Monaco, Thursday Night

Jacob was never sure about Monaco. He wasn’t one for parties so the evenings always held a certain unsettling element to them, as his mechanics tried every year to persuade him to leave his room and join them at La Rascasse. It’ll be fun, they said.

The usual polite knock at his door came early evening, just as Jacob had put the kettle on. While being a born New Yorker, he had a distinct addiction to tea (black, no sugar), which he suspected stemmed from the long and frequent rain delays during GP2 races while he’d been in Europe. His teammate back then had been British and now Jacob thinks back, hadn’t had a very high opinion of the seventeen year old American, and so had decided to teach him the English way of tea.

“Jacob, it’s me,” drifted Valerie’s voice from outside the front door. Down the hallway in the kitchen, Jacob paused and turned the kettle off again.

“Jacob, we’re going down to La Rascasse for a few drinks, I thought you might want to come,” she called, but he couldn’t work out whether her tone was sarcastic or hopeful.

Maybe she’ll think I’m in bed.

It’s only 6pm, you idiot.

Jacob opened his mouth to call back but couldn’t find any words, so irritably set his mug back down on the glass counter and desperately glanced around himself, clicking his tongue as he tried to think of a way out.

If he was looking for escapement inspiration he was disappointed, as he knew he would be, as the flat he was staying in was largely empty. It belonged to his uncle Robert, who was often away on business and had only acquired the flat recently. The lack of furniture or generally anything useful was, Jacob thought, a combination of his uncle’s occasionally lazy nature and lack of time to spend on things like furnishing a house in Monte Carlo.

Valerie knocked on the door again.

Almost tripping over the boxes piled up along the bright and open hallway, Jacob reluctantly made his way to the door. He could hear a giggle from the other side as he audibly tripped on the doormat, gritting his teeth as he opened the latch.

“Valerie, you know I don’t-“ words caught in his throat as he saw his race engineer was dressed in the smartest (and shortest) black dress he had ever seen her in, fabric glossy in the evening sunlight streaming down onto the porch, her dark hair tied elegantly up.

“You look lovely,” he managed to croak out. Jesus, she’s your race engineer, get a grip.

“Thanks, Jake,” she answered brightly, glancing down, and Jacob realised with more than slight embarrassment that he was only wearing boxers and a white shirt he’d dug out his case this afternoon. Instinctively he tried to close the door but Valerie put a hand on the wood to stop him.

“Have you brought a suit?”

“Val, this is me you’re talking to,” Jacob replied blankly, not even sure why she was asking.

She frowned and promptly invited herself in, breezing past him in twelve inch heels. He suddenly noticed she was now exactly his height and it unnerved him.

While it was mid-May, there was still a breeze in the air and Jacob shut the door with a shiver and a last doubtful glance down the small street on the edge of town. It was deserted, as it usually was on the Thursday night before a race.

“Look, you’ve got a jacket in here.”

Jacob turned around and was dumbstruck to see Valerie holding up a black suit jacket, having just opened the wall wardrobe on the far side of his room, directly on the left in the hallway. Although he wasn’t entirely surprised: Valerie had never had any qualms about sorting through his stuff. He’d even been stupid enough to let her pack for him once, in a rather hurried departure from his own flat in NY, the cause of which was a bad hangover (Jacob didn’t like parties) and a broken alarm clock, the consequence of which was arriving at Spa only one hour before FP1. He had been lucky Valerie had come looking for him.

That awful morning floated in front of his eyes and, slightly panicked, he rushed into his room and grabbed the jacket from her with gritted teeth. “Yes, that’s the same one you tried to put me in for Amber Lounge last year-“

“That was fun!” she laughed, but let him take it. “So are you coming then?”

Jacob sighed, still instinctively trying to make himself more presentable by holding the jacket in front of him and failing. “I’m tired, the car was being difficult this morning-“

“Jake,” she tutted, turning back to the wardrobe and digging out some black trousers, a belt and white shirt, “I was there, remember? I was the one that spotted the exhaust issue, remember?”

That morning in second practice, Jacob’s McLaren had coughed and died next to the swimming pool, not the most ideal place to park an F1 car on the streets, and consequently his session had been cut short with an hour to go. FP1 had been peppered with rain. All in all, not a very successful day, he thought glumly.

“Oh for god’s sake, Jake,” she snapped suddenly, shoving the clothes into his arms, “Go get dressed and come out looking happier, please.”

She left his room, heels clicking on the polished wood, snapping the door shut behind her.

Jacob wasn’t sure what to do, but when his race engineer ordered him to do something, he usually took her advice, so it was hard not to do the same here. He was pleased to find the suit fit him just as well as it had done last year.

“I don’t have any sh-“ he pointed out as he emerged into the hallway, buttoning the top of his shirt up and slipping the jacket over. Valerie had produced a pair of black shoes from nowhere and the last flicker of hope in Jacob’s chest died, finally accepting he was being forced out to a party.

Wait how did this happen? I’ve managed to refuse every year before this.

Granted, this is only my third time in Monaco, second in F1.

First for McLaren.

Hardly believing what he had just been persuaded to do, Jacob hastily put a comb through his messy hair, locked up the flat and followed Valerie into the street. He was impressed she strode the whole twenty minute walk down the hills without falling over in heels which looked thinner than his front wing.

“Ahh, Val, you got him!” Joe, one of Jacob’s best mechanics, turned as he and Valerie neared the growing throng of people at La Rascasse. Jacob had felt, as usual, the strange tension as they’d stepped onto the first stretch of track earlier in the road, like they weren’t meant to be there, and he didn’t liked it. He felt no more comfortable as they passed the countless bars along the side of the barriers, past where his car had given up on him that morning, and began to weave between the dinner tables set out on the tarmac. Jazz was playing from somewhere. The golden sunlight was just about beginning to fade from the top of the hillsides and the street was now in shadow.

“Nice suit,” Joe noted appreciatively (Jacob thought he heard a tone of surprise too) as Jacob hesitantly sat at the table his mechanics had occupied, while Valerie continued on through the crowd. “Armani?”

Jacob had no idea so he gave a small laugh and nodded, shrugging at the same time.

“Hey, Jacob.”

He turned slightly to see his teammate’s engineer, Marcus, looking at him somewhat seriously, and he raised his eyebrow.

“Raven was looking for you earlier. He said he needed to talk to you about something,” Marcus said, shrugging as Jacob opened his mouth to enquire what about. “I don’t know, I think he’s down by the harbour if you want to find him.”

Jacob tightened his lips slightly, but got up all the same, and managed to leave the table without Joe noticing. He sighed to himself as he squeezed inbetween two groups of men standing by the bar in the street and went back the way he’d came down the tarmac. He caught sight of Valerie making her way back to the table with drinks and felt slightly guilty about leaving as soon as he’d arrived, but shook his head and continued walking across the track down to the harbour.

As he strode down the edge of the restaurants, Jacob felt his stomach tighten slightly, half with curiosity and half with a sense of unease at what his teammate, Raven Sanderson, could possibly need to tell him.

There is always a certain line of division between two drivers in a team: a point at which the two men stop sharing information and focus on trying to beat the other. It is a dangerous line which also determines the extent of strong teamwork to bring the best possible results for everyone.

This line within McLaren was a sharp and painful one, certainly one that the team boss, Jessica Canter, tried desperately to hide from the press. She did a pretty good job of it, Jacob always thought, but the occasional story still leaked through.

Jacob hadn’t had an easy ride into McLaren. He’d got his first break into F1 with Force India two years ago- his first season had been steady but unremarkable. However, Force India agreed to keep him for another year.

Jacob was adamant he would not be put down and turned his determination into race results: he put his Force India on the podium four times out of the first six races.

Then, as the media began to grow wild over him, halfway through FP2 at Silverstone, a McLaren representative approached him with an offer.

It was unheard of. A top team like McLaren was not expected to replace one of their drivers midway through a season.

But it happened, and after a terrifying hour alone in the Force India meeting room, Jacob made his decision and joined McLaren for the remainder of the year.

The lulling mix of jazz and good natured conversation faded from Jacob’s ears as he walked slowly down one of the little side streets that eventually led to the harbourside. He felt calmer away from the tarmac and sighed with relief, breathing in the salty air and letting it fill his lungs. As he emerged onto the deserted walkway that dropped off into the gleaming waters of Monaco Bay, Jacob realised, not for the first time, how lucky he was to be driving in F1.

While he wasn’t sure what he was looking for, he quickly spotted his tall black-haired teammate, Raven Sanderson, halfway down the jetty. As usual, two of his engineers were leaning on the mooring posts next to him, deep in conversation with the world champion. 

Raven kept himself to himself, in general, and Jacob was grateful for it. He’d never been particularly apt at the whole working-with but working-against balance within motorsport, and other than his year in GP2 he’d never been friends with his team mates. Raven was five years older than him and had experience in almost every field of racing- Jacob admired his attention to detail greatly. Raven got the job done, whatever it was.

However, there was, of course, the factor of the man Jacob replaced at McLaren.

Callum Sanderson and Raven Sanderson were almost identical in appearance and had similarly excellent talent in racing between them. For them, it made sense that they would both drive for McLaren, so they did.

When Jacob replaced Raven’s brother, he was sure McLaren had made a massive mistake. To destroy the balance within a team like that, when they were right at the top, fresh from Raven winning the championship the year before, was motorsport suicide.

But somehow they managed it, and managed to maintain their success.

Jacob began to get a little nervous as he strode across the gleaming wood.

Raven, either deliberately or not, didn’t turn until Jacob was a few metres away, his sharp eyes for once harbouring slight concern.

“Jacob,” he nodded in acknowledgement, and his two engineers smiled slightly as Jacob shifted his weight uneasily. “I guess Marcus told you to find me?”

“Er, yeah.” Raven usually gets straight to the point. What does he want this time?

“I think…” he paused, which was an usual occurrence from the British-born champion. “There’s something you need to know.”

“What is it?” Jacob frowned.

Another pause.

Jacob supposed this was a reflection on how difficult their relationship was, although he’d never seen Raven this uncomfortable before. The two engineers ignored their conversation almost completely, as if they were on their own.

“I can’t… I can’t tell you.”

Right.

“Okay,” Jacob answered slowly. If it were anyone else he was talking to he’d be pretty irritated by now, but he’d never seen Raven like this before so it must be important.

Raven tightened his lips, his eyes hardening and he seemed to make a decision.

“I can’t tell you, it’s not mine to tell.” He took a deep breath, brow furrowing a little between his eyes. “I know we don’t consider each other as friends but I am your team mate and sometimes there are things that are more important than past events so I need to do this.”

The whole sentence was rather rushed and Jacob was astonished. Raven was renowned for choosing his words extremely carefully, especially when under pressure.

“I can’t tell you but you need to find Jessica and ask her.”

“Ask her what?” Jacob was too astounded to slide any irritable sort of tone into his reply.

“Just ask her.”

And that was it. Raven turned his back determinedly on Jacob, instantly starting up his previous conversation about tyre pressure with his engineers like nothing had happened.

Jacob’s heart was running just that little bit faster than normal.

As he made his way back to the streets and the tarmac he was beginning to dread, he began to feel sick and prayed he’d make it to his team bosses’ office before he threw up.

Taking a quick decision he avoided the street parties and headed straight for the paddock.

Moments later he arrived, panting like he’d just driven two grand prix in three minutes, at his team’s engineering offices building.

It was quiet and calm around the team motorhomes, away from the chatter of the bars at the circuit, but Jacob’s head was messy with panic.

What would Jess tell him and not me?

Have I done something wrong?

Have the media started a scandal?

Have-

His turbulent thoughts were interrupted by the sound of angry yelling from the windows above his head. He looked up and squinted.

He couldn’t make anything out so flung open the glass door and launched himself up the silver stairs as quietly as he could. One at a time, don’t trip, whatever you do don’t-

He promptly smashed into someone at the top, swearing under his breath and staggering for a foothold on something.

“Valerie?” he hissed, rubbing his head, which had apparently made contact with her shoulder. She looked furious at being barrelled into, which Jacob could understand, but his nerves were so stretched by this point he hardly cared. “What the hell are you-“

“Shh, I’m trying to listen,” she spat back, crouching a few feet away from him, in front of Jessica Canter’s main office door. She was still in heels and Jacob wondered how she managed it.

Jacob crawled forwards.

“How come you’re up here?” he whispered as he squatted painfully on the other side of the door.

“Came to talk to Jess about your front wing update,” she muttered. “But I think…” Valerie cast me a wary glance. “I think Callum’s lawyers are in there.”

“What?”

“Shh!”

Jacob and his engineer put their ears to the door carefully. His heart slammed against his chest.

“…isn’t what you said last year.” Jessica’s voice. She sounds stressed. Shit.

“But it’s what we’re telling you now,” came a man’s voice, Scottish accent, tight and perfectly pronounced. “BP had a contract for six months that was supposed to be renewed four days after you dropped our client in favour of Mr Jackson. You terminated the contract before the given date without BP’s permission and therefore our client’s situation was put at risk.”

“This wasn’t in the papers I was given last year.” Jacob thought he could hear a distinct note of desperation in his bosses’ voice.

“It was, Mrs Canter,” another male voice replied crisply. “Our client, however, failed to notice the terms in which his contract with McLaren had been agreed. He now, however, understands that he was mistreated and will be pursuing the issue under court of law. Unless our terms are agreed today.”

Jacob glanced at his race engineer nervously and she slowly shook her head. She apparently didn’t understand what was going on either.

“I can’t do this to him,” Jessica said quietly after a long pause.

Jacob held his breath.

“I can’t replace one of our drivers again, do you understand how hard I’ve worked to stop this team collapsing?” Jacob heard the familiar furious tone in Jessica’s words but it didn’t reassure him.

“Mrs Canter.”

Jacob squinted and he thought he could hear a piece of paper being slid across a table.

“The contract, within which are the terms of Mr Jackson’s termination as number two driver of McLaren, and Callum Sanderson’s reinstitution as number two driver.”

All Jacob could see was Valerie’s horrified expression. Blood pounded in his ears as he struggled to comprehend what they had just overheard.

This is not happening.

“I’m very sorry to disappoint you but I can’t sign this,” Jessica said, loudly and firmly.

A small sigh from both men.

“Your choice, Mrs Canter. We will be back within a month to start the legal process and take you and your team to court.”

Jessica said nothing.

“We are aware of the family relationship between your number one driver and our client-“

“He’s his brother, jesus christ,” Jessica hissed.

“-between your number one driver and our client,” one lawyer repeated stonily, “and so have informed Raven Sanderson of the court proceedings if we so wish to call him to witness.”

“You are not going to tear my team apart.”

Jacob felt a wave of pride wash through the numbness in his brain.

“Mrs Canter, we only wish to bring justice to our client.”

“Get out of my office.”

Jacob was suddenly hauled round the corner by a desperate Valerie as she realised they’d be caught once the door opened. They collapsed out of sight of Jessica’s office door just as it swung open and two men in suits carrying briefcases began to descend down the stairs. They disappeared through the door.

“Jake,” Valerie whispered, stunned.

Jacob said nothing and scrambled to his feet, almost tumbling down the stairs but steadying himself.

“Jessica?” He swung himself around her open door to see her sat at her desk, head on her folded hands, eyes closed.

She opened her eyes slowly.

“You weren’t meant to hear any of that.”

He didn’t reply. He suddenly felt very, very vulnerable, as if someone had put him in the middle of a busy highway with a broken leg. Everything in front of his eyes was moving too slowly.

“But you did, am I right? Did you hear all of it?” his team boss seemed strangely calm and Jacob wondered how she could possibly be so composed.

“I heard enough,” he swallowed. Oh god. This is not happening to me.

“What are you going to do about it?” Valerie stepped in, frowning at Jessica. Jacob, as much as he was terrified and frozen to the core, nudged his race engineer in the ribs in a gesture for her to shut up.

There was a long and painful pause.

Jacob thought his career was over.

Asshole, wait a minute, nothing’s been done yet. Just like qualifying last and be expected to win. Wait a minute.

“I have fought too hard and for too long to let these bastards take it from me now,” Jessica hissed. “To let them take it from us. Jake,” she looked Jacob straight in the eyes and he stood that little bit taller, “have you ever been taken to court before?”

Thursday night in Monaco, what has happened to me in order to hear that question?

“No, I haven’t,” he replied hoarsely.

“Well I have. It’s messy, Jake,” she said grimly. “But we’ll do it. I don’t have another choice.”

“You could get rid of me,” Jacob said croakily before he could stop himself.

Now it was Valerie’s turn to jab him in the ribs. “Shut it,” she hissed, and he felt a hint of affection for his engineer creep through the terror.

Jessica frowned. “Jacob Jackson, you really are stupid sometimes. You’re staying here, Callum is not coming anywhere near us.”

He still couldn’t relax, his heart drumming against his chest and he tried to swallow, his throat dry.

“Are you sure?”

“For the love of god, Jake, of course she’s sure,” Valerie snapped at him. Jacob thought for a moment she was going to slap him and braced for impact. “Stop being such an idiot, we’re your team.”

“Valerie is right, I’m not going to give in just because he throws some lawyers with pieces of paper at me,” Jessica frowned even deeper. “Are you in? I can’t do this without your help.”

All Jacob could think about was the press conference on the Sunday after he’d taken Jessica’s offer to join McLaren.

‘Jacob, do you think McLaren is the right place for you? After a smaller team like Force India?’

‘Yes,’ he had answered. ‘It already feels like a family. I was ready to take the next step in my career and this team will help me achieve it.’

‘So you’re not thinking of moving again anywhere else at the end of the year?’

‘Well I can’t say much now, but no, I would like to stay here.’ He had paused for a moment. ‘Yes, I’d like to stay here.’

He looked at his race engineer’s half angry half desperate face, then back to his team boss.

“Yeah, I’m in.”

Lessons in Pain and Apologies

The press will have a field day.

This was the first and only thought that blinked through Callum Sanderson’s electric mind as the car spun. Light turned white then red then black before his eyes as everything changed in an instant- burning rubber. His instincts told him he’d been stabbed or shot or been smashed in the side of the head with an axe because the pain was surely going to kill him. Wet eyelids and cold skin.

Then everything froze. There was no sound. Panic tore its way through the pain as he realised he couldn’t breathe- he could taste metal against his lips.  Opened his eyes but still the blackness.

He knew he had to get out because of the fire. Was there even fire? He couldn’t see anything but he could smell the rubber. His skin felt even colder as he tried to move his hands and found they were trapped, under what, he had no idea. Bad. That’s the word they always use. This is bad.

The clock started to tick inside his head.

Arms. No longer paying attention to the piercing pain that itched his skin, he ripped his right hand from under whatever was clamping it, an involuntary moan pushing against the metal on his lips. Hardly knowing what he was doing, he tried to lift his arm out of the mangled chassis to try and attract attention. Terrifying whirlwinds of images flashed at him- what if he was left there? What if no one came? What-

He felt his stomach drop fifty feet as his world shifted again- he noticed the sky was a crushed green.

Something gripped his hand again and he would have screamed in shear agony had it not been for the cold clamped against his mouth. Then yet again everything flipped, his head felt like it was going to shatter.

Callum? Can you hear me?

Wait.

The air felt cool on his lips.

Callum snapped his eyes open and felt his shoulders drop with relief that he could see again. He could breathe and nothing had ever felt better. He wasn’t trapped in his cage; the world was open and breeding vulnerability.

“Callum.”

Tipping his head back and instantly regretting it, he groaned as he tried to make sense of where he was. He was out of the car, he knew that much. And someone had sat him upright in a chair- bright white occupied his grateful vision. Eyelids flickering haltingly. As he swallowed he tasted metal again, this time blood.

“Where…” he rasped, gulping down the air like they were his first ever breaths. He was now aware of the woman sat opposite him and recognised her as someone from the medical team on track, but he couldn’t remember her name and instantly felt guilty. “What’s…” he tried to choke out, but she handed him some water and he instinctively drank.

“Morgan and Harrison are on their way, they were held up-”

Time seemed to elongate at annoying times and Callum frowned, wanting her to complete the sentence.

“-another incident at turn seven.”

“Same lap?” he managed to force out. She nodded somewhat slower than usual.

“You spun on turn two and hit the barrier.”

He nodded blindly, sure that he was going to throw up. He noticed she had pretty brown eyes, whoever she was.

Wait.

“He hit me?” his tongue was painfully dry and his blood ran cold.

The woman sat opposite him hesitated and paused for the longest pause Callum had ever seen. While she looked at him carefully as if wondering whether he was in any fit state to hear this information, he also noticed they were in the small medical office above the pit lane here at Interlagos. He wondered how they’d got him there.

“Yes, he hit you.”

“Hurt?” he was sure she’d know what he was trying to get out.

“No, he’s fine. They red flagged it, he’s-“

Before she could say another word, Callum gritted his teeth, prepared for the pain and promptly stood up. He had known before forcing his leg muscles to work that he would not be able to walk very well because he’d had a crash like this before. Nothing was broken, he knew that now, but everything still screamed like fire as the adrenalin of shock pulsed through his veins.

“Callum,” the woman mirrored his actions but he ignored her gentle attempts to get him to sit down again. He knew where he was going and by god he was going to get there.

“Callum,” she cried louder, panicking that he was opening the office door. He could no longer hear her but his determination wavered for a fleeting second as he noticed his right hand was laced with gleaming red, still sticky. Shrugging it off he flung open the door with newfound strength and staggered out into the corridor.

Morgan was the chief medical officer, he definitely remembered that. Harrison was his boss at Red Bull Racing but he had no desire to see him right now.

Again, as he stumbled as quickly as he could down the brightly lit passageway, he shifted both of his arms and knew they weren’t broken. Okay so maybe his rib was broken, his chest was sucking in on itself, but he could feel it was nowhere near his lungs so he could deal with that. It had been a bad crash and he was sure it would be good to watch on the replay later but right now he had something more important to do.

He fell down the stairs rather than walked, but he no longer cared. Callum knew that when the adrenalin started to fade, more pain would take its place so he had to move quickly- and Harrison would no doubt try to stop him before he got to the McLaren garage.

Ragged breathing in his ears, he finally emerged into the bright Brazilian sun but didn’t pause, throwing himself between the pale trailers and ignoring the shocked gazes of team staff as the blood soaked driver in RBR overalls hurled down the tarmac.

His head was a mess and all he saw when he blinked was the few seconds he remembered before the black. The bright glitter of a fearsome white tiger, otherwise known as a McLaren, snarled inches away from his right eye as it tried to take him on the inside. After that, the world accelerated and shattered.

Barely thinking, Callum tore past his own garage, dodging the tyres and other equipment cluttering the asphalt.

“Sanderson!” he heard Harrison’s familiar roar from behind him. Don’t stop.

Clicking of cameras like mosquitos nibbled his ears and he gritted his teeth, swallowed sand.

The electricity in his blood had carried him this far but now it ran cold- thankfully he collapsed in the right garage.

Thousands of bees scribbled and mumbled in the air around him and people surrounded him as he staggered to his feet-

“Raven!”

Callum let loose the angry yell and the bees went silent.

He wanted to tell all the people around him to move away, he felt trapped again and took deep breaths. Don’t punch him.

The blood roared in his head and heart thumped against his chest as the crowd parted. Russet eyes identical to his own met Callum’s gaze.

“Jesus, Cal.”  His brother stared at him in shock. “You look bad.”

Now he was finally here with the person he wanted to kill directly in front of him, Callum lost the ability to talk or make decisions and simply stood there, drops of blood rolling slowly down his forehead.

“I was going to head straight over, Morgan said they’d taken you to the office upstairs, but I had to bring the car back,” Raven Sanderson continued, somewhat shakily.

Callum couldn’t say anything.

“Boys,” Harrison suddenly appeared behind him and shoved him not-too-delicately forwards and grabbed Raven’s arm on the way, dragging them both from the view of all the press gaggled excitedly around the entrance.

“The fuck are you doing, Callum,” his team boss hissed at him, producing two chairs from nowhere and forcing the two brothers to sit opposite each other in the back of the deserted garage. Callum knew he must be annoyed because he didn’t swear like that very often. “You need to be in hospital, look at you.”

For perhaps only the second time that afternoon, Callum looked down and tried to assess his injuries. Okay, maybe it was a few broken ribs; the stabbing pain was really starting to kick in now. Most of the skin on his right hand was bloody and raw and he winced, despite himself.

“Cal, look at me,” his brother said quietly.

He snapped his head up, hearing his neck crack. Raven sat there, arms crossed over his McLaren overalls, looking almost identical to him- the same wide eyes and tousled mousy hair, the only difference being a slightly tighter jawline and thinner eyebrows.

“You tried to take the inside,” Callum managed to force out, yet again feeling like he was going to throw up. He closed his mouth.

“The hell does it matter,” Harrison snapped, but Callum didn’t take his eyes off his brother. “I’m not even supposed to be in here- I’m going to get Morgan. Raven, keep this idiot here.”

Then he promptly left.

They sat in silence for a moment. Callum let his shoulders drop and he sank deeper into the chair, the dizziness and nausea really setting in.

“You tried to take the inside,” he repeated again, his words slurring. Pause. “Stupid.”

“I thought we said we wouldn’t talk in our overalls if this happened,” Raven said. Callum saw his gaze travel down to his hand.

“If you…” Callum paused to spit blood out of his mouth, grimacing. He must have bitten his tongue with the impact. “You mean if you hit me.”

“I mean if either of us hit each other. We’re still in our team colours; I thought we said we wouldn’t talk. My god, Cal, look at you,” he repeated, another string of panic breaking into his voice.

“Say it.” Callum muttered through his teeth.

Raven tightened his lips and for a moment Callum thought he was going to punch him and braced for the impact.

“Sorry. It was stupid.”

Callum narrowed his eyes and waited for his hammered brain to process his brother’s tone of voice. Silence for a moment. He decided it was as genuine as Raven ever was with apologies.

“Ok.” He hadn’t got any energy to say anything else but dimly nodded.

Most of the anger had left him, or rather; his body was refusing to hold onto the rage energy from before. It hurts, he thought numbly to himself, black and red blotches flickering in his vision.

“D’you want me to change and we can talk about it?” Raven paused. “On the way to the hospital.”

Callum hated hospitals.

“S’kay,” he mumbled. His thoughts were clearing ever so slightly and he started to remember where he was- a Red Bull driver in the McLaren garage was not ideal. The two teams had grown used to the two brothers over the past two years, but some things were still awkward. The time Raven had accidentally walked in on the new RB14’s front wing and Harrison had threatened to tie him to a chair and never let him out of the factory if he talked. They tried their best to keep only the most necessary of secrets from each other. It didn’t always work.

“Well at least you don’t have to fix your car,” Raven attempted to keep a straight face and coughed to cover up his laugh. It took a moment for Callum to focus on his words. Last race of the season, you don’t need it anymore.

“Shut up,” he managed to say, half grinning, before blissfully sinking into blackness.