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Mar 29

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Oscar Piastri X Teammate!Reader (RIVALRY AU)

Content Warnings: Anxiety, swearing, stressful situations. Mentions of blood and needles. Descriptions of drug use and abuse. Sexual abuse mentioned but not in detail. Oscar is a warning but not for the reason you think.

Summary: Waking up with barely any recollection of the night before, you keep your head on as things are explained. Not long after the situation, your home Grand Prix.

Word Count: 7k

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You woke up laying down, still in the dress you last remember putting on. Your heels are no longer adorning your feet, and there’s a scratchy blanket over your legs. Where the hell are you?

You try to open your eyes, but the brightness of the lights, even in a more dimly lit room, are completely blinding. You move your arm to raise above your eyes, but find a slight stinging sensation in the crook of your elbow.

There’s an IV drip going into your arm at first glance. Are you at a hospital? What the hell happened?

At the sound of your rustling, your mother wakes up from her chair in the corner. Far too uncomfortable to sleep in, but it had been a long night.

“Mom?” You pushed yourself to sit up, watching her scoot closer to you. “What’s going on?”

“Don’t move too fast, the doctor said you could get dizzy,” she alerted you, helping to prop a pillow behind your head.

“I feel really dehydrated… my head hurts.”

“I think that’s a normal side effect,” she responded, getting up to grab the water cup from the table across the room.

“Side effect of what? What am I doing here?”

She settled back beside you, hand on your arm before sighing and answering you. Clearly you couldn’t remember what happened.

“You were drugged when you went out last night,” she let out in a breath, a bit frightened of how you would react.

“What?” You started to recall the things you could remember.

The party at work, then your need to relieve frustration. After that, the meet up with a guy you’d never actually met before in person. Gerardo. He was tall, handsome, and seemed nice enough, or at least not dangerous, but you suppose he is a man, after all, and men lie.

“Shit… that asshole drugged me?” You scoffed in disbelief as the realization came over you. You remember it now. The uneasy feeling before you went to the bathroom… how dizzy you began to feel standing over the sink. And then… nothing.

You sat back against the pillow, taking a drink from the plastic cup before the door opened, and someone you absolutely did not expect came waltzing in.

“The police say we can’t file a report without an account of the situation from…” he trailed, looking up from his phone to see that you were awake.

“Oscar? What the hell are you doing here?” You got defensive immediately, because he had no business being in your personal space when something like this happened. “Does the team know about this? Did everyone find out?”

“What? No,” he tried to speak but before he could, your mother jumped in to his defense.

“No, sweetheart,” she looked back to Oscar, still standing in the doorway and looking like a kicked puppy. “He got you out of there. He saw you across the bar and wanted to help.”

You furrowed your brow and turned back to him. He really didn’t have any business being here, but he wanted to help. He was trying to do better than he has been, and for a moment your heart softens.

“You brought me here?”

“Yeah, um… me and a friend of mine.”

The way he was speaking was so sincere, you started to believe it. You started to let your guard down.

“Oh…” you trailed. It felt almost foreign to be civil with him, and not only that, but grateful. “Thank you.”

“It’s no problem, we just didn’t want you to get hurt…”

The silence was awkward for a moment, and during that moment, all he could do was stare at you. Fully disheveled, hair and makeup a shell of what it was last night, and curled up in a blanket that was clearly too small for any human.

Your mother took out her phone and stood up.

“I’ll let him explain everything, I’m going to get ahold of the police and let them know you’re awake to give a statement.”

She left in a hurry, knowing that they’d been trying to get law enforcement involved for hours to no avail with the victim being unconscious or in a poor state of mind.

Oscar felt awkward standing here now, having to recount everything he witnessed. He rocked back and forth on his heels before sitting down on the side of the bed and shyly raising his line of sight to meet yours.

“I uh… I saw you, when I first got to the bar,” he began, the stiff tension wearing off when he saw how intently you were listening. “That guy was across from you when I got there, but it seemed fine at the time…”

“Did you see him slip me something?” You asked, wondering how he knew to intervene.

“No, um,” he paused, furrowing his brow as he remembered the moment he felt you were in danger. “I had seen how you were acting around him before going to the restroom, and after that you seemed really out of it.”

“You knew just from that?”

“I guess so,” he replied, shrugging slightly, even though him being there was a big deal.

“I can’t believe you saw it from across a room, and I didn’t see it right in front of me,” you shook your head, almost unable to believe how stupid you’d been.

He seemed hesitant to ask at first, but a question arose.

“Did you even know him?” Oscar asked, a tinge of expectancy in his voice.

You looked around the room, taking a deep inhale, trying to avoid his eyes.

“No,” you shook your head, lips in a thin line. “We met online a while back, he seemed nice.”

It was humiliating, trying to justify the actions you made to a man who was the very reason for those actions. But here he is, now, having been here since last night, even though it was his birthday.

When you met his eyes again you expected something akin to annoyance, maybe even judgement for your stupidity, but for the first time since you met him, he stared back with sincerity and care. He looked like a hurt puppy. Like the King Charles Cavalier that you grew up across the street from. Maybe a weird comparison, but the resemblance is uncanny.

Neither of you spoke for a moment, but there were words in the silence. Coming to terms with the fact that neither of you were really as bad as the other thought. Neither of you hated each other to the point of what happened last night.

He doesn’t say anything about the prior exchange, just moves on to what he really wants to say.

“I feel like I need to clear the air,” he said evenly, trying to keep his emotions in control. “I’ve not been…”

He paused, and you held your breath.

He sighed and shook his head, trying to get the words out as easy as possible.

“I’ve been a bad teammate,” he admitted, but there was more. “I’ve treated you really poorly.”

You nodded, a hint of a smile on your face. “I haven’t been easy to like.”

“But it didn’t start out that way,” he replied, making sure there were no excuses. “The day I met you, you were kind to me… and I kinda shit all over it.”

You recall the exact moment the switch flipped. The moment that Zak introduced you as his teammate and replacement for his former friend. The look in his eyes that went immediately into silent aggression, even though he didn’t voice any of it aloud for the cameras that were watching.

“Yeah, well … I know it couldn’t have been easy for you.”

“It wasn’t,” he huffed, eyebrows raised as he also remembered how it felt. “But I took it out on you. I should’ve been there to help you, and show you the ropes.”

Another pause, and you wonder if he’s piecing each part of his apology together as he goes.

“I’m really sorry about everything,” he finally got out, looking straight at you and hoping for forgiveness, which you were happy to give.

“I’m sorry, too… I kinda got used to provoking you when I thought that we weren’t gonna be friends.”

He nodded slightly, laughing a little.

Damn, that felt good. You like his smile, you like being the cause of it. He has a great smile.

“We were definitely not friends,” he acknowledged, scooting slightly closer on the scratchy hospital sheets. “But we still can be, right?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, almost blushing under his stare.

It’s insane the one-eighty you’ve pulled since waking up to an IV drip in your arm.

The day you first met him, you were too nervous to really take him in properly, and after that day, you’d learned to hate his guts. Obviously you weren’t given the chance to look at him properly in a different manner.

To put it short, he’s beautiful. Light brown hair hanging down over his forehead, disheveled from a sleepless night. Dark eyes with long lashes and a sweet smile, pale skin that looked pretty with his features, even under the nasty lighting of the dim hospital room.

“For what it’s worth… you’ve been a really great motivator. A negative motivator, obviously, but… I’m not sure I would’ve done as well this season if you’d been coddling me,” you shrugged, giving him some props since you still felt bad about the situation.

“Glad to be of service… but I don’t think I can be like that anymore.”

And he was being fully serious. You blinked, unsure what to say at first before letting out the first thing that came to your mind.

“Well good,” you laughed. “Because I’d rather we leave our rivalry on the track.”

You almost had half a mind to reach for his hand, which had inched closer since he sat down. He probably wanted you to… but your mom interrupted the moment, ending the conversation abruptly as she walked in, an exasperated look on her face.

“The police are ready to take a statement, but they can’t legally detain anyone unless you identify who was with you. The description of tall, dark, and handsome can only get us so far these days.”

You sat further forward, eyebrows furrowed as your mother sat down in the chair across from you both.

“Did they review the security footage at the club?” You asked, your focus falling away from the fact that as your blanket fell further off you when you moved, Oscar dragged it back into place absentmindedly.

“The cameras were pointed to the tables across from you, and the center of the dance floor,” Oscar chimed in, remembering the details from earlier. He’d given his own detailed account to the police, but it wasn’t enough without your words.

“Damnit,” you thought for a moment, running a hand over your face. “If they need an ID, I should have his socials…”

You looked around for your phone, before Oscar reached into his back pocket suddenly and pulled it out. He’d gone to your table, that’s where you left it, or at least you think so.

He held it out and you nodded.

“Thanks.”

You opened it up to the last app you were on last night, but going through the messages, there’s no trace of his account or any activity between the two of you. You huffed, shaking your head as you went to the search bar to look him up, but you only remembered his name, not his user. Either way it didn’t help much.

Nothing, completely blank.

“Shithead blocked me,” you let out in exasperation. You fell back against the raised bed to rest your back, hands covering your face as you felt the headache start to come back slowly.

“Do you know his full name?”

“Yeah, but there’s just about a hundred other Gerardo Garcia’s around here, so…” you trailed off, feeling frustrated that the asshole might get away with it. You know at least that he wasn’t able to go through with his plans, which was helpful.

So many women deal with much worse, and they never get justice. You at least formed a bond with your teammate through the situation, which feels like justice in some way.

“We can figure it out,” he spoke up, a narrow but encouraging look on his face when you glanced back at him.

It wasn’t true, and you doubted you would ever find Gerardo again. But…

“Thanks,” you replied.

He was being sweet, no need to ruin a moment with arguments.

MIAMI GRAND PRIX WEEKEND

Your home race… sort of.

Given that there’s three American races, you can take your pick, even if one is technically closer to your home than the others.

Miami is your family’s favorite, which is why you consider it your home Grand Prix. They’ll all be coming to cheer you on this weekend. You can’t wait to introduce them to Oscar.

He’s been trying lately, really trying. Putting in effort to make amends for all the bad things that the season started with.

It’s almost too good to be true… and just like you suspected, it is. But this time, Oscar isn’t the problem.

Thursday was arrival day, and per usual, the cameras were around, both from Netflix and from the media outlets. Nothing out of the ordinary, very much the same thing as always…

You and Oscar drove together to the paddock for media day. That was very much out of the ordinary. The cameras collected shots like they were in some sort of zoo, seeing a gazelle and a lion walking side by side. Given your previous attitudes towards each other leading up to now, it seems impossible that they’d witness this.

You split up when you got to the media center, being asked to do challenges and interviews for content creators. Again, nothing really out of the ordinary on your side of things until you got a text from Zak in a group chat with Oscar.

Meet in the debrief room, ASAP

And immediately you’re sure he’s seen the photos. You are a bit surprised by how fast they circulated. Given that various drivers were involved with drama on the grid, two people getting along should be the least of the news… but maybe you were wrong.

Not even an hour later, Oscar is sitting in the debrief room when you walk in. Zak isn’t there yet, but Oscar looks nervous.

“Do you know what this is about?” He asked, leaning forward in his chair.

You sat down and shrugged. “I have a few ideas, but I don’t understand why they would be a problem.”

Zak walked in and shut the door.

“Sorry if you guys were waiting, I had to field some questions outside.”

He took out his phone from his pocket and slid it across the debrief table to show some photos of you both getting out of the car this morning.

“I wasn’t aware you guys were on good terms now,” he raised a brow and crossed his arms, as if he should’ve been the first to know.

You looked over at Oscar before conjuring a response.

“Yeah, I mean, we don’t really see the point in hating each other’s guts, so…”

“Yeah, no, I get that,” he nodded, clearly understanding that the ice had broken. “But it’s being portrayed really weird online. I’m not really sure what to make of it yet, but I got a call from our PR team earlier about getting things back the way they were until we have a better media analysis.”

Of course… because the second you start to like your teammate, Zak of all people is gonna put an end to it.

“What?”

“Look, I don’t really get it, but the media liked it better when you both were on bad terms,” he rolled his eyes, as if it were ridiculous, but thinking further about it, you understood to some degree.

Rivals are popular, especially on the same team. Your thing with Oscar was the biggest thing since Brocedes, only much more dramatic.

“No, I actually think I see the point. When we’re beefing on camera it makes things interesting…” you look back at Oscar then at Zak again. “If we show up together singing ‘kumbaya’ then it’s boring to watch.”

“So let me get this straight,” Oscar began, already very annoyed with the issue. “You guys have been telling us to get along since the season began, and now that we do, you want us to hate each other again?”

Zak huffed out a breath, shrugging his shoulders haphazardly. “Not really, no…” he paused, gathering his words carefully. “But if you guys could pretend out there, just for the cameras…”

This is all so stupid. Who cares what people think of the team?

Dumb question. Sponsors care. Investors care. People who employ you care. The team benefits from you having public quarrels with each other, so of course it makes sense to keep doing it. But the very important difference this time is that it’s not real. He’s not actually going to try and hurt your feelings. You won’t actively be attempting to antagonize him in private.

It’s all fake.

He thinks this is stupid.

He’s finally in a position where he feels like he can talk to you during a race weekend, but there’s a camera in the garage for practice today, so he huffs a sigh in your direction and shakes his head.

His helmet goes on and so do his gloves before he hops into the halo of his car.

He’s been trying to avoid you in public at any cost, knowing that a slip up might ruin everything that the rivalry has created. Zak and the media management team have been trying to figure out a way to bring the public attention of the ‘rivalry’ to an end, without losing popularity or driver support. The merchandise is selling like hotcakes, and it just keeps on coming, so Oscar can’t imagine that it will come to an end anytime soon.

Practice overall goes well. He comes out in top five, but you come out in the top two, just behind Verstappen. Not a bad start to the home race weekend.

After practice is over, and the debrief has ended, he goes back to his driver room to change. He grabs his phone, wallet, sunglasses, making a mental note to designate a better place to put them in the future. He’s got his hand on the door handle when he hears a soft knock.

He knows it’s you, so he waits for a second, heart pounding faster as he fixes his hair until he opens the door.

“Hey,” you smiled, rocking nervously on your heels. You were happy to see him. He doesn’t know if he can get used to that.

“Hi,” he smiles back, looking a bit dumb as he stares blankly for a moment. You like the feeling of his eyes on you.

“I have some people who wanna meet you, if you think you can sneak out of here.”

With no interviews or further expectations of him for the time being, he nods, following you out into the hall. Personal guests are not allowed past the garage in the paddock, no drivers rooms or debrief room access. But there’s a row of tents out back, and when you both duck into them, Oscar is slightly taken aback. It’s your family.

“Oscar, you’ve met my mom already… this is my dad, my brother Sammy, and my sister McKenna.”

A tall man with a little girl on his hip reaches out to shake his hand, and he smiles genuinely.

“Nice to meet you all,” he says, his grin spreading as the little girl reaches out for a handshake of her own.

He happily obliges, giving just as much effort to the little girl.

“I wanted to thank you personally for what you did for my daughter with the whole bar situation,” the man said, his tone very inviting and warm.

“It was really nothing, that guy was a-“ he stopped himself from saying any bad words in the company of children. “He was just really terrible, so.”

“Even still, I appreciate it.”

The moment was nice, and even a little emotional to a degree. You must have complained up and down the wall about Oscar to your family, or at least he thinks you must have. But now there is peace, and even friendship.

“Can you please sign my hat?” A younger boy, maybe eleven years old speaks up. Sammy, the little brother. His eyes are full of stars when he looks at Oscar, and you feel like you have to explain a bit.

“You’re his favorite driver,” you lean in to whisper slightly, seeing the boy bounce on his heels from excitement.

“Of course, yeah.”

Oscar grins wide, taking the marker and hat from the boy and signing it across the bill. ‘To my favorite fan, Sammy.’

When Sammy reads the little message, his jaw drops and he starts hopping in place.

“What do you say, Sam?” Your mom chimed in, a hand at your brother’s back to enforce his manners.

“Thank you Mr. Oscar!”

“No problem,” he thinks for a moment, before glancing at you. “If it’s alright with your sister, I have some extra merch I can grab you if you want it.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re funny if you think he’s wearing my merch. Sammy, turn around.”

The boy turns, showing the back of his papaya shirt, where there is in fact an 81. Oscar laughs slightly before nudging you with his elbow.

“I bet that was fun a few weeks ago,” he muttered, bringing up mention of your previous experience with each other.

How nice that it can be joked about now.

“You have no idea,” you said through a stiff smile. You sighed, turning back to the family. “I’ve got a few things to clean up in my room and then I can meet you guys back at the car?”

“Sounds good, sweetheart,” your dad nodded, still tending to the little girl who was fussing about wanting to walk on her own.

“You guys will be back tomorrow for qualifying?” Oscar asked, his voice still cheerful and upbeat.

“That’s the plan,” your mom piped up, putting Sammy’s marker back in her bag.

“Perfect, so I can give you some stuff then,” he looked at Sammy, giving the kid a thumbs up. The boy was completely awestruck, nodding simply because words were gone by now.

They all headed towards the parking area, and you walked in the hidden spaces back to the garage with Oscar.

“He’s gonna bring that up for the rest of his life,” you said, your tone holding a joking exasperation. You were grateful he was so sweet with your brother. You love that kid more than words can say.

“You never told me I was his favorite…”

“Probably because the only thing I wanted to tell you before last week was how much I wish you would explode in a fiery car wreck,” you admitted, still holding a bit of humor to your words.

He laughed, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “I wasn’t that bad, was I?”

“Oh, you totally were… but I never told Sammy that. He’s recently gotten into driving because of you.”

“Because of me?” He questioned, his confusion evident as he held the back door for you, heading to the driver’s rooms. “Wouldn’t he want to do it with you?”

“I tried to get him on the track for years. The second he discovered you, he found his all time hero. Now he’s in a kart every other weekend,” you shrugged, explaining his motivation. “I’m just glad he actually wants to compete now.”

Oscar’s mind got stuck on a previous detail.

“You said you didn’t tell him about me being… well, an ass…” he trailed, turning down the hall but stopping before you got to your door. “Did you tell the others?”

You contemplated making a joke, telling him that to everyone you know, he’s public enemy number one, but the truth is far nicer for once.

“No… the only one who knew was my mom.”

He smiled, your genuine answer feeling like maybe you never really hated him. He almost feels bad for thinking that you did. The past is in the past. Amends have been made.

“Thank you… I appreciate that,” he replied gently, looking down at his shoes to avert from your eyes for a moment. They were too inviting, and he has to get out of here on time. “I’m gonna head out… but I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, tomorrow. Be prepared to start behind me on Sunday,” you gave a snarky reply, watching him roll his eyes yet again before he walked away.

You’re not just in trouble, you’re in deep shit.

MIAMI GRAND PRIX RACE DAY

You qualified second, showing similar results to day one. The only kicker? Max is still in front of you and you have no clue how you can get around him. Chances are, you won’t.

At least it’ll be a podium for your home race… if everything goes well.

Oscar starts lower on the grid in eighth. Tire problems during qualifying and whatnot.

He’s been pretty chill about the situation, even though everyone seems to be dogging on him for the position placement. He’s finally mellowed back out into the guy who keeps his emotions to a minimum off track… except of course when you are involved. Zak has been making him lay it on thick. The media has begun slowly circulating the rivalry again over the weekend, but it still isn’t strong enough to be believed since what happened on Thursday.

He hasn’t spoken to you, and has kept his distance, even in the paddock building. You know it’s just for show on the outside, but privately, it seems strange.

You pay no mind to it, because you know that after the weekend is over, you can go back to the new relationship that’s blossoming between you. You just wish people could know about it.

Sitting in the car, waiting for the formation lap, your head begins losing every outside thought as the adrenaline courses through your veins and your focus settles in.

Tire cozies come off, and you follow behind max around the track and back to the start line.

When the lights are out, the only thing standing between you and winning your home race is a Redbull car… funny enough, there’s one directly behind you, too.

On turn one, Lando’s front wing almost kisses the ass of your car, and you obviously aren’t cool with that.

“Hey, he’s going a bit reckless for turn one, no?”

Your engineer agreed with you, but had to be honest. “Technically no infringement, there. Head down, pull away.”

You rolled your eyes, making sure Lando stayed behind you in your mirrors.

Every lap that passed, you got a bit of an advantage on him. It helps that you’re driving a rocket ship, but clearly he’s the more experienced driver. It’s getting hard to hold him off before the first pit, and you think that maybe you should just go in now and get fresh tires, but the team has a better idea.

“Stay out,” James said, his tone urgent. “Come in next lap.”

“Why?”

“Norris is pitting now, he’ll come out behind Piastri,” he replied, and immediately you understood.

“Copy.”

You followed Max as closely as you could, getting through the sectors faster than usual for you. It got to the point where you were under two seconds from him, which made the gap to third place even bigger.

You see the vision for this strategy. Definitely more along the lines of plan b, but still a strong contender for a race win.

As long as you can pit here and come out ahead of Oscar, you’ll maintain your position, and possibly gain ground on Max.

The moment of truth, you pull into the pit lane, going as fast as is legally possible into the McLaren pit stop.

You nearly blink before the tires are on, and the car is immediately on the run towards the track.

You keep a close eye on your speed, knowing how upsetting it can be to get penalties for speeding in the pit lane.

You came out on the track in fourth place, behind Leclerc, Russel, and of course, Max.

You had quite the gap to Leclerc, but he pit on the next lap, putting you in third. From there, you just had to close the gap on George Russel in order to be in prime position for when Max pits.

Russel hadn’t pit yet, either, but you had a feeling he was trying to last longer on his tires in order to avoid getting another set of hards.

“Is Verstappen looking like he’ll go in soon?”

You waited for an answer from James, who was probably checking with the others to see if anyone knew.

“We believe he will be going in on one of the next three laps.”

You huffed, not knowing if you could keep pushing to Russel for that long. You want your tires to last, and more than that, you want to win.

“How is Piastri holding up Norris?” You asked, since he was far back enough now that he was not visible.

“Oscar is making ground toward you, Norris is battling Leclerc since he came out behind him in the pit.”

Perfect. Oscar is making way, hopefully to the podium, if George Russel ever pits…

“Oscar hasn’t pit yet, has he?”

“He pit five laps before you, his tires were degrading faster toward the beginning of the race.”

That makes sense, he had to come from the middle of the grid.

You disregarded your teammates details, focusing on the track ahead and making sure you kept a closing gap on Russel.

By the time Max finally pit, it was clear that you would be the race leader once George got new tires. Your adrenaline was speeding up, pumping through your body and pushing you to the highest limit you could go.

You closed the gap to Russel, making it three seconds instead of five. It got to the point where you could see the bumper of his Mercedes instead of it being too far around the curves.

“C’mon ya little weirdo, just pit already,” you murmured under your breath.

As if he somehow heard you, he moved into the pit lane on the very next lap. You’ll admit his persistence was impressive, he lasted more laps on those tires than anyone else.

You sped further down the track, having a clean line with no one to account for. The track is yours, minus the cars you have to lap. All for the best, though, they make more obstacles for Max to get by.

When it gets down to the final segment of the race, you decide to check in on Oscar.

“What is Piastri’s position?”

“Um…” he trailed right away, a sigh following the word. Like he knows the answer but he’s afraid to tell you.

“Norris caught up to him… they had a minor collision,” he says, making you wonder why there was no yellow flag. He quickly gave a brief explanation for that, too. “No debris, but both cars are being retired.”

Well shit.

“Who’s behind me, then?”

“Leclerc is three seconds behind,” he said, making sure you didn’t have to worry about him catching you. “Verstappen is under one behind him. He’ll have overtake on the next straight.”

It’s unnerving, yes… but it’s a three second gap and with only four laps to go. You know that you can do this. It’s all within reach. You’ve driven the most perfect race of your entire career and the results are showing.

“Bring it home, mate, this has been an excellent race.”

Being the first to see the checkered flag has to be the greatest achievement of all time. You can’t even compare it to anything else. You feel tears in your eyes at the feeling of winning. Maybe just for today, but at the moment you are the best in the world. Winning a home race has brought you such pride, your whole being is filled with joy and energy.

Getting out of the car and leaping into the arms of the garage members over the gate is something you’ve dreamt about. Standing in the first place slot for the interviews is even better.

You go through all the motions, and yes, it dawns on you that you were extremely blessed to have all the mistakes from the other garages. You know that without them, you might only be p3.

You don’t even remember the interview. You remember saying a bunch of nonsense about teamwork and hard efforts and collective spirit, but it’s gone as soon as the interview is over.

Going to the cool down room was great the first time, getting to consistent podiums was amazing, but this is all different.

Sitting here with Max Verstappen, your hero, and speaking with him as if you’ve been buddies for years… it’s surreal. He’s complimentary, and he’s encouraging. And like Max is, he challenges you.

“I’ll definitely have you next time, don’t worry.”

All in good fun, but you know he means it. Had things gone well for his garage, he should have won today, but it’s you in the first place chair, not him.

The podium brings you to tears. You look out at the fans, and it’s touching. You see the garage members, and feel the support they give in all their efforts. But then you see your family, cheering and waving flags with pride, and that’s when you can’t hold it back anymore. You remember all the days karting, all the times your mom had to get your fireproofs dry cleaned so they didn’t shrink in the laundry. You remember the missed playdates as a kid and the birthdays spent on track instead of with friends. You remember the determination from back then to exactly where you’re standing now.

The national anthem plays, and you’re presented with your award. You have no words for this moment, it's the best thing that could happen to you.

The champagne sprays, and the world resets, and suddenly the high is over and it’s back to business. People are prodding at you, pushing you to the next stage, next media pit, next social admin spot. It’s constant, and you suddenly wish you were back in the car.

You give the same answers to yet another interviewer before overhearing a familiar voice behind you.

“Well, I mean, she obviously got lucky today,” he said, causing you to turn around, just across from you, Oscar gives his own answers. He’s already changed into the team kit by now, having been out of the race significantly longer. “I genuinely don’t think she would’ve ended up the race winner today had the pits gone differently.”

You take a step forward, testing to see if a McLaren team member will pull you away. Conveniently enough, you just finished your last interview. So now you’re basically eavesdropping on your teammate.

“She drove fine, I guess, but… like I said, I’m not really happy with the result of today, and I need to get back to where I was, which… is in front of her. Shouldn’t take long.”

Your furrow your brow at the words.

It’s fake. It’s fake. He doesn’t mean it. The team is making him. He doesn’t mean it.

“What are your thoughts on her trajectory for the season?”

“Uh… I mean those are based, I’m assuming, on her getting as lucky as she was today. Basing the trajectory on results that came purely from coincidence just seems a bit odd to me.”

You hear it though… the twinge of genuine annoyance that you got to know all too well. If he’s only faking it, he’s doing one hell of a job.

As if by another pure coincidence, he turns away for a moment, catching your slightly saddened glance across the media pit. He sees your eyes and the way you divert them immediately.

He knew he’d been laying it on thick. Truth be told, he was using the anger from not finishing the race to feed the fuel of the ‘feud’ between you, and understandably, it sounded just as bad being spoken as it did in his head. He hurt you, he knows he did.

You walked far and away from the pit, leaving him to deal with the flashing cameras.

You waited until you were in your driver’s room to let it all go. You needed an ice bath, and you needed to calm down.

Tearing your fireproofs off, you tried to take in some deep breaths. You peeled off your compression layers, leaving them in the laundry pile, less tidy than usual. You’re sure the team won’t mind it just once.

You heard your phone buzzing on the table where you left it earlier, and only glanced at it to see a dozen notifications. You just won a race, but people aren’t talking about that fact. They’re talking about the aftermath.

You nearly chuck the phone across the room before changing into your swimsuit. An ice bath should cool you down. You’ll be just fine as soon as you can get back to normal post race activity.

Looking into the mirror, you slow down for a second, wiping your eyes of any wetness that had been there. You took another deep inhale and stopped for a beat, acknowledging every thought in order before pushing them away.

“You did good,” you whisper to yourself, nodding once into the mirror. “You’ve accomplished so much… don’t let him get you down. Not today.”

Maybe you still felt a little upset, but your anger had subsided immensely. The weight from your shoulders was lifted when you accepted that you couldn’t control anything but your own feelings and actions. And today they brought you a win.

You pulled a t shirt on and grabbed your hat for the walk out back, then opened the door.

You stopped in your tracks when your pathway was blocked. By him of all people.

Opening your mouth to speak, you had a hundred thoughts to say out loud, but nothing would come to you.

He looked like he wanted to say something too.

“I…” he trailed, seeing the redness in the corner of your eyes.

He couldn’t stand you thinking that any of that, even to the smallest extent, was real.

Stepping forward, he didn’t hesitate. He wrapped both arms fully around you, bringing you in close. You’d never been bear hugged by Oscar, but it was a complete comfort the second it came.

You reciprocated his hold, pulling him close, too. It melted everything off of you. Every doubt, every word, every negative connotation. Gone.

“I’m really sorry,” he mumbled, not even attempting to let go. “When I got out of the car, I got called into a media debrief. Before they even fully retired my car from the race.”

“They told you to say that?”

“Actually they gave me some worse suggestions…” he trailed again, a small chuckle under his breath. “I don’t think you got lucky, and I definitely don’t think you won by coincidence.”

You nodded, untrusting of your voice which you knew was affected by your growing emotion.

“Don’t believe anything I say out there, you understand? I’m proud of you for today.”

You let out a shaky exhale, squeezing him tighter. “I drove like hell to keep that position..”

“Yes, you did. Drove like hell.”

The two of you stood there for a longer amount than you would care to admit, going through every emotion as it came. There was nothing anyone could have done to interfere if they tried.

“Well, he’s an ass, so that doesn’t surprise me,” you replied to the reporter, commenting on the interview incident with Oscar from the day prior.

You were still in Miami for an extra day, spending time with the family. Zak asked you to do a rebuttal interview while you were there, just to even the playing field.

“I’m sure there must be some jealousy from him after yesterday, especially considering the feud you both have had the duration of the season.”

“Uh… yeah. I mean, I know he’s jealous, and he’s got good reason to be. My first year in this car is going really well, I’m sure he can see that. I also think he’s lost his dominant edge. Hard to compete with the other garages when you gotta compete with your own,” you shrugged with a smirk. This was live. You knew he was watching.

Just a little payback for yesterday.

“You’re very confident with your standings, then?”

“Oh yeah, he needs to watch his back,” you finished off, shaking your head in a cocky manner.

“Alright, well that’s all my questions, thank you so much for your time today,” the interviewer wrapped up the conversation, shaking your hand.

“You as well, have a good one.”

And as soon as the camera cut there was a buzz in your back pocket.

You didn’t even have to guess who, you knew it was him before you saw his name or read what the message said.

Watching from the airport… ouch.

You smiled giddily, about to text a reply when you saw the typing bubble appear. You looked around you, making sure no one saw you smiling at your phone like a little kid in Disneyland.

Another message popped up.

For the record, I didn’t believe any of it for a second, I guess you’re not as convincing as I am.

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