Archive of Our Own

Everyone deals with death in different ways. Some drowns in the infinite sadness and let the grief consume their whole beings, some drowns it in booze, the third type pretends it doesn’t hurt. Mark belonged to the fourth category.

He was known as quiet, someone who would grit his teeth silently, even if a road roller went over him, he also stayed quiet when he’d become the second driver next to Sebastian. But this time, he wasn’t able to keep his mouth shut.

Anytime Fernando’s name was mentioned near him he stiffened like he got turned into a statue. His jaw tightened and the greyish blue eyes striked lightnings at the ones who dared to mentioned the Ferrari driver. Ferrari's former driver. The silence was always followed by an outburst. "Do you even have a soul?" He would yell then storm away. His mind was still filled with memories and fury, the pictures of the crash appeared fresh in front of his eyes. The smoke curling up from the fiery red car as it had hit the concrete wall, its sound still sharp in Mark's ears. There hadn't been any flames or barely, Mark hadn't seen them. Although he still saw sharply in his mind as Fernando's helmeted head had fell to the side. The whole paddock, the whole world on the stands and in front of the screens had waited for the next movement with held breaths but it had never come. The helmet had fell back and hadn't moved anymore, like its owner had fallen asleep. Fernando had, but this time for ever.

The next months were gone in a blur for Mark. He listened to the eulogy at the funeral from the first row, he was also asked to held it but he'd refused. He couldn't have done it, every memory was too vivid.

Mark lived and walked like a ghost, he also felt like one. His face sank, a few grey hair appeared and he was hardly seen in company, even though he had been caught in front of several Monégasque clubs before by the cameras. His family, friends and collegues tried everything: Jenson dragged him to parties, Lewis called a few times and even that annoying kid, Sebastian visited him in the first months. As time passed, these occassions grew rarer until there weren't any. Mark didn't mind, he preferred solitude lately. He didn't want to project his pain onto the others who clearly dealt with the tragedy much better. It wouldn't be fair with them.

The pain slowly turned into emptiness. Everyone seemed to overcome, the next Grand Prix continued in the usual routine. The championship battle also intensified without Fernando, the McLarens came up more and more onto the Red Bulls, Mark had to fight for the positions harder while the team decreased him to Sebastian's backburner. After one race, Mark on the second step of the podium sprayed his winner teammate with champagne but his thoughts were totally elsewhere. "Fernando should stand there," he thought, while Sebastian's dark blue overall was fully soaked by then. His heart nearly broke, after the obligatory post-race interviews he ran home as fast as he had been driving on the track.

The key turned in the lock and Mark threw his bag onto the shoe cabinet. "Empty apartment with an empty man," he thought. The hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood up. He turned to the window, it was closed, and the summer cruelly raged in Monaco that time. Must have been the wind, as he'd gotten home.

Lately, he felt like he was going insane. Like someone would watch him every time. This wasn't an unknown feeling, as a Formula–1 driver, paparazzi followed him and his collegues like vultures. But this feeling was entirely different: it caught him off-guard not only when he strolled down on the narrow streets of Monaco but in his own home too, totally alone. Sometimes he heard soft steps in the middle of the night. "Just my mind playing with me," he said to himself. The grief slowly, but surely made him crazy. Or he just missed his ex-girlfriend. The loneliness surely went to his head. His friends had already said he should go to therapy but Mark refused every time with a grimace and walked away. Maybe there was something in it.

The boiling day turned into a warm night and Mark was preparing for sleep. He stood up from the sofa, turned off the ongoing football match and headed towards his room. As he got onto the second floor, he suddenly stopped, glancing towards the door of his bedroom. He was convinced a figure sneaked over the doorstep, he even saw its leg. A burglar, there couldn't be anything else.

Mark grabbed the first object that came to hand – a vase he'd inherited from his grandma – and sneaked to the door. Not the best self-defense weapon but he trusted in his own strength, he was an athlete for God's sake! He snapped the door open and lifted his arm, ready to throw but the movement stayed unfinished. The view in front of him left him fully flabbergasted. The vase hit the ground with a blunt knock.

He sat on his bed in Ferrari-red kit like he'd just stepped out of the garage. His hair stood up, just like when he took off his helmet after a race. He lifted his gaze onto Mark, an unreadable smile sat on his lips. The whole apparition loomed with dim white light.

"What the–" Mark staggered backwards for a moment at the sight of Fernando. No, this couldn't be real, the previously consumed beer made him see this. Nando was dead, he'd felt the weight of the coffin on his shoulder, He'd seen the gravediggers throwing the last heap of soil onto the grave. But what was in front of his eyes then?

The figure nodded, like he knew what Mark was thinking.

"It's me," the apparition spoke. "His voice is the same as in life," Mark thought.

He shook his head with eyes squeezed, like he still didn't believe them, despite he was standing in front of him, lifesized. But this only happened in horror films, right? Who was dead once, stayed dead. He opened his eyes again, but Fernando's figure still sat in the same place. Perhaps all that changed was the look of his, it turned sadder.

"No, this can't be," Mark murmured, more to himself. He felt his heart beating faster and faster. His fingers trembled. "This can't be. No. You're dead."

Fernando sighed softly. "Close the door and sit. This will be long." He nodded towards the small armchair. Mark found his voice terrifyingly calm.

He closed the door with shaking hands and sat into the chair, giving the feeling of a ragdoll with his long limbs hanging off. The ghost – because it couldn't be anything else – sat calmly on his bed like this was the most natural thing in the world.

"Long?" he repeated. "What do you mean, Nando, you should be–" his voice trembled. He leaned against the backrest, knuckles turning white as he grabbed the armrests.

"And I am," Nando said. "But my soul remained restless and stuck here. I've seen many things, my funeral, the others' grief, you." He sighed, his gaze fell onto his hands in his lap. " Until now, I didn't have enough strength to show up, but now I do. And I definitely wanted to see you."

Mark couldn't take off his eyes from Nando. His silhouette glowed dimly in the otherwise dark room. He wasn't even fully solid, Mark faintly saw through him. He felt a burning urge to reach through the body but he held back.

"You saw me? Watched me?" he asked quietly.

Fernando nodded, a sad smile played on his lips. "Not constantly. When you showered I didn't.

Mark let out a shaky laugh in disbelief. Even like this, Nando would joke about the situation. A moment later, the smile faded as he thought. Nando had been watching him, he'd probably seen him in his most sensitive and vulnerable moments as well.

"And what have you seen? You've seen me crying or what?" He tried to act nonchalant but he felt the mask was fading. Nando didn't answer, just nodded.

Mark's face slightly fell. He'd always prided himself on being strong, on hiding his vulnerable emotions from the cameras or people, except on rare occassions. If he had, he'd always ended up on the cover of the papers, that's why Fernando's response shook him. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat as he tried to keep his voice steady.

"And…what did you think? Seeing me like that?"

Nando let out a big sigh, like he was the cause of Mark's state, which was partly true. "I felt so bad for making you feel like that. Even though I couldn't do anything about what had happened. I didn't plan to end it this way."

Mark buried his face into his hands, he rubbed it angrily before the hands fell onto the armrest again. His voice was soft and strained, like he wanted to hold back something raw. "It's not your fault, Nando."

For a short time, neither of them spoke, then Mark took a deep breath and laughed bitterly. "You know, if you saw a lot…I guess you saw me trying hard not to cry at your funeral while they played 'We Are The Champions'"

"It was a great choice," Fernando slightly smiled. "I thought they would put on a sappier song." He'd always imagined his funeral would be a happy memorial, not a day filled with pity, he'd talked about it a few times when the topic came up.

Despite the surreal turn of the conversation, Mark smiled again. Faintly, but visibly. He got used to the ghost's presence and the cold breeze that lingered around it. "They played sappier song during the eulogy," Mark added.

"I heard it," Nando nodded while he tugged on the sleeve of his red overall. "It was strange, the eulogy, I mean. Hearing how greatly they thought about me."

Fernando Alonso was everything, but a saint, He'd always been a controversial figure within the grid, they hated him from their whole heart or held him as the greatest driver to ever live. Mark was in the latter category.

''It was all true, you know," Mark leaned forward in the chair, keeping his eyes on Nando as he thought back the euology held by Jenson. "You deserved every word."

Fernando hummed quietly, like he'd never thought he would deserve those praising words. Maybe later, if he would've died as an old man and not like he actually did.

Mark's expression changed. He didn't understand why his friend thought so little of himself but didn't ask further, he knew it would've been a useless argument.

"What's it like, by the way? Being…gone?" he asked suddenly and he could only hope he wouldn't hurt the infamously self-conscious driver with his words and make him disappear because of his curiosity.

"It's colder," Nando said simply, "like im constantly in a fridge. And it's greyer, somehow."

Mark's heart clenched at the answer, He tried to imagine what Fernando had had to go through in the past couple of months and what he had to endure probably for the eternity. He knew one thing, he didn't like it.

"God," he whispered, "sounds like torture."

"It's bearable," the other shrugged and looked at his hands, he saw through them opalescently, "but not pleasant either. I thought this afterlife-thing would be better."

Mark's expression softened as his gaze fell on Nando. His heart broke somewhere too. He'd lived with the thought of his friend had been at least in a better place, where there were no suffering and pain, until now. Even death didn't offer peace. Maybe something was wrong with him but Fernando's resigned tone panged something in him and affected more than he cared to admit.

"So, is that why you're here? To escape the cold and the grey?"

Nando smiled sadly, his gaze was still on his hands. "I guess, I wasn't as good in my life as I thought I was." 

The statement left Mark surprised. "Bullshit," he huffed. The firmness of his voice amazed even him. Fernando wasn't good enough? The two things were paradox in his mind. "You're the best driver ever." He shook his head and didn't bother to correct himself to past tense. Nando was still alive to him. "You're talented, many loves you, how can you be not good?"

"I'm not talking about talent, Mark."

Mark finally understood what Nando meant. The rivalries, the biting comments, the dirty games which dominated the sport if you wanted to be a champion. Fernando used these methods with pleasure, not choosing a particular between them. "Maybe that's why he's a two-time world champion," Mark thought.

"I'm no better," he huffed quietly, rubbing the back of his neck. "But you think this is your punishment?"

"That's my only answer."

Mark's hands curled into fists on his knees then relaxed. He pressed his lips tightly, rage vibrated around him.

"I would've never defended you if you were bad," he grumbled.

This was the truth, even if Mark tried to deny it. He'd always protected Nando if it was needed. His eyes had never left him and if he'd had to, he'd interfered.

Fernando didn't understand how he deserved Mark's that kind of love. "Maybe you chose the wrong guy to protect," he noted.

The pain and the anger twisted Mark's face into a strange grimace. "Don't say that," his voice was weak. "You were my friend. Fuck it, you were practically family to me."

"I'm just saying it's not sure i deserved your protection." Fernando's tone was disturbingly calm. Mark missed the fire, the fights the living Nando used to use. He would rather listen him yelling than this resignated tone.

Mark hopped up from the chair, strolling up and down in the room. The tension was be palpable. "Bullshit."

Nando sighed, he watched the other man cross the room again and again with his long legs, like a giant in Lilliput. "You don't have to protect me from anything anymore, Mark."

Mark stopped, his gaze narrowed to the figure. The worst part was that he was right. Nothing was left to protect Fernando from. In the world of shadows nothing meant danger to him. He let out a bitter chuckle. "I think you're right," he rubbed his face. "I wish I could still, though."

Nando nodded, "I know."

It was like a dam broke in Mark, his feeling came to the surface. His shoulders fell and deep sadness sat onto his face. He lowered back into the armchair and buried his face into his hands, to hide the threatening tears. "My god, I miss you so much."

"I miss you too." Mark couldn't see but he heard the resignation in Nando's voice. "I miss everything."

Mark finally looked up. He saw Nando's eyes were filled up with tears as well. He inhaled sharply, like he still held something back. Mark shook his head. "Fuck, man, life sucks," he blurted out.

Nando faintly smiled. It gave him a string of hope that Mark had started to joke at the absurdity of the situation. He nodded.

A thing, something like a smile was hiding at the corner of the Australian's lips as well. Fernando was the only one who could make Mark smile, even in these seemingly hopeless circumstances. But it was seen only for a moment before it faltered, until Mark had been hit by an uncomfortable thought.

He was dreading to ask the question or not but his curiosity won again. "Do you remember dying?"

Nando's face became more serious. He knew Mark would ask sooner or later, but he wasn't prepared for it. "I do. It was like," he gesticulated with his hand, just like he used to when he explained an overtake, "like I stepped out of a room to step into another. And between them it was dark, really dark. When it faded, the next thing I saw was my smoking car and me in there, lifelessly." From the way he said it, Mark thought the crash still lived vividly in his memories too.

He swallowed, "Did it hurt?"

"When I crashed, it did, but then it immediately stopped. That must have meant I died."

Mark exhaled shakily and he felt his hands trembling again. The incident appeared in front of his eyes, still too sharp, too real. The deafening crash and the even more suffocating silence that followed it. His stomach churned, he would've liked to vomit if he could. "I'm so sorry, Nando" he managed to get the words out.

On the other's lips, an ironic smile appeared. "Not exactly dying in your sleep at an old age."

"Not exactly," Mark repeated. Fernando was only twenty-eight. "You had so much more to give."

Fernando shook his head, a small sigh left his lips. He still couldn't understand how Mark could believe in his goodness so blindly. "But I also took much."

Mark instinctively huffed as Nando's words left his mouth. He could denied it as much as he wanted but he knew his friend was speaking the truth. Nando had never been a gentleman in any way but he couldn't let him talk about himself like that. Fighting was useless again. Instead, he nodded once, combing back the dark strands from his forehead.

"It would be too late to say sorry, anyway," Fernando said.

"How many would forgive?"

Nando shrugged a bit, "Don't know. Not many, I think."

Mark also knew this too well. In the cutthroat world of Formula–1, where only the positions and the number of victories mattered very few people accepted apologies. Mark didn't know many, himself wouldn't accept them from everyone either. But as he looked at Fernando, he immediately knew he would forgive him anything. Every little jabs, every dirty moves, every comment that stung too much, which were always present in their relationship. He leaned forward, his gaze stayed firmly on the other man. "I would forgive, Nando," his voice was soft, barely above whisper, but sure. "I do forgive."

"I know," Nando nodded.

Mark felt his eyes welling up again, he quickly wiped them with the back of his hand before Fernando would notice any of that. Although, he knew it probably didn’t go unnoticed.

"And you…" the words got stuck in his throat, "Would you forgive me? After everything?"

Nando sighed. Mark wasn't among the cleanest drivers either, the other could become the suffering half easily near him. He didn't talk much but his actions spoke louder when he punished with a pushing off or burning gazes. Fernando often had felt the flashing blue eyes when he'd pissed Mark off. He thought back at the fights filled with tension, when he would've pushed the Australian against the wall, despite the significant height difference and would've yelled at him until he'd ran out of breath.

"You're the only one I would forgive," the Spaniard said.

Mark couldn't hold it any longer. Nando's words hit him like he was a deer in front of the headlights. The sobs echoed in the overall quiet room.

"You should hate me," his voice cracked.

"I could never hate you. I can't hate you even now."

Tears shone on Mark's face. He wanted to fight, to argue, tell Fernando to fuck off, to yell at him to leave him alone, but he couldn't do it. He needed the other man, much more than he previously thought. He was too tired to pretend anymore.

"You're too kind, you know that?" he looked at Fernando. He didn't even bother to wipe the tears off, they glowed in the dim light like tiny diamonds.

Nando stood up and leaned over Mark, his thumb lingering above Mark's cheek to do it himself. As he touched his skin, his finger ran through Mark. His heart clenched.

"Don't cry, please," Fernando whispered.

Mark's breath hitched as the faint hand went through him. He could only describe it as if icy water was injected under his skin. He missed Fernando's otherwise warm touch.

"Too late," he sobbed. "You can't stop me."

The corner of Fernando's mouth twitched. "I can see," he said and he carefully withdrew his hand to the side.

Mark chuckled weakly, the irony of the fate was almost cruel now. "Pathetic, right? I've turned into a sobbing wreck."

"Don't say that."

Mark exhaled slowly. He was aware that he'd always been hard with himself but the saying was right about him: old habits die hard. His face twisted into a strange grimace which intended to be an attempt of a smile. "Can't help it, I've always been the dramatic one."

Nando looked at him doubtfully. "Funny, I thought I was the dramatic, Look at me, I even died to be in the centre of the attention."

Like a geyser, the hysterical laugh broke out of Mark. Even Fernando chuckled a bit. "You're unbelievable, you know? You die and you already joke about it."

"But it's working," he grinned victoriously. "You're smiling," his voice softened. Even if he'd never admitted to himself, he loved Mark's smile and he would've done anything to see it. As the thoughts raced in his mind, he felt Mark could hear them too. After all, they were good friends. Best friends, if he could say it.

"Yeah?" Mark asked carefully and Fernando sweared he saw a small, mischievous smirk at the corner of his lips. "You like seeing me smile?"

Nando huffed to mask his surprise. "Of course, idiot."

Mark's smile widened into a stupid grin because this was Fernando. He would've never missed the opportunity to be a little prick. Mark quickly wiped his face. "You know, you're lucky. I'll have to keep smiling then."

"I'd love that," Nando said. His soft and sincere voice rang weirdly in Mark's ear.

His face suddenly fell, Fernando's words hit him so directly, like it was a confession. They were too honest, too raw, as if they weren't mean to be heard. He felt his heartbeat quickening. "You can't say things like this, Nando." His voice stayed strained, he couldn't decide if pain or relief washed over him.

"Why not?"

A quiet sigh left Mark's lips, he ran through his hair nervously with his long fingers. The quiestion was so straightforward, so simple, just like its asker, however the answer wasn't that obvious for him.

"You know why. It's just…not fair. Not fair of you saying this, when it's–" his voice trailed off.

Nando nodded, his eyes were fixed on the floor. He feared Mark's burning gaze, he felt it burning a hole through him. "I know. And I regret for not saying it sooner. When I really had the chance."

The disappointment hugged Mark's whole being. The guilt, the regret filled the room, it was heavy and oppressive around them. He knew well what was Fernando talking about. Everything that had been left unsaid between them: the small touches, the lingering gazes which meant more than just sharing thoughts, the time spent together which hadn't come only from pure friendship. It had been around them since they raced together. Mark raised his gaze at the dimly lit figure, his eyes pleading.

"Say it. Please, say it. I have to hear." I need to hear.

The suffocating silence felt loud for a moment and Mark feared Fernando would never talk again, which was a thousand times worse than anything. Nando took a deep breath, to gain courage. The words that left his mouth later should've been said much sooner, when he was alive but too afraid to say them out loud.

"I loved you, Mark."

Mark expected the words to hurt but even a hundred years of preparing wouldn't have helped to not let them break his heart. Time slowed down around the room, his lungs felt empty.

"You loved me?" he finally found his voice.

"Still do. But it's too fucking late now."

Mark shook his head. He felt the universe was laughing at them. All the moments they could've shared, if they'd talked… His eyes stung with unshed tears but he refused to let them fall now, despite he let them a few minutes ago.

"You're an idiot," He inhaled sharply. "Why didn't you say anything?"

"I was a coward, okay?" Nando snapped, he ran a frustrated hand through his hair, the brown strands sticking in every direction. "I was afraid how you would react. So I thought it was better to say nothing."

Many emotions washed Mark over: rage, frustration, sadness. But most of all, a deep sense of understanding, he also knew even the strongest man could get paralysed by fear. A bitter laugh escaped from him.

"Jesus, Nando, you really though I would've reacted badly?"

"Yes," he nodded, his was sure. "Because it was wrong to love a friend like that. To love a man like that."

The tone hurt Mark's ears. He'd been aware of his feelings towards the other man for a while now and he knew what he was feeling couldn't be wrong. He knew well what was Nando going through, he'd been there, done that. But even the empathy couldn't reduce the pain he felt.

"Bullshit," he huffed but his gaze instantly softened by seeing Fernando's worried eyes.

"I know that by now," Nando answered. "But I was too fucking afraid to face it."

"You could've said something," Mark murmured, his accent became thicker. "You could've trusted me."

Fernando sighed and started to walk up and down in the room. Mark mused how he could see the furnitures through his friend.

"It wasn't you I didn't trust. I didn't trust in myself to be able to face it." Nando said.

The frustration flared up in Mark, he had to curl his hand into fists. He wanted to argue with Nando desperately, to hate him with his whole heart for not saying anything. He knew his stubborness could compete with donkeys and he also his self-destruction knew no borders. He'd had seen how far the other man could go for a win.

"So you just kept it bottled just to not face it?" he asked like he couldn't believe his own ears.

Nando heard the edge in Mark's voice, he closed his eyes tightly to get a grip on himself. With a soft thud, he sat back onto the bed. Mark thought how the bed could sink under the not-existing weight of a ghost and as fast as the thought came, it went.

"I know I was an idiot," Nando sounded somber. "I've never talked about this. Until now"

Mark grimaced, "And the girls you dated with?"

Nando huffed, his eyebrows furrowed. "What do you think, how would it have looked saying 'I'm sorry, but I fell for my best friend'?"

"And you wonder why I called you an idiot." Mark murmured. Under the harsh words, hearing that Fernando loved him filled him with an undescribable feeling.

"I don't."

Mark's jaw tightened, he shakily let out a breath he didn't know he held. He could barely believe how Nando could carry such a weight with him into the afterlife. He stayed true to himself, he was still a thick-headed bastard, if not bigger.

"I hate you so much sometimes" Mark spoke up, staring at the patterns of his carpet in front of him.

"You have every right," Nando sighed. His gaze also ignored Mark's. Mark shook his head again, a weak attempt to escape from his spiralling thoughts. He clinged to the man in front of him with the same intensity as Nando tended to bottle his emotions up, if not more. He lifted his head, his gaze lingered on Nando for a moment: The dimly lit figure looked exactly how the late Nando had; the messy brown hair, the neatly stubbled face, the faint wrinkles in the corner of his eyes from the smiles, the small, barely visible scar on his chin. An insane amount of worry sat on his annoyingly beautiful face now.

Nando was the most important person for him. He hadn't kept in touch with his colleaugues like he used to with Fernando. Of course, he sometimes called Jenson or Lewis and if all hell broke loose, he talked to Sebastian as well, but he considered the Spaniard the closest. The shared podiums and champagne sprayings, the threw up legs on the coffee table in his hotel room after an exhausting race and the conversations about nothing until dawn all meant the world to Mark. However, Fernando wasn't an easy case, not even for him. The rivalries coming from racing had casted a shadow on their relationship more than it should have and Mark had made many bad decisions, which he had regretted a countless times since Nando's sudden death, tossing and turning in his bed, thinking through every one of them.

"I'm such an idiot," Mark hissed through his teeth, rubbing the bridge of his nose, "I still love you, damn it."

"See, that's why I was afraid," Nando's voice was soft, like he didn't want to scare Mark away, not even with a sudden word. "You would've been too good for me."

"You've never been not–" Mark started but Fernando spoke up.

"You always say that, but you have every right to hate me. If that's not too good for me, I don't know what it is."

Nando was right, Mark thought. He could've been angry, could've raged, but he couldn't. All he felt was exhaustion along with the deep affection towards the Spaniard. He quietly huffed.

"Of course, I love you. Even if you're a damn fool."

"You're impossible." A barely visible smile was present on Nando's ghostly face. "But I love you too."

Mark inhaled deeply to get a hold on his threatening emotions. Just from that simple sentence his heart wanted to jump out of his chest. His feet tapped on the floor rhythmically. He swallowed the lump in his throat. "You're gonna be a death of me one day, I hope you know."

"Then we could be really together," Nando answered quietly.

Mark had to bite the inside of his cheek to not let out a sarcastic response. It hurt. It hurt that Nando could joke so easily, like he was just joking about his team's bad car, like there was nothing wrong with him being dead. His heart clenched. Of course, he knew Nando didn't want to see him dead. Mark was just thirty-three, the greater part of his life was still ahead of him, with potential titles, success and hapiness. The only death he wished for himself was in bed, with soft pillows like clouds, as an old man, within the circle of his loved ones. Nando murmured an apology.

"Promise me something," Mark spoke up. Nando nodded.

Mark inhaled again. His request was selfish and desperate and he doubted if the other man would do what he was about to ask. But he had to. He sat higher in his chair. "Promise me…that you would wait for me. Even if it takes years."

Nando smiled sadly, like he'd known all along what his friend would ask. "I hope I have to wait at least fifty years for you," he whispered.

Fifty years. Thirty-three years again and seventeen more, Mark counted. Living half of a century more without Nando already sounded like eternal torture, his stomach churned at the thought. But if Fernando would wait that long willingly, he could do it too.

"I'll take my time," he looked at Nando. He felt a tear running down his cheek.

"Just live. I'll let you."

Mark nodded, he didn't trust his own voice. His vision blurred from the tears. He smiled faintly. This man, even in his death gave him orders, just like he'd used to in his life. Mark knew saying goodbye was near and the next meeting would be decades later, too far away. He swallowed.

"Watch my races," his voice cracked.

"From the distance," Nando promised. Knowing Nando would watch him was strangely enough for Mark.

"Watch them with a critical eye," Mark murmured, his words felt stupid as they left his mouth.

"We'll talk about every one of them."

"You're gonna list every little thing I did wrong," Mark's voice eased a bit. Maybe from the upcoming farewell.

"You know me," Nando let out a careful smile.

"Too damn well." The pain was palpable by now.

Nando sighed, "I think this is goodbye."

Mark agreed. Every cell of his body protested against the farewell, he would've crawl on his knees and hold onto the ghost until no strength remained in his body. He wanted to shout, to sob, until the universe gave them their deserved happy-ending, but he knew every protest was useless. Every chance had lost and there wasn't any more to left.

"Goodbye,"

"We'll meet again," Nando said and as suddenly as he appeared, the figure was gone, leaving ear-screeching silence behind him.

The room turned cold and despite the warm summer night, Mark felt like every ounce of warmth was drained out of him. He stared at the place where Nando had sat, like he could bring him back with it. He let out a sad sigh. It was over.

***

Season followed more seasons, the years passed. In Mark's memory, the strange event of the night had faded into faint memories which only came up on sleepless nights. As he'd promised, he lived, raced, won, loved but in the back of his mind, Fernando remained stubbornly.

Decades later, he was laying in his bed in his room, in the circle of his loved ones. He knew it was near. For a last time, his gaze sweeped over the familiar faces. He shuddered, like a cold breeze went through the room, carrying a familiar voice with it. He came, he was here. His eyes shuttered slowly, the shadows grew, just as the night came. He fell asleeep.

A few moment later, his eyes opened again. He was still in his old room but alone now. He sat up and looked into the mirror beside his bed. Somehow, with wonders, his younger self looked back at him, he pushed back the dark strands of his hair out of his forehead in awe. His face remained smooth, no signs of the deep wrinkles. He shifted, that was when he noticed him.

He stood by the window and at Mark's movement, he looked at his direction. The familiar brown eyes now scanned Mark with calmness instead of sadness.

"Told you I would wait," Nando murmured. "Took you long enough."

Mark got up, and with some few long steps, he was by the window, in front of Fernando. He felt a stupid grin creeping onto his face but he didn't care.

Nando looked exactly like he saw him last time, he was still handsome, if not more. Maybe only death made Mark see him like that.

"You look good," he smiled.

"You're not an old man either," Nando returned the smile and stepped closer.

"You were always the prettier" Mark's voice softened.

"At least we agree on something." Nando's laugh filled the room and Mark's heart. He rolled his eyes, of course Fernando wouldn't miss the opportunity to boast.

"You're so full of yourself," Mark shook his head without any malice. "I missed you."

Nando hesitated for a moment then reached for his hand. Mark's knees almost buckled. Nando's hand around his was solid now, their ghosts didn't ran into each other this time. The two souls finally existed in the same dimension.

"Missed you too," Fernando whispered. Mark squeezed his hand like the feeling would evaporate if he held it softer. "Finally I can hold you. If I missed my chances in our lives," he continued.

Mark's breath hitched. Fernando's palm was rough in his, but solid, real. He wanted to cry again.

"Damn," Mark sounded strained, "you can't imagine how much I waited for this moment."

"I waited my whole life and in the afterlife," Nando said and squeezed Mark's hand again, "And I don't want to let you go anymore."

Mark's heart was beating in his throat now. Decades of waiting, but despite everything, they were here. They were together. A small tear escaped.

"You better not let go."

Nando lifted his free hand and wiped the stray teardrop off. Mark shut his eyes tightly, a shiver ran down his spine.

Suddenly, without any warning, Mark wrapped his arms around Nando, holding him close against his broad chest. He was tired of holding back, he sobbed and buried his face into the other's neck and held onto him like a drowning man.

"I love you," he murmured over and over again like a mantra. His words were only interrupted by his sobs and sniffs.

"Don't cry," Nando caressed his back as he hugged him tightly. "You know you look better when you smile."

Mark chuckled weakly at the attempt of making him laugh. It worked. "Liar. I must be a wreck."

"Believe me, I don't care." He felt Nando cupping his face, his gaze reflected nothing else but sincere, raw, deep love.

So, unfair, Mark thought. He placed his hands over Fernando's. "You waited here all along," Mark murmured. "And I love you for it."

Nando let out a smile. "I promised myself I would finally kiss the hell out of you if I see you again. If I was too afraid to do it sooner."

Mark pulled back a bit, just enough to look at Fernando, but his hands stayed on the other's waist. Knowing he could finally kiss him filled his whole being with warmth.

"Come here."

He didn't have to say it twice, Nando smiled and Mark swore he couldn't be any more deeper. Nando stood on the tip of his toes to overcome the height difference and the next thing Mark felt was his lips on his.

Finally, only this word echoed in his mind as he kissed Fernando. The decades he'd spent with pining and waiting were over for good. He could have the only person he'd ever truly loved; for the eternity.

A small sigh left his lips when he pulled back, resting his forehead against Nando's. Both of them breathed raggedly and Mark realized his hands were gripping Nando's red overall.

"We should've done this much sooner," Fernando spoke up firstly.

"Doesn't matter," Mark said quickly. "We're here."

Fernando nodded, a mysterious smile played on his face and his lips were hanging on Mark's again.