Formula one sickfics/oneshots

"Mierda"

Drivers: Max Verstappen, Carlos Sainz, Fernando Alonso

Ages: Max Verstappen (25), Carlos Sainz (28), Fernando Alonso (41)

- POV Max -

"I really don't think I can", I argue. "I don't care what you think, you're going out there and you're driving. End of story!", my dad yells. I sigh, my headache increasing due to the harsh, loud tone my dad is using. "I'm sorry", I say, walking back into the garage. I stand with GP for a while as he briefs me about the race. "Max, are you okay?", he asks, catching on to my pale complexion, constant coughing and sluggish movements. "I'm honestly not feeling too well", I tell him. He frowns and goes over to the other side of the garage, where Christian and Helmut are sitting, talking to each other.

"Max isn't feeling well, I don't know if it's safe for him to race", I hear him say. "Hmm, maybe we should let-", Christian was cut off by Helmut's voice. "No, the team could win the constructors championship this weekend and he better be on his game", Helmut says sternly, shooting daggers at me. "Helmut, just-". "No", Helmut tells GP, brushing him off. Christian and GP share a look, but eventually realize there's nothing they can do to change his mind. "I'm sorry Max, I really tried", he tells me, patting my shoulder. "It's fine, I know you did. It's not your fault". I climb into my car and the mechanics wheel it to the grid, the heat already too overwhelming for me, making me sweat extensively before the formation lap had even started.

*timeskip to the last lap*

I curse as the vibrant, green car passes me, watching him disappear around the corner. "Fuck this shit", I curse, knowing P3 was not enough to win the constructors today. As the crowd cheered for Carlos and Fernando, I couldn't help but feel very ashamed to cross the finish line third. This should've been an easy race, starting from P1 on Suzuka, a circuit that suits our car so well. "I'm sorry", I tell the team over the radio. "It's alright, we'll get them next week", Christian tells me. "You did what you could Max. P3 is impressive with the condition you're in", GP now assures me. "I just hate this. We could've, we should've won today", I grumbled.

As I parked the car to the left, in front of the P3 board, I let my head fall into my hands and sighed, the headache hitting me full force again. I let out a string of coughs that hurt my chest, before I climbed out of my car feebly. Carlos is engulfed in a hug by hundreds of people clad in red suits, probably feeling the complete opposite of me right now. Powerful, ecstatic, appreciated. I trod over to the Red Bull mechanics, getting a pat on the head from GP, who stood front row. I took my helmet off and set it down on the ground, throwing down my balaclava next to it carelessly.

"Max", a familiar voice from behind me. I turn around to face the older driver as he me on the arm. "We had a nice fight. It was nice to finally beat you", Fernando joked. I laughed weakly, in an attempt to not come off as rude. "Yeah, about time", I said, before walking towards the scales. "Good job mate", I congratulated Carlos on the way there. "Thanks Max", he says, but I don't reply, being waved over to the scale. I frown as I see my weight. Was I always this light after Suzuka? I didn't recall ever losing this much weight during the Japanese Grand Prix.

In the cool down room, Carlos and Fernando start talking to each other in Spanish. At one point, they try to engage me in it, but I'm too miserable to have a proper conversation right now. "Max, are you okay?", Carlos whispers, making sure the microphones cannot pick up on the sound. "Yeah, fine", I shrug. Carlos and Fernando frown. "You sure", he asks again. "Just a bit ill", I admit, after which we're called to the podium. I stand on the lowest step and try to muster up a smile to the fans watching at home.

The Spanish and Italian anthem seem to take ages and with each tone, I feel myself getting more and more dizzy and lightheaded. When the anthems finally end, I step onto the top step for the podium picture, standing next to Carlos. As the cameras flash bright and the people below us cheer and scream, I feel my legs buckle and my vision goes black.

- POV Carlos -

I smile at the cheering fans and all the members of the team, when suddenly, Max's trophy drops to the and I feel him go limp. I catch him in his fall and carefully lay him down on the ground. I usher the Ferrari mechanic that accompanied me to the podium, to get help, as Fernando also rushes over and crouches down next to me, fussing over Max. Together, we shield Max's unconscious form from the cameras, making sure nobody has a full view of our friend in this vulnerable state.

Fernando reaches for his wrist, feeling for the pulse as I place a hand on Max's clammy and very warm forehead. It's normal for us drivers to be a bit overheated after a race, but this was definitely not normal. He was burning up, almost as if he had a fever. "*Su pulso es un poco lento", Fernando informs me. "*Mierda". I run a hand through Max's short hair, feeling his forehead again in the process.

After what seems like hours, a medical team comes rushing towards us, quickly assessing Max before lifting him on a gurney and carefully carrying it down the stairs that had let us to the podium. As the medics vanished out of sight and I sat down on one of the podium steps, I felt an arm around me. "*Él estará bien", Fernando told me, ruffling my hair, before he left the podium as well.

I took a breath, trying to shake the situation off and enjoy my victory. I did all the post-race media, before returning to my driver room and changing into a more comfortable outfit. "You good? You can drop by the medical center to see how he's doing", my trainer Rupert proposed. "That's a good idea", I said, smiling at him before heading to the track medical center, worried about the well-being of one of my best friends.

- POV Max -

The lights were bright as I opened my eyes, making me immediately squeeze them shut again. When my eyes had finally accommodated to the brightness a little more, I started to take in my surroundings. There was a sterile smell hanging around and from the looks of it, I was in a hospital. "What the fuck?", I whispered, confused as to what the hell had happened. "Max, hey, you're awake".

I recognize GP's voice and turn towards him. "What h-happened?". "You fainted on the podium". The realization hit me like a tonne of and I cursed under my breath. "Hi there, I see you're awake. How are you feeling?", a doctor asks me. "Like shit", I say honestly, and the doctor starts to do all sorts of tests on me.

I frown at the sound of footsteps, very fast footsteps, I might add, approaching the room. There are 3 short knocks on the door before it swings open, revealing a slightly panicked Carlos Sainz. "Hey, congratulations", I smile weakly, vaguely aware that he won the race today. He seems a little surprised by my greeting, before he sits down next to the bed, studying me closely. "I'm so glad you're okay mate. I was worried sick", he replied, a little out of breath. "Did you run here?", I asked, letting out a few dry coughs.

"Uh...yeah, I did. You alright there?". "Yeah, I'm fine, don't worry about me. Just caught a bad flu", I explain. "Thanks for dropping by though, it was getting a little boring in here to be honest", I and Carlos looked relieved to see me joking around again. "Take care of yourself, yeah. I don't want to see that happen again and neither does Fernando. You almost gave the poor old man a heart attack". I chuckled at that. "Tell him I'm okay for me, will you? I would like him to be around for a little while longer". Carlos nods with a smile, leaving the room for a second, to call Fernando. I just smiled, as I rested my head against the slightly uncomfortable pillow again.

"Thanks for taking care of me", I called after him, before I fell asleep, peacefully this time.

Translations

"Su pulso es un poco lento" = "His pulse is a bit slow"

"Mierda" = "Shit"

"Él estará bien" = "He'll be okay"