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Drag - O.P. 81

Chapter 2: Guardian Angels

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Summary: Street Racer vs F1 Driver, a connection that’s undeniable, and the opportunity of a lifetime.

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Female OC (original character)

CW: swearing. Some possible racing inaccuracies.

Word Count: 2.5k

*DISCLAIMER: I do not know any of the people in this fanfiction personally, these are all just the works of my imagination.

Oscar was known for working late. Mark usually called it ‘obsession’, but he liked to think of it as dedication to his craft. Still, being at the track at two in the morning was a bit too late, even for his standards. He couldn’t help it, though. He had a shot at something huge, and throwing it to waste was not something he was about to do. He couldn’t choke—not when he was this close to reaching everything he’s ever dreamed of acheiving. The championship title was so close, in fact, that he swore he could taste it.

The automatic lights in the McLaren trailer had long since turned off, but the dim glow of his computer screen remained on as he scrolled through footage from the first practice session tonight. He hadn’t even realized his coffee was gone until he reached over to pick it up, only to be greeted by the empty cup. He sighed quietly, finding it as a sign to step away for a quick break. As he stood from the small stool, the lights slowly flickered on. He liked when he could work in these conditions: quiet, unbothered. The only sound that echoed through the building were his shoes as he walked across the concrete floor.

That was, until, he heard a garage door open.

He stopped in his tracks before looking over his shoulder. The cars themselves were out of his viewpoint, but he could hear the voices that were entering the facility. As Oscar began to make his way towards the entrance, he was caught off guard by the sound of Lando laughing.

“You’re not a very chipper one, are you?” Lando asked. Their voices grew louder. Oscar took a few steps back, trying to stay out of sight.

“I’m not here to make friends,” a girl’s voice chimed in. Her tone was clipped and short. She had an American accent, so Oscar could only assume she was from around the area. Then again, he didn’t think his teammate knew anyone in Vegas.

“Right, right,” Lando replied sarcastically. He heard them stop walking. “You’re here to race.”

“Holy shit, I can’t believe I am looking at the actual McLaren cars,” now a guy spoke up, laughing in excited disbelief. “Jo, this is insane! You’re going to be sitting in one of these!”

“Blake, just shut up,” the girl, Jo, muttered. “Just tell me how these things work.”

Oscar quietly moved forward, poking his head out slightly around the corner. There were four of them—Lando, Graeme Lowdon, and the two strangers. The girl’s hair was cut short: she had choppy layers that ended at her shoulders. Her dark hair was tucked, revealing piercings that dotted all along the edges of both ears. Her arms were folded across her chest, as she stared sourly at Lando. She was significantly shorter than the group—probably about the same height as Yuki, if he had to guess. His eyes lingered over to her friend, Blake, as he hurried around both cars, taking it all in. His hair was bleached and buzzed. He looked like a kid in a candy store.

“You’ll drive my teammates car,” Lando explained, handing her Oscar’s steering wheel. Oscar felt himself cringe as he did so. Who were these people? Most importantly, why was Graeme here with them?

“That is a lot of buttons,” Jo observed as she held it in her hands. “Your teammate is the next champion, I heard.” Her gaze met Lando’s as he rolled his eyes.

“Something like that,” he grumbled. “The poor sod is probably still here somewhere. He barely knows how to have fun.”

“God, same with Josie,” Blake laughed as he met up with them again. “She’s a stick in the mud half the time. You saw what it took to drag her here.”

Josie. The name suited her. It was edgy, much like she seemed to present herself to be.

Oscar watched as she studied his steering wheel in her hands. She was at least holding it delicately. Her fingers barely grasped the sides of it, like she was scared any ounce of pressure would cause it to shatter.

“You’ll need a race suit, too,” Lando announced. He began to walk towards Oscar, which caused the Australian to whip his head back around the corner. He stood there quietly, waiting for his teammate to see him. When Lando was close, Oscar reached out for his wrist and pulled him down the hallway, away from the group.

“What are you doing?” Oscar hissed as they moved towards his driver’s room. “Why did you bring Cadillac into our garage?”

“Holy shit, Osc,” Lando sighed, throwing his free hand over his chest. His breathing was slightly ragged, like the wind was knocked out of him. “You scared the hell out of me. I didn’t think you’d actually still be here.”

“Obviously I am,” he let go of Lando’s arm once they were far enough away. “In case you’ve forgotten, we have a championship to win. The points we get this weekend are going to determine if that title is ours or not—you know how important the Vegas Grand Prix is.”

“Relax, mate,” Lando waved him off. “She’s a racer. Graeme got permission from Andrea to be here. Max lost against her in a street race last night and was fuming today at the paddock. Cadillac caught wind of it and wanted to see how good she could be in an F1 car.”

“Jesus,” Oscar laughed in disbelief. “Street racing, Lando? I’d hardly call that enough experience to put her in my car. She doesn’t even know how to drive the damn thing.”

“Your car will be fine, loosen up,” Lando opened the door to Oscar’s room, and the two walked in. He closed it again, giving them more distance between the group. “She’s good, man. You don’t know what the people in this city say about her. She’s, like, a legend around here.”

“What could that possibly mean?” Oscar rolled his eyes as his teammate retreated to grab his race suit from his locker.

“Well, street racing is illegal,” Lando explained. “But there’s all these different leagues that operate on tournament-type schedules. It’s so intricate. They literally whisper about her. Even locals who don’t race talk about her like some kind of myth.”

“Oh, so you and Andrea let some criminals into our garage?”

“God, don’t be that way,” Lando groaned as he pulled Oscar’s race suit out. “It’s fine, Osc. They’re harmless. Besides, I want to see if she’s all people say she is.”

“And what do they say she is?” Oscar questioned. Lando held onto his race suit tightly as a smile crept up onto his lips.

“Unbelievable,” he responded, dragging the word out for dramatic effect. His tone was light, like he admired her despite not seeing her drive. Like she was a dream. “She’s undefeated. She’s even got a street name, dude. They call her Thunderbird.”

Oscar hesitated. Seeing Lando so bewitched by someone was an odd sight, to say the least.

“Well, keep me out of this tonight,” he finally said. “I want my hands kept clean of whatever happens. I was never here, got it?”

Lando mumbled in agreement that he wouldn’t get Oscar involved. As he watched his teammate leave his room, he felt his chest tighten. He’d be lying if he said a part of him wasn’t curious. It hardly sounded believable that a tiny thing like her could be a reigning champion. A city like Vegas had to be swarming with all kinds of talent—so what made her so special?

•

He shouldn’t have stayed, but he did. He turned on the bigger monitor, put on a headset, and watched the onboard camera. Truthfully, Oscar didn’t know why he stayed. His laptop was packed up, sitting beside his feet on the ground. He had his coat on, but he couldn’t step foot outside of the trailer. Not when a stranger was driving his car.

He anxiously bounced his knee, watching them line up at the start of the circuit. He felt like he could faint. Or puke. Whichever one came first, he’d accept. Graeme’s hand slowly extended out. He watched as Josie’s finger slipped, pressing the radio button.

“Dear God, please do not let me crash,” he heard her say, clearly talking to herself. Her voice shook with nerves, which only made Oscar feel even more uneasy.

His hand instinctively reached out to respond, when he stopped himself. What am I doing? He thought. He felt for her, though. Most people don’t step anywhere near an F1 car without years of experience and training.

Graeme withdrew his hand, and they were off. Lando shot ahead of her, with the clear advantage of knowing how the car worked. Oscar stood, watching as Josie struggled getting the car up to speed. Without thinking twice, he pressed down on the radio button.

“Full throttle,” he instructed sharply. “You have to shoot it. Don’t choke.”

“Who is that?” Josie asked, unaware of where his voice came from, or that her finger was still on the ‘talk’ button. But Oscar didn’t respond. He just watched.

Josie took a deep breath, then did as he said. The car shot forward, and she laughed. Oscar felt himself smile as he watched her catch up to Lando. He had to admit, the way she handled the car was impressive for a total rookie.

“Okay, don’t overtake him from the inside of the corner,” Oscar quickly chimed in again. “You’ll want to do it from the outside. It’ll be easier.”

She approached the tail end of Lando’s car. He swerved the vehicle around a bit, making it impossible to find a good opening. Josie scoffed at the gesture, when her finger slid off the radio button. Oscar held his breath, watching her attempt to find the opportunity to get ahead. He couldn’t will himself to sit down again—not yet. Not until she won.

“The radio button is top left of the steering wheel,” Oscar found himself saying. “That’s how I can hear you.”

“Is this guy always so arrogant when he drives?” She spoke again. She was still struggling to find an opening, and was losing pace on him. Oscar ran through every strategy in his head that would be easy for her to digest. Unfortunately, he didn’t think there were any.

“He’s arrogant on and off the track,” he answered.

“Are you going to tell me who you are?” She asked. She applied more pressure to the throttle, regaining her momentum. Lando stopped swerving, clearly under the impression that he lost her.

“Now’s your chance,” Oscar said, ignoring her question. “There’s an opening to his right. You have to shoot it.”

Something in her shifted. Oscar could sense it. She didn’t think twice, and got right into the opening. He felt something swell in his chest. Pride? He wasn’t sure. Whatever it was, it made it impossible to fight the smile on his face.

“Oh my god!” She laughed over the radio. “I did it!”

“Don’t get too excited,” he quickly commented, trying to hide the excitement in his voice. “You have to stay ahead of him, now. That can be equally as difficult as overtaking. Keep your foot on the gas. How many more laps?”

“Two,” she answered quickly. “Are you going to keep ignoring my question?”

He hesitated. He wanted to tell her—hell, he even wanted to meet her now, seeing the amazing work they were doing. But he meant it when he told Lando that he couldn’t be roped into this mess. His focus was on the championship, not on some random street racer. He couldn’t let his guard down.

“Yes,” he stated. “I’m not anybody important, really.”

“You’re proving to be pretty important right now,” she quipped.

“Flattery won’t get me to answer your question,” he retorted. “I have too much on my plate to risk being here right now.”

“And you think I don’t?”

He deserved that. He didn’t think to imagine what kind of stress she was under. If their street racing league was as secret as Lando made it sound, then she had to be putting a lot of trust into them to not rat out their operation.

“Well, our paths likely won’t cross again after tonight,” he finally responded. She was down to one more lap. Lando was losing pace. He was choking. “Just think of me as your one-time guardian angel.”

“I stopped beliving in those a while ago,” she stated quietly. He almost missed her saying it. Oscar sat down again.

“Maybe it’s time to start believing again.”

•

Oscar lingered in his driver’s room, waiting for Lando to return his things. When he heard them return to the garage, he fought tooth and nail to not go out and introduce himself to Josie. He made sure to put everything back the way he found it—to leave without a trace. He thought that maybe, if Graeme wasn’t stupid, he’d talk to her about signing on for Cadillac. That may take a miracle, though. He poses the risk of losing potential sponsors if he hires a nobody. But Oscar saw the skill and ability she had—she was a fantastic racer. She belonged somewhere in motorsports, that was certain.

When his door opened, he stood. Lando walked in, his head bowed like a guilty dog.

“I can’t believe she won,” he muttered. Oscar wasn’t quite able to read what his teammate’s emotion was right now—anger? Embarassment? When he looked up, his eyes widened. “You’re still here?”

“I stayed in the room,” Oscar lied. “I was about to leave, but wanted to make sure I got my stuff back.”

“Bloody hell,” Lando scoffed. He handed the race suit, helmet, and steering wheel over to him. Oscar tentatively took them back. The race suit smelled strongly of perfume—roses and vanilla.

“She beat me,” Lando continued, sitting on the edge of the cot in the room. “Some stupid street racer. I’ve been doing this my entire life, and she just wins? Like it was nothing?”

Oscar didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back to his locker to put his things away.

“Gareme loved her,” at this point, Lando was just rambling. Oscar let him talk, though. He found himself hesitating to put the race suit away. “He gave her his number. Told her to come to the race this weekend so they could ‘talk about her future’.”

That got him to turn around. Oscar was fighting the smile back, as he stared at his teammate.

“She’s getting signed?” He asked, keeping his tone as neutral as he possibly could.

“Fuck if I know,” Lando retorted, standing again. “But we’re screwed if she is. You should’ve seen her out there, Oscar.”

“Yeah,” he looked down at the suit in his hands. “It’s a shame I missed it.”

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