Chapter Text
Soap was a man who liked to talk, whether it was to random strangers on the last bus home from the pub or past partners to establish boundaries – he liked to talk things through. Lay it on the table and pick it apart until the problem could be solved, or be viewed by a different angle. It was the main reason for why he had originally cornered Ghost in that parking lot.
He was hurt, he got hurt, Simon wasn’t a man of those types of conversations. And Price had been right about one thing, he ran away from his problems – hover them away like he could hide from it. Hid away behind a mask or balaclava, underneath a frown or downcast eyes or asshole behaviour. Soap tried, desperately, nearly a bit pathetically to get him to talk. Knocking on his hotel room, messaging Riley who empathetically tried to push them into the same room in-between Simon’s workouts and press conferences to no fruition – she had been too busy anyways, dealing with the media frenzy the pictures from the parking lot being leaked.
In the end, they had all travelled to Brazil, the car had been a lot more work than what had been anticipated when Soap had originally filled out the crash reports and it was well into the race weekend that came with the usual hefty amount of work that was needed to run the garage smoothly. Ghost had to win to secure his spot in the chase for the championship title. With Mercedes so close in point they couldn’t joke around, personal problems couldn’t be in the way. It was a scramble, everything had to run smooth. Gaz couldn’t win a race with Ghost low on points with only three races left.
Soap felt his heart ache when Ghost came to the garage minutes before race start on Sunday, eyes down, black smudged eyeliner covering the dark circles underneath his eyes. Ghost didn’t meet Soap’s gaze, he hadn’t for the most part since their fight and the press had caught on.
It was hard, standing in the media like that, their names being flung around with obscene words attached to them. People making up stories that painted either of them like villains and of course the photos from the parking lot in Mexico. How easily Twitter had been quick to defend who they thought were right and near right attacking other opinions.
And honestly, Soap didn’t want to stay mad at Ghost, it irked him and frustrated him to no end that Ghost wasn’t willing to sit down for a minute to hash out their problems, but he still missed him. Soap missed the weight of the pendant, missed those brown eyes settled on him in between the frenzy of their lives. Felt regret whenever the other man came to his mind.
Ghost settled into the car, squeezing himself into the uncomfortable seat and adjusted his helmet before reaching out for his gloves. Soap stood just to the side, watching the pit crew member place the gloves into his hands waiting patiently for the driver to drag them on before reaching over towards the belts. Soap hadn’t done it in a while, had been insisted on giving Ghost space and let himself cool down. But he saw the opportunity, wanted the feeling of the race suit and fireproofs under his fingers, the harsh edge of the belts sliding against his skin.
He laid a gentle hand on the crew member, jutted his head towards somewhere else in the garage so he got the hint and he scurried off to do something else as Soap leaned over the halo and into the cockpit.
Ghost eyes were still down, smooth rumbling voice talking to the race engineers and GP and adjusting his gloves so they fit right. He didn’t seem to notice that it was Soap’s hands clicking the belts together, just kept talking and tilting his head when Soap adjusted the belt by his neck.
It was then he noticed it – or the lack of it in better terms, once a familiar chain around Ghost’s neck and then a pleasant weight around his own neck was missing. Not to be found even when Soap risked to drag the race suit a bit down while he was fiddling with the strap over Ghost’s shoulder.
“Why aren’t ye wearing the pendant?” He asked, gaining Ghost’s attention quickly, whipping his head backwards so he could stare up at Soap through the slit between the helmet and the visor.
Ghost couldn’t run, he could choose to not answer, but Soap liked to believe Ghost wasn’t that big of an asshole, “Johnny?” his tone was laced with regret and hope, but he still wore that angry frown, like he couldn’t decide between his emotions.
“Ye said it brought luck?”
“It’s just a pendant,” his voice was strained and a bit hoarse, like he was forcing himself to say the words.
“But it means something to ye,” Soap leaned a bit back, trying not to invade Ghost’s space too much while the man was trapped.
It looked like Ghost was about to answer, but the schedule didn’t account for heartfelt conversations, so Soap gave him the wheel – thankfully shoved into Soap’s hand by another crew member – and they rolled out. Letting the first conversation between them be left unfinished and unsatisfying.
The race was a strike of bad luck, or good luck, Soap hadn’t quite decided. Mercedes fucked over Gaz’s pit stop, flunking his time making Ghost speed past halfway through the race. But then that Williams driver Graves smashed himself into a wall flinging debris out in the race line, making Soap cringe and tense up as Ghost drove over a sharp piece, puncturing a wheel and barely making it to the pit, and then the whole race being red flagged and restarted just five laps from the finishing lap.
Unfortunately the race ended with Ghost driving in on a p4, the Ferrari drivers taking second and third and Gaz p5 – which wasn’t half bad because that meant Ghost was still in the lead, but it wasn’t a win. It was Price, to Soap’s hidden pleasure, that won. Grinning when the older driver sprayed champagne with a big grin, like it was his first time up on the podium and not the hundredth or so time with well deserved world championships under his belt.
»»——— ———-««
By all the people who could have pushed them into the same direction, it was Gaz who had done it. Not victorious on the track for today but winning the unseen battle for Soap. Gaz who got the whole driver line up out for drinks in a lowkey bar to celebrate Price’s win, who had pushed Soap to go outside and get the smokers to come back inside for shots, only for Soap to be met by one lone smoker up on the roof where the designated smoker area was.
The area was remarkably empty, despite the roaring circus downstairs, fairy lights and small lamps lit up the area and at the edge of the dim light Ghost stood leant against the wall, looking over the city. Long legs hugged by tight jeans, a nice flowing shirt in dark red and patterned with black roses and his hair unstyled with his wild blond curls all over the place.
Soap meandered over, acting as casual as possible, putting his forearms against the cold bricks making up the wall and puffing out a breath. The distance between them felt vast and Soap wanted to close it again desperately.
“We cant keep this up Simon,” he was met with silence, another slow drag of Simon’s cigarette lighting up the masked face and hand, “I want this to work out.”
“I know.”
“Then why can’t we talk about it?” Another bout of silence, and Soap’s earlier frustrations came back as he shifted his weight on his feet, “Simon?” His tone was a bit clipped, anger seeping into the name unwanted.
“I hurt you,” Simon started, pointing out the most obvious thing making Soap scoff and look towards the cityscape instead, “I want this to work out too, but there are some things I just can’t let go… I don’t know how to, sometimes things get too much and I take it out on others, I don’t know how to…” Soap saw Ghost’s cigarette flying through the air while Ghost’s hand gestured something frustration leaking into the edges of his words, “how to return there and move on.”
“Grief is a weird thing,” Soap mused, he heard Ghost chuckle lowly and put out the cigarette, shifting closer but still not touching, “but its not an excuse to be an asshole.”
“I know…”
“But,” Soap turned, tilting his head so he caught Simon’s gaze, smiling gently, “we can try again, together, but you can’t shut me out like that again. I was mad, shouldn’t have done what I did, you shouldn’t have yelled but you were hurt. We can move past it, because I have missed you Simon, a lot.”
Simon didn’t avert his gaze, he kept staring with an unreadable expression. Wide eyes with wind ruffling the curls that tumbled over his forehead, it was in the low light that Soap noticed the freckles too, dotted over his nose where the edge of the mask rested. But then he nodded, slowly – nearly a bit unsure. “Okay Johnny,” he sighed, straightening his spine and pushing away from the wall, reaching out with a hand towards Soap, “I’m sorry,” he whispered the apology. The hand curling around Soap’s waist tugging lightly so Soap moved into his arms.
“I’m sorry too,” Soap mumbled back, settling his hands around Simon’s neck dragging him into a hug that felt comforting and familiar. He felt Simon’s hands ruck up his shirt so his fingers met skin, Simon’s nose buried into his hair, “just don’t shut me out like that.”
“I’ll try,” they stood there for a couple of more moments, basking in each others spaces before Soap felt Ghost pull a bit back. Hand going into his pocket and dragging out the familiar chain, tangled and glinting in the fairy lights. “I got a bit overwhelmed in Mexico,” Simon said, gently tugging on the chain until it loosened, carefully untangling it before holding it up so the epoxy covered metal hung in between them, “even though it was eight years ago it still stings, especially with the flowers in that turn, the memorial and all that.”
Soap let two of his fingers curl around the pendant, looking it over as Ghost continued to speak softly.
“I was badly burnt after that race in 15, had to break out of the hospital nearly to get back to the circuit before they moved the cars,” his voice was raw, knuckles white from the tight grip on the chain, “I felt numb when I saw the wreckage, couldn’t quite fathom it, was on my way back to the hospital when I stepped on this.”
It was then it clicked, Soap tilted the epoxy towards the light, furrowing his brows as he saw the texture of the metal inside the epoxy. Red like the Redbull logos, black charred bits but also that black dotted colour of the chassis of the cars. The red more diluted, and the black a smidge to dark for Ghost’s car now. “This is from Roach’s car?” He asked, eyes tilting up towards Simon again.
Sad brown eyes, glassy and dark, he nodded just barely, “I had it made for the funeral, meant to wrap it around some flowers that went in the ground with him, but I couldn’t let it go. Called it a lucky pendant because I won my first championship that next season while wearing it, Roach always loved racing, if he survived I think he would’ve continued.”
“Why’d ye give it to me?”
“It’s going to sound stupid,” Simon chuckled, before he looked around and unhooked the mask from one of his ears, revealing the lower part of his handsome face, “remember when you asked me about it back in Monaco? Well, you said it looked cool and I got this intense itch where I have the burn scars, and I sound crazy but I just had to give it to you like someone was whispering in my ear or something.”
“Ya did win two races right after that,” Soap smiled goofily, “maybe it’s not a lucky pendant after all, maybe it’s the driver?”
Simon shrugged, before holding the chain up in a silent offer, Soap understood as he bowed his head. The weight was nice around his neck, pendant thumping proudly over his breast. “I always liked to think of this as a reminder of what can happen out there, what I lost that day, but when you wear it, it feels like I can finally relax, that it’s safe. That I can, not exactly let go, but that I gained something too.”
Simon’s past words echoed in Soap’s mind for a second, ‘keep it safe for me while I’m out there’, getting a whole deeper meaning as Soap thumbed over it laying over his own shirt. “I’ll keep it safe Simon,” Soap smiled, earning a small smile back and rough hands back onto his hips. Simon ducked down a bit, a clear question in his eyes that got Soap to smile wider as he leaned up. Meeting Simon in the middle for a gentle kiss.
They stood like that until the door to the roof banged open and people spilled out, interrupting their moment but Soap still smiled despite Ghost hooking the mask back over his ear and they walked down the steps to the bar again.
»»——— ———-««
“Ye got this Ghost,” Soap beamed, handing him the helmet as Ghost eyes slid up from where they had been trained on the wheels of the car. It was Saturday, qualifying had the circuit brimming with people as usual. The cameras trained on the drivers as they got ready for Q1.
Ghost was relaxed, low shoulders and crinkled eyes covered in black, the balaclava snug over his head and mouth. The car was good, practice had shown great results on the new circuit, brand new for the season. Soap vibrated with excitement as he gave the Hans towards Ghost’s waiting hands.
“Have a good feeling Johnny?” He asked, low voice and brown eyes peaking through the visor of the new helmet he had unveiled for the last two races. Victory helmet he had said smugly when Riley arrived with the new helmet bag early on Thursday when they’d all flown in. It was the usual black colour, skeletal influences all over it but hidden in the red, white and black, snugly fitted in between the many sponsored logos and such was two small white outlines. One small Roach and a Soap bar.
“Always have a good feelin’ about ye Ghost,” Soap winked and followed where ghost’s fingers hooked the HANS device over the connection points on the helmet with his eyes. Ghost huffed out a small laugh, craning his neck and rolling his head around to feel the weight of the helmet shift on his head.
“Shut up,” Ghost said, absolutely no venom in his words as he walked over to the cockpit and slung a leg over the Halo. It was hard to know what the race suit hid, the long strong legs that somehow managed to fit within the small car, Soap had to look away until Ghost was seated fully as to not get some very visible problems in his shorts.
He glanced back towards Rudy, who had previously dragged Soap all over vegas and every touristy spot he could manage within one day. Soap’s feet still ached from all the walking and his wallet was definitely lighter after ‘one’ hour inside a casino.
Rudy was all business, he always was in the garage, frowning and pointing. The crew followed his motions, rolling tyres and sending down messages to the right people. He had the headset over his ears, the tablet with a live feed of all the electrical systems clutched into his hands looking over it with exasperated eyes.
Soap had been the one to see it, the fault in the gearbox that had been a previous problem with both of the cars. Something about breaking and downshifting gears at the same time sending a wrong signal. But with two races left it couldn’t be dealt with properly – only managed until the end of the season.
It still gave them both grief and tense shoulders. Sending the drivers out with a known fault in the cars. It wasn’t life threatening, but it could cost Ghost the championship.
The race engineers yelled out the schedule, ten minutes until wheels rolled and Soap walked through the last checklist. Barking out orders about tyres and what not before leaning in over the halo, catching Ghost’s brown eyes through the helmet. “Remember the downshifting problem, get a good time we need this win to secure the championship,” he said, all serious as his hands slid over the already corrected belts.
Ghost’s breath was steady and deep, but stuttered when Soap’s hand went up near his neck, eyes half lidded and staring intently back at Soap, “team principle has already chewed me out,” he answered cheekily, voice a smidge deeper than normal.
The car rolled out, Soap stood by the fold out chairs and had his eyes on Ghost as Q1 started.
The nervousness in the garage was palpable, unfurling around the whole team like a thick suffocating blanket as the clock ticked closer to the last race. If Ghost got tomorrows win he had secured the championship, if Gaz won or got a better position than Ghost it would mean whoever won Abu Dhabi would snatch the trophy.
Gaz got fastest lap during the first two rounds of qualifying, Ghost was seconds behind him, hot on his wheels during the whole thing.
Q3 began and Soap could barely breathe as the cars lapped around the track, new asphalt and dizzying heat, Ghost looked sweaty during the tyre change before Q3. Eyes trailing the car and flicking over to where the race engineers sat with the input data from the many sensors within the car.
It looked good until the last turn, Soap heard it over the radio before he saw it play out, how the car revved uncomfortably, the low curse coming over the radio. The turn was too sharp to speed out of it, flunking the time as Ghost downshifted and the gears grated before clicking back into place.
Gaz got in with a better time just as Q3 ended, making him start on p1 of Sunday and Ghost sitting on p2.
Ghost grumbled his way out of the car, dragged the helmet off aggressively before shoving it into the closest waiting arms, before marching out of the garage to cool off.
Soap followed after a minute, sending Rudy a glance who nodded and sent him a small thumbs up in return. Snatching the mask from Ghost’s things in the corner of the garage before moving in the direction Ghost had sped off to.
Ghost was leaned against a wall in a hallway leading further into the building that housed the garages. Anger rolling off of him as he fiddled with the edge of the balaclava still on his head, “Johnny,” Ghost warned, and Soap knew. They had talked about it, how to not hurt each other when emotions and adrenaline ran high – but again, Soap had never really had too much self preservation.
So, Soap stopped a few paces away from Ghost, sticking out his hand with the skull mask hanging from his fingertips. No words said as Ghost took it with a silent thanks. Soap tilted his head backwards, thumping it against the wall as he watched Ghost unceremoniously dragged off the balaclava revealing his full face.
Sweaty forehead, damp flat hair that curled adorably over his forehead. If Soap wasn’t already in love with the man, he would’ve lost his composure right then and there – weak in the knees from just that. It hit him like a kick to balls, his heart stuttered inside his chest as he watched Ghost drag a hand over his face – still mask less and bared.
He loved Ghost, it was a wild feeling. A curling warmth inside his chest that bloomed upwards. He gaped at Ghost, who now hooked the mask over his ears, adjusting it until it sat right. Brown eyes moving over towards Soap, surprise bloomed over his face, “what Johnny?”
Soap loved the drive, the motivation, the harsh edges of his will to win and conquer the tracks and races. He loved the softness that smoothed the lines on his face, the harsh edges when he got mad. How he drove so aggressive but never dangerously, the sheer amount of control he had over every situation behind the wheel.
Soap couldn’t help it, the grin and the feeling, fluttering and nice as he stepped closer cautiously. Ghost let him, curled an arm around Soap’s waist and eyes moving up over his head to look out for people in the deserted hallway.
“Nothing,” Soap smiled goofily, moving his hand up towards the mask slowly, but Ghost didn’t stop him as he tugged it down and dragged Ghost down low enough to kiss him. Just press their lips together, a desperate attempt from Soap to contain the feelings in his chest. He’d had Ghost for two months, ever since that race in Monaco – two months of feeling like this, exciting in a way formula 1 could never be. Perhaps it was too soon, but Soap couldn’t help it.
Soap pressed kisses into Ghost’s lips, above them, his cheeks, his nose and where the mask was once he dragged it back into place. Ghost huffed, brows still frowning and anger still at the edges of his eyes. But his shoulders were loose again, fingers digging into Soap’s waist, “what are you doing Johnny?” Ghost murmured as Soap pressed another kiss to his neck this time.
“I love you.” It just came out, It was whispered into the sliver of exposed chest where Ghost had unzipped the top of his race suit. Right where his collar bones stopped, into that little dip before his sternum started. Strong heartbeat thumping underneath those bones underneath Soap’s lips, stuttering breaths circulating into the lungs where Soap’s hands caressed up Ghost’s chest.
“Johnny,” he felt himself tugged backwards by the waist, intense brown eyes, full of emotions and feelings – fondness. Soap couldn’t read it, hadn’t seen it before, he just kept smiling. There was a buzzing sound, Ghost shifted, eyes flickering down to the phone he had dragged out of his pocket before he sighed. Leaning down to connect their foreheads, “I have to go for a debrief with the strategists and go to interviews, I’ll see you tonight?”
“Aye, now go,” Soap pushed himself away, letting Ghost have some space as they stared each other down, “ye have a race tae plan and win,” he winked, earning him a low chuckle as Ghost started to leave. Soap’s eyes following him until he disappeared down the hall.
»»——— ———-««
Sunday was a rush, the night crisp in comparison to the heat of the day.
Soap had bitten off the skin around his thumb, his leg had jiggled nervously every time he found himself sitting down, his knee was hurting from the strain of sitting on it on the cold concrete in the garage when he did some adjustments to the gearbox to fight off the downshifting problem – a knee brace snugly fitted around the offending joint to combat the small ache.
Ghost had arrived early, he and the strategists had been pouring over data since the bad qualifying round that had him start on p2. Trying to find a way to win the race.
Gaz didn’t have the fastest car on the track, and he wasn’t the best driver on a street circuit – tight turns and less room for failure. But Gaz was a damn good defender, he knew how to claw himself to a spot and not let anyone pass him. Ghost was a good overtaker, good on street circuits and tight turns, but that didn’t help when Gaz would never let him pass.
The car rumbled on as Ghost got in, Soap secured the belts, leaning in towards the mirrored visor, tugging on one of his gloved hands up to the pendant hidden underneath Soap’s shirt. A silent conversation running between them as Ghost tugged lightly on the chain clutched in his hand through the shirt.
Formation lap went by, Soap stood next to Rudy, who had his eyes trained on Alejandro’s car on p5. Excitement building as the engines revved, cheers from the onlookers and commentators voices drifting over the speakers. Soap’s eyes trailed the cameras, how some of the lenses was on the Redbull garage, how he slid the chain and pendant out of the shirt he wore just to give them a little show.
The lights went out, cheers and gasps, cars flying into the first turn bumping into each other and some spinning out of the track. It was chaotic but Gaz kept his p1 and Ghost set his claws into p2 and stayed hot on Gaz’s heels.
It was wild, Soap could barely think as he complied to the team orders for pit stops, how he pushed the crew to be the most fluid, the fastest to get Ghost in and out without barely lifting the car. The rush felt amazing, the chase for Gaz felt amazing, the adrenaline pumped.
Gaz didn’t let up, pitting before ghost and keeping his spot in the front. Ghost kept p2, constantly within overtaking distance to Gaz throughout the last 20 laps of the full 50.
Soap cursed as Gaz drove over the finish line with Ghost half a second behind, the radio was promptly muted too – probably going to be bleeped out when it would be played back.
The celebration was wild, the excitement for the last race built even more. Ghost looked seething as he stood on the podium, but he celebrated still. Spraying down Gaz with champagne, sipping on it straight from the bottle and posing half heartedly for the cameras.
»»——— ———-««
The hotel room was warm, Soap’s hair was damp and laid flat against his forehead as he stepped out of the steaming bathroom. The hotel here was nice, like all the other hotels they usually stayed at. But ghost’s room was always nice.
Nice view over the Nevada dessert, the sprawling cityscape of a city that seemed to never really fall asleep. All the lights and colours sparkling through the windows.
Simon was spread out on the bed after being pushed out of the bathroom, insisting on helping Soap in the shower with no other intentions – the liar. But Soap had felt filthy after laying on the concrete floors to check over the car before loading it in for transport so Simon got locked out.
“Ye ready for Abu Dhabi?” Soap asked as he rubbed the towel over his damp hair, ruffling it into a somewhat decent shape.
“I’m not too concerned,” Simon murmured, reaching out for Soap when he stepped close enough to the bed. Tugging on the hem of the sweatpants Soap had ‘borrowed’ from Simon, black ones with a small Redbull logo by his hip.
“What will you do if you win?” Soap went with the tugging, letting the towel hit the floor as he climbed onto the bed. Swinging a leg over Simon’s thighs and straddling his lap. Strong scarred hands grabbed his thighs and caressed upwards to his hips.
“When I win,” Simon murmured dragging Soap further up on his lap, sitting up to mouth at Soap’s neck feeling him shiver at the touches, “I’ll manage to find a good reward,” whispered into the hinge of his jaw underneath his ear.
“Cockiness have never made ye win,” Soap sighed as Simon’s hands dragged upwards over his heated skin on his back.
“We’ll see, Johnny.”
»»——— ———-««
The downshifting problem was just that, a real problem. It was like the few days the cars was in transport it just got worse. Abu Dhabi was warm and Soap had his mind full of potential fixes while the engineers desperately tried to figure out a quick fix.
Practice was chaotic, the gearbox flunked in nearly every turn, even Alejandro cursed out the mechanics when he came in from his hours. It was bad. Soap scratched his chin as he looked inside the chassis, felt over the wires and had already switched out parts he could switch out while in the garage. He was at a loss, no one could figure it out and it was just two more days until the last race of the season.
Ghost had loomed over his shoulder for the past hour, asking vague questions that got Soap more frustrated than anything else, “why can’t we just switch the whole thing?”
“It is a manufacturing problem,” Soap grumbled, pulling on a wire within the chassis, “new part, same problem, Alejandro got the same shite.”
Soap kept trying, kept working until the night fell over the garage and security made rounds. Rudy was there too, with other engineers as the whole car got picked apart just enough to get a good look over the gearbox without fucking up any of the other parts.
“I dinnae get it Rudy,” Soap groaned, sitting back on his heels while staring at the offending part, “it has worked so well throughout the season, but now it starts?”
“It’s unfortunate,” Rudy mumbled, Alejandro’s car in just the same state with some mechanics flown in from Milton Keynes.
“What if we,” Soap started, glancing over his shoulder at the many screens showing the inner workings of the electrical system, “rewire the wire down to the gear shift from the sensor?”
“No,” Rudy looked at him with wide eyes, “qualifying is tomorrow, we’ll have no way of testing it.”
“They say it’s electrical,” Soap gestured towards the box, “if we just fake a good reading it won’t grate the gears.”
“Soap no, that is dangerous,” and it was, Soap knew but he again glanced back towards the computer. The error messages littering the live feed as the breaks pushed and the gear switched, like a clash of signals. It didn’t happen all the time, the car would’ve been retired months ago if that was the case, but it was just some times. Like when Ghost overtook in a turn, the motion of breaking after a harsh acceleration and then downshifting a smidge too late.
“It would only be the sensor,” they shared a look, Rudy looked exhausted, the whole season weighing down on their shoulders. Two more days before winter break and the end of the season. Rudy sighed, rubbed at his temples before nodding slowly.
“I don’t like it,” he began, looking towards the other mechanics, “but if its just the sensor then…” he shrugged. And Soap took the opportunity to fish out the wire to the sensor. Soap had in his life time with working with old shitty cars with his dad managed to divert fault signals that wasn’t a real fault. It was an easy thing as they checked the live feed after, Rudy watching as the error messages all disappeared as the computer checked through the electrical systems.
It was a stupid thing in hindsight, as Soap did the same thing to Alejandro’s car, telling the others that it was just a reboot of the sensor and a rewire fixing the problem. A lie that made his chest ache just a bit as they locked down the garage for the night.
»»——— ———-««
“Just remember Simon,” Soap kept his gaze intense, “the downshifting, just remember it.”
“Didn’t you fix it Johnny?” Ghost asked, both of them tucked into a corner of the garage behind some tyre racks.
“Aye, a temporary one,” Soap insisted, he felt more stressed than any other race up until this point.
“Ten minutes,” the crew chief yelled out over the chaos of the garage, making Soap sigh and bow his head. A small touch to Simon’s arm as the driver walked past, gaze locking just for a second as Ghost nodded.
“I’ll be careful,” he murmured before walking over towards the team strategists.
Qualifying went remarkably fine, though Soap didn’t have any fingernails left at this point and he could just forget to sit down while Ghost drove. He drove fast though, hard and aggressive in a way Soap had barely seen these last few races. Throwing himself into the turns like his life depended on it, sped down the long parts of the track to push down his time.
But Gaz was faster – somehow. Soap had seen the lap, how beautiful it had been. The way every turn seemed to twist to accommodate the car and not the other way around, how he sped out of them, how he crossed the finish line with a lap time a full second faster than Ghost. Gaz was a good driver, one of the big fan favourites, Soap had himself rooted for him for a good while back in uni.
Sunday started with a bang, early up as Soap dragged Ghost to the track – or more Riley dragged them both in. The circuit was brimming with people, influencers, sponsors, everyone who was something in formula 1 was there.
Cameras trailed the drivers, still keeping their relationship on the downlow they kept their distance – a whole good 20 centimetres that got the media surely talking.
Race prep was a blur, Soap going through checklists and strategy meetings with the pit crew. How he checked the tyres and the systems, trying (and failing) to not bite his fingernails as the race engineers looked over the data from the gearbox when they ran diagnostics.
Ghost came in, he seemed relaxed and in control as he grabbed his helmet. The balaclava was snugly on, brown eyes finding Soap’s blue ones in the small crowd and chaos of the garage, a small wink making Soap blush and turn with a small grin.
It was going to be okay, he told himself as Ghost got in the car. It was fine, he chanted in his head as he felt over the belts and one of Ghost’s hands gently brushed against his neck, “win yeah?” He said as Ghost clicked the steering wheel in its proper place.
“I will do my best.”
Soap kept a keen eye on the bulls, during the formation lap and what the drivers said over the team radio. “Car is goood,” Alejandro crooned into the radio as they zigzagged through the track. Ghost was silent.
Gaz parked on p1, Ghost on p2, and the rest of the drivers piling up behind. Soap’s throat was dry and he uselessly swallowed too little spit to actually combat the problem. His palms sweated as the lights turned on.
Lights out was like being in the eye of the storm. Cheers as Ghost kept his spot and Alejandro climbed from his p5 and hisses when cars lower on the grid bumped into each other. It was a miracle mostly went through the first lap unscathed.
Gaz was insisted on not giving up on his spot, defending his position despite Ghost’s best efforts to overtake. It was by lap 15, Ghost had driven like a maniac, sliding into the turns with high speeds, speeding off and haunting Gaz’s mirrors. Aggressive and assertive as he inched closer and tried multiple times to overtake.
But lap 15 he got an opening, Soap gasped as he saw the way Ghost leaped out of the main race line, going on the outer parts of the turn and squeezing into the tight space in front of Gaz’s car. It was beautiful, reckless and in Soap’s opinion heart stopping – at least his heart was hammering within his chest.
He grinned widely as the garage erupted in cheers, shaking his peers shoulders as they all jumped up from their chairs. Ghost kept his position, keeping a nice distance between himself and Gaz, mumbling into the radio about his tyre health as the laps ticked by.
Lap 32 he got in for a pit stop, Alejandro had already gone in – beautifully executed and fast – Ghost’s car rolled in. Soap’s crew already ready and posed ready for action as they jacked up the car, switching the tyres and diving out of the cars way when Ghost sped out again. Soap glanced towards the main monitors over the track, 1,95 seconds that got his grin growing wider. Nearly a new world record.
Gaz pitted a lap later, slowly getting his p2 position again and Soap nearly let the nagging nervousness subside. His shoulders nearly relaxed when he heard it, “somethings wrong with the gears,” Ghost’s voice crackled over the radio. Soap watched the live feed of his driving, how the turns became sloppy and not as fast.
How Gaz came too close for comfort. “Everything looks good from our end,” Soap cringed as the race engineers relayed the information, because of course it was good, Soap had rewired the whole thing. Soap cursed under his breath as Gaz overtook Ghost too easily.
He held his breath as Ghost struggled, how more cars passed and the insistent radio messages about the gears not shifting right. Soap clutched at the pendant, a life line as he cast his eyes upwards, he was far from religious, but in that moment he couldn’t help it.
“Please,” he muttered as he stared down the screens. The radio was still going, Ghost wasn’t speaking so Soap heard the gear, too high for the slower speed, not accelerating right at all. He squeezed his eyes shut as he listened to the gear not clicking back into the right gear. The pendant dug into his skin, the harsh edges nearly stinging into the palm of his hand.
He heard the telltale shift of the sound as the gear on Ghost’s car finally changed into the right one, how Ghost grumbled out, “fuckin’ finally!” Before the car sped away again.
He lost a lot of time, Soap glanced towards the laps, 33 done, 25 left. It was cutting it close as Ghost squeezed past a Ferrari on p6 taking their spot.
But Ghost had gotten his reputation for a reason, cameras barley following his movements as he overtook and sped away from the cars in the higher positions. The laps ticked down, the tyres was worn but there was no time, Ghost was p3 when there was 10 laps left. Overtaking the car on p2 right after.
Gaz was the last one as Ghost inched closer, Soap’s heart was pounding as he chewed on his fingers, crushing the pendant in his hand as he watched Ghost try to overtake Gaz.
But Gaz was a good defender, a damn good driver too, with only eight laps to go.
Ghost kept p2, more and more aggressive overtaking attempts as the laps ran away from them. 4 laps left and Ghost still couldn’t get past. Soap heard the team radio and the team strategists relaying strategy information, how Ghost just didn’t respond as the car rumbled on.
Soap watched as they both sped, Ghost hot on Gaz’s heels, by pit lane. It was crazy how close they were. He heard the revving engines and smelled the warm rubber from the tyres.
He didn’t care about the other positions when there was only two laps left. Some more turns and whoever crossed that finish line was world champion. Ghost kept trying, kept squeezing Gaz into the inner parts of the turns, or out of the race line in a attempt to get past.
1 lap to go.
Soap could barley watch, the last turns speeding by and Gaz still holding his position. The rest of the garage blurred together, everything Soap could see was the two cars battling out there on the track. He hissed as Ghost tried once again to pass, halfway to the finish line.
It was the last few turns, Gaz’s tyres was worn and slippery, it was the last five turns. Gaz’s car slipped and he needed to correct it, letting his defences down just for a second to get control in the next turns. Ghost squeezed by, barely getting past as the track turned again.
Soap gasped and gawked at the screen showing Ghost claim p1 on the last two turns, Gaz half a second behind. But Ghost sped over the finish line.
P1.
World champion.
The garage erupted as the fireworks in the sky. Soap yanked the headset off as the crew yelled in celebration, Rudy came over too yelling something too as they watched Ghost do the cooldown lap.
They all scrambled, running over towards the podiums and the barriers where Ghost parked. His movements was stiff, as he clambered out of the car, dragging his helmet off as he looked over the screaming crowds with wild eyes. Soap froze when they’re eyes locked, how the world seemed to slow down as Ghost’s eyes crinkled.
He could barely register the movement, the achingly familiar motion of Ghost dragging the balaclava over his head as he ran towards the barrier where the Redbull team was cheering. The blinding smile stretching the scars over his face as he came close enough for people to touch him. The camera flashes blinking brilliantly like the fireworks still exploding in the sky.
But he didn’t pay anyone else no mind as he grabbed Soap’s face, sweaty balaclava still clutched in his hands as he dragged Soap into a searing kiss. Soap couldn’t think as he kissed back, moved with him as the cheers drowned out until Ghost pulled back “I love you too,” he yelled over the commotion, tipping his head back as he laughed and moved towards the rest of the team.
Ghost didn’t pull on the balaclava as he stood on the podium, receiving his sixth world champion title and trophy. He grabbed the champagne, shook it and sprayed down Gaz with a laugh Soap himself had barely heard, tipping the whole thing over his head and dunking himself with the sour champagne. Smiling as pictures got taken and interviewers grouped around him.
World champion.
Epilogue
“Okay, lights are good,” one of the assistants said, smiling towards the small screen in front of her, “Soap when you’re ready.”
Soap nodded, glancing back over his shoulders towards Riley who gave him a small thumbs up, they had gone over everything. Hundred of meetings and what felt like pages on pages of papers he needed to look over. The preparation for the question sheet and a stylist to go over his outfit.
He was dressed nice, in brands he had never worn before, his hair was styled better than he could ever manage himself and of course, the pendant on display over his shirt. He had even light makeup on, to enhance his features as he squinted towards the harsh lights.
“Aye,” he nodded yet again towards the assistant, making her smile and sit down in a chair opposite of him, “ready.”
“John Soap MacTavish,” she started, voice even and loud as she adjusted the microphone clipped to her vest a little, “we both know we are not here to talk about the mechanical workings of the Redbull cars, right?”
Soap chuckled, bowing his head down as a flush spread over his cheeks. He felt warm, probably from the lights, or maybe the big camera lens just a few paces away from him pointed straight on his face. “I had hoped you guys had a sudden change of heart and decided on a documentary about how to fix a f1 car,” he smiled cheekily, avoiding the lens as best as he could and tried to keep up his charm.
She silently laughed, shoulders shaking a bit as she gestured something to the camera guy, “no unfortunately not,” she smiled again, immensely charming and calm as she sat there with the pages of the question sheet, “we have to talk about this season, and the quite surprising story we managed to capture and the media uproar this whole thing got.”
“Aye,” Soap flushed again, smiling goofily as his hand went up to the pendant automatically, fiddling with it, “guess we have tae do that.”
She adjusted her hair a bit, the lanyard with the many Netflix logos trailing down to her ID card around her neck, “so Simon Ghost Riley, or Ghost as he likes to be called, how did that even start, can you go over that?”
It was a leading question, since she was going to be mostly cut out, Soap nodded, grinning like an idiot as he thought about Simon – who was leaned against the furthest wall near the exit, staring him down with a smile and small crinkled eyes – burn scars and face on full display after his own interview. They shared a small look, a barely there glance before Soap sighed and started small, “well I have tae start with my first day in the garage, that bastard was so pissed…”
When drive to survive season 6 came out, fans went haywire when in the middle of an episode right in the middle of the season it all cut to an interview room. An empty chair and some distant talking, how one very newly famous f1 mechanic sat down into the chair as one of the first pit crew members to be ever featured on the show like this. All sitting at the edge of their seats as the Scottish drawl went through the romance that had gotten captured in between the circus of the 2023 season formula 1 as one of the biggest romances caught up in the media and the sudden unmasking of Simon Ghost Riley who now rarely sported the mask around the circuit anymore. Telling all about the behind the scenes of romancing the sixth world champion in a episode promptly called ‘Racing hearts season’.