#got brainworms three hours ago and wrote a fic

[charleslelurk]

four week wedding

The marriage was four weeks long; no one has time to get divorced during a triple header. aka the emo Charlos Vegas marriage fic

read here on ao3 or under the cut

Charles pulls up to the Ferrari Factory in one of his custom cars, 16 emblazoned on the side in red, and sees his Carlos–for the first time in six days–in the parking lot. 

In the days between Abu Dhabi and now, Carlos got a haircut. Charles thinks the longer hair, swept back like during the triple headers, had looked better on his teammate. 

Well, ex teammate. And soon to be ex husband. 

Carlos approaches Charles's car before he has exited the Piston. Charles plays with the straps of his bag for a moment before he gets out of the car, knowing Carlos is waiting. When Charles finally opens the door with a soft click, Carlos's sneakers are the first thing he sees. He slowly raises his eyes to Carlos's face, then steps out of the car. Carlos is looking at him with big, apologetic puppy eyes. Charles breaks eye contact as they fall into step beside one another. They will walk into the Maranello factory side-by-side to sign the papers. 

They don't say anything. 

Just inside the doors, Sylvia is waiting to shepherd them to their task, the divorce . 

The thing is… no one expected the fucking Elvis impersonator at a roadside chapel in Las Vegas who agreed to let them film to be properly ordained. No one expected that a fifteen minute ceremony at four in the afternoon on the Vegas strip would be a legit marriage they would have to annul. The marriage certificate looked fake, full of funny colors. Charles would have sworn on his pole position that it was fake. 

The thing is… the scavenger hunt PR video was fun . Carlos and Charles ran down the strip marking items off of their list as they saw Lando and Oscar running the opposite way. They had passed Max and Checo–Max leading the way with a map in hand and confidence in his step–in the amusement park of New York, New York. Outside the Sphere, Alex and Franco had been taking a selfie when Carlos and Charles tumbled out of their taxi. The Williams drivers had laughed at them, Alex practically doubled over. The day had been fun. 

In the back of the taxi, Carlos had slapped one of his paws onto Charles's knee to lean forwards and direct the driver. He had grabbed Charles by the back of the shirt to make him slow when they almost left the camera crew behind while rushing to see the Bellagio fountain show. And during the wedding ceremony, he had offered Charles his hands to hold and Charles had taken them, giggling and red in the face. Carlos had scrunched his nose, laughing too, and Charles had stared for a moment when he caught the warmth of Carlos's eyes boring into his. And they had said I do. When the Elvis impersonator had told them they could kiss the groom, Carlos had laughed big and leaned forwards to air kiss Charles on each cheek, le bise. 

And Charles had realized what he was going to miss. The entire season, he knew he would miss Carlos the person . But somewhere between buying a Las Vegas snow globe and going to the Erotica Musuem, Charles had become somber. This was it. Three more races. 

When he woke on Wednesday morning to the text from Sylvia letting them know they had actually gotten married in the Vegas chapel while trying to fulfill the "have a Vegas wedding" item of the list, he had thought he was still dreaming. He had called Carlos before he was even out from under the duvet. 

The marriage was four weeks long; no one has time to get divorced during a triple header. 

During the jet lag between Vegas and the middle east, Charles and Carlos had been able to forget about the marriage. They had races to focus on, trophies to win. They still needed to clinch the Constructor's Title from McLaren. 

But when the days settled and Charles was back in his hotel room, he thought about it each night. How he was hitched to the teammate who has been saying goodbye for ten months. Almost a year of endings, of last times. Charles fondly remembers the crocheted chili pepper Carlos received from a fan and promptly gifted to Charles. To remember me for the rest of your life. Carlos said it so easily, but with such sincerity. The chili pepper is at home in Monaco, on Charles's shelf with traded helmets. After Carlos presented Charles with his helmet, sharpie on the visor with a message Charles will never let the public know, he set it beside the pepper. A little shrine to their four years together. Forza Ferrari. 

Following Slyvia down the hall feels like a death bell chiming, each step another metal clang. It echoes like their footsteps, around the heritage of the factory, through the legend of the team that Carlos is no longer a part of. When Charles glances to his side, Carlos is already looking at him. 

Sylvia leads them into one of the board rooms. A Ferrari lawyer and each of their personal attorneys sit with empty chairs between them. Carlos walks around the table to his Sainz family lawyer. Charles slips into the seat beside his own. 

There is not much to discuss. They all know why they are here. Sylvia excuses herself and the Ferrari lawyer explains the papers he has before him, the divorce papers. Annulment. 

The stack is passed to Charles's lawyer who reads it over. She then passes it to Charles with her pen, pointing a manicured finger to the line where he should sign. Charles looks up and across the table to Carlos. 

Carlos smiles, but it doesn't meet his eyes. "Charles, are you taking me to be your lawfully divorced husband?"

Charles gasps out a laugh that turns into a little sob. Embarrassed, he presses the back of his hand to his mouth and blinks rapidly. 

"Charles…"  

Under the table, a foot bumps Charles's. He knows whose it is. He watches Carlos as a small, graceful smile pushes his cheeks up. There is something swimming in Carlos's eyes too. This is the last time he will be in Maranello. There shouldn't have been a last time, they created it with their Vegas faux pas. But as Charles and Carlos watch one another, Carlos's toes still pressed to Charles's under the boardroom table, Charles doesn't know if it was a mistake. Maybe… but no. Carlos is off to Williams. And Lewis will be coming to Marnaello tomorrow to begin Sim work for next season. This is the end of the chapter. 

"I do," Charles chokes out. Carlos's eyes fall to the page in front of Charles and he looks down too, finally lines up the end of the ballpoint pen with where he needs to sign and drags the tip across the page. It's neater than his fan signatures; this is his real one. It bears weight. A damp spot appears on the foot of the paper from a drop of water.

Charles's lawyer passes the papers to Carlos's lawyer. He looks over them longer than Charles's did, then places it in front of Carlos. The pressure against Charles's toes disappears and Carlos picks up a pen to sign too. Charles's watches Carlos stare at his signature for a long moment before he raises his big, brown, melancholic eyes to Charles again. 

"Thank you, thank you. That is settled then," the Ferrari lawyer says in Italian. Their lawyers move to stand, business complete. Carlos and Charles continue to watch one another across the table. Such a culmination of years, ended so simply with a signature. Charles turns to wistfully watch the papers disappear into the Ferrari lawyers briefcase, tucked away to be sent to the appropriate governments to prove their separation. No longer husband and husband, just two men with four years of rosso corsa tying them together. 

Charles still remembers that first real conversation he had with Carlos, in the Marina Bay towers of Singapore, overlooking the street circuit. He knows they look different, have grown and changed in ways both big and small, but he still remembers them in the humid night air, young and hungary. Now, they follow one another back out to the parking lot. Charles does not tell Carlos he is staying, that his work with the team who chose him over his teammate continues today, as Carlos cuts his final tie. No, Charles will not tell him; he knows how not to be cruel. Mercy.

"I am supposing this is it, no?" Carlos says as they walk out into the Italian air. 

Charles shakes his head. "You speak as if we will not be seeing each others at the tracks."

Carlos's eyes slacken, softening with empathy. "It is not being the same." He wrings his hands in front of him, for once not knowing what to do with them: no one to grip, to claim. 

Charles finds himself blinking rapidly again. He lets himself close the book, chapter finished. He removes the bookmark that was their brief marriage, loses the page as the papers sandwich together as it softly closes. 

He reaches for Carlos, who startles like he doesn't expect it. Charles pulls him in, wrapping his arms around his back and holding him close. Carlos smells familiar, and Charles realizes with a click of familiarity that Carlos is wearing Ferrari cologne, the one they have both been provided from the Ferrari fashion line. 

Charles searches under the bergamot and citrus for the scent of Carlos, but for once he can't find it. Carlos smells entirely of Ferrari as Charles hugs him in Maranello. He can feel the heat of Carlos's hands on his back, how his fingers are clutching the fabric of Charles's sweatshirt. Charles remembers le bise in the tiny Vegas chapel, how he had smiled and giggled while Carlos's lips barely brushed each of his cheeks. They had dropped hands just after, as Elvis shooed them to walk down the aisle, past the camera crew, their only witnesses. Later it was aired to the world, to the fans. 

Carlos pulls away first. "Goodbye, Charles," Carlos says, emphasizing the Frenchness of the pronunciation more than usual, like he is trying extra hard to say it right. 

"Bye, Carlos." Charles says, pushing his shoulder slightly, playfully. Carlos smiles and turns to his car. It is not a Ferrari. 

Carlos pauses as he reaches for the door. Charles stands in the middle of the parking lot in Maranello, feet shuffling. Carlos's head twitches, almost like he wishes to look back. Charles waits. 

Then Carlos opens the door and slides into the driver's seat. As he pulls out of the parking lot, he rolls down the window and pokes his arm out to wave goodbye. Casual, like he is waving to fans. 

Charles watches him go, his cheeks wet. He wipes his face on his sleeve before going back inside. There is work to do.