Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Ilya needed to qualify well, he knew it was only a sprint, but he needed to prove that he could pull off a fast lap. Since the Qatar and Saudi Arabian Grand prix had been cancelled, they had made it to May and they were only on the fifth race of the season. So far he had earned himself a twelfth place finish, a fifteenth and sixteenth place finish and a DNF. He needed to prove himself.

Last year, he had won the F2 championship and it had felt amazing, what felt even better was that it defeated the rumors that he only had a seat in motorsport because of his oligarch-father. Unfortunately, his race engineer didn't seem to agree and he knew that RedBull were a lot more likely to drop him than the engineer.

RedBull were known for his teammate: Scott Hunter. He was old, but successful. An American who moved to Europe when he was a teen to have more opportunities to compete. He spoke English perfectly, even his American accent had been softened by his 20-something years away. Their car was built for him, designed with and around him, and it made it really fucking hard for anyone else to drive.

Ilya knew that his job here was to be a placeholder. To help Scott to succeed and provide data for the team, but he wanted his own points too. He knew nobody expected him to be perfect straight away, but they were almost a quarter of the way through the season and he had nothing. With how quickly RedBull cycled through second-seat-drivers, he might not have a contract for next year.

Ilya finished up his out lap, he knew this was his last chance to get a good start tomorrow morning and since it was a shorter race, he might be able to hold onto a good position.

As he crossed the start line, Ilya felt himself zone in. His mind was focused on one thing: the track. He had never raced here in Canada before. It wasn't usually part of the F2 calendar but so far, he liked the track. He had done it so many times in the sim, he knew exactly what to do and when to do it. He knew in theory that he could make the cut-off time, now he just had to show everyone.

With every corner he became more confident, his steering was still not ideal in the corners, but this was something he'd brought up over and over again. Apparently Hunter's set-up provided better results (not that they'd tried anything else).

As Ilya approached the hairpin, he hit the breaks at just the right time and he found the exact line he was hoping for before quickly accelerating towards the final turns and the Wall of Champions. He sailed smoothly through the chicane and crossed the the finish line, buzzing with adrenaline.

As he slowed down for his cool down lap, he waited just a few more seconds before forcing himself to listen to the irritating voice of a man in his ear.

Once Ilya parked up, he took a second to breathe before getting out the car and once he pulled off his helmet, he didn't like what he heard.

"I can't work with him. He's a child. He doesn't Listen, he doesn't care, he's here on fucking nepotism and it's ruining my career."

"Excuse Me?" Ilya asked, walking up to his engineer, "If you have something to say then say it to my face. And their faces." He continued, gesturing to the garage full of other engineers and mechanics.

"Alright," The man replied, "You came in here at the start of the season, acting like it was your God-given right to be here but you have given us no results. You're rude on the radio, you're rude in interviews. All you do is complain about the car but I don't see you doing anything to help fix it." He then turned to LeClaire, the team principle and repeated himself. "I can't work with him and produce results. I've tried- I've tried for the last three months and I'm not wasting any more energy on him."

LeClaire turned to his colleague and took a deep breathe before saying something that hit Ilya square in the chest, "Nothing is happening right now, we can't switch drivers mid-weekend, and you're not getting fired so we all need to work through this tonight and come back tomorrow-"

"Fuck that." The engineer almost threw his hands up in the air. "I'm not doing this right now. I'm going."

LeClaire grabbed him by the arm and looked him in the eyes. "Are you leaving right now?"

The man nodded.

"You're leaving right now? Before the end of the day?"

He nodded again.

"You realise I can only protect you so much, right? There might be consequences."

"I know, I'm still leaving."

LeClaire nodded before patting the engineer on the back as he walked away. Then he looked at Ilya.

Ilya had been frozen still since the words 'we can't switch drivers mid weekend' had left LeClaire's mouth. He knew he was replaceable, that's why he wanted to score some points, but he didn't realize he was that replaceable. Would he even be at the next race? He had been so looking forward to Monaco...

"Ilya." LeClaire spoke softer to him than he was expecting him to. "We'll sort this out, I don't know what the plan will be yet but, I'll do something." Ilya nodded at that. LeClaire could be a good man when he wasn't cutting people from the team. "Maybe go cool down for a bit."

Ilya nodded and started to walk away before turning to ask a favor. "Could you keep my data up later? I want to know it as well as possible if I'm going to have someone new on the radio tomorrow.

LeClaire nodded before shooing him away.

A few hours, and a lot of overthinking, later: Ilya walked back into the garage. He'd expected to be alone at this time, he usually was. Everyone on the team knew he liked to stay late, he may not be the most organised in the rest of his life, but here he liked to know everything inside out and outside in. Part of him felt like he had to soak up the experience, just in case he couldn't come back next year, although he probably shouldn't think about that too much.

You can imagine his surprise when he saw someone else stood staring at his data sheets. Especially when that someone was wearing another team's uniform.

"Hello?"

The man turned round with a jolt, and oh my God, he was the most beautiful man Ilya had ever seen. He had short black hair and the warmest brown eyes, and as Ilya stepped closer, he noticed a constellation of freckles dotting his nose and cheeks. It took Ilya a few too many seconds to realise that he hadn't been listening to any of the various apologies running out of the man's mouth and a few too many more to realise he hadn't controlled his own.

"I recognise you."

The man laughed a little and Ilya thought for a second that he would do whatever it takes to hear that again.

He stuck out his hand before introducing himself "Shane Hollander, I was working at..."

"VCARB" They both said at the same time, "you were working at VCARB when I did an FP1 session last year." Ilya filled in as The man - Shane - as Shane nodded.

"Shane." Ilya repeated his name while shaking his hand. "Yes, I would not forget." Ilya had only just pulled his hand away when he remembered that a man in VCARB uniform probably shouldn't have access to the RedBull data, even if they were sister-teams. "You should not be here, I think."

"Actually," Shane took another look at the data before continuing, "I heard you needed a new race engineer, I just started doing that at VCARB but they still sent me up anyway."

Shane was trying to contain his grin, he knew Ilya had had a bad day, but this was a huge promotion for him and he couldn't help but be excited.

"You're my new race engineer?"

Shane nodded again, "Just for tomorrow, don't worry. Sunday too maybe if the other guy doesn't come back, but it's only temporary."

"No, no. It's okay. I think anyone would be better than that guy." That got another quick laugh out of Shane, and it was definitely making Ilya's day better.

"Unfortunately we all heard the radio messages. You don't feel like you're getting a fair chance?"

Ilya shook his head, but it felt like too much to explain again right now. He waited a bit too long to talk before filling in the silence. "I am sorry, I am very tired right now."

Shane just shook his head, "No of course. We can discuss it before the Sprint, in the morning."

Ilya nodded at that. "And you will be wearing something better, Correct?"

Shane was almost offended before he looked down at himself and remembered that he was in fact wearing the wrong team kit. "I'll wear, something better tomorrow."

"Good, that is good."

Ilya smiled at him and was about to walk away when Shane said, "See you tomorrow, Mr. Rozanov."

"Woah, woah, woah. You cannot call me that. You make me sound so old. You must be older than me, you can't call me 'Mr. Rozanov'"

"I'm not older by much, and it just felt polite. I don't know you well enough to call you Ilya."

Ilya shrugged and almost shook his head. "Well then you just say Rozanov. there is no 'Mr'" Shane nodded, seemingly content. "And I will only call you Hollander, seeing as you seem to want to do this the difficult way," Shane tried to interrupt but it was too late. Ilya was already out the door as he called "Goodbye Hollander" out to the Garage.

"Bye," Shane mumbled, absentmindedly.