Chapter Text
Usually, Lewis would let Angela handle the planning of his organisations but this one was different. Sebastian was retiring. Ever since he announced it back in July, Lewis hadn’t paid much attention to it, truth to be told. He wasn’t sure of the reason. Maybe it was because he had thought Sebastian was going to change his mind, maybe he had thought he was going to go back to RedBull and be his arch-rival once again.
After all, Sebastian was younger than him.
It was maybe the Hungarian Grand Prix (or maybe it wasn’t, Lewis wasn’t certain once again) when Lewis had seen that black and white video. Sebastian’s sad voice and aged face had got together to inform everyone that this is his last season in Formula one.
There was one thing Lewis remembered clearly; on that same weekend his teammate George had gotten the pole. And Lewis had fallen into the endless pit of thinking that night in his bed. Perhaps his time was up as well. Maybe it was time to let go of Formula one before it let go of Lewis.
Before he turned into some petty old guy who fights his young teammate for a few points.
Like Alonso.
Like Sebastian.
Sports were ruthless. There was no yesterday, only today. And perhaps Lewis was getting left behind.
He didn’t want to be that guy. That guy, who kept bragging about the past, thinking about the past. Only ever remembered for his achievements forever ago.
It wasn’t as easy as it sounded though. Letting go of racing. Letting go of the thrill and success.
Though he had beaten his teammate in that particular race, these thoughts never left him. Especially since had lost to Verstappen.
Being second is to be the first one to lose.
Also, everything got only worse after this Sunday. He hadn’t got a pole the whole season unlike his teammate and then George actually won the race. Won the Brazilian Grand Prix.
His home race.
It had been a Mercedes one-two. Great achievement, amazing, spectacular. He had thrown out these words all evening and tried to smile but deep down things had been a lot more… stormy. Maybe he was becoming Sebastian, only following him a few seasons behind.
First, a new and young teammate comes along and beats you. Next season you are the number two driver and then you got kicked out.
Lewis didn’t think he could do what Fernando and Sebastian did. He couldn’t go to a midfield team and fight for P6.
He’d rather just retire. Like Nico Rosberg did.
In the end Sebastian was actually retiring and Lewis felt like the clock was ticking for him now. This morning he had felt so old looking at Sebastian’s and his photo’s from the first podium they shared.
They had been kids. So young and so full of potential. Their whole life had been ahead of them. Lewis had wiped a tear, going down memory lane. After fifteen years in this shit-show of an organisation, they had achieve many great things and written the history of formula one together.
Prost-Senna era, Schumacher era, Vettel era and then Hamilton era.
And now it was Verstappen era.
Lewis took a deep breath, stretching his legs on the couch. One more season. He was going to try one more season. That was the deal he had made with himself. His masterpiece was unfinished and he was going to be the one to decide when it was done.
Not Toto, not Masi and certainly not Verstappen.
Thinking and worrying about the things he cannot control was a waste of time and energy. So Lewis decided to stop. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths. He had to make twenty phone calls and not all of them were going to be pleasant.
He decided to go with the car number order.
First person. Daniel. Car 3.
Fuck. Only after he hit the call button he realised Daniel was not going to on grid next year as well. It was his last race too.
“Lewis?” Aussie picked up the phone, his tone way too happy for no reason.
“Hi Dani,” Lewis said back. Actually, there was a speech ready in his head to make to the drivers. About how much it would mean to Seb, if they showed up, but Lewis felt like he didn’t need to give that speech to Daniel. “I am planning a farewell dinner for Seb in AD on Thursday, at seven. Coming?”
“Of course,” Daniel said not missing a beat. “I don’t know my schedule at all, but I don’t care. I’ll make time for Seb.”
Lewis smiled even though Daniel couldn’t see him. There was a pause in their conversation. This was his queue to say goodbye and go to the next person but it didn’t feel right. “Daniel. I know Abu Dhabi will be your last race as well but I don’t think it’s the end for you. I know you’ll be back. I mean, you have to, even that talentless dick Hulkenberg came back like three times,” he said. He was still angry at that blond German for Brazil 2012.
He heard Daniel chuckle. “I know I will. I only need to take a break… Thank you for the support, Lewis. It’s a lot more than McLaren is ever giving me, I don’t know how you did it.”
Lewis couldn’t end the conversation there and they ended up talking for an hour more about McLaren and its ups and downs. The moment he hung up, Lewis got to the next person on the list, and he had no more time to lose.
Car 4. Lando.
Well, he knew for a fact that Lando hated phone calls. The boy texted his fucking lawyer. And Lewis was respectful of people’s preferences so he opened a messages app and write.
Seb’s retirement dinner. AD. Thursday. Seven p.m.
Coming?
No jokes about his driving style or multi 2-1 are allowed.
Black tie optional.
He hit send and immediately realised Lando might not have his number.
LH
He added that and bounced to the next person.
Car 5. Sebastian. Well, he needed to be sure everyone was coming to dinner before he informed Sebastian, didn’t he?
So he skipped the guest of honour.
Car 6. Nico… No of course not. It hadn’t been for a long time.
Car 6. Latifi.
The guy who cost him the championship… is what Lewis would have thought about the guy if he had been the type of person to hold a grudge. Luckily he wasn’t. Phone conversation with Nicholas was easy, he was a fun likeable Canadian guy, who Lewis had not spent more than ten minutes in total with. He said yes with much enthusiasm.
Another check on the list.
Before he got to the next person on the list. He received a reply for Lando.
How can I be sure you are Lewis?
How are your tyres?
Lewis rolled his eyes and sent Lando a selfie, giving him a thumbs up, where the thumb wasn’t the finger that was raised.
They are gone. Just like this offer is about to be.
Lando sent him a selfie back, smiling.
I am in. Do we need to make donations for his pension?
Lewis left that massage on read.
Next stop. Car 10. Pierre.
Pierre picked up the call on the second dial. Was this boy ever not on his phone? “Hello?” He answered, out of breath.
“Why are you panting?” Lewis asked, narrowing his eyes.
“No reason. I don’t know. What panting?.. I was working out,” Pierre said, giving Lewis completely different statements in the span of five seconds.
Lewis sighed. “Pierre, don’t tell me you were having sex and actually stopped to answer a call?” He heard Pierre closing a door before he spoke again.
“Well, it’s you who was calling, so she'll understand.”
Lewis chuckled. “Well, I am flattered. I will get to the point, I don’t want you to lose the excitement. I am organising a dinner for Seb’s last race and-“
“Sign me up, I’ll be there,” Pierre answered, not letting Lewis end his speech. “Just text me the details. Okay? I need to go back inside.”
Lewis let out a laugh this time. “I will,” he said and ended the call, not wanting to keep Pierre busy longer.
Next. Car 11. Sergio Perez.
Mexican cartel owner, wife cheater and most second driver in history... after Micheal’s brother.
Lewis liked him and he was on no moral high ground to lecture anyone about infidelity. Places Nico had found him after race victories were not something that Lewis was proud of.
“Lewis?” The Mexican accent always sounded so cute to him. Lewis quickly explained what he had in mind. Checo told him that he’d love to but he had to ask Redbull first. It was brilliant because it gave Lewis a chance to give Checo the speech he prepared.
Surprisingly it worked and Checo said he will be there.
Awesome. Six down. Twelve to go.
Next… God, he hated his whole idea at this step. Car 14… Fernando Alonso.
His relationship with the Spaniard hadn’t been… the best since 07’ and all the incidents of this season did make everything worse. On the other hand, Fernando had come to get his signed hat and had apologised for his comment on Lewis’s championships being less valuable.
“Hello? Who is this?” The thick accent of Fernando reached him. Lewis put his phone on the speaker and placed it on the coffee table next to him. “It’s me,” Lewis said simply.
“That’s great, but who is me?” Fernando asked again. Lewis was one hundred per cent sure Fernando had his number and a skull emoji or something had come on the screen when Lewis had called. He was just being petty.
Nothing changes in fifteen years.
Lewis wanted to say it’s the rookie who beat you but he was trying to gather everyone and not start yet another feud. “It’s Lewis.”
“Oh. I didn’t know Sir Lewis Hamilton personally called people.”
I hate him but I love Seb.
“I call when it matters,” Lewis answered. “Look, I want to have dinner for Seb’s retirement on Thursday. Are you in?” He got to the point quickly because frankly, he didn’t have any more patience.
“Yes, of course,” Fernando replied. “I was actually planning something like that too. Sebastian deserves the best. We should give him the perfect goodbye. I’ll be there, send me the details.”
Fernando’s sudden Sebastian interest was odd, to say the least. Lewis had thought the older Spaniard hated them both. He ought to get to the next person but curiosity got the better of him. “Didn’t he cost you like two championships?”
Lewis heard Fernando’s laughter. “It’s all in the past. I made Micheal retire, Seb took the crown from me, you beat Seb and Max beat you. It’s the sport… Look, I am forty, I just want to have fun from now on, and I respect Seb, he is a genuinely good person… also not a brat anymore like in his RBR days.”
Lewis couldn’t say he agreed with everything Fernando said but he had a point. “He still has so much to give to this sport. I don’t understand him, why would he retire and give up,” he said. He hadn’t sat down and talked with Fernando probably since the last McLaren briefing back in 07'. Yet, right now, only he could understand what Lewis was feeling about Sebastian’s departure from this circus.
From an out-of-time world champion to the other.
Fernando huffed on the other side of the line. “I’ve been thinking the same and I come to the conclusion that possibly we are in the wrong and he is in the right?”
“Maybe,” Lewis mumbled. Talking with Fernando was surprisingly easy, but he had a mission to complete. El Plan, one might have said. “See you on Thursday,” Lewis said after a giant pause.
Fernando hummed. “Losing did humble you, Hamilton, but still afraid to talk honestly, I see.”
“Bye Fernando,” he said and hung up.
What losing he wondered. He didn’t lose last year, and this year... Anyone could have won with a car seven-tenths faster.
That’s what everyone said about you in 2020, Lewis, he reminded himself. Anyone can drive a slow car, what matter is to be able to drive a championship-worthy car and not make mistakes, that’s what Niki had told him back in 2014.
Fuck this, he had no time for a self-pity party.
Next stop, Car 16. Charles Leclerc.
The Brutus of Sebastian's empire.