Chapter Text
The burnt tire smell entered Marc’s lungs and the revving of the engine rings in his ear. All the stress from his body melts away; this is what he lives for. It’s like the average Saturday for the Marquez’s family, they are geared up at the motocross track, practising laps after laps on the all too familiar track near their home in Cervera.
Though today is a special day for the twins, David and Maximo. It’s qualifying for the first round of the junior motocross championship. The kids are basically vibrating off their seats from excitement ever since getting in the car, giggling away with each other as Marc has a fond smile on his mouth, looking at them lovingly from his rear view mirror.
Marc retired at the end of the 2026 season, after a combination of injuries in 2025 and the GP26 being not as competitive. He failed to get his 10th championship and decided to retire when his career was still on a high. Marc’s getting older and his body isn’t the same as it once was, he feels the ache in his shoulder every time he gets back on the bike. The news of his retirement sends shock waves throughout the paddock, marking the end of an era for MotoGP.
Since his retirement, Marc wanted to focus on building his own small little family. He loves kids so it’s only natural that he adopted a pair of adorable twins with the same brown curls and manic doe eyes as him. It was hard at first, waking up in the middle of the night to feed the pair of toddler by himself. But it’s so rewarding. Holding the twins for the first time, watching them take their first step. ‘Love’ is too weak of a verb to describe Marc’s affection for them. He’s so grateful for his parents and Alex, who’s been by his side, helping to raise his nephews in between race weekends.
Much to Marc’s excitement and his parent’s dismay, the twins have been obsessed with motorbikes the moment they could waddle. The Marquez grandparents often say that Marc’s motorcycle addiction has been transferred over via osmosis, shaking their head as they doted on a second generation of motorbike-obsessed kids. It wasn’t long until the twins asked for their own mini dirt bike, that wasn’t enough and they began to beg Marc to enter MiniMoto races. Marc would be a hypocrite to deny them, so with a heavy heart, he reluctantly agreed.
He would be lying if he wasn’t worried or scared, every parent is, when their kid pursues such a dangerous sport. He knows what his parents probably felt when he was younger, so eager to hop on a bike and they had to drag him off or threaten to ground him for him to listen.
Marc’s watching them from the sidelines, eyes focused on Maximo and David performing his qualifying lap. His heart swells with pride. The kids take after him, they’re fast. Still, he definitely needs to give them notes after their qualifying lap. Maximo is braking too early at Turn 3, making him lose front grip. David opens his throttle too early at Turn 12, making him go wide. David and Maximo achieved a P4 and P6 respectively, not bad for their first qualifying.
Marc patted Maximo on the back and ruffled David’s hair, “Good job! I wonder where you got your racing skills from”. The twins groaned at Marc’s comment.
Then he heard a familiar voice that made all the hair on his body stand up straight. Loud. Piercing. Annoying
He spotted a man. Pulling his attention as he always had. Flashes of obnoxious blue and neon yellow muddled his thoughts. Across the track, smiling, unbothered, talking to other parents as if nothing happened. Tall, lanky frame that Marc knew every single inch of and would wrap around Marc in the privacy of his motorhome after each race. Familiar bouncy blond curls that Marc used to run his hands through after making love. Light blue eyes that used to stare at him with love before their love turned sour and what remains is nothing but deep-seated bitterness and disgust. Rough hands and soft tender lips. A face, beautiful yet dangerous. Someone he’d swear off years ago.
Valentino Rossi.
What is he doing here?
The man looks the same as he did from Marc’s memory, just older, with thinning hair and a tiredness in his face that Marc can’t pinpoint. He still sports a singular silver earring on his left ear. Marc thought the man looked ridiculous.
To the press, to his family, even to himself, Marc has sworn that he no longer cared for Valentino. No longer loved him. Seeing his ex-lovers turned rival face for the first time in years, all of the old feelings that he’s forgotten from when he was still in his 20s resurfaced. The hurt. The humiliation. The love. Marc felt it all at once. He choked on air, didn't realise he was holding back his breath.
“Papa” David tugged at the hem of his shirt, snapping him out of his train of thoughts, “Is that Valentino Rossi?” His kid pointed to the estranged man.
Great.
“Can we ask him for a picture?” Maximo, next to him sheepishly asked.
Marc flashed a smile, trying to conceal the disdain on his face “Yeah, sure bud. If you want”. Both David and Maximo held his hands and dragged him over to the other man. Valentino noticed, the wry smile from his face as he chatted with other parents disappeared.
“Hello Rossi” Marc scowled, hissing the older man’s last name. The name felt heavy on his tongue, taunting him as it escapes.
Valentino’s expression is blank, offering Marc no emotions. “Marquez”, he replied.
Their eyes locked onto each other. Brown on blue and blue on brown. The direct eye contact with Valentino made all his other senses go quiet, nothing else but his sight. Marc feels like he’s in his 20s again, looking into the eyes of the man that he once loved but is filled with disdain now. The man that ruined him. He gritted his teeth. He wasn’t supposed to meet him here, never supposed to meet him ever again after his retirement. Marc has foolishly thought that getting away from his beloved sport would mean he would never see that man ever again; the universe seems to like playing cruel jokes on him.
Their relationship flourished in 2013, after months of courting, impressing the older man on track and off-track, Valentino finally relented and allowed Marc to bed him. Their no commitment casual relationship was fun, it gratified the older man’s sexual desire but Marc wanted more. He wanted to be able to hold Valentino close after they finished making love. Wanted to be able to hold his hands as they walked into the paddock each race weekend. Wanted to meet his family and for Valentino to meet his. Wanted to whisper the phrase ‘I love you’ to the Italian and hear it be repeated back, wanting the other man to truly mean every word. He so desperately wanted to be a part of Valentino’s life.
2015 changed both of them. He noticed Valentino pulling away more, asking him to leave immediately after they finished instead of early in the morning. Marc merely chalked it to his lover needing space to compete in the championship. The sex got rougher, not that Marc mind, thinking that he’s helping Valentino’s relieve some stress in the midst of a stressful season. Marc would leave Valentino’s motorhome, limping, with bruises imprinted on his throat, small scars indented, running down his inner thighs. He doesn’t notice Uccio sending deathly glares at him every time he walks past the Italian’s garage, or whispering to Valentino that would make his lover stare at him with the same angry look.
Every clash on track, every word Valentino says about Marc towards the press builds something larger. Something monumental. A dam that cracks under the pressure of tons of water, overflowing onto the other side.
Sepang happened. Marc tried to block out most of that day from his memory, the flash of colour and the ache he felt. The younger man would seek Valentino late into the night, explaining himself and pleading for an explanation from his lover. Uccio answered the door instead. Valentino doesn’t speak to him for the rest of the season.
For the longest time, after 2015, he still loved Valentino and it hurts to look at the other man when he’s spitting venom at Marc every time he goes to the press. Each word. Each criticism digs deeper into his skin than the last, marking every surface of his body with insults. Still, Marc came running back every time.
Every time Valentino texted him drunk, asking for sex, he would have already arrived at his motorhome 5 minutes prior. They don’ talk when they fuck. The pain mixed with pleasure and just by being by Valentino's side was enough for Marc. He comes back time and time again, even when Valentino would kick him out. Marc was nothing but someone to stick his dick in, nothing but a quick fuck. It’s hard to hate a man that he spends so long loving. So Marc waits. He waits for the day that Valentino would take him back.
In 2018, the texts frequency decreased. After Argentina, the texts stopped. Marc was still hopeful. Alex calls it self-destructive. Marc calls it dedication. He doesn’t know when to stop hoping.
In 2020, surgery after surgery to salvage what was left of Marc’s arm. When doctors discovered the bone infection, on nights where the pain was unbearable and painkillers were no help, Marc would pray. Pray that Valentino would text him, to check on him. He was still deeply infatuated with the man. It was radio silence.
A year after, he learnt about Valentino’s retirement at the same time as the rest of the world. He texted Valentino drunk, 3 bottles deep, just to find out he was blocked. A string of profanities sent to Valentino’s phone number mixed with desperation, apologies, and confessions of love. Marc’s final message to Valentino.
In 2025, Marc finally won his 9th. No longer living in the other man’s shadow. He would tell the press that he does not care that he has matched Valentino’s records. Yet, he still waited, hoping that Valentino would text him to congratulate him. To finally recognise him as an equal. Nothing came.
After 10 years of waiting and hurting, he gave up.
Still, Valentino hates Marc. Marc doesn’t hate Valentino. He forgave him years ago but he was done waiting. Marc ignores him.
Marc dedicated his time after retirement to raising Maximo and David. He was supposed to completely forget Valentino but the man was so intertwined with his life, it’s hard to forget. The twins would watch his old races and be so entranced by the battles with him and Valentino. Marc sees himself in them whenever they’re glued to the TV screen, watching the way Valentino decimates the rest of the field. To the kids, the man is just a rival from his past. Not his ex-friend, not his ex-lovers. Valentino was supposed to be someone on TV for Maximo and David. They were never even supposed to meet.
Marc cursed at his new reality.
“Vale! Can we have a photo!” David and Maximo chorused at the same time, the kid lit up meeting their idol.
Valentino quirked his eyebrow at Marquez's kids. “Yeah sure, kiddo.” His eyes left Marc and shifted to the two tiny humans at Marc’s legs, flashing the PR-trained smile that he used to give Marc when Marc was still a rookie, barely 20 years old and absolutely infatuated with his idol.
Marc hates how charming he still is after all this time.
“Papa, can you take a photo for us?” David asked.
Marc suppressed his anger. This is for them. This isn’t about me. Marc reminded himself. He pressed the camera’s shutter. He stared at the photo in his hand. His heart aches. In another life, this could’ve been his family, Marc subconscious crept up on him. He shook his head and berated at himself for having such thoughts.
Valentino has completely ignored the presence of the other man and shifted his entire focus onto Maximo and David. The older man despises Marquez. The 2015 season plays in his mind every time he sees Marc. His 10th championship. Gone. Despite this, it isn’t fair to take it out on his kids, especially when they’re such big fans of him.
He’s crouched to the ground, listening intently to the two small fans talk.
“Wait, Vale, why are you here?” David tilted his head. Realising how odd it is that someone as important as the 9-times-world-champion is at a small Mini-Moto track 3 hours away from the closest city.
“My Celin is racing too” he answered with a warm smile, “Number 13, he’s starting in P5” His hand gestured towards a brunette curly-haired boy, chatting away with the other kids.
Marc’s ears perked up at the sentence. Marc is competitive, it’s in his nature, coded within his DNA. He missed battling with Valentino, no rival could give him the adrenaline, the rush every time they would face each other on track.
Marc’s ears perked up. David and Maximo better win.
“Well then—” Valentino stood up, “Good luck on the track tomorrow!” He rustled David and Maximo’s hair before walking away. Without acknowledging Marc, like he’s done so the past 10 years.
“Bye Vale!” The kids beamed, waving at the older man.
***
“Papa, you don’t really hate Valentino, right?” Maximo brought up the topic as Marc drove them back to the hotel near the track “It’s just for TV.”
Marc's words are stuck in his throat. How does he explain to his kids that no he doesn’t harbour any hard feelings for his friend-turned-lover-turned-rival but Valentino sure as hell despises him.
“Uh—yeah,” Marc let out an awful croak at sounding normal. “We just aren’t friends.”
“Okay!” Apparently, that was good enough as David dropped the subject before going back to rambling on about the other kids he met on track.
A heavy weight sits on his chest for the remainder of the ride that follows him deep into the night, a suffocating tightness that continuously pressed on his sternum. It doesn’t lessen throughout the evening. Even after he put his own kids to sleep, left with his own thoughts alone, the pressure uncomfortably tightened on his chest.
Marc doesn’t sleep that night.
He’s physically and emotionally exhausted the following morning, repeatedly stabbing at his piece of overcooked hotel’s breakfast omelette, before the constant whining between the twins pulled him away from his thoughts, racing a mile a minute. For once, he’s grateful for their daily quarrels. He mustered up his usual stern look and attempted to pull the boys away from each other before they attempted to kill each other on their race day.
***
“Go out there and show them how it’s done” Marc pulled the twins into a warm embrace and ruffled their hair. He patted his kid’s back and led both of them onto the track. Marc’s eyes wander and he catches a glimpse of Rossi, giving his own kid a pep talk. His hands in a range of motions, demonstrating what to do at certain parts of the track. Marc hates how he can still regconise Valentino’s quirk after all these years.
Both of their twins had a good start, allowing them to move up a position each. They settled onto the track’s position as each bike was spaced out more, waiting for the chance to attack the bike in front of them. Brake. Throttle. Shift gears. His instincts for the track are still as sharp as before he retired. Celestino’s right on David’s tail and seems to be faster than David. Marc counted down the laps; he watched in nervousness as Maximo attempted to defend the driver behind him, his tyres degrading from the aggressive defending. He made a mental note to teach the boys how to better preserve their tyres.
Celestino closed in, inch by inch, before taking the inside line at an apex and overtook David. In a desperate attempt, David’s moves became more frantic. He lunches forward inside the corner. Celestino didn’t react in time.
Contact.
Marc stopped breathing.
David and Celestino both slid and tumbled onto the gravel.
The yellow flag was waved as marshals came to help both riders off the track.
Marc finally caught his breath again and exhaled a sigh of relief as David got off the gravel and headed towards the volunteers’ direction. His son’s head hung low, completely deflated from the accident. Guilt engulfed his body and David trudged over to apologise to the other rider, an enraged Celestino that didn’t bother responding to David’s apology and stormed off at the sight of him. His son’s race was ruined but Marc doesn’t care about that right now. He breathed a loud sigh of relief, as long as his son is fine, the race result doesn’t matter.
“Marquez!” Marc jumped at the sound of someone grumbling his name. The once calm and composed Valentino— who’s completely dismissing Marc’s presence the entire race weekend— stormed over to Marc, eyes roused with ire.
“Your kid pushed my Celin off track!” Valentino accused him “How was that fair racing?”. All the other parents turned at the commotion to see two 9 times world champions finally acknowledge each other for the first time in decades.
“It was a racing accident—” Marc defended his child. Slightly shocked that Valentino would finally acknowledge him after all these years just to confront him about this. “This happens all the time in racing! You of all people should know this!”
“Oh, like in Argentina? When you ruined my race? That was just racing?” Valentino rolled his eyes and mocked Marc.
Marc physically coiled back at the mention of Argentina. Of their past. One of their many clashes on track that defined their rivalry. Marc has repressed deep in his memories and has not thought of it in years.
“That was over 2 decades ago! When will you move on Rossi?” Marc raised his voice. “For the last time, I never conspired against you. When will you understand that?” His voice cracked. “I’ve tried and tried for years, Rossi, to tell you that but you never listen. You are so self-absorbed. Not everyone is out to get you.” He snarled and put extra emphasis on Valentino's name. His jaw tightened.
He thought he didn’t hate Valentino anymore. Thought that he had completely moved on from that part of his life that now feels like a distant memory. He was dead wrong.
Years of heartbreak, of crying alone on the bathroom’s floor of his motorhome when Valentino makes another comment aimed at him to the press. Being afraid for his own and his parents safety, when reporters broke into his home. All of his pain caused by Valentino and pent-up frustration aimed, all cumulated into this moment.
A crowd of people gathered around him and Valentino. Even though it’s been years since either of them has raced, they still get recognised, considering both of them are the most decorated riders in history. From the corner of Marc’s eyes, he saw a plethora of phones’ cameras aimed at the both of them, recording the action of argument between the verbal clash between the world champions.
Once the adrenaline finally died down, he regretted his words immediately. Not because of the words themselves, he meant every single syllable thrown at Valentino. Marc hoped that each word stung. Stick to his skin that he can’t wash off. For Valentino to feel a singular ounce of pain he’s caused Marc and his family.
Damnit.
He shouldn’t have done this in public, not with so many eyes and cameras watching him and Valentino— like a pack of wolves watching their prey on display. Marc could already imagine journalists catching wind of this situation. The published headlines. His parents and Alex’s phone call after they saw the video on social media. The press coming to the next race weekend and ruining his peaceful post-retirement life. Marc can’t help but dread his near future.
Valentino tightened his fist, muttering something under his breath. Marc has already wasted too much time for Valentino. He turned on his heels and walked away; he could feel Valentino’s eyes burning a hole on the back of his head.
He can’t deal with Valentino’s bullshit right now. He needs to make sure David is okay first.