𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐞𝐥𝐬𝐞; oscar piastri

PART NINE

Going away again in two days so I'm really trying to get these chapters out, honestly so addicted to these characters and what's gonna happen omg

Word count; 2,420

Tomás

— March 4th, 2023. Sakhir, Bahrain.

Nothing could get me past Max.

With Oscar out of the way, the weekend had started out strong. I'd come third in the first practice session, and first in the next after Max had to retire early - a notion that had flipped for quali, as neither Liam or I could get past the RedBulls, not until Checo collided with a wall in lap fifteen, and we qualified second and third respectively.

"Would you say Lamborghini's decision to manufacture their own engines for this season - and most likely, therefore, seasons to come - is to be put to blame for not reaching pole position? I mean, we saw several quali sessions last year with the same income, with both Lamborghinis in top three, and yet rarely pushed far enough for pole."

I glanced over the audience of reporters, tossing the microphone in my hand absent-mindedly. Press conferences had always been irrefutably boring, with questions that always seemed to avoid common sense.

"Would you prefer we look to Toyota? Mercedes?" I countered, hostility in my tone, lingering from the fact I had come second. "We're the only other team to come close enough to RedBull, so we must be doing something right. Have you seen Haas on the podium?"

I regarded Oscar, sat on the other side of Checo, who had come seventeenth.

"A McLaren?" I looked back at the reporter. "The answer's no."

"But at what point is getting close not enough?"

I exhaled, "We're already at that point, don't you think?"

The reporter sat down, clearly unsatisfied with my answers. Another journalist stood up, bringing the attention to Checo, asking for an account of his crash, and I glanced at my watch, still another half hour until the conference ended. Agitated, I tapped my fingers on my lap, craving the hold of a cigarette.

"This one's for Taz,"

I darted up, not expecting to be addressed.

"Last week, we saw a bit of a rivalry between you and the driver on the other end of the couch." The journalist studied the notes in her hand. "Across the whole weekend, practically, until you both spun off on Sunday afternoon, and luckily there hasn't been anything of that sort this weekend, however, I can't be the only one who sees some similarities between this and, well, what we saw last year with you and Verstappen at Spa."

I scoffed, "I think Max will also agree that the circumstances are very different."

"And what circumstances are those?"

I let out a silent groan, recognising she was purposely reflecting my words, hoping for something deeper. Rather stupidly, actually.

"Is it a list you want?" I probed sarcastically, envoking a gentle chuckle from the crowd.

"I only wish to ask what has caused-"

"On track, it's easy to get caught up in things." I cut her off, "It's my last name for a reason, you know, I get competitive, which is something you need in this sport. All you saw was a result of that, of competition from Oscar, too, but we've both had the chance to, you know, talk things through, set our priorities straight, and I respect him, really, for taking on the challenge." I glanced at him with a smirk, met with a light eye roll. "And what you saw after we spun out, I agree it was immature, but sometimes you're so caught up in things that there isn't time to question how you react, and I'm sure many drivers will say that, too."