Till There Was You

Steven let out a low whistle when he saw the sheer size of Ciutat Esportiva, easily bigger than Melwood. "Si, verdad. You said I ought to sign with a mega club, Barca son un club muy mega", said Luis with a laugh.

"Wow, yeah. When I was a lad and had a tryout with Man United, I thought Old Trafford was impressive, the same when I first played at Anfield", he said.

"Si, but wait until you see Camp Nou, amigo, it is bigger than either", said Luis as he led them towards the entrance.

The burly security guard smiled when he saw them. "Hola, senor Suarez y senor Gerrard", he said.

"Hola, Sancho", he replied.

Steven followed him inside and through the maze-like bowels of the massive facility, hoping he'd quickly learn his way around. "This is where they do all the pressers", said Luis, opening a heavy door with the team crest.

Steven bowed his head and said a silent prayer when he saw manager Luis Enrique, Xavi, his staff and the team president Josep Bartomeu. "Hola y bienvenidos a Barca, Steven", said Enrique as they shook hands.

"Hola, senor Enrique", he replied.

"Hola, bon dia. I hope you like it here at Barca, aquest és el millor club del món", said Xavi, extending his hand.

Steven shook his hand. "I've just gotten here and I'm still settling in, I've been with Liverpool since I was a lad and I grew up as a Red, I'm a lifelong Kopite. I'm going to need to reprogram myself", he chuckled.

"Veritat, I was raised un Cule and went to La Masia as a boy before I joined Barca. I can't imagine playing anywhere else", said Xavi.

"I felt it was time for a change, I've been restless since me divorce. Maybe this is a sign", he mused aloud.

"I will show you around, and then we'll see Camp Nou. And you will have to learn Spanish and Catalan", said Xavi.

"Si, ho parlo Catalan, Stevie", said Luis.

"All right, but you speak English, Spanish and Dutch already. All I know bloody know is English", he teased.

"You speak Scouse, amigo. That is loco English", said Luis.

"What is Scouse?", asked Xavi.

"That's Liverpool English, it's spoken all over Merseyside. I can't get rid of me accent, I'll always be a proud Scouser", he chuckled.

"Veritat, and I will always be a proud Catalan no matter what. Let us show you around", said Xavi.

Steven was in a much better mood as Xavi and Luis led him around the facility. Luis helped his captain translate a bit into English and their rapid-fire exchanges in Catalan and Spanish started making sense. "I'm starting to understand you bloody bastards, it'll only be a matter of time", he chuckled.

"Veritat, you will have to learn at least Spanish, the local press doesn't really understand English. It must be a British thing, most of the British people I know don't know anything but English", said Xavi thoughtfully.

"Aye, that's true. Except for one of my mates from school whose Nan was German. I'm 100% English, so I never saw any reason to learn another language", he joked.

"But you are Catholic, veritat? English people are supposed to be Protestant", said Xavi.

"Not in Liverpool, everyone is Catholic and not just the Irish, especially if you're working class. The old kings never bothered us, it wasn't worth their time. Only Protestants I knew were rich or barmy, reckoned they wanted to kiss royal arse or went mental", he said sardonically.

"Then you ought to go to church with us, we go to Sant Josep. I will introduce you to Padre Jaume, he is a good man", said Luis.

"Thank you, I mean, Gracias. I can't take Communion, though, I'm divorced", he said.

"Si, no puede. Just come over by eight and we'll all go", said Luis.

Steven nodded in agreement as they walked over to the practice field. The sky overhead was a brilliant blue with only a few wispy clouds overhead and the sun shining, a lone figure below kicking a ball. "It would be raining in Liverpool now", he mused aloud.

"Verdad, amigos", said Luis as they made their way down to the pitch.

The figure on the pitch had their back to them as he did some drills supervised by a coach. Steven noticed the man's slight build and floppy brown hair as a grin formed on his face when he saw the number 10 on the back of his shirt. "Si, verdad. That is great Lionel Messi", teased Luis.

Lionel finished his drills and waved when he saw them, coming over to the group. "Hola, amigos. Hola, senor Gerrard. You like Barca?", he asked in slow, heavily-accented English.

"Uh, si. I'm getting the tour", he said.

"Si, bueno. Perdon, pero mi English no son bueno. Me gusta Oasis, I know a bit and en el cancions", he said apologetically.

"No worries, my Spanish is worse than your English", he joked as Luis translated.

"Verdad, senor Gerrard", he agreed.

"Call me Steven, we're going to be teammates", he replied.

"Okay, Steven. Necessito a oir mas musica Inglesas", joked Lionel.

"There are more English bands out there, you ought to look them up", said Steven.

"Aracelis likes the Arctic Monkeys, they are English", said Luis.

"Yeah, from Sheffield in Yorkshire. They're good lads, but Blades fans", he chuckled. And she has good taste in music, he thought.

"Voy oir ellos, maybe Samantha saber a ellos. Ella es Irlandais de Argentina y mi esposa", said Lionel as Luis translated.

"How nice. I didn't know there were Irish people in Argentina, thought", said Steven.

"They got people from all over in Argentina, but they are all Catholic and speak Spanish. Leo's wife is Irish Argentine and knows Spanish and English, he is Italian Argentine", explained Luis.

"Oh, I see. Shows you what I know", he joked.

"You are going to learn a lot playing with Barca, amigo", said Luis, putting an arm around his shoulder.