#knittelfeld

[wachendlichauf]

Junges Pärchen : Sozialhilfe von KPÖ erhalten und dann als Einbrecher zurückgekehrt

[cacatoto-2024]

Knittelfeld

Knittelfeld ialah sebuah kota di Stiria, Austria, terletak di tepi sungai Mur. Penduduk: sekitar 12700. Ketinggian: 645 m.

[atheistmediablog]

Man muss Jesus die Führung in seinem Leben übergeben!

Der Salzburger Unternehmer Patrick Knittelfelder und Gründer der HOME Mission Base sprach bei der MEHR 2024 über Erschütterungen in seinem Leben und Gottes Wirken (…) Knittelfelder erzählte von persönlichen Erschütterungen in den letzten Jahren, beginnend mit Corona, wirtschaftlichen Problemen sowie einer Krebserkrankung und der darauf folgenden Chemotherapie. (…) Gott nehme nicht unsere…

[apotheke-kaufen]

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[mexxbox]

Amen

[artbyibnulmehdi]

Guten Morgen #steiermark 💚 🌄 www.art-by-ibnul-mehdi.com #artbyibnulmehdi #graz #echtgraz #grazaustria #grazliebe #grazcity #leibnitzsüdsteiermark #leibnitz #südsteiermark #oststeiermark #obersteiermark #knittelfeld #leoben #judenburg #herrengasse #fohnsdorf #stadtgraz #steiermark🔥 #schlossberggraz #uhrturmgraz #uhrturm #grazphotography #grazerinnenstadt #grazlover #österreich #austria #german #artoftheday #artstudio_post (at Art by ibnulmehdi at) https://www.instagram.com/p/Cb3lScjKe2q/?utm_medium=tumblr

[egonkv]

——-🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤——— #murauen #knittelfeld #steiermark #steiermark💚 #igerssteiermark #austria🇦🇹 #igersaustria #igersvienna #bw #bwphotography #nature #naturephotography (hier: St. Margarethen bei Knittelfeld) https://www.instagram.com/p/CAmcbY4gjH3/?igshid=5ff0x0np7c8y

[travelwriticus]

Three white staves as the city arms of Knittelfeld, Austria

[philprax]

#knittelfeld #fpoewien #fpoe #spaltung #spesenritter #abzocker #hcsteache#selbstbedienung #korruption #borniert #funktionäre #ohne #genierer https://www.instagram.com/p/B5-H8kBg25Z/?igshid=6x1q9ibn30km

[wachendlichauf]

Zwei Schwerverletzte: Firmengrillfeier in Spielberg endet mit Schlägerei und Verletzten

[mercedave]

God loves you before any achievement and in spite of all guilt.

– Patrick Knittelfelder

[stiri-noi]

Austria, spargere de zeci de mii de euro într-un magazin de bijuterii din Knittelfeld, doi români identificați după șapte ani

O spargere într-un magazin de bijuterii din Knittelfeld, în Stiria Superioară, a fost rezolvată după șapte ani iar autorii au fost descoperiți. Urmele ADN au condus la un duo de hoți, ambii români, care fuseseră semnalați și în alte țări ale UE pentru spargeri. Un bărbat (46 de ani) a fost arestat în Anglia, celălalt (34 de ani) este fugit, scrie diepresse.com.

Potrivit poliției austriece, cei doi români au pătruns în magazinul de bijuterii din Knittelfeld (districtul Murtal) pe 4 septembrie 2013, valoarea prăzii fiind de zeci de mii de euro la acea vreme. După ce au spart geamul, cei doi au luat cu ei bijuterii din aur, ceasuri, lanțuri și inele. Serviciul criminalistic al poliției din Knittelfeld a identificat urme de ADN utilizabile a două persoane necunoscute inițial în timpul cercetărilor de la locul crimei.

În cooperare cu Oficiul Federal de Poliție Penală și ulterior cu autoritățile străine, identitatea celor doi făptași a fost acum clarificată prin urmele ADN. Bărbatul de 34 de ani, care a dispărut, este căutată la nivel internațional. Nu se știe încă unde se află prada sau ce au făcut cu bijuteriile furate.

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Român condamnat în Austria la 7 ani de închisoare, s-a filmat în timp ce abuza sexual o minoră de 12 ani. Transferat în România

The post Austria, spargere de zeci de mii de euro într-un magazin de bijuterii din Knittelfeld, doi români identificați după șapte ani appeared first on Ziarul Romanesc Austria > Știri și informații pentru comunitatea românească din Austria.

[witchybiitchy]

c’est ça l’amour | l.n

fic masterlist

chapter 9

Sydney’s phone screen reflected the pleasant Austrian sun as she sat on her hotel’s balcony. After a few too many plane trips spent in total boredom, and after informing Daisy of this a few too many times, she’d finally downloaded Instagram and TikTok onto her own phone (with notifications muted of course) and was now enjoying the warmth of the sunshine as she scrolled mindlessly. It was the Tuesday morning of her second week in Austria, the double header allowing the air to take on a taste of orange flare from the Super-Max chanting spectators. It was also the morning after her 21st birthday, and the sun seeping through her pores almost made her able to ignore the mildly nauseous feeling in her stomach, like it was cleansing her body from the outside in.

She closed Instagram and opened her camera roll, attempting to regain some memories of the night before. It wasn’t that she was blackout drunk, but usually big nights out, like the one after her first podium, took on a sort of blurry cross fade in her head, with each recollection fading into another. After Pierre placing P6 and Sydney P7 (not to mention Lando snagging P5), her birthday pub crawl through the relatively small Austrian city of Knittelfeld was definitely celebratory for other reasons.

Scrolling back to 6:28pm, Sydney, re-lived her night from the posed smiling shot of her and Pierre in the hotel lobby, hair coiffed and shoes shined, through to her 4am plate of chips in a family owned tavern, an orange Max Verstappen flag tied around her neck like a cape, each arm around the said family owners, a genuine smile on her face and eyes glinting with the flash. However, Daisy had been responsible for her phone for the entire night, tasked to ‘enjoy herself but take enough photos that it doesn’t matter if I black out’. Looking at most of the photos, Daisy had definitely done her job well.

Sydney had been slightly concerned about her dress choice, but looking at it now she had never been more pleased with herself. Despite her own worries of not matching her ‘image’ of the well-mannered, smiley, and focused girl, sometimes on the quiet side, Daisy had managed to convince her that hardly anyone would see the dress outside of her actual friends, and that she looked good enough it wouldn’t matter. The dress was a warm yellow with swirls of pinky purple, made out of a mesh material just opaque enough to hide what needed to be hidden (with the help of Daisy’s boob tape instructions through the bathroom door). The stretchy fabric tied in three places down the front, with the fabric ends hanging down to the bottom of the mini dress, the hem stopping in just the right place. The sleeves went past the wrist with a flare, and in every photo she looked like a fairy. Her hair was silky and her expression was carefree, the pieces of fabric moving with her in a way that made her look so young.

The yellow of her dress made her stand out amongst the predominant number of men in button ups in every photo, and the motion blur of every picture brought the night to life again. But despite all this, there was one photo she knew she would think about an embarrassing number of times every day. It was at pub number 4, around 2am, and she was dancing on an ornately carved traditional Austrian table. Well, she had been in the moments leading up to the photo. She was barefoot at this point, shoes long lost on the streets of Knittelfeld. Clearly, drunk Sydney needed a breather and had sat down on the edge of the table, legs dangling over the edge as everyone returned to their own dancing. Everyone except for Lando. He stood in front of her, beer in one hand and the other resting on her knee, head leant back in laughter. She had leant forward, also laughing, her forehead leaning on his shoulder and turned in to fully display her shining grin to the camera. Her hands had come to rest on his chest, and one was clearly clutching the fabric of his white button up shirt. Nobody else could ever see this picture, because, as much as she really did want it to be true, they looked like they were in love. She so badly wanted to be able to set it to her lockscreen, be able to post it on Instagram, because not only did she look hot, she looked happy. Instead she settled on clicking the heart down the bottom of the screen and closing her phone. She tilted her head back and felt the sun prick the backs of her eyes. The warmth was nearly as nice as what she felt when she was around Lando.

“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling twenty-one.” Sydney heard Pierre sing loudly from outside her hotel room door. She would cringe at his volume except for the fact it was nearly 1 o’clock on a Tuesday and most people had left the hotel (or were still asleep). She opened the door for him in her sports bra and pyjama shorts and greedily snatched the McDonald’s bag, turning her back and making a beeline for the deck again before any words were exchanged.

“Mm, good morning to you too, my little cauliflower. I take tips by cash or card.” Pierre said as he sipped his own coffee. He didn’t even flinch as Sydney lifted her feet up to place them in his lap, both of them settled on the deck.

“Your tip is my love.” Sydney replied, mouth full of mcmuffin.

“Oh yeah, I’m really feeling it.” He rolled his eyes before they came back to rest on her knowingly.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” Sydney said accusingly.

“Did you have fun last night?” Pierre asked, a suggestive undertone in his voice.

“Yes, why are you saying it like that? Did I lose my job over it or something?” Sydney’s eyes went wide but Pierre just laughed.

“No, I was just looking through my photos this morning to remind myself of the night and…well you definitely had fun.” Sydney smiled internally at their similarity but grimaced externally at his implications.

“Show me, you sound dodgy.” Pierre’s phone was already halfway out of his phone at her request. While most of his camera roll was focused on Charles, Sydney spotted a flash of yellow in nearly every photo, and it made her feel a little bit better that he had been nearby all night, even if she didn’t realise.

Pierre settled on a video a fair way through his collection, which she soon realised was her table dancing escapade. As he turned up the volume, Sydney could only vaguely recognise the song playing in the background, but her drunk alter ego in the video was singing along to every lyric with a very strong French accent.

“I know I’ve got a big ego, I really don’t know why it’s such a big deal though.” Pierre sang along in a high pitched voice as screen-Sydney moved her hips to the rhythm. Clearly he’d watched this one a few times in the past 10 hours.

“I literally don’t know this song, how am I doing this?” Sydney asked in disbelief.

“I think the question is why, not how.” Pierre cackled as Sydney hit him across the chest.

Thankfully she noticed the video jumped around when the beat dropped, meaning that everyone else was also dancing, not just standing and watching in disbelief and second hand embarrassment. As the song came to a close, there was rapturous applause from the ‘audience,’ and just before the video ended she saw herself sit down and basically sink into Lando, his hands travelling from her knees, as seen in her treasured photo, to around her waist. His head came forward to whisper something in her ear, and her drunk self was mid-laugh when the video ended.

“Do you want that video?” Pierre asked.

“Sure.”  Sydney laughed, trying to sound nonchalant but desperately wanting to replay the 2 seconds of her in Lando’s arms to try and replace the missing memory in her mind. Before she could quiz Pierre more on his adventures from the night, her phone began to buzz. The drop of excitement mixed with terror in her stomach when she saw it was Lando calling was embarrassingly strong.

“I’ll be back in a sec.” She said to Pierre, grabbing her hash brown and sliding the door to the room closed behind her as she sat down on her bed.

“Good morning Lando.” Sydney said as she pressed the green button, trying to sound cool.

“Morning.” His voice was raspy and there was a rustling of sheets in the background. God help me, Sydney thought. “How are you?” He asked.

“I am good, us French can hold our booze.” Sydney said softly, bringing her knees up to her chest as if she was in bed with him. Which was an inappropriate thing to think, but who can stop an overactive imagination.

“I wish I could say the same.” Lando tried to laugh on the other end, but it sounded pained.

“Pierre’s here right now, but I know he has things to do later and is just being a lazy dick, so I could bring you some panadol when he leaves.” Sydney tried not to sound overly keen, but she desperately wanted to be with him again after seeing the proof of their night time interactions.

“That’s alright, I’m a big boy who can get his own drugs.” He audibly turned over in bed, and Sydney laughed despite the drop in her stomach.

“Is that all you called for then? To allow me to acknowledge my superior genetics?” Sydney chuckled. She noticed herself playing with the hem of her shorts, and it was so incredibly schoolgirl of her she almost physically cringed at herself.

“Well, of course. But no, I was wondering if you could send me any photos you took of me last night? I mean, wait.” He said hurriedly as Sydney began to giggle. “I know that sounds bad, I just have genuinely one photo and it’s of you and a plate of chips from 4am and Charlotte wants to post something not driving related and she says I’m making it difficult for her because I have no life.” The speed of his speech nearly doubled, and Sydney would’ve felt bad for making him panicked if it wasn’t so cute.

“I would be happy to Mr Norris. Anything else?” She smiled to herself absentmindedly, already thinking of the picture. Not that any PR agent looking for permanent employment would ever post it, but still.

“Mmm, I think that’ll be it for now. I need to sleep for about another 3 days.” He mumbled, probably into his pillow. It made Sydney blush, as much as she wished it didn’t.

“Sweet dreams then.” She said. She was nearly whispering from how gentle she felt the urge to be.

“Mm, only if you’re in them.” He mumbled again.

“Bye Lando.” Sydney said, trying to convey her appreciation of his words without explicitly saying it.

“Bye Syd.” The sudden loss of connection left her feeling slightly empty, as well as the realisation that he was probably just flirting at the end for a bit of fun, and didn’t actually want to see her today, and that it was almost definitely because of this girl he had a thing for that Sydney kept forgetting about. Even though she was basically invented by her own overthinking, but whatever. Even Pierre heard him talking about a girl. A knocking on the glass brought her out of her spiral, her previously giddy mood darkened to almost sadness.

“I’ve finished eating already, you’re a terrible hostess.” Pierre whinged as he went on his phone, not looking up as Sydney sat back down.

“Sorry, Lando wanted some photos from last night.” Sydney said tentatively, looking up at Pierre’s face to see his reaction at the mention of the English boy. Oddly enough, his face was frozen and his hand was stilled over his phone, and not a snarky syllable left his mouth. “Pierre, you okay?” Sydney asked as she polished off her mcmuffin. Pierre’s fingers began swiping and tapping again but no words were spoken. “Pierre, you’re being annoying, what is it?”

After a few more taps, Pierre looked up with a concerned expression on his face. He turned his phone to face Sydney and for a few moments she didn’t process what she was looking at. It was her tagged instagram posts, but every photo was the exact same one. Clicking on one, she realised with a sick feeling in her stomach what she was seeing. Her phone began to buzz and she knew it was Daisy but she couldn’t bring herself to pick up the call yet.

“Please tell me I’m hallucinating and that’s not what I think it is.” Sydney said. Pierre just looked at her with a pitying gaze.The photo was a little bit grainier than hers, and a little bit more over exposed, but everything was clearly identifiable as a pub full of Formula 1 drivers, engineers and a few team bosses. It was the same pub from 2am, the carved table exactly how it looked in both her photo and Pierre’s video. Except instead of her dancing on a table, instead of her hands scrunched in Lando’s shirt or his hands on her waist, it was something infinitely times worse. He had put down his beer bottle and now both hands were on her hips, venturing to bum territory. Her hands had risen up to his neck, fingers interrupted by his brown curls as they clearly scrunched around the hair. And instead of shit eating, purely joyful grins on their faces, they were connected at the mouth.

“Fuck me, I’m gonna vom.” Sydney said, already feeling the blood drain from her face.

“Sydney-” Pierre began to attempt his ‘it’s-not-that-bad’ talk but Sydney was already running to the toilet. She dropped to her knees and barely felt the cold tile jolt her bones as she began emptying her stomach of this morning’s breakfast and last night’s chips. Pierre’s hands smoothed up the sides of her face and collected it in a sloppy bun after extracting a hair tie from her wrist, now using one hand to rub circles on her back and the other to flush the toilet periodically. Once her heaves produced nothing except air, Pierre ripped a few pieces of tissue paper and wiped her mouth.

“How do you feel, love?” Pierre asked, accepting her gentle sniffles as answer enough while she leaned back into his chest. Sydney’s phone was still buzzing on the bathroom counter above, and she reached up to grab it. She had 7 missed calls from Daisy alongside 16 text messages, another 4 calls from Lando and 8 messages, as well as 2 emails, one from Alpha Tauri’s admin system and another from McLaren’s, both to schedule the same meeting at 2:30pm that day. There were another 10 missed calls above all that, from people like Charles and Daniel and a few unknown numbers. Her phone read 13:42, giving her under an hour to reconcile the end of her career and accept that she’d managed to fuck up her entire life’s work over something she couldn’t even remember.

And fuck, she wished she remembered it. She opened her phone to call back Daisy, instead being met with the photo in question. It was an objectively awful photo, if not for the yellow dress (fuck that fucking yellow dress) and Esteban being unfortunately very visible in the foreground, it could’ve been anyone pashing on that table. And yet, she could just see the hint of a smile at the corners of Lando’s mouth, could nearly feel his warm hands on her hips, barely separated from her skin by that godforsaken dress. If she’d remembered the kiss, then maybe it would’ve been worth it.

“If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t even see you. I don’t think anyone did.” Pierre said quietly, handing her a glass of water she hadn’t even noticed him fill up.

“Thanks P.” She replied even more softly, trying to hold back full on tears. “I don’t even remember it.” Her voice cracked and she couldn’t hold them back anymore.

“Shh, shh, it’s okay, it’ll be fine.” Pierre whispered into her ear, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders as they stayed sitting on the bathroom floor.

“Syd, are you in there?” Sydney heard Daisy’s voice accompanied by frantic knocking on her hotel room door, along with a few other voices murmuring in what were noticeably stressed tones. She knew it looked really, really bad to be crying in her hotel room with another male driver people thought she was in a relationship with after what had happened, but she also needed Daisy to comfort her, even if it was sugar-coated.

Upon opening the door, Sydney was met with Daisy’s concerned face front and centre, then Charlotte, Lando’s PR agent, directly behind her. Leaning against the opposite wall was Lando, his eyes meeting Sydney’s straight away and not moving away. It wasn’t anger or resentment though, it felt comforting. It felt the same way his hand had felt when he had gently guided her around the cinema in London. She felt, whether or not it was justified, like he was going to take care of her.

“Oh, darling.” Daisy said as she saw Sydney’s puffing, tear-tracked face, and hugged her firmly while leading her back within the hotel room. The three of them sat around the small table in the room and Sydney understood that this was some sort of pre-meeting to whatever was about to go down. Pierre smiled awkwardly at the two PR agents before giving Sydney a final squeeze and seeing himself out. Sydney only realised upon feeling his hands on her bare back that she was still in a bra and shorts, and internally gave herself a smack upside the head. Could she look like any bigger of a whore?

“Now, I think we should start this by clarifying that neither of you leaked this photo, nor do either of you know who did?” Charlotte said, her and Daisy both retrieving their laptops. As professionals, they had both become focused and clinical, contrasting Lando and Sydney’s sombre faces. Lando just shook his head tiredly, and Sydney fondly remembered that he was probably in bed 10 minutes ago. 10 minutes ago when she still had a career. He looked up from the table and met her eyes again, and she just wished that they could talk about this alone, as much as she appreciated Charlotte and Daisy. Sydney also shook her head, and both women began typing.

“Okay, well, as both of you would’ve figured out that this is time for us to figure out our approach before the big boss meeting, because as we love our jobs Charlotte and I both know that we’ll only get talked over by the big men in the room once we enter it and unfortunately for you Sydney, they’ll probably want you to apologise and let Lando escape without a scratch. You know, sexism and that.” Daisy said, ending her sentence with a loud keyboard clack.

“Why? That’s such bullshit, why do we have to apologise for anything, let alone put the blame on Syd?” Lando said, huffing and leaning further down in his chair.

“Because this is what this looks like, from the average Formula 1 fan’s perspective. Sydney, a young, female rookie, has gotten a bit too drunk on her 21st and pashed the first attractive driver she could get her hands on, which happened to be you, Lando, and they’ll assume that it went a whole lot further than that, which I’m fairly confident in assuming it didn’t.” Daisy gave each of them a knowing look. “And now, if nothing is said, Sydney will be framed as a party girl who doesn’t take her opportunity in Formula 1 seriously, and who is willing to endanger the careers of other drivers as she does so. Despite the fact that she’s driving well this season, she probably won’t have her contract extended to next year, and that will suit everyone’s big bosses totally fine because as much as they don’t want to admit it, a female driver performing well in F1 puts their job, and the jobs of every man who is overly represented in this sport, at risk. So, this is our strategy meeting to prevent that from happening. Are you both okay with that?”

Lando and Sydney nodded, the latter sniffling to keep tears from reforming in her eyes. Lando’s sock-covered foot found hers under the table and stretched out to rest their calves next to each other. It was surprisingly very comforting.

“We’ve gotta ask you both a few very personal questions now, but it’ll save you sorting out your relationship details in front of your bosses.” Charlotte said, and both Sydney and Lando’s heads whipped up at the word relationship, and Charlotte smiled subtly to herself.

“First, have you two ever performed romantic or sexual acts together prior to last night?” Even though Charlotte was clearly reading from some kind of template she had made, the question made Sydney blush. Although her mind cast back to their hug after her podium or their lowkey cuddle in the movie theatre, Sydney knew she had to shake her head, no matter how romantic she wanted those acts to be.

“Are you two currently in a romantic or sexual relationship?” More shaking heads.

“After last night, do you two intend on pursuing a future romantic or sexual relationship?” Sydney met Lando’s eyes across the table, and she noticed that he didn’t move his leg from beside hers. He began to fiddle with his bracelet, and she sniffled again, but neither shook their heads. His silence, as much as she wished it didn’t, made Sydney’s heart soar. Maybe he wasn’t just flirting for his own amusement. Maybe he really did feel the way about her that she felt about him.

“Okay, well, whether or not either of you have certain…feelings that you don’t want to express at this point,” Daisy began, “If you’re in this kind of grey area it’s usually easier to just pick a side, black or white. It’s easier to communicate that and avoid repetitive questions if your stance is unchanging. And whether it’s how you really feel or not, Charlotte and I think that, in this situation, asserting that last night was just two drunk 21 year olds having a good time and that nothing more will come from it is easier than your alternatives.” Lando’s blue eyes flicked between different parts of Sydney’s face, and she did the same, looking for answers from his silence. She wished they just had one minute together. Both nodded their heads.

“Okay, well other than marriage we probably have the easiest situation to deal with then.” Charlotte said. Sydney thought she might’ve been making a weird, PR agent joke, but she seemed dead serious as she typed up notes on her laptop.

“Sydney, I’m not gonna lie to you, you’re gonna cop a lot of flack for this. You’re probably gonna be called a slut, people are probably gonna comment on your dress and your drinking, you’re probably gonna be blamed for distracting Lando or for throwing away your career, but as long as you stand your ground and assert that you did nothing wrong, and as long as you keep driving the way you are, this whole thing’s gonna be fine. I promise.” Daisy’s kind eyes made stern contact with Sydney’s, and it took all of her willpower to not break down again.

“It’s 2:05, so you guys can have 5 minutes to talk before you both have to get dressed and leave for the meeting. Don’t be late.” Charlotte said, staring at Lando. Sydney just noticed that he was wearing a Valentino Rossi t-shirt and loose boxer shorts, not that much better than her. As the door shut behind Charlotte and Daisy, Lando’s hands closed over Sydney’s. As his thumbs rubbed over the backs of her hands, she couldn’t hold her tears in anymore and tilted her head down in embarrassment. She felt Lando’s hands leave hers and she was worried that she’d imagined his comforting gaze and his knee against hers underneath the table, and that in reality he was furious with her for creating this nightmare for him just as he was on the up.

“Syd, look at me.” Lando’s voice sounded from next to her, him having moved around the table to be closer to her. Her glassy eyes gazed up at his as their hands connected in between them.

“I’m sorry.” She said, voice trembling as if it was about to shatter.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. It’s not anybody’s fault, the whole thing is just so dramatic for no reason.” Lando said, and Sydney knew his sharp tone wasn’t directed at her even though it made her throat clench out of dread.

“Even so, it was my birthday, I probably started it, knowing how I am when I’m drunk.” Sydney laughed half-heartedly.

“So you don’t remember it either? Thank God.” Lando breathed out, and both of them let out a genuine laugh.

“Although, I maybe wish I did.” Sydney said, looking down at their intertwined hands.

“Sort of.” Lando said.

“Huh?” Sydney replied.

“Instead of maybe, you say sort of.” Lando said, mouth forming into a grin.

“This is not the time, Lando.” Sydney scolded, but she couldn’t hold back her grin.

“I maybe wish I remembered it too.” Lando murmured after a few moments of silence.

“We looked like we were having fun.” Sydney said, smiling to herself.

“Yeah.” Lando trailed off. Their foreheads were now resting together, and it reminded Sydney of her original photo. Opening her phone, she was still met with the sight of Instagram, and even when she opened her camera roll to the photo she had favourited, a pit opened in her stomach. But the sight of them laughing, leaning into each other, it made her happy that they existed like that somewhere. Her phone was between them so Lando could see it too. He titled his chin up to kiss her forehead, bringing her in to rest her head on his shoulder as it was in the photo. They stayed like that for what felt like only a few seconds before there was more knocking on the door, and a yell for them to finish up.

Lando stood up reluctantly, not letting go of Sydney’s hand. She leant her head against his stomach and let out another loud sniffle. His hands came to rest on the back of her neck, and she felt his stomach vibrate with his words without actually hearing what he said.

“Hmm?” She asked, standing up and leaning against the table to get closer to his face.

“I said, I’m sad that our drunk selves ruined this. I think sober Sydney and Lando would’ve been much smarter about it.” Lando said, smiling sadly. Sydney internally cursed herself. There was no other girl, he wanted them to be together just as much as she did. And now, because of their stupid, drunk selves, that could never happen.

“I think so too.” Sydney said, feeling butterflies swarm in her stomach as Lando’s hands came to rest on her hips, nearly on her bum, and hers rose to tangle in his hair. As his soft lips connected with her own, she nearly let out a tear at what could now never happen. Despite this, she couldn’t help but smile into the kiss, her smile widening as she felt him smile back. Another knock on the door interrupted them, and Lando fully extracted himself this time, barely looking back as he left the room. It was better that way, Sydney thought to herself. She wouldn’t have let him leave if he started to say goodbye.

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[detroit-grand-prix]

Wildest Dreams Chapter 6 - Cruel Summer

Chapter summary: The immediate aftermath of Bee's crash at the Red Bull Ring.

Content warning: This chapter contains mentions of a racing accident.

Chapter word count: 2,717

Author’s notes: I didn’t have any notes for this chapter, actually! Sorry there’s kind of a lack of any F1 personas in this chapter - it’s sort of a transitional chapter. 

Previous Chapter

Landeskrankenhaus Murtal, Standort Knittelfeld, Spielberg, Styria, Austria May 20th, 2016

Bee cracked open both eyes. Her eyelids felt so heavy. Her entire body felt heavy. Her throat was scratchy, and she felt like she was waking up from a long, dreamless sleep. It took a long time for her eyesight to focus, like someone was trying to adjust an old film projector. Eventually, she could make out the faces of her mom and dad, standing over her. 

“There she is! Welcome back, honeybee”, her mom said. 

Bee looked around and saw that she was in what was very obviously a hospital bed, in a darkened hospital room. She looked down at her body and saw that she was sitting up at a 45-degree angle. There were all kinds of tubes coming out of the crook of her right elbow and hand, and she felt one on her face that looped around behind her ears. Her left hand was covered in a thick layer of gauze wrapped in a bandage, with a splint under her hand and wrist. There were different monitors and sensors stuck to her chest, and she was wearing a loose gown under her blankets.

“What -” she said, her mind immediately flashing back to the moment she was trying to pass the other dark blue car, the moment she felt herself vault over the kerb and into the wall. She could almost feel it, and startled a bit. “The race… the crash?” 

John’s face remained neutral. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Oh,” Bee said, trying her best to focus on the conversation without falling back asleep. “I’m in the hospital, right? Where are we?”

“Austria,” Josephine said. “We’re still in Spielberg. And yes, you are in the hospital.” 

More of her fragmented memories came back in flashes. Austria. Spielberg. The Red Bull Ring. Trying to force the other blue car to go wide into a turn and feeling the thud of her car landing after becoming airborne.

“It’s Sunday now. You’ve been out for almost an entire day. You had to have surgery. You had us worried.”

“Oh,” Bee said, again. She felt like her brain was operating on a delay, each word floating in the ether just out of her reach. She just let them go. It was nice to see her mom and dad’s face, though, even if she could barely keep up with what they were telling her. “I’m tired.” she said.

Her mom leaned down to kiss her forehead, gently. “You can sleep some more. Get some rest. We’ll be here when you wake up, honeybee.” The last thing she heard was her dad say, “I'll go call and let them know she’s alert and responding.” She almost asked, “Call who?” but she was asleep with the words still on her tongue.

When she woke up again, the room was brighter. Sunlight was trying to filter through the blinds that were drawn closed. She looked around, a little more aware of things this time. Her mother was asleep next to her bed, laying on what looked like a lounge chair, still dressed in the clothes Bee remembered her mother wearing to the race. Her father was nowhere to be found. Bee’s phone sat on the rolling bedside table.

Bee started mentally taking an inventory of herself, trying to feel her way through her body, trying to assess what might be broken or, god forbid, missing. She vaguely remembered her mom telling her she had to have surgery, but she didn’t say what for. The arm that was bandaged and splinted was obviously injured in some way, so it was probably that. She clenched her right hand into a fist and relaxed it. She wiggled her toes, relieved to find that she felt them do so without issue. She used her right hand to give herself a few gentle pats up and down her torso, not feeling anything off until she got to her hip and - 

“Oh, good! You’re up!” Her dad said brightly, as he pushed open the door of her room, carrying two styrofoam coffee cups and what looked like some sort of pastry. 

“Jo, Phoebe is awake!” Her mom stirred on the lounge chair to the right of her bed. 

“Oh, good morning, honeybee. How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay.” Bee said. “Apparently not all in one piece, but pretty close, I guess.”

John handed Josephine one of the coffees as she sat up, and set the other one and the pastry down on the tray next to Bee’s bed, and moved to leave the room again. “I’ll go let the nurse know she’s awake.” 

She watched the doorway as her dad’s back passed through the doorway again, and turned her head slightly to her mom’s direction. “I’m sorry,” she said simply, not really sure what she was apologizing for.

“I’m just glad you’re okay, honeybee. Well, relatively speaking. It was a pretty nasty crash. The stewards’ report said it wasn’t your fault, though. You had the line, and that Kozlov kid crowded you through the turn. His wheel hit yours and you vaulted over the kerb and into the Armco barrier” 

Bee sighed deeply, now remembering the moment before the crash, when she was alongside Evgeni’s car. She only remembered flashes of things after that, until waking up in the dark hospital room, seeing her parents’ faces over her. 

Bee tried to sit herself up a little more, and felt a sudden pressure in the front of her head, bright spots dancing in her vision. “Ugh,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut and sinking back into her pillow. 

“Careful,” her mom said. “You got your bell rung pretty good. You’ll have to take it easy for a little while.” 

“There goes the rest of the season, I guess.” Bee said flatly, letting her mom adjust her pillows a little. She was too groggy to object to being fussed over a little bit. Before her mom could respond, her dad came back into the room, trailed by a woman in surgical scrubs and a brightly-colored surgical cap, holding what looked like giant black squares - x-rays. A nurse followed both of them in, immediately setting to work checking Bee’s vitals and medications on the IV pole next to her. 

“Hello, Phoebe. I’m Dr. Tischler, I’m the orthopedic surgeon here”, the woman in scrubs said, in English. Her accent was fairly heavy. “How are you feeling?” 

“I’ve been better, but you should see the other guy.” Bee said. Dr. Tischler did not respond to the joke. 

“I’m sure you’re wondering what’s happened”, Dr. Tischler said, fitting the x-ray films into the frame of the lightbox across from Bee’s bed and flicking the light on. She saw the bones of a hand and arm on one, and a hip and pelvis across the other. The arm had bright white lines crisscrossing through it. They looked like screws.

“I know I shunted my car, but that’s about all I remember”, Bee said as she stared at the lightbox. 

“Yes. You sustained a distal radius fracture from the impact of the steering wheel, that’s what we repaired here”, Dr. Tischler said, pointing to the illuminated hardware. “And a fracture of your scaphoid bone”, she said, pointing to another spot on the illuminated hand where there was a bright white spot similar in shade to the pins. “We see these injuries a lot in people who have been in car accidents, and yes, it’s common in race drivers as well.” 

Bee nodded. While she’d never had any injuries like this, she’d known plenty of drivers that had. Racing drivers were taught to let go of their steering wheel and brace their arms across their body in the case of an imminent crash - wrist, hand, and finger injuries were a common occupational hazard. 

“Unfortunately, the fracture in your scaphoid bone, that’s the small bone right here”, the surgeon said, pointing to the bright white spot, “was pretty bad, and that bone does not heal easily on its own, as its blood supply is poor. We had to cut a small piece of bone from your hip to graft it in to improve its blood supply, and we stabilized it with a small screw.”

Dr. Tischler pointed to the x-ray of the hip and pointed out what looked like a hole on the outer edge of the hip. “You’ve also sustained a concussion, but we did not see any additional bleeding or fractures on your cranial CT scans, so that is a good thing. You might feel a little poorly for a while.” 

The doctor went on to describe all of the things Bee might be feeling for the next few weeks - memory issues, headaches, brain fog, poor concentration, increased agitation, irritability, and an increased desire to sleep. She stressed that while the symptoms would be temporary, it was important for Bee to not push herself too quickly. 

Dr. Tischler looked down at the notes on the computer in the room and said, “We will want to keep you here for a few days, just to make sure you get a chance to rest a bit and to monitor you for any complications from the surgery and your head injury. Your parents said you live in… Stuttgart?” Dr. Tischler raised her eyebrows. “Das ist Interessant. But, I will refer you to a neurologist there for a follow-up to make sure you are recovering well, as well as an orthopedist for your wrist. Before you are discharged, we’ll change the surgical dressing and splint to a proper cast. It is wrapped like that right now to help with the swelling.” 

She looked up from the screen of her computer. “I know that was a lot of information, but do you have any questions I can answer?” 

“Um… no, that’s all. I am a little hungry, though”, Bee said, shyly. She knew that the orthopedic surgeon wasn’t the person to put in breakfast orders with, but the nurse that had come in to take her vitals had left already.

“Ah, das ist gut,” Dr. Tischler said. “I was not sure if you’d have much of an appetite, so that is promising. I will have the nurse bring you some breakfast, and I will come and see you again before you are discharged. It was nice to meet you, Phoebe.” 

Dr. Tischler gave each of the Stallards a handshake before she left the room.

Bee sat silent for a long moment, before her mother said, “We weren’t sure how you’d feel about visitors when you came around, so we’ve said no for now, just to give you a chance to rest. And we contacted your team and Dr. Marko to let them know you were…” It was clear she wanted to say the word “okay”, but that wasn’t really accurate. “Alert and oriented. We called grandma and grandpa, too, just so they didn’t see anything on the news and worry. And we brought you your phone. It’s off right now, but you’ve gotten a lot of messages. The doctor told us that you should be looking at screens for now, but we can help you respond to those when you feel up to it.”

Bee took a long look at her parents. They looked like they’d been awake for the better part of two days. They looked disheveled, exhausted, both were still wearing the clothes that Bee remembered them wearing at the track when she saw them between qualifying and Saturday’s race. “Have either of you slept?” 

Her parents looked at each other. “We’ve... napped, here and there.” John said. “We wanted to wait until you were fully around so you wouldn’t wake up alone and wonder where we were. We added a few more days to our hotel room, though, so we were going to take turns being here with you, but -” John was interrupted by the nurse bringing in Bee’s breakfast. There was some Museli, sausage, a piece of bread Bee recognized as a Kaisersemmel, ham, and a boiled egg. As she started eating, Bee’s mind unintentionally went back to that morning in France, which made her think of the afternoon before that morning, causing her to shudder involuntarily.

“You okay, hon?” Josephine asked. 

“Yeah… just felt a little chill, I guess.”

She finally convinced her parents to head back to their hotel room after she’d eaten, so they could get a shower and some proper sleep in a normal bed. She slept most of the day herself.

The rest of Bee’s time in the hospital mostly passed by relatively uneventfully. She slept a lot. She gingerly walked up and down the hallways with one of her parents, gripping an IV pole for balance. She started some physical therapy, which felt awful, but her physical therapist was nice. She got in touch with her team principal to let him know she was okay and thanked him for the flowers that the team sent. She called Helmut Marko and left him a voicemail to let him know what was going on. 

She wasn’t supposed to be looking at screens, so her mom read some of her WhatsApp messages from her friends to her and typed responses that Bee dictated. She talked to her grandparents in Michigan on the phone to let them know she was okay. She did use her phone for a few minutes to make posts to her Instagram and Twitter accounts, with pictures of her wrist x-ray, complete with a caption about not getting the hardware she was hoping for from Austria. She tried to read the book she’d brought with her to read on her flight, but even that felt like it was overloading her brain after 20 minutes or so. She mostly slept, which wasn’t a bad thing - Dr. Tischler told her that rest was the best thing for her, anyway. 

She declined having visitors, partly because she didn’t really feel up to socializing and didn’t think she’d be very entertaining while she slept so much, and partly because she couldn’t see anyone making the trip out to far-flung Styria just to visit her.

When she was alone and wasn’t sleeping, her mind felt crowded with all kinds of unpleasant thoughts about the future. The current season was definitely a wash - her doctor had told her that it would be a few weeks before she’d be even able to resume light exercise, let alone withstand the immense physical stresses of driving a race car. For the first time in her life, though, she saw a future where racing wasn’t part of it. The events of the last two races made her feel like the racing world was trying to reject her, like she was being chewed up and spat out. Maybe she wouldn’t go back. Maybe she couldn’t. Maybe she’d go back to the US, or maybe she’d go to college. None of these futures seemed congruous, though - the only future that looked and felt right was seeing herself lining up on the grid on Sunday, sitting in a very fast car, watching for the lights to go out. 

But as of the Wednesday morning of her hospital stay, as her discharge was becoming imminent, that future seemed complicated. When she woke up from one of her many naps, she noticed that she’d had a voicemail from Dr. Marko. Dread filled the pit of her stomach, but there was no sense in delaying the inevitable.

The voicemail was short, brutal, and extremely to the point, which Bee realized was Dr. Marko in a nutshell. He said that because of her condition and her inability to finish this season, Red Bull Racing needed to move on and were ending their relationship. No “good luck with your future”, “hope you have a swift recovery”. Not a single pleasant word. He just said he would send her the updated contracts and appropriate termination paperwork, and hung up. 

Bee tipped her head back and stared up at the ceiling, letting her mind go blank. She felt numb, but not in a way that the pain medication was making her numb. It was a deeper, almost spiritual numbness. She sank back on her pillows and stared up at the ceiling, unable to grasp at a singular thought, except one - 

“At least the death of my racing career was quick. It wasn’t painless, but it was quick.”

Next Chapter

[artbyibnulmehdi]

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