Starting Again (A Charles Leclerc Fic)

048 : Canada Mayhem

The week leading up to the Canadian Grand Prix was filled with excitement. Fans were still buzzing about Charles Leclerc's historic victory in Monaco, his home race. Ferrari, the Italian team, was aiming for another back-to-back win with Scuderia.

Charles Leclerc stood beside his car, arms folded, jaw clenched. The cheers of the crowd faded, drowned out by the rapid beat of his heart. He had just enjoyed the thrill of his Monaco victory, the taste of champagne still fresh, but now, only the bitter sting of disappointment remained.

The first two practice sessions were steady but not spectacular. Charles finished in fourth in both sessions. Then came the third practice, which marked the beginning of Ferrari's nightmare. Charles ended up 10th, while Carlos was in 12th. Qualifying was no better, with the Ferraris starting 11th and 12th on the grid. The team tried to remain hopeful, but with each passing lap, their problems became increasingly clear.

"No, no, no! Not again!" Charles shouted in frustration. Despite falling further behind, he refused to give up. With every lap, the crowd cheered for his perseverance.

"Charles, we need to box and retire the car. I'm sorry," one of the engineers called out.

"No, why does this always happen to me?" Charles replied, his voice full of frustration.

"Charles, focus on the next race!" another engineer urged. "We can't afford another failure!"

Charles glared at him, anger simmering beneath the surface.

"Don't you think I know that? I'm the one driving!" He kicked the tire in frustration, the metallic thud echoing in the empty space.

Katrina Hale stood a short distance away, watching with concern. She was supposed to be the calm, grounding presence in his life, but today, she felt like she was standing too close to a volcano about to erupt.

"Charles, please," she said gently, stepping forward. "Maybe you just need a moment to breathe. It's okay to be upset."

"Upset?" he shot back, spinning to face her. "Upset doesn't even begin to cover it! We were supposed to win this race. The car was fine, but now I'm here in the garage while everyone else is out there racing. I failed, like a rookie, Katrina! Can't you see that?" His voice was harsh, and she flinched, tears welling up in her eyes.

"It wasn't your fault. You can't control everything," she whispered.

"What do you know about it?" he snapped, the words escaping before he could stop them. "You don't understand Formula 1. You're not the one carrying the team's weight. You're not the one who has to bring home victories for Ferrari!" The tension was palpable, and Katrina took a step back, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"I'm just trying to support you, Charles. I thought that's what you wanted."

"Support? This isn't about support, Katrina! I need to win! Not sit here feeling sorry for myself like a child!" Tears streamed down her face, and his heart clenched at the sight of her breaking.

"You know how much this means to me! To us! I can't have you pitying me!" he added, running a hand through his hair, his frustration spilling over.

"I'm not pitying you!" she cried, her voice shaking. "I care about you, Charles, and it hurts to see you like this."

"Then maybe you should just leave me alone!" he yelled, the words bitter on his tongue. He turned his back on her, crossing his arms tightly, trying to block out the reality of what he had just said.

The silence that followed was suffocating. Katrina took a shaky breath, wiping her tears away.

"Fine," she whispered. "If that's how you feel... I'll go. Maybe I should have stayed in Monaco with Ollie and Kimi. I love you, Charles, but I don't deserve this."

"Wait—" Charles started to call after her, but she was already turning away, her footsteps echoing as she walked off. The sound of her heels was like a door slamming shut, each step a painful reminder of his failure.

"Damn it," he muttered under his breath. Anger flared again, but it quickly shifted to a hollow ache. He had pushed away the one person who always had his back, the one who believed in him even when he faltered. He sank to the ground, his back against the wall, head in his hands. The world around him blurred, the sounds of the paddock turning distant and muted. The rush of racing, the adrenaline, felt like a memory from a past life. All those years of striving for victories, and now, when it was within reach, it all slipped away. For the first time, he felt the full weight of his choices—the pressure to win, the expectations, the constant eyes of the media. It had all consumed him and clouded his judgment. He had taken it out on Katrina, and now she was gone.

"Charles!" Bryan, his race engineer, called, snapping him out of his thoughts. "We need you back in the garage. We're working on figuring out what went wrong."

He looked up, a sharp pang of regret twisting in his gut.

"I'll be there in a minute," he said hoarsely.

He needed to find her. He needed to apologize. But what if she didn't want to see him again? With a heavy heart, he pushed himself off the ground, the weight of his failure pressing down on him. He walked slowly back to the garage, his mind consumed by thoughts of Katrina's tear-streaked face, the hurt in her eyes. It gnawed at him relentlessly.

When he entered the garage, the hum of machinery and chatter from the mechanics surrounded him, but he felt disconnected. The team was discussing the car, but he felt distant from them. They were counting on him, but he felt like a failure.

"Charles, we're running diagnostics," another engineer said, glancing up. "We need your input."

"Yeah, okay," he replied, but his mind was elsewhere. He could still see Katrina, tears in her eyes, telling him she should've stayed in Monaco. His guilt consumed him. He hadn't just been a jerk—he had hurt the woman he loved the most.

He longed to hear her laugh again, to see the sparkle in her eyes when she was happy. That was the Katrina he wanted to see, not the one who had walked away in tears.

"Focus, Charles!" another voice snapped, pulling him back into the present. He looked up to see his Team Principal glaring at him.

"We need you to analyze the telemetry with us. We can't afford a repeat of today's disaster!"

"I said I'll do it," he replied, his tone sharper than he intended, but he didn't care. His life had always been about pleasing others—his team, his bosses, always doing what was expected. But now, his mind was miles away from the garage. All he could think about was how he had lost the most important person in his life because of his arrogance.

As they ran through the telemetry, he struggled to focus, his mind drifting back to the argument with Katrina. She had always been his anchor, but now he had pushed her away.

"Charles!" an engineer's voice cut through, bringing him back to the moment. "What do you think? Is it the fuel mixture?"

"Uh, yeah," he answered absently. "That could be it." The words felt empty, a way to avoid the turmoil inside.

Hours passed in a blur. The race weekend continued, but the emptiness in his chest remained. As night fell over the paddock, he stepped outside, the cool air biting at his skin. He needed to find her, to tell her he was sorry.

He searched the nearby hotel, each room a potential hiding place for her pain. His heart raced, each step heavier than the last.