Give Me The Greatest Peace I've Ever Known - 3
Jean-Eric still texts him every morning, asking how he and the baby are. Jaime doesn’t reply. Jean-Eric doesn’t call either. Jaime doesn’t know whether to cry over the fact that his boyfriend’s left and its his fault and he won’t even call anymore, or whether to be glad that he doesn’t have to hear his voice, knowing that it would break him even more. Every time he finds something else Jean-Eric left behind - just three weeks in Jaime’s flat, and there’s pieces of him everywhere, from the toothbrush still sat next to Jaime’s in the bathroom, the French novel he was reading on the nightstand, and the numerous pieces of clothing left everywhere - from the t-shirt Jaime finds tucked behind the sofa, blushing as he remembers the reason it had ended up there, to the numerous pairs of boxers in the laundry pile. DC has somehow found out about the baby, and keeps texting him random information about his pregnancy, asking him how he is, and somehow manages to text in his accent. It cheers him up enough to get through each day, mainly because he spends a fair bit of his time working out what DC is actually trying to say, and gives him enough confidence to announce it the day he ticks over into his twenty-third week because there‘s no way around the fact that anybody who sees him in Australia will know instantly because he can‘t hide it now, but not enough confidence name the father. Jean-Eric doesn’t text that day, nor the day after that. After that, he only asks about the baby, but still, his texts go unanswered, stacking up in Jaime‘s inbox. It’s a very lonely three weeks until Australia, despite the constant company from a now moving baby, a baby he gets pictures of, mails a couple of Jean-Eric, and spends hours just staring at the sonogram pictures. Movement from his baby, that had been weird to get used to - almost like gas at first, before it had clarified into definite movements
Jean-Eric stares at him in Australia, every chance he gets, when they happen to cross paths in the paddock. Well, he mainly stares at the bump, which causes every shirt he owns to tighten over it, because he still hasn’t bought paternity ones. At least he’s bought paternity jeans, despite when wearing them, it’s quite awkward to go to the loo. It‘s actually Daniel Ricciardo who corners him, yanks him (gently) into a quiet corner of the paddock, and starts talking. “Look. Jev’s been miserable for at least two weeks, and he keeps moping at me. I’m pretty sure he cries himself to sleep. And all he seems to do is look at the sonogram picture, he carries it everywhere.” Jaime shrugs, he’s been doing the same thing. Jean-Eric won’t want him back, not when Jaime won’t even tell anybody who the baby’s father is. “Please. Just talk to him, because I’m sick of having to talk about it with him. All he does is mope, and it’s not nice.”
“I can’t.” Jaime whispers, drops his gaze and stares at his bump. “I-I can’t tell everyone that he’s the father!” He glances up, desperate to make Daniel understand
“Nobody minds, Jaime!” Dan sighs. “He just wants to be acknowledged. He loves you, for fuck’s sake!” Jaime blinks away tears. “Just go talk to him, or I’ll borrow the mechanics, kidnap you both and we’ll lock you in a hotel room and pretend like we don’t know what you’re doing.” Jaime still shakes his head. Dan curses, casts a glance around and yanks Jaime after him, keeps a firm grip of his wrist and marches them both through the paddock and into the Toro Rosso motorhome, without flinching at the curious glances, though Jaime blushes and ducks his head. “Talk to him, or I’ll find an appropriate forfeit.” He says, stopping in front of Jean-Eric’s room. Jaime takes a step backwards. He can’t get rejected twice - he’s only just beginning to function normally again, and that’s because he has to get out of bed to work. Twice would mean he just starts crying uncontrollably again, and doing that in the paddock would just be embarrassing. “Jev!” Dan knocks, shoves Jaime through the door when it opens, and shuts it behind them. “Don’t you dare leave until you’ve sorted it out!” He warns, thuds around to let them know he’s sat opposite the door - far enough not to hear much, yet close enough to make them stay where they are.
“Hi.” Jean-Eric says, breaks the uncomfortable silence. “So you’ve come to talk, or?”
“Dan grabbed me.” Jaime shrugs, leans awkwardly against the wall, absently rests his hand underneath his bump. The baby rolls over, sharp kick against his hand. Jaime smiles down at it, rubs his fingers against his shirt. “He says that you are unhappy.”
“Of course I am unhappy!” Jean-Eric points out. “We have split up, yet you are pregnant with my baby!”
“I knew that you wouldn’t want the baby.” Jaime whispers, doesn’t dare look up at Jean-Eric
“I am unhappy that you don’t seem to want me to be involved!” Jean-Eric retaliates. “You won’t even tell anybody that I am the father!”
“You’ve told Dan!”
“He made me!” Jean-Eric yells. Dan shouts an agreement from outside the door. “I just want to be involved.” He murmurs, taking a risk and pulling Jaime into his arms, Jaime going willingly, clinging on like he’s drowning and Jean-Eric is the only thing keeping his head above the water. On cue, the baby lashes out with a particularly violent kick, one that Jean-Eric feels against his stomach, judging by his sharp intake of breath. “Oh, Jaime. I just want to be involved. I want to show you off, you know. Make the world know that you are mine. And so is the baby.”
“But the team-” Jaime starts. Jean-Eric shakes his head, chin brushing against the top of Jaime’s head
“I don’t care.” Jean-Eric replies, leaves no room for argument. “They’ve signed me now, and they cannot drop me because you happen to be pregnant.”
“Marko could.”
“Marko couldn’t. I will go to the media, he will look like a fool, and besides, who will take the seat? It is only me and Dan who have the experience, and Sebastien was dropped too, remember?” Jean-Eric points out, logic making quite a bit of sense. Jaime nods, breaks half-away to look up at Jean-Eric and goes up on his tiptoes to kiss him
“I will say tonight, then. My family though, they know. They don’t like it, and they’re not talking to me.” He explains. “Your family?”
“Would probably love to meet you. My mother has been dropping hints ever since I told her that I was dating somebody.” Jean-Eric grins, kisses the end of his nose. “I will phone her tonight, if you would like. Here.” He lets Jaime go to flick through his wallet, slides a key card and room number into Jaime’s front pocket, tugs his boyfriend closer by his pockets, belt loops non-existent on the paternity jeans. “I like the jeans as well, but I will see you later, Ok?” He asks, kisses him again and takes Jaime’s hand to lead him out of the door, kisses him goodbye again in front of everybody at the door of the motor home
Jaime beats Jean-Eric back to his hotel room, the Frenchman probably stuck in debrief, and falls asleep pretty much immediately. Jean-Eric’s only been staying in the room for a few days, but the bed doesn’t have new linen on today, and it smells like him, that scent Jaime always associates with relaxing and it makes it so easy just to fall asleep. Jean-Eric must let him sleep, rather than wake him up, because Jaime stirs in the middle of the night (poking his phone left on the nightstand reveals that its three in the morning), and Jean-Eric is sleeping curled up next to him, face pressed to his collarbone, one leg flung over his as Jaime sprawls on his back, with one of Jean-Eric’s hands carefully laid across his bump. The baby’s awake, tiny little wriggling movements suggesting its doing somersaults of some sort, as there’s no discernible clear kicks or punches. He dozes back off with a smile on his face, the two people he loves more than anybody else are safe with him, and he’s never felt more loved
Jean-Eric, despite going to bed far late than Jaime, is awake before he is, laid on his stomach with his nose resting against Jaime’s bump, murmuring quietly to it in his native tongue. The baby’s kicking steadily out at the hand Jean-Eric also has pressed to his bump, so evidently, Jaime’s been woken by the baby. Well, at least he can get used to it before the baby’s born. “Good morning, Jean-Eric.” He smiles, laughs as he startles Jean-Eric, who looks up sharply and then grins, nuzzles his bump and wriggles up the bed to kiss him.
“The baby’s awake.” Jean-Eric informs him, grins a bit wider.
“I know, it’s not your stomach he’s kicking.” Jaime grumbles good-naturedly, curls an hand around the back of Jean-Eric’s head and tugs him back for another kiss, breaks away from him ten minutes later
“I suppose we’d better get up.” Jean-Eric sighs, leans over to check the time. “I called my parents last night, when you were asleep.”
“And?”
“They want to meet you, when we go back to Europe.” He grins proudly. Jaime blinks
“I like them already.” He decides, follows Jean-Eric when the younger man rolls out of bed and tugs his wrist, leading them both into the shower before he strips Jaime with complete and utter reverence, brushes kisses over his skin wherever he can, and washes him gently, even dries him. Jaime just lets him, twisting round to kiss him on occasion, but mostly just going with the flow. If Jean-Eric wants to do this, who is Jaime to say no