I gave this a title because it fit so badly. :)

I'm glad it touched you, pizzachic! :D


Chapter Twelve: Revelations

Francesco yawned, wondering what he should do that morning as he wandered into the kitchen. There he found a note stuck on the refrigerator, a smiley magnet pinning it to the silver door. He winced as he tried making out what it said through his morning blur.

"You aren't going blind like me, aren't you?" a gentle voice called as the purr of an engine sounded in his ears.

"Not really." He didn't need to check if it was Marlene or not. "I just woke up, after all."

She sided by him, staring at the note before them. Her eyes widened in alarm, then she relaxed, chuckling. Francesco started to laugh, too.

"I still remember the last time I left a note for an all-day excursion," she murmured, glancing at him.

"Anche mio," he chuckled. "But…what do we do…about her? She might get hurt!"

She nuzzled his wing as alarm dominated his tone. "She'll be fine, Francesco," she murmured comfortingly. She cut him off as she continued. "She's twenty-three, sweetheart. She can handle herself."

Francesco let out the breath he was holding. "Am I too strict with her?" he asked after a small while.

"Maybe," the R8 replied. "But your concern is right." She turned to kiss his wing. "Why don't you start breakfast while I check on Franco?" With that, she turned to leave.

Francesco only read and reread the note, still worried for his adopted daughter.

"Don't worry.

MRS 125"


"You know?"

"What?"

"I haven't heard a single word about your family or your past." She glanced at him. "Why not?"

That mid-morning, right after breakfast, he'd invited her to the clearing once more, and soon, unable to refuse, she led him up the countryside for the second time. Golden daylight lit up the small meadow, and even the shadow of the oak's wide branches brightened slightly instead of the near-pitch black shade last night, warming the cool autumn air of Italy. The two had settled side-by-side under the shade of the oak, talking.

His lazy green gaze was now alarmed, and either his lips pressed together or they twitched in thought.

"Margo?"

"Yes?"

He stared at her. Whatever you've believed, whatever you've thought…I want you to forget all that." Her eyes widened with surprise, but he continued.. "i want you to have an open mind when I tell you about my past."

It was a few moments before she nodded, slowly but surely. He took a deep breath before speaking.

"My family was quite well-off," he started. "With us, you can have anything at nearly a link of an eye." He noted how her eyes glimmered in awe for a moment. "My father worked as a successful but quiet lawyer, and my mother soon retired as a housewife.

"I had three younger sisters, one of which was my twin, and an older brother. My brother's name was Bartolomé Arturo; my sisters', according to age, were Eugénia Milagros, Mercedes Adelaida, and Mireia Adelina. Of them, I loved my brother and our youngest very much, while I quite resented my twin and our second youngest, although the feeling for Mercedes was slightly lesser.

"Before I move on to my sisters, I'd like to say that Tolomé was a great car. Many liked him despite the resentment in my family, and he always taught me lessons that my parents didn't. He was my only ally in the family, and he loved me as a brother should." His eyes and tone were wistful. "We did a lot of things together: excursions, games, you name it."

"He sounds nice," she said. "What did he look like?"

Amusement filled his gaze as he stared at her. "Well, he was a lot like me, I guess," he replied. "We were a family of grand touring cars. You could say he looks a lot tougher than I am, but he's got brown eyes instead of green."

"So, was that a reason why you fist liked me?" she asked playfully.

He chuckled, a rumble in his throat. "At first, yes," he admitted without shame.

"At first?" she repeated.

"Never mind," he grumbled good-naturedly, and she nudged him slightly. Things were happy for a moment before his gaze and tone turned to a sour note.

"The reason why I disliked my twin sister is because she was selfish as well as resentful of me, always getting me into trouble with contempt in her eyes. Somehow, Eugénia recruited Mercedes as her ally. I'll never know why Eugénia and Mercedes have gone against me.

"My mother was Sofía; my father was Estéban. My father was rarely involved in our upbringing; my mother took charge of that.

"If I remember, you defined your father as sometimes harsh in reprimanding, correct?" When she nodded, he swept on, front bowed. "But then, I don't remember a time when she showed affection towards me or my brother."

"But how did you get all your stuff?" she blurted out. "I mean, it seems—"

"Ridiculous?" he continued with amusement. She was quite a quick thinker, and for some reason he liked that. She nodded. "Well, somehow I always had money in my pockets, and my mother never minded, I guess."

"…then shouldn't that be a show of affection or care?"

He felt flustered. He didn't see that coming. "Yes, well, Sofía insofar never kissed me or said 'I love you' all my life. At least, not as far as I know."

At last Margo nodded in acceptance of his answer, and he nudged her gently to show he wasn't the least offended. "Sofía always forced us to be gentlecars: charming, behaved, well-mannered." He trembled slightly, a tremor that even she felt. She nuzzled him gently, but his amusement earlier had lifted a small part of the sorrow he felt. "She always blamed me or Tolomé for things that even we did not do. I know she favored Eugénia, Mercedes and Adelina more than me or Tolomé, but it was no excuse!" Anger and resentment had driven steadfast Rodrigo to tears as memories surged in his thoughts and vision. "It was a stupid excuse to be more frustrated at us than them!" he cried out. "It was her fault!"

She shushed him gently as he broke down, his sobs echoing thinly off the rock face. "You don't have to tell me everything at once," she told him.

He recovered at this, though slowly, and started to speak once more. "My mother favored my sisters only because they were girls. Much more was that they were refined girls, girls my mother wanted, girls she knew she could be proud of." He sighed. "I never had my mother's approval, even if I had my father's."

"Did your mother ever tell you the reason why she resented you and your brother?" she asked softly.

He shook his head. "But whatever she showed us was enough explanation," he replied.

"At first I never understood why she had hated me so; it was only when I saw her showering Eugénia and Milagros with gifts that I realized she preferred her daughters."

"And your sisters took that as an advantage?"

He nodded. "My two sisters are like the devil!" he whispered, unable to yowl his anguish and hatred.

"Hush!" she hissed. "Don't say that; everyone has a heart."

He glared at her with reddened eyes, ready for a rebuke, but sighed, relaxing as he faced forward again. "You're right. Adelina was the best of the three only because I stepped in.

"You see, when my mother gave birth to her, I was around, say, ten years old. I had enough experience then, and I took that as an opportunity to raise a Camino sister the right way." She saw his gaze harden into the determination that came with revenge.

"I raised our youngest sibling myself, with a little help from Tolomé. Most accessories of hers I took away when she was old enough to think, most of them being jewelry and such, and mind you, my mother bought enough to turn a good girl spoiled! I had absolutely no use for them, but I didn't want to throw away such precious items, so I sold them instead."

She gasped. "You had no right!"

"I was her brother!" he hissed at her. "I had as much right to!"

"But those were gifts from your own mother! How could you do that!" Her eyes were wide with horror.

"How would you know!" he growled at her, and she flinched at the volume. He turned to face her with his green glare. "You don't have any siblings!"

She shook her front roughly, her ears stinging from his words. She could say no words because what he said was true, but he had no right to say that! In a language foreign to him, one he didn't recognize as European, she spat words at him in her anger, her eyes filled with tears, and she raced past him.

His green gaze turned from anger to horror. "Margo, wait!" he called out, but she didn't stop. He hared after her. "I didn't mean it!"

"You did!" She whirled around to face him. They almost met at a head-on collision, but it was only lucky that he was a race car and was able to screech to a halt faster than a normal car. "You had no right to blame me for something that I had no control of!" she screeched at him with a sob.

"I know, and I'm sorry!" he replied. "Please, Margo; I just-I just…." He sighed as words failed him. He did mean it, but he didn't want to admit it. It had been a surge of anger at her that had driven him to say that.

It was quiet between them for a moment, until he remembered their agreement earlier. "You promised," he started hoarsely, "that you would listen with an open mind."

Her gaze jerked up to meed his in her surprise, and he met her gaze with sadness. She blinked, then bowed her front, sighing. "I guess it was my fault," she said quite grudgingly.

He could understand her tone; he too had always been reluctant to admit he was the one in the wrong. "Come on," he encouraged, "let's go back."

Her lips twitched thoughtfully before she let him lead the way back towards the clearing, where they settled under the oak's widespread branches again.

"Did-did you want me to continue?" he asked uncertainly, unsure after the argument.

"If you wanted to," she replied. "I'll just be here to listen, anyway."

Her tone seemed flat, and he didn't want any remorse as he told her the rest of the story. "I don't want you to be mad at me as you listen," he replied.

"I'm not."

"You sound like you are."

"I swear I'm not."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course!"

"…I really don't want you to be mad. At me, or at anything."

"I'm not," she replied, bristling slightly. "If you tell me I'm mad one more time then I'll be mad!" she spat at him with defiance. Soon, as he stared at her uncertainly, he saw the fire in her eyes leave, only to be replaced with amusement and softness. "Look at us," she murmured. "Fighting like…like…"

"Like lovers?" he replied as softly, amusement and love in his gaze, too.

She chuckled. "Yeah." Neither noticed the headlights flickering in the shade as she pressed closer against him.

"Alright, so where was I…Oh, yes.

"So I went and sold them off, and my mother barely noticed in her happiness for my little sister. Soon enough she noticed, and suspected I did, but I told her Eugénia sold them off for a bit of money. She wasn't eager to hear that, and punished me instead. But it was nothing compared to what Adelina could be in the long run.

"With her under my careful eye," he gestured dramatically, narrowing his eyes, she chuckled and nudged him playfully, "she grew up into the sweet girl I wanted my sisters to be, the kind of girl I saw in the hallways of my school.

"Now, in school, I had two friends, just like you. Their names were José Francisco Linares-Sevilla III, and Fernando Benedicto Medina-Iñigo; Tercio and Benedicto respectively." He chuckled once. "Forgive the long names."

She giggled herself. "That's alright."

With a smile, he continued. "Let's se…when I was still in high school, you could say I was at the top of the social food chain: you know—well, I don't mean to boast or anything, but I was considered one of the, say, hottest cars in the school."

She giggled again, almost shyly this time. "I can see that."

He laughed at this. "Yeah, well, there's this girl—"

"Of course there's a girl!" she exclaimed with amused sarcasm. They laughed for a moment.

"Okay, so there's this girl," he swept on. "She was the most beautiful car in our batch: a pearl white Maserati GranTurismo, with dazzling blue eyes." At this she felt stung by the wistfulness in his eyes and the adjective, but didn't show it. Surely there was more? "Everyone wanted her, even me. Soon enough though, she was mine."

She forced herself to stare back at him with the same curiosity as before, fighting the tension in her belly.

"With the money I had I gave her gifts, and soon I realized how nice it was to do that. For a time, I saw my mother in me, and my mother and I got along."

"For a time," she repeated.

"For a time," he agreed. "But then," his voice was sadder, "she did something I didn't expect."

"What was that?" she prodded, curiosity getting the best of her now.

"She…I found her…doing it…with someone else."

The suggestion in his voice was as unmistakable as the shock in her eyes. "What did you do to her?"

"I broke up with her," he said gruffly, shaking himself inwardly. "She didn't like it after I told her parents."

"Serves her right," Margo growled.

Miguel could only nod. He knew Margo didn't take things like this as lightly as he did before, but how will he tell her about his own misadventures.

It was quite for a moment as he tried forming was easy before, but now her beliefs would be challenged again, he realized.

"The reason why I ran from my family with my brother was that both of us were sick of my mother and our sisters," he started, and stared at her for anything. But there was nothing, just a flicker of reminiscence. "We supported ourselves for a while, mostly from Tolomé. Soon, I turned eighteen, and I was eligible to enter the Running of the Bulldozers.

"Long story short," he said, and she chuckled, "I became a matador at twenty-one, but my mother found out at my twentieth year. I ran out because I was tired of my mother always making the decisions for me." He still remembered that day as clearly as he remembered his moments with Margo the night before, and shivered. He hadn't meant for things to be that way, but it was done.

"My brother only left his career because of his wife," he continued. "I was one of the meager group of witnesses to the marriage, which wasn't much. He left his career because he couldn't bear to leave his family yet, and I was sad to see him leave me. But I was getting more and more successful, and I understood his need for it. I didn't want my nephew, Alfonso, to live without a father, as Tolomé and I nearly have." There was an unsaid question in her eyes, and he continued slightly, "Alfonso is his firstborn son, a sports car with the strength of a grand touring car."

She smiled. "A hybrid, just like Franco."

"Yes, just like Franco," he agreed, remembering the dark silver Formula model with the strength and courage of his father and the engine and stubbornness of his mother.

"So, I was offered a spot in the endurance races by a sponsor. Although it wasn't without its problems.

"I had a hard time adjusting from solitary life to being with my team. Petro even quite because of it! Then I realized I shouldn't have been so arrogant, and he came back."

"Long story short," she repeated.

He chuckled. "Long story short," he agreed. "Soon, I was one of those who have won a championship more than once, but also lost more often than not. But I had a record, and that was enough."

She chuckled, but he couldn't join in. The next part would be quite dangerous, he realized with a jolt, and fear claimed him, slinking onto his chassis and lines. She didn't fail to notice his silence at her laughs. She stared at him, his grim expression alarming her.

"Rodrigo?" she murmured. "Is anything wrong?"

"Remember your promise," he told her fiercely. "Please. For me."

She was stunned by the ferocity in his gaze and tone. "I will," she said clearly.

"Good." He sighed silently, waiting a few moments. "I…I'm not a virgin car."

"W-what?" she said shakily.

He looked away from her, staring at the grass. "Worldly pleasures got to me, and I gave in.

"I remembered Pearle and the scene in my head and how she liked it…and as I tried it out for myself, I didn't want it to stop."

He stole a glance at her, and she was staring at him with horror in her gaze. As her gaze met his, she looked away, and shook her front, eyes closed.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered. He didn't touch her, knowing there was nothing he could do after the words he said. "Please don't be mad at me."

It was a while before she spoke. "People who do that are selfish, you know that?" she said hoarsely, like her energy had been sapped. "People who do that have nothing else to do in life."

"I know. And I'm sorry." His throat tightened in sorrow as he watched her. It was painful enough to have this; he didn't have to hear these kinds of things from her. But he chose to share this with her, and he would just have to deal with the consequences.

She looked like she was absolutely speechless, her mouth opening and closing in speech, thinking better of the things she wanted to say, her front shaking in dismay.

She promised she wouldn't get mad at him, but the aspect of him, the only and the first one she found love in and with, fooling around was too much. Just too much that her head and heart reeled with anger and resentment. She trembled in the shock. There were and were no words, but she promised him. I promised.

"I'm sorry," she said finally, quietly. "It's just…it's a lot to take in."

He nodded. "I know."

"I…I need a little time to think about this, alright?" she moved forward after a sad glance at him, stepping out into the sun.

But he couldn't bear to let her leave. "The only reason why I haven't been doing any of that lately," he called out after her, "is because of you." He saw her taillights light up as she stopped. "Know that. Please."

She turned around to face him, her gaze decisive, saddened, uncertain and confused as she stared back at him, the sun's glare nearly blotting out the silhouette under the branches. It was a sign, she realized, that if she left, she would probably never see him again, at least, in time. With a few more moments of indecision she sighed, blinking away the resentment in her heart, and she moved to settle by him again.

"Know that I trust you, and that I believe you," she murmured, almost flatly. "The feeling of resentment at that will linger, but I'll push it away…for you."

He stared at her as happiness and love crashed into him, making him dizzy that he almost lost sight of her in the whiteness that threatened his sight, and he started nuzzling her fiercely. "Thank you," he repeated several times over. "Thank you for listening; I couldn't share this with anyone, not even Petro or my team." She was lightly shocked by his reaction, but he continued, crying softly, even after he felt her touch against his. "It was so hard to tell you, knowing you didn't like it, knowing you resented your family that did such…."

"Hush," she whispered, and his throat tightened all the more in gratitude and joy as he recognized the softness of love in her tone. "I love you; know that." He could hear her own voice tighten. "Know that I'll accept anything you do, who you are. I won't leave you for something as acceptable as that."