Work Text:
For Alisson, the new season had come with many new things. It was his sixth year at Liverpool, the longest he'd stayed at any club. His best friends were in Saudi Arabia, and twenty-year-old Marcelo Pitalinho looked up to him in the same way he looked up to his own older brother.
The newest thing, though, had to be the leadership. With Henderson and Milner departing, Alisson was now one of the older players at the club. And a couple of days after Alexander-Arnold had been named vice-captain, he'd pulled Alisson aside for a chat.
“Look, Ali. I know that you don't like captaincy. But I do need to ask you for a favor.”
They'd sat at the kitchen counter, a plate of chocolate truffles in between them. Alisson wasn't nervous at the idea of a favor; if it was Alexander-Arnold who'd asked, it couldn't be that bad.
Alexander-Arnold picked up a lavender chocolate, sniffed it, and put it back down, muttering about how it smelled like soap. “Virgil's the captain, but I don't have a good feeling about this. He seems to focus more on the external team image than our actual state of mind. I'm not sure if this is what we need right now.”
Alisson raised an eyebrow. He had to admit that Alexander-Arnold had a point. Van Dijk was reserved with affection, to say the least. Around Gakpo and Alisson, Van Dijk was strong yet warm. But around the rest of the team, he attempted to put up his “calm as you like” demeanor. It gave him an aura of frostiness and detachedness that didn't make for a very sympathetic or approachable captain.
“Are you saying that you don't trust Virgil?”
“Well..not really. Maybe on the Holland team he's different, but I just can't see him with the empathy that being a captain needs," Alexander-Arnold confessed. "I talked to Milly about it, and he said that I should take up the responsibilities of captain by default. So, I need a vice-captain and a third captain, at least inside the training ground.”
Since when did Alexander-Arnold get so wise? It only felt like yesterday that he was the team baby, and now he was the vice-captain of the team, the first Scouser since Steven Gerrard.
Alisson selected a truffle and bit into it. There was caramel inside, the hard caramel that Van Dijk loved. “I think Robbo would be a good vice-captain.”
It was true. Robertson had a big mouth and almost endless energy, along with infectious enthusiasm. That enthusiasm had been a bit drained since Milner had left the team, but it was still there a good percentage of the time.
“I'm way ahead of you, mate. I already named Robbo as my honorary vice-captain this morning. He's the official third captain anyways.” Alexander-Arnold closed his eyes and randomly picked another chocolate. It was the same lavender one from earlier. “But I still need a third captain. Y’know, just in case Robbo and I are both busy.”
“Smart idea. Who were you thinking of? Joel? Maybe Lucho, he's enthusiastic. Cody doesn't put up with nonsense...well, except when he's causing it. Don't even think about Darwin, he eats chaos for breakfast. Adrian's experience could come in handy—”
“Ali.” Alexander-Arnold tossed the lavender chocolate at Alisson, interrupting his rambling. “You're empathetic, caring and protective. I never thought I would ask you this question, but…”
He held out a beaded friendship bracelet. It was exactly like the one Alexander-Arnold had started to wear since being named vice-captain, except that the central bead was a pale jade color instead of Alexander-Arnold's Liverpool red bead. “Will you be my honorary third captain?”
Alisson was speechless. He looked up at Alexander-Arnold and nodded, before taking the bracelet with trembling hands. He clasped it around his wrist and smiled. "Yes."
*
Before the Chelsea game, Alisson thought he'd die of nerves. He'd worn the captain's armband before, but only as a last-ditch stand-in for the first five captains in line. Thankfully, Van Dijk, Robertson, and Alexander-Arnold were all playing in this match, so it was almost impossible that he'd have to wear the armband.
Although Van Dijk did love seeing him with the armband. Alisson tried not to blush and pushed that thought aside.
Being a third captain, even if it was only honorary, came with massive levels of responsibility. Van Dijk was calm enough when confronting the referees (who the whole team swore were blindfolded with Man. U scarves), but the fullbacks were a different story. It didn't even take three minutes for Robertson to lose his temper at the baldest referee.
It also meant that Alisson was called to break up more scuffles. He'd never liked arguments, and now he had to take chances to stop them. Even Van Dijk had lost it with the referee—but then again, Alisson couldn't blame him.
The final score was 1-1. It wasn't bad, considering how Chelsea had splashed the cash over the summer and were loaded with players. But Liverpool had finished seven places above Chelsea last season, and they'd conceded the lead nineteen minutes after taking it. And Alisson, who tended to see the bottle half-empty, considered the final result a disappointment.
He couldn't stew for too long, though. Liverpool had their opening home match versus Bournemouth on Saturday, before taking on a spirited Newcastle team a week after that. It was the life of a Premier League team, and the other three competitions hadn't even started yet.
"BOO!"
Alisson nearly jumped out of his skin. Klopp had somehow managed to sneak up on him in a hall full of reflective glass. He must've been really lost in thought. "You scared me, boss."
"You're usually more alert. Overthinking again?"
Alisson didn't bother to hide it. Klopp was one of those coaches that could read his team like a picture book. "Being a part of the leadership group is more complicated than I expected. We have to set examples and watch out for the team, and then we have to break up fights and talk to refs and motivate the others."
Klopp hummed, deep in thought. His blue-gray eyes twinkled as if he was remembering a story from long ago. "I see where you're coming from. Being a captain is like coaching, only you've still got to worry about your own performances."
"Exactly. It's like you have to think for the entire team and yourself."
"I used to have a coach. Wolfgang Franke. He was one of my favorite managers in Mainz." Klopp took a picture out of his pocket—how Klopp always had the right picture for a pep talk, Alisson would never know. It was an old Polaroid photograph of Klopp as a player, standing next to an older man wearing a Windbreaker and baseball cap.
“When I became a player-manager, I'd call Franke all the time asking for advice. ‘Franke, what's the best way to introduce tactics to the others?’ ‘Franke, should I get a coffee machine for the team?' ‘Franke, should they call me by my last name or my first?’ I was positively clueless, and he was always patient and full of wise advice.”
Klopp carefully folded the picture into a neat square and put it back in his pocket. Alisson didn't miss the subtle sadness in Klopp's voice as he talked about his old friend. “What I'm saying is…you and Trentski are new to this. Robbo and Virgil captain their national teams, but that's different from captaining a domestic team. You're all allowed to ask for help, and you don't have to do it alone. That's what we're here for—to help each other.”
At first, Alisson wanted to argue. Milner and Henderson both preferred to work alone, and they got a lot done. But different people had different ways of doing things. Van Dijk was independent and a little aloof towards the others, while Robertson talked constantly about everything and acted like a kid sometimes. Plus, he remembered seeing Milner hang out with Klopp to talk about things. Perhaps even the immortal Yorkshire god needed guidance sometimes.
"I guess I do need a little help." Alisson leaned against the wall, stuffing his gloves into his bag. The bracelet rolled out from under his sleeve, the single jade bead standing out among the brown wooden ones. "For quite a few things. But promise me one thing.”
“What?”
“That you'll ask for help, too. I hate to say it, boss, but it's kind of hypocritical that you tell us to ask for help while you insist on doing everything yourself. You have a lot of responsibility, I get that, but you can't do it all. It's not healthy for you or the team.”
“I've lost count of how many times people have told me that before," Klopp confessed. He glanced at the folded-up photograph in his hand, closed his eyes, then opened them again. “But I'll try.”