Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I'm going to TRY to rewrite this story. First of all, I'm doing it because it's definitely the fic that's closest to my heart and I don't want to abandon it, but it's been so long that I feel like I can't write it like I used to. Secondly, I know a lot more about Webbonso now than when I wrote this fic, and I'm interested in certain themes that could be explored with new important characters.

However, I hope one thing: not to lose the soul of this story. That's why it took me so long to make this decision. This fic makes me nostalgic, but at the same time, I tell myself that I can add so much more. However, I still fear that it will change and no longer be as good. My writing style has certainly changed, hopefully for the better (I honestly don't know).
It will take time.Some chapters will remain unchanged, others will be altered, and I may even add entire chapters to fill the gaps between some of them.

I'm making this announcement here so as not to leave you in the dark and to force myself to finally resume this story, because I honestly have no discipline. I admit I'm much busier than before, but I hope you'll still enjoy this story even after the changes.
I am currently thinking of a notation system so that you know what is in the chapter.
Title (N) = nothing has been changed in the chapter.
Title (MIC) = very few changes, mainly regarding details or the way information is presented.
Title (MEC) = additional scenes, but the chapter retains its basic narrative.
Title (MAC) = a major change in the chapter that may alter the narrative (new point of view, new character, new plot,Important change to dialogues).
Title (C) = New chapter.

For Mark, I am considering introducing Ann Neal, which could change a lot of things.
And for Fernando, I'm thinking of changing his soul mate/opposite soul (I prefer to remain vague, I'm not going to reveal everything either), but not the narrative around it (at least I think so).
And also GREATER IMPORTANCE GIVEN TO FERNANDO'S POINT OF VIEW. (I like the fact that Fernando's point of view is still a little vague, but that's because we're really at the beginning of the story and I'm still imagining lots of things for the rest of it. "Slow burn" isn't there for nothing).

Anyway, I always enjoy rereading your comments, and I hope you'll be there.
I'll definitely let you know on Tumblr
when I've changed my chapters, or else just check the notes next to the titles.

Chapter Text

Mark was five years old when he woke up crying in his mother's bed, a burning sensation from his wrist to his left shoulder, far from uncomfortable, akin to medieval torture. He'd been taught that water extinguishes flames, so he ran with all his meager strength to the bathtub to soothe the ache, but it had no impact other than to make him shiver in the bathroom. He tried to call his father for help, but he was away on business, as was his mother, who had promised to return from her walk with the dog two hours ago.

He had no choice but to endure this ordeal, his tear reserve already dry, and his face full of snot. He cursed the witch who had cast this spell on him, for no one but an evil sorceress could have made him suffer this pain, as he had seen in the cartoon on TV. He wondered, however, if he'd made a mistake; every child like him who'd been punished by a witch had made a mistake. He hadn't eaten too much candy like Hanzel and Gretel, or trusted strangers like Snow White, perhaps because he'd forgotten to feed the dog! His mother had already scolded him several times for this. So he promised himself, in the solitude of his living room, to always look after Pluto, his Australian shepherd, like his brother. He'd make Pluto play with him every day, and in time, he'd even teach him English - if he could do that, so could Pluto. 

His mother finally returned after 30 minutes of pure torment, Pluto at her heels, the dog immediately licking Mark's tears under the young woman's appalled gaze. Breathless from crying, the dark-haired boy grabbed his mother's skirt with his working hand, begging her to help him.

"Mom! My arm is burning!" 

She took her child from her arms, drying her tears by whispering words to him. What kind of mother was she to let her son suffer like this! She kissed his forehead and checked his arm, where now stood a scrawl-like set of letters that together formed two words: Fernando Alonso.

The moment she touched the mark, the burning suddenly stopped, the sudden change making her poor son's head spin. She made him sit on her lap, ready at last to talk about what would be a very important subject in her son's life.

"It's all right, darling, you've finally found your soulmate. she explained in a soft, pleasant voice. 

- Soul-mate... ? 

Mark had heard that word somewhere before, when he watched TV shows with his mother, and people always referred to it, either positively or negatively. But no one had warned him that his soulmate was going to hurt him so badly, so Fernando must have really hated him to burn his whole arm.

- Yes, soul mate. When someone's born, they're linked with two people, a soulmate and an soul-opponent. The soulmate is someone who's made for you, often in love, like me and your father, but it can also be a friend or even a family member. And then there's the opponent soul, who's like your sworn enemy, you know Batman? 

- Yes! He's so cool! 

- If they had a soulmate and a soul-opponent, it would be Robin, because they complement each other perfectly, and the Joker, because they hate each other and will do anything to fight the other. 

- Do you know your soul-opponent? Mark asked, looking amazed at this new horizon. 

- Yes, I do. He was a very bad person in my life, so try to stay as far away from him as possible. 

- What about Fernando?! Is he my soul mate or my soul-opponent ? 

- That's for you to decide. You'll understand as soon as you talk to him. 

- Mom... Do people exist without a soul mate? 

- Yes, there are. she says with a nostalgic smile. There aren't many, but they do exist. You mustn't insult them or hit them! Tell yourself that they, at least, can choose anyone, they don't have to follow any rules. 

- I'd rather not have had a soul mate then! Fernando really hurt me! 

- It's not his fault, he's only just been born, and it's incredible to have a soulmate, it's like being completely whole. 

- And if Fernando dies! Mark exclaimed with a frightened look on his face, "If he doesn't have a Fernando to spend his days with, who will he have? Pluto? No! His mother prefers Pluto to him, she'll forget all about him! 

- So you'll be looking for someone who doesn't have a soulmate or who has also lost his soulmate like you have, living with the person you're meant to is not synonymous with happiness, as I told you there are people without a soulmate who live their lives very well."

Mark remains a little skeptical about this explanation: if Fernando dies, he'll fall back on his soul-opponent, and even if they hate each other, they'll have to learn to coexist together. Besides, it's hard to hate him, as his father said, and he's always right. 

One last question came to him as he stroked the mark on the back of his wrist, which was blood-red, whereas his mother's was golden. Perhaps it was because Fernando was a boy? Did it matter if he fell in love with Fernando, he'd never seen two boys kiss, nor two girls. He then looked for his mother, who had started cooking for the two of them, eager to learn more about what would surely dictate his life later on.

"Why is your mark golden and mine isn't? he asked plaintively, having always preferred yellow to red, even if they liked the harmony of these two colors when black was added to the equation.

- Because I've met my soul mate, the same thing will happen to you when you meet Fernando.

- Will it burn again? Mark asked, pouting. The last thing he wanted was to get burned again by Fernando, especially not when he met him.

- I don't know, I was born with my mark so I don't remember anything, but I felt a slight tingling when I met your father, it was nice. said his mother with a gentle smile, making her son taste the sauce and lick his lips.

- I hope he gets burnt too! At least he'll experience what I've experienced! Mark finally exclaimed, before running off to his room to his mother's laughter. 

He grabbed his cuddly toy and gave it a long hug, trying to forget the torture he'd been through an hour ago. Cuddling cures everything, as his father said, and he's always right.

And what else? Should he learn Spanish?

--

Mark is eleven years old when a gentle tingling sensation in his lower back puts him to sleep. It feels like a caress and seems to relax all his muscles, which are tense from Mr. Johnson's incomprehensible history lesson. A beha smile appears on his lips, which makes his friend at the other end of the classroom laugh. He cherishes the gentle caresses until recess, when he is confronted by his friends about the nature of his cartoonish expressions. 

"It's my new brand of soul that just arrived. he explains, to the surprised looks of his classmates. 

He'd been waiting six years for his other mark, the person he'd love or hate for the rest of his life. And he'd learned so much more about the subject, here's a quick summary: 

1. The color of the mark has no influence on whether the person is a soul-mate or a soul-contrary, red is not synonymous with bad, and blue or green is not synonymous with good. 

2. People with a single mark exist, either because the other soul-mate has already died at birth, or because a single person combines the soul-mate and soul-opposite attributes; research is still in full swing on this question.

3. Never reveal the name of your soulmate to a stranger. It's very private and could get you into trouble. 

4. Trying to find your soul-mate at all costs is pointless: it's totally random, and some people never meet their soul-mate.

5. A mark can take years to come, you have to be patient until the end, some people have their mark when they are adults and their soulmate is their child.

6. Marks can be on any part of the body, most often on the arm, but not always.

7. Having two male soulmates is weird (he learned it from his two best friends).

- Really?! Man... Eleven years difference with someone, I didn't know you liked kids that much. mocked his friend with a perverse expression, quickly followed by the rest of the group.

- No! Besides, I don't care about soul mates, I'd meet them sooner or later, so..." he said nonchalantly, hoping to hide his nervousness behind his i-don't-care air.

His friends took him at face value, and quickly changed the subject under Mark's unspoken entreaties. It was a good thing his friends weren't trying to get under his shirt, or he'd be in big trouble. 

He spent the day with mild excitement, wondering what name had appeared on his back. He ran home despite the fact that he hated physical exertion, slamming his bedroom door and taking off his shirt with a deafening crash. His father would surely argue with him about it later, but his soul mate was more important. 

He stood in front of his bedroom mirror, looking for the angle that would allow him to perfectly read the name on the small of his back. He managed to read a few letters: S , B , I , A , V , T , L.

And after several minutes in which he tried increasingly outlandish poses, he was finally able to read the name in full: Sebastian Vettel.

His body immediately froze; he hadn't imagined a name other than masculine, but seeing it in real life changed the whole picture... The name was far too high to be hidden by boxer shorts, but far too low not to be visible if his shirt was pulled up a little. He's ruined! Completely ruined! What will his friends think? 

His anxious gaze fell on his wrist, nobody had ever paid attention to his arms, and he hadn't seen anyone trying to read what was written on them. If he can't hide Sebastian, he'll hide Fernando. Because even if there's the possibility that it's totally platonic, the looks of disgust he'll get won't be fictional. 

Mark likes women, but he doesn't share his desire to go out with them, more out of laziness than real lack of attraction. He finds them beautiful, attractive and intelligent, but men... He likes them too, he definitely doesn't let his eyes wander in the locker room during gym class, but he's already seen attractive men and enjoyed looking at them. All this is a purely scientific, objective judgement, he's only got eyes, and knows how to recognize beauty.

Besides, German women have always been more his type, beautiful blondes with blue eyes have always caught his eye. Much more so than brunettes with golden eyes.

What's more, his father had advised him not to learn Spanish, and he's always right.

(After all, all he'd learned was how to introduce himself, a few catchphrases, all the parts of a car, an insult and a pick-up line in the language; all in all, a meagre vocabulary).

To be continued....

Chapter Text

The next day, he arrived at school with a bracelet on his wrist. It was made of plastic and felt like a second skin, so close was it to his own. The bracelet was sober, deep black, with "My favorite Webber" written on it. He would forever thank his father for giving him this gift after one of his many, many business trips, giving him an excuse with his mother and classmates. After all, who could blame a child for wanting to wear something given to him by his absent parent? 

And so he quietly went about his day, until the last hour of class arrived. He had asked to go to the bathroom, and since he was a fairly quiet student with average grades, his teacher had granted him the right to go without any delay. This sudden need was due to his bracelet, which was itching his skin horribly and he knew he'd attract someone's attention if he took it off in class. He slowly entered the toilets, checking that he didn't see anyone, then sat down on the bowl, closing the door of one of the individual toilets. He then hastily removed his bracelet, the itching sensation driving him mad. He put the piece of plastic in his pocket, then inspected his wrist, which was blood-red, the letters barely perceptible due to the irritated state of the skin. He scratched his wrist with all his might, hoping to find some way out of the uncomfortable sensation. 

When he'd finally finished, he was aware of the numerous trickles of blood that littered his wrist. He'd definitely scratched too hard, but the unpleasant sensation was finally over. The name of his soulmate was imperceptible in this red mass, which reassured Mark a little. Fernando had been the least of his worries for six long years, and now he was the bane of his existence. As well as titillating the small part of his brain that hoped Fernando would feel some of the pain he himself had experienced.

His jubilation was soon halted by the crash of one of the toilet doors, which startled him and stifled the cry of surprise he was about to make. He got up slowly, put his bracelet back on and half-opened the door, allowing only one of his eyes to see the scene before him. His curiosity would kill him one day, his mother had often told him, but like his father, she wasn't always right.

Opposite him was John, a newcomer from England whom Mark considered a friend despite his sometimes blatant lack of judgment. He seemed frightened, and that's a good thing, because right in front of him was William. He was taller than any of his classmates with the exception of Mark himself, his long black hair was always in a ponytail and his cold gaze made many shiver. But he was lonely, terribly lonely, and he'd never seen anyone talk to him, despite the fact that he'd spent all his school years with him around. And Mark wasn't suicidal enough to try and approach him, preferring to stay with his friends, like a protective cocoon that would shield him from any outside attack. Even if, for some time now, he'd been feeling suffocated in this heap of superficial relationships.

"You saw nothing! exclaimed William, surrounding his poor classmate with his bulk. 

- But on your wrist... ! John tried to explain before being thrown against a wall. 

Mark's eyes widened; he couldn't get out to help his friend, too afraid to suffer the same fate. 

- I said you didn't see anything!" shouted the black-haired man even louder, slamming into the wall and swearing at the pain he felt. His breath coming in gasps, he looked around like a frightened animal before fleeing. 

Mark waited several long minutes, making sure William didn't come back, before exiting the bathroom and helping his friend to his feet. John was surprised to see him, but thanked him when he helped.

"So... What's that from the past? he asked as he helped to disinfect his friend's injured knee. It's a good thing the school had medical kits in the toilets, otherwise they'd be in big trouble.

- This asshole had his soulmate's name on his wrist. John explained, grimacing as Mark applied the disinfectant. 

- And? 

- He's a man, Mark! He's got the names of two men! The guy's a fucking faggot, and he threatened me not to tell anyone. 

A glint of rage flashed in John's eyes, which scared Mark even more. Wearing that bracelet was definitely the best decision of his life. 

- What does faggot mean? his parents always told him it was a dirty word, without explaining why. 

- It's a man who loves another man, it's against nature. 

- Who told you that? 

Since when was a person who loved another person against nature? He'd never heard that argument before.

- My father. 

If John's father was like Mark's, then he was always right. And if he's right, that means Mark's a fag. But Mark doesn't want to be, he doesn't want to be insulted or hit, and he especially doesn't want to hit others like William. Otherwise he'll be alone, and nobody wants to be alone... 

The unpleasant sensation returned to his wrist and he bit his lip, wondering why Fernando was bothering him at the worst possible time! 

- By the way, Mark, what's your name on the back? John asked, fully recovered. 

They were now in the corridors on their way back to class, and this question almost froze him: if he took too long to answer, he'd definitely get stuck in and end up like William. 

He lifted his T-shirt and turned to show it to his friend, who pressed gently with an air of interest. 

- This is my first soul mark, my mother told me that my second will surely be my child, so I guess it's my soul-opponent. He explained, hiding his wavering voice. It's a good thing John's a bit of a fool, otherwise he'd have realized straight away that he was lying. 

Mark was convinced his explanation was wrong, Sebastian would forever be his salvation. When he appeared, it even did his body good, and he's not as flashy as Fernando. He'll be his ally whether he likes it or not. (Mark preferred to forget in his reasoning that the sensation at the creation of the mark did not determine whether the person was a soul-mate or a soul-opponent. He'd just left out a small detail, nothing too important. ) 

- Oh... You're probably the only guy I know who's got a foreign soul mate, so learn German and you can insult him all you want." suggested his friend with a silly grin.

Mark nodded, smiling back, his friend had a good point. Spanish is easier than German, as his mother said, but she's not always right.

------ 

After that day, he never saw William at school again, John having explained that it served him right and that he didn't have to hit him. But this created a slight twinge in Mark's heart. Maybe because William was the only one who believed in Mark's future in the car business. Maybe because William always smiled when he looked at his wrist, just like Mark did before Sebastian appeared. Maybe because Mark didn't want to be the only one who was "queer". 

---- 

Mark was 20 years old in 1996, still getting used to the British climate, realized that he might have a chance of realizing his dream by continuing in Formula Ford. And he hopes never to meet Fernando Alonso. 

When he learns that his parents are divorcing. 

It's quick, concise, one phone call and it's done. No explanation, no paper to give, no words exchanged, just an invitation to the Queanbeyan court as a witness. 

He can't believe his eyes, he doesn't accept the reason for the divorce. His father and mother always got along, they were the perfect representation of the family he saw on TV, they were normal. His father may have been a little absent, but he always came home with presents, his parents bickered happily whenever he saw them, and Mark hoped for a relationship like theirs in the future.

Disillusionment was harsh, and his flight seemed dull as he looked up at the clouds and prayed that his parents would forget their differences and return to normal. Because even if he could hide his second brand of soul from the various engineers, team managers and rivals, with the same excuse over and over again. It would be much harder to do so with his parents' divorce. Racing is a very small world, and you'd know it by the time Mark stepped into the courtroom.

His right knee trembled as he sat in the cab from Canberra airport to Queanbeyan courthouse. A tingling sensation was felt on his right wrist, which annoyed Mark to no end. He'd had this bad habit since he was eleven, and at every stressful moment his wrist began to feel tingling or pinching. At first, he'd thought it was a sign from his soulmate, but his father had quickly debunked the notion: it was only the result of Mark's body, not of any power Fernando possessed to annoy him. Despite changing the material of his bracelet, putting on gloves or any other substitute, the tingling remained and would surely stay forever. He'd never gone to a doctor to diagnose potential eczema, preferring his much more amusing false explanation. 

He finally took a deep breath before opening the door to the divorce lawyer's office, his eyes sweeping across the room until they came to rest on both his parents. Both smiling and laughing like young teenagers, oblivious to the headache they had caused their darling son. He cleared his throat, making his presence known, and sat down, putting all his weight on the chair. The soft, light atmosphere changed completely, his mother's smile exchanged for a worried look, and his father's for a sorry face. 

They were the ones getting divorced, but it was Mark who seemed to be most affected, the Australian feeling as if he'd been in a sketch designed to make him abandon all hope of sanity. He sighed and finally looked at the lawyer, who seemed young and inexperienced, but felt at least a little compassion for Mark. He handed him the paper and read it aloud. 

He finished in a more forceful voice, as if to ensure that both parties had made their choice.

"Do you, Mr Alan Webber, and Mrs Diane Jones agree, on the terms negotiated between the two parties and only this one, to divorce? 

- Yes." replied his mother softly. 

- Yes." replied her father solemnly. 

- No. Mark replied annoyed.

All heads turned towards him, and he questioned all three of them with his eyes, all three seeming to think that a second head was growing next to the first. 

- Darling..." said his mother, full of compassion, she seemed sorry for him but Mark definitely didn't want her pity.

- Mark, I thought we'd talked about this-" his father tried to explain before being cut off.

- No! I just got a damn call at six in the morning from some stranger telling me that both my parents were getting divorced. 

- Mark! You can't say that about Gilbert! exclaimed his father, annoyed by his son's attitude. 

Mark squinted in annoyance at this reply, Gilbert... Where the hell did that name come from, since when do you name a child after a gambling-addicted, alcoholic French grandfather?! 

- Aren't you supposed to be soul mates? You're supposed be a perfect match! Mark snarled, for God's sake, why couldn't he and his family be normal for once, he wasn't normal himself, why add more stupidity to the joke that was his life. 

A soul-mate was a person made for you, who represented everything you needed and everything that could make you better. A soul-opponent is the opposite: it's bound to get you into trouble whether you like it or not, and it's bound to make you fall into depression if you cling too hard to it, but in both cases these people are vital and you should, except in special cases, meet them sooner or later in your life. A soul-mate is supposed to create a happy, indestructible marriage, just as a soul-opponent is supposed to create in you a fierce and definitive rejection. But the Webbers are a family unlike any other, always trying to be special despite the pleas of one member, and that member is Mark (and Pluto when it's Mark's turn to look after him). 

- We're soul-mates, darling, we just realized that we're platonic, not romantic, and no one's sure when you meet your soul-mate, especially when you spend time with him or her, it's all part of the game. explained his mother calmly, gently stroking his shoulder. 

Mark sighed, letting his mother's words penetrate the walls of his prejudiced mind. He knew she was right, and he knew his father would probably say the same thing, but he'd always wanted to live a normal life. Even if normal doesn't mean F1 driver, he at least hoped to recognize himself in the couples he saw on TV. Now he'd be forced to navigate an ultra-competitive world where half the people would look at him sideways because they'd think he was the fruit of a love affair between two soul-opponents , and he'd have to measure every word he spoke to Fernando or Sebastian, hoping that neither of them was homophobic. 

He grabbed his mother's arm, as he had done when he was six, and gave her a hug, which his father quickly joined. His doubts, fears and hopes flowed out in hot but very important tears. It's a good thing he had a loving family, because for all its wackiness, he always felt loved. 

- Sorry.... It doesn't matter if you and Dad get divorced, as long as you're happy." He whispered into their arms, under the loving gaze of his parents.

He may not have been the best son or brother in the world, and they may not have been the best parents either. But the four of them, along with Pluto, thought they made a great team. And that, in the end, was what mattered most. 

-----

Mark is now twenty-four, has just done his first Formula 3000 race, finally realizes that he's on the doorstep of F1. 

And he's just shaken hands with Fernando Alonso, one of his many rivals and his soul-mate/opponent, though he still hasn't made up his mind. 

He feels no burning, no tingling, nothing, (perhaps because their skin hasn't touched.) The Spaniard doesn't seem to react either, leaving immediately to talk to one of his Hispanic colleagues. 

And the only thoughts his failing mind manages to structure are: 

1. "Damn, he's fucking sexy." 

2. "Why did I choose German as my second language in high school?!"

To be continued.... 

Chapter Text

Mark didn't know when it all went wrong, or how, but he didn't want to know. It had been two years since he'd first seen Fernando, and he was excited to finally meet one of his soul mates, feeling like a prepubescent kid who'd just seen his crush. But disillusionment soon set in, as the Spaniard didn't seem to care about him, never interacting with him except on their possible podium, and even then, never touching him or looking him in the eye. ( Mark personally thought the brunette was just too short to see his face, but when he'd spoken to his sister about it, she'd made a much more realistic assumption. ) 

The Australian took it personally at first, after all he'd tried to get closer but Fernando had done nothing to respond to that. Then, with the frenzy of racing, he soon realized that he simply didn't have the time to talk to a stranger about their possible future together. So he made himself a simple promise: during their next year in Formula 3000, he would confront Fernando. But a higher power seemed to take a malicious pleasure in torturing him, for Fernando never made it to a second year in Formula 3000. Nah, the brunette had a thirst for power and speed, and the team bosses seemed to have seen it, because while Mark was stagnating in Formula 3000, Fernando was making his entry into F1, despite being five years his junior. Mark set his sights on a seat the following year, finally catching up with his soulmate and realizing his dream. 

In 2002, he succeeded: he was taken to Minardi, and the news was a breath of fresh air in the world of stress and doubt that was the minor leagues, attached to F1. But luck was definitely not on his side, firstly because his first race was catastrophic. As well as getting used to the Australian public again after years in the UK, he spent most of the race dodging cars that had crashed or broken down, praying not to join them, and the race ended with 13 retirements in all. Probably because of this, Mark finished fifth, a very good race but a result Mark knew he couldn't repeat, the Minardi he was driving being terribly slow. Secondly, Fernando became a test driver for Renault, which made him much less accessible and once again distanced him from Mark.

But this time the Australian won't wait - he's definitely fed up with chasing after an underage Spaniard in the US for another year. Fernando shouldn't become the kind of New Year's resolution where you say "I'll do it", only to never look back.

That's why he found himself in a deserted restaurant in Melbourne just after his grueling race, following Jenson and Fernando for at least twenty minutes with an extremely suspicious air. He was pretending to call someone on the phone, but anyone who overheard his conversation would immediately understand that he was lying; nobody talks about choosing a baby's name with such a conspiratorial air. Jenson saw her, he was sure of it, despite his usual jovial air, he saw her glance at him several times. As for Fernando, he didn't seem at all affected by the fact that one of his former Formula 3000 rivals had been following him for almost half an hour, Spanish and English blending together in his mouth despite the fact that his British colleague probably didn't understand a word of it.

He finally decides to put an end to his secrecy when the two Renault drivers stop at a bar. Jenson went to order a beer while Fernando went to the toilet, sat down in front of the counter and didn't even have time to check Fernando's whereabouts again before being caught by Jenson.

"So? Why don't you stop following us and get my autograph? Rookies often do that. Jenson asked with an air that was part idiotic, part happy, part eager; he and Fernando would later call it the Jenson air.

Mark was puzzled by the British driver's words, firstly because the Australian was four years his senior, and secondly because Jenson had only been racing in Formula 1 for two years. He had only just secured his seats and made his mark, so in principle Jenson should feel much closer to Mark than to a legend like Schumacher.

- Nah, I was looking for Fernando for something. he explained calmly and nonchalantly.

- Oh... I thought I already had fans among the drivers! So, what do you want to talk to Fernando about? Maybe I could help. 

Mark hesitated before backing down. The subject of soul mates was quite taboo in motor sports, for one thing, because there was little chance of seeing a soul mark, as racing suits, helmets and gloves completely concealed the body, making the media ultra-aware of any bits of skin that might have a name on them. What's more, there were many cases where two drivers were soul-mates or soul-opponents, prompting the newspapers to create rivalries even before the two people met. It's always assumed that two drivers are soul-opponents, because if they were soul-mates it would force many top executives to rethink their backward ideas. For all these reasons, soul-marks were frowned upon and hidden in plain sight, from karting onwards, to avoid your soul-mate being revealed to the general public if you became a Formula 1 driver.

- Nothing special, just to see how he's evolved since Formula 3000. 

Jenson didn't look convinced and was about to say so when a coughing noise was heard. The two English speakers turned their heads and saw Fernando with an exasperated expression, surely waiting for their discussion to end.

Mark took advantage of this slight moment of discomfort to linger over the Spanish driver's features. He'd only seen her from a distance at the start of the race, which had given Mark time to imagine the plan that had led to this moment. He hadn't changed in two years, though his hair was a little longer, and the Australian noted the beginnings of a sparse moustache. The Spaniard was only twenty after all, so there was still time for a little more facial hair. What struck Mark, however, was his eyes. He'd never been close enough to see them well. And the only time they'd shared any proximity, a visor prevented Mark from seeing the Hispanic's face perfectly. They were amber-like, and far more hypnotic and enticing than any blue-eyed person he'd ever met. Maybe, in fact, he preferred brunettes. 

- Well, I'll leave you to it, I've got to talk to Jurno about the state of our two cars." Explained Jenson, aware of the slight tension, before running off, not forgetting to finish his beer along the way.

Mark gathered up what few cells he had left after this devil's errand, trying to forget Fernando's eyes and his meagre Spanish skills, finally ready to have this conversation with his possible soulmate. Then he launched into it, only to be immediately interrupted by the dark-haired man.

"I know what you mean. Said Fernando with an air of confidence, Mark hadn't been wrong about him, the Spaniard seemed to know what he wanted, when he wanted it.

- Meaning? 

- The fact that we're soul-mates and that I haven't spoken to you in two years. 

- Yes, that's it! said Mark, before frowning immediately, Fernando was doing it on purpose! 

- What's up? You want to threaten me because I'm your soul-opponent, I'm telling you right now it won't work on me. Fernando surmised. 

And understandably so, as many of them had a hatred of their soul-contrary even before they met him. Many don't even form a relationship with them, knowing that sooner or later it will hurt them in some way. Mark had never understood why people did this to their opposite souls. No relationship is set in stone, and he was forced to admit this when his parents divorced. You can't presuppose the relationship you have with a person without having met and known them well, that's a lesson he was forced to learn. 

- What?! No!" exclaimed Mark, "he'd never thought of doing that to his soul-contrary, it's completely stupid. 

- So why do you want to talk? 

- I don't know, maybe... About our bond maybe, and you could very well be my platonic soulmate. He didn't know Fernando's ideals, and guessing them would surely lead to misunderstandings.

- I always assumed you were my soul-opponent, that's why I avoided you, I didn't want to have another adversary.

- Have you ever met your other soulmate to say that? 

Fernando, who was now wearing a determined look, gasped, his shoulders hunched and his eyes beginning to flee Mark's sight. He scratched the back of his neck absently.

- You could say that.... I could never confirm it, but I'm sure he was my soul mate. 

- You didn't get to see him again? 

- Nah, he stayed in Spain. What about you? 

- I haven't met my second soulmate, but I'm sure he's not my soul-opponent.

- Why is that? 

- I don't know, I've always felt closer to Sebastian than to "Fernando", and until two years ago you were a very vague concept.

- But I'm here now, and you still haven't met Sebastian.

- Yes....

- If you haven't... Can we just not care? 

- How's that? 

- Think of it as a trial period, with us acting normally until Sebastian arrives, then we'll see if we're soul-mates or not.

Mark took the time to consider the proposal carefully. Sebastian is eleven years younger than he is, so he's bound to be the most lost in the relationship, at least at first. And Fernando doesn't seem intrinsically bad, he's sure that Mark is his soul-opponent, but still agrees to talk to him with this certainty. He's probably the one who loses out the most, but he suggested the idea anyway.

- Okay, Mark. he said, extending his hand towards Fernando, who grasped it warily. 

- It's just that I'd rather not touch our marks. Last time I almost went to hospital because of the shock of the link. Fernando explained, much more shy than before, probably a little ashamed of his misadventure. 

Mark was surprised to hear his words; he'd always seen the younger man as a fierce pilot, and to think that he'd been seriously injured by the simple creation of a link totally changed his perception of the Spaniard. At the same time, the scratching on his wrist seemed far less important, almost childlike in their insignificance.

- Oh, that's good, but can I see my mark? 

The Spaniard shook his head, stood up and pointed to the toilet. 

- It's on the inside of my thigh, but if you want to see me naked in the toilet now, you'll have to wait, and you haven't even bought me a drink yet," Fernando mocked with a petty smile.

The Spaniard finally left with a promise to meet again, and it was only then that Mark realized that he'd just openly said that his soulmate was a man. His eyes widened; if his sister had seen him, she would have laughed at him for a long time, comparing him to the mutants in the horror series she liked to watch. He hadn't noticed because Fernando hadn't reacted, neither positively nor negatively. He'd even hinted at a rendezvous with Mark. 

The Australian let his head fall limply on the counter of the dingy bar, perhaps finally his two years had served a purpose, preparing him to meet the atypical character that was Fernando Alonso, F1 prodigy and perhaps... His soul-opponent. 

----- 

What Mark hadn't realized, in acting normally until Sebastian's arrival, was that Fernando would slowly but surely invite himself into every facet of the Australian's life. First of all, on a professional level, calling him every evening and asking for information on his training sessions, or sharing advice that was sometimes, and often, misleading. After all, Fernando is still his rival and competes with him, even if he's not a starter. It got to the point where when you were looking for Fernando, you went to Mark, and vice versa for the Spaniard, who now spent most of his time relaying information to the Australian. Mark felt much closer to Fernando than to his own team-mate, Alex yoong , a rookie like himself.

After infiltrating his professional environment, the Hispanic went in search of his personal one. When he heard Fernando talk about his mother, he was so surprised he almost had a heart attack. The Spaniard was talking about the recipe the elderly woman had taught him, praising her advice and asking Mark why he was such a bad cook when his mother was such a great cook. The Minardi pilot couldn't reply in time, his brain processing the information with gravity and slowness. After several minutes of blankness, he was finally able to assimilate the information, asking how his soulmate had come into contact with her. He simply replied: 

"She's the one who got in touch with me, not the other way round".

He then spent five long hours explaining to his mother that Fernando was indeed the same man whose name was written on his wrist. That no, he wasn't in a relationship, and had no plans to marry in the coming months. Nor was he a sworn enemy, despite being in different stables. Ending his conversation by noting down the recipe for the meat pie his mother had prepared, to give to Fernando.

With his father it was more delicate, neither of them having spoken or met, his father being much more private than his mother. Nevertheless, he received a very dubious question from his father by telephone: 

Dad: 

Do you prefer brunettes or blondes? 

Me: 

I don't prefer either 

Why do you ask such questions? 

Did Mom make you fill out some stupid questionnaire again? 

Dad: 

No.... 

I thought you preferred brunettes, sorry. 

Me: 

Why?! 

Dad answers! 

Why do you think I prefer brunettes? 

Dad: 

Well, I thought you and Fernando...

Me: 

I'm not dating Fernando! 

Dad: 

Are you hitting on him? 

You want some advice? It was hard to get your mother's heart.

Me: 

I'm waiting for Sebastian dad... 

Dad: 

Seriously? 

Anyway, I prefer brunettes to blondes. (⁠｡⁠•̀⁠ᴗ⁠-⁠)

Me: 

Mom is blonde 

And what's with the emoji?! 

Since when are you a schoolgirl?! 

Dad: 

Your sister taught me.

She's also the one who told me who Fernando was. 

I like his hair, ask him what product he uses. 

Me: 

Gentle egg shampoo 

A nourishing conditioner to keep the shine

And a hair mask before a race 

Dad: 

Thanks 

You should use some too, you know, it would do your hair good. 

Me: 

My hair is fine 

Just... 

Don't talk about Fernando.

Dad: 

Why?

He's a nice boy, though. 

Last time I saw your mother, they were cooking together and calling to each other 

Me: 

He's just a colleague 

I prefer to keep private and public separate 

Dad: 

But he's also your soul mate! 

Me: 

Soul-opponent 

Dad: 

Okay...

I'll have this conversation with you later, have a good day 

And send a picture of Fernando's products , maybe it will make my baldness less noticeable

Me: 

I promise. 

After this zany chat, he learned that Fernando was now also in touch with his father. The two shared a passion for soccer, and more specifically for their favorite club, Real Madrid.

But what Mark had overlooked was that while Fernando and his mother were cooking together, he and the Spaniard's father were talking about the different components and strategies of Formula Endurance cars. Mark, in turn, had taken root in the Alonso household, even starting to learn Spanish so as to be able to speak fully with the Renault driver's mother. The two shared the same musical tastes and shared the music of the moment. 

They had spent so much time with the family that he was invited to stay at the family home in Oviedo during the summer break, enjoying the coolness of the mountains of northern Spain. His Spanish had improved considerably after this stay, even surpassing his German.

In the end, being in this constant state of limbo with Fernando was good for Mark, as the Spaniard didn't seem to mind that they were soul-mates and never broached the subject. Not constantly thinking about the words he had to use, the gestures he had to make and the actions he had to take for fear of losing his budding friendship with the Spaniard, turned into bitter hatred, freed his mind. This trial period was bound to help him figure out how to react to Sebastian's arrival in his life, and Fernando was bound to use it to find his soul-mate still in Spain. This mental image of the Spaniard with his other soulmate was not the sweetest to imagine, Mark often spoke of Sebastian but Fernando didn't even give him the name of his other soulmate. The Australian preferred to imagine himself as Fernando's soulmate rather than his soul-opponent, despite the fact that he knew their relationship would turn sour sooner or later. There was still time - as long as his German wasn't around, he'd take advantage of the wall of lies he was enjoying more and more by the day. Indulging in this fuzzy, twisted and purely disadvantageous relationship for the Spaniard. 

Taking a deep breath, the sound of a soccer match in the distance, the Spanish mountains visible from the window. Mark was enjoying his bubble with the Hispanic. But he knew that something even better was waiting for him later... 

Damn! 

Fernando was definitely the best partner and the best distraction while waiting for his true love, Sebastian Vettel.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

Despite the agreement clearly favoring him, Mark sometimes thought of stopping him, often because of his own decisions. Thinking that Fernando would directly eject him from his life after discovering certain things he'd done, labelling him directly as soul-contrary and not waiting for Sebastian's arrival to deliver his final judgment. But on one and only one occasion, it was the opposite. Fernando hadn't done anything stupid per se, he hadn't insulted or hit Mark, but he seemed far too attached...
And Mark realized this during a race, the only time Alonso had ever lost his temper in his presence, the only time he had ever shown his true fears, the only time Mark seemed to count for him as a "true" soulmate.
And this time, it was a race that will go down in history as one of the most spectacular, one of the most dangerous, and the one that explained why so many people love racing in the rain.

That race was the Brazilian Grand Prix of 2003.

Mark had no qualms about the race; he'd finished third in qualifying and wasn't about to lose the race, despite the fact that he was in a Jaguar - not the best, but not the worst either - unlike Minardi, his former team, which had no points at this stage of the championship. But rain had been predicted for the day, and any driver with a modicum of self-confidence would be wary of it, even Webber, who generally knew how to deal with this capricious weather. So he started the race full of determination, confident that he could brave the rain and perhaps secure a place on the podium.

On lap eighteen, an incident occurred, as a battle at the top was taking place between the two Mercedes, Montoya and Schumacher, with Webber right behind them. A Minardi was forced to stop at turn three, perhaps a sign of disaster to come.

After the safety car had left the track following a collision between a Toyota and a Jordan, Pizzonia, then ahead of Webber who had been relegated to ninth place, crashed out at turn three. This was quickly followed on the next lap by Montoya and then Schumacher, both ahead of the Australian. It was Jos Verstappen and Jenson Button who continued the legacy, and Webber who brought the show to a close. He had managed not to slip for almost fifty-three laps, but in the end had no grip, the crash sending him bouncing into the wall, destroying the front and rear of his car, and finally bringing him to a halt in the middle of the road.

At that very moment, Mark was the epitome of terror. Frightened that a car had crashed into him, he couldn't even get out of his car, so stunned was he by the impact and paralyzed by fear. His eyes stared around like a man possessed, his body began to hyperventilate and his heart raced. The only thing he could do was pray, hoping that the impact would never come. He was never hit, but the debris from his Jaguar did injure one person. And it was none other than Fernando, his car bouncing off the two surrounding walls, the dreadful sound of metal crushing and tearing against the concrete surrounding Mark and preventing him from moving.

He had seen his death and Fernando's was coming, a flash of yellow and blue passing before his eyes as he tried to get out of the heap of metal his vehicle had become. The crash of his presumed soul-contrary was far more spectacular and surely far more deadly. And he had done nothing to help her, his body drenched in cold sweat, lying between unconsciousness and consciousness. He could only hear the Spaniard's cries of agony in the distance, as he felt his wrist literally burn. The pain and adrenaline kept him from passing out instantly, his eyes closing after what seemed like years of drowsiness.

With the image of Fernando in agony now anchored forever in his being, he could only think of one thing. Was this hell? It wasn't made of destructive fire that would destroy even the fisherman's soul, with appalling beings as executioners, straight out of man's worst sleep paralysis. Nan, hell was a desert of metal and concrete, where we watched our loved ones agonize while we prayed in vain that it would not be our turn to die. No amount of burning or heavenly torture could match the human's chilling imagination, as he waited to see how he would be torn apart by metal monsters capable of speeds of up to 300 kph.
His only salvation was his last thought for the Renault driver, before he finally lost consciousness:

"Please don't let Nando die, otherwise I'll be bored until the end of time".

He was rudely awakened, his body convinced that he was still stuck in the middle of the road. He opened his eyes abruptly, breathing hard and concentrating hard. After a few seconds, his hyper-fixation stopped, allowing him at last to calm down by taking deep breaths. His increased heart rate having alerted the nurses, he was quickly subjected to several types of test to check his eligibility for the next race. Fortunately, the tests were positive, so he could take part in the San Antonio race, after all, he'd only had a near-death experience and had surely been traumatized. Nothing of great importance, in any case, for his team, the Jaguar representatives jumping for joy at the positive results presented by the doctors.

After finally being allowed out of his hospital room by three different doctors, Mark hurried off in search of Fernando. He soon had to battle between the Renault engineers, who were in favor of his presence in the Spaniard's room, and the team manager, who didn't want any foreign heads near his driver. He was finally able to find out where his room was after showing Flavio Briatore a photo of himself and Fernando's father, with a message from the latter confirming that he was one of his son's closest friends. This long and tedious process took almost an hour, and Mark knew it would have been much quicker if he'd simply shown the mark on his right wrist, but what can I tell you? Mark was afraid someone would know his secret, and even if Fernando's life was in danger, he'd never reveal their bond.

When he finally made it to his room, the race had been over for an hour, Mark had only been unconscious for fifteen minutes, but for Fernando the shock had seemed much greater and devastating. He gently opened the door, his steps slow and measured as he sat down in the nearest chair, the weight of remorse weighing ever heavier on his back. If he hadn't lost control of the car, Fernando wouldn't be in this state, but Mark was only a man, and even Schumacher, who sometimes seemed to be beyond the human state, had blundered around this bend. And yet the German hadn't hurt one of his rivals, he hadn't hurt him so much as prevented him from reclaiming his third place on the podium.

Mark wasn't one of those who'd dedicated his life directly to Formula 1, no, he'd first wanted to ride a motorcycle, then switched to karting. His driving style was very similar to that of a kart driver, and he'd gone on to compete in Formula Endurance at the 24 Hours of Mans, which immediately cooled him down after his spectacular crash. And yet, he'd started all this in his late teens, never having been able to drive a kart from an early age like some younger drivers. Yet he was determined to outdo his rivals, even if his childhood hadn't been all about cars. But sometimes, on rare occasions, he wondered if it was really worth it. He's not a prodigy and never will be; he wasn't immersed in this culture but could die for it. His rise to Formula 1 had left him with a taste of unfinished business, even disgust; he'd sacrificed his loved ones by going to England for Formula Ford, he'd sacrificed his sanity in Formula 3000 with so much pressure on him, and he'd finally sacrificed his future by hiding his two soul marks from the world, terrified of the possible negative response from the world he'd tried so hard to join.

His long period of soul-searching was finally interrupted by the sound of the Spaniard waking up, the rustling of sheets and the accompanying sounds of discomfort bringing Mark out of his downward spiral. Fernando was definitely not looking his best, his mouth pasty, his hair in disarray, fatigue digging into his face and creating incipient wrinkles on his young man's face. He literally looked as if he'd been run over by a thirty-ton truck, which may well have been the case, given the pressure he felt when his Formula 1 first hit the wall.

He flickered his eyes softly before letting out a slight expletive in Spanish, which brought a smile to the Australian's face. Mark hurriedly handed him a bottle of water as he looked carefully at the button next to Fernando's bed, used to call the nurses if the patient had any problems.
"Don't call anyone, Flavio's going to give me at least a ten-hour report and my head's not in it. Said Fernando wearily, as he lived down the bottle of water graciously donated by Mark, massaging his head at the same time.

- You finished third, if you must know.

Fernando's eyes snapped open in surprise, and he laughed at his deplorable condition. The jovial sound eased the pressure that had built up in the room, mainly composed of Mark's remorse.

- I almost died and you're telling me I didn't get to see my podium, you sound just like Kimi. Fernando mocked, turning to face the Australian and snuggling into his comforter. A happy sigh escaped his mouth as he moved in the cocoon of warmth created by his comforter and bed.

Mark smiled at the mention of the Finnish man, already ready with his blunt retort.

- Nah, Kimi would have said "Bwoah". He replied with a knowing look, his imitation more than a little shaky, the sound both too high and too low at the same time. Luckily, the Australian's mother had cooled him down when he'd wanted to become an impersonator and comedian.

The Spaniard immediately burst out laughing at Mark's mediocre imitation, rolling into a ball two seconds later after almost feeling his skull vibrate from the sound of his laughter.

- Probably, but at least he ended up better off than you. Fernando retorted, his smiling face breaking down a little as he looked more worried.

Mark looked away, as he was known for his aggressive driving, always on the verge of an accident, but he hadn't come here to be reproached, least of all by Fernando.

- It's true, but it was you who took the brunt of the damage between the two of us, I thought you couldn't drive anymore. Mark says, almost whispering the end of his sentence, as if to keep the real reason for his visit a secret.

The jovial atmosphere was eradicated in no time, with both drivers caught up in the spiral of memories of their respective crashes. Mark definitely didn't want that, he'd come to take his mind off their fatal accident. Surely not to delve into his own fears, Fernando wasn't the kind of friend you'd talk to about existential questions, and Mark definitely didn't want to change that. They were in a constant state of limbo, into which the Jaguar driver plunged, preferring not to change the situation even though he knew it would sooner or later turn sour.

And Fernando knew it too. Despite the fact that Mark was trying to tell himself that the Spaniard was a bit of a victim of their contract. Fernando had weighed up the pros and cons, and accepted it. Imagining himself as the instigator of evil, taking advantage of a youngster's naiveté, was completely stupid. Especially since... Fernando seemed far more mature on the subject of soul mates than Mark, and had inadvertently become a pillar of the Australian's life. And Mark was determined to change that, because if things went on like this, he definitely wouldn't be able to give up his "throwaway" relationship with the Spaniard.

So he waited, seeing if the Renault driver would finally crack, that their bond would give way and he'd just have to wait for Sebastian in peace. But Mark, in his selfishness, still wanted to keep Fernando as a lifeline, he wanted the Spaniard without the bond, even though it was the foundation of their relationship, he wanted the affection and laughter without the questioning about their future. He wanted to be loved unconditionally, knowing that he could leave whenever he wanted.

And Fernando gave him that love and affection, but with a little something extra that the Australian rejected outright. Despite the fact that Mark tried to forget him, he could see that the younger man aspired to a greater future with him in the equation. He sensed that even with his i-don't-care air Fernando also had expectations that Mark knew were impossible. He could almost touch the bond between them, waiting for the right moment to sever it. And he could hear his subconscious screaming at him to leave before everything exploded, before he lost a part of himself in this relationship, before he got too attached to Fernando. But if Mark was immersed in this blur without wanting to free himself from it for the sake of comfort, Fernando had built himself a shelter in it, patiently waiting for something Mark had never been able to know and perhaps never would.

- Mark be careful...You'll soon be known only for your crashes if you go on like this. Fernando explained, looking both worried and scared.

- It's okay, I wasn't even hurt, and I'm not stupid enough to die in my car. Explained Mark, trying as best he could to lighten the mood.

But the damage had been done. And at the mention of death, Fernando's face closed immediately. His eyes revealed a gentle melancholy, as he fell into a sickly silence.

- Don't die... Please don't die... he almost cried, his voice breaking in mid-sentence, his Spanish accent coming through loud and clear.

- Nando, you can't ask this of me. Mark tried to say before being cut off.

- Promise me, promise me you won't end up like Senna or like... I don't want to go to your funeral instead of doing a grand prix...

Mark couldn't respond to this, the Spaniard's confident air seemed to have melted in the sun. His aplomb and slight arrogance destroyed by a visceral fear that seemed deeply ingrained in him. The Australian knew that in some respects Fernando was more mature, but perhaps he had idealized the Spaniard too much. He was still a man after all, with his own fears and struggles. Perhaps, in the end, he should have had a few deep discussions with him...

- I promise you, but you have to do it too. He replied in a resigned tone.

- Of course. Fernando said with a more confident air, finally regaining his composure.

Maybe Mark needed to be more resilient with the Spaniard; he'd put him through a lot with his endless questioning and distant closeness.

- I think I have to go." He said finally after a long pause, trying to sound apologetic.

He tried not to notice the Spaniard's lonely, wounded expression as he closed the door. Perhaps this visit wasn't welcome after all, he'd listen to Flavio next time. Fernando had definitely become too attached, and maybe he had too...

His last thought before finally rejoining the Jaguar team to prepare for the next race, surely summed up his encounter with the Spaniard:

"Shit, my wrist itches again".

To be continued....

Chapter Text

The first time Mark met Nico Rosberg was in 2006, when the young German was starting his very first year of Formula 1 with Williams and Mark his fifth. He was now much more established and considered an experienced driver, the complete opposite of his now team-mate. Nico's boyish face and intelligence struck him directly; the blond was definitely cultured despite his young age, much more so than the Australian at present. After all, he came from middle-class Australia, hadn't pursued higher education like the German and had had to fight for funding in his younger years, having almost given up motorsports for lack of means. Nico never seemed to have experienced this problem, his name alone allowing him to open many advantageous doors. But Mark wasn't jealous of the younger man's situation; he couldn't imagine the pressure it must be to carry the Rosberg name, much preferring that no one expected him to become world champion overnight, just to carry on an obscure family tradition.

The Australian remained unsettled all the same, having always rubbed shoulders with people like him, Fernando being the perfect example of this, both being middle-class in their countries, both having lived on the minor circuits, more particularly in England, both enjoying the cheap beers that reminded them of their childhood. Nico didn't have the same background but, fortunately, never showed contempt or condescension. After all, his best friend Lewis Hamilton was a lot more like Mark and Fernando than he was. Besides, the young blond could spend days singing the British praises, as long as, after three races, Mark could trace the Briton's life as well as his family tree. He'd found it horribly endearing and adorable, and he too wished he'd had a childhood friend to accompany him all the way to Formula 1, which would have made him a lot less lonely in his younger years. Even so, he has Fernando now, and Jenson was also a loyal friend who liked to share a few beers with Kimi.

But Mark hadn't suspected a thing when he'd met the younger man, let alone when he'd heard about his very close best friend Lewis. After all, Nico seemed just as discreet about his brands as Mark, the two of them never talking about them despite the fact that it was the rookie's favorite topic of discussion. There was never any :

"So when did you meet your soul mate?

"Is your soul mate another pilot?

"Don't you have any soul marks?"

"Is your girlfriend your soulmate?"

And that had been a great relief to the Australian, as he'd already found himself with far more invasive teammates, like Pizziona, who was verging on the harassing so much he wanted to know more about the Australian's predestined people. Since then, Mark had answers for every question, especially the first four:

"No, I'm not very lucky, are you?

"It's a secret," he said with an air of instigation, for he knew that his interlocutor would never dare ask any of the other pilots if they had any connection with him.

"They're in inconspicuous places, that's all.

"I'm not dating anyone at the moment."

And often, people were satisfied with his vague answers, never going any further, sometimes for fear of upsetting him. But some people were much tougher, either because they didn't care if they annoyed Mark, or because they thought they already knew his soul mate. And this was the case with Jenson, the British guy who was a real pain whenever he got a bit drunk, and who loved to ask him and Fernando crazy questions when they were drinking. Because, for some reason, he was convinced that the two of them were soul mates, which they were, but where did this unfortunate assumption come from?

Mark finally figured it out in 2005, when he went to see Fernando about it, by which time Fernando was fast asleep on the sofa in the Australian's hotel room. He had always argued that Williams gave better room than Renault, which was totally untrue. Mark knew that Fernando simply didn't like to be alone, a night without noise seemed creepy and put him on the alert.

Fernando didn't answer his soulmate's question at first, preferring to send messages to his team-mate while making comments in his native tongue. Mark finally had enough, ripping the comforter from the dark-haired man's hands, making him shriek and shiver with cold. The Spaniard finally agreed to answer after minutes of beating about the bush, calmly dropping a sentence that had Mark raving.

"I told him.

- Told him what?! Mark exclaimed, trying to regain his composure so as not to insult the smaller man on the spot.

- You never said we had to keep our bond a secret, I just told him our deal.

- When did he find out?

- Uh.... The day we made our contract? Fernando replied with a look that was half-sorry and half-satisfied.

-.... "

Mark then slammed the door and stopped speaking to the Spaniard for two months, deeply believing that the Spaniard understood the impact of what he had done in Mark's life. During those two long months, the Australian had developed a strange paranoia, deeply convinced that everyone knew about his connection with Fernando, and that he would lose his seat next year. This never happened, and it was Kimi who finally had to explain his own stupidity to Mark. The Finn had always been closer to the Spaniard than he was, and seemed frankly bored to discuss the subject with Mark, Kimi surely being sent by a Fernando tired of the Australian's lack of words.

"You know it's only me and Jenson who know.

Mark opened his eyes wide at her words, quietly eating his sandwich when Kimi came in nonchalantly. He'd definitely expected anything but this as a topic of conversation with the Finn.

- About what?

- For you and Fernando.

- ....

- This isn't the '70s Mark, nobody's going to kill you if they find out you like men.

- And women... I like women too! exclaimed Mark, there was still some normality left in him after all! Didn't he?

- That's not the point, I don't know what you've been through to be so scared, but Fernando is really getting on nerve. Kimi retorted firmly, her accent coming out a little.

- He promised me...

- Promised you what? You're acting like a child, Jenson doesn't have a soul mate and I like men too, Fernando wouldn't have told your story to anyone who would listen.

- He should at least have warned me, there are two of us doing this contract.

- That's still not the point, Mark, there's no point in trying to hide this part of you, I too suffered when I was young, I was sure that if I was seen looking at another boy for too long I'd be put in prison, but guess what?

- Nothing happened ...

- No, I kissed a straight guy and got beaten up by him, but I never ended up in prison for it, it's the assholes who should be ashamed, not us.

- If this gets out, I'm finished!

- I know, but that's no reason to be so scared, I've been scared too, but I've realized that people don't give a damn about my personal life, even if I take a dick in the ass, it won't change anything for me, as long as I drive fast and well, everything will be fine.

-....

Mark knew that this explanation was far too simplistic, it's not true, even if you drive well you'll always receive remarks and insults, but a small part of him believed in what the Finn was saying. Call it "denial", Mark preferred to call it "hope".

What's more, Mark couldn't respond, because there was no answer to give, all his counter-arguments melting away like snow in the sun.

- And then, I've got Fernando, I've got at least one person to talk to about my problems, so find one for yourself too, otherwise you'll go completely mad.

- I don't want to add any more weight to Nando's shoulders, he's already taking care of keeping our relationship a secret. Argued the Australian gently, trying to win at least one victory in this conversation where he felt more like being shouted at than listened to.

- Tell that to a member of your family then, there must be someone who wants to hear about Mark Webber's unhappy life.

Mark took a deep breath. The Finn's words infused themselves into his mind, gradually making him realize how stupid he was. He'd always wanted to be normal, dreaming of having a beautiful blond wife and dog in a suburban house. But it never happened, and maybe he preferred it that way. Racing against Fernando was far more entertaining than any dream he'd had as a child. His need for normalcy had driven him to rage against his parents in their divorce and hide his marks from the world, so much so that he'd forgotten what she looked like. Perhaps he'd forgotten that not everyone was like his friends at school, that he could be himself with his loved ones without fear of a career-ending sword of Damocles. After a long minute, he finally dared to speak, the Finn quietly sipping his beer as he enjoyed the scenery.

- Sorry about that... Mark apologized flatly, his eyes looking at the ground like a child who's been punished.

- Apologize to Fernando, not to me".Kimi finally said before leaving.

He then apologized to the principle involved and promised Fernando to buy him all his Real Madrid tickets, which the Spaniard didn't need given his fortune, but he didn't say no to the offer. Since then, Mark had confided in his sister, who had threatened to find his former classmates and report them to the police, which made the Australian laugh. Maybe he didn't have to be the scared little boy who was afraid of being queer anymore.

And it was with this more adult, more mature vision that he watched in horror as Nico's soul mark was revealed on television. The two drivers had just finished last after Nico had had a violent tangle with the Australian, and Mark had been buzzing with dull anger, but knew better than to show it to the media. He expected Channel 4 to ask him incisive questions about his opinion of his team-mate, but they never came. No, the journalist's question was far more far-fetched and enigmatic.

"Did you know about Nico Rosberg?

- What ?

- That Nico Rosberg's soul mate was Lewis Hamilton.

Mark fell silent as the information slowly made its way to his brain, watching Fernando freeze in turn as he chatted in the background with Jenson, Kimi keeping her inexpressive face. The poor German was going through what every pilot imagines is their worst nightmare.

- No, I didn't know that...

- Do you have any comments? After all, he's your team-mate.

- Er.... We don't usually talk about it between the two of us, you know, the race is always more important, but I imagine it must be hard to have your best friend as your soul-opponent.

The journalist, clearly satisfied with his answer, moved on to Fernando, who seemed far more suspicious.

- What about you, Fernando?

- Whether Lewis is his soul-mate or his soul-opponent doesn't change the image I had of him. He's a good driver, and I think at the moment everyone would rather talk about the race than this little detail.

The other drivers nodded in agreement, Schumacher taking the microphone back and changing the subject, while Mark pretexted a call from Williams to leave the press conference.

All his hatred and rage had immediately evaporated after the conference, his heart now filled with a new compassion for the younger man. After several minutes of searching, he found him in his driver's cabin, in the middle of a call with his father, in view of the rapid, garbled German he was using. His competence in the language had dropped drastically since Fernando's arrival in his life, while his Spanish had only grown, and now he could maintain a more or less lengthy conversation in it, despite his strong accent. He knocked softly to make his presence heard, the blond's frightened eyes watching him, surely expecting a reproach from his team-mate. Mark simply waited for the call to stop as he sat down on the blond's bed, feeling the German's voice waver as he approached him.

"So... he began, before being interrupted.

- It's not what you think! Nico exclaimed, as if caught in the act, which he kind of was.

- It doesn't matter what I think, Lewis could very well be your soul mate, I've got no problem with that.

The blond widened his eyes, lifting his head and smiling wistfully. His hand played with his hair as he came to his senses.

- I've only got one mark... I still don't know whether Lewis is my soul-opponent or my soul-mate... Or both...The blond stopped, falling back into his whirlwind of thought.

- But....

- But I hope he's my soulmate, I don't want to hide it and neither does he, but if you want to race in Formula 1, you have to.

Mark felt his heart clench at his words, recognizing himself in the man ten years his junior, took a deep breath and finally chose to reveal a little of his secret to someone other than his family.

- It doesn't matter, you know that me and Fernando.... We're soul-mates too.

Saying it at last made Mark's stomach turn; he'd never fully understood what his relationship with the Spaniard entailed, and probably never will, but he finally accepted the bond before the world.

- Really?! Nico exclaimed in surprise.

- Yes, I don't know if he's my soul-mate or my soul-opponent either, but we're both dealing with it. I don't have just one soul-mate like you, but I understand at least a little of what you're feeling.... You're not alone Nico, Lewis won't be either... he said, his eyes filled with compassion. The blond's face smiled at the mention of his soulmate.

He wished someone had told him that when he was younger, it would have saved him a lot of trouble. But he didn't want the current rookies to live out their malaise thinking nobody would understand them. He didn't want Nico to grow up in fear like he had when he was just starting out in Formula 1. He didn't want his relationship with Lewis, even if different in some ways, to end up like the one he has with Fernando.

- Thank you.... Remercied Nico with an air of relief, all the fear he'd stored up falling away in the form of a tear, Mark hoping it would be of joy.

- You're welcome.

- Can I see your mark? the youngest finally asked, his eyes full of curiosity.

Mark nodded slowly, removing the latex bracelet that read "My favorite Webber". He held his breath at the sight of Fernando's name, it had been many years since he'd seen her. A feeling of nostalgia assailed him as he remembered the day he'd had it, for it was now twenty-five years since that mark had been stuck to his skin, yet he'd admired it so little. Nico gently caressed the name before smiling, turning and raising the hair on the back of his neck to reveal the name "Lewis Hamilton" in a handwriting that was both messy and neat.

After this exchange, the two went about their business, Mark feeling a weight finally lifted from his shoulders. He no longer needed to be so afraid of his brand, and they hoped that those after him would be too.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

In one day it would be the start of the competition, in one day he'd meet Sebastian Vettel, in one day his contract with Fernando would come to an end. His bile rose at this last thought; he could no longer pretend nothing had happened and dream of a better future. He definitely had to make his choice today, because in no less than three hours he had an appointment with Fernando to decide what they were going to do after their deal. Would they hate each other? Would they act as if the other had never existed? Will they remain friends? Mark doesn't know that, but he hopes that it won't be today that he fully understands that Fernando is his soul-contrary.

Stress kept him awake all night, and everyone could see it. His eyes red from lack of sleep, his hair matted with a bit of grease and his zombie-like gait, let the world know that today was definitely not his day. Next to that, the stress he'd felt on meeting Fernando seemed just a mild irritation. As for the stress he felt about Sebastian's arrival in the paddock, after all, he'd already seen the younger driver from a distance, but it was something. He'd also heard about him in certain garages and had scoured the newspapers for his name. Which made him much more confident than when he'd first met the Spaniard, whose face he didn't even know until their first race.

He gazed longingly out over the Australian landscape from his hotel room, remembering his childhood and the many vacations he'd spent there. It's been a long time since he's physically seen his parents again, so maybe he'll visit them during the race weekend. His comforting thoughts, however, were mere artifice, for there was only one thing on his mind, even more than his arrival at RedBull or the meeting of his second soulmate, and that was his deal with Fernando.

It had been six years since they had agreed this contract, and a lot had happened in the meantime. He'd met the Spaniard's family, nearly died in several crashes and been put in his place by Kimi. He had a long time to think about himself and his condition, and soon realized that the one who was most lost between him and the Spaniard was certainly not Fernando. And he's changed for the better, or so he hopes, because Sebastian certainly won't have the patience of the former Renault driver. This disposable relationship, which in the end was no more than a test, already had a nostalgic taste in his mouth, like an old sweet tasted after years. Yet it wasn't over yet, and he hoped it would never end. He'd never heard of anyone who didn't have an opposite soul, despite the fact that they were soulmates, but maybe he'd be the exception that confirmed the rule. After all, hope springs eternal, and Mark seemed to have been fueled by it for many years.

He then went about his business, sending e-mails to his new team, RedBull. It was only two years old, but he had big plans for it, after all Fernando had already been crowned world champion twice, putting an end to Schumacher's domination and bringing his talent out into the open. The Australian had to catch up and prove his worth and talent. For a while, Mark had been jealous, admittedly, but only for a short time, as the Spaniard fully deserved his victories, despite what some of the British media were letting on.

Afterwards, he sent a few messages to Nico and Jenson, the former because after the famous soul-mark incident, the two had become very close. The second because he had to make sure that Jenson didn't send any suspicious messages to the Spaniard. Over the years, Jenson had more or less become "Steve's" friend, as close to Fernando as he was to Mark. He'd never shared his thoughts on their condition, nor told either of them a secret he'd heard from the other. He was a veritable library of secrets and awkward moments, the British man always being in the wackiest and most dangerous situations, as well as being a very good friend. His joviality was good for those moments when Fernando was competitive at the drop of a hat, or when Mark had a genuine wounded attention behind his many sarcastic remarks. However, Jenson's little flaw was that he forgot that sometimes not everyone knew everything he knew about his friends, so Mark had to remind Jenson not to tell strangers too much.

Me
Have you been to see Sebastian?

Jens
Who?

Me
My soulmate....

Jens
Since when does Nano have a middle name?

Me
Not Fernando, the other one

Jens
Ah yes!
I forgot that people normally have two.
Why should I come and see him?

Me
Because I'm going to meet him tomorrow and you like telling strangers too much about me.

Jens
They never know it's you, I always say "my Australian friend".

Me
I'm your only Australian friend...

Jens
So what if I am?
By the way, did Kimi tell you about Sebastian?

Me
Told me what?

Jens
It's not for me to tell you.
Go see him and he'll explain

Me
Explain what?!

Jens
🤫

Me
Answer!

Mark almost threw down his phone in rage, Jenson could sometimes be stubborn and unless you got him to spill the beans, which always took several hours, you'd never know the information he was keeping secret. A blessing for those who had told the British about their misfortune, a curse for those who wanted to know more about them. He put down his phone after a few minutes, the discussion with his English-speaking colleague leading nowhere.

All that remained was to wait for the Spaniard's arrival. He checked the time and saw that it was half past eleven, only half an hour more and he'd be able to talk to Fernando. A scratching sensation gradually grew on his wrist, stress coursing through his veins as he anticipated the Spaniard's various reactions.

He'd choose Sebastian in any case, even if Fernando was sad, even if Fernando was angry, his attention would always be on the German. He made up his mind when he was eleven, and doesn't intend to change his mind. He just hopes that his friendship with Fernando doesn't grow stale with the end of their contract, perhaps the Spaniard thinks he's his platonic soul mate? If so, Mark will have to explain point by point why it's the blond and not him.
Here's a list of examples Mark had piled up over the years that point in this direction:

1. He prefer blondes.
He's thought long and hard about this, and generally blondes always interest him more, even though Fernando is undeniably handsome. Mark had always been hesitancy to stroke the Spaniard's long brown hair, it seemed so soft, but since he cut it, it's cooled him off a bit. He's always been tactile with people, and he knows Fernando is receptive to his touch. Perhaps he'll comfort him by finally caressing his hair? The idea seems rather enticing.

2. Sebastian is tall and Fernando is short.
Here's another totally valid reason, after all, everyone likes talking to someone around their own height. He certainly won't break his back talking to the German all the time. Well.... that's not the case with Fernando, but it's still valid. He's only nine centimetres taller than Sebastian, whereas Fernando is thirteen! The four-centimetre gap between the two is gargantuan, isn't it?

3. Fernando doesn't smile much.
Well, he does.... But not as much as Sebastian! At least from what he's seen in the various photos of the blond. He appreciates a smiling partner, all his former girlfriends showing it. The Spaniard was a bit of a smiler too; but the sneer on his lips was always a bit petty, as if he had a plan to conquer the world. Mark had found it rather surprising at first, but he'd grown attached to it little by little, appreciating when it was created after an errand or a well-found joke by the Australian. Fernando's smile was a kind of trophy for him and him alone, and he didn't want to share it with anyone. The German's was much softer, which was just as charming, even if it lacked a bit of Pep's compared to the Spanish.

He had plenty of others, but she wasn't as crucial as these three. And then there's always the possibility that Fernando thinks he's her soul-opponent, which would make everything so much simpler, but which creates in the Australian's strong inner self a feeling of falsity, as if all their moments together were just fake. After all, if they both thought they were each other's soul-opponent, what was the point of becoming friends? He definitely didn't have a case for it, but it certainly wouldn't happen.

He didn't have time to go any further with his questions, as he heard the sound of a hand knocking on his door. The thirty-minute wait had finally flown by, perhaps being lost in thought helped a little.

He quickly opened the door, letting the Spaniard in as he placed a bar of chocolate on the coffee table. Fernando never forgot Mark's love of chocolates, a surprising contrast to his down-to-earth personality. He took it quickly, and put it in his pocket, promising himself to enjoy it later. The former Renault driver was always coming up with wacky but delicious chocolate bars, which Mark was happy to sample.

They sat down at opposite ends of the sofa, the light atmosphere introduced by the sweet destroyed in no time. Words now had to be put to their relationship, despite the reluctance of one of the two parties involved.

"Good.... Shall I start, or shall you? Mark asked, sounding firm.

- At the same time? Fernando suggested, his accent coming through, a distinctive sign of his stress.

Mark nodded at the suggestion, his left hand beginning to scratch his right wrist.

- I think you're my soul-contrary. Mark said, trying to understand what the Spaniard had said at the same time.

- You can only be my soul-contrary. Fernando said with an air of determination, the sound of Mark's voice seeming distant in his ears.

- And why is that? said the drivers in unison.

Mark had been surprised by this answer, thinking that the Spaniard saw him as his soul mate, and had been prepared to apologize to him. Now he had no plans, only questions and a bitter taste in his mouth.

Fernando's response was different: he'd expected it, after all, Mark talked about the German all the time, and he'd never imagined himself taking his place in the Australian's life. He was surprised, however, at Mark's reaction, which showed a slightly confused expression. Hadn't he realized that Fernando hadn't even imagined him for a second as his soulmate? He did, however, want to know the precise reasons why he preferred Sebastian to him.

- It simply can't be you.

- Why can't it be you? You've never told me about your soulmate, I sometimes talk about Sebastian but you've never said his name.

- Il.... His name is Rodriguo.

- And? Was he your best friend when you were young? Did he go out with you? Why doesn't he ever call you? Mark says unconvincingly.

- He's dead, Mark! That's why I don't talk about it.

A silence fell immediately after the Spaniard's words, Mark gradually interpreting what the Hispanic wanted to say. As a young man, he'd imagined Fernando's death and had nightmares about it, convinced that his mother would abandon him for the family dog when he grew up, and that he wouldn't even have a soulmate to fall back on. The thought suddenly seemed far more outrageous. He'd been scared, of course, but that was just his imagination. The death of a soulmate is always abrupt, many relate the feeling of no longer being whole, as if a link had been severed. Had the Spaniard felt this way too? At what age had Fernando lost him? Had he had time to know that he wasn't her opposite soul? Had he even met him? All these questions raced through his mind as he watched Fernando gradually catch his breath.

- He was a distant cousin of mine... I used to see him on my summer vacations, and we promised to protect each other's souls from each other's opposites, but he left before he could keep his promise. He was 11, I was 16, he was almost like my little brother, even if I didn't really know him. I don't know how he died, they just took me to the funeral and I never dared ask. His face is now blurred in my memories, sometimes even unreal. I don't want you to end up like him, even though you're my soul-contrary... I don't want to have the regret of never having really known you, of having taken our relationship for granted, of having taken you for granted.... These soul-mate questions are stupid in my opinion, how can we be sure whether you'll be beneficial or harmful to me throughout my life? These brands just force us to make a choice that no one should have to make. Seriously Mark... It's impossible for Rodriguo to be my soul-opponent, he died too quickly for him to be harmful to me, but I don't want to stop talking to you because of a fucking tattoo on my skin.

- Fernando ....

- Can't we just forget? Pretend our fates haven't already been decided?

- Fonz, it'll happen sooner or later, science proves it.

- So what? No one warned me I'd lose him so quickly! You're so sure Sebastian will be your salvation, do you even have a reason to think that?

- It's just .... An impression, there's no real basis for it.

Fernando frowned at this answer. Shit... Mark had probably said something stupid. He hoped Kimi wouldn't come back and threaten him again, otherwise he'd be in fine fettle.

- You talk to me about science and then you talk to me about "feeling" .... Be logical, Mark.

- It's up to you to be logical Nano, you're just scared of death, you can't question brands, and even if Rodriguo is dead, that doesn't necessarily mean they're bad.

- I would have preferred to be born without a brand... Like my mother and father, I wouldn't have had to live my whole life with empty expectations...

- I always thought I was the more lost of the two of us, but it's the opposite! Seriously Nando, accept it! Even if you don't want to, even if I don't, sooner or later we'll hurt each other, trying to run away won't do any good.

- Can't we at least try to delay it....

- That'll just shift the problem, you've become attached to Rodriguo because of your mark, our friendship and our contract is held together by our marks, trying to erase or forget them is like trying to forget the very basis of why we met.

Fernando fell silent at this answer, his head bowed as he mumbled a few words in Spanish. His confident air had melted like snow in the sun, and doubts seemed to assail him from all sides. Mark felt a strange sense of satisfaction at this, for the Spaniard was always sure of himself and right in his boots. He never seemed to weaken, and his discipline was unfailing, so to see him suddenly questioning himself made Mark feel a little important in the Spaniard's life. The feeling was definitely treacherous and wrong, but Mark couldn't help feeling that way. Maybe that's why they were soul-crossed?

Fernando had never been Mark's poison and Sebastian his cure. In fact, it was the Australian who had gradually entered the Hispanic's life with the urge to leave at any moment, like a parasite feeding on its victim without his knowledge. He had never been the martyr in this story, he had only tormented the Spaniard with his inability to finally accept things, his greed and his eternal desire to be "normal". Mark had always been the one who didn't fit into the equation, he was too lost to know how to deal with it, leaving the pressure and responsibility to Fernando if everything ended badly....Sometimes he forgot that the dark-haired man was younger than he was, because after all he had asked a stranger five years his junior for a solution to problems he hadn't been able to solve in twenty-six years of life.

Fernando or the marks was never the problem.

It was he and he alone who had brought them both to this untenable situation, and now he had to answer for his actions.

Fate seemed to have read his mind, for it was then that Fernando finally came to his senses, a sigh of resignation escaping his lips.

- Agreed.... If that's all our friendship's based on for you, then we might as well stop it. Fernando said with what little determination he had left, his eyes showing his doubt.

Mark thought directly of contradicting the younger man, but perhaps his desire to do the right thing would only drive them further apart. He'd finally begun to stop feeling ashamed of his marks, thinking that all his problems had been solved. But just because he was doing better didn't mean his past mistakes had been erased. He'd simply left them to rot, hoping they'd disappear in the blink of an eye and he'd finally have a fresh start with Sebastian, with a light conscience and a kind of self-acceptance that wasn't completely finalized. But before turning his gaze to the future, he had to deal with the wounds of the past. And Fernando seemed to be one of them. His proposed solution had been interesting to Mark when he was young, a friendship without headaches, without expectations, just a "try-out". Now he carried it around like a burden, it was holding him back, and I'm sure it was holding Fernando back too. He swallowed what little self-confidence he'd acquired, and did what few competitors like him had done in their time, he apologized...

- Sorry, sorry... Apologized flatly

- What was that? Fernando asked, completely confused by the Australian's changing attitude.

- Sorry for everything.... I brought you into this contract that you probably didn't want, and now we find ourselves like this....

- What do you mean, like this?! Mark, I proposed the contract, not you! You're neither a fucking victim nor an executioner! You're just Mark Alan fucking Webber, an Australian chocolate addict who thinks he knows how to speak Spanish. Fernando snapped at Mark's reasoning.

- Your mother complimented my accent! Mark took offense, the Spaniard's words making him feel less guilty.

- She's just doing it because it's you. Seriously, Mark, I'm at fault here too. It's not just you who's screwed up, it's me too....

- We were stupid when we made that contract...

- Totally, but at least that's how we met. Fernando replied, a soft, melancholy smile forming on his lips at the mention of their friendship.

- It's true.... Mark agreed, his expression copying the Spaniard's as he recalled all the memories he had in common with him.

A silence fell, leaving the two men in their own bubble, letting them finally put their thoughts in order after years of relying solely on the cult of speed in their lives.

- Maybe we can start all over again? suggested Mark, half-confident, half-awkward.

- You want to forget everything? Fernando asked, unconvinced by the proposal.

- No, we'll just sign a new contract promising never to make the same mistakes again.

- Right, then. replied the perplexed Spaniard.

- Okay, I'll start. I, Mark Webber, promise to trust my marks and my sexuality, while not trying to predict the reactions of my soul-contrary for the duration of our contract.

- My turn, I, Fernando Alonso promise not to be too competitive.

- And to...

- And not to project my fear of death and rejection of marks onto my soul mate.

- Perfect! exclaimed Mark, holding out his hand to Fernando, who grasped it with a mischievous, warm and proud smile.

- So, what's the basis of the contract? the Hispanic finally asked.

- A non-aggression treaty between two opposing souls.

Fernando laughed at these words, Mark quickly joining in. They were unequivocally soul-opponent, but maybe he just didn't have the same definition as most of the population? After all, words could change meaning in translation, and Mark was definitely not the best at Spanish.

- And also, tell that to your German before he tries to intimidate me because I'm your soul-opponent. Fernando said quickly as Mark choked on his chocolate at the younger man's remark.

He definitely hadn't taken Sebastian's reaction to their contract into account. Let's hope it was positive, because he certainly wasn't going to abandon Fernando.
Not even for the person who being destined for him.

To be continued....

Chapter Text

Dehilusion arrived without ever having made his presence known, a little too quickly in Mark's eyes, overwhelmingly slow for Seb.

Their first meeting was an unparalleled bore, Sebastian having managed to find Mark in the paddock in Australia, and had barely had time to say hello before the Australian was tracked down by a redbull engineer and taken back to his garage under the surprised gaze of the youngest. He tried to apologize at the next race, but the young German wasn't even in the country at the time. So he finally shared his doubts about the German with Fernando, who with a disillusioned look reminded him that the two had avoided each other for a year before having any real interaction. However, Mark didn't want to wait any longer: seven years ago, he'd felt sidelined by destiny. He had Fernando by his side, but that still didn't make up for the lack Mark had felt since childhood.

What's more, the Spaniard seemed to be drifting further and further away from him, and at first he thought he'd perhaps met someone new or made a new friend, but no, the former Renault driver had just retreated into an agonizing silence and a deep, bitter hatred of his team-mate. He didn't seem to recognize Fernando, his Fernando, who was cold, always teasing but always intent on causing harm, and obsessed by the injustice he claimed to be suffering at McClaren. He'd tried with Jenson to get him out, to make him forget the race for a while, but the race was Fernando's drug, like everyone else's, all roads leading to it, and sooner or later the smell of petrol, the noise of the engines and the dopamine that makes you crave speed and risk get you hooked, making it impossible to forget the sensations and the memories. Faced with this, he felt almost powerless, seeing his soul-contrary fighting against his team-mate, an internal struggle that seemed never-ending, with the fear that later.... It would be them.

Lewis didn't have Fernando's mark on his skin if he believed Nico's words, the German being his only destined partner, yet both behaved as if they did. He'd only seen this kind of argument in the TV series he'd watched when he was young, with opposites always depicted as hating each other to the core, fighting, and in some cases even killing each other, which was the most similar case for the two Mclaren drivers. But if Fernando's hatred of Lewis wasn't great enough for fate to deign to stamp his name on his skin, what will he or Fernando do in the future to overcome this level of hatred? The most abracadabrious scenarios flashed through Mark's mind: what was he going to do to push them so far apart, what was he going to do to break their relationship forever, what was he going to do to keep them apart for good?

For it's all very well to consider oneself as the soul-contrary of the other, forgetting what the word conquers, taking away its meaning and saying that it would happen later, in a future that seemed so impalpable as to be so far removed from the present. Hatred, disgust, rejection, Mark could face up to, even if it came from Fernando, because at least the Spaniard remembered himself badly. But resignation and bitterness seemed insurmountable for the Australian; he didn't want to become like his mother, nor did Fernando. He didn't want to remember them as a broken relationship, full of holes, deeply toxic and vicious, that destroyed one and made the other ignorant. The words of the woman who had lovingly raised him remained etched in his mind like marble:

"Mom, why haven't I ever seen Grandpa?

His mother, who was quietly washing the cutlery to music, froze instantly at his question, turning slowly towards him and smiling sadly. She gazed wistfully at her youngest son, Mark, so fearless but at the same time so timid, who tried tirelessly to hide his soulmate, thinking that no one in the house had noticed his reluctance to talk about "Fernando" since he was eleven. Her beloved child, now a head taller than her when he was only fifteen and dreaming of racing in Formula 1 in his later years, seemed to return to the same state of confusion and naivety about soulmates as when he was five.

- Because... I don't want him in my life anymore. She replied calmly, hoping her son wouldn't go any further, but she knew him, he was a Webber like his father, so he was bound to be stubborn.

- But why did you take him away from us? All my friends talk about their grandparents with a smile, and I've got nothing to say! You don't have the right to refuse me to see him! he exclaimed, his eyes challenging his mother, who was anything but ready to have this conversation right now.

She loved her son as every mother should her child, but sometimes she wondered why the teenage crisis had to happen. Why didn't her son listen to her anymore, why did he seem so sure of things that were only artifice, and then she remembered that she too had experienced this "crisis" and that without it, she wouldn't be where she was. Far from her family, both near and far, far from her mother, far from her father... And that perhaps old age had caught up with her at some point in her life, that she simply couldn't keep up with the hormone-filled brains of the two offspring she liked to affectionately call her children. So maybe she didn't want to have this conversation with him now, if ever, but as she'd said before, the Webbers were stubborn, she herself was, and that was part of her family's charm, well... She hoped so.

- Your grandfather was.... A case, if you know what I mean, I wouldn't let him near you or your sister, he did too much damage. She explained, her hand hesitant and trembling as she began to wash the cutlery again, knowing that her son was going to answer her on the spot with an even more provocative phrase.

- What makes you so sure of that! You're just selfish! Mark snapped, his voice alerting Pluto to the noise, his steps heavier and slower with age. He barked and barked as Mark's nerves wore thin.

He'd asked his mother a simple question: perhaps he was no longer of this world like his other grandparents, but he'd recently learned from his father that that wasn't the case, so what other reason than egotism to refuse them to see him. He knew his sister didn't mind, already happy with Pluto and their parents, but Mark had always wondered why he'd never been able to meet them, his parents never wanting to talk about it until recently. A single image of him on the living room dresser, his features all too similar to Mark's, like an older twin.

Then, in deafening silence, two hours passed, Mark did his homework, or at least tried to, the memory of the argument haunting him. It was finally his sister who brought him out of his lair - after all, it was time to eat, and Mark was still a living being with food and water needs.

Dinner passed slowly, his father not minding, talking politics with his daughter, while Mark fled his mother's desolate gaze. Finally, it was she who put an end to the charade, calling her son one last time.

"Mark.... I owe you an explanation... You and your sister need to know.

She took a deep breath, her husband holding her hand, concerned, as she retraced her past with the man she'd once naively called "Dad".

"When I was born, I had your father's mark and mine, and all through my childhood I was convinced that my own father couldn't possibly be my soul-contrary, and even if he was, I just told myself that it would just be an argument gone wrong, and a clean slate afterwards. But then I met your father, and that's when everything changed. He became much more protective and paranoid, convinced that he was my soul-contrary, forbade me to see him and threatened to lock me up if I went near him. After I turned 17, I couldn't take it anymore, so I ran away to your father's house, who was moving to the other side of the country at the time. It was like a liberation, no more restrictions, no more fear as soon as I went outside, no more apprehension when I got home. It was while I was trying to protect myself that I realized that your grandfather was my soul-contrary, you never know a proper quarrel, but I know that I never want to see him again in my life. He still thinks I'm with my soul-contrary.... No matter how hard I try to explain, he just won't listen. He doesn't even know you exist, I'm too scared of the stupid things he might say to you or make you do. Every time I think of him, I think "What if? "If I'd been a good girl for him, if I'd listened to him, would I be happy? But then I remember that he wasn't a good father either, and that I was finally right to leave this gilded cage. Mark, opposing souls aren't just people you argue or fight with, they destroy your life, or you destroy theirs, or even both at the same time. There's no point in running away from them, or getting angry at them before you've even met them. I still love my father, I love the man who taught me to ride a bike, who passed on his passion for cooking and who told me to always follow my heart. But I know that with him, I'd never be happy, and neither would he."

After this long speech, Mark gently approached his mother and embraced her, quickly followed by the rest of the family. He was sometimes stupid, he had to admit, but his father wasn't always right, as he'd seen when he talked about go-karting. Maybe, after all, the role of know-it-all was a feminine one, and his mother and sister knew how to carry it off.

In that sweet moment, he didn't think about Fernando or Sébastien. It was much later that he remembered them, then snuggled up in his bed, hoping that one of them was just a stranger who'd given him a quick dressing-down, which would have irritated him of course, but which he'd get over. For imagining any closeness with his soul-contrary would destroy him, if only because he was convinced that in this story. He would be her grandfather, not her mother.

Time had passed, and he now found himself faced with a dilemma: perhaps he should have cut ties with Fernando from the outset, instead of clinging on to the first person he was sure would have an impact on his life, the adjustment variable being whether the relationship was harmful or beneficial.

Perhaps he'd been wrong all along, Fernando being his soulmate and Sebastian his soul-contrary, but the latter seemed the least plausible, after all Fernando's cousin hadn't done him any harm before he died. This fact removed the possibility that his friendship with Fernando would end well.

Yet, deep down, like a sweet lie that turned out to be a devilishly hidden truth, Mark hoped to stay with him forever. Even if it would destroy him or Fernando in the process, even if the Spaniard would never want to speak to him again after the foul deed he knew he could do. He prayed to the gods in whom his mother believed, to be able to enjoy as much as possible, the possibility of becoming like his grandfather, closer day by day, as he fell into an affection that seemed inexhaustible, so great was it.

He hoped that Fernando would feel this in return, that he wouldn't be the only one to appreciate their moment of calm as well as joy, that he wouldn't be the only one to try to keep this friendship despite its obvious consequences, that he wouldn't be the only one to consider the other as a relative he was sure he could confide in.

Fernando always seemed more paused than he was, despite his much angrier and wackier personality, and didn't seem to care about anything but racing, reminding him of Kimi in that respect. Yet Mark was relatively calm, soul-mates being one of the few subjects that could make him react disproportionately, his dogs too, but thinking about them didn't send him into a spiral of doubt and acceptance. What he'd give to be able to snuggle up to Shadow and Simba....

It was finally a call that put his mind back in place, Mark had spent so much time stirring his thoughts that he hadn't thought about the time. Tomorrow would be Sebastian's first race in Formula 1, and he had to be there to support him, at least as a competitor. He was expecting the German's call, but this was anything but the case, as the name of a certain Finn shone on his flip phone.

"Bonj-

- Sebastien is my soul mate too," Kimi said curtly, interrupting the older man, "if you don't answer I'm hanging up now.

- Wait! Who knew!

- ....

- Did Fernando know?

- .....

- Kimi answers!

- Bwoah" replied the Finn, hanging up immediately.

Mark stopped himself from shouting in rage, his hand caressing his face in an attempt to calm himself down.

Fernando knew, and he'd kept it from him. There was no other option but this.

Fernando knew Kimi's situation and didn't tell him.

Fernando lied to him, by omission, but that doesn't take away the seriousness of his act.

Fernando had betrayed him.

And as usual....

Mark saw nothing but fire.

Perhaps it was finally today that he would fully understand the meaning of the word he had so often tried to forget.

Fernando was his soul-contrary, and he could no longer run away from this reality.

Fernando was his soul-contrary, and he found it hard to accept.

Fernando was his opposite soul.....

And it hurt horribly to admit it, because Mark knew one thing for sure.

He looked just like his grandfather.

To be continued....