fic: a full circle
title: a full circle
pairing: marat safin/richard gasquet
rating: pg
disclaimer: fiction
this takes place at this years french open. the netcord vol.2 fic that never was~ per se
Being at a tournament, at a Grand Slam, is so much more different as a spectator than a player and Marat is just starting to find this out. He didn’t attend too many tournaments during his first year of retirement because he believed that it was his time to enjoy non-tennis related activities. But now he is ready to get back into it and there is no better place to start than at Roland Garros.
Paris isn’t what he remembered; however, Marat knows he cannot judge the city based on the time he spent there playing tournaments. He is guilty of never taking the time to explore the beauty of cities while playing - then again, many players fall into that category.
The city is utterly amazing, breathtakingly beautiful that the regret of not truly seeing it before floods Marat. He travels with some of his really good friends, along with Dinara and together they all take the time to stroll down L’Avenue des Champs Elysées, ending up at Place de la Concorde and do the typical tourist-like things of seeing the Eifel Tower.
However, tennis is still the reason why he is in Paris and Marat agrees to go to Roland Garros with Dinara to the practice courts. He still loves tennis, of course he does. He’s just glad to be able to step back and be a witness of how magnificent the sport can be rather than be in the middle of it.
He doesn’t agree to anything but watch Dinara practice, to give her some pointers if she needs them but he makes sure he doesn’t promise to pick up a racquet, to even hit one ball because he knows if he does...
Dinara’s slowly finding her stride again and Marat loves to see the smile that covers her face when she realizes this, the laughter that flows so easily from within her. He could handle the critics and sceptics when they were attacking his game, his style of play. But when they go after Dinara... it’s a whole different story. It’s like something snaps inside him and all he wants to do is shelter her from the world at the same time as kicking someone’s ass. It is - after all - his duty as the older brother.
He takes a seat on the bench and watches tentatively under the hot Parisian sun as Dinara warms up before cracking forehands down the line. It doesn’t take long for him to notice what he does and doesn’t like from Dinara’s game and how much he sees himself in her. It is so much clearer now that he is no longer actively playing tennis. It doesn’t matter that Dinara is his sister and though she will react to his criticism the same way he did while he was on tour, he knows she will appreciate it - someday at least.
Thirty minutes into the session, a few figures filter onto the practice courts. When Marat recognizes them as Richard, Gilles, Jo-Wilfred and their respective entourage he gets up as they walk towards him. Greetings are shared all around. Marat cannot help but feel... relieved, lighter.
Gilles and Jo leave to the court they are using for the next few hours where as Richard stays behind with Marat for a moment.
“How are you, Marat?”
The question makes Marat smile. He is asked this so often since retiring that he gets irritated by it but Richard asks him so genuinely, with innocent, like he actually cares how Marat is and not just asking out of formality. Marat thinks the least he can do is give him an honest answer.
“Good actually. Retirement has made me fall in love with tennis again.”
Richard looks at him with puzzlement etched onto his face. “How so?”
Marat laughs before he looks back towards where Dinara is practicing her serve. “Playing tournaments constantly, practicing when I didn’t want to, travelling by myself... I definitely stopped caring and my tennis showed that.” He gestures towards his baby sister then to Richard’s compatriots. “But stepping back, I see that tennis is so much more than winning.”
Richard looks down. Suddenly the weight of his bag on his shoulder is too much, as is the heat on his skin, as are Marat’s words in his ears. But before he can question his own career, Marat’s hand falls onto his shoulder, covering the strap of the bag. He aims his smile at Richard and the Frenchman can feel the knot that had settled in his stomach loosen.
“I’ll let you get to practice now. It is important no matter how much I didn’t like it.” He winks and Richard finds himself blurting out.
“Join us for dinner?”
“What?”
“Um,” the colour on Richard’s cheek is hard to describe. It is a mix between a deep red and purple as he stumbles to formulate his thoughts. “I... I mean that... A bunch of us are going for dinner tonight... If you’re not... If you don’t have plans... Umm.”
He just stops speaking. Marat - for once - holds his tongue. He’s not stupid but Richard is different; he’s quiet and reserved. Marat knows he can make a joke of it but he feels like it would only shatter something that is on the brink of existence. What it is exactly, he isn’t sure.
“Okay. Just... Give me a second.” He rummages through his pockets for a phone he still doesn’t use much. “Here.” Marat hands it over and Richard stares at him for a moment, confused before he punches in his number awkwardly.
Richard smiles tentatively at him as he gives back the phone, not sure how to continue. So Marat pockets the device and flashes him his brightest smile, offering out his hand at the same time.
“See you in a few hours then?”
Richard smiles as he takes Marat’s hand - and if it feels like Marat holds on a second longer and tighter than normal he doesn’t say anything though his eyes flicker up and he sees something on the Russian’s face he cannot explain.
When Richard walks over to join in on the practise, Marat returns his attention to Dinara, who is still fiercely working hard to improve her game, though he does sneak a look over at the French court. Tennis will always be in his life.
pairing: marat safin/richard gasquet
rating: pg
disclaimer: fiction
this takes place at this years french open. the netcord vol.2 fic that never was~ per se
Being at a tournament, at a Grand Slam, is so much more different as a spectator than a player and Marat is just starting to find this out. He didn’t attend too many tournaments during his first year of retirement because he believed that it was his time to enjoy non-tennis related activities. But now he is ready to get back into it and there is no better place to start than at Roland Garros.
Paris isn’t what he remembered; however, Marat knows he cannot judge the city based on the time he spent there playing tournaments. He is guilty of never taking the time to explore the beauty of cities while playing - then again, many players fall into that category.
The city is utterly amazing, breathtakingly beautiful that the regret of not truly seeing it before floods Marat. He travels with some of his really good friends, along with Dinara and together they all take the time to stroll down L’Avenue des Champs Elysées, ending up at Place de la Concorde and do the typical tourist-like things of seeing the Eifel Tower.
However, tennis is still the reason why he is in Paris and Marat agrees to go to Roland Garros with Dinara to the practice courts. He still loves tennis, of course he does. He’s just glad to be able to step back and be a witness of how magnificent the sport can be rather than be in the middle of it.
He doesn’t agree to anything but watch Dinara practice, to give her some pointers if she needs them but he makes sure he doesn’t promise to pick up a racquet, to even hit one ball because he knows if he does...
Dinara’s slowly finding her stride again and Marat loves to see the smile that covers her face when she realizes this, the laughter that flows so easily from within her. He could handle the critics and sceptics when they were attacking his game, his style of play. But when they go after Dinara... it’s a whole different story. It’s like something snaps inside him and all he wants to do is shelter her from the world at the same time as kicking someone’s ass. It is - after all - his duty as the older brother.
He takes a seat on the bench and watches tentatively under the hot Parisian sun as Dinara warms up before cracking forehands down the line. It doesn’t take long for him to notice what he does and doesn’t like from Dinara’s game and how much he sees himself in her. It is so much clearer now that he is no longer actively playing tennis. It doesn’t matter that Dinara is his sister and though she will react to his criticism the same way he did while he was on tour, he knows she will appreciate it - someday at least.
Thirty minutes into the session, a few figures filter onto the practice courts. When Marat recognizes them as Richard, Gilles, Jo-Wilfred and their respective entourage he gets up as they walk towards him. Greetings are shared all around. Marat cannot help but feel... relieved, lighter.
Gilles and Jo leave to the court they are using for the next few hours where as Richard stays behind with Marat for a moment.
“How are you, Marat?”
The question makes Marat smile. He is asked this so often since retiring that he gets irritated by it but Richard asks him so genuinely, with innocent, like he actually cares how Marat is and not just asking out of formality. Marat thinks the least he can do is give him an honest answer.
“Good actually. Retirement has made me fall in love with tennis again.”
Richard looks at him with puzzlement etched onto his face. “How so?”
Marat laughs before he looks back towards where Dinara is practicing her serve. “Playing tournaments constantly, practicing when I didn’t want to, travelling by myself... I definitely stopped caring and my tennis showed that.” He gestures towards his baby sister then to Richard’s compatriots. “But stepping back, I see that tennis is so much more than winning.”
Richard looks down. Suddenly the weight of his bag on his shoulder is too much, as is the heat on his skin, as are Marat’s words in his ears. But before he can question his own career, Marat’s hand falls onto his shoulder, covering the strap of the bag. He aims his smile at Richard and the Frenchman can feel the knot that had settled in his stomach loosen.
“I’ll let you get to practice now. It is important no matter how much I didn’t like it.” He winks and Richard finds himself blurting out.
“Join us for dinner?”
“What?”
“Um,” the colour on Richard’s cheek is hard to describe. It is a mix between a deep red and purple as he stumbles to formulate his thoughts. “I... I mean that... A bunch of us are going for dinner tonight... If you’re not... If you don’t have plans... Umm.”
He just stops speaking. Marat - for once - holds his tongue. He’s not stupid but Richard is different; he’s quiet and reserved. Marat knows he can make a joke of it but he feels like it would only shatter something that is on the brink of existence. What it is exactly, he isn’t sure.
“Okay. Just... Give me a second.” He rummages through his pockets for a phone he still doesn’t use much. “Here.” Marat hands it over and Richard stares at him for a moment, confused before he punches in his number awkwardly.
Richard smiles tentatively at him as he gives back the phone, not sure how to continue. So Marat pockets the device and flashes him his brightest smile, offering out his hand at the same time.
“See you in a few hours then?”
Richard smiles as he takes Marat’s hand - and if it feels like Marat holds on a second longer and tighter than normal he doesn’t say anything though his eyes flicker up and he sees something on the Russian’s face he cannot explain.
When Richard walks over to join in on the practise, Marat returns his attention to Dinara, who is still fiercely working hard to improve her game, though he does sneak a look over at the French court. Tennis will always be in his life.