f1 grid x female!driver!oc . . . a series following aston martin driver michaela sommers' journey through the checkered motorsports world.
general warnings.⠀⠀⸻⠀⠀this blog will feature rewriting of history, discussions of racism, sexism, misogyny, infidelity, discrimination, and other mature themes. all pieces will be individually tagged. chapters are sorted in chronological order.
about me.⠀⠀⸻⠀⠀ayana. '03 libra, she/her. est. suffering tifosi.
requests are currently open as of 8/29/24.
✼. view:⠀masterlist⠀⸻⠀join the taglist⠀⸻⠀request.
disclaimer.⠀⠀do not repost, translate, or steal my content.
pairings: retired f1 drivers x retired f1 legend!yn
faceclaim: jessica alba
summary: surviving the grid was one thing. surviving the fallout of a tell-all memoir that exposed the sport’s darkest secrets? now that’s a whole different race. buckle up—this time, the drama is off the track.
warnings: mentions of misogyny. like a lot. so once again if that is something that makes you uncomfortable, please don’t read!! your comfort always comes first <3
author’s note: this is the sequel of x marks the spot! make sure you read that first or this won’t make much sense lol <3
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
liked by landonorris, ynsgirl and 2,837,928 others.
ham1ltonshaderoom: two weeks after the x marks the spot drama went viral, people are still discussing just who the infamous x could be. the memoir shot up the bestsellers list and has been optioned for a limited series that has streaming services fighting for the rights. everything is turning up yn!
view all 1,838 comments
landonorris: please stop tagging me in this drama, i was like fourteen when it happened. it wasn’t me 😭
-> user1: i feel like this is what x would say.
-> user2: you’re guilty man.
-> user3: X IS HERE!!!!
user4: i wonder who will play yn?? it’s gonna be hard to replicate that face card.
-> user25: if they don’t cast someone with yn’s face card, we riot. she’s not just a legend; she’s a LOOK.
user5: if they cast someone too hot to play x, we’re gonna start romanticizing him, and that’s not the energy yn would want.
-> user6: the internet already romanticized x. i’ve seen fanfics already…. yn probably hates us for it.
-> user5: fanfics of the guy who literally bullied my queen???
-> user6: booktok have already started with their enemies to lovers slowburn 200k one bed bullshit 😭
user7: lando being accused is so funny to me. like, what’s next? someone blaming max because he was watching from his karting days?
-> user8: lmao don’t give them ideas, i’ve already seen max’s name trending.
user11: still convinced it’s nico. his silence is LOUD.
-> user13: he already posted a tweet. what more do you want from him???
user9: x is giving fernando vibes, idc what anyone says.
-> user10: nah, it’s nico AND fernando. they probably teamed up. group effort.
user13: lando getting dragged for no reason 😭😭 bro wasn’t old enough to do his gcses and you’re saying he was bullying f1 drivers?! 😭😭
user14: yn is about to make more money off this series than her entire racing career and i respect that.
user15: whoever x is, they’re probably sweating watching this blow up lmao.
user16: why is no one tagging fernando? y’all scared?
-> user17: someone did, and he just liked the comment and dipped. guilty behavior imo.
user18: i just KNOW the streaming rights bidding war is wild rn. yn stays winning.
user19: imagine x watching the series and having to relive their villain arc in HD.
user20: landonorris ok but technically you could’ve been shady at karting events, we don’t know your life.
-> user21: lando mean mugging at 14: “you’re lucky i let you pass me, yn” 💀💀💀
user23: we need a spinoff about paul tbh. he was the real MVP in her career.
-> user22: the only man in that stupid team besides jenson that i don’t want to jump in a walmart parking lot.
user24: yn’s book is going to outsell the bible at this rate.
user26: the day the real x gets exposed will be the most chaotic day in motorsport history.
user27: y’all keep saying it’s fernando but what if it’s seb? everyone thinks he’s too nice, and that’s exactly why he’d be the plot twist.
user28: “x is here” has become my new favorite thing to scream randomly. thank you, user3.
user29: yn deserves every single dollar she’s making from this. turn the haters into profit, queen.
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
(tiktoker at the silverstone gp, armed witn a mic and filled with determination.)
tiktoker: i’m going to ask the drivers about their thoughts on x marks the spot for all of you nosy people. i’ll ask them all the same question! — what do you think of the x marks the spot drama?
george russell: adjusts his posture, clearly overthinking the answer “well, i think it’s, uh, a fascinating read. yn’s career was nothing short of extraordinary, really, and the challenges she faced—it’s a testament to her resilience. i mean, obviously, the whole x situation has people talking, but let’s not forget the bigger picture here. she broke barriers in this sport. whoever x is, well, they should feel, uh, quite ashamed of themselves, really. not that i’m saying i know who it is, because, of course, i don’t. i wasn’t even around back then, and—”
lando norris: throws his hands up dramatically “i just want to reiterate that it was NOT me. i was like, what, fourteen? i didn’t even know how to tie my shoelaces properly back then, let alone sabotage yn.” pauses “but yeah, the book is great. super cool of her to do that… and again, NOT ME.”
max verstappen: shrugs “i don’t read. but i’ve seen the memes. they’re funny. yn is fast, though. faster than whoever x was, clearly.”
oscar piastri: looks startled, like he wasn’t expecting the question “uh… i think yn’s story is really inspiring. i haven’t finished the book yet, but i’ve seen a lot of speculation online about x. people are, uh… very passionate about it. but yeah, great book. big fan of yn.” awkward smile as he backs away.
daniel ricciardo: “look, the book is great. yn’s always been a legend, and her story is long overdue. as for x, i’ve got no clue. but if it’s me, can someone tell me, because i missed that memo.”
charles leclerc: laughing “me? x? no, no, no, i am far too young, no? i was probably in karting when all of this happened. but honestly, the book is great. i read it. i think everyone should read it. the drama is funny, but also… very stressful. every time i open twitter, people are tagging me like, ‘charles, is it you?!’ no, it’s not me! i am innocent. i promise.”
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
liked by lewishamilton, nicorosberg and 2,837,938 others.
yourinstagram: fun fact! when i started in f1, i wasn’t allowed to have my hair long. it was in my contract that it had to stay above my shoulders. something about “image” and “practicality,” but let’s be real—it was all about control. so, i went full pixie cut. i didn’t feel very pretty but my best friend, armed with dark lipstick, a camera and a dream, took a photoshoot of me in my hotel room. it did make me feel better.
but when i moved teams, one of my non-negotiables was being allowed to grow my hair out. i didn’t want to hear excuses about helmets or branding or any of that nonsense again. it seems small, but it was one of the first things that made me feel like i was getting my agency back. so yeah, this hair? it’s more than just hair to me. it’s a little victory.
so catch me on the late show with stephen colbert! we talk about everything—the success of my memoir, the chaos of x marks the spot, my career, and even some behind-the-scenes paddock stories i’ve never shared before. it’s a conversation you don’t want to miss. see you there!
view all 2,837 comments
user1: ma’am who is x.
-> user2: TELL US !!!!!! PLEASE !!!!
billieeilish: i feel so bad bc short hair yn was my biwakening.
-> user3: you’re so real for this queen.
user4: yn’s team made her cut her hair short but let’s be honest, she was STILL the most iconic person in the paddock. short hair, long hair, it doesn’t matter.
user5: not lewis liking this post again. sir, you’re not subtle.
user6: okay but why does this feel like yn’s about to drop another bomb on the colbert show??? i’m scared and excited.
user7: “something about image and practicality” aka the most sexist thing i’ve ever heard. they didn’t want her to be “too feminine” while driving circles around their favorites.
user8: why does this feel like a lowkey callout for fernando? “control” vibes are VERY specific here.
-> user21: y’all stay on his dick 😭
user9: yn, pls, just give us ONE hint about x before i lose my mind. like, was he bad at driving? was he petty? TELL US.
user10: paul really helped carry this woman’s career on his back. the way he stuck by her through everything deserves a full documentary.
user11: yn is out here talking about hair when the entire internet is STILL screaming about x. we love a queen who knows how to keep us waiting.
user12: imagine your entire identity being reduced to controlling a woman’s hair. congrats to her old team for being the worst. fuck you mclaren.
user13: lewis and billie eilish in the likes… i feel like i’ve been invited to the cool kids’ table just by seeing this post.
user14: short-haired yn made me want to cut all my hair off in 2014. long-haired yn now makes me want extensions. she’s a menace (affectionate).
user15: x marks the spot is literally the most chaotic thing to happen in f1 since the abu dhabi debacle and yn’s just chilling like it’s fine.
user16: watch stephen colbert ask, “so, who’s x?” and yn just laugh and change the subject. she LOVES the drama.
user17: am i the only one who thinks nico liking all her posts lately is suspicious???
-> user18: nico’s just trying to stay on her good side because he knows he’s still top 3 suspects.
user19: when yn said “non-negotiables,” i felt that in my soul. she really walked into her new team like, “let me grow my hair or i’m out.” queen behavior.
user20: okay but WHERE are the rest of the pixie cut hotel room pics? i need them framed on my wall immediately.
user22: okay but why is no one talking about how fernando’s been quiet since the book dropped? sus.
user23: lewis, fernando, nico… we see you all watching this like hawks. we’re not letting anyone off the hook until yn says who x is.
user24: yn, your ability to say so much without saying anything about x is both infuriating and legendary. i’m obsessed.
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
[r/AMA: “My uncle worked in F1 during the 2013-2016 seasons, and he just confirmed who X is from YN’s memoir. Ask me anything.”]
u/OverheardInPaddock:
so my uncle used to work in f1 logistics during the early 2010s, and he was around the paddock a lot. i told him about lucky girl syndrome and all the “x marks the spot” theories, and he casually goes, “oh yeah, x is definitely nico rosberg. i heard him say that ‘sliding off the track’ comment during a rain delay.”
apparently, it happened during a rainy weekend in germany when yn’s garage was adjusting setup issues. my uncle was nearby when nico walked by, smirked at her engineer, and said loud enough for yn to hear, “well, at least she’ll look good sliding off the track.” uncle said yn froze for a second, didn’t respond, and just went back to her notes. her engineer muttered something like, “just ignore him, he’s a prick.” but my uncle said you could see she was pissed.
he also said it wasn’t the only time nico made comments like that. “he had this way of saying things that sounded like jokes but weren’t,” my uncle said. other team members would sometimes laugh nervously or stay quiet because, well, it was nico—untouchable back then.
honestly, after hearing this, it all makes sense. the coldness after her wins, the little digs disguised as humor, the “lucky girl syndrome” narrative—it fits.
feel free to ask me anything! i’ll share what i can without putting my uncle’s job history at risk.
top comments:
u/YNStanForever: ‘at least she’ll look good sliding off the track’… i need a minute. that’s so nasty. it’s 100% him.
u/F1GossipQueen: i knew it was nico! the smug, passive-aggressive vibes in every press conference back then gave it away.
u/OverheardInPaddock (OP): uncle said no one dared to call nico out because he was too important, a lot of people also agreed with him, and he played everything off as a joke.
u/HotLapKing: this is why yn called him out in her book without naming names. he was subtle enough to get away with it at the time.
u/CheckeredFlagDrama: people said fernando was the obvious choice, but nico’s quiet smugness always felt more x-like. this seals it.
u/TireStrategyGuru: can we talk about how unbothered yn was in that moment? she stayed silent and then beat him on the track. iconic.
u/PodiumTea: nico rosberg, smug in public and a nightmare in private. no wonder he retired after one championship win.
u/CurveMaster24: nico’s gonna deny this in the most dramatic way possible, but the receipts are coming in hot.
u/RedFlagFanatic: can someone explain to me how no one called nico out back then? he was such a diva.
u/GridLegend123: paul deserves a medal for always keeping yn calm during all this nonsense.
u/ChampagneSpray: the internet is going to EXPLODE when this gets out.
u/SlickTyreStan: so nico was x this whole time? not surprised, just disappointed.
u/OverheardInPaddock (OP): uncle said it was an open secret in the paddock. everyone knew nico liked to make these little digs, but no one wanted to rock the boat.
u/LapTimeLover: honestly, this makes yn’s silence during those years even more badass. she let her driving do the talking, and it spoke LOUD.
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
liked by podcastcreator, landonorris and 1,837,928 others.
ham1ltonshaderoom: a redditor’s uncle might have the answer to the biggest sports mystery since wagatha christie. reddit user OverheardInPaddock insisted that the infamous ‘she’ll look good sliding off the track’ comment was made by none other than former driver nico rosberg. the revelation sent the f1 fandom into a frenzy, with fans immediately digging up old interviews, press conference clips, and paddock footage for clues. many pointed out nico’s history of subtle digs and passive-aggressive comments, arguing that it fits the profile of x laid out in yn’s memoir.
others, however, were quick to defend him, calling the claims circumstantial at best. meanwhile, eagle-eyed fans noticed that nico had either deleted his social media accounts or restricted comments across all platforms shortly after the post began gaining traction. this move only fueled the speculation, with some calling it “an admission of guilt” and others suggesting he was avoiding unnecessary drama. one fan on twitter stated “deleting your socials when you’re accused is like putting a neon sign over your head saying ‘it was me.’”
still, there’s no official confirmation from yn or her team about whether the claims are true. yn has remained silent on the matter, sticking to her original statement that the book is about her journey, not a witch hunt. what do we think about the drama ham1ltons? is it nico? is it someone else? will we ever know?
view all 3,727 comments
user1: this is SO nico-coded like the passive aggression is his brand
user2: i mean…deleting socials right after the post blows up? come on now
user3: yn told us it wasn’t a witch hunt but nico out here acting guilty af
user4: people are so quick to jump to conclusions. what if it’s not him? the evidence is weak
-> user5: weak? girl it’s nico. the man has a history of being petty and this fits perfectly
-> user4: you’re gonna believe ONE random redditor ???
user6: this is giving me flashbacks to nico’s obsession with beating lewis. he couldn’t handle anyone being better than him
user7: idc i’m on nico’s side. there is barely any proof. you’re just wanting him to be x so you can ignore the shit your faves did to yn.
user8: if it’s not nico, why is he hiding? like the timing is way too convenient
user9: yn not confirming anything is driving me insane. girl, just tell us already
user10: nico deleting socials instead of just saying “it’s not me” is so on brand
user11: the way we’re all fighting over who x is while yn’s at home sipping tea and watching the chaos
user12: paul deserves an award for dealing with all the crap yn went through
user13: honestly if it’s not nico, he needs to come back and say something because this silence is deafening
user14: yn’s book is supposed to be about her journey but the internet made it about nico’s fragile ego
user15: even if it’s not him, this whole thing is proof the f1 paddock was just a big boys’ club trying to keep yn out
user16: atp i don’t care who x is, i just want someone to drop a list of everyone who wronged yn so we can drag them properly
user17: the fact that nico was this pressed about a woman beating him when he literally had a championship… embarrassing
user18: it’s nico rosberg until proven otherwise. thanks for coming to my ted talk
user19: yn didn’t name x because she wanted us to focus on her journey, but we’re too messy for that lmao
user20: y’all think nico will pull a wagatha christie and deny everything or just keep hiding?
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
do you think it’s nico?
no.
yes.
i wanted it to NOT be him but i think it is.
it’s someone else.
Voting ended onDec 8, 2024
────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────
— all works taglist: @luvsforme @yelenasloverrrrr @donttouchthegnote @chelle1306 @bloodyymaryy @km-23mr @stinkyjax @f1kenzzz @ctrlyomomma @aliciaablueprint @theblueblub @namgification @tallrock35 @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @ariellovelynn @shhhchriss @lifeless-firefly @xylinasdiary @evie-119 @itseightbeats @landososcar @yongi-lee @velentine @m1892 @blushmimi @evans-dejong @nixisracing @lethalvenus @sainzluvrr @santanasaintmendes @idontknowlmaoo @sainzluvrr @tetetoni @ssprayberrythings @heavy-vettel @tashisgf @daniskywalkersolo @c-losur3 @lestappenslover @linoscrly @sumlovesjude @levidazai (see yourself tagged when you don’t wanna be? or you want to be and don’t see yourself? send me an ask!)
after a botched pit stop in azerbaijan and a withdrawal in canada, michaela's side of the garage is heading down a slippery slope. michaela's depleted spirit can't take much more. until silverstone.
✼. warnings: language, arguments, more mclaren papaya mess.
✼. notes: so sorry but yuki is the villain in this part.
000.⠀⠀JULY 02, 2022 › Silverstone, UK.
Michaela stood tall in her cramped garage, surrounded by the mechanical hum of the Silverstone Grand Prix. Her eyes scanned her McLaren car, the sleek machine adorned with the papaya orange and blue livery that had become her battle armor. The smell of the mechanical tools and racing fuel filled her nose, a familiar scent that had become almost comforting over the years. Despite the whispers that had followed her since the last race, she was in her element, she could feel it.
Her last conversation with Jenson replayed in her mind as she climbed into the cockpit. He had tried to ease her nerves, but his words of reassurance had only served to highlight the precariousness of her situation. She pushed the thoughts away, focusing on the task at hand.
The British Grand Prix was a chance for redemption, and she was not going to let anything or anyone stand in her way. The sound of the engines firing up around her sent a shiver down her spine, a reminder of the power and danger that lay just beyond her grip. Her first free practice session had gone as expected, Michaela lay in comfortable territory on the rankings. The car felt great and she was at the helm, masterminding every turn and hum through the twists of the Silverstone circuit. The second session had followed in similar fashion. She did just enough in the car to provide a glimpse of her potential for the weekend, but not nearly enough for any real predictions to be made.
Michaela knew the media was watching her closely, waiting for any sign of weakness. The whispers grew louder, the questions more pointed. Her rivalry with Lando was a hot topic, especially after the disasters in Saudi Arabia, Azerbaijan, and Canada. But she had faced adversity before and had come out on top. As she stepped out of the garage and into the press conference room following the conclusion of Friday's practice runs, she felt the beginning of vindication start to settle in.
The journalists kept coming back around to her, their faces a mix of curiosity and accusation. The air was thick with the anticipation of a scandal, a juicy headline waiting to be born. One journalist, in particular, had a glint in his eye as he asked, "Michaela, what's your response to the rumors that Lando has been receiving preferential treatment from the team?"
Michaela took a deep breath, her grip on the microphone in her hand tightening. "My focus is on my performance," she replied with a steely smile, her voice as smooth as the freshly paved circuit she'd soon be racing on. "I've seen the times, and I know what I'm capable of. The team is doing their best, and I have full confidence in McLaren." Her response was met with a smatter of applause, a few nods of approval. It was a dance she'd done before, dodging the media's jabs with the grace of a seasoned professional.
The weekend dragged on, the tension between her and Lando palpable. She could feel his eyes on her during the practice session early Saturday morning, the unspoken challenge in every rev of his engine. But she had her own demons to face. Her relationship with Jenson was a tightrope walk, and the fear of losing her grip on her career was a constant weight on her shoulders.
Qualifying day arrived with a mix of nerves and excitement. The Silverstone circuit buzzed with energy, the crowd eager to see who would claim pole position. As she geared up for Q3, the final showdown, she knew she had to put everything aside and just drive. The pressure mounted as she took off for her out lap, the thunderous roar of the engines around her a reminder of the blend of power and ambition at play.
Michaela's heart raced as she pushed her McLaren to the limit, each turn a testament to her skill and determination. Her qualifying lap was pure poetry, a dance of precision and speed that would secure her a spot on the third row in 5th, just behind the two Red Bulls and Ferraris. The crowd erupted into applause, and she couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. The first question out of her mouth as she crossed the lap as the clock ran down was, "Where'd Lando end up?" The response of '7th' was left hanging in the air as she selfishly allowed her heart to flutter with ego.
The evening before the race, she and Jenson talked over the phone, his voice a gentle reprieve from the storm of the day. He apologized for pushing the topic of their relationship into the public eye, saying, "You're right, love. We'll do it on your terms." She felt the knot in her stomach loosen slightly, appreciating his understanding but still feeling the pressure to make a decision. They ended the call with a promise to meet up after the race, regardless of the outcome.
000.⠀⠀JULY 03, 2022 › Silverstone, UK.
Sunday dawned bright and early, the air thick with the scent of hunger and anticipation. As she put on her helmet, she could almost taste the podium champagne, her resolve to win stronger than ever.
But fate had other plans.
Michaela's heart sank as she heard the words from Zak Brown, her boss and McLaren's CEO, just before the race. Something about a potential team order to go on the defensive that could favor Lando. She had added a justification for the choice, something about standings and sponsors. She tried to push the thoughts away, but the doubt had already planted its seed.
As the lights turned green, she stalled, the car jolting awkwardly off the line as she dropped to 9th place. The roar of the McLaren fans morphed into a collective groan of disappointment, the air around her thick with the smell of misfortune as the field sped away. Her mind raced, trying to make sense of the chaos. Her engineer's voice crackled over the radio, a mix of concern and urgency, but she couldn't respond, her focus solely on regaining her lost positions.
Her first pit stop was a disaster. The mechanics were not prepared, fumbling with the tires. The seconds ticked by as she sat stationary, the frustration burning in her chest. When she was finally released, she shot out of the pits with a simmering rage, only to be met by Yuki Tsunoda, his Alpha Tauri car snapping at her heels. As he engaged in a risky twist with her, Michaela's anger that had been simmering within her boiled over.
The overtake was clean, a testament to her skill and patience, but Yuki wasn't going to let it go without a fight. He lunged back at her, tires squealing in protest as they danced dangerously close to the edge of the track. The crowd held their collective breath, the tension in the air as visible as the exhaust fumes.
Michaela felt a rush of adrenaline as she saw her opportunity to put distance between them. She floored the pedal, the engine screaming in response. The sound of the tires on the asphalt was a symphony of speed and grip, her car an extension of her will. But Yuki was persistent, his aggression unyielding.
The battle continued, a blur of Orange and Blue as their cars filed through the historic track. The heat of the rare British summer sun bore down on her, the cockpit a sauna of concentration and anger. Every time she glimpsed in her mirrors to catch sight of Yuki, it was a painful reminder of her botched start and the game of 'what if' she had been playing in her mind for the past 15 laps.
Michaela's knuckles were white on the steering wheel, her eyes never leaving the track. The crowd's cheers grew louder as she approached the spot where she had made the overtake. She could feel the energy of the fans urging her on, willing her to push through the pain and frustration. But it was a fleeting victory, every corner a potential disaster waiting to happen.
As they approached the fast-approaching right-hand turn at Stowe, he took a risk, going wide, his tires grazing the grass. She saw her chance and took it, her car responding beautifully as she swung around him. The crowd roared as she reclaimed the position, but Yuki wasn't done yet. He came back at her, his car clipping her rear wing as he tried to muscle his way past. The contact sent her McLaren into a spin, the world around her a whirlwind of color and motion.
Her heart racing, she watched as the tire barrier grew closer, the world outside the cockpit becoming a blur of fear and frustration. Time slowed as she braced for impact, the thud of the car against the wall jolting her body. The sudden silence was deafening as the engine cut out, the only sound the hiss of escaping air and the faint crackle of the dead radio.
Her engineer, Rob, tried to get her attention over the radio, his voice strained with tension. "Michaela, are you okay?" He asked, the static crackling in her ears. She didn't respond, her thoughts a whirlwind of anger and frustration. She sat, dazed, as the safety car was deployed and the marshals rushed to her side.
Michaela's mind was a cloud of emotions as she climbed out of the wreckage. She could feel the eyes of the world on her, the cameras capturing every moment of her defeat. Yuki pulled up alongside, an annoyed look on his face, his words of apology barely audible over the engine noise. The frustration boiled over and she slammed her fist on the side of her car, the anger clear in her eyes.
The medical team checked her over, but she brushed them off, more concerned with the damage to her ego than any bruises she may have sustained. As she was escorted back to the pits, the weight of her failure pressed down on her shoulders. The crowd's cheers had turned to gasps, the excitement of the race now tinged with concern for her safety. She could barely bring herself to open her eyes fully, the pounding in her head echoing hisses of failure and upsetting shortcomings.
The moment she stepped out of the marshall car, the disappointments of the race weekend engulfed her. Mechanics swarmed around her, checking for any signs of injury while team members whispered about the potential repercussions of the crash. In the midst of this, Yuki's voice rang out clear over the huffing of the team.
"That was a bad move, Sommers," he spat, his eyes narrowed as he removed his helmet. "You had no right to take the inside like that."
Michaela's anger flared, igniting like a spark in dry grass. "Don't you dare blame me for your inability to drive in a straight fucking line," she shot back, her voice carrying over the rumblings of the pit lane. The tension between them was palpable, a live wire ready to snap.
Their words grew heated, accusations and recriminations flying as their teams looked on in shock. The cameras had caught every second, broadcasting their argument across the globe. It was a spectacle that no one could have anticipated, two of the sport's rising stars at each other's throats. The mechanics tried to pull them apart, their faces a mix of concern and embarrassment.
The argument was finally broken up by a burly figure in McLaren overalls, his voice a thunderous boom over the din. It was her team's chief mechanic, his face red with rage. "That's enough," he bellowed, his hands firmly planted on their shoulders. "We've got a race to manage."
Michaela took a step back, her chest heaving as she fought to regain her composure. Yuki glared at her before turning away, stalking off towards his own garage. The cameras continued to roll, the scene playing out in real-time on the screens lining the pit wall. Her heart was racing, the adrenaline from the crash mixing with the anger still coursing through her veins. She knew she had to get control of herself, to keep her emotions in check. But it was too late; the damage was done.
The race continued without her, a stark reminder of her failure. She watched from the pit wall, her eyes never leaving the track as Lando and the others fought for position. Each pass, each overtake, stung like a slap in the face. The voices in her head grew louder, questioning her place in the sport, her worth as a driver. Was she really as good as she had thought?
Her engineer, Rob, was by her side, trying to offer words of encouragement. But she couldn't hear him over the roar of the engines, the echo of the crowd's disappointment, and the thundering beat of her own heart. All she could think about was the look on Zak's face when he saw the replay and the inevitable questions from her manager, Guido, about her contract.
Michaela's eyes followed the cars as they disappeared around the final turn, heading towards the checkered flag. Lando would be finishing in a well-earned sixth place, something she couldn't even secure this weekend. The knot in her stomach tightened as the reality of her situation set in. Her thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of her headphones.
"Michaela, we need to get you to the medical center now," Rob’s voice was firm, yet filled with a hint of concern. She nodded, letting the team lead her away from the chaos, her head down to avoid the prying eyes of the media.
The medical center was a blur of white and blue as she was poked and prodded, questions about her well-being flying at her from every angle. Her thoughts remained on the race, on the podium that had slipped through her fingers like sand in an hourglass. The doctor's voice was a distant murmur as she replayed every moment in her head, searching for where she had gone wrong.
Finally, she was given the all-clear, but her mind was anything but. She stormed through the McLaren garage, the smell of burning rubber and hot metal a constant reminder of the battle she'd left unfinished. Guido found her, his expression a mix of disappointment and frustration. He knew better than to speak to her now, the fire in her eyes a warning to tread lightly.
In the post-race press conference, she couldn't escape the questions about her argument with Yuki. A journalist, eager for drama, asked, "Michaela, can you comment on the tension between you and Tsunoda?" She took a deep breath, her jaw clenched tight. "It's just racing," she said through gritted teeth, her voice a forced calm. "We're all out there fighting for the same thing."
The room was a sea of flashing cameras and probing eyes, each journalist hungry for a piece of her. Beata, her press officer, shot her a warning glance, but it was too late. The dam had broken, and now the sharks were circling.
Michaela took a deep breath and faced the horde, her heart pounding in her chest as she grew more agitated by the second. "Yes, there was an incident on track, but that's all it was. Just racing." Her voice was firm, but she could feel the tremble in her hands.
The questions kept coming, each one more pointed than the last. She tried to keep her cool, to stick to the script, but the anger was too much. "I don't know what else you want me to say," she spoke plainly. "We're all out there to win, and sometimes things get heated."
The room fell silent, the only sound the clack of cameras capturing the moment. The moderator stepped in, trying to steer the conversation back on track, but it was too late. The journalists had caught the scent of a scandal and weren't letting go. "Michaela, is there any truth to the rumors of tension within the team?"
Her eyes flashed with anger as she leaned into the microphone. "I've said all I'm going to say about that," she bit back, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. She could feel Beata's eyes boring into her, willing her to walk away, but she was beyond caring. The whispers of doubt and favoritism had been eating away at her for too long, and she wasn't going to let them win.
The press conference was a blur, a minefield of words she carefully stepped around. Each question was a trap, designed to catch her off guard, but she was ready for them. Every answer was a calculated move, a defense of her talent and her team's strategy. But as she stepped out of the press pen, the weight of the weekend's events finally hit her.
Her eyes searched the bustling garage for Beata, who was nowhere to be found. She needed to vent, to scream, to let it all out. The tension in her shoulders was a constant reminder of the crash, the argument, the unspoken accusations. It was then she saw Guido, her manager, his face etched with worry and concern.
Michaela stormed towards him, the sounds of the garage fading into the background. "What the hell was that about, Guido?" she spat out, her voice a mix of anger and defeat. "Why did they have to pit me with those tires?"
Guido held up his hands in a calming gesture. "Michaela, let's talk about this in private," he suggested, leading her to a quieter area behind the garage. She followed, her mind racing with the events of the race.
Once out of earshot, she unleashed her frustration. "I can't believe this. The stall on the line, the pit stop, and now this with Yuki!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking with emotion. Guido's expression grew sterner as he listened, his eyes never leaving hers.
"Michaela, I know this weekend hasn't been easy, but you've got to keep your head focused," he said firmly, his voice low as he tried to keep his driver in line. "We're all feeling the pressure, but lashing out like that isn't going to help."
Her eyes searched his, looking for any sign of understanding or sympathy, but she found none. The walls of the garage felt like they were closing in on her, the weight of the weekend's failure crushing her spirit. "What do you know about pressure?" she snapped, her voice filled with bitterness. "You sit up in your fancy office and tell me what to do, but you've never been out there, fighting for your life."
Guido's expression softened slightly. "You're right, I haven't," he admitted. "But I've seen drivers with half your talent crack under a quarter of the pressure you're under. You're better than this, Michaela."
Michaela's anger didn't abate. "Better than what? Crashing out because of a bad pit stop? Or maybe better than fighting with other drivers over a podium that was never meant for me?"
Guido sighed, his hand resting on her shoulder. "You know what I mean. You're one of the best drivers out there, and you can't let one bad race define you. We need to work on the contract situation, yes, but now is not the time for this."
Michaela's eyes searched his, looking for a glimmer of hope. "What if I don't want to stay?" she whispered, the words hanging in the air like a confession.
Guido's expression grew serious. "You have a contract, and we need to honor that," he said firmly. "But if you're unhappy, we'll talk after the weekend. For now, you need to keep your focus on the next race."
Michaela nodded, her eyes welling up with tears she refused to shed. The pressure of keeping her emotions in check was almost too much to bear. She knew he was right, but the feeling of being trapped was suffocating.
As they walked back to the garage, she spotted Jenson in the distance, talking to his fellow pundits, their expressions a mix of shock and concern as they watched the replay of her crash. She felt a pang of guilt for dragging him into this mess. Their relationship was supposed to be a sanctuary, not a source of additional strain.
The sight of him brought a fresh wave of tears that she hastily wiped away. She didn't want to face the cameras with red eyes and she didn't want to give the media more fuel for their fire.
Guido steered her towards the team's motorhome, the only sanctuary where she could retreat for a brief moment of solace. "Go in, take a breather, and we'll talk after," he said, his grip on her shoulder reassuring.
Michaela nodded, her legs feeling like lead as she climbed the stairs into the plush sanctum of the McLaren motorhome. She slammed the door behind her, the sound echoing through the narrow corridor. The silence was deafening, and she leaned against the cool metal, letting out a shaky sigh. Her eyes fell on her racing suit, still damp with sweat and stained with the grime of the track. The smell of burnt rubber clung to her, a painful reminder of her failure.
She stripped off the suit, the material peeling away from her sticky skin. In the small bathroom, she turned on the cold water, letting it cascade over her, the chill a stark contrast to the heat of the race still lingering in her veins. The water stung as it flowed over the scrapes forming from the crash, a physical representation of the pain she felt inside.
Michaela stood under the shower for what felt like an eternity, her thoughts racing. The pressure to perform, the fear of losing her seat, the strain on her relationship with Jenson, the constant scrutiny of the media—it all converged into a tumultuous storm in her mind. She wished she could wash away the weight of it all with the soap and water swirling around the drain.
Stepping out, she wrapped herself in a towel, the cool fabric offering a brief respite from the heat of her emotions. She took a moment to catch her breath, staring at her reflection in the foggy mirror. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her cheeks flushed with anger. She looked nothing like the poised driver who had stepped onto the grid just hours before.
Michaela dressed in clean clothes provided by the team, her movements mechanical as she tried to push aside the turmoil of her thoughts. The soft knock on the door brought her back to reality, and she took a deep breath before opening it to find Beata waiting outside.
"Michaela, we need to talk," Beata's voice was firm, yet filled with genuine concern.
Michaela nodded wearily, stepping aside to let her in. "I know," she murmured, collapsing onto the couch. The cushions enveloped her in a comfort she hadn't felt in what felt like an eternity.
Beata's eyes searched hers, reading the raw emotion on her face. "Your behavior today was unacceptable," she began, her voice gentle but firm. "We can't have you fighting with other racers, especially not on live television."
Michaela nodded, the fight draining out of her. "I know," she said softly. "It just got to me. The pit stop, the questions about Lando, the whispers about favoritism..."
Beata sat beside her, her expression softening. "You're under a lot of pressure, more than anyone should have to bear. But you're better than that. You're a professional, and you can't let it get to you like this," she said, placing a comforting hand on her arm.
Michaela looked down, the weight of the weekend's events crashing down on her. "I know," she whispered. "But it's just..." she trailed off, unable to put her feelings into words.
Beata nodded, her expression understanding. "It's a lot, I know," she said gently. "But you can't let it consume you. We need to figure out how to manage this, how to keep your focus on the track."
Michaela leaned back into the cushions, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the ceiling. "I just want to race," she murmured. "I don't care about the drama, the politics, the cameras."
Beata squeezed her arm gently. "I know you do, but you're in the public eye now, and people are going to look for a story. You've got to learn to rise above it, to keep your cool when things get tough."
Michaela nodded, her eyes closing briefly as she took in her words. It was a lesson she knew all too well but had clearly forgotten in the heat of the moment. "What do we do now?" she asked, her voice small and defeated.
"We'll issue a statement about the crash and the incident with Yuki," Beata said, her tone professional once more. "But we need to be careful with how we handle this. The last thing we want is for it to blow up into something it's not."
Michaela nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. She knew the media would be hungry for more, eager to dissect every word she said and every gesture she made. The thought of facing the press again made her stomach churn, but she knew it was a necessary evil.
Beata stirred, reaching for Michaela's phone out of her handbag. "Jenson's been trying to call," she said gently.
Michaela's heart skipped a beat. She hadn't even thought about Jenson, about how he might have seen the crash, the argument, and the subsequent fallout. She took the phone, her hand trembling slightly as she answered the call.
"Hey," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Jenson's voice was filled with concern. "Are you okay? I've been worried sick after watching that."
Michaela took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice steady. "I'm fine," she lied, the ache from the crash still present. "Just a bit shaken."
"You don't sound fine," Jenson said, his voice tight with worry. "What happened with Yuki? I've never seen you that angry before."
Michaela leaned her head back against the cool leather of the couch, feeling the weight of his question. "It was just a racing incident," she replied, her voice hollow. "We both wanted the same thing, and we didn't get it."
"Is that all it was?" Jenson's voice was probing, not quite convinced.
Michaela closed her eyes, the sound of his voice soothing the storm inside her. "It's just...it's been a tough weekend," she admitted, her voice cracking. "The pit stop, the questions about favoritism, and then this with Yuki..."
"I know, sweetheart," Jenson said, his voice filled with empathy. "But you've got to keep your head up. You can't let the media get to you like this."
Michaela felt a tear slip down her cheek. "I know," she said, her voice breaking. "It's just...I don't know if I can keep doing this."
"Keep doing what?" Jenson's voice was gentle, coaxing.
Michaela took a deep breath, the words spilling out in a rush. "This whole circus," she said, gesturing to the bustling paddock outside. "The racing, the drama, the expectations. It's just too much."
There was a pause on the other end of the line, and she could almost see Jenson's furrowed brow, his mind racing as he searched for the right words to say. "Michaela, you're one of the best drivers out there. You can't let a bad race, or some idiot journalist, or even a dickhead like Yuki, get you down."
A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth despite her pain. "Thanks," she murmured, her voice thick with unshed tears. "I just wish it was that simple."
"It is simple," Jenson said firmly. "You're in this because you love to race, not because you love the drama. Remember that."
Michaela nodded, his words resonating with her. "Guess I've gotta start looking at other teams," she murmured. "Even if McLaren decided to stick with me for next season, I'm not sure I'd be okay with that. Not at this point."
Beata and Jenson sighed on either ends of the call, both knowing the gravity of her words. "We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," Beata said, trying to lighten the mood. "For now, let's get through this weekend."
Michaela nodded, her eyes still closed. "I'm sorry for putting you through this," she murmured into the phone, the weight of her emotions threatening to crush her.
"You don't have to apologize to me," Jenson said firmly. "But you do need to apologize to the team. They're all here supporting you, and you can't let them down."
Michaela nodded, wiping away the stray tear that had escaped. "I know," she said, her voice stronger now. "I'll go talk to them."
The conversation with Jenson had brought a small spark of resolve to her. She knew she couldn't let one bad race define her, especially not in front of her team who had put their faith in her. She took a deep breath and opened the door to the bustling garage, the sound of engines and chatter filling her ears once more.
The McLaren crew looked up as she approached, their expressions a mix of concern and curiosity. She could see the question in their eyes—what had happened? But she didn't want to rehash the drama of the day. Instead, she focused on what needed to be said.
"I'm sorry," she began, her voice loud enough to carry over the garage's din. "I know I screwed up out there, and let my emotions get the better of me." The team stared at her, some of the tension visibly draining from their faces. "I'm going to learn from this and move forward. I hope you all know how much I appreciate the work you all do for my benefit. This is just a bump in the road to better things. I'm so sorry, again. But, I'll see you all in Austria, cheers."
Her words were met with a round of nods and murmurs of understanding. The mechanics, engineers, and strategists were a tight-knit group, and she knew they had her back. But she also knew that she had let them down, and she wasn't about to let it happen again.
Michaela walked over to her car, the wreckage of her McLaren a stark contrast to the gleaming machines around her. The car looked defeated, a shell of its former glory, but she saw the potential beneath the bruises. She ran her hand along the carbon fiber body, feeling the coolness of the metal, the scent of failure still lingering in the air.
"We'll get it fixed," a voice said from behind her. She turned to see her chief mechanic, David, his eyes filled with determination. "We'll be back stronger in Spielberg."
Michaela managed a smile, appreciating the support. "Thanks, David." She knew the team would work tirelessly to rebuild the car, but it was the internal damage she wasn't sure could be repaired so easily. The doubt, the fear, the anger—it was all simmering just beneath the surface.
As the team began to disperse, Beata approached her with a gentle look. "You need to be more careful, Michaela," she warned. "The press is already having a field day with this. If you're not happy with McLaren, we can explore options, but you can't let it affect your performance on the track."
Michaela nodded, feeling the weight of her words. "You're right," she said, her voice a whisper. "I just want to get out of here."
Beata nodded sympathetically. "Let's get you out of here," she said, steering her away from the garage and handing her a pair of emergency sunglasses. They walked through the paddock, the buzz of the grandstands a stark contrast to the quiet of the team's area. The fans were already starting to file out, their excited chatter muffled by the distance.
Michaela's mind raced as she put on the sunglasses, trying to compose herself. She knew the moment she stepped out of the garage, the media would be waiting, eager for a glimpse of the troubled driver. The cool breeze outside did little to ease the heat of the day or the pressure in her chest.
"Michaela, are you okay?" a journalist called out as they passed by the media pen. She ignored the question, her eyes fixed straight ahead. Beata shot her a warning look, but she knew better than to engage.
The car ride to the airport was silent, both of them lost in their thoughts. The tension in the air was thick, and she could feel the unspoken words weighing down on her. As they pulled up to the rented jet, the reality of her situation hit her like a ton of bricks. She was living the dream, but at what cost?
Michaela took a deep breath before stepping out of the car, her eyes scanning the tarmac for any signs of paparazzi. The last thing she needed was another scene. She climbed the stairs to the jet, her legs feeling like jelly. Once inside, she collapsed into her seat, the plush leather a stark contrast to the hard plastic chair she had been in just minutes ago.
The flight to Austria was a blur of recaps and strategy sessions, the team trying to dissect where it had gone wrong. Each time someone talked about the pit stop or the crash, she felt a stab of pain in her chest. Her mind kept replaying the moment she lost control, the feeling of the car spinning out, the sickening crunch as it hit the barrier. It was a reminder that no matter how much she pushed herself, how much she wanted it, there were factors beyond her control.
Michaela sat in the back, her headphones on but the music muted. Instead, she listened to the hum of the engines, a constant reminder of the beast she would soon be taming again. She knew she had to channel her anger into something positive, to use it to fuel her drive in the upcoming race next weekend. But it was easier said than done.
The team's debrief was thorough, leaving no stone unturned. Each member took responsibility for their part in the weekend's disaster, but it was clear that the tension between her and the team was palpable. Guido, her manager, sat quietly in the corner, listening intently to every word. He knew that her heart was in the right place, but the public's perception was a different beast to tame.
all the glitz and glamor of monaco drives everyone on the grid a bit mad. amid revelations and setup failures, the redbulls seem to be the most mad.
✼. warnings: language, mclaren in general.
✼. notes: none :)
000.⠀⠀MAY 26, 2022 › Monaco
The custom McLaren-branded jacket practically glimmered against Michaela's skin as she strode towards the press conference room. It was media day in iconic Monaco and the Monegasque sun warmed her skin as she pulled her sunglasses over her squinting brown eyes. The smell of the Mediterranean ocean spray filled the air, a familiar scent that reminded her of the value of a victory here in Monte Carlo.
Inside, the press room buzzed with excitement. Photographers snapped away as the drivers took their seats. The lights were as hot as the competition between the teams, and the anticipation was palpable. The press conference was a dance of allusions and vague hints, each driver revealing just enough to keep the audience intrigued without giving away their strategy for the weekend.
Michaela remained poised, her smile never wavering, as she took her seat between Lewis and Alex. The Williams driver's smile was bright as he watched his friend collapse onto the couch with an exaggerated huff. Lewis' attention was occupied by the phone in his hand though he gently hummed a soft greeting to the Australian to his left.
"You're late," Alex spoke as he leaned over to her. His smile didn't quite reach his tired eyes, the same way hers didn't quite reach her voice when she replied, "Only fashionably so." The room filled with light laughter, a welcome release of the tension that seemed to hang in the air like the ever-present pressure of performance.
"Daniel's not even here yet, why're you attacking me?" She continued, gesturing to the empty space to Lewis' right.
The British driver looked up from his phone, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Someone's eager to start the party." He joked as he finally pocketed his phone. Michaela was left without a chance to reply as the other Australian on the grid ran into the room, his press officer hot on his tail. His apologies fell on deaf ears as the photographers clicked away at a chance to capture his brilliant smile.
The conference began, and the questions rolled in, each more insightful than the last. They touched on everything from car upgrades to personal lives, but not once did they pry into the strained dynamics at McLaren or even Alpine for that matter. It was a welcome change, but the feeling of the unusual civility of the press left Michaela with a nagging suspicion that it was all a facade, a prelude to the storm that was to come once the racing weekend truly began.
As the conference drew to a close, Lewis leaned over to her, his smile genuine yet tinged with curiosity. "Dinner tonight?" He asked casually, and she felt the weight of his gaze, knowing that he had something he wanted to discuss.
It was far from an odd request. Lewis and Michaela had become quite close in the four seasons she had been racing in Formula 1. But she was aware of the look in his eyes that seemed to scream 'I know something'. Michaela had admittedly avoided Lewis since their out of character interaction in Bahrain which left her believing he knew more than he let on about her newfound ease around Jenson.
"Alright, but I'm not letting you pick the restaurant," she quipped, trying to keep the conversation light as they stood up. Lewis chuckled, "Fair enough. How about my place?" He offered, his eyes shimmering with mischief.
Michaela felt her heart jump a beat. This was it. The moment she had both dreaded and anticipated. But she played it cool, nodding in agreement as they stepped out of the conference room. The paddock was a whirlwind of activity, team members darting around, setting up for the weekend's events. The sound of engines roared in the background, a song of power and precision that was music to her ears.
As they approached the hospitality suites, she could help but feel as if the stares were more pronounced, the whispers louder. It was as if the paddock had turned into a stage, and she was the main act. She pushed the unsettling thoughts aside, reminding herself that paranoia would only distract her from her peace, focusing on the dinner ahead instead. Maybe this was her chance to finally tell Lewis the truth and get his advice on how to handle the looming media circus.
The evening rolled around, and she found herself at Lewis' place, a stunning villa nestled in the hills overlooking sparkling Monte Carlo. The smell of the sea mixed with the aroma of something delicious coming from the kitchen. They greeted each other with warm hugs, and she followed him through the effortlessly expensive interior to where they would be cooking.
Michaela's nerves simmered as they chopped vegetables and sautéed tofu for their vegan stir-fry. Lewis had always been the kind to read the room, and she could feel his curiosity about to spill over. "So..." she drew out the question, trying to sound casual as she tossed ingredients into the wok.
"So..." Lewis echoed, his eyes darting up to meet hers with a knowing smile. "This boyfriend of yours. Anything you want to tell me?" He stirred the food, his lips quirking up in a playful grin that didn't quite hide the seriousness of his question.
Michaela's hands paused over the chopping board, a carrot suspended in mid-air. She took a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety. "Not necessarily..." She hummed, attempting to keep her cool as she continued to chop.
Lewis raised an eyebrow but said nothing, waiting for her to continue. She felt his gaze on her, the tension in the kitchen thick enough to cut with a knife. Finally, she set the carrot aside and turned to him. "Okay," she sighed, "You're obviously onto something. What's going on?"
He chuckled, "I've just noticed some... interesting changes in your behavior. And I've heard some whispers that might just be the wind, or might be something more."
Michaela's eyes widened. "What kind of whispers?"
"You know how this paddock is," he said, tossing the tofu into the sizzling wok. "Everyone knows everyone's business."
Her heart raced, and she felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She didn't know whether to be upset or relieved that the secret was out. She decided to be brave and face it head-on. "Okay, I'll tell you. But promise me, it doesn't go beyond these walls."
Lewis nodded, his curiosity piqued. "I promise."
Michaela took a deep breath, her heart racing. "It's Jenson," she blurted out, the words slipping from her lips with surprising ease. She watched as Lewis' expression morphed from mild interest to shock and then into a knowing smile.
"I knew it," he said, turning down the heat on the wok and leaning against the counter. "You've been dodging my questions about your love life for over a year now."
Michaela felt a blush creeping up her neck as she stirred the vegetables, trying to keep her cool. "Because you're a nosy bitch, Lewis Hamilton."
Lewis' laugh filled the kitchen, a sound that had become increasingly warm and familiar to Michaela's ears. "Fair point," he conceded, "But I wouldn't have had to be nosy if you would've just told me, Michaela Sommers."
Michaela couldn't help but laugh along, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. "You're right. But we wanted to keep it private. To figure us out before the media did." She glanced at him, her smile tentative.
"I get it," Lewis said, nodding understandingly. "It's a tough situation, especially with little Myla in the mix." He paused for a moment, stirring the food with more thought than usual. "But you know how this sport is. Secrets have a way of getting out."
Michaela nodded, feeling the weight of his words. She had seen firsthand how quickly rumors could spread through the paddock. But she had also seen how people respected each other's privacy. "I know," she said, her voice surprisingly stable. "We've been careful about it. Trying to give Myla time to adjust to this new thing in her life, you know?"
Lewis nodded, his gaze thoughtful as he flipped the tofu. "And how is she taking it?"
"Myla?" Michaela's voice softened at the mention of the little girl. "She's fantastic. She's so bright and full of life, I adore her, Lew. And Jenson's amazing with her. They're so in tune with each other, it's so sweet to see him like that."
Lewis's smile grew as he listened to the affection in her voice. "I think the first time I met Myla was maybe 2017," he hummed, adding a batch of final touches to the dishes as he plated them. "She was only two but had more personality than half the drivers did even in their thirties."
Michaela chuckled, taking a plate from him. "And she still does," she said, sitting down at the sleek dining table that overlooked the twinkling city landscape. The silence between them grew, filled with the occasional clink of silverware on porcelain as they enjoyed their meal.
"So," Lewis started, after a pause that was long enough to be uncomfortable but not awkward, "What's the plan now?"
Michaela took a bite of the stir-fry as she considered his question. "We were hoping to wait until the season ends," she said, chewing thoughtfully. "But if it's going to come out now, then I guess we'll have to deal with it."
Lewis leaned back in his chair, his plate pushed aside slightly. "It's your call," he said, his gaze serious. "But I think it's better if you control the narrative. Keep that line between your personal and professional life clear."
Michaela nodded, swirling the last of the water in her glass. "I know," she murmured. "But it's not just about us. It's Myla too. We don't want this to take over her life. Her mum just got remarried this past August, and she's still getting used to having two new parental figures in her life."
Lewis leaned in, his eyes understanding. "I get it," he said firmly. "But if it's going to come out, it's better that it's on your terms. You guys have a good relationship, and it's clear that you're happy together. The media can't tear down something so strong, not if you make it clear that you're together for good."
Michaela nodded, taking a deep breath and letting his words sink in. "I already know they're gonna throw the distraction card to try to discredit the relationship. And I'm sure the age difference will be a hot topic too." She laughed bitterly.
"Michaela," Lewis said, his tone turning serious, "You can't let that get to you. You know the truth, Jense knows the truth, and Myla knows the truth. That's all that matters."
Michaela nodded, feeling the tension ease slightly. "You're right," she said, taking a sip of her water. "Honestly, I'm ready to be able to talk about it openly. It's just... I don't want to jinx it. We're happy, and I want to keep it that way."
Lewis reached across the table and placed a reassuring hand on her arm. "You will. Beata's a PR genius, as long as she can guide you through this, you'll be alright."
Michaela nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. Before they could move on to the topic of tomorrow's race, her phone buzzed with a call from Jenson. Lewis gave her an amused look, and she shrugged, answering the call and hitting the speaker button.
"Hey, babe," she answered, trying to keep her voice light. "You're on speaker with the nosiest man on the grid."
Jenson's laughter filled the room, and she could almost see the smile on his face. "Lewis Hamilton," he greeted, the warmth in his voice unmistakable. "How's the old man doing?"
Lewis chuckled. "I'm feeling very informed, JB. Thanks for asking."
Michaela rolled her eyes, the tension in the room dissipating. She could feel the warmth of Lewis' smile, grounding her as Jenson's voice filled the room. "So, what's on the agenda for tonight?" Jenson asked.
"He knows, Jense," Michaela responded, her voice carrying a hint of relief. "We talked about it."
Jenson's laughter continued, and she could sense his curiosity peaking. "Alright," he said, "What's the plan now?"
Michaela looked over at Lewis, who nodded his encouragement. She took a deep breath. "Well, we were thinking of waiting until the season ends, but it seems the universe has other plans." She paused, a smirk playing on her lips. "But I've got a pretty good PR team, and a boyfriend who's been on the front page of the tabloids for much worse."
Lewis chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Oh, the stories I could tell," he teased, and Jenson's laughter grew richer.
"Keep them to yourself, please," Michaela shot back, though she couldn't help but grin. "I've had enough of you for one night."
Lewis' laughter bellowed through the room as he took a seat beside her. "Alright, alright," he conceded. "But you guys have my support, no matter what happens. I'm really happy for you two."
Michaela felt a warmth spread through her chest as she listened to her boyfriend and their friend banter back and forth. It was a strange dynamic, but it was theirs, and she wouldn't trade it for anything.
000.⠀⠀MAY 27, 2022 › Monaco
The next morning rose with the sun as Michaela prepared herself to officially kick off the race weekend with the first practice session. She walked towards the McLaren garage under the late morning sun, feeling the weight of the secret she'd been carrying around for so long slowly lifting off her shoulders.
Michaela climbed into her cockpit, the familiar sound of the engine roaring to life enveloping her. She took a deep breath and focused on the task at hand. The Monaco Circuit was notorious for its tight streets and challenging corners, and she needed to be at the top of her game if she was going to keep up with the Ferraris and Red Bulls that had been dominating the season so far.
During the first practice session, she gently pushed the McLaren to get a sense of its limits, feeling the tires grip the asphalt as she sped around the iconic track. The session was rough, the car not responding to her inputs as seamlessly as she'd have liked, but she kept her cool, relaying the issues to her engineer calmly. Despite the car's troubles, she managed to keep her times respectable, but she knew she had her work cut out for her.
After the session, she climbed out of the cockpit, her fireproof suit sticking to her sweat-damp skin. Her engineer, Rob, met her with a furrowed brow, already discussing potential adjustments with the team. She nodded along, trying her best to keep calm instead of panicking on the engineer.
"Michaela," he said, holding up a hand, "Take a deep breath. We'll get it sorted."
She nodded, trying to shake off the frustration. "I know, I know," she said, taking a sip of water. "It's just... Monaco. It's so much pressure."
Rob nodded, understanding her stress. "I'll talk to the team. We'll work on it." He patted her shoulder before walking away to consult with the others.
Michaela took a moment to herself that was cut short as Zak approached her cautiously. "Where's your head at so far?" He asked pensively.
"I'm okay," she replied, her eyes on the bustling garage. "Just a bit off with the car today."
Zak's gaze sharpened. "Is it the usual?"
Michaela nodded, her eyes stuck on her car. "Just some setup issues. I trust them to figure it out."
Zak's eyes searched hers, looking for any sign of doubt. "And the other stuff?" He prodded gently.
Michaela took a deep breath, her gaze finally meeting his. "What other stuff?" She asked, feigning ignorance.
Zak leaned closer, his voice low. "You know what I mean. The business end of it."
Michaela's eyes narrowed slightly. "It's fine," she said, her voice a mix of confidence and challenge. "Let's just focus on the race."
Zak nodded, the tension between them palpable. "Alright," he said, "But I want to be clear, we're behind you. Whatever happens outside of this garage, it doesn't change how you perform in that car."
Michaela took his words to heart, nodding firmly. "Understood," she said. "Let's just focus on getting the car right."
The second practice session went smoother though still not up to Michaela's preference, the team still not quite nailing the setup. As she pulled the car back into the garage after the conclusion of the session, the tension lightened, the crew working more efficiently.
"We're making progress," Rob assured her as he handed her an energy bar. "We're just a few tweaks away."
Michaela took a bite, nodding in acknowledgment. The sweet and salty bar didn't do much to ease her nerves, but she knew that Rob and the team were working tirelessly to give her the best car possible for qualifying tomorrow.
As the team dispersed to their various tasks, she found herself in a rare moment of solitude in the garage. The hum of the other teams' cars and the distant chatter of the paddock couldn't quite drown out the thoughts racing through her mind. In the lull of the sound of engineers working at the car, Luisa approached Michaela with an energy drink.
"You're not looking too pleased," she observed, her eyes assessing the driver.
Michaela took the energy drink with a nod of thanks. "It's just... everything," she sighed. "The car, the contract, the..." she trailed off, glancing at her phone. "And now, I have to go to the press pen."
Luisa leaned against a wall, her eyes on the floor. "Christian Horner," she murmured. "He's been asking around about you."
Michaela's grip tightened on the energy drink. "What do you mean?"
"Just that he's been talking to a few people about you," Luisa said, her expression unreadable. "I don't think it's anything to worry about, but I figured you should know. Has he approached you about your contract?"
Michaela's brow furrowed, her thoughts racing. "No, not directly," she replied, taking a sip of the energy drink. "But driving for Christian Horner with Jos Verstappen potentially breathing down my neck doesn't sound appealing at all."
Luisa tried and failed to hide her amusement. "I can't say I blame you," she said, a hint of a smirk playing at her lips. "Being Max's teammate sounds... intense."
Michaela chuckled despite her nerves. "Understatement of the year," she quipped. "But seriously, I don't know what he's playing at. He knows I'd never take second seat to Max."
Luisa's smile faded, her gaze turning serious. "Well, just keep your head down and drive," she advised. "Let the results do the talking."
Michaela nodded, taking the advice to heart as she made her way to the press pen with Beata, her thoughts racing. As Beata briefed Michaela for the press' questions, Max Verstappen slinked over to her side. His knowing smile bringing a disapproving look to Michaela's features.
"So," Max began, his voice low so that only they could hear, "I hear congratulations are in order."
Michaela stiffened, her eyes narrowing as she studied him. "For?"
"Oh, you know," Max replied noncommittally, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
Michaela felt the blood rush to her cheeks, but she kept her cool. "You're going to have to be more specific, Max," she said, her voice steady.
Max leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Don't play dumb," he whispered. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."
Michaela felt a knot form in her stomach. "Max Emilian," she huffed, trying to keep her voice low. Max simply winked at her and walked away, ducking into the press pen, leaving her feeling more unsettled than before.
Beata looked at her, concerned. "He might be the oddest boy I've ever met." Michaela couldn't help the laugh that bubbled out. "Don't let him get to you," Beata said, patting her back. "I'm sure he won't go talking to the media about it."
Michaela took a deep breath and stepped into the press pen, her smile plastered firmly in place. She knew the drill—keep it professional, keep it clean. But as she took her spot in front of a journalist's microphone, she couldn't shake the feeling that the walls had eyes. Every question felt loaded, every glance a silent probe. She danced around the topic of race strategy, keeping her answers tight and her emotions in check.
After the press conference, she retreated to the McLaren hospitality suite, the weight of the day's events already pressing down on her. The quiet moments with her thoughts were interrupted when Beata returned with a worried look. "Christian Horner's been poking around," she said, her voice hushed. "Asking questions about your future plans."
Michaela's eyes rolled. "Luisa told me earlier. Make sure Guido knows not to indulge him, I'm not interested."
Beata nodded. "I will. Now, get out of here, try and rest before qualifying tomorrow. You need to be on point."
Michaela agreed, slipping out of the suite and into the cool evening air of Monaco. She took a moment to appreciate the scenic view of the marina before heading back to her hotel room to review the data from the practice sessions. Though Rob had reassured her that the crew was working to reconcile the issues Michaela had pointed out in the sessions earlier, she couldn't stop her mind from formulating possible solutions to her setup problem.
As she lay in bed that night, her thoughts swirled around the whispers of Christian Horner's interest and Max's knowing glances. Despite her attempt to push the concerns aside and focus on the race ahead, the fear of her relationship with Jenson being dragged into the spotlight weighed heavily on her. She knew that once the media caught wind of it, the narrative could spin out of control, affecting not just her career, but the lives of those she cared about the most.
Unable to bring herself to sleep, she reached for her phone to call Jenson. His calm voice was what she needed to soothe her nerves. The call connected through on the second ring. Michaela's eyebrows rose before furrowing as she heard the distant sound of the television in the background of the call.
The creases in her forehead smoothed over as she finally heard an excited, "Hi!", ring out from the other side of the call. Myla Button had answered her father's phone, her young voice echoing with an unusual amount of energy for a girl that was supposed to be in bed two hours ago.
"Hi, baby bear," she said with a smile she hadn't felt all day. "You're supposed to be sleeping."
"I know," Myla whispered with a giggle, "But Daddy said I could watch a movie before bedtime. But he fell asleep so now I'm watching it by myself!"
Michaela's heart melted at the sound of her voice. She missed the little moments like this, the everyday routines she had become a part of when she was with Jenson and Myla. "Oh, really? What's the movie?"
"Tangled," Myla replied with a yawn. "It's so good, but I wish you were here to watch it with me."
Michaela felt a warmth spread through her chest. "I wish I could be there too, sweetie, but I'll be back in London soon," she promised. "I've got a big race in two days, so you and your dad will have to cheer me on from there, okay?"
Myla's voice grew serious. "I know, and Daddy says you're going to win it all."
Michaela chuckled, her heart swelling with affection. "Well, I'll do my best for you two," she said, her eyes misting over. "Now, let me talk to your dad before the two of you doze off."
After a moment, Jenson's voice filled the line, groggy with sleep. He muttered incoherently on the other side as Myla giggled at his drowsiness. Michaela could hear the 8-year-old shaking her father awake as she attempted to communicate to him that his girlfriend was on the line.
"Hey, love," he murmured once he was fully conscious. "Everything okay?"
Michaela took a deep breath. "Yeah, just had a weird day," she replied, the stress evident in her tone. "Red Bull seems to have completely lost their minds. Horner's sneaking around asking about my contract and Max is... Max but odder?"
Jenson chuckled sleepily. "Just ignore them," he advised. "You've got a job to do and we've got a secret to keep."
Michaela rolled her eyes. "Easy for you to say all the way from London," she said with a laugh. "But I'll try."
000.⠀⠀MAY 28, 2022 › Monaco
The next day, the tension was palpable as the third practice session approached. The McLaren team had worked tirelessly overnight to refine her car's setup. As she climbed into the cockpit, she felt the weight of their effort and her own ambition pushing down on her. The practice went smoother than the previous two, but Michaela couldn't bite back the nagging feeling that the car still wasn't reaching its full potential on the track.
During the final minutes of the session, she heard a strange crackle over the radio, followed by a brief silence before Rob's voice came through, strained. "Michaela, we're seeing some anomalies with your car's data. We need you to box this lap."
Her heart sank. "What's wrong?" she asked, her eyes scanning the dash for any signs of trouble.
"We're not sure yet," Rob said, his voice tight. "Just play it safe and come back in."
Michaela nodded, her gaze focused on the circuit ahead as she pulled into the pit lane, the car's performance causing more trouble for the crew. The team's tension was palpable as she climbed out, her engineer and mechanics swarming around the car, checking every inch. Despite their assurances that they hadn't found anything alarming, the whispers of doubt lingered.
"I think we can get more out of the car," Michaela spoke through tight lips as she moved to stand next to Rob. She held her helmet in one hand as the other removed her ear pieces, laying them to rest against her chest. The engineers and mechanics around them were in a heated discussion, gesturing at the car's telemetry.
Rob nodded, his expression a mix of concern and determination. "We're working on it, but we don't want to push our luck. Remember, this is Monaco. It's not the place to take risks."
Michaela knew he was right, but the thought of not being able to perform at her best gnawed at her. "I trust you guys," she said, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "But if there's anything we can do to improve it, we should go for it."
The team huddled around, talking in hushed tones about potential adjustments. It was a delicate balance—make the car fast enough to win, but not so different that it could be a problem for Michaela to handle during qualifying in just a few hours. The whispers grew quieter as they approached the final decision. The mechanic nodded to Rob, who turned to her. "We're going to tweak the suspension a bit," he said. "It's all we can do without risking major differences. You're going to have to trust us."
Michaela took a deep breath, nodded, and disappeared into the garage to prepare herself mentally for the qualifying session. The tension was thick in the air as the final minutes before qualifying ticked down. When she emerged from her spot, her helmet was on and her game face was set. The car felt slightly different as she took it out for the first qualifying lap, but she pushed aside her reservations and focused on the track ahead, choosing to trust her team's decision. Each corner, each gear change, every brake point was a routine she knew by heart.
As the session progressed, she could feel the car beginning to work with her just the way she liked, the adjustments seeming to click into place. The crowd grew restless, eagerly waiting for the moment when their favorite drivers would battle for pole position. The air was electric with anticipation, and she fed off of it, pushing her car to the limits.
Michaela's final lap was a dance of precision and power, her tires squealing as she took the tight turns of the Monaco street circuit with ease. She knew it felt good—really good. Her heart raced as she pulled away from the racing line to begin her cooldown lap. Her head throbbed with the beginnings of a headache as she awaited the final times from the other drivers.
The silence on the radio was deafening as she waited for her engineer to confirm the time she had just set. The crowd's roar grew louder, and she could see the Ferrari and Red Bull crews looking up at the timing screens, their faces a mix of hope and trepidation. Finally, Rob's voice crackled through her headset. "Michaela, that's pole!"
Her heart soared as she pumped her fist in the air. As she pulled into parc ferme, she could see Charles and Carlos pull into the next two slots. Their red cars contrasting against her papaya orange one. She stepped out of the car, her heart racing and her cheeks flushed with excitement. The mechanics and engineers swarmed around her, pulling her into their arms and congratulating her on a job well done.
In the post-qualifying press conference, she sat between the two Ferrari drivers, a knowing smile playing on her lips. The tension between Ferrari and McLaren was palpable, but she felt a sense of victory as she had outsmarted the car and the track. The journalists threw questions at her, eager for her thoughts on the session and the race ahead.
"We had a frustrating start to our weekend," she began, her voice steady. "But the team did an incredible job making the changes. It felt like I was driving a different car from yesterday out there." She paused for a moment, her gaze lingering on the screen displaying the qualifying times. "And to be honest, I think we're all pretty surprised with the result."
The room was alive with murmurs, the energy of the impending race buzzing in the air. The journalists leaned in, eager to hear more about her strategy for the race. She knew that the pole position was crucial in Monaco, where overtaking was virtually impossible to do successfully for even the most technically sound drivers.
"So, what approach will McLaren take in terms of strategy for the race tomorrow?" A journalist from the back of the room called out, a hint of a smile in his voice.
Michaela's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Just to keep it on the street and out of the barriers," she quipped, causing the room to erupt in laughter. She knew the importance of playing the media game, keeping her cards close to her chest but giving enough to keep them intrigued.
After the press conference, she returned to the McLaren garage, where the team was already dissecting the data from qualifying. The atmosphere was a mix of relief and excitement, with engineers and mechanics sharing high-fives and slaps on the back. Rob met her with a knowing smile.
"You've done well for yourself Sommers," he said, handing over the table in his hand to Michaela's empty hands. "That issue we were having earlier was, in fact, suspension-related. You were right to push us to tweak it again."
Michaela felt a wave of relief wash over her. "Am I ever wrong?" She joked, as her eyes swept over the data, still enjoying the rush of pole position.
"Devastatingly, not very often," he huffed playfully as Michaela stuck out her tongue mockingly in response.
Night fell over the paddock as the lights of Monte Carlos settled an artificial warmth over the garage. As the McLaren crew broke down and packed up the garage for the night, a sense of pride and excitement filled the space in anticipation of the race tomorrow afternoon. Luisa allowed Michaela space to say her final goodnights to the team as she left to start the car.
As Michaela made the walk to the car, she caught sight of a familiar head of dark curls bounding toward her. It was Daniel Ricciardo, looking unusually serious. "Hey, what's up?" she called out, eyebrows furrowing in a mirror of the worry on his face.
"I just had a chat with Max," Daniel began, his voice hushed. "It was weird. He asked me a question about you and it kinda caught me off guard."
Michaela sighed with a sense of defeat. "I think he knows about Jenson and I. He was on one yesterday before press."
"Well, if he does, he's keeping it to himself," Daniel said, his eyes searching hers. "But why would he ask me? Unless he's trying to gauge the waters?"
Michaela shrugged, trying to push the concern aside. "Probably just his usual messiness," she said, but the doubt lingered. "I'm not worried about it. Jenson and I spoke last night about it, I think we're fine with more people knowing as long as it stays private, you know?"
Daniel nodded, a hint of relief in his expression. "Well, if you guys are cool with it, that's all that matters. I'll keep my mouth shut." He leaned in closer, whispering, "But beware of Horner, he's got his eyes on you, and he's not one to miss an opportunity for drama."
Michaela rolled her eyes. "I've been hearing about Horner all weekend. I'm starting to think I should go down there myself."
"No need," Daniel said with a smirk. "But maybe keep your cool. Who knows what he's after?"
Michaela nodded thoughtfully before climbing into the passenger seat of her car, ready to head back to the hotel. She knew Daniel was right—Horner's motives were always a puzzle wrapped in a hidden goal. As the car pulled away, she couldn't help but feel the weight of the impending race and the secrets she now knew were floating around the paddock.
Back in her hotel room, she tried to push aside the whispers of doubt and focus on her race prep. The walls of the room were plastered with notes and diagrams of the track, each turn and braking zone meticulously marked. She went through her mental checklist, visualizing every lap she had driven so far and planning for every possible scenario she could encounter tomorrow.
Her phone buzzed, and she saw it was a message from Jenson.
Congrats on pole, sweetheart. I'm so proud of you. Can't wait to watch the race tomorrow. Give 'em hell!
Thank you, my love. I'll do my best. Give Myla a kiss for me.
She couldn't help the smile that tugged at her lips as she received an oddly angled selfie of Jenson with Myla, both of them sporting their matching goofy grins. With a sigh, she put her phone away and turned to the window, looking out over the twinkling lights of the Monaco harbor. The serenity of the ocean in stark contrast to the turmoil in her head.
000.⠀⠀MAY 28, 2022 › Monaco
The next morning dawned bright and early, the sun casting long shadows across Monte Carlo as Michaela made her way to the track. The air was thick with anticipation and the lingering smell of burning rubber and gasoline. The sound of engines warming up echoed through the streets, a show of power that sent chills down her spine. She took a deep breath, centering herself.
In the garage, the McLaren crew worked efficiently, their movements a well-choreographed dance. They checked over her car with meticulous care, ensuring every nut and bolt was in place. Her heart raced as she stepped into the cockpit, her mind racing through the strategy for the day.
The race started with the usual chaos of Monaco. Cars battling for position, tires screeching, and engines roaring as they hurtled through the narrow streets. The Ferraris, usually so dominant here, seemed to be struggling with their pace. Michaela smiled to herself underneath her helmet as she began to pull away from the pack after the first few laps.
As the race unfolded, it became clear that the McLaren was the car to beat. Despite several safety car interventions and the tight, twisting nature of the circuit, she managed to keep her cool, executing perfect restarts and flawless overtakes. The crowd roared as she held off the charging pack of Perez and the Ferraris.
On lap 40, disaster almost struck. A sudden downshift error caused her heart to race, and the car jerked violently. She wrestled it back under control, but the momentary distraction allowed Sergio Perez to close the gap. Her engineer's calm voice in her ear reminded her to keep her focus, to push through. She took a deep breath, her knuckles white on the steering wheel, and set off in pursuit of her earlier rhythm. The laps ticked down with agonizing slowness. The tension grew unbearable, the crowd on the edge of their seats. Each corner was a battleground, every inch of asphalt a potential trap.
The McLaren garage sat with held breaths as Michaela began the final lap. The pit wall was the picture of tension, eyes glued to the monitors, fingers crossed. As she approached the last corner, the hairpin at Rascasse, she could see the checkered flag waving in the distance. A fiery determination filled her as she floored the gas pedal, pushing the car to its absolute limit.
With the sound of the crowd's roar in her ears, she took the checkered flag, crossing the finish line in first place. The relief and elation washed over her as she slowed down for the cool-down lap, her heart thumping in her chest like a drum.
Back in parc ferme, the team erupted in cheers and applause, slaps on the back and high-fives flying as she climbed out of the car, her helmet still secured to her head. The weight of the week's secrets and tension lifted with the final lap. The podium ceremony was a blur of flashing cameras and spraying champagne, the sweet victory bubbles mixing with the salt of her sweat.
Michaela felt the warmth of the sun on her face and the welcome weight of the trophy in her hand. The podium interviews were a mix of questions about the race and subtle nods to the off-track drama, but she remained poised, her answers focused on the victory at hand.
"A brilliant drive, especially after that scare in the final laps," the interviewer said, holding the microphone close to her face. "Your thoughts?"
Michaela grinned, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It was a tough one, that's for sure. The team did an amazing job with the car setup and strategy. And thanks to the crowd's energy, I found that extra bit of motivation to keep pushing." She took a moment to soak in the applause before continuing, "But let's not forget about Ferrari and Red Bull. They were breathing down my neck the whole race. It's a true testament to our teamwork that we managed to pull it off here in Monaco."
As the press conference wound down, Michaela decided to take the long way back to McLaren hospitality. With a gentle hum, she told Beata to go on without her, requesting a few moments of quiet before the celebrations continued.
She walked through the quiet convention center, finally reaching the elevator that would take her back up to the main level. She slipped inside the empty container just as someone called out for her to hold the doors open. With a polite smile, Michaela reached out a manicured hand to keep the doors from closing. Her smile dropped once she saw Christian Horner enter, his shrewd eyes looking her up and down.
"Congrats on the win," he said with a tone that didn't quite match the cheerful words. "Quite the performance you put on today."
Michaela nodded curtly. "Thank you, Christian."
The elevator ascended, the tension palpable. She could feel his gaze on her, analyzing every twitch of her body language. "You know," he began, "I've always appreciated your technicality. You're so precise throughout the entire race, like Prost. I hope you've been told a million times over that your driving is very Prost-esque, very clean."
Michaela raised an eyebrow, not missing the underlying meaning. "I've heard that before," she replied coolly, her voice even. "But today was about more than just me. I couldn't have done it without my team."
Christian leaned against the railing, a knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. "Ah, yes, your team. McLaren. They've got quite the gem in you, don't they?" His tone was sly, hinting at something unsaid.
Michaela resisted a roll of her eyes as she realized what he was implying. "What do you want, Christian?"
He shrugged, his gaze never leaving hers. "Just making conversation, enjoying a well-deserved victory. It was quite the statement really. A great way to silence those whispers about distractions."
Michaela felt the heat rise in her cheeks. She knew what he was referring to, but she wasn't going to let him bait her. "I don't know what you're talking about."
Christian leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "That's alright. I admire your ability to separate the professional from the personal."
Michaela took a deep breath, her eyes focused on the floor numbers. When she didn't indulge Christian further, he decided to continue talking.
"But let's not beat around the bush," he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. "I'll be the first to congratulate you for keeping it under wraps for so long. But be careful with how you play this game, Michaela. It's a small world, and secrets have a way of becoming nasty headlines."
Michaela's jaw tightened in annoyance. "Thank you for the advice, Christian."
"I know I'm the last person you want to hear this from. But I genuinely hope things work out for the two of you. I enjoy the challenge you bring to this grid, it's been the honor of a lifetime to watch you drive. And as always," he leaned in even closer, his breath a whisper of mint and ambition, "There's always a seat open for you with Red Bull. We'd love to have you."
The elevator dinged, interrupting his sales pitch. The doors slid open and the murmurs of the lobby flooded in. He stepped out, leaving her with the weight of his words hanging in the air.
Can we collectively agree that infantilizing drivers in real life is weird?
These are grown men. They do not need to be “saved” or “rescued”. They are fully aware of their actions. And even if you think they are making a “mistake” (emphasis on the quotation marks because I really don’t think this aspect of their personal lives is for random strangers to judge), that “mistake” is theirs to make and any potential consequences are theirs to deal with.
They are actual living, breathing people just like all of us. I know sometimes the lines might blur on social media, but I think this is especially important to remember.
finding her footing proves to be a challenge for michaela with all the tension circling between the papayas. but melbourne, as always, will always be her shining glimpse hope.
✼. warnings: language, mclaren in general.
✼. notes: life has really been swinging at me, but here's a little update <3
000.⠀⠀APRIL 09, 2022 › Melbourne, Australia
Michaela sat in the quiet solitude of the McLaren motorhome, the hum of distant engines outside serving as a gentle reminder of the impending chaos of the Australian Grand Prix weekend. The air had anticipation, a glaring contrast to the serene calm that had settled over her before the third qualifying session. She looked out the window, watching as the team mechanics hustled about, preparing the cars for the final push in qualifying. The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow across the tarmac, and a slight breeze whispered through the trees that lined the track.
Her heart was racing as she put on her racing suit, the tight material feeling like a second skin. The helmet lay on the table before her, a silent signal of the battle she would soon face. The reflection in the visor was a mask of focus and determination. The scrutiny from the media had been intense following her disobedience of team orders in Saudi Arabia, but she had learned to channel that pressure into something more powerful. Her home race was not just a moment for redemption following the disaster in Jeddah, but a moment of destiny. A chance to bring a victory to the hometown crowd, the first Australian to win the Grand Prix in Melbourne in the race's history.
As she walked to the car, the smell of gasoline grew stronger, mingling with the scent of the ocean that lay just beyond the track. The roar of the engines grew louder, the crowd's excitement loud, sending a shiver down her spine. She climbed into the cockpit, feeling the familiar embrace of the car that had become a second home. Her eyes lit up every time she heard the roar of the engine come to life and this time was no different.
Her hands gripped the steering wheel, the leather cold to the touch. She went through her mental checklist, feeling the weight of each gear as she shifted through them, her breathing steady. The light turned green, and she shot out of the pit lane with an urgency she lived for. The sound of the engine grew to a crescendo as she approached the first turn, the wind rushing past her, whispering sweet nothings into her ear.
Michaela pushed the car to its limits, her eyes flicking between the track ahead and the digital display of the car's vitals. Each corner taken was a dance with gravity, the tires screeching the sound of rubber and speed. Her mind was clear, the controversy from Saudi Arabia a distant memory. This was her moment.
The qualifying session unfolded like a dream. Each lap faster than the last, each corner taken with precision. The crowd's cheers grew louder with every passing second, their energy fueling her spirit. When the final laps timings dropped, she knew she had done it. The team's faces in the garage were a mix of shock and elation as they watched her take the pole position.
Michaela pulled into the pit lane, the engine's roar subsiding to a gentle purr. She rushed over to her team as they pushed against the guardrails, high-fives and congratulatory slaps on the helmet. Yet, amidst the jovial atmosphere, she couldn't shake off the sight of Lando's lackluster smile. His eyes didn't meet hers, and she knew something was amiss. They had always had a competitive relationship, but this was beginning to become hostile. Deeper.
As she removed her helmet from her head, the cool air hit her flushed cheeks. The team's clapping hands grew louder, but she couldn't ignore the tension in Lando's silence. She pushed the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the job ahead. The Australian Grand Prix was a chance to rewrite the narrative, to show the world that she wasn't just a rebel but a racer worthy of the title.
The post-qualifying press conference was a flurry of flashing cameras and eager journalists. Questions about the incident in Saudi Arabia were thrown at her like darts, but she deflected them with the grace of a seasoned professional. Her answers were measured, her tone firm.
"Michaela," a journalist she recognized as being from a popular German outlet called out amongst the noise. "Can you tell us what was going through your mind during that final qualifying lap? Did you know you had the pole?"
Michaela took a deep breath before responding, her eyes never leaving the podium where the Australian flag was proudly displayed. "Honestly, I was just focused on the job at hand. Each lap is a puzzle, and you're looking for that perfect piece to make everything fall into place. When I heard that time, I knew I had given it everything I had. It's an incredible feeling to be on pole at my home Grand Prix, but the real work starts tomorrow."
Her words were met with a barrage of camera clicks and more questions, but she remained unfazed. The scrutiny was nothing new to her, but she knew this race was about more than just redemption. It was about proving herself to her fans, to her team, and to Lando.
Another journalist raised her hand, catching the Australian's attention from her spot in a corner. "Michaela, how does your relationship with Lando affect the dynamic within the team, especially considering the events in Saudi Arabia?" Though the question fished for a potential controversy, Michaela recognized the lingering uncertainties that the cameras and the fans had picked up on.
"Lando and I are professionals," she replied firmly. "We have a competitive relationship, which is normal in a high-pressure environment like this one. Our main focus is on scoring points for McLaren. The team is strong, and we support each other on and off the track." Her answer was met with nods of approval from her press officer, Beata, who had gathered with a few other PR employees near the back of the room.
The conference ended, and as the journalists dispersed, Beata approached with a stern look. "Michaela, you know we can't have any more controversies this weekend," she reminded. "Keep your emotions in check, especially around Lando."
Michaela nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. The tension between her and Lando had only thickened since the Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. Despite their shared success, the decision she made on the track had created a rift, one she wasn't sure how to mend.
That evening, she sought refuge in the company of her uncle, Travis, and her father, Tobias. They had flown in from Gold Coast to support her, bringing a slice of home to the bustling race weekend. The air in the brothers' private suite was warm and comforting, filled with the scent of her mother's sunscreen as it floated through the space.
"You've got that look," Travis said, his eyes twinkling as he handed her a cold bottle of water. "What's bothering you, kid?"
Michaela sighed, twirling the cap between her fingers. "Lando. He's still giving me the cold shoulder."
Tobias leaned back in his chair, stroking his stubble thoughtfully. "You know how competitive he is, Mouse. You'd feel the same if you were in his position. It's just the heat of the moment. He'll come around."
Michaela nodded, sipping her water. "I know, but it's tough. It feels like everything's riding on this weekend. Like I have to prove that my decision was justified. And with the team orders..."
Travis nodded, understanding. "Look, you made a call. A bold one. Sometimes that's what you need to do to win. You can't let it eat at you. You've got this," he assured her, his voice firm and supportive.
Tobias, on the other hand, was more measured in his response. "Ultimately, however, the team has to come first, sweetheart," he said, his gaze serious. "You know the politics of this sport. You don't want to burn bridges."
Michaela nodded, her expression a mix of frustration and acknowledgment. "But it's not just about that," she whispered, her eyes dropping to her lap. "It's about doing what feels right, you know?"
Travis leaned in, his voice low and earnest. "You're a competitor, through and through. I get that. But sometimes you gotta play the game to win the race. You're in this for the long haul, remember?"
Michaela nodded, swirling the water in the bottle. The conversation grew quiet as they all took in the gravity of Travis' words. Her thoughts drifted to the upcoming race, to the team, and to her future in the sport. The decision to disobey team orders had been a difficult one, but she believed in her gut that it was the right choice. The tension between her and Lando was growing, but she knew she had to put the team first.
Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was a text message from Jenson. She couldn't help but smile as she read it, feeling a warmth spread through her chest. Her relationship with Jenson had been a source of comfort and guidance, especially during these intense moments in her career.
Finally got a chance to watch quali highlights. Pole! Amazing job sweetheart, I'm beyond proud.
Michaela's heart fluttered as she read the message, and she couldn't help the grin that spread across her face. The tension of the weekend melted away for a brief moment, replaced by the warmth of Jenson's support. She shot back a quick reply before slipping her phone into her pocket.
Her thoughts turned to the celebrations that were likely already in full swing at the team's hospitality suite. Normally, she'd be eager to join in, but the conversation with her father and uncle had her contemplating her future more deeply. The whispers of doubt grew louder as she wondered if she was truly valued by McLaren, or if she was just another pawn in the game of their politics.
As the night grew darker, the suite filled with laughter and cheerful chatter. Her sister, Courtney, and Daniel had arrived, bringing a much-needed sense of normalcy to the whirlwind of the race weekend. Travis looked at her with knowing eyes, a smirk playing on his lips as he spoke up, "So, how's the secret love affair going?"
Michaela rolled her eyes playfully. "None of your business," she said, but the shy smile pulling at her lips betrayed her. The secret had been weighing on her, especially with the increased scrutiny on her focus following her actions in Saudi Arabia.
Courtney giggled. "Oh come on, Mick. Give us something," she teased, nudging her sister.
Michaela sighed, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. "Fine," she said, raising an eyebrow at her uncle. "Jenson's been great. He's been super supportive through all of this. He's probably the reason I can even think straight right now."
Tobias leaned in, curiosity piqued. "What did he say about the whole team order debacle?"
Michaela's smile grew a bit sad. "He said I had to do what felt right to me, but he also reminded me to keep my options open for next season."
Courtney's eyes widened. "Does that mean what I think it means?"
Michaela nodded, her gaze drifting to the floor. "I've been thinking a lot about it. I'm three weekends in and this season has already been tough. If McLaren isn't going to support me, maybe it's time to look elsewhere."
Tobias leaned back in his chair, his expression a mix of pride and concern. "You've achieved so much with them, Mouse," he said, his voice gentle. "But you're still young, and you've got a long career ahead of you. Just remember, decisions made in haste are rarely the best ones."
Michaela nodded, her eyes thoughtful. She knew her father was right. Her career was a marathon, not a sprint. She had to balance her desire for immediate success with the long-term view. But the sting of feeling undervalued was hard to ignore.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing. She glanced at the screen and felt her heart skip a beat. It was Jenson. "I'd better take this," she said, standing up. She walked out to the balcony overlooking the bustling track, the lights from the paddock casting a soft glow on the horizon.
"Hey, you've seen the qualifying?" she asked, unable to keep the excitement out of her voice.
"Only about fifty times," Jenson chuckled, his voice a calming effect to her frazzled nerves. "You had no business dragging that orange tin can onto pole."
Michaela laughed, feeling a bit of the tension ease out of her shoulders. "I had to make it interesting for your retirement home friends," she quipped back.
"Don't you start," Jenson warned with a charming chuckle. "But seriously, I'm so proud of you. You've come a long way, especially considering the mess you made at the last race," he said, his tone light but with a hint of teasing.
Michaela couldn't help but laugh. "Thanks, I guess."
"No, I mean it," Jenson said, his voice sincere. "You're a fighter, and that's what makes you so special. Just remember, tomorrow's race is yours for the taking."
Michaela's heart swelled with gratitude as she took in his words. "Thanks, babe," she said, leaning against the railing of the balcony. The cool breeze was a welcome relief from the stifling heat of the day.
"No need to thank me. Just remember, you've got this. And if things get tense out there tomorrow, just keep your head down and drive like you stole the car," Jenson said, his voice filled with confidence.
Michaela took a deep breath, her eyes scanning the twinkling lights of the track. "Easy for you to say," she murmured, trying to lighten the mood. "You're not the one out there with the pressure."
"You're right," Jenson replied, his tone shifting to one of understanding. "But you're also the one who's proven she can handle it." His words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of her strength.
Michaela nodded to herself, drawing in a deep breath of the crisp night air. "I'll do my best," she promised, feeling the weight of his belief in her. "I've got to go. Big day tomorrow."
"You got this, my love," Jenson said, his voice filled with warmth. "I'll be watching every second. Love you."
"Love you too," she murmured, hanging up the phone with a tap to the screen. She leaned against the balcony railing, the cool metal a welcome opposite to the warmth of the day's memories. The night was clear, the stars twinkling above like distant spotlights, reminding her of the vastness of the world beyond the racetrack.
Michaela felt the weight of her father's words and the hope in Jenson's voice. Her thoughts swirled around the future, the potential for success, and the possibility of leaving McLaren. The decision felt monumental, as though she were standing at the edge of a cliff, unsure if the next step was towards victory or a fall into the unknown.
000.⠀⠀APRIL 10, 2022 › Melbourne, Australia
The next morning, the McLaren garage fluttered with an air of excitement for what the race could bring. The team gathered for their pre-race briefing, and Rob, her race engineer, pulled her aside. "Today, it's your race, as long as you keep that position at the start," he whispered, nodding towards the pole position. The words were a double-edged sword; they bolstered her confidence but also served as a stark reminder of the team's expectations.
Michaela took her place on the grid, the sun glinting off her visor as she surveyed the competition. The lights turned green, and she launched into the first corner, her tires squealing as she held her nerve, refusing to cede an inch to Charles on the inside. The pack of cars stretched out into a line, each one a bolt of color against the gray asphalt.
The race was a tactical dance, a high-speed game of chess with millions of dollars and reputations on the line. After the safety car was brought out, Michaela could practically feel the #16 Ferrari breathing down her neck.
With a worried glance she pressed her radio button, "Rob, is this a good call? He's right behind me."
His voice was calm and composed, "We didn't anticipate the safety car, Mick. Just stick to your lines, we will react as we go." The response unsettled her though she knew safety cars were rare around the Melbourne circuit. If she was going to keep her options open, she needed to show that could balance her personal ambitions with the team's advice. With a deep breath she conceded Rob's advice, "Copy that."
The race restarted with a jolt, the cars weaving back into their original positions. The tension was palpable, the roar of the engines a symphony of power and precision. She felt the vibrations of the car beneath her, each shift in the tires a reminder of the speed she was carrying. The first few laps post-safety car were a blur of overtaking attempts, close calls, and strategic defense. Her heart raced in time with the engine's rhythm. Charles, as expected, had easily picked her off upon the restart. Jenson's comments about the McLaren "orange tin can" echoed in her mind, bringing her a sense of peace despite the disappointment that clouded her vision.
Second place was not what she had hoped for, but it wasn't the end of the world. The race was long, and there was still the fastest lap to fight for. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, but she pushed them aside, focusing on the race ahead. Her father and uncle's words about the importance of the long game resonated, and she knew she had to keep her head down and push through.
The final pit stops came and went, and she remained steadfast in her pursuit of the fastest lap. Each time Rob reported her time back to her, she pushed a little harder, her eyes narrowing in determination. With a comfortable lead from Perez in third, she shifted her entire focus to grasping onto that final point.
Her tires screeched as she took the final corner, her heart hammering against her ribcage. The checkered flag waved, and she crossed the line in second place. The team erupted in cheers, and she took a moment to soak in the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere. She had made it through the race, even if it wasn't the victory she craved.
Michaela climbed out of the car, her muscles protesting after the intense battle. The podium felt like a victory and a consolation prize all at once. As she stepped onto the second-place stool, she couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret for the win that slipped away. But as she looked into the crowd, she saw her family's proud faces, her father's thumbs up, her mother's tears, and her sister's enthusiastic clapping. The weight of their support grounded her, reminding her that this was still a monumental achievement.
Her podium interviews were a blur of questions and forced smiles, the press eager for sound bites on the tension with Lando. She deflected with grace, focusing instead on her own performance and the thrill of the race. But the moment she stepped down from the podium, she was enveloped in the warmth of her family's congratulations, the weight of the weekend's drama lifting from her shoulders.
"Great drive, Mick," Courtney whispered in her ear, giving her a quick hug before the team swept her away for the customary celebrations.
Michaela's eyes searched the sea of faces, finding Lando's, who was talking with the team principal. His expression was unreadable, his eyes not meeting hers even once.
"Don't worry about him," Guido murmured in her ear as they walked towards the team celebrations. "You're the star of the show today."
Michaela forced a smile, the weight of Lando's coldness pressing down on her. Yet, the thunderous applause and cheers of the crowd, the proud glint in her father's eye, and the knowing smiles from her sister and mother were like a bandaid to her bruised ego.
The podium ceremony went by in a flash of cameras and champagne showers. She took a deep breath, feeling the cool spray on her face, and tried to ignore the pang of longing for a victory. But as the anthem played, she couldn't help the pride that swelled within her. She was an Australian on the podium at her home Grand Prix. It was a moment she'd dreamt of since she was a little girl, racing go-karts in her backyard.
As the podium cleared, she was surrounded by the team, their faces a mix of relief and jubilation. Charles gave her a high-five, a knowing smile playing on his lips. "You got the fastest lap, by the way," he whispered, his voice low enough to avoid the nearby microphones.
Michaela's spirits lifted at the small victory. "Thanks," she replied, her voice a mix of gratitude and determination. "It's something, I guess."
As the team dispersed, she made her way back to the garage, her thoughts swirling. The fastest lap point was a small consolation, but it was clear that the rift wasn't going to heal anytime soon.
The debrief with Rob and the team was concise, but constructive. They dissected the race, looking for areas to improve for the next round in Imola. The conversation was technical and precise, leaving no room for personal feelings. For a brief moment, the disappointment in the loss of the top step was forgotten in the discussion of pure racing strategy.
Michaela showered and changed into her casual team gear for the post-race press conference. She knew the questions about the team order controversy would persist, but she was ready. She walked into the media room with her head held high, the cool confidence of a second-place finisher.
The questions came fast and furious.
"Michaela, what was going through your mind during that final lap?"
"How do you feel about the team's decision to favor you today?"
"What's the dynamic with Lando like after what happened in Jeddah?"
Her responses were measured and professional, a well-rehearsed balancing act between humility and assertiveness. "We had a good strategy and the car performed well. We didn't expect the safety car but we worked with what we had. I’m here to perform for McLaren," she replied, her voice steady despite the knot in her stomach.
Her words were met with a sea of nods and scribbling notepads. The room was thick with the scent of cologne, a scent she'd come to associate with the post-race grind, a rushed action to cover the smell of burning rubber. She knew she'd handled it well, but the weight of the lie sat heavily on her shoulders.
Michaela managed to escape the press conference without any major hiccups, her answers tight and rehearsed. She took a deep breath as she stepped out into the cooler air of the paddock, the noise of the media room fading into the background.
Her thoughts immediately turned to Jenson, who had been her rock through the weekend. She knew he'd be watching the race from the comfort of their hotel suite, his eyes glued to the screen. A text notification buzzed on her phone. "Phenomenal drive, my love," it read. Despite the distance, his words brought her comfort, a gentle reminder that she had more than just the team behind her.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the paddock transformed into a buzzing social hub. Figures darted from suite to suite assembling their plans to make the most of the Melbourne nightlife. Charles, Daniel, and Max had invited Michaela and Lando to join their celebrations at an exclusive club. But her mind was made up.
"Thanks, guys, but I've got plans," she replied, her gaze shifting to her phone.
The three drivers exchanged knowing glances, their curiosity about her mysterious plans palpable. "Ah, the secret boyfriend," Charles teased. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with us."
Michaela felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "It's not like that," she protested, her voice a tad too loud. Daniel, who was in on the secret, stepped in to deliver a rare save. "She's just tired. Give her a break."
Lando looked at her, his expression unreadable. "Sure," he said, his voice flat. "We'll catch up tomorrow."
Michaela's heart sank. But she had made up her mind. She had to keep her focus on the season ahead, and if that meant putting their friendship aside for now, so be it. Besides, she figured she had earned a night of celebration with the one person who could bring her mind to a complete blank.
Back at the hotel suite, she was greeted by the smell of her favorite dinner wafting from the room service mini-tables. She knew immediately that Jenson had arranged it, a gesture that never failed to warm her heart. She stepped in, finding him in the living room, his tall frame outlined by the soft glow of the television playing the race replay.
He looked up as she entered, a smile spreading across his face. "Well done, love," he said, standing to embrace her. The tension of the race melted away in his arms, the reality of her second-place finish feeling a bit more like a victory.
Michaela stepped back, looking around the room. "What's all this?" she asked, gesturing to the dinner spread.
Jenson shrugged casually. "Just a little something to celebrate your pole and podium. You know, the usual." His smile was warm, his eyes shining with pride. "I think I've been neglecting you a bit with the Extreme E series. Wanted to make it up to you."
Michaela couldn't help but laugh, the sound echoing through the suite. "You didn't have to do all this," she said, her eyes taking in the sight of her favorite meal laid out before her. "But I'm not complaining."
They sat down together, the TV flickering in the background, the roar of the cars a stark contrast to the quiet intimacy of their dinner. The tension of the race was temporarily forgotten as they talked about the weekend's events, Jenson's Extreme E adventures, and their secret romance. His stories brought a lightness to her heart, his laughter a reminder of the man who would always wait for her with open arms.
As the meal ended, Jenson took her hand. "I've got a surprise for you," he said, his eyes gleaming with pure love. He led her to the bedroom, where the lights were dimmed and the sound of running water filled the air. He'd drawn a bubble bath, complete with scented candles and champagne chilling on ice.
Michaela's eyes widened. "You didn't have to," she whispered, but she couldn't hide the delight in her voice.
"You've earned it," Jenson said, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand. "Now, go ahead. You deserve this."
Michaela couldn't argue with that. As her hands reached for the hem of her McLaren polo, Jenson reached out to halt her actions. "Let me," he offered lowly, his gaze glued to hers. She felt her cheeks heat up and nodded. His touch was gentle as he helped her out of her clothes, revealing the toned physique reflective of the countless hours and sleepless nights that had brought her this success. The warmth of the bath smoothed over her weary muscles as she slipped into the bubbly water.
Jenson joined her, his body fitting perfectly behind hers. He wrapped his arms around her waist, and she leaned back into his embrace, letting out a contented sigh as her eyes fluttered shut. For a moment, the world outside the bathroom walls didn't matter. It was just the two of them, sharing a personal victory in their own way.
"I'm proud of you," he murmured, kissing her neck. "You're a fighter, and you're going to get that third win soon enough."
Michaela leaned into his warmth, letting the water and his words wash over her. "I just hope I can keep my cool long enough to avoid torching everyone at McLaren in my way." The chuckle that escaped her was mirthless.
"You'll figure it out," Jenson said, his voice soothing. "You're strong, smarter than anyone gives you credit for. Just keep racing like you know how to." As they sat in the quiet sanctuary of the bath, the weight of the weekend's events began to peel away. The warm water and his steady presence grounded her, allowing her to relax.
Michaela sighed, feeling the tension ease from her shoulders. "It's just hard, you know?" she murmured. "Everyone's watching, expecting me to fail."
"You can't control what others expect, only what you do," Jenson said, his voice a gentle rumble in her ear. "But remember, you've got me in your corner, and I'll be here to defend you on Sky like my life depends on it."
Michaela couldn't help but smile at his fierce loyalty. They sat in silence for a few moments, the only sounds being the faint echo of the TV in the next room and the occasional swish of the warm water.
"The weirdest thing happened in Bahrain," she started, pausing her thoughts as if testing the waters.
"Oh?" Jenson's interest piqued, his hands still resting comfortably on her stomach.
"Yeah," she took a deep breath, the scent of lavender from the bath bubbles filling her nose. "Lewis... I think he knows."
Jenson's arms tightened around her, his breath warm against her ear. "What makes you say that?" Michaela could feel the rigidity rush through Jenson's limbs at her revelation. She opened her brown eyes to tilt her head in an effort to study Jenson's expression. Tense, as she thought, jaw stiff as his blue eyes seemed to be lost in thought.
"It was just a vibe," she shrugged. "After you, Natalie, and Will interviewed me, he started going on about my old crush on you—"
The thought was cut off by Jenson who snickered silently interrupting with, "Old crush? I wasn't aware that was ever in the past tense." He playfully poked her side making her giggle.
"Anyways," she drawled with a roll of her eyes. "He just looked at me like he knew something. It was weird."
Jenson leaned back, his smile persisting. "Well, Lewis Hamilton is an odd man..." He trailed off in false reflection, lightly poking fun at his former teammate. As Michaela whined for his full attention, Jenson sighed wistfully. "But in all seriousness, if he knows, he knows. We can't control that now, can we?"
Michaela chewed her bottom lip, a habit she picked up from her father when she was nervous. "But what if he says something?"
Jenson's hand stilled on her stomach, his gaze locking onto hers. "Then we deal with it," he said firmly. "But I don't think he will. He's got enough to focus on with his own career, and he's not one to stir drama without reason."
Michaela nodded, his logic making sense. She leaned back into his embrace, feeling the warmth of the water and his body seep into her bones. "What if it does get out some other way, though?" she whispered, the words echoing in the quiet room.
Jenson took a moment before responding, his eyes studying hers. "If it does, we'll face it together," he said with a reassuring squeeze. "But let's not speculate, okay? We're here to celebrate." His voice grew deeper with desire as he shifted his focus to the soft skin underneath his fingertips.
Michaela nodded, allowing herself to be distracted by the way Jenson's touch sent ripples of comfort through her. She knew he was right. They had each faced down much greater challenges than a bit of gossip. For now, she would savor this little victory, this stolen moment of peace before the chaos of the season swallowed them up again.
As they soaked in the tub, Jenson leaned in closer, his breath tickling her neck. "Now, tell me about that fastest lap," he murmured, his eyes gleaming with tenderness.
any signs of an improved positioning at mclaren are dashed to the wind during the second race of the season. the bright jeddah lights only further expose the cracks in the mclaren livery.
✼. warnings: language, mclaren team orders.
✼. notes: the start of a painful arc for michaela lmao, just know it gets significantly worse for her at mclaren <3
000.⠀⠀MARCH 25, 2022 › Jeddah, Saudi Arabia
Michaela tightened her grip on the steering wheel as she approached the final corner of the third practice session at the 2022 Saudi Arabian Grand Prix. The sun was a fiery ball in the cloudless sky, beating down on the asphalt and making the track sizzle. Sweat beaded on her forehead, but she remained focused, her eyes darting between the tachometer and the road ahead. The roar of the engine filled her ears, a familiar sound she had grown to crave.
As the session ended, she pulled into the pit lane, the tires screeching against the concrete. Her chief engineer, Rob, greeted her with a nod as she climbed out of the cockpit. His expression was a mix of satisfaction and concern. "Good job, Mick," he said, handing her a towel. "You're looking strong out there, but we need to find some more pace. The Bulls are looking really sharp today."
Michaela took the towel and wiped her face, her heart still racing from the adrenaline. "I know," she replied. "I'll push harder in qualifying."
000.⠀⠀MARCH 26, 2022 › Jeddah, Saudi Arabia
Qualifying the next day was a nail-biter. The track cooled down as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the circuit. The final moments approached, and she found herself in a fierce battle lodged in the timings between Ferrari and Alpine. As the checkered flag loomed closer, she pulled out an amazing lap, one that surprised even herself. Her McLaren shot up to second on the grid, just behind Sergio Perez's Red Bull. The team erupted in cheers as she pumped her fist in the air.
At the press conference, the atmosphere was charged. Journalists threw questions at the top three qualifiers: Sergio, Michaela, and Charles. Her heart raced as she fielded questions about tire strategy and her thoughts on the upcoming race. Then, the moment came. A journalist she didn't recognize leaned into the microphone and asked, "Michaela, can you tell us about your sister Courtney's relationship with Daniel Ricciardo? How does that affect your dynamic in the paddock?"
Courtney had accompanied Daniel to Jeddah for the first time since they began their relationship last year. Her presence alone had not been enough to catch the attention of the media and their drama-seeking journalists. Instead, it was the blue Alpine cap that rested upon her head that drew their attention. The blue was unmistakably different from Michaela's orange McLaren hats.
Michaela felt the temperature in the room shift as the journalist's question hung in the air. She took a deep breath, her eyes narrowing slightly. "I'd prefer to keep my focus on the race and my own performance," she said firmly. "Courtney's personal life is exactly that—personal. It doesn't affect my driving, and it shouldn't be a topic here." The journalist looked taken aback, but she held her ground, refusing to indulge in the gossip. "Let's focus on the race, shall we?"
The room went quiet, and she felt the tension thicken. The journalist struggled to find his words as Michaela continued to stare him down from her place on the media couch.
After the press conference, her phone buzzed with messages from Daniel and Courtney. "Thanks for that," Daniel's text read. "Could've gone sideways real quick." Courtney's message was similar, expressing her gratitude for the protection. Despite the annoyance, a small smile played on her lips. It was moments like these that reminded her of the highlights of her career.
That night, as she lay in her hotel room, she heard a soft knock on the door. To her surprise, it was Jenson, his grin as wide as when he won his first championship. They had agreed to keep their relationship under wraps to avoid unnecessary distractions, but seeing him here made her heart skip a beat. "Couldn't stay away, huh, JB?" she teased, letting him in.
"I had to wish you luck in person," he said, his eyes twinkling. He leaned in for a kiss, and she melted into his embrace, feeling his warmth and the comfort of his presence. The weight of the race weekend lifted off her shoulders for a brief moment in his arms. "I'm feeling another win in the air," he murmured conspiratorially. Michaela, ever superstitious, could only scoff shyly at his words, choosing instead to draw his lips back to hers.
"I won't be able to stay for long," Jenson hummed into her hair. "Don't want to distract you from tomorrow."
Michaela pulled away with a nod, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "As if you could," she teased, taking in his disheveled, jetlagged appearance. Despite their efforts to keep their relationship a secret, they couldn't resist the occasional stolen moment together. "But, I guess you're right. I'm going to be fighting for my life between Checo and Charles."
Jenson's eyes searched hers, a hint of worry flickering. "You've got this," he said with a firm nod. "Just remember, it's not just you out there. You've got a whole team backing you, and they want to see you on that top step more than anyone else."
"More than you?" She snicked as her fingers danced over the five-o-clock shadow dusting his jaw and spilling over onto his cheeks.
"Well, almost." His laugh was soft, a gentle rumble in his chest. "But I'll be watching from the Sky Box, cheering louder than anyone."
Michaela's eyes searched his, and she knew he meant it. His support had been unwavering, even if the world wasn't ready for their relationship to be in the spotlight. "Thank you, babe."
000.⠀⠀MARCH 27, 2022 › Jeddah, Saudi Arabia
The morning of the race dawned hot and dry, the air thick with anticipation. As she suited up in the garage, the smell of the city's surroundings filled her nostrils, a scent that she had come to associate with victory. The engineers made their final checks, and she took her place in the cockpit, feeling the car come alive around her.
The start of the race was clean, and she slotted into second place behind Sergio with ease. For the first stint, she held her position, her tires gripping the track like a vice. Her heart raced as the laps ticked by, the sound of the cars a harmony in her ears. But as the race progressed, the heat began to take its toll. The tire degradation was higher than expected, and she felt the car slipping away from her, especially under braking.
When Nicolas Latifi crashed and the safety car was deployed, her engineers told her to stay out on track. The pit wall was insistent, saying they were playing the long game. Her heart sank as she watched her rivals peel into the pit lane.
With a frustrated hiss, she questioned the decision of her team's strategy, "My tires are shot, and I'm losing time!"
Rob, her engineer, remained calm over the radio, "Mick, hold your position. We need to maximize your stint and we’ll pit you at the exact right time." When he was met with silence from the Australian, he added additional context. "If we play this right, you can win this race."
But as the safety car pulled away and the green lights signaled the restart, the truth of her situation hit her like a sledgehammer. The Mercedes of George Russell in front of her streaked away, the gap between them widening like a chasm with every passing corner. Her tires screamed in protest, the grip she once had now a distant memory. Each time she tried to push, the car would wobble, threatening to take her out of the race entirely.
Her engineer's voice grew more urgent in her ear. "Michaela, keep pushing! You're outside the pit window. Just a few more laps."
Michaela gritted her teeth, the car's handling deteriorating with every passing second. "I can't keep up like this," she replied through gritted teeth. "If we don't pit, I'll crash."
Her voice grew more desperate as she felt her grip on the race slipping away. "Tires are gone, Rob! I need to pit now."
The team's response was a tense silence, then, "Pit now, Mick. In and out. We're going for a fresh set of hards." Michaela nearly rolled her eyes at the defeat in Rob's voice, the weight of her pleas settling in as she rounded the last few corners before the pit entry.
In a flash of orange, she peeled into the pit lane, the crew springing into action around her. The tires were slapped onto her car with practiced accuracy, the milliseconds ticking by like hours. Her heart sank further as she saw her position drop down the order. When she re-joined the race, she had fallen to eighth. Only six laps remained, and she was nowhere near the podium she had been fighting for.
Her engineer's voice crackled over the radio. "Mick, we're issuing team orders. You're to overtake Esteban but keep behind Lando. You're the better defender. We need to protect our position."
Michaela's jaw clenched around the mouthpiece. "But I can pass Lando and chase Russell for 4th!"
"Negative," Rob responded firmly. "Prioritize passing Esteban and hold your position behind Lando."
Michaela's knuckles tightened further around the steering wheel. The injustice of the situation burned in her chest, but she knew arguing with the team was futile. With a deep breath, she begrudgingly accepted the order and focused back on the track. Esteban was in her sights, and she had to make a move. She waited for the right moment, then pounced, her car screaming as it flew past the Alpine.
Her eyes flicked to her mirrors, expecting to see Ocon falling behind. But instead, she saw his navy blue car approaching with alarming speed.
"What the hell?" she muttered under her breath. She knew the Alpines were fast in Jeddah, but she didn't anticipate Esteban to be so aggressive. "Keep it clean, Ocon," she warned, her voice tight as she muttered the words under her breath. Her warning went unheard. Esteban's car was all over hers, pushing her to the edge of the track. Her tires screeched as she fought to keep control, the heat from the asphalt rising like waves around her.
The team's voice crackled in her ear, "Michaela, hold your position." The warning came as if Rob had read her mind. If Esteban were to come even a hair closer to her under the breaking, the nose of his French car would be right under the tail of her McLaren.
Michaela's eyes flicked to her dashboard, the gap between her and Lando steadily closing. Her teeth ground together in frustration. The Englishman was making no effort to increase his pace, even if just to help her out.
"Why am I being held up?" she demanded.
"Michaela," Rob's voice came through, potentially as frustrated as she was. "We need you to hold onto your position," Rob replied, his tone straightforward but strained. "Concentrate on Esteban please."
Michaela bit back an objection, knowing the situation was already tense enough. Instead, she focused on the task at hand. Esteban was relentless, his car a constant presence in her mirrors. The tension grew palpable until she could almost feel the heat of his exhaust.
With four laps to go, she had had enough. "If Esteban lunges at me again, I'm going for it," she announced over the radio, her voice tight with determination. "Lando needs to get out of the way or we're both out of this race."
"Negative, Michaela," Rob's voice was stern. "Stay put."
Michaela's eyes flicked to the dashboard. The gap to Lando was practically nonexistent. Esteban's relentless pressure was getting to her. The Frenchman's impatience grew more apparent with each corner, his car nibbling at hers every chance he got. The tension mounted until it was almost unbearable, almost choking her with impatience.
As they approached the final corner of the 46th lap, Esteban made his move, darting to the inside. But he'd made a mistake. He'd overcooked it, and now he was too close for comfort. In a split second, her instincts took over. She jerked the wheel to the right, cutting him off, and took the corner with the precision of a fighter pilot. The crowd held their breaths as the two cars danced a dangerous dance, their paint almost touching.
"Michaela, what are you doing?" Rob's voice was sharp in her ear.
Her heart racing, she shot back, "Making sure I don't get taken out of this fucking race!" She glanced in her mirrors, expecting to see Esteban's car in a cloud of dust and gravel, but somehow he managed to stay on track. The move had been risky, but it was the only option she had.
The team was furious. "Michaela, that was unprofessional," Rob barked over the radio. "We need you to calm down and bring it home."
At first, she could not comprehend why Rob was so angry with her. The move, though sudden, had kept her out of the barriers of the Jeddah Corniche Circuit. But as she glanced in her left mirror she realized the source of the engineer's anger. Lando's helmet stared back at her as his head whipped back and forth between the back of her car and the front of Esteban's. The three of them were now nose to tail with Michaela out in front, the podium a distant memory.
Her eyes narrowed as she focused on the straight ahead. "Tell Lando I apologize," she murmured into the microphone. But she didn't truly mean it. The fire in her belly had been lit and she wasn't about to let it die out now. "But if he can't keep up, I'm not waiting around."
Her radio crackled with Zak Brown's voice, the McLaren team principal's tone a mix of annoyance and disappointment. "Michaela, please give the position back to Lando."
Michaela clenched her jaw, the taste of a podium now replaced with the bitter taste of defeat. With gritted teeth, she responded, "But I've been faster this entire race."
"It's not about speed right now," Zak said, his voice firm. "It's about the team. We need those points. Do it, Mick."
She gritted her teeth, trying to push aside the anger bubbling inside. The podium was lost, and now she was fighting for scraps. She carried on her race without responding to the team's CEO. She knew there would be hell to pay for her attitude during the race but as the laps remaining counted down, she couldn't help but heed the devil on her shoulder telling her to push it further.
She could hear the frustration in Rob's voice as he relayed her new position to her. "You're in sixth now, Mick. Just keep it clean please." The words stung like a slap.
The remaining laps were a blur of orange and blue. She pushed the McLaren to its limits, feeling the g-forces pressing her into the seat. The tires screeched in protest, but she was relentless. Esteban was now the one under pressure, his car visibly struggling with the wear from their intense battle. With each corner, she felt the gap between herself and Lando growing, but she knew it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough for her ego.
As they approached the straight for the final two laps, she could picture the checkered flag in the distance, taunting her. The crowd's roar grew louder, a song of engines and cheers that seemed to fuel her determination. The gap between her and Lando was now stable, but she couldn't help the burning in her chest, the desire to push ahead.
Her thoughts raced as the laps ticked down.
Michaela felt the pressure building in her chest, the taste of failure bitter on her tongue. But she couldn't let it get to her. Not now. She had to push through, had to keep her head in the game. Her eyes flicked to the pit board, the words blurring together as she took in the information. "Fuel level okay, tire degradation stable, no issues." The calmness of the team's voice was in stark contrast to the chaos in her mind.
"Michaela, we will have a conversation after the race," Andreas Seidl's voice was clear, completely devoid of the emotion held in Zak and Rob's voices. Again, she left the message hanging in the air, giving no indication she heard the promise.
Michaela could feel the tension in the air as she took the final corner and crossed the finish line in sixth place. The cheers from the crowd were muffled in her ears as she pulled into the pit lane, her thoughts racing as she killed the engine. She knew she had let her emotions get the better of her, but she couldn't help the feeling of injustice that weighed on her.
As she climbed out of the car, the heat of the day enveloped her in a sticky embrace. The cameras flashed, and the journalists clamored for her attention. She offered them a forced smile, her heart still racing from the adrenaline of the race.
Her team's debrief was short and tense. The engineers avoided eye contact, and she could feel the disapproval radiating from them. "We'll discuss this in Surrey," was all that was said before she was ushered into a quiet corner of the garage.
Zak Brown, her team principal, approached her with a look that could make a seasoned racer quake in their boots. Michaela stood tall against the American, the top of her head a handful of centimeters above his own even without the added height of her loose curls.
"Michaela, in my office, now," he said curtly, his voice cutting through the din of the garage like a knife.
Her heart sank as she followed him, the weight of her McLaren cap feeling heavier than usual. She knew she had crossed a line, but the anger still burned in her chest. They entered the small, air-conditioned space, and the door slammed shut behind them. The coolness of the room was a stark contrast to the heated tension that had built up between her and the team.
"Michaela," Zak began, his voice tight with repressed emotion. "What was that out there?"
Michaela's jaw set as she stared him down. "I was racing. What did you expect?"
Zak's eyes flashed with anger, but he took a deep breath before responding. "I expect a team player, Michaela. Someone who follows orders, not a loose cannon endangering our strategy and our drivers' positions."
Michaela's eyes narrowed. "My tires were gone. The strategy was already ruined when you kept me out under the safety car. I was fighting for what I had left."
"And in doing so, you compromised Lando's race," he fired back. "We had a plan, and you threw it out the window."
Michaela's hands flailed at her sides. "A plan that was flawed from the start!" she retorted. "My tires were shot. You knew that. And yet, you made me stay out, and for what? Sixth place?" She huffed as her arms crossed over her chest. "I was in a podium position before you threw it all away!"
Zak leaned forward, his palms flat on the desk. "You know the politics of this sport, Mick. Sometimes, you have to make sacrifices for the greater good. For the team."
Michaela felt the anger bubbling up again, refusing to understand his point. "I'm aware," she said through gritted teeth. "But you don't sacrifice your faster driver to play tag with the others."
Zak's eyes searched hers, trying to read the emotions behind her brown eyes. "You need to learn to trust us, Mick. We're all in this together."
Michaela took a deep breath, the adrenaline of the race still coursing through her veins. "I do trust you," she said, her voice strained. "But I'm not going to be the sacrificial lamb every time the strategy doesn't play out perfectly. You know what I’m capable of doing completely on my own in the car. You keep sacrificing my race knowing that I’ll pull points out of my arse every time."
"This isn't about strategy," Zak's voice was firm. "It's about following orders. You had a direct order to hold position, and you disobeyed."
Michaela felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "I was fighting for a podium," she said, her voice low. "You took that away from me and parked me behind Lando. Meanwhile, Ocon's up my arse for 10 laps." She paused, her eyes boring into Zak's. "What would you have done?"
Zak leaned back in his chair, his expression unreadable. "What I expect from you is to be a professional, to respect the team's decisions, and to bring home the points we need." He paused, his gaze never wavering. "If you can't do that, then maybe McLaren isn't the right place for you."
The words hung in the air, a silent bomb that exploded in her chest. The room felt smaller, the air thicker with each beat of her racing heart. "Is that a threat?" she asked, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.
Zak's gaze was unwavering. "It's a reality check," he said firmly. "We need drivers who are willing to work as part of the team. If you can't do that, then we'll have to consider other options for next season."
Michaela's eyes narrowed, her mind racing. She knew her value in the sport. Her talent had taken her to the pinnacle of motorsport, and she wasn't about to let a bad strategy call and a poorly-handled team order ruin her career. "Other options?" she repeated, her voice like a coiled spring ready to snap. "Like who? Latifi?" She scoffed with a roll of her eyes.
Zak's expression remained stoic. "Don't push me, Michaela," he warned. "You're not the only one with offers on the table."
Michaela's eyes flashed with a mix of anger and defiance. "Is that right?" she retorted. "Well, maybe it's time we had a real conversation about my ‘offers’."
The room grew tense as the unspoken words hung in the air. She knew her worth and wasn't about to let them push her around. McLaren was not Ferrari and she was two years removed from the conversation that haunted her every moment of every day. The stakes were high, but so was her pride.
Her phone vibrated in her pocket, and she glanced down to see a call from Jenson. She quickly silenced it, knowing she couldn't deal with him right now. The urge to throw something across the room was strong, but she had to keep her cool. Instead, she turned her focus back to the stern face of Zak Brown.
"Look, I know I screwed up," she admitted, her voice tight with tension. "But I had to do something. If you can't see that, then I'm not sure why you keep me here."
Zak's expression didn't soften. "You're here because you're fast, Mick. But speed alone doesn't win championships. You need to learn to work with the team. We're not at the top yet, and to get there you and Lando will need each other."
Michaela took a moment to digest his words. The truth stung, but she knew he wasn't wrong. "Fine," she said, her voice tight. "But you can't expect me to just accept being held back like that. It's not right for either of us."
"We're a team, Mick," Zak's tone had softened slightly. "We win together, we lose together. Sometimes that means making tough calls. But you have to trust that we're making them for the greater good."
Michaela took a deep breath, the fight draining from her. "I get it," she said, though her voice was filled with the weight of her disappointment. "But you have to understand how it feels when you're out there, fighting for something that you know you could have easily had."
Zak's eyes searched hers, and for a moment, she thought she saw a glimmer of understanding. "We all want the same thing," he said, his voice softer now. "We want to win. But we can't do it alone."
Michaela nodded, the anger subsiding into a dull ache. "I know," she said, her voice a whisper. "But sometimes it feels like I'm fighting Lando's battles and not my own."
Zak leaned back in his chair, his face etched with concern. "You're both important to this team, Mick. We need both of you firing on all cylinders. But you're right, we can't keep playing this game of musical chairs with you two. We'll sit down after the season, review what happened today, and make sure it doesn't happen again."
"After the season?" She whispered, eyes shining in disbelief. With a steadying breath, she chose her next words carefully. "My contract expires in Abu Dhabi. If you can't make up your mind, like I said, I have options."
Zak's gaze sharpened. "Your contract is our top concern. Focus on the races ahead, and we'll talk about priorities before the season’s over." His tone was final, but the flicker of doubt in his eyes was not lost on her.
Michaela nodded, swiping a stray curl from her forehead. "Fine," she said, her voice tight. "But if I'm going to be fighting for the team, I need the team to fight for me."
Zak nodded, his gaze still doubtful. "I understand," he said. "Now go cool off, and we'll talk more after the race weekend."
Michaela turned and left the office, her heart racing as she walked through the garage. The sounds of the team working on the cars echoed around her, but she was in her own world, lost in thought. Her relationship with McLaren had always been complicated, but she had never felt so at odds with them before. She knew her disobedience was a risk, but she couldn't just sit back and watch her chances slip away without a fight.
The paddock was a blur of sponsor banners and team personnel as she made her way back to her motorhome. She needed to be alone, to think. The door clicked shut behind her, and she leaned against it, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She felt the weight of the team's disappointment and the fear of what her future might hold.
Her phone buzzed again, this time with a message from Lando.
What the fuck was that???
His anger was palpable through the screen. She rolled her eyes, typing a quick response.
Piss off.
But she didn't hit send. Instead, she tossed the phone on the couch and stalked to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. The cool liquid did little to ease the heat of anger and frustration burning within her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to center herself. When she opened them again, she saw her reflection in the chrome of the fridge door, the fluorescent lights casting harsh shadows across her face.
Her thoughts were a tumultuous storm, swirling with the memories of the race, the team's betrayal, and the looming conversation with Jenson she hadn't had the guts to take. She knew he would understand her anger, her need to push back. But she also knew he'd be worried about her, about her being distracted.
Michaela took a deep breath, trying to compose herself. Her heart was racing, adrenaline still coursing through her veins. She had to call him back, had to explain. She couldn't ignore his messages forever. She picked up the phone and dialed his number, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly as the promise of his warm British accent eased her racing mind.
"Hey," she began, her voice softer than she had intended.
"Hey," Jenson's voice was filled with concern. "What happened out there? I watched the whole thing. That podium was right there."
Michaela sighed, leaning against the cool metal of the fridge. "You know how it goes," she said, trying to keep the anger from her voice. "Team orders. Fucked strategy."
"They're not always right, love," Jenson said gently. "But you've got to play the game."
Michaela scoffed. "I know," she said, the frustration clear in her voice. "But when you're out there, and you know you can win, it's hard to hold back."
"I get it," Jenson said, his voice soothing. "But you're smarter than that. You know you can't win them all."
Michaela took a sip of water, the cold liquid barely quenching the venom in her voice. "This one was so close," she said, the anger still raw. "Until they decided to throw it away so I could help Lando out."
"You know it's not personal, Mick," Jenson said, his voice a gentle reminder of the harsh reality of the sport. "It's just business."
Michaela nodded, though he couldn't see her. "Yeah, I know," she replied, her voice tight. "But it feels personal when I'm the one left holding all the blame."
"They're just trying to manage the situation, love," Jenson's voice was calm and rational, a learned approach to the storm of emotions swirling within her. "You know how it is. Sometimes you have to make the tough calls."
Michaela's grip on the water bottle tightened. "But why me?" she demanded, the frustration bubbling over. "Why am I always the one who has to make the sacrifice?"
"Because you're the strongest, Michaela," Jenson's voice was firm. "You can handle it. You're the one who can bring home the points they need."
Michaela let out a frustrated sigh, her grip on the water bottle loosening slightly. "It just doesn't feel fair," she murmured.
"I know," Jenson said sympathetically. "But you're in a tough position. You're fighting for yourself and for the team. Sometimes those goals don't align."
Michaela nodded, her reflection in the fridge door looking tired and defeated. "I just don't know if I can keep doing this," she whispered. "The season's barely started and I'm already fighting the team just to do the things I know I can."
Jenson's voice grew more serious. "You're not alone in this, Mick. You've got me, you've got Guido, and you've got options. Don't let them push you around."
Michaela felt a glimmer of hope in the pit of her stomach. Options. She had options. And she wasn't going to let McLaren bully her into second place behind Lando. She took a deep breath, feeling the coolness of the motorhome's air-conditioning on her flushed cheeks. "I know," she said, her voice stronger. "I'll talk to Guido, and see what he thinks."
Guido was her loyal manager, a shrewd Italian with a keen sense of Formula 1 politics. He'd been her rock since the early days, navigating her through the treacherous waters of contract negotiations and political games. If anyone could help her figure this out, it was him.
Michaela took a moment to compose herself before calling him. "Guido," she began, her voice a mix of frustration and determination. "We need to talk."
Guido's response was measured. "Hello to you too, Michaela."
"You watched the race," she stated, not bothering with pleasantries. "Where do I go from here?"
Guido's sigh was audible over the line. "You've got two choices, cara. You either suck it up and deal with it, or you start looking elsewhere."
Michaela's eyes narrowed as she paced the small space of the motorhome. "Looking elsewhere isn't exactly ideal, is it?" she asked, her voice laced with sarcasm.
"Ideal is relative in this business," Guido said, his tone unwavering. "But if you're not happy, you can't perform. And if you're not performing, the team won't be happy either. It's a delicate balance."
Michaela stopped pacing, her eyes focused on a point in the middle of the floor. "I know," she said, her voice tight. "But what do I do now?"
Guido was silent for a moment, the crackle of the line the only sound between them. "You've got a good relationship with the team," he said finally. "But you can't let them push you around like this. You need to sit down with Zak, with the team, and lay out your expectations. Make it clear that you're here to win, not just to make up the numbers."
Michaela nodded, her mind racing. "And if they don't listen?" She asked, the fire of defiance burning in her eyes.
Guido's response was swift and firm. "Then we explore those other options," he said. "But for now, focus on the next race. Show them that you're not just defiant to be defiant. Prove your worth, and the power will shift back in your favor."
Michaela nodded, the gravity of the situation settling in her bones. "Alright," she said, her voice a mix of frustration and resolve. "I'll talk to them, lay it out. But if it doesn't change, then we're looking elsewhere."
Guido's response was swift and firm. "Good," he said. "I'm tired of the dreadful UK weather, to be honest, this might be a good change for us." He chuckled with an air of mischief to his words.
Michaela managed a small smile. "Don't get ahead of yourself," she cautioned, though the thought of a change was tempting. "First, I need to have that talk with Zak. And then we'll see where it goes from there."
Guido's chuckle turned serious. "Just remember, you're the asset here, not them. Don't let them forget it."
Michaela took another deep breath, feeling a surge of determination. "I won't," she promised, ending the call. She took a moment to collect herself before walking out of the motorhome, ready to face the media and the team with a newfound sense of resolve.
The press pen was a minefield of questions about her decision to ignore team orders and the state of her relationship with Lando. She navigated them with a calmness she didn't feel, keeping her answers short and focused on the race ahead. When asked about her future with McLaren, she replied with a polished smile, "I'm committed to giving my all to the team this season. After that, we'll see what the future holds."
Once the press conference concluded, she sought refuge in the team's garage, surrounded by the familiar hum of her car being dissected by engineers. Rob, her trusted engineer, met her with a furrowed brow. "What's the damage?" she asked, referring not just to her car, but to her standing within the team.
"It's... a bit tense," Rob said, his voice tight. "But let's focus on the positives. Your driving was phenomenal, especially that move on Esteban. You really showed your grit."
Michaela nodded, acknowledging the compliment, but the conversation with Guido played in her mind like a broken record. Her future in McLaren was no longer a given. "I know," she said, her voice steady. "But I need to speak with Zak and Andreas again. I can't keep doing this."
"You're not wrong," Rob admitted, his eyes on the data screens. "But timing is everything. Give it a day or two, let the dust settle."
Michaela nodded, though she wasn't convinced. The sting of today's race was still fresh, and the thought of waiting only added to the frustration boiling in her veins. "I'm sorry for putting you in that position," she said, her voice genuine. "I got caught up in my frustration and took out on you. I'm sorry."
Rob gave her a small smile. "Don't worry about it, Mick," he said, his eyes lifting from their focus on the screens. "And just between the two of us, I would've done the same thing." The show of support was accented with a cheeky wink, a silent laugh escaping through their noses in amusement.
Michaela couldn't help but feel a little relieved by his understanding, but the weight of the day's events didn't entirely lift. She nodded, taking another deep breath. "Thanks, Rob," she said, her voice sincere. "I just need to figure out what's next."
"You've got this," Rob said, patting her on the shoulder before returning to the car. She watched him for a moment, his movements efficient and focused. Then, with a sigh, she turned and made her way out of the garage, back into the glaring lights of the paddock.
✼. masterlist — taglist — request.
✼. genre: fluff with a touch of angst.
✼. wc: 2.3k.
despite their rocky partnership, the final race of 2021 presents a chance to repair the burnt bridges between the two mclaren drivers. abu dhabi presents one last chance for unity: beat ferrari.
✼. warnings: language, ferrari slander.
✼. notes: had to take a step back after the outcome of the election. but here's a little something about ad21. no angst here just lando and michaela getting along for 3 seconds before shit gets real lol
000.⠀⠀DECEMBER 12, 2021 › Abu Dhabi, United Arab Emirates
The sun had dipped below the horizon of the Yas Marina Circuit, leaving behind a lingering warmth that danced with the neon lights of Abu Dhabi reflecting off the asphalt. The scent of burnt rubber and fuel hung high in the air, a mixture that almost brought a smile to Michaela's face. Her heart raced with anticipation as she prepared herself for the last race of the 2021 season, her race suit tied in a knot around her waist as her McLaren fireproofs contrasted against her sun-tanned skin.
Michaela took a moment to survey the McLaren garage, her symbol of organized chaos. The pit crew moved with a charming precision, each member aware of their role in the pattern of preparation. She felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to find Lando, her teammate, flashing a genuine smile. His dark eyes met hers, the rivalry of the season's past fading into the background as they shared a moment of mutual respect.
"You ready to kick some Prancing Horse ass?" he asked, his accent cutting through the buzz of the garage. McLaren and Ferrari, like Mercedes and Red Bull, were level in the Constructors' Championship at the last race. In the grand scheme of strategy, the McLaren strategists had one bottom line: finish in front.
Michaela returned the smile. "Always." Her signature pink helmet rested at her side, a warm contrast to Lando's cool blue. The competition between them had grown exponentially over the season, but tonight, it was all about unity. The two drivers shared a routine fist bump before parting ways, each retreating to their respective corners for final preparations.
In the midst of the comfortable chaos of the garage, a sense of calmness washed over her as she stepped into her car. The cockpit was her safe haven, a place where she felt more at home than anywhere else in the world. She took a deep breath, the faint scent of leather and carbon fiber filling her nose. She pulled the helmet over her head, the world outside falling away, as she focused solely on the task at hand.
Beat Ferrari.
The lights went out, and the roar of the engines filled the night sky. The race began with an energy that matched the neon lights in the air. She and Lando pushed their McLarens to the limits, fighting tooth and nail to keep their Carlos and Charles at bay. The tension grew with every lap, each pass and pit stop meticulously planned and executed.
Michaela's eyes remained glued to the track ahead, her mind a whirlwind of strategy and instinct. Her hands moved with a grace that belied their power, dancing over the steering wheel and shifting gears with practiced grace. Her car responded to her every command, an extension of her will. The crowd's cheers grew distant as she entered the zone, her focus narrowed to the task of outracing her rivals.
The race was tight, with all four drivers refusing to give an inch to one another. The anticipation grew unbearable, each corner a potential battleground where the season's outcome could be decided. Sweat beaded on her brow as the excitement made her heart race. She could feel the pressure, the weight of her team's expectations, and the desire to prove herself.
In the final laps, the McLaren garage grew completely still. The strategists whispered urgently into their headsets, watching the monitors with eyes that never blinked. The pit crew stood restless, crossing their fingers as the safety car approached the line, having been ordered to come into the pits to allow for one last lap of racing. In the cockpit, Michaela's heart pounded in her chest, this was it.
The safety car dove into the pits and the cars surged forward. On the straight, she saw the Yuki's Alpha Tauri in front of her, the only car separating herself from Carlos in 3rd. Pierre was closing in close behind her. Her knuckles whitened around the steering wheel as she pushed the pedal to the floor, her car screaming in protest. The final corner approached, and she knew it was now or never. She took a deep breath, her muscles tensing as she readied herself for the decisive move.
With a burst of speed, she darted to the inside of Yuki, the sound of the tires screeching echoing in her helmet. The crowd's roar grew deafening, and a wave of sound washed over the track as Max overtook Lewis. Her pulse quickened and her every sense heightened. The finish line was so close she could almost touch it.
Michaela's heart pounded as she saw her opportunity. The gap between Yuki and Carlos was narrowing, but she had the better line. She took a deep breath and made her move, her car sliding sideways. The tires found grip just as she pulled in front of Yuki, the G-forces pushing her into the seat.
The cheers grew louder as the cars approached the final straight. The Ferrari was in her sights, the checkered flag waving in the distance. The engine screamed in protest as she pushed the power to the limit, inching closer to Carlos. Her mind raced with the knowledge that this could be her moment, the one that would define the season.
Another blink and she was over the line, 4th to Carlos' 3rd. With Lando in 8th and Charles landing outside of the points, Michaela couldn't help the cheer that left her lips. The crowd's applause washed over her, but it was the excitement in her engineer's voice that sent a thrill through her veins. The race was over, the season concluded. As she slowed her car to enter the cool-down lap, a mix of euphoria and exhaustion swirled within her. The pit lane was a blur of waving flags and flashing lights as she made her way back to the garage.
The moment she stepped out of the car, the world rushed back in. Her crew swarmed her, their faces a mix of elation and relief. They'd done it. They'd brought McLaren back to the top 3. The joy overflowed as they all hugged and high-fived, sharing in the victory over their Italian rivals.
As the adrenaline subsided, the weight of the season's end settled in. It was time to celebrate, but also to reflect. The dinner with the team was a tradition, a chance to put aside the competition and revel in their collective success. The venue was a gorgeous restaurant with a view of the marina, the kind of place that whispered of wealth and tiny portions.
The team chatted and laughed, sharing stories from the season. The tension between Lando and Michaela had dissipated, at least for the night. They raised their glasses, toasting to the engineers who had crunched the numbers, the pit crew who had changed tires in a heartbeat, and the strategists who had orchestrated their battles from the garage. Lando spoke first, his words genuine and heartfelt, thanking everyone for their hard work and friendship. Then it was Michaela's turn.
Michaela's voice was steady as she began. "You all know how much this season has meant to me," she said, looking around the table. "This team gave me a home, a chance to prove myself. And together, we've done some incredible things." She paused, her gaze lingering on each face. "We didn't just race together this season; we fought, we learned, and we grew as one. To each of you," she lifted her glass, "Thank you for the long days and thrilling moments. Thank you for making this season one I'll never forget."
The room grew quieter, the air thick with emotion. The crew's eyes shone with pride, and even the stoic engineers couldn't hold back smiles. The toast was met with a round of applause, glasses clinking together in a harmony of appreciation.
"And now," Lando announced, "As a gift from me and Mick." His use of her nickname brought a smile to her eyes. "The bill's on us tonight."
The room erupted in cheers. The team's faces lit up with astonishment, and a chorus of 'thank you' echoed around the table. The tension of the race had been replaced by a warm cheerfulness, the mood growing more festive as the drinks made their rounds.
As the night progressed, the conversation grew more relaxed. The strategists regaled the group with tales of their last-minute decisions and the engineers spoke of their ingenious solutions to mid-race issues. The pit crew laughed at the more comical moments of the season, and the drivers shared stories of their off-track escapades.
Zak eventually made his way around the table, speaking to each member of the team, his eyes filled with genuine gratitude. When he reached Michaela, he paused, his hand on her shoulder. "You've had quite the year, young lady," he said, his American accent standing out against the sound of the bustling room. "I'm proud to be able to call you one of us. There's no doubt in my mind that you've been a dedicated part of the team since day one and I can't wait to see what you do next, kid."
Michaela felt a warmth spread through her at his words. "Thank you, Zak," she replied, her voice a mix of pride and something else she couldn't quite name. "I just want to make sure we keep moving forward."
He nodded, his gaze serious. "I know you're looking for that #1 spot," he said, his voice low enough to be just for her. "And I'll consider it, I promise. But you know the business. You've got to keep pushing, keep showing us what you're made of."
Michaela took a sip of her champagne, her mind racing. She had felt the sting of the team's indecision before, the way they often played favorites. "I get it," she said, her voice measured. "But my contract's up at the end of 2022. I need to know if McLaren is going to back me fully, or if I should start looking elsewhere."
Zak's eyes searched hers, understanding her urgency. "I know you have options," he replied. "And we want you to stay. But I can't make promises without considering the full picture."
The words hung in the air, a gentle reminder of the unspoken truth of their world. The business of Formula 1 was a cutthroat one, where loyalties could shift as quickly as the wind. The night grew later, and the conversations grew quieter. The celebration had reached its crescendo, and the room was now filled with the mellow buzz of satisfaction.
Michaela couldn't shake the feeling that her future was up in the air. She took another sip of her champagne, letting the bubbles dance on her tongue, before setting the glass aside. The taste of victory was sweet, but the bitter aftertaste of uncertainty lingered.
The party eventually wound down, the last of the crew members leaving the restaurant with a mix of laughter and yawns. The quiet was a stark contrast to the deafening roars of the race and the cheers of the night. Only a few remained, including Lando, who was deep in conversation with a group of engineers, and the strategists, who were already dissecting the race's data.
Michaela took the opportunity to slip away, stepping out into the cool night air. The marina was alive with the sound of distant music and the hum of conversation. She leaned against the railing, watching the lights dance on the water, lost in thought. The season had been a spectrum of emotions, from the exhilaration of the top step to the bitter taste of defeat. Now, with the off-season approaching, she faced the uncertainty of her future with McLaren.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the soft footsteps of someone joining her. She looked over to see Lando, a rare moment of quiet reflectiveness etched on his face. "Mind if I join?" he asked, holding up a fresh drink.
Michaela nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. They stood side by side for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts about the race, the season, and conversations with Zak. The cool breeze of the marina was a welcome relief from the stuffy air of the restaurant.
"Can I just say something?" Lando finally broke the silence, his eyes still on the water.
Michaela turned to look at him, curiosity piqued. "Sure."
"I know this season hasn't been easy for us," Lando said, his gaze never leaving the water. "The rivalry, the pressure. But, I've got to admit, it's brought out the best driver in me. And I think it's done the same for you."
Michaela studied his profile, the reflection of the marina's lights dancing in his eyes. "It definitely has," she conceded, the tension between them easing.
"Look, I know we've had our moments," Lando continued, taking a sip of his drink. "But I just want you to know, I respect the hell out of you. You push me, and I know we can both do great things if we keep this up."
Michaela nodded, a sense of understanding passing between them. They had been adversaries, allies, and rivals all in one season. Yet, as they stood there, she knew that they shared a bond that extended beyond the track. "Thanks, Lando," she said, her voice soft. "The same goes for me too."
They remained there, side by side, watching the water dance. The tension of the season had brought them closer than they had ever been, and for a brief moment, the future didn't matter.
For a brief moment, they were just two friends, watching the world go by.
this has been sitting in my inbox forever but here it is!
A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)
i'd say she's pretty affectionate. it's definitely something she's gotten more comfortable with in public though.
B = Best friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship start?)
michaela is the best friend who encourages all of your horrible ideas and rides for you when you have a mess to clean up. she is an introvert so 90% of her friendships are initiated by the other person or involve some traumatic experience.
C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)
major cuddler! big spoon enthusiast.
D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)
she does, but she's not entirely sure what they would look like. she's decent at cooking and cooks for herself/friends/family in her downtime. during the season her diet is super strict so she has a personal chef who meal preps for her. she hates cleaning so she outsources that lol.
E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)
see here lmao
F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)
michaela is 100% a commitment girl. she does want to get married one day but isn't sure how she'll be able to handle that alongside her career which takes so much out of her.
G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)
relatively gentle when it's necessary. formula 1 is not for the weak. being a female driver is a very small club. she's had a lot of heartbreaking experiences so she's learned to suppress a lot of those emotions publicly.
H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)
she's a big fan of the side hug unless you're jenson or a family member lmao
I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)
she takes this super slow so maybe 6-8 months at a minimum.
J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)
michaela is perhaps the least jealous person alive. it's just not something she wants to put her energy into.
K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)
soft and fleeting at first before growing deeper. she's a forehead kisses girly.
L = Little ones (How are they around children?)
she's great with children. it's one of those weird things where people who should have children aren't the most eager to have them.
M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)
michaela cannot sit still for the life of her. so she's up pretty early to work out, answer texts and emails etc. before like 8 am.
N = Night (How are nights spent with them?)
normally she's out cold by 9pm lol
O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)
she's a secrets person. most of the time it's not entirely intentional but she does casually drop major info about herself.
P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)
it takes a lot to make her angry. it's one of the traits that kind of made her situation at mclaren that much worse.
Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)
she remembers everything. she'll be in press conferences and casually drop stats about someone else's race history like it's common knowledge. it shocks journalists at times.
R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)
definitely when jenson and myla surprised her after her monza win.
S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)
not physically protective, more so she's the only one who can slander her friends & family.
T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)
she's a romantic at heart so pretty full out every time.
U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)
she picks at her lips when she's nervous. so when she's stressed and anxious they get pretty cut up and dried out.
V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)
a fair amount. she's highly conscious about her appearance considering the media will take any chance to criticize her. she never leaves the house without straightening her hair or at least covering it up with a hat.
W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)
michaela's a very self-assured person. she knows her worth though she may question why she finds herself in less than favorable situations.
X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)
"Home race, Mickey, how are you feeling?" Max asked, nudging Michaela's elbow as they approached the float for the drivers' parade.
Michaela couldn't help but smile, the warmth of her home crowd washing over her. "It's so nice to be home with a serious team behind me," she said, her voice filled with both excitement and a hint of relief. The group of drivers broke into laughter, knowing she was referring to her tumultuous previous two seasons at McLaren.
Fernando leaned in, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "You and Carlos seem pretty cozy together, maybe we should start placing bets on when you'll announce your relationship."
The laughter abruptly halted, and Carlos's cheeks flushed a deep shade of crimson. He shot a glare at Fernando, but before he could respond, Michaela stepped in. "Fernando… we're not dating," she said, her tone a mix of amusement and annoyance. "Never have, never will."
Fernando's eyes widened comically. "What? Really?" His playful smile faded into a look of genuine confusion. "But you're always together, finishing each other's sentences, looking at each other… like that."
Michaela and Carlos exchanged a horrified glance, their expressions mirroring one another's disgust. "Fernando, en serio?" Carlos managed to get out, his voice tight with irritation.
"What?" Fernando replied, still not understanding the gravity of his mistake. "You're both so compatible, no?"
Michaela couldn't help but laugh at his obliviousness. "We're just friends, Fernando." She looked over at Carlos, whose narrowed gaze was focused on the side of his countryman's features. "Great friends," she emphasized, slapping him on the back, receiving a sharp glare from a visibly annoyed Carlos.
Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)
i imagine she's not a big fan of unambitious people.
Z = Zzz (What is a sleep habits of theirs?)
michaela can and will fall asleep any and everywhere. she's just a sleepy girl and she needs a minimum of 10 hours of sleep to operate normally.
michaela's six years in italy pay off in her professional life. one area she didn't expect them to pay off is in her romantic life. in jenson's defense, anything michaela does gets him going.
✼. warnings: 18+ mdni, smut smut smut, jenson has a michaela speaking italian kink, unprotected sex, pretty tame but sweet regardless.
✼. notes: another filler chapter lol. don't think too hard about the date, it's completely arbitrary bc this is just a filler. i promise i have more actual plot, abu dhabi 2021 is next :)
000.⠀⠀OCTOBER 16, 2021 › Cagliari, Italy
Michaela leaned against the balcony railing, the Sardinian sun casting a warm glow over her taut, athletic frame. She squinted at the horizon, the sea a serene canvas of blues and greens that stretched to infinity. The salty breeze whispered through her hair, a gentle reminder of the world outside the sheltered bubble of the luxurious hotel room.
Her thoughts drifted to the race that had just concluded. She couldn't help but feel a pang of envy as she heard the distant roar of the crowd. The Extreme E circuit was a playground for champions, a place where Jenson could still indulge in his love for speed without the relentless pressure of Formula 1. The same pressure she faced every time she strapped into her own McLaren.
The door clicked open, and she spun around, her heart racing. Jenson strutted in, a boyish grin on his face and a sheen of adrenaline glistening on his skin. His blue eyes sparkled with excitement, and the sight of him made her pulse quicken.
"You did well, JB," she said, using his nickname with a playful smirk.
Jenson closed the distance between them, his arms wrapping around her waist. "Thanks, darling," he replied, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I wish you could've seen it in person. The track was insane."
Michaela smiled, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as he pulled her in closer. "I had a pretty good view from here," she said, gesturing to the TV behind her. "But I'll take your word for it. You looked like you were in your element."
Jenson chuckled, his gaze lingering on the oversized vintage Suzuka circuit shirt adorning her frame. "You know I can't resist a good race." His hands began to roam, gently caressing her hips, his thumbs brushing the waistband of her shorts as they dipped underneath the hem of her shirt. "But I missed you."
Michaela felt a flutter in her stomach as she met his eyes. "Missed me, or missed being in bed with me?" she teased, her voice low and eyes narrowed.
"Both, actually," Jenson confessed, his grin turning into a seductive smirk. "But right now, I'm thinking about the latter."
Michaela rolled her eyes but couldn't suppress her own smile. "Have you eaten? We should order room service before you pass out from exhaustion."
"Mmm, I could go for a pasta," Jenson said, his voice a low purr as his hands continued to roam. "But I'd much rather have dessert first."
Michaela playfully slapped his hand away, laughing. "Let's at least order something to eat first. I waited for you to comeback before I ordered." She stepped back and picked up the phone, her fingers dancing over the buttons as she dialed the front desk. "Buonasera," she greeted in flawless Italian, the language rolling off her tongue like a native. "Possiamo avere il servizio in camera, per favore?"
Jenson rose from his spot on the bed, watching her with a smoldering look in his eyes. "God, you're so sexy when you speak Italian," he whispered, his voice thick with desire. He stalked over to her, his breath warm against her neck as he nibbled gently on her earlobe. His hands slid around her waist again.
Michaela giggled, trying to keep her focus on the order. "Jenson, behave," she chided, though her voice lacked conviction. The feeling of his body pressed against hers was making it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else.
"Sì, questo è tutto. Addebitare alla camera, per favore. Grazie," she finished, hanging up the phone and turning to face him with a smirk. "Room service is on its way."
Jenson's gaze was unyielding, his eyes dark with want. "I don't care about room service," he murmured, his hands moving from her waist to cup her face. His thumbs traced her cheekbones, his eyes searching hers for any sign of protest. "Not when you're speaking Italian like that."
"I was just ordering food, Jense," she said with a playful laugh, though the heat in her voice betrayed her own growing arousal. She stepped closer, her hands sliding up his chest.
"But when you talk like that," Jenson whispered, his voice dropping an octave, "it's like you're speaking directly to my soul." His eyes searched hers, hunger plain in his gaze. "It's so intimate."
Michaela's laughter faded, replaced by a soft sigh as she leaned into his touch. "You're such a romantic," she said, her voice teasing. But she didn't move away.
Jenson leaned down, capturing her mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. His tongue danced with hers, a silent promise of the passion that awaited them. She melted into him, her arms winding around his neck as she responded with an eagerness that surprised even herself.
Michaela pulled away, breathless. "Room service will be here any minute," she murmured, though the protest was half-hearted at best.
"They can wait," Jenson said, his voice gruff with need. He scooped her up in his arms, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. She gasped as he carried her to the bed, laying her down with a tenderness that betrayed his urgency.
Their kisses grew more feverish, their bodies tangling together as if trying to become one. Jenson's hands roamed over her body, exploring every curve and line with a hunger that seemed insatiable. His touch sent sparks of pleasure shooting through her, and she arched into him, her own hands running through the blonde hair she had grown so fond of.
Michaela's racing heart hammered against her ribcage as Jenson's hand slipped under her shirt, his calloused fingers brushing against her bare skin. She gasped into his mouth, the sensation sending a shiver down her spine. He broke the kiss, his eyes smoldering as he stared down at her. "Keep speaking Italian to me," he urged, his voice thick with desire.
Michaela's breath was hot against his skin as she whispered sweet nothings into his ear, her words a mix of English and Italian that only served to heighten his desire for her. He felt his own passion mirrored in her touch, her hands roaming over his chest and down to his waistband, eager to feel all of him.
With a groan, Jenson lifted himself off her, standing to remove the last of his clothes. He watched her eyes follow the trail of his muscles, the desire in them making him feel like the luckiest man alive. He joined her on the bed again, their bodies a tangle of limbs and passion.
Michaela reached for him, her hand wrapping around his length. He sucked in a breath, his eyes closing as she began to stroke him, her movements slow and deliberate. He felt the heat building, the tension in his body growing taut with every jerk of her wrist.
Her other hand found his chest, her nails digging in slightly as she guided him closer. He positioned himself between her legs, the tip of him teasing her entrance as an impatient hand brushed her panties to the side. The anticipation was almost unbearable, the heady mix of love and lust threatening to overwhelm them both.
Michaela looked up at him, her eyes filled with a raw, unbridled need. "Jenson," she murmured, her voice a soft plea. He took one last moment to savor the sight of her before he pushed inside her, filling her completely.
Her gasp was music to his ears, her nails digging into his back as he began to move. The rhythm was slow at first, almost tender, as if they were both trying to savor every second. But as the passion grew, so did their desperation. Their movements grew more urgent, more frenzied, each thrust and moan echoing around the room like a symphony of desire.
Jenson watched her face, her eyes squeezed shut as she fought for control. He leaned down, capturing her mouth with his, their tongues tangling together as their bodies found a rhythm that spoke of love and need. The feel of her, tight and wet around him, was intoxicating, and he could feel his climax approaching.
Michaela's nails dug into his back as she wrapped her legs around his waist, urging him deeper. Her breathy moans grew louder, and he knew she was ready for more. He picked up the pace, his strokes becoming more urgent as he felt her muscles begin to clench around him.
"So pretty," she hummed as she pulled his face away from the crook of her neck. Her thumbs tracing the lines of his jaw, feeling the stubble prickle against her skin. "Così, così carino." She repeated in Italian, her eyes fluttering closed as she lost herself in the sensation of his mouth on hers.
Michaela felt the warmth spread through her core as Jenson's hand slid down to cup her breast, his thumb brushing her hardened nipple through the thin fabric of her bra. The sensation was electric, and she arched her back, pushing herself closer to him.
"Talk to me, honey," she whispered seductively against his mouth, her voice thick with need. "Tell me how good it feels."
"God, it feels amazing," he managed to gasp out, his voice strained with effort. "You're so wet for me, so tight." His words were punctuated with each thrust, his voice growing hoarser with every passing moment.
Michaela's eyes fluttered closed, a soft smile playing on her lips as she absorbed his words. She felt his muscles tensing beneath her, the veins in his arms standing out as he pushed himself deeper into her. "Don't hold back," she encouraged, her own voice breathless. "Take me, I'm all yours, baby."
"Yeah?" He whispered back, blue eyes burning into hers, his thumb now tracing her bottom lip.
She leaned into his touch, taking the finger into her mouth eagerly. Her brown eyes never left his blue eyes as she sucked gently, the sight making him growl with need.
Jenson couldn't resist anymore, he leaned down and kissed her again, deep and passionate. Their bodies moved in sync, the sound of skin on skin music to their ears. His hands roamed over her, feeling the heat of her body, memorizing every inch of her. He felt her arching into him, her legs tightening around his waist, her breathing growing more erratic.
One hand reached for the top of her headboard as the other reached down to grasp at her thigh, pulling it up to hook over his hip and spreading her wide open to him. The new angle sent Michaela's eyes rolling back as he pushed deep inside her, a moan escaping her mouth as she felt herself stretch around him.
"Good girl," Jenson praised, his voice a low growl. The new angle allowed him to hit her g-spot with every thrust, sending waves of pleasure crashing through her. She couldn't help but whimper, her nails now scratching down his sides as the tension grew. "You take me so well. All the way in just like that."
Michaela's breath came in short gasps as she felt the beginnings of an intense orgasm building inside her. "Jense," she moaned, her eyes pleading for release. He knew she was close, and he wasn't far behind. His own orgasm was approaching like a freight train.
Jenson's grip tightened on her thigh as he picked up the pace, his hips slamming into hers. The headboard thumped against the wall in a steady rhythm, muffled by the thick walls. He could feel her body tightening around him, and it was all he could do to hold on.
Michaela's eyes snapped open, her pupils dilated with desire. She met Jenson's gaze, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she whispered, "Dai, amore, fottimi più forte," urging him on in Italian.
A feral growl rumbled in his throat as he complied, his hips driving into hers with a force that sent the bed rocking against the floor. The headboard thumped a wild beat that matched the pounding of their hearts, the only music in the room. The sound of their passion filled the air, a symphony of moans and gasps that grew louder with every stroke.
Michaela's eyes never left Jenson's as she felt the climax building within her, his every movement sending her closer to the edge. She could see the same need reflected in his gaze, his eyes dark with desire and determination to bring her to the brink.
"Fuck, yes," he groaned, feeling the tension coil tighter within him.
Michaela's eyes rolled back, the pleasure reaching a crescendo as she felt Jenson's cock hit her in just the right spot. She knew she was close, so close she could almost taste it. "Need to come, Jenson," she begged, her voice a needy whine.
Jenson chuckled dryly, feeling her slip away deeper into the pleasure. "Say it nicely, love," he urged, his voice gruff with need. "Want to hear your pretty little mouth say it in Italian."
Michaela bit her lip, the challenge sparking something within her as she nodded. She met his eyes, her own smoldering with desire. "Per favore, lasciami venire, amore," she whispered, her voice thick with an accent that sent shivers down his spine.
Jenson's eyes flashed with pleasure, the Italian rolling off her tongue like a sweet, sweet promise. He felt the coil in his stomach tighten, his own orgasm close behind hers. "So fucking perfect, baby. You're so beautiful," he groaned, the words leaving his mouth almost involuntarily. He wanted to claim her, to show her how much she meant to him in every way possible.
"Fuck, baby, where do you want me?" he gritted out, his hips moving faster, his strokes deeper. She felt him swell inside her, the pressure building until she couldn't take it anymore.
"Anywhere, everywhere," she panted, her back arching off the bed. "Just don't stop, please." She practically begged, almost incoherent in the wave of her pleasure.
Jenson's eyes blazed with intensity, his thrusts becoming more powerful, his strokes more deliberate. He could feel her walls tightening around him, her breath hitching with every push. The sound of their bodies slapping together grew more frantic, the sweet sound of their passion heightening.
"Mouse," he murmured, his voice strained with effort. "I love how wet you are for me." His hand traveled down to her clit, his thumb circling the sensitive bud as he watched her face contort with pleasure. "You're going to come for me, aren't you?"
Michaela's breath hitched, her eyes locked on his as she nodded. "Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "Yes, Jense, please."
He took that as his cue, his thumb moving faster against her clit, his strokes deep and demanding. The tension built until it was almost unbearable, until she was writhing beneath him, her nails digging into his back. "Now, love," he urged, feeling her body tighten around him. "Come for me."
Michaela's eyes widened as she felt the orgasm crash over her, waves of pleasure washing away every thought, every worry. She screamed out his name, her body shaking with the intensity of her release. Jenson groaned, feeling her tighten around him, his own orgasm following closely behind. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth grazing her skin as he emptied himself inside her.
With a sigh of satisfaction, Jenson rolled over, taking her with him so she lay sprawled on top of him, her head on his chest. The steady beat of his heart was a comforting rhythm beneath her ear. They lay there, basking in the afterglow, the scent of their lovemaking mingling with the faint aroma of the sea breeze that filtered through the open balcony doors.
"You're going to have to teach me Italian," Jenson murmured after a moment of contented silence, his voice rumbling through his chest and into her ear. "Everything sounds better when you say it."
Michaela chuckled, her breath still coming in pants. "I'd be happy to," she said, pressing a kiss to the warm skin of his chest. Perched on his chest, she felt his heart beating beneath her, the steady rhythm matching the gentle rise and fall of his breath.
They laid there for a few moments, the only sound in the room the rustling of the hotel curtains dancing in the breeze from the open balcony. The sun painted stripes across the floor, casting a warm glow over their entwined bodies.
"I love you, Michaela," Jenson murmured, his hands stroking her back lazily as he felt her body relax into his. "I love you so much it hurts sometimes."
Michaela lifted her head to look at him, her eyes soft with affection. "I love you too, Jense," she said, her voice a quiet whisper. "More than I ever thought I could love someone." She placed a gentle kiss on his lips before rolling off him and standing up, stretching her toned body. The room service cart rattled in the hallway, a discreet knock at the door interrupting their intimate moment.
"I'll get it," Jenson offered as he reached for a robe, his chiseled abs glistening with a sheen of sweat. Jenson tied the robe around his waist, his movements slow and languid. "You go freshen up. I don't think I'll be able to focus on eating if I hear you speak Italian again." He winked, the mischief in his eyes unmistakable.
Michaela giggled and slipped into the bathroom, her cheeks flushed with pleasure and the aftermath of their passion. She glanced in the mirror as she tied her own robe together, her hair a wild mess around her face, and couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction. As she washed up, she could still feel the echoes of Jenson's touch, the way his hands had roamed her body with such confidence and hunger.
When she emerged, Jenson had set up the room service on the small dining table. The sight of steaming plates of pasta and a bottle of wine brought a smile to her face. The wide, boyish smile that adorned his features drew a chuckle out of her.
"I didn't know you were such a romantic," she teased, walking over to him and placing a kiss on his cheek.
Jenson shrugged playfully. "You bring it out in me, sweetheart," he said, his voice warm and affectionate.
Michaela took her seat, her eyes sparkling with happiness as she surveyed the feast he'd arranged. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce filled the room, mingling with the faint scent of the ocean. They ate in contented silence, their eyes meeting frequently over their plates, the heat between them melting away into a calmer affection.
