Italics is French
Francesca had watched the podium with nothing by envy.
Knowing that she should've been on that top step, teasing Max for losing out to her on yet another race win and spraying the champagne right in Charles' face just to annoy him.
Instead, she'd been stood a small ways away with Pierre. Watching as her team celebrated Max's first win of the season even more than they had celebrated her three previous wins. Fists clenching at her side from the anger of watching how much more they appreciated her teammate over her and wanting nothing more than to scream and throw her fist into a wall but having to let those feelings bubble away as Pierre held her into his side, his thumb subtly rubbing the skin of her shoulder trying to calm down her anger.
She was still pissed off three hours later.
Despite her DNF, Francesca was making the most out of the club they were in and all of the free alcohol she was managing to score herself.
Her feet ached in her heels from dancing with Max on the dancefloor - because despite her envy over him getting the win, she refused to let anything come between her friendship with him.
Her cheeks were slightly flushed from the large intake of alcohol and she'd thrown her hair up into a ponytail, sick of having it constantly in her face or getting stuck to her skin.
"WE ARE THE CHAMPIONS! WE ARE CHAMPIONS!"
Francesca and Max stood arm in arm in the middle of the dancefloor.
Their throats were roar from the screaming and as they swayed from side to side, some of the other drivers had gathered around them in a circle and were shouting along with them.
"I'm going to get another drink!" Francesca shouts.
"Get me a vodka lemonade!" Max shouts back.
Nodding her head, Francesca moves away from the Dutchman and ducks underneath the now raised arms of Kevin Magnussen and Nico Hulkenberg as they let her out of the circle.
Her heels clicked against the slightly sticky floor, a soft smile coating her lips.
She passed by Pierre who took her hand and spun her around, she planted a quick unthought about kiss on his cheek before continuing towards the bar.
The beat of the music vibrated through the floor and she couldn't help but laugh at the sound of the screaming coming from the dance floor. She cast a look over her shoulder as she finally reached the bar, letting out a small laugh at the sights behind her and accidently making eye contact with Pierre before she turned back around.
Only to find a very angry looking Charles stood a little bit away.
"If you don't stop gripping that glass like its a writhing animal you're going to smash it."
Charles turned his gaze to her, Francesca almost rolled her eyes at the anger in his eyes but held herself back.
The two hadn't spoken since breaking out into an argument in the communal motorhome post race. In all fairness, Francesca had openly called Charles a cunt to his face and he'd retaliated back. But what Francesca couldn't wrap her head around was why Charles had been being a dick to almost everyone ever since.
She'd have completely understood if it was just her he was being an arsehole to.
But it wasn't.
The second they had gotten to the club, he'd told Pierre to fuck off, called Carlos a dickhead and had ignored his girlfriend, Alexandra, for so long that she was now dancing with Lily and Carmen.
"Two double vodka and lemonades!" Francesca half-shouts to the bartender.
She lent forwards on the bar, purposefully, trying to hold back a smirk as the man's eyes flickered down to her exposed cleavage. She'd been using the same tricks all night to ween her way into getting free drinks and she could tell by the fact Charles' gaze had been glaring into her side ever since she'd turned away from him that he did not approve of her tactics.
"On the house for someone as pretty as you." The bartender smiles.
Francesca grins, taking the two drinks from his hand before he moves off to another customer.
She turns her body to the side, resting one elbow on the bar and taking a swig from her drink with the other, her eyes watched Charles whose gaze had moved back to the dance floor.
"He's told me that about ten times already." She shudders. "I'd rather retire than get with that."
She didn't know why she was even bothering with trying to get Charles to talk to her. In all honesty, she was still very much pissed off at him for what had happened in the race and it was obvious that the feeling was mutual considering the ten second penalty he'd gotten for causing the incident had knocked him from P2 to P3 and had brought Fernando up to P2.
After minutes of silence, Francesca couldn't help but scoff.
"Now I understand why your stood here alone, fucking hell." She mutters.
"Go back to dancing, Francesca." Charles sighs. "Maybe you'll finally be able to bag it with Pierre considering how much your flaunting yourself."
"Fuck you." Francesca snaps.
She didn't care that she was holding a double vodka and lemonade, she shot it back like it was nothing before slamming the glass down onto the bar and moving into the crowd with Max's drink in her other hand. She passed the Dutchman on the way and handed the drink off to him before beelining for a certain Frenchman who'd become the rock for all of her anger.
Francesca didn't even have to say anything to catch Pierre's attention because he'd been watching the entire interaction between her and Charles with a careful eye. Seeing Francesca heading towards him, he downed the rest of his own drink before bringing her into his arms.
"What happened, princesse?" Pierre questions.
"Charles is being a fucking cunt." She mutters.
"What's he said this time?"
"What hasn't he said at this point." Francesca sighs. "I'm so fucking done with him, Pierre."
Both of them were under the influence and not putting any thought whatsoever into their actions. Whilst Francesca explained her latest interaction with Charles, Pierre felt anger bubbling up in his own stomach, his grip on the brunettes smaller frame tightening as he placed a kiss on the side of her head resulting in Francesca burying her face further into the crook of his neck seeking more of the sense of safety that Pierre always seemed to provide her with.
Pierre sighs, looking up towards the bar where Charles' mood had completely changed as he conversed with Max.
"Wait here," Pierre sighs, pulling away from Francesca. "I'll be back."
Leaving Francesca at the table, Pierre ducks through the crowd walking towards the bar.
He had absolutely no shame as he snatched the half filled glass from Charles' hand.
"What the actual fuck is wrong with you!?" Pierre questions, slamming the glass onto the counter. "Seriously Charles, why are you being such a fucking bitch all of a sudden?"
"Me!? I'm not the one causing accidents on track and making people lose out on points!" Charles fires back. "Why don't you ask your girlfriend why I'm being a bitch."
"We're going." Pierre states, grabbing him by the arm. "Now Charles!"
Charles, who had originally been firmly planted to the spot and showed no intentions of moving, found his eyes widening at the anger on his best friends face. He allowed Pierre to begin dragging him away from the bar, letting his head fall as he looked down at the ground - knowing full well that by pissing off Francesca he'd ultimately ended up pissing off his best mate at the same time.
Pierre looks over his shoulder as they moved away from the bar, calling out for Francesca.
"Tell Lewis we've gone back to the hotel." Francesca says softly to Max.
"Yeah I will." Max smiles back at her. "Be safe."
Patting his shoulder as she goes to pass him, the brunette had to jog slightly to catch up with Pierre.
She hugged her body with her arms, looking down at the floor as Charles grumbled in annoyance at not being able to break free of Pierre's death grip as he was dragged forcibly out of the club. She trailed slightly behind them but was quick to look back up and around upon realising that Alexandra wasn't with them.
"Where's Alexandra?" She questions.
"Staying with Lily and Carmen - already checked." Pierre replies. "Since someone pissed in Charles' bed this morning."
"And once again, ask your fucking girlfriend." Charles snaps.
"Keep fucking walking, I'm done with your bullshit!" Pierre snaps back, pulling Charles again. "And I already know the story - your just being a bitch about it all."
He had a grip on the back of Charles' shirt now and was quick to shove the Monegasque into the front seat of the taxi that was waiting for them outside. Francesca climbed into the back with Pierre following, sending the Frenchman a soft smile which he easily returned.
The entire drive back to the hotel was filled with a tense silence.
After paying the taxi driver, Pierre wrapped one arm around Francesca's waist. Having placed his jacket around her shoulders after seeing she was shivering slightly in her thin strapped dress. His other free hand held tightly onto Charles' arm, dragging the pissed off Monegasque inside.
"I don't know what the fuck has gotten into you." Pierre mutters.
"Maybe tell your girlfriend to stop calling me a cunt." Charles fires back.
"You fucking deserve it." Francesca snaps.
"Celine." Pierre says warningly. "Don't."
Francesca rolls her eyes as she hears Charles muttering something about Pierre being her bitch before breaking away from the two boys and moving to the lift on her own.
🏎️💨
"I really don't know why he's acting like that."
Francesca gently moves the pad of her thumb up and down on Pierre's cheek. Offering him a look of sadness when his eyes finally turned to hers.
"It's just Charles." She shrugs.
"He can't speak to you like that."
"I deserve it. I've been calling him a cunt for half the day, but he shouldn't be taking his anger out on anyone else."
The faint bruise forming underneath Pierre's eye fell to the centre of her attention.
She had gone back to her hotel room, leaving the Frenchman to deal with the riled up Monegasque only to have Pierre return with a bloody lip and bruised eye.
She didn't know the full extent as to what had gone down, but she'd known Charles long enough to know that he didn't handle anger well. Charles Leclerc was not a violent person, he wouldn't hurt a fly if he had to but she'd seen him get to this point of angry twice before.
Both times he thrown his fist into the nearest object he could.
This time, it just so happened to be Pierre's face.
"I can't believe he hit me." Pierre sighs.
"He's overstimulated." Francesca shrugs.
"Why are you defending him? He's been a bitch to you all night."
"Because it's Charles. We both should've left what happened on track but both of us were so riled up that we couldn't."
Pierre hums.
Francesca moves to stand, cupping Pierre's face in her hands and standing between his legs whilst wiping at his lip again. She almost felt small underneath his harsh gaze, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as she finally threw the antiseptic wipe into the bin.
Her eyes flickered up to his, biting down on her bottom lip as she caressed his bruising eye with the pad of her thumb again.
"I don't think things are going well between him and Alexandra." Pierre sighs.
"They never have been." Francesca shakes her head. "Why do you think he's never with her at race weekends - she's always with Carmen or Lily if they're there."
"Really? Shit."
Using her other hand, Francesca gently pushed Pierre's hair back from his eyes. Returning to cupping his face, she tilts his head down and kisses his forehead. Replying almost automatically to her actions, Pierre wraps his arms around her torso, bringing her body ever closer so that he could rest his forehead against her chest.
"You have no idea how long I've dreamed of this." He almost whispers.
Francesca was silent, resting her chin atop his head and brushing through the longer strands of hair on the back of his head.
"I don't know what I feel Pierre."
"That's okay."
"But I don't want to lead you on."
"You're not, Celine."
He sits up straight, her hands dropping to his shoulder as they made eye contact.
"I promised myself in Silverstone two years ago that I'd wait for you." He mutters. "If I have to wait a little bit longer then so be it."
Francesca could only smile at his words.
She repeated her earlier actions, tilting his head down and kissing his forehead which had him pulling her close and resting his head on her chest again. Closing his eyes as his hands locked together behind her back. Holding her so tightly because he was scared it was all a dream and that she'd be gone when he opened his eyes again.
"What the hell did I do to deserve this?" She mutters, closing her own eyes.
"I'll extend my promise to you." Pierre says softly. "I'll always wait for you, Celine. No matter what."