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[personal profile] clo_again
Title: Bounty
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Roddick/Federer
Fandom: Tennis/Olympics 2004
Summary: Andy’s got a $500 bounty on his head and everyone is stalking him. Roger just seems to find the whole thing amusing.
Disclaimer: Not mine, never will be, never met them and they probably wouldn't want me to. All real people mentioned during this fic own themselves and I make no claims any of this actually happened. Other than the Australian's $500 which was apparently genuine. ;-)
Notes: Set Thursday August 19th, the day after Andy lost his match to Fernando Gonzalez of Chile. Roger lost the Tuesday in both the doubles and singles. Cross-posted to Olympia: the Olympic RPS Archive.
Dedications: I owe several people thanks for helping get this fic written; first to [livejournal.com profile] mercury32 for giving me the plot bunny and encouragement, the unspeakably wonderful http://www.athensguide.com/ which helped me navigate the winding streets of Athens having never been there and finally – and most importantly - to [livejournal.com profile] liroa15 and [livejournal.com profile] shana0809, for wanting more and letting me convert them to tennis slash. :-)

A few final things: ouzo – frequently referred to in this fic – is a type of Greek alcoholic drink, tasting somewhat of aniseed or perhaps liquorice. Different brands and types are served all over Greece and the Greek Islands and while I personally am not a fan, visiting Greece usually involves drinking it at some point – or indeed, for the entire trip.

>When Andy's thinking to himself, it's in italics.

>And yes, from what I’ve read Athens’ National Gardens is indeed overrun with ducks. ;-)




Bounty

With a groan, Andy turned over in bed, burying his head under the sheets. His mattress was hard, the sun shining through the window was too hot and he was out of the Olympics. Without even opening his eyes, he knew the day was going to suck.

The room was suspiciously quiet; poking his head over the sheet he saw the bed opposite was an empty pile of tangled blankets. Mardy must’ve left already. Andy quashed a spark of bitterness that his roommate actually had something to leave the room for; he was happy his fellow Americans were doing well, he really was.

He just would’ve liked to be doing well with them.

The bed was too hard to stay in now he was awake. With muttered curses on sports, Olympics and life itself, Andy half climbed-half fell onto the floor. So he had a few free days. Last night he’d been all for going home on the next available flight but this morning it seemed perhaps the trip wasn’t unsalvageable. He was in one of the most ancient cities in the world, surrounded by history and statues of naked women and substantial quantities of strong alcohol. Texas had the alcohol but not so much the other two and since he was here already he may as well make the most of it.

The way he saw it, he had three options – he could go home – still a possibility -, he could go support his team mates or he could explore Athens and forget a little about being a loser. Hhmm.

“Too many hard decisions this early in the morning,” he mumbled to the empty room and reached for his towel.

***


Andy wasn’t a morning person. That is to say whatever time he woke up, regardless of the actual time of day, his body denied him most of his higher functions for a good forty five minutes. It had made for some very interesting early tennis practices, morning flights and urgent, life-changing meetings with sponsors. He just couldn’t function beyond simple grunts and making another cup of coffee.

He’d found only one remedy for it, and even that didn’t always work. Right now in the boiling heat of mid-morning Greece, he was seriously debating just being slow and stupid for almost the next hour.

Then, because he didn’t have anything better to do, and because part of him still masochistically wanted punishment for his loss yesterday, he stepped into the scalding hot shower.

Well fuck. That hurt.

Andy turned his face up to the rain of boiling water, biting his tongue on a string of expletives as the last traces of salt from yesterday’s tears washed away. He’d tried really hard not to cry. He’d lost before and hell, he’d lose again but this had been different. This was the Olympics. This had been special.

Strangely enough, the only thing he found comforting was the fact Roger Federer had lost before him. Twice.

You’re such a bastard Andy. The man’s got to be feeling like crap now and you’re gloating. Bastard.

It didn’t work. Roger losing still made him feel better.

Which was a feeling he really didn’t want to examine too closely.

Pushing the subject to the back of his mind with difficulty, he reached blindly out for the shampoo, eyes full of hot water. Flicking open the lid, he upended the bottle over his head.

Oh... gross. The sickly sweet smell of peaches was *not* good this soon after waking up.

Closer inspection of the bottle he’d grabbed proved it was the peach bubble bath Lauren had stuck in his case and forgotten to take out when they had an amicable ‘parting of ways’ before he left. He’d unpacked it onto shower-ledge and forgotten it was there. Several frantic re-washings proved that the smell of peaches really stuck and he resigned himself to smelling like fruit for the rest of the day.

At least it might keep people at a distance. He wasn’t all that keen on chatting to anyone today anyway, and there was that the bet the Aussies had going. Maybe the smell of peaches would keep them at a distance. Maybe they’d even up the bet for anyone brave enough to dare the stench of sickly sweet fruit.

Besides, getting to kiss Andy Roddick? So worth more than $500. Should be more like $700.

Possibly $800.

The thought made him feel a little happier. Confident he was alone in their rooms, he broke into a rude song to cheer himself up further as he ducked back under the water to rinse his hair. He therefore didn’t hear the creak of the door opening and had no idea there was anyone in the room until the shower curtain was yanked back and he was hit with a wave of cooler air that felt freezing after the hot water.

“Shit!” he swore, grabbing for a towel and almost falling as he turned to see who it was. Mardy was grinning broadly at him from the other side of their tiny bathroom, leaning casually back against the wall with his arms crossed. “Mardy are you insane?”

“There was enough steam coming under the door that I thought the room was on fire,” Mardy pointed out, still grinning. “What’re you trying to do, melt yourself?”

“I was trying to wake up,” Andy informed him curtly, realising for the first time the bathroom was filled with clouds of steam. He hadn’t thought the shower was that hot. “What the hell are you doing here? Don’t you have a medal to win?”

“Came back to check on you.” Mardy shrugged lazily and pushed off the wall, going into the bedroom. Andy stepped out the shower and followed, wrapping the towel round his waist more securely. Mardy had seen him naked countless times before but he wasn’t really in the mood to give anyone a free show through the window, second floor room or not.

“Why? Do I need a nurse-maid now?” he demanded, stalking across the room to his bag and rooting through it for clean clothes. He heard the creak of the bed and turned to glare at Mardy who was busy making a nest in the tangled heap of Andy’s sheets. “Don’t you have an elsewhere to be?”

“Not really.” Mardy bounced a little. “You know your bed is softer than mine? Mine’s like a rock.”

“Have it. I won’t be staying long anyway.” Andy muttered, turning back to his bag. In the face of Mardy’s sunny cheerfulness, exploring suddenly seemed depressing and home far more appealing. There was a flight back to America tonight with plenty of tickets left. He knew. He’d checked yesterday. The American team didn’t need him to stay.

Another creak of bedsprings then Mardy was standing next to him, one hand locked around Andy’s wrist. Andy glanced up from his search for a clean t-shirt.

“What?”

“Are you really going home?” Mardy asked quietly, unsmiling now. “I won’t blame you if you do.”

“Yeah and I know that tone. It says you won’t blame me out loud but deep down you’ll hate me for abandoning you.” Andy straightened up slowly, letting his wrist dangle in Mardy’s grip and meeting the pale blue eyes he’d known almost better than his own since high school. “Look, I’m tired Fish. I want to go home.”

“And what if I need you to stay?” Mardy demanded, his voice still quiet. “I’d have stayed for you.”

“You’re doing fine.” Andy was wavering and he knew it showed. “C’mon Mardy you don’t need me to stay.”

“Yes, I do.” Mardy’s grip tightened. “Please Andy. This is the biggest thing I’ve ever done. I need my best friend here to back me up.”

“But-“

“Annnnddddyyyy-“

“Alright! Fine!” Andy cracked under the whiny tone that he’d never been able to withstand and Mardy lit up with glee, dragging him into a happy, whirling hug. Andy shut his eyes against the dizziness , trying and failing to wriggle his way free.

“You owe me for this Fish,” he muttered. “I expect to see you on that winner’s stand right?”

“Absolutely. Whatever you say.” Mardy stopped spinning so abruptly that Andy almost fell over and dived into the open case to look for clothes. “But since you’re staying, I think you should go out and have fun. Explore a bit.” He grabbed a clean t-shirt and tossed it in Andy’s general direction; the American made a futile lunge to catch it before it hit the floor. “Enjoy Athens y’know? My match isn’t until tonight. No point in you sulking in the room till then.”

I wasn’t sulking-“

“Andy you were sulking. Don’t argue.” Mardy unearthed Andy’s last remaining pair of clean jeans and threw them at him. “Get dressed then sod off for a while. Go experience some culture for a change.”

“Don’t you want help practising-“

“The last thing you want to be doing is playing more tennis right now. You’ve got to have enough rest to win the US Open next month.” Mardy stood with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed until Andy was dressed and reaching for his wallet. “Go on. Shoo.”

“But-“ Andy tried to protest as he was pushed forcibly out the door. Mardy glared at him warningly.

“No buts! If I see you anywhere near this room before tonight I’ll kick your ass myself.” Abruptly he paused, wrinkling his nose. “Do… do you smell peaches?”

In reply all he got was Andy slamming the door behind him and muted grumbling, growing fainter as the American stomped away down the corridor. Mardy smirked, waited a few moments just to make sure then pulled his cell phone out his pocket. Hitting redial he waited impatiently for the person at the other end to pick up.

“He’s on his way downstairs. You owe me big time for this.”


***



Andy stalked out the American accommodation in a worse temper than when he’d rolled out of bed. Goddamn Mardy. Exactly how he’d been talked into staying he wasn’t sure but since it looked like he was here for the duration he may as well make the most of it.

Glancing at his watch he frowned. Was 11am too early to start drinking?

Probably. Dammit.

Then again it was a good time to avoid people – everyone would either be over at the main stadiums or in training. He could get his morning caffeine fix in the cafeteria without having to avoid everyone who hadn’t lost yet. Or so he hoped. Last thing he wanted right now was more pitying sympathy from fellow athletes. He’d had enough of that last night.

He crossed the ‘international’ street, dodging the few journalists who were about earlier than most. Since arriving he’d discovered journalists were even lazier than tennis players – to see one around before noon was a medal-worthy occasion. It made his life – and everyone in the Village’s life - easier since avoiding ten, half-asleep journalists were easier than avoiding a hundred awake ones. Turning left at the end of the street, he passed the accommodation for the Swiss Olympic teams – in comparison to the American rooms, which were practically invisible beneath a glowing display of the stars and stripes, the Swiss athletes had contented themselves with a few, tastefully placed flags. After all, they didn’t need to let everyone know which country they were from by flags when they had a giant rearing cow statue stood proudly outside their building.

Andy couldn’t help grinning at it as he passed. He didn’t know who’d decided a cow statue would be a good idea but frankly if it’d been his country he’d have been a little embarrassed. Like… a cow. Of all things! Apparently they’d named it and touched it for luck every time they left. There was national pride and then there was just plain loving your livestock too much.

He’d have to remember to tease Roger about it at some point. The Swiss was very touchy when it came to cows. Andy wound him up with it before every match they played because while he was all for good sportsmanship, he also wasn’t above a little subversive teasing and the cow statue was enough to keep him going for years.

So Roger, how are those Swiss cows of yours doing?

Still grinning Andy left the Swiss buildings behind as he turned down the path towards the cafeteria – only to walk right into someone unexpectedly.

“Ouch- sorry, dammit-“ Andy glanced up ready to apologise further and experienced one of those brief, dizzying moments of coincidence. Oblivious to his thoughts, Roger smiled at him, a steadying hand still resting on Andy’s arm.

“Guten morgen,” the Swiss greeted him cheerfully. “How are you?”

“Um…” Brain freeze. The inane thought occurred to Andy that somewhere the Greek god of mischief was falling off his golden throne laughing. He bit his tongue in an attempt to reorient himself enough to speak.

“Okay, I think. You?”

Roger shrugged, letting his hand drop from Andy’s arm. “Good. Any plans for the day?”

Andy searched for any plans he could legitimately have. ‘Drinking myself senseless as early as I can get away with it’ seemed a little stupid, as did ‘getting so high on caffeine I’ll jump off the nearest tall building thinking I can fly.” Actually that latter one was a little scary. He made a mental note to limit his coffee intake for the day before finally settling on “Don’t know, Maybe going up to see the Plaka later. I’ve heard it’s one of the best parts of Athens.”

“It is.” Roger’s smile broadened further though Andy would’ve bet money on that being impossible. “I recommend the cafes.”

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Andy found himself once again searching for something to say and it was with mild horror that he heard his mouth ask “I’m going for some breakfast – want to join me?”

Good plan Andy - forget you lost by inviting the man who’s beaten you countless times to breakfast.

“Maybe later – Mirka’s going on a trip to some ruins.” Roger shrugged implying with resigned amusement that he had little choice in the matter. “I have to wave her off.”

“Not going with her?” Andy regretted the words the moment he said them; Roger’s cheerful smile took on a forced edge and the open friendliness faded. The American realised what the problem was the instant before Roger spelled it out for him.

“I- I thought I’d be busy today.” The Swiss’ tone said everything Andy was feeling and couldn’t vocalise about losing, losing badly and in the Olympics of all places. Andy winced.

Remove foot from mouth, then speak.

“Guess that makes two of us,” he offered, a weak attempt at a peace offering. Roger’s appreciation was clear in the abrupt re-emergence of his smile.

“I’ll maybe see you later then.”

“Yeah.” Andy was more relieved at the chance to escape than at the prospect of spending yet more time with Roger, turning hurriedly towards the cafeteria. “Later.”

“Andy-“ Roger hesitated, sounding a little confused. Reluctantly Andy paused, glancing back.

“What?”

“Can you smell peaches?”


***



The cafeteria staff was busy clearing the debris of the morning rush when Andy sidled through the door. A trip to the bathroom opposite had failed to rid his hair of the peach smell, even when he stuck his head under the tap and the resulting steady trickle of icy water down his neck wasn't exactly helping his bad mood. However a quick survey of the room revealed neither any Aussies nor a certain Swiss tennis player so he headed for the coffee pot with a sigh of relief. The happiness lasted all of ten seconds until he discovered there were no clean coffee mugs.

“Fuckit!”

Someone touched his shoulder and he leapt about a foot off the floor with a yell, fully expecting to be stampeded by hungry Aussie women at any moment. It was somewhat anticlimactic to turn and see Roger holding out a clean mug for him with a raised eyebrow. Andy eyed it as if it would bite him.

“I think perhaps you shouldn’t have any more caffeine,” Roger suggested when he’d been holding the mug out for a minute and Andy still hadn’t moved. “You seem a little jumpy.”

“Jumpy?! Me?” Andy took the offered mug with bad grace and poured himself a black coffee, burning his fingers on the handle and almost dropping it. Roger closed a hand over his to steady the pot before they both had a second shower, this time of boiling coffee.

“Definitely no caffeine for you this morning. Try the orange juice.”

“What are you, my mother?” Andy shook off the Swiss’ hand and took a deliberately long gulp of coffee, trying not to shriek when it burnt his tongue. Through watering eyes he could see Roger’s smirk.

“Not a word,” Andy warned him. “Not one fucking word.”

“Yes mother,” Roger replied, straight-faced. Andy came close to committing an international incident with cup of coffee and had to force himself to very carefully turn and walk away to the nearest table. Roger seemed unaware of how close he’d been to becoming intimately – and painfully - acquainted with Andy’s cup and followed.

“How are the Australians doing with their bet?” he remarked casually as he dropped into the chair opposite the American. Andy leapt on the chance for revenge.

“Aw, poor Roger,” he drawled sarcastically. “Are we jealous? Haven’t heard of anyone betting to kiss you.”

The smirk was back along with a raised eyebrow that somehow made the entire expression more mocking. “If you’ve quite finished being childish…”

“Why yes mother,” Andy shot back. He was starting to get more than a little irritated by now – morning conversation was definitely not his strong point.

“Touché.” Roger leaned back in his chair, the smirk not quite growing into a true smile. “So?”

“So what?” Andy slammed his coffee cup down and was a little surprised to see the Swiss flinch back. “Christ, sorry. I’m in a bad fucking mood this morning.” He took a deep breath, rubbing his forehead under his hat to fight off the beginnings of a headache. “They haven’t got near me yet.”

The smirk had definitely grown into a smile now. “I would watch out today. I hear they’re planning something big.”

“Who told you that?” Andy demanded. Last thing he needed today was paranoia about being stalked by lust-crazed Australians. Knowing his luck the ‘something big’ was to knock him out with a didgeridoo and stuff him in a suitcase to take home.

Brad would not be impressed… though he might be laughing too hard to get that across.

“A little bird told me.” Roger got to his feet, reaching up to push a few strands of dark hair out his eyes. “If you have disappeared later I’ll know they got to you.”

“Very reassuring, thanks,” Andy yelled after him as he walked away. Only when he’d watched the doors swing closed behind the Swiss did he get to his feet, leaving his half-finished coffee on the table. ‘Something big’. That could mean anything.

“Jesus Christ, that man fucking pisses me off,” he muttered to himself as he headed out of the cafeteria.


***



Wandering through the Plaka half an hour later he was feeling a little better. The air was hot but bearably so and the flower girls lining the street kept smiling at him. So worth more than $500. He’d spent a few euros on some pretty postcards to send home to make the siblings jealous and been talked into buying a hideously overpriced gardenia from a girl with the longest eyelashes he’d ever seen. He twirled it absently between his fingertips as he wandered a little aimlessly further up the street. It was lined with quaint cafes and tourist shops selling everything from gold jewellery to postcards; Andy could practically feel his money burning a hole in his pocket just walking past them.

He was idly debating which cafe to visit for his second dose of caffeine of the morning when, for no apparent reason, an image of Roger’s smirk flashed through his mind. He had barely a second to wonder why when he realised there was a familiar voice speaking to his left in somewhat halting Greek. He spun furiously on his heel and stalked over to the table where Roger was sitting.

“Are you following me or something?” he demanded furiously.

Dark eyes blinked, innocently confused. The waiter the Swiss had been speaking to retreated a few steps warily, away from the palpable fury coming from Andy. “I would point out that I was here first but you may bite my head off.”

Andy’s mouth was open before he realised he had no ready comeback. A second later he realised he was brandishing the wilting gardenia threateningly and somewhat ridiculously at Roger. He was starting to lose count of the times the Swiss had made him feel stupid so far today.

And it wasn’t even lunchtime yet.

“I am sorry if I am annoying you.” Roger’s smile was sweet and innocent and just a little too bright. “Sit. Have coffee with me.”

“We tried this once already.” Andy was trying hard to stay mad when faced with such a smile. “I almost killed you at least three times in the space of five minutes.”

“Only three?” Roger raised an eyebrow a fraction, his smile edging over into smirk territory again. “I will have to try harder.”

Andy hovered a second longer then irritation gave way beneath the weight of the Swiss’ charm. “You fucking bastard,” he remarked without any real rancour, effortlessly swinging his legs over the fence separating the café from the street. He reversed the chair opposite Roger and sat on it backwards, arms resting over the back on the table. “So, what coffee are you buying me?”

Roger didn’t miss a beat. “What would you like?”

“I don’t know. What’s the most expensive?” Andy watched for a reaction and didn’t get one except perhaps a slight quirk to the ever-present smile. “Dammit either share the drugs or share the joke man; I’ve never seen you grin so much before.”

“Can I not be amused once in a while?” Roger asked politely, plucking the flower from Andy’s hand and taking a deep breath of the delicate scent, brushing the petals against his cheek. Andy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“No. It’s freaking me out.” A thought occurred to him and he pushed his chair back, abruptly wary. “If this has anything to do with those Australians and whatever they’re planning-“

“Of course not.” Roger leaned over to tuck the flower behind Andy’s ear, the white petals tickling the side of his face, his tone turning teasing as he sat back to survey his handiwork. “Now order your coffee and be civilized for once Yank.”

Andy could see the flower out the corner of his eye, a distracting blur of white underneath the shade of his hat. It was enough to make him miss the faintly mocking tone of Roger’s voice; instead he turned his head trying to see the gardenia better. He just ended up almost sliding off his chair. “Is there a reason for what you just did or…”

Roger shrugged. “It makes you look pretty,” he offered, sounding utterly serious.

“Really?” The sarcasm dripping from Andy’s tone would’ve curdled milk. “Why thank you; just what I’ve always wanted.”

“You’re welcome,” Roger answered absently, glancing over to catch the waiter’s attention. “Decided what you want?”

Andy sighed. This was silly and stupid and he saw enough of the man on-court anyway without hanging around him on his days off. “I want a walk.” He stood up, resettling his hat without dislodging the flower. “Are you going to follow me all day?” he demanded without really expecting a truthful answer. Roger looked up at him, shading his eyes against the sun with his hand.

“That depends on if you go to the same places I want to go.”

“Which means ‘yes’,” Andy muttered, turning to leave. He didn’t need to look back to see Roger’s grin or hear the quiet answer.

“Perhaps.”

By the time a woman with an Australian accent remarked sarcastically, “That went well,” Andy was already out of hearing range.


***



On reflection, walking up to the Acropolis just as the day was getting hot hadn’t been the best of ideas. Andy sat down under a dusty olive tree halfway up to catch his breath and fan himself with one hand. He was really regretting not taking Roger up on that offer of a coffee. Sweat was sticking his t-shirt to his back; with a grimace he peeled it away from his skin and flapped it in a futile attempt to dry the soaked cotton. Stupid country. Stupid bodily fluids. Stupid Roger.

“Tired yet?”

The yelp of shock was out before Andy realised the Swiss appearing out of nowhere shouldn’t really surprise him anymore. He glared up from where he’d fallen backwards in the dust. “You shouldn’t sneak up on me like that. Asshole.”

“If you were anyone else, I’d be offended.” Roger brought a bottle of water out from behind his back and held it out like a peace offering. “May I sit?”

Andy eyed the water bottle. His pride was insisting he tell the Swiss where to stick his water and sod off. His common sense retorted that he was fucking thirsty and pride could go jump off the Acropolis. There was a brief, brutal war from which common sense emerged bruised but triumphant. Andy grabbed the water and motioned for Roger to sit.

“Thanks.” The other man sank gratefully down next to him and Andy felt a little smug when he noticed Roger’s shirt was equally sweat-soaked. Only human after all. He closed his eyes to pour half the water over his head and opened them a second later to find Roger watching him with a small smile.

“Y’know if you were a fan, I’d have had you arrested for stalking by now,” Andy remarked, capping the bottle and leaning back on his elbows, enjoying the cool water trickling down his neck. A moment later he was sitting upright again, removing an offending olive from under his back. “Ouch. Stupid tree.” He knew Roger was smirking without bothering to look up. “Laugh and I pelt you with olives.”

“I would not dream of it.” Roger leaned back and stretched his legs out, closing his eyes as he tilted his head back. Andy debated pouring the water over him in revenge for being stalked but thirst won and he tossed the olive over at the Swiss instead. One dark eye cracked open to glare at him.

“So, why are you stalking me?” Andy wriggled backwards to lean against the tree, stretching out his legs, ignoring the fact his thigh pressed against Roger’s shoulder. The Swiss didn’t seem to mind, tilting his head sideways a little so he could look at the American.

“I told you. You just happen to be going the same way as me.”

“Bullshit,” Andy commented but didn’t have the energy to push it further. “Do you promise to tell me before the end of the day?”

“Do you promise to behave?” Roger answered reflectively. Andy opened his mouth to say yes then hesitated. Could he honestly behave himself for an entire day? He caught sight of the smirk lurking behind Roger’s smile and decided it’d be worth it just to prove to the Swiss he could.

“Well… yeah. Okay I guess.”

“Then ja, I will tell you before the end of the day.” Roger closed his eyes again, leaning back on his elbows. Andy waited a second then nudged the Swiss’ side with his foot.

“Was?” Roger asked in the weary tone of the infinitely patient dealing with the infinitely annoying. Andy put on his best pout, which was useless since Roger had his eyes still closed.

“Before the end of the day as in now?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please with sugar on top?”

“No.”

Andy stared mournfully up at the clear blue sky through the tree canopy. “You Swiss are a cruel bunch of bastards aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Roger answered calmly. “Are you going to shut up and let me sleep or should we walk up to the Acropolis?”

Andy reflected a moment. “I have to choose between shutting up and walking up a steep hill in blistering heat?”

“Ja.”

“Move your ass then; we’ve got a hill to climb.”


***



The top of the Acropolis was apparently hotter than the rest of Athens combined. Andy looked for shade and found only hot, dusty ruins, scattered with a few wilting tourists who’d also been crazy enough to climb up in the middle of the day. Roger wandered over to some ancient columns with a fascinated expression; Andy limped after him, trying to look pitiful.

“Roooooooogeeeeeerrrrrrrrr, it’s too hot. Let’s go find somewhere that serves ouzo or at least caffeine.”

“Look at this,” the Swiss murmured, ignoring Andy’s theatrical whimpering and crouching to brush reverent fingertips along the base of a stone column. “This has been here for thousands of years. Around 440BC I think. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Did they have caffeine in 440BC?” Andy asked grouchily. He sank to a crouch to give his legs a rest then leapt back up as hot stone burnt his knees. “Fuck! Stupid fucking country.”

“Do you ever stop talking long enough to appreciate where you are?” Roger asked, sounding amused. “Here-“ He grabbed Andy’s hand and dragged him down to crouch-level, putting his free hand on the worn stone. “Over two thousand years old. Isn’t it beautiful?”

Andy stared blankly at the column for a moment, glanced up at Roger, then back down at the column. It was just rock. Really old rock, but still just rock.

Roger had made him climb a steep hill, in searing heat, to stare at ancient rocks.

This demanded payback.

Slowly he reached out, watching Roger out the corner of his eye. The Swiss grinned happily at Andy’s apparent interest, an expression that turned to confusion when the American grabbed the hand he had pressed to the column. “Andy, what-“

“Shh.” Andy resisted Roger’s efforts to free his hand and brought it close to his face, studying it with exaggerated care. He turned it palm upwards and traced the creases with his thumb, noting Roger’s twitch with amusement. Ticklish palms. He stored the fact away in case it ever came in useful.

Although he was just pretending to examine the hand to wind Roger up he couldn’t help but notice it was pretty nice, as hands go. A little dusty right now but the fingers were surprisingly slender – he always forgot how thin Roger actually was - neatly tapered and with trimmed nails that made Andy almost ashamed of his bitten ones. The calluses from grasping a racquet were as rough as Andy’s but the skin was darker, more brown-gold against Andy’s sunburnt-pink. Andy turned the hand over again and looked up with a solemn expression.

“Well it’s a little hairy for my taste but if you want to call it beautiful…”

“Andy!” Roger tried to free his hand again, glancing around at half-interested tourists. “May I have my hand back?!”

“I think I’ll keep it!” Andy knew his tone was childishly gleeful; Roger being embarrassed was too funny not to draw out. “It’s pretty and I might win more matches if you have to play left handed.”

“People are watching-“

Payback was sweet. Andy swallowed a threatening giggle-fit and grinned instead. “Then let’s give ‘em something to see.”

With flourish he bent his head and brought the back of Roger’s hand to his lips in a gentlemanly kiss.

The strangled noise of shock from Roger was worth any number of Olympic gold medals. The hand was yanked out of Andy’s grip so fast the Swiss lost his balance and sat down hard in the dust. Andy finally cracked up, arms wrapped around his ribs as he laughed so hard he couldn’t breathe.

“Gotcha!” he crowed triumphantly in between gasps for air. “Your face…”

Roger stared at him, shock turning to confusion. He opened and closed his mouth wordlessly a few times which only made Andy laugh harder, sitting down in the hot dust before he lost his balance. Roger blinked.

“You were… teasing.”

“No, actually I was proposing marriage.” Andy drawled, still amused as he caught his breath. “What’s the matter Feds, don’t get teased very often?” He leaned over to ruffle dark hair, grinning as Roger leant warily out of reach. “Lighten up. I could’ve kissed far more embarrassing places than your hand.”

Something flickered briefly across Roger’s expression, gone too fast to pin down. “For example?”

Andy got to his feet, offering a hand to help Roger up. “Oh I don’t know. Could’ve snogged you I guess.”

The Swiss hesitated before taking the pro-offered hand, clearly suspicious. “Would you do that?” he asked as Andy hauled him upright, curiosity mingled with surprise in his tone. Andy smiled at him a little oddly, wondering if it was a trick question.

“I like publicity Roj, but not that much.” He glanced around at the few tourists, all watching them surreptitiously from behind stone columns and ruined walls. “Shall we ah, go somewhere with less of an audience?”

“Why, so you can finish proposing?” Roger asked, deadpan. Andy turned to glare at him but Roger met it with an innocent smile.

“Come on brat,” Andy grumbled good-naturedly, linking arms with the Swiss and dragging him towards the steps down to the Plaka. “You can buy me lunch and a nice, cold ouzo.”

Unnoticed, hidden behind a half ruined wall, two women giggled as they watched the tennis players wander off down the hill together.


***



“I think I’ll have fish,” Andy said contemplatively, staring at the menu twenty minutes later. Roger smirked at him across the table but the expression was a little uncertain. Andy’s teasing up on the Acropolis seemed to have struck a nerve.

“Andy, this is a fish restaurant. In case you hadn’t noticed.”

“I know. Ergo, I think I’ll have fish.” Andy peered over the top of his menu, grinning. “Hang around with me a little more Roj, you’ll get used to it.”

“Will I go crazy first is the question,” Roger muttered worriedly from behind his menu then winced as a foot connected squarely with his shin, hard enough to make an audible thud.

“Oops, sorry,” Andy said with exaggerated sweetness. “My foot slipped.”

Roger carefully put down his menu and bent down to rub the developing bruise with a growled sentence in German that sounded rude. Andy’s smile faded into a frown.

“If you’re going to insult me, do it in my language Feds,” he commented, his tone dripping sarcasm. The look Roger directed his way would’ve frozen a jug of ouzo and Andy actually flinched back slightly before managing a passable glare in return. Suddenly the warm Greek air was frostier than Antarctica; part of Andy’s mind watched with flower vase in the middle of the table with interest, waiting for it to freeze over. The rest of him was channelled completely into not being the first to look away, not to tacitly admitting defeat.

Fortunately the waiter arrived to interrupt them before the silent battle lasted more than a few seconds. Roger ordered a Halloumi salad without taking his stare off Andy who ordered a swordfish steak and the largest bottle of ouzo on offer in a subdued voice. The waiter left them to an uneasy silence, Roger transferring his glare to his menu while Andy stared around the small taverna, lost in quiet thought.

“Look, I’m sorry,” he said abruptly. “I didn’t mean to kick you that hard.”

Roger didn’t look up. “So you did mean to kick me?”

“Yes,” Andy admitted then realised what he’d said. “No! I mean-“ He gave up and leaned forward to hide his head in his arms. “Just shoot me now,” he begged in a muffled voice. He wasn’t sure how the conversation had gone from lightly teasing to practically a war zone but he was fairly sure it was his fault. I was having fun before too, he thought ruefully.

Something suspiciously like a chuckle had him peering cautiously over his folded arms. Roger was grinning broadly down at him and the bizarre thought entered Andy’s head that he looked like the Cheshire Cat. Slowly it dawned on him that he was being wound up.

“You bastard,” he said, sounding a little impressed. “You had me completely for a second there.”

“Learned from the best,” Roger replied with a shrug, his grin taking on the edge of a smirk. “Besides, I did call you a…“ He broke off, abruptly seeming to find the tablecloth fascinating. Andy narrowed his eyes.

“A what?”

“Nothing!” Roger answered a little too quickly without looking up.

Andy hesitated. The tension had lessened noticeably from a few minutes ago and he really didn’t have the energy to fight with Roger for the rest of the day over a German insult. “Did it reference my mother in any way, shape or form?”

Roger paused briefly, apparently thinking it over. “… Nein. Definitely not.”

“Then I guess I forgive you. Truce?” Andy offered his hand and Roger shook it across the table with a smile. Unable to resist Andy hung on to the Swiss’ hand for a few seconds after the he tried to take it back, enjoying the expression that flashed across Roger’s face – he seemed to be mentally kicking himself for being so gullible.

“If I catch it a third time, do I get to keep it?” Andy asked hopefully as he reluctantly let Roger have the hand back. The Swiss tilted his head to one side, a wayward strand of hair falling into his eyes as he considered it. Andy couldn’t tell if he was seriously thinking about the question or just pretending to throw Andy off-balance.

“If I am stupid enough to give it to you, then yes,” Roger conceded finally. Andy smirked.

“You’ll regret agreeing to that,” he predicted. Roger was saved from having to answer by the arrival of the waiter with the ouzo - by the time glasses had been filled and the waiter was retreating, the American had decided it was time to change to safer topics.

“So! Why do you like ancient rocks so much?” he asked. It was the first thing that came to mind and it sounded a little stupider out loud than in his head but Roger laughed.

“I don’t know. Why do you not like ancient rocks so much?”

“Because… well... they’re rocks.” Andy sipped his ouzo thoughtfully, wincing a little at the taste. “Sure the ancient Greeks did impressive stuff and I’m all for the coolness of competing in the same place as the first Olympic athletes but… they’re just rocks. A chunk of stuff some guy hammered into a vaguely pretty shape at some point.” He shrugged. “Let the science guys get all teary-eyed over them. My job’s just to hit the fuzzy little yellow things.”

Roger was quiet, thinking it over. “I hate to say it,” he admitted slowly after a while. “But I used to feel the same. Mirka’s taken me to many museums since we arrived and it’s kind of rubbed off on me y’know?” He swirled his glass in small circles, thoughtfully watching the ouzo swish from side to side. “I tried to tell her I’d rather go see the beach but she likes broken pots and ruins.” A half smile, flashed quickly across the table. “Sometimes it’s easier just to agree.”

“Poor Roger,” Andy drawled with mock sympathy and got a deadly glare directed at him. “So, you don’t like ancient rocks that much, though you dragged me up a mountain-“

“A hill!” Roger protested.

“ a mountain to stare at them. You like the beach but not enough to risk pissing Mirka off.” Andy paused, contemplating his few meetings with Roger’s girlfriend. “Wise move. You know your girlfriend can be a little scary right-“

“Hey Roger!”

For a brief, terrifying moment Andy thought Mirka had been standing right behind him all along. A second later he identified the accent. It wasn’t Roger’s girlfriend. It was even worse.

Naomi Castle, captain of the Australian water polo team and from what he’d heard the most enthusiastic about the bounty on his head, bounced up to their table with a smile fit for a toothpaste ad. Andy surreptitiously shuffled his chair away, ignoring Roger’s smirk.

“Hey Naomi!” the Swiss greeted her cheerfully. “Join us for lunch?” He cast a pointed look across the table at the wide-eyed Andy. “I’m sure Andy won’t mind, right?”

Andy was going to kill him. In some slow, torturous way. Perhaps something involving a tennis racquet stuck right up…

He realised both Roger and Naomi were looking at him, waiting for an answer. “No! Of course not. Um.” He cleared his throat, trying to kill Roger by glaring at him. The Swiss only smirked a little more. “Um… Do they have toilets here?”

“Down the steps on the right,” Naomi said helpfully. Andy nodded, pushing his chair back and getting hastily to his feet.

“Cool. Thanks. Be right back.”

As he fled down the steps he could’ve sworn he heard them both burst out laughing.


***



Leaving the dubious safety of the men’s toilets fifteen minutes later, Andy was seriously debating making a run for it. They were in league against him, it was obvious. He may as well go back to his room, lock the door and hide there until Mardy came back to act as bodyguard.

It was a reassuring plan until the James Bond side of his mind pointed out that Mardy had been acting weird that morning and perhaps they’d already got to him.

Shut up! Andy mentally kicked himself. You're making yourself paranoid. Check to see if the coast is clear and make a run for it…

It was a sort of anticlimactic to peer cautiously up the steps and see Roger sitting on his own, sipping ouzo. A quick glance round revealed no sign of any Australian women poised to pounce, so Andy tiptoed cautiously up the steps up behind the Swiss, who jumped several inches off his chair when Andy’s hand landed on his shoulder.

“Guilty conscience? What did you do, feed her to the sparrows?” Andy enquired, gesturing to the hordes of tiny birds pecking crumbs on the floor. He dropped back into his chair with a creak of metal, noting Roger struggling to collect himself with amusement. “Didn’t scare you did I?”

“Of course not.” Roger sounded a little irritated. “Naomi had to leave - she had a practice to get to.”

“Oh, such a shame.” The sarcasm was intended to cover Andy’s relief but he knew he’d failed when Roger grinned. “Don’t even think about it Feds.”

“Not a word,” Roger promised sincerely, snagging a bread roll from the basket of them that had appeared since Andy left. He started to shred it carefully, tossing the crumbs to the sparrows. “Naomi is nice, once you get to know her.”

“Would getting to know her come before or after she assaults me to earn 500 dollars?” Andy asked pointedly, also grabbing a roll. Sneakily he began to entice the sparrows towards his pile of crumbs rather than Roger’s, pausing when he noticed the Swiss’ smile. “What?”

“Do you have to compete for everything?” Roger demanded in response. Their food arrived, but Andy sat silently thinking as Roger thanked the waiter and leaned over to steal a tomato slice from Andy’s plate. The American slapped the back of the reaching hand without even looking.

“Yes,” he said thoughtfully as Roger massaged his knuckles woefully. “I think I do.”

“Really?” Roger paused for a second, raising an eyebrow. “May I have your tomato?”

Andy shrugged. “Go ahead, I don’t really like them.”

The Swiss took the slice cautiously. “So you fight for it unless asked politely?” He frowned, taking a thoughtful bite of the hard-won tomato. “I don’t understand you at all.”

“The feeling is mutual.” Andy snagged an olive from Roger’s salad, avoiding the Swiss’ futile attempt to stop him with ease. “You can return a 150mph serve but you can’t stop me stealing your lunch?” He grinned, eating the olive a tiny nibble at a time. “Roger Federer, Mystery Man. Stalks fellow tennis players for fun. Why are you following me again?”

“Nice try.” Roger began to go through his salad, picking out the olives with his fork and moving them to Andy’s plate. “I hate these. I always forget they’re in this when I order.”

The swift change of subject didn’t escape Andy’s notice but he was getting free olives out of it so he let it go. They ate in comfortable silence for a while, occasionally stealing bits and pieces from each others’ plates and dodging their half-hearted attempts to stop each other. Finally Andy put down his knife and fork with a sigh.

“I’m stuffed.”

“Can it be true? Andy Roddick the infamous lover of food… full?” Roger teased, starting to stack the plates neatly to one side of the table and ignoring the tongue Andy stuck out in his direction. “Where are we going next?”

“Well,” Andy said reflectively. “We’re young, rich and famous.” He watched Roger carefully, timing his last words when the Swiss took a large mouthful of the last bread roll, a wicked grin spreading across his face in anticipation. “We should go get laid.”

Roger choked on the bread, turning slightly purple as he stared wide-eyed at the American between gasps for air. Andy leaned over to pound him on the back, slightly hampered by how hard he was laughing.

“Fuck me I love winding you up!”

“… You?” Roger wheezed, taking a sip of the glass of ouzo Andy offered. “You were joking?”

“”No, I was totally serious,” Andy answered, managing to keep a straight face this time. Roger caught his breath and sat back, brushing his hair back off his face.

“I should give you to the Australians,” he threatened.

“I have faith in your better nature,” Andy teased. “Hey!“ He reached out to grab Roger’s wrist as he moved to pick up the bill. “Let me get it.”

“No, I owe you for making you look at ancient rocks,” Roger insisted, mouth quirking into a tiny smile. Andy caught since of the swirled total at the foot of the bill and dropped the Swiss’ wrist as though it was red hot.

“In view of the fact you’ve done me out of countless dollars of prize money this year, I’ll let you, just this once,” he offered generously. Roger ruefully pulled out his wallet.

“I knew I would regret choosing you to stalk.”

Andy watched him count the euros out thoughtfully. As the Swiss put the last note down a sparrow landed on the edge of the table, cheeping once as if to demand attention. Roger carefully nudged a few crumbs closer to him and Andy smiled.

“Still want me to pick somewhere to go?” he asked. Roger glanced up with a raised eyebrow.

“Sure.”

“Then come on.” Andy stood up, grabbing the Swiss’ arm and dragging him purposefully off down the street. “I know somewhere I can hide from crazed Australians and where you’ll feel right at home.”

***


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