A/N: Watched it for the first time on line. Loved it and had to write about it, so here it is, it might be a one shot, I don't know so I'll leave the status open until I decide or sure. I Paul a lot, so no flaming him.
The sound of rackets hitting balls had often laced his sleep, But this time, it wasn't the dreams of the court. And this time, it was inducing a pounding in his already sore enough head. Damned bloody headache.
"Wake up, sleepy, you wanna practice or not?"
Lizzie. Love. Choose one. If you had asked Peter that, he couldn't have chosen, to him they meant the same thing . And a second love was the game. THE game. But that wasn't his life anymore. No, Lizzie was his life now. Wimbledon was over, he'd won it and quit. And it felt good. No pressure to make the score, to be in love. It felt real good.
"Soon, Lizzie," he rolled over, his voice and body tired for the game of the day before. The game that made his career….and in a sense broke it. His last professional game. His pre-retirement game. Retirement. The word sounded odd next to his name, his age, thirty-one. But that was old in tennis years. Too old for the game. He sure hoped not.
"Everything is so contradictory!" he said, rolling over onto his sore back. He needed another acupuncture treatment, that last swing….well he hadn't felt in then, but he felt it now. His damn back…
Lizzie, there she was again, back to take away all his stupid thoughts about life that made him so confused. So far, he'd done a decent job on his own, but she made it better.
"Life…" he groaned and rolled over again.
"Don't you remember any of those cliché sayings?" Lizzie was rubbing his back, now. And it felt sooo good.
"Oh, like, don't let life get you down?" she even smelt good.
Bloody clichés. The damned bloody clichés. But her voice was so soothing, like honey. Like a nice long steam soaking after a good hard, long game with Dieter. Dieter, know that was an idea.
"What is it?"
Lizzie. She had noticed the way he had shifted. "Well, just supposing that life isn't so bad after all," But, as always she was mischievously curious. Oh that quirky smile.
"And what's changed your mind?"
I have friends. "Well, for starters, there's the fact that your father finally let us hook up," Another crooked grin.
Dieter, likes to practice with me. "My parents aren't splitting up,"
"Now you're just making things up," Damn.
"Now this is just too cliché. Where's that tennis racquet?"
Slowly easing himself up, Peter winced. He couldn't believe he was doing this. Just another game, Peter. Now it's not Wimbledon, so now it's not a big deal. It's just a game with your girlfriend.
And he was back to groaning about life again. It was a miserable little circle. It wasn't ending soon, and Peter Colt knew he'd better get used to it. He'd known that for a long time. Had he ever gotten used to it? No, but that's besides the point. No go play tennis with Lizzie and stop moaning about your wonderful life.
And for the first time that morning, Peter smiled. But that might have been because Lizzie and he had begun to kiss.