Work Text:
January 2023
“Now that we have streamlined the team, we will need to readjust our timeline again,” Elkann starts when the murmurs in the room have quieted down. “We will be right on track before we know it. The only way from here is up, after all, and I am positive we will be fighting for that title as soon as the new regulations hit. For now, I would like to introduce your new team principal, Fred Vasseur, to share his vision for our Scuderia.”
Charles claps politely along with everyone else. He doesn’t much like the sound of this, but he’s willing to hear Vasseur out. He’s always been good to him so far.
He listens attentively as Vasseur outlines his plan, tries to cut through the corporate talk as best as he can. Culling the fat doesn’t mean anything. Streamlining the processes sounds nice but doesn’t come with a goal. Rebuilding from the ground up would be wonderful, if they hadn’t been doing exactly that ever since Charles joined Ferrari, if he hadn’t heard Sebastian talk about exactly that during their time together. It’s the same old thing he’s heard a hundred times before and they haven’t gotten anywhere.
The first time he hears 2026, he’s done. Still, he keeps listening, trying to figure out how he can work with this. If there even is a way for him to work with this. His dream is still alive and well, even if everyone around him seems insistent on popping this bubble.
Carlos, next to him, is nodding along, taking notes in a notebook Charles never saw him use before. He doesn’t want to think too much about what that means. Maybe it doesn’t mean anything.
The meeting drags on and once again, Charles is amazed by how much people can talk while saying so little. Meetings used to have actual information being shared, not this… whatever this was.
Finally, Vasseur is done talking.
“Any questions from the floor?” he asks, tapping his papers together and putting them to the side. Charles doesn’t hesitate, puts his hand up and barely waits until Vasseur looks in his direction.
“What did you mean about 2026? We were in the title fight for a while last year. Why can we not build on that?”
“We need to rebuild this team,” Vasseur starts. “The car is not fast enough, the team needs to learn to trust each other. Smoothing out the wrinkles. It takes some time.”
“But we are always looking for the rebuild,” Charles insists. “Why can we not rebuild while we go for the best result. It worked for Red Bull, it is working for Mercedes.”
“But if you look at McLaren and Williams, it is not working for them,” Carlos interrupts. “This timeline makes sense, Charles. We need to take it slow but steady.”
“Sorry, I just think this is unacceptable. Where is the passion?” Charles can’t not get heated about this. “This is Ferrari, after all. Why are we not working to be the best?”
There’s murmuring around the room, again. Charles tries to avoid Elkann’s gaze.
“I think we are quite done for today,” Vasseur says. “We will talk in private, Charles, see what you can add to really bring this project together. Was that all?”
No one else speaks up, even raises their hand. Charles crosses his arms in front of his chest, leans back into his chair.
This is feeling like a circus.
March 2023
There’s so many new faces Charles feels like he might as well be at a new team.
At least that means a fresh start. Probably. Hopefully.
The car’s quick under his feet again, nimble in his hands. Most of the problems from last season got solved over the winter, the porpoising luckily not making much of a comeback, and Charles can’t wait to take it for a proper spin once the lights go out for the first time this season.
They’re definitely on par with Red Bull again, Mercedes not quite caught up just yet. Charles has some fun playing with Max to try and get him to make a mistake. It feels familiar, good. And it’s always a pleasure to hear the Monegasque anthem, followed immediately by the Italian, Fred happy as a clam to be standing on the podium for his first race as team principal.
Charles happily showers him with champagne, pours it over Max and George too while he’s at it. He can’t wait for the rest of the season. He hopes the familiar feeling, the fear of peaking too soon and the imminent crash waiting around the corner, will soon disappear and make way for the taste of victory over and over again until he wins it all.
November 2023
That familiar feeling never quite goes away, the crash and burn slowly simmering this year but inevitable. Charles does his best, feels like he carries the pressure better than last year, but he eventually still has to give in. It’s just not happening this year either, no matter how promising it all started. After the summer break, Charles is mostly stuck hearing either the Dutch or the English anthem blaring obnoxiously from where he’s fending off pointed questions in the press pen, trying not to sound disappointed. He’s not a sore loser.
Not on camera, at least. He’s pushing the team behind the scenes, going over the problems he encounters during the weekend in every single debrief, every meeting, pouring over the race reports for days to figure out where things go wrong, what he needs to do better. How Mercedes is catching up to them and why Ferrari can’t capitalize on the mistakes other teams make. They can’t let Red Bull run away with this again.
And things do seem to go better, slowly but surely. Too late to salvage his own title fight, Lewis and Max going at it again instead, but Charles manages to get on the podium during the final three races. It’s promising. He’ll take it. The promise is all he has at this point, anyway.
Lewis wins his eighth at last then, Charles finishing P3 in the championship. He congratulates Lewis like he’s actually happy for him, and he is. He just wants that to be him, too.
“Man, I wish we could have fought more this year,” Lewis says when Charles is done with the well-wishes. “Next year, hopefully. You deserve a good shot at it.”
Charles doesn’t respond, just chuckles and nods. Next year, the team should be better, with all the effort he’s putting into it. Next year.
January 2024
It takes longer to recover than usual, during the winter break. He doesn’t even take his boat out for a spin. He barely recognises himself.
When Sebastian’s customary Christmas card shows up, Charles thinks he knows what could work, asks if he can spend a day or two in Switzerland to see the sights. Sebastian gracefully opens his home to Charles, lets him roam through the nature surrounding the residence until Charles is willing to talk.
“How did you do it?” Charles asks after dinner that night, when Sebastian has made some hot cocoa for the both of them. It has marshmallows. Charles burns his tongue in his haste to taste it.
“I did not do it.” Sebastian gives him a look that Charles ignores.
“You know what I mean.”
Sebastian sighs.
“I know what I tried and failed to do. I can tell you about that.”
“Anything you think might help,” Charles tells him. “I want to know I tried it all. That I did my best to not waste it.”
There’s pity in Sebastian’s expression, but understanding too. If anyone knows what it’s like, it’s Sebastian, and that’s why Charles is here.
Sebastian tells him everything. Charles makes careful notes in the notebook he’s been carrying around more and more lately. Sebastian annotates them later, when Charles is half asleep on the couch, too stubborn to hit the sack.
Sometimes, Charles forgets he’s not the only one wanting to see himself succeed.
May 2024
The next season doesn’t start off promising, a few podiums but no wins, and Charles doesn’t understand. He’s doing what he needs to, has thought up a whole plan with Sebastian’s help. The car feels good, even the strategies are getting better now that Charles knows what he needs to pay attention to himself, what he needs to ask to round out the picture in his mind. And there’s nothing.
He’s almost starting to doubt himself, until he does win in Barcelona, everything slotting together like it should. He’d almost forgotten how good it could be, when everything goes just right.
Somehow, that feeling of elation also made him forget just how bad things can get, and as he limps home in sixth place in Monaco from a faulty engine and a shitty pitstop, he’s utterly done with everything for a moment. Sure, he does his duties, but he leaves as soon as he can, tries to disappear in the crowds the race always brings to his favourite place in the world.
“I need to talk to you.”
Charles almost jumps a mile in the air, tries to calm himself down when he notices it’s only Lewis.
“Maybe you and I can work something out,” Lewis continues when it’s clear he’s got Charles’s full attention. “It’s getting painful to watch, man. I talked to Seb and he said you’d even come to ask for his help.”
“What help could you give me?” Charles is too tired to play mind games. Lewis is his competition, fighting for his ninth title now. Charles feels the oily remnants of jealousy in the back of his throat when he takes a deep breath. “Maybe this is not the time. We can talk about what you want later, okay?”
Lewis studies him, tucks a braid behind his ear. Charles doesn’t even bother looking back defiantly. He wants to sleep, to pretend like this isn’t his reality.
“Whatever you want, Charles. Hit me up when you can. I’m always willing to have a talk with Toto for you.”
“Yes, yeah, thanks,” Charles mumbles, shaking Lewis’s outstretched hand, only squeaking a little when he gets pulled into a full-body hug.
Eventually, he finally makes his way home, crashing into his own bed and falling asleep immediately.
When he scrolls through the inevitable hundred notifications on his phone the next day, there’s one that catches his eye.
Unknown number: Hi Charles. I would like to plan a meeting to discuss future options with you. Let me know if you’re interested and if so, when you’re available. Andreas Seidl.
Charles really thought he knew what he was going to do for the next few years. Maybe he has more to consider.
July 2024
As always, Formula 1 waits for no one. Not even when Charles would really like a few hours to himself, maybe a day or two, to really think his next move through.
He’s got a few offers, and if he’d had any doubt about his own capabilities, those would be long gone by now. After seeing how much every team was willing to offer him, how much of his own input he’d get to have, there’s no doubts left.
It just makes him double down on his current efforts. He wants that damn title. It’s slipping out of his grasp again, unbidden and annoying, but there’s still a chance.
“Maybe you have cracked the code,” Sebastian tells him during another late-night phone call, when Charles needs another set of ears to figure out if his set-up seems good to start the weekend with. “It always goes wrong when it looks good before summer. This might be it.”
He knows Sebastian’s merely joking. He hopes there’s a hint of truth to it, though.
And maybe it really is turning around when he wins the next race easily. The race after that too, and once again he’s within reach of that coveted top spot, so close to leading the championship.
The summer break is around the corner, only one race left before Charles can finally take a goddamn breath and relax, when there’s another meeting. And that’s really nothing new, there’s always another meeting to go to, one more thing to nitpick and worry over. It’s par for the course.
“We have finally gotten the outline of the next few years for the Scuderia approved by all,” Vasseur starts. Charles sits up, stops doodling on the edges of his notebook so he can fully pay attention. “We are already on course to win the title in 2026 and I think that if we keep going like this, we will have it all running smoothly right in time.
“Are you kidding me?” Charles can’t even contain his outburst. “You have to be seeing that we are fighting now. What is this about 2026 again when we have this real chance now?”
“We just want to keep expectations from boiling over,” Elkann says, getting up from his chair at the front and walking over to where Vasseur is now looking very uncomfortable. “We saw what happened two years ago, six years ago, ten years ago. We have disappointed the Tifosi for too long and we owe it to them to not promise something we cannot deliver.”
“No, we owe it to the Tifosi to keep fighting and reaching for that top spot.” Charles honestly feels like he’s going insane. He’s sure they went over this last year, the year before that, he remembers even Sebastian bringing it up in the year he’d rather forget. They have to keep fighting, striving to do their best.
“If we want to hit the ground running with the new regulations,” Elkann continues, like he didn’t even hear Charles, “we need to start our focus on them already. We can move this car to next season as it is, only the necessary changes, and put full power on the development of the new car.”
“We could also find a little more oversteer on this car and get me one-tenths per lap,” Charles points out. “I think if we change the front wing a little…”
“Yes, very right, we can start experimenting with the front wing now.”
Charles doesn’t even care who just said that. Xavier, sitting next to him, elbows him in the side to get his attention, slides a note over the table like they’re back in primary school, but Charles can’t even care.
Write down what you need and what you are thinking. I will get another meeting after this, see who can be of help.
There’s a determined look in Xavier’s eyes when Charles looks up at him, trying to figure out if this is for real or not. And, if Charles glances around the table, there’s more members of his team looking at Charles instead of Elkann and Vasseur, all of them in different stages of agitation, frustration. Pens are tapping against the table, eyebrows raised, words scratched into notebooks.
Maybe he’s not doing this alone.
September 2024
It’s exhausting but exhilarating at the same time. He’s busier than ever, but he finally feels like he has some control over where he’s going, that things are not happening around him but because of him.
There’s no changing the minds of the higher-ups. For some reason, even though Charles is still battling Lewis in the standings, actually keeping up and sometimes even overtaking him, they are still focused on the new regs. He can tell Vasseur’s starting to get a little frustrated, tries his best to convince the other high-ups of their opportunity, but it’s like trying to move a mountain.
It’s not easy, trying to help develop the car and figure out how to twist it so no questions are asked. He learns more about strategy than he ever thought he’ll be able to use. Some nights, he’s so tired Lewis starts to worry, asking how he’s holding up, offering a drink between friends, to blow off some steam.
Charles doesn’t say yes, can’t lose focus. Plus, he can blow off plenty of steam whenever Pierre stops by, letting himself into Charles’s apartment or hotel room with the spare keys he always keeps hold of for Charles.
“You really do not look good, calamar,” Pierre remarks after a particularly gruelling triple header, Charles still doing his best to nap on the couch to catch up on some sleep. “Your mom called me the other day, to talk. She does not want you to know how much she worries, but she does.”
“This is just for now,” Charles mumbles. “I need to know I can do this. I will see after that.”
“I hope this is worth it,” Pierre tells Charles before letting him get some rest. And Charles knows full well that Pierre is aware of just how much this is worth, how long he’s been working to get here, but. Maybe. If Pierre’s questioning it too…
He can’t think about that now.
Instead, he shoots off a few messages, schedules a few meetings. Just to feel like he’s got options, and to have something to show his mom if she worries more.
November 2024
It goes down to the final race of the season. Max has joined the fight too, Red Bull once again developing the car until it’s there, trying to sneak in another win.
Charles doesn’t let it bother him. He’s got other things to focus on, like getting on the podium, something he needs to still have a shot at the title himself. And then… No. He can’t control what others will do.
He will do his best and know he gave it his all. For now, it’ll have to be enough.
Qualifying is the easy part. He puts it on pole position, like so many times before. He knows he can do this. He’s ready.
The lights go out for the race. It’s a good start, but not good enough – Max overtakes him off the line, Lewis follows suit in the first corner. Xavier is in his ear, trying to calm him down, but Charles doesn’t need it. He’s only focused on the track in front of him.
So focused, in fact, that he almost misses the Red Bull as he races past it, the yellow flags waving to signal an incident.
“Is he okay?” Charles asks, breathless.
“He is out of the car and fine,” Xavier confirms. “Head down, now. Safety car will be out in a few corners. Hamilton is going slow on the right exit.”
He feels bad for Lewis, somewhere in the back of his head. But he knows what this means for him, what this could mean, and he firmly stomps down the hope for now. Still a long race to go.
The safety car comes out, comes in again. Lewis gets the car fixed up enough to go back on track, Charles keeping an eye on his position as he flies past the screens alongside the tarmac. He’s on pace to win. Lewis is not in the points right now. If only, if only…
He wins the race.
Lewis does what he can, but ends up in P8. It doesn’t bridge the gap anymore, and with no races left, it’s over.
He can’t even hear himself think over the intense shouting on his team radio, maybe he’s yelling himself because his throat feels so fucking sore, he can’t believe it.
He’s brought the title back to Maranello, back to the prancing horse.
There’s no end to the drivers rushing over to congratulate him in parc ferme, Pierre spinning them around and around until Charles gets dizzy with it, his family right there waiting for him as well but he can’t, he has to go to the podium, it’s too much of a rush and it’s impossible to figure out what he wants to do, how he feels.
His smile is so wide it actually hurts when the Monegasque anthem plays, then the Italian anthem. He takes it in, tries to imprint this in his brain, that he may never forget what it’s like.
It cost him too much to get here, but he finally did it. He can’t fucking wait to celebrate this with the people who supported him most, finally get some rest after he’s celebrated this, and see where things take him now.
