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For those who believe, no explanation is necessary;
for those who do not believe, no explanation will ever suffice.
- J. Dunninger (Magician and Mentalist)
*
"Good afternoon" Jenson calls out as he steps into the shop.
From his perch up on one of the tall sliding ladders, Mr Serrano nods back in greeting. "Good afternoon, Mr Button. Is this a mission or a wander?"
"A wander.” - Jenson admits, letting his eyes roam over the packed shelves - “I am afraid Fernando is still functioning on an Australian time zone… either that or he is about three hours late and doesn’t care."
Mr Serrano’s chuckle is just this side of condescending. As the owner of the oldest magic shop in Barcelona, he had had the questionable pleasure of dealing with the blossoming stages of Fernando’s illusionism career, which led to him tolerating Nano’s antics with an enviable level of patience that has taken Jenson years of friendship to develop and quite a bit of fond if biting patronizing that never fails to bring Fernando right back down to earth when his head gets too big.
"Have a wander then” - he tells Jenson with a smile - “You have time.”
That is how Jenson finds himself browsing aimlessly among boxes of cards and stacks of colored handkerchiefs, losing his way among towers of fire paper, top hats and invisible ink pens.
El Rey de la Magia was founded in 1881 and has been a heaven for the magic community ever since. More a corner shop than an actual display of anything with a plan nor any semblance of rational order, it tends to scare mediocrity away - enticing excited beginners with its curious atmosphere and full stock of basics and keeping the experts' interests with an array of unique and rare items. Jenson himself had been first introduced to the place by Fernando what feels like a lifetime ago, back when the Spaniard had been battling for his second FISM Championship and Jenson had just shifted to his Honda sponsorship. It had soon become a must stop whenever Jenson finds himself in Barcelona...late Spaniards or not. Actually, Jenson thinks as he drops a fake thumb back on its shelf, he might as well make the most of being here.
“Do you have the new collections?”
Serrano grimaces. “Some. Williams was late in releasing, again. But at least their second attempt at packaging looks like it will not have the color pallet of a toothpaste and the cards themselves are not as bad as last year's.”
“They haven’t really had their best runs recently, have they?”
“A shame.” - Serrano concurs - “There’s some of each brand out in the window but if you want to give the cards a few tries there’s a box of open decks on that shelf - third from the top. Feel free to climb up but on your head be it if you fall.”
*
So - either Jenson’s cardistry has gone utterly down the drain since he retired or Ferrari’s 2020 deck is...shit, for lack of a better word. Jenson winches as he miserably fails to perform a simple Magician’s Palm for the umteenth time and the card helplessly flutters to the ground to add to the sad pile already there. Shit cards aside, he sincerely hopes Serrano hasn’t seen that. He jumps off the ladder he had been clinging to, pinching a deck of McLarens 2020 on his way down. If only the McLaren cards had been like that when he was still competing.
He is mercifully saved from any embarrassing explanations regarding his Ferrari card littering when a terrible crash comes from beneath the floorboards, the lid of the basement's trap door threatening to fall shut in what feels like a mild earthquake. Jenson has to hold himself to the counter.
Serrano doesn’t seem too bothered “You alive?”
There is a beat of silence then a painfully familiar voice speaks up from the basement.
“Galtero, have I ever told you how much I love you?”
Still up on his ladder, Serrano rolls his eyes. “At least a hundred times, Mr Rosberg.”
“But it’s true.” - Nico grins, emerging like a dream from the basement and looking nothing like someone who has probably just dropped an avalanche of dusty boxes on their own head. - “Look at them - aren’t they a wonder?”
They are a wonder, Jenson agrees when he finally gets a look at what Nico is delicately cradling in his hands. A deck of ‘Black Jack’ 1966 Brabham cards still sealed in their green and gold original package. Nico shows him, his blue eyes positively sparkling as he holds up the deck like he thinks it might disappear right from his fingers. He looks so excited, so simply and fully happy. It’s a look Jenson hasn’t seen on him in a long, long time. He looks good , Jenson thinks and he feels something tug uncomfortably in his chest.
“How did you get them?”
With a grin, Serrano jumps down from his ladder and comes to stand behind the counter next to them. “I work my magic.”
“Go on, then!” he says, waving at the cards and laughing when Nico scrambles to open them.
It is unorthodox to say the least. Jenson can think of quite a few people who would have a heart attack at seeing Nico about to perform a trick with such a vintage deck. A piece of history, really. But it is one of Galtero's rules. Magic is a performance and it is to be experienced, not kept in a box like an exotic fish in an aquarium. What’s the point, otherwise?
“Right” - Nico says, shuffling the cards with quick, precise movements. - "We all know the deck is plain. So.." He fans the cards out. "Pick one. You can show Jenson, don't show me."
Serrano obliges, quickly flashing Jenson the four of hearts he picked.
“Now..” - Nico goes on, stacking the deck back together and offering it to Jenson - “Cut the deck in as many parts as you want and then Galtero, if you please, pick a pile and put your card on top of it. Yes, any pile, thank you... Jenson, a number between one and 53, please?”
Before he can think better of it, Jenson raises an eyebrow. “A retrieval game? Really?”
He immediately regrets opening his mouth. Nico’s smile dies out, suddenly, starkly as if Jenson has blown out a candle. The warm, mischievous spark that had been dancing between them goes with it, Nico’s hands stilling, the flow of the magic shattering.
Before Jenson can so much as open his mouth to apologise, Nico just picks the piles of cards up himself, flinging them back together and flipping the deck out on the counter, face up. Without even bothering to count them he pulls out one.
“Is this your card?” - he asks, flat, holding the one he picked out for Galtero to see.
Serrano’s eyes are more on Jenson than on the card. “I do not believe so. Mr Button?”
Jenson stares at the card. It is a four of hearts. A four of hearts that is bright blue, orange and unmistakably a 2020 McLaren card.
"No. That's…"
“Oh, dear.” - Nico says, poison and contempt dripping from his voice - “I seem to have misplaced mine. Or stolen one of yours. Such a bad person, I am. Would you mind checking?”
He points to Jenson’s deck. Jenson’s sealed deck of 2020 McLarens.
“I’ll make it easier for you” - he says in a whisper - “22nd from the top.”
Nico's cardistry has always been a thing of beauty. Not as spectacular as Lewis' but elegant in an understated, fresh way that never fails to hypnotize an audience. Jenson can only hold his breath as he breaks the seal, opens the brand new cardboard box, unwraps the deck from its plastic sleeve. There, 22nd from the top, unmistakable among the highlighter colours of the McLarens, is the Brabham card.
There is a beat of silence, Jenson stares at the card, not quite believing he is seeing what he is seeing nor holding what he is holding. Serrano must not quite believe it either because he plucks the four of hearts from Jenson’s stunned hands. He holds it up to inspects it. Definitely a Brabham card. He flips all the new McLaren cards face up. No four of hearts.
His grin fully breaks into a laugh. “That’s my card, yes. Mr Rosberg, as always, you work magic .”
His excitement is contagious. Warmth seeps back into Nico’s posture as he delicately takes back the card he is offered.
“Thank you, Galtero. I’ll do this deck justice, promise.”
Then he turns to Jenson. “Jenson. Good day.”
And just like that he pockets the deck and marches himself out of the door.
Silence. Jenson looks down at his deck. Galtero raises an eyebrow. Oh, bloody fucking damn it - Jenson thinks and runs out the shop.
*
He catches up with Nico at the traffic light down the street.
“Britney! Nico, wait please.” - he calls making a grab for Nico’s elbow when the other just continues walking - “I am sorry, I didn’t mean to..”
“Imply that I can’t do magic anymore? Or that all my tricks are boring and predictable and staged?” - Nico grits out, rounding on him - “Because you successfully implied all of the above.”
“Not like that.” - Jenson reassures him. He might have, just a bit. He had also definitely chosen his words wrong, the last in a series of unfortunate comments when it came to them, but even if he had meant it all the way like Nico took it Jenson just got his mind blown away for his troubles, hasn’t he? - “Nico, I just...was not expecting that. I hadn’t seen you do magic like that since like 2014?”
Ouch - Nico’s skeptical glare still burns. Ok, ok. Jenson gets it: flattery and beating around the bush are not appreciated.
“Well, since Mexico really.” He admits, his voice lower. Nico doesn’t exactly stop glaring but he does stop trying to pull away. Jenson can work with that.
“Coffee?”
The shift in Nico’s face is almost comical.
“Coffee?! Are you asking me out?”
“Yes?”
Nico shakes his head, incredulous, but there’s just the hint of a smile of his lips. “God, but you are quite confident in your charms, aren’t you?”
Jenson winks at him. “Well, I am a magician too.”
*
Once upon a dream there was Mexico 2015. Jenson doesn’t think he will ever forget Mexico 2015. They had come off the competition still burning, Nico a winner if not a Champion and Jenson celebrating the best placement of a year of otherwise mediocre shows. He had pressed Nico into the sheets, fresh off the shower just so that he could chase the hint of freshness on that pale skin. Jenson has admittedly had a lot of great sex in his life - and a lot of that great sex has been with Nico - but that night had been something else. Incandescent, a feast of white-hot pleasure that had unravelled into a slow, tender simmering, their bodies drawn impossibly close until Jenson had no longer known where he ended and Nico started. Maybe, he thinks, he should have known it then, with Nico shivering in the afterglow but still holding himself there, open and wanting and completely and utterly bare for Jenson’s eyes and Jenson’s eyes only. Yes, maybe he should have known then.
“I am having a competition with breadsticks and currently losing.”
Jenson startles. “What?”
“Well…” - Nico says, playing with the straw in his ice coffee - “You invite me out and spend your time staring at the complementary breadsticks. My self-esteem has taken quite a knock, I’ll let you know.”
“I am sorry! I didn’t mean to…”
Nico holds up a hand and only then Jenson catches the barely held-in giggle. “I am joking. Penny for your thoughts?”
Oh, fine, Jenson thinks, holding out his hand in turn. Two can play this game. “Give then. But I’ll let you know: I am not that cheap.”
God, is it possible to miss somebody’s laugh so much? Or to miss them so sharply just by their laugh? It's the kind of questions that Jenson wishes he only asked himself in moments like this, as Nico makes a show of summoning two euro coins out of thin air. But it’s not news to him, this longing, this there and not there ache for the man in front of him. He had spent 2016 wondering how you could miss someone when they were physically still so close, just a hotel room over or a theatre stand away. He had spent the years since wondering if he made a mistake in letting go when things got harder.
“How have you been?” - he asks, before any of those thoughts can spill over.
Nico takes a sip of his coffee, looking pensively out of the window to the colorful flow of the crowd. “Honest? Not bad. I rested. It was kind of odd at first, not performing, not being on the road so much. But I am enjoying it a lot, being just a spectator. Magic is an art of surprise and performance. As much as I enjoyed being in the flow of it, I also missed just experiencing a good show without the pressure of trying to tear it to pieces behind the scenes just so that I could upstage it. I am not going to say it’s easy - there’s days where I ache to go back and do just another show or another crazy championship trick - but then I remember what that was like, having so much pressure that I was losing sight of everything else but the competition. Yes, I miss it but I was also missing my quiet and magic and peace of mind when I was there so it’s not an exchange I regret.”
He puts the coffee down. “And you? WEC treating you right?"
“Yes.” - Jenson says, maybe too quickly. He had been the one who had dragged Nico here and, despite the German agreeing, Jenson had been braced for Nico to simply make a joke or get defensive or talk about the weather. He hadn’t expected honesty.
“I’ve been good" - Jenson amends - “After the struggle of those last few seasons, moving on to escapology was quite freeing . Pun intended.”
Nico snorts. “I am sure it was. And here I thought you said you’d never do WEC in case it put you off bondage in the bedroom.”
“Did I say that? I guess it does make it a bit more of a challenge.” - he hesitates - “Or so I have been told.”
Nico laughs. “What? You want me to believe that you, Jenson Button bed magician extraordinaire, haven't tested your newly polished rope and handcuffs skills?”
It’s an out. This is where Jenson is supposed to take the chance, make a joke and save himself from any further confessions. But well, Nico started it and Jenson has never been too good at biting his tongue. In for a penny, in for a pound, no?
“I don’t want you to believe anything. I am just saying that I have found that not having the right person by your side takes the fun out of it.”
Nico stills. “You don’t mean that.”
Jenson stays quiet. Nico stares at him for a long moment then his eyes drop to the small the pile of coins he had summoned earlier.
"Well...that...that is worth a lot more than 6 euros."
“Nico…”
"No, Jenson.” - Nico says - “The things you do to me, honestly. I know you mean it and I know you've meant it for a long time. I know that you are saying it now because things are better and I am not going insane over a competition anymore. But I haven't changed. There's no 2008 me, 2016 me and now me. There's just me. With the things I have done, the things I am and those I am not . It hasn't changed, Jenson.”
*
“Ok” - Mark announces - “I am so done with this crap."
"You...” - he points at Fernando - “..are an idiot and I can’t believe I ever agreed to marry you. I swear to God, if I hear the word ‘Renault’ one more time death will do us ‘part very soon.”
Fernando scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest, deeply offended. He looks like a disgruntled cat and Mark ignores him.
“And you!” - he points at Jenson - “You have been insufferably moody for a week. What the hell got your fucking panties in such a twist?”
“Nothing” - Jenson says, contemplating the likelihood of surviving an escape out of the window - “You have been spending too much time with DC, you know that?”
“I know. You guys are terrible company, that’s why.”
Jenson chuckles and takes a sip out of his wine, head resting on the glass of the window. Outside, the last glimpses of sun have dipped behind the walls of the orchard, stretching the long shadows of the trees into the incoming night. It will be time for the fireflies soon.
“Don’t think you can get away with a joke.” - Mark warns him - “I am serious, Jense. Spit it out.”
There are few places on earth that Jenson loves as much as Fernando’s Spanish villa. It is a place that doesn’t quite fit with the more colorful (or egocentric depends who you ask) parts of Nano’s personality and maybe that’s why it has never failed to provide an escape from the rest of the world, hiding away its inhabitants behind a shield of olive trees and dry stone walls. Just like he is doing now, Jenson has spent long summers here - drinking Nano’s red wine and jumping in the pool. It’s a place that heals, if one just lets it.
“I went out for coffee with Nico”
Fernando promptly dis-offends himself and jumps forward in his chair. The look on Mark’s face Jenson is not prepared to examine.
“You went out for coffee.” - the Australian says - “With Nico. Britney Nico.”
Jenson sighs. “I met him at Serrano’s on Friday when Fernando abandoned me. He did one hell of a magic trick...I have no idea how he pulled it off. And then I just...I don’t know. I asked him out. I know it was stupid.”
Fernando reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Never stupid. Did it not go well?”
“It didn’t go bad. He looks happy and we talked. I meant to keep it casual, I swear, just a lighthearted catch up. That did not exactly happen.”
“Of course not.” - Fernando tuts, like he always does when Jenson is being an idiot - “Is Nico. You have not been ‘casual’ in a long time. No matter what you tell yourself. What did he say?”
It’s not what he said - Jenson thinks as he looks out to the olive field. If he strains his eyes just a little he can see the blinking of a firefly. A little, intermittent star. There's just me. With the things I have done, the things I am and those I am not. Hadn’t Jenson just told him that? That is has always been just Nico?.
“Do you think he loved me?” - he asks aloud - “Back when we were...do you think he loved me?”
“Jenson” - Mark sighs - “Anybody with eyes could tell that Nico was in love with you. ”
“Then would it have been too much to ask he said it?” If was there a way for that not to sound so bitter or insecure, Jenson has probably missed it.
Fernando shakes his head, rubbing soothing circles on his shoulder.
“No. Is fair. He said it now?”
“He has never said.”
“Are you sure? Are you sure he didn’t?”
It’s probably not polite to gape at one of your friends like he is doing now but Jenson finds he can’t quite help it. “Yes, Mark. Surely I would know if…”
Mark holds up a hand. “What is the first rule of magic?”
Jenson rolls his eyes. “A magician shows but never tells.”
There is a shift. Something cold slithers in the air. Fernando’s hand stills, the only point of warmth in the sudden chill.
Mark nods. Jenson hadn’t quite realized they had already lost so much light but he can barely make out the Australian’s movement. Sitting across the table, he is little more than a figure shrouded in darkness, almost indistinguishable from the shadows of the night, black hair and pale skin.
“That’s the rule we must live by.” - he says and it must be a play of the faint light coming from inside because his eyes are suddenly sharp, unnaturally bright among the shadows - “Do you believe in magic, Jense?”
*
Fine. Maybe Mark has a point. That’s what Jenson admits to himself the following morning, after a much needed cup of coffee and a night spent mulling over the odd conversation of the previous evening. Magicians lie for a job and the easiest way to lie is with your words. It is not a stretch to see how someone like Nico, born and bred into the profession, would place less value on words and more on actions. But that’s where Mark’s point becomes half a point. If that.
Some have called it a cop out, some Nico’s greatest trick yet. The truth is: Nico had kept his mouth shut, had won and had left. The world hadn’t seen it coming and Jenson hadn’t either. That is the part he can’t get over. They had gone years, him and Nico, without ever feeling the need to define what they were, their magnetic attraction grounded by a great, natural friendship. It had worked for them because they knew each other, deeply, intimately. Until something hadn’t quite clicked.
Nico had grown colder and Jenson had just stood there, watching him build walls of ice around himself without trying to melt them or stand himself inside them with Nico. He hadn’t understood it. He thought he had, because he had been so sure he knew Nico. He had been wrong. Jenson had woken up one day to the headlines of Nico’s shock retirement and the stark realization that maybe he did not know Nico after all. In the end, when it mattered, Nico had not confided in him.
Are you sure he didn’t?
*
Mexico 2015. Half way through the night, Jenson had woken up with a shiver. The glass door to the balcony had been left open, the warm air of the day now coming in a breeze just enough to chill the sweat on his skin. The other side of the bed had been empty.
He had found Nico out on the balcony, naked but for his boxers and Jenson’s shirt. With his hair still mussed from their earlier activities and a small coin flitting carelessly from finger to finger, he had been a vision out of those fantasies that, before meeting him, Jenson had only ever thought possible in dreams. He had drawn closer, letting the magnetic pull between them bring them together as he slipped his arms around Nico’s waist, pressing a kiss to the German’s temple.
“I didn’t tire you enough, I take it.”
He had felt Nico’s sigh deep into his chest and he had hurried to press his lips back to his warm skin. There had been something recently, something cold and unpleasant clinging to Nico. It had a lot to do with losing the Championship a second time but it went beyond that. That was what scared Jenson the most.
“Jenson…” - Nico had whispered, eyes far away on the chaotic skyline of Mexico City. - “Let’s say you had only one word, what would you say magic is?”
Busying himself with trailing soft, open mouthed kisses down Nico’s exposed throat, Jenson had twirled the question around in his mind for a long moment before answering.
“Magic is a challenge. For me at least. You challenge the expectations of the public, what they think can happen and what they think you can make happen. You challenge yourself. Can you exceed those expectations? Can you make a new trick? Can you surprise?”
“Why are you asking?” he had asked, nosing down along Nico’s jaw.
Nico had hummed, finally giving in and letting himself fall back into Jenson’s embrace, his head resting languidly on Jenson’s shoulder to give him better access. “Niki asked us, before the show in the States. What is magic?”
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t. But Lewis told him...Lewis told him ‘Magic is an illusion.’”
“I can understand that. We are called illusionists after all.”
Nico had stayed quiet and Jenson had wanted to kick himself. Lewis was a touchy subject on the best of days and an explosive one when deeper disagreements were involved. It was also a subject Jenson wanted very far away from tonight.
“Tell me then.” - he had whispered, deep and warm - “What about you? What is magic for you?”
Nico had turned around in his arms and Jenson had been struck by the contradiction in the warm, pliant lines of his body and the anguish written in his face. He had blinked, unsure, but then Nico had shaken himself, the haunted look disappearing from his eyes. Whether gone for real or simply pushed back into a box he didn’t have the key to, Jenson did not know.
“I show you.” - Nico had said and had offered him the coin. Plain silver, not loaded, a Mercedes 2014 with a crown on one side and an arrow on the other.
Without moving from the circle of Jenson’s arms, Nico had taken the coin back, held it between the thumb and index finger of his left hand and passed his right hand over it. The coin had vanished.
Jenson had laughed. “A pinch coin vanish. Fancy.”
“Are you sure?” - Nico had asked, his eyes on Jenson - “Do you want to check?”
And Jenson had, not really because he had wanted to check that Nico could indeed flawlessly perform such an easy magic trick, but because checking involved teasingly splaying Nico’s long fingers and running his own between them. He had made a show of it, a slow caress with just his fingertips before he had playfully intertwined their fingers together.
He had expected the coin to fall, released from where Nico had to have hidden it pinched at the back of his left hand, between the knuckles of his index and middle finger. But the coin had not fallen. The coin had been nowhere to be seen.
“So?” - Nico had asked, the corners of his lips turning up.
Cheeky. Magic is an art of misdirection. Nico had tricked him into assuming he was going to use a vanishing pinch by performing the movement and Jenson had fallen for it. In reality there were a few other options, options Jenson had overlooked because having Nico so close had been distracting.
“Stay still” - he had told Nico and Nico had, cocking his hip and keeping his hands out, fingers splayed open.
With a smile, Jenson had taken a step back, making sure that Nico hadn’t simply dropped the coin between them. No coin. The floor had been all tiles, there had been no way Nico could have dropped it there without Jenson hearing it.
A fake thumb was also out of the picture. One because Jenson had just thoroughly checked Nico’s hands and two because a coin is not a handkerchief that can just be folded away. There had been no pockets in the shirt - Jenson knew that because it had been his shirt. That left...
“Boxers”
“Now you just want to get me naked.”
“Maybe.” - Jenson had teased and had received a provocative wriggle of Nico’s hips in return.
“Well, do go on.”
Jenson had. He had stripped Nico, boxers first and shirt second, running his hands up slowly along his sides until Nico had squirmed, ticklish. And then Nico had just stood there, bathed in the moonlight in all his naked glory. One of the greates sighs Jenson had ever seen, for sure, but still. No coin.
“It’s in your mouth.”
Nico had smirked - naked, confident and absolutely breathtaking. He had leaned suggestively closer, a challenge written everywhere in the soft lines of his body. “Do you want to check?”
Never one to be told twice, Jenson had surged forward, kissing the smirk off those lips, his tongue dipping inside, certain he would find the cold metal of the coin. He had not. He had been met only with the warmth of Nico’s mouth, wet and pliant, opening up freely for Jenson. Not a hint of silver or steel.
“Did you swallow it?”
“Did I swallow it?” - Nico had laughed - “I know you know I have no gag reflex but that would be a bit extreme, don’t you think?”
Jenson had found the bloody coin pressed into his palm.
“How did you do that?” - he had wondered, not quite believing the reality of the naked man in his arms and the coin in his hand. It wasn’t possible. It simply wasn’t.
Nico had wriggled his fingers. “Magic.”
“I am serious, Nico.”
“So am I.”
*
“I don’t believe in magic.” - Jenson says, apropos nothing, as he watches Nico materialise bouncy balls out of his empty water bottle for the joy of the children two benches over.
Nico looks at him like he has grown another head. “Right. Every time you say that a poor magic creature somewhere dies, you know that?”
“I am being serious.”
“So am I. It’s just lucky it hasn’t been me struck down yet.”
Jenson sighs. “Nico.”
“Yes, I know: I am being insufferable.” - Nico says, reaching down to pick up one of the balls from the ground - “Sorry.”
Jenson has to fight down the sudden urge to reach out and tuck back the stray strand of blond hair that has fallen loose with the movement. “You are being contrary. Nothing new there.”
Nico laughs and throws the bouncy balls to the kids before giving his full attention back to Jenson.
“Fair enough. So, are you going to tell me what today is about?”
You - Jenson thinks - us. And words. But not yet.
They decide to take a walk in the park, abandoning their sunny bench for the shade of the tree-lined path. After another coffee and a bit more moping, it hadn’t been a hard choice for Jenson to seek Nico out again. More than any of Jenson’s alternative sexual encounters, or lack thereof, bumping into Nico at Serrano’s had been a wake-up call. It had been so refreshing to be at the receiving end of Nico’s sarcasm and stubbornness and of the sultry, cheeky smile with which he performed the tiny magic tricks that seemed to sprout naturally around him. It had been too much of a stark reminder of why it had been Nico who Jenson had found himself drawn to time and time again. And of what it is about Nico that had captured Jenson in the first place.
“Mark asked me that” - Jenson says picking up the conversation again - “If I believe in magic.”
“Right.”
“I’ll admit it was a weird conversation. One that may or may not have started with me admitting to us having coffee.”
Nico looks at him. “I am going to ignore the fact that you gossip about me to Mark and Fernando. Just on the ground that I have enough dirt on them both.” He looks up at the green canopy of the trees. “But magic. You say you don’t believe in it?”
“We are illusionists, Nico. I believe that magic tricks can be performed. And I am going to call that magic, why not. But Mark said it…”
“Like that’s not what he meant.”
“Yes.”
“Have you ever read Mary Poppins?” - Nico asks then smiles when Jenson shakes his head - “Good. Don’t. It will totally ruin the movie for you.”
“In one of Mary Poppins’ stories” - he says as they loop around the marble fountain at the centre of the park - “one of the Banks’ children is just an infant. Barely a couple of months old. She still remembers where she came from, she still remembers the galaxies and the stars and what it is that makes the whole universe one. And because she does, she can laugh herself to the ceiling and speak with the friendly crow that comes to her window everyday without the help of any oddly qualified babysitters. It’s magic and it’s possible because she doesn’t know it’s impossible yet. Does that make sense?”
“I guess so.”
“Well, one day the friendly crow is busy. He doesn’t go visit little Miss Banks. He is busy the day after too, and the one after that. He skips a week. When he gets back, little Miss Banks is very happy to see him. She offers him a biscuit. But no words. Just like her mother does. And the crow caws and leaves.”
Nico stops, an abrupt halt that forces Jenson to follow. He looks serious now, blue eyes firmly on Jenson. “So tell me. Is it that this is a story, magic isn’t real and the crow can’t speak or is it that we are like little Ms Banks and have simply forgotten that magic is possible?”
Jenson looks away up at the trees then looks back down at him.
“You are telling me I should believe in magic and try to talk to crows in case they talk back?”
Nico laughs. “No, I am suggesting that what Mark meant is that there’s more to it all than meets the eye and sometimes it’s good to talk to those you wouldn’t dream of because they might give unexpected answers.”
“Really?”
“Of course not” - Nico says, bumping his shoulder lightly into Jenson’s - “Maybe I really meant you should talk to a crow and see if they talk back. Or a cat. I am sure a cat would make a better conversation partner. Ice cream stop?”
*
There is a queue at the ice-cream shop and Jenson is happy to let Nico go ahead. If Nico Rosberg’s most well kept secret is his tricks, a close second is that he has never quite outgrown his sweet tooth, the fault of very strict parents that would give him carrots as a child instead of candy. That is according to him at least. Jenson has always found it most endearing - the way Nico feels he needs to hide it.
“What flavours you want?” - Nico asks, standing on his tiptoes to look at the menù like he is not going to get chocolate any way.
“You are the expert.” - Jenson says and laughs at Nico’s somewhat bashful smile. For somebody who many consider awfully spoiled, it is actually the small things that make Nico happy.
He finds a quiet spot to wait at the corner of the shop, away from the crowd and near the cobbled back street that leads out of the park. It is going surprisingly well - he thinks, leaning against the warm brick wall of a garden - much better than their impromptu coffee date the other day. It is true that, aside from odd tales of babies, crows and cats, they haven’t really touched on any dangerous topics. Yet, despite having come ready to talk, Jenson finds that now he is here he is surprisingly ok with just taking it as it comes. It is good to just spend time with Nico and just enjoy each other, something they haven't done in years.
And talking about cats...
“Hello” - Jenson says, crouching down to scratch the furry visitor that has appeared out of a nearby doorway - “Have you come to keep me company?”
The black cat just purrs, rubbing itself against Jenson’s leg, before tilting its chin so that Jenson can scratch underneath it.
“Aren’t you a friendly one?”
The cat swishes its tail, blinking up at him then trots a couple of steps away. It stops, turning back to look at Jenson. Waiting. When Jenson doesn’t move it comes back, looping around Jenson’s legs then moving away a couple of steps again. It stops. Waiting.
Jenson casts a glance at Nico but the German is still in the queue. By the looks of it, he will be there a few more minutes for sure. Oh, fine. Jenson follows the cat.
It becomes a pattern: the cat will let Jenson give it one pat, move a couple of steps and wait for Jenson to follow. And really, Jenson thinks as he turn the corner, it says something that he is just going along with it. Then the cat jumps up on the top of a dry stone wall enclosing a garden, half hiding underneath the leaves of a laurus.
That’s what you get for following a cat - Jenson chuckles and turns to go back to Nico.
The cat promptly sticks its head back out of the plant and meows loudly. Jenson hesitates. Just below the wall, there is a big flower planter, easily as high as Jenson’s knees. If he steps on it, he could reach the top of the wall and see inside the garden. The cat wiggles its tail.
Fine. Careful not to step on anything, Jenson climbs on top of the planter, reaching up so that he is eye level with the cat at the top of the wall.
The cat looks back at him expectantly.
“What?” - Jenson asks but the cat just keeps staring with its big yellow eyes. Waiting.
Oh, fuck it - Jenson decides - he has definitely and utterly already proved he is insane, hasn’t he?
“Blink three times if you can speak.”
The cat stares at him.
“Mate, why would I blink if I can speak?”
Jenson promptly loses his hold and slips off the wall.
*
“That hurt my soul.”
“Did I just hear you assume you have one? Ouch! Webber!”
When Jenson opens his eyes, the first thing he realises is that he is lying on the cobbled ground. The second is that Nico is standing over him, blond hair tucked in behind his ears and the bloody black cat sprawled on top of his head. He is also sporting a brand new scratch across the bridge of his nose.
“Are you ok? I didn’t think you would fall...sorry.”
“I am fine.” Jenson says, accepting his hand to get back up “I just...the cat…”
“The cat?”
“It talked.”
“Right” - Nico says, sounding about as convinced as any reasonable person would when confronted with such a statement - “The cat...talked. Are you sure you didn’t hit your head too hard?”
“I didn’t. Nico, I swear.”
“Jenson, you do realize you sound crazy? How can a cat talk?”
“I don’t know! Maybe it’s like you said. Magic!”
“Magic?”
“Yes, magic!”
“You mean like ventriloquism?”
It would make sense, Jenson agrees, but it hadn’t sounded like it. Ventriloquism also doesn’t explain why the cat is staying on Nico’s head and chuckling at Jenson - because it is definitely chuckling at Jenson, full Cheshire grin and all.
“No, Nico, magic. Real magic.”
He fully expects Nico to nod politely and call him an ambulance. Instead Nico breathes in, a gasp that is more a shudder, almost like something has given way deep inside him.
“He said it.” - he whispers, the look in his blue eyes tethering on the verge of frantic - “I think he said it?”
“It counts for me” the cat agrees, rolling over on Nico’s head and stretching its paws out. It jumps down, its tiny body shifting in the air and all of a sudden Jenson finds himself staring at Mark’s familiar face.
"Do you believe in magic now?" the Australian taunts with a smile.
*
They bring him to a small café full of books, very sugary pastries and arranged in a series of small private alcoves where they won’t be disturbed. A good part of Jenson still thinks this is a dream. He has hit his head falling down the wall and he is actually still passed out on the ground and he will wake up any moment. Mark has shifted in and out of cat...form? at least twice, trotting a couple of steps ahead of them. Nico has said nothing the entire walk.
It’s only when they have put one of those overly sugary pastries in his stomach and the coffee has burned his tongue that Jenson starts to feel like this might actually be reality.
“I assume you have questions.” - Mark asks, with a steady, encouraging kindness in his voice that Jenson has rarely heard.
“I..” Jenson stutters, uncharacteristically. Where does one even start? “Magic is real.”
Mark nods.
“And you are a cat.”
That is met by a laugh. “I am a dampyr. Half-human, half-vampire. I can turn into a cat, a bat or ...black things really.”
“Right.” - Jenson says. Of course. Clearly. A dampyr - “And you are…?”
“Oh” - Mark says with a smile that is all teeth. Very sharp, very fang-y teeth - “Britney here is something else .”
Nico, who still has to utter a word, flips him off. Mark makes some sort of leering face at him, forked tongue peeking out. Those two have never failed to bring out odd parts of each other, Jenson thinks. Apparently not only in a figurative way.
“Well! Since cat got somebody ’s tongue, I think I am going to step outside for a moment so that Princess here can get off her pea. If you need me, just shout for me.”
They both nod and Mark leaves, giving one last squeeze to Jenson’s shoulder.
Nico has got a giant bowl of ice-cream in front of him. Comfort food. Jenson feels the urge to reach out for him, just to ground them both.
“I am sorry.” - Nico says, breaking his silence - “I don’t even know how this must feel...”
Like you pulled the rug from underneath my feet and sent me tumbling down a hill. And I am pretty sure I am a long way to the bottom. Jenson sighs.
“Just to be clear: magic...this magic, Mark turning into a cat magic, is truly not a trick. It’s not what we do on stage.”
“No. This is...let’s say there is the world human people inhabit every day and then there’s another. The bits that crossover, that’s our magic.”
“So you and Mark are magicians and then you are magicians .”
Nico snorts. “The irony is not lost on me.”
It’s a lot to process. Jenson tries not to fiddle with his coffee, fails and decides the safest thing to do before he spills it everywhere is to keep his hands to himself after all.
“What I saw at Serrano’s, was it…”
“That was a trick. Not many people know but Brabham released two lines - the cards are identical but one is loaded. Serrano knew that bit but played along. I am not telling you how I did the sealed deck part, just know it involved another deck and glue.”
“But you used real magic around me before.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand.” - Jenson admits - “Is this what you were struggling with? Is this why you just.. If this was the big secret all along, why not just tell me?”
Nico’s smile dimms. “What is the first rule of magic?”
“A magician shows but never tells.” - Jenson recites and then the realization hits him - “You can’t say it.”
Nico shakes his head.
“And if you say it…”
“We die.”
“And what you said in the park: when somebody says they don’t believe, do you also…?”
“Die? Yes but not one of us like me and Mark. It’s the sparklings, the young ones. The just - go .” - he looks away - “There used to be so many more of us. Many more people simply believed but then they stopped. They grew up, society grew up, grew faster, frenetic. And there’s so many people now who just want to believe that magic does not exists, they want to believe that you can tear anything down and you will always find the trick, find fishing line and a loaded dice and a rational explanation. So that they can sleep at night knowing that they already know all that there is to know.”
“Is that why you and Mark do magic? Illusionism magic, I mean? To open that possibility for wonder?” - Jenson asks - “Because I can understand that, but that’s cheating Nico. That’s lying.”
“I would never use real magic on a Championship stage, if that’s what you are implying.” - Nico cuts him off - “That would be cheating and I did not cheat, thank you very much. But I also think it is exactly the opposite. An illusionist is a liar. A honest liar but a liar nonetheless.”
“And Mexico?” - Jenson whispers - “Was that also a lie? Or was that you trying to…?”
The look in Nico’s eyes is painful. “There is so much more to me and to my world than you could ever imagine. You wanted everything. I knew that and I wanted to give it to you so bad but I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell you that I loved you - that I love you - knowing all of you when you didn’t know all of me. And for you to know, I could only try to show you and hope that you saw it.”
He looks down at his melted bowl of ice cream.
“I had battled for years, Jenson. I just got tired of not getting anything of what I wanted.”
*
Once the Pandora’s box of magic has been opened in front of your eyes, it cannot be closed. Jenson doesn’t regret getting the key to it, he doesn’t regret opening up a world beyond any of his wildest dreams but dipping your toes in the water doesn’t really prepare you for the depths of the ocean. “There is no need to drown yourself.” - Mark reassures him - “It’s a lot. Britney has patience for what he wants. There’s no hurry. ”
So, Jenson takes his time. He takes months because it has taken them years and he is not about to rush this. It helps that Mark himself doesn’t let him forget, trotting about in cat form whenever he feels like it and shamelessly hanging upside down from curtain poles to catch a nap as a bat. After pulling an almost all-nighter jetlagged because of Sky commitments, Jenson will admit he is kind of envious. The floor was not nearly as comfortable. Fernando also knows which should really not surprise Jenson because him and Mark are married. Nano’s discovery was apparently a lot more traumatic than Jenson’s. He has not yet gotten the entire story but it apparently involves Felipe, a lot of Italian swearing, Kimi, Kimi’s wings, a door and several packets of ice. Because Flying Finns is apparently not metaphorical. Jenson is genuinely struggling to find a balance between asking all the questions and not wanting to know.
Just as the days start getting colder, he finds himself back in Monaco. There’s a new trick he has been working on, one he plans to have ready for the FISM New Year Gala. It’s something the likes of which Jenson hasn’t done in years and but it’s not the rust of retirement that makes the movements of if feel foreign. It’s intent. That’s why, even it’s still a work in progress, Jenson finds himself reaching a decision. It’s time to show someone.
*
“I am going to start over.”
Nico takes a long sip of his wine.
“It’s going to work this time, princess, I promise.”
Nico puts his wine glass down, uncurling himself off the couch and coming to stand in front of Jenson. “I have total faith in you.”
“I am glad. I promise not to set the fire alarm off again.” - Jenson holds out his hand - “This is?”
“A seed.”
“Yes. Just a normal seed, from a normal bag of seeds. Do you think I should use a sunflower?”
“No.” - Nico says, trailing his fingers along Jenson’s hand to tap the seed in his palm - “I like roses.”
Jenson curls up his fingers, just the hint of a caress on Nico’s wrist. “Roses it is. Now, for the tricky part. Ready?”
Without taking his eyes off Jenson, Nico reaches out and picks up the cigarette from where he had abandoned it on the ashtray. He taps it twice to shake the ashes off then lifts it to his lips.
Jenson would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of Nico when imagining this trick. Nico with his quirks and beauty and confidence, with his enigmas and flaws and captivating sensuality. Yet, the reality of it, even after many failed attempts, still exceeds any of Jenson’s fantasies.
He covers the seed with his free hand and Nico leans down. It’s almost a shotgun kiss, in the old fashioned way that involves more hands than lips, but it’s still too close. Nico blows out the smoke between Jenson’s fingers and Jenson has to rip himself away, lock that part of himself off because he needs focus. Concentration. This is the tricky part. Slowly, he opens his hands, holding out the one that had the seed, palm up. The smoke is gone. The seed is gone. But there, right on Jenson’s outstretched palm, a plant starts to grow: stem first, then thorns and leaves and at last a smoky gray rose blossom.
Nico lights up. His nose scrunches in that charming way of his and he laughs, looking at the rose that Jenson is now offering him with a proud smile.
“So? Is this worth setting off the fire alarm for?”
“Yes. This is amazing.” - Nico twirls the flower between his fingers, something softer seeping into his excitement - “This is magic, Jense”
*
Later, when he is done tidying up, Jenson finds that Nico has moved to the balcony. The German is sitting on the railing, his back to the Monaco sky. Abandoned between his fingers is the last cigarette of the pack.
“I do feel kind of guilty, it wasn’t my intention to ruin your lungs.”
Nico smiles, a cheeky, pensive thing as he blows the smoke up at the night sky. “Just once, I don’t mind.”
Jenson draws closer, coming to stand between his legs and slips away the cigarette from between his fingers. He takes a drag himself, just one, and feels the acrid burn of the smoke in his mouth, down his throat. Nico leans in when he exhales, not touching, but they are close, so close that they might as well be, the smoke and their breath coming together as one.
“I thought about it.” - Jenson whispers, safe in the warm space between them - “I have decided.”
He stubs the cigarette out.
“Show me.”
And Nico melts, his body caving as Jenson reaches out to hold him and for an long moment there’s just that: the two of them and the ghost of a kiss pressed against Jenson’s lips, warm and loving and grateful. Then Nico’s wings unfurl behind him.