Start as I mean to go on.
Apr. 19th, 2005 03:03 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
cloficTitle: Same
Pairing: Roddick/Federer
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Leaving is always the same. Andy's POV.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Guess again.
Notes: Inspired by the absolutely beautiful Snow Patrol song ‘Same’. And I can't believe I'm thanking my brother for a slash fic but he told me to listen to Snow Patrol, so this is his fault in a roundabout way. :) He'd be horrified.
“Hold me in your freezin' arms
Before we have to go.
I'm bent a little, but it's not because I know the truth
The windshield of your little car is frosted through the glass
A clear heart of air appears as we shiver on the seats.
It's the same”
- Snow Patrol, Same
Same
We’ve been sitting in the car a while now. There’s a fine sheen of frost forming on the windscreen and Roger’s run out of tissues for the tears trickling down my face. The useless, soggy ones are scattered around us on the backseat and it’s an indication of how upset Roger is that he hasn’t once complained about the mess I’m making of his favourite car. He never does at times like this. He just cuddles me closer and uses his sleeve to wipe my cheeks instead.
I know I’ll see him soon, a matter of weeks or at most a month but it isn’t enough. I want to wake up beside him every day of my life, to hear him whisper my name in his sleep and share breakfast with him in bed. I want to see every day he’s happy and every day he’s not, taking the kisses with fights and loving every second of the awkward apologies afterwards, shame flushing his cheeks as he refuses to look at me. I want to go out to practice every morning with a smile and a kiss from him, then to come home after and curl up on the couch, with him and coffee made just the way each of us like it, like a normal couple. It doesn’t seem fair that the rest of the world gets to live with the people they love while Roger and I snatch moments, a few days here and there in between tournaments. Not fair at all.
I don’t want to leave him. I never do.
“Andy,” he whispers, his lips brushing my forehead. “You have to go. You’ll miss your flight.”
“I’ll catch the next one.” I tilt my head back and capture his mouth, sliding my tongue along his persuasively, perhaps desperately. “I can fly tonight, tomorrow morning. I’ll stay another few days. Don’t make me go Roger, please.”
There’s a sound suspiciously like a sniffle from him and I cling tighter. He’s cold, shivering in the chilled air and I rearrange my arms so I’m wrapped around him, a human blanket to keep him safe. I don’t trust anyone else to do it for me. He’s my Roger. No one knows him like I do.
“Please Roger.” Another tear trickles down my already soaked cheek, catching in the corner of my mouth and running, salty, over my tongue. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Andy, you’re going to Texas, not the moon. I’ll call you tonight.” Roger’s words fail to reassure, his voice choked and sounding suspiciously close to tears too. “We’ve always managed before. Ssssh, love.”
“Don’t want to manage. Don’t want to go back to Texas.” I know I sound pathetically childish and couldn’t care less. “Want to stay here with you.”
“I know.” He snuggles closer, face buried in my shirt. Even when we’re this close, it doesn’t feel close enough. If I glued us together – and the thought has occurred to me more than once, when Roger is wrapped around me in bed and the tube of superglue is only inches away in the top drawer of the nightstand – I may feel happy. Only thing that stops me is the thought of only ever being able to compete in doubles afterwards, but really, would winning doubles titles with Roger be that bad?
The thought of us stuck together makes me smile until a quick glance at my watch tells me I have to move now or I’ll miss my check-in. Smiling fading, I shut my eyes and press my face to Roger’s hair, soft curls tickling my skin. If I don’t think about it, time will stop passing. If I just stay here, breathing in the soft warmth of Roger’s hair, then I’ll never have to go; never have to watch him drive away without me.
I don’t want to leave him. Not again.
“Andy,” he whispers.” Andy you have to go.”
“No.”
“Andy.” He pulls slowly away, the leather of the seat creaking as he moves. “You’re in the tournament; you can’t pull out now. Go on.” He scrubs the back of his hand across his face and I realise with a jolt that he’s crying too. Every time I think he won’t, think his self-control will win over and every time he proves me wrong. “Go on. I promise I’ll fly out as soon as I can.”
“Roger.” I wait until he looks at me, dark lashes wet with tears framing his even darker eyes. I lean forward, curling a hand round the back of his neck to bring him closer and the kiss is almost painfully sweet, a shiver running through him as I rub my free hand through his hair. When I finally pull away he keeps his eyes closed a moment longer, the pink tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. He’s so beautiful my heart aches but I’m already late for the flight and if I kiss him again, I’ll never leave.
“Love you Rog,” I say softly. Dark eyes flicker open, scattering tears from his lashes.
“Love you Andy.”
“Talk to you tonight.” My voice cracks on the last word and I’m out the car before I can talk myself into staying, swinging my bag over one shoulder as I walk away, half blinded by tears. I don’t look back until I’m at the doors to the airport, jostled and bumped by the crowds of people rushing for their own flights. Some of them look as heartbroken as I feel but I forget them as I turn to watch Roger’s car drive off, disappearing down the road as it always does. He’s told me that he can’t wait to see me inside or he’ll be out the car and running after me. I don’t blame him. If he waited, I don’t think I could bring myself to step through the doors.
“Bye love,” I whisper, knowing he’s murmuring the same as he speeds home, towards the empty house that will still smell of me. I can never decide which of us has it worst, the one who has to fly away, or the one who has to stay behind, surrounded by the little reminders of the one who left - an empty coffee mug; the forgotten shirt that still smells of cologne; the sheets that we made love on only that morning. Sometimes I think both options are equally bad. Equally unfair.
I don’t want to leave him but I always do.
I watch the car until it fades from sight then turn and follow the crowd, wiping my hand over my eyes. I know I’ll think about him all through the flight and arrive home to at least four messages from him on the machine. I’ll drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and dial his number. It’s our routine and that’s the only reason I ever survive these separations, ever manage to climb the steps to the plane and sit still all the way home to Austin. It’s because I know that behind me, curled up in the bed we shared with the phone beside him, he’s waiting for me to call.
I know because when it’s me being left behind, I always do exactly the same.
~ Fin ~
Pairing: Roddick/Federer
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Leaving is always the same. Andy's POV.
Disclaimer: Nope, not mine. Guess again.
Notes: Inspired by the absolutely beautiful Snow Patrol song ‘Same’. And I can't believe I'm thanking my brother for a slash fic but he told me to listen to Snow Patrol, so this is his fault in a roundabout way. :) He'd be horrified.
Before we have to go.
I'm bent a little, but it's not because I know the truth
The windshield of your little car is frosted through the glass
A clear heart of air appears as we shiver on the seats.
It's the same”
- Snow Patrol, Same
Same
We’ve been sitting in the car a while now. There’s a fine sheen of frost forming on the windscreen and Roger’s run out of tissues for the tears trickling down my face. The useless, soggy ones are scattered around us on the backseat and it’s an indication of how upset Roger is that he hasn’t once complained about the mess I’m making of his favourite car. He never does at times like this. He just cuddles me closer and uses his sleeve to wipe my cheeks instead.
I know I’ll see him soon, a matter of weeks or at most a month but it isn’t enough. I want to wake up beside him every day of my life, to hear him whisper my name in his sleep and share breakfast with him in bed. I want to see every day he’s happy and every day he’s not, taking the kisses with fights and loving every second of the awkward apologies afterwards, shame flushing his cheeks as he refuses to look at me. I want to go out to practice every morning with a smile and a kiss from him, then to come home after and curl up on the couch, with him and coffee made just the way each of us like it, like a normal couple. It doesn’t seem fair that the rest of the world gets to live with the people they love while Roger and I snatch moments, a few days here and there in between tournaments. Not fair at all.
I don’t want to leave him. I never do.
“Andy,” he whispers, his lips brushing my forehead. “You have to go. You’ll miss your flight.”
“I’ll catch the next one.” I tilt my head back and capture his mouth, sliding my tongue along his persuasively, perhaps desperately. “I can fly tonight, tomorrow morning. I’ll stay another few days. Don’t make me go Roger, please.”
There’s a sound suspiciously like a sniffle from him and I cling tighter. He’s cold, shivering in the chilled air and I rearrange my arms so I’m wrapped around him, a human blanket to keep him safe. I don’t trust anyone else to do it for me. He’s my Roger. No one knows him like I do.
“Please Roger.” Another tear trickles down my already soaked cheek, catching in the corner of my mouth and running, salty, over my tongue. “I don’t want to leave you.”
“Andy, you’re going to Texas, not the moon. I’ll call you tonight.” Roger’s words fail to reassure, his voice choked and sounding suspiciously close to tears too. “We’ve always managed before. Ssssh, love.”
“Don’t want to manage. Don’t want to go back to Texas.” I know I sound pathetically childish and couldn’t care less. “Want to stay here with you.”
“I know.” He snuggles closer, face buried in my shirt. Even when we’re this close, it doesn’t feel close enough. If I glued us together – and the thought has occurred to me more than once, when Roger is wrapped around me in bed and the tube of superglue is only inches away in the top drawer of the nightstand – I may feel happy. Only thing that stops me is the thought of only ever being able to compete in doubles afterwards, but really, would winning doubles titles with Roger be that bad?
The thought of us stuck together makes me smile until a quick glance at my watch tells me I have to move now or I’ll miss my check-in. Smiling fading, I shut my eyes and press my face to Roger’s hair, soft curls tickling my skin. If I don’t think about it, time will stop passing. If I just stay here, breathing in the soft warmth of Roger’s hair, then I’ll never have to go; never have to watch him drive away without me.
I don’t want to leave him. Not again.
“Andy,” he whispers.” Andy you have to go.”
“No.”
“Andy.” He pulls slowly away, the leather of the seat creaking as he moves. “You’re in the tournament; you can’t pull out now. Go on.” He scrubs the back of his hand across his face and I realise with a jolt that he’s crying too. Every time I think he won’t, think his self-control will win over and every time he proves me wrong. “Go on. I promise I’ll fly out as soon as I can.”
“Roger.” I wait until he looks at me, dark lashes wet with tears framing his even darker eyes. I lean forward, curling a hand round the back of his neck to bring him closer and the kiss is almost painfully sweet, a shiver running through him as I rub my free hand through his hair. When I finally pull away he keeps his eyes closed a moment longer, the pink tip of his tongue caught between his teeth. He’s so beautiful my heart aches but I’m already late for the flight and if I kiss him again, I’ll never leave.
“Love you Rog,” I say softly. Dark eyes flicker open, scattering tears from his lashes.
“Love you Andy.”
“Talk to you tonight.” My voice cracks on the last word and I’m out the car before I can talk myself into staying, swinging my bag over one shoulder as I walk away, half blinded by tears. I don’t look back until I’m at the doors to the airport, jostled and bumped by the crowds of people rushing for their own flights. Some of them look as heartbroken as I feel but I forget them as I turn to watch Roger’s car drive off, disappearing down the road as it always does. He’s told me that he can’t wait to see me inside or he’ll be out the car and running after me. I don’t blame him. If he waited, I don’t think I could bring myself to step through the doors.
“Bye love,” I whisper, knowing he’s murmuring the same as he speeds home, towards the empty house that will still smell of me. I can never decide which of us has it worst, the one who has to fly away, or the one who has to stay behind, surrounded by the little reminders of the one who left - an empty coffee mug; the forgotten shirt that still smells of cologne; the sheets that we made love on only that morning. Sometimes I think both options are equally bad. Equally unfair.
I don’t want to leave him but I always do.
I watch the car until it fades from sight then turn and follow the crowd, wiping my hand over my eyes. I know I’ll think about him all through the flight and arrive home to at least four messages from him on the machine. I’ll drop my bag, kick off my shoes, and dial his number. It’s our routine and that’s the only reason I ever survive these separations, ever manage to climb the steps to the plane and sit still all the way home to Austin. It’s because I know that behind me, curled up in the bed we shared with the phone beside him, he’s waiting for me to call.
I know because when it’s me being left behind, I always do exactly the same.
~ Fin ~
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Date: 2005-04-21 09:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2005-04-22 01:47 am (UTC)*blushes* Glad you liked Halcyon! :-)
no subject
Date: 2007-09-02 09:35 pm (UTC)I love the picture of them in the car and then Roger finally crying and Andy saying how he was always proved wrong because he thought Roger's self-control would win out. And it doesn't, it's just so sweet, and just the way they're in different stages of grief. Aw what can I say? I pictured every single frame, every scene, every expression of this fic. Every single wor d was perfect. And you have this talent where you put in these little tiny things like the bit about Roger not getting Angry about the soggy tissues all over his car, it just makes the whole thing seem so much more human, so much more realistic and believeable because you give their relationship little nuances...
It was just completely perfect. Every syllable.
no subject
Date: 2007-10-26 06:11 pm (UTC)