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Just got through watching Roger Federer issue another drubbing to Australia's favorite son, Lleyton Hewitt at Wimbledon, and when I heard that Hewitt referred to Federer as a "freak" in his post-match interview, it immediately inspired this drabble.
FIC: "Freak of Nature" (double drabble -- 200 words)
DATE: July 1, 2005
AUTHOR:
mistressmarilyn
FANDOM: RPS (tennis)
PAIRING: Lleyton Hewitt/Roger Federer
RATING: PG (just because it's slashy)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They're real people, belonging only to themselves and to the ages. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
The water ran cold as he stood, reddened skin steaming, in the small shower stall. He felt a strange peace, even contentment, as he contemplated loss.
Lleyton Hewitt wouldn't be the 2005 Wimbledon champion. He wouldn't stand on Centre Court as the cameras clicked away, awkwardly kissing that beloved trophy. But two days before the final, he bloody well knew who would.
He had played well, good enough to beat almost anyone else. They would probably describe his effort as 'scrappy' or even 'gallant.' But it had been an impossible mission, pitting his all-too-human skills against that freak of nature, Roger Federer. There were only ten or twelve points separating them in the match, but a cavern of natural gifts dividing them in the game.
He had lost to someone worthy. Worthy of respecting. Worthy, maybe, of more.
Federer's familiar, graceful face floated before his mind's eye, and he decided it was time for this rivalry to move to a new venue, one more intimate and even more momentous.
As he briefly caught Federer's dark eyes before entering the interview room, he issued a silent challenge.
"Good luck, mate," he said, reaching out his hand. "Ring me after the final."
The End
FIC: "Freak of Nature" (double drabble -- 200 words)
DATE: July 1, 2005
AUTHOR:
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
FANDOM: RPS (tennis)
PAIRING: Lleyton Hewitt/Roger Federer
RATING: PG (just because it's slashy)
DISCLAIMER: I don't own 'em. They're real people, belonging only to themselves and to the ages. This is a work of a fan, done for no remuneration save the satisfaction of the work.
The water ran cold as he stood, reddened skin steaming, in the small shower stall. He felt a strange peace, even contentment, as he contemplated loss.
Lleyton Hewitt wouldn't be the 2005 Wimbledon champion. He wouldn't stand on Centre Court as the cameras clicked away, awkwardly kissing that beloved trophy. But two days before the final, he bloody well knew who would.
He had played well, good enough to beat almost anyone else. They would probably describe his effort as 'scrappy' or even 'gallant.' But it had been an impossible mission, pitting his all-too-human skills against that freak of nature, Roger Federer. There were only ten or twelve points separating them in the match, but a cavern of natural gifts dividing them in the game.
He had lost to someone worthy. Worthy of respecting. Worthy, maybe, of more.
Federer's familiar, graceful face floated before his mind's eye, and he decided it was time for this rivalry to move to a new venue, one more intimate and even more momentous.
As he briefly caught Federer's dark eyes before entering the interview room, he issued a silent challenge.
"Good luck, mate," he said, reaching out his hand. "Ring me after the final."
The End