field I was fine.  The adrenaline kicked in, everything else blurred out, and all I saw was the field.  But now it's been so long..."

            "It's like riding a bike, Ken.  You never forget how.  And in practice, you never hesitate.  You always give it your all, and you've always trained right along with us."  Alessandro grabbed the apple back, poking Ken's shoulder.  "Seriously, if I had any fear that you'd make an ass out of us or out of yourself, I'd never have suggested this.  But I have faith in you, the team has faith in you, the damned officials have faith in you.  You're the only one who has any doubts."

            The younger brunette ducked his head, shrugging.  He scuffed one of his cleats along the floor. 

            "I just...  I want to do this right, you know?"

            "You will, Ken.  I know you.  You won't mess this up because you wouldn't even know how."

            Ken grinned, making a grab for the apple.  Alessandro yanked it out of his reach.

            "Oh yeah?  I bet I could figure out a way."  He looked up at the ceiling as if watching a pretty bird fly by.  "Oh look, a hawk... and clouds... and an airplane..."

            Alessandro snorted, pegging an invisible ball at Ken's middle.  Ken promptly fell off the bench, clutching his stomach, and both dissolved into laughter.  The older man leaned over, ruffling Ken's hair.

            "Have faith, amigo.  You're going to do just fine."

--+--

            Ken's cleats sank comfortably into the turf as he took the first stride back out onto the field, and the spotlights only blinded him for a moment before he regained his bearings and strode with a determined expression towards the goal.  He could feel the crowd's eyes on him, though he knew that they were looking at the rest of his team, as well.  Of course, the crowd's eyes focused more on the new goalie than the rest of their favorites, just because he was a novelty, because there was a strange history there and a foreign bearing that Ken's smaller stature did nothing to dissuade.  In practice and in the locker room, when he was just the trainer and not a player, it was easy for Ken to forget that he was so much shorter than the average Brazilian soccer star.  Now he was acutely aware of the difference in height, and it just made him square his shoulders more proudly.  Alessandro was right; he could do this right, and he'd prove himself.

            Of the eyes that followed the confident strides of the new goalkeeper towards his goal, one set in particular lingered.  It belonged to a man who was jet lagged and had picked up an English edition of the newspaper in the airport while waiting for his luggage.  He had been stunned at the small article on the first page, so much so that he'd immediately hailed a taxi, curiosity drawing him nigh.  He'd had to go to a scalper to get even the crappy seat he currently occupied, but it still afforded him a semi-decent view.  Even though his strange violet-colored eyes were bleary from lack of rest, they remained curiously focused on the new addition to Brazil's team even once the ball traveled to the opposite end of the field.

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/end chapter 2/

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