tennis slash - The Falcon (1)
Title: The Falcon (1)
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Players: eventual Novak Djokovic/Andy Murray, David Ferrer/Juan Carlos Ferrero, Marat Safin
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: A visit to the tennis academy leads Novak to the ideal sidekick and David to cross paths with Marat.
Author's Note: I ended up using 2005 as the starting point for this story, as there are tennis players being tennis players involved. Oh, my drawing skills suck but I felt compelled to at least show what David drew in this chapter, which I linked at the end..
Prologue here
When Juan Carlos said to hit the tennis courts, this was certainly not what Novak envisioned. A sprawling set of courts with players at every turn. This is so much more professional than the club that Novak and his brothers had played at. He is glad at this point Juan Carlos offered to drive Novak back to his apartment for workout clothes because he really wants to get on that court himself.
He is quite impressed with the physical specimens on display. They look like athletes. Glancing toward Juan Carlos, Novak realizes that he is likely a regular resident here because he fits in perfectly.
“Juan Carlos!” a definitely-not-Spanish, amazingly attractive man calls out. Novak swears that David huffs in reply as Juan Carlos gives a quick wave before leading them over.
“Marat! I haven’t seen you around lately,” Juan Carlos exclaims then embraces this Marat. “Novak, this is one of the coaches, Marat Safin. His sister is probably the best player from here.”
“I would have been a great one but the knee didn’t agree.” Marat taps the knee, then gives a smirk. “So I’ll have to live through her successes. Do you play? You look in pretty good shape.”
“Thanks. I have in the past but opportunities in Serbia are few. Haven’t played since coming to Spain for school.” Novak glances wistfully toward the courts. His father had pushed for success in sports in all his boys. This worked fine until he couldn’t get any more loans and choices had to be made, which forced Novak to stay in Serbia and gravitate toward the writing.
Marat says, “Can understand that. I left Russia for these red clay pastures.”
Juan Carlos says to Marat, “I thought it would be good for Novak to clear his head by hitting some balls.” David wrinkles his nose and turns away as if the conversation is making him nauseated.
Marat grins, then says, “Well, maybe we should get you guys onto a court then. I’m supposed to be playing with an up-and-coming pro but… frankly, I don’t want to do it. He drives me nuts. Damn know-it-all kid, doesn’t listen to me at all, just wants a hitting partner since his coach isn’t around,” then gestures toward a bench.
Novak looks in the direction Marat is pointing. Skinny kid, red hair, playing around with the tennis ball as if it were a football. This is the vision Novak has been waiting for in a sidekick. Even so, Novak’s mouth moves ahead of his brain when he says, “If he just needs a hitting partner, I could do it.”
David shakes his head furiously, “Novak, you do not want to do…”
Marat cuts off David to reply, “That is a wonderful idea. You hit with Andy so I can work more closely with Juan Carlos. His serve was having issues last time he was here.”
Novak pulls David away, quite excited as he explains, “He would be perfect as the sidekick.”
“What?” David turns back to see Marat holding Juan Carlos’ right arm up to go over service motion.
“The Falcon needs a sidekick, you said. That’s the perfect vision,” holding his hand out as they walk toward the bench.
“I feel like I’ve entered an alternate universe. Andy is the perfect vision?”
“Marat called him a know-it-all. Awkward looking. Okay, maybe doesn’t move awkwardly if he’s bouncing the ball around like that but he doesn’t look imposing. Have to think of a good name for him.”
“I’m beginning to wonder why I’m listening to you.”
“Because you believe in my vision, David. Now, Marat said he’s a pro?”
“Yeah. Andy is playing the lower levels of the tour, quickly moving up the ranks. He figured out about Marat’s knee issues within two games and did a ton of drop shots their first day. Marat has disliked him ever since. He’s British but has been living in Spain the last three years.”
“It gets better and better,” Novak maintains, wishing he had a notepad. “Are you understanding what I’m seeing?”
David mutters, “I know what Andy looks like but it doesn’t mean I get what you’re seeing,” then calls out, “Hi, Andy.”
Andy stops what he’s doing, then glances toward Marat, grumbling, “He is such a coward, sending you here again to do his dirty work. Marat does realize you’re only a recreational player, right? Well, guess he’d realize that if he wasn’t so keen on one-on-one with Ferrero.”
Novak cuts in front of the glaring Spaniard and says, “Actually, I volunteered. Novak. I just moved to Valencia. I attend university with David and Juan Carlos. I was just seeing where Juan Carlos hangs out and kind of got roped into playing.”
“Oh. You any good?”
“I was one of the top players in Serbia back in 14-and-under.”
Andy shrugs. “Okay. Well, you can borrow one of my racquets and I’ll give you time to stretch before doing drills.”
All seems calm the first half hour on the court as they trade shots in drills. So of course Novak is stupid enough to want to do a real set.
“Are you serious?” Andy lightly chuckles, then says flatly, “Sure. We can do that.”
Novak mumbles under his breath, “Catchphrase,” then camps out on the baseline as if ready to return serve. “Let it rip.”
* * * * *
It doesn’t take long for Novak to comprehend why David was trying to talk him out of playing. The score he doesn’t care about since he knows Andy is a pro. What he didn’t expect was to be so worn out after only playing six games, all he lost.
Finally, Novak collapses down on the ground in front of the bench David was sitting on. He notices two colored pencils and a tiny notepad in David’s hands and says, “So you’re working on that idea?”
“Not exactly.”
Novak reaches up with his hand to grab the pad. It’s a sketch of a body with black spiky hair face down in the red clay. He whacks David in the leg with the pad and grumbles, “You’re no help at all.”
Andy sits on the bench next to David, glances at the picture, then says to Novak, “You do strike me as the type who would like to make a clay angel. You okay?”
“I suddenly understand why Marat hates you.” Novak gets off the ground and begins wiping the clay off. “How did you end up in Spain, anyway? England is known for all the money they put into their tennis program. My parents had even pursued the idea of getting me to play for that country as a means to get some money.”
“Not everyone takes the same path to the top,” Andy says. Novak is sure there’s a longer explanation lingering, but Andy changes the topic. “You’re actually pretty good, considering you haven’t played in awhile. You were chasing down everything, keeping the point going. Until my coach is back in town, would you like to come down and hit with me after classes?”
“I could do that,” Novak says brightly, right now wanting to stay in proximity while ideas for the comic swirl in his head.
* * * * *
Novak doesn’t hear David’s opinion on this until lunch the next day. David states it simply and to the point. “You are an idiot.”
“The Falcon is the alter ego of world traveler Pablo Andujar, that’s a great name. His sidekick… um, I’m working on the name… but he has all the ideas and Pablo takes credit for them. I think more will flow once I can get the visuals clear. David, please go along with this.”
David lets out a loud sigh then says, “I suppose. Not like I have anything better to do. But I don’t need to be hanging around the tennis courts to accomplish this. I’m not drawing Andy specifically, just some version of him.”
“You don’t want to deal with watching Marat have his hands all over Juan Carlos.”
“Juanqui does enjoy the attention,” David grumbles, then pulls out the notepad. “But here’s something I worked out. I don’t know about Pablo Andujar or the sidekick but this could be The Falcon. I did this on the bus between bumps in the road but at least it’ll get the ideas rolling.”
Novak sees the drawing* and it feels right. He’s rather amused that David gave this guy essentially Novak’s hair and Serbia’s colors. “Excellent start. You’re right, it’s easier to imagine even with this rough drawing. Can I have this?”
“Go ahead.” David rips the page out of the pad and hands it to him.
Novak has to admit that the drawing is just enough of the image of himself being a superhero that the high takes him through the day - well, until he is knocked down to earth by Andy on the tennis court.
He had been thinking about a Spanish superhero but it could be Serbian instead… and it would be fun to think of himself as a superhero for a little while in creating this comic.
* here is the drawing if you're interested
Author: Kris S.
Fandom: Tennis RPS
Players: eventual Novak Djokovic/Andy Murray, David Ferrer/Juan Carlos Ferrero, Marat Safin
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: A visit to the tennis academy leads Novak to the ideal sidekick and David to cross paths with Marat.
Author's Note: I ended up using 2005 as the starting point for this story, as there are tennis players being tennis players involved. Oh, my drawing skills suck but I felt compelled to at least show what David drew in this chapter, which I linked at the end..
Prologue here
When Juan Carlos said to hit the tennis courts, this was certainly not what Novak envisioned. A sprawling set of courts with players at every turn. This is so much more professional than the club that Novak and his brothers had played at. He is glad at this point Juan Carlos offered to drive Novak back to his apartment for workout clothes because he really wants to get on that court himself.
He is quite impressed with the physical specimens on display. They look like athletes. Glancing toward Juan Carlos, Novak realizes that he is likely a regular resident here because he fits in perfectly.
“Juan Carlos!” a definitely-not-Spanish, amazingly attractive man calls out. Novak swears that David huffs in reply as Juan Carlos gives a quick wave before leading them over.
“Marat! I haven’t seen you around lately,” Juan Carlos exclaims then embraces this Marat. “Novak, this is one of the coaches, Marat Safin. His sister is probably the best player from here.”
“I would have been a great one but the knee didn’t agree.” Marat taps the knee, then gives a smirk. “So I’ll have to live through her successes. Do you play? You look in pretty good shape.”
“Thanks. I have in the past but opportunities in Serbia are few. Haven’t played since coming to Spain for school.” Novak glances wistfully toward the courts. His father had pushed for success in sports in all his boys. This worked fine until he couldn’t get any more loans and choices had to be made, which forced Novak to stay in Serbia and gravitate toward the writing.
Marat says, “Can understand that. I left Russia for these red clay pastures.”
Juan Carlos says to Marat, “I thought it would be good for Novak to clear his head by hitting some balls.” David wrinkles his nose and turns away as if the conversation is making him nauseated.
Marat grins, then says, “Well, maybe we should get you guys onto a court then. I’m supposed to be playing with an up-and-coming pro but… frankly, I don’t want to do it. He drives me nuts. Damn know-it-all kid, doesn’t listen to me at all, just wants a hitting partner since his coach isn’t around,” then gestures toward a bench.
Novak looks in the direction Marat is pointing. Skinny kid, red hair, playing around with the tennis ball as if it were a football. This is the vision Novak has been waiting for in a sidekick. Even so, Novak’s mouth moves ahead of his brain when he says, “If he just needs a hitting partner, I could do it.”
David shakes his head furiously, “Novak, you do not want to do…”
Marat cuts off David to reply, “That is a wonderful idea. You hit with Andy so I can work more closely with Juan Carlos. His serve was having issues last time he was here.”
Novak pulls David away, quite excited as he explains, “He would be perfect as the sidekick.”
“What?” David turns back to see Marat holding Juan Carlos’ right arm up to go over service motion.
“The Falcon needs a sidekick, you said. That’s the perfect vision,” holding his hand out as they walk toward the bench.
“I feel like I’ve entered an alternate universe. Andy is the perfect vision?”
“Marat called him a know-it-all. Awkward looking. Okay, maybe doesn’t move awkwardly if he’s bouncing the ball around like that but he doesn’t look imposing. Have to think of a good name for him.”
“I’m beginning to wonder why I’m listening to you.”
“Because you believe in my vision, David. Now, Marat said he’s a pro?”
“Yeah. Andy is playing the lower levels of the tour, quickly moving up the ranks. He figured out about Marat’s knee issues within two games and did a ton of drop shots their first day. Marat has disliked him ever since. He’s British but has been living in Spain the last three years.”
“It gets better and better,” Novak maintains, wishing he had a notepad. “Are you understanding what I’m seeing?”
David mutters, “I know what Andy looks like but it doesn’t mean I get what you’re seeing,” then calls out, “Hi, Andy.”
Andy stops what he’s doing, then glances toward Marat, grumbling, “He is such a coward, sending you here again to do his dirty work. Marat does realize you’re only a recreational player, right? Well, guess he’d realize that if he wasn’t so keen on one-on-one with Ferrero.”
Novak cuts in front of the glaring Spaniard and says, “Actually, I volunteered. Novak. I just moved to Valencia. I attend university with David and Juan Carlos. I was just seeing where Juan Carlos hangs out and kind of got roped into playing.”
“Oh. You any good?”
“I was one of the top players in Serbia back in 14-and-under.”
Andy shrugs. “Okay. Well, you can borrow one of my racquets and I’ll give you time to stretch before doing drills.”
All seems calm the first half hour on the court as they trade shots in drills. So of course Novak is stupid enough to want to do a real set.
“Are you serious?” Andy lightly chuckles, then says flatly, “Sure. We can do that.”
Novak mumbles under his breath, “Catchphrase,” then camps out on the baseline as if ready to return serve. “Let it rip.”
* * * * *
It doesn’t take long for Novak to comprehend why David was trying to talk him out of playing. The score he doesn’t care about since he knows Andy is a pro. What he didn’t expect was to be so worn out after only playing six games, all he lost.
Finally, Novak collapses down on the ground in front of the bench David was sitting on. He notices two colored pencils and a tiny notepad in David’s hands and says, “So you’re working on that idea?”
“Not exactly.”
Novak reaches up with his hand to grab the pad. It’s a sketch of a body with black spiky hair face down in the red clay. He whacks David in the leg with the pad and grumbles, “You’re no help at all.”
Andy sits on the bench next to David, glances at the picture, then says to Novak, “You do strike me as the type who would like to make a clay angel. You okay?”
“I suddenly understand why Marat hates you.” Novak gets off the ground and begins wiping the clay off. “How did you end up in Spain, anyway? England is known for all the money they put into their tennis program. My parents had even pursued the idea of getting me to play for that country as a means to get some money.”
“Not everyone takes the same path to the top,” Andy says. Novak is sure there’s a longer explanation lingering, but Andy changes the topic. “You’re actually pretty good, considering you haven’t played in awhile. You were chasing down everything, keeping the point going. Until my coach is back in town, would you like to come down and hit with me after classes?”
“I could do that,” Novak says brightly, right now wanting to stay in proximity while ideas for the comic swirl in his head.
* * * * *
Novak doesn’t hear David’s opinion on this until lunch the next day. David states it simply and to the point. “You are an idiot.”
“The Falcon is the alter ego of world traveler Pablo Andujar, that’s a great name. His sidekick… um, I’m working on the name… but he has all the ideas and Pablo takes credit for them. I think more will flow once I can get the visuals clear. David, please go along with this.”
David lets out a loud sigh then says, “I suppose. Not like I have anything better to do. But I don’t need to be hanging around the tennis courts to accomplish this. I’m not drawing Andy specifically, just some version of him.”
“You don’t want to deal with watching Marat have his hands all over Juan Carlos.”
“Juanqui does enjoy the attention,” David grumbles, then pulls out the notepad. “But here’s something I worked out. I don’t know about Pablo Andujar or the sidekick but this could be The Falcon. I did this on the bus between bumps in the road but at least it’ll get the ideas rolling.”
Novak sees the drawing* and it feels right. He’s rather amused that David gave this guy essentially Novak’s hair and Serbia’s colors. “Excellent start. You’re right, it’s easier to imagine even with this rough drawing. Can I have this?”
“Go ahead.” David rips the page out of the pad and hands it to him.
Novak has to admit that the drawing is just enough of the image of himself being a superhero that the high takes him through the day - well, until he is knocked down to earth by Andy on the tennis court.
He had been thinking about a Spanish superhero but it could be Serbian instead… and it would be fun to think of himself as a superhero for a little while in creating this comic.
* here is the drawing if you're interested
