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separatist-apologist · 9 months ago

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We Could Call It Even

Summary: Newly made and terrified, Elain Archeron's human fiance tells her of a creature that could turn her back and keep them together and Elain will stop at nothing to make rumor a reality.

There is no force that can undo fate. No magic that can unmake a mating bond. And Lucien Vanserra isn't about to let his mate throw herself in the path of certain death on a fools hope. Lucien will be forced, instead, to watch her love another man for eighty brutal, miserable years.

While Elain Archeron will have to contend with a life she hoped to never live…and a mate she never wanted.

Thank you @shadowisles-writes for the moodboard!!

Read on AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

It was Elain’s ticket to the continent, shoved in his hands with such hatred, such force, that Lucien nearly ripped it into pieces. Surely some of her fury had transferred into the little slip of parchment and would curse him should he attempt to use it.

And yet, death at sea didn’t sound so bad to him right then. When she stormed off, tears streaking down her face, Lucien hadn’t felt anything for her at all beyond irritation. He didn’t believe anyone had ever tried to hold her accountable for even a moment in her life. It wasn’t entirely Elain’s fault she was spoiled—no one saw anything of value in her and viewed her as little more than porcelain. Fragile, broken easily, in need of constant protection.

Lucien hoped she took a tumble from the shelf she’d been placed on. Maybe, if nothing else, it would make her a little more interesting.

She had a first class ticket, as it turned out, and her cabin was spacious. “Thanks, darling,” he muttered sarcastically before flopping himself down on the bed. He dozed off again, his dreams too bright and loud to be remembered when he lurched awake. It had been the stress, he realized, that had prompted this spontaneous, poorly considered plan.

When he peered out the rounded window, all he saw was blue water in every direction. Oh, Feyre was going to be so angry with him. Lucien considered, for a moment, turning himself around when he got to the continent.

His mind was cruel. Stretching over decades, he imagined himself finding Velaris a new home, making friends. Growing closer with Feyre, whom he genuinely loved and adored the way he might have loved a younger sister. It was a soft, easy sort of life. He and Feyre up to their same shenanigans. She could show him all the best places, they could gossip without someone hanging over their shoulder disapprovingly.

And just when he’d gotten comfortable and believed it was forever, he knew Elain would come crawling back, tail between her legs. Still bitter, but now stricken with grief, she’d want her family to care for her while she mourned. And Feyre, with her too soft, forgiving heart, would take her back without question.

She’d meddle. Feyre simply couldn’t help herself. He didn’t blame her for it, but Lucien knew in a century, Feyre would be trying to shove Elain back into his life now that Graysen was dead and she had no other options. Feyre was incandescently happy with her own mate—she’d want the same for her sisters.

But Lucien…oh. He couldn’t forgive Elain for this. He didn’t care if she didn’t understand and was hurt and angry. They were mates and that meant something. Jesminda had died for it. And Elain didn’t even have the courage to tell him she didn’t want him without him forcing her hand. What kind of life was it, always playing second best to a ghost, besides?

Maybe leaving was for the best. He’d write to Feyre—they could keep in touch—but he could start over. Prythian had never been his home, anyway. He’d only ever felt like it could be when Jes had been alive. After her death, he’d been merely existing. Everything reminded him of her.

Now there was Elain, complicating everything. What if he lost his mind one day—what if something slipped down the bond that shredded the last remnants of his sanity? Or what if merely became curious and went to see her, only to find her surrounded by children and happiness and love? What if she got everything he didn’t? It was better to have an ocean separating them. Better to just try and start over. Who cared if he was a High Lord son anymore? He could just be Lucien, for once. Maybe he wouldn’t work in courts or be involved in the inner workings, guiding policies and keeping rulers from being beheaded, and maybe, just this once, he wanted that.

Lucien spent a week on that ship, mingling casually with others who, like him, were looking to start over. Some were visiting family or returning home and others had struck out in Prythian, their homes destroyed, and were hoping to get further away from the wars the suspected would keep coming.

He talked to some of them casually, but mostly kept to himself. Lucien regretted, if nothing else, not bringing a change of clothes. He did his best, but by the time they arrived on the shores of Vallahan, Lucien’s clothes had a very particular smell to them.

The smell of salty air was a balm for his still wounded soul. Lucien drank it in as he stumbled from the rocking ship onto solid, unmovable ground. He swayed for a moment, arms thrown out to regain his balance, and when he took those first confident steps, he leaned to one side like a drunk. There was simply no helping it, and so he tried not to let himself feel too self-conscious about it.

Lucien drank in the small port city he’d been dropped in. Already, he knew he wanted to move further into the interior—whatever the city was called was a little too small for his liking. He wanted to lose himself somewhere. Just be Lucien. He’d drop his last name if he had to, or invent one entirely.

He was charmed, all the same, by the architecture that surrounded him. Everything was constantly being torn down and rebuilt in Prythian, their own styles often declared to be outdated. You’d find homes dated three centuries before in a particular style just down the road from palatial estates remade in the newest fashion.

Here, everything had a more cohesive feel, which lent to an overall sense of community. Buildings were two or three stories made of red or sometimes white bright and typically steepled rooftops. Temples were taller, ominous buildings that loomed light over the rest of the city with spires that stretched like spindling fingers towards the heavens.

Lucien was entranced, walking down streets of smoothly laid cobblestone. Brightly painted doors were thrown open, inviting people to come inside shops to browse. Patrons at local eating establishments sat beneath awnings, drinking and eating and talking with cheerful enthusiasm. Children played a loud game of ball nearby, kicking it around with their feet and yelling foul if someone used their hands.

“Looking for work, mister?” A voice cut through his wonder. Lucien turned to find a rather dirty looking man wearing a bloodstained apron. The local butcher, then, he surmised based on the smell and the large cleaver held loosely in one hand.

His father would die to see one of his sons engaging in peasant work and yet… “I am,” Lucien decided. “Though, I have no skill in butchery.”

The burly man, no older than four hundred if Lucien had to guess, eyed Lucien up and down. “You look like you swing a sword well enough. You’ll pick it up. Do you want work or not?”

Lucien glanced up at the building shrewdly. “Does it come with lodging?”

“You can have the top apartment to yourself. Pay is whatever you can sell after everything else is square—a fifty fifty split.”

That was far more generous than Lucien expected. Besides, work was work he told himself with an incline of his head. He had plenty of money, of course—he could have paid for somewhere outright and lived a more casual existence.

Working in the community would make it easier to live among them. They’d learn to trust him while he learned the customs and culture. He could fit himself in better before moving on. Lucien had time, he reminded himself. There was no rush. He’d live a dozen centuries more before his thread was cut. Why not, he decided? He followed the burly male in doors where the pristine shop awaited.

“Since my wife died, I’ve been doing this all by myself,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his beefy neck. He was a solidly built man with a barrel chest and a thick, black beard. Piercing blue eyes took him in, as if reading the measure of Lucien and finding him worthy.

“Tell me what you need,” Lucien replied, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a quick study.”

In retrospect, after a day of trailing Bernard the Butcher, a name that made him chuckle just loud enough to earn a scowl, Lucien found he’d been well primed for this kind of work by his older brother, no less. Eris, who had never cared much for him, had occasionally taken him out of the house when their father was in one of his rages.

In the forest of Autumn, Lucien had learned to skin fish and deer. He’d learned how to cleanly get meat off the bone and which pieces were the best. He’d learned to render tallow from the fat and sharpen animal bones into tools or instruments or, when he was really young, little toys he buried outside the Forest House so Beron wouldn’t take them from him.

Here, at least, the animals were already dead. Bernard contracted with a farm just outside of town that belonged to his sister-in-law and her husband. They came twice a week with hogs and beef mostly, and on fridays they brought chicken. On the weekends there might be fish, though Bernard said he left that to the fishmongers unless he had something particularly valuable, if only because he hated the smell.

Lucien thought that was fair.

He spent the evening cleaning the back, scrubbing up blood with a long handled brush and then, when he wasn’t quite satisfied, on his hands and knees with a little scrub brush. Bernard was impressed.

“I’ve never seen this place look so clean,” he admitted. Lucien was a little disturbed by that given the stained, wooden counter and the lingering smell of rotting blood in the air. There was nothing that could be done for some of it, though in other places he found that a little injection of gold might make things just a little nicer.

He’d worry about that later.

Lucien was given the keys to the apartment on the third floor, which he could access directly from the shop. He simply locked up for the day and walked the five steps to another door, slid the key into the lock and tramped his way up. Bernard was on the floor beneath him which Lucien half liked, though he supposed if they ever had a quarrel, it would make his down time deeply uncomfortable.

The apartment was empty save for a lopsided certain hanging from the living room window, once white but stained brown from dust. It was good, though, he decided. It had solid, sturdy bones. It struck him, right then, that this was home. The enormity of his decision suddenly settled in his stomach, filling Lucien with a mix of panic and excitement. He’d left. After years of thinking about it but never having the courage, Lucien was gone. His past was nothing more than a ghost haunting the edges of his memory rather than a monster with vicious teeth always hovering just behind him.

Lucien took a breath before making his way back down the steps. It was mid-day, closer to dinner than the evening, which meant just enough places were still open. He made purchases, having drawn a promissory note on the gold back in Prythian. He’d need it all transferred which would take time, but most stores allowed him to purchase items on credit. That was a relief because he needed a whole new wardrobe, though perhaps not as fine as he was accustomed to. Lucien purchased one nice outfit, just in case, and left everything else for the everyday wear. He made orders for furniture to be made and cosigned himself to sleeping on the hard floor until it could all be delivered.

And as he walked, he noticed an empty store front at the corner of the block with peeling white letters that read The Fox and The Fawn. Peering through the dirty window, he saw it had once been a pub of some sort before it closed.

A strange yearning surged through him. He wanted it, though he couldn’t say why. While Lucien had experience with butchering, he had none with operating his own business. Standing there, nose nearly pressed to the glass, Lucien promised himself if he were still around in six months, he’d damn it all and take on the lease.

It was too soon, though. Lucien decided to put it in the hands of fate—though fate had never been terribly kind of him. If someone else scooped it up, well, that was his answer that he wasn’t meant to stay and continue on with his original plan.

Lucien slept on the floor that evening after cleaning the interior of his apartment. He woke well before dawn, exhausted and aching, and made his way down just as Bernard did.

“Ready?” the man asked, looking as well-groomed as he ever was. Lucien rolled the sleeves of his black shirt and took a leather apron from the hook in the back once they were inside. They worked before they opened, cutting the meat they’d hung the day before now blessedly drained and ready to go.

Some of Lucien’s cuts were sloppy—too much fat or too slim—and it took him the better part of that early morning to get good at it. He learned that in Vallahan, tea was more of an evening drink and here, everyone drank coffee grown in the warmer parts of Rask. It could be sweetened much like tea with milk, sugar, and cream, and a whole industry had sprung up around it. Lucien learned the bakery a block down sold coffee in every form imaginable, with flavored syrups to match the seasons.

Lucien found himself obsessed with it. Every morning he’d wake up twenty minutes early and make his way down before the lines got too long. He ordered everything, one at a time, so he could try a variety of drinks before settling on his favorite. He learned he liked it a little darker, though still sweet, and hot even if the weather was warm.

He also liked the lemon and coconut muffin they sold, and by the time Lucien had been there a month, the pretty, red haired barista had his order waiting for him before he got to the counter.

“Good morning, Lucien,” she said, flashing him a lovely grin.

He’d wink back. “Good morning, Odessa,” he’d say in response. He liked her—he wanted to take her out.

And he didn’t want anything serious. Lucien couldn’t offer any female anything because he knew the moment they learned he had a mating bond, they’d scurry off. They’d assume that the female was going to come back eventually and he’d leave. No matter how Lucien argued that Elain was never coming to claim him, he knew, all the same, that they’d prefer a male without as much baggage as he was dragging around.

He’d always wanted a wife and children. That was, perhaps, the most cruel part of Lucien’s reality. He’d dreamed of it as a boy—how he’d do it all differently. How his children wouldn’t cower when he walked through a door, how his wife would smile brightly, unbruised and in love. All he’d ever get were the fleeting moments in between. Casual, and little more. When he closed his eyes, he used to picture Jes in that role of wife and mother. It seemed a betrayal of her sacrifice to choose another female.

Now, though, his mind betrayed him. When he closed his eyes at night, he saw Elain in that role. Smiling as children tugged at her skirts, watching him with a bemused expression while he chased after a newly toddling babe ambling toward the street.

He hated her for that. Hated her even more than he’d hated her after her cruel words because she’d be someone's mother, certainly, just as she’d be someone else’s wife. Not his, though. Never his.

And despite everything, instinct made him want her. Some nights his teeth ached from it, mouth flooded with blood as he bit down to keep himself from roaring like an animal. His nails would bite against his palms, legs shaking from the urge to rectify what was happening between them. Sometimes he played out vivid fantasies in which he kidnapped her and took her to some secluded cottage where no one would ever find her.

By the time Lucien had been in Nidraos for six months, the impulse had lessened. Sometimes it still pulled him from sleep, but it wasn’t such a battle to get himself back into bed. He simply forced himself to relive her final words before he went back to sleep.

After a while, he stopped thinking about her day to day at all. He no longer cared how she spent her time or what the human lord did to her. Lucien had slipped back to a place in his mind where he could simply be. He found himself in a place with true seasons not dependent on the kings magic. The whole system seemed to function much like the solar courts in Prythain, though those here seemed to pass the magic along via their very lineage and not the chaos of the land. There was no Calanmai—though a host of other holidays often delighted Lucien. So many were centered around the joy of children and family, which should have made him miserable.

Bernard, who must have known Lucien didn’t intend to stick around forever, brought him to his family’s Solstice Gathering where everyone had a gift for him. Lucien hadn’t expected that and, upon realizing there were gifts for him, wrapped in pretty gold paper, had caused him to choke up though he thought he did a decent job swallowing his emotion.

Lucien couldn’t remember the last time someone had given him a gift.

The empty storefront remained empty for six months, and then a year. Lucien had hesitated at the six month mark. He was comfortable. Happy, even. He should have known, then, that someone from his old life would come calling.

And call she did in the form of Feyre Archeron. He saw her one morning on his way out of the bakery, steaming cup in his hands. Snow had begun to fall gently from overhead as another winter came to the small, seaside city. He’d bundled himself in a warm coat and hat and was thinking about the chickens waiting for him when he saw her, looking strange and out of place in the middle of the city square. Lucien was certain Feyre hadn’t come alone, though it certainly looked as if she had.

That meant Azriel was lurking somewhere, just out of sight to give Feyre the illusion of privacy but close enough that he could slaughter anyone who threatened to harm her. Nevermind that in his year living in Niadros, the worst crime he’d seen had been a child stealing a neighbor's cat and refusing to return it. The local mayor had been forced to step in, providing the girl with a new kitten in exchange for the grumpy looking thing.

It struck him right then at how militaristic Prythian was.

Lucien didn’t miss it.

Feyre saw him, face splitting in a blinding, beautiful smile. Lucien’s chest ached at the sight. “Fey?”

“There you are,” she said, jogging over as her blue cloak trailed in a puddle of water. “I was starting to think I’d never find you.” She threw herself against him, typical Feyre-style, for a bruising hug. Lucien didn’t mind, burying his face in her hair. “Missed you,” he grunted out, the words not beginning to cover it.

“I got your letter…and the request for your gold to be sent over. Rhys did all that,” she told him, slipping her arm through his. A few folks watched curiously, and he knew there’d be rumors about yet another female. He’d have to explain Feyre was truly just a sister—he couldn’t let those sorts of rumors swirl around, even if they bolstered his reputation as an unapologetic rake.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s the same,” she replied, which eased some of his worry. “I saw your mother just the other day.”

Lucien had done his best not to think of her in the last year. “Is she well?”

“As well as she ever is,” Feyre murmured gently. “I told her you were happy, and that seemed to lighten her mood.”

Some of the grief he felt eased. “Good.”

“Will you tell me what happened?” Feyre asked suddenly, pausing in front of a frozen statue of a mermaid. In the summer, water poured upward from her fingertips, causing it to rain against her bronzed hair. Local children would dart away from their parents to splash inside while others tossed in coins hoping a wish might be granted.

“Ask her.”

“I tried, but she and her husband,” Feyre sneered the word, unaware of how the word stabbed Lucien right through the stomach with jealousy, “have forbidden all faeries on pain of death.”

“They could try,” Lucien mumbled, wishing they would, if only so Rhys might mist the bastard laying with his mate.

“She’d decided to play out some fantasy in which she’s still human, I suppose. She was apologetic in her letter, true to form, but she won’t go against him. What happened?”

Lucien desperately did not want to rehash it, so he shrugged his shoulders. “We exchanged some words. They were unpleasant.”

“And then you left.”

“And then I left.”

“Lucien, if she said something—”

“It was more than just her words,” Lucien told Feyre with a sigh. Snowflakes had begun to gather on her lashes, sparkling softly in the early morning light. “One day she’ll come crawling back and you won’t have it in you to hold this grudge.”

“I hold grudges just fine,” Feyre disagreed. “She never had to love you to stay with us but she chose…I don’t know what she chose, honestly. But it hurts me.”

“I know it does,” Lucien replied, not needing to tell Feyre it hurt him, too. What more could he say on the subject? Elain was selfish, he’d told her to her face—he was certain she’d framed it as some revolutionary act of putting herself first without acknowledging that her whole life, Elain had always come first.

“I wanted you to stay. I was hoping for a friend who was only mine. Things…” Feyre took a breath, looking around.

“Feyre,” Lucien all but whispered as he stepped closer, “did something happen?”

She bit her bottom lip before smoothing out her expression. Liar. She was such a liar. Lucien knew it because he was a liar, too. “No, nothing happened. I just miss being able to talk to you, that’s all. Everyone else—I love them, of course, I love them so much, but…they’re Rhys’s friends and family first. And every once and a while I remember that.”

“What happened?” Lucien asked her, holding her by the tops of her arm.

She wasn’t going to tell him. Whatever had happened that had brought her to him, she was remembering that he’d left her, too, and only sent a letter as an afterthought.

“Nothing,” his sweet liar told him, as if Lucien hadn’t spent a year living with her while she practiced lying to his face. “I just miss you, that's all.”

“It’s driving me crazy,” Lucien confessed, still holding her still. “I can’t…I can’t be that close to her. Some nights, an ocean doesn’t feel far enough. She made her choice and I’m trying to live with it.”

“He’s going to die—”

“Could you forgive Rhys?” Lucien asked, catching how Feyre winced. Maybe Feyre could. Maybe she’d overlook it, but Lucien didn’t think he could.

“Are you happy?”

“I am,” he admitted, looking around him. “I didn’t mean to stay, but I like it here. I have friends, a life, I…I’m happier than I was before.”

Feyre took a breath. It was clearly the opposite of what she’d wanted to hear.

“I’ll go back if you ask me to,” Lucien added, because he would. “If you need me, just ask.”

She shook her head. Selfless to the very end—no matter how badly she missed him, Feyre wouldn’t make him go. “Stay. You deserve something good, Lucien, even if it means I don’t get to see you every day.”

She flung her arms around him, squeezing so tightly his ribs groaned in protest. “Don’t come back.”

“You have a place here anytime you want it. High Lady be damned.”

She laughed, and Lucien swore a shadow slithered over those clear, blue eyes. He doubted governing was what Feyre truly wanted in life, though he wasn’t going to say it to her. She was young and, perhaps more tragically, a people pleaser. Her mate wanted her to be his equal in all things and so she would be—without complaint, even if it made her miserable.

Lucien had seen it all before. How long before she was here with him and they were running away again? Never, likely—she’d make it work. Still, Lucien wondered what Rhys could have possibly done to bring her all the way out to him hoping he’d come back.

“Whatever it is you’re waiting for?” Feyre said as she untangled herself from his arms, her expression resolute. “Don’t wait.”

Lucien pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Tell that mate of yours I’m watching him.”

She smiled, well aware it was an empty threat. Still, he knew it made her feel a little better. He promised to write more often, and maybe visit the next Solstice, if only to see her for her birthday. And Feyre wished him well again before she vanished into the crowd.

And Lucien turned to that still empty storefront.

He signed the lease that day.

#elucien #sorry for the delay- idk why i was so nervous to upload this

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ray935sworld · 4 months ago

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How it ended (Jorge L/ Alex M.)

Chapter 4: 1, 2, 3 phone calls

All parts

Jorge was currently driving home. It was early evening and he had finished a photo shoot. In his mind was nothing but the next hours. He'd have dinner, watch a movie and hopefully get to video chat with his boyfriend.

His mind started to drift at the thought of Alex but a call made him focus again. He took one look at the display in his car before he accepted the call.

"Dani, good to hear from you." he greeted the older Spaniard. "What's up?" "A hell lot I think" Jorge sighed, internally cursing.

"What did that fuck ass Italian say now? It has to be bad if you call me about it" "Well I'm sure rossi has somehow something to do with this." "Doesn't he always? So? What is it?" "Marc is asking for your phone number."

He made a double take. Marc? Only one Marc came to mind.

"Marquez?!" "Yes." "Why the fuck would he want my number?" "Apparently it's for Roser. Cause she wants to call you" "Roser?" Jorge pulled a face trying to make sense of it. "Who's Roser?" "Roser Marquez? Mama Marquez. The mother of your boyfriend..." Fuck. THAT Roser.

And that name he knew pretty well. His boyfriend had told him a lot about his family. Of course his mother wasn't excluded. From what he knew, she was a kind and loving woman that was more than able to handle her two sons. But why the hell would she want to call him?

He bit his lip, nodding along. A worried expression had spread on his face, unsure how to respond for a moment.

He almost forgot that Dani knew about them. It had been an accident, really. Jorge and Alex were getting.................. Busy. And Dani had walked in without knocking.

"EY! Lorenzo! Where the fuck are-" With that the door had swung open, Jorge apparently having forgotten to lock the door. Both stared at Dani, stared at them only to turn around within 2 second with a quick "Never mind! Sorry!" before he was heading out again.

For a few second, they both stayed frozen, not really knowing what to do and how to react, until life returned to Alex. He sat up straight, pushing Jorge away. He stood up, grabbing his boxers and short as he started cursing.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!" he yelled as he was jumping to get into his clothes. "We are fucked. Jorge. I AM FUCKED. I'm through. I'm dead!" "Alex-" "He's gonna kill me. That's it. He's gonna tell Marc and then Marc is going to kill me." "Alex, he won't-"

He tried to calm him. But to no avail. Alex was too deep into his worries. "Yes he will. They are teammates. They are friends, Jorge. FRIENDS. And what if he tells him before a race to distract him? What if-" "Alex, Alex, corazon, listen, will you?" he asked slowly. He grabbed Alex at his shoulders to stop him. The younger man stopped, staring at him with his big eyes.

"Dani is my friend as well... Somehow. After all those years of... You know. My point is... He is literally just out the door. I doubt he straight ran to Marc to snitch. I can talk to him and - explain us. Make sure he doesn't tell Marc, okay?" "You think?" He looked at Alex, his dark eyes unsure. He genuinely looked afraid.

Jorge wasn't sure if he wanted to kill Marc or himself. He was the one that had put Alex in this position. But how come Alex not feel safe enough to tell his own brother about them? Even if Marc didn't like him that much.

"Yes." he reassured him. "You go to find Marc." Alex just nodded.

A few minutes later Jorge stood infront of the 26 Honda motorhome. He swallowed before he knocked loudly. A few seconds later the door got opened, revealing a surprised looking Dani.

"Jorge- didn't expect you here" he replied with a smug grin. "So you do 1.45 on and off track?" He ignored the comment since he had a reason to be here. "Can we talk? Please?" "Sure"

"So... You like them young?" Jorge felt his cheeks heat up but Dani was smiling teasingly. He was making fun of him. mocking him. But he didn't seem angry or concerned. "OH shut up, please" he groaned as he sat down.

"You didn't tell Marc?" he asked eying Dani who crossed his arms. "Not interested in getting myself killed." "So you won't tell him either?" "Nope. It's not my place to do so. But you need to tell me his reaction and if you still have your dick afterwards"

Dani chuckled and Jorge just roll his eyes. "Thanks" he said dryly. "No problem. I mean... Come on, fucking little golden boys brother..." "I am not fucking golden boys little brother-" It sounded wrong. Like he was using him. Like anything he and Alex did had something to do with Marc when it didn't. Couldn't be more far.

"Oh so I walked in an anatomy course - with tongue?" The older rider asked and somehow that sounded worst. "We are in a pretty commited relationship. Thank you very much, Dani" he cleared and watched how the others face changed to disbelief.

"You're what?" Okay. Rude. Why did he seems so - surprised about that. "I believe dating is the term that young people use" "Oh did the 19 year old tell you that?" "Would you please stop saying it like that?" Not that it wasn't like that. It was like that. But he didn't had to say it like that.

"Jorge, it's none of my business and honestly..." Dani started, clearly careful with his next words. "You two kind of fit to each other. I mean - I don't know but now that I think about it. Somehow - What I'm saying is... Marc won't give you an easy time for that" "I know"

"Good... Oh and I like Alex, alright? He's my friend. And I know you can be a softie so if you're anything but a big fat cute softie to Bambi, I will kill you. And if Marc gets you first, I'll kill you again. Understood?" "Understood. Didn't plan to be anything else anyway" "Good."

Jorge sighed as he let the memory pass. He had other things to think about. For example why his secret boyfriends mom wants his number. For a moment he assumed that she knew. But if that was the case, Alex would have given her his number.

"Okay. Right." Jorge said. "Do you know what this is about?" "Ehm, the message read 'Hey Dani, can you please pass me Lorenzos number. My mom kills me otherwise.' So no." "That's all?" "Yep. Sorry. Do you think they know?" "No. Alex wouldn't tell them in that mess. It'd be a disaster. And if he did, why didn't Alex gave his mother my number himself?"

For a moment it was silent both thinking. Then Dani carefully asked "Do you think... I'm sorry to ask that but... What if Alex got hurt? I mean-" "No" he quickly interrupted him, refusing to even think about that possibility.

There was no way. Alex couldn't be hurt. "No he didn't. He send me a text like - an hour ago. He said he was traveling to the city. Fuck. What the hell is going on?" "I don't know man. Maybe it has nothing to with Alex. I mean maybe she wants to settle this whole Rossi drama."

Unlikely but it seemed like the most harmless possibility. "Maybe..." he replied not really believing in it. "I'm passing them your number. I guess you have to let the give the future in laws give you a call" "Yeah... Thanks for the heads up." "Anytime. See you soon" "Yeah see you."

Jorge hung up. There was an unsettling feeling in his guts that told him that the next call he'd get wasn't exactly a happy one.

He calmed himself in the knowledge that he and Alex had called just a few hours ago. He had sounded exhausted and tired but said it was nothing. They had been okay during the call. No hard feeling, nothing that seemed to be hanging over them. Alex had told him that he loved him. Jorge had told him the same.

So why would Roser Marquez asked Marc to get his number? It surely couldn't be anything about Alex. Right? But then why hadn't Alex mentioned anything? Give him a heads up. It didn't seem to make sense.

He was over thinking, knowing he wouldn't get an answer until he got the call.

Over all it took around 15 minutes until his music got interrupted with the call. One look at the display told him that it was an unfamiliar Spanish number. "Showtime" he mumbled. He took a deep breath before accepting the call.

"Lorenzo" he answered. He tried to sound neutral, professional without sounding cruel. A short silence followed. Yeah.... Same, he thought, he too needed a moment.

"Hello... Here is... Roser. Roser Marquez, Alex and Marc's mother." a female voice answered. There was a clear hint of exhaustion and sadness. It sounded a little bit like she had cried, her voice still shaky. He immediately felt guilty. He didn't even know why, but he hated the feeling of hearing someone cry. And if he got a call he was sure he wasn't just a bystander in whatever was happening.

"Hello senora" he replied trying to sound kind. "How can I help you?"

"I - I just wanna know... If... Please, even if he doesn't want to speak to us right now, just tell me he's okay. Tell he is with you and he's safe and protected. He isn't hurt or anything and I don't need to worry cause you're looking after him"

Him. Alex. It had to be about Alex. Right?

Jorge would later be pretty proud of him for not cursing or crashing his car from the highway despite the deep shock that over came him in that moment.

He grabbed the wheel tighter trying to make them make sense. He wanted to find a loophole anything that meant she wasn't referring to Alex.

But he couldn't find anything.

Questions over questions were running through his head. Why would Alex be with him when he was in Cevera? Was he not? Why hadn't he mentioned anything when they called? Or texted? Was he at risk? What the hell was going on?

"I'm sorry-" he replied with shaking voice. "I - I have no idea who you're referring to" and actually he didn't want the confirmation either.

"OH don't do this. Don't try to make a foul out of me. Alex told us. We know you're in a relationship. So please - just tell me he's okay" Fuck. They knew.

He was sure that he would curse but right now he had other worries.

"Yes. We are. And we were in contact during the last hour so he's okay, I guess. But he's supposed to be in Cevera. With you. Why isn't he there? Why should he be with me? I'm in Switzerland. He wouldn't just travel 1200km without telling anyone"

Another silence followed. It felt heavy. Guilty. With every second Jorge's need to protect grew stronger. It grew into anger.

"Senora Marquez?!" he asked. "What the fuck is going on? Why would Alex be with me? Is he okay?" his voice got stronger, demanding answers.

"He - We had a fight, yesterday. It was-" She let out a sigh and Jorge set the indicator of his car to pull onto a small rest area parking lot. He couldn't drive like that. "It was bad. I - I should have intervene but - They are- you know how Marc can be"

Marc? Of course Marc. Why seemed everything with Alex seemed to involve Marc?

In his head he went through the facts that he knew. They knew. Alex and Marc had a fight, now Alex was - somewhere?

Apparently not in Cevera. A part of him hoped that Alex was currently sitting in his living room, having entered with the key he had given him a few weeks ago, but he knew how unrealistic that was. He didn't like any of the facts he had so far.

"They said... A lot. The fight was about your... Relationship. And - Jorge, I will not lie to you. My husband and my oldest son are less than happy. And I... I didn't act the way I should have. I... I should have listened to him and... I'm just so sorry and now he's gone and... I... I'm sorry. My two boys said a lot of very, very bad thing to each other. Especially Marc. I should have stopped him. I'm so sorry, that's on me. I just - I just want my baby back, okay? Please. I-"

"Of course. I understand" Jorge said softly. He was angry but he wasn't cruel. He understood that she wasn't to blame no matter how angry he was that she didn't seem to protect Alex. Even if it was against Marc. But he needed to know where his lover was. "Whatever happened, wasn't your fault. Just... What about Alex? Where is he?"

"I don't know. I had hoped you could tell me that. He wasn't - Alex wasn't at home this morning. At first he assumed he maybe went for a run. He does that often. But then he didn't returned. We called his friends and everyone he knows but nothing. He didn't even contact them. They were just as confused. He still hasn't come home or answer any of our messages. I'm worried about him. He's just a child. He-"

"He is your child. But he's also an adult." he said, reassuring her and himself. "I'm sure he wouldn't do anything stupid. He wouldn't put himself in an unnecessary risk" He leaned back in his seat, glad he had decided to pull over. "I'm sure he's okay. I - He isn't with me and he didn't mention any fight. We talked around lunch and texted. He is okay. I don't know where he is or what he is doing but one hour ago he was definitely okay."

He shot Alex another text. Nothing that he hinted he knew something was wrong, just a short sweet text to make him answer.

"But what if he isn't. What if he disappears and -" "We are talking about Alex" he said. "He makes his own decision and I know he makes them for a reason. And he is neither mean or an idiot. So I'm sure he didn't do whatever he did to spite any of you. He did what he did because he believes it was the best decision"

"But he's a child! How could he know?" "He is your child. But he is also a responsible adult. Okay, yes, he is reckless but only when he knows he can. And he is childish and overexcited and - well he likes challenges and pushes too much at his limits which is a headache. But my point is, he knows what he's doing. And I trust Alex to not do anything stupid"

He heard a sad chuckle, unsure what it could mean.

"You know my son very well" "I'm trying" "And... You love him?" Ah. There it was. The boyfriend interrogation. This was definitely a good sign. "Very, very much..." he reassured her. "I'm... I'm sure I'm not what you had in mind for him but I'm just trying to make your son happy. He means the world to me"

"What I'm having in mind for my son is a partner that loves him dearly and protects him. Someone he feels safe with... And to see how far Alex is willing to go for you - To get in a fight with Marc and stand up to him... You mean a lot to him." "Thank you... I'll let you know if I hear something from him." "That would be great... Thank you"

„No problem and..." „Yeah?" „Alex always speaks very highly about you. He loves you a lot... All of you and knowing Alex big heart he will forgive whatever was said. I'm sure he just needs some space to think. I can't image he would want to worry you on purpose"

"You really are good with words. Good to know that asshole persona is a media thing" she responded with a chuckled and Jorge decided it was a good thing. "Eh, mostly" he replied with a smile before they said their goodbys.

When the line went silent Jorge let out a loud breath.

"Fucking hell, Alex" he whispered as he looked at his phone background, a picture of his boyfriend. "What the hell have you gotten yourself into?" But he knew he wasn't innocent in this chaos.

Jorge turned his phone around in his hands. He was worried about Alex so he just hit the call button. Every second that passed worried him a little more.

Then the call got picked up and a flood of released wash over him when Alex voice spoke through the car speakers.

"Hola mi amor" he said. He spoke with a tired voice and only rather quiet. At the other side of the line, Alex was sitting in a train, a soft smile on his face as he leaned against the window. He looked outside, watching nature pass by. He had his boyfriends voice in his ear and almost no one was around him, so he was free to speak.

"How are you doing?" he asked. "I'm fine, baby." the older responded just glad to hear his lovers voice and therefore the confirmation that he was in fact safe and secure. "How are you?"

"I'm good. Tired. How was you shoot? Are you on your way home?" "Yeah. It was good. Just the normal stuff. I just thought I should call my boyfriend, see how you've been" He knew a direct confrontation would solve anything, so he didn't. "Oh, I'm fine. Just Ehm... on my way to the city to get some stuff"

Ah. A lie. Jorge wasn't angry. He took it as a challenge. "Yeah? What are you looking for?" "Oh mama send me grocery shopping so just some food." "Fun. oh and I had an Intresting phone call" "Mm? With who?"

"Your mom"

The silence was very loud. Jorge triple checked that the call was still going on and Alex hadn't just hung up on him.

"Is that a very bad your mom joke?"

".... Take a wild fucking guess, Alex. Take a wild fucking guess" he responded almost laughing. "Ah... No?" "No. I just got off the phone with your mother. Not the call I expected to get to be honest."

"So Ehm... She... Told you?"

"She did..." he confirmed. His voice turned soft as he continued a few seconds later. "You know, you don't need to tell me anything - just tell me how you are? Are you safe? That's the only thing that matters right now. We'll figure the rest out. Are you safe?" "I am... I - I didn't think they would call you. What the fuck?!" "Alex, just tell me you're at a friend's house or any other solution a responsible adult would choose when he needs some space"

"I..." He shifted in his seat. The only passenger in this compartment was an old lady busy knitting. But still he was alone in a foreign country. So that probably didn't count as 'safe'. Yet.

"Okay don't get angry. I didn't know where to go and-and I wanted to go to the only person that I feel safe with and- Fuck, Marc said so horrible things and our parents just fucking let him! Like- I know he's the favorite but-" His voice broke, he was close to crying. "Fuck! That's why I didn't tell you earlier. I knew I would cry. And I really don't wanna cry right now" he quickly brushed his tears away and Jorge hated that he couldn't wrap his arms around Alex right now.

"Alex, my love, my baby, my sweet, sweet angle... Just... Are you safe?" he asked again, really needing an answer. "Yes. I... Maybe not yet?" "Not yet?" "Please don't be angry and I swear... I... I can leave if you want to"

The fear that maybe Jorge didn't want Alex there once more bubbled up. Part of him knew it was irrational, that his boyfriend that told him that he was always welcome there and that he enjoyed spending time with him. The other part felt like he was invasive and annoying and clingy.

"What? Alex as long as you are safe I don't care if you're at a friend's house or a strip club. I just- I will literally get on the next plane to Spain if you want to" "I'm in a train to Geneva" he blurted out. "The hell are you doing in Geneva? Wait- like - you're in Switzerland?" "Yeah... I... There's a train in Geneva that goes to... Ehm... to Lugano..."

"You... Are you being serious?" his voice went almost dry as he heard that. His mind kept running as he slowly understand what was going on. He was in Lugano. His home was in Lugano. Alex was on his way to his place after he had a fight with his family.

"Yeah... If you don't want me there, I'll leave. It's just-" "NO! No, Alex, I want you here." he quickly reassured her before grabbing his phone to check the quickest way to get to Geneva to pick him up.

"Fucking hell I was so scared when your mom called me. Listen, I can be Geneva in 2 hours, okay? Just... Just get off there and I will come and pick you up. Go visit the city, get yourself some food. Wait, you have money right?" "Yes" "Okay. I send you some anyway" "No you dont-" "Please. Just - I want to make sure that you're okay. Get yourself whatever you want and I'll come pick you up as soon as I can and..."

He felt himself hesitate. It wasn't his place. It wasn't his to judge and he probably wouldn't do it in Alex position either, but the worry and regret in Rosers voice was still present in his head.

"Think about texting your mom, okay? She's worried about you" "I... I can't. It's - complicated. I really can't explain it right now or I'm going to cry and I really don't wanna cry when I'm in public and you can't hug me" Jorge nodded. He didn't want Alex to cry when he wasn't there either. Or. Preferably in general.

"I know. It's okay. I promise you, we'll find a way" "Yeah... I know. Thank you, I love you" "I love you too. I can't believe you're in Switzerland. That's kinda crazy" he smiled softly. It might be selfish but a part of him was happy to know that he would see his boyfriend soon. "I know" he laughed lightly.

But then there seemed to be a shift. Jorge could feel it, despite not seeing Alex. He knew something else had crossed the mind of the younger.

"Do you think - I mean they basically know that I'm with you so - Do you think they'll come and... Get me - force me to go home again?" he asked and the older didn't need to ask who he was referring to.

"Alex, no one will be taking you from me. I promise you. Even if they would show up I wouldn't let you go if you don't want to"

"You promise?"

"Pinky promise, my sweet darling. No one is going to harm you... I'm very sorry that they said all those things to you... I swear, I'm gonna rip him a new one" "Yeah... I... Thank you. But... I just... I don't know. I don't even know if I ever want to talk to him again."

It felt weird. Jorge was angry at Marc. He was furious, but hearing Alex say that he didn't want to talk to him again, felt wrong. It was wrong. Marc and Alex were too close to suddenly never speak again and he refused to be the reason why.

He had to fix this.

Somehow.

"I understand. I really do. You're sad and in pain. Let's just let this all cool off for now before things escalate even more. And then see how things turn out" "Okay" he agreed "I just - Fuck I just wanna see you. I miss you so bad" "I miss you too. I love you so much, everything will be okay."

They agreed on a meeting point before Jorge started driving again. They talked some more, just some light conversations, both consciously avoiding the issue on hand. Both waiting to finally arrive at the meeting point, a little bit outside of Geneva, easy to reach and private enough not to make a fuss.

#Hi so sorry for the delay my internet wasnt working so I couldnt upload the chapter #anyway here it is have a nice day #motogp #ray's writing #alex marquez #motogp rpf #jorge lorenzo #mama marquez being a god parent AS SHE SHOULD/ IS

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