The Limit (Sebastian Vettel)

1. Time To Say Goodbye

Seb pulled at his tie, loosening it slightly. God, he hated them.   He never wore one if he could get away with it.  He didn't even know how to tie one.  Luckily his had still been knotted from the last time he'd worn it so he'd only had to slip it over his head and tighten it. 

Three weeks had passed since that dreadful day, the day Michael Scott had driven his final lap. It still hadn't really sunk in even though the drivers were all gathered here in Michael's home city, Melbourne, for his funeral.   Maybe once it was over it would all become real.   

Seb blinked back a tear. Was this really happening? Drivers just didn't die in Formula 1 any more! There hadn't been a fatality for nearly fourteen years, not since Ayrton Senna.   Except that Michael had died.   He was gone, his flame extinguished forever.   

There was a knock on his hotel room door.  He stood up and crossed the room to open it.   "Alright kid?" asked the man stood there.  Seb nodded, but he felt far from alright.  Michael Schumacher placed his hand on Seb's arm.  It wasn't the first time they'd met, in fact they'd  met several times during Seb's karting days, but their careers in Formula 1 had never really overlapped.  Michael had retired the year Seb had made his FP1 debut, so they had never raced against each other.  They had however competed together, and won, as Team  Germany at the annual Race of Champions event that had been held a few months earlier.

They'd been on the same flight over from Zurich and had got talking.   Michael had told him several anecdotes about Michael Scott, and he'd also told him about his wife Corinna and children, eleven year old Gina and eight year old Mick. Seb had appreciated the distraction from his own dark thoughts. 

He kept thinking that one day it might be him.   It might be his family preparing to bury their loved one.   What if he had kids in the future? What if they had to lose him?

"Did you want a lift to the church?" Michael asked. "Or do you have something arranged?" 

"Please Michael, that would be good."   He'd forgotten to arrange transport.   His brain just wasn't working.   "Let me just grab my jacket."  He headed back into the bedroom and picked up his black suit jacket.  He slipped it on and returned to Michael. They took the stairwell down to the main lobby.

As they headed towards the exit Seb looked around him.   He saw several other drivers, past and present, gathered in small groups.  They were all dressed in black and they all looked as rough as he felt.   

Jenson was stood talking to Fernando Alonso and Mark Webber.   David Coulthard was talking to another old friend and rival of Michael Scott's, Damon Hill.  Michael's teammate, Giancarlo Fisichella, was stood with his fellow Italian, Jarno Trulli.

"Alright Sebastian?"  He turned his head and saw Franz Tost looking at him, concerned.   Seb blinked back his tears.  He nodded.  He had to be strong.   He couldn't cry, not in front of everyone anyway.  Especially not in front of the grey haired man stood with Franz. 

"Chin up Sebastian," said Dr Helmut Marko.  "He wouldn't want us all crying."

Seb nodded again and followed Michael Schumacher out of the door.   It was time to say goodbye. 

                       ***

Sitting down on a pew Seb looked around the already half full church.   He recognised a lot of people, but for every person he recognised there were two he didn't.  Michael Scott was a motorsport legend, and everyone wanted to say goodbye. 

Sensing someone sitting down next to him, he turned his head and was relieved to see Lewis.  They smiled sadly at each other. 

"How you doing Seb?" the Englishman asked.