The Team // A Formula One AU

Valtteri

I almost received my second concussion of the week when Weird Old Phil saw my sit down in my kart.

"Bottas! What are you doing, you stupid boy!?"

"Just sitting down for old times' sake..."

"You're not driving anywhere with your medical diagnosis, did you listen to nothing the doctors told you?"

"I wasn't–"

"Out!"

I stare at our trainer before sighing and standing up. It's not even like my kart could drive anywhere, the front axel is bent and it needs at least three new tyres. I wander over to where Tom is inspecting data from my teammates and try to understand some of it over his shoulder.

"What's the point in me coming to practice at all if I can't do anything?" I grumble.

"You can help the others."

I study Tom's face, not wanting to say what's on my mind. I know we're supposed to be a team but I can't go from title contender to apprentice engineer in four days. Helping another driver race faster is an alien concept when I've spent so long trying to beat them.

"I don't know," Tom says, "but I can't really let you go off alone in this heat with your injury."

I sigh and hang my aching head, defeated. There's nothing I can do. Deep inside I know it isn't safe to go driving but I just wish I could have realised last week would be my final time in the kart I worked so hard to perfect. But I never even got a podium, and now I've run out of chances.

Fallen at the final hurdle. I rub the bridge of my nose, wondering if my growing headache is from the accident or just because of this unfairness.

"Or you could just watch," Tom suggests. "There's a great viewing platform at this track but make sure you sit out of the sun. And take a drink."

Five of our karts streak past, sounding like they're racing, and I decide there are probably worse things I could spend my afternoon doing. The viewing platform is down by the first corner and comes equipped with a picnic table and parasol so I take my lunch to make myself at home away from the fumes and loud banging of the garage.

Max and Nico are already up there when I arrive.

"No need to hide your notes. I'm not racing, remember?" I say tiredly when Max flips over his notebook upon seeing me.

"Oh, right," he relaxes. Nico eyes me warily but then he smiles too and stands up to adjust the parasol to shade us all. I sit at the table opposite them.

"Are you feeling confident about tomorrow?" I ask.

"It feels wrong to discuss it openly," Max says bluntly. "Nico is my closest confidant since four of the people in my room still have a chance of stealing the championship from me."

"Ah, so that's why you're hiding away up here."

"I'm his race engineer," Nico nods. "And if things are going really badly–"

"Shh!" Max hisses, but he's laughing.

"Sorry."

"It's all under control," Max says quickly, twirling his pen nervously in his fingers. "Nothing is going to go badly. I've got my game plan sorted. What brings you up here, anyway, Valtteri?"

"I think Tom just wanted me out of the way," I reply.

"Don't any of the adults have an injury-friendly activity for you?"

"Np, Tom just said I could help some of you guys, but it feels weird, you know?"

Max nods. "It would feel so weird."

"Can't you just pick your favourite friend to share your secrets with?" Nico suggests.

"I don't have a favourite friend," I say.

"Uh... What?" Max looks at me like the blow to the head sent me crazy. "Have you forgotten about Lance?"

Lance.

I think back to that misty first morning in England when he stood beside me as we watched Lando running around the football pitch like a madman. Lance was the first person I spoke to and he never left my side since then. I even fought Esteban for him.

I can help him with his kart.

I grab my unopened lunch bag.

"Hey, save some secrets for the rest of us!" Nico calls after me as I rush down the steps. My favourite friend pulls into his pit box at exactly the right moment and I offer him a hand up out of his kart.

"Hey Lance."

"Hi," he smiles uncertainly. "What's up?"

"Ready for your lesson?"