The Team // A Formula One AU

Max

Watching the sun rise over the Atlantic Ocean in New York would be amazing, but there turns out to be a few problems with that plan. For starters, the sun doesn't rise at four o'clock in the morning. Secondly, we're driving away from the ocean and not towards it. And finally, I can hardly keep my eyes open anyway.

I'm jammed into my seat by the sheer volume of blankets Lando has gathered and spread out on top of the both of us. I drew the long straw in that I get the seat with extra leg room, but I lost the game of rock, paper, scissors which meant I had to sit next to our little British sparkplug. For now, at least, even he is too sleepy to speak.

"I'm just going to say a couple of things before we turn out the lights and let you get some sleep..." Tom is interrupted by his own yawn and I try to crane my neck to see him but the weight of the blankets is too much. "The journey to Nashville is going to be fourteen or fifteen hours, so we should be there in time for dinner. We'll make stops, but only quick ones. You all have your lunches packed I hope, and..." Another yawn escapes the poor man. I'm certainly glad I don't have to take a shift driving.

"Tell us in the morning!" Daniel calls from the row behind me and I groan, that was far too loud. I see Tom give a thumbs up sign and sit down, then the painful halogen lights mercifully go out.

Apart from Lando's kicking and the occasional bump in the road, I sleep quite well until around midday. I've never been more grateful we decided to fix the bus. We get a quick break to stretch our legs and then it's back into the bus for the final six hours of the journey. We play cards, some people read, and others listen to music while they try to block out the world and get some alone time on the crowded bus. By our twelfth hour of driving we all have cabin fever, but one thing's for certain. It's getting a lot warmer.

"Where are the blankets?" Lando grumbles sleepily as he wakes from his sixth nap of the journey. He looks to the steps down in front of us and starts yelling at me. "Hey, it's dirty down there!"

"We don't need blankets, we've come so much further south."

"I can't sleep without them..."

"Actually, the last two hours beg to differ."

"They've been lying there for two hours?" Sparkplug stands up and attempts to push past me into the aisle where he can retrieve his beloved blankets, but I push him back down into his seat, which only makes him scream more.

"My blankets! My blankets!"

"Calm down, Lando, you really don't need them!"

"They're dirty!"

"Well they aren't getting any dirtier!"

Just then my gaze is caught by a figure standing up at the front of the bus. He turns around slowly, face brimming with anger. Weird Old Phil paces towards us down the aisle.

"Lando," I murmur, trying desperately to pin him back to his seat. "You need to settle down, right now."

"Never! I'll never give-"

"What in the name of St Andrew is going on here!?"

We stare at the old man, frozen. Lando lets out a squeak and I let go of his hair.

"Do you boys not know how dangerous it is to stand up when the bus is moving? You're endangering my life forcing me to come back here to talk to you."

Nobody's forcing you to yell at us, I think silently.

"Well? Don't you have anything to say?"

"Sorry, Phil," I mutter.

"Sorry, Phil."

His bloodshot eyes dart between the two of us then glare over the rest of my teammates in this section of the bus. He turns around and stalks back to his seat. It seems like he isn't finding the bus as comfortable to sleep on as we are.

A few snacks and a game of cards later, we arrive in Nashville full of energy. It's only early evening so we head out to eat, not even needing coats in the warm spring weather, before returning for what we assume will be a quiet evening. But there's no such luck with Weird Old Phil still in a mood.

"Where have you boys been?" He spits as I come into the hostel with Daniel, Mick and Alex.

"Getting some food," Dan replies, heading straight for the stairs towards our room.

"Not so fast, lad. What did you buy to eat?"

"Uh, steak. We went to a steakhouse."

"Side dish?"

"Salad."

"And the rest of you?"

"Steak and salad as well," I reply. Mick nods, but then Alex makes the mistake that ruins our night.

"I ordered a burger and fries."

Weird Old Phil's eyebrows begin to point downward.

"You ordered what?"

"Uh... It was a steak bur-"

"Did you forget about your meal plan!?"

"No, but today's our day off! Our day off is always cheat day!"

Dan grimaces at me as he watches Alex try to argue. Yes, usually Monday is cheat day, but if he'd opened the meal plans we were given yesterday he would have seen that this week it's tomorrow instead. Tom decided that giving us a travel day as a day off wasn't fair, so he's left tomorrow evening free as well. We should have told Alex in the restaurant, but none of us expected this interrogation.

"It's fine, I'll just eat healthily tomorrow instead."

"No. You've let yourself down, and you've let the team down. I want all of you in the gym immediately. Go around your rooms and tell the others."

"All of us!?" I exclaim.

"You fail as a team, you make your retribution as a team. You have five minutes before I start adding exercises to your fitness plans."

Five minutes!? Daniel grabs my arm to shock me out of my stupor and we start speed-walking back to our room to get the others. Alex is gushing apologies behind us but it's kind of true what our coach said, we failed as a team. Not because I let Alex eat deep fried potatoes, but because I didn't clock what was going on and shut his mouth before he told the truth.

Luckily, it isn't me who has to break the bad news.

"Gym!" Mick pants, slamming into the dorm where Charles is sleeping, George is unpacking and Carlos is reading in bed while Lando swings from the bars above him. "Weird Old Phil's orders. We have about three minutes to get there."

"What!?" George shouts, immediately pulling off his shirt and changing it for his training clothes. Charles's eyes peel open but then he rolls over to face the wall.

"Bicycle, bicycle machine!" Lando sings as he drops on top of Carlos, making the Spaniard yelp in pain. I tear open my own suitcase and find my Fortress shirt and shorts.

"Is it true?" Valtteri sticks his head through our door and the commotion clearly tells him it is. He nods. "I'll let everyone know."

I hurtle down the stairs and into the ground floor gym with twenty seconds to spare. Weird Old Phil taps his watch and shakes his head at us as we come in, looking like the gym teacher of my nightmares. I find an empty space and start doing some stretches. There are barely twelve hours until we have to set off again for the rest of the journey to Dallas, but I find myself oddly glad we have time for a gym session. You can never train to hard when you want to win the championship.