Dopamine | Adrenaline Book Two

24- Multi21

Italian Grand Prix

Race Day

"It's coming out of your pocket, Charles. Any contact with Lewis that we define as avoidable will not be covered by the team," Bryan, his race engineer, reminded him as they walked side by side.

The shameful incident of last race was still lingering over the Ferrari garage and it was Charles receiving all the speeches and pointed fingers, everyone too afraid of being on Lewis' bad side to attempt it on him. Lewis Hamilton was above being yelled at but Charles Leclerc was not, their difference in status was alarmingly clear. This distinction was not stark, especially not to the media, which continually spun stories of Charles needing to step back to prevent further issues. Hamilton was still in the lead but the gap to RedBull was too close for comfort— Ferrari didn't like that and were ready to throw Charles to the sharks if the petty drama were to continue.

"I don't even know if that's legal," Charles replied curtly to the newfound threat.

"It's what I'm telling you is happening," Bryan said, placing a hand on his driver's shoulder to show that despite having to scold him, there was still compassion for him. "I'm on your side, Charles. You're still in this fight, but I can't help you if you don't cooperate," he said softly. "Fight clean or they'll take away your chance to fight at all." With a final pat on Charles' back, Bryan broke away and disappeared into the Ferrari garage.

Charles wasn't ready to face everyone. Qualifying had gone badly, him and Lewis getting sent out too close together for comfort and keeping each other out in Q1.

They were starting in seventh and eight when they had the fastest car on the grid. It was humiliating and the whole team was feeling it. Lewis had made no public comments in regard to Charles' accusations that the crash in the Netherlands had been his fault, which only made Charles look more childish. He couldn't take back his words and now the media was treating him like he was a child, referring to the track incidents as tantrums.

Charles Leclerc would rather hand the championship to Max Verstappen than allow a Ferrari that's not his to cross that finish line in first. He's got a lot to prove but I'm afraid his time for it was last year. It passed him by and now he has to spend some time as the second driver. Costing Lewis the championship may cost Charles his seat.

"If you keep frowning like that you're going to get a wrinkle in between your eyebrows," a heavy Spanish accent called out to him. Immediately Charles unfurrowed his eyebrows which instantly relaxed his face— he hadn't realized he'd been so visibly upset.

As his gaze followed the sound of the voice, he spotted the RedBull suit which his previous teammate was now in.

"It might be too late," Charles confessed, running his fingers over the spot Carlos had referred to.

The older driver replaced Charles's fingers with his own, softly tracing it and shaking his head as he moved his hand away.

"Not yet," he chuckled. "But you need to stop walking so angrily, or it will happen. You were never this mad with me, were you?" Carlos asked with a raised eyebrow. Charles couldn't tell if he was making a joke, but with him, it was always better to assume there was no undertone to his words.

"No, I wasn't," Charles admitted. "Are you looking to come back?" he added, his eyes scanning the details on the Red Bull suit, a pain gripping his chest as memories of Max surfaced. His face lost its anger, but his eyes betrayed a visible sadness.

"I don't want to get crashed into," Carlos chuckled before stopping abruptly, recalling that Max had indeed crashed into Charles before. "He doesn't seem to be giving Lewis much of a good time either. He's better to me now that I'm not around you," Carlos added knowingly, aware that Charles recalled the incident too well.