Dopamine | Adrenaline Book Two

12 - A Casa Tua

Monaco Grand Prix
Saturday, Qualifying

Following his discharge from the hospital, Charles had been advised repeatedly to take at least another week to recover. His injuries were severe, and the doctors were concerned that if he faced another crash, he might not be as fortunate as the first time.

Charles usually cared too much about what other people thought and hated to displease those around him. Monaco was his home race, the one event of the season he could not miss. Everyone in his home country had been following his career since he was fourteen years old, and to finally be able to dive into the Monaco Harbor after hearing their national anthem played for him would be monumental.

Charles was absent on press day to run some last-minute tests. His bruises had yet to heal, but the doctors gave him the all-clear in every other aspect. He showed no signs of a concussion, and while his bruised ribs would cause pain during driving, they couldn't keep him from participating. That was all Charles needed to show up for qualifying the following day.

Entering the paddock, Charles was met with an uproar of attention. People desperate to get a look of him, professions of love being thrown his way. If there was one race that was never going to make him feel like the second driver, it was Monaco.

The Ferrari garage was more welcoming than Charles had anticipated. Upon entering the garage, everyone cheered for him. They were careful not to hurt him further, limiting the hugs and pats on the back, but everyone had a kind word to share.
Charles wanted to bask in the attention and well wishes but he had arrived later than most drivers and was already on a crunch time.

"If you qualify well today, our biggest issue tomorrow will be to just focus on tire management, meaning that if you lock it in, tomorrow will be a piece of his cake," his race engineer walked alongside him, running him through their strategies once more. The fact that Charles had missed practice day was putting him on edge but he'd driven this track before and was more than capable of pulling in results.

"Are you feeling well? It's not too late to sit it out, Charles. Don't push yourself," Bryan asked once more as the driver got situated in the car. "There's no shame in it," he added, to which Charles simply shook his head. That seemed to make the engineer happy, patting his helmet. "That a boy!" he exclaimed, making Charles laugh which produced a small painful sting.

With the direction to proceed into the track, Charles locked his gaze in front of him, holding the wheel with extra grip to make up for the strength he was missing and fired away.

Qualifying was the most important part of the Monaco weekend and many considered it to be more interesting than the race itself. During Q1, Charles had only managed to land seventh best time, saving him from being disqualified but being nowhere near where he needed to be if a Monaco win was to be seriously considered.

The next session didn't go much better, only moving up two positions and landing him in fifth place. He knew that panicked murmurs were already filling the grandstands about his abilities this week but he still had one opportunity to prove himself. Lewis had been sent out on track before him, the timer running down and making Charles nervous.

"I will only get one lap in if I don't go now," Charles began to panic, not understanding why he hadn't been given the green light.

"Stand by," was the answer he received, staying in the dark for another two minutes before being sent out with only one lap to land in the top three at least.

Charles was pushing through the agony, racing like his life depended on it, needing to cross the finish line before collapsing from exhaustion. His braking was almost non-existent as he tested the limits of how risky he was willing to be. The car was fast, and he felt one with it, controlling it almost as if it were his own body. The car reacted beautifully to him, maneuvering the curves masterfully. If it weren't for the fact that he felt he might pass out at any second, Charles believed he could have gone even faster. Nearing the end, he felt lightheaded and subconsciously slowed down, but with the finish line so close, he pushed his body and regained speed. He finished his last lap and breathed out in relief.

"That's P2!" Bryan was ecstatic, rejoicing in the underdog moment that had been undergone.

Once his car had been parked, Charles couldn't muster the strength to recover his helmet, opting for closing his eyes in the car— unable to allow himself a moment of glee in his accomplishments before closing his eyes for a moment of rest.

"Max Verstappen got pole, but with his penalty that means it's pole position start for us tomorrow," Bryan stated, "Great job, Charles."

Before Charles could fully process it, a hand reached out for him, squeezing his shoulder from behind.

"Great job," a warm and familiar voice said, prompting him to turn around.

Max stood there with a warm smile, shaking Charles' hand. His soft gaze reflected a need to say and do much more than the friendly congratulations.

Charles softened instantly as his hand fit perfectly into Max's. The small, friendly touch was enough to make him temporarily forget about the exhaustion that had taken over him.

"You too," he congratulated back, his gaze lingering on his lover and wanting to crash into him, needing the day over with.

It was the light of camera flashes that brought him back to reality, causing him to drop Max's hand and quickly try to hide the blush that was taking over his face— to his luck, a post race glow hid it fairly well.

As they were ushered to take their picture, Charles found out Lewis had finished in third and despite having his own teammate, he couldn't break away from Max's side. He found strength he didn't think was left in him and as the man's hand wrapped around his waist. There, Charles let some of his weight be carried by Max; giving him temporary relief.

On the other hand, Max was painstakingly obvious with enmity against Lewis by not putting his arm around him for the qualifying photo.

The media was going to eat that up like starving rats.