wickerpark | I'll be riding shotgun under the hot sun, feeling like someone

I'll be riding shotgun under the hot sun, feeling like someone

Two years before, when he'd told Gael Shaw that he was looking at Arsenal, and Monaco, it was with the bravado of a college kid who thought he might have his pick of places. But the truth is, while the U.S. was growing it's soccer talent, it wasn't like the European leagues were fighting over who got a goalkeeper from Stanford. Arsenal had been interested, but ultimately decided to use their cash on a midfielder from Sweden. Monaco had been considering, but same sort of thing, and ultimately Carlos Sánchez landed in Belgium, at Club Brugges.

It's been fine, he thinks; better than, he likes his teammates, and the initial skepticism in the face of the Mexican-American goalkeeper melted away when Carlos showed them his best impression of a wall and helped pull Brugges to the top of the league again, and then into the finals of the Champions League. But all that aside, it's good to be home, and he squints at the sun as he steps out of LAX before sliding his sunglasses on.

And then back down again as he spots a familiar face looking for his car. Their car, probably, he thinks, and he approaches Gael and taps his shoulder. "You must be my date for the carpool," he intones, and smirks. "How's tricks, Shaw?"

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Twenty was better year for him than 18 had been. Sure, he'd come back from the US Camp to be unceremoniously traded to PSG for far more money than he'd thought he was worth. But Chelsea sure as hell were going to say no to 35 million in transfer fees, and he was at least going to country he shared a language with. And, honestly, PSG had been good for him. Pressure was off, so to speak, and he'd started to blossom in his role. Hell, they'd even had a decent run at the Champions League, before an untimely injury had them swapping out their best keeper.

Also, he sort of liked Paris.

He turned though, when he felt a tap on his shoulder and smiled at Carlos Sanchez. "Well, well...The- what is it they call you again? Die Mauer, die Große Mauer?" He asked, laughing a little as he held up his hand and pulled Carlos into a hug. "How've you been, man? Saw that final....rough break, but damn- you played well."

Gael always figured Carlos was going to play well, and was largely grateful he wasn't trying to sneak balls into the back of the net around him. It helped his rise to 'best of the best' in France a lot easier. His goal average was much better now than it had been at Chelsea. He averaged 1.6 goals a game, and his passing accuracy was 94%.

"You know what car we are waiting for?" He asked, smiling easily.

"De Murr," Carlos said in a fairly credible Flemish accent. He wouldn't ever really be able to speak Flemish Dutch, or German, and he quickly learned he was better off speaking English in interviews instead of touching his college French. Pronouncing the things the press called him, though, was probably fairly important. He shrugged, though, as if the loss to Barça hadn't been bitterly painful. "I'll get them back next year," he said.

Of course, that wasn't the focus just now. The U.S. had qualified for the Cup, and now they were in the lead up to seeing if they were going to end up in the Group of Death or not - and if so, if they could make it out.

"Black Prius," he said. "Supposedly with Ty, but let's be real, he called his own ride." That was probably going to cruise up to Arrivals in the slickest convertible money could buy. Carlos still wasn't sure if they were dating or if they were just...a thing.

He could use his own thing, honestly. "I was thinking we might have to deal with PSG," he said instead. "Tough break, running into Bayern."

"De Murr," he repeated, tipping his head a little as he frowned at the idea of a Prius. No wonder Ty would have called for another ride to the hotel and camp. Ty was sort of a rebel, even in Germany. Hell, he seemed to have become just a bit of a rockstar there.

"Yeah, well- Barca beat them, so it all worked out. Besides, we'd never have won with Marcos out." Their back-up wasn't the worst, but he was not superstar. "Next year, though? Next year I promise to have you ducking." He grinned and winked at Carlos as their car pulled up to them. He put his bags in truck, making sure to leave room for Carlos before they both got into the car for the ride back to the hotel.

"So, what group do you think we'll get?" He asked, leaning back in his seat as he scrubbed his hair. "Personally, I'm hoping we get France in the group. They played like shit the last couple of games. You?"

The environmentally friendly vehicle tendency had never really infected Chicago much, Ty told him once, where Prius drivers were mostly known to be smug assholes (of course, that came from Ty, who could also fit that description to a tee), but in New Mexico and especially in California it was the most common type of car you saw. Unless you were into off-roading it in the mountains, and then you had something resembling a truck.

"We'll see about that," he murmured, though, as he tossed his bags into the back of the car and slid in next to Gael.

"Not sure, really, but you're right about France. Costa Rica might be ideal, they aren't playing well this year either. The Netherlands barely qualified."

France had it's own deal with environmentally friendly cars, what with petrol fueled cars being a bit of a 'thing'. But BMW had their electric sports car that he'd gotten not long ago. It made up for things by being fast, sexy as well as environmentally friendly. And not being a Prius. And his...fling, girlfriend, well she liked it. So it worked out.

"Netherlands plays dirty, though. Not the guys I'd want to go in circles with. Let the Germans take them out, or something. I like my legs." He said, though he laughed a little as he shifted in his seat. Glancing over at Carlos, he could see the man still held on to that boyish charm, despite looking very much like a man. He was still as attractive as he had been the last time they'd really spent a lot of time together.

"How as it been?" He asked, though, rubbing his nose as he glanced out the window. "I mean, in Belgium. We've not really...talked since you were picked up."

"Well, as long as we're not in a group with Mexico. I don't think Abuelo's heart can take the stress." His beloved El Tri, on one hand, after all, and his grandson on the other. Of course, if both teams did well this year - and it looked like it could go that way - eventually Felipe would need to breathe through that match.

He glanced back at Gael, though, and found himself noticing that he'd...grown a little more into himself. At barely eighteen he'd clearly had a lot on his plate, and a lot of injured pride from that Champion's League final and what must have been a trade in progress at the time. On top of that, Ty had developed a habit of occasionally teasing him not just about his odd British-American accent but about his 'crush' on Carlos. Which might have existed, Carlos thought, but really, did it matter? It wasn't like they all hadn't been there.

"It's been better than I expected," he said. "I had some mixed feelings about it at the time, just because they weren't on my radar." He hadn't had his heart set on anyone, of course, but the English Premier League definitely got the most play of any of the European leagues in the U.S. - so there would have been a certain cachet to Arsenal. His dad had had to google Club Brugges. "But the guys are good, and we work." He smiled a little. "Obviously, I guess."

"Ditto with England," he said with a laugh, looking at his phone for a moment. "Well, sort of. More that my dad would literally not be cheering me on, which would be terrible." He explained, as they drove on. He watched the scenery go by them, wondering for a moment if he'd every be inclined to return to the States to play, but didn't think he'd ever get there.

"Well, in the US it is hard to see the other leagues. Last time I was in Chicago, I literally spent twenty minutes explaining who PSG was." He said, knowing that he had even more of an advantage that Carlos. "But honestly? If we do as well as I think we can? You could put in for a transfer to your choice of clubs, easy. You're the top keeper, yeah? I mean- no way you aren't getting tapped for the Cup." Gael himself didn't have much to worry about in that regard either. Or Ty. Or Greg- well, maybe Greg. He was good, but also a joker.

"We have the night and day off, right?" He asked, knowing they'd all flown in a bit early. Camp started in the morning, so that meant that they could do whatever they wanted for the rest of the afternoon. "You have plans for the rest of the day? Family, something?"

"Mm, yeah, Michael's retired. Keegan's just finished at Indiana and is going into the superdraft." Some might be surprised that Keegan wasn't trying for the European Leagues himself but then...his mother was still sick. Carlos rather expected he wanted to be on the same continent.

"Of course, we might come up against Germany in Groups, too." Carlos smirked a little. "Though, can't say I'd be sad the frustrate the hell out of their best striker. Ty might flat out kiss me for it, and wouldn't that be a fun call to overhear with his parents?"

As for plans, though, he shook his head. "They're not in Cali," he reminded Gael. "They'll make it up by tomorrow. Yours will to, I imagine?"

“Oh yeah, my dads will come by. Probably not till the end of the week, though.” They weren’t globe trotters, but they had been to Paris a fair amount. Gael suspected that someday Lèon would try to convince Daniel to move to Europe. Maybe after they both retired. “But as for tonight, free as can be and in damn need of a night out.”

He grinned at Carlos then, settling back in the seat as he thought about the US probably going up against Germany. At some point, at least. He’d been tapped for the last friendly they had had with the club, which made sense as he had been close by. They’d ended in a draw, and Ty had been caught between happily dancing and trying not to piss his club teammates off. “He might kiss you, but he’d also have to beg a little forgiveness.” Gael teased, glancing at his phone again. He forgot how big LA was.

“So, you up for some drinks tonight? Dancing? No one knows who I am out here, which is the best thing in the world. So I can get into all the trouble I want and no one gives a damn.” Except maybe his sort of girlfriend, but he didn’t care that much. She was, he thought, much more into him than he was into her. “Unless, of course, you aren’t still single, and fun isn’t in your cards.”

Carlos didn't know Gael's family, but if he had to make a guess - and this based on his mother's face when they went to Felipe and Pilar Sánchez's house - he'd say that proximity to in-laws was probably at least as much an obstacle as careers. "Not much party time in Paris, hm?"

As for Bruges, it was a lovely city, but the only time it was a party town was after they'd won, and if they'd won, Carlos generally wanted to wash off all the sweat and grime off. After which, well. It hadn't been hard to find hookups, not when you were a celebrity in the city. But he hadn't been dating or anything.

Carlos smirked as he elbowed Gael in the side. "Sound like you're fishing, Shaw," he said. "But I could go out for a bit. If we want anonymity, though, we should definitely not call either Ty or Greg." Ty, of course, came with a side of Oscar-nominated actor, and Greg and Merry were both a little better known, since they played in the MLS and NWSL.

"There is some, time." Gael said, shrugging a little before he shrugged. "More like....Paris full of the French, which I know. Shocking." He smirked at that. He didn't really have anything against the French, or Paris. He just had never developed a taste for the French Pop music that flooded the clubs. It anything, it usually just gave him a headache.

And then there was Claire, who preferred to sit down at a quiet dinner and discuss her day. All conversations revolved around her, rarely involved anything he'd done that day or week. Hell, the only time she wanted to go out was if it meant getting her picture taken. He really didn't understand how he'd ended up dating on of Frances best up and coming actresses, but he really rather regretted it.

"Frankly, I sort of hate getting my picture taken." He said, smirking a little. "So.... just the two of us then? Even more reason not to get pictures taken- the things people would say." He made it sound much more scandalous than it was. Gael was often out with fellow teammates and no one said a word- then again, he also wasn't extremely attracted to his PSG teammates.

Carlos arched his brows a bit, but there was a reason he had a reputation of being a man of few words. He tended to keep his thoughts behind his teeth most of the time, but it did sound a bit like Gael wished he'd been traded off to another Premier League club, whether that was true or not. "Odd that none of us see much of each other," he said instead. "It isn't as if Paris is far from Bruges, or Bruges far from Munich."

Admittedly, while Ty was his best friend, and he liked most of the Bayern players, he wasn't such a fan of Munich. The city itself was...fine, but there was no denying that it was in Bavaria, a geographically stunning region that nonetheless was what one of his German teammates called our very own bible belt. Not the best place to be a gay man, even in this day and age. Paris would probably be a better bet.

"Probably just us," he said, and tilted his head. "You haven't developed a thing for Euro style techno, have you?"

Gael laughed at the idea that he liked Euro Techno music, like it was the silliest thing he’d ever heard. And maybe it was, in a way. Shaking his head though, he looked out the window. “No, not really. I do like to dance, but I have to say I am partial to American club music. I have even converted some of my teammates to American RAp, which is somewhat of an accomplishment, given the French love their pop music.”

But it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. That much was certain. He tilted his head though as they neared the hotel and smirked back at Carlos. “Is it sad that I look forward to coming back to the US just to go out? I even convinced some friends back in Chicago to hook me up with an ID, because I do not understand why I can vote for our country’s future- but I can’t get drunk to forget it when it all goes wrong.”

He laughed though, before getting out of the car as it stopped in front of the hotel. He and Carlos grabbed their bags and headed inside to the counter to get their rooms, Gael still all smiles. “What about you? Develop a taste for Euro Techno in your last two years?”

French pop wasn't so bad, but Carlos had been raised on the Spanish version, which had a few more guitars but was as relentlessly...pop. Still, he hadn't done the club scene much in Bruges, and he didn't do it much when he was home, but he supposed exceptions could be made.

"It's one of the perks of home," he said. "I don't go clubbing much, but even dinner out was like a mobbing back in Belgium. A polite mobbing, you understand, where they pretend they aren't staring at you but they totally are." The Belgians never wanted to admit that they were impressed with anyone, even their own royal family - and Queen Elisabeth's eldest son was said to be a little obsessed with Club Brugges, even if by all rights RSCA was Prince Louis' local club.

He pushed his hair back as he stepped out of the car and paused by the trunk to grab his duffle and rollerbag. "Oh, I'm boring," Carlos said. "I still mostly like salsa. Min-ho tried to get me into k-pop this last year, though," he said, speaking of Brugges Korean-born defender. "Some of it isn't too bad."

"I have developed a night life," in moderation, really. "K-Pops not so bad, pretty fun to dance to." He couldn't say he was a fan, but it wasn't nearly as annoying at French Techno music, so it had a huge advantage. Getting to the counter, he put his passport on the counter before looking over at Carlos.

"They assign you a roommate this time?" Jim Carlson, the team coordinator, had actually asked him this time if he'd wanted a roommate or a single this time. Gael had almost said a roommate was fine, before thinking on it a little more and passing. He'd at least offered to pay for his own room though, if it was necessary. It was just easier on him if he didn't have to worry about an roommates.

"Greg, again." Carlos hadn't in past years made a habit of hookups - and even the few times he had, Greg was usually more than willing to go down to the hotel bar and convince someone to buy a round for everyone while he texted his best friend. "You? Single again?"

He handed over his passport and got his keycard before glancing back at Gael. "Tell the truth, you were afraid of rooming with Joey, and finding out if he farts as much as he claims in the locker room."

"Yeah, Jim asked if I wanted one- said it didn't matter, but it was easier to be in a single." He said, before looking at Carlos in horror. "I...no, no I don't want to know if he farts to hard the beds shake."

Gael grabbed his passport and room key, waving a little at the desk clerk as they started to move away. "Besides, I'm pretty sure I'm still somehow the youngest one here. And as much as I love hang out with you old farts, I do need my space." He teased, really. He loved hanging out with the others, especial Thompson who played in Germany. The man had good advice, was a solid midfielder, and just seemed to help all people out in that all around good guy sort of way.

He stopped at the elevator and hit the button, before looking at his key card to see which room he was even in. "Third floor, you?"

"Well, probably the youngest who will play, at least." There were a few fresh-faced phenoms who probably weren't going to make it on the field but were on the team. There always were; Gael was just the youngest who'd gotten a lot of play, in the CONCACAF Gold Cup the year before. As for him, it was going to be a weird year, without Michael. Michael had definitely shown him the ropes of working on the national team, and he'd been sad to hear when he'd retired from Atlanta - which ultimately had just been foreshadowing for the USMNT too. Now, Carlos was going to be the one on the field, probably for all the matches.

It was a good feeling, but also a weird one.

"Fifteenth," he said, and arched his brow. "We important, experienced players get closer to the penthouse, apparently."

Edited 2018-07-04 01:30 (UTC)

"You know the building sways more untop, right?" He asked, smirked as the elevator dinged and they stepped onto it. "But thank heavens I am not right next door to you guys. Oh god, all the old people snoring." He smirked as he hit the 3 and the 15, winking at Carlos as the doors shit. CONCACAF had been a good first start for Gael. He'd played well then, and continued to put in solid performances each time he was on the field.

Hell, he'd even managed to outlast being called 'English' by most of the other guys. Most settled for 'kid' or 'Shaw' these days.

"On a more serious note, I heard Reagan was on the nasty end of a tackle last week. Anyone know if he's going to be playing?" He asked as the doors shut on them. Jimmy Reagan was a little older than Gael, and over the last year the two had bonded up at the top of the pitch. Reagan had a monster of a right foot that complimented Gael's left footed volley's well. They worked as a well oiled unit, the pair of them. Is Reagan was out, Gael wasn't sure who was going to take his place- or if they'd manage to work so seamlessly.

Injuries happened, but damn if they didn't have to happen at the worst times. "I hope he's not, but Jim didn't mention if he was going be here for the wind up." And two months was not a lot of time to find someone who complimented Gael's own play style.

"Just remember, I can throw the ball back out and accidentally hit you in the head." His lazy tone belied his his words, though, anyone who got their back up about being teased didn't make it long in either Catholic school or soccer.

"You probably know as much about Reagan as me, and Thompson'll know more, since they're both in Leipzig," he said. "I don't think it was that bad, though. Broken nose when he hit the ground and Bayern's center accidentally kicked him, right?" It was probably an accident, and Ty would kick him for suggesting otherwise - especially since Ty had been right there when it happened. "As long as it's a simple break it'll heal soon enough. Hell, if we were hockey players he'd already be back in the rink."

His main concern was Greg, really, who was an excellent defender, and a star up in Portland, but....let's face it, his drinking problem was only as little as it was because Meredith Addison kept him in line.

"Yes, but the question is if you really would won't to." He asked, turning to lean against the elevator walls. It wasn't going to take long for them to reach the third floor. "I don't know how bad it was, but it'll be good to have him on the field. If only I could convince him to come to PSG, man- we'd be unstoppable." He grinned at the thought, before turning to look at the counter as it reached the third floor.

"This is going to be an exciting camp, I can feel it already." He said with a laugh as the doors opened on the third floor. "Well, this is me. Room 320, you can meet me down here when you are ready to go out. Bring a friend....all of that." He winked as he stepped off the elevator.

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I'll be riding shotgun under the hot sun, feeling like someone

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