Just smile and you'll be fine

Another race day, another podium.

As Jacob Jackson jogged up those fateful stairs, heart drumming wildly against his chest, he wondered miserably whether it would be worse than last time.

He was used to fake smiling now. Beaming at the race girls who stood, applauding and giving almost equally fake grins back, at the top of the set of steps, he desperately tried to block every single thought out of his head. Just smile and you’ll be fine, Valerie had told him.

The room. There was probably a name for this room but Jacob no longer thought about it, it was just the room. His body was refusing to work properly again, his legs felt like thin strips of paper and fingers fumbled as he hurriedly put on the watch they were supposed to wear.

This isn’t how this is supposed to happen dimly floated through his head. I should be happy.

Time irritatingly slowed down. A camera was hovering nearby but he ignored it the best he could, trying to act like a driver who had just come second should act. He was just being handed a cap when the source of his grief bounced into the room.

He looked exhausted, but excitedly so- his eyes gleamed with delight, his usually tidy black hair was messy and dripping with rain. He had unclasped the neck strap on his crimson Ferrari overalls and waved cheerfully at the camera as he bounded over to the table next to Jacob.

Jacob’s stomach now seemed to fall to the floor with a heavy thud and he desperately willed himself not to collapse. Don’t say anything, just pretend to fix the watch-

“That was brilliant,” the Ferrari driver said breathlessly, and Jacob saw him reach for a watch out of the corner of his eye.

Just ignore him, he’s not talking to you. Then Jacob realised that the third member of their podium, Gilles Lanier, hadn’t yet entered the room. Oh.

“Yeah, shame about the rain,” words tumbled out of Jacob’s mouth without him thinking. As usual the adrenaline that was still surging through his body kept his voice steady.

As the Ferrari driver fitted the cap on his drenched hair he grinned.

He’s waiting for you to say something else-

“What was it, lap 34 I think, started to aquaplane-“ he began, not really sure where he was going, but was interrupted anyway.

“Yes, pretty good, where’s Gilles?” He was still adjusting his cap, and whirled to look at the doorway, droplets of rain peppering Jacob’s neck as he did so.

“Always late, the French,” Jacob attempted a laugh but had to hastily turn it into a cough. He willed with all his heart that time would go faster and Gilles would appear in the doorway so they could get this over with. What you just said makes no sense, you fool.

His brain was already over analysing every single moment that had occurred in that room so far. The Ferrari driver had his back to him and the cameras were focused somewhere else, so for a few painful seconds he could close his eyes, try and be back on the circuit again. Blissfully, he could still hear the screaming of the engines and the bullets of water hitting his helmet if he listened hard enough and shut his eyes tight enough.

Thankfully the Mercedes Frenchman appeared at the doorway, looking vaguely irritated to have been held up by press, and within a few moments all three of them were ushered outside.

The weather seemed to agree with the awful pit that had formed in Jacob’s stomach, and it was still raining, the podium steps gleaming in the dull late afternoon light. Easily drowning out the noise of the water hammering on the surfaces was the mass of screaming fans down below.

Everything was a blur. Like it always was. He was standing on one side of the Ferrari driver- he could see the Ferrari mechanics down below, cheering and screaming and being generally beside themselves. It was their fourth podium out of six races so far in the season; they had reasons to be happy.

It was Jacob’s third time up there this year, and McLaren’s fourth. He could also make out his own mechanics through the lashing rain, mainly Valerie beaming and Joe yelling at the top of his lungs, at the barriers. Suddenly his heart lifted and he so badly wanted to jump down there with them, but instead he gave a wave and thumbs up back to them, his grin not entirely faked this time.

The German national anthem began, well known as being one of the longest on the podium, which was part of the reason Jacob disliked it so much. As soon as he took his eyes off his team, they immediately flicked to glance at the driver stood on the top step.

Stoermer Vonich, his name was. He was quickly becoming a strong and respected driver, easily one of the fastest on the grid and a fiery determination that not many could match. He was only twenty three years old, one year older than Jacob, and he had already driven for three teams and had sixteen podiums under his belt, having only been in F1 for three years.

Jacob blinked the rain out of his eyes, adjusting the cap on his head and fixing his gaze somewhere in the distance, above the heads of the crowd, but the rain dripping constantly off the brim of his hat distracted him. He stole another glance to his right. Stoermer was standing with his chin up and eyes closed, hands clasped behind his back, a truly satisfied and relieved smile playing on his lips, as the anthem went on.

It was difficult, racing against someone you love.

It was also difficult for Jacob to keep the grin on his face, glaring hard into the distance through the sheets of grey water. He hated being up there. Formula One was a glorious sport in which one could avoid a lot of people quite easily. He never had to talk to him on the grid, always avoided him around the paddock and when occasionally he was shoved into a press conference with him, it was quite easy to ignore the crimson cap and black hair in the row in front.

But on the podium, it was unavoidable to recognise the other drivers. Impossible not to at least share a few words about the race, impossible to not at least glance in the other’s direction, impossible to ignore the other’s existence.

To Jacob, podiums were a reminder of what he could never have.

Of course, it would be quite easy to avoid podiums all together. But he was a racing driver, it was physically impossible for him to not do the best he could, get the best out of the car and try for wins. It was what they lived for. But when Jacob had been given a seat at McLaren last season, falling in love was a complication he had not anticipated.

As the anthem ended, there were the trophies, then the inevitable champagne. Jacob moved and laughed and grinned instinctively, letting his body do the work and trusting himself to behave perfectly naturally. He had to. The only one who even had any idea that he was unfortunately in love with a Ferrari driver was Valerie, and while he trusted her completely, he could not afford to let slip anything else. Press followed him almost every waking moment of his life.

He wasn’t even sure if it was love. Love was a weird word to him, something that didn’t quite describe what was happening but it was the closest thing he could think of. As the champagne sprayed and cheers and yells from the crowd reached his ears, he caught a glimpse of Stoermer grinning through the rain. Their eyes met for a fleeting second, and Jacob felt like he was being stabbed in the chest, then it passed.

It probably wasn’t love. The last time he had had an actual long conversation with him had been four weeks ago, in Monaco- Stoermer had asked him what he liked to do outside of racing, while they were in the press circle after qualifying. They got chatting about cooking (Jacob had no idea how the topic had sprung up, he didn’t even like cooking), then someone from Sky Sports had grabbed Stoermer and dragged him away to be interviewed.

No, it was something else, Jacob thought dimly as they left the podium and the rain and headed for the conference room. Occasionally he told himself that it couldn’t be love, and then he would suddenly hope that he could just ignore it.

There was another moment in the corridor, with Stoermer walking just in front of him, where he could let his smile fade a little. It was still hard to believe he was only inches away from him, yet he could never tell him. It would probably ruin him, cost him his seat (not that he thought McLaren would particularly dislike him for it, but they’d have extra pressures and he’d probably quit anyway, rather than put them through that) and not to mention shame Stoermer for the near future of his career.

A little niggling thought at the back of his mind started to ask him the question that he wanted more than anything to know the answer to. But what if he-

They filed into the press conference room, the cameras turning towards them. Fake expression back on. Just smile and you’ll be fine.

---

I've sort of gone a bit mad with the planning for all of this. I've written out most of the drivers, their teams, main mechanics/ team principles and everything. :/ This fic joins on to my other one, and I think any F1 writing I do in the future will be part of this universe :) It's so fun to write, even though I have no idea what I'm really doing and I don't think it's very good. 

Anyway yeah, this was great fun, I'd really appreciate comments if you have the time :)