Chapter Text
It is roughly 10:30 at night when Charles’ phone rings, disturbing the Monegasque from the peaceful activity of lying on his bed in a pair of shorts and a red t-shirt, watching the movie Cars on hotel cable. Though, not even the speed of lightning MacQueen could distract Charles from the uncomfortable warmth that surrounded his body.
The fan on Charles’ beside table felt stiff and warm, producing a perfect room temperature air one might say, but after the boiling heat Charles had experienced in the race, the air in his Qatari hotel room couldn’t help but feel toxic. He could only do three things to take his mind off the heat: try to watch Cars, place a cold towel against his sweaty forehead, and pick up his ringing cell phone.
“Bonjour, qui est-ce?” Charles asked after bringing the phone to his cheek, not remembering the caller ID that flashed on the screen only a few moments ago. His eyes stay trained on the movie in front of him.
“Charles, it’s me, Seb.”
Charles’ eyes widen in surprise as a small smile starts to grow on his face. He grabs onto the remote control that’s lying on his bed and pauses the movie, sitting up against his headboards. Seb deserved his full attention.
“Seb hello! Happy to hear from you. What’s up?”
Calls from Sebastian Vettel weren’t particularly uncommon for Charles. Every time he ended up on the podium, had a good Quali lap or even released a new song on iTunes, his ex-teammate would call to congratulate him. Phone calls were Seb’s strong suit after all - the digital form of person-to-person conversations.
However, it surprised Charles that Seb had reached out to him after today’s race. Max was the one who had won it, Charles’ performance was only mediocre. So why was the older man calling him at this hour?
“I saw how shit the conditions of the race were today,” Seb indirectly answers his question, “I heard that Lance was passing out, that Esteban threw up, and god, the new rookie couldn’t even stand. I wanted to make sure that you were okay.”
Seb spoke with both a concerned and authoritative tone. To anyone else, he would’ve sounded calm, but Charles knew that he was pissed.
“Yeah, yeah. Thankfully I’m alright,” Charles makes sure to reassure, grabbing an open water bottle from his side table and taking a sip, “but the conditions were ridiculous. I went to talk to Alex about his race afterwards, but I couldn’t find him. Turns out he fainted and was rushed to the medical center. It’s shit.”
Alex’s condition was something that truly shook Charles to the core, but thankfully he heard about an hour ago that his friend was feeling alright.
“The FIA should seriously consider these conditions before allowing us to race,” Charles chugs the rest of his water bottle, shifting the cold damp towel from his forehead to the base of his neck, “but what can we do.”
Seb seems to go silent on the other end of the phone, lost in his own thoughts.
“Actually Charles, that’s part of the reason I called you,” the German driver finally speaks up.
Charles places the towel on his bedside table.
“What do you mean?” The monegasque asks, confused.
Seb clears his throat and Charles instantly knows why his ex-teammate is hesitating: he’s trying to find the right way to phrase his words.
“If I was still a driver in F1 I would’ve called a driver’s meeting by now,” he states, “Not an FIA meeting, a meeting just for the drivers. Like we did in Jeddah last year. That way when you all finally go to the FIA you have a united front. You understand me?”
Charles sympathizes with his anger but still doesn’t fully understand.
“Oh yes I agree, but it seems like most of the drivers just want to forget about it, we’ve all gone to our rooms to rest. No one’s mentioned any meeting.”
Seb sort of chuckles on the other line, causing Charles to knit his eyebrows together in confusion.
“Why are you laughing?” The Monegasque asks.
“Charles, the whole reason I’m calling you right now is to suggest that YOU call the meeting.”
Charles swings his legs over to the side of the bed upon hearing Seb’s declaration. A distraught and confused look on his face.
“What? W-what do you mean?”
Seb inhales quickly before continuing.
“The race today was absolutely unacceptable. The FIA seriously needs to prioritize the well-being of the drivers in the future, so today can’t happen agai-“
“I understand that Seb, I do,” Charles cuts him off, emphasizing his own annoyance as well, “but why me? Why should I call the meeting?”
Seb takes in a deep breath, once again formulating his answer. As Charles waits, he stands up from his bed and walks to the washroom, turning on the tap. While a steady stream of water runs, he puts the phone on speaker.
“You’re nice, respectful, and a natural leader Charles. The other drivers will listen to you,” Seb explains.
The Ferrari driver cups his hands under the tap and collects some cold water before splashing it on his face. He didn’t know if he was preparing himself to say yes or no.
“What would I even do? Send a message and have everyone meet in my room?” Charles asks as he dries his hands, turning off the tap.
“Yes! It’s that simple,” his ex-teammate almost pleads, “But you gotta do it fast, it’s almost 11 and after today’s shit show of a race it wouldn’t surprise me if drivers are already ready for bed.”
“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Charles picks up his phone and opens WhatsApp, staring blankly at the driver's chat.
The last message was from Lando: a meme of Max standing next to his fan-decided lookalike - Sid from Ice Age. It brings a smile to Charles's face. He didn’t know what he would do if anyone in that chat got seriously hurt today.
“Thanks for calling me Seb… I don’t know exactly how to approach this, but I think a meeting is the right thing to do,” Charles makes his gratitude known. If the 4-time world champion hadn’t called him tonight, then he fears that no drivers would have spoken up at all.
“Of course Charles, and please know, you are the right person to do this. Give me a ring if there’s anything I can do to help,” He offers with an infliction of pride in his voice.
“Au revoir.”
The German hangs up the phone.
Suddenly the pressure of the situation starts to weigh heavy on Charles’ shoulders as he stares at WhatsApp chat and all the 20 people in it. He doesn’t quite know what the other drivers would think if he brought up Qatar in a formal setting. For sure some of them who were heavily affected, Lance, Alex, Logan, and Esteban would be on board, but what about the drivers who seemed fine after the race?
Fernando was laughing it up in the media pen, and Carlos didn’t even partake in the grand prix. Hell, the last time Seb called a meeting like this after the missile strike in Jeddah, it was Max’s insistence that it was safe to race that won over the FIA in the end. There was a high chance that not everyone would agree to file a formal complaint about Qatar, so was he truly ready to regulate a group of hot, angry, and dishevelled drivers?
Charles looks at himself in the mirror, taking note of how the red coloured shirt he’s wearing gives off an unexplainable sense of power, how the red of Ferrari makes him look tougher than he feels. Maybe that’s how Seb always found his confidence.
“Fuck it.”
Charles starts to type:
Charles: Hey everyone. After today’s race, I think it would be best if we held a driver’s meeting to discuss-
But before Charles can finish his sentence, a new message from Max Verstappen appears on his screen.
Max: Driver’s meeting in the lobby in 20 minutes. If you’re feeling unwell and don’t feel like coming, that's alright. But we need to discuss what happened today.
Ha. Charles never thought Max would be the type.