Work Text:
Roberto Firmino was really trying his best. Ever since Klopp had gotten the news that Muriel had disappeared, Alisson had been inconsolable. They had gone to Fabinho's house, and ever since they had got there, Alisson had thrown himself onto the sofa, where he remained for the next half hour, completely distraught. While Fabinho stayed on the phone, trying to keep in touch with Luis Diaz, Firmino remained on the other side of the sofa.
Firmino was really stuck on what to do. He'd tried everything that usually worked: running his hands through the goalkeeper's hair, embracing him. Nothing worked.
"We'll find him," Firmino promised, pulling Alisson closer to him. It was only times like this that Firmino remembered that the keeper was, in fact, a year younger than him.
"B-but his truck was at the side of the road." Alisson, seemingly over the worst of his hysterics, sniffed as he threw the pillow he'd been holding back to the other side.
"So what?" Firmino tried to sound more cheerful than he actually was. "That doesn't mean anything happened, right?"
"Muri's gone and next to his truck was..."
"A puddle of sand," Firmino finished, rather unhelpfully, "it's nothing, Alisson. He can't disappear into a puddle of sand that small."
"But Bobby, didn't you hear? It was--quicksand!"
With that, he broke into fresh sobs, throwing himself back onto the other side of the couch. Firmino groaned, aware that he'd broken him for the third time that day.
Fabinho's head, bald and wrapped in bandages, popped into Firmino's line of vision. He handed his cellphone to Firmino, whispering "Luis," before heading off to the kitchen.
"Luis!"
"Roberto, I found out what happened,” the Colombian reported. “The only DNA I could match on the truck was Muriel’s, and a local policeman.”
"Police!" Firmino gasped. "Luis, are you sure?"
"We matched the DNA. It all fits. And there’s no way he could have been kidnapped, because we’re checking around,” Diaz continued. “Nobody can find him. So there's no other option except..."
"Please. No." Alisson' face paled as he grabbed the phone. "Please, Luis Diaz, do not tell me..."
"Otherwise." Diaz sighed, and Firmino could tell he really didn't want to say this. "Besides a potential murder, that's the only option."
It was then that Firmino wished Luis Diaz knew Alisson better.
*
Firmino could hear tossing and turning from the other side of the room. Alisson still wasn't asleep, and probably wouldn't be for the rest of the night. The forward sighed, allowing his thoughts to drift back to earlier.
As soon as Diaz had proposed his theory, Alisson was understandably horrified. He had fainted right there on the sofa, and Fabinho had sent Firmino for cold cloths and epsom salts while he tried to pry more information from Diaz. It had taken Firmino a long time to find everything Fabinho had asked for, and by the time he arrived with a gigantic bag of lavender smelling salts, Alisson had come to and was screaming his head off, Fabinho holding him close in a vain attempt to calm him down.
To make a long story short, dinner had been a short and strained affair for two.
Firmino groaned, staring out the open window at the crescent moon. The scream. He hadn't heard the keeper scream like that for months.
"Eu não posso te perder." Firmino silently mouthed the words that Alisson had been repeating the whole evening--sometimes shrieking and sometimes in a hushed whisper. I can't lose you.
"Ay, Muriel," Firmino whispered, glancing back at Alisson. His eyes were closed, but Firmino knew he was awake. "Why'd you have to disappear, companheiro?"
His phone buzzed, startling him. It was Diaz.
"Luiz?" Firmino yawned, sliding back into bed. "What is it?"
"We...found Muriel." The voice on the other end wasn't Diaz'. It was older with a very familiar German accent. Klopp.
"You did?" Firmino yelled. Thankfully he hadn't woken up Alisson, but Fabinho yawned, grumpily stomping over to Firmino.
"Hombre, what is your issue with me?" he muttered. "Decent chico can't get any sleep..."
"They found Muriel!" Firmino punched the air, grabbing poor, confused Fabinho's shoulders. "We found him, oh Fabi, we found him!"
"Alisson!" Firmino shook the goalkeeper until he was wide awake. "Klopp found Muriel! Your brother's saved!"
The keeper sat there for a couple of minutes, as if in shock. When he saw Fabinho yelling the same thing at the top of his lungs, he grabbed Firmino--only to start crying again.
"Gracas a Deus," he repeated, over and over again. "Gracas, Gracas!"
*
Muriel had been taken into Suzanne’s hospital, for the sake of privacy. On the drive there, the three Brazilians had hypothesized that it was just for a check-up and that Muriel would be fine.
They found Klopp in the emergency department’s waiting room, pacing near the front desk. Alisson had expected the German to be as excited as he was, but at that moment, Klopp was the antithesis of excitement.
"Boss." Fabinho spoke up first, catching Klopp's attention. "What's wrong? Is Muriel okay?"
"Well, you boys were kind of busy celebrating a few hours ago, so I wasn't able to tell you." Klopp called over Lijnders, who the three hadn't even noticed was there, he was so quiet. "Alisson..." He sighed, taking the keeper's hand. "I have to talk with you. Alone."
Hesitantly, Alisson followed Klopp through another door, which swung shut behind them. That prompted Lijnders to drop the bomb.
"Come on, you two. The others are inside the cafeteria."
*
Klopp had managed to find a small room in the hospital, and had brought Alisson there. He pulled up two chairs, and gestured for Alisson to take one. He had been coaching for more than twenty years, but he already knew this would be one of the hardest talks he would have in his career.
"So, Alisson." He sighed. "This is not going to be good news. And let's be honest, you know me, right? I hate delivering bad news, it's not cool at all."
"Boss," Alisson begged, "please just get to the point. I need to know."
Alisson was so close to Muriel, and that just made it all the more difficult for Klopp to tell him. "The point being...we found Muriel under a tree."
"Sitting under a tree?"
It took all of Klopp's self-control not to facepalm. "A fallen tree."
"A fallen tree!!"
"And..." The German dreaded the next part of what he was going to tell Alisson. But it must be done, he reminded himself.
“He's in a coma.”
“WHAT?!” Alisson gripped his chair, the faint semblance of color draining from him. "Boss, please. Tell me you're kidding."
But it took only one look at Klopp's expression to realize. "You're not kidding."
Klopp slowly nodded. "And we don't know when he's going to wake up from it."
“Não.” It seemed to be sinking into Alisson, and almost instinctively, Klopp gripped his hand. He rarely had to have one-on-one talks with his players, and when he did, it was mainly because they had made a tactical mistake.
“Ali, it pains me as much as you to have to tell you this.”
"Boss...I want to see him."
Simple, plaintive. A request that Klopp couldn't refuse--but he had to refuse it.
"I'm sorry, Ali. Suzanne and her apprentice are trying everything they can to save him, and all we can do is wait."
"But...I can't lose him too, gaffer! Por favor..." Alisson trailed off as he gazed at his manager. "Por favor, prometa-me. Promise me he'll wake up."
Klopp sighed, pulling Alisson into a gigantic hug at the same time. "I don't know, Ali. I can't promise you anything right now."
"Y-you said last April that if you could change things, none of this would happen." Alisson choked on his words. "You would change this, right?"
"Alisson, if I could, I would change almost everything that has happened since...for you boys, October 2020. For me...it would be January."
*
Klopp took Alisson up to Muriel's room. The other goalkeeper had all sorts of tubes attached to him everywhere, mercifully covered by the bedsheet. The only sound in the room was the drip, drip, drip of the IV--and Alisson' hushed pleas.
"Wake up, Muri!" he begged, kneeling next to his unconscious brother's bed and gripping his hand. "Por favor, acorde!"
Klopp watched on from outside the room, not trusting himself to hold it together if he entered. Seeing Alisson like this was bad enough.
"Muriel, please..." He gripped his hand, unable to hold back the tears. "Wake up, please...I can't lose you now!"
With that, Klopp turned on his heel to get Lijnders. He had to get out of there--he knew that the whole team would be melancholy if he was.
*
"We heard the news," Van Dries announced as Klopp walked out of the elevator. "Can any one of us catch a break?"
"How are the others?" Klopp decided to change the subject.
"They're all sort of down, and I can see why. Mo took the news the worst. How's Alisson?"
"Go see for yourself." Klopp opened the waiting room door, to see the others, obviously waiting for him.
"Is he up yet?" Robertson asked. Even the vivacious Scot was subdued, and Alexander-Arnold held his hand as they waited for the answer.
"No." Lijnders cut in, saving Klopp from responding. "Suzanne and her assistant are trying to do all that they can, though."
"Speaking of her assistant..." Only Milner seemed to notice that Klopp really didn't want to talk about Muriel and Alisson. "Let's just say that...we met her."
"Oh?" Klopp was grateful for the change in subject as he focused all his attention on the Yorkshire native. "What was she like?"
"Apparently, an aspiring doctor with a passion for la dolce vita," Henderson related. "And Roberto's been flirting with her like crazy."
"ROBERTO FIRMINO BARBOSA DE OLIVIERA!"
They all laughed at Klopp's use of Firmino's full name. While the others were distracted, Milner beckoned for Klopp to follow him into the lobby.
"You're worried about Alisson, aren't you?" Milner insisted. "That's why you looked so relieved when I changed the subject."
Klopp nodded, wishing to change the subject yet again. "Come on, let's talk about something else."
"Boss," Milner said, very seriously, "you can't keep walking around the 8,000-pound gorilla in the room."
"There is no 8,000-pound gori--"
You can guess what happened next. A gigantic gorilla lumbered into the lobby. It paused on a nearby scale, which read 8,000 pounds exactly, before lumbering back outside.
Klopp and Milner stared at the door as if the infamous naked emperor had just run in, swearing at the top of his lungs.
"Back to the subject." Milner took a deep breath as he tried to register what had just happened.
"Yep, about WHY THE HECK WAS THERE A GORILLA IN THE ROOM?"
"No, about Alisson," Milner clarified. "You're worried for him, too."
"Alright James, I'll admit it. But I can't help it. And don't--"
"I'm not telling the others."
"I hate this type of thing. It's like there's no way out of it. Alisson is a wreck, the whole team has been thrown off, it's like a gray cloud in that cafeteria--"
"Boss."
"Milner?"
"Let's go out for lunch," the vice-captain suggested. "There's a little cafe close to the hospital. It'll distract you."
Klopp nodded. "At this rate, I just might take your advice."
*
Fabinho and Firmino (once he had been pulled away from Sarah) found Alisson inside Muriel’s ward, perched on the armchair. He still gripped Muriel’s limp hand.
“Ay, Ali, you won’t be any good to Muriel if you don’t sleep,” Firmino sighed as he took a seat next to Alisson.
“I know, Roberto. It’s just that…I can’t lose him.”
Fabinho quickly noticed that the subject needed changing. “Did you guys ever have, you know, anything you used to do? For comfort or something?”
This elicited a smile on Alisson’ face. “Oh, yeah. We used to…pile up under the same blanket like a couple of sardines and eat raw cookie dough.”
Fabinho couldn’t help but laugh. “Alisson?!”
“It was useful!”
Firmino was too fast, though. Before Alisson had finished, he had come back with a pile of blankets and a bag of vanilla sandwich cookies.
“Why can’t you move this fast when we play?” Fabinho muttered. “And didn’t Ali say raw cookie dough, you idiota?”
“It’s called a hospital,” Firmino remarked, tossing a blanket around the three of them. “Do you think Suzanne Marigold, M.D., would have raw dough around here? What was I supposed to do, break into the kitchen?”
But he received no sarcastic response. Because Fabinho and Alisson had both fallen asleep.
*
“Okay boss, I am forcing you to admit it,” Milner insisted as the two made their way down the hall. “You’re as worried as Alisson is about Muriel.”
“Well, not that worried. Okay…but how can you blame me? Alisson…”
“Speaking of which.” Milner pointed to the ajar ward door.
Klopp pulled it open, shocked and slightly relieved with what he saw. All of the Brazilians were asleep in a pile--some on the foot of Muriel’s bed, and some on chairs.
“You have got to be kidding me.” Milner rolled his eyes. “How did they steal my cookies? I could have sworn I hid them.”
“I could have sworn many times in my career as well,” Klopp retorted, completely missing the point. “But I didn’t.”
*
When Muriel Gustavo Becker opened his eyes, the bright light attacked him like a knife. He tried to yawn but couldn’t, gasping when he realized there was an oxygen tube down his throat. He wildly gestured to get somebody’s attention, screaming when a gigantic marshmallow thing removed the tube.
“Hello, Muriel Gustavo Becker. I am Sinclair, your personal healthcare companion.” So the marshmallow thing was a robot. Muriel didn’t even wave as he tried to remember which movie he’d seen the puffy white thing before.
Sinclair deflated, leaving Muriel to find out where he was by himself. Oxygen tube, healthcare, bed…I’m in a hospital, he thought. He then realized what the lump at the edge of the bed was--Alisson. From the look on his sleeping face, Muriel could tell he was in distress.
How long have I been here? he wondered, squeezing his brother’s hand. “Ali, wake up.”
“Muri…don’t leave me…”
“Ali, it’s me, irmao!”
Firmino stirred at the noise, but still slept on. Alisson, though, cracked open his eyes a tiny bit.
“Muri…” Suddenly, he realized exactly who it was calling him. “GUSTO!”
“Bro!” Muriel choked out as Alisson pounced on him. “Easy on the hugs.”
“You’re awake!” Alisson yelled. “Muriel, you’re alive!”
“Quiet, Ali,” Firmino slurred in his sleep.
“Let him, Bobby,” Fabinho sleep-mumbled. “We all have our own ways of grieving.”
The two brothers exchanged glances, then burst out into laughter, waking the others up.
“Madre de dios…” Tacito’s eyes widened as large as dinner plates upon realizing who was laughing with Alisson. “Muriel!”
“Not you too…”
Alisson just laughed, shaking a still-asleep Firmino wide awake. “Bobby, Muri is here! Open your eyes!”
Firmino did so, and grinned upon spotting the other goalkeeper.
“It certainly took you long enough,” Fabinho retorted, but shook Muriel’s hand with a warm smile crossing his face. “Good to see you back.”
Muriel flashed the midfielder a thumbs-up. “Good to be back!”
Alisson, meanwhile, still hadn’t let go of Muriel. He clung to him like a koala--albeit a 6-foot, fuzzy-haired koala.
“Muriel, eu te amo, mano,” Alisson mumbled, clinging onto the older keeper. “Eu senti tanto sua falta.”
Muriel grinned as if he was in paradise. “Também te amo, irmãozinho.”
“Muriiii!”
*
Breakfast was as silent as a funeral procession. All the Liverwoolians were there, but still concerned about the Beckers.
"And then he said 'I can't lose you'," Klopp related for about the seventh time. "And I'm thinking 'my goodness, how would I feel'? I mean, that's his older brother we're talking about--"
"We GET IT!" Robertson exclaimed, startling the German. "I get it. And nobody's doubting you! Just because I don't show it doesn't mean I don't care!" The Scot absentmindedly fiddled with his cornflakes, gripping Alexander-Arnold's hand. "I do care. If it was Trentski, I would be terrified."
"I remember when you were in the hospital," Alexander-Arnold murmured, tightening his hold on Robertson. "It was miserable without you chatting your mouth off."
"It was more peaceful for me," Milner joked, and that got everybody laughing.
Klopp watched on, wondering how everybody could be so relaxed.
"Ah, I know what's going on," Lijnders pointed out, as if reading his mind. "How did I not find out? You're worried about Alisson, because he's one of your favorites."
"Pepijn, for the fifty-fourth time, I do not have favorites..."
He was cut off by the annoying blare of a foghorn, multiple times.
"Who's hungry?" Muriel announced, traipsing down the stairs as if he was Bill Bailey, and hadn't just awoken from a coma. "Because I know I am."
"Hey, Muriel, you're awake!" Henderson rose from his seat, high-fiving the goalkeeper. "Welcome back to the conscious world."
"If it wasn't for you guys, I wouldn't be looking forward to it," Muriel snarked as he took his seat. "I mean, who wants to wake up to the circus that is this world?"
"You are definitely back," Milner retorted, and Alisson chuckled as he watched Muriel and Milner exchange sarcasm.
"Well, I'm walking, and I'm eating; does that prove I'm back?"
"What proves you're back, Muri, is the fact that Ali is grinning like an idiot."
"Oh, look who's talking. You didn't even have the common sense to search under the fallen tree next to my truck until your old man suggested it."
"Which old man? He's only fifty-four."
"Quit lying to yourself, James Phillip Milner."
"Alright, then!" Robertson interrupted. "We didn't ask for the sarcasm show, now did we? Let's eat!"
Everyone nodded in agreement, the table suddenly springing to life as multiple conversations began to take hold of the diners' attention.
"Muriel, never do that again," Alisson commented, looking up from his plate. "You scared me and the boss."
Muriel got the message, winking at his brother while nodding sincerely. "I won't. We can't scare the old man too much, now can we?"
"Oh, shame, shame!" Klopp mock-scolded them. "Are you boys challenging my age?"
"Well..." Even Henderson couldn't help but laugh at the team's suggestions. "You are older than all of us."
"And I was young at one point, remember?"
"Oh, you were?" Robertson faked shock at the statement, collapsing in his chair before grinning, and everybody burst into laughter.
"I've got pictorial evidence that I used to be your age." Klopp reminded them.
"Yeah, in the ancient history books," Milner retorted. "You can't even find them on Wikipedia!"
"I read that article before," said Van Dijk. "And to be fair, most of it is about your coaching career. Which," he smirked, "was definitely more fruitful than your playing career..."
"Virgil van Dijk, don't even start on that!"