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his hands are in his pockets when he watches toto whisper in antonelli’s ear before the first free practice. his stomach does a weird twist when he realizes he’s the one in the garage just to make way for the little upstart that was the italian.
it does the same twist when he hunches over toto, watching the race with his own eyes from toto’s screen. from the monitors of all the guys observing the race.
george is watching the inevitable — someone is going to replace him, and that someone will be antonelli.
toto looks content as he watches antonelli soar in the — george’s — car.
“i think,” toto says, a slight pause in his words — a rasp in his voice — “he is doing well. right, george?”
“yeah, he’s all right,” george manages to grit out. his nails rake against the edge of the desk, eyes skittering along the monitor as he huffs out to watch the fucking free practice.
of course, this damn kid goes flying on the lap.
of course, he’s this brand new sensational talent that toto just can’t help but be captivated by.
there’s some sort of a flash of relief, something in his eyes when he sees the car go flying towards the wall instead of a hot lap, maybe.
sure, that’s his car crashed — that needs to be patched up before anything, but…
toto looks upset because his newfound wonder, the kid he’s trusting, is suddenly in a crash. is suddenly not good enough, and suddenly a failure.
george suppresses the grin he could never quite conceal.
he glances towards the camera, ears hot when he hears toto on the radio, insisting antonelli that he is okay. that it was all good. that it didn’t matter as long as he came back, unscathed.
george’s gaze meets the floor, palms clammy in his pockets.
he looks down, and sometimes, he wishes he wasn’t as jealous.
toto is there when antonelli comes back into the garage, reassurance lacking rigidness.
the brit shrugs when antonelli comes over to him for advice, and just tells him that he’ll “get the hang of it” in the future.
if he sees antonelli in mexico, he’ll curb his disappointment.
maybe, the sick part in him thinks, if antonelli crashes again, he’d have to curb his relief.
toto clasps a hand on the back of his neck, warm and heavy, and george thinks of how this would play out if antonelli were on the team next year. he should enjoy it before the inevitable catches up to him.
george sighs through his nose.