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standbyric · 2 years ago

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[PART I]

03: Hunga'roaring'

Pairing: Daniel Ricciardo x Female!Driver OC x Pierre Gasly Premise: Formula One, Female Racing Driver Rating: 18+; Mature themes (explicit language, death, trauma innuendos, motorsport accident, mentions of sex) Timeline: Back and forth Warning: ...kinda long because of the race part... maybe skip if you don't wanna read it hahaha. But I'm actually quite satisfied with how I wrote it.... >.< and also, face reveal! Next next chappy will have a bit of manip as well 👉🏻👈🏻 Word Count: 7.7k Sum: All or nothing in Hungary. Dramatic race and a prejudiced trial.

⬅️ Chapter 02 | MASTERLIST | Chapter 04 ➡️

IT was almost 1 PM local time. The Formula One circus had arrived in Budapest, Hungary, for the 11th round of the 2016 World Championship.

But what was supposed to be a highly anticipated Saturday qualifying session had turned into a waiting game as Hungaroring fell victim to wet patches and puddles following the heavy downpour.

Zea stared at the group of clouds as they cast a shadow and showered rain all over the circuit. She clicked her tongue. “Yeah, that’s not gonna stop any time soon.”

“You reckon?” Marq had followed her to stand in the opening of the garage so they could take a better look at the downpour.

“Yeah, I mean, look at that; that shit looks heavy. Maybe give it twenty to thirty minutes?” she cocked her head, pointing at the cloud. “Track still needs an hour or more to dry, though.”

It was something that Zea had unintentionally developed; a keen connection with the rain. Alby said it was almost mystical. She’d drawn the rain, and the rain had drawn her the same. It was last year, during the pre-season testing in Barcelona when it was first out on display.

The fourth and final day of testing in Barcelona had most teams stuck in their garage, stagnant and unproductive. Six red flags were waived, with the McLaren crash constituting the last one.

When everyone thought it couldn’t get any worse, a sudden drizzle came after the lunch break, which soon carried on to a complete rainstorm, drenching the track for the afternoon session.

That was when Alby made what the other Team Principals present deemed an ‘unnecessary’ call. Will Buxton, who was there then, had also taken the liberty to give his two-cent on the decision, saying, “Quite the questionable move from the Audi garage, as they send car number 88 to run on the wet track. We understand that race control had green-flagged the track, but isn’t the more logical and accordingly favourable decision would be to wait for the track to completely dry?”

Alby didn’t say anything. He didn’t react. He had kept his arms crossed, eyes glued to the monitor.

The garage was busy with the launch preparation for car number 88, as Chief Engineer, Frank October, had a final briefing with their newly signed driver before sending her off. And as soon as she got on board, she made a swift thrust along the pit lane, cinematically gliding over the splashes of the wet track.

It had served nonetheless as a majestic sight for both the eyes of spectators and all teams alike. Her execution was flawless and light.

She then proceeded to drive a breathtaking ten laps on the wet. Her race craft only got more refined with each lap, scoring her a provisional fastest lap since her run was incomparable to the dry record. Only after the track had thoroughly dried, she completed one flying lap to beat Grosjean’s record fair and square with a four-tenth gap.

Alby scoffed, knowing Zea had delivered his intention effectively.

It was a long shot, but his call was meant to taunt, like a war cry, signalling that Audi was here, and they weren’t here to play. He meant to taunt the drivers, so they don’t play her down and to taunt the team heads, oh well—to mess their heads a little bit. Let’s say Alby was a bit of a…sucker for drama.

“Race control decides on a twenty-minute delay. Geez, that’s spot on, Z. You’re scaring me.” Marq relayed the message as soon as it was announced over the radio.

Zea broke into the biggest grin. “I’ll get Ace and Brick ready, then,” she said, stretching her arms before running over to join the mechanic team giving their final touches on the cars.

“Improve time, over?”

“Negative. Unless track dries by the end of Q2, I’ll go out again.”

“Copy that. Box then.”

The Q1 session stopped following the third Red Flag after Massa slipped on the wet kerbs and spun into the barriers.

Zea had made the call on sticking to her set of Intermediate when it was still too early for slicks. Thanks to that, she was currently leading the qualifying with a massive 9.8 seconds gap from Ricciardo, who followed at P2 in his full Wets.

“That’s a massive gap. That means much control from Sinaga in that set of Intermediate. We saw five drivers spin on that same Inters during Q1. She might as well sit Q2, oh, which she’s already doing right now; her car is sitting in the garage. The rest is still fighting to avoid the cut, but they still haven’t come close to her time. And that is Grosjean, Kvyat, Perez, Raikkonen, Gutierrez and Nasr, out of Q2.”

True to her prediction, out was the sun just in time for Q3. Track temperatures back up to 40C, DRS was enabled; it was Green Flag for the 3rd session. And as soon as it began, Zea was forced to re-enter the track as Hamilton beat her provisional pole by a tenth of a second, followed by Rosberg and now Ricciardo.

“Oh, hell. Look at them ganging up on giving me a hard time. Let a woman have her pole, damn it,” Zea muttered as she readied herself for a flying lap.

“Ace on board, requesting flying lap, over.”

“Copy that, Ace. You are green to fly.”

“It’s the final chance for any last-lap improvements now, and we finally see Sinaga out with her Audi. She’s currently sitting in P9 now after Button. I must say that’s much confidence, coming out only on the final lap.”

“To be fair, if I had that much control over the Intermediate, I’d probably share her confidence. I don’t know if many people were aware of this, but this is not the first time she’d done that on a set of Inters.”

“Yes. I believe it was Catalunya; pre-season testing, yes? Sensational that was.”

“Indeed it was. And right now, everyone is fighting hard for Pole because it’s essential here since the track is difficult to overtake, especially in Sector 2.”

“Oh, look at that! We took our eyes off a little bit, and Alonso spun! That guarantees a Yellow flag now, doesn’t it?! I wonder how many drivers would be caught by that double Yellow…and Sinaga snatches provisional pole!”

“Replay is here. Sinaga, further back in the order, entered Sector 2 after Yellow flags were withdrawn, meaning she wasn’t slowed. Looks like the Yellows caught Ricciardo, Rosberg, and Hamilton!”

“Hell yeah, my first pole?”

“Almost? I want to congratulate you, but I must inform you the stewards have booked you for possible Yellow Flag infringement. You may or may not lose your pole.” Alby sounded devastated over the radio.

“…Right.” Zea exhaled hard. She had expected that to happen as soon as she passed the duo Mercedes and one Red Bull over that double Yellows.

What she didn’t expect was how quickly the stewards would jump her on that mere issue when she’d reckon there was a more crucial issue on hand.

Like… the prospect of perhaps half the grid being thrown into oblivion, otherwise known as the back of the grid?

Her setting a massive gap in Q1 meant that the whole grid had lapped outside of the excess seven per cent time she’d put, meaning if that rule were to be followed literally—she should be the only car allowed to race tomorrow.

Now wouldn’t that be an exciting show? Imagine that; a solo race with a female pilot on board.

But she’d understand that the stewards had permitted the rest to start the race for Sunday, given the exceptional circumstances, and had allowed the five fastest cars to proceed Q2 as normal.

She had shrugged it off.

But then? There were supposedly more penalties to give for Sunday if they were to apply the rule appropriately… Right?

She expected—read: cursed—the FIA board to have a long and nasty night trying to apply that rule without manifesting the image that a) they weren’t being fair to her, and b) she’d brutally murdered the lap time of the whole grid on Intermediate when the others were too chicken to try.

“So? What’s their plan? Cutting the leader altogether? Put me in the back of the pack? Instead of, you know, maybe handing out a charity on grid penalties for the next race?” Zea scoffed sarcastically, keeping her smile on as best as she could as she made her way to the building for the post-qualifying press conference. Elijah had consistently wiped her seemingly unending sweat while Margareth, her PR Manager, kept smiling bitterly at her continuous sarcasm.

“Is this gonna be that thing, you know, the ‘sacrifice one for the greater good’ thing? Is that it?” Zea chuckled at her statement, realising how absurd that had sounded.

Margareth stepped in front of Zea just before they entered the building. She had felt Zea was sizzling with a much higher sarcasm level than she’d liked. It might’ve been the prior DNFs she’d suffered from the last three races that made this pole more critical for her.

But they couldn’t risk her being irritable in front of the press, not when they’ve only started getting noticed by sponsors.

“Breathe in. Relax. Don’t get too worked up. Okay? Can we do that?” As much as Margareth acknowledged how unfair it was to demand this from her driver, facing reality was part of the job.

“Yes, Madre.” Zea finally responded after a couple of seconds of silence. But she wasn’t looking at Margareth straight in the eye. She was playing with her shoes.

“Zea.”

“Yes. I know. I promise.” Zea quickly gave her PR Manager an assuring smile as she pushed the door open. “Trust me.”

“Zea, what a dramatic qualifying session. How difficult was it out there, and describe your elation when you saw you had taken pole position at the end?”

Of course, they just had to start with a tragically rhetorical question. Which driver wouldn’t be happy after scoring pole position?

Zea caught sight of Margareth pressing her lips. She sighed.

Well, such a shame because, apparently, Zea was more level-headed than she’d thought.

She squeezed a somewhat strained smile out of her system before answering.

“Uhm… Great? Pretty much like Monaco, we all know Pole is critical here because of the nature of the track. But… you know, maybe cut that elation down to 50%, ‘cause I still don’t know which pole I’m gonna start tomorrow. Is it from the front or the back?”

Everyone laughed as Zea gave her signature smile that swallowed her eyes to a twin crescent moon, masking her annoyance at the FIA. Daniel, who’d start P3 for tomorrow's race, chuckled along.

“Very well, thank you, Zea. Coming to Nico. That was an unbelievably exciting qualifying session ahead of the Hungarian Grand Prix. Timing seemed so important: when to be out on the track to ensure you were there when the track was at its driest. Just give us an insight how tricky it was?”

“Yeah, it was a really challenging qualifying: the conditions changing all the time, very exciting out there. I mean, some kerbs still had some patches—going on to the start-finish straight; you had to be really careful opening DRS.”

Nico paused as he glanced at Zea.

“I don’t know how much Zea was up, but I know I got the fastest first sector, so I felt good on the lap. A bit unfortunate with Fernando, but these things happen. It was a tricky session, especially in Q1. I don’t know how she went that fast on Wets—“

“—she was on Inters,” Daniel said.

“You were on Inters in Q1?” Lewis had to interrupt.

Zea was a bit startled at the sudden attention. The room went into complete silence, expecting her answer.

“Uh,” Zea scratched her head, “Massa was also on Inters—I mean, six drivers were on Inters in Q1?”

“They crashed!”

“Exactly!” she exclaimed, before gulping, after realising how that had come out a little too brazen and how uncomfortable the air had become.

Sebastian was the first to scoff, amused when the other drivers sported a defeated look. “You know this little one can be quite spicy on the slippery track!” His comment had successfully toned down the almost hot atmosphere from Zea’s reply.

Zea turned her head a little, just enough to make eye contact with Sebastian, who was sitting behind her, before mouthing a ‘thank you,’ to which the German nodded.

Fortunately, the press picked up quickly after that.

“Lewis, congratulations. I look to Q2 when I look at you. It was very tense moment. You got through into Q3 in P10; your heart must have been in your mouth?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lewis chuckled. “But obviously, when I came in and saw how close it was—that wasn’t great. I was up on my previous, but I knew that everyone else would be quicker. Very fortunate to get through, so that’s why even though I’m fourth, I’m just grateful I got through, and this puts me in a position to be at least able to fight for the win tomorrow.”

“Well Daniel, Lewis wants to fight for the win tomorrow. Seeing that you will share the second starting grid tomorrow, do you think you can fight for the win?”

“That’s the plan.”

Zea had unknowingly twisted her head in Daniel’s direction, finding herself focusing on his answer. Why she did that, she wasn’t sure. But maybe that Monaco dinner impromptu did something to her.

“We’ve more or less fought for it the last two years, and I think we’re even closer this year than we have been in the past in terms of pure pace. Tomorrow should be interesting.

“As always, the Mercs have had a good long-run pace; we’ve seen that in free practice, but we’ll be there, and obviously, we start close enough to the front to make a fight for it, and so hopefully, it’s an exciting race.”

No mention of how quick Audi had gotten?

“My question is for Zea.” That immediately pushed Zea to sit up, returning her attention to the press.

“Yep?”

“Looking at your qualifying today, rainy conditions, do you prefer rain conditions tomorrow or a dry race? That’s question number one, and question two: How afraid are you from losing the pole, perhaps after the investigation?”

Here we go.

Zea only had a fraction of a second to think; either give in to her temper and throw shit at the FIA or choose humour.

She chose humour.

Curse her fucking sound mind.

“Well… You know they say I like it wet….”

Once again, she brought laughter to the room with-what her little smirk as she wiggled her eyebrows up and down. And the fact that Daniel had laughed out loud sounded so worth listening to that reasonable side of her head.

“Why are you guys laughing? I’m just answering the question,” fake humour still laced her words.

“Anyway, of course, winning is still number one to me. I literally DNFed in the last three races. Scoring maximum points here is our objective, so I’d prolly say wet—hell, I’d summon the rain if I could. But,” she took a deep breath before continuing, “all the other drivers’ safety is still number zero to me. So, yeah, you do the math.”

We don’t want a repeat of all the spins in Q1 tomorrow, do we?

“Aww, that’s sweet. Didn’t know you could be sweet. I thought you only knew spicy.” The teasing tone in Daniel’s voice was enough to put a smile back on her face.

“Aww, I’m sorry, P3; have I not been sweet to you?” Zea said, exaggerating her gesture, talking as if Daniel was a little kid throwing a tantrum.

And the Aussie broke into laughter again, making unnecessary adjustments on his hat from trying to swallow the little jab Zea had made on his P3. While Zea had begun wondering just what exactly this man would not smile and laugh at.

“I’m gonna get you back, woman,” Daniel jabbed.

“Oh, psshh, go ahead, darling; but you have Nico in front of you. Should I ask him to give you some leeway?”

Nico scoffed, knowing the intense fight shared by the two people next to him for the third seat at the Drivers’ Standing, followed by Sebastian cackling at the Aussie. That was quite the random banter for the press, but no denying it had showered relief to the room.

“Second part of the question, Zea?”

“Right. Yeah,” what a way to surly her mood, Zea thought.

“I think it’s not about me being afraid or not; it’s just, uhm, I didn’t know it even needed processing at all. I mean, rewind the footage. I slowed down enough; saw the double Yellows down; Alonso had cleared the track, so I ran; crossed the chequered flag; the end. Yay, pole! But then they say, nah, we might… be seeing different things. So, yeah, maybe I’m blind?”

“So you’re confident on keeping your pole?”

“I…” Zea had to pause to chuckle. What was his name? This reporter? Ralf? This man seemed to have taken a liking to push the limits of her rationality.

“Look, it’s not—it’s not about that,” she sighed in disbelief. Surely this wasn’t a topic too hard to grasp. “It’s just that I’m pretty sure there’s a more prominent issue the board is supposed to assess, so my yellow situation should get passed on quickly to get to that issue.”

“Right. We’d actually like to get on that.”

Yeah, that little smirk up the corner of his mouth; Zea didn’t like that at all. This Ralf guy? She’d be sure to put him on her red press list.

“Question to all drivers: there was a major 107% time margin lockup in Q1. We understand that for the sake of Q2, decisions are postponed until after qualifying and are still in progress. What do you have to say to that?”

Zea brought her head down to hide her smirk. Ballsy. Now we’re getting somewhere.

“Nico?”

“Uhm, I’m not quite sure how to comment, but of course, exceptional circumstances applied; isn’t that how we could progress to Q2? But yeah, I’m not going to comment too much.”

“Sebastian? Anything to add?”

“I’m… looking forward to the decision, obviously, to see how this particular rule will be interpreted. Quite possibly, we might get penalties for the next race? I’ve said it before the sport has become congested with rules, but this one is a good rule to ensure competitiveness and safety on race day. Problem maybe this little one went too spicy on Q1.”

Lewis giggled at Sebastian’s response. “Yeah, man, I have to agree.”

“Daniel?”

“Yeah, I agree with Seb.” He shifted in his seat. “If I were to add maybe just, depending on interpretation, we might or might not get any race tomorrow? I was obviously among the ones who didn’t lap the 107th time-margin. But yeah, she sat Q2 off. That was kinda a shot to the heart, I would say.”

“Zea? Anything to add?”

Really?

“I… don’t know; I mean, I didn’t go to Law School or Business School; I graduated from an Engineering School,” she was aware that she’d startled everyone with that sudden disclosure, with the press immediately jumping on their keyboards once her sentence registered, and her colleagues’ blatant scepticism in their collective stares. Still, Zea thought this was the perfect opportunity to establish her standpoint within the media and the sports community.

“So interpreting and applying rules—that I would suck, no doubt, so I’m not gonna comment on that. But I’m sure as hell I know how to calculate—and Margareth, my beloved PR manager, is looking at me! Alrighty!” Zea clapped her hands while plastering an exaggerated smile on her face. “I’m sure the board will figure something out to ensure an exciting race tomorrow. They always do. Trust them.” Wow. One point for bullshit, and that is two to zero for the sane part of her head.

The last thing she remembered was Daniel whispering, ‘You went to an Engineering School?!’ before the press ended in a lot of confusion and unanswered questions for her, and she had to face her fate with the stewards.

“Put a smile on your face or something, Sis! You get to keep your pole!”

“Three hours,” Zea slammed the innocent water bottle on the table. “Took them that long to make the most worthless and inconsequential decision ever. Literally. Whatever. I’m still bugged they overrule any potential penalties.”

“It was raining. Prone to accidents. Give them a break.”

“It had stopped raining; the track was drying. So they should rain everyone with grid penalties instead!

“Look, it wasn’t even my fault that I wasn’t chicken enough to try Inters. How could they talk as if my Intermediate choice was ‘deliberate intent for unsafe driving on a wet track?’ Wh—For what? For me to show off?” That was when Elijah decided to shut the conference room door close, fearing the risk of someone else listening.

“Hey, I’m here to race. I’m here to maximise my points. And what about the other five who were also on Inters in Q1? They didn’t say anything about them. And how could they bring up Jules and accuse me of not respecting the double yellows after what had happened to him?

“Besides, it’s not my fault that their rules on double-waved yellows and the 107% are ambiguous. I’ve exercised enough caution! And my telemetry showed!

“I knew it wasn’t the issue there; they just had to make up something to call me in. I knew it! They were still mad I kicked their shin on cockpit safety back in 2014!” Zea huffed, banging herself to the back of the seat, visibly frustrated.

“Wow, how mature. Holding a grudge for two fuckin’ years because they can’t handle me shoving facts up their arses. Accurate display of maturity, there,” she tried to sound more gentle after realising how much she was being overtaken by her temper.

Irza stood up, snickering as he did so. His little sister was in that mood: the cranky one after being subjected to a prejudiced trial. Not her worse, but nonetheless, the hardest for her to mask. Yes, she could’ve laughed every other insult off, but being a victim of biased thinking? Hell, no. He knew how much she’d wanted to do well this season.

Hungary was supposed to be the turning point.

After all that hard-fought additional cash, Audi had finally managed to make the necessary upgrade, and this weekend was supposed to be their first step to regain their lead on the Bulls.

“Look at the bright side; you’re going viral—like real viral. Good sponsorship exposure. Let’s focus on that instead.”

“But it’s the bad viral, isn’t it?” Zea shuddered. “What—have they started saying I’ve faked my academic credentials now?”

“Oh, amorzinho, stop being so negative,” Irza threw his hands. “You literally have your face plastered on the university website and your dissertation published. Digital tracks are real. And besides, your colleagues have spoken up for you on social media, and I literally have your graduation photo on my Instagram.”

Zea fell into silence. Good thing she didn’t buy her way into her degree but worked her arse off instead.

God help her, for she’d been a geek her entire life. Her best friends were books and pens, sometimes numbers and data. Her hangout place of choice was the lab, and her means of salvation was high grades. And her dad being the front-runner of the ‘education is number one’ mentality, and her mom just nodding on the side, mouthing ‘just listen to your dad for now’ didn’t help either.

No, they weren’t exactly your tiger parents, and newsflash—her familial relationship was quite fine—or was now fine might be more appropriate. But yeah, that’s another story.

“Get some rest.”

“Don’t go big-brother on me. You’re only 3 hours older.”

“Excuse me, Miss?” Irza turned his head with much sass, “I’m saying this as your agent, not your big brother. You’re my investment, so I need you to perform well tomorrow. Duh.”

Zea clicked her tongue at her twin’s sassiness. “Where are you going?” she pushed herself from the back of the chair when she saw Irza about to take off with his jacket.

“Well, now that you’re done with your work on track, I have to work off track. Get some rest.”

Zea scrunched up her face. “Work hard. Stay safe.”

And Alby chuckled, which compelled Zea to turn her head in his direction. He gave her a small smile, but it was enough to straighten back the folds between the eyebrows of his star driver. She softened her demeanour. “I have a legitimate reason to be upset, Alby. You know that,” she muttered softly.

Alby kept his smile, assuring she did nothing wrong, as he leaned back on his chair.

After all, faulting her was one thing he would never do. Grateful was an understatement of what he’d felt towards the twins. Indebted was perhaps closer, with a splash of pride that they’d pledged their loyalty to Audi.

He still remembered it as clear as day. The night Irza came to him, boring his name naked. He was sent speechless.

“Okay. You are a very straightforward young man. How did you know we were planning on entering next season?”

“News spread fast in this industry, Mr Krüger; I’m sure you’d know better. Besides, you’re not entirely being secretive with the preparation: prototype, job posted and everything,” Irza had said as he slid his name card on the table, which immediately stunned Alby.

He had to check twice to ensure he didn’t read wrong. “…I didn’t know he had a son?”

Irza chuckled at the false impression. “Nephew. And my sister, his niece.”

At first, Alby didn’t budge. He was aware that this ‘Zeahire’ was the 2013 GP2 Champion. But other than her being a female, quite a decent driver, not much was known about her—hell, not even her face.

Being his niece should not directly translate to her ability, and besides, her being a woman did not exactly hold a high sponsorship prospect.

“How are you confident we haven’t signed anyone?”

“You wouldn’t have met me otherwise, Mr Krüger,” Irza was calm and confident. “Although half of it might be to have me stop bothering you daily with emails.” That got Alby chuckling.

“Let her drive for Audi. Give her car; she’ll give you result.”

Alby had cut the cards to honour the name and decided to summon her to the Neuburg site, the heart of Audi motorsport, for some testing, albeit hesitant.

By the time she got there, it had just finished raining. Petrichor was still fresh in the air, and drops of water still lingered on the tarmac.

Both Alby and Frank had hesitated to run her for the sake of safety. But Zea had other thoughts.

“Let me run. You summoned me here to gauge my ability, didn’t you? All the more reason,” she’d sounded so sure that Alby found himself nodding his head.

And then, the rest was history.

Alby blinked his eyes at the fond memory. Two years of partnership now had made him quite fond of the twins. Blame his age, though.

“I’m sorry, Alby. I know I’ve put you in a tough position with the FIA because—“

“—No, no. Forget about it.” Alby gave her a reassuring smile. “Your brother is right. You need enough rest for tomorrow. So get some rest.”

Let’s say this was part of her routine; watching the GP2 race that preceded the Formula One Grand Prix, just as a way to get herself into the zone for the race. Zea argued that there were always things she could learn from them.

And ‘them’ for her this year was Pierre Gasly and Antonio Giovinazzi. They’d both been the favourite contender for the 2016 GP2 Champion title, but Zea was leaning more towards Gasly, who had just secured his win in Hungary. Problem was; the Frenchman belonged to the Bulls. Yikes.

“That’s not fair, you know,” Zea nudged Elijah’s shoulder. “He’s hot. Like, hot.”

The two watched from the pit lane as the Frenchman indulged himself in victory. Half of his body soaked in fresh champagne just honestly added to his hotness it was almost indecent.

“Which one is he again? Left? Right?”

“Left,” Zea quickly nodded, not leaving her eyes off the winner.

“Good. You can have the Ratatouille. Leave the Pasta for me.”

The laugh that came out from Zea was crispy and delightful. She was even clapping like a seal.

Thank goodness for Elijah and his foul mouth. She could always talk about these things openly with him to ease her nerves. Irza and her two older brothers would only end up teasing her, and her little sister was—she deemed—too young to understand, despite their only four years of age gap.

“Look, your Ratatouille is heading this way.”

“Yeah, I know—SHIT! WHAT?! He’s heading this way. Why is he heading this way?! Oh my God, he must’ve caught me looking at him! Eli, quick! Hide me!”

But it was too late. Pierre Gasly was already towering in front of her, watching her frantically flailing her arms in the air as she attempted to hide half of herself behind Elijah.

And Elijah decided it was time to be an arse.

In one quick move, he shifted his feet and shoved Zea out front before giving her a wink and running his way to the Audi garage.

That damn bastard.

“Hey, hot stuff,” Zea waved her hand, “You are Pierre Gasly. I am Zea.” Anyone would like to hand her the award for Best at Embarrassing Herself?

Pierre tried to stifle his chuckle as he watched her shut her eyes, visibly regretting what she had just said before the colour on her face changed to light pink.

“Hello, ‘I am Zea’. I am Pierre, the hot stuff.”

The two looked at each other before finally laughing at their dumb exchange. Well, that was one way to shut off all the budding awkwardness.

“I actually want to congratulate you for the pole position. I watched the Quali yesterday. I don’t know how you did that.” Pierre looked impressed. One thing that would never fail to bring Zea’s spirit back up was receiving genuine acknowledgment of her race craft from fellow drivers. Especially from someone as hot as Pierre Gasly.

“Oh? Geez, thanks! So you came here because you wanted to say that, not because you caught me staring at you…”

“So you were looking at me? I had my doubts, but—“

“—I was looking at the winner of the race. It just happens to be you.”

Pierre gave her that look—the ‘rea~lly?’ look, with his eyebrows up and a little smirk riding the corner of his mouth. Zea frowned, trying to hide her embarrassment.

“Please pretend I didn’t say that,” Zea made a dismissive wave with her hand, “and congratulations on winning. Do you want a fist bump?” she quickly said as she watched Pierre fixing his hair—still wet from the champagne—over his Red Bull cap. “I’d rather have kisses on the cheek, but a fist bump works, too,” he said as he offered up his fist with a cheeky smile.

“Holy God, you are a major flirt.” That came out almost automatically from Zea. “Thank goodness you have that handsome face of yours,” she continued, bumping her fist with Pierre.

Pierre sported another smile. A really hot one, might she add.

“Good. So you do think I’m handsome.”

That got Zea’s mouth open in shock. She was about to accuse him of being cocky before she captured tinges of a blush forming upon his pale cheeks. She chuckled, returning to her composed self. Two can play this game.

“Well, ‘handsome Pierre’, I better go to my garage and get myself race-ready. See you around.”

“Good luck!” he almost had to yell that out since Zea just ran away after saying that.

Zea turned her head, smiling her thanks at him before sprinting to the Audi garage. She didn’t even realise she’d run past Daniel, who’d raised his arm to greet her. He’d been wanting to call out to her but didn’t out of respect for the Frenchman.

“Didn’t know she knew Gasly,” Daniel muttered as he strode his way to Pierre. “You two know each other?”

“Now we do.” Pierre returned Daniel’s fist bump.

“Oh.” Daniel could’ve sworn he saw the flush in Pierre’s cheeks as he smiled, looking in Zea’s direction. Must’ve been the fatigue from the race, right?

Daniel shook his head. “Congratulations on your win, mate! Great race!”

“Already there, Sinaga lining up in pole position, and she is gonna have to wait a very long time for the rest to catch up. So those breaks, those tyres, you were talking about, Martin, getting ever colder by the second!”

“Ace to Cap, T-Square cover.” Zea was indeed concerned about her tyres’ temperature. She went too quickly for the formation lap, which might impede her from having a good start if her tyres’ temperature dropped unnecessarily from waiting for the others.

“Ah, radio! Sinaga is going all cryptic again! Wonder what T-Square meant there. Although Audi can’t respond to her before the race begins, that’s the rule.”

“Audi has been very subtle with their radio exchange this season, yes. Could it be their way to eliminate possible threats from overhearing? I heard Zea is very much involved in their strategy building.”

“But haven’t they gone up in the Constructors’ Standing? They shouldn’t be too incriminated with quid now.”

“Indeed, they have this season, but I reckon they still have a long way up to catch up with the Bulls, Mercs and Ferrari for capital assets. You know the competition is high for that position.”

“I suppose you are right. And now we have Ricciardo, winner from 4th of the grid back in 2014; followed by Lewis Hamilton; he’s won 4 times here, and just ahead of him, Rosberg on the first line had never won the Prix here. Zea Sinaga on Pole had never been on Podium in Hungary, and this also makes it her first pole start in Formula One this afternoon.”

Zea cracked her fingers to loosen them up before placing her hand back on the steering wheel.

“Okay, buddy. It’s just you and me now. Let’s put ‘em all to sleep,” she whispered softly to the car. It was part of her ritual just seconds before the lights were out.

“And we’re all set to go here in Hungaroring. AND IT’S LIGHTS OUT, AND AWAY WE GO!”

“Sinaga gets away really well, and she and Rosberg making the run now down towards turn 1. Right behind them, Vettel’s waiting, Ricciardo’s waiting, Verstappen on the inside, and around the outside goes Daniel Ricciardo!”

“Sinaga takes the lead ahead of Ricciardo, Rosberg down to third, he’s been pressurised now by Max Verstappen and Lewis Hamilton, with Sebastian Vettel ahead of Alonso!”

“Sinaga into turn 3, Hamilton claims second place, passing his teammate and the Red Bull, but the Red Bull is not giving up!”

“Cap to Ace. Order Ham, Ric, Ros, Ver, Vet. Catching up at one-tenth.”

“Copy that, Cap.”

“Whoa! Wonderful skills were displayed in Sector 1 alone; the top six were fighting it out there. I really thought the Mercedes boys were gonna be leading this by now, but the Audi girl has placed her car beautifully there!”

Astounding opening for the Hungarian Grand Prix. Not the Bulls, the Mercs, the red devils of Ferrari, nor the dark horse Audi; none were willing to give up the number one spot.

It was down to lap fourteen when Sebastian was the first of the front runners to pit, and then the Red Bulls and the Mercedes boys followed the lap after.

“Sinaga is the only one with used Super-soft now! Is she doing early tyre management to keep her position?”

“I wouldn’t say that. She’s a tad too focused on managing her gap; I’m actually scared for her pace. She’s only leading by one second ahead of Lewis.”

“Lewis, Sinaga reports on increasing gap after turn 11. And box after that lap,” Peter ‘Bono’ Bonnington, Lewis’ race engineer, said over the radio.

“You guys manage to crack her code?”

“She said it in full sentences. In English.”

“Yeah, I don’t believe her,” Daniel responded over the radio after Simon relayed the same message Bono did.

“We can’t risk it, Dan.”

“Well can she do that? Gap increase?” Daniel turned his steering wheel to defend himself as he saw Rosberg peeking in his side mirror.

“We think she wants to exhaust her tyres and then pit.”

“I’ll try catching up.”

Red Bull number three rushed to close the gap with the Mercedes in front of him to capitalise on DRS.

“Ok, Daniel. Doing a good job, mate. You are two seconds quicker than Rosberg at the moment, and you are six seconds behind Lewis.”

“So Lewis, just need to pick up pace a little bit. Sinaga is really pitting.”

“I’m working on it.”

“Sinaga finally pitted for her second stint. Will Lewis finally take over the lead?”

“…NO! Lewis looks to be struggling with pace, with Ricciardo closing in and Sinaga regaining her lead! Just with less than a 1-second gap between Sinaga and Lewis! Sinaga is really putting her fresh Soft at work!”

“I’m struggling for pace.” Lewis exhaled hard as he felt his car lose its front grip.

“Okay, Lewis. So Ricciardo’s about to get onto the back of the train, so we really need to open this gap up.”

Lewis groaned. “Well, I’m driving to the best of my ability on these tyres.”

“Okay, copy that, Lewis. If these cars bunch up, then we’ll be bringing Nico in first.”

“Well, why would they do that? It’s not like I’m driving slow; I’m trying.”

“Yeah, Lewis. Just the risk we’re putting the win in jeopardy. We need to catch up with Sinaga.”

And then it was lap forty.

Almost too collectedly, Zea turned her car to enter the pit lane after building a decent gap against Lewis.

“Lewis, Sinaga turns into the pit lane.”

“What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

“No, there wasn’t any radio. You need to pick up pace.”

“Sinaga into the pit lane! What is this? There was no communication! Oh no! Was it a mistake? Is this gonna be a repeat akin to Ricciardo’s nightmare in Monaco?! Would her team even be ready?! THEY ARE READY! What a turn of situation!”

“Lewis is currently in the lead, but I’m afraid with his used Softs, it’s only a matter of time before Sinaga comes back… AND SHE REGAINS THE LEAD!”

“Someone wants to tell me what the hell was that?” Daniel cried over the radio.

“Sorry, Daniel, we monitored her radio, but there was no communication. Keep calm. You’re only four seconds behind Lewis; you’re doing a good job keeping Rosberg out of your DRS zone.”

“Fuck.” Daniel knew he could be up to P2 with Lewis in P1 if only they knew Zea would pit there.

“Cap to Ace. Gap 2.0. Order Ham, Ric, Ros, Vet, Ver, Kimi.”

“Copy that. Keep gap posted.”

“Roger that, Ace.”

With only twenty laps left, it was down to tyre management.

Zea took a heavy breath as Esteban Gutierrez, for whatever reason—perhaps he couldn’t see her—positioned his car in front of her, playing defensively.

“Sinaga has been held up by Gutierrez, and Hamilton looks to pounce and cuts the deficit to 0.6 seconds! And we have radio from Sinaga.”

“Gap to Ham down to sixth-tenth. Gutierrez should be booked.”

“Copy that.”

“Well, doesn’t she sound unaffected?”

“Ah, she never sounded affected over her radios, I reckon, always calm; plus point for her engineers, might I add. And message from Race Control; Gutierrez is being investigated for ignoring blue flags on that Sinaga incident.”

“And we have here Raikkonen pushing well on his new Super-softs, is now on the rear of Verstappen in the battle for sixth place.”

“Raikkonen gained a whole second on Verstappen on the last lap and is sizing the teenager up!”

“Message from Race Control; Gutierrez has been given a five-second penalty for ignoring blue flags! And we have radio from Raikkonen.”

“He moved right and then back to left when I was going there! I took my f****** front wing off!”the Finn roared his outrage.

“Copy, copy. Keep pushing on the way in.”

“Looks like Verstappen moved twice to block Raikkonen at turn two!”

“Will he be booked for possible penalty?”

“We’ll have to see that.”

“Up ahead, the cat-and-mouse game continues between Audi, Mercedes and Red Bull, with the gap falling by four-tenths between Sinaga and Hamilton. Now at 2.3 seconds.”

“Ace, Ham is 2 seconds behind.”

“Copy that. Request T-Deg, over.”

“Lewis, Sinaga is being cryptic,” it was Bono who had acted first.

“What did she say?”

“She said ’Deg’; we suspect it may be degradation.”

“So she’s saving tyres, right? What do I do?”

“We must keep pushing, but try to manage tyres as much as possible.”

“I’m trying. Can you check her degradation?”

“Not directly, but her pace hasn’t dropped much. We suspect she might not be saving tyres at all. But she will soon have to, and that’s when we cut.”

“I’ll do my best,” Daniel responded as Simon briefed him on Zea’s radio.

“Okay, just keep calm. Maintain pace.”

“I will. But I’m starting to lose grip; front is acting out,” he groaned soon.

“Copy, Daniel. Maintain pace.”

“We have ten laps to go; current order on top ten—Sinaga, Hamilton, Ricciardo, Rosberg, Vettel, Verstappen, Raikkonen, Alonso, Stevens, and Sainz.”

“Right now, the battles are happening all across the top seven. Hamilton is close to Sinaga after she made a mistake in the final sector. Looks like she’s starting to lose grip there. Rosberg is closing in on Ricciardo for third, and Raikkonen and Verstappen continue to hassle Vettel for fifth!”

Tense was the atmosphere in the Audi garage. Irza, who just came in, immediately sat next to Marq, propping the radio over his ears. “Did she pit at 40?”

Marq nodded, concern visible in his eyes.

“How much is she losing grip?”

“Degradation up to 47% now.” Marq was on the edge of his seat.

It wasn’t just Marq, but everyone was mirroring his tension. Jack couldn’t let his eyes off the monitor. Vishal Robert, Zea’s main mechanic, tapped his feet repeatedly, and Alby’s breathing was heavy.

“Well,” Irza clapped his hand together. “Let’s brace ourselves, then.”

“Into the closing stage now of a cagey but intriguing race in Hungary! We have three laps remaining! Will Sinaga keep her lead and come out victorious?!”

“Sinaga is slowing down! Is it engine problem?! Her three previous DNFs were due to engine problems! Will her race ends in another DNF?!”

“I can see Zea. Has she slowed down?” Daniel implored over the radio.

“Is she losing power? Bono, is she losing power?” Lewis followed.

“What is happening?! I can see slight smoke coming from the back of Sinaga’s car! Do we have no radio from Sinaga?!”

“Push Lewis! Push!”

“We don’t know what’s happening; just push Daniel!”

Zea glanced at her wing mirrors after downshifting as she continued her throttle-break interval, biasing her breaks to the rear to forcefully spin her tyres. She chuckled, knowing what she was about to do would undoubtedly piss her colleagues off—if she made it, that is.

But this was her grand finale in today’s act of strategy masterclass. It was a gamble, nonetheless, because she was dangerously losing grip after pitting too early in lap forty, and this was the only way she could cross the chequered flag before the other two catch her up with DRS.

“Sinaga is losing her pace? Is she losing her pace? We have absolutely no confirmation from Audi! And both Ricciardo and Hamilton are charging straight ahead!”

“Oh my goodness! This has turned into a close battle for the top three between Sinaga, Hamilton, and Ricciardo! Listen to that cheer as the final battle between Audi, Mercedes and Red Bull is on!”

“It is now down to who could make use of the DRS first to catch—WHAT IS SINAGA DOING?!”

A deep breath from Zea, eyes on her rear mirrors, mentally calculating her move.

And as soon as Lewis and Daniel were just half-tenth before DRS would be available for them against herself, she put her left hand up as her right foot butchered down on the throttle.

Adios, motherfuckers.

“…S-s-she waved to both Hamilton and Ricciardo! Before quite literally launching over to cross the chequered flag! AND SINAGA WINS THE HUNGARIAN GRAND PRIX! It’s Audi who snatch the win!”

“She wasn’t losing power! She was not losing power! She was warming—or should I say heating?!— up her rear tyres to gain enough momentum!”

“My oh my, I have no doubt that would certainly piss both the Red Bull and Mercedes! Although I believe that was a gamble! One thing for sure here is Sinaga really was losing grip there, so she had to pull off that move!”

“What a move, though! What a move! That was brave! She could’ve lost her tyres there!”

“But she didn’t! I have to say she really has mastered her car, hasn’t she?!”

“Man, she’s so annoying. She is so annoying.” Crestfallen was beyond what Lewis felt when he passed the chequered flag in less than one-tenth of a second after the Audi lady.

“Damn her! Seriously.” Daniel was also not less happy as he felt like he’d just been played, especially with that last wave of her hand.

In the Audi garage, however, was a silent celebration. It was quite literally just everyone finally letting out a long, relieved breath after unconsciously holding it as they watched Zea pull that last crazy gamble of a stunt.

“Z, congratulations.” Marq chimed, sounding exhausted.

On the other line of the radio, Zea chuckled softly. “Thank you, Marq. What a ride, huh?”

“Yeah, you psycho,”the reply came fast and gritty.“What if something went wrong?”

“It was a calculated move, and nothing bad happened. Rest easy, Marq… and thank you for trusting me. Really.”

⬅️ Chapter 02 | MASTERLIST | Chapter 04 ➡️

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That was loooong. I'm kinda happy with how the race bit turned out so I hope it's nice! And also, I’m kinda bothered by how I wrote the flashbacks, it’s like should I put them in italics or not but I decided on not. But do let me know if it gets confusing 👉🏻👈🏻

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