You Don’t Know What it Means to Me
So...after the Laver Cup I came up with this, it was truly emotional will miss RF, he’s a fave of mine. hope RF/Fedal Fans enjoy.
DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction, unfortunately Roger retiring at the Laver cup was not, but no offence is meant to anyone at all. Also the song belongs to Queen, I own only the story itself.
You Don’t Know What it Means to Me
The quietness of the cavernous arena was strangely eerie, hard to believe that only an hour or so ago it had played host to perhaps the most emotional finale of a tennis great’s career, possibly the greatest player than the tennis world had ever or would ever see again.
Rafa sighed heavily, some would say he was biased but he knew he wasn’t...Roger Federer had changed the sport forever, a living legend...and changed his life too.
It was hard to believe so many years had passed but neither had really changed, a few more lines around the eyes, hair shorter and, in his own case, thinner but he still felt like they were just starting out...how could it have all gone so fast? How had the most amazing era of his life come to an end?
Though he had known longer than most about Roger’s retirement, it hadn’t been any easier to get used to but, like everything, he’d manage.
“I thought I’d find you here.” He turned at the sound of Bjorn’s voice. “You played well tonight, both of you.”
“Gracias, not the result we wanted, though.” Rafa’s mouth twitched ruefully.
“I cannot stay; Mery is close now, she needs me; doctors say I need more surgery on my abdominal muscle if I am to play properly again. There is very much pain.”
“Tonight, I had to be here.” He paused.” I’m sorry.”
Bjorn shook his head. “No need. Cameron will step in.”
“Gracias.” The pair shook hands.
Watching the younger man leave, the inscrutable Swede knew that there was more to it; Rafael Nadal was a broken man and there was nothing anyone could do.
Soon Rafa found himself back in the his hotel room; as he splashed water over his face to soothe his aching bloodshot eyes, he saw the deep lines and dark circles below his eyes that suddenly made him look 30 years older than he was.
The truth was he was hurting far too much to hide it...physically, emotionally and mentally; what he’d said in the press conference was true...part of him had gone with Roger tonight.
He had listened, counselled Roger during those difficult phone-calls, been strong and brash as he always is and put every ounce of himself into making his friend secure in this decision and to give him his dream finale and said all the right things, he meant them of course, in the media...all the while trying to ignore the unbearable fear and grief that was threatening to drown him.
Love of my life, you've hurt me
You've broken my heart
And now you leave me
Retirement was something every sportsperson had to face in their career and they had both been plagued by difficult injuries, Roger had suffered and fought valiantly but even tonight had been far from certain. It had been his one wish that if he was fit enough to play the doubles match, he wanted to be teamed with Rafa for his final match.
For Rafa there hadn’t even been a split-second’s thought, regardless of family or injury, he would be there.
He’d been running on adrenaline for the last few days and being in practice with the team and seeing everyone again, especially Roger, felt amazing; it had been too long and he’d missed his friend terribly and seeing him back on court was like the sweetest high and Rafa almost believed that he’d dreamt all those calls and all of a sudden it was just like old times again with the years stretched wide.
They were fired up, the game was fast and strong, their teamwork was outstanding as per; even the masked tactical discussions were in perfect sync, the minor disagreements and ‘directions’ from Roger were all comfortingly familiar. Any fears Roger may have had about his stamina were completely unfounded; they won the set point easily, even with Roger, albeit by chance, pulling off a brand-new trick shot; through the gap where the net met the pole! Causing much hilarity and completely shocked disbelief from John McEnroe!
Well, why break the habit of a career?
Unfortunately, it wasn’t to be and Team World won the match, an annoying disappointment for Rafa, if only for Roger’s sake, but during their man-hug Roger assured him he didn’t mind, them just being together again was more than he could’ve hoped for, and surviving the match!
They were practically deafened by the roar of applause of 17,500 fans.
He watched as the audience and the world over cheered and wept for the legend he was proud to call amigo, hearing the praise that they heaped, virtues extolled so richly deserved and more. Roger deserved it, he deserved everything.
Roger took his lap of honour, soon embracing the team, Rafa could feel the emotion bubbling perilously close...he needed to keep it together; the hug was shaky ground but still calm-ish.
“Roger, please come out.” Jim called.
Though Rafa wouldn’t admit it, in many ways he’d always followed Roger’s lead with press, fans etc.; his friend was standing strong and proud as he began the speech that he’d written, re-written and rehearsed for days, so once again, he followed the hardest lead of his career.
Then it happened...Roger started to crumble; desperation to maintain his famed composure was fast becoming impossible, talking about the people he loved and cared for most in the world, the passion for the sport that was as much a part of his identity as his name but the moment he mentioned not wanting to be lonely and how much being with the team, especially Rafa, had meant to him...the floodgates opened for them both.
It hit Rafa like a ton of bricks...it was really over; Roger was officially retired.
All those great matches, they would be only history now, the shared teasing and madness that came from tour life...memories that at this moment felt more bitter than sweet. Yes, they would still be in each other’s lives but Roger was on a different path now.
His was the first face he looked for at every tournament and, even in the last couple of years with lockdowns and injuries it was always a case of ‘Back soon.’ This time it was ‘goodbye’.
Love of my life, can't you see?
Bring it back, bring it back
Don't take it away from me
Because you don't know
What it means to me
Bereft seemed too paltry a word to describe this, it was like he’d lost a vital part of himself; like everyone else he watched the tribute montage, listened to Ellie sing but none of it registered in his torrid mind. Suddenly he felt the tender but gripping squeeze of Roger’s hand, locking them together like a fortress and Rafa was glad to be; a simple gesture that said a thousand things. ‘Thank you.’ ‘I’ll miss you.’ ‘I can’t believe it’s over.’ ‘Don’t let go, I need you to help me get through this.’
Seeing Roger’s usually cool veneer totally shattered, breaking his heart over the finality of it all, Rafa felt his own grief intensify; everyone swarmed around Roger and suddenly Rafa found himself pushed far back...no, he couldn’t be separated from him. Not yet.
Both Robert and Mirka hugged him; Robert had sought him out and tried to be reassuring but, in a way, there were no real words that could stop the hurt.
Before long, the official press stuff was over and the informal began; though it was now just family, friends and colleagues it still felt too public for Rafa, he was too raw to paint on a public face...though he didn’t want to break his earlier promise to Roger, he couldn’t face staying.
It was a whirlwind and Roger was swept up in the memories and love, the congratulatory words as time ticked by...not quite how he’d imagined the end of his professional career but still beautiful...a different kind of perfect.
That word suddenly brought the room into sharp focus...in the sea of a thousand faces one very important one was missing.
“Bjorn?” He caught the older man’s attention. “Have you seen Rafa?”
Bjorn cocked his head, indicating this conversation needed to be private.
“Rafa’s in his room; he’s withdrawn from the rest of the tournament, he’s leaving in the morning.”
“Not just that.” He paused. “I think this has all hit him harder than everyone thought it would, even him.”
Roger slipped out seamlessly, quite a feat when you’re the star of the show.
“I’ll be back soon.” He mouthed to Mirka, she winked affectionately.
For a moment he stood in silence; he just needed to breathe, let the feelings settle...everything was so crazy...he needed his friend....probably just as much as he needed him.
Rafa had almost finished packing but the adrenaline still hadn’t abated and his mind was still a-whirring, he was so desperate to switch off just for a while.
Love of my life, don't leave me
You've taken my love (my love)
And now desert me
Love of my life, can't you see? (Please bring it back)
A knock at the door and a deep accent startled him.
Rafa felt his heart leap warmly as he opened the door.
“Roger?” He ushered him in quickly, away from prying eyes and ears. “Why are you up here; you should be with everyone, you are star tonight?”
“You see me all hours for last two days, still not enough, huh?” He was trying to lighten the mood but the strain was clear.
“I wanted to thank you too; you made a wonderful night even more amazing.”
“I play tennis, make dreams come true, is what I do.”
“Not too bad for two old men, eh?”
“True, no-one’s more surprised than I am to still be here.”
“Is no surprise, you are this GOAT they speak of.”
“You are too.” Roger raised an eyebrow as he heard the music faintly playing. “Queen?”
“Si, some songs I like, you suggested I try.”
”Bjorn has told me you’re withdrawing.”
“Si, I am not fit to play.” He continued packing. “I go home, need to rest and feel better.”
“So...you came back for me?”
“I promise I give my best for you, I keep promise...always for you, Rogi.” Rafa could feel tears in his eyes and the pain in his throat.
“Don’t.” Roger swiped at his eyes again, laughing nervously. “I said we’d get through it, we did.”
For a moment Roger stared at the man in front of him seeing their whole careers fly past in seconds; how he’d grown from a talented and excitable teenage rival to ‘frenemies’ in their prime to now, friends in the ‘Old Guard’; yes his tennis playing journey was over but Rafa still had a way to go, however long or short and he couldn’t wait to cheer him on with every bit of vim and vigour he had.
Through laughter and tears, wins and losses, they’d seen it all and those precious memories would last a lifetime.
“Come here.” Roger pulled him into a bear hug, immediately feeling the shuddering of Rafa’s barely concealed sobs. “Shhh.”
“Don’t go, Rogelio.” He whispered pitifully.
“It’s a done deal, you know that my friend.” He murmured.
“I don’t know how to do this without you.” Rafa looked up at him, tears streaming unabashedly.
“Like I told everyone out there tonight, I won’t be a ghost; you’ll see me everywhere, who knows we’ll probably play a game or two down the road.”
“Is not the same, you know that.”
Roger gently brushed the tears away with his thumbs. “There’s so much ahead for us, you’ve got your little one coming soon and many more I’m sure and you know I’ve got lots of plans.” He smiled affectionately. “I am SO proud of you, Rafa...everything you’ve become and that I can call you my friend; to play against and alongside you, it has been an honour.”
The younger man clung to him, clearly overwhelmed...only then did Roger allow a few more of his seemingly never-ending supply of tears to fall; yes, he’d made peace with his decision, he hadn’t had much of a choice really but it was hard won.
The enormity of leaving this precious circle was hitting him and if he was completely honest an infinitesimally small part of him wished he could go back and do it all again, to be at Rafa’s side if nothing else.
Bring it back, bring it back (back)
Don't take it away from me (take it away from me)
Because you don't know (ooh-ooh-ooh know)
What it means to me (means to me)
Over the last week he’d finally truly seen what he meant to everyone; fans, rivals, friends but, perhaps strangely, it was Rafa’s grief-stricken reaction that had both touched and hurt him the most, maybe because his friend was far more vulnerable than he let on to the rest of the world.
Roger had always been protective of him, almost like a big brother, actually they had been the brother that they’d both wanted and never had.
Rafa shook his head against the Swiss’s chest. “Don’t leave me.”
Roger held him tighter, the tip of his nose very gently nuzzling his temple.
They remained that way for a good long while...there was no-one else in the world.
You will remember
When this is blown over
And everything's all by the way (ooh)
When I grow older (yeah)
I will be there at your side (ooh)
To remind you how I still love you (to remind you)
(I still love you)
“You okay?” Roger murmured against Rafa’s ear.
“Bueno.” Rafa nodded as they slowly released their hold on each other.
“There cannot be any tears left, surely?” They both chuckled awkwardly, swiping at their eyes with their palms.
“Is getting out of hand.”
At that second Roger’s mobile buzzed.
“Ha.” Rafa ‘laughed’. “How you say, saved by the bells?”
“Something like that.” His brow creased lightly.
“Mirka wanting to know where you are?” Rafa waved his hand. “Go back to them, Rogelio, is your night.” He absently started to scan the room, picking up odds and ends left to pack.
Roger quickly typed a reply but kept hold of his phone, just watching and soon Rafa was aware of him still being there.
Wordlessly he showed his friend the text his wife had sent.
‘Darling, kids asleep. Stay with Rafa, think you need each other tonight.
Love you, so proud. Mirka. XXX’
Rafa flashed a watery smile.
“¿Te quedarás?” (“You stay?”)
He nodded, part of him relieved at his wife’s sixth sense, though he still belonged to the tennis world and his family, a little piece of him belonged to Rafa and, right now, theirs was the only wavelength that made sense.
“You look terrible.” Roger laughed softly.
“Si, you look worse.” Rafa quipped.
Roger walked to the minibar, taking out two bottles of water. “Here.” He lightly tossed one to Rafa, which he nimbly caught. “You need to rehydrate.”
The younger player uncapped the bottle, taking a long drink, arching his eyebrows indicating Roger should do the same.
“And these.” He took a small box of aspirin from his pocket, popping out a dose each. “We’ll feel this tomorrow, never mind the headache.”
Rafa smiled, you could take the player off the court....
“What time is your flight tomorrow, you know you can’t be late?”
“10:45am, I am never late just a little less early is all.”
Roger rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Rafa; you need to get some sleep.”
And so, the two friends curled up together on the bed and exhaustion soon carried them off as they held each other, fingers tightly gripped.
On the nearby sound bar the haunted tones of Freddie Mercury sang out the ballad ‘Love of my Life’; the lyrics were oddly fitting for them and the night’s events...a strange new era was about to dawn.
Back, hurry back (back, back)
Please, bring it back home to me (bring it back home to me)
Because you don't know (ooh-ooh-ooh know)
What it means to me (means to me)
Love of my life
Love of my life
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