Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Japan, Post-Race

Congratulations to @redbullracing on their 6th(!) Constructors' Championship! Be ready for us to stop you from making it to a 7th! - @JaguarF1

@JaguarF1 Bring it on! We'll be ready and waiting... @redbullracing

⸻

JAPAN
AFTER THE RACE
SEPTEMBER

"I wonder how hungover he is." Mick muses, picking up the freshly made cappuccino that's been placed in front of him.

I shrug in response at first, looking around at the small, western-designed coffee shop. We've got a few hours till our flight out, and despite offering to meet up with Daniel and Max - and Seb - none of them are here. Instead, Mick and I are just sat here, bored out of our skulls.

Because we showed up nice and early, thinking everybody would actually show up on time. Clearly, Mick and I are idiots. Tired idiots.

"I'll be surprised if he's able to board the flight." Mick says after taking a few sips of his drink. He places the large cup back down and checks his phone again, as I'm distracted by a group - a family. They're running for their flight, I think. The father is carrying a young girl as he pulls a bright pink suitcase behind him, whilst the mother is holding a boy's hand; both are dragging their suitcases as they try to keep up with the father.

Poor sods. I hope they make their flight.

I turn my attention back to Mick as he scoffs at his phone.

"Seb woke up late."

"You're joking?" I'm genuinely surprised by that. Out of all the grid, I'd think that he was the one on time, all the time. Apparently not.

"He's nearby, it's okay." Mick shrugs, pocketing his phone.

I don't have anything to say, I'm tired. It's early, and I just want to go home. I pull out my phone and start mindlessly scrolling through social media apps, zoning out from the busy airport and boring world. I'm just burning time. I switch between apps, not finding anything that can keep my attention for more than a few minutes.

I'm just about to switch back between apps again when there are firm hands on my shoulders, making me jump out of my bloody skin—

I turn, seeing Fernando Alonso bent over with laughter. Fucker. Standing next to him, Sebastian Vettel is doing the same. Pins and needles spread up my neck, into my face. I'm bright bloody red. I turn back around, and Mick is laughing as well. Arsehole.

"I hate you all." I finally say. I sound so dumb.

Seb sits down next to Mick, and Fernando finally calms down enough to sit next to me. But he's still got a stupid smug grin on his face. He's clearly proud of himself. He nudges my arm with an elbow, eyes glinting with amusement.

"You were going to hit me, weren't you?"

"Yes!" I don't mean to shout, but I'm still somewhat flustered. He laughs again at me, hand slapping at my shoulder a few times.

"Poor Jessica, eh?"

"I'll steal your new boat." Is that really the best comeback I have? Good god. Well, it seems to have worked, since everyone's laughing again. But I don't fail to notice Mick leaning in to talk to Seb.

"Ich habe es fast fertig. Es hat ewig gedauert, bis Mama zustimmte." The nosy side of me wants to know what he just said.

"Wie willst du es verpacken?"

I narrow my eyes, looking at the two German men. They're on about Mick's mum, and... packing something? Maybe they're just on about a present for her, Christmas isn't far off.

"Mama macht das. Sie vertraut mir nicht." Mick glances at me, and the conversation stops instantly. "Christmas for mum."

"That's what I thought. I mean—" I'm hesitating because I know I've been caught listening in. "I assumed, I don't actually know half of what you said."

"Good!" Seb seems far too happy about that. "Secrets are best kept between two, not three."

I raise a brow at him. "Yes, because I have Mick's mum on fuckin' speed dial. Hold on, let me just call her up and tell her that her son is buying her something for Christmas but I don't know what because I don't speak German."

Fernando chuckles at me, pointing as well. "She has some claws! No wonder Lance is scared of her."

That throws me. I whip my head around, a baffled expression already etched into my pale features. "He's scared of me? I thought he hated me!"

Everyone laughs at my expense as Fernando starts explaining how Lance has heard some of my radio messages where I've ranted and raved about his 'shit driving', and so he's just a little scared of me because I can switch moods faster than most of the grid. I try to explain how I've already been a rage-filled driver because I grew up watching Kimi swear all the time and because I'm always seen as slow or weak, so getting angry was at first a safety net, but now is just how I am naturally.

And as I get to the part where I explain that it doesn't help that Lance has a habit of always holding me up, the last two to arrive - Max and Daniel - flop into the remaining space in our little booth with a huge huff. They look so hungover. They both have caps on, and the dark patches under their eyes tell us all they were up late.

The rest of us share smirks and glances. We're seeing who wants to be the first to tease them; it's Seb that does it. He talks loudly - but not so loud that he's drawing attention to our table.

"Have a nice night, boys?"

Daniel groans as Max puts his hands flat to his ears. "Dude, really?"

The four of us going into a laughing fit only makes the Red Bull pair wince and try to keep their ears covered. Oh, they are absolutely hungover. This is going to be fun. Too much fun.

"Poor Max." I say, patting his shoulder gently as he gives me a withering glare. "Did you drink too much last night?"

"Shut up, lightweight." There's no real menace in his voice, he's just being a big baby with a headache.

And it's making Fernando and I absolutely lose it.