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"They don't want you."
"What?" Fernando slammed a palm down onto the table, and Luis backed away slightly. "How can they not want me?"
Luis swallowed.
"They said they didn't need you. Or your... " he paused. "...reputation."
Fernando took a swig of water.
"Fuck Red Bull then," he sneered, with more confidence than he felt. "Mercedes?"
"They said they're very happy with their line-up. And Lewis doesn't want you there."
"McLaren, then."
Luis shook his head slowly.
"You know you would not be allowed back there."
When Fernando spoke again, his voice was quieter and less self-assured.
"Fine, I will go to Lotus. We have history, we can build the team back up again."
He sat back, nodding. But his manager's expression was pained.
"Lotus said no. They said you bring too much baggage."
"I'll take a pay cut."
"They said that they can't be associated with you after... after the scandal."
Fernando felt his heart start to race, and the walls seemed to be closing in around him. Red walls. They were red.
"Are you honestly telling me I have nowhere else to go?"
"You have to stay at Ferrari. You know Santander want you there. And we can't go against them."
Girl
The rum and coke tasted flat. Fernando bit the straw with a grimace and took another drink. His head was starting to feel light. That was good. All he wanted was oblivion now that the realisation of having to stay at a team he was beginning to despise had sunk in.
He leant back against the wall, feeling the vibrations of the music thud through him. It was too loud in this club; neither the music nor the alcohol were his thing, but he needed to be someone else tonight. He unbuttoned the first few buttons of his shirt, it was much too hot in here. The sweat trickled down his neck, turning his hair into damp curls. He noticed a few people glancing at him, recognising who he was, but hidden here in the VIP section, he was safe. Well, safe aside from the models and hangers-on that seemed to frequent this kind of place.
Fernando felt a hand on his arm. Looking up, he saw a blonde girl smiling at him. Hair, lips, eyes, body all perfect. Not unlike Dasha, but she was far away in Russia. She leant in, and Fernando could smell her floral perfume and feel her lips against his ear as she asked if he wanted to sit down somewhere. He smiled and shook his head.
"Not tonight," he mouthed. She was stunning, and maybe even a couple of months ago, he would have brought her back to his bedroom, but he cared about Dasha.
The girl wasn't deterred. She leant in closer, slowly and deliberately running her tongue from his neck to his earlobe, which she bit. She pressed her body against him, and Fernando felt her grab him between the legs, groping him and feeling for the outline of his cock. He backed away.
"Hey!"
She cackled. "You enjoy, no? I can feel you enjoy."
Fernando gulped and tried to bat her probing hand away as he felt himself begin to become aroused. Christ, he wished he could fuck her. Fuck her stupid. He was sure that his hard-on must be obvious now. But Dasha. Dasha was in his mind; what she would think, how much this would hurt her."Leave me alone," he hissed. "Lay a hand on me again, and you will be sorry. "
Boss
Luca didn't go onto the internet often. He preferred to have the daily newspapers delivered to his desk by 8am each morning, preferably earlier. And today, earlier than normal, so he could read his own interview in Corriere della Sera. There would be no more public outbursts from the Spaniard after this, he thought to himself. And he would make sure there were no more private ones either. He didn't like scenes. He certainly didn't like arrogant, confrontational behaviour from his - and they were his - drivers. His mouth turned downwards in disgust as he recalled Fernando storming into his office, unannounced, the day after Silverstone. Doors had been slammed, tables kicked. An angry, haughty driver leaning into his face as he spat out insults against the factory, the car, Maranello, and even Enzo himself. No. That kind of disrespect would not be tolerated. Luca was not a fan of such ugliness. No-one was bigger than Ferrari. No-one. They had all learnt that. Some took longer than others. But oh yes, they all learnt in the end.
Chat
"At Ferrari," Luca began. "You must do as the team does. Say as the team says. Never speak out against us. For you are one of us." He paused, and Fernando felt himself shrinking down in his seat a little. "Did you forget that? Did you forget that no-one is bigger than the team?"
"In that case, I am happy to leave," Fernando replied in a voice that was steadier than he expected it to be. This office was warm and stifling, and too loaded with history and politics and Ferrari, Ferrari, Ferrari, and the myth that Fernando was increasingly jaded with.
Luca sat back, sighing.
"I have been over this with your manager. You have a contract, and we're not going to break that contract. There is no escape route from Ferrari, Alonso. Not from this team. So."
"So?" Fernando wanted this to be over and done with. He'd nod, and agree, promise to shut up and do his best – and his best was always great – and then he didn't have to see Luca again for several weeks.
"So, do you think you can criticise the team and for their not to be consequences? Do you think that is the Ferrari way? To have this attitude in public and in private, to make it sound like you are carrying the team?"
Fernando's cheeks flushed.
"Aren't I carrying the team?"
"You are only as good as your car."
"The car stinks! I'm making it look good. Me."
Luca nodded, a cold, grim smile forming on his face.
"Maybe we will make your car more difficult to drive. You won't look so good then, Alonso."
Fernando threw his head back self-confidently. "I can drive around anything."
"Not if we make... alterations."
Fernando stared at Luca as the older man pressed his fingertips together and tilted his head arrogantly. Alterations? Fernando's palms started to sweat and he imagined rear wings breaking; tyres exploding.
"Maybe I quit!" Fernando spat. "I don't care about contracts or money!"
"You can't quit," Luca said calmly. He stood up.
"You know the term 'breaking in', yes?" He walked around to the back of Fernando's chair and placed his bony hands on the Spaniard's shoulders. A shiver travelled up and down Fernando's spine, and for the first time, he actually began to feel... scared. Scared, in this place where he had once been so wanted, so adored.
"It's when you train a horse," he said. "When you teach it to be ridden."
"Teach it to comply," Luca continued. "Teach it who its master is. Teach it that it must never disobey, that a simple tug of the reins will stop it from being so headstrong."
On the word 'headstrong', he gave Fernando's shoulders a squeeze, pressing his fingers painfully into the driver's flesh.
"You will stay here, until Spa," he said quietly. "We have a room prepared for you in Enzo's house. Take your time to pack, won't you. And bring everything you need. Everything."
Luca leant in, hissing words into Fernando's ear.
"Even prancing horses can be broken in... "
Room
Fernando had been inside Enzo's house dozens of times. He and Felipe had both even stayed there on occasion. As Luca led him inside, he fully expected to walk upstairs to the bedroom that he had always stayed in, but Luca clasped his wrist.
"No. You must follow me."
Luca fished inside his pocket and pulled out a key. Fernando followed as the Italian led him to a small door below the stairs. Fernando had always imagined it was a cleaning cupboard, somewhere to store junk; and indeed when Luca opened the door, several mops and brooms were leant against the wall. But it wasn't a wall they were leant against, Fernando realised, as Luca pushed them away. They were leaning against what was barely recognisable as another door, as it was plastered over in the same way as the walls of the cupboard were.
With a click, Luca opened the lock and walked slowly down the steps that lay behind it. Fernando noticed that they were carpeted. Red carpet. And somehow the words This is so you can't hear who is entering or leaving flashed into his mind.
There was a door at the bottom of the stairs, and it opened onto a small bedroom with scarlet walls and a plain wooden floor. It was barely bigger than the single bed and plastic office chair it held. As Fernando peered in, Luca placed a hand on the small of his back.
"This will be your home until you leave for Belgium."
Fernando whipped around to look at his boss indignantly.
"What? You mean to keep me here?"
Luca placed his hand over the top of Fernando's and gripped it tightly, so tightly that Fernando released his hold on the bag he had hurriedly packed minutes earlier.
"I will take your bag," Luca said, walking into the room and setting it onto the bed. Unzipping it, he began to unpack Fernando's things, staring at and then dismissing all his possessions.
"You don't need any of this," he sneered, pulling out jeans and t-shirts. "We have clothes for you. And this – you can't have this." He threw Fernando's iPhone into the air and then caught it, sliding it into his back pocket. "No contact with your friends or family. We need your full concentration."
Fernando held his hand out.
"You can't take my phone! You CANNOT!"
"Why? You have someone to call? Hmm?"
"My friends, my family!" Fernando shrieked. "My girlfriend! She will wonder what is wrong if she does not hear from me."
Luca just laughed and patted the bed, beckoning for Fernando to sit down beside him on the heavy, starched white sheets. The Spaniard did so, reluctantly. As he sat, he noticed a bathroom at one end of the room. There was no door, so you could see right in. Inside was a toilet and a tiny handbasin. No shower, no mirror. Fernando's palms started to sweat as he began to wonder exactly how long Luca planned for him to be here.
"Why is there a TV on the wall?" he asked, continuing to survey his small surroundings.
"So you can watch," came the simple reply. From somewhere, Fernando didn't even know where, Luca produced a remote control. A few buttons pressed, and the room was soon filled with booming dance music. The quality of the picture was a little on the fuzzy side, but as Fernando watched, he realised that it was taken in a nightclub. A nightclub he recognised.
People were dancing, lots of people. But the camera zoomed into a corner, and Fernando's stomach dropped as he saw himself, drunk and swaying to the tune of the music. A rum and coke was in his hand, and a girl was there too; a girl with her hand on his groin and her tongue on his neck and earlobe.
Fernando stood up.
"Where the fuck did you get this?"
"Do you think we aren't aware of every single thing you do?" Luca said with a shrug. He put his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out another iPhone. He held the phone up to Fernando's face as a video began to play. Fernando immediately recognised the setting as Stefano's office, and the camera panned out to show Dasha sitting at the other side of the desk, an iPad in her hand.
"What is she watching?" Fernando asked, his voice shaking with trepidation. He already knew the answer.
"The same thing you just have," Luca replied icily.
Fernando felt a wave of nausea sweep over him as he saw his girlfriend clasp a hand to her mouth as she audibly sobbed. Stefano sat on the edge of his desk beside her, watching her as she cried.
"You don't want to see the rest, Dasha," Stefano's voice came over the video. Fernando cried out No as he saw Stefano touch the back of her head lightly, smoothing down her hair as he pretended to comfort her, pretended to care.
Luca switched it off. Fernando's mouth gaped open and he stammered as he attempted to speak.
"But... but I didn't do anything!" he stuttered.
"She doesn't know that," Luca hissed. "For all she knows, you took that girl back to your room and fucked her." He clicked his fingers and gave a shout. "Stefano!"
Fernando heard feet padding down the stairs and soon his team principal appeared in the doorway, iPad in hand.
"Here, please Stefano. I am just showing our friend Fernando what is what."
Stefano handed Luca the iPad, then immediately left. There was already a page loaded on it, and Fernando immediately recognised the sport page of the La Marca website. He rested the tablet on his knees as he read the story Luca had clicked on. The headline was enough, let alone the first couple of sentences.
Alonso breaks with manager
Fernando Alonso's manager Luis Garcia Abad announced this morning that he is no longer in control of the Formula One driver's career. In a short statement to La Marca, he confirmed that his relationship with Alonso has been terminated with immediate effect. No comment from Ferrari or Alonso has been made, but La Marca understands that the driver is now without any management.
Fernando threw the iPad onto the bed and put his hands over his eyes. He started to rock, his stomach churning.
"Oh God, what are you doing to me, why are you doing this to me, why are you doing this to me... "
"Because there is only Ferrari," Luca said icily. "You could lose your friends, your woman, your manager. But Ferrari will always be here. After they are all gone, we remain."
History
"Ascari, Fangio, Hawthorn, Hill, Surtees, Lauda, Scheckter, Schumacher, Raikkonen."
Fernando had repeated the names so often that his voice was croaking and his throat felt scratchy. He couldn't remember how many days he had been in this room for now. He couldn't remember when Stefano had come in and asked him to recite the former Ferrari World Champions. He couldn't remember when he'd last slept, or eaten, or had a proper wash.
They wouldn't let him go to bed. They wouldn't even let him lie down. They made him sit on the hard plastic chair, saying those nine names over and over. There was no clock in the room, and at the beginning of this he had worked out that different team members seemed to be working in shifts, asking him the same things over and over and over. Questions about Ferrari, questions about the team's history, questions about races won and models raced. Endless. The only answers he wanted where what day it was, or if it was day or night.
"I need to use the bathroom," Fernando mumbled, barely able to keep his eyes open. They never left him alone. Even when he was using the toilet, someone was there, in the doorway, waiting for him to finish. On the rare occasions they had let him snatch some delicious moments of sleep, they would sit at the end of the bed. He hadn't seen Luca since that first day, but Stefano and Andrea had both been in, taking their turn, asking him the date of Niki Lauda's first win for the team, or the total number of points Phil Hill had scored for Ferrari in a given year. They'd given him a book full of facts, figures and statistics, telling him he had to learn everything in it. Everything.
And now Pat sat opposite him, leaning in close to his face, asking him to recite the champions' names over and over again once more.
"Ascari, Fangio, Hawthorn, Hill, Surtees, Lauda, Scheckter, Schumacher, Raikkonen," Fernando said wearily. "Ascari, Fangio, Hawthorn, Hill, Surtees, Lauda, Scheckter, Schumacher, Raikkonen."
"Good, good," Pat nodded. "Do you notice whose name is missing?"
"I don't know," Fernando replied hoarsely. "Massa? Villeneuve?"
"Alonso," Pat said with a dry chuckle. "Alonso is missing. Alonso is not a champion. Alonso expects Ferrari to deliver for him. Alonso does not realise that he is the one who needs to deliver."
Comments
Fernando splashed his face with cold water. His skin felt rough and his entire body ached. He dried his face with a paper napkin, longing for the feel of a hot shower and a fluffy white towel. He brushed his teeth until his gums bled – they were at least allowing him the luxury of that – and sprayed under his arms with cheap deodorant.
"Are you finished?" the voice said.
"One moment. Please." Fernando put the toilet seat up and started to pee, wincing the indignity of all this. He adjusted himself and walked tiredly into the main part of the room.
"Luca wanted me to show you these."
A sheaf of papers was handed to him. Fernando picked them up, his eyes feeling heavy as all the words on the white paper seemed to merge into one.
"I have to read all this?" he asked, sinking down onto the bed.
"Yes. Luca said you have to read every word. And then every word again. He told me not to leave my shift until you had done it."
"Rob... " Fernando said in a whisper, his voice pleading. "Please at least tell me what day it is. Or even the time."
Rob bit his lip, shaking his head. There was a stress line between his brows. He looked tired, too. This was the first time Fernando had seen him do a shift, or at least he thought it was. At this point he wasn't sure. Luca, Stefano and all the rest had seemed hard-faced and immune to his pleas. Even Andrea, whom he had always trusted, had met his questions with nothing more than a glacial stare. But Rob, surely Rob would at least be willing to help him a little. If he just knew how long he had been in this room for, he could maybe work out how long before it was until Spa, and thus when freedom would come.
Rob sat back on the chair, closing his eyes and crossing his legs.
"Just read."
Fernando flicked through the pages. Short sentences, longer paragraphs – each one criticising him.
Fuck Alonso, the guy is overrated and causing nothing but problems at Renault, McLaren and now Ferrari. Overrated pay driver
Fernando Alonso is one of the most spineless, cowardly, egotistical, and insecure drivers in the history of motorsports racing.
he is a prima donna who chucks tantrums when things don't go his way
Alonso is only an employ from Santander bank,overrated and with no passion,once u win cheating,u cant go back,and he's the proof
the most arrogant, backstabbing, hate-mongering, and pitiful personality in F1 racing today.
I fucking hate Alonso
The words went on and on. Insulting and derogatory things. The worst things that people said or thought about him. The worst things that Fernando thought about himself. That's what was hardest of all.
"This is to make me feel worthless," Fernando said, the sound of defeat in his voice. Rob didn't reply, he just scratched his head somewhat sheepishly. Fernando looked him straight in the eye, but Rob could barely meet his gaze.
"So this is what you have to do on your shift, is it? Print off words from the internet. Do you search google to find the ones that are particularly insulting?"
Rob stood up and leant against the wall. He looked around, from the plain windowless walls to the unmade single bed. He glanced at the TV on the wall, which had remained off since the first day. Fernando had tried to reach it in order to press the buttons, but it was too high up, and with his constant supervision, he couldn't even stand on a chair to reach it.
"I'm just here to make sure you read it," Rob replied with a sigh. "I didn't do that. I was told to give it to you." He paused. "I'm a Ferrari employee, you know. Just like you are."
Fernando gave a snort of derision. Somehow, it was easy to rant at Rob. It was when Stefano or Pat, or even Andrea were here that he did what he was told without any question. He knew Rob; knew that he was softer, that at one time they had been almost friends.
"Please just read it," Rob repeated, sitting back down. "Then it's done and... "
"And what?" Fernando snapped. "Someone else comes, with more questions, or another way to show me how Ferrari is everything and I am nothing?" He threw the papers onto the floor. "Did Felipe have to do this? Is that why he's so... compliant?"
"No."
"What?"
"No!" Rob said more firmly. Suddenly, his expression changed from one that was bordering on sympathetic, to one much colder and more aloof. He snatched the papers back up and shoved them into Fernando's hands.
"Read. Now."
TV
Massimo had been there all afternoon, making him do press-ups while repeating the usual mantra. Ascari, Fangio, Hawthorn, Hill, Surtees, Lauda, Scheckter, Schumacher, Raikkonen.
"You've done a lot of exercise today," the Italian said with a smile. "We need to keep you fit."
Fernando felt itchy and warm from the sweat, but there was no shower here. They'd let him have a good wash, maybe even give him fresh clothing, if he was lucky. He pulled off his socks and trainers and set them at the end of the bed.
"Someone will be along with your meal in a minute," Massimo told him. Fernando's stomach rumbled but he wasn't sure he could eat another plate of plain tortellini. He exhaled as he heard someone coming down the stairs, and prepared himself to force the food down.
"Felipe!" he exclaimed as he saw his teammate walk into the room, holding a tray of pasta, a bread roll, and a large glass of water. Felipe's eyes widened as he looked around the small, cramped surroundings, but he didn't speak, meeting Fernando's stare only briefly before looking away. He set the tray down onto the bed and immediately left.
"So Felipe knows as well," Fernando asked.
Massimo nodded, standing up and pulling a remote control from his jacket pocket.
"Oh yes, he's been with us for a long time."
"In here? Doing... this?"
Massimo laughed drily. "Oh no, no, no. But enough about Felipe. We have some evening entertainment for you. Enjoy!"
It dawned on Fernando that if Felipe was in Maranello, he must using the simulator, and therefore it must be close to Spa. Feeling a rare stab of optimism, he took a mouthful of pasta but was unable to swallow. The TV was playing... it was playing... crashes. His crashes. His worst, most painful, soul-destroying, championship-ruining crashes. On a constant loop, he saw Brazil 2003, Japan 2007, Monaco 2010, Malaysia 2013, and more.
He put his hands over his eyes and started to cry.
Simulator
Fernando blinked as he woke up.He felt more rested than he had the entire time he had been in this room, and he stretched his legs down into the bed, wriggling his toes. He felt his morning wood thick between his legs, and not thinking, eased his hand down under the covers.
"No," a voice shouted, and he felt someone kick the side of the bed.
Fernando sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He had been in here for several weeks now. And he hadn't... he couldn't... they wouldn't let him. And Dasha was gone. He clenched his fists and waited for his hard-on to subside before getting out of bed, ignoring Andrea as he walked into the bathroom.
"Busy day, Fernando," his engineer's voice came.
Fernando looked over at him, and for the first time saw a fresh pair of shorts and t-shirt, and, to Fernando's relief, his gloves.
"Simulator?" he asked, trying to keep the excitement from his voice. Andrea nodded slowly, and relief swept over him.
*
Fernando allowed himself a rare smile as he saw the simulation of Spa in front of him. With his hands on the steering wheel, and the helmet on, he felt his entire mind and body healing. Here, doing this, he finally felt at peace. Now the team could remember who he was, what he was capable of. He wasn't just any Ferrari driver. He was Fernando Alonso, and he knew how to drive. The corners swept in front of him, and he narrowed his eyes in concentration as he began to familarise himself with the Belgian track once more. This was glorious; just the feeling of being in the simulator was like a jolt to his system after weeks of that room and all the misery it had offered.
Lap after lap he drove, his arms loosening and his body beginning to feel supple and warm; the muscles stretching and joints spreading. He always got lost in what he was doing when he was in the simulator, and soon he realised he had done a race distance. The simulator could never compete with the real thing, but it was damn good, and he felt that familar ache in his shoulders and numbness in his face that came from clenching his jaw in concentration. He raised a finger up quickly to indicate that he was done, but no-one came to release him from the seatbelts or help him take the helmet off, and the motion platform continued to move. Fearing a spin, he clasped onto the steering wheel once more, and kept driving. But the fluidity and the momentum was gone, and after an erratic five laps, Fernando began to feel queasy. He had never suffered from motion sickness before like he'd heard some drivers did, but the more the platform rocked and moved, the more ill he felt. But no-one would respond to him. No-one came over. He didn't even know if anyone else was even IN the room at this point. He took a deep breath and tried to focus once more on the circuit, pumping in a further fifteen laps as best he could, but this was now the longest he had ever been in the simulator, and he started to shout "Please" before the nausea swept over him and he retched over himself, vomit seeping into the neckline of his t-shirt.
Garage
Fernando's legs jiggled nervously as he sat at the back of the garage. All those laps of Spa in the simulator still didn't compare to the experience of driving the car out onto the Belgian track for the first time on a Friday morning. At the meeting with Andrea the evening before, his engineer had refused to listen to any of his set-up suggestions. In the garage, his crew didn't acknowledge his presence; didn't even so much as look around when he walked in. He wanted to detect even the faintest traces of guilt over the faces of those whom he was closest to, but there were none. These guys had Ferrari within their very core. They resented him and his perceived betrayal.
He sat back onto the chair, flinching as something prodded him at the base of his spine. Fernando looked around, running a hand down the back of the chair. He felt something cold and sharp against his palm, and he pulled his hand away, finding a fresh spot of blood on the tip of his finger.
Fernando tasted acrid fear at the back of his throat as he retrieved the knife. He knew what it would look like, and who it was from - as he had received one only a few weeks before. They all had. He saw the way the silver glinted menacingly, the black onyx handle, and the silver prancing horse embossed into the bottom. Luca knew how to get his point across, that was for sure.
Fernando turned towards the red shelving beside his chair where he kept his drinks bottle, sunglasses and visors. He set the knife onto the highest shelf, where he didn't have to look at it. As he always did, he looked around for the mascots he always brought with him – the stuffed pig and superman doll. His physio could always be relied upon to place them at his side of the garage for him; he if no-one else was still around, although the conversation between them had been sparse to say the least.
"No," Fernando mouthed as he saw the toys. The pig was now only a headless body, with the stuffing falling out of where its head had once been, and the superman doll was lying face down, another Ferrari knife in its back. The symbolism was not lost on Fernando, and he felt hot, angry tears sting the back of his eyes.
Car
Felipe glanced over, and as usual, Fernando was staring into a space somewhere in the distance. He was in the zone; that place he went to before stepping into the car. The zone that helped him to be great, that gave him the edge over Felipe – over everyone, when the car was good. Not that that had happened for a long time, Felipe thought sadly, and his fists twisted at his side in frustration, while his jaw clenched. Better to express your anger in this way, he knew. Internalise it. Never complain, never give the slightest hint that you feel anything else but proud, never admit that you're not quite sure that the team knows what it's doing.
He watched as Fernando picked up his gloves from the throne-like chair. Felipe's eyes narrowed as he saw his teammate clumsily begin to pull them on. Something wasn't right, something about his hands. Felipe realised that they were shaking. Shaking so much that Fernando seemed to be struggling getting his fingers into them. Felipe bit his lip, noting with relief that none of the FOM cameras were focused on either of them right at that particular moment. He took a few steps across the garage and stood in front of Fernando, obscuring him from the rest of the team.
"Are you okay?"
Fernando's face drained of colour, the little colour that had been there in the first place.
"I am fine."
"You sure? You don't look fucking good, man," Felipe took a quick look around. The mechanics were paying them no attention. But then, he'd hardly seen any of them speaking to Fernando all weekend.
"I said I'm fine!" Fernando snapped, but his cheeks started to redden and his breathing became irregular as he dropped his left glove. Felipe bent down to pick it up. Fernando snatched it off him immediately, pushing his fingers inside it. Felipe grabbed the glove's cuff, yanking it on properly. Fernando looked at him, eyes wide in a mixture of embarrassment and gratitude.
"Just laugh," Felipe said in a low voice, his lips barely moving. "Act like we're having a joke, yes?"
Fernando grinned, nodding at Felipe as he laughed at nothing. Felipe slapped him on the arm, as if they were sharing some inter-team in-joke. The slap turned into a grip as Felipe squeezed his upper arm gently.
"Just go out and drive as you always do," Felipe murmured. "That is all we can do."
Fernando watched as his teammate retreated back to his own side of the garage. He felt strange at Felipe helping him. Yet he felt oddly reassured at the same time at the Brazilian's kindness. He flexed his fingers inside his gloves and stepped towards the car. The mechanics turned their faces away as he approached, the laughter and idle chat ceasing as soon as he went within a few steps of them. Fernando put a foot inside the car and immediately the talking changed tone completely.
"Have you checked the tyre pressures?"
The mechanic this was addressed to shrugged.
"Can't remember. Who cares?"
Fernando tried to ignore their taunts. Knowing they were mocking him; knowing they meant him to hear every word. Their aim was to plant the seeds of doubt in his head, to make him feel unsure. Unsafe. He slid into the seats, waiting for someone to come and tighten his seatbelts. With a sigh, one of the men leaned in, fumbling with them slowly, tightening and untightening, unbuckling over and over until Fernando grew increasingly agitated.
"Fucking hurry up!" he shrieked, gesticulating wildly. In response, the crew member grabbed the belts and pulled tighter and tighter, until they were taut and pinching against Fernando's body. He could barely get a breath. How could he drive like this when he felt his chest constrict? He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe. He felt the blood rush to his head as he began to panic. His eyes swivelled sideways and all he could think was Please look around Felipe. He struggled to move his arms and his hands felt frozen. He could barely even unclench his fists in order to grip the steering wheel. He began to feel nauseous and dizzy. Help me I can't breathe...
Felipe was chatting to Rob as he grabbed his helmet from the shelf behind him. Rob's eyes flicked from his face to the garage beside theirs. He didn't say anything, but raised an eyebrow at Felipe, his brow furrowed. He looked at a spot behind Felipe's head, and Felipe turned around in order to follow his engineer's gaze. Fernando was sat stock still in the car, his arms clenched tighter against his sides than even the car normally made them, and his torso was jerking about as he seemed to try to be making his way free. The Spaniard's mechanics leant against the wall of the garage, not noticing or caring that their driver seemed to be in some distress.
Felipe strode over, leaning into Fernando's car and speaking as quietly as he could while still making sure Fernando could hear him under his helmet.
"What is wrong?"
"The belts - the belts are too tight," Fernando whimpered, his eyes huge with panic.
Felipe deftly reached inside the cockpit, sliding a hand under the belts and checking the buckles.
"They're fine," he concluded. Fernando stared back at him, barely listening. Felipe placed a hand on his shoulder. "Fernando. Fernando listen to me. They are fine. They are secure but not too tight. Okay?"
Fernando nodded slowly, then more rapidly.
"Are you sure? Are you sure they are okay?"
"Yes," Felipe replied. "You just need to calm down. You're imagining things."
He glanced over quickly at Rob, who was watching with concern.
"I need you to count to ten," Felipe said firmly. "Count to ten and breathe in through your nose. I have to get into my car now, okay? Just count to ten."
"Ten," Fernando replied the smallest voice Felipe had ever heard. "One... two... "
Felipe walked away, the sweat prickling under his arms in fear at what he had just witnessed.
Teammate
It was unlike Fernando not to remain at the circuit for several hours after the race had finished. He normally went over the race thoroughly with Andrea after the press interviews had been completed, before finally showering in the motorhome and getting changed. But tonight he had vanished as soon as he'd spoken to the journalists, and unusually, Felipe had gotten back to the team's hotel much later than his teammate.
He walked along the long corridor of their floor, putting a hand into the back pocket of his blue jeans to retrieve his keycard. Fernando's room was the last one on the right, just a few doors past his, and while all Felipe wanted was to get rid of his rucksack and throw himself down onto his bed for a quick sleep before dinner, he couldn't stop himself from walking past his own door. Fernando might want a chat about what had happened earlier, Felipe reflected, although with his seventh place, Felipe had much more reason to be pissed off this evening.
He was about to knock tentatively on Fernando's door, when he saw that it was already slightly ajar. Felipe raised an eyebrow, before pushing it slowly and poking his head around the door. At first, all he could see was the bed, which looked like it hadn't been slept in.
"Fernando?" Felipe said quietly as he took one step into the room. "It's Felipe."
Felipe walked inside and looked around.
"Fuck."
Fernando was huddled in the corner of the room, beside the bathroom door. He had his fists clenched at either side of his head, and his knees were bunched up against his chest. He still had his overalls on.
Felipe dropped his bag and went quickly to his side, kneeling down on the beige carpet beside him, and easing Fernando's hands slowly away from his face.
"Fernando? Are you okay?"
As Fernando looked at him, his eyes wild and showing their whites, Felipe realised that until now, Fernando hadn't even realised he was in the room.
"I was on the podium," Fernando whispered, and it sounded almost like a question, so Felipe nodded.
"Yes. You were on the podium. You did a good race."
"I don't know... " Fernando began, his face reddening. "I don't know how I did it... " He rubbed his eyes, his hands shaking as they dropped back down by his sides. "Felipe, Jesus, the things they made me do in that room... "
Felipe's stomach began to churn as he watched his teammate's body become wracked with sobs. His chest heaved and he spluttered, unable to catch a proper breath such were his tears. He looked like he might throw up, such was the intensity of his crying, and Felipe put an arm around his shoulder.
"Shh, shh, calm down," he said quietly, rubbing Fernando's back gently. "Come on, it's over. You're out of there."
Felipe could smell the sweat off Fernando's body, and his hair was damp with champagne.
"Come on," he said in a hushed voice, squeezing the Spaniard's shoulder. "You need to have a shower and change out of your overalls. Then sleep, okay?"
"Okay." Fernando nodded, allowing Felipe to hold onto his forearm as he stood up shakily. His body hurt and he felt like he could sleep until Monza. He could barely muster the energy to lift each foot in order to walk into the bathroom, but Felipe held onto him as he shuffled onto the cold tiled floor before leaning against the sink. He heard the whoosh noise of water as Felipe switched the shower on.
"I'll leave you to it, okay?" Felipe said with a smile. He headed for the door, but Fernando reached out and grabbed his wrist weakly.
"Please help me," he asked, his voice small. Fernando's head felt fuzzy with stress and the exertion of the day. Now that he was allowed to be left alone, he found that he could barely get himself together to get his racesuit off. Through tired eyes, he saw Felipe hesitate, chewing on his bottom lip briefly.
"Please," Fernando repeated.
Silently, Felipe opened Fernando's racesuit, his hands briefly touching the other man's chest. The noise of the velcro pulling apart broke the intense quiet in the bathroom, and Fernando could see Felipe's chest rising and falling as the Brazilian tugged at the sleeves so that the top of the overalls fell down around Fernando's waist. Fernando opened his mouth to say something, but no words were forthcoming. Instead he heard only the smacking noise of his own tongue as he licked his bottom lip.
His arms were limp by his sides as Felipe edged the racesuit further down his waist, finally gripping the top of the zipper and pulling it down. Fernando looked down at Felipe's trembling fingers as he paused before pulling down the waistband of the nomex. His hand brushed accidentally – at least Fernando thought it was accidentally – against his groin, and Fernando took a sharp intake of breath at the unfamilar sensation of someone finally touching him there after so many weeks, even if only by mistake.
"I'm sorry," he breathed, as his cock began to visibly swell underneath his fireproofs.
Felipe glanced at it quickly before meeting Fernando's eyes. Fernando blushed.
"Sorry," he repeated. "It's just been so long since... since anyone touched me."
"Not even yourself?" Felipe replied, and his voice sounded hoarse; his eyes almost black.
"I wasn't allowed," Fernando whispered, his voice trembling. He leant his head back slightly, breathing in and out slowly, hoping that his semi would go down as rapidly as it had appeared. But as he closed his eyes, he felt Felipe's fingers slide underneath his nomex waistband, easing it down and freeing his cock. He heard a small thud as Felipe dropped to his knees before him, and Fernando made a strangled oh noise as he felt hot breath against his dick. Just the sensation of Felipe's breath against his erection made him swell fuller.
"Do you want me to... ?" came Felipe's voice, and Fernando opened his eyes. Felipe was before him, looking upward.
Fernando swallowed. The thought of Felipe's mouth around his cock was tempting; unbelievably arousing, but he shook his head.
"Will you just... stay there?"
Felipe gave a brief nod, kneeling as Fernando wrapped a hand around his own dick, circling the head with his thumb. He started to jerk himself off, thrusting his hips as he did so.
"Will you open your mouth?" he begged, and was rewarded with Felipe doing so, full lips and pink, wet tongue on show as Fernando pumped his cock. He focused on the hotness of Felipe's mouth, the shine of saliva on his tongue, and his plump bottom lip. As he worked his hand up and down furiously, he began to spit out words.
"Good little Felipe, so loyal to the team, loyal little Felipe... "
Fernando's balls ached and it took only a few more strokes before the first flood of come erupted from his dick, thick and plentiful. It spilled through Fernando's fingers and onto Felipe's mouth, leaving a wanton trail from the Brazilian's lips to his chin.
"Sorry," Fernando choked as he came again. "Sorry."
"It's okay," Felipe whispered. Fernando held the tip of his dick as he rubbed it across Felipe's lips, wiping spunk across them, before pushing the head fully into Felipe's mouth. Felipe's lips closed around it, sucking as he looked up at Fernando with sleepy eyes. Fernando gripped onto Felipe's shoulders, thrusting gently as the aftershocks of his orgasm began to ease.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "Thank you, thank you."
*
Afterwards, Fernando had a long, hot shower; his body and mind exhausted. Emerging from the bathroom, he saw Felipe sitting on the bed, shirtless.
"You're still here?" Fernando felt embarrassed at what had happened, yet couldn't help but allow his gaze to linger at the faint smattering of hair across Felipe's dark skin.
Felipe looked down at the floor, a sheepish expression on his face.
"My shirt... I had to take it off."
"Oh." Fernando's face flushed red, and he rifled through his suitcase, throwing a plain white tee to Felipe, who pulled it on quickly.
"I will go," Felipe said, standing and picking up his rucksack from where he had dumped it on the floor. He hesitated, turning towards Fernando, who had a towel around his waist. "You will be alright?"
Fernando opened his mouth to speak, but couldn't quite bring himself to ask Felipe to stay. All he'd wanted when he was in that room was to be left alone, but Felipe's easy-going presence was comforting, somehow – and now he wanted nothing more than his company.
"I um... " Fernando was mortified to feel his bottom lip quivering. He hoped that the drops of water that were trickling onto his face from his wet hair would hide the fact that his eyes were filling with tears, but when he saw Felipe's worried expression, he realised that they were not.
Felipe dropped his bag again.
"Do you want me to stay – so we can talk?"
Fernando nodded.
"I want to sleep," he gulped. "But I keep thinking about... being in there. What if I dream about it? What if this isn't real and I'm still in there?"
"This is real," Felipe reassured him. "I'm really here."
Felipe placed a hand on Fernando's back, pulling back the duvet on the bed so that Fernando could crawl under the covers, throwing the towel that had been covering his body onto the floor. He looked up at Felipe as he lay his head down onto the pillow, light brown eyes wide with gratitude.
"Will you sit with me until I fall asleep?" he whispered.
Felipe lay on top of the covers, smoothing Fernando's hair and making jokes that the other man laughed at softly. Not because he found them funny, but because he was grateful. Fernando's voice was thick with tiredness as he began to speak.
"Had you ever been in there before? That room?"
"No," Felipe shook his head vehemently. "But... but I'd heard."
"From Rubens?"
Felipe's voice was small and shook slightly as he replied.
"From Michael. Michael told me, when I first joined Ferrari. Not about the room, but about how Ferrari could do things."
Fernando scratched his head, leaning back onto the pillow.
"I didn't think they would ever need to... 'teach' Michael."
Felipe bit his lip, and Fernando sensed that he was trying to stop himself from saying more. It didn't work. The Brazilian smoothed a hand absentmindedly up and down the edge of the bed as he spoke.
"Michael was thinking of leaving for McLaren at one point, you know? When it didn't look like he was ever going to win for Ferrari. When McLaren had the best car and Ferrari didn't."
Fernando raised himself up on an elbow.
"So that would have been... "
"'98, '99," Felipe waved a hand. "Around about then."
He turned to look at Fernando, brown eyes asking him to realise what he was talking about without actually having to spell it out.
"1999?" Fernando said quietly, remembering a scarlet car buried into tyre barriers at Silverstone.
Felipe nodded.
"Was different then, he told me. Easier to... with the car... and not be found out, you know? Michael said that was how they made him learn. How they made him realise he was not bigger than the team."
Fernando's eyes glistened with angry tears as he sat up on the bed. He slammed a fist down onto the mattress.
"How could they? They could have killed him!"
Felipe sat up too, placing a hand on Fernando's shoulder as the Spaniard ran a hand through his hair agitatedly, his bare skin warm to the touch.
"Please don't tell anyone what I told you," he begged. "Michael said he understood, with time. He said he knew they never meant it to go so far. All they wanted was for him to retire on the first few laps – they had no idea the crash would ever be so serious."
"This is who we drive for," Fernando said, his voice strangled and thin. He covered his face with his hands, sinking down until his head was resting on Felipe's lap. Felipe slid his fingers through Fernando's dark hair, feeling his teammate's tears dampen his denim-clad thighs.
"Now I know why you are so loyal, why you keep quiet, why you do as you're told," Fernando whispered, his voice muffled. He raised his head slightly so that it was resting against Felipe's flat stomach, his cheek pressed against the Brazilian's t-shirt. Felipe could feel Fernando's breath against his body, and his fingers sank deeper into his teammate's curls.
Felipe lay back and closed his eyes as he felt Fernando lift his t-shirt slightly above his waist. The sweeping of Fernando's lips against his skin made him shiver at first, before the warmth in his belly started to rise.
"You're supposed to be going to sleep," he murmured, as he felt Fernando's hand undo the top button of his jeans. He looked down at the Spaniard, and saw the tanned expanse of Fernando's naked back. He swallowed hard as he thought about the nude bottom half, just inches away from him.
"I need your help," Fernando said quietly, sitting up and pressing his lips against Felipe's ear. "I just want to feel what you feel. About Ferrari." His tongue flicked lightly against Felipe's skin. "Help me understand."
Felipe turned his head, his mouth meeting his teammate's hungrily.
"How?" he asked through the kiss.
"I need you to fuck me," Fernando breathed.
Felipe broke their kiss, visibly hesitating at first, before allowing Fernando to unzip his jeans and slide a hand down his boxers. Fernando rubbed him slowly, steadily, feeling Felipe harden beneath his touch. Being fucked by Felipe would be the closest he would ever feel to Ferrari. Felipe was Ferrari. He was part of their ways, even if he hadn't been there to dole out their unique brand of teaching. Fernando eased up Felipe's t-shirt, helping the other man pull it over the top of his head.
"I wish I was as close to the family as you," Fernando said, before pressing his lips down onto Felipe's chest. The Brazilian gave a moan as Fernando's mouth travelled from his nipples to his neck, sucking and biting gently.
"Shh," was Felipe's only response. He wriggled slightly, breaking away so he could tug off his jeans. As he let them fall to the floor, Fernando lay on his back, knees raised and arms open.
"Felipe... " he crooned, welcoming the other man into his arms.
Felipe bent over and kissed him hard, kneeling between Fernando's large thighs. Fernando traced a finger from Felipe's navel to the base of his cock, back and forth until Felipe could barely stand it. He gave a shallow thrust, his hard-on colliding with Fernando's. He moved his hips, their cocks brushing against each other, velvety skin against velvety skin.
"Fuck," Fernando exhaled, opening his legs wider and pulling Felipe down on top of him. He tugged at Felipe's hair as they kissed. "Get me ready," he pleaded huskily, waving a hand at the bedside table.
Felipe pulled away, rifling in the drawer while Fernando turned over and knelt on the bed, forehead pressed against the headboard. His ass was smooth and tanned, and he jerked his hips weakly, his erection heavy and aching. He cried out as he felt a finger press into him slowly, getting him used to the feeling before adding more. As he felt Felipe work him, he briefly wondered who else in the team Felipe had done this for. Kimi? Had he gotten this treatment too? The thought disappeared as quickly as it had come into Fernando's mind as he felt slick wetness at his entrance, and he licked away the beads of perspiration that had formed on his top lip.
"We've both been fucked by the team now," Felipe's voice hissed behind him, but Fernando didn't get a chance to dwell on what that meant as he felt his teammate's cock sink into him. Fernando gave a gasp at the feeling of being so completely filled, and he reached backwards, wrapping his hand around the back of Felipe's thigh as the younger man pounded in and out of him. Felipe's hands gripped his shoulders tightly, and he could feel Felipe's breath on his neck; hear the little grunts he was making as he drew closer to orgasm.
Felipe ran his tongue along the back of Fernando's damp neck, emitting a long groan at the taste. Fernando was pushing back, squeezing him, and making filthy, guttural noises. Felipe focused on the rippling muscles in the older man's back, sculpted and hard like the prancing horse on the emblem they wore proudly. Or rather, he wore proudly. For now.
"Gonna come," Felipe gasped, pulling out. Fernando heard the snap of the condom coming off and Felipe's sharp intake of breath as he climaxed, shooting come onto the small of Fernando's back. Fernando gripped his own dick, moving his hand furiously up and down the shaft, his eyes rolling back in his head as he felt his orgasm approaching.
"Ascari, Fangio, Hawthorn, Hill, Surtees, Lauda, Scheckter, Schumacher, Raikkonen." Fernando moaned their names between heavy pants, before finally groaning "Massa" as he came heavily with a body-wracking shudder.
Monza
Felipe lay back on the pillow, an arm behind his head. Fernando had said and done all the right things today, in front of the tifosi. He'd had that crowd beneath the podium in the palm of his hand. He'd learnt his lesson, alright.
"I wanted you up there, with me," Fernando's voice came in a whisper as he lay down beside Felipe, resting his head on the other man's chest. "You, me, the tifosi. Prancing horses on our chests and Ferrari in our hearts."
Felipe laughed, but the sound was bitter.
"You know it's over for me, Fernando," he said coldly.
"Felipe... "
Fernando placed a kiss below Felipe's earlobe.
"Nothing is over yet. You know I have told the team what I want. You know I have told them I want you to stay."
Felipe shrugged the other man away, sitting up and retrieving his shirt from the end of the bed. He pulled it on, turning his back on Fernando as he spoke. His voice quivered.
"Oh, it's over."
Felipe felt arms wrap themselves around his waist, and the touch of Fernando's face against his back.
"What am I going to do without you there?"
Felipe grabbed his hand, raising it to his lips.
"Stay loyal. Keep your mouth shut – but keep winning. I guess doing two out of three wasn't enough to save me."
"Ferrari are still pulling that shit, then?"
Felipe nodded.
"Yeah... you always knew never to say anything against the team. Not like Fernando."
Kimi pushed his shades onto the top of his head as he leant against the side of the Lotus motorhome. Felipe looked exhausted, and much as Kimi tried to tell himself it was because of the long trip to Singapore, he knew that wasn't the real reason.
"You've never spoken out against them either, Felipe," he said.
The Brazilian shrugged.
"Yeah, and look where it has gotten me." He paused. "How come when I stay loyal, I get called weak, a lapdog? But when you do it, it's because you're cool? I won't ever understand that."
Kimi kicked at the ground, his head down.
"Ah, but I'll always be the one that took the money and ran. And now? Now I'll be the one that came back for even more."
Felipe and Kimi stared at one another. One who was about to leave the team, and the other about to rejoin. Neither of them entirely sure who had played things right.
Ferrari broke them all in the end. Somehow.