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fall0utmind · 7 months ago

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Medical Leak AU CH9

On a roll this week!!!!

ao3 here / medical leak au tag on tumblr

Hope you guys enjoy this one, I loved writing it. We are so nearly done now wooooo!!!

Let me know what you think :)

Chapter 9: Redemption (~5k)

The sound of motorcycle engines is humming in his veins. The smell of leather lighting up every synapse. It’s better than any high he’s ever had.

He guns it off the line but misjudges slightly and drops some positions. He ends up swerving to avoid a collision in the middle of the pack and bites his tongue to hold in a shout. Pole to 10th in a corner. Fucking typical. He keeps his head down and pushes on.

Marc knows he can put on a good performance, he can feel it in his bones, the same way he knows that he can be world champion again, that he has the strength to continue in the face of adversity. The world will throw its gauntlet at his feet, but Marc continues to pick it up, bloodied and bruised from the battles that came before. He refuses to give up, taking the hard line at every turn, making moves through the pack. By turn 5 he’s in 4th, just Jorge, Enea, and Pecco ahead of him. In his peripheral, he catches a flash of yellow, Bezzecchi riding by his side. His stomach gives a sickening lurch at the lurid colour, Valentino’s yellow. His mind threatens to fixate on the memories of him but he squashes it down as small as possible. He refuses to let Valentino wreck anything else. This race is his. He will think about Valentino after.

He feels good, the bike is dancing to his tune, not fighting him on every corner like the last few years on the Honda. He’s not on the quickest bike, but he sure as hell will back himself as the best rider. He gives it hell on the next lap, battling hard and clinching a place from Enea. He almost loses the front on the same turn as yesterday, his elbow and knee brushing against the tarmac before he slings himself upright, heaving a deep breath.

He lets out a manic laugh. He feels alive.

On lap 20 he breaks the gap to Pecco and Jorge, hunting them down like prey. He passes Jorge fairly easily, whipping around him on a tight corner line, body tucked close to the track.

Pecco puts up more of a fight. They battle through the penultimate laps, trading positions once they have dropped Jorge. A glance to his right reveals that the Italian is beside him. He grins, pressing down on the throttle.

He throws everything at the last lap, taking every corner on the edge, tucking himself flush against the bike on the straights. He’s pulling away from the red Ducati; it slots in behind him on the last few turns. Marc is too far ahead now, head bowed as he approaches the start/finish straight.

The emotions that rise when he crosses the finish line threaten to overwhelm him. They bubble up and explode as he pumps his fists in the air, screaming at the top of his lungs. He ducks his head to press against his bike, fighting the tears that want to fall.

On the cool-down lap, it feels like every rider on the grid congratulates him. Marc flips his visor up to meet Pecco’s eyes as he swerves closer for a fist bump. Aleix shouts praise at him, audible even over the wind which whips past them. Even Bez rides adjacent to gesture happily to him.

He does cry when he pulls up to the number one spot. It’s been so long. After everything, it feels like redemption. His team, his family, pull him into their arms, screaming at him and slapping him all over. Marc is crying and grinning and laughing. Alex is there, tugging him into a long hug, kissing his head as they pull apart. Dani and Jorge wrap their arms around him and whisper praise into his ears. Dovi leaps over the fence to tug him into a hug. It makes Marc laugh and laugh until he can barely see straight through the dampness in his eyes and the ache in his stomach.

Pecco and Enea have pulled into the second and third-place slots respectively. They both embrace him, congratulating him quietly. Marc smiles at them, small but honest. He feels like he has broken through a glass ceiling somewhere. He doesn’t know what that means. Some of the Factory Ducati team slap his back as he passes; GiGi grins at him knowingly.

He is on top of the world.

He barely registers as they are escorted into the back of a car. Marc tries to keep his feet on the ground. He dances onto the podium, drinking up the atmosphere as his team whistles from below. He allows a real, beaming smile to engulf his face, stretching wider as he looks up at the sky. Despite the predominantly Italian crowd, he can’t hear any boos, Marc wonders what that means. They cheer when he receives his trophy and get louder as he is drenched in champagne by Frankie, Pecco, and Enea. All of them are grinning proudly at him. He feels a little drunk.

(He hasn’t had a sip yet)

As the podium celebrations die down, something catches his eye. In the crowd, standing to the side is Valentino. Marc chokes. Valentino never watches a podium when Marc is on it, even if one of the academy boys has won. Valentino does not look away, staring at where Marc is glowing on the top step, champagne and sweat glistening on his skin.

Vale looks like he has seen a god.

Marc feels off-kilter, something akin to hope blooming within him.

Rules dictate that Marc has to endure another media session after he is swept off the podium. He temporarily pushes Vale to the back of his mind as they are herded into the usual post-race routine. The media pen is as busy as usual, and the sickening dread has returned in full force. He considers ignoring any questions related to his mental health in prior years, but then he remembers the interactions from this morning. Marc decides that he will no longer be ashamed.

Instead, he stares directly into the cameras as he confirms the truth of the articles. He stands tall and says he is proud of himself for overcoming his challenges. He desperately hopes it inspires others to reach out for help. He smiles as he details that he is doing much better now, thanks to the support of his family and professionals. When he asks for respect and privacy, he thinks about all the damage this has caused. He knows there will be people who never look at him the same, their cruel words will now always take a certain tone, and from now on he will be the rider who almost died by suicide. He makes peace with it.

Marc frowns at the cameras, considering for a second. He thinks of Valentino standing at the bottom of the podium and decides. He steals himself and does what he should have done years ago. For once, he hopes it goes viral. Marc must lay out the pain caused by the people who have manipulated the truth. He bites his lip.

“My life has been dramatically changed across the last 11 years in this sport. It has been the most incredible opportunity, but it has also been the hardest time of my life. I have been slandered by the press, stalked, and harassed. It has been a rough ride, some of the most painful moments of my life. A lot of it is due to words rather than crashes or injuries. I will always be more than the comments and the press, but I am a real person, with real feelings, and a family who love me.”, he states.

He smiles slightly, feeling vindicated and continues.

“The people who say these things must live sad and shallow lives and should find a more productive use of their time. I will no longer sit and take it. I am an 8-time world champion. I have come through hell and back and have the scars to prove it. You do not get to sit and comment on me until you have been through similar.”

He smirks, his PR training has gone out of the window. The reporter looks shell-shocked. Despite it all, the pain and the lies he has relived this weekend, Marc is grinning to himself as he walks away.

When he arrives back at the garage, his press officer wisely doesn’t say anything. He detects a slight hint of pride on her face and grins widely. He knows they will talk about it another day, but for now, he allows himself to get sucked into the team celebrations. A sea of blue surrounds Marc, his little family that he now calls home. Someone is blasting music out of a speaker. Marc is singing at the top of his lungs, bouncing around with Alex, and pulling his crew into the celebration.

Before long, the booze is brought out. Two guys from the team grab Marc, holding him tight as they drench him in champagne, making him splutter and squirm in their arms. He is covered in the sticky liquid, wiping at his eyes in a failed attempt to see. Dani, Dovi, and Jorge are still with them, watching on with proud expressions. Another bottle of champagne is dumped over Marc’s head, and he cackles loudly, his elation spilling over. He has missed this. Marc drinks some of the sweet liquid from the bottle being poured into his mouth. Once he is released, he turns his attention to Alex and the crew, and an evil smile is on his face. Marc aims for revenge but somehow gets more drenched in the process. He couldn’t care less; happiness bubbling inside of him.

He feels like a weight has been lifted, in more ways than one. He won a race again; he effectively told the media to fuck off. He giggles a little, champagne going straight to his head and making him giddy. He hands the bottle to Dovi and Dani, goading them to drink some before he thoroughly soaks them straight after. Jorge glares at him for that. Marc can’t find it within himself to give a shit.

It’s Alex who shows him, once the champagne has been put away and the towels handed out. He shoves his phone into Marc’s hands with no preamble. Marc squints at the screen and almost chucks the phone back at his brother. On-screen, Valentino is giving an interview, it’s clearly from this weekend, after the race. Marc wonders what the hell Alex is thinking. He shoots his brother a look, silently asking.

“Just listen to it”, Alex implores.

Marc sighs, unimpressed by Alex’s demands. He doesn’t want to see whatever Valentino has said to the press; he’s sure it won’t be nice. He presses play anyway. Once the video loads, Marc can’t tear his eyes away. Valentino looks deflated as if the wind has been stolen from his sails. He looks sad. Marc strains his ears to listen intently to Valentino's rapid Italian, shock punching him in the stomach as he registers exactly what he is saying. Valentino compliments Marc’s race and his win, even suggesting that races like this were what made him one of the greats.

One of the greats.

Marc thinks he might have hit his head, maybe he’s in a coma and this is some weird dream. On his screen, Valentino looks into the camera and says that Marc is brave to have faced all his life adversities and come out smiling, which the average person would not be able to manage. The real kicker is what happens next. Valentino apologises, live on air. Claiming that he was sorry his actions had caused such turmoil in Marc’s life and asking the media to respect his privacy and be kind. Marc drops the phone.

The cynical part of Marc’s brain screams that Valentino is being superficial, an easy way to make himself look good. The rational part admits that the Valentino he knows could never apologise in private, let alone in front of millions of people in a public interview. He’s serious about this. This is his way of proving he is sorry. It makes him feel hesitant.

(It makes him feel a tiny bit pleased and possessive that Valentino would admit that in front of everyone).

He bends down to pick up the phone, smiling sheepishly as he hands it back to Alex. Deep down he knows it is an olive branch from Valentino, but he will have to do more than that to win Marc’s trust back. The older man has caused too much hurt to be fixed in one simple interview. At this point, Marc doesn’t know if he will be able to rekindle their friendship, no matter how much he loves Valentino.

Once the track celebrations have died down, they make plans for the evening. Soon enough, Marc finds himself strolling into a local club with Alex in tow. The lighting is low and red, very red. It casts everything in an atmospheric hue which screams drama and sex; Marc grins at the thought. Strobe lights shine in time to the throbbing bass, illuminating the floor in flashes. Opposite the entrance is a large bar stocked with every type of alcohol Marc could think of. A sprawling dance floor is already filled with writhing bodies. Across the room, tucked into a quieter corner, there are elaborate tables and booths of plush leather with golden details. Marc guesses this is what money buys.

He beelines to the bar, dragging Alex with him. He has to lean over the counter to shout his order, smiling at the bartender who stares with wide eyes. When they return with his drinks, Marc promptly chugs the first of the two drinks he ordered. He grins as he places the cup down, unabashed. Alex reaches around him to take his own drink before he tugs Marc back onto the floor.

They make their way towards the table which the team have claimed, Marc, clutching his drink in one hand and holding onto Alex’s shirt with the other. People cheer as the brothers approach, slapping Marc’s back and shouting greetings at them both. Dovi is already there and when their eyes meet, he raises his drink in a toast. Marc sips some of the sweet alcohol, allowing himself to relax. He is still in the afterglow of his win, practically buzzing with it. The weekend has been tough, but after 3 years without a win, he deserves this.

Most of the Gresini team are here to celebrate Marc’s victory with him. Marc takes the time to search the vicinity for familiar faces. He lights up when he spots Frankie walking towards the group carrying more drinks and pulls him into a warm hug. There are also several other teams and pilots, Marc thinks he sees Pecco in the distance. The alcohol is free-flowing from pretty early on in the evening, so it’s not long before Marc is feeling loose and tipsy. He allows people to grasp him, shouting congratulations in his ear. Marc feels happy.

Dani and Jorge turn up half an hour late, looking slightly flushed. Dovi smirks at them but Dani steps on his foot before he can comment. Marc and Alex grin. No one says a word.

They lose Alex at some point. Upon a quick scan of the area, Marc spots him chatting away with Franco, which is certainly a turn of events. Alex is talking excitedly, hands moving rapidly as he does. Franky is watching with rapt fascination, his face slightly awed. And gross. Since when were they a thing? He makes a mental note to grill his brother at a later date. Preferably once he’s drunk. He looks away. A head of brunette curls catches his eye in the crowd, Marc really hopes that’s not who he thinks it is. He swallows around the discomfort in his throat and suddenly feels way too sober. Consequently, he offers to get the next round, forcing his friends to come with him.

Dovi slots himself against Marc’s back as he orders, talking to Dani and Jorge animatedly as he does so. Those two have given up being subtle at this point, Jorge’s hand on Dani’s waist as they talk. Marc is happy for them; they seem to be made for one another with their shared understanding of each other’s lives and passions. It is a good fit. They are sickeningly domestic; Jorge looks at Dani like he’s the whole universe. It makes Marc’s chest ache a little.

He focuses instead on handing each man their drink, indicating that the bill should be added to his tab. Dovi takes his drink and smacks a kiss onto Marc’s cheek, laughing when he pulls a disgusted face.

“Thanks, babe”, Dovi says, amusement colouring his voice. Marc sticks his tongue out.

Jorge scoffs, “Get a room, guys.”

Dovi grins back at him, a little sharp around the edges.

“Ah, maybe we will”, he retorts.

Marc smirks, chipping into the teasing conversation, “It will be right next to yours”.

Marc laughs, loud and delighted, at the grossed-out look on Jorge’s face. Dani starts giggling, muttering something about Marc probably being loud. Marc doesn’t deny it. He’s still chuckling to himself when he realises that the others have fallen oddly quiet. Dani is staring at something over Marc’s shoulder, his eyes wide. Marc turns to look behind him, only to stumble when he sees Valentino a few steps away, his face sour.

Valentino closes the gap a little more, eyes flicking between the group of four. He looks way too sober to be here. His eyes look dull without their trademark spark of humour. Marc wonders why he’s come. Valentino’s voice is calmly controlled when he asks to speak to Marc but even he cannot conceal the flash of irritation when Dovi replies first.

“No, Rossi. Leave him alone for once in your life”, Dovi seethes.

Valentino looks like he’s going to argue, the familiar anger building behind his eyes. But to Marc’s surprise, he exhales harshly, dropping his gaze to the floor before he turns on his heels and stalks away. It leaves Marc feeling adrift, the haze of alcohol lifting and leaving behind pure confusion. What could Valentino want so badly and why did he leave without a fight? It was so unlike him.

He thinks back on the interview from earlier, the easy way Valentino had praised Marc, had defended him. Now this, his uncharacteristic calmness and walking away from an argument. Marc doesn’t understand what it means. He puts his head in his hands and groans. Things could never be simple, could they? He turns back to the others, who are staring at him with looks of sympathy and pity. He can’t stand it. Instead, he gestures to the tables, determined to forget about it all for the next few hours.

Marc has lost track of the number of drinks he’s had; at some point, people had begun pressing them into his hands- the perks of winning. He’s been dragged onto the dance floor by someone and is happily swaying his hips to the beat. He had lost his friends a while ago, he assumes they are back at the table rather than dancing (too old or something). Instead, he finds himself with a very drunk Bezzecchi and a substantially more sober (although definitely tipsy) Pecco.

Bez is careless as he happily dances with Marc, his hands all over the Spaniard as he bounces to the music. When they had first bumped into each other on the dancefloor, Bez had fluttered around awkwardly, as if unsure about what he was allowed. Pecco had pulled Marc into a tipsy hug, grinning at him and staying by his side and Bez had taken this as permission. It’s no secret that the Italian is a touchy person, and clearly, he now feels content to be as close to Marc as physically possible. Hence Marc is dancing with two Italians who can’t keep their hands to themselves. He is too drunk to care. He feels eyes on him all evening, burning hot attention. He cannot identify who it is.

At some point, Celestino joins their group. Marc is unfamiliar with the younger rider since he has not yet made the step to the higher class. But Bez is clearly fond of him. The two are plastered together from the minute he arrives, giving Marc some needed breathing room. He laughs at their clinginess. They were clearly made for each other, he says as much to Pecco, who just laughs knowingly. Marc cannot help the sense of contentment he feels, alongside the slither of sadness that he has been missing out on this. He is not sure he can lose the fondness he has gained for the other riders this weekend. He hopes he won’t have to.

Bez turns to Marc, breaking him out of his thoughts.

“Can you stop Vale from being so grumpy? I do not want to do more laps next time we train”, he slurs, drawing out the ‘e’ in Valentino’s name.

“What?”, Marc asks.

“I don’t know. He has been moody all day. Pecco is not talking to him, Luca is being odd. Now he is staring daggers at us for no reason. I do not like it. I want us to be normal.”, Bez grumbles. Marc thinks he sounds a bit like a child when he is drunk and cranky.

Bez frowns, as if deep in thought.

“Although you can stay.”, he decides.

“I like you more than I thought. He is obsessed with you though. It’s always Marc this, or Marquez that. Anyone would think he was jealous with the way he goes on-”

Bez’s monologue is prematurely cut off by Pecco slapping a hand over his mouth, preventing him from saying much else. But the damage is done, Marc stands with his mouth agape, staring at the Italians. Belatedly, Marc thinks it's rather sweet that Bez already appears fond of him, although that could be alcohol speaking. His brain is stuck on the idea that Valentino is obsessed with him, that he talks about him, and that the boys think he is jealous. Jealous of what, Marc is not sure. Thinking about it makes his head spin. Suddenly, he feels like he desperately needs some fresh air.

He turns on his heel and pushes through the crowd, distantly aware of Pecco scolding Bez in his periphery. He’s hot and sweaty when he eventually escapes the dance floor. He picks his way across the room, stumbling out the back, which is blissfully empty. He gulps in the fresh air, allowing it to cool his clammy skin. Marc is too drunk to fathom the words Bez has just said.

Marc doesn’t know how long he has been standing there, staring into space, when he hears the door open and close behind him and the warm press of another body. He jerks backwards, his eyes bugging when he realises that Valentino has joined him. The older man looks worse for wear, yet somehow still gorgeous. His normally startling blue eyes are clouded, and he is swaying slightly on the spot. Marc groans internally. Now is the worst possible time for this to happen. Marc has consumed far too much alcohol for this and Valentino undoubtedly has too.

“Marc,” Valentino says his name like a prayer. It makes Marc shiver slightly, much to his dismay. Valentino clocks it immediately, whispering his name again and stepping closer.

Marc inches backwards.

“Marc, Marc please listen to me”, Valentino pleads.

“What do you want Vale?”, he responds. His voice is deeper than he expected. He clears his throat. He kicks himself for letting the nickname slip out. Valentino takes another step forward and sinks to his knees.

Marc freezes, his mouth hanging open as he stares at where Valentino is kneeling in front of him. He feels hot under the collar and really, he should not be turned on by this, not now. Not when it’s Valentino.

His eyes are wide and so, so blue as he looks up at Marc, the outside lights illuminating his face. He looks ethereal. Marc is so fucked.

“Please, Marc”, Valentino begins.

“Just give me a chance, I would do anything. I have been an asshole, such an asshole. Cazzo, I promise I didn’t know. I will have the journalists fired. I will make sure whoever leaked this loses their jobs. I will do anything.”, Valentino pleads.

“You had nothing to do with this then. You didn’t set your people on me again?”

“I didn’t know. I was blinded by my jealousy and inadequacy. I am so tired of channelling my anger into something that happened years ago. I promise I'm going to work on it”, he is slurring now, looking more defenceless than Marc has ever seen him.

Marc sighs, torn between his heart and his head.

“And the text”, he whispers.

“What text?”, Valentino asks, confusion marring his voice.

Marc pulls out his phone, showing Valentino the singular message he had received earlier in the weekend. His face drops when he sees the number.

“Bastard”, Valentino seethes. Marc watches him carefully, but only sees the truth in his eyes, he sighs.

“Someone, you do know, I assume?”, Marc enquires.

Valentino nods slowly, he winces slightly, shifting on his knees, still peering up at the younger man.

“Uccio. He has led me astray for too long. He may be my best friend but he holds a grudge.”

Marc raises an eyebrow, challenging Valentino.

“That’s rich coming from you.”, he comments. Vale winces.

“Just give me a chance. I will do anything you want Marc. I will spend every second of the rest of my life proving myself to you. I miss you. I miss your smile and your laughter. Every time you walk past, I cannot help but stare. When you get on a bike it is like I am a moth drawn to a flame. You are addictive to me. I will no longer hide from it. The past is the past. It is behind us, now I am asking for your forgiveness. Forgiveness I should have sought a decade ago. I will not stop until you can see that I mean it. However long it takes.”

Marc is saved from replying as the door bangs open. He startles at the noise, whirling around to see who it is. Luca stands in the doorway, rooted to the spot, gaping openly at Marc and his brother, who is still on the floor. He glances between the two, before setting his gaze on Valentino.

“Valentino what are you doing?”, he says slowly, as if talking to a child.

“What does it look like I’m doing” Valentino hisses back. “You said I should get on my knees and beg if I have to. So here I am.”

Marc can only watch in stunned silence. He turns to Luca

“Is he sick? Dying? Being blackmailed?”, he asks, a pleading tone in his voice.

“Nope he’s just drunk and stupid”, Luca replies, shaking his head at Valentino, who has finally clambered back to his feet.

(Marc isn’t disappointed)

(He isn’t)

“Ah, Okay.” Marc murmurs, still baffled. Valentino scowls at Luca but before he can comment, Luca has him by the arm and is pushing him towards Franky, who has stuck his head outside the door. Alex isn’t far behind him, peeking over his shoulder at the commotion.

“Look after him”, Luca demands. Alex and Franky have moved fully outside now, coming to stand next to the others, watching Valentino warily.

“But-” Franky begins to protest. Luca cuts him off.

“You can fuck Alex after, I’ll sort him out in a minute. I need to talk to Marc”, he grouses.

Marc groans but then looks at his brother, smirking as Alex turns bright red. He is unable to resist the quip.

“Be safe little brother. You know use a-”, he starts. Alex slaps a hand over his mouth, glaring. It makes Marc giggle, his inner turmoil momentarily forgotten.

“Shut up, Marc” he grits out, but cannot help the fond amusement that radiates off him. Marc continues to giggle, unaware of Valentino’s lovestruck face as he is handed over to Franky. Alex rolls his eyes and leaves, patting Franky and whispering something in his ear on his way back inside. The two Italians follow, Franky almost dragging Valentino away.

Luca has his hand on his forehead when Marc glances back at him, looking way more stressed than anyone should on a night out. He looks up at Marc and smiles, looking slightly embarrassed.

“You did well today. You should be proud.” Luca remarks with the kindness Marc has come to know him for. He smiles at the younger, who goes on.

“I’m sorry about Vale. He is trying you know? I know my brother normally has his head up his ass but I’ve never seen him this crazy about anyone but you. I get it if you can’t do it anymore. But I know love when I see it”, he blurts.

Marc is stunned. Love? Surely not. His heart aches in his chest. Before he can question it any further, or dispute it because there is no way that Valentino loves him, Luca turns and leaves, undoubtedly to go find Vale and take him home. With that, all Marc can do is get spectacularly pissed.

So, he does.

He knocks back drink, after drink, after drink. He doesn’t see Alex again for the rest of the night, Marc makes a face at the thought of where he has gone. Luca has taken Vale home. Marc has stayed with the others, celebrating with the team into the early hours. The way it should be. Yet he can’t help but feel like something is missing.

He stumbles back to his motorhome at some stupid hour. Jorge and Dani make sure he gets back safe, taking him from the club back to the track before they head off to the hotel. His memories feel hazy as he tries to fit the key into the lock, failing several times until it finally clicks into place. He remembers doing shots with some of the academy boys, dancing with Fabio (he vaguely recalls being on a table), and sloppily kissing someone. He’s pretty sure he told Dani and Jorge that they’d be great parents one day since they were looking after him so well. Dani had laughed hard whilst leaning on Jorge, who was blushing. Marc feels happy. So happy. He pointedly does not think about Valentino.

Once he is in the motorhome, he staggers through the front room and into his bedroom. He falls into bed after stripping off most of his clothes and drifts into a dreamless sleep.

#motogp #marc marquez #rosquez #motogp rpf #my fics #medical leak au #valentino rossi #really happy with this #come talk to me about it #pleaseeeee #dovquez #pedrenzo

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