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When Enemies Attract	By : tennisstar Category: Individual Celebrities > Athlete/Sports Misc Views: 3352 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not know Roger Federer or Novak Djokovic, or claim that this is in any way representative of their true lives. I do not make any profit from the writing of this story. This is fiction.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
- 9
Chapter 8
There was an unimaginable amount of traffic on the way to the stadium. If he had walked, Novak probably would’ve made it there much quicker than the forty-five minutes it took their car to go four blocks. There were huffs of annoyance from his manager, coach and his publicist who even hopped out of the car at a particularly long stop to grab a latte. They only moved fifteen feet while he was gone. Alon glared at Novak from across the limo, since it was the tennis star that made them slightly late, but the Serb didn’t pay any notice. He was staring out at the beautiful view of the ocean, completely lost in thought.
Yesterday he honestly thought it was all over. Right off, from the way Roger was avoiding his gaze in the locker room it was pretty obvious that whatever friendship they once had was gone. After that Novak switched into competitor mode, it was really all he could do to hold himself together.
The first set was a mess, Roger stealing it easily. Novak was rather proud of himself for maintaining his game face, but it took nearly thirty minutes into the match for him to stifle his inner turmoil enough to actually play some decent tennis. He was almost content with letting the match slip away, too distracted from watching Federer for a reaction to care much. This was the first time in over a week that the Swiss man had allowed Novak to be near him for an extended period of time and it was tortuous how little attention he gave the Serb. Novak found himself questioning every glance that Roger sent his way.
Was it simply a competitive sneer? Or was he trying to say something? ‘Probably “I hate you,” Novak thought bitterly. Then he made the less dramatic rationalization that Roger was too polite to spurn him over something like this, it was more likely that he would just never speak to Novak again. Sure he’d be appropriately polite in public and give him the same respect that Roger kindly bestows on every man on the tour, but he was certain that there would be no more 'in private’ moments to worry about…ever again.
Those thoughts plagued him throughout the first set making it almost impossible to serve or return efficiently. There was one moment that changed everything for Novak in the match, ripped him from his thoughts and made him play his half-broken little heart out. It was a bad approach shot, that Novak knew, but he had to keep coming in to net after that, he couldn’t just stay in no-man’s-land.
The obvious shot would’ve been hard and right at him. It was just aggressive enough to send a message to the opponent and at that range it would take a cheetah’s lightning-fast reflexes to get the ball back, and even then it would be nothing more than a weak reply that could easily be put away. Every player knew that, and Roger was certainly capable of the shot, but instead he hit a simple passing shot attempt down the line that Novak easily smacked back with a backhand volley.
He looked up at Roger in surprise, why didn’t he take the shot? Roger wasn’t looking at him, but he didn’t seem broken up about losing the point either. When he did happen to look up, Novak saw him shrug in a way that he could only interpret as ‘I don’t care’ or maybe even ‘you weren’t worth it.’ That enraged Novak, despite the fact that he wasn’t really putting up much of a fight on court. Ignoring him was one thing, taking advantage of his mental disarray to win the match too, but holding back his best game like Novak was some wimpy junior fresh on the tour was another. ‘How dare he!’ Novak yelled inwardly, unsure whether he was more angry or hurt by Roger’s actions.
After that he was on fire, shutting down Roger with renewed cause. He made this match personal and there was no chance in hell that Novak was going to let Roger underestimate him. No matter how far he was down, this was Novak’s match now. Federer didn’t have a chance.
Novak made a huge comeback, winning all but two games in the second set. He made himself forget who he was playing, block out who it was on the other side of the court. Novak didn’t even notice when he started with the ‘come on!’ taunts, but when he did realize he was doing it, he didn’t make an effort to stop. He knew that is what Roger disliked most about him, the flagrant arrogance, and if Roger wasn’t his friend anymore then he had no reason to hold back.
Novak thought briefly that he was taking it too far when Roger kicked a ball he’d just missed into the net at a nearby ball boy. Not directed at him enough to actually hit the boy, but close enough to startle him. Roger didn’t even apologize, or look sorry. It was alarming, so out of character that Novak was hesitant to continue. Was he angry because he was losing? Or was his dislike for Novak so strong that he couldn’t stand to be close to him for this long?
Federer was making more mistakes than Novak had ever seen. He was usually such a clean player, but in this match it was unusual for a rally to not end in an error from Roger. Just three games into the third set, three awfully played games, Roger smashed his racket on the ground, easily breaking the frame in one swing. Novak was shocked, beyond shocked even, Roger hadn’t smashed a racket since his junior days! Novak felt horrible, not because he was winning so easily, or even that he probably provoked Roger’s outburst with his unnecessary fist pump as the ball hit the net, but because he could almost feel Roger’s pain as he cried out in anger.
After that the match flew by, or rather Novak made it fly and Roger didn’t stop him. The pace was fast and hurried because Novak knew Roger wanted to get out of there, needed to get out and he couldn’t find it in himself to deny him that. It was soon over and Novak looked up at the clock, one hour and forty-six minutes ‘of torture’, Novak added inwardly.
He had come into the match with hope, thinking that maybe Roger hadn’t really been avoiding him, or even if he had that it was because he didn’t know how to approach him, or what to say. Less than two hours later it was obvious that Roger wanted nothing to do with him. Novak tried with all his might to be strong, at least until he could have a proper break down, later in the privacy of his hotel room.
The walk to the net was one of the longest of his life and Novak wasn’t sure what would happen when he got there. If it were any other player in his position, they would just walk away into the locker room, forget the customary handshake, but this was Roger and he wouldn’t do that, would he? Novak got to the net first and he waited, watching Roger for any sign of fleeing.
Finally he was there. They held each other’s glance for several moments before Roger took his hand, squeezing gently. The look on his face was unreadable and Novak envied him for his ability to pull on a stoic mask. Novak was sure his inner despair was written all over his face for everyone to see, not that Roger cared anymore. The Swiss man released his grip and they walked toward the chair umpire. Novak knew he should leave it alone, let Roger walk away and forget it all, but there was something he just had to say.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered so softly that it might’ve been lost in the roar of the crowd, but at least he had said it.
He went straight to his room after that, hardly acknowledging anyone from his camp that congratulated him on the way, and breezing past Murray with his suggestion that they go to a pub to celebrate. ‘Celebrate what?’ he thought grimly, ‘losing everything?’ Sure, it was dramatic, especially considering that their friendship had only started a month ago, but that’s how he felt. Looking at Andy as he rattled off excuses for why he couldn't go to the pub, Novak wondered if he would feel so devastated if Murray ended their friendship. The fact that he was working his way toward that outcome with the walls he was building between them didn't seem to bother him in the same earth-shattering way as Roger's most recent rejection.
Novak stretched out across his bed, cradling his right hand. His room wasn’t particularly cold, but for some reason his hand was chilly. He thought vaguely that his hand was missing the heat of Roger’s warm grasp, just like he was missing the Swiss man, but he stifled those thoughts quickly. It didn’t matter anymore what he or his hand wanted, Roger wasn’t coming back. Still he kept to the right side of the bed, the same side he laid on when Roger was there, and ran his hand along the bedspread. It was the same movement his hand had made along Roger’s chest right before the fateful moment when he ended their friendship with that stupid kiss. It was almost cruel that as soon as Novak decided that he liked Roger, there was no chance of anything happening between them again.
Novak smiled as he thought back on the day before, a luxury he had now that everything had turned out okay. He had laid on that bed for hours before the knock came, and even then he almost ignored it. He didn’t want to talk to his team again and he hadn’t ordered anything from the hotel. There was only one person Novak wanted to see, and he was pretty sure both Santa Claus and the tooth fairy were more likely visitors than Roger Federer. Never was he so delighted to be wrong.
“What the hell are you smirking about?” Alon asked as the building came into view. “You’re already twenty minutes late for your warm up session. Bobby won’t be happy,” he chided. True, Novak’s hitting partner would surely be upset by his tardiness, but he couldn’t bring himself to feel too bad. Nothing could bring him down on a day like this, not even a surly hitting partner.
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“Where the hell have you been?” Bobby asked as he walked on court. “Murray’s been warming up for almost an hour!”
“Maybe he’ll tire himself out,” Novak joked, pulling out his racket and jogging over to his side of the court. Bobby kept his place by the net. He looked cross with his eyebrows furrowed and a definite frown. It looked strange against his otherwise soft features and curly blond hair, somehow making him look even more like a child, he was only seventeen after all.
“Don’t be mad. We got stuck in traffic. Nothing we could do…” Novak explained, hoping that the kid would get over it quickly so they could hit. He was going to have enough trouble concentrating on the match, Novak didn’t need his game to be faulty too.
“Fair enough,” Bobby said, shrugging as he walked to his side of the court. It was hard for him to stay mad at Djokovic, especially since the Serb was doing him a favor. He was what…number 470 on tour? The only chance he had at moving up was by practicing with someone as good as Novak, taking his advice, watching him play, picking up moves. Though his coach had warned him, the Djokovic attitude he could do without mimicking.
Looking over at the Serb, Bobby wondered where the hell that attitude had wondered off to today. Maybe it was just him, but Novak seemed friendlier. He was almost polite when Bobby asked why he was late, when usually his response would be something along the lines of "fuck off." His glance was less predatory, and his smile looked almost genuine. ‘What is going on with him?’ Bobby wondered as he started a rally, knowing he wouldn’t get that answer. Novak never talked to him about his personal life, only tennis.
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“Where have you been?” Mirka asked as Roger jogged up to his room, she was just about to knock on his door.
Roger thought quickly, well aware that he was wearing yesterday’s post match clothes. “I, uh,” he paused, catching his breath as they walked into the room. “I went for a jog. The beach looked so nice.” He hoped she wouldn’t look down at his shoes, which were obviously free of sand. Why did he have to add that last part? A jog was just fine.
“In your warm ups from yesterday?” she asked skeptically, and for a moment he thought he was caught.
He shrugged, trying to be casual. “I fell asleep in them” Roger said, looking down at his outfit. “Thought I might as well wear these clothes again instead of getting another pair dirty.”
Mirka smiled, satisfied with his explanation, especially since she was the one who usually did the laundry when they were at home. She took his quick excuse as him being considerate and usually he would feel quite bad about that, but it was a narrow escape and he couldn’t help but feel a little proud knowing that he is an awful liar and he somehow successfully talked his way out of another situation.
“Well shower up quickly and I’ll pack up your stuff,” Mirka suggested happily, swatting Roger playfully on the ass and pushing him lightly in the direction of the bathroom. He smiled and rushed off to take a quick shower, dreading the trip to Switzerland slightly less. If she was going to be pleasant, then maybe he could too.
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Roger kept checking his phone, waiting for the results to be posted online. He tried not to act as nervous as he felt. If Novak lost, would he blame Roger for impulsively coming to his room? And keeping him up for half the night, Roger thought with a smirk, tension seeping away as he thought about the previous night.
“What are you smiling about?” Mirka asked happily, running her hand along his arm. Roger felt a chill down his spine when he realized that his girlfriend had her hand in the very same place that Novak’s room number had been scribbled only hours earlier. Even now under his jacket there was some ink residue that he wasn’t quite able to scrub away, or maybe he didn’t want it all the way gone. He smiled hesitantly. “Just glad to be going home, I guess,” he explained shadily.
“Me too,” she said lightly. He knew it was true. Mirka had only come home for two days last time and ever since she had been anxious to return.
After one more sly check of his phone, which told him nothing of the finals match score, Roger settled into his seat. It was nap time. He’d promised himself that he would go back to sleep as soon as he left Novak’s room, that was the only way he could pry himself from the comforts of the bed, but by the time he’d left there was no time. Now he had nothing but time, ten whole hours of it.
----
Roger woke briefly with a weight on his chest and a strong arm around his waist. From the soft moonlight pouring in through the sheer curtains Roger could tell it was very early in the morning, though it must be at least four because he felt quite rested and they didn’t actually get to sleep until around two. He looked down at Novak’s fluffy mess of hair that was soft against his shoulder. Roger couldn’t quite see the Serb’s face.
He shifted slightly, intentionally causing Novak to adjust in his sleep. Novak’s head was now on his pectoral muscle, which he suddenly wished was more developed and the Serb had a leg draped over his. It was a surprisingly comfortable position and Roger smiled at the man next to him. Novak looked younger like this, he observed, innocent in a way that Roger had never seen him. He pulled Novak closer and let his eyes fall closed. He whispered softly, “Novak.”
“What?” Mirka shrieked, bolting up from where she was laying against his shoulder. Roger’s eyes flashed open as realization dawned on him. Did he really say it out loud?
“Huh?” he said lamely, forcing himself awake. Roger wanted nothing more than to go back to that forgotten memory from last night.
“You just said Novak?!” she exclaimed in what sounded like a horrified tone, though somehow quiet enough not to disturb the other passengers.
“I was dreaming,” he said, taking on a hazy tone, “about that match yesterday. Still can’t get it out of my head.” Her face softened and a smile formed.
“Aww, baby. It was just an off day. Everybody has them sometimes…” Mirka said soothingly, but her words were lost on him yet again. He survived another one, and this one was far too close.
Roger let her baby him for the remainder of the flight. He knew she always felt closer to him in these moments, when he actually accepted her comfort and encouragement. Mirka felt needed and for some reason that was important to her, so he let her hug him close and pretend that everything was okay between them. God knows they would need to perfect the act before her parents’ anniversary party in two days…
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“What’s going on with you?” Murray asked as he redressed, looking at his friend with slight concern.
“What do you mean?” Novak asked, his voice muffled by the towel he was using to dry his hair.
“Well you’ve been kind of distant lately,” Andy said, looking at his feet as he spoke, obviously uncomfortable.
“Yeah, well, I’ve just been busy I guess,” Novak replied awkwardly. Novak knew this conversation would happen eventually. He used to spend so much time with Andy at tournaments and it saddened him to think that this was the first time they’d spent any time together, other than the five minutes he spent the day before claiming to be too sick and tired and busy to go for a drink with Murray. Even worse, he was so consumed in his thing with Roger that he hadn’t even cared much that he was neglecting his best bud. Suddenly, he cared very much and was desperate to make amends.
“Right,” Murray said, nodding his head in understanding. He knew Novak’s life got more hectic as soon as he won a Slam. That always happens. More sponsorship deals, which means more mandatory appearances and photo shoots. Novak wouldn’t mention that part, the reason why he was too busy. Djokovic knew better than anyone how badly Andy wanted a Slam, and how much pressure his country put on him to get one. He might seem blunt and uncaring to tennis fans, but Andy knew better. “Well maybe when your schedule lightens up…” Andy suggested hesitantly.
“Definitely,” Novak replied quickly. “I’m in Serbia this week, but I haven’t got anything planned for Dubai.”
Murray nodded, obviously happy with their tentative plans. “Great,” he said with a smile. “Well I’m off to the vultures, wish me luck.” Novak did and Murray left for the press conference. Novak, luckily, was exempted. They only wanted to talk to the winner this time and somehow he couldn’t bring himself to care that it wasn’t him.
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Buzz.
Novak happily jogged across his room to his vibrating phone. Finally. It was just over an hour since he left the stadium, but Novak had been anxiously awaiting some sort of communication from Roger. “Save me a seat,” the message read and Novak was utterly confused. Upon reexamination he saw it was from Jelena, not Roger. She wanted him to save her a seat at the Serbian athlete meeting. “Will do,” he texted back angrily, knowing it was completely unfounded. Sure, she had terrible timing and totally got his hopes up that his currently undefined friend actually wanted to talk to him.
Two hours later Novak was certain that Roger was upset with him because he lost. Does he only want me when I’m winning? He asked himself, choosing not to acknowledge that even his inner voice sounded insecure at the thought. Here he was, so damn giddy over one night with Roger that he’d hardly paid attention to his match at all, and now Roger’s not speaking to him because of it.
Buzz.
Or maybe not...
“Did I make you lose? :/"
Novak smiled brightly, as if there was someone in the room to actually see it.
“Nope, I’m pretty sure it was me that made you lose,” he quipped back.
“Haha, true. I better not hear you blame lack of sleep in any interviews though :)”
Novak smiled. He knew the media had teasingly labeled him ‘the king of excuses,’ but somehow when Roger poked fun at the same habit it didn’t bother him so much. Probably because Federer was just being playful, the media was saying it to be mean.
“No no. Murray won fair and square. I admit it,” he replied. If it were any other opponent, he might have listed off a couple of reasons why the win wasn’t entirely legit, but not Murray. He respected the Brit too much for that.
“That’s oddly mature of you. Since when are you Mr. Sportsmanship?” Novak rolled his eyes, answer forming already.
“That would be you. I’m just being nice to my best friend.”
“What about me? :( ” Novak smirked, knowing that Roger would never say something like that in person. It was too desperate, even in the joking way he meant it. I guess people really are more courageous in texts, Novak thought vaguely, wondering if he too were more confident on the phone, if he could get any more confident.
“You’re a different kind of friend than Murray =P” Novak teased, wishing he could prove it to Roger right then. But he was hundreds of miles away...and with his girlfriend.
- 7
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- 9
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When Enemies Attract