#also the finished product is currently 41k and will be posted god knows when

[lilyrizzy]

i’ve finally finished the wip i’ve had since january :) to celebrate here is a snippet 

warnings: mentions of minor character death 

“I need to tell Zak,” Daniel says, later, after they’ve sat in more silence for what feels like hours, but Daniel knows can only be a few minutes. He wants to live in this moment forever until it will feel like it was for something.  

“Do you- do you want me to call him?” Max offers, tentative.  

Daniel’s fingers flex on impulse, he has to force himself to unclench them from around Max’s arms, has to force himself not to snap again, to take a deep breath. He thought- He thought holding Max was proving to Max, to himself that he can do this, can cope with this. This is his practice, his chance to make sure he can step up for Michelle, for his mum, when he gets to Australia. It’s what his dad would want from him.  

He pushes down the part of him that wants to snap that he’s not a child.  

“Nah,” he gets out after he’s unclenched his jaw. He forces his voice to stay even as he shakes his head, “I should do it. Besides, weren’t you going to sort our ride.” It’s a weak attempt at teasing, but Max smiles at him. He slides off Daniel’s lap, going to find his phone, Daniel presumes. Before he leaves, he presses a kiss against Daniel’s curls and Daniel forces himself not to flinch.  

Alone again, Daniel looks out at the blue-green waves lapping against the superyachts below, listens to the distant and gentle thrum of music already coming from them even though it’s barely 8 am. Come evening, they’ll be in full party mode, thumping bass and out at sea somewhere.

He never took his mum and dad on a superyacht. He’d had the opportunity to, in 2018 after his win here, but they’d insisted that he go on partying without them. His dad had always thought they were gaudy, a stupid way to show off how much money you have. What’s wrong with just a yacht, Daniel? He’d always ask in the early days, teasing, when Daniel first started in F1 and would phone them every week with new stories. One day you will grow up. He knows his dad had never meant it unkindly, but it stung then and it stings now, to think about. His dad is never going to see him become the man he wanted Daniel to be.    

He’d always thought he’d get them on one if they ever watched him win the WDC. 

Now his dad would never get to see that either.  

Squinting against the sun begins to hurt his eyes. It’s the first physical feeling he can place since Michelle called. Pain. If this was real, wouldn’t he feel something else? Wouldn’t there be some scar on his body he could point to and say, I got this the day my dad died.  

His fingers reach for the back of this thigh, to stroke across the handle of the dagger there, the word “Papa.”

He picks up his phone, and he means to find Zak’s contact, he does-

“Hello, Sir Charles Gairdner Hospital.”

“Hi,” Daniel begins, but his voice cracks so he has to clear his throat, “sorry- erm. I was wondering if you could help me. I’m- I’m looking for my dad, I think he might be a patient? He- he had-“

“Name, please, ”this polite but clipped voice interrupts. She sounds like home.

“Giuseppe Ricciardo,” then after a moment of listening to her clicking keyboard, “He might be under Joe?”

She hums. “I don’t see anyone by that name, sir. What did you say he came in for?”

Daniel feels a lightness rising in him, so fast it’s dizzying. “Heart- Heart attack.”  

She hums again. “Nope. No record. You should try Royal Perth Hospital if you’re not sure where he might be.”

He says goodbye, relief flooding through him. Maybe- Maybe  Michelle got it wrong. Maybe she’s confused- Maybe she’s going insane, and this is all part of some weird mental breakdown she’s having because she’s stressed, maybe-

“Hello, Royal Perth Hospital.”

This time it’s a man on the other line, who still sounds like home. Daniel’s palms are sweating, making it hard to keep his grip on his phone, as he has almost an identical conversation.

Almost identical.

“Yes,” the man begins, “I can see we have him in our-“ he breaks off abruptly. “Did you say you’re his son?”  

Daniel swallows. His hands are shaking. “Yes, I-“ I’m Daniel Ricciardo he wants to say, like a fucking idiot. Like that means anything right now, as if this man might be a fan and tell him what he wants to hear instead of the truth because of it.

“Let me put you through to the Doctor,” and Daniel hates the sudden softness in his tone.

“Wait,” Daniel protests, “Is he, is he dead?” The words sound crude like he’s just sworn at him.

“I can’t give that information over the phone,” the man is saying, so calmly it’s eerie, “I’m just the receptionist, mate.” If Daniel’s dad was alive, he’d just say no.  

“Are you- Are  you sure?”

“Yes I’m really sorry, I’m not allowed.” But that’s not what Daniel was asking. “Let me put you through to the doctor, yeah?”

Daniel hangs up the phone.

The lightness from moments ago sits like a lead stone in his stomach, an embarrassing reminder of what a fucking fool he is. His irrational hope for better things, the belief that he was special, it’s always threatened to bleed him dry. As an empty shell, he’ll be no good to anyone. He needs to be better.

He puts his hand in his hair, wraps a curl around his finger and pulls, hard, for as long as he can stand.

Then he opens his phone again and calls Zak.