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August Rush [02]

Summary: You’ve known Carlos for almost as long as you have been working in Formula One but you never expected it would take you seven years and a concussion to realise that maybe you like him as more than just a friend.

Pairing: Carlos Sainz jr x reader (OFC nicknamed Pip) | Max Verstappen x reader (best friends)

Warnings: None except tooth-rotting fluff

Word count: 4.9k

AN: First of all, THANK YOU so much for all the love the first part got, you have no idea how much that means ♥ I hope you’ll like the next part - it’s pretty slow going (for now) but I like to think I make up for that with heaps of soft and caring Carlos :)

Masterlist

Why don’t you come stay with me?

It seemed like a perfect plan - you’d spend the remainder of your summer break with Carlos in Mallorca where his family has a vacation home, Max would be reassured because you wouldn’t be alone, and you’d happy to spend some more time with an old friend, hopefully enjoying the peace and quiet of the largest of the Balearic islands all while recovering from that tumble you took a few days ago. It would be nice and who knows, it might even be fun.

Well, right now fun isn’t necessarily a word you would use to describe the predicament you find yourself in because after eight hours of relatively calm seas the tides have turned for the worse in the past two hours and the ferry you're on is rocking up and down and left to right on the rough seas surrounding Mallorca. You’re still in your cabin, sitting on the floor with your back against the wall and your eyes tightly closed while listening to a true crime podcast that doesn’t really do anything to distract you but at least provides some background noise.

“Almost there,” you mutter quietly to no one but yourself, hugging your knees closer to your chest. For a moment you debate texting Max but you don’t want him to worry and so you decide against it almost instantly, knowing it’ll be better to wait until you’re back on solid ground again.

A call comes over the intercom then, informing those on board that the captain expects to dock in thirty minutes and asking passengers to return to their vehicles on the garage decks and those on foot to gather in the boarding hall. With a groan you get up, cursing quietly when a sharp pain shoots through your head because you really thought that things would have gotten better after almost four days and so you’re a little frustrated that they haven’t.

You carefully make your way back to the lobby, using the walls for support until you find yourself at the front desk and hand the girl behind it your key back.

She looks at you curiously, “Are you ok, miss?”

You try to smile but you’re a little unsteady on your feet and so you shake your head at her, “It’s a little rough, that’s all.”

“Yes,” she gives you a reassuring smile, “it tends to be a little choppy around here but we’re about to enter the Baia d’Alcúdia, it’s usually a lot calmer there.” She points to a row of chairs behind you then, “If you’d like you can sit down there until we dock.”

“Perfect,” you reply, not missing how relieved you sound, “thank you.”

***

When you get off the ferry about twenty minutes later you’re a little surprised to see it’s still dark outside, the streetlights casting a faint glow over the near-empty parking lot. You’re still nauseous and not really paying attention to your surroundings and so you don’t realise it’s Carlos who’s coming towards you until you almost bump into him at the end of the pier.

“Hey,” he says, holding out his arms for a hug, eyebrows knitting together then when you shake your head at him.

“Rough seas,” you tell him as if that explains it all but then again, it kind of does. You let out a ragged breath and warn him, “I feel like I’m about to throw up.”

Carlos pouts in sympathy but puts his hand on your arm and presses a light kiss to your cheek anyway, “Still, it is good to see you again.” Without asking he takes your suitcase from you and motions towards his car, a red SUV that even in your state you know is going to be fast. He throws you a wink and then, as if he’s read your mind, “I’ll drive slow,”

“Thank you.” It comes out barely above a whisper and you doubt he’s heard you so you clear your throat and try again, “Thank you-” you wait until he’s put your suitcase in the trunk before you continue, “Not just for driving slow but for offering me to stay with you, that’s-”

“Pff,” he waves his hand around dismissively, “don’t worry about it.” He rounds the car then and opens the passenger’s door for you, “I’m actually looking forward to spending some time with you.”

Huh. Your nausea is temporarily forgotten as you try to figure out what exactly he means but before you have the chance to ask him he’s closed the door and is making his way over to the other side of the car. You watch him as he gets in, trying to see if there’s anything in his body language that might give something away even though you’re not sure exactly what it is you’re looking for.

He seems oblivious as he starts the car but there’s a hand on your knee then, giving it a gentle squeeze, and he looks at you with a warm smile, “Just let me know if you need me to stop the car, ok?”

“Yep,” you nod, not missing the sharp pain that shoots through your head at the sudden movement and so you close your eyes and take a deep breath, willing the pain to go away.

Carlos must have seen it though because his hand remains on your knee, “You ok?”

“Hmhm,” you agree half-heartedly. Another deep breath before you open your eyes again, “It’s already heaps better than it was but-” you hesitate when he looks at you like he doesn’t quite believe you. Maybe it’s better to be honest, you think, after all he needs to know what to look out for and so you tell him, “My head still hurts a little throughout the day, and I get these sharp pains whenever I make sudden movements, and when I stand up too quickly I get a little dizzy. Most of all I’m just really tired-”

Carlos doesn’t say anything but the way he tilts his head tells you he’s about to.

“It’s nothing serious,” you offer quickly. “The doctor said it could take anywhere from a few days to a couple of months before I’m back to normal. I just- I have to take each day as it comes basically.”

“Will you promise me something?” He waits until you agree before he continues, “I know you like to downplay your injuries, I mean, remember that time in Austin when-”

“I do,” you tell him with what you hope is a reassuring smile but must seem like more of a grimace, not necessarily wanting to be reminded of the time you ran into one of the Toro Rosso engineers in the garage during qualifying. You took a tumble which resulted in a broken wrist even though you claimed it was nothing more than a bad sprain and held off a hospital visit until the next day when you could barely move your hand because it was so swollen.

“Promise you’ll be honest with me this time?” He looks at you, “Don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not, ok? I can handle it. Just tell me the truth.”

You nod, “I promise.”

“Good,” another gentle squeeze before Carlos pulls his hand back and puts the car in drive. “ Like I said, I’ll drive slow, ok?”

***

Fifteen minutes into the drive you suddenly remember you promised Max you'd send him a text once made it to Alcúdia and so you curse quietly and reach for your phone to make good on your promise.

Carlos says something then but you're a little too lost in thoughts to really listen, "Sorry, what?"

"I said I already texted Max," he says with a smile. "Told him you were a little seasick but otherwise ok."

"You texted Max?" You're not sure why it comes out all loud and squeaky but you don't think Carlos notices it. If he did, he's graceful about it.

"Yes," he says as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "When I called Max yesterday he asked me to keep him updated in case you'd forget."

"You called- Yesterday?"

"Pip-" Carlos looks at you for a second, "You do remember Max and I are friends, right?"

"Yeah-" you draw out slowly, not sure where he’s going with this.

“So I called and asked him if there is anything I should watch out for or-” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal, “-if there’s anything you can’t do just yet.”

“What did he say?” You’re curious now and wouldn’t be surprised if Max told Carlos to keep you on bedrest for the next two weeks.

Carlos grins, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” When you throw him a look he quickly recovers, “Just what you told me earlier, that you still get dizzy sometimes and still have headaches. And that you still sleep a lot.”

“Hmm,” you agree quietly.

“Don’t worry, cariño.” He shoots you a wink, “I will take good care of you.”

***

Even though he keeps his promise from earlier, and almost drives as slow as you'd imagine an old lady would, your nausea is getting worse with each passing minute, the constant twists and turns in the road definitely not helping. When you’ve passed Artà you realise you’re not going to make it and quietly whimper, “I’m gonna be sick.”

Carlos, bless him, understands it’s urgent and pulls over to the side of the road immediately but before he’s even unbuckled his seatbelt you are already out of the car, keeping one hand on the door for support as you bend over and wait for the inevitable. He sounds dangerously close when he asks, “You ok?” and so you wave your free hand in the air to get him to back off as you tell him, “I really don’t need you to see this.”

You hear him scoff, “Pip.” There’s a hand on your back then, rubbing soothing circles, “Did you forget what happened after that end of the season party in Abu Dhabi when we went-”

You let out a groan to get him to stop talking, remembering all too well what happened that night. It earned you a reprimand from Franz and a promise to never let Carlos drink that much ever again.

“I’m just saying we’ve both seen each other looking worse than this,” he tries, speaking more quietly now, “so there’s no need for you to be embarrassed, ok?”

You only hear half of what he’s saying, too focused on your breathing - in through your nose and out through your mouth - even though you know whatever you try now is just delaying the inevitable and-

“There you go,” Carlos says as you deposit a sticky mess into the shrubs next to the road. He’s still rubbing your back and you have to admit it does help a little. “You ok?”

You nod, not trusting your voice right now.

“I’m going to grab you some water, ok?”

You almost whimper at the loss of contact but then quickly run the back of your hand over your mouth, praying you don’t look like the hot mess you feel like. An opened bottle of water appears in your field of vision then, his other hand on your back again but this time supporting you as you stand up and take the bottle from him. You take a hesitant sip, hoping it will stay down, and then one more when it seems it does.

“Feeling better?”

“Not really,” you tell him with an apologetic smile.

“Come on,” Carlos gently puts some pressure on the small of your back with his hand and guides you to the back of the car. The trunk is open and he motions for you to sit down, “We’ll just sit here for a while, no?” He sits down next to you and nudges your shoulder with his as he nods towards his right where the sun has just begun to rise over the mountains, “Look. Mallorca says hello to you.”

***

It takes you about twenty minutes and Carlos distracting you with stories about the summers he spent here with his family before you start to feel better and then another five before you finally think you’re good to get back into the car again. You’re still a little nauseous but you think you’ll be fine for the remaining fifteen minutes Carlos promised there’s left of the drive, even though he tells you he’ll stop ten more times if he has to.

Still, you are grateful when he finally turns off the main road and onto a long driveway lined with pine trees and so you manage a smile when he tells you, “Almost there.”

You can’t help but admire the house and the view that meets you, the blue ocean sparkling in the distance behind it. “It's beautiful here,” you tell him once he's pulled up, earning you a wide smile from Carlos. When you get out of the car you feel yourself getting a little dizzy and so you grab onto the door to steady yourself.

Carlos rushes to your side immediately, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you take a deep breath and close your eyes for a second, trying to regain your balance. “A little dizzy, that’s all.”

“Take your time,” he says with a kind voice. “I will grab your suitcase.”

You let go of the door slowly, a little relieved when the dizziness seems to have disappeared, and so you wait for him to join you again before you let him lead the way towards the house.

“I will give you the grand tour later,” Carlos says from over his shoulder as he opens the front door, “but for now I’ll just show you your room, ok?”

Before you have a chance to reply a very excited Piñon comes bouncing towards you, barking enthusiastically when he sees his owner has brought a guest. With a calm, “Siéntate,” Carlos tells the dog to sit down and Piñon does so immediately.

“Hey buddy,” you coo, greeting the dog with a smile and a pat on his head, letting out a laugh when he drops onto his back for some belly rubs. You’re not sure squatting down is a good idea and so you tell him, “We’ll cuddle later, bud. Promise.” You last saw Piñon when he was a puppy and so you’re a little surprised the dog seems to remember you but if anything you’re glad he does.

“Come on,” Carlos nods towards his right, “let’s get you settled.” You follow him down a long corridor to what is going to be your bedroom for the next two weeks and watch him as he puts your suitcase in front of the wardrobe, a little enamoured when he asks if you need help unpacking.

“That’s ok,” you tell him with a smile. “I can always do that later.”

“Ok,” he opens a second door then, “here’s your bathroom. There’s not bath, just a shower but-”

“That’s fine,” you quickly reassure him.

“I guess I will let you get settled-” Carlos runs a hand through his hair as he looks back at you, “Do you want some breakfast or-”

Just the thought of food makes your stomach turn and after the night you’ve had you know it’s probably better if you try to catch up on some sleep first. You give him an apologetic smile, “Is it ok if I lay down for a bit?”

“Of course.” He smiles, “I’ll probably be in the garden with Piñon but you can always call me if you need me, ok?”

“Yep.”

***

The sound of someone calling your name slowly pulls you out of your sleep but you don’t really want to abandon the nice dream you were having and so you keep your eyes closed, hoping whoever it is will give up eventually. There’s a hand stroking your hair then and now you’re really confused because who the fuck is in the room and why are they touching you? The first thing you see when you open your eyes is Carlos’ face about three inches away from yours and so you whisper, “What are you doing?”

He furrows his brows, “I have to wake you every hour, no?”

“No,” you draw out slowly, your voice soft because this might be the sweetest thing he’s ever done for you and you don’t want him to think you’re making light of the situation, “that was only the first night.”

He looks embarrassed, “Oh.”

“It’s fine,” you quickly tell him with a smile and without thinking you cup Carlos’ cheek with your hand to add some weight to your words. You’re about to pull back, not sure what made you reach out in the first place, but then he leans into your touch and puts his hand over yours and you’re not exactly sure what’s happening but you don’t really want it to stop either.

Carlos lets go then and so you pull your hand back as well, a little relieved when he carries on as if nothing happened, “How are you feeling?”

“A bit better,” you answer truthfully because even though you’re still a little tired, the nausea seems to have disappeared and your head doesn’t hurt as bad either.

“Good enough for some breakfast?”

You nod and watch him as he stands up straight again, “Sounds great.” You can’t help but yawn then, “Maybe give me ten minutes? I’ll go take a quick shower and try to wake up some more.”

***

“So that was inside-” Carlos says as he puts his hand on the small of your lower back and guides you towards the terrace doors. Once you’ve finished breakfast he’s taken you on a tour of the house as promised, showing you what you can find where, while Piñon follows you around with his tail wagging. “Outside you have the garden with the patio-.”

You admire the big garden from where you’re standing on a wooden deck, shielded from the sun by a porch that wraps almost entirely around the house. There are comfortable looking lounge sets placed on either side of the double doors, and you’re not surprised outside has been just as tastefully decorated as inside the house. There’s a small patio a bit further back in the garden, a Wisteria-covered pergola above it, where you can see a large dining table with at least six chairs on either side of it.

“And over there’s the pool,” Carlos says with a nod.

When you look to your right you see a pool large enough to do laps in and you let out a quiet, “Oh wow.”

Carlos pulls back his hand and runs it through his hair, “I know it’s a bit different from Monaco or Faenza, not exactly a busy city but-”

“It’s gorgeous,” you tell him with a smile, thinking about the teeny tiny balcony you have at home. “I wish I had a garden like this.”

“I know this is going to sound stupid, but-” another hand through his hair then as he looks away, “Mi casa really es su casa, Pip. I want you to feel at home here, ok?"

"Thank you."

He throws an arm around your shoulders and pulls you close, "Stop thanking me, cariño. I already told you not to worry about it, no?"

***

You spend the rest of the morning unpacking and getting settled into your room, Piñon occasionally coming to check up on you but never staying for more than a few seconds.

Once you're finished you decide to go find Carlos to see what he's up to but when you get outside and see him doing laps in the pool you figure it might be best to leave him to it. The Formula One summer break isn't really the holiday everyone makes it out to be, the training schedules sometimes even more gruelling than they are during the season, and you know most drivers prefer to stay close to home, and rather take a vacation during the longer winter break, so they can keep up with their workouts.

You snuggle up on one of the lounge chairs close to the house where it's still surprisingly cool thanks to the cover the porch offers, Piñon laying down at your feet almost instantly. You can feel yourself getting sleepy, the last twenty-four hours undoubtedly catching up with you once more, and slowly but surely you drift into a restless sleep filled with dreams you're not sure you'll remember once you wake up.

***

"Pass me the spoon?" Carlos holds out his hand without looking up from the pot he's stirring in, a quiet, "Gracias," escaping him when you hand him what he's asked for.

You watch him from where you're sitting on the counter, more here for moral support than anything else, the dish he's making way too complicated for your skill level. When he holds the spoon in front of your mouth so you can try the sauce you simply lean forward and have a taste, not bothering to take the spoon back from him. "Oh," you shake your head at him, letting out a content sigh. "That is so good!"

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you shoot back with a smile before you push yourself off the counter, "I'll go set-" but when you land on the tiled kitchen floor a sharp pain shoots through the back of your head and so you let out a groan, grabbing on to the kitchen counter for some support as you close your eyes in an futile attempt to lessen the pain.

"Are you ok?" Carlos sounds worried, and close, and so you're not surprised when you feel him cup your face carefully, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. When you don't immediately reply he tries again, "Pip? Talk to me."

He sounds so worried and so you quietly whisper, "Just-" a deep breath then. "Give me a second, ok?" You continue taking deep breaths - in through your nose and out through your mouth - and eventually the pain lessens and you can open your eyes again.

"Hi," Carlos whispers, relief washing over his face. "Welcome back."

"That was a bad one," you admit easily enough.

"Anything I can do?"

You start to shake your head but then think better of him and instead you just tell him, "Not really."

"Come on," he nods towards the living room. "Let's get you on the couch while I finish dinner."

He drops his hands so he can take one of yours into his and then he leads the way, giving your hand a gentle squeeze to get you going. You're still a little unsteady on your feet and put your free hand on his arm for more stability. He doesn't rush, lets you take your time, and when you finally reach the couch he fusses over you and helps you get comfortable, "Try to relax a little, cariño. Dinner isn't ready for another hour anyway."

“Ok.” You give him a weak smile, suddenly feeling absolutely exhausted. When you watch him walk back to the kitchen you have to fight the urge to call after him and ask if maybe he wants to sit with you for a little while because you don’t necessarily want to be alone right now.

It’s weird, you think as you feel your eyes growing heavy, because you’d never even think to ask Max the same thing, the relationship you have with him so different than the one you have with Carlos.

You met both of them at the end of 2014, you the Toro Rosso junior press officer and Max and Carlos the rookie drivers signed on for next season, making them the youngest driver line-up on the starting grid that year.

With Max it was easy, almost instantaneous, both of you wearing your heart on your sleeve and always honest, not just with each other but with everyone else as well. The attitude problem so many people accused him of having never bothered you and pretty quickly you found out that it was just a front anyway. The real Max Verstappen is kind and caring and easily one of your best friends. When he left for Red Bull you stayed in touch, almost spending more time together off track than on, and so it almost feels as if you’ve grown up together over the past seven years, both of you trying to find your way in the Formula One circus.

With Carlos it was different. He came in desperately wanting to prove that he was more than just his famous last name and you often found yourself having to reign him in, a loose cannon that was unpredictable at best. At the same time he thought you were cold and calculated, which only made him rile you up even more. It took until the 2015 Silverstone Grand Prix, when a double retirement meant no points for the team, for you two to become less hostile, the drinks you shared in the hotel bar after the race finally making you open up to each other.

That night, after a few shots, he suddenly turned to you and confessed he was afraid people would always see him as just his father’s son and that he would never live up to the expectations other people had of him. In return you admitted being a woman in such a male-dominated sport, even if it’s just as support staff, could be quite daunting at times which is why you so often refused to back down or give in.

You spent the rest of the evening getting to know each other better and from there on out the friendship just blossomed. For the remaining two years you worked together you really became a team and while you weren’t exactly feared by the press, by then they also knew better than to mess with you because you’d often didn’t need anything more than one look to understand what the other wanted or meant.

When he left for Renault you made him promise to keep in touch and he really took that promise to heart, not shying away from calling or texting you whenever he felt like it. You were one of the first people to find out he got signed by McLaren and then again when he got a seat at Ferrari. Over the years you developed a race week ritual of sorts, where he’d find you in the paddock on Thursdays or Fridays and you’d catch up over a cup of coffee in either your or his team’s hospitality.

The biggest difference, you realise somewhere in your subconsciousness as you drift off to sleep, is that with Max you always try to match his strength while with you allow yourself to be vulnerable with Carlos.

***

"Pip?"

You let out a groan and stretch out, slowly opening your eyes to reveal Carlos squatting next to the couch you fell asleep on.

"Hey," he smiles and brushes some of your hair out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," you croak, your voice a little rough from sleeping. "What time is it?"

Carlos chuckles then, "Almost eight. Dinner has been done for a while but you were so far gone that I figured I'd let you sleep a little longer."

"Hmm," you reply, stretching your arms above your head, relieved when there's no sign of your headache returning. "You must be hungry."

From the way he hangs his head you can tell he's feeling a little guilty and so you don't say anything but instead wait for him to confess to whatever it is he has done even though you have a pretty good idea what it is, "I already had some."

"Oh Carlos," you breathe, trying not to laugh, your hand gently patting his cheek. "I'd be concerned if you hadn't."

"Come on," he stands up and holds out his hand to you so he can help you get up. "Let's go eat."

***

The sun has long set by the time you finish dinner, the fairy lights hanging on the ceiling of the porch casting a warm glow over the small table you and Carlos are sitting at, with Piñon quietly snoring under Carlos’ chair. It’s not even that late but you’re starting to feel tired again and so you throw Carlos an apologetic smile, “I think it’s time for me to head to bed.”

He nods, “Of course.”

“I really hope I won’t be as tired tomorrow,” you offer as you get up and start collecting the empty plates.

Carlos gently swats your hand away, “Leave it. Piñon and I will clean up here, right boy?”

Piñon sits up instantly, tail wagging and ears perched and so you let go of the plates and scratch the dog’s ears instead.

“And don’t worry,” Carlos says with a mischievous smile, “I promise I won’t wake you every hour this time.”

You can’t help but let out a laugh.

He rounds the table then and presses a kiss to your cheek, “Good night, cariño. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep,” you tell him, trying your hardest to ignore the heat rising to your cheeks even though you have a hard time convincing yourself that he has always been this physical and so it doesn’t necessarily mean anything that he kisses you goodnight. “See you tomorrow.”

=====

Notes: Cariño = dear/sweetheart

Tags: @shes-homeward-bound | @chiogarza

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