Chapter Text
Spa always smells like rain.
Even when it isn't raining, there's something about the air - wet grass, cold stone, the metallic scent of brake dust lingering long after the engines fall quiet. It's a place made of ghosts. Corners, names, memories. All of it tucked into the curves like secrets.
Charles breathes it in and squints up at the sky. Overcast. Threatening.
"How long do you give it?" he asks.
Carlos, beside him in a hoodie and cap pulled low, shrugs. "Ten minutes, maybe. Fifteen, if the track gods are merciful."
They're walking the circuit together. Not because they have to. Not even because they should. But because it's Spa. And old habits die hard - even when the logo on your chest has changed.
Carlos is in Williams now. Charles still at Ferrari. But between them, there's a kind of easy silence that doesn't care about liveries.
They reach Eau Rouge.
"Remember 2022?" Carlos says suddenly.
Charles glances sideways. "The quali run or the start?"
Carlos grins. "Both. But mostly when I went wide and you joked to everyone that I was 'braking like a grandmother'."
Charles smirks. "You were braking like a grandmother, mate."
"It was wet."
"You were still slow."
Carlos bumps him with a shoulder. Charles almost slips on the damp tarmac, but catches himself with a laugh.
It feels good. Light. Almost young again.
They pause at Raidillon, both staring up the incline like it's a cathedral.
"It used to scare the shit out of me," Charles admits.
Carlos hums. "Same. Until I realized you can't be scared and fast at the same time."
"And you chose fast?"
Carlos grins. "Siempre."
There's a beat. A soft quiet. The kind that sits in your chest and asks if you've changed too much to still be who you were.
Charles breaks it. "I still think about the first time we drove here in the same car. The red one."
Carlos glances at him. "Yeah?"
"I was nervous. Didn't want to mess up in front of my new teammate."
Carlos laughs. "You were faster than me."
"Exactly. The pressure was worse after that."
Carlos tosses a small rock into the grass. "I didn't know you felt like that."
"You didn't have to. Between us, you know you're the calm one."
Carlos snorts. "That's rich, coming from you."
They keep walking. Blanchimont. Pouhon. La Source. Every corner with a memory tucked into it like a bookmark.
"Do you ever miss it?" Charles asks, not looking at him.
Carlos knows what he means. Ferrari. The shared war zone. The unspoken alliance. The endless debriefs where they covered for each other with a look or a nod.
"Sometimes," Carlos admits. "But not enough to go back."
Charles nods. "Same."
They fall into step again.
At the pit straight, they slow.
The sun's trying to push through the clouds now. A faint gold against grey.
Charles stops. Carlos does too.
"Do you think we'll ever have it like that again?" Charles asks quietly. "The pressure. The expectation. The feeling that one good lap could change everything?"
Carlos doesn't answer right away.
Then: "I don't really know, mate. Maybe not. But maybe, that's not the point anymore."
"What is the point then?"
Carlos turns to him, really looks. "That we're still here. Still racing. Still walking this track."
Charles lets that settle. It's not poetic. But it's true.
And in a world full of ghost corners, truth is rare.
They start heading back. The rain holds off.
Before they reach the paddock, Carlos stops and turns.
"One last questions."
Charles raises a brow.
"2022, quali, Eau Rouge - who was actually faster?"
Charles doesn't answer.
Just smirks.
Carlos groans. "Unbelievable. Three years later and you still won't admit it, no?"
"What? I'm not saying anything," Charles says. "But you can always go to Ricky and ask him about the sector times."
"You are the worst."
"And yet, you crashed on my couch for three weeks when you and Isa broke up."
Carlos mutters something in Spanish that sounds affectionate and insulting in equal measure.
Charles laughs. "Come on. Let's go back before it rains."
They head toward the paddock, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Two drivers, two careers, and a thousand corners behind them.
Some fast. Some slow.
Some they'll never stop driving - if only in memory.