Turbulence [𝗠.𝗩.]

Mexico, Post-Race

"Well I think this proves we made the right choice in not just initially signing Mick and Jessica, but resigning them for the next year. They are great drivers, and even better racers. Yes, Jessica can be seen as the wild card, but with Mick we see consistency. And in both: the future."

⸻

MEXICO
AFTER THE RACE
OCTOBER

I'm still on a bit of a high after such a good weekend.

Everything's going right. Mick's secret santa present is almost ready. Oliver is singing both of our praises. It all feels great. Of course, I'm now waiting on the other shoe to drop. I can't help but wonder what's coming. What is going to ruin all of this? God knows what. Something will, though.

For now, I'll keep trying to look ahead.

And that starts with getting a move on, because we have two weeks between now and the next race weekend, but that doesn't mean we go quiet and laze about at home. I've got a flight booked out for later tonight, and I'll be hopping straight into the sims as soon as I'm home. We haven't any upgrades planned, given there's only two races left, but we are looking at preparing for next year. Most teams are focusing on that now. Whilst the cars can't yet be built due to regulations, we can still collect data and do research.

As I stuff my spare clothes from this morning into a rucksack with one hand, I use my other to shoot off a text to my dad.

World's Craziest Daughter (Me);
Any news on the top secret present?

I know its only been a few days, but I'm nervous. And worried that this won't actually be ready in time. And really, really concerned it's all going to backfire. Maybe that's the thing that's giving me this sense of impending failure-slash-doom. It's certainly a good anxiety creator: not knowing how a present is going to go down.

Especially when it's for Mick fucking Schumacher and you're well aware you might unintentionally drag up bad memories and sadness

Or make that weight on his shoulders worse.

Maybe I should have just bought some dumb junk present instead.

Sighing, I pocket my phone and zip up my rucksack, heading out of the hospitality unit. Most of the mechanics have already left. All of the strategy crew are gone. I know Oliver will still be here, somewhere, mingling with any remaining team principals. Although he didn't explain himself last weekend, and I had to rely on George, it's clear that the TPs are banding together, all unwilling to budge so long as we drivers won't budge either. We won't budge if they don't. It's weird, to have so much unity.

My phone pings; I pull it from my pocket, stopping in the middle of the quiet paddock walkway.

Father of the Decade;
They are going to do a rush on the visor.
Do you want us to bring it on the first
day?

World's Craziest Daughter (Me);
If you can. I want to give him everything
at once.

"Give who what?" Max is peering over my shoulder, the nosy git. I jab him in the side with my elbow as I lock my phone.

Is Mick nearby? I don't see him as I peer around the emptying paddock. All the excitement is dying out now that the race weekend is well and truly over. It's all about packing up and getting everything shipped off to Brazil as fast as possible. The end of the season is nearing, and as much as some teams don't want the last race to arrive, there are a fair few that can't wait for this to all be over.

"It's Mick's present. The rest of the secret santa thing." I'm not sure I should tell him... but he is arranging the rest of it. "So, the other part is a helmet. I've had my dad sort it out after I threw a really crappy drawing at him."

Max is intrigued now, brows raised, head tilted. I have to show him the photo I have. Sighing, I do that, scrolling through my photos on my phone until I find it. He takes a long look before nodding in approval. "It's nice. That looks like—"

"Two thousand and four. Yep." I swipe off the photos app and lock my phone. Max still seems rather impressed, nodding again. "I mean, he doesn't have to ever wear it, but just in case he might want to, I've made sure it's all compliant."

My next sentence dies before I can give it life as I realise he's staring at me with a grin. I tilt my head, confusion spreading.

"I should get you one with cats all over it."

I'm laughing before I can stop myself. I might well do that at some point. It'd certainly be a unique design. "Gonna get me a matching race suit too?"

"Might do." He's laughing with me now, and I have to wipe at my eyes. Why am I finding this so funny that I might cry? Christ. I'll blame the thin air.

His hand finds mine as the laughter dies down, and even though there are still some TV crews remaining, I don't have it in me to let go. Who cares? We're not racing right now. I hold onto his hand tightly and let him lead me away, to the entrance gate. I have to pause just as we exit, though, because my phone is going off.

GROUP: F1 - DRIVERS ONLY

Weeb (James);
Anyone else coming to get drinks
with us lot? We're waiting with the
taxi
Ps if you got Lance a card, now is
the time to bring it

Estie Bestie (Esteban);
Nearly forgot!
Will leave now!

Grid Dad #2 (Fernando);
On my way

Grid Dad #1 (Sebastian);
At the bar, got a table
Hurry up!

"Shit!" I hiss out, as Max frowns at me. "I totally forgot about Lance's birthday drinks!"

George's Other Girlfriend (Me);
On my way! Don't leave without me!

I grab Max's hand a bit too tightly, but I'm hoping I'll get away with this. "Come on, let's go get drunk with Lance and the gang."

"I'm flying out in—" He starts saying, but I'm having none of it, dragging him with me.

"Then I'll get drunk and you can just be around to at least wish Lance happy birthday!"