The Team // A Formula One AU

Valtteri

The lights above my head are my only point of focus. Forget about everything else, everything yesterday, anything that will distract me from what I need to do right now.

Great result in qualifying. Full strength kart. Every chance to win it.

The race begins.

I dive into the first corner and get past two people without any contact. There's a small gasp from the small crowd, but no one crashes yet. Just hot sunshine and the occasional breeze.

The lap is tricky, slow technical parts followed by one long straight. Ricciardo arrives on my left, but I keep my eyes fixed on Russell and Norris ahead and... Ricciardo drops back. Good start.

I breathe. I turn. I brake. Starting to settle in now.

Another chance comes on lap five. Sainz lets me past but now Schumacher's there, two metres behind me, beside me, ahead of me. I dive straight down the inside but hit the kerb sharply and have to slow down. Bad start.

It's a boring race, or maybe comfortable is more the word. It's too difficult to make an overtake stick so I just watch my lines, my braking points and the drivers around me. I'm gaining on Schumacher again, and if you don't take chances where does it leave you?

I'm through again. Clean through. I have to accelerate, take charge and matters into my own hands. Twelve laps to go. Composure now.

But there he is again. I growl as I swerve to defend, but Schumacher isn't that easy to throw off. Maybe if I go a bit more aggressively he'll get the message. This is my position, I won't let–

Collision.

I smack into the barrier, but then I don't feel anything. A throbbing. Ears ringing. Am I on the ground? I hear the sound of another crash and it tears through my brain. I scramble away from the car in case all this haziness is smoke from the engine. A head injury?

Medics immediately. I'm rolled onto my back and I still can't see. Just purple splodges and what I guess are stars. Seeing stars. I close my eyes.

Who the hell is making that noise.

I open my eyes. Where the hell am I? My head hurts. Why are those curtains open? Is that window open? Maniacs. I wish whoever's beeping like a reversing bus would just be quiet and let me–

Hospital.

I remember now.

I guess I hit my head in the crash and... What? Cracked it? I carefully reach my hand up to feel my skull. A bandage. I've always wondered what good these actually do on head injuries. Stop the blood. Protect the tender area. Now I know.

"Valtteri?"

I turn my head. It's Weird Old Phil. Joy of all joys.

"Hey," I croak. Need water. There's none on my bedside table, but there is a jar of flowers.

"You're in hospital in Brooklyn," he says slowly as if I've lost 100 points of IQ. "It's Sunday evening."

"What time is it?"

"Seven thirty. The others are back at the hostel. The doctors want you to stay here overnight."

"Who won?"

"Daniel."

I smile tensely. "Great."

Why am I left with you? Out of everyone else, why you? "Thanks for staying." What? Maybe I have lost IQ. A thought strikes me so hard it hurts. "Am I going to miss the next race?"

"Yes. You need to rest for at least three weeks."

Mother of God. What happened to me? "What happened?"

Finally, my mouth's making sense.

"You hit your head."

I want to punch you. "After that."

"You were taken to hospital."

"Yes but what injuries do I have!?"

That shocked him. Oops. Maybe a little too much anger there. But my head feels like it's being stabbed from all directions and all I want is to know what's happening in my own body before falling asleep until the morning.

"How dare you shout at me when I've stayed with you for the past three hours! After all I've done for you, training you, waking you up on time because you're too incompetent to do it yourself, reminding you what to bring and take, encouraging..."

Blah blah blah. If I could, I'd be laughing at his deadly serious threatening voice. Probably a good thing I can't move for the pain. Maybe I'll just not listen anymore. Decisions are easier when there's a morphine drip in your arm. I'm not hungry or thirsty anymore. I'm almost comfortable. Perfect conditions for zoning out. Ignore the idiot, try to remember what the doctors said while I was out of it.

Maybe I'll just sleep for a while. Maybe Tom will come for me. Maybe I'll just...