Chapter Text
All that stands between Alex and the next step in his career is a whole lot of distance. 4912 miles, to be exact. A nine hour flight. The vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean.
It’s been two weeks since his agent had his first contact with London, and now here he is, sitting on a plane, ready to sign his contract. It’s a formality, really. He knows that. He knows that he’s practically all ready to be announced as the Championship’s newest player. All he needs to do is have a fitness test, which he knows he will pass with flying colours, and sign on the dotted line. His personal terms have already been agreed, his name is in the press, and fans are already speculating. He’s seen it all - the good, the bad and the downright ugly. But this is a move he has been waiting his entire career for, and he’s ready for it. He stretches his legs out in front of him, wincing slightly as he feels the slight pull of his muscles before his shin bones hit the seat in front of him, the gap between him and the seats in front of him not exactly long enough for him to stretch out fully, but it does the job. The plane is freezing cold, a chill collecting on any and all exposed skin. He pulls the hood of his jacket over his head, hoping that the material gives his neck a reprieve and warms him up. It’s like asking for a miracle and he knows it. With a sigh, he settles further into his seat.
Alex is restless. That’s not exactly unusual. Everybody who knows him, knows that he doesn’t have the capability to sit still. He’s grateful that the seats next to him are empty, meaning that the only person he’s annoying currently with his restless fidgeting is himself. He knows it’s annoying, but he can’t help it. It’s usually never this bad on a flight. Right now though, there’s added anxiety which is rushing through his veins and he can’t focus on anything. He still has an age to wait until the plane lands, and he’s already nervous. It’s understandable though. This is the biggest move in his career, not only because of the physical distance between Austin and London, but because of the club that he’s moving to. It’s the winter transfer window, one that usually doesn’t bring around big moves, but here he is, flying from the home he’s known for most of his life to a new country, a new city and the very team that has always caught his eye. He taps his fingers against his thigh, counting slowly in an effort to calm himself down. He can’t think of that right now. He’ll start to think about it when he lands. Which, according to the screen in front of him, tracking the flight for all the passengers on board, isn’t for another five hours. He groans softly. He hasn’t even reached the halfway point of the flight and he’s already in existential crisis mode.
A flight attendant passes by him, an unfamiliar smiling face but one that is welcome nonetheless. She offers him some water, and before he can turn it down, he’s smiling and outstretching his hand to take it. “Thank you.” He says, because he’s nothing if not polite. He takes a first sip, the refreshing cool liquid falling smoothly down his throat, instantly calming him down.
His next step in trying to attempt to stop the restlessness is to put his headphones on, pressing play on his longest playlist, the one that he regularly uses for his travels. It’s familiar to him, and that’s something at least - because when this plane lands, there’s going to be nothing familiar to him.
Alex then reaches into his bag and pulls out a book. It’s old and battered, the edges of it curling upwards and there’s wrinkles all over the front cover. It may be old and it may be battered, but Alex loves it. He could probably recite entire passages of text from his book. He opens it up, starting to read it from the beginning once again. It’s easy. The words calm Alex down, and before he even knows it, he’s settling into his seat as comfortably as he can, considering he’s on a plane. An hour passes by just like that, with Alex listening to his playlist and its eclectic collection of songs, and reading his favourite book. That is, until he starts to become aware of the lyrics to the songs playing, and suddenly that is all he can focus on, not able to read the words printed out in front of him without hearing the words louder and louder. He shuts the book with a deep sigh, only six chapters in. He didn’t even get to the most important part, the chapter that is soon to come to life for him. It’s a chapter he’s read over and over again, wishing one day that it will all work out for him, that he would join this beloved club and everything will just seem perfect once again. That very thought swirls around his head as he watches the screen in front of him, the plane graphic slowly moving closer and closer to the south of England, the ending of the dotted line that the plane is travelling towards ending in London. He looks down at the book, the front cover peeling away from the rest of the pages, now closer to Alex. He smiles softly, the photo of Arthur Fox’s face on the front of it. It’s an autobiography of his life and career, started by Arthur himself, detailing his childhood and his early years in football, through to his international career and the trophies he’s won, and narrowly missed out on. It goes into detail on his management career, and how his greatest ever career achievement was getting promoted to the Premier League as a manager. It talks of his life away from his football, how he found the love of his life and how they had three amazing children together, and ends with his cancer diagnosis and the turmoil that it brought to the family. The book was started by Arthur himself, but finished and published posthumously by Arthur’s youngest son, Henry. It’s been five years now, nearly. Five years since he died, and the footballing world lost one of its most cherished heroes. In those five years, Alex’s career has gone from strength to strength and now here he is: travelling to Arthur Fox’s London United, to sign for them.
But it’s not Arthur Fox’s London United anymore.
In reality, the club is managed by Rafael Luna, someone who has very obviously been scouting out Alex for years, wanting to sign him. Hence why Alex is currently in the air.
But if you asked the fans, the club is Henry Fox’s. He’s the captain of the team, the leader, the first person on the team sheet every week. He also happens to be one of Alex’s footballing heroes, just like his dad was. And now Alex will be playing alongside him, for at least the next three years.
“Morning.” Henry smiles at the receptionist as he walks past her station on his way to the manager’s office. She responds instantly with a familiar, bright smile on her face, looking up at him from over the top rim or her glasses before she nudges them further up the bridge of her nose and goes back to typing away at her computer.
He continues walking, a cold blast of fresh air coming in through the front doors of the training facility as they automatically open to allow some of the younger players to filter in. It’s a Monday, which means all of the older youth teams are in training. Henry nods at each one of them as they walk in, and they nod back - it costs nothing to be nice, and he was one of them once, so he knows how nice it is to have the captain of the first team acknowledge them.
A chill falls down his spine as he turns the corridor, desperately trying to get away from the cold. He might be a professional football player and used to playing in all kinds of weather, but right now he’s just in his training top and shorts and not running, so he’s not at all warm. The opposite, in fact. He wraps his fingers around his steaming mug of tea, praying that it somehow warms his entire body up soon.
Henry reaches his destination, opens the door and walks straight in. He doesn’t knock on the door and wait for a response, he doesn’t have to. He knows the manager isn't in there yet, he never is at this time - much preferring to set everything up for training and getting everything in order for the talk he gives every Monday morning, outlining the week ahead. Henry shuts the door behind him and walks further into the office, sitting down in the chair he’s familiar with, sinking into it comfortably as he takes a sip of his tea before placing the mug down on the table, right over a stain in the wood in the shape of a perfect circle, highlighting all of the years in which a mug has been places repetitively in the exact same place. It’s a regular occurrence, Henry sitting right here. He’s practically grown up in this room. He remembers being in here as a child, his dad sitting opposite where Henry is right now, sitting behind the desk as Henry plays with toy trucks and kicking footballs that were far too big for his small feet. He signed his first contract on that very desk. He was made captain of the club whilst sitting in this very chair. This club holds a lot of memories for him, but none as important as the one immortalised in this very room. There’s a gentle smile on his face as he looks up at the wall in front of him, a large frame filled with a photo he has long since admired. It might be his favourite photo ever taken, actually. It’s one of his dad, mainly, but he, Bea and Philip are also in it. Henry is sitting on his dads shoulders, probably too old to be up there but Arthur didn’t care about that. Bea is on his left, with Philip on his right and the four of them are all running onto the pitch, wide smiles and flushed cheeks, arms in the air as they all celebrate the club’s return to the Premier League. That was the second out of the nine seasons that Arthur managed the club he loved so much before his untimely death in 2015, when Henry was just 18.
The door creaks at the hinges as it opens and the sound causes Henry to slip out of his daydream before it turns to sadness as he remembers the death of his father. He tilts his head towards the door and listens out as Rafael shouts down the corridor. “He’s flying in now!” There’s a distant voice responding, but Henry can’t make it out properly, it coming out as merely a muffled sound. The door shuts with bang and Rafael sits down opposite Henry, behind the desk. He’s not even remotely phased by Henry being in the office, considering he’s in the room that often.
Henry watches as Rafael logs onto the computer, pushing his reading glasses up the bridge of his nose. “So.” Henry says, picking up his mug and taking another sip, the heat burning down his throat in a welcome way. “Who is this new recruit?”
The transfer window rumours have been the talk of the club for weeks now. It’s a biannual occurrence, where twice a season, all anyone talks about are people changing teams. It’s gossip in the workplace, except also on Sky Sports News too, and with notifications on phone lockscreens as well. It’s an exciting time, but also equally as stressful for everyone involved.
Rafael sighs, picking up his phone from the desk and looking at the screen for a second or two before he places it back down. “Alexander Claremont-Diaz.” Rafael says. He looks at Henry and knows that he’s asking for more than just his name, though he will no doubt go and search for him online after this conversation. It’s what he does. It helps him to be the captain that he is. “Played for Austin. He’s actually been on our radar for a number of seasons now, but I’ve personally been keeping track of his career ever since he was a kid and came to one of my soccer camps.” He looks at Henry, and there’s a moment of remembrance that comes over him as he stands up and takes a football top out of a drawer, handing it to Henry alongside a sharpie. “I trust that you’ll take him under your wings.”
“Position?” Henry asks, cocking an eyebrow as he signs the shirt, leaning on the desk as he does so. It comes naturally to him, people putting shirts out in front of him and having him sign it. It comes with the territory.
Rafael chuckles under his breath softly. “Attacking midfielder.” He says. “So I’m expecting you two to link up well. He’s flying in as we speak, so once all of the contracts are officially signed tonight and he has a fitness test, he’ll be joining you all in training tomorrow. Hopefully. I obviously can’t say that with certainty yet.”
Henry hums low in his throat, nodding. He knows that is a position they need to focus on in the transfer window, with injuries from the midfield already starting to pile up. “I’ll let the lads know.” He says, standing up.
He’s barely three steps out of the door before he takes his phone out of his pocket and heads straight to Instagram with one thing in mind. To find his newest colleague. He types in the name and it immediately pops up. He taps on the account and a thrill reverberates around his body as he sees the words ‘Follow back’ illuminate the screen. It seems that the newest recruit already follows Henry, and judging by a quick scroll of his recent notifications which doesn’t include Alex’s name, he must have been following Henry for a while. A smirk widens across Henry’s face at the thought of that, which is quickly followed by a chill that rumbles down his spine as he looks at the top three photos on Alex’s feed. But nobody needs to know that just yet.