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jashasedai · 18 days ago

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Getting To Alright

This is a little piece I wrote, that is more relevant now that Charles has taken a place at the forefront of the sport. Tame Racing Driver AU, of course!

Characters: Charles Leclerc(And his Tame Racing Driver- Chemin) Kimi Raikkonen(And his Tame Racing Driver- Jaamies) and seen in passing are a half dozen others, including Charle's brother- Arthur(and Arthur's Tame Racing Driver- Castellet)

This is set in the village in Australia where all the Redbull drivers move after the Racing Drivers are all freed. Kimi is doing his usual therapist thing and listening while Chemin and Charles work through the lingering damage of growing up captive to the Companies.

TW for slavery and abuses perpetrated under the previous regime, as always in the Tame AU: Use self care.

Getting to Alright

Redbull Village- Winter 2020

The livingroom wall was designed to roll upwards like a garage door. Directly outside was a wooden deck, with a wide cutout where a big, branching tree grew through. The scent of charcoal and grilling john dory fish steak tanged the air. Kimi walked out of the office, one of the rooms set back away from the wide deck their house shared with the Vettel’s. As he came out, he held his files tightly closed, the slight breeze blew through the house, bringing in cool, ocean scents, but it meant they couldn’t keep anything in the main room they didn’t want blowing out into the bushes of the house across the lane.

He put the files back in the same old messenger bag he’d been using since he’d first learned Training with Mika Hakkinen, the bag he’d carried to every race for all ten years of his F1 career, and ever since.

He stopped just where the house’s shade outlined the vague difference in inside and out. A Beatles song was playing over the speakers ranged around the courtyard deck. Sebastian was singing along, wearing an apron that said, “Kisses please?” In the pictogramed version of Racing Driver sign that had been developed. He was holding tongs and swaying, manning the grill.

The song was “Hold My Hand” and Sunshine danced by and held his hand out to Jaamies, who was leaning cross armed in the deepest shade against the tree. Jaamies raised his hands and shook his head. Sunshine shrugged and danced back in the other direction, holding a hand out to Minttu, who was sitting at the table with Robin and Robin’s someday Racing Driver, Axel, showing them how to slice vegetables for the salad.

Minttu smiled and rose, taking the golden-blonde stallion’s hand and joining him in a foxtrot. Kimi glanced at Jaamies, who was watching them with a secretive smile on his face.

‘You did not want to dance?’ Kimi wondered.

Jaamies’ barely visible grin turned upwards fractionally more. ‘I love dancing with him, but Chemin is on the road outside, and we have work.’ He looked up at Kimi. His muscles, again, barely moved, but the expression changed from fondness in watching Sunshine, to smug pride thinking of the work ahead. ‘You have your connections closed.’

He’d forgotten. He lived with his connections closed, now that he was able. Now that he lived in the community of Stigs year around. Not every moment, but when he was home, with his small family. The champions would hear any alerts that needed to be broadcast, and Sebastian...as far as Kimi knew Sebastian never closed his connections. He’d been starved for other minds his whole life and now he was flush with companionship, and he didn’t intend to go back to the silence that had run Sunshine nearly mad with desperation.

Kimi opened his mind to the mental community and he could feel the cool pressure of minds in the village. From Skip and Sunshine, the biggest champions, to the newest babies, and every age in between.

Through the wide gap in the windbreak at the front of the house, Chemin and Charles came onto the deck. Chemin was leading Charles by the hand, and Charles was carrying a large piece of covered tupperware. Charles pushed his dark sunglasses onto his head as they came into the shaded yard. Chemin left him beside Sebastian, where he greeted their teammate and after a called greeting to the other humans, moved into position beside Sebastian, commenting on the barbecue.

The new Ferrari driver moved on to greeting the other Racing Drivers with nipped cheeks, and kisses for Axel, the foal.

Kimi watched the gap in the windbreak and another face peeked through. Similar features to Charles and Chemin, but with blonde hair.

‘Come in, Castellet, you are welcome,’ Jaamies sent, with a tone bordering on a command.

The little stallion appeared fully at the windbreak. Unlike Chemin, who wore head to toe orange, this one was in white with some dark blue. He examined the courtyard like he was searching for threats and then turned and gestured, [It is safe for you.] Arthur stepped out from behind the windbreak beside him.

‘That protectiveness…’ Jaamies thought, ‘His fear might need to be addressed.’

He caught Kimi’s hesitence.

‘But today we are seeing Chemin and Charles,’ He went on.

Minttu had broken away from Sunshine to greet the visitors and Kimi gestured to Charles, [Ready?]

Charles nodded and the four of them made their way out the back of the deck and followed the shaded path. They walked for a while without exchanging more than pleasantries. The path led downhill, at an angle away from the corner of the village where the Raikkonens and the Vettels lived. They came out of the cover of the trees on a little bluff overlooking the sea. Out in the distance the waves broke, and nearer in, a second vanguard of waves rolled in to meet the shore. The smooth section of beach the Redbull herd used most often was on their left, guarded on the far side by a stone ridge that jutted out into the water.

Kimi walked at the head of the group, down the path that curled through the boulders of the bluff, and jumped down the last meter to the beach. The sand here was dry and loose.

“This is beautiful,” Charles said, looking out over the greenish blue of the water. “I can see why you don’t like to leave.”

“I never liked much travelling,” Kimi said, turning right, away from the village’s part of the beach and walking along the bluff. “Jaamies never cared for it, either. He is an at home body.”

Around the corner of the bluff, the sea came in closer, and the beach was covered by arching trees. On the stones well above the high tide line, there was a shed on the bluff, kept from sight by the trees and bushes. Jaamies went and got a box from inside the door, and the four of them sat down in a circle at the edge of where the moist, hard packed sand met the dry, fluffier sand.

Jaamies emptied out the box. It was full of toys, figurines, and small, attractive objects. The sort of things Racing Drivers habitually kept as comfort objects, either tucked in the lining of their helmets when they weren’t racing, or in pockets and bags, now that they were free. There was a bigger range of sizes in these objects than would be possible to hide in a helmet or pocket.

Chemin immediately picked out the dozen fence pieces and began setting them in a box shape. Charles searched out the red wooden whistle Chemin liked to represent himself and handed it to his Stig when the pretend stable was finished. Chemin placed it in one corner of the fencing.

Kimi noticed Charles also wrapped his left hand around the clothes pin doll with the brown hair and the blue eyes.

Chemin looked up and picked the metal spoon with the heart-like shaping on the handle, and the ceramic snow covered valley and handed them to Jaamies and Kimi. They each set their pieces in the sand arena, a good distance away to watch. Jaamies stuck his spoon bowl side down so it stood upright and Kimi placed his snowy valley against it to show the two were close friends.

Then Chemin searched through the pieces until he found the little black plastic hammer and set it in the corner of the stable, with the head away from his whistle.

He touched the black hammer, [Overtake was hurting too much that day, he had not been able to sleep,] He started, his mind devoid of sending or emotion, like this story was coming from someplace deeper, and he couldn’t look at it as it passed through him to them.

He lined up a troop of bronze colored chess pawns to outside the fences that represented the stable. After this the gesturing faded away, as his memories overwhelmed his ability to communicate the depth of the horror and loss. Kimi, Jaamies, and Charles observed silently. Chemin acted out the event between the pawns and the black hammer, with his own red whistle looking sadly on, and at the point where one of the pawns forced the hammer down so hard that the sand covered over it, he picked up the whistle and blew into it, making it scream as well as he could through gritted teeth.

Then he dug his fingers into the sand, clawed out the black hammer and clutched it to his chest in both hands, sobbing and rocking.

Charles reached forward, leaning across the sand arena to embrace him. He had compassion and tears on his face, hands upturned in commiseration. Chemin shrieked, pushing Charles’ hands to the sides. He continued shrieking and scrambled back across the sand until his back hit a tree and then scrambled around behind it, pressing his face to the trunk.

Jaamies touched in with Kimi’s mind, noting the fingers of the free hand Chemin had been using to scoot himself with had been gesturing, [Mine, mine,] in movements probably too subtle for human eyes to see. But like the story, this wasn’t touching Chemin’s awareness. It was coming straight out of him without him ever consciously experiencing it.

Charles covered his face with his hands and his shoulders heaved in long, deep breaths. He gasped out something in French that Kimi had no chance of understanding.

Kimi reached a hand towards Charles, letting him see it and giving him plenty of opportunity to understand his intent and draw away or signal that a touch would be unwelcome. Charles inclined his shoulder to the touch and leaned in as Kimi rubbed his back. Through Jaamies’ senses, Kimi kept an eye on Chemin, still clinging to the smooth bark of the eucalyptus tree.

He was petting his fingertips over the black hammer, now, and occasionally he would press a kiss to its head. As his tears eased, he pressed it to his cheek and rocked it.

“We are supposed to share,” Charles’s voice broke the silence over the background of the waves, and Kimi jumped.

He looked at the young Frenchman, staring across at the tree concealing his partner. “But he will never share this with me? Why?? Why is he so afraid to talk about it?”

The stallion looked up, sharply at this. He must have felt the emotion underlying the spoken words.

He scooted forward again, on his knees. When he reached the edge of the sand arena, he pinched his red whistle between his teeth and laid the black hammer gently on the sand outside the arena like he was putting a baby to bed and stroked its head with a loving expression on his face. He rearranged the open gate fence piece and reset the faceless pawns around the fencing stall in the places they’d stationed themselves to watch before he’d knocked them over in his scramble to retrieve the buried black hammer.

He set the red whistle down, looking on, but immediately snatched it up again, put it in his mouth and slapped a hand over the end, interrupting a nascent shriek. He looked at Charles intently for a moment and then thrust the red whistle back at the ground, shaking it.

His body language had settled from agitation to a calm so complete it registered to Jaamies’ senses as if Chemin was asleep. Jaamies was shifting in place, like viewing the other Racing Driver from a slightly different angle would make him register normally again.

Kimi touched Jaamies’ hand lightly, feeling the soft hairs on the back of his fingers and the little blond hairs that interrupted his Iceman tattoo. He usually shared his calm with nervous Racing Drivers, but for now, for Jaamies he eased curiosity in to replace the nervousness and when it had subsided, Kimi worked up anger in his own heart at the faceless handlers who had perpetrated this, and smug triumph that the Racing Drivers had prevailed and demolished the system that had kept them imprisoned. He thought about how sorry he was thinking of little Chemin when he’d watched through his brother’s eyes. Let himself imagine the helplessness Chemin must have felt. He gave these feelings to Jaamies to use.

Then another mind latched onto his, for the first time, Chemin, sucking at the grief and the longing Kimi had provided.

And for the first time since he was a teenager, Chemin felt the sorrow and rage for himself.

He drained Kimi’s emotions faster than Kimi could produce them, and Jaamies, with his champion’s strength, supplemented him, but Chemin siphoned those away too and felt them, faster than the stoic White could produce them.

As he did, he stared into their eyes.

His eyes were wild with desperation. Desperate to feel what he had cut himself off from, the only thing that could fill the empty wound inside him and make it heal.

Suddenly Charles made a noise.

Chemin’s eyes snapped to him. He rose up onto his hands and knees, leaning over the sand arena, staring his match in the face and Kimi felt his attention move off them and ground itself in a deeper well.

Kimi felt like he’d been squeezed in a fist and then suddenly dropped. He sat back and took a deep breath. He clutched harder at Jaamies’ hand and replenished the White stallion’s emotional reservoirs with emotion he manufactured. Jaamies sent gratitude without looking away from the bond pair.

Charles’s eyes were closed. He was grimacing and his face was turned slightly away like Chemin was a fire and was burning him. Chemin was shaking and his emotions were surging. More than Kimi and Jaamies had ever felt from the little Ferrari stallion in all the months they’d been treating them.

This was the first time Chemin had ever connected with Charles over the subject of his brother’s death.

Kimi felt something like a bone popping, and then an instant of stretching, then Jaamies tackled him to the sand.

The stallion pressed Kimi’s back to the ground, clutched his arms over Kimi’s head, and surrounded Kimi completely with his Champion mind. A tide of shock and terror broke over the outskirts of Jaamies’ mind, but Kimi was safely in the deepest part of the stallion’s protection, where the burning tide couldn’t scour him away.

Kimi opened his eyes for a moment in the midst of the wave that washed over them, and saw Jaamies’ grey/green eyes staring back. His jaw clenched as he resisted feeling the emotion Chemin was feeling from Charles’ mind. They floated in coolness and silence.

He closed his eyes and relaxed. He was safe, and Chemin was finally feeling what should have always been there.

The wave subsided, but Jaamies kept Kimi locked inside the deepest part of himself, until Chemin collapsed into Charles’ arms, too tired to sob. Then Kimi blinked into the beach sunshine.

“He couldn’t feel it,” Charles whispered. “So I felt it for him. I gave it to him.” He petted Chemin’s hair, and Chemin, eyes closed, panted softly. “I knew what he wanted to feel. How I would feel…if that ever happened to one of my brothers. I knew and I…made the feelings. In my heart, so he could feel them. He couldn’t make them himself. Not since he silenced himself when it happened. Not since then. So I felt it. So he could get it from somewhere.” He babbled.

Kimi nodded. Jaamies released him into the mental landscape and Kimi could feel, in the distance, out of the range of the rest of the village, the few champions strong enough to feel this far. Only Sunshine and Skip were in the village today, and their idle curiosity was in Chemin’s direction.

‘Did that help him?’ Skip asked.

Privacy did not concern a Racing Driver in the same way it might a human, and Kimi reported to the responsible stallions that this burst was an indication of Chemin’s progress, then explained that he would explain more later, but must pay attention to his work, now.

The two champions went back to their own work.

Jaamies was running a testing examination around the edges of Chemin’s mind. ‘He has not lost his disinclination to feel for himself, but this has broken away the strongest of the resistance. We should proceed gently, but if he continues to let himself feel, he may begin to produce his own emotions properly again.’

‘Will he be a Red again when it is done?’ Kimi wondered.

‘I think he will. Even before today, he produced more emotion than is typical for Oranges. It is only these places in his mind that he has stopped himself from feeling. Once he has his full range of emotions again, he should not need to rely on Charles, and he will be as emotional as most Reds are. He might not ever consider himself Red again. He chose to change his color affinity from Red to Orange for a reason. Feeling again may not change that reason.’

Jaamies delivered this information with no emotional additive. Kimi stroked his back and loved him. Jaamies didn’t produce much emotion, but Kimi couldn’t imagine wanting him any other way. Sunshine and Sebastian routinely produced enough emotion to power and light a small amusement park, so he was familiar with emotional powerhouses.

He considered asking Charles what he would think if Chemin returned to the color affinity he’d had before this. Charles had never known Chemin as a Red. The change had happened before they’d matched. All Charles had even known of Chemin had been while he’d been an Orange.

[Will I be a Red again?] Chemin asked suddenly, opening his eyes and looking at Jaamies. [When you fix me, will I be,] His hand reached out and clutched around the red whistle again, [Will I be myself again?]

Jaamies stroked Chemin’s face with light fingers. [You will be whatever you choose to be, little one, we will help you, and your match will help you, to become whatever you choose to be.]

Chemin looked up at Charles. [I want to make you proud of me. I want to share what I feel without feeling afraid that I am wrong.]

[Do I...make you feel wrong?] Charles washed his hands over each other, frowning.

Chemin shook his head. He peeled open the fingers of Charles’ left hand and took out the brown haired doll. He put it side by side in the open topped red sports car with the comically large wheels and rear wing. He patted the two objects and smiled. [You never make me feel afraid.]

A slight hesitation glazed his eyes, but it was so brief, only Jaamies’ eyes caught it and shared it with Kimi. A brief sensation of shock at the hands coming towards him and a feel of sand beneath his hands and knees replayed in Kimi’s mind, but were replaced by the feel of a cool tshirt against his face and soothing hands pressing on his back. Chemin wanted it to be true and he was working to make it true.

And he knew it wasn’t Charles’ hands that Chemin had been fleeing from, not really.

That was work for another day, though.

Kimi searched through the laid out toys and found a big plastic tiger. He set it down beside Chemin’s red sportscar, like they were lining up on the starting grid.

Chemin whirred in delight and revved his engine. [It is Tiger! My friend!] He announced. He searched through the rest of the figures and found a Garfield, tucked into his box bed, with his blanket covering everything up to his ears and set it down beside the tiger, [Here is Pierre.] He picked up his red whistle and tapped the mouthpiece to the tiger’s cheek, and then gestured, [We are the best at racing,]

Kimi smiled at Charles, who smiled and nodded back gratefully. Kimi always liked to end sessions in a positive way, if he could, and for Chemin and Charles, talking about Pierre and Tiger was always a good way to boost morale.

When Chemin finished the story of how he’d met his best friend, he and Charles helped pack the figures back into the box and they held hands as they walked, half a dozen paces behind Kimi and Jaamies, back up the path towards the village. As they topped the bluff, where Kimi and Jaamies were waiting in the shade of the trees, they turned to look out over the sea and up at the seagulls drifting the breeze in the blue sky.

Then they made a quiet way back to the Raikkonen/Vettel house, and climbed the two steps to the deck where the girls were just setting out plates, with Arthur helping, and Castellet showing Robin and Axel how to jump rope.

Sunshine was hovering beside Sebastian with a serving tray, shifting from foot to foot while Sebastian debated over whether the lobster tails were done or not. He turned and smiled at Jaamies and the rest of the little group as they came back in.

‘Did you help our teammate?’ Sebastian asked, just audible to Kimi and Jaamies on their special connection. He was enough Racing Driver to send, but would never be strong enough to sense as far as the shed at the end of the bluff. He hadn’t been aware of Chemin’s burst of emotion.

‘He took a step forward. We will keep helping him,’ Kimi agreed.

‘Like you helped us,’ Sebastian answered confidently.

Sunshine revved, then. Tiny tendrils of smoke had started rising from the lobster tails and he thrust the serving platter towards Sebastian. [Quick! Quick! Take them off the heat! You will burn them. They just want a little warmth all the way through.]

Kimi laughed. Minttu pressed a stack of small plates into his hands. “You better start dishing up the kids,” She said. Robin, Axel, Rhianna, and Axel’s twin and nearest aged siblings had been joined by half a dozen other children and little Racers, one of which he recognized as the oldest of the foals Alondra had adopted, slouching to one side, more like a human teenager than a foal, and Rhianna seemed fascinated by him, showing off her repertoire of somersaults, each differentiated by her shouting the name of a different acrobatic move before executing the roll.

He was producing slow applause at each of these performances and looking increasingly hunted as the show dragged on through it’s third variation.

Kimi decided to rescue him by calling him over to put him in charge of gathering the youngsters for their plates, and Rhianna came with him, taking his hand as naturally as if she were a Racing Driver as well.

The teen seemed pleased with the responsibility over the feeding of the others, though, and dubbed Rhianna his teammate as they went.

Chemin and Charles were sitting on the edge of the deck, with their backs to the group and holding hands. They weren’t moving, but it seemed like a lot was passing between them. Kimi smiled his approval. They were good kids. They would do fine.

Kimi’s Racing Driver put his hand in Kimi’s and touched against Kimi’s mind.

‘Heart in the Glacier,’ Kimi sent his stallion’s name, affectionately. ‘Are you pleased?

Jaamies squeezed his hand back, ‘You do well, Cold Speed and Safety of Home. I am. Very pleased.’

#au tame racing drivers #fanfic #alternate universe #formula 1 fanfic #Charles Leclerc fanfic

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jashasedai · 18 days ago

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Nap Buddies

A Formula E fanfic set in the Tame Racing Driver AU

Characters: Jean Eric Vergne(and his Tame Racing Driver- Jev) Andre Lotterer(and his Tame Racing Driver- Merlin) offscreen- Jaime Alguersuari(and mention of his late Tame Racing Driver- Victor. Also references to the late Jules Bianchi(and his late Tame Racing Driver- Trace)

As all Tame Racing Driver AU- TW for mentions of slavery. But this one also touches base on the real world driver starvation issues.

There is also a scene at the end that highlights other atrocities committed in the ‘Verse(mentioned in the context of taking back safety and freedom)

Nap Buddies

New to Formula E

Techeetah Team Meeting- 2017/2018 Preseason

They’d met during their winter as refugees. Jean-Eric and Jev had come to the Ferrari stable several times during the winter to bring news, or assignments for the bond pairs there who were helping the Grand Tour Crew to set up the next phase of life as free Racing Drivers.

Now Merlin and Andre were working in Formula E, where Jev and his human had been working since they left Formula 1, during Redbull’s crisis. Andre and Merlin stood in the back of the room and watched the team principal, Markpreston, speak to the team.

Out of the corner of his eye, Merlin watched Andre translate the words into gestures.

It was very interesting.

He had never been allowed at one of these meetings before. They were for the ones who made the decisions. Andre always explained to him what had been decided for him afterwards, but now Merlin was free.

He was responsible for his own decisions, now.

He had to pay careful attention to understand what the human was saying, and understand how it applied to all the new things he had learned about how teams worked.

It had certainly been much easier, standing in the motorhome, or the back room of the garage, and being brought out just to drive.

The Racing Driver at the front of the room raised his hand. This was not a real gesture, just something humans did to draw attention to themselves.

Markpreston pointed at Jev.

Jev explained several conversations he’d had with the team over the previous year, regarding the suspension of the car, and ways to make improvements. The short explanation made Merlin suspect this was an old discussion.

Markpreston explained that great progress had been made by the engineers at the factory.

[I want to go to the factory,] Merlin told Andre, in small gestures, [Could I be allowed to do that?]

Andre looked at him for a long time, and through their connection, he could feel Andre’s sadness. The kind he sometimes felt when Merlin had new experiences. [Yes,] He said, [If you ask them, they will be happy for you to visit. They will be excited for you to tell them what you think.] As he said this, the sadness eased away, to be replaced by happy anticipation.

Merlin revved an upshift noise.

He smiled. He liked speaking to engineers about the cars.

Formula E cars were so different.

They made him feel special. Like coming home.

Someone touched his arm, from the other side.

Tallado was an older Ferrari stallion, and he and his match, Pedrodelarosa, worked for Techeetah, too. He smiled kindly, [You must pay attention, little stallion.]

He turned his attention back to the front of the room.

Jev was raising his hand again. This time he addressed his comments to the whole team. [I feel confident that if we follow this plan, we will be able to be proud of our results this year. I am proud of all of you.] He made eye contact with each of them.

Merlin felt Tallado swell with pride when their leader’s eye fell on him.

He felt a swell of pride of his own when Jev looked into his eyes. ‘I will drive well for you, stallion,’ He assured the leader of the team. He found himself making a pleased rumbling.

Jev had moved far beyond the place of a tame Racing Driver, waiting silently for his chance in the car. He was a leader in the team.

Merlin felt proud of Jev, and glad to be part of his team.

Getting The Paperwork Straight

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018 Preseason

Jev was lounging in the team’s mess hall, one leg crossed over the other knee, reading from a neat sweep of paper on the table around his cup of grapefruit juice.

His match wasn’t with him. Andre wasn’t with Merlin, yet, either. He had a long phone call with his dam, and Merlin had left ahead of him.

This was a good time to approach Jev. It was a thing men wouldn’t usually like to see discussed.

Merlin walked to Jev and leaned down, Jev turned his head without taking his eyes off the paper, pursing his lips and letting Merlin press his cheek to them. Merlin responded by kissing Jev’s cheek and biting firmly, letting his lips rest on the skin, letting his eyes drift closed.

Jev’s eyes opened wide.

Merlin pulled away, keeping hard eye contact.

Jev breathed in. [What can I do for you, champion?]

There was a slight emphasis on the title that rightfully belonged to Merlin, but not yet to Jev, despite the greeting as an equal Merlin had given.

[I raced endurance,] Merlin said.

The Green stallion waited for the significance of this.

[Endurance teams work together, without fighting one another. I…] He hesitated, but he had considered this proposal. [I would like to work WITH you. I do not want to struggle with you.] He raised his hands and switched to sending, to convey the depth of his sentiment, ‘If we worked for OUR wins, against the other teams, think how well we could do. If we defended each other and worked,’ His hands came together with the fingers interlocking, ‘Like matches. Supporting each other to make each other more effective.’

Jev gulped.

[I am not cracked. It could work. Not team orders, where the team is cruel to one, and takes from him to make the other win.]

Jev’s eyes narrowed.

[Not like Redbull,] Merlin said.

There was a little surge of pain at the memory of Jev’s home stable.

[And not like Ferrari,] Merlin added. He reached out and stroked a hand down Jev’s arm.

Jev sent confusion. He couldn’t understand where the trick might be.

Then, he reached a hand out. He looked across the papers. His hand hovered over one and then he pushed it forward. [Look at this,] He said.

Merlin picked it up and concentrated.

It had impressed him that Jev was sitting here with such easy confidence and such a large pile of paperwork.

Merlin put his tongue between his teeth. He recognized this word, and that one, and all the little ones, like the and of. After a moment he had to look up and shake his head. It was too hard without Andre to help him. He was still learning to read. He knew he was very intelligent, but Andre had told him it took human children several years to learn to read competently, and Merlin had only been learning for about half a year.

Jev smiled and pulled a chair up right beside his.

Merlin sat shoulder to shoulder with him, and Jev put one arm around Merlin’s shoulder, so they be close enough to easily see the paper at the same time. He ran his finger over the words, line by line, explaining what they meant.

The paper was about the car’s performance, data from the year before on Jev’s driving.

This sort of paper was becoming very familiar. Soon he wouldn’t need help reading it, but for now, he listened to Jev.

He explained the way the car worked, in ways only a Racing Driver would understand. Things Andre, who had stopped driving at 14, when Merlin had begun the public driving portion of their career, could never really understand. Things only a champion would understand.

Things most teammates would never consider sharing.

Call from Ferrari

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018

Jean-Eric got off the phone with Giancarlo Fisichella.

Jev was leaned over the front of the desk. He hated phone calls. And video calls. [What did he say?] He demanded.

[That he and Fizzy would like us to come home between races and take reports from the herd leaders.] Jean-Eric watched his Stig’s eyebrows clench and his lip pooch out. [You agreed to help them do the work.]

[Things have changed, why don’t they choose herd leaders who are Trainers or who have shown organizational ability.] Jev sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

Jean-Eric ignored the reaction and opened his email. He sorted through the emails he wanted to read, then the least tedious of those he had to read, then dumped the trash and left the tedious but required emails for later. In his mind, he thought of a brightly lit city, and the sounds of cars on the street below a small but comfortable apartment. He remembered the taste of fish dinners at the restaurant at the end of the block. He thought about the warm sun on the windows on the drive between Madrid and Valdeluz. He thought about the feeling of coming home and seeing your family after a long time away.

Jev’s quiet idle turned into a grumble. [Jean-Eric! You are trying to lure me.]

He shrugged, [I am just reminding you why it will not be so bad when we go.]

The chair creaked. Jev stood up and walked to one wall and back to the other. [I will agree if we can stay with Jaime before AND after we leave, and the meal when we arrive, you will not stop me from eating as much fish as I like.]

[I will call Jaime and see if he is available before and after. It is more flying, stopping in Barcelona before and after.]

Jev sent a much more accurate memory of the taste of fish from his favorite restaurant, and the quiet comfort of an evening listening to music with Jaime.

Jean-Eric watched the stallion pace from one side of the room to the other. He wondered if Jev would ever find anyone to be as comfortable with as he was with Jaime.

They had lost a lot together, when Victor died, and when Redbull rejected them, but that was no reason to never make other friends.

It wasn’t just Redbull and Victor, though.

Mainly it was Trace.

It was years of working for Top Gear and then the Grand Tour Crew, undercover, in a life already fraught with danger and deceit. Being a double agent.

Blues were not designed to be deceitful, and Jev was probably one of the few who could have achieved it without breaking his color affinity and changing the very nature of who he was. It had taken a toll, though.

The drive home the day the dismantling of the Redbull stable had started was...one of the most freeing, and also one of the most painful days of Jean-Eric’s life.

There was nothing left at Redbull for Jean-Eric. There hadn’t been since he’d been sent away.

He had only gone to support Jaime.

Jev and Victor had been the odd ones out, at Redbull. Somewhere between the golden boy, Sunshine, and Rabbit and Oz, the black sheep. Just fodder. Just there to drive until another all-star could be found.

Just seat warmers.

And then, paperweights.

Jean-Eric had learned a lot, working for the resistance Jev’s twin had inducted them into, but he hadn’t learned that Racing Drivers, once they died, whether of natural causes, or being put down, were cremated, and their ashes mixed in concrete blocks.

Buried in shafts in the ground.

Trace had never seen his resistance overthrow FIA.

He was a stone somewhere in Suzuka, Japan.

Victor hadn’t died during a race. He had died of his epilepsy, in his own stall in his own stable. He was buried with every Racing Driver Redbull had lost, under a little building none of the matches ever went into, on the far side of the parking lot.

Jean-Eric stood up. [Jev,] He called.

The stallion turned and raised his head, [Yes?]

[I want to go check on Andre and Merlin. I want to make sure they are adapting well. That will be a good thing for a more experienced bond pair to do.] He swept his papers into a pile and tapped them into line. He put them in the To Do file.

[They are older than we are,] Jev said, pursing his lips, confused.

[We have been in Formula E longer. They are our new teammates. We will care for them,] Jean-Eric recited the old Racer mantra. It appealed to Blues to make sure those around them were comfortable.

They walked in step to Andre and Merlin’s office. Jean-Eric knocked on the door. Jev seemed very impressed by Merlin. Maybe the older stallion could help fill the void left by having so much taken away.

Working it Out

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018

Andre still worked out with Merlin, and he had put on a lot of muscle since they’d been freed. Merlin has lost so much weight over the winter that his Physio had accused him of starving in the refugee camp. Racing Drivers were naturally smaller and lighter than humans.

Do I know any Racing Drivers who are taller than their matches? Andre wondered. Their entire career, Andre had to keep himself at a tiny percentage of body fat and very slimmed down from the muscle mass his body wanted him to carry. And Merlin had to eat two or three times as much protein as Andre later learned was optimal, just to keep himself looking mostly like Andre.

Andre watched his biceps flex in the mirror as he lifted free weights. The distribution of muscle had changed, too. Racing Drivers had to keep very skinny legs and thick necks.

For the first time Andre could have muscular thighs, too. One of the female celebrities on the track had walked into the front wing of Boomer Buemi’s car because she was staring at Andre’s ass. There had been photos, and a GIF.

Boomer had not been pleased.

Fortunately for the girl, she didn’t understand gestures and she thought he was asking if she was alright.

Boomer was shorter than Sebastien, come to think of it. And Tweety was shorter than Sam. Hare was Mitch’s height, but his sire was Rabbit, and Mitch’s father was shorter than Mark Webber. Zah was shorter than Nick, and like Merlin, much lighter without having to keep himself looking like Nick.

Snowcat was taller than Felix, by at least three centimetres, but his two triplet brothers were matched to tall men.

And Jev was taller than Jean-Eric, but you could only tell when they stood in bare feet. Like they were now, down the way, shadow boxing, to improve Jev’s reflexes. The difference was a centimetre, maybe less.

‘Why are you staring at him?’ Merlin sent. He lifted the bar over his head with a huff, and let it back down.

‘I was thinking about how tall they are,’ Andre answered.

Merlin hoisted the barbell again. ‘Yes, they are tall.’ In his mind an image came across of beach trees, their tops blowing in the wind.

Andre wondered how thoroughly Merlin understood human metaphors, sometimes.

‘Redbull is known for tall stallions. It is a shame they didn’t breed the tendency out of the bloodline before we became free. It will be harder to find mates that are an appropriate height than breeding partners who will lend the foals their slightness.’ Merlin put down the barbell. If he lifted too much, he bulked. He had finally stopped being weighed down by Andre’s build, he was not interested in going back to the bulkier body.

‘I do not think you should say things like that, about how Redbull should have bred them.’

‘Why not? Being tall is a GREAT disadvantage for a Racing Driver. We weigh more and the car accelerates more slowly.’ There was a feeling of deep sadness and he grimaced in pain. ‘They made Formula 1 difficult for me because I am tall. I am very sad! Andre!’ He fell into Andre’s arms.

The other bond pair, and the other people working out in the gym didn’t pay any attention to this. It was common- expected- to see Racing Drivers exhibit great displays of emotion. These people were used to the way Racing Drivers behaved. It was the match’s job to be the focus of the excess as it might be. They left Andre to it.

He brushed a hand along the back of Merlin’s neck and felt the sadness with him. It dissipated after a few moments, and Merlin quieted.

[Thank you,] He said. [I feel tired, now. I want to go back to my stall and sleep.]

Andre nodded. [Alright.] He picked up his dumbbells and waved his free finger at Merlin’s barbell.

He saw Jean-Eric watching them in the mirror when they passed to the equipment stand to put their gear away. “Headed back up to the office. See you there.”

Merlin went to walk right past the locker room.

[No, no.] Andre said.

The Racing Driver ‘s head went back and he raised his eyebrows.

[I will not bother you about leaving during the the workout, but this time, I am going to argue with you. Being free doesn’t mean stinking like a damp carpet. You may not want to waste time showering, but I am showering, and you are, too. It is gross. I will not ride in a car with you.] Andre pointed towards the locker room.

Merlin stood, with his head back, but then his eyes looked side to side, and the hard edge of his mind softened. He gave a partial nod and followed Andre.

The other bond pair must have finished their workout, too, because as Andre and Merlin finished their showers, Jean-Eric and Jev arrived.

Andre put hit foot up to tie his shoe and happened to glance up as Jev peeled his shirt up his back. He turned his attention back to his shoe.

The white criss-cross of scars on Jev’s back were none of his business.

He felt deep movement in the river of emotion he shared with Merlin. He turned and looked up at Merlin. He was holding the buttoning on his shirt, eyes unabashedly fixed on the younger stallion’s scars. He was expressionless, which a Racing Driver almost never was, and the emotion he felt was too suppressed for Andre to clearly identify it.

Merlin shook himself out of the stare and frowned. He continued to button his shirt, and cast Andre a wry smile.

They went out as the water started in the shower room.

‘You could have asked him,’ Merlin said.

‘It might have made him feel bad.’

The river of connection stilled, while Merlin reached down another channel, one Andre couldn't see.

‘The day Jules did not come back, his Trace’s friends met to discuss what happened. The handlers found them out of their stalls and punished them,’ Andre saw a memory, as distorted and hard to discern as an old photograph of an old TV screen, the feeling of hands scrabbling over a gritty floor, being pulled by the legs, away from the comforting presence of his friends, and then the memory got even more vague with the feeling of sharp pains on his back.

‘I HATE what they did to the Racing Drivers,’ Andre felt. ‘I hate that they thought your bodies belonged to them, to punish and to adjust.’

Merlin didn’t comment, but somewhere, at the bottom of the river, Andre knew there were worse things than this.

Worse than physical pain.

Merlin didn’t let it rise to the surface, though.

There was a futon mattress in their office. They didn’t have room for a couch, so the mattress stayed rolled and upright in the closet when they weren’t using it to sit on. They unrolled it, it filled the floor from the desk to the wall. They were used to sleeping where they could and when they could, from a career of endurance racing. They laid a blanket on the futon and laid on top of it. Merlin could cram himself into one of the cupboards, too, if he wanted to sleep standing, but now he was feeling overwrought, and he wanted his human, so they curled up together on the mattress on the floor.

The Racing Driver linked one of his hands with Andre’s and closed his eyes, dropping into his sleep cycle almost immediately.

Andre touched his shoulder. It was harder to balance Merlin when they moved to a new team, or a new sport. They had to get to know the other Racing Drivers, and learn who they could trust to handle Merlin’s high emotional production and low emotional tolerance. He spilled over the banks of their river easily.

“You miss Voiture, don’t you?” He whispered into the quiet, unhearing air. Their WEC teammate, Marcel Fassler’s stallion had handled Merlin’s emotional upkeep with easy aplomb. Endurance Drivers tended to the less emotional colors. Greys, Yellows, Whites, and especially Oranges. A team with a Red was rare, and a Blue, even rarer. So the Oranges tended to be the ones to help their teammates through with their emotions.

Formula E had a neat balance of colors, and even a small handful of Bitones.

“We’ll find someone to share with you,” Andre promised. He scooted closer to his sleeping stallion and put his arm around Merlin’s back, watching him sleep, until his own eyes drifted closed.

Showing What is Inside Me

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018

Jev finished speaking with Tallado. He could feel Merlin, quiet, concentrating. The smooth, cool, champion waited until his leader was finished with what he was working on.

‘I wanted to show you something,’ Merlin told him. ‘Can you meet me outside my office?’

‘Yes.’

He estimated how long it would take to walk from the engineering office to Merlin’s office, and how far away he’d felt Merlin, and left in time to come to the hall corner and walk to the door with him.

[Hello,] Merlin said, as they reached the door. He opened it with his keycard and they went in. He was wearing a black bag, and when he opened it, Jev was unsurprised to see a laptop.

Merlin pushed the rolled cushion out of the corner and onto the floor and they sat on the roll with their backs to the wall. Merlin set the laptop on his lap, opened the top and they waited in stillness while it booted up. When it had started, he opened a program.

It was an image display program. The monitor had a good picture, and the program displayed across the entire screen with no edges.

It was a photograph of Andre. It was in shades of grey, instead of real colors.

Jean-Eric had talked to Jev about the thing called articles, during the many long discussions they’d had about the media, and the true purpose behind what the photographers and microphone men did. Articles on the computer usually had pictures at the top. Jev waited for Merlin to show him what the article said. Merlin couldn’t read well, maybe he wanted Jev to help him read it.

Instead, Merlin clicked and another picture came up. It was also grey, and it was of the corner of the garage. That funny thing was happening where the light shown on the dust and made it look like the light itself was a physical thing. There was a cat lying on the concrete, looking up into the beam of light.

It was hard to tell what kind of article this could be.

‘I took these,’ Came the small thought, into his mind. ‘It is my free time.’

Jev looked more closely at the pictures.

Jean-Eric let him take selfies of them, on his phone, sometimes. It had taken lots of practice before Jev could make both of them fit in the picture, and even longer to get all of both their faces.

Merlin took very GOOD pictures.

He clicked to the next one, a picture of the sun bursting through the clouds, over the trees at Le Mans. It was from car height, Jev knew the view, well, and the edges were slightly blurred, to create the effect of moving at great speed. It was a perfect image of the sensation of coming up the straight as the sun burst through the rain.

It was like...sending.

He could TELL what feeling Merlin had been trying to give the one seeing the picture.

[You are a singer...with a camera instead of your hands.] How was this even possible? Jev looked at the picture again and again. [You can do something special,] He whispered.

Merlin smiled, and raised one shoulder, as if he was denying responsibility.

Jev put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, to keep it from rising. [No. You are special.] He could feel the muscles in the shoulder under his hand twitch, like they were going to rise again, and then still.

[Thank you. You are kind, stallion.] Merlin looked down, closing his emotion away instead of sharing it.

The stream of pleasure was gated away, and Jev let it slip out of reach. It wasn’t his right to make Merlin share feelings with him. [Why do you call me stallion?] He asked, instead. [You are a champion. I am not, not yet.]

The older stallion looked up. His eyes were the color of green olives, and they were wide in surprise. [You are a leader. You…] He held his hand out in the direction of the garage. [You lead the team like a stallion leads a herd. You are our stallion. Ask Tallado. He follows you.]

Jev shook his head. [Tallado follows me because I will be lead stallion of Ferrari, and he is a Ferrari.]

Merlin’s eyes got even wider.

That had been a stupid thing to say, he’d let his hands run away with him. He pinched them together to keep himself from saying anything else stupid.

[You are a leader,] Merlin said, [Why do you ask, if you know? I can see what you are. I am not wearing a blacked out visor.]

Jev felt embarrassment rise up, and thought of how resistant he had been to going home, to learning from Fizzy and Duck, about what he would need to know, when it was his turn.

[I respect you very much,] Said the quiet hands. Merlin’s eyebrows were up. He was leaning forward, expression and mind earnest.

[Thank you,] Jev answered.

They sat still again.

Merlin put his hand on Jev’s forearm, just behind the wrist.

After a few more moments, Merlin moved his hand back to the laptop. [Would you like to see more of my pictures?]

Jev smiled ear to ear. [Yes! I would like that.]

He felt the gate to Merlin’s feelings unlock.

Being Considerate of Others

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018

The room smelled like recycled air. Pedro was taking a turn translating, and Jean-Eric could hear Jev’s mind ticking over like a counting machine, taking in the engineering team’s report and plugging the information into its relevant position. He stared up at the spots on the tiled sub-ceiling.

Andre cleared his throat. He was on the opposite side of the table, down near the corner, next to Pedro.

The engineer went on into the next portion of his report.

Andre cleared his throat again.

Jean-Eric sat up. Jev’s concentration had been disrupted by the stop of the report, but he hadn’t noticed Andre’s sound.

Andre held his hand out across the table in the, [Wait,] Gesture.

Everyone looked at him.

Merlin was sitting in the next seat, cross armed, looking unimpressed.

“This meeting was only scheduled until 11:30 and now it’s 12:00, maybe this would be a good time to take a break, if it’s going to go on?”

Mark, the team principal, said, “I think we’ve only got about 45 minutes left.”

“No,” Andre said. He raised his hands in a conciliatory manner, “If this is going to go on, Merlin and I need a break.”

“You’re allowed to go to the bathroom during the meeting,” Someone joked.

Andre didn’t look away from Mark.

“Alright, let’s meet back here in 10 minutes.” Mark started pushing back his chair.

“An hour.” Andre wasn’t looking at Mark, now, he was picking up his bag from the floor beside his chair.

Jean-Eric’s eyes narrowed. What was Andre doing? It was going to take the rest of the day to get this done, that way.

“An hour,” Andre repeated into the silence.

“An hour,” Mark agreed.

They stood up and Andre ushered Merlin out of the door by the arm.

Jean-Eric looked at Jev, who was talking, through Pedro, to the engineer whose report had been interrupted. The other engineer looked after Andre and shook his head.

Where did Andre get off thinking he could redirect the whole team’s schedule like that? Jean-Eric knew that wasn’t how it worked on WEC teams. On any team. The driver worked to the team’s timeline, not the other way around.

He left Jev in Pedro’s capable translation and went out into the hallway. Andre was just leading Merlin around the corner that led towards the cafeteria. He strode after, to catch them up.

When he got there, Andre and Merlin were standing in front of the fridge where employees were allowed to store food brought from home. Almost no one ever used it, and Andre was keeping a box in there that took up half a shelf, marked with the words, “Do not take” in several languages. The door was open and Merlin had the box propped on the edge of the shelf, looking in at the contents.

Jean-Eric’s step slowed.

[See, it is still there,] Andre gestured. He stroked Merlin’s back. [Pick whatever you want.]

Merlin looked at him with a grimace. He pushed the box back onto the shelf. [It is too late. I missed my meal-time.]

Andre shook his head. [It is alright. You are not too late.]

[Half as much?] Merlin grimaced again.

[No, pick what you want.]

[I should not have a sandwich.] Merlin hung his head.

Andre put his arm around Merlin’s shoulder. [It is alright,] He whispered. He kissed the side of Merlin’s head and dabbed at his wet eyes where Merlin could not see. [Pick what you want, brother. No one will take it from you.] He spotted Jean-Eric, stopped in the middle of the cafeteria, staring, and looked back at him for a moment, before turning back to Merlin.

[There will always be enough food for you,] He told his stallion. [And you can have as long as you need to eat it.]

Jean-Eric spurred himself into motion. He turned sharply to the coffee machine and poured himself a cup of coffee, letting it rest on the counter while his hands stopped shaking. Until Andre and Merlin had walked past, with half a sandwich and some grapes, to the seating area.

‘Are you alright?’ Jev asked, ‘You are coming back? I am confused by one of Pedro’s signs. I need you to help me.’

Jean-Eric drew in a breath and picked up the unwanted coffee. ‘I will always help you.’

Jean-Eric was lounged back in his desk chair, idly reading email from his agent, one leg crossed on his knee.

“I know you know what it’s like.” Andre was standing in Jev’s office door, one ankle crossed, leaning on the frame like a movie pose. “We all know that F1 changed for tall Drivers, because ‘Jean-Eric Vergne’ passed out. The damage the weight restriction was doing came out, because of you. Don’t tell me they pushed Jev until he passed out from not eating, and you don’t get that they have food issues.”

He walked into the room. “It’s taken me this long to get him to eat ANYTHING outside of meal times. To get him to believe there will be a next meal. Every time.” He pulled a foil package of peanuts out of his jeans pocket and put it back. He pulled a ziplock bag of apple slices out of his jacket.

Jean-Eric understood this display to mean Andre carried food, so Merlin would never have to worry about whether he would be hungry.

“He didn’t pass out. He jumped into my mind with me, so it looked like he passed out. Getting on Jeremy Clarkson’s trusted list meant doing something to draw attention to how we were being treated. JEV was hungry, but he wasn't the worst off.” Jean-Eric tapped his pen on his desk.

“When meetings go on too long, or traffic makes us late, it’s hard. It’s hard to get him to remember those Stable rules don’t apply anymore,” Andre said.

“I do understan. We are all helping them heal wounds.”

“I saw his...whip scars,” Andre’s voice was low.

Jean-Eric raised a shoulder, a sour imitation of a shrug, like rage didn’t rise up in him when he thought of the scars Jev and his friend carried from that night. “That was the night they met, when we realized something had happened to Jules after Trace died.” He looked at his hand and flexed it around the pen. “They crippled Alex Rossi’s. Broke all the fingers in his hands.” He grunted. “Alex can be an ass, but Xerxes was struggling enough without having that done to him.”

He shook his head.

Andre came forward and put his hand out. “Not being the worst doesn’t mean your pain is meaningless.”

Pose

2017/2018

Merlin Lotterer tapped his fingers on the desk and stood up. [I will call the journalists. I will speak with the woman at the magazine. I want to do it.]

Andre didn’t like the idea. He could see that.

It made him feel afraid.

It made him feel hurt.

[You do not have to help me.]

Andre cringed. [I do not want to....] He looked down into the coffee mug in his hand.

Merlin smiled at him and rested his fingertips on Andre’s shoulder. [It is alright. You do not have to.]

Andre nodded.

Seven Vandoorne clutched his stonework mug in both hands. He rested his forearms on the wooden deck rail. There was mist coming off of the lake. He was wrapped in a warm knit blanket. The coffee steamed. A long way off, a waterbird called.

[Will you do a self portrait? Of you, this time, not of me?] Stoffel asked. He was relaxing under another blanket on a low chair, with his own mug of coffee.

One side of Seven’s mouth curled up.

He nodded.

[What kind of pose do you feel comfortable with?] Seven asked.

Ratchet Carmichael held his elbows to his sides and shrugged. He wasn’t really looking at Seven, he was looking off set, where Ricky was standing.

[Maybe this would be easier if it were just us,] Seven suggested.

Ratchet didn’t move.

His match took the hint. He picked up his jacket. [I will be outside when you’re ready, bud.] Seven waited until the studio door clicked closed.

The atmosphere became less tense.

[Maybe we can just start with some…]

Ratchet had turned around. He was yarding his shirt up over his back. The neon green came up off the dark cloth of his pants, exposing pale pink skin, sprinkled with orange freckles. Except for the deep, white, rigid scars that criss crossed his back from his ribs to just below his shoulders.

He dropped the green jersey on the ground and dropped to his knees. The toes of one bare foot touching the pad of the other.

He laced his fingers behind his neck, and drew them up the back of his head, until they were clear of the faded black barcode in the shaved smooth patch behind his right ear. He pulled his head down, with his hands, so only a little of the red orange hair was visible above his fingers.

His back arched, like he was in agony.

‘Can you show me like this?’

Seven took the picture.

[Are you ready?] Merlin asked.

Mark Webber squeezed Rabbit’s hand again and stepped out of the shot.

Merlin took his time adjusting the light properly, so it did not reflect off the X Ray sheet. Rabbit’s shirt was a little lighter than true Dark Blue, but it looked wonderful through the viewfinder, against the rich grey background and the black and white of the X Ray.

[Look into the camera, good. Now look at the tape on the floor. Think about when this happened.]

Rabbit’s face twisted from it’s usual statuesque calm, into a wide mouthed grimace. His eyes clenched shut.

The tendons in his neck stood out, like he was screaming. The shaved skin behind his ear tensed. His whole body tensed.

[I HATE THIS!]

His hand clenched tight around the X Ray, white lines shining across the black background and pale grey of his bones, where the medic had wired the teenage stallion’s broken jaw shut.

Merlin took the picture.

[It is alright. Be proud.] The White mare, Freeza Chilton, coaxed the stallion.

Xerxes Rossi tugged his black t-shirt lower, though his black shorts were perfectly decent, covering his legs to mid thigh.

[Put your right hand on my right shoulder,] She told him, [And your left arm around me, with your left hand just below the right.]

It was strange, sending all his instructions through her, but Seven was having no luck getting Xerxes to pay attention to his directions long enough to get posed. ‘Please ask him to move his leg farther to the side, so I can see his full tattoo,’ He sent to Freeza.

‘Now straighten your back and tighten your belly.’

She followed his direction.

‘This couch is tickling me,’ Xerxes commented, moving out of position to touch the antique velvet.

Freeza revved and he moved back into place.

He rested his chin on her shoulder, his mutilated hands still scarred, even after the surgeries that had been done to repair them. He sat behind her, with his right foot flat on the floor, left leg up on the couch with his ankle under his right knee, leaning forward against her back. His shorts displayed the tattoo over his right thigh. She sat against his shin, back straight, her knees together and her hands on them, framing the cesarean scar across her lower abdomen, visible between the white crop top and the white yoga pants she wore.

They sat sidelong to the couch, facing the wall to Seven’s right.

The final picture would be black and white, except for the pink of her scar, and the scarlet and green of his tattoo.

Their barcodes were starkly visible.

[Now look at me,] Seven instructed.

Both of them turned vivid eyes on him. They would remain colourless.

Seven took the picture.

The couch Merlin chose was modern. White. With sharp lines. It looked like something Andre would have in his home. Unembellished. Efficient.

Merlin thought it looked uncomfortable.

He thought it looked like a stable felt.

[Do we sit here?] Niki Lauda asked.

[Yes, please,] Merlin said. [Grad to my left. Niki to my right.]

They sat.

[I would like to take several pictures. I would like Grad to look towards that wall.] He pointed at the wall beyond Niki. [Niki, please look at the wall behind the camera.]

Niki looked towards him. He had bright blue eyes.

Grad broke into a grin. The laugh wrinkles around his eyes, green without the contact lenses, distorted when they reached his scar. He had no barcode anymore, though a dark smudge showed where a corner had been.

[When you are comfortable, please take off the hat, Niki,] Merlin said.

He looked sideways at his partner, with whom he’d shared his whole life, and took the red baseball cap off his head.

Grad giggled again.

Niki’s face broke into a wide smile as well.

Merlin took the picture.

[Do they hurt you?] Seven asked.

[Yes,] Duende Pedrosa answered. [The losses hurt more, though.] He grinned.

Seven looked down at the little Rider stallion’s frame, covered in only a tight pair of rust orange shorts. His tan muscles were interrupted by pink, puckered lines at every large joint.

He turned his head so his barcode was apparent, and raised his arms in the classic bodybuilder’s pose, flexing, so his heavily muscled body looked as hard as the farings of his motorcycles.

[I am too strong for pain to stop me.]

Seven took the picture.

[I want you to tell me about that day,] Merlin said.

Professor Prost looked down at the black and white photographs on the table in front of him.

They looked like pictures of war.

Hallways, littered with bodies.

[When we woke up, it seemed just to be morning,] The old stallion, said, [We did our routines. No one knew it would be anything different.]

He told the story of the day.

[Then Alain came, and we all went outside, I left them.] He ran his hand into his curly, thinning, hair. It exposed the barcode he still wore hidden.

Tears dripped onto the photos.

A loss deeper than any physical amputation.

Merlin took the picture.

[Are you sure you want me? I am not...important…] The blonde mare’s hair was beginning to grow out after her confinement. Her health hadn’t fully returned.

[None of us were treated like we were important,] The older mare told her. [This is something that should be seen.] She smiled a sad smile. She brushed her hand through the other mare’s hair.

The hair had grown unevenly around her scar, but Lucir was certain she wanted it cut, to show the scar better for the photoshoot. Ochre, the Yellow mare who had come along to support her, trimmed the hair with scissors.

She was careful to keep the cut strands from catching on the scar that continued down Lucir’s scalp, over her forehead, across the warped skin where her right eye had been, and back across her cheek. It fell, so blonde it was nearly white, onto the hairdresser’s plastic cape and slid off onto the floor. She brushed the hair off, and wiped with a damp cloth. She removed the cape, letting the rest of the hair fall, unheeded onto the floor. She moved off the set.

Lucir hunched on top of the barchair where she’d been given the haircut, with her bare heels hooked on the highest rung.

Seven examined the scene through the viewfinder. The mare looked scared, cold, exposed.

[The paper,] He said, as he realized she wasn’t holding it.

Ochre brought the paper and handed it to Lucir.

[Look to your left, please,] Seven said.

He made certain both her barcode and scarred eye were clear.

He let the camera focus, and made sure the words on the paper were clear. They were small, but the larger letters across the top, Certificate of Death, and the name of Lucir’s match would be legible to anyone who saw the full page photo.

[This is going to hurt,] Seven said, [But we want to show your emotion.]

Lucir de Villota nodded, unlocked her jaw, and got ready.

[What did you feel, when the handlers told you Maria was found dead, Lucir?]

The mare’s grind of agony expressed itself in her whole body.

Seven took the picture.

[Did I look that way?] Jev Vergne asked Jean-Eric.

Jean-Eric frowned and nodded.

They stood inspecting the large photograph projected onto the back wall of the set.

The picture was from the investigation FIA had done, after Jev had blacked out from hunger and fatigue on the weekend of a Grand Prix.

It showed a stallion, skinny beyond recognition, wirey, but with barely enough body fat to survive. Beside it, sized to match, was another, and 3 more after that.

In the studio, Rabbit Webber was standing beside the snack table, one arm crossed and the other holding up a plastic cup. Sugarboy Button was filling up a plate with ham spirals.

Hulkie Hulkenberg and Sweep di Resta were standing in the corner, whispering.

Of all of them, the change in Sugarboy was most dramatic. The younger stallions in the pictures from 2013 and 2014 looked emaciated. Sugarboy and Rabbit looked lean and stringy. Now Sugarboy looked like Hulkie’s namesake. He was muscled like a healthy tiger. Of all the pictures, Sweeps was the saddest. The naturally tall, blade thin stallion looked skeletal. He was pale. His ribs were showing. His stomach didn’t look trim, it looked empty.

Now Sweep was a fit young stallion, they all were.

[Everyone please get in line,] Merlin called.

The stallions lined up in front of their before pictures.

[Everyone smile,] He said.

The group of well fed stallions smiled.

Merlin took the picture.

‘I will not let you fall,’ Seven sent. He scooted closer, keeping a firm arm around the older stallion’s ribs to keep him steady, since he could not support himself. The soft comforter he’d laid on the carpet, to protect the stallion’s skin from any rubbing on the unpleasant surface, was becoming disarrayed, but he couldn’t move to fix it.

The camera was set up on a tripod, with the viewfinder pointed towards them.

Shoe Schumacher sent a feeling of amusement. ‘I trust you.’ He felt relaxed in Seven’s arms.

Seven had thought through a few positions, but decided that the best one was with Shoe facing mostly away from the camera, but not so far that his face could not be seen. He had to lay up against Seven’s chest to do this, his legs stretched out behind him, towards the camera, their depleted muscle looking unnaturally thin in the foreshortening.

They looked at each other, face to face.

The low cut shirt Shoe was wearing revealed the star shaped scar at the back of his neck, where the handlers had punctured his spinal column. His thinning hair stopped short at the place where his barcode had been burned off, leaving a pale scar and no evidence that he was who he was.

The scar on Seven’s jawline shone white in the light he had chosen.

The mirror behind them reflected the scars that ran just to one side of Seven’s barcode, up behind his ears. The caption of the picture would explain the paralysis, and the numerous surgeries Seven had gone through, to change his face from matching Michael’s son, to matching Stoffel Vandoorne.

He smiled at Shoe.

Shoe looked determined.

Seven took the picture.

Andre examined the article.

Hidden Wounds: The stories behind the scars of the Stigs you know and love.

Duende’s flexing was an excellent cover photo. His career had been notorious for injuries, and he looked triumphant.

Seven Vandoorne’s photographs were primarily black and white. The one with the Indycar mare and stallion, and the slight touch of color was very moving.

Merlin’s pictures were in color, and made more use of background and props. Andre’s heart caught at the picture of Maria de Villota’s mare. He remembered that crash, vividly. Most of the matches assumed the Racing Driver couldn’t have survived, that Maria’s passing was in response to sadness.

The loss of a match perfectly encapsulated what Merlin had told Andre he wanted to show everyone with this series of pictures. Seven had focused mainly on scars that the public had not been aware of, but Merlin showed the heartbreak of growing up as a Racer, up against impossible odds. Losing things that humans could only barely comprehend.

That was what he was showing, here.

Then Andre came to the two page spread.

The paralysed stallion, and the stallion denied his chance to ever be one.

[It was a team effort,] Merlin said.

Andre looked up with tears in his eyes. [I am so sorry you all had to endure this.]

He opened his arms.

Merlin took comfort in them.

[This is your best work,] Stoffel said, closing the magazine. He set it on the table beside his patio chair. [I am SO proud of you.]

Seven turned from the summer sun setting over the lake.

He stepped away from the rail, and settled on his knees, between Stoffel’s feet. [I did it for you.]

Stoffel smiled. The smile for when he was uncertain.

[I wanted you to understand.]

The uncertainty went away.

‘Thank you.’

Seven laid his head on Stoffel’s knee. ‘I love you, and I just want us to be together. I want to be matched with you. I am glad I am matched with you. Those stallions Merlin showed when they were hungry, they are better, now.’ He lifted his head. ‘I am better, with you.’

Stoffel got down on the deck with Seven. He hugged his Stig. ‘I love you.’

Seven took comfort in this.

The Name I Was Born With And The Name I Was Given

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018

The flight had been long, and they had come right in to the office to check in and pick up files. Jev trailed behind Jean-Eric, missing the days when he could have passed on this responsibility. His skin itched from the long plane ride, and he wasn’t sure which he needed more, to go home to his cool sleeping cupboard or to go out on the track and thrash a kart until he could no longer make the corners.

He pulled himself together to greet Merlin.

The older stallion hadn’t been travelling. He seemed fresh. He smelled like a recent shower.

Merlin frowned, once the greetings were done. [You are sour. When was the last time you drove?]

[Yesterday morning.]

Another frown, and a grunt. [Will you go straight to your track and drive?]

Jev shook his head. Jean-Eric was tired, too, and it was raining. It would be exhausting to drive in the rain.

[Would you like my turn on the simulator?] Merlin asked. [It will ease the itching, so you can sleep.]

Jean-Eric tapped him. He thought it was a good idea.

[Thank you. That is kind.]

Merlin put his hand on Jev’s shoulder and smiled.

Jev went down to the simulator room and let the crew know he would be taking Merlin’s turn. The simulator was in the dry building, and imitated their race car, but without moving. It was not as good as a kart, but he could work until he was tired, without the extra time to travel to the track and the discomfort of cold rain.

He changed into his gear and strapped into the simulator.

Jean-Eric sat in a comfortable chair where he could see what Jev was doing, and Jev connected to his mind, adding to his own speed and capacity.

The simulator was set up for the track at Marrakesh. He let himself fall into the work. Accelerate, smooth shifting, Jean-Eric presenting him with options for the best line, and choosing among them.

He worked until he finished two rounds with the simulated car crashing, rather than completing his laps.

Jean-Eric’s hand settled on his shoulder. [That is enough. The engineers are happy with the data you brought them. We will go home, now.]

[Yes, Jean-Eric,] Jev’s hands felt heavy, too heavy to speak. He drew strength from his match’s arm around his back, and they walked to the car. He sat in the passenger seat and rested his head against the window.

It had been a long week.

The beginning of the long week-

The door to the apartment opened. A man with dark hair and sky blue eyes smiled when he saw Jev and Jean-Eric. He gave them both brief hugs and escorted them into his home. There was a smell of rich seafood from the kitchen, and some quiet music with a strong beat coming from a music dock on a low shelf in the living room. Jev shuffled his feet on the thick, pale carpet and followed their friend into the kitchen.

[I got take out from that restaurant you love,] Jaime Alguersuari gestured. He pointed to boxes covered with tin foil.

He poured wine that was a lighter color than the gold on Jev’s race suit, and it smelled nice. Perfect with the spicy fish that had been swimming in the sea that morning, and was cooked and ready for their dinner tonight.

Jaime’s house was different than a lot of houses that matches lived in, now that the Racing Drivers were free.

At Jean-Eric and Jev’s house, things were set up in the ways Racing Drivers needed. The floors were clear, and anything that made uncomfortable smells or noises had been removed. Jaime tried to be sensitive, but under the smell of the dinner, Jev could pick out a harsh chemical cleaner, and when he shuffled on the carpet, there was some sort of sickly sweet floral scent.

Jamie knew Racing Drivers needed certain things, but there was no Racing Driver here to tell him about the others. The things humans couldn’t sense for themselves.

There was no sleeping cupboard in Jaime’s bedroom. Just some dressers, and the door to a closet.

Jev sat close to Jaime and watched very carefully when he spoke, and Jean-Eric was quiet and didn’t get much involved.

[The weather will be nice tomorrow, do you want to drive out and visit Victor, before you fly out to Stig Central?] Jaime asked, after they’d cleared up dinner, finished their wine and started to consider bed.

Jev nodded, looking more pleased by the idea than he felt.

It was important to Jaime.

Jean-Eric thought he might not think about Victor enough, when he was left alone.

The room where Jean-Eric and Jev stayed did have a sleeping cupboard. It had been wiped down before they’d arrived, but it was obvious it had been used as a closet since their last visit. There was nothing wrong with that.

Jev was the only Racing Driver who ever came to see Jaime.

Jaime was uncomfortable with others.

Other Racing Drivers were never sure what to say or what not to say about Victor, and it hurt him.

Jev changed into his pajamas and sat on the edge of Jean-Eric’s bed so his match could apply lotion to his face and hands, and clip his nails.

‘He will probably never stop asking us to visit Victor with him,’ Jean-Eric sent, picking the concern from Jev’s mind.

‘Victor is not in the stone. Just the ashes from his body are in the stone. Victor is waiting for Jaime.’ Jev turned his face so Jean-Eric could get the lotion on his ears without getting it on his hair.

‘Humans sometimes think it is a special place, where the body is. It helps us remember. Give me your left hand.’ Jean-Eric squeezed more lotion onto the back of Jev’s hand and started to spread it around.

‘It would be easier for me to remember Victor by seeing his trophies,’ Jev said. ‘If I had trouble remembering him.’

He imagined being full of a win, and taking the weight of the gold trophy in his hands, hoisting it high over his head. Showing everyone how fast and capable he was.

Racing Drivers names weren’t the words humans used.

Victor’s name had never been Victor, until the day Jaime matched with him.

Walking out of the matching room, to sign the paperwork, every match was asked what their Racing Driver’s name was.

Just after matching, the telepathy was new, almost no match was able to consciously understand it by then.

But the Racing Driver sent, as hard as they could, the feeling that was who they were.

When Jev had known Victor, as foals growing up side by side in the stable, they had not known what word a match would choose to describe those feelings.

When Jev sent Victor’s name to Jean-Eric, he sent the feeling of lifting a trophy high.

Jaime had felt that, and chosen the word Victor.

Sometimes matches did not understand the feeling they were receiving. Some matches took longer to adapt to the communication in their minds with another living being. None of them had been told their Racing Driver would speak in their minds.

Jean-Eric had determined before meeting Jev, that he would give his new partner his nickname. That would be a good cover, in case any mechanic or team member ever accidently said the Racing Driver’s name. Everyone would assume there was only Jean-Eric Vergne.

Jev leaned against the headboard and relaxed into the caretaking, while his match finished the lotion, and began to gently trim his fingernails. It was a holdover from those early days, when Jev had not been allowed access to anything with a blade. Now no one could deny him clippers or a nail file, but the routine was comfortable, and an expression of their closeness and love, and neither cared to discard it.

For young matches and Racing Drivers, getting used to one another’s company, the excitement and racing were good skill building, but the touching and quiet conversations were what built their bond.

No champion had a match who did not take every opportunity to be with him.

The friendship was the secret to a Racing Driver’s success.

The more their match loved and shared with them, the greater the Racer’s capacity.

Jean-Eric and Jev still raced, and now that they had unfettered access to one another, their friendship had only increased. They had new traditions and new rituals, and spent more time together than they ever had.

When Jean-Eric finished Jev’s nails, they switched places, and Jev squeezed the lotion into his hand, warming it up before he started to apply it to Jean-Eric’s face.

‘Ferrari will be busy, tomorrow,’ He said.

‘I heard Redbull is working towards moving to their own place. Starting a village. Do you think Ferrari will be ready to do something like that?’

Jev made a noise in his throat. ‘You heard that from Daniel and Australia?’ Jaime was Jev’s best friend, but Daniel Ricciardo was Jean-Eric’s.

‘Stig Central was never meant to be permanent housing for all those herds. It was supposed to be someplace for them to be safe until they learned how to live on their own,’ Jean-Eric sent.

‘I do not think Top Gear anticipated that we would not WANT to move into our own houses all across the world. I do not think they realized that we would be very unhappy without large herds around us. I understand money, now, and could choose a place to live, but I would not want to be alone. I would like a large building, with many rooms for Racing Drivers to stay in, but common rooms, and eating areas together.’

‘Like a stable.’ Jean-Eric seemed uncomfortable with the idea.

‘We would have been very happy in stables, if the men had not prevented us from leaving, and hurt us to make us race. It is not the BUILDINGS we are angry with. We were not caged by the buildings, not really. We were caged by the lies. That humans hated us and the fences kept them out. That we couldn’t be fed properly, because we had not worked hard enough. The buildings were perfectly suited to our needs. They shouldn’t be used, NOW, because they reek with fear and bad memories, but if Redbull makes a new place for themselves, I am sure Glass and Rabbit and Australia will make certain their herd will all be close together, and able to share resources.’

‘Would you want to live with them?’ Jean-Eric asked.

Jev didn’t even consider this. ‘No. I was born and raised with the herd, but I am not a Redbull. Not really.’

‘I think Australia would argue with you. I KNOW Glass would.’

Jev shrugged. ‘Glass had a different plan for the herd than she was ever allowed to build. If Glass had been allowed to lead like a lead mare should, I might have stayed. It will be a long time before Redbull recovers from Rabbit and Sunshine ripping it apart. I am more interested in the challenges I am offered with Ferrari.’

A supposition of Trace and Jules, older, and dressed in Ferrari red, crossed Jean-Eric’s mind. Then the image changed and it was Jev and Jean-Eric in their places.

Jev’s nose crinkled in annoyance. ‘No, I do NOT think they want us only because Trace is not alive to lead.’ He straightened his shoulders and sent back a picture of himself, in Techeetah black and gold. ‘I will be a champion in my own right, and I lead my team and my stallions well, and I will lead Ferrari well.’ A deep well of old pain opened. ‘I will care for them, and make sure they are provided what they need. I will feed them, and make sure they have clothes, and mechanics, and lessons. I will make sure THEY understand money and how to find good places to live, so they will be able to choose the careers that suit them. Not the careers they are forced to with no options.’

‘Australia racing was not your fault.’

Jev hung his head. ‘I know, but he has great things in him, and all Redbull ever asked for was wins. Now he will build his herd a place, and lead them. He is more than just wins.’

Jean-Eric took his hand out of Jev’s hold and cradled it around his face. ‘Redbull raised a lot of very capable drivers, and it raised a lot of VERY capable leaders. I am proud of you, Ivy Growing Across the Ground.’ In his mind, he pictured Jev’s sent name as tendrils, reaching and sprouting leaves, and putting out more and more tendrils, until they had covered an entire field, and the root stock had grown thick and impossible to break.

Jev put his head on Jean-Eric’s shoulder.

Jean-Eric had shared his own identity with Jev, it had drawn them closer over the years, but he had always understood who Jev WAS.

And that was what made them champions.

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018

Before Jean-Eric could pull out of the parking lot, there was a shout, and someone rushed up to the car, knocking on the window. It was Andre.

He spoke in a rush to Jean-Eric.

Jev would have rolled his eyes, but he had been making an effort to understand that, for humans, noises sometimes conveyed information faster. Jev had started pretending that when Jean-Eric was speaking noises, he was taking a phone message for Jev, and that was Jev wasn’t required to deal with all the silly proceedings himself. Jean-Eric was like one of those sharply dressed humans who followed the team owner around and made certain what he said got done.

Of course, Jean-Eric was much BETTER at it than any unmatched human could be.

‘He says there is a problem with the car and the engineers would like us to stick around until we can help them work it out. They aren’t ready yet, but they don’t want to have to call us back after we leave. I am sorry. We can leave, if you need to. Andre says Merlin offered you the cushion in his office to sleep on, until they need you.’

Jev sighed. The team needed him. Leaders put their team in front of their own needs. Like they put their herd in front of their own needs. He reached into the back seat and grabbed his bag.

‘I am glad you are staying,’ Merlin’s mind touched Jev’s from somewhere inside the building. ‘I am unrolling the cushion, now. It will be fun to work together over night,’ This statement was filled with a sense of wistfullness, and at the edges of it, Jev could feel memories crowding, of Merlin’s time in WEC, sleeping in shifts while his teammates raced, and the sustained adreneline of hours more racing than most Racing Drivers could hope to endure.

‘I did not know you missed your sport so much,’ Jev sent back.

‘It is very exciting, but it is also very hard. I am excited about this new challenge in Formula E, and maybe, someday, when our sport is ready, I will have a part of E Endurance. For now, you and I will have a sleep-at-my-place, which is a fun sort of party where everyone naps and eats whipped cream.’

Merlin was more excited than usual.

Jev went into his office. Merlin was kneeling on the cushion where they had sat to look at pictures. Now it was not rolled, but laid flat on the floor, with a sheet over it. Merlin was fussing at the pillow, putting it here, and then there.

He smiled when Jev came in.

[I will change, now,] Jev said.

Merlin got a fluffy comforter out of the closet while Jev changed into his pajamas.

Racers could sleep lying down, but generally didn’t. It could make their joints ache if they didn’t stand for a long time. Jev sat down on the cushion.

[Would you like me to stay, so you are not alone?] Merlin asked.

Jev nodded. Right now, Merlin was the only Racing Driver around, so Jev could only feel two minds, Jean-Eric, and Merlin. He did not like being alone, and the two days with Jaime after leaving Ferrari had meant two days of only Jean-Eric, before the long flight home, and now here he was. He lay down on the cushion, and Merlin lay on the other side, on his belly, with his face on a second pillow.

Merlin turned the light out by pulling the plug on the lamp.

‘I would not make a good endurance driver. I am very tired, and I only want to sleep,’ Jev thought.

‘You have pushed yourself through a very long day, and you still answer when your responsibilities call you,’ Merlin thought back, ‘Those are the qualities of the very best endurance drivers.’

The compliment made Jev feel happy. He sent back gratitude to his friend. ‘Thank you, Hawk With Grey Wings.’

Huddling Together

Techeetah Team Headquarters- 2017/2018

The day had been long, Jev sighed and slid his long, thin body down onto his belly on the futon cushion beside Merlin. [Paperwork is very hard,] He stretched.

Merlin stroked Jev’s back with one hand. He was sitting with his back to the wall, watching a broadcast on his phone.

Jev curled up with his back to Merlin and sighed out his tension, letting himself sag into the soft pad.

The other stallion paused the broadcast and put his phone up on the edge of the table. He scooted down and pulled Andre’s pillow from where he’d been leaning on it. He passed the pillow to Jev and Jev put his arms around it and tucked his knees up. Merlin stroked Jev’s bicep.

[Paperwork is hard,] He agreed.

Jev stilled him by catching the fingers of Merlin’s left hand and entwining them in his own left hand. ‘Do you remember when we were foals and they told us what our lives would be like?’ He asked.

‘Yes. It was not like this.’ Merlin moved in behind Jev and pressed his chest to Jev’s back. The place where they touched was warm.

‘Matches have a HARD job. They were not allowed to enjoy the good things, driving and working with cars.’

‘And championships,’ Merlin thought.

Jev revved disconsolately. He hadn’t won his championship, yet, either. ‘Jean-Eric was so sad, when we belonged to Redbull.’

‘Some humans say we shouldn’t say we belonged to the stables.’

‘Why not? I bought my Alfa-Romeo. It belongs to me. I own it. Redbull paid for me, paid for Jean-Eric to be taught and brought to me. They could sell me or do whatever they wanted. They owned me.’

Merlin didn’t answer the angry retort.

‘Being free is...hard work.’

Merlin listened. He nuzzled behind Jev’s ear.

‘I do not want to go back,’ Jev clarified. ‘I want...to have been better prepared, for how many things, and how many types of things, there are to do. I was never told about rent or water bills, or plastic pay cards. I was never told about vacuuming the floor.’ He shrugged, bumping Merlin’s chin accidentally.

‘Sometimes Andre gets frustrated with me,’ Merlin said, ‘Because I did not know to shut the refrigerator door carefully, or that not all soaps are the same, because I hesitate, and he knows which doors we may use and which doors are not for us. Because I hesitate when there are animals or machines that I do not understand, or humans I do not know. He expects me to know which pens I may use and which I may not, and thinks the difference should be clear to me, like it is to him.’ He buried his face against Jev’s shoulder blade.

Jev squeezed Merlin’s fingers. ‘We will understand each other.’

Then he felt thoughtful for awhile.

‘Merlin, you live with Andre alone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would you like to come and visit some other Racing Drivers? It is easier, sometimes, to be with others who think of the same things first, like we do.’

‘Your Ferrari herd?’ Merlin asked.

Jev squeezed his fingers again. ‘You are a Ferrari.’

‘I have not been a Ferrari for a long time.’

Jev drew his teammate’s fingers to his mouth and kissed them. ‘Many of the Ferrari herd have not always been Ferrari. We are still a family.’

‘Family,’ Merlin repeated. He nodded and crowded deeper against Jev. ‘Yes. I would like to come and spend time with a family.’

If you enjoyed, please leave a comment. No matter the time, place, or year, I will be happy to hear what you think.

#au tame racing drivers #fanfic #alternate universe #formula 1 fanfic #formula e fanfic #FE fanfic #motorsports fanfic

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