GREENE | CS55

44 - The Prophecy

The technical producer hooked her microphone up, glancing sidelong at Pierce as he worked, tapping on the cloth to test the reception. Just as he did with the four other drivers, sat in a single-file row at the same table as she. Shoulder to shoulder. 

Carlos must have slipped in beside Seb, invisible even from Pierce's peripheral. But she knew he was there. His hands, clasped together on the surface of the desk, shadows cascading from them as he spoke animatedly to Vettel and Lewis. His voice, hushed but filling her ears regardless.

It must have been some sort of cruel joke to seat Pierce right in the middle. However, she didn't protest. She'd swung the seat out, plopped down in it decidedly, and locked herself between the Ferrari driver and Alex Albon.

Rasping her fingers against the table, she figured the natural thing she could do was spark conversation. Natural. What any driver, any person, would do as they waited for the sound and lighting techs to all set up. Pierce inhaled, lifting her chin at the sight of Holden, gnawing on the cap of his pen at the back of the conference room. Right by the door.

Pierce cleared her throat. Alex startled in her direction. She placed a lovely smile on her face, "Shame about the car this afternoon. Thankfully it didn't look like you got too roughed up?"

He'd softened at that, letting out a shrug as he rubbed his bicep. "Right, no it's all good. I'm fine as well." Alex held his arms out, as if to prove his point. "The team thinks they can fix it and make some adjustments before the race tomorrow, so at least I've got that."

It wouldn't fix that Alex would be left with one less set of mediums for the race. That would take some strategy shifts as well, no doubt. His front left had locked up in his entry out of Farm. It was a line Max had used to cut seven-tenths off his lap time in FP3, Alex continued to explain. The team thought he could  push to do the same, but didn't account for the differing conditions. Or Alex's different racing style under a similar engine mode.

"But hey— you've had an impressive come back this weekend so far," Alex's knuckle lightly nudged the outside of Pierce's arm. She shrugged with one shoulder, dipping her smile behind it. "Quite shocked you've not been scooped up by any of these teams for next year yet."

"Thank you for noticing," Pierce's cheeks flared in warmth. It was a good day. So far, at least.

She'd almost followed up with blossoming pride that she just hadn't chosen yet, but that quickly dwindled away when she recalled McLaren hadn't made any moves to contact Holden since the photo had surfaced. There may no longer be a choice left for her to make.

When Alex's eyes darted behind her, Pierce knew what was coming from Alex's lowered tone and tipped shoulder that seemed to shelter his words in. "I'm really sorry for what you're going through, Pierce. But try to look past it. It'll pass."

Alex gave her a certain nod, grabbing his water bottle from the chair leg it stood beside and taking a sip. Pierce bit her tongue, giving Alex a smile and a sigh. If only it were that easy. "Yeah, one can only hope it all passes. Like, soon, you know?"

"Sure it will," Alex continued, furrowing his brow and knotting his expression into one of confusion. Between them, his palm splayed upward in his lap, silently saying why wouldn't it!

Pierce, for whatever reason, wanted to blurt it all out to him then. How a silly little kiss could ruin her life. How she'd basically ruined her own life, removing one of the very few good things from it, because of the risk of something like this happening.

If she couldn't have Carlos, that sacrifice at least couldn't be in vain. This couldn't be how she ends her racing career. Not like this.

But then, the lights before them blared brighter, reporters stumbling into their positions below the row of drivers. Pierce tried to take Alex's optimism in stride, thanking him quickly before straightening herself out in her seat, ready for her prosecution to begin.