Word count: 1556
Bold Ittalics are the past
Normal Ittalics are thoughts or radio.
So sorry this took so long, I've had some mega writters block and no motivation really. But I hope it's still good and thank you so much for all the kind feedback, it means a lot! <3
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"No fucking way mate," Lando choked out his words, "Holy fuck-"
Lando's face had never looked so shocked, he scratched the inner corner of his left eye as if he thought he was seeing something. And when his eyes focused back on you, you could see his mind filling with questions. His eyes flickered from the helmet sitting on the ground to the tears brimming in your eyes.
"Oh my god," you sobbed into your hands as your mind began to race.
Should you run away?
'Oh, sorry Lando, no you must have seen my celebrity doppelganger in the suit earlier. It wasn't me-"
"No wait, don't cry-" he protested, rushing over and crouching down next to you on the ground, "You're my idol, I'm like obsessed with your driving, you're frickin' amazing-"
"Oh, shut up Lando!" you snapped, instantly feeling bad for yelling in his face. He was silent for a moment, not taken aback by your outburst though. "Sorry," you whispered.
You looked up to see him scanning your face intently. "You haven't told Charles yet," he said matter-of-factly like he could read your life all of a sudden.
You shook your head.
"Who else knows?"
"Just you and Christian-"
"Heh, I'm so special,"
"Lando stop!" you cried quietly, feeling more tears forming. "You weren't supposed to find out and I'm so going to get fired for this-"
"Why would you be fired?" he asked, "You're the driver keeping Red Bull afloat right now while Max is shittin' the bed,"
"Because. It's part of my contract that no one knows who I am,"
"Who came up with that shit?"
You furrowed your eyebrows at him, "What shit?"
"Your contract rules," he said.
"We both did. I didn't want to be in the media, I've never liked it. And Christian just agreed I guess-"
"But you and Charles were just in a video together, you've been doing media anyway," He chuckled dryly.
True.
"And you and Charles love each other, I can see it in your eyes, I don't think the media content is going to stop anytime soon. Frankly, they will ask you to do more now that you've already agreed once."
Also true.
"I understand that privacy is important to you but..."
"Yeah, I know, I know... you're right," you said, wiping tears away from under your eyes, thinking back to the tweets you had just read, "After the video went out I was expecting so much worse but nothing happened, I might need to take a chill pill."
"Maybe..." he said slowly. "And why should-"
"-I care what people on the internet think of me?" you stole the words right out of Lando's mouth, a smile growing on his face. "Charles tells me that every time I don't help with his Twitch streams,"
"Right, you're thinking like a media-trained F1 driver already!" he grinned. "Except, I don't think you're getting enough credit for your racing because you keep that helmet on all the damn time. Just one guy's opinion though,"
You hummed in response, getting lost in your own mind again.
"I won't tell a soul, I promise," He crossed his hand over his heart, "Scouts honor,"
For some reason, you felt you could trust Lando. You gave him a small smile and let your shoulders relax, taking deep breaths to calm your nerves. He stood up and offered you his hand, you took it gladly and rose to your feet. "I think you should talk to Christian about it,"
"I will, thanks Lan,"
"No problem," he winked, slowly stepping away, "And for what it's worth I truly meant what I said before. You're amazing, don't let them push you around or tell you otherwise. You gotta pave the way for all the little girls out there."
That shook you to your core.
You had never thought about your career that way and it bothered you how oblivious you had been.
How could you not realize the impact you could be making for the girls who dream of racing just like you had? Who cared what some old guy on the internet thought about women in motorsport, he needed to grow up. And you needed to make a difference. It was all sliding into place.
Also, since when had Lando been that well-spoken in his life?
After a quick 'See you on track,' you and Lando parted ways towards your respected garages. Pulling your helmet over your face, you stepped out of the alleyway and marched towards the blue and red signs of the Red Bull garage.
Christian gave you a look through your visor as you walked up to the car, you just nodded, he hated it when you were late. You climbed into the car and tried to shake the nerves out of your body, you could see a camera in your peripherals, panning the garage and landing on you.
Pave the way Y/n.
This newfound purpose gave you anxiety but at the same time a different kind of drive to your craft. You could feel the car hum beneath you, grateful for the all-clear from the team, you exited the garage to start warming up your tires.
"Radio check, you ready for this?"
"Yep. Copy."
Shit, that sounded forced didn't it? Why were you acting so weird? Be yourself Y/n.
"Ah, not going to humor me today? That's too bad mate," Rick chuckled.
"Don't know why but it smells like barbeque in the car,"
"You've got a problem, change your fucking carrrr,"
"No, you change your car because Checo has been saying the car is fucked-"
This had Ricky howling with laughter over the mic.
"Okay, that's enough lads." Christian stepped in, pulling the plug on you and Rick mocking him.
"Fun police..." Ricky sighed.
"I'm not a fun police, do your job Richard."
"You are a fun police, I have it on record. I hAvE it, I hAve iT pRiNteD oUt!"
"66."
"Sorry." you replied, giggling to yourself and waving back at Lando as you passed.
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"Damn it!" Charles cursed stomping towards the Ferrari garage. He had just spun out two races in a row and had to, unfortunately, retire from the race.
Walking into the garage he could feel all eyes on him as he stuffed his gloves and balaclava into his helmet angrily. A few engineers and his trainer gave him a reassuring pat on the shoulder as he walked past, but no one dared to interact with Charles while he was this livid.
He needed y/n.
She was who he always needed after a bad race, he walked to his driver's room remembering the spin-out from his previous race hoping that y/n would actually be there this time.
"Where's y/n?"
"I don't know mate, sorry. She disappeared a while ago," an engineer named Fred shrugged.
But of course, as he opened the door she was nowhere to be found once again. Thoughts ran through his mind a hundred miles per minute
Had she always left after he got into the car and never actually watched him race?
Is he not as important to her as she made it seem?
Was she just in this for the money like a few of the girls he had been with before?
No, y/n isn't like that. He told himself, but still, he felt that pang of uncertainty in his chest. It would certainly be the reason why whenever he asked for her opinion on his performance it was almost as if she didn't remember what happened, she would just nod, smile, and agree with whatever he said.
Charles sat down on the couch and shut the door to his room. The TV had the race on and he watched the 19 remaining cars complete lap after lap.
He couldn't watch this anymore...
"Ohh! That was a nasty hit from Verstappen from behind- SOMEONE HAS SPUN INTO THE WALL AND IT LOOKS TO BE THE OTHER RED BULL!"
"Oh my, it is! I can tell you right now Crofty, Christian Horner is not going to be pleased about that,"
"The race has just been red-flagged and we are currently awaiting more news on the second Red Bull driver. Here's a replay, there's Max Verstappen in third and his teammate ahead of him in second."
"And Verstappen was told to hold position because both drivers were in the podium places, Max is slightly slower than his teammate with very worn tires, but he pushes them anyway and tries to go for the very forced overtake. And there it is! Now why does he swerve into his teammate?!? This is mind-boggling to me-"
Charles looked up from his phone and back to the television. A bright 66 is painted on the Red Bull that is in pieces on the edge of the track. And as the camera zooms into the smoking race car, the eerie silence in Charles's driver's room makes his chest tighten slightly.
"Oh dear, it seems we have no verbal conformation from the driver so as you can see the medical car has made it's way to the scene."
Charles watches the unconscious driver slowly get pulled from the car and layed on a stretcher right there on the side of the track. They lift the visor of his helmet and shine a light across the driver's face as their eyes flutter awake. Beautiful eyes that Charles had engraved in his brain from the moment he met her.