Chapter Text
CHAPTER ONE
Miami Grand Prix, 2022
“- and blimey, did you see the fake marina? Unbelievable! I thought it was a joke when I heard about it! How do you build a marina and don’t put any water in it?”
“Yes, George, that’s what fake means,” Alex Albon pointed out.
Recognisable voices were instantly audible when Sebastian arrived at the launch event, scattered pieces of conversation filling the air, the large room backstage full and brimming with energy. Not a huge surprise that the majority of the drivers seemed to be there already, as well as the team principals. Media, press relations officers and a lot of cameras completed the picture. Global success and skyhigh viewership translated into additional opportunities for profit. An increase of investment from the Americans was a well known target and ambition of Liberty and FOM. Everyone had their roles to play.
The opening party for the Miami Grand Prix would resemble a driver's parade, Britta had told him beforehand. They were about to be briefed on it, but essentially, it would feature a stage and individual introductions for the drivers, as well as team principals, in a more unusual format. Obviously, most would just go through the motions and claim in front of the cameras how excited they were to be there. He could see Gunther Steiner giving an interview to Lawrence Barreto in a corner of the room; the usual suspects would bask in the attention.
In short, in Sebastian's opinion, a bloated, expensive, tacky driver's parade, on a stage that was not made of tarmac and several days before the actual driver's parade. He hoped it was worth it for the fans.
Making eye contact with people as he walked with Britta alongside, he nodded in acknowledgment and noticed pairs of eyes lowering to his t-shirt. Reactions varied, as expected. He made a point of poking Daniel as he passed the McLaren drivers. They were filming an interview for what seemed to be content for the team and the Australian was quick to turn around and greet him affectionately, as Lando spoke.
“All good?” Sebastian smiled at him.
Daniel widened his eyes as he glanced around, encompassing the whole environment. “This is wild.”
Sebastian shrugged and patted his shoulder, walking on and immediately catching sight of Franz Tost. Beaming, he abandoned Britta to make a beeline for him. He placed his hands on his former team principal’s shoulders from behind and leaned over to exclaim in his ear. “Finally they give you a stage and the spotlight!”
Franz turned with a smile on, and studied him head to toe, without batting an eyelash. “Isn’t that shirt too big for you?”
Next to them, Mick and Esteban were discussing the results of some basketball match. Mick discreetly elbowed him in the ribs, pointing out Stefano Domenicali’s arrival. Sebastian had confided that Stefano had messaged earlier, asking for a quick word as soon as he found the time; Sebastian was in an engineering meeting at the time and couldn’t be bothered to reply. Granted, he hadn’t replied later, either, but he would be lying if he said he felt guilty.
“Nice shirt, man. First Grand Prix underwater.” Lewis’ voice came by Sebastian’s side all of a sudden and they clasped hands. “Planning to drive in 2060?”
“Are you? Fernando might!”
Lewis scoffed in response. “I don’t care what Fernando does,” he said before lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Have you heard about it? The ban? They’re going through with it.”
“You’re not serious.”
“250 grand for wearing a ring.”
“ What? That’s ridiculous!”
Sebastian was speechless. Was this what Domenicali wanted to speak to him about, the new jewellery ban enforcement? Unfortunately, they weren’t allowed to discuss it further because members of their respective teams interrupted them, ushering them to the gathering forming in the centre of the room.
The two nodded at each other; they would continue that later on.
***
“Sebastian!”
Domenicali slid an arm over his shoulder in the usual friendly manner, pulling him aside from the large group that was leaving the stage. Some conversations might be more challenging these days, but Sebastian was sure that in some regards nothing had changed - the Italian was genuine in their interactions. He liked him. But, once again, they each had their roles to play.
“Hi, Stefano,” he greeted back, slowing his step to match the one from F1’s boss.
“That wasn’t so bad now, was it? This is the future!”
“Yeah…” he replied half-heartedly. A stark contrast to the demeanour of the other man.
“Nice t-shirt. Even if 2060 is a bit far away.”
“Did you read what the t-shirt said?” And he stepped back, stretching it to make it easier to read. Emphasis on the act now .
“Yes. Yes, I did.” As expected, the enthusiasm waned. “And I’m afraid I’m about to get another dozen calls about why we are going political.”
“Political? Oh, come on,” Sebastian protested, opening his arms. “How can you label a message about the climate crisis and the environment political ?”
“I don't mean just this specific one. The rainbows…” and he waved his hand, demonstrating there were other subjects he was referring to. Of course.
“Human rights and the climate crisis are bigger than anything else,” Sebastian stated. “We can't hide our heads in the sand forever, carry on and say it's business as usual.”
“I understand what you mean. But you need to see where I come from.”
Sebastian stared at him, undeterred. “I can’t unsee things, Stefano. To me it’s ridiculous to come here and ignore that in a dozen years this area could be gone. And nobody cares, nobody does anything. That’s shocking to me.”
Hands on his hips, Domenicali was nodding along. “Yes, and I understand you, Sebastian. And I agree with you, I agree with you.”
“The decisions that have an impact on our future need to be taken now, not later. I want to see Formula 1 cars racing in twenty years, don’t you? How do you think that’s going to happen if we don't start preparing for that now?”
“I understand your concerns, how can I not? Everyone is free to have their opinion as long as they don’t attack others and respect the partners. But, right now,” and he held Sebastian’s elbow, coaxing him to walk alongside him. “It’s about the stage. Sports and political messages do not-”
“It’s not political messages.”
“-but that’s how the world outside sees it, Sebastian. People don’t take well to it.”
“And what people is that?” Sebastian stopped and crossed his arms, tilting his head to the side. “Funny you say that, because that is not what people tell me when I talk to them. I was at a school today, it was a team thing. We talked about their future. And I had 16 year old kids telling me the old people don’t think about the youth. That we are compromising their future.”
They were now walking at the rear of the large group that had been on stage, echoing voices disappearing ahead in the long hallways.
“My view is simple. Certain things, people don’t want certain things from us , Sebastian. People want to be entertained by F1, that’s what we are here for,” he pointed to the structure around them, at a massive lighting rig hung from the roof above them. “They are not ready to see drivers, athletes coming out to say this kind of things. And how many of the drivers on the grid do you see taking an interest?”
Sebastian shrugged and pouted. “Honestly? All of them. Everyone has something they care about. Maybe we all just need to be more open about these things, to allow others to be comfortable too. Nobody is here to skip duties. But if there is time to make us go around and speak to a million sponsors and play games for the cameras, why can't we bring up other important matters too if we want? And if the sponsors have a problem with it, maybe it’s their problem, not ours.”
“The sponsors have a problem with losing money…”
“You can earn money by adapting the model, without burying your heads in the sand,” he gestured emphatically, his body twisted to the side so he could try and face him. “And if the stakeholders have something to say about it, I’ll be very happy to talk to anyone who wants to have a chat. I'd love to! They can tell me what they think in my face. For some reason it is very complicated for someone to turn up and talk to us unless we lock ourselves in a room and refuse to drive.”
The jibe hit home. Domenicali slowed down again and loosened his collar. At least he had the decency to look ashamed. “Jeddah was a mess, I know.”
“Oh, it was, for sure.”
Sebastian may have been home with Covid, and George and the other more experienced drivers may have been the spokespeople on site; but he was not going to let his fellow drivers down in arguably one of the trickiest situations they had ever faced since he was part of the grid. Missiles dropping some mere kilometres from the track. Unreal. If anything good at all came out of that situation, was the fact that the entire grid was united and took a stand, not ignoring the gravity of what they had encountered. Sebastian was proud of them for that.
“It won’t happen again, it’s been addressed. But,” and he halted again, this time pointing at Sebastian’s t-shirt, “we cannot be out there every week wearing t-shirts!” And he let out an uncomfortable little chuckle.
“Do you want me to go shirtless then?”
It was a more earnest laugh this time. “Get yourself an Instagram account, Seb... Everyone has one! You can say whatever you want there and no one will care.”
“Exactly.”
“Not in that sense.”
He smiled. “I don’t like social media.”
“You know all the memes. Where do you get them from?” Domenicali joked and then looked down. “Sebastian, please take my words as the words of a friend. Look, I’m not worried about the inconveniences I get from this. Of course I get them, I’m not gonna lie to you about that. But I wouldn’t want you to find yourself in an uncomfortable position.”
Sebastian arched an eyebrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Some people's voices are louder. You are a world champion, one of our stars every weekend. You know as well as I do the weight that carries. You don’t want to have people after you, judging you and being vicious.”
Sebastian licked his lips and grinned brightly. “You mean being criticised no matter what I say or do? You’re right, I wouldn’t know what that is!”
Domenicali took another deep breath. “Just… tone it down, please. Can you give me that?”
That conversation was definitely about to reach an end for tonight. Britta, who had been walking in front of them, while giving them enough space, stood waiting now, focused on her phone. There were only security personnel nearby now and the annoying, sugary pop music playing over the PA system that stifled everything else.
“We will see.”
And he stepped towards Britta, looking forward to going to the hotel and having a good night of sleep.
***
He couldn’t believe it when he got the photo from Ted and a number of laughing emojis - no, Jenson had to go outside and see it with his own eyes.
He was at the Williams garage having a nice chat with Sarah, so they only had to go outside for a quick sneak peek. He bent over in laughter when he spotted him next to Aston Martin’s pitwall.
Sebastian Vettel was engaged in conversation with members of his team, standing in his racing suit - with a pair of sodding grey boxer shorts on top of the overalls.
It was the topic of the day in the paddock: the FIA’s communication about jewellery and underwear. Jenson had guessed it wasn’t going to be popular among the drivers. The climate between the governing body of the sport and the drivers was tense and it worried him. They always had disputes but, lately, the way some rules were being enforced was driving a wedge between them. The drivers were taking it personally and feeling targeted and he had to admit they had reasons to be angry. He remembered trying times back in his day, but this was different. Following the controversy only a few months ago in Abu Dhabi, this was something that wasn’t good for anyone.
Sarah bid him goodbye to join her friends who were waiting for her further down in the pitlane. She really was lovely.
“See you later?” He called out and she only glanced over her shoulder with an adorable giggle.
In the meanwhile, one of the Aston Martin boys that Jenson believed to be part of their media team was now taking photos of their star driver in his underpants, who was now posing for it and selling it, too. Well, if it was attention Vettel was looking for, he sure got it, Jenson thought to himself with a slight shake of head of both amusement and disbelief. Not that Seb’s name wouldn’t be the first coming to his mind if someone told him about the situation without naming the driver. He decided to go and say hello.
“Woah, Superman is back, played by a German,” Jenson put an arm around his neck, easily pulling him closer. “Love the fashion choice!”
The mischief in his blue eyes was undeniable. “I’m branching out, you see? For when I retire.”
“Really? Designer or model?”
“I can be both! I’ll wear my own designs!”
“Hahaha!” Pierre Gasly was running to them and patting Sebastian on the back, laughing. “Nice one! Nice one, Seb!”
Sebastian only laughed back.
“I’ll tell them,” Pierre continued as he walked away, “if they want to inspect my ass, my cock, feel free. They can do whatever they want. Assholes.”
Jenson was quite sure the camera from the Netflix crew had caught that, they would be delighted. Sebastian made to leave towards his own garage. “So what’s the track like?” He asked.
He snorted. “The asphalt is shit, it’s breaking up.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard.”
“And you can’t really go wheel to wheel, there’s only one line of racing,” he shrugged. “But it’s quite fast with all the straights, so we’ll see.”
Forgettable track then.
“Top 10 tomorrow?”
“I hope so, but we still have a lot of tweaking to do in the car.”
Jenson gave him a sympathetic look and he shrugged his shoulders again.
Britta was patiently waiting for him and Jenson waved at her; she waved back. “See you later! Good luck, buddy!”
Sebastian gave him a thumbs up and a smile and around he went, the boxer briefs tight around his bum as he made his way to the garage.
Jenson could swear he was even walking with a strut.
***
Race finished, post-race commentary and interviews done, work with Sky over for the weekend. All he wanted to do was to arrive at the hotel without delays, get a shower and change. And then track her down at the bar. After a couple of drinks, with some luck and effort, maybe he’d finally get a bit more.
However, when Jenson arrived at the main bar upstairs she was nowhere to be seen. In fact, there was almost no one he knew, most had headed for the airport. From their earlier conversations at Williams’ hospitality this was not the scenario he expected. No new messages on his phone either.
A few guys from the media were wrapping up the weekend, it seemed. From the teams, most were people he wasn’t close to and only knew on sight. Then he realised that Sebastian Vettel was chatting with Mick Schumacher in one secluded corner, looking very much like a pair of bummed out blokes drowning their sorrows. The younger German in particular seemed quite downbeat and Jenson imagined it might have been due to their incident on track during the race. It was frustrating for both. Mick was in the points and Sebastian had managed a stellar recovery from the initial disaster with the fuel temperatures from Aston; it ended badly for both.
Sebastian seemed to have spotted him and was waving, calling him over just as he had decided to do just that.
“She left,” Sebastian suddenly said as he approached. Jenson’s confusion must have been apparent because he repeated it. “The guest with Williams? I’m sorry, I don’t know her name. She left awhile back.”
“Sarah,” Jenson said dejectedly. “She isn’t replying to my messages.” How the hell did he even know? “You’re not supposed to know any of this, how did you..?”
“I’ve got eyes, no? Is she playing hard to get? Maybe she thinks you’re too old for her,” he teased.
Franky, the thought had occurred to him, but he wasn’t, was he? He ran a hair through his hair. It was thinning a little but nothing terrible. He put on moisturiser with SPF every morning, without fail, and he remained extremely fit, thank you very much.
Sebastian was observing him as if he could read every thought crossing his mind and had a huge cheeky grin stamped on his face, like the right prankster he was. The German pulled the chair next to him.
“Sit down with us!”
They chatted a bit about the race and exchanged impressions on the weekend as a whole. Undeniably alike they were physically, Mick didn’t take after his father in the post-race, as he was very polite but mostly listened without interacting much. He eventually picked a call in French, speaking low on the phone, until he announced he was retiring to his room and left.
“So what are you doing during the break?”
“Not much of a break, really. You know it too, the season just began.” Sebastian blew out some air upwards to try to displace a stubborn curl that fell on his forehead. “I’m going home for now, yeah, but I’ll be at the factory before the end of the week. I wish I could have a break but from all the shit that keeps happening.” He pressed the heels of his hands over his eyes for a moment and then blinked, reaching for his beer.
Jenson recalled a couple of rumours he heard during the week. “What happened with Domenicali the other day?”
Sebastian finished his glass before he spoke, licking the remains first. “Not sure what you heard. What I heard is that apparently I’m inconvenient.”
“You always are. What’s new?”
Sebastian showed him the middle finger. “Because of the t-shirts,” he rolled his eyes.
“They want you to go shirtless?”
“That’s what I said!” Seb pointed at him and laughed. “But I think it is more repercussions because of Jeddah.”
“Ah. I guess they weren’t pleased to know you led the guys through the crisis from roughly…what was that? Three thousand miles away?”
“We all talked together,” Sebastian corrected him. “Would have been the same if I hadn’t missed the weekend. And Alex was there, too. Without him we’d be nowhere.”
“Not questioning that.” Already in his time as a driver and GPDA director Alex Wurz was an absolute force. If anything, he was getting more and more motivated as the years went by. “The drivers, they listen to you more, though.”
“It’s not about that,” Sebastian blew the stray hair off his forehead again.
“I’m just saying you’re one of them, the drivers know that, they respect it. They’re counting on you.” Jenson shot a quick surveying look around them before proceeding in a lower voice. “Getting you into trouble or what?”
“Well, I don’t win races anymore so I focus on other stuff off track, you know? Isn’t that what they say?” He said sarcastically. “It’s always the same bullshit every week. Questions about retirement, that I’m not motivated anymore. Message is clear. This week I got a lecture from Lawrence. You’re too outspoken ,” he imitated with a rougher voice. “Nevermind the fact that I stressed certain things when we negotiated the contract with Otmar.” Another shrug accompanied by another eyeroll.
Jenson didn’t know what to say. The PR machine was unstoppable and would make and break careers, and not even the legends of the sport escaped the scrutiny.
“They think I’m inconvenient?” Sebastian carried on. “Good! I hope I become even more inconvenient!”
Jenson clapped his shoulder. “Is that why you’re going down the indecent exposure route now?”
“That, too. Fucking ridiculous. Everything seems like a joke. I know they want someone in the FIA that doesn’t let Liberty run the show on their own. But I don’t know about this guy….” He shook his head, spinning one of the beer bottles on the same spot on the table. “As if there’s nothing more important to talk about than resuscitating an old rule. I mean, it’s obviously targeted at Lewis, for one.”
He cocked his head one side, then the other. “To be honest, I’m not so sure about this one, Seb. I understand what you guys mean, but…”
“Come on, it’s ridiculous. You don’t think there’s more important things to talk about than what we’ve got covering our balls?”
“There’s room for everything. This is for safety, you can’t deny it’s important. It’s the kind of thing a race director like Freitas would pay attention to.”
“Bringing up safety when a month ago we were supposed to go racing with missiles dropping around the track? Madness. As if we’re not old enough to choose what we put underneath the fireproofs.” His lips suddenly curled up. “So do you know where Lewis got pierced? You know, the places where he cannot explain where they are.”
Jenson threw his head back, laughing.
“Go on,” Sebastian giggled. “You were teammates!”
“Dunno, Seb. His balls?”
Sebastian scrunched up his nose in a scarily expressive painful face and Jenson burst out laughing again.
“I reckon you don’t think it’s a nice spot?”
“If it is, I have no problems admitting that I won’t ever find out myself. Fuck, how much would that hurt?” And he adjusted himself in his seat, as if to protect himself from invisible piercing tools. “I think he was just taking the piss, if you wanna know.”
“Yeah, probably,” he motioned with his chin to Sebastian’s bare finger. “But at least you can wear your wedding ring if you want.”
“Even more ridiculous. He can’t wear jewellery because it’s unsafe. But if I choose to keep my wedding ring on then fuck my safety, huh?”
They laughed at the same time.
It was nearly 3 am when they called it a night. And it turned out to be quite a decent one in the end, Jenson concluded as he returned to his room. Next day he’d fly to LA where he’d spend the rest of the week with his kids, he was dying to see them. He had no reasons for complaints, really. There was nothing to regret.
As for Sarah, maybe she was not really worth pursuing.