tennis slash - The Falcon (8)
Title: The Falcon (8)
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Players: eventual Novak Djokovic/Andy Murray, David Ferrer/Juan Carlos Ferrero, Marat Safin, Rafael Nadal
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: This did not happen.
Summary: AU. Novak goes to Spain to look for inspiration to create the Next Great Superhero. This chapter: Novak and Andy head to Barcelona for Andy’s first ATP event; David’s meeting with Juan Carlos’ father doesn’t go as planned.
"You’ve travelled quite a bit in your lifetime," Novak says to Andy as they sit on the train to Barcelona.
Andy nods along, then waits to see where Novak is heading with that comment. "Is this about research for The Falcon?"
Novak looks down at his opened notebook, the scribbles having absolutely nothing to do with this question. The phone in his other hand has his full attention. "Sort of. Can you remember everywhere you’ve been?"
"Probably not but I can tell you my itinerary is pretty full as it is." Andy presses a few buttons on his phone, then brings up a calendar. "Just this year, I was back in the UK, Israel for Davis Cup, Italy, then this trip begins a stretch of a few weeks in various parts of Spain, then an event in Germany before likely playing juniors at the French Open, then back in the UK for about a month of grass courts before heading to the US. That was actually a light schedule given I was rehabbing the beginning of the year."
"It’s an amazing life, if you think about it."
"If everything works out. As it is right now, it’s a lot of hard work without much payoff. There have been so many sacrifices…"
"It’d be easier if you weren’t so hard on yourself. The game is actually simpler than you think."
"It’s only simple if you’re prepared."
"Do you think you’re going to be prepared when you fall in love with someone?"
"What?" Andy blinks then shakes his head. "How does that fit into any plan?"
"Love ruins all plans. That’s what makes it amazing." Novak slouches back in the seat. "I want to create this world that is so much grander than how I actually live. By getting this story done, I know I’ll be so much better off than I am right now. Thinking about reality hurts."
Andy is deep in thought, studying Novak as if he’s looking for flaws in a tennis opponent, then surprises Novak by snatching his phone. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Andy to find what he’s looking for. "Viktor Troicki is someone I’m guessing is from Serbia whom I know I’ve never heard you talk about. You were on the phone with him when I called to pick you up."
Novak looks out the window. He isn’t sure he wanted to talk about that call so soon but better now than ruining Andy’s practice session later. "Viktor is with Jelena. He told me he’s gonna propose."
"Oh. Sorry to hear that."
"He wants me to come clean with Jelena before he does. I get his point but I can’t. It’s been tough enough with what she believes is true. The truth… I lose my family if they find out… and they will find out because Viktor is so close to them and I’m apparently wasting my life away in this notebook. But Pablo is easier to figure out because he has what I want." Novak suddenly feels his breath muffled against the fabric of Andy’s jacket and a hand on his shoulder pushing him close.
There are several minutes of silence, just staying wrapped by Andy’s arm before Andy speaks into Novak’s hair, his voice deadly serious. "Do me a favor. Do not talk to anyone from Serbia while we’re in Barcelona. For the next few days, we stay in a fantasy world where you are in fact world traveler Pablo Andujar and I can actually beat a professional tennis player on the main tour level. It’s a fun and exciting world and we need to try to enjoy this trip. If you want to talk, we’ll get nice and drunk the night before we leave."
Novak raises his head, realizing that it would be best not to continue this conversation on a crowded train. "You’re going to get drunk?"
Andy wrinkles his nose, now not so sure about that. "As long as we hide these phones. Bad enough I did that once."
* * * * *
David waits outside Mr. Ferrero’s office, his fingers fidgeting with the sketchbook lying next to him on the couch. He always gets nervous that the day will come when Mr. Ferrero will decide none of his work is worth the investment.
"Ferrer. What brings you here? Juan Carlos is on the practice courts."
"Shut up, Safin."
"He’s getting a good show." David’s posture straightens as Marat sits next to him. "I know you think I think only of sex and, in particular, sex with the owner’s son but that’s his game, not mine. He can be conniving when he wants to be. I know boundaries."
"I don’t care about your sex life."
"You care about his sex life and whether I, or anyone else, is involved in it. Truth is, he’s just some rich kid playing games with people because he knows he’s untouchable."
"Why are you talking to me?"
"You won’t talk to him. That bothers him greatly because he thought he was winning that prize."
"You’re lucky I have a meeting with Mr. Ferrero right now or else..." David shakes his head, then stands up and walks to the other end of the hall. He knows Marat is doing this on purpose, even if he doesn’t quite know what the purpose is.
"What, exactly, can you do? Huh? You have no power whatsoever." Marat flips through the sketchbook, smiling at the drawings because he knows David refuses to look his way anymore.
David mutters obscenities to himself for not taking the sketchbook. He can hear the pages turning and he really doesn’t want Marat to have free reign over that book. Especially if he gets to the back pages.
"Frankly, I think you both need to be cussed out." Marat holds up the book on one page in particular and carefully inspects it. He says mostly to himself, "So that’s what Juan Carlos was talking about. That is the French kid who beat Federer." Marat walks over to a photo in the lobby and compares.
David is thrown by the change in subject but realizes this has nothing to do with whatever Marat’s scheme had been and joins Marat at the frame. He looks at the sketch of Philippe and easily spots the person in the photo. "I don’t know who that is but I wasn’t drawing any particular person. I’ve never even seen that person at the academy."
"This photo was taken at the recent fundraiser with Rafael Nadal. This kid, Richard Gasquet, was tagging along with him."
"Is he any good?" David shakes his head. "Must be good. You just said he beat Federer."
"Amazing technique. You know, the French have been crowing about him for years. I see why."
On closer inspection, there’s something else about the photo. "That’s Mr. Ferrero’s prized guitar. He gave that away?"
"Yep, Rafa’s uncle was admiring it. That trumps any value of that guitar. I will miss its spot in the office - as well as Boss’ stories about hanging around Julio Iglesias when he was recording the album - but I hope the gesture was appreciated."
David quickly goes through the pictures on his phone until he finds the one he snapped in Andy’s room. He shakes his head, certain it’s the guitar from the slight crack where Julio’s signature had been faded.
Marat looks over at the photo and spots the same imperfections. "What the hell is Andy Murray doing with it?"
"I have absolutely no idea but I knew something was weird that night, even in my drunken state. I doubt he knows the stories surrounding that gift."
Marat chances a glance in David’s direction. If David didn’t know better, he’d say Marat looks as if he’s… guilty. In the same tone, he asks, "Why are you here?"
David looks around the room, feeling so out of place in this extravagant office space, and says, "I don’t even know anymore."
Marat looks his hand, holding the collection of sketches David worked so hard on, and shakes his head. "I can’t do this. I feel as if I’m kicking a puppy."
"What…"
Marat bellows, "Stop eavesdropping and get in here!"
The door to Mr. Ferrero’s office opens but it’s the son who exits. Marat slams the sketchbook into Juan Carlos’ chest and says, "He’s all yours. Leave me alone," before leaving the lobby.
David feels as if he just got that shot as well. He mutters, "Marat is right. This is a game to you."
Juan Carlos rushes over as if wanting to comfort him. "No, David, you don’t…"
"No, you don’t get to say a word." Juan Carlos stops in his tracks, stunned by the anger in David’s voice. "How fucking dare you! Snap of your fingers to have Marat wind me up. Why not convince my neighbor Feliciano to play Dress Up with me as his test subject because that would be so hilariously entertaining for you. Oh wait, if you make out with Coach Robredo, that will totally fucking work on casting the perfect spell on me while opening the conversation to engage in a three-way with Marat. Kill two birds with one stone. I don’t need this. I don’t need you." He stuffs his hands in his jacket, it taking all his willpower not to completely lose control right here and punch that perfect face. "So of course you have to interfere here with a meeting that is otherwise none of your concern."
That perfect face which has morphed into a coldhearted businessman. "Fine. I’m the bastard. You win. Go back to slumming."
David furiously shakes his head and spits out, "Fuck you," considers going for his sketchbook then changes his mind and storms out.
Juan Carlos collapses down on the couch, a sheet of paper slipping out of the back of the book. "What the…" It looks as if it’s the same style as the ones from Novak’s novel but the character isn’t one he remembers from any of the discussions.
It’s sort of like the Pablo Andujar outfit when he isn’t The Falcon, except not because that one is angular and otherwise looks like Novak. Floppy blond hair. Small face. Sharp nose. Red and yellow tie, in line with Spain’s colors, but the suit is black and crisply drawn. Juan Carlos could have probably pretended it wasn’t what it looked like except for the fact that this character has a fluffy white and grey dog he sees every day when he goes home.
On some level, he probably should have known David would do this but it’s still jarring. "He drew me into the story?"
* * * * *
"Do you think you’ve been a good boy?" Andy says with something resembling an evil grin, holding Novak’s phone above his head. Novak is sitting on the bed in the hotel room. As David predicted, they are staying in small quarters and this probably won’t be good for Novak. Especially if Andy keeps teasing him while they’re around a bed that’s wanting action.
"You enjoy having control of my phone a little too much."
"Because I believe you’re going to continue pining over Jelena for the remainder of the trip."
"I don’t pine over Jelena."
"Your phone has been buzzing with messages. Let’s see," holding the display so it’s only in his view. "Well, you’ll be sorry to know the messages are all from David," then drops the phone next to Novak.
Novak surprises Andy by, instead of dealing with the phone, grabbing onto Andy’s knee and dragging him onto the bed next to him. "I don’t need to think about Jelena if you’re in bed with me," then begins laughing.
"I should learn just enough Serbian to be able to turn you on when we’re out in public."
"You don’t need to learn Serbian in order to turn me on."
There’s a knock at the door just as Andy tries to figure out whether Novak is still joking around. He stands up and stares at Novak, walking backwards. "Hold that thought," before answering the door.
"Hola, Andy."
"No, no, no." Andy rests his forehead against the door frame. "I told you, Rafa. No more."
Rafael adjusts the baseball cap hiding his face. "But we need another player in the room for video game…"
"I have to prepare for tomorrow."
"I get that. I just thought…"
"Please, Rafa. You can pretend you don’t know but I can’t."
"Okay, Andy." Rafael grabs onto Andy’s shoulder and brings him into a hug, which only makes Andy want to cower away. "I will wait for you to change your mind."
Andy shuts his eyes and ekes out the words, "Good luck."
"You, too." Andy watches Rafael’s retreating form, forcing himself not to chase.
Novak cautiously approaches, his voice soft when he asks, "You okay?"
Andy barely shakes his head while still focused on the now-empty hallway. Novak decides to wait Andy out in order to figure what to do next. Finally, Andy says, "I want to go to sleep."
"All right. I’ll take the armchair. I think I saw another blanket in the drawer…"
"You don’t want to share the bed?" Andy turns around, his eyes practically pleading with Novak not to leave him alone.
Without asking, Novak knows that Andy won’t tell him what’s going on in his head until he gets knocked out of the tournament. Novak hasn’t shared a bed with a guy since he and Viktor were still friends... and he’s not sure it’d be any easier to control his feelings in this situation. Nonetheless, Novak was invited on this trip specifically to help Andy play his first ATP-level match. "I can do that for you."