Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

♦ Qatar, Post-Race ♦

The FIA notes with concern that the extreme temperature and humidity during the 2023 FIA Formula 1 Qatar Grand Prix had an impact on the well-being of the drivers. While being elite athletes, they should not be expected to compete under conditions that could jeopardise their health or safety.

⸻

QATAR
AFTER THE RACE
OCTOBER

A cold flannel is placed on my forehead. It helps me feel alert again.

I open my heavy eyes to see worried blue ones, framing an expression of concern. The small smile is the only hint of optimism on his face. I reach out lazily with a hand; he grasps it tightly with his own.

"You should be out celebrating." My throat still feels raw and scratchy.

"I can do that tomorrow." Max's free hand is pressed to my burning chest. "You're still warm. You should have stayed at the medical centre."

"I just need to sleep this off."

"You need to drink first."

I don't want to. I want to sleep until the heaviness in my body is gone. But he's right. I know he is. Reluctantly, I let go of Max's hand and try to prop myself up in the hotel room bed. I barely remember last night. I have brief flashes of memories, but not much beyond needing help to get out of the car and help to get back here. All the training we go through is nothing compared to what happened last night.

Max stops the flannel falling down from my forehead, moving it up slightly so my damp hair helps it stay put. He offers an icy glass of water, hands nearby to catch it in case I drop it. I don't, even if I feel like I can't hold onto the damn thing. The cold bites through the burning sensation in my hands.

"How's Mick?" I ask as Max takes the glass back.

Mick did look worse than I felt. He was so pale, his legs trembling. And he wasn't the only one. Most of the grid was down for the count after the race.

"He's alright." Max answers as I tilt my head back, sighing. A hand is pressed to my chest again.

"Good... I think he passed out at the hairpin. I think a few of us did." My voice is a mumble as I close my eyes, thankful for the air conditioning in the hotel rooms. I don't think I can do another race like this. "Is Logan okay?"

I can't remember if he is. So much of last night is a mess of words and sickness and pain.

"He's fine." Max's voice has moved. The mattress sinks to my left; I open my eyes and find he's joining me on the bed. I know he runs warm, but I'm already curling into him, resting a leg over both of his. The damp flannel has fallen; he's picked it up to place over my neck now.

My left arm is uncomfortably squished between us, against his side, but I don't care. I want the physical touch, the comfort. I also want to sleep. My phone isn't letting me. Max huffs as it buzzes three times in a row, grabbing it from the bedside table and offering it to me to unlock. It takes me two attempts to remember my current pin for it.

Mick :);
Feeling any better?

Jess (Me);
Are YOU okay?

Mick :);
Yeah. I'm asking you Jess
Lol

Jess (Me);

I'm well enough to get on the flight.

What time do we have to be at the
airport?

Mick :);
Got plenty of time.

I dump my phone on Max's chest; he pulls me close, once again adjusting the flannel on my neck.

"Thank fuck we aren't doing this again in October next year." I mumble as my eyes slide shut but my mind stays in reality. I can hear his steady breathing and the heavy thumping of his heart. Nothing else matters right now. I just want to stay here, like this, for as long as I can.

I don't realise time has passed until I'm being gently shaken by Max. I don't want to wake up, I'm comfortable. But he's insistent, gently repeating my name. I reluctantly open my eyes to see him trying to prop me up again in the bed.

"You need to eat. Claire is bringing you something."

"Orrr.. I can go back to sleep?"

The dead stare he gives me is a resolute no. I don't push on the sleep idea again, letting him press the back of his hand to my forehead and offer another cold glass of water to me. I take a few sips, and then my brain demands I chug it. Which I do, unashamedly. Okay. Maybe I'm thirsty. And I might be hungry too. But endless sleep still feels like a great option right now.

"Your phone went off a few times." He offers it to me; I don't struggle to unlock it this time.

GROUP: F1 - DRIVERS ONLY

Posh Driver (George);
How is everyone doing now?
GPDA will be talking to the FIA about
the race.

Weeb (James);
Barely functional tbh

CANADA! (Lance);
Better, but I was vomiting after the race.
It was definitely too much.

Posh Driver (George);
Agreed. Anyone else awake? I just want
to be sure people are alright after last
night.

Estie Bestie (Esteban);
Flying out soon, but Pierre and I are doing
ok. Is Logan better?

I'm glad to see George is taking the conditions we all faced seriously. I start typing up a reply as I see Mick pop into the chat.

Schumacher² (Mick);
Tired and I've got burns on my knees.
I think my back has a burn too

Grid Dad #2 (Fernando);
You have burns too?

Schumacher² (Mick);
Not big ones. I'll live :)

My attention is drawn away from my phone as I have to place down the empty glass I'd been idly holding in my other hand without realising. At the same time, Max has come back to my attention too; he's got a small brown bag.

"Something with sugar for now." He explains, showing me the contents: warm, baked goods.

"One second... George is checking in with everyone."

George's Other Girlfriend (Me);
I'm conscious at last.
Same as Mick and Fernando.
Don't know how any of us managed it.
Logan made the right call when he decided
it was too much.

Privately, Mick texts me, asking if I need anything. I shoot back a message to let him know I'll be fine, but I know he'll want to travel to the airport with me later.

"Food, Jess." Max is offering me the bag. "If you don't eat, I'll tell Sebastian. And Fernando."