please comment throughout!
also this chapter is 5500 words long... buckle up :)
trigger warnings later on!
~***~
Qualifying Result Canada:
P1 VET, P2 VER, P3 LEC, P4 ARC, P5 VAN, P6 NOR, P7 GAS, P8 STR, P9 OCO, P10 SAI, P11 RIC, P12 RAI, P13 GRO, P14 MAG, P15 RUS, P16 LAT, P17 HUL, P18 KVY, P19 SCH, P20 ALB
***
"You okay? You're looking a little paler than usual," Stoffel said, concern lacing his words as he placed a hand on my shoulder. His action almost made me lose my balance and brought a sick feeling to the pit of my stomach. I swallowed hard, trying to rid my mouth of the horrible taste that was accumulating. We were currently on the grid waiting for the start of the race.
Rubbing my face with my hand, I let out a small hum. My skin felt clammy and I was almost certain that the bug I had caught was taking a greater effect on me. "I've been feeling off for a few days," I truthfully replied. "I'm sure it's just a bug. Once I get through the race, I'm going to rest."
At the mention of a potential illness, Stoffel took a step back and scrunched up his nose. "I do not want to catch whatever you have."
"This is the only reason why you came close to my qualifying time," I told him, forcing a smile onto my face in order to appear normal as the cameras panned over to us. Yesterday I allowed Stof to gloat about being within five thousandths of the time I set, and I was not about to let him hold it over me. I was a little disappointed with only starting P4, but I knew I had the car and race pace to make up some places and hopefully get a podium. It would be a lot easier if I didn't feel so shitty. "I'm still starting ahead of you so don't start to doubt me now."
"I beat you last weekend," he pointed out, a smug look on his face.
I scoffed. "Yeah, only because I had that failure. I made up more places than anyone else and finished on the podium."
"That means nothing now. I'll get you in the first corner, don't worry."
Yet again, I found myself scoffing at my teammate. "Yeah, okay Waffle."
Stoffel rolled his eyes at the nickname and picked up my helmet. He gently tossed it to me whilst it was still in its covering, making it harder to catch. "Wipe that smug look off of your face and put this on. It's on, Archer."
"It's adorable that you think you can beat me," I teased.
"I've done it once, and I'll do it again."
"Yeah, right," I sarcastically said, unzipping the black covering of my helmet. The design of my helmet for this weekend glimmered under the bright sun, the holographic paint flickering between colours. It had to be my favourite design so far, honouring my first podium with maple leaves intricately worked into the Union Jack on the top of the helmet. As I unzipped it further and took the helmet from its casing, the familiar white slip of paper I had grown accustomed to seeing fell out, floating lightly to the floor.
Stoffel bent down and picked up the note before I could grab it. Before I could even move down more than an inch, my stomach felt like it was doing flips. I wanted to avoid being sick at all costs. "What's this?"
"Just something," I replied, reaching over to grab it from him. He held it up out of my reach, knowing that I didn't have the energy to put up much of a fight. "Someone's been leaving me cute little notes in my helmet all season. I don't know who it is, other than the fact that they're a driver, but they're helpful in easing my nerves. Oh, and I know it's not Max, Seb, or Pierre."
"Can I read it?" He asked.
Nodding my head, I bit down on my bottom lip. "Just read it aloud to me."
"Okay," he cleared his throat and unfolded the paper, "'You've triumphed here before and I know you can do it again. You've got my full support - you'll crush it. Just please don't crash into me on the opening lap, or any lap for that matter'." Stof chuckled, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "Even this guy thinks you're going to crash."
"I just wish I knew who it was. I'm too awkward to ask around," I admitted.
"Do you have any ideas?"
"Genuinely none. I've kept all of the notes I've received, and I've been getting them since Bahrain."
"When we're back in the UK, come 'round mine and we can figure out who it is together. We can draw a mind map!" The excitement in Stoffel's voice made me giggle. I couldn't help but nod my head in agreement. "I've been watching a lot of detective shows recently because my girlfriend's really into them so I'm basically a professional when it comes to figuring out the murderer, or in your case, the driver sending you love-notes."
"They aren't love notes."
"Really? They're signed with a kiss," he stated in shock.
"Well, unless they're from-" I started my sentence, eye going wide before I could force myself to stop before I spilled anything about my current relationship with Max. Unfortunately, Stoffel seemed to catch on and his eyes widened and lips parted in surprise.
"Max?"
"Wha- psh, no!" I scrunched up my nose and tried to play it off. "What gave you that idea?"
"The fact that you guys were hooking up in your hotel room on Wednesday night... and Thursday night," Stoffel gently poked my arm with a teasing grin. My cheeks suddenly felt warm, a contrast to their previous clammy state. "You're not exactly quiet." He must've noticed that I felt a little uneasy as he quickly added, "I promise I won't tell anyone."
I exhaled in relief. "Thanks, Stof."
"No problem," he reached down to squeeze my hand, but pulled back when he remembered my illness and scrunched his nose in disgust, "I'll leave you to be sick over here. Good luck in the race."
"Yeah, you too."
"I know you need it more than me. Just try not to vomit in your helmet, yeah? The team could do with another double podium finish."
"Ew!" I exclaimed. "I definitely won't."
***
T> 'Can you hear me okay? You're quieter than normal.'
A> 'Yeah, it's all clear. Just not feeling too great.'
T> 'Are you okay to race?'
A> 'Of course I am. I was okay yesterday and I was feeling a lot worse then.'
It was a complete lie on my behalf that I was feeling worse yesterday than I was right now. My abdomen had a thumping pain on the right-hand-side that got worse every time I moved, but I was going to be sitting stationary for the next seventy laps so it wouldn't let it be a problem.
T> 'Copy. Keep us updated if your condition changes.'
A> 'Will do.'
During the formation lap, the team fed me data about the conditions of the track. I tried to pay attention and retain every detail but my mind was a little preoccupied with the pain in my stomach - all I got was that there wouldn't be any rain, and it's warm. The cramps of my sickness bug were not dissimilar to those that I often felt during my period. The pain wasn't completely unbearable; I'm sure once the race restarts and I'm so caught up with racing, I won't even feel it.
I pulled up to the mark breathing deeply. My breaths hissed through my teeth and my nose scrunched up as the dull pain started to get worse.
T> 'It's a long race ahead. A podium is on the cards. We'll keep you updated on initial strategy, looks like you have some overheating so that'll have to be managed. Can you confirm message received? ... Alyssa, can you confirm?'
A> 'Hm? Oh, yeah, confirm.'
T> 'Do you need to be pulled out of the race?'
A> 'No, definitely not. I'm fine! It doesn't even hurt anymore.'
Yet another lie to try and get the team off my back. I knew that it could definitely be a problem later on in the race, especially if it continued to get increasingly worse. Of all the weekends where I develop a stomach bug, it just has to be at the one that's important in maintaining the constructors' championship lead for the team. My own championship lead was important, too.
I shook my head slightly to rid my mind of any worries. I will not let this get the better of me. Plenty of drivers have raced when feeling a little under the weather and I shouldn't let it have this much of an effect on me. I feel like I'm just being dramatic. If I were to show my weakness, I can't even begin to think of the stories that come out about how I'm 'not strong enough to be in F1'.
My jaw clenched when the red lights started to flash up above the track, it was also a coincidence that in that moment I felt another pain in my stomach, however this time it was more stabbing and distinctively to the right side. My mind immediately went to the idea of appendicitis, but I had my appendix removed as a kid. I just hoped that I hadn't given this bug to Max; Christian would kill me if he found out I was the reason his driver was ill.
My brief moment of distraction meant that I wasn't the fastest to respond when the lights went out. During the second phase of the start, Stoffel had stolen the inside line and slipped ahead into the corner. If I didn't like him so much, I'd be feeling a lot more annoyed than what I do. The best thing I can do is keep my head down and just make it through the first lap before I start thinking about how I'm going to get past my teammate. I didn't back off of him, however, and made sure to fill his mirrors in case he made a mistake. There was a bright orange McLaren behind me, desperately searching for a way to pass me, too. I will not let a fucking McLaren pass my Mercedes - not over my dead body.
We had barely made it to the chicane of turns three and four when my steering wheel flashed with the notification of a safety car. The electronic signs lining the edges of the track also showed up with the 'SC' symbol.
T> 'Okay, safety car for an accident at the first corner. Not the best start for you but we can make it back.'
A> 'How long do you think it'll take to clear?'
T> 'No less than three laps. Focus on maintaining temperature in those tyres and cooling the brakes. Keep out of slipstream as much as possible to cool the engine.'
I confirmed the message on my steering wheel. Behind my visor, I was rolling my eyes. All this safety car was doing was prolonging the length of time in which I am not in bed. I was growing increasingly agitated with every corner. The pain wasn't constant, coming in waves and pulses. It still created a sick feeling in the back of my throat but I couldn't let it get the better of me.
By some miracle, the pain seemed to subside by the time it was announced that the safety car was coming in. I didn't know whether the pain had actually gone, or if I had just grown accustomed to it and my brain no longer registered the signals, or if the pain medication was finally kicking in after an hour (very unlikely). Either way, I was grateful that I might be able to get my position back from Stof. He can deal with Lando; I wanted a podium. From what I saw in the practice sessions, the McLaren had a varying pace. In some sessions, the car seemed strong, whereas in others, it was laughable. It was almost impossible how Lando'll fair later on in the race so it was important that both Stof and I remained ahead.
One positive from the safety car was that a different strategy could come into play. I started the race on the medium tyres, whereas Stof started on the softs. The team were hoping that both cars would manage a one-stop. This strategy was easier for me because my first tyre was designed to last longer. I should be able to make it until lap thirty without the need for a pitstop, and then I'd go onto the hards.
On the fifth lap, the team came over the radio to tell me that the safety car was going to be coming in at the end of this lap. This circuit is quite short so I had to weave and brake quite a lot to generate enough heat into my tyres and brakes. If my tyres were cold on the restart, I won't have as much grip as I'm used to and risk missing a corner or two, or a detour over the grass.
The safety car line was at the end of the straight, just before the final chicane. Seb, who was still leading the race, pounced out of the hairpin. As with the race start, my reactions were a little slower than my liking. As we hurtled along, I kept tightly behind Stof for his slipstream, however had the McLaren tailing me as I did. I was able to make it through the chicane neatly without any bumps from behind. My eyes were set on getting my fourth place back, and then a podium would just be a hop away.
As we approached the first corner, I positioned my car to the inside of Stoffel's. I wasn't preparing for an overtake, however a pain in my stomach caused me to brake slightly later than normal. Throughout the corner, I was hoping that I could just keep my car on the track as my front left locked up with under-rotation. It was definitely tight. Miraculously, I managed to keep within the white lines and I rounded the second corner ahead of my teammate.
T> 'Great move. The fight isn't over yet.'
A> 'That definitely wasn't an accident.'
T> 'Could've fooled us. Make a couple more mistakes like that and you could be leading the race.'
I'm glad the team could pick up on my disbelief that I managed to turn a mistake into an overtake. I hoped that the rest of my overtakes are smoother than that one had been, and I do not want to get a flat spot. The vibrations would drive me crazy and aggravate my sickness.
My focus shifted between the Mercedes and McLaren in my mirrors, and the Red Bull ahead of me. Max's tyres didn't seem to switch on as well as mine had. The back-end of his car seemed to step out from underneath him during the fast corners, however he was able to keep it under control. This was a situation I could take advantage of.
T> 'Most drivers know you're not feeling well. Be weary that they will try and take advantage of this.'
A> 'Don't care.'
I didn't care. I wanted my team to be quiet and let me get on with the race. Other drivers shouldn't wait until I'm sick to try and battle with me. My performance might not be where I want it to be, but it's not that bad. I'm still in a Mercedes, which would have the pace to do well even if Lance Stroll was driving... or any other mid-field driver.
DRS wasn't enabled for the first couple laps after a safety car meaning that if I wanted to overtake a car on the straight, it'd have to be down to sheer speed and quality of the slip-stream. As much as I hated to admit it, the Red Bulls were quick in the straight. The two Ferraris had absolutely zoomed away and were apparently out of range for a slipstream from Max (as told by my team).
I was forced to settle into a driving rhythm behind Max. Even once DRS was re-enabled, I struggled to find a way past him. He seemed to know exactly where I was going to place my car before I even realised where I was going. No matter what, he was ready for my attacks and it was really frustrating. I'm not used to struggling to overtake a Red Bull. The advantage they had on the straights, and ability to speed through the corners, meant that I was never in an ideal overtaking position. Stof started to experience tyre troubles earlier than anticipated. The team was quick to jump on the radio when he boxed on the eighth lap with the warning that Lando was the car directly behind me. His soft tyres were lapping him at a pace a tenth quicker than mine.
A> 'I want to get past him.'
T> 'Copy that. A faster engine mode is available, use it on the straights with DRS assistance.'
Oh, thank fuck for that. My engine was overheating with the constant following so finally passing Max would be a huge relief for more reasons than one. I hated that I could see Lando's McLaren in my mirrors so I tried to pretend he wasn't there. Right now, I just need to pass Max.
Just before the hairpin on the fifteenth lap, I adjusted some of the settings on my steering wheel to give myself more pace. I took a tight line in order to get the best possible exit. The Red Bull was still ahead, however I now had the extra speed. DRS was wide open. When I was within a car's length of his car, I pulled out to the outside. He had the inside covered meaning I'd have to go the long way around - dick. My nose was scrunched as the pain in my abdomen returned, however I didn't let it get the better of me. I purposefully went a little later on the brakes in order to steal the inside line at the end of the chicane. Max did not want to back off, but was eventually forced to do so or else I'd have run him into the wall of champions. He'll probably have a few things to say about that later on. I didn't care - my DRS allowed me to keep the position into the first couple of corners.
T> 'Next car is five seconds ahead, but they're battling. Push to stick your nose in there if you can.'
A> 'I guess now's a bad time to say I'm losing rear grip.'
T> 'Just keep pushing.'
I could hear the sigh in my engineer's voice. At the moment, it wasn't a big problem, however I could definitely feel the instability when I pushed through the chicane. I was also becoming increasingly aware of the flat spot on my front-left tyre. The soft vibrations were enough to bring the sick feeling back and cause a dull headache.
Despite my issues, both with the car and physical, I started to close up the gap to the Ferraris. Max had dropped out of DRS so I was able to run at a pace that I was comfortable with pushing without the risk of being overtaken. I had no clue how Stof was doing, but didn't really care unless it was about data for tyres. Mine were not looking or feeling great, and when I started to lose time, I knew it was worth asking to come in.
Out of the top four, Seb was the first to pit. He did so on lap thirty three. I was told to keep out if any of the Ferraris came in and just push. This was our only chance of performing the undercut so I did what I had to do, or at least I tried to before completely fucking it up. My tyres did not have the grip so I was forced to use the escape road off of turn eight. I was so angry at myself when the car just couldn't turn in. The white smoke that billowed from a lockup created a horrible flat spot. If it wasn't changed soon, I was surely going to be sick in my helmet.
A> 'Sorry, guys. These tyres are gone.'
T> 'Confirm box this lap.'
A> 'Yep, bring me in. The flat spot is not doing me any good.'
There wasn't any chance of performing the undercut so it didn't matter that I followed Charles into the pits a few seconds after he did so. We'd be equal until the end of the Grand Prix unless either of us needs to pit again. When trying, I can usually manage my tyres relatively well, which is what I'm going to have to do until the end of the race.
The pit crew came together and pulled off an exceptional pit stop. My chest fluttered with excitement when I noticed how much closer I was to the Ferrari, who I guessed had a slow pit stop. Either way, I wasn't complaining. Once I had gotten my hard tyres up to temperature, I was going to apply pressure to him. I wanted to push from the get go, however knew that I'd be risking sending my car into a spin because of my tyres' lack of grip. Patience is key.
I stuck with Charles as he manoeuvred through the corners of sector two. It looked to me like he was trying to push, however the back end of his car was all over the place so he wasn't gaining time. I didn't care - I was now within DRS range. For the hairpin, I positioned my car in a way that allowed for me to get a good exit. Most of the grip was on the inside. If it all plays out well, I might be able to recreate the move I made on Max earlier on in the race. I didn't want to push my luck, but I was optimistic.
Unfortunately, I backed off. I was suddenly very aware of the pain that stretched all the way from my hips up to my ribs. There was a definitive focal point on the right hand side that felt like someone was driving a knife into my stomach. I couldn't help the soft gasp that escaped my lips and I willed for the pain to quickly subside. I hadn't experienced pain like this in a very long time. Do I need to retire? Am I safe to continue?
*medium - few paragraphs*
As a precaution, I missed the final chicane. I can blame it on cold tyres. I kept an eye out for Charles in my peripheral vision to ensure that I didn't accidentally run into his path upon rejoining the circuit.
My heart felt like it had stopped in my chest when I saw a piece of debris fly up from the wall of champions, and was forced to slam on the brakes when his bright red Ferrari lost control and darted across the track. Still carrying a lot of speed, I watched helplessly as his car collided with the opposite barrier. I could hear the metallic crunch over the roar of my engine and cringed at the noise. Parts of his car flew off of the main frame, spreading across the track. I had to take evasive action when one of the wheels detached.
A cold sweat took over my body in fear of the extremity of the accident. I knew that Formula One cars were the safest they had ever been, but I couldn't help it. With what happened to Anthoine during my final year in F2, any crash like this sparked panic in me. There was a beep in my earphone to let me know that a safety car was being deployed, as well as a flashing yellow sign.
T> 'Any damage?'
A> 'I don't think so. Let me know if he's okay.'
There were a few moments of silence.
T> 'He's moving and responding.'
I let out a heavy sigh of relief, the breath I didn't know I was holding. With it, the pain returned to my stomach.
T> 'You need to box when you next come around. Our sensors are detecting a puncture on your left rear.'
A> 'Copy.'
At that point, I was tempted to request that they retire me. The pain was really prominent and I wanted nothing more than to go back to my driver room, curl up into a ball, and then cry all of my frustrations away. The only thing stopping me was the team's dependency on me to bring back some decent points.
A> 'Don't put me on hards. I can go until the end on the faster ones.'
It was a bit of a gamble to go onto the mediums rather than another set of hards, however I should theoretically be able to make it. My previous set that I started the race on lasted thirty four laps plus a couple of qualifying laps, meaning they could manage the thirty four laps I'd need to do. The safety car that has been deployed would also help.
The positioning of Charles's crash meant that the cars were diverted through the pit lane. This unfortunate event played right into Max's hands. He had yet to pit until now and the fact he wasn't behind me meant he dove into the pits on the lap of the crash. There was no way of predicting this would happen so I couldn't be mad at the strategy. I need to make the most of this to ensure I make it to the checkered flag in a good position. The stories that would come out if I can't finish because of a sickness... I could practically hear the 'you're too weak' comments already.
As instructed, the team put me onto a fresh set of medium tyres. Because all of the cars needed to come through the pits, I didn't lose as much time as I thought I would because of the extra pitstop. Both Max and Lando had passed me, and I had my teammate directly behind me for company. I was surprised to see a McLaren ahead of Stof, but the team had decided to take advantage of the safety car and pit him for a fresh set of mediums like me.
For seven laps, the safety car led the remaining seventeen cars around the circuits and through the pit lane. As I had been for the first safety car, I was annoyed. The longer we drove around at a reduced speed, the longer I'm on the circuit. I'll definitely be asking Damien to get out of media duties for the rest of the day. I did not want to deal with people when I'm feeling this shitty.
I was so distracted by the constant uncomfortable feeling in my stomach that I hadn't warmed my tyres up enough for the restart. This was evident when I needed to tiptoe around the corners and immediately go defensive of my teammate to ensure I maintained my fourth position. I couldn't quite believe it when I saw Lando go for a move on Max, however it was quickly evident which car was superior.
It felt like I was chasing the McLaren for an eternity. I was trying so hard to find a way to get past Lando but it was very difficult. My frustrations were evident in my aggressive driving style for more than ten laps.
T> 'We're going to give you five laps to try and get Norris. If not, we'll swap you and Stoffel around to give him a try. If he can't, the positions will be switched at the end of the race.'
A> 'Good luck to him.'
My words may have some added salt. This was the worst I've felt all race. All of my abdominal muscles were tensed and my bottom lip was bleeding from how tightly I was biting it. The metallic taste didn't help my nausea and, if anything, made the whole thing even worse. I continued to push through, however it was clear I was falling away from the McLaren.
I didn't wait until the fifth lap after the message to let Stof through. It felt like I was really holding him up and now his tyres were past their prime. My focus quickly shifted to managing the pain so that I didn't end up in the wall. This was easier said than done. I considered myself lucky that the car behind me was lapping at the same pace as me and was seven seconds behind. Those numbers brought me a bit of relief that I should be able to maintain this position safely if Stof cannot find a way past Lando and we switch.
Slowly, but surely, the laps ticked down. How I managed to hang on without quitting was a miracle. As much as he tried, Stoffel couldn't find a way past Lando. I would be very happy for my friend if I could think straight. It caught me off guard to see Stoffel backing off and allowing me to overtake him again despite our gap being over five seconds. In all honesty, I had completely forgotten about the agreement. My memory of the race was quickly being replaced by a haze of pain.
T> 'P4. That's P4. Well done, all things considered.'
A> 'Yep. Thanks.'
I couldn't talk for long. I didn't feel safe to drive so dropped my speed significantly during the cool down lap. The team were feeding me instructions for settings to change, which I tried to follow to the best of my ability. I couldn't focus. The pain in my stomach was like a knife twisting inside me with another one plunging in at the exact same spot once it was removed. It was if I was experiencing period cramps, only there was one clear point and a hundred times worse. During the straights, I removed a hand from the wheel in order to wrap my arm around my stomach.
Ahead, I could see the pit lane entrance. The motivation to finally park up prompted me to go a little faster, however I was still one of the last drivers to pull up into Parc Fermé. My heart was thumping so heavily in my chest that I couldn't hear myself think. Through my blurring vision, I could just about make out the marshal as he directed my car into place.
Once my car was finally stationary, I removed my steering wheel and pulled myself into a more up-right position. The increasing claustrophobic feeling prompted me to remove my helmet first. I chucked it to the side before slowly starting to undo the belts that secured me in place. A cry of pain slipped through my lips when I felt a sharp sensation at the tip of my shoulder. That, paired with the excruciating stomach pains, rendered me unable to move. In the small space of my cockpit, I closed my eyes and tried to block out the pain. My head was spinning like a top despite my hands holding it tightly in place. The lack of steering wheel allowed me to fold over a little more.
I heard the pop of my earplug being removed, followed by Stoffel's voice. "You're lucky I paid attention to the championship so I know how much you needed the position. I was tempted not to give it back, so keep your chin up - you'll get the podium next time."
My brain was so preoccupied by the pain that his words weren't fully comprehended until a few moments passed. He thought I was like this because I was disappointed. Shaking my head, I felt tears squeeze out through the edges of my tightly closed eyes.
"Hey," I felt his hand rub soothingly on my back. "Are you okay?"
"I'm in so much pain," I sobbed.
"What? Where?"
*tw*
Just as I motioned towards my stomach, I felt a rush of warmth between my legs. The sensation was followed by a sudden feeling of weakness. I was so light headed by this point that I could barely keep my head upright. My mouth was filled with a vile tasting liquid that would've dribbled down my chin if I hadn't reluctantly swallowed. Despite the blurred vision, I opened my eyes - something felt very wrong. I watched as my white Mercedes suit started to turn a deep red in between my thighs. The colour was slowly spreading to a wider area like a splash of ink on paper. A horrible feeling sunk my stomach with nausea.
Stof's strong arms wrapped around my upper body for support. "We need a medic!" His voice was shaking like my hands; I expected he had seen the mess. I couldn't move any more, too weak and in too much pain. The noise of my surroundings was reduced to a ringing. I could no longer hear Stoffel's pleas for me to stay awake. Any thoughts left my head, leaving only nothingness, and I was greeted by a pain-free darkness.
~***~
Race Result Canada:
P1 VET, P2 VER, P3 NOR, P4 ARC, P5 VAN, P6 RIC, P7 STR*, P8 GAS, P9 OCO, P10 MAG, P11 GRO, P12 HUL, P13 ALB, P14 KVY, P15 LAT, P16 RUS, P17 SCH, DNFs: LEC, SAI, RAI.
~***~
drama - i told you!
more details of what happened will be in the next chapter.
what is going on? is she going to be okay?
there's definitely a lot to unpack with lys, charles, and lando's podium !!!
i know the answers, and so does FOREVERLANDO bc i have told her everything lmao
next chapter might be sunday, but then i might be extra mean and wait a week 😉
qotc: what are your predictions for the next race?
aotc: P1 Lewis, P2 Max, P3 Sergio or Valtteri