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There’s something to be said about how much of a true paradox Alex’s brain can manage to be. As far back as he can remember it, rarely did it give him much of a break.
Always working at maximum capacity, Alex often thinks of his mind as one of those mirror mazes you see in fairs - at every turn he can see into a new direction, a different prism. Always him, alone, looking back at himself. A feeling of too much and not enough , and the many facets of his warped mind.
Like any challenge, Alex has tried time and time again to handle it. Fix what he can, manage what he can’t.
During most of school, doodling helped. The mindless repetition of the act could almost hijack his thoughts, center him enough so he could pay attention in class.
Lists helped too, when he couldn't get his hands on a pen and pencil but also couldn't fidget around without getting stern looks or the occasional "settle down, Alex."
In church with his abuelos, in school assemblies, town hall meetings sat in between June and his parents, Alex compiled a never ending list of lists. The lists earned him smiles, squeezes on the shoulder, "thank you for being so well behaved, sugar."
During moments where he was required to be quiet, observant, neither seen nor heard, when Alex needed to be good, he would make mental lists. A rolodex of all the random thoughts and questions and feelings that popped into his head.
Helpful as they were, lists and doodles couldn't keep his skin from feeling like it was buzzing, like he was vibrating just below the surface, where he alone could feel it. They didn’t help him quiet the noise, the restlessness he felt deep in his bones.
For decades, the only thing that ever helped Alex redirect his energy, his thoughts, the overwhelming sense of go, go, go, was swimming.
In the water, if he pushed himself hard enough Alex could get to a point of equilibrium, a sweet spot where everything was just quiet, a static he didn't need to filter through.
Luckily for him, Alex was pretty fucking good at it.
The after school activity he’d signed up for when he was 7 quickly turned into local meets and states. Turned into morning practices and afternoon practices too. Turned into gold medals and record timings, into scholarships and nationals, then the National Team.
It turned into Alex, at 26, competing in his third Olympics for Team USA as team captain and reigning Olympic champ.
Not bad for a little kid from Texas who fell into a pool because he needed all the noise to just go away.
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“Damn, these beds are shit,” Liam groans as he throws himself onto the mattress with an exaggerated flop. His complaints echo around the room, a ritual they’d both come to expect.
For years, Liam would bitch and moan over the quality of the beds for the duration of their stay, and Alex would search for coffee machines with the same determined focus he brought to the pool.
This year, as always, was no exception.
Alex rummages through their cramped mini kitchen, his fingers trailing along the edges of cupboards and counters. When he finally spots the coffee machine—pristine and gleaming in the corner—he's so grateful he can cry.
He picks it up with a flourish, holding it up like a trophy. “They could have us sleeping on the floor and I’d still be grinning like a fool and thanking them profusely,” Alex declares, his eyes sparkling with triumph.
He parades the coffee maker in front of Liam, who raises an eyebrow in skeptical amusement. “I thought Coach banned you from unrestricted caffeine access the first day we got here?” He asks, sinking deeper into the lumpy mattress.
Alex smirks, giving a knowing wink. “Oh, I might’ve sweet-talked one of the cleaners into keeping it hidden for me. I’ve got my ways.” Cecile was a treasure and a delight and Alex would be forever in her debt. An angel in the form of a 57 year old lady who liked his dimples.
Liam’s jaw drops slightly, “you’re still pulling off covert operations at your big age? Embarrassing.”
“Hey, desperate times call for desperate measures,” Alex replies with a cheeky grin.
Rafael Luna, the legendary swimmer and their coach, was a titan of the sport, a name etched in gold in the annals of Olympic history. To Alex, he was an idol—had the signed posters still hanging in his childhood room to show for it.
There was no one better for the job of Olympic coach than Luna.
Unfortunately for Alex, there was also no one more determined to break him of his coffee addiction. It’d been 14 years, you’d think he’d have given it up by now.
"What Luna doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Alex says with a wink, pressing a soft kiss to the coffee pot before casually bringing it over to Liam’s side of the dresser. “I’m hiding this in your bag,” he tells him, choosing to ignore the way Liam’s mouth drops open in disbelief.
“Seriously?” Liam protests, though a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. “You’re hiding coffee in my suitcase now?”
“Remember when you snuck Spencer into the dorms during the whole of our Tokyo stay?” Alex reminds him with a smirk, “I’m coming to collect.”
Liam, unimpressed, snorts at him. But Alex just found the perfect sweater to conceal his contraband so really, Liam can complain all he wants
"That’s bullshit, you’ve snuck around plenty,” Liam says, raising an eyebrow as he watches the scene playing out in front of him.
Alex shrugs nonchalantly. “I was always smart enough to move without getting caught. Spencer paraded around like he was invisible.”
Newsflash, he wasn’t.
If it weren’t for Alex’s charm and the empanadas he sweet-talked the village supervisors with, Liam would have kissed his clean record goodbye years ago.
“Fine,” Liam huffs, crossing his arms. “But you’re washing it out perfectly before it touches my shit.”
Alex bursts into laughter, his eyes crinkling as he takes in Liam’s dramatic scowl. “Relax, diva,” he teases, delivering a playful kick to Liam’s legs before heading toward his own bed. “You’re not gonna get coffee stains on your royal robes. I promise to handle it with the utmost care.” He makes a dramatic Boy Scout salute, a grin plastered across his face.
Suddenly, a rhythmic pounding echoes through the door and Luna’s voice cuts through the room, booming with authority and a hint of excitement. “All right, team! Time to get moving! Let’s see that energy!”
Alex’s eyes light up at the sound, at the thrill of the imminent competition. He grabs his duffle from the floor, the weight of it a reassuring reminder of the challenge ahead. “Time to shine!"
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There’s nothing quite like the smell of walking into an Aquatics Center on the day of a competition. You’d think all the chlorine would overpower the senses, make every place smell the same, but it absolutely doesn’t.
Alex loves that first whiff, a potent mix of chemical tang, adrenaline, and anticipation.
It’s like stepping into a different world.
The crowd is a living, breathing entity, its roar palpable even through his noise-canceling EarPods. Chants of "USA! USA!" reverberate through the space, turning it into an echo chamber of national pride and expectation. The air hums with energy, the vibrations seeping into his skin, quickening his pulse.
American flags wave in a sea of red, white, and blue, and posters with his face and name are scattered throughout the stands. His heart rate like a thrumming beat that matches the tingles in his hands as he slaps his body warm, forcing himself to focus, to get ready for what’s coming.
He steps onto the starting block, the water below looking impossibly clear and inviting. The whistle blows, and he dives in, the world above disappearing in a burst of bubbles.
Instantly, everything goes blissfully silent.
When he’s swimming, Alex can’t hear a thing—there’s only his breaths, the burn of his muscles, the spike of adrenalina and focus that propels him forward.
The 1500m stretch out before him, a series of strokes and kicks that blend into a seamless flow.
Time becomes elastic, seconds stretching into what feels like hours. He loses track of everything but the water around him, the way it moves and resists, the familiar pressure against his skin.
For years Alex swore there was no drug like it.
And then he met Henry.
It shouldn’t have worked. They were from different teams, different countries. Alex was an 18 year old kid in his first olympics with something to prove, Henry was the 19 year old swimmer for Great Britain with a legacy of champions. They were natural rivals.
They shouldn’t have fallen into a champagne foundation after their first opening ceremony. They shouldn't have fallen into bed only days later. Shouldn’t have fallen in love.
It shouldn’t have worked.
But it did.
And it was everything .
The cliche you read in romance books and see in movies - that once you find your person everything changes - that a sense of calm you never felt will come in waves, sleepless nights turned into tranquil dreams, a warmth that carves its into your entire being. With Henry, Alex came to find out wasn't all fiction after all.
The days he spent with Henry were the happiest, the brightest. His smile came easier, laughter flowed out. Henry brought out the best in him, made him want to be his best always. Love was Henry, and Alex had never known a feeling stronger.
The nights he spent next to Henry had been the best sleep he'd ever gotten. Even when they weren't physically together, the mere existence of Henry, the affection that embraced him, provided him the relief needed to settle. To breathe.
This olympic game marked their eighth anniversary, eight years of incredible highs and terrible lows. Of a rivalry inflamed by the media and their respective PR teams. Eight years of loving in secret, behind closed doors.
It hadn’t been easy, harder than any race Alex had ever faced, but the press of Henry’s lips was sweeter than any victory, the taste of him more intoxicating than any swimmer’s high.
Alex would trade every single gold medal for a moment in Henry’s arms. Would swim laps in the Atlantic Ocean if it brought him a single ounce of joy.
But that’s not what Henry needed from him. He needed Alex to be patient, to wait for him, to wait.
So he did.
✨💦🏊♂️🤿💦✨
“You coming for my gold, baby? How very colonizer of you,” Alex says in the direction of his phone, currently on speaker, as he runs a towel through his curls.
Years and years of chemicals should have ruined his hair, but God had blessed him with both hands, as his mama liked to say.
The famous Claremont-Diaz curls had earned him plenty of brand deals and even more fans.
Better yet, Henry could never resist digging into them, caressing, pulling at the roots.
Alex takes better care of his hair than most models do and it has nothing to do with the commercials and everything to do with how delicious it feels to have his man running his hands through the strands.
“Please. I know all your secret little strategies, you reprobate,” Henry says with a scoff, a playful glint in his voice. “I met with Bea once it was over. She sent you a box of those Belgian chocolates you love.”
Alex's face softens into a smile as he adjusts his necklace, the key and ring settling comfortably against his chest. “Ugh, bless her.”
He tugs on a nondescript black T-shirt, the fabric soft and familiar against his skin, and glances over as Liam strolls into the room. “I gotta go, but I’ll see you soon. Leave your door open.”
Henry's laugh is warm as he bids Alex goodbye. Pocketing his phone, Alex turns to Liam, who arches an eyebrow and smirks.
“That Henry? You congratulating him on first place?” Liam teases.
Henry was an incredible swimmer, and despite being 27, his personal records in the 400m Individual Medley and the 1500m Freestyle were higher than ever. Alex wasn’t entirely joking when he goaded Henry about stealing gold. It was entirely possible he’d take the medal from both him and Liam. Henry’s competency was incredibly fucking sexy.
Alex rolls his eyes, fighting back a grin. “Nah, I’m asking him to take it easy on you next time.”
Liam chuckles, the sound rich and familiar. They’ve been friends for so long that Alex can't remember a time without him. Yet, despite their closeness, Alex had kept his relationship with Henry a secret for years.
It wasn’t until 2019, during the agonizing aftermath of their first real breakup, that he finally spilled the truth.
Lost in a haze of grief and drowning his sorrows in whiskey, Alex had confessed his sins at the altar of his own heartbreak.
To his surprise, Liam hadn't been shocked. “I’ve seen the way you look at him, man,” he’d said, eyes filled with sympathy. “I know what lust looks like on you, and I know what love looks like too.”
The breakup had dragged on for eleven unbearable months, the longest they had ever gone without speaking. Alex would rather carve his own heart out than go through that again. Two years later, he'd proposed. One year later, they’d gotten married.
Now, they shared an apartment in London, a brownstone in Brooklyn and a ranch house in Texas. All that waited was the future.
Alex sprays on his cologne and gives Liam the bottle when he outstretches his hand. “I’m hoping this dinner can wrap up quickly so I can meet him for a few and be back for head count.”
It only left them with about 3 hours tops, but they’d gone months on much less. Now wasn’t the time to be greedy. In two days they’d be at finals and only a handful of podiums stood between them and the rest of their lives together.
Liam chuckles as they walk out the door, “heavy is the head that wears the crown, cap.”
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Alex checks his watch as he exits the dining space, noting the time with a practiced flick of his wrist. They have exactly three hours and five minutes.
He slips through the narrow corridors of the Olympic Village, the distant hum of other athletes and the occasional clink of dinnerware punctuating the quiet. His footsteps are soft, a whisper against the polished floors, as he navigates through the labyrinth of the Team Britain section.
Every sound seems magnified in his ears, yet he moves with an almost ghostly grace, honed by years of stealthy rendezvous.
His heart pounds in sync with his quickening pace, buzzing with the thrill of his proximity to Henry and the ache of their forced separation even when they're in the same spaces.
Finally, Alex reaches Henry’s door, and his breath hitches for a moment.
The steel handle feels cool under his fingers as he turns it with care. He eases it open just enough to slip through, his senses immediately flooded with the essence of Henry—his favorite cologne, the faint rustle of sheets, the comfort of his presence lingering in the air.
Every small sound—the creak of the bed, the rustle of a pillow—seems to echo in the quiet room, a counterpoint to the intense silence he’d maintained on his way here.
“Hi, baby.” Alex’s voice is a low murmur, but it carries the weight of his longing. He immediately pulls Henry into a tight hug, the urgency in his embrace speaking volumes.
The world outside falls away, leaving just the two of them wrapped in one another.
Henry melts into the hug, his arms wrapping around Alex. "Hello, darling."
"Fuck, I’ve missed you," Alex murmurs into Henry's hair, breathing in his scent, the familiar fragrance of Henry's fancy french shampoo grounding him.
He could spend lifetimes just smelling him, tasting him. Has spent many nights doing just that.
"Me too, love. How was dinner?" Henry asks, his voice muffled against Alex's shoulder, neither of them willing to pull away just yet.
"It was fine. The new kids are excited as hell for finals," Alex tells him. He adjusts Henry's head slightly so he can look into his husband's eyes. "But I’m much more excited about this."
He closes the distance, capturing Henry's lips in a kiss and in an instant Alex feels a rush of warmth spreading through his body, like coming home.
Henry’s lips are soft, yet insistent, moving against his with a perfect blend of tenderness and passion. From the beginning Henry has always met him with equal fervor and Alex is so in love with this man he could die.
He breaks into goosebumps as Henry's hands gently cupping his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones as if to re-memorize every curve and contour.
He lets his hands roam, one tangling in Henry’s hair, the other sliding down to rest on the small of his back, pulling him even closer. The taste of Henry—familiar, intoxicating—filling his every sense.
When they finally pull away, breathless and smiling, foreheads resting together, Alex takes a moment to look around the room. The familiarity of it is bittersweet. They've spent countless nights in similar rooms over the years, stealing moments of intimacy away from prying eyes.
Sitting down on the bed, Alex pulls Henry down on his lap. "Are you ready to say goodbye to all of this?"
Henry leans his head on Alex’s shoulder, their fingers entwining. "It's going to be strange, isn't it? I know I'll miss parts of it, but I can't wait to just be."
"Me neither." Alex’s thoughts drift back to their first Olympics, the stolen glances, the secret smiles. They had been so young and unsure of what the future held.
Now, after three more Olympic Games, countless medals, and years of loving each other in the shadows, they were ready to step out of the limelight and into the sun.
"Remember our first podium?" Alex asks, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I thought my heart was going to burst out of my chest when they put that medal around my neck."
Henry chuckles, a warm sound that fills the room. "I remember how enthusiastic you were that night. I'm quite sure you called my performance gold medal worthy, many many times."
Alex laughs, the memory vivid in his mind. "Oh you blew me away, baby. You still do. The best of the best and you're all mine," he presses a kiss to Henry’s temple. "I can't wait to call you my husband in front of everyone."
Henry tilts his head up, their eyes meeting. "I love you."
"I love you too." Alex leans in for another kiss, savoring the taste of his husband's lips, the warmth of his body.
This time, they break apart only long enough to discard their clothes, their bare skin finally pressing together, just as electrifying as it is calming.
Each touch sends a ripple of sensation through him, like the first plunge into a pool, the shock of cold giving way to the comforting embrace.
Alex’s hands roam over Henry’s body- every inch, every scar, every curve he could trace from memory alone. He feels Henry’s breath against his neck, warm and steady, as he kisses a trail from Henry’s ear to his collarbone.
Henry’s hands are just as eager, exploring Alex with a reverence that makes Alex’s heart swell. They move together, a familiar dance of passion and love and heat, their bodies knowing exactly how to bring each other the most pleasure.
It’s a slow, sensual build, each kiss, each touch, each whispered word heightening the anticipation. They move together in a rhythm that feels as natural as breathing. Their hard cocks slid against each other in a perfect, agonizing friction.
“Alex,” Henry whispers, his voice breathless and full of love. “I need you.”
Alex’s response is a tender kiss, a promise made in silence. He moves gently, reverently, acutely aware of every sensation—the softness of Henry’s skin, the gentle pressure of their bodies pressed together, the rhythmic rise and fall of Henry’s chest. He takes both of them in hand and starts stroking them.
It's dry, and a little rough, but it’s exactly what Alex needs. And as his husband bucks up into his hand, Alex knows it's what he needs too. Soon enough they’re leaking enough to make it work
The world outside ceases to exist; it’s just the two of them, like it always meant to be. They lose themselves in each other, in the intensity of their emotions.
He feels Henry’s hands gripping him, his nails biting, grounding him just as he grounds Henry.
Each touch, each whispered word of love, is a promise of the life they will build together—a life where their love takes center stage.
For Alex, being with Henry has always rivaled even the serene, powerful sensation of gliding through water. A perfect blend of control and surrender, of knowing every inch of his own body and yet being completely attuned to another’s.
He feels every small tremor, every gasp, every arch of Henry’s back as if it were happening to him.
Henry’s hands grasp at his shoulders, pulling him closer, impossibly closer, and Alex can sense the urgency, the desperation, the love in every touch.
It’s like the final push to the finish line, the last burst of energy, the final stroke. He pours everything he has into their connection, every ounce of love and passion.
As they reach the peak, their bodies shudder together, a wave of pleasure crashing over them.
Alex’s breath comes in ragged gasps, already so beyond words, his heart pounding in his chest. He feels Henry’s body tighten, the soft cries of ecstasy that escape his lips, the breathless laugh he wants to drown in, live in.
Feels the way his husband clings to him as if he never wants to let go.
In the aftermath, after Alex cleans them up, leaving tender kisses and soft touches, they lie tangled together, their breathing slowly returning to normal.
Alex lets the clock tick by as he presses small kisses to Henry’s forehead, feeling the dampness of his skin, the steady beat of his heart.
Nothing ever makes him as complete and fulfilled as loving Henry does. Like he qas born for it.
✨💦🏊♂️🤿💦✨
The distant roar of the crowd swells and recedes like the tide, an ocean of voices that become a rhythmic backdrop to his own inner symphony. Each shout, each cheer, is a ripple in the current of his focus, blending into the cadence of his breath and the steady thump of his heart.
Alex’s fingers tremble slightly as he adjusts the cap on his head, the snug fit pressing against his scalp, reminding him of the countless laps he’s swum and the years he’s dedicated to this sport. He can feel the weight of the cap, its texture rough against his fingers, a tangible symbol of his commitment.
He inhales, the air thick with the mingled scents of sweat and anticipation. Exhales, the warmth of the breath escapes in a soft puff, mingling with the coolness of the air-conditioned space.
Alex closes his eyes for a moment, envisioning the race—the glide through the water, the rhythmic pull and kick, the surge of power as he slices through the pool.
He imagines the sensation of breaking through the surface, the explosive release of energy as he reaches the final stretch.
The taste of gold, sweet and metallic, lingers on his tongue, mingling with the memory of every race, every victory, every sacrifice.
As his entrance is announced, the cheers echo through the arena and finally, Alex opens his eyes, a fierce determination burning in their depths.
Every muscle in his body feels taut and alive as he waves to the crowd and takes his place in lane 5, a coiled spring of kinetic energy ready to burst forth.
He glances over at the lane beside him, where Henry is also preparing for the race, his form sleek and composed. The two men lock eyes, their gazes meeting in a silent exchange that speaks for itself.
For a heartbeat, the chaotic buzz of the arena fades into a muted background hum, and all that remains is them—a shared understanding of the magnitude of their final swim.
Henry’s lips curve into a smile, a soft, reassuring gesture that sends a ripple of warmth through Alex’s chest.
In that brief, suspended moment, Alex is not just the Olympian, the competitor; he is a husband, too. He is a husband, first. A man deeply in love, ready to embrace a future that holds as much promise and excitement as the water he has dedicated his life to.
When he steps onto the block, his skin tingling with anticipation, he feels a surge of both serenity and exhilaration. The water itself is a liquid canvas, shimmering under the stadium lights with hues of blue that dance and ripple like waves of liquid glass.
A final symphony of freedom and glory comes in the form of "final marks" and as he dives in, Alex knows he’s not just racing against time, but embracing the end of a journey.
The weight of his years in the water is both a burden and a blessing, a paradoxical comfort as he glides through the water, a deliberate act of preparation, a quiet promise to himself and the culmination of countless hours spent honing every movement, every stroke.
The burn in his muscles intensifies, a sweet agony that he’s come to crave. His lungs ache with it, but he pushes through, drawing on reserves of strength and willpower.
The rhythm is hypnotic, his body moving on instinct, a finely tuned machine.
Alex can feel the presence of his competitors, sense their movements through the water, but they are distant, secondary in his reprieve.
Finally, the chime rings, a sound that breaks through his focused trance. He touches the wall, the cold tile a stark contrast to the warm water.
He surfaces, blinking against the bright lights, and for a moment, Alex just breathes, chest heaving, heart pounding.
The silence lingers, a brief respite before the noise of the world crashes back in. The roar of the crowd hits him like a wave. Cheers, chants, the cacophony of celebration.
He pulls off his goggles, water dripping down his face, and looks up at the scoreboard. His time flashes in bright digits, and a grin spreads across his face. He did it. Again. For the final time as an Olympian.
And as Alex climbs out of the pool, every sensation is heightened—the cool air against his wet skin, the rough texture of the cold tiles under his feet, the weight of the moment settling in.
The transition to the podium is a haze of activity, but it feels like slow motion to Alex. He stands tall, eyes scanning the sea of faces, feeling the collective pride of his nation.
Brazil takes bronze and then there's Henry receiving his silver medal, so beautiful and so alive. Alex feels the tears prick at the corners of his eyes, blinks as they make their way down his cheek.
When the gold medal is placed around Alex's neck it feels like every early morning practice, every grueling workout, every moment of doubt and every surge of confidence.
The metal catches the light, glinting with a brilliance that mirrors the feeling in his chest. He lifts it to his lips, the taste metallic and slightly bitter, that fills him with a sweetness that is impossible to describe.
But bedsides him, Henry smiles, and it's more dazzling than any precious metal.
The American national anthem begins, and Alex instinctively places his hand over his heart, his voice joining the chorus of his countrymen. The melody is practiced and familiar, stirring memories that flow through his mind like a current.
He sees himself as a seven-year-old boy, eyes wide with wonder as he won his first race, the ribbon clutched tightly in his small hands. Sees that first podium twelve years ago, when he and Henry stood side by side, wet from the pool and tears.
Thoughts of their careers, their future, drift through Alex’s mind, mingling with the sensations. He thinks of the countless hours in the pool, the races, the victories, and the losses. It all led to this, this perfect, beautiful moment.
The decision to leave it all behind feels right, a natural progression, like reaching the end of a race and knowing you’ve given everything you have.
Alex takes a deep breath, letting it all wash over him, imprinting it on his soul. The culmination of a dream, and the beginning of a new chapter.
With the cheers of the crowd still echoing in his ears, he turns to Henry, his heart pounding with more than just the thrill of victory.
There’s a moment of clarity, of unspoken decision, and he reaches out, taking Henry's hand in his own. The warmth of Henry's skin against his sends a current of electricity through him, grounding him in the reality of this extraordinary moment.
Alex gently pulls Henry onto the highest step of the podium, the world narrowing to just the two of them. "I love you," he tells his husband, voice steady and sure, carrying the weight of years, the strength of their love.
In a moment he will never forget, Alex leans in, and their lips meet.
It’s a kiss that transcends time and space, a melding of souls that tells their entire story in a single, breathtaking instant.
The sensation of Henry's breath against his face, the slight tremor of his hands, and the way their bodies instinctively align, all speak of a love that has been hidden but never diminished.
Alex can smell the faint chlorine of the pool mixed with the distinct, crisp scent of Henry, a blend that has become as essential to him as the air he breathes.
The crowd's reaction is a tidal wave of emotion—gasps of surprise, murmurs of realization, and then an overwhelming roar of approval.
As they pull apart, Alex's fingers brush against the gold medal still hanging around his neck, the cool metal a reminder of this shared triumph.
But it's Henry's presence, his touch, that fills Alex with a sense of pride and accomplishment, the realization that his olympic medals were never the real prize. It was always this, it was always Henry.
With him, hand in hand, Alex could never lose.
That was his legacy.