Oorah @hopesallwegotleft - Tumblr Blog

Midnight Blue XXVIII: Heart Race

Findable on AO3 here!

Authors Note: Well, if I had a 'Magnum Opus' to my 'Magnum Opus' this could be it. It could also be because I'm incredibly heavily bias... but this is probably my absolute favourite fic in this series.

I've wanted to write a racing AU for ages and I finally got around to doing it with these two! @oblivious-troll has drawn some INCREDIBLE art for this AU and I really would appreciate you all giving it some love! 💙💚 Heart Race Fan Art 1 || Heart Race Art 2 Translations: Yalla - Lets Go! Najmi - My Star (It's not really used in Arabic, but for the purposes of this fic and the way Salim describes Jason, it fit)

Disclaimer: World Endurance Championship!AU (They are racing cars, but there's not a lot of technical racing jargon in it) / Lots of race teams mentioned but the only IRL person name checked is 'Kevin Estre'

Warnings: Swearing / sexual suggestion / drinking / a lot of crashes mentioned (but not too graphically)

Premise:

…Caught between a team he loves and a man he shouldn’t…

Jason is the fastest man on the grid; he’s also got an ego the size of his home state, and a defensive attitude. Aggressive on track and off it, he provides the perfect foil for Salim’s steadiness and control. Providing the ideal backdrop for Cadillac and Yalla Speed’s fierce on track battles.

This year, however, Salim has two young teammates – including his son. And Jason’s attitude is not going to fly.

While trying to shoulder criticism from both the grid and the press, Salim must also tackle the rising tension between himself and his American rival(s).

Only Jason seems to want something else… Salim just isn’t sure how he’s supposed to figure out what.

Word Count: 34,279

--- It feels like it's a heart race Wastin' my time spent Chasin' a heart worth sayin' it to Feels like I'm just stuck here Pacin' this heartache station I've been right here waitin' for you

---

I don't know what you saw in me Through your phone across this dead-end city And who am I to steal the night from someone so pretty? I'm caught up in the dichotomy Of what I want and what it's supposed to be Said it won't matter when you're holding me

Sweet like you, lingers all night Can't see straight, can't say I mind S'il vous plaît, then it's on sight I-I want you Please don't lie, is that how you feel? Say you might, maybe I will Put both hands over the wheel And start

Taking my heart on the road There's no other cars on the street Straight to your door like before And under your mat is a key Said, "I'll leave it outside As long as it needs to be As long as it leads to me"

---

Jason thinks his heart is beating as fast as the car is driving. He’s watching the screen with his teeth sinking further and further into his bottom lip, arms folded. He shifts his weight from foot to foot.

This is going to be a tense finish.

Out in front is the Yalla Speed (يلا سبيد) car. This in itself is unprecedented. Small and independent – they’ve punched above their weight for seasons. They need this win. But there’s been panicked radio chatter for a few laps now about losses of power. The Porsche and Ferrari behind have sensed this; for a while they were battling between themselves but the Porsche has won out – Kevin Estre working his magic as usual – and now it’s hunting down the smaller team.

If something happens to the Yalla car, then Nick is in fourth place. Which means Jason’s team gets the podium spot. The championship is a done deal; this is the second to last race, but to celebrate that on the podium?

He shakes his head; Salim is in that lead car. ‘Hold on… come on, just a couple more laps! You got this!’ Jason wants to celebrate this win much more than he does his own team getting a scrappy podium.

The gap keeps closing, but that car is in maybe the steadiest pair of hands on the grid. Salim doesn’t crack under pressure like this despite the fact that this is the most pressure he’s probably faced in his career. As they cross the line, the timer reads that there are less than two minutes to go. This will be the final lap; and the gap is sliced again; the Porsche is a few car lengths back if that.

“Come on!” Jason says out loud through gritted teeth. The car can die on the finish line for all he cares; they are ALMOST there.

The gap ticks up and Jason’s eyebrow raises, Salim must have the same thought; he’s pushing that car to its limit.

Half way around the lap Jason abandons his position in the back of the garage and runs across the pit lane to the Cadillac pit wall. “Is he gonna fucking do it?!” Eric King swivels in his chair, “Looks that way. Couple of corners to go… Don’t think we’re getting that podium Jason.” “Shit!” Jason pulls back and steps out up to the catch fencing, he looks across to the Yalla Speed pit wall. Dar Basri, their team principal, is probably feeling exactly the same way Jason is right now. He also looks across and they catch each other’s eye. Jason gives him a nod, which is returned. He takes a deep breath and then pulls himself up onto the concrete, without leaning too far over the track he listens for the car engines. They’re almost there.

The Yalla team are suddenly yelling, sprinting from their own garage they bundle themselves across the pit lane and scramble up onto the pit wall in much the same way Jason had. And when they all start leaning out, so does he. Jason notices he’s not the only one, this victory is unprecedented. Everyone up and down the paddock wants to witness this. This is a real fairytale moment. He feels a presence right beside him as someone touches his waist. Jason turns to come face to face with Zain Othman, grinning ear to ear. “Jason, he’s going to do it!” “Damn fuckin’ right he is!” Jason grins back, steadying Zain as he leans out to celebrate his father – and teammate – crossing the line.

Salim’s car rounds the final corner first; the Porsche won’t catch him now. Jason doesn’t even need to see it a few meters back still to know that, even though it moves out in a visual attempt at a last-ditch pass.

Suddenly all there is around Jason is screaming as the chequered flag waves and Salim crossed the line. And then he’s yelling too, although it looks a lot more like he’s cheering Nick across the line in fourth by that point.

It’s appearances; and Jason knows he needs to keep those up. Zain has left to celebrate with his team already. Jason jumps down from the wall to watch them; observing the number of camera crews and reporters run over to film this, he’s grinning from ear to ear. The stark contrast from last season is astounding. Behind him, the Cadillac team are watching too, while also celebrating themselves. Their car crossing in 4th had locked everyone else out of both championships; they’d won.

Zain sprints back over, “Jason!!! Jason c’mon!” He grabs Jason’s hand, pulling him towards the celebrations. “No, no! Zain! Zain, go!” He grins and pushes Zain back, “Go celebrate, this is for your team.” “You just won the championship!” “And you just won the race! That’s history kiddo!” Jason winks, “Now go! You got a podium to get to! Hurry!!”

Zain doesn’t immediately step back, instead he grabs Jason into a hug, before sprinting away.

The pitlane clears, as the winning car’s engine sounds, and Salim drives it very carefully towards the podium staging. He’s got one door open, checkered flag propped up and streaming behind. As he passes Jason’s position on the pit wall, he winks. Jason reciprocates, waving him on with congratulations and then watches as the Yalla team almost pile onto the car as it stops momentarily in front of its own garage. The officials have to break it up to move the car on as quickly as possible.

Jason watches the commotion and shakes his head, turning back to his own team, he hops down from the pit wall, immediately mingling with the mechanics and pulling them all into hugs. They’ve all worked so hard this year; they deserve it. The pit lane clears once more as the sleek blue Cadillac revs its engine. She’d given them everything this year. That last race was going to be quite something, but at least everyone could breathe easier and just have fun with it now. Merwin joins Jason on the pit wall and as Nick passes – also with his door open – the two of them lean out to give him a high five. Nick has to park her up at scrutineering but he’s soon sprinting back and amongst the celebrations too. The Cadillac Racing team are all patting him on the back for being the one to cross the line to clinch it. When Jason gets to him, they embrace, before Nick looks at him expectantly.

“What!?”

Nick raises an eyebrow before his eyes look down the pit lane towards the podium celebrations; in the background, above the noise of his own team, Jason can just about hear the interviews; “So, are you going to watch their podium or not!?”

Jason’s eyes flick behind him but he stops himself turning, “Huh!?”

Nick sighs, pushing him, “Just GO Jason…!”

There’s another few beats of silence, but as Nick keeps staring at him, Jason simply grins, giving him an appreciative wave, he sprints after the Iraqi outfit.

These were certainly celebrations that he would never forgive himself for missing.

***

It hadn’t always been like this. Salim and Jason had been constantly competitive. For the most part respectfully, but not always. They had different racing styles: Salim had been in the sport longer and he was steady and consistent, reliable. Jason was by no means new, but he was young: fastest man on the grid but with an aggressive racing streak that not everyone liked.

It was earlier in the previous season that things had really started heating up between them…

“JASON!!!” Camera’s flash but he keeps walking, team cap pulled low over his eyes he keeps them on the ground. “Jason! A comment!?” He walks a little faster, causing Cadillac’s PR manager – Clarice – to struggle to keep up. “Geez, you gonna talk to any of them?” He shakes his head, “I put it on pole what the hell else do they need to know?” “Jason… you-” “It was hard racing, he was in my way! If they’ve got a problem with it, they can whine about it in their articles.” “…You really going to let your driving do the talking!?” “Always!” “If you’re penalized the car will start from last place!” “Nick and Merwin can handle it. We’ll all pull our weight.” He stops and gives her a sharp look, “I’m going to the stewards.” ‘Because you’ve been summoned.’ She thinks. ‘It’s by force, not choice. You not going begging them to hear you out…’ She sighs, “Just don’t do anything stupid.” He nods, but she knows he will.

Jason argues his case and gets told to wait for the verdict, but as he leaves the stewards room and rounds the corner, he finds himself grabbed roughly and shoved up against the wall.

“What the fuck?!”

Salim is an extraordinarily patient man with all of Jason’s bullshit on and off track. They’ve had little back and forths in press conferences before. And his team, Yalla Speed Motorsport, are healthy rivals with Cadillac Racing – the team Jason drivers for. Salim brushes it off and almost always walks away the bigger person because he knows just how to push Jason’s buttons. Despite Jason’s level of ego, he does play well with others… when the others are his two teammates in the same car. The others on track, less so.

Salim’s new teammates are young and inexperienced. Hypercar is a tough field, and they must learn fast, that’s true. But they shouldn’t have to learn through other people’s tempers and bad manners.

Today Jason has pushed Salim’s buttons. He’d picked the wrong car to mess with on that qualifying lap.

“What the hell was that!? You put me in the wall!”

Shaking off the initial shock, Jason narrows his eyes. He only needs to explain himself to the stewards – maybe his team - not a fellow driver. “You were too slow, man, just get out of the way next time.”

He pushes Salim’s hand from his shoulder but the older man’s look just becomes more intense; dare he say angry? Salim doesn’t really get angry.

“That could have been my son.”

Jason sighs, sending his eyes skyward, “Well, it wasn’t, it was you.” Jason’s gaze settles back on Salim and he takes a step forward into his space. “It’s qualifying. I’d have done the same if he slowed me down.”

Having had enough of Jason altogether, Salim wastes no time grabbing the collar of Jason’s race suit, voice disturbingly calm in his rage. “You do that, I’ll put you in the wall myself.”

The American merely blinks in response; but he knew that was a promise. Jason’s eyes travel to the side, there’s no one around right now, but they’re still in the paddock, if anyone turns down this passage…

He smirks, “You really want to do this here?”

Salim curses, letting him go and shoving Jason away. As far as he’s concerned Jason being disqualified wouldn’t be enough. But it would be unfair on his teammates. Nick in particular is very amicable; Salim gets on with him very well.

Jason is hard work. Salim has tried to get in his head and understand him nearly every season since his debut. He’s always been fast; when he turned up on the grid Salim couldn’t help but be impressed.

He started with Corvette customer team ‘Revelation Racing’. An appropriate name, because a revelation Jason sure was. He was a scrappy kid with a chip on his shoulder, and most of the grid dismissed him in the same way they were dismissing Salim’s teammates right now. He didn’t have a karting background; he’d barely scraped his way through the junior racing categories that he had been able to do with his family’s money, and everyone joked that he’d be better returning to the US and NASCAR. But Jason had a habit of enjoying proving people wrong – everyone was unsure about him. Called him a Wild Card. Scoffed about Corvette taking this chance: he was barely racing full-time in IMSA at this stage. But he was fucking quick. Proving that he should be a star in the WEC despite his background. Corvette moved him to the factory team within a season. It was no wonder at all that Cadillac had wanted him so badly for their Hypercar program, and it was no wonder he was their ‘Ace’ driver. Their star.

Jason is by far the quickest on the grid now he’s reaching his peak performance. Everyone’s faith in him has been validated – but he still drives sometimes like he a kid with something to prove. He compliments Nick’s steady hand. Merwin is the one pulling the crazy overtakes but Jason can match that aggression too. He’s a menace to every other car on the grid: if he’s going you get out of his way. (If you can even manage to find yourself in front of him in the first place.) He’s cocky, he’s got an ego that rivals the size of his home state – but he’s an exceptionally good team player. He’s funny, and he’s friendly and he’s loyal. Salim has watched him defend his teammates in the media and against other drivers. Sometimes physically.

Salim had still been a little too on the racing line when Jason had come flying through that particular set of corners on his qualifying lap. That was a lapse of judgement on his part. If it was any other car but Jason, Salim would be apologising for impeding right now. Jason wouldn’t settle for that. Instead he came at speed; and it was up to Salim to get out of the way – unfortunately at the narrowest part of the circuit. To avoid contact, Salim had to force the right side of his own car into the wall. It has caused bodywork damage on both sides as the Cadillac had still just barely missed. And it had ruined Salim’s chances at a final lap for his team.

He'd observed that half of his cars paintwork was also streaked through the blue of the Cadillac’s own right hand side too.

Salim didn’t expect Jason to apologise; but if Zain had been in the car, Salim isn’t sure he would have reacted fast enough. And at the very least he’d be met with exactly what Jason thought about that verbally… if not one hell of a bad crash. Honestly, he doesn’t know why he expected Jason to listen to that either…

What he does know right now, is his team have work to do tomorrow.

He narrows his eyes, voice still level in rage. “Stay away from my son.”

Jason watches him go, shrugging his race suit back into place. He doesn’t mean to observe Salim for as long as he does but he can’t help it. There was something about the way Salim got angry without yelling at him that…

Jason isn’t sure if he was exhilarated or…

He shakes his head quickly as heat starts spreading up his neck, but he doesn’t stop staring at Salim until his view becomes blocked by the paddock crowding. Jason turns and heads back to the Cadillac garage, scratching the back of his head and clearing his throat.

Time to find out if he’d been allowed to keep that pole.

***

Jason can’t lie; he doesn’t think he’s ever seen so much press buzz and media attention around the WEC paddock before. The upgrades to the Hypercar classes in recent years had caused renewed interest but there’s something a little insane about what he’s witnessing now.

He thought it might just go away after a few rounds – testing and the first race even - but now it was still bad.

Jason didn’t mind attention. He liked attention even. He liked reading about himself when the press were being nice. And these days he had the success enough that the press had to be complementary of his achievements even if not his reputation. And the US press were of course, heavily bias.

But this wasn’t good press. This was press that smelled blood and wanted more of it.

Something about Salim getting physical with him just that once had unsettled something inside him. He was starting to pay way more attention to the pressure Salim was under. That these kids were under.

They were both still teenagers. They didn’t have a straightforward path into the WEC – how could they, given where they’d grown up? And now they’re in Hypercar – some press might even say undeservingly. But Yalla had pulled them out of GT kicking and screaming and expected them to be able to take this.

This.

Jason, Nick and Merwin have just done their media duties for the day, and some ridiculous stuff for marketing. Merwin has taken the time to himself, glad of the peace.

Jason and Nick have been chilling together in the paddock discussing free practice runs. It’s only half-hearted though and it breaks off into idle chatter.

Until they hear a clamour of voices – which they can’t help but turn towards. THIS is what the press can’t let go of.

Zain and Tariq are forced to walk backwards to not turn their backs on the group of journalists following them. Their PR representative tries their best to keep the press and the boys apart but there is only one of her.

The Iraqi’s are clearly trying to be polite, but this must be bordering on harassment at this stage.

And Jason can hear it. All the words the press used to say about him. ‘too young’ ‘inexperienced’ ‘dangerous’…

Salim has made it hard to ignore, but it’s so easy to scoff at written words and not take it seriously when they aren’t written about him. But now he’s hearing it – ignoring it has become impossible.

He’s lived this before. He knew how it played on his mind. How he spent a whole season angry and eager to prove everyone wrong. Jason had done it, but to what cost?

The detriment of his reputation. The way he acted around fellow racers even now.

Who is going to defend two kids from Iraq who are in a position they probably don’t even want to be in in the first place?

Who on this damn grid wants to end up like Jason?

They’re kids they shouldn’t have to listen to this bullshit to their faces. When did the press get so damn bold.

He stands, and Nick follows suit. Clearly he has the same idea.

“Should we do something?” Nick asks, before they move.

He looks across to Jason, who, despite standing is suddenly frozen. ‘Stay away from my son!’ reverberates in his head, and it stops his feet from moving.

But Salim would understand right? How can Jason possibly leave this alone. How can he turn away, no matter what Zain’s father says?

Nick too, hesitates, looking like he’s about to prompt Jason again before he takes a breath and gives a firm nod. Salim’s words be damned. If there are consequences, Jason will face them.

“Yeah.”

Nick can’t say that’s what he expects, initially wondering if Jason is instead getting up to get away from the noise – a cue to leave. It’s more likely for Jason to scoff: ‘They’re kids in the WEC they need to suck it up!’ Because that’s what he did, right? And Jason never acted like that was hard.

The look on Jason’s face is fierce though – this gaggle of reporters has clearly triggered something within him.

Jason times it perfect to walk off their stand and get between the group of press and the three Yalla Speed crew members. “Hey! Hey! Back off! Back up! They’ve answered all your questions in media, now come on! Kids are probably exhausted!” Jason spreads his arms as wide as they will go. Trying his best to halt the onslaught. He’s got a loud voice, so the journalists quiet down immediately.

He's already done better than their Press Officer trying to tell them ‘That’s all for today!’ But that isn’t the point, the press should be listening.

The journalists, as expected, turn to him, “Jason! What do you think of their inclusion in the Hypercar field? Should ‘kids’ be in the top class of Endurance?”

Jason has every right to look disgusted, hating that he just gave them that ammunition for free, “Oh, you think I’m about to answer your questions, when you disrespect them telling you that’s all they’re answering? They’re on the grid, aren’t they? You all saw ‘em in the GTs.” He takes a step forward, and the press step back.

As far as he’s concerned Zain and Tariq are good drivers, they’ve won in the GT class. Hypercars are not the same. They need the time no one is giving them to settle. “What do you think this is, F1? Let their driving do their talking. We’re not doing this, not in this paddock. We’re not becoming that kind of sport! Okay? Are we good?”

There are a few beats of silence where the Yalla Press Officer just stares at him. And he can see the group of press in front of him shift and start murmuring questions again.

“Hey! She already told you they’re done! So they’re done!” Jason narrows his eyes, “C’mon guys, you know better than this.”

He can imagine his name is about to be splashed about for being rude to the press. Another mess Clarice will love to deal with but he thinks he’s being fair here, even if direct and snappy. The kids have probably been media trained to within an inch of their lives, but it only takes a group of adults like this chasing them down - in what should be a safe quiet space for them - for one of them to snap and say something they shouldn’t. Or do something. Out of anger or fear.

And then who defends them? Salim? Of course. The Iraqi press? Perhaps, but who is reading that, even if it is translated it’s going to get buried by any other Western motorsport journalist or content creator out there.

Jason wonders where Salim is currently: he must otherwise be occupied because Jason can’t think of any other reason he’d let these two wander around alone, even if he trusts their press officer. That makes this even worse. Because the steady adult isn’t in the room the journalists think they are entitled to this?

Nick, who is clearly worried about what he’s unleashed here, or what Jason’s next move will be if the gathering doesn’t listen to him, joins Jason from Cadillac’s motorhome, also spreading his arms out to push the press back. “Come on, ladies and gentleman, let the Yalla boys get back to their motorhome, they’ve got enough to think about without answering your stupid questions.”

Jason raises an eyebrow at his best friend, guess now they’d both be in trouble with Clarice.

Nick does his best to shuffle them on, politely thanking them even though Jason thinks it’s the last thing they deserve. He turns back to Zain, Tariq and their press officer.

“Shit, you guys okay?”

Zain and Tariq look past him to watch the press dissipate. Wondering to themselves how the hell the two Cadillac drivers had just done that like it was easy.

“Yes, thanks Jason.” Though Zain’s voice is thin and he sounds less than convinced of what he’s saying.

Jason walks forward, “You need any help with those guys when Salim ain’t around, you let me know. You keep doing what you’re doing. You’ll prove them wrong without words.”

He’d know.

Except Jason did use words.

These two would be much more sensible not to – and he doubts Salim would condone that type of behaviour either.

They both remain quiet, although given the expressions on their faces they want to believe what he’s saying is true. Want to hope that it will come to fruition.

Jason nods back behind them, seeing the Yalla motorhome in the distance. “Go on, get back to some real peace and quiet.” Then he turns to Zain, “I’m sure your dad is waiting for ya.”

Their press officer touches Jason’s arm lightly to thank him and Jason just gives a short nod; watching Tariq and her need no more convincing that they should get back to the safety of the motorhome as soon as possible.

Zain on the other hand lingers a little longer, making Jason turn to him curiously.

“Really, I mean it…” Zain begins, “thank you.”

“Nothin’ your dad wouldn’t have done. Maybe if we all looked out for ya this wouldn’t be happening in the first place.”

Jason knew he could have used other teams backing him up in the past. Sometimes he wasn’t even sure his old teammates were happy to support someone who was as abrasive as Jason. But they stuck by him regardless.

Zain almost laughs, and when he also touches Jason’s arm, Jason reciprocates with a small smile, “See ya on track tomorrow. Ignore those idiots. I did, look how I turned out.”

Then he laughs a little more, “Actually on second thought your dad wouldn’t want you to end up like me, forget I said that!”

Zain smiles again, grateful, before letting Jason’s arm go and jogging after his friend up the paddock.

Jason watches them go with a long exhale; Now that Jason had fully witnessed these kids being treated like him, how can he possibly ignore it ever again?

***

The rivalry between the two teams continues on and off track. It’s supposed to be fun banter; but something about this season is causing friction at every turn.

Salim isn’t tolerating anything from the Americans; Jason is sure it’s because his son has joined him in Hypercar this year. After the press tirade in the paddock he’d witnessed, Jason doesn’t blame him. Zain has raced GTs before, but this is something different. The press has already raised enough questions of its own if someone so young should be racing such a car. Though that seems to have mercifully quietened down now; at least to the kids’ faces. Jason doesn’t dare take credit. Salim can’t protect Zain from everything, so he’ll protect Zain from what he can, and that mostly falls on the rest of the grid.

Jason thinks they are targeting Zain simply because his father is on the same team. He hadn’t seen raised eyebrows previously, and they don’t bother Tariq (who is just as young) half as much. Salim isn’t getting any younger, and apparently this is the year he’s been tasked with raising up the next generation of this team.

Jason can also understand why the grid is coming down on these boys. They’re kids in the top tier of the WEC. They’re young and inexperienced and prone to mistakes. They needed a few more years with the GTs but Yalla was determined to drag them up. That wasn’t Salim’s fault either, but he was bearing the weight of it. When it worked, it worked. When it didn’t he was shielding two teenagers from the worst of the press. Jason’s on track attitude towards him wasn’t helping anything.

Neither was the fact that the friendly banter was becoming antagonistic between the two teams. Mostly coming from the Cadillac side of things.

This had been something stemming from the GT era, although Elibriea had never been a purely Iraqi outfit when they were racing Corvette and with no Iraqi drivers left, they were even less so now.

But this was Iraq vs America in Hypercar. This was the pinnacle of Endurance racing. But it was also the tiny independent team vs an automotive powerhouse.

It meant their rivalry wasn’t always friendly, both between fans and drivers.

Jason had been at the front of those jibes as much as anyone else – but to actually read what the media was saying… he can’t imagine the stress himself, and he couldn’t blame Salim for cracking under that pressure. Jason had started keeping some of his thoughts to himself.

He also couldn’t stop thinking about what he’s watched when the press had been hounding the kids in the paddock. Jason had never seen anything like that. He didn’t want to see it again.

Hence why when Merwin and Joey – who was Cadillac’s test and reserve driver – barged through the group of Yalla drivers talking quietly, laughing loudly and making their ever tasteless jokes, Jason was glad he was nearby.

The kids both immediately give them the kind of judgemental looks Jason expected teenagers to give people they don’t like. But Salim was not about to stop at just that: he’d had it with rude Americans. Jason is talking to Eric, leaning against their motorhome at the time, but the second he sees Salim start to move Jason is darting across the paddock.

“Woah! Woah!” Jason places his arm across Salim, “It’s not worth it!” Salim isn’t going to let a physical barrier stop him, “You want to say that again!?” He pulls against Jason and the smaller man finds himself dragged a couple of paces.

Merwin and Joey turn around. Joey looks apologetic - Merwin on the other hand. “What, can’t take a joke now?” Salim strains against Jason again and Jason finds himself leaning his full weight the opposite direction just to keep him in place, he grunts with the effort, “C’mon Salim…” “I said, do you want to say that again?” Merwin opens his mouth but Jason is the one to shoot him a look now, “Shut up! Another word out of your mouth and you’re gonna deal with me!” Jason might let Merwin say something to the whole Yalla team. Particularly their Team Principal who Jason thought was a bit of an asshole. Maybe even Salim, who seemed to have a habit of being abrasive to Jason in particular this season. But involving Zain and Tariq in this? It was something he couldn’t let go of anymore. “Oh, so now you need the Americans to save you… again?” Jason knew he wouldn’t be able to hold Salim back this time, so he lets the Iraqi go and steps between them, furious at his teammate. “MERWIN, KNOCK IT THE FUCK OFF!” Jason’s look meant it, and Merwin closes his mouth. For a few seconds there is silence, and Joey tries to pull him back towards the trucks, “C’mon man…” Eric also moves across the space to cover him, hands out to still anyone else who is thinking of moving to follow. Jason isn’t known for yelling at his own team like that. Raising his voice, sure, but not like this. To regain his composure after being a little stunned Merwin rolls his eyes and then his neck. Brushing both Eric and Joey off he walks back towards the truck to leave Jason glaring after him.

Behind them Jason hears Zain run over to his father, the two conversing in Arabic as Jason watches Eric and Joey also leave. That was his cue to go too. If Merwin was lucky Jason wouldn’t see him again for a while. Otherwise he’d probably find himself shoved against the wall like Salim had done to him at the beginning of the season…

Heat spreads to Jason’s cheeks and he shakes his head to dissipate it again, turning back to the Yalla boys. By now Tariq has joined them and the three are talking in a huddle in hushed Arabic again. When they notice Jason staring at them they fall into silence, each one staring back at him in turn.

Jason avoids Salim’s eyes the most, “I’m sorry about that. He shouldn’t have said it. Either thing, really.” Salim’s eyes narrow, before his eyebrow raises, “What did you just say!?” there’s an edge to it, and Jason isn’t entirely sure how to respond. “I’m… sorry?” Salim’s eyes seem to widen slightly, and for a heartbeat he struggles with his response, before his mouth presses into a hard line again and he makes that physical step between Jason and the kids. “We’re fine.” “Salim, I-” “We’re. Fine.” Each word punctures the air with finality. Zain and Tariq look to each other and then to Salim before their eyes return to Jason but it’s very clear neither of them will be talking to him either.

Jason puts his hands up, “Okay… I’ll deal with it.” He wants to say he’s sorry again, but it’s clear that’s the last thing Salim wants to hear. Especially from him. And Jason understands that. But Cadillac, and his teammates, are his responsibility… and he’s accountable for whenever they cross the line with someone else.

Salim watches Jason walk in the same direction as the rest of his team, before he disappears from view. He hopes Jason gives them hell. The expression on his face previously had certainly indicated he would. “[Dad, he-]” Salim holds his hand up and Zain becomes quiet again.

This was strange. Jason didn’t apologise for anything. It was more than likely in a situation like that, at any point previously, he’d have tried to tell Salim to calm down and that it was just a joke. So why was today different? Hadn’t Jason done the exact same thing to them, on track, and within this season. In fact, it was more than likely Jason would do it again. It didn’t make any sense. Salim thinks back to the first qualifying session of the year. Jason was just as aggressive and cocky off track as on it when that occurred… It was highly suspicious for him not to join in with antagonising their group – let alone shouting his own team down.

It put Salim on high alert. He paid much more attention to Jason’s general attitude any time they were in each other’s vicinity. Press, Paddock or otherwise. And on track he was hyper vigilant every time that blue Cadillac car was around them. As much as Salim was prepared to go wheel to wheel with them, he wasn’t about to instruct the kids to do the same.

But because he was being so careful about Jason, Salim started to notice things he hadn’t before. Like Jason sitting closer to them in driver briefings or press sessions, or hanging back after meetings to walk with or closer to them. He didn’t always talk; and the few times Salim had questioned it Jason immediately went to a hostile response in defence. No! he wasn’t waiting for them, No! it just happened that way, No! that was the only spare seat. He wondered if Jason thought he was that stupid? That he would fall for it at all.

Salim started to discover that if he tried to have a gentle conversation with Jason instead the American would be receptive to it – even if it was so much as passing comment on the meeting, the track condition, or how the Balance of Performance was screwing them over this week. But the minute he pushed for something more personal, for Jason to fully admit that he had to have been waiting for them that time. Jason would throw that wall straight back up, hit him with a hard stare and fervently deny it.

Salim was too intrigued with trying to find a chink in the armour to stop pushing at it. But he didn’t appreciate Jason’s aggressive rebuttal; and he was still suspicious of why exactly Jason had decided to start subtly hanging back for them. Constantly putting his body between the American and Zain & Tariq. Who were probably none the wiser.

Jason’s own issues lie in feelings he shouldn’t be feeling. Despite his outward attitude, he’s always had respect for the drivers who have been on the grid for as long as Salim has. But that respect has started turning to something more than that. Jason isn’t good at dealing with his feelings normally, but what he’s starting to feel towards Salim now is making that antagonism worse. He wants to be closer as much as he wants to push it all away. But fighting it just seems to make it grow.

If he’s not careful he’s going to push Salim away entirely: he already knows that Salim doesn’t trust them. Especially with his young team mates. Jason’s constant switch between attitudes is both confusing and irritating, but the American can’t help himself. And he definitely can’t talk about it.

Sometimes he thinks Salim sees right through him. And sometimes he thinks Salim has no idea what his game plan is. (Heck, even Jason doesn’t know.) Maybe it’s a bit of both.

Either way Jason knows he has to work through this. There’s a difference between knowing his animosity comes from not being able to deal with his feelings, versus asshole behaviour for the sake of being one.

Hell, if he gets the same reputation with Salim as Merwin had, he’d never forgive himself.

***

Hyperpole is always Jason’s favourite part of the weekend. It’s his forte. Being fast. Getting through into the top 10 of all the cars in class through qualifying is one thing. Battling it out with the fastest drivers to clinched pole? That’s not a high Jason can compare to anything. Driving endurance in stints that last hours is one thing. It tests everything about him as a driver and a person. But beating other fast drivers at their own game is priceless.

The team bundle him. Pole means nothing in the long run – not to a 6 hour race where anything could happen – but only one car gets to start from the front. It’s worth celebrating; it counts towards the team pole tally. And more importantly it’s one extra point for their championship total. He pulls his helmet off to immediately replace it with his Cadillac Racing cap. Nick grabs him and shakes him and Jason is laughing, trying not to get roughed up too much by his teammates while adjusting his race suit. They still have pictures to take, and some ridiculous gold medal ceremony which Jason will laugh about later but absolutely lord up in the moment.

From the corner of his eye however, he spots Zain and Salim. Zain is sitting on the pit wall, head down – Salim is crouched in front of him no doubt trying to be an encouraging teammate and parent.

Jason’s face falls slightly watching the interaction. Zain had probably pushed a little too hard in Hyperpole. But the crash was fast – probably incredibly scary. For a moment Jason wonders how hard it must be for Salim to be both to his son this season. Maybe Jason isn’t thinking, but he pushes his team off him for a moment – and takes off.

They aren’t far from the celebrations, so Jason can still hear his team calling him. But this is on impulse. “Hey kid!!!” Zain and Salim startle slightly, both looking up in the direction Jason is running from. Salim immediately frowns, ready to push up and get between them but Jason’s eyes are on Zain only. “You okay? That looked like a big one.” Salim stills, but his eyes are still narrowed slightly in suspicion. Zain’s smile reveals just how shaken he is. Salim comforting had done something but he’s still a mess internally. “Yeah… I’m alright. Bigger for the car, the whole right side is buckled now… I swear the brakes just went. I don’t know if they’ll be able to fix it.” Jason nods, flashing a smile he hopes will give Zain some confidence, “They’ll fix it, the mechanics you have are great.” He tips his head, trying to assess Zain’s condition without overstepping. Especially with Salim still crouched there, “But what matters is you’re okay. That was scary…” Zain nods back, reassuring, “I’m fine, medical cleared me. Just a bit shaken.” “That’s good to hear,” Jason pats his shoulder and shakes him, stopping when he realises that’s probably not the best idea. But he grins, “Can’t wait to battle you out there tomorrow. You were damn fast today.” Zain opens his mouth; but he’s not sure how to counter. He isn’t sure that’s true from the look on his face – but he appreciates Jason’s words all the same. The American is the fastest man in the field - him just saying that means so much. “Thanks, Jason!” Jason inclines his head with a smile, his eyes flick to Salim – who is now standing, but still frowning. The question in his mind is obvious by his face. ‘What are you doing!?’ Jason finds himself momentarily wishing he had a parent who would be so quick to defend him from anything and anyone… He has nothing more to say, and a team still yelling his name to get back to the pole ceremony. Jason gives Salim a small smile. Turning back to Zain, Jason pats and squeezes his shoulder once more. Smile once again of confidence, before he turns around and jogs back to where he came from.

Salim watches him go, puzzled. ‘That actually did genuinely seem like he cared and like he wasn’t just trying to save face.’

But what was the motive…

What the hell was Jason Kolchek up to?

***

By the time it gets into June, Salim thinks he’s got the American figured out. It doesn’t matter how guarded he is, Jason can’t keep some physical signs from happening; like the way pink will dust his cheeks if Salim is remotely nice to him for more than 5 minutes. And the staring - Jason can’t keep his eyes to himself. Even if they are across the room from each other, now he will angle his body to make sure he can look at Salim every time he gets the opportunity. If Salim wasn’t so patient he’d have called it out. But he also knew all he was going to get was Jason’s temper in response, maybe flat-out denial. It hardly seemed worth the trouble to insinuate that Jason might not be having as much trouble with Salim himself as he was his feelings…

That might well have been to his own detriment though, because it made Salim even more cautious. Especially when it came to the kids.

Luckily June provided respite. The month of the 24-hour races would quickly lead into summer break when they wouldn’t race at all. Salim could hope things would calm down. And after Le Mans was over, he wouldn’t see Jason on the grid again until August. Given Spa and Nürburgring weren’t even WEC races and Salim would only be competing in one of them.

He supposed he counted on that a little too early.

Nick looks like a man on a mission as he walks into the motorhome, making a beeline for Jason without even stopping to wave to anyone who has looked up from their morning coffee. Only one thing on his mind. Jason’s head tilts; “Lookin’ for me?” “More than looking for you,” Nick bends a little lower, hands on the chair to the right of Jason, who is midway through breakfast himself. “You want to do the Spa 24-hours right?” Jason is intrigued, eyes widening, “I love that track! Damn right – I’ve never got the opportunity though. And Corvette haven’t asked this year either. I guess I shoulda asked Eric, like months ago.” Jason kicks himself. He’d spent his GT career in Corvette’s before moving into the Hypercar program, but somehow he’d always missed out on one of his favourite track’s biggest races. “Well, I heard some teams talking about needing to find a third driver.” Jason’s mouth opens in shock, “The whole grid isn’t filled!?” “Apparently not, but I’d get in quick if I were you before it is!” “Who?” Jason stands. Nick is almost taken aback by the fact he’s going to leave immediately. But that’s Jason’s impulsive side showing again. “Now… that bit you may not like. It’s the Yalla bunch. Zain and Salim specifically. I guess some team wanted to back them, but Salim’s done them all before right?” Jason almost groans, tipping his head back, “That won’t be an American model car either.” “No. So it’s up to you how much you wanna beg.” Jason’s head remains tipped back, but his eyes refocus on Nick. It wouldn’t just be the Iraqi’s he’d be begging either. Eric, the board… hell, for this race Jason would do it. “Fuck it.” Jason rushes down the paddock to the Yalla Speed building. It’s to his luck that the Othman’s are sitting on a table outside and he doesn’t have to blag his way past their security. He very abruptly interrupts their Arabic conversation, slumping into the chair opposite them.

Salim looks like he’s about to yank Jason back out of the chair himself if it isn’t vacated in 2 seconds and Zain looks the complete opposite. Jason doesn’t give Salim the opportunity. “I hear you’re looking for a third driver for your 24 hours of Spa entry?” There is silence. Mostly because Salim is stunned that the American would have the audacity. Was he really so oblivious as to think that all his actions didn’t have consequences? It didn’t matter that Jason was attempting to play nice now – Salim had been on the grid with him far longer than he’d like to remember.

This is probably on Nick, and now Salim regrets talking about his Spa entry in passing to the friendly American.

His instant response is ‘No.’ He doesn’t want Jason anywhere near them right now, let alone their car. The only reason Salim hesitates is when he looks over to Zain.

Zain’s eyes are practically sparkling and Salim knows why. This is the fastest driver in the WEC field asking to be his teammate in Spa. This is – unfortunately – almost Zain’s dream come true. Jason represents a good shot at pole and the win just by being in the car. Even if Salim wants to refuse, and has concerns about Jason gelling with them at all, he knows whoever else they ask won’t match Jason’s speed. At least who hasn’t already been snapped up by another car. Salim sighs heavily, “Well, we don’t know…”

“…What the team will say?” Jason finishes, prepared to audition himself in any way he needs to, “I’ve got track experience. I’ve got pole in Spa before in Hypercar and the GTs. I’ve got a decent CV there. It’s one of my favourite tracks of all time… what can be done to persuade them?” He blinks and those brown eyes suddenly look desperate, “I’ll do anything.” And it’s sincere.

Salim folds his arms; he has to admit, he likes this power dynamic. Jason is completely at their mercy. He wants nothing more than to give Jason a taste of his own medicine. But it won’t be his decision; it will be the teams. Salim knows he wouldn’t be able to say ‘yes’ without their approval. “Jason, we-” But before he can calmly explain this, Zain turns back to him, speaking in Arabic. “[Dad, please?!]” Salim turns his hard stare on his son, and he’s able to hold it for a while. But before long Zain’s look is also pleading him too, and Salim can’t remain that stubborn for long.

He sighs, “We can’t say yes. We can simply see what the team says. But we’ll let them know you’re interested.” Jason looks between them in understanding: that’s where the actual dynamic lies. He gives a nod, “Well, I appreciate it.” Salim is still determined it won’t happen – he’ll let the team know his concern. Jason’s intrigue is directed elsewhere: “What car is it?” “We aren’t-” Salim begins but Zain cuts across him excitedly. “It’s a Lamborghini!!” Jason’s mouth makes an ‘Oh’ shape before he laughs nervously. Salim gets suddenly hopeful. Jason is contracted to an American team. “Can you even drive that?” Jason gives a shrug but scratches the back of his head. Salim thinks his answer is actually trying to make sure Zain isn’t disappointed: “… I mean I’m sure I can be persuasive.” Salim’s squint makes Jason sure in no uncertain terms which way his flat sarcasm goes, “Well, that makes two of us.”

Jason is hounding Eric King, Cadillac’s Team Principal, almost the second he leaves the Othman’s – who he now presumes will have a father/son argument about him that he’d rather not stick around for.

Eric – predictably – almost has a fit. “Jason you can’t go and do these things without asking first!” “Well maybe next time ask Cadillac if they’ll talk to a Corvette team for me! I’ve never done this Eric, you know it’s a dream of mine!” “Did you even think about what this is going to look like?” “And when I win it’ll be a standout moment.” He’s not dumb, Cadillac and Corvette will love that press. “Jason!” Eric’s expression is asking not to be tested. “Please! Eric, I’ll talk to them myself!” “You most certainly will not! It’s one thing that it’s an Italian car; you couldn’t find another team?!” “…It was the only one Nick mentioned!” Eric’s eyes dart skyward; of course they would both choose to be a pain in his ass… “No promises.” “Eric please! It’s the one race I really want to do, you gotta let me!” “It’s not up to me Jason and honestly if it was, I don’t think you’d listen!” That makes Jason go quiet for a moment. But only a moment. “Please! I’ll beg, in the meeting with you if I have to. I… please get me into that race?” “If they say no they say no Jason, and I can’t change that.” Jason lowers his eyes to the floor, almost resigned to defeat, “To be honest, they need to approve me on the team too. And I don’t know if Salim is going to want to do that himself.” Eric isn’t surprised, but he’s not going to tell his fastest driver that on a race weekend. “Okay, well then if you get approved by both you go. Just make sure your sponsors get a look in Jason; they’re the only people you gotta keep happy.” “Yessir!” And, despite the circumstances, Jason is beaming.

***

Salim has to begrudgingly accept that Jason is part of their Spa 24hr squad. He can’t say he’s surprised that the minute Almasir Racing hear that the Jason Kolchek wants to join up they jump at the chance. He’s a little surprised Cadillac are letting him come to drive a Lamborghini… but he supposes if they think they need to keep their top driver happy mid-season, what choice do they have?

Given his late addition to the team, Jason has to pick up his race suit at the track. He’s picked an all blue-tone helmet for this weekend – there is no stars and stripes in sight, but it nicely mirrors one of his old GT ones. So Jason thinks it’ll be a nice throwback for his fans.

The race suit is mostly white; with gradients of black and red up the leg and arm panels. Arabic script for the team name displayed prominently across his chest; it seems to stand in stark contrast to Jason’s personal American sponsors, stuck on as last-minute additions. Jason sighs and asks what colour the car is. “White, black and red!” The engineer who is showing him around the garage answers enthusiastically and Jason laughs. Yeah, of course! He is shown to the car, shiny and new, sitting in her garage bay. He bites the corner of his mouth but can’t suppress his smile or excitement. “She’s beautiful.” And she is, looking dynamic and sleek in her Italian design; Jason knows the sound. She will most definitely roar… He rounds her. Although the car is mostly in white: with black and red pouring up from the hood, over the roof and down to the wing, along each side is a wave of blue; like a lightning bolt. It looks like it’s been hastily added on, but the gradient goes from black, through the blue tones to an almost white-blue to try and keep in line with the rest of the car. “You didn’t say she was blue…?” He questions. The engineer smiles, “Oh, she wasn’t. They added the blue for you.” Jason isn’t quite sure what to say, so he says nothing at all.

He walks around to the front of the car, studying her. Here the red, white and black is sectioned, a sweep of Iraqi flag colours that are stylised: looking as if the paint had been thrown over the front of the car and then wiped upward with a piece of rigid plastic.

Jason shakes his head, musing to himself, “My sponsors are gonna love this.” A voice from beside him: “Have you ever driven something that’s not American?” Salim is trying to be a smart ass. Jason looks over to him, corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “Have you ever driven something without the Iraqi flag on it?” Salim didn’t answer.

Everything seemed pretty amicable until Free Practice 1. They sat in the drivers briefing together as the directors went over the tactics for the weekend, the ideal driver for each stint and stint lengths. These were all subject to change, of course; but Jason was happy with what he was seeing. They walked around the track together, and despite the fact that most of the team spoke to each other in Arabic, for Jason’s benefit they did everything in English. Jason kept to his lane, through the press, and the drivers’ parade in town. He let Salim and Zain interact with him as much as they wanted to; after all, they had allowed him be here. Zain was, obviously, a lot more talkative than his father wanted to be; but Salim was at least acknowledging his presence.

Jason was due out first to get used to the car, walking through the garage in his new race suit he felt comfortable and ready. He’d raced GT’s before; this wouldn’t be so hard. A few laps and he’d be fine. He turned a corner to find Salim waiting for him.

“…Hi?” The Iraqi keeps walking forward, backing Jason into the corner; out of sight of the mechanics. “Listen to me, Jason. You’re going to do your stints, you’re going to get out of that car, and you’re going to keep out of the way and keep quiet.” Jason blinks a few times – clearly Salim still isn’t happy with him being here. He takes a deep breath, looking from Salim’s dark eyes. That gaze is a little too intense; despite what he’s saying, his voice is low – that calm angry growl to it that had sent Jason crazy during the very first qualifying session of the season. Well, it was sure working its magic on his body temperature now. The American swallows, “Yeah man, okay.” Jason shifts to move past him; he needs to put his helmet on and get out there before the session starts and the clock is telling him he’s got less than four minutes. But Salim pulls him back; hard enough for Jason’s back to touch the wall. “I’m watching you.” He leans in, now Jason barely has any breathing room, and he presses his spine further into the wall on purpose. “I don’t want you here, but Zain does. So I swear to Allah, if you mess up, if you step out of line.” He grabs Jason’s collar, a little gentler than he had before; “You’ll know about it.” Jason nods, trying to keep the upmost control on his expressions and heartrate. “Salim… I hear ya. Can I… get in the car before I’m late?” Salim leans his body to the side so Jason can slip past him, and he watches the American go. The way Jason’s body is tense; and he pulls at his race suit as if he’s nervous. Salim find’s his eyes sweeping the line of Jason’s neck, over his shoulders, the curvature of his spine, and down his legs. Worse, he’s smirking. Salim shakes his head; telling himself it’s because he’s just put Jason in his place.

The uptick of his heart seems to suggest something different.

Salim expects Jason won’t listen. But surprisingly every time he gets out of the car Jason disappears to the far corner of the garage, or out of the garage all together and into his own ready room. There is one exception; when Salim gets out of the car at the end of a free practice session and Jason is leaning over one of the counters talking to Zain. His son is sitting at one of the engineers’ desks, surrounded by books and note pads. Salim slows down to listen in: He wants to walk over and tell Jason that he said to stay away. But the smile on Zain’s face… “…I don’t know how you do it with all this noise.” “At this point I’m used to it, got some noise cancelling headphones. Someone can tap me to get me ready. I mean, aside from observing you and dad for a little while, it’s just dead time otherwise, huh?” “Guess I’m the distraction now, right?” Zain laughs, “Not at all. It’s nice to talk a little.” “For sure, but I don’t want to mess up your study time.” “I think car talk is a good enough reason… Are you sure about taking that corner flat, though?” “You can do it. Just trust the car through there. Get enough on the apex and she’ll do the rest for you; promise. And you know her better than me.” Jason uses his hands to show the car through the corner trajectory. “…Okay… I’ll try it out. Thanks Jason.” “No problem. If you don’t like it though, doing what you’re doing works better than really backing off. I guess the real advice is don’t get scared, then she’ll spit you into the wall.” Jason grimaces, “Sorry, I shouldn’ta…” “It’s okay. Crashes happen, right?” “That does sound like some stupid shit I’d say.” Jason smiles, but now he looks up and sees Salim standing there. But Salim isn’t looking at Jason’s face… in fact Jason isn’t even sure what he’s looking at. He’s listening but his stare is blank, despite the fact it is most definitely on Jason’s body. He backs up for a moment, causing Salim’s eyes to move back up to his. “Sorry, I’m gonna…” Jason points over his shoulder and turns back to Zain, “You need anything else, let me know, okay?” “Sure! Thanks Jason!” Salim watches Jason’s hips move beneath the tie off on his race suit, the way his muscles are so much better defined when he’s just wearing his flameproofs. “[What did he want?]” “[He just asked what I was studying! Wondered about how I did it. So, I mentioned the online class…]” Zain smiles, “[Then he was giving me cornering tips, he said he was watching my driving all week.]” “...Mmm.”

Salim pats Zain on the shoulder, “[I’ll get changed before the debrief. Then we can go get some dinner, okay?]” “[Okay.]” Zain goes back to his work, and then turns around, “[Can Jason come?]” Salim freezes. This is the issue… He works through the annoyance on his face to find a smile and turns back to Zain. “[Sure. Why don’t you go ask him?]”

There is obvious tension between the two of them at dinner. Zain either doesn’t care or doesn’t realise; and he keeps Jason’s attention, mostly because he has a billion questions now he can get the American alone away from his team. Jason doesn’t have a filter and Salim finds himself spending his time shaking his head or rolling his eyes. But Jason is interested in Zain, in his answers, and engages with him back and forth. Occasionally the two of them interact, but it’s small talk. They mostly stare at each other; but in polar opposite ways. Jason will keep stealing glances at Salim as he talks: in the same manner he did in the WEC. Like if Jason had a choice he’d never look away. Salim is evaluating every movement he makes; in judgement.

Really there isn’t too much to judge except his language, Jason is on his best behaviour the whole time. And when it gets to race day, he does exactly what Salim asks of him. He does his stints, he puts the hard work and effort in, and then he keeps to himself. Jason interacts with Zain only when Zain asks him questions. He checks in with his engineers on his stats; he rests up, he eats and then he watches the screens – providing any feedback he hopes will be helpful. Otherwise it’s almost like Jason isn’t even there.

Until the final stint. It isn’t even supposed to be Jason’s. It’s supposed to be Salim’s. The engineers are gathered around the Iraqi watching the screens and debating. The car is off the podium. They are fourth. Zain is chasing down the car in third; the gap is closable. They need someone who can go a little faster to capitalise on the opportunity when it comes around. Salim knows that isn’t him. The engineers are arguing amongst themselves what the move is. Keep Zain in just a little longer, get him past the car and then get Salim in to steadily bring it home? Take Zain out now and see what Salim can do. Or just accept fourth place. Salim’s eyes move beyond the team gathered around him, and over to Jason who is watching the race on the screens. Oh, the podium is doable. “[I’m not the answer.]” Salim taps his engineer and then moves through them and over to Jason. Of all the people to have to rely on…

That’s what he’s here for.

Jason is eating, sitting up on the engineering desks with his arms wrapped around his knees. Scattered around him are his electrolyte and hydrating gels, and protein bars. His eyes are glued to the screen: Zain is so close but so far. And Jason is all out of advice to give; he just needs to take the chance. But fourth place is better than crashing out…

Is it worth the risk?

Suddenly Salim’s hands are slammed on the desk next to him. Jason looks over, eyebrow quirked. Salim’s eyes are intense. “You are the fastest person out here. We’re looking at the final stint.” “Yeah?” As far as Jason is concerned he’s done. He did his before Zain got back in the car, this one is Salim’s. He glances back to his snacks: these are for recovery, not racing. “Prove it. Get us on the podium.” Salim nods to the screen. Jason glances back up to watch Zain get oh so close once again. But this isn’t just about what they’ve decided. This isn’t about the kid anymore… This is Salim asking him to put them on the podium. This is Salim believing in him. Jason doesn’t dare want to believe he’s warming up to the idea of Jason being here. In the final stint of the race. Jason throws what’s left of the bar into his mouth and nods.

“Okay, get Zain in and get me in the damn car now. They’re pitting too. Those tyres are shot.” Jason claps Salim on the back as he jumps from the table and jogs over to his helmet. Salim looks to the screens, realising Jason is right! He calls the team over: change of plan!

“[Dad!!! Dad!!!]” Salim can hear Zain long before he sees him. Just as Jason before him, Salim’s eyes are glued to the monitors. Zain is breathless, he’s sprinted to the back of the garage; “[Why is Jason getting in?! I thought this was your stint.]” Be steady. Bring it home in one piece. That had been the plan. Salim looks over, beaming, “[You put us in such a great position for the podium Zain, I’m so proud of you!]” He pulls his son into a one-armed embrace and nods to the screen; “[Hopefully, Jason can do the rest.]” Salim has to concede, “[I can’t do what he does.]”

He almost regrets his choice, half watching through his fingers at points as the garage yelp in unison at the way Jason is scrapping with the third place car. He’s going for gaps that Salim is pretty sure don’t exist. The door shuts every time, but it does not deter Jason, and he does not give back the place easily once he has it halfway through a corner. Then, after dropping back, just slightly to retry, Jason makes his move at the end of the Kemmel straight. He tries for the inside; which meant third place would be moving to the outside for the very quick chicane corner to avoid being hit with a track limits violation; it’s a fake and the car moves; the second he sees it go, Jason slams his foot on the accelerator and despite the fact the move is over in ten seconds, it feels like ten minutes to the crew in the pit. Everyone is cheering – now Jason just has to hold it. But Jason isn’t satisfied with holding it; he’s got a fast car under him, and he’s just done what he was asked to do. “[There’s no way…]” Zain breathes as he realises “[He’s going for second.]” “[If he breaks the damn car, I’ll kill him.]” Salim growls, shaking his head and he means it. Heartbreak has happened on the very last lap of a 24-hour race before and if Jason becomes the cause at this one, he won’t be seen in the WEC again.

The end result is not as tight as Jason wants it to be. Second place is still a few seconds up the road when they cross the line – Jason’s made him sweat but, any move would have been stupid at this stage. He knows when not to throw it away. But he’s managed to get a comfortable respectable third and bring the margin on second down in the process. A podium at his first Spa 24 Hours can’t be bad at all.

Zain sprints to him as he hops out of the car, “JASON! You did it!! You got us third!” The American is laughing before his helmet is even off, “Hey no way, we did it – if you didn’t get us that close, I never would have been in the car! Thanks to you Zain!” Jason accepts the hug before turning to Salim, who had strolled over, extending his hand. “That was exactly what we needed, Jason.” Jason takes his hand with a smile, “Well, of course. I told you I’d do what you asked me this weekend.” Salim couldn’t argue with that. He had.

They step up onto the podium together and Jason feels more relief than he does jubilation. He’s happy to have survived, to have not let the side down, to have not been yelled at, or… whatever the hell else Salim would have done to him. But he’s also never felt so awkward and lonely as watching Salim and Zain celebrate together in the champagne spray. He doesn’t want to interrupt that. This is a big moment that should be shared between father and son. Sure; he’s sprayed some at the other two teams, but they are now huddled in their little groups of three laughing and chatting. Jason sighs and looks to the bottle in his hands, before tipping it up to drink some. It’s not bad stuff for being mostly there to end up covering the floor of the podium and the other drivers. As he continues to drink Jason suddenly find himself with a face full of it. He jerks back, coughing, and gasps as cold rivulets find their way under his race suit. Turning to the side he sees Salim looking pleased with himself. Jason’s eyes are stinging but he’s laughing as Salim does it again. Shaking his bottle to see if he can get it to spray one more time to get Salim back. But every time Jason thinks he’s got there, Salim gets there first. Jason is laughing too hard to get the words out to tell him to stop – which is unfortunate, because Zain joins his father’s onslaught thinking they are celebrating not that its payback. By the time they are escorted off the podium for the next class, Jason is soaked.

When he gets back to the trailer, Jason is still carrying a champagne bottle that somehow even now has alcohol in the bottom. He’s exhausted; it feels like he’s been thrown in front of every press member at the circuit; but he’s finally free.

He’s received a bunch of congratulatory messages from his friends – most of which he’s finally going to have time to reply to now. Pushing open the door with his elbow he flicks on the lights to see two other champagne bottles sitting on his table. Both engraved with ‘3’. Salim and Zain can’t drink… They’ve given whatever they had left to him.

Jason places his gently down next to them, and smiles. The hard work had paid off. He’d done a race that he’d always wanted to and got a podium. But somehow he doesn’t feel quite satisfied. Jason just can’t place his finger on why… The phone in his pocket buzzes again and Jason checks it.

Yeah, he’s got a lot to reply to!

Salim and Zain have spent the majority of the past few hours celebrating and eating with the crew. It’s certainly been a day worth celebrating. Things start to get quieter in the motorhome the later into the night it gets and catering start packing things away. Salim hasn’t seen Jason at all. Sure, he’s told the American to keep quiet and out of the way, but even when Jason is tucked into a little corner Salim still notices him. He frowns, leaving Zain laughing with some of the mechanics he wanders over to the catering staff.

“[Did Jason come by and eat?]” Maybe he took himself back to his room. “[Eat? No, he asked for some spoons and that was it.]” “[Spoons!?]” That was weird, he doubted that Jason would have done his own catering; and what could he need just spoons for? He shakes his head, that idiot. Didn’t he know eating was just as important to aid recovery as anything else. “[Do you have something I could take him?]”

Salim takes a plate up to Jason’s ready room, knocking gently. “Jason?” “Uh huh?” At least he’s inside. “Can I come in?” “Uh huh…” This sounds less sure, but Salim still takes it as a positive response and opens the door.

Jason has his mobile in his left hand and one bottle of champagne in his right. Music is playing softly from the speakers, but Salim can’t tell exactly what it is. He’s changed into team gear – hair wet under his cap, he’s also had a shower to rid himself of the tacky feel of champagne. “Are you alright?” “I’m… fine, yeah, just fine.” Jason adjusts the position his sitting in uncomfortably. “You should eat; they’re packing away.” Salim steps through the door and closes it, revealing that he has food with him. “You brought me something?” “Well, I interrupted your recovery earlier, but you still need to do it.” He sets the plate on the table in front of Jason and indicates to the seat next to him. “May I?” “Sure.” Jason’s voice sounds wary, and he watches Salim’s every movement as he sits next to him. Salim blows out a breath, relaxing back into the couch and staring at the ceiling.

There are a few moments of silence. And realising Salim isn’t going to move any time soon, Jason places the bottle down, and picks up the plate. Salim watches as the American tries at first to eat carefully, politely even, but soon realises how hungry he is and piles his fork far higher than he should. Salim thinks if Jason isn’t careful, he’s about to choke. His eyes move to the rest of Jason’s room. The trophy is carefully deposited on his shelf; still looking covered in champagne and podium confetti. The two bottles of champagne belonging to himself and Zain are now sitting on the small table in front of them. Each now with a spoon placed in the top – to stop them from going flat. That explained it.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Jason’s voice is muffled through his mouthful of food as he realises what Salim’s looking at, “That’s very nice of you.” “…Well,” Salim shrugs, “You actually drink.” “I know, but-” “It’s the least we can do to say thank you.” Jason stills, fork halfway to his mouth, and those brown eyes look to Salim hardly daring to hope that he’s being as sincere as he sounds. “Without you, that wouldn’t be sitting there. You got us a podium, Jason. Thank you for putting in the effort this weekend. I know I haven’t made it easy. Despite this being a race you desperately wanted to partake in.” “ ‘s nothin’. It was a group effort.” “Yes, the team… Of course. But the team didn’t make that final overtake, didn’t make it stick, and didn’t pull out a gap and chase down second place either Jason. You did.” “Without you bein’ steady and Zain getting that close I wouldn’t have had the opportunity. I’m happy to be here, you didn’t have to have me.” He waves to the trophy, fork finally reaching his mouth muffling his speech again, “That’s just a bonus.” “Jason…” Salim waits for the American to look back at him. “I mean it. Thank you.” “You keep sayin’ that. And I keep tellin-” “Without your observation… which was insane, by the way… you knew that pit stop was coming. You see things out on that track… the way you drive. Having you as a teammate here, everything makes sense. You’re a great driver, Jason. You could be one of the best.” Jason shakes his head, “It was just luck. I coulda made the wrong call.” “But you didn’t.” And Salim didn’t think it was anything to do with luck at all – it felt so much more like Jason had that intuition. Jason gives a shrug, and continues eating in silence, head down. Salim takes a breath. “Jason… you should be celebrating with the crew, not alone.” “I’m okay.” Salim tries again. “Jason, do you want to come and sit with us?” His head rises just enough for his brown eyes to peek out under his cap; and he narrows them slightly. Salim knows that Jason is trying to figure out if this invitation is genuine. “Are you… sure?” “Yes, I’m sure. They all want to celebrate with you too. Especially Zain.” Jason laughs through his nose; setting the now empty plate aside. “Oh yeah? And what about you, do you want me there?” Salim gives a playful shrug, although he can see the tell-tale signs of a smile on Jason’s face, “Weekend is over. You did what I asked. I can’t exactly punish you for the result.” This time Jason lets out a full-blown laugh, before seemingly realising what he’s doing and quickly centring himself to a more neutral expression. His eyes flick across to Salim’s again, “The boys said you put blue on the car for me, is that true?” Salim mimics Jason’s head tip, trying to keep his own expression as neutral as possible as Jason’s smile starts growing again. “I couldn’t possibly say.”

Jason nods like he’s caught him and then his face falls again. “Hey Salim?” “Mhm?” “I’m sorry.” Salim can’t help but show his surprise. Jason looks away, a little embarrassed. “At the beginning of the year, when I say I’d have bumped Zain off the track too? I’m sorry I said that.” “Jason…” “He’s just a kid in with the big boys. But he’s a great driver, he’s got potential beyond what everyone sees and says in the papers – hell, they both do… once he gets the opportunity and experience to grow. I shouldn’t have said that.” The Iraqi just smiles, “I accept your apology.” Salim isn’t sure he needs to say it, but by the way Jason relaxes in relief he knows that the American needs to hear it. Salim smiles a little wider and continues: “He idolises you, you know? Wants to be as fast as you, in a team like yours.” Jason shakes his head, “He’s idolising the wrong person.” His hand reaches out and hesitates for a second, but, then he pats Salim’s back, “Steady beats fast any day. I’m gonna burn out. You’ll probably be on this grid forever.” Salim shakes his head, he doesn’t think so. Jason’s star is way too bright for that. He’s not here to be bigger than the team though – despite what the team and the fans make of him – Jason is a great leader and team player. This weekend Salim has realised something about this man: it’s the closest he’s ever been to him, most time he’s ever had to get to know him. Jason is a nice guy really; he just doesn’t want to show it. “I don’t think so. Thank you for helping him out.” “Always. I was a kid like that once too, y’know. I’ve had some good role models. I’d like…” Jason grimaces realising he’s about to sound big headed, “I’d like Zain to have the same. And Tariq too if he wants some coaching. He’s already damn quick though – and Zain’s getting there.” Jason waves his hands to stop his rambling. But there’s something endearing to Salim about the way Jason acts when he’s embarrassed. The way he tries to deflect from it. Salim’s also getting used to the pink dust on his cheeks every time they talk. “Jason. I’m sorry.” Jason stills again – Salim can tell he’s about to ask ‘for what’ so he stops him. “For my attitude towards you this weekend.” “Salim, it’s not like it was undeserved.” “No, listen to me.” The American’s eyes widen, “It’s been a real pleasure to race with you out there. You listened to every one of my ridiculous demands. You were ready to go when we needed you the most.” “You’re protecting your kid, Salim. And I don’t have the best attitude.” “But that’s what I mean.” Jason almost jolts as Salim places his hand just above his knee. Jason finds himself getting uncomfortably warm as it stays there. “When we are back on rival teams in the WEC. I would quite like – if it is still okay with you – to remain…” friends is not the right word. And Salim knows Jason doesn’t just want to be friends. “acquainted.” Jason doesn’t hesitate. “I’ll be there… if Zain needs me.” Salim shakes his head, “I’m not just talking about Zain.” The pink tint darkens, “I… I’d like to keep talking to you, like this, too.” Salim smiles, voice low again so it produces that growl sound that makes Jason shiver: “Good.”

Relief as he finally removes his hand from Jason’s thigh, Salim turns to the door, “So, about celebrating with the team?” Jason grins, grabbing one of the other champagne bottles, his first is clearly empty: “Well, let’s not keep ‘em waiting!”

***

Things seem better between them after that: the two of them work to keep things amicable between the teams too – always on hand to keep things from going too far. Although when Merwin and Nick ask about how the Spa 24 hours team worked Jason gives a shrug and tells them it was fine. They saw what everyone else did: Jason got them on the podium in the last stint. Jason knows it wasn’t all his work, but saying that to them is more trouble than it’s worth. At least right away.

They talk and catch up whenever they’re in the same room or passing each other, in corridors and the paddock. And every so often he’ll have time to answer a question or two for Salim’s young teammates.

But the bond… the friendship?... formed between them at Spa doesn’t truly get tested until they’re facing the back half of the season. Championship points are still all to play for and it’s a mad scramble all the way through the pack. It leads to risky and downright reckless moves. From all classes.

Jason doesn’t see what happens. But three cars moving down a straight into a corner like that is never going to go. On track they are still competitors – and that means no matter what, Salim is still chasing Jason to beat him. Jason’s eyes flick to his mirrors.

Salim is there one second, moving through the GT class cars… and then nothing. But there is enough of an impact between the three for debris to kick up everywhere… and then Jason sees smoke. ‘Shit, Salim…’ Jason almost keeps his eyes on his mirrors too long and has to brake hard for the sudden Full Course Yellow. It turns into a safety car and the next time they go around the track, Salim’s car is being pulled behind the barriers; parts are charred up. One of the other GTs is a mess; hauled out by tractor. He can see the driver just beyond the barriers but… Salim isn’t there. “Is he okay? It caught fire, right?” Jason checks on the radio. There’s a few moments silence before Rachel comes back to him, “They took him to medical Jason, but it seems precautionary. The car did catch but he was out by then. Trust me, they’ve shown the replays enough.” “Thanks Rach. Always good to hear.” “Yeah, I always hold my breath…” The radio chimes out and Jason is left with his thoughts. It was a bad crash. What if that precaution turned into something else? And getting left in the car overthinking wasn’t good for anyone. Jason resolved that at the end of the race, he would go and see Salim.

The podium is somewhat of a blur for him because he’s so distracted. One second Jason is getting called to the cool down room, the next he’s stepping off, covered in champagne and carrying a trophy in his arms. These are vital championship points. But Jason isn’t thinking about the standings at all right now.

He drops everything off at his ready room, stripping his overalls to his waist he changes his shirt for a team polo, splashes himself with water, but goes no further. He is out the door, running down the paddock, before Eric has the chance to finish yelling after him: “Jason! We still need to debrief!” For Jason, this is so much more important than that.

He climbs onto the Yalla Speed team stand without much resistance until Dar spots him. Jason’s eyes are darting around, and he stands still a little too long. Or maybe he’s noticed because every team member that passes him is congratulating him on making it to the podium again. Jason is thanking them, but, he’s still distracted… Where is Salim?!

Dar stalks across the motorhome – arm barring Jason from advancing any further, before pushing him back towards the entrance. “Jason, what the hell are you doing here!? Get back to your own team!” Jason resists Dar’s pushing, still looking around, “It looked bad, I saw it in the mirror – Is he okay!?” “He’s fine!” “Well I just want to make sure-” “Jason! Get off our motorhome before I get security to escort you off.” Jason’s eyes narrow at Dar – he should know better than to argue with a team principal but he doesn’t. “Just let me see him!” Over Dar’s shoulder Jason spots Zain and Tariq wondering what’s the commotions about. Jason takes one step back for breathing room, turning his body so he’s sideways – he’s facing them now and it makes it harder for Dar to push him. “You two okay?” Zain and Tariq look to each other before nodding back at Jason, “We’re okay, Jason. Dad’s okay too.” Dar gets impatient, but when he tries to force Jason to move another step the American digs in again. Just how many times does he need to hear Salim is okay? “Kolchek.” And that is a threat. Jason isn’t heeding it. “What, you think I’m here to steal trade secrets?!” He sighs, “Just let me see Salim and I’ll leave, I promise.” “Get. Off. Our home. Now.” Dar points to the exit and he’s not asking, his grip on Jason’s arms tightens and it’s about to get forceful. “[Dar. Let him go.]” They both turn in the direction of the new voice and Jason almost instantly collapses; glad that Dar still has such a firm grip on him that it’s probably the only thing holding him upright. Salim is standing with his arms folded, having just appeared from one of the back rooms; his hair is damp, there’s a towel around his waist. And that’s all he’s wearing. But he looks okay, no scrapes or burns or bruises beyond the ones Jason would expect to see from physio work. Somewhere in his mind Jason is coherent enough to say something smart to Dar like ‘See, that’s all I asked!’ and then say that ‘it’s okay! I’ll head back out now!’ But none of this reaches his mouth.

Salim turns his eyes from his Team Principal to Jason. “You wanted to see me?” Jason imagines he must look like he’s melted into the floor. He opens his mouth, and all he manages is a breath before he places his hands on his hips, throwing his head down so his face is covered by his cap, he moves on his feet a little this way and then a little the other. Finally he manages, “I did.” Dar lets him go and Jason lifts his head enough for Salim to see those brown eyes below the brim, Salim flicks his head back into the room he’d appeared from and turns to walk back in. Jason takes a good five seconds to find feeling in his feet enough to move; catching up with Salim’s slower walk.

He climbs the short flight of steps into Salim’s room, but it’s like he’s not even in his own body. Salim instructs him to close the door behind him and Jason does so, before Salim gestures to the chairs. Jason opts instead to lean against one of the shelves, sitting down doesn’t seem like a good idea. Salim leans against the table, crossing his feet at the ankle and folding his arms again. “Jason, why are you here?” “I just…” Jason is looking at the floor again, “wanted to know you’re okay…” “Jason, you didn’t need to come here to do that. Why are you here?” “…It wasn’t enough just to hear it.” Salim tips his head, Jason is mumbling to his feet. His body language is shy. Salim’s eyes flick down to himself. Fair enough. But if he hadn’t rescued Jason from Dar then who knows what would have happened. And that would have caused press attention.

“Jason, look at me.” “I can’t.” It’s a struggle to say. “Jason, look at me.” It’s a little more forceful and commanding. Except his name. Jason doesn’t think he’s ever heard someone say it that softly before. With Salim’s accent the ‘J’ has a ‘Y’ like quality that makes Jason shiver. He raises his head and his gaze slowly, and he’s bright red. Salim can’t help but think he looks adorable. He shakes his head, “[There. You shouldn’t hide a face so pretty.]” Jason tips his own head, eyebrow furrowed, “Huh?” Salim smiles, “Congratulations on second place. I’m sure it was hard for you to not take the victory.” Jason snorts, embarrassed, “Shuddup.” This time Salim laughs, it makes Jason relax. But his eyes trace Salim’s body; his arms and shoulders – especially when folded – are huge. Beautifully defined in copper; warm. Jason can’t help but wonder what it’s like to be held by them. His gaze grazes down. Salim’s chest is also defined but his stomach muscles are softer. He’s still at the peak of his fitness but he’s getting older. He’s built bigger than Jason in any case. The towel wraps around his hips; and Jason’s entire body grows hotter from the pit of his stomach as he follows the ‘V’. ‘Okay, stop before you REALLY embarrass yourself!!!’ He traces them back up over the smattering of hair over Salim’s stomach and chest and up to his face. Horrifically, Jason realises he’s being watched. He has no excuses, he can’t possibly be looking at anything else: but there is no judgement in Salim’s eyes. “What do you want, Jason?” Jason shakes his head, “I don’t-” “What do you want, Jason?” Salim repeats himself, but he’s patient. It’s not demanding. He’s coaxing. It’s giving Jason time – but Jason doesn’t want time. He wants to get out of here… Salim takes a step forward, his voice barely above a murmur, “Tell me, American boy.” Salim smirks, “You’ve never had much trouble before…”

Jason can’t speak again, he’s trying. Noises are escaping but they’re not words. ‘Give me a second’ he pleads. ‘Give me a second to make my excuse and leave you alone!’ “I…” Jason has nothing else. “[I know.]”

Salim takes two strides forward and suddenly Jason finds himself pressed up against the shelving: it rattles against the wall with the force of not only his body weight, but Salim’s too. And Salim’s lips are pressed against his. Jason has no idea how to react. This is insane. This can’t be happening. It’s one thing for Jason to have a crush in the first place. It’s another for Salim to have realised that. But to reciprocate!? But Salim’s eyes are closed, and his hands are holding Jason’s face. Fingers tucked up under Jason’s ears, thumbs pressed delicately against his cheek bones. Jason’s entire chest feels tight; he’s panicking. He wants this so badly he doesn’t want it. He’s overthinking. Any second Dar is going to walk through that door and this is over before it starts. Or Jason will come to and realise he’s daydreamed the whole thing in one of Eric’s boring ass debriefs.

What he hates thinking is this inaction is giving Salim the wrong message. It’s telling Salim he doesn’t want this, that he’s not interested. That all the signals have been read wrong.

Jason cannot reassure him that this couldn’t be further from the truth.

He closes his eyes; and all the pressure in his chest escapes in a muffled whine against Salim’s lips. Jason needs to sit in the moment. If he doesn’t, he’s going to miss their first kiss. Jason brings his hands up; they’re shaking but he wraps them around Salim’s shoulders and pulls the Iraqi a little closer. The shelves rattle again with added pressure and Salim takes a hand away from Jason’s face to steady them. He pulls back slightly, eyes open. Jason is completely flushed. “Are you okay?” Jason blinks a few times. He knows he can’t voice that. Best he can manage is a nod. “Okay.” Salim smiles and pushes forward again, lips back to Jason’s, he moves the other hand cupping Jason’s face to his waist, guiding their bodies together. Salim must have just got out of the shower because he’s so warm. Jason is doing his best not to dig his fingers into Salim’s skin as Salim starts working his mouth against Jason’s. Jason reciprocates slowly: when the fuck was the last time he kissed someone? He hopes this doesn’t feel bad. The Iraqi moves his hand a little lower, down to Jason’s hip bone, where he rubs his thumb across it adding a little more pressure each time until Jason whines again. This time much more involuntarily. Salim capitalises on the moment with his tongue, a gentle trace – almost teasing – across Jason’s slightly parted lips. The American relents almost immediately, but at the same time his whole body collapses. The shelves rattle a new level of loud as Jason slips so far, he’s practically sitting on them. Salim’s rubbing becomes a steady grip on Jason’s hip to make sure he doesn’t fall over entirely. He breaks the kiss “Shhh,” it’s more soothing than it is scolding, “try not to bring my shelving unit with you, Jason.” He teases, before kissing Jason gently again. Jason pulls back, “Can you…” he swallows, “try again?” “Mhm.” Salim presses a kiss to the tip of Jason’s nose before moving back into his lips; this time Jason is ready for his tongue and lets Salim explore him. Salim lets Jason explore in return as much as he feels ready to – tongue playful and teasing towards the younger man. When he can feel Jason start trying to pant for air he pulls back again.

Jason is going to need a few minutes to return to a normal colour before he can leave. “How… did you…?” He manages. “How did I know?” Salim smiles, “If you hadn’t before, I would say the way you were staring at me made it fairly obvious, American boy.” “…I’m that obvious?!” “This season? Yes.” Jason is horrified: “…You noticed before!?!” “…Here and there. Things have started to make more sense now.” He places a careful chaste kiss to the corner of Jason’s mouth. Salim brings his hand up, placing his index, middle, and ring finger at different points along Jason’s jaw, he tips Jason’s chin up. “Since Spa… I’ve… seen you in a different light. You’re a good man, Jason. Despite your attempt to bury him somewhere no one can find him. And you’re very pretty.” Even Jason’s ears are starting to turn pink, “You think I’m pretty?” “…Mhm… For an American.” Jason can’t help but be amused as Salim lets him go. He steps back, turning away, and Jason feels like he can finally breathe normally, although it doesn’t take long for him to miss that closeness as his eyes trace Salim’s bare shoulders and the dip in the middle of his spine. Shit. He’s so fucking hot… “Are you wearin’ anythin’ under that?” Salim half turns, “Why, would you like to see me naked?” Jason eyes grow wide and he looks to the ceiling. “I---” “Why don’t I just forget you asked.” Salim pulls his team shirt over his head, “Now if you wouldn’t mind turning around…” Jason can’t do so fast enough; rattling the shelves again as he almost smacks into them. A tiny part of him wants to peek over his shoulder, but, he knows he shouldn’t. Jason keeps his eyes facing forward until Salim’s arms wrap around his waist and he places another kiss where Jason’s jaw and neck meet. Jason shivers again. “You can look, now.”

Jason turns to where Salim is wearing a team polo and dark jeans. He realises he’s still in overalls, and he’s missing a team briefing. He groans in realisation and Salim laughs. “Keeping you from something?” “Eric’s gonna kill me.” “If it means anything to you, thank you for checking that I’m okay. Full assessment and all clear. In case you needed telling.” “No, I…” Jason is still hot, although he’s returning to a normal colour, “I can see that.” “Good. Do you want to hide out from Eric King some more?” “I’m more worried about your TP.” “Ah, Dar? Right…” Salim almost forgot. “You call the shots around here?” “…No,” Salim’s smile is playful, “Just good friends. And stubborn.” Jason nods, “Shit, I really should get going… But I… we…” Salim shakes his head, “We can talk about it in a moment that’s more appropriate, Jason. It’s okay…” “…You do… feel the same, don’t you?” “I fear I’ve done a bad job if you need to ask.” Jason grins, taking the steps this time to close the gap between them and kiss Salim. “Just checking!”

Then he goes pale, “FUCK! What is Zain going to say!?” “You leave my son to me. It’s just a kiss, Jason. We’ll talk. Later.” Though Salim pulls him back by his collar, and the kiss he leaves Jason with is searing. “Now go.”

Jason is surprised he can function enough to find the door out of there, let alone throw a hand back to Zain to say goodbye. Truthfully, he can barely look at the kid and hopes that he hasn’t started flushing again. Did everyone hear that? The damn shelf was making enough noise by itself for the both of them! The glass doors part for him and he finds that Clarice is standing at the bottom of the steps, waiting for him with folded arms. Shit, he was in so much trouble!

He can’t even play it off cool, he’s vulnerable right now – and he’s mortified that she’s caught him like this. “What are you doing here!?” He immediately plays defensive. “They sent me to find you! I had to ask damn near half the paddock, if Dar hadn’t sent someone out to find us in a persuasion attempt to get you back, I wouldn’t have known! But I’m not setting foot in there, can you imagine the rumours!?” She points back to the Cadillac garages. “Jason you just ran off without saying anything before the briefing! To Yalla no less!?” “What!? Jesus it’s not like I’m joining their team Clarice!” “You wanna say that any louder Jason!” “God forbid I make your job harder!” She pinches his ear, “Damn right!” Unfortunately it’s the exact same one, and in a similar position to where Salim’s lips were a few minutes earlier and Jason’s body vibrates. Clarice pulls back. “You okay!?” “Yeah…” “Jason, you’re shaking?” “I’m okay!” He insists; even though he knows full well she felt that involuntary shudder too. Jason looks back over his shoulder, but there’s nothing but reflective glass facing him. Salim isn’t coming to see him off. “I’m okay…” “Okay…” But Clarice isn’t sure she believes that for a second, “let’s go, Eric’s waiting.” “Oh, yeah…” Although Jason sounds like he couldn’t care less. With that, Clarice tugs on Jason’s arm gently to get him walking, and escorts him back to the Cadillac team briefing.

Jason can’t stop replaying the kiss in his head for the rest of the day. It’s a late night flight, and he wonders if he’s even going to be able to catch any sleep. He can feel Salim’s lips and body pressed against his. Recalls the way Salim tastes as he rolls his tongue around his mouth. If he thought he had it bad before, Jason thinks the Iraqi has made things a hundred times worse.

Jason spots the man he can’t stop thinking about across the airport terminal, sitting at a gate marked up for London. Salim is staring at the airport traffic outside; Jason can bet he’s waiting for Zain. Jason runs over – currently heading to his own gate – and slumps into the seat next to him.

Salim feels the presence, and turns to look. Jason is sitting looking a little awkward, maybe even uncomfortable. Salim waits patiently for him to speak, but, Jason is a little too nervous his eyes are skittish too and he can only briefly look at Salim’s face before they wander deeper into the airport. “Jason?” Salim prompts. He takes a deep breath, “You kissed me and I don’t even have your number…” Salim smirks, eyes drifting back to the window. “That sounds like a you problem.” Jason starts spluttering, but soon realises that Salim is holding his right hand out. Jason almost hits the ceiling in joy as he can’t scramble quick enough to hand his phone over. Salim flips it around and starts typing his number in before looking across to Jason curiously, “Anything else, American boy?” Jason blushes horribly; he doesn’t like the nickname but there’s something about the way that Salim says it. It’s a tease, it’s goading Jason to do something, but the American isn’t sure what yet. Really, Jason would like to kiss again. But he knows they can’t start making out in the middle of an airport even if it isn’t so crowded right now. “Have a safe flight home.” Salim smiles, as he hands Jason’s phone back, he allows their hands to touch a little too long – after all, he too realises they can’t kiss goodbye in the middle of the airport. “You too. We’ll talk soon. About whatever we are.” Jason nods, and stands again, but this time he indicates towards the plaque for the gate. “Maybe in London?” Salim’s smile morphs back into a smirk that Jason is starting to adore.

***

The two of them spend the rest of the year figuring it out together. Race weekends are easy; it starts with little brushes or touches as they pass in the paddock, the corridor or on the grid, fingertips tracing across shoulders or lower backs as one or other moves from interview to interview through the media cycle. The kind of thing that looks like a casual ‘excuse me!’ to anyone else; but it isn’t to them.

It graduates to holding hands or at the very least touching hands whenever they sit together, sometimes under tables at signing sessions, or media events. And always looks that linger a little too long.

And somehow the inter-team rivalries get better – the banter enters a new level. Much more friend than rivalry. And never again with viciousness. They twist in just a little bit of personal information that they know about each other every time they joke, and it makes things fresh and interesting.

If either of them is present on the podium without the other, they will always be watching the celebration. Just inconspicuous enough. And being on the podium together is always a blast (Salim hasn’t stopped specifically targeting Jason with those short sharp jets of Champagne (or otherwise)).

They agree that seeing each other too frequently in the off season could be dangerous – long distance is hard, but it’s not impossible. Besides, Zain’s almost caught the two of them sneaking around, it’s no good adding him to the vicinity. They aren’t ready for that yet… But the kid is smart; Jason thinks he probably already knows. It still produces an anxiety point for him, and he’ll bring it up time and again as Salim traces his fingers over Jason’s skin when they lie together in one or the others hotel room.

Fucking your team’s championship rivals star driver? When his kid is on the grid? Come on now!

As they move into the next season it’s a little easier to start introducing new elements. They’ve been able to get closer over the off season so, they’re finding it easier to sneak around – ‘accidentally’ ending up around each other’s garages, the teams ‘suddenly’ time their track walks perfectly to follow each other, they turn up to track days together. Everything from the previous season still applies – including the fact Dar is still never too happy to see Jason lurking around the Yalla garage; but given Salim had already gotten away with it once, it keeps happening.

The media starts asking the inevitable questions, it’s not like Salim and Jason were hanging out on the regular before despite the friendly scraps between teams. Jason answers diplomatically always with a laugh, because that’s what he’s heard Salim do. “Well, we were teammates in last year’s Spa 24, so it makes sense we’re friends now. Don’t you worry, on track I’m not giving him an inch – and I expect he’ll say the same!”

Friends. That’s what Jason is settling with. The Cadillac team will start asking questions he’s sure but for now he gets to call them friends and get people off his back. He still loves that little knowing smirk Salim will give him every time they catch eyes when Salim walks past. And if Jason has something to support him at the time (chair, wall…) he will just let himself melt. But he also likes putting on his shades and staring as Salim walks away, especially if he’s got his race suit tied around his waist and his fireproofs on: ‘Uh, hi… yeah… you’re gorgeous? That outfit is skin tight. Holy fuck… I’m…’

That didn’t mean that on track they weren’t still butting heads. Yelling at each other in the back of the garages about stupid reckless moves. This year the Hypercar field has expanded, and this early on all teams need all the points they can get to establish themselves. Everyone is taking every risk.

Salim calls Jason desperate. Jason gets mad. Later that night they make up and make out about it.

And so the season goes. Points are tight; and next comes the biggest race on the calendar. The one that would cement you as a legend if you won overall. Double points to boot. The 24 hour race that counts.

Le Mans.

***

Jason only cares about two things at this race. The Hyperpole lap – because he’s overconfident that he’ll get it – and the race victory.

With an entire week of build up before the race, Jason doesn’t even need to think about the qualifying until Thursday. The rest of his time is spent locking in with the team, walking, running and cycling the track so he knows every inch off by heart. Spa might be one of Jason’s favourites, along with a host of the US tracks – COTA being his favourite for obvious reasons; it’s his home race – but there isn’t another track like Le Mans.

This is the one where fitness and rest and experience matter so much. An expanded grid due to how special the race is means more cars than WEC drivers are used to. Zain and Tariq pin Jason and Salim down for advice as much as they can. This may be their second Hypercar race here, but the last one was a blur for them – or so they say – and Jason isn’t surprised to hear it. He co-ops Nick into these discussions whenever he can: Nick is nice and much more patient than Jason. Even though Jason is trying to instil his wisdom, he can be a little sharp, and he’d rather have back up.

Jason lives off the energy of the fans: the signing session is both exhausting and rewarding and he finds himself acquiring friendship bracelets in all shades of blue. It’s his favourite colour as well as the colour of their car. It’s fun to talk to fans from around the world; sure, Cadillac is the American team but the fans wearing the merch are from much further afield. Jason might be aware of that – but to see them all descend on a tiny town in France for a week still seems insane.

He comes agonisingly close to Hyperpole. He’s not a fan of parking up in the pit lane. There isn’t even a second place board – and the margin is so small… Fireworks fly for the pole sitter and Jason feels a little sick. But he knows the stats – less than 20% of pole sitters win the race. Second is a great place to start from – but there’s 24 hours of racing ahead. Salim wanders over, leaning against the Cadillac along with Jason, who is watching the Hyperpole ceremony on the screen – scowl on his face. “How much was in it?” “Point zero six. Shit, I knew I shoulda taken that corner on full. I slipped on the first run and just thought I was better safe than in the wall, but…” He clicks his tongue. “Where are you?” “Sixth. Not bad, huh?” “Damn!” Jason grins “Well you better make up those four places in the first stint, and we can run around together.” “Oh, you’re starting?” Jason snorts, “Nah, Nicky will keep us out of trouble.” “Right. So maybe we’ll be on stints together later…” Jason stands up and Salim follows suit, “You doing the full 12?” “Maybe not. Maybe 10. The kids can take 7 fine. Last year was… a lot.” Jason nods, “Rather you than me.” “Even split?” “Unless it goes very wrong.” And Jason hopes it doesn’t. Trying to go that fast for so many hours takes a lot out of him for what he’s been allotted, let alone extra. Jason grins and holds his hand out, Salim shakes it, “May the best team win!” “Congratulations on second Jason. It’s still a Hyperpole to me.”

Jason is left with pink cheeks from the wink.

The race is upon them before they know it, with just a little bit of rest on drivers parade day. Jason’s running all over the place and causing chaos for the other teams by pinging Cadillac’s rubber bracelets at them. He takes as many pictures and signs as many autographs as he can. By the end he’s tired and sweaty and his cheeks hurt from smiling so much. He stops by Salim’s trailer briefly as the sun starts to set, away from the noise of the crowd and social media team. Salim is reading, wearing a t-shirt and team branded tracks. Around his wrist though, there is a Cadillac Racing rubber bracelet. Jason is wound around him, head on his chest – entwining their legs, wearing much the same thing. Salim makes him take the cap off when it digs into his skin a little too much. Jason is still running the track through in his mind. In 24 hours they will still be less than halfway through. He’ll maybe be a stint in the car down, watching nervously on the monitors… and not just for Cadillac but for Yalla too… “Stop it.” Jason jumps, looking up to Salim, “Huh?” “Stop overthinking, Jason.” “I’m-” “[I know you are.]” “It’s a big race, even though I’ve done it a few times before.” “I know, but you need to relax and get some rest tonight…” Salim looks to the clock, “Oh.” “Late?” “Mhm…” He nudges Jason gently, untangling them, “off you go, get some sleep.” “I could just sleep here.” Salim’s look is enough for Jason not to even grin through the joke, and he sighs, “Fine.” The Iraqi sees him to the door, leaning over to give Jason a sweet kiss goodnight. “Sleep well, najmi.” “Oh?” Jason’s look is playful, “I’m not American Boy, today?” “It can be arranged.” Salim kisses him again, “See you out on track.” “Goodnight, Salim. Catch me on your inside.” Jason sticks the tip off his tongue out. Salim rolls his eyes, before pushing Jason out of the door, “In your dreams.”

***

Twenty four hours later and Salim knows that Jason must be finding it easier to breathe. He didn’t even need to get in the car for Cadillac to breeze to the front. And when Jason was in it, he pushed it to one hell of a lead. Salim isn’t even sure a safety car will neutralise this for long – if Cadillac can keep it word perfect overnight. Salim has just got back from doing his second stint - sunset to late night. He’ll be getting out there again in the early morning. Jason’s second stint is coming up next. When the air and the track is cool.

Yalla Speed are in the battle for the last podium place, keeping and holding forth, they switch seemingly endlessly, depending on pit stop rotations, with the current third placed car. Salim isn’t sure they’ll keep it up as Zain and Tariq start tiring during the night. But he’ll keep an eye on them. He heads up for dinner and by the time he’s finished, Jason is back in the car. He’s overtaking the lower classes of cars for fun. Sweeping that Cadillac around every corner as if he and the car are one; creating showers of sparks as the floor scrapes the curbs: it’s beautiful.

Zain comes to watch for a little before he goes to get ready for his own stint – Salim makes sure to see his son off for his first few hours of night running. He knows how happy Zain will be to get even a few minutes running around this track in the dark with Jason at his best…

It's a short stint for the American; Salim thinks it’s probably to keep that lead as comfortable as possible. Jason’s speed has widened that gap even more, preventing any unnecessary risks from being taken during the night. Salim waits for the driver change to be announced on his screen and gets up from his seat in the team motorhome – making his way to his ready room he texts Jason: My place? Race on TV?

Jason knocks about 20 minutes later; he’s still in his overalls, but the team shirt at least lets Salim know he’s changed. “You watching your kid?” Jason blows out a breath, “Some fucking wild shit going on out there, as usual… He’s doing well to keep out of trouble.” Salim takes his place back on his couch, legs crossed and arms folded, “I swear if someone tries anything…” “Can we both beat them up?” Jason grins, opening Salim’s fridge and helping himself to some water. “You’re in the car next, huh?” “…Yeah…” Salim opens his arms out so Jason can slide into them, “You must be tired after pushing the car so hard?” “Uh, what’s happening in the car is a Cadillac secret and I will have to push you off the track if I tell you how it’s all looking.” Salim chuckles, there would have been a time when Jason would have done that for no reason at all. “Well, I certainly don’t want that!” Jason settles, taking his cap off and placing it beside them, sipping the water as he studies the order and timings. “You taking sunrise?” He yawns through his sentence and Salim mutes the TV. “You should get some rest.” “You too as you’re in the car next; I got a couple stints I can sleep through. I want to keep an eye on Zain at the very least.” Salim blows out a breath, “I’ve maybe got two hours. I’m not taking sunrise and sunset.” Jason nods, “Brutal.” Before he closes his eyes “If I gotta sleep so do you…” Salim shakes his head and wraps Jason’s body in his, “Alright, but this is the only time you get to tell me what to do.” It's a short nap, but it’s much needed. When Salim wakes up Jason has wiggled free of his arms and is sitting at the end of the couch, cross legged watching the muted TV. “So, get this! Zain just made a super sweet move to get up to second, then the newly demoted team fumbled the stop. Major crash has changed the GT grid completely. It’s chaos out there.” “We’re second?” Even when he’s still a little sleepy Salim can’t help his breathless excitement. He takes a breath to keep steady – there’s a long way to go. “I think you’ll bump down when Yalla does the driver change to you, but you can get it back no problem, sweetheart.” He points to the screen, “But that is on merit.” “Safety cars?” “Mhm. That’s allowed the change.” “Neutralised your lead?” Jason points to the gap again, “That car is running on rails. Fucking incredible what she’s doing right now.” He was right – despite the chaos of the last 90 minutes or so, Merwin had managed to pull that gap back. Soon they would change back to Nick, and then Jason would take sunrise. Even with the safety car they had already lapped most of the field; now they would begin hunting the Hypercars down. Salim rubs his eyes, before sitting up. He places a kiss to the back of Jason’s neck – making the American sigh gently and turn to kiss back. “Thank you for looking out for them, Habibi.” “ ‘S a new one, too…” Jason grins, “What’s that mean?” “Maybe I’ll tell you, if you win!” Salim winks, before rushing to get changed.

Jason returns to his own garage to keep an eye on Salim’s timings when the switch happens. He’s got his headphones on and he’s drifting in and out of sleep. There to offer moral support to Nick and Merwin in the brief time he has with them both before he faces the challenge of sunrise himself.

12 hours are gone, all they need to do is keep this up. If both cars keep going the way they are, they can celebrate on the podium together at one of the greatest races there has ever been. Jason’s heart is racing just thinking about it.

Maybe the greatest dreams aren’t meant to be. And with 30 minutes to go; Jason finds himself faced with a big decision. It’s been 23 hours and 30 minutes of giving everything. Everyone in this team. They are in first place. It’s comfortable; they just have to nurse her to the end and fighting exhaustion and weaving through the rest of the grid is hard enough without Jason having to face a moral dilemma of his own.

He's in control of his own destiny. And he’s not about to let fate be so cruel.

Salim’s car was running in second place. It’s been hard fought to get there – and their car has the battle scars to prove it. Jason is on track to lap almost every car: it’s just the podium that he hasn’t lapped. Two cars. Salim is one of them: and Jason is very excited to do that. They haven’t been on the track at the same time for long this race, so getting to race side by side for a few corners and act like they are battling – even if Salim has to give way to him, technically, is going to be amazing. Something just for them. Which is why when Jason sees Salim’s car beached in the gravel; his heart almost stops. Jason slows for the yellow, staring, what the fuck happened!? Cars have given up with much less of the race to run, but after all that? If it’s the engine or the electrics, Jason isn’t even sure how he’s supposed to console his partner on something like that… He gets on the radio, “Rachel, what happened to Yalla?” “They caused the yellow, why?” “Yeah, I can see that, I’m driving through it! Are they okay?!” Rachel doesn’t answer him. “Rachel!?” When Jason doesn’t receive an answer he tries again, “Rachel, is he okay? Is Salim okay?” She sounds more annoyed that she has to tell him than anything else: “They were bumped, Jason, it got beached! He’s probably fine.” The yellows turn to green, and Jason doesn’t press on the accelerator, his fingers hover over the gear paddles and he thinks. “Jason, you’re in a green sector now!”

But Jason is overthinking – bumped off track and they’ll tumble down the order. That is if they don’t have damage that’s bad enough they can’t continue, or if the bump was caused because the car had some failure. Please, they had come this far… Don’t let it be the car now. “JASON!!!!” Finally, the yelling in his ear pierces his thoughts. “What!?” “GREEN!!! It means GO FAST!!!” Jason has half a mind to slam on the brakes, “Is he okay!?” “Jason for god sake we don’t have time to-” “I swear to God, Rach, I will stop this car and find out myself.” There is two beats of silence, and her voice is shaking with rage, “You are in first place at the 24 hours of fucking Le Mans, Jason Kolchek. Don’t you dare!” He taps the brake to show he’s serious and he can hear her anger uptick in just her sigh. He’ll pay for it later he knows, but Jason is not making decisions with his head right now. “Is he okay?” “For fuck…” Her radio cuts momentarily to mask her frustrations, “Fine, we’ll fucking check! Jesus!” Jason smirks to himself, and as if to hold up his end of the bargain, presses his foot to the accelerator instead. He’s sure he’ll have just given everyone in the Cadillac higher ups a heart attack. Rachel comes back on, “He’s fine, they’re just beached. Now I need you to keep going Jason! Faster, you lost us time!!” Jason knows she’s trying to make it sound like the now second place is right on their tail and he knows they certainly aren’t. “Where are they?” “What?” “What position are Yalla? How’s the car?” Rachel cuts out again and he knows it’s so she can curse at him as loud as she wants. “Car looks fine Jason; it’s still running they’re in the process of moving it back onto the track. They’ve slipped to fourth, though.” Jason nods to himself, and puts more pressure on his acceleration. “I’m gon’ put in the lap of my life.” With that he shuts off his radio communication. Jason has a plan, he just hopes Salim catches on.

He's flying down the Mulsanne straight; focused on nothing but the road – weaving out at every appropriate moment for a GT or LMP2 car, Jason isn’t kidding. Once that yellow is lifted he’s going for the fastest lap and he’s taking Salim with him. If he times this right, Jason can catch that car at just the right moment, and draft Salim all the way to third place. Salim just has to follow – closely. It puts their Hypercar at risk of overheating. And Jason must be careful to not go for a gap Salim can’t follow him into.

But Jason’s timing has to be perfect.

“Jason, are you trying to go for fastest lap?” “Yellow lifted?” “Yeah he just got to the pit.” That’s exactly what Jason wants to hear. “Then hell yeah I am!” Even if it isn’t this lap, Jason is determined to get his favourite bonus record on the track too.

He slows up at the final chicanes; lining up the perfect exit to shoot for this lap. But first, he has to check: “Rachel are they out of the pit box?” “Who!?” “..Who’d ya think!?” She sighs, “Why the hell is it so impor-” She stops talking, “Yeah, they’re on the run up to pit exit.” “Okay, watch this.” He knows Rachel has her head in her hands; Jason takes as much curb as he dares and then accelerates; he watches for the red, white and black as it exits the pit lane and begins climbing to the Dunlop bridge. Perfect!

They probably have new tires, fuel, and are ready to go to the end with a bit more duct tape. Jason flashes his lights as he follows them under the bridge to let Salim know he’s passing. The car in forth has to relent, Jason is on the lead lap, he’s leading the race. ‘C’mon Salim…’ He prays that somehow the Iraqi knows him well enough to know what he’s trying to do.

This is what Jason had just been dreaming of, only now it was so much more high stakes than a couple of fun corners of sweeping around this circuit together. Jason swerves in behind the Yalla car, for a second the Cadillac gains a new burst of speed in the slip stream. He doesn’t need to do this, but he hopes Salim gets the hint. Jason flashes again and then moves back out – he lets Salim take the racing line and passes on the outside. That’s not optimal for the fastest lap but it lets Salim gain traction for this to work. “Okay…” Jason mutters to himself, “let me tow you up to third… We can do this.” As he passes the red car he glances over; the window is hard to see through; especially with the helmet not exactly giving him room enough to completely turn. Salim is at least looking in his mirrors.

Jason hasn’t had time to discuss this: it’s on the fly. “Salim you’re a helluva lot smarter than me…” Jason accelerates again, eyes forward, “let’s go!” The Cadillac pulls away in clean air before Jason turns sharply back into the path of Yalla Speed. He can bet Salim is cursing; it’s too close, but it’s going to give Salim exactly what he needs to catch on. Jason’s acceleration is gentle and he keeps an eye on the mirror to make sure that Salim is still in it. And then he sees the way it clicks, Salim follows through every micromovement Jason makes with the car. “That’s it!” Jason can feel himself grinning, weaving through gaps between the other cars that are big enough for both to go through. It takes him a couple of laps – but then he really feels like he’s flying. “Jason, are you towing them!?” Rachel comes over the radio. “Oh shit!” Jason acts surprised, “Is that damn car keeping up with me!?” “I am going to throw you off that podium myself, Jason Kolchek!” “Love you too, Rachel!” He laughs. Finally, Jason finds himself back where he was before – just up the road is the car in third place. There’s traffic but if Salim can just keep following…

Jason is careful; he knows he’s kissing goodbye to the fastest laps; but he still has time. There’s maybe 10 minutes on the clock. If he’s very fast he’s looking at 3, maybe 4 laps. That’s time – and each lap he sheds fuel and weight. This baby is primed to get him that lap. He trusts her. She can do it. They finally reach the last car providing traffic.

And the car in third has to let Jason through. There’s no arguments.

Jason breaks left around the final lapped car and is surprised to see Salim go right; he knows what has to be done now. This is his moment. They go three wide as they move onto the straight; not ideal. He can envision Rachel screaming at him. But the imagined excitement of the crowd watching this is ringing in his ears… He’s grinning again.

The speed of the Cadillac gets Jason through first, and Salim comes up on his right as they race down the straight together. Jason can’t help laughing. This is how it should be; this is maybe the most fun he’s ever had racing. Salim let’s Jason pull out for his move on the car in third; flashing his lights in thanks. These last few laps will be his opportunity to pull the move off Jason has just gifted him.

He lets Jason go.

Jason is flying again: fuelled by joy and adrenaline. The clock definitely has enough for a couple more laps as he crosses the line. “That’s fastest lap Jason!” “THAT!?” He’s surprised both at that attempt and Rachel’s joy. “Hold on, I got one more in me!” “Let’s do it!” She encourages.

He's supposed to just bring her home, he knows that. His eyes constantly darting to everything on his console and dash. Two more laps and she could have a well deserved rest. But his head and his heart are both rushing. He’s going to break his own fastest lap. He needs to feel it this time. Jason runs the curbs – cutting so fine he knows the stewards are going to be all over it for track limits. His foot is to the floor for as long as possible and his braking is late. Way too late in some cases. But he trusts the machine under him. He crosses the line again. Two minutes to go, the next time he crosses he’ll have won it. “That’s a new fastest lap Jason!” “FUCK YES IT IS!” “Now can you please just bring it home?” “Where are-” “Don’t you fucking dare!” Jason bites his tongue this time, but Rachel sounds amused as she comes over the radio again, “Salim has got them to third. It’s one hell of a fight, they keep trying to come back. But he’s pulling away. Whatever fucking insane thing you were trying. It worked.” Jason shuts his radio off; but he is screaming in joy.

The chequered flag starts waving and all Jason can hear in his ears is the screaming of his team. He thinks he’s crying a bit but he’s not going to admit it. The Cadillac guys are all on the pit wall waving their flags – a sea of blue along the top of the catch fence, soon joined by everyone else seeing their finishing cars across the line. He’s looking for the Yalla ones in particular, of course. The cool down lap is exhausting: all Jason’s adrenaline is shot. He’s having to take care and wave to all the marshals now stepping onto the track, along with the other cars on their cool down laps flashing their lights in congratulations. All this as well as keeping all the delta’s exactly where Rachel is instructing him to put them and sound half-coherent to Eric’s congratulatory radio message.

He slows around the last two corners, Nick and Merwin grinning triumphantly waiting on the finishing line for him. Nick clutching the chequered flag. Jason slows the car to a stop; breathing the biggest sigh of relief. His teammates run to him, prizing open the doors and mounting the car. It’s then he can hear the cheering of the crowd. That’s for them. And Nick grabs his shoulders, shaking him and slapping the top of his helmet. “You did it! You crazy son of a bitch! We just won Le Mans!!!” “First time for an American manufacturer since the 60s man! WOOOO!” Merwin yells from Jason’s other side. Jason can’t do much more right now than laugh. Nick hands him the flag; and Jason drives them all very carefully down the start/finish straight, turning into the pit lane. It’s a sea of other teams and photographers congratulating them. When he parks up Nick and Merwin practically yank him out of the car. They start trying to lift him off the ground but Jason isn’t having it. “WILL YOU TWO GIVE ME A MINUTE!?!” They put him down, and he struggles to take his helmet off efficiently; watching them both grow impatient. Once Jason frees himself, they start piling on him again. Stuffing the Le Mans winners cap onto his head before lifting him up onto their shoulders for the photographs. Then they start jumping, and Jason has to hold on for dear life and hope he isn’t going to be sick.

The first few interviews are a blur and Jason feels too tired and delirious, he’s not even sure what he’s saying. (Clarice will surely painfully remind him later). The hugs from his team make things better: Eric, Rachel and Clarice have all worked hard over this week too, and they deserve this as much as the drivers. The mechanics too.

Before they are led away to the podium Jason runs back to the car. He kneels in front of her and rubs the hood. “Ya did it baby! You just won us Le Mans!” He kisses her. “Thank you!”

Jason thinks he pours three bottles of water over his head instead of drinking them waiting up in the cool down room. It’s so warm; else he’s expending what little energy he has left as unwanted heat. The Porsche boys in second place are chatting amongst themselves: good group of guys. Technically the only team Jason didn’t catch, and he isn’t surprised. They are fast too. They are all waiting for P3 to come up the stairs. Rachel said it was Salim, but what if something happened? A last minute penalty? What if the car they were chasing got them back at the line? He's anxious. He’s excited.

Salim, Zain and Tariq almost have to sprint up the stairs, too busy celebrating this podium with their team to realise they actually had to be elsewhere to celebrate with the other teams too. He’s out of breath by the time he gets to the top. But he makes a beeline to the Cadillac trio. “JASON!!” This is far too important. His American is almost glowing when he sees Salim striding across the small room to him. Jason pushes through his teammates and is about to open his mouth when Salim pulls him into the tightest embrace Jason thinks he’s ever felt. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do that, but you did.” He pulls back. Grabbing Jason’s face and grinning. “You’re a reckless idiot Jason Kolchek! We have a podium because of you!” Jason laughs, “You’re kidding right? You did the hard work yourselv-” Jason doesn’t have the opportunity to finish his sentence before he finds himself set upon by the kids too. Grabbing him as much as Nick and Merwin had and ruffling his hair. “AH! Okay! Fuck! I can only take so much weight!!!”

The podium is like Spa on steroids. Jason is celebrating with his friends, his teammates, his lover… He couldn’t ask for more than this. Not at this race. And yet he’s won it. He thinks he must cheer louder than anyone else when the Yalla team are called, and he knows by the look on Salim’s face when they shake hands that the cheer was as reciprocated. (Zain and Tariq make sure to slap him as hard as they can so Jason’s hand is numb by the end of it.) The Cadillac boys want to put Jason in the middle, but he wants to stand on the right side. Just for a minute. Just let him have this. Salim and he look at each other, beaming, before he shoves Jason playfully. This is about your team! and Jason gets reshuffled into the middle. He’s very careful with his champagne spray around the Iraqi team. Dar has even joined them up here. It’s a big moment. Everyone is respectful; but he doesn’t think a single person comes off that podium anything less than soaked through.

There are another three sets of podiums, but Jason is exhausted. He knows the team celebrations are going to go on crazy long. “Just gimmie a minute, I need to fucking change!” He’s not about to sit around for hours in a sticky champagne soaked suit. He takes a big gulp, before he hands the bottle to Clarice. “If anyone else drinks that I’ll kill ‘em.” “Don’t worry hot shot, I’ll take good care of her.” He gives her a wink, before jogging off to his own trailer.

Jason stands outside it for a moment, and blows out a breath. Grinning to himself, he places he head against it. He lets out an insane laugh. How the hell had that just happened?

Damn!

He hears footsteps behind him, and there is a tap on his shoulder before he finds himself turned around and shoved up against the door. Salim’s lips are already on his and he’s wasting no time trying to get into Jason’s mouth. Jason moans against the kiss; he has no energy to resist… at first. Until he realises what’s happening and panics, pulling back: “S-Salim! It’s Champagne!” The Iraqi doesn’t seem to care. In that moment Salim simply wants Jason’s lips on his too bad. Jason starts panting against the kiss; he’s trying to struggle himself away at the same time as wanting everything Salim is giving him. He manages to force the door to his trailer open and they both stumble inside. Now they are out of the public eye, Salim’s hands are on his waist, his hips, they pull Jason’s champagne soaked body closer. He releases Jason’s lips and starts kissing his neck but that’s just as bad. “Salim you can’t be doing this! You can’t drink!” “…I can do tawbah later…” “I am not letting you do this for me!” Jason realises that the more he resists the more Salim doubles down and, in the end, Jason closes his eyes and tilts his head back to give Salim more access to his throat. Salim smirks against his skin: “[Not protesting so much now I’m kissing you like this?]” Jason is breathless, “I’m tempted to agree, even though I have no idea what you just said!” Salim laughs before kissing his neck. “[That sounds more like my American boy…]” Jason whines as Salim claims his lips again, “God, you sound so beautiful when you talk like that.” Salim grins, kissing Jason slower, this one is more sensual and when he pulls back this time, he gives Jason breathing room. “Congratulations, Habibi. You just won Le Mans.” Jason’s smile slowly becomes a smirk, but his pretty brown eyes are full of stars: “You said if I did, you’d tell me what that meant.” “I think you already know.” Salim pulls Jason to his lips once more.

Despite arguing that they had time, they both agree to get changed and meet later tonight. Jason knows the celebration between them will surely be worth the wait.

He makes his way back to the paddock himself, adorned in comfortable Cadillac team gear that’s a little too big for him, and fresh out of the shower. He’s sure he’ll be getting drenched in champagne again before the day is out but at least he’s clean for now. The winners cap is still firmly stuck to his head. He thinks this one will be in his rotation for quite some time.

As he walks towards the loudest garage in the paddock – of course, Cadillac would party way too hard and loud and be an American stereotype tonight. Jason was ready for it! – he passes the Yalla motorhome.

Behind the glass he can see Salim, Zain and Tariq all around a table eating and talking excitedly, one of the Le Mans trophies sitting pride of place at the head of the table. Every so often a team member will come and clap them on the back. They are all clearly celebrating, there’s music and laughter emanating a little louder every time the front door slides open. This podium is just as unpreceded for them as everything else they do. They are a team of firsts; they always will be. Jason’s smile grows the more he sees as he continues his walk. Until his eyes wander to the balcony; where he freezes a little, eyes darting quickly away, then guiltily looking back to their team principal. Dar Basri is standing getting some fresh air looking out at the rest of the paddock. He clocks Jason immediately; and they’re locked in an awkward (at least on Jason’s part) stare off for a few seconds. Jason wonders if he should mention he’s not about to try to get on the stand and hang out with them this time. But before he gets far enough into that, something changes. Dar’s usually hard stare and stony look - reserved specifically for Jason - breaks into a small smile, and he gives Jason a deep nod. The American blinks but he knows he didn’t imagine it. Come to think of it had he ever seen Dar smile?! Jason’s smile grows wider, and he reciprocates the gesture. They stare at each other for another few seconds before Jason turns to the rowdy Cadillac stand. He better get going. He nods to Dar again with a little shrug, ah… Americans!, before he continues on his journey.

Jason is definitely drunk when he gets back to his motorhome. He thinks he could be seeing double. He’s had too much junk food and way too much alcohol. But that had been the best celebration party. He is carrying his empty champagne bottle – that Clarice had definitely half drunk when she gave it back to him, considering how flushed her cheeks were and the level of the liquid. But he’d let her off – she had to put up with and spin all his bullshit positively every single season. He places it down on the side, before he steadies himself. Oh Geez… There is a knock on the door and he stumbles back to it. Salim must have been listening out for him, because he’s standing on the other side of it. He hops up the steps, taking Jason back in his arms. Salim nuzzles his face, before kissing his forehead and nose and finally his lips. “Now, where were we.” This time Jason is somehow able to be firmer with his push back. If Salim had done his tawbah then this was only going to make him do it again. “Oh… wait… can you jus’… talk to me in… Arabic for a…” He trails completely, before refocusing on his partner, “It’s sexy. You’re sexy.” The sentence isn’t exactly coherent, and Salim pulls back in understanding. Salim raises an eyebrow, “Just how much did you drink, Jason?” “Too much!” He nods, aware his speech is now slurring, “Shit… ‘m sorry.” “I think I better stay anyway…” Salim guides Jason back to the bedroom, he chuckles, “I better look after you and that hangover you’re bound to have in the morning.” “Mhm…” Jason nods. “[But]…” Salim smiles, helping Jason to get ready for bed, “[I can at least talk to you in Arabic, until you fall asleep…]” Jason is beaming, “Celebrate another time?” “[You got it, Habibi.] If you’re good, maybe even tomorrow.” They still had another day here of packing up. The celebrations weren’t going to be ending for quite some time for either party.

Jason lies back and Salim removes his hat, placing it on his bedside table before smoothing out his hair. He shakes his head; how the hell did he get himself involved with such a mess?! Salim knew he wouldn’t change it for the world, though.

Jason’s hand shoots out just as Salim thought he was about to drift off. “Wait, you’re staying, right?” “I promise. I’m not going anywhere.” “Okay…” Jason yawns through the word and closes his eyes again, his grip around Salim’s wrist loosens, but the Iraqi stays very still at the end of the bed watching him. “Maybe I’ll even make you breakfast in the morning.”

Yeah… Jason would like that very much.

***

After Le Mans, the dynamic between the two teams shifts again. Maybe not necessarily for the banter and the rivalry, but for Jason himself. Specifically, Dar starts letting Jason hang around without glaring at him. There is a respect there that Jason has earned, and he’s doing his best to maintain that. However, that still doesn’t stop him from practically wandering into the garage and motorhome of Yalla Speed as if he’s part of the team. Salim has warned him on being too casual about it, but this is Jason so he’s not really listening…

This visit is pre-race. Jason has learned this is the quietest time in the motorhome as everyone is back in the garage getting everything ready for the start of the race. Whereas the drivers are all up in their ready rooms, at least he hopes so.

Zain’s door is open as Jason passes it, and he pauses for what he sees in his peripheral vision.

Stacked on Zain’s table are what Jason assumes to be his course books, some of the words on the spines are a little big for Jason, but they all seem to be Mythology focused. The boy himself is sat on the floor in his overalls, eyes closed, feet and hands out in front of him and he’s driving. Jason watches the fingers on the gear shifts; the turn of the wheel, different for every corner of the circuit, the acceleration and braking harder and softer in places too. Jason tries to follow exactly where he is on the track, thinking about it in his own head. But Zain is clearly thinking about this differently to Jason. Every time Jason thinks he has a rhythm with him, Zain will do something unexpected. Jason raises an eyebrow but can’t help but he impressed. He leans against the doorframe, arms folded, and waits for Zain to cross the start/finish line. Zain goes for the lap again, and Jason can’t help but laugh softly. Zain eyes snap open to the sound. “Oh! Hey Jason!” Jason nods towards his hands and feet as Zain slowly lowers them: “Are you… driving? With all the shifts? In your head!?” “Oh yeah, I do this with every track! See!” He picks up the sheets of paper that Jason now realises are beside him; Jason can’t read the language but Zain’s little diagram arrows seem to indicate pace, braking distance and exactly where to take the corners. They are not where Jason would take them. He’s thinking about every track completely differently. Jason knows how surprised he looks but it’s because of what Salim said. Salim told Jason that Zain wanted to be fast - like Jason was. And Jason had been trying to coach Zain that way. But this? Zain was the technical driver on the team. That was his gift. Finding things no one else was doing and capitalizing on it. By the look on Jason’s face Zain explains drift racing - popular and taking off back in Iraq, Tariq and he had really started here, before they were allowed into the GTs - and still did some on the side in the off season. Their skills had come from their teamwork in that. And it was something no one else on the grid had, hence Zain using it as his secret weapon here. Jason doesn’t think that everything on Zain’s papers can be learned from drift racing in Baghdad. He smiles, “That’s amazing. I never woulda thought to do that.” He gestures to the drawings. “Keep it up, kiddo!” Before he leans out of the door, “Before I interrupt ya too much, is your dad around?” Zain almost smirks, despite the pride on his face at Jason’s words. Of course Jason is here for his father. “Yeah, he’s probably getting ready in his room, Jason.” “Thanks man!” Jason waves Zain off, and strolls down the corridor to Salim’s room.

The door is shut but Jason knocks as he’s opening it. Salim is indeed inside, but only half dressed, race suit zipped up to his middle he hasn’t pulled his fireproof shirt on yet. Jason whistles. Salim half turns, eyes narrowing, pretending to be annoyed. Jason shuts the door behind him with his foot and it slams. For a moment he regrets it, knowing Zain definitely heard that. “Aren’t your team going to miss you?” Jason acts appalled that that’s the first thing his significant other has said. “Noooo… my briefing isn’t for a little while, I’ve got time.” Salim raises an eyebrow, now fully turning around. “Oh? And you think I have time? I need to prep, to warm up!” Jason gives him no answer as his eyes wander gratuitously. The look is plain on his face: Jason is happy to be his warm up. Salim sighs heavily, throwing a towel over Jason’s head as he grabs his fireproofs and slides them on. “[You need to cool off, you’ve got a race coming up.]” Jason scrambles to remove the towel and pouts; despite the fact that what Salim is wearing is still skin tight. “That’s not fair.” “Life isn’t. American boy.” Salim closes the gap between them, pushing Jason gently up against the wall, he removes the Cadillac Racing cap he’s wearing, running his hands through Jason’s hair. Jason is the one to pull Salim in by his collar and claim his lips this time.

They’re supposed to have learned not to be loud, but Jason kicking the door shut has already ruined that moment. Salim slides his hands out of Jason’s hair and down his chest: Jason is also wearing his flameproofs and Salim likes them for the same reason Jason likes them on him. His fingertips trace all over Jason’s musculature. He smirks against the deepening kiss as he feels Jason shudder softly under his fingertips. Salim moves his hands around to Jason’s lower back – Jason shuffles his body away from the wall linking his arms around Salim’s shoulders. Clearly they’re thinking the same thing again. Salim guides his hands down and over Jason’s ass. He squeezes, which makes the American jolt. (Even though Salim knows Jason is expecting this.) The Iraqi breaks the kiss only to laugh, which causes Jason to pull him back in, nipping his lip in return. Salim keeps moving his hands to the upper part of Jason’s thighs and then lifts. The American uses his upper body strength to aid in pulling his body up, wrapping his legs around Salim’s waist. Jason’s arms lock around Salim’s shoulders and, while still kissing, Salim guides them back to his table, sitting Jason on top. The American pulls them both down, and Salim struggles to remain on his feet. How long does Jason have before his briefing!? Jason clearly thinks he has time, hands scrambling to pull Salim’s shirt back over his head; thighs locking around Salim’s hips. “Jason!” Salim growls against his lips, pulling back to kiss at the base of his ear beside his jaw. “I’m supposed to be getting dressed not undressed.” The American stills until Salim looks at him, but his hands are still tangled in Salim’s shirt. “Aw? You got time for me!” And then he grins. And the more Salim frowns, the more Jason grins back.

Eventually the Iraqi rolls his eyes, “Najmi, you are impossible.”

Jason is still lying on Salim’s table – a little dazed – as Salim changes into a second fireproof. No thanks to Jason clawing at him and sweat (He guesses he is warmed up but he’s not about to give Jason the satisfaction of credit). This one is white, and somehow drives Jason a little more insane than the black one Salim usually wears. He groans desperately as his eyes roam over Salim’s back. “Habibi, I’m not having sex with you with my son in the next room and thin walls. You have no patience.” Jason’s feet bump against the table legs in annoyance, which makes Salim turn to him. As soon as he has the Iraqi’s attention however, Jason stops pouting.

Salim can already see the damage he’s done becoming slowly visible on Jason’s chest and stomach. Thank God his shirt is going to get tucked into his overalls. “What?” Jason’s big brown eyes just keep staring at him with absolute desire. Salim shakes his head, stepping forward and kissing Jason gently. He watches the American run his tongue over his lips afterwards, savouring it. Sometimes to Salim, this whole relationship is insane. This is America’s Sweetheart. This is Cadillac’s star driver. Their darling. Their All American Golden Boy. That team and country adore this man. And somehow he’s the one getting Jason hot and bothered like this – Jason is practically begging him for more than he’s already getting. Jason is making out with him. Sometimes it’s funny to Salim that he’s got Jason at all – he’s seen Jason’s female fans too; at every race in the stands and at signing sessions. (He doesn’t blame them, Jason is objectively the prettiest man Salim has ever seen and a damn good racer too). He's their star. Najmi. My star. Jason is Salim’s too. And here he is again; coming to see Salim even when he’s meant to be in a Cadillac back room resting and prepping for his briefing. He's their factory driver. The first one they signed on to their Hypercar program after his stunning performances with Corvette. Jason is the leader of the team; even if he insists that’s not the case. Yet he’s pining for the touch of an Iraqi man 9 years his senior.

This isn’t lost on Salim at all.

Salim mentions this as he steps back; it gets a rise out of Jason when he says it teasingly. Of course he does, Jason is so easy to get a reaction from. He pushes himself up from the table onto his elbows, eyes narrowing. Remark from his mouth sharp, aggressive. Salim just laughs, wandering across the room to where he discarded Jason’s cap earlier, he returns it to the racers head, adjusting Jason’s race suit. The American still looks annoyed, but Salim kisses that right off. “Now, get to your briefing, before they find you here!” Jason pulls him back in to his lips, it’s messy. He pants, “Good luck in the race!” Salim brushes their noses together, “Mhm. I’ll try not to beat you too bad.” “In your dreams!” Jason slips down from the table, pulling his cap down over his eyes he starts for the door.

But he pauses as he opens it and turns back. “You said Zain wanted to be fast.” “He does.” Salim has heard Zain say a million times how much he wants to be as quick as Jason is. “Why?” Jason turns, eyebrow raised, “His forte is technical driving, look at him.” He gestures to Zain’s room. Luckily the door is shut now, and music is playing from behind it. “You see it too.” Salim’s voice is measured. “He’s looking at the wrong driver.” “Well, maybe you ought to tell him that.” Jason gives a shrug, then changes his mind and nods. If that’s permission, he will.

He raises his hand in goodbye, in return Salim presses two fingers to his lips before extending them to his American boy. Jason takes off back to Cadillac with a smile.

Clarice tries his ready room once more, “Jason! Don’t be late again, my god!” Nothing! She tries the door and its unlocked; expecting to walk in and see the man with headphones on and way too loud music, Clarice opens the door to no one. The room is empty. “OH, Jason!” She’s frustrated, “Where the fuck-!” “You too, huh?” She is interrupted by Nick, who has suddenly appeared leaning against the wall outside. “You seen him?” “No, not since he went in there. But I knocked earlier and it was the same. He’s clearly not back.” Clarice shakes her head, “Eric is going to kill me; so I’m going to kill him.” Nick muses, “He’s barely here anymore. Jason is nowhere. He doesn’t hang out with us… He’s missing half the time. And whenever you ask, he has the perfect excuse…” Clarice folds her arms and closes the door, before leaning next to Nick. She thinks. “…He’s spending a lot of time alone, don’t you think?” “You really think he’s alone?” Clarice looks to Nick and they share what they think is a brain wave. “HEY guys! Am I late!?” They both turn to watch Jason jogging down the hallway, beaming smile on his face. They both know that isn’t there on accident. That also isn’t Jason’s usual expression.

They look at each other again. Neither of them say anything, but they both think they know exactly where he’s been.

***

It's late night, and Salim is sitting outside on the front steps of the hotel. The race weekend is over; team personal are coming in and out of the hotel, socialising and having a night out before everyone started to fly home.

Salim needs some air and to think; the hotel is fronted by a massive driveway and valet; at this point it’s so late the restaurant and pool areas are closed. There’s nowhere else for him to sit besides his room and he’s not staying cooped up in there.

Jason and a group of the Cadillac engineers and drivers are laughing together as they walk up the drive. They climb the steps and pass him; he knows Jason lets his glance over linger – although Salim barely gives him attention in return. They disappear inside and things are quiet again, for about ten minutes.

“Hey.” Jason’s voice is soft as he carefully descends back to where Salim is, “Someone as gorgeous as you shouldn’t be out here on his lonesome.” Salim barely laughs, which makes Jason pause. “Holy SHIT! Salim are you smoking?” The next few steps are urgent, and Jason stops just behinds Salim’s left shoulder. Salim holds his hand up; the cigarette is between his fingers, but it’s not lit. He’d declined that when he’d asked for one from another team’s mechanics. “No.” “Do you smoke?” Jason sits beside him, clearly concerned. “Used to. I quit when Zain was little…” He passes it between his fingers, “Sometimes holding one… just helps with the stress.” “You’re stressed?” Jason shuffles slightly to the side, but not closer to Salim, rather to give him breathing space, “…Do you wanna talk about it? It’s okay if not…” Jason looks up to the sky, “I can just sit with you for a bit, if that helps.” Salim places the cigarette down on the step between them and groans, rubbing his hands over his face. Where to begin? He also looks up at the stars. They’re in a relationship; and there should be no secrets. No matter how big this is. He glances around – they are definitely alone. “Our team is running out of money, Jason. We are barely going to be able to scrape through this season.” He takes a deep breath, “Without a win, the whole thing will collapse.” Jason’s eyes fly wide and he looks over. Where the hell did that come from!? He has a million questions, but he keeps quiet until Salim is finished. “We might keep float a little longer with that money but honestly…” Salim shakes his head, “If we don’t look for a buyer… if the investors pull it…” He can’t even finish the sentence. Jason dips his body, so he leans a little closer to Salim, who is now sitting hunched over his knees; “Shit… baby, when did they tell you this?” “After today’s race.” Salim glances up at him. “Who else knows?” “Everyone. It’s only within the team for now but it’s only a matter of time until it’s leaked.” Jason swears he won’t be one. “Shit… I can’t even imagine…” Jason also rubs a hand over his face, “How’s Zain? …Tariq?” “Well that’s what matters; Jason. I could retire; I’m not getting any younger in this sport, but the kids… they’re just getting started. Unless someone picks them up…” Salim’s eyebrows knot together and his fist clench and unclench – he’s anxious “…I can’t watch their dreams end like this. Especially not my son.” Jason reaches out and rubs his partners back; he wishes he had something better he could say than ‘sorry’. It didn’t feel enough.

“Did they say why? It’s seems so sudden…!” He knows he’s musing. But Salim seems to have an answer. He straightens. “According to them the crashes of last season cost too much money. That’s before this season!” Jason grimaces, suddenly feeling the gut punch of the initial one he caused in qualifying. “The kids don’t pull the sponsorship, or at least the kind of money they want to see from sponsors and having two young and inexperienced drivers means our placing in the standings isn’t favourable.” Salim gives a shrug.

Jason can hardly talk; he’s backed by a factory team with racing history that has been doing this for years. Salim is driving in a small independent team that depends so much more on love and dedication and all the money it can scrape together to just survive, let alone succeed. Even podiums weren’t cutting it anymore.

What Yalla currently lacked was consistency. The stakeholders apparently weren’t ready to wait for that.

Jason can’t help but be a little irate for his partner: “Hey what!? They’re the ones who wanted to move the kids up! Zain and Tariq coulda done a few more years in GT - LMP2 even - and honed their skills before they pulled them up here. This is on them!”

Salim’s expression is two-fold; on the one hand he’s grateful for Jason’s support, on the other, he’s not entirely sure Jason can understand it.

“Well, they aren’t going to take the blame, are they?”

Jason doesn’t know what else to do, but the look on Salim’s face is killing him. For a moment he doesn’t even consider they are out in a public space as he pulls Salim into a hug. The Iraqi doesn’t seem to care in the moment ether, winding his arms around Jason in return. “I just need Zain to find something Jason… I can’t watch him forced off the grid like this.”

“Your team will get through this, Salim, I promise. Zain ain’t goin’ nowhere.” Jason rubs his back soothingly, but he’s already thinking. With Zain’s skills, he’s not going to stay teamless for long if it goes that way.

That could represent problems for him too. Jason has an idea; one he’s sure Salim will baulk at if he mentions it now.

The difficultly will be getting Eric King on side…

***

Eric watches Jason’s truck pull into the parking lot from his office window.

What the hell is he doing here?

Jason never turns up to Cadillac Racing HQ unscheduled unless he’s got something to try on the SIM; Jason has his own SIM.

Eric can’t help but be a little curious, watching his star driver waltz towards the lobby. He exits his office, and by the time he gets down to the reception area Jason has just finished signing in; although he’s leaning over the counter, chin propped in his palms and joking with the receptionist.

Eric clears his throat, “Am I interrupting something?”

Jason straightens, but not as if he’s just been caught flirting. “Damn, she didn’t even have to call you.”

Eric is quick to piece it together, “You’re here for me?”

“Yeah!”

“I thought you were here for…” Eric is halfway to pointing over his shoulder in the direction of the SIM rig but, drops his hand. “What is it?”

“I think it’s better if we go to your office.”

Eric’s eyes narrow. This seems suspicious. Everyone has been a little on edge about Jason lately. Cadillac Racing’s executives have heard about how much he’s hanging with the Yalla Speed guys. They’ve wanted constant reassurance that Jason is still their man. There’s been talk of throwing money at him before it’s even worth panicking over.

Maybe the time to panic is now…

“Sure…” Eric’s response is measured, and he beckons Jason to follow him. His driver almost hurries him along and Eric has barely shut the door to his office when Jason starts blurting things Eric would rather not hear.

“We need to talk about Yalla!”

“Clearly.” Eric stands, hands in his pockets and looking to Jason expectantly.

Jason is oblivious: “I need to talk to you because shit is about to go down in the paddock and if we don’t do something someone else will.”

Eric’s eyebrows quirk, “This isn’t about you...?”

“ME!?” But it all makes sense, the way Clarice had talked after the first time Salim had kissed him. He’s friendly with the drivers… he’s constantly waltzing into their garage… Still, Jason has loyalty here and it irks him that it’s being questioned. “The FUCK Eric! No! I’m not goin’--” Jason shakes his head to stop himself from getting on a tangent, “No! This is about them!”

“What about them?”

“We need to BUY them!”

Eric leaves a stunned silence.

Jason lurches his body forward to prompt an answer.

“Jason. What the fuck are you talking about?”

“The team, it’s about to fold. The investors are going to back out, they have no money. It’s a win or goodbye.”

Eric is surprised, “Jason that’s…”

“If we don’t jump on this Eric, someone else is going to take those drivers and put them in better teams. Think about it: Salim has experience, he’s steady. Tariq and Zain, high potential kids who would fit into anyone’s young driver program. You really want them partnering with someone like Estre in the future? I don’t think you do if you can help it!”

Eric shakes his head, going for the door as if to show him out: “Jason, this is insane…”

“NO! Eric, will you just listen! Ferrari – two cars, Porsche – two cars, Toyota – two damn cars! Isn’t it about time Cadillac did the same thing!?”

“Jason, do you have ANY idea how that would look!? We’re American, in case you didn’t notice they are an Iraqi outfit! You really wanna dig all that up!?”

“It’s history!”

“It’s not just history Jason. It’s how it’s going to look – to the board, to both sets of fans.”

“Well, isn’t that your fucking job!? To convince them this is a good thing?”

“Jason…”

“Fine. Fine.” Jason bit his lips together, looking heavenward for a minute. Salim, forgive me. “If not the team, you cannot let Zain go. Not with the way he thinks about tracks. That’s technical ability I haven’t seen anywhere else, not like that. You make him a young factory driver; you are set for the future of this team. Letting him go would be a big mistake Eric and you know it.”

Jason hates himself for saying it: but maybe there is no other way. And Salim was worried about his son most of all.

“It isn’t that simple…”

Jason doesn’t understand what his problem is, “You have talked them into it before.”

“Yeah, for you at Spa last year. You begged me about that and now you’re going to beg me about this? Jason, do you understand how hard it was for me to get them to let you drive an Italian car? You’re talking about taking over an Iraqi team, Jason! Do you have ANY idea how hard that’s going to be.”

“How fucking hard will it be for them to underst-”

“You’re a Cadillac driver for God’s sake, Jason, think for a second.”

Jason was thinking, just not with his head.

He stands firm, “If we don’t do this, someone else will. Then you’ll have wished you listened to me and acted on it.”

Eric places his head in his hands. This man was impulsive and headstrong. And now he was giving Eric a headache.

“No.”

“Eric!!!”

“I can’t, Jason. I’m sorry.”

Jason’s whole expression changes, he looks to the floor. Somewhere between angry and upset. “Can you just think about it. Please?”

Eric sighs, “Who even told you this?!”

“A… Friend.”

The team principal looks momentarily perplexed, “What friends do you have in that team who would tell you that?”

Jason looks affronted, head tipped, “You sayin’ I don’t have friends?”

There is half a minute of silence, Eric’s eerie look seems to stare right through him. “Salim told you.”

Jason is affronted, his voice rises, “I’m not USING names Eric! I don’t want this going anywhere out of here. As far as you know it’s an anonymous tip off!”

“So you’re protecting him now?”

“I haven’t said anything. On purpose.” But Jason straightens, folding his arms. If Eric didn’t think Jason wouldn’t dare, it would almost be threatening. “But yeah, I damn well would protect him.”

Eric leaves another thirty second pause before he turns and opens the door, “Out.”

“Eric!”

“Out, Jason.” His driver isn’t going to throw a fit. Although Jason looks halfway to it. He glares at Eric, stomping towards the exit. But just as he passes, Eric speaks again. “I’m going to need some time with this one.”

Jason doesn’t say thank you, but with the way his expression changes, he doesn’t need to.

After that he does spend a little bit of time in the SIM, but it’s pointless. He’s still annoyed that it isn’t a straight answer. It’s not a yes, even if it’s a maybe.

He’s wrecked the car more times within the last hour than he’s ever done before SIM or otherwise. Because all Jason can think of is how he’s letting Salim down.

Eric watches from the doorway as Jason curses again, watching the car slide off the track into the gravel and then the barrier. Thank God this was only a simulation.

So Jason Kolchek did care about something then; other than winning and his own ego.

That was certainly an interesting revelation.

***

And then they do win. The penultimate race of the season. And Jason would rather celebrate with them than his own team, who have just won the Drivers and Constructors titles. It must be a massive relief. It is for Jason himself; Salim will be on the grid next year as a driver – not just someone who is there to support his son… or his partner. If that’s what Salim would even want to do. Jason can see how he’d be equally happy with living a quiet life back in London far away from the track. His heart twists; Jason can make long distance work currently, it doesn’t mean he likes it…

Jason’s feelings probably have nothing on Yalla’s. And despite the fact that Nick quite literally sent him down here, he stays at the back of the celebration. The white and blue race suit still stands out against the bold red, white and black for the team he’s tagging along with. It’s about the one time Jason blesses his shorter stature.

He leans back against the pit wall, watching the drivers for the third and second places file out onto the podium. His cheering is subdued as Salim, Zain and Tariq take the stage. His smile is huge – he can feel it – but he’s only clapping. To be honest his yells would have been drowned out by the team around him anyway. Jason isn’t here to be noticed or be the centre of attention – they are.

Jason takes his cap off for the Iraqi national anthem, and watches the way the three of them stand together. This moment is so unprecedented that it doesn’t even look like they know what they’re doing. And he’s not about to embarrass them by suggesting there are tears: but they are certainly emotional.

The bottles they use aren’t of Champagne this time; probably due to the team that just won. But it’s still as respectful from the other two teams as expected. The six other drivers almost make a celebratory arch with their drinks; before using what is left to absolutely soak the Yalla boys. Jason laughs to himself: it feels like payback for all the times Salim has had terrific aim at Jason. At least the lack of alcohol allows the three of them to actually drink this time. Watching the other teams all congratulate Salim though? Makes Jason wish he’d pushed a little more all race. He wishes he was up there too. They would never have this moment again. Jason shakes the thought away. Sure, he wants to be clinking bottles with the guys right now, hugging them and patting them on the back and getting to share that first win podium but it doesn’t matter what he wants. This wasn’t about him.

He's just so damn proud of them. They had beaten all the odds. They had proven themselves. And now they got to stay.

He remains against the wall as the Porsche and Ferrari teams start to move out, and finds himself joined by the Yalla team principal. “Impressed?” Jason huffs a laugh, “It’s impressive. But they’ve been fighting hard. Your whole team did. All season. Had to come at some point.” He looks across to Dar, who is watching him carefully. Jason cracks a smile, “Yeah I’m really fuckin’ impressed. Congratulations!” His eyes flick back up to Zain and Tariq who are now dangling over the edge of the podium balcony dropping their bottles to their engineers below. “Lookin’ forward to fighting with you again next year.” Jason pushes himself away from the wall and turns to hold his hand out to Dar. “You’ve got one hell of a team, sir.” Dar hesitates for a moment, before shaking Jason’s hand. He gives that same respectful nod that Jason remembers from Le Mans. But says nothing more.

Jason’s eyes flick back up to the podium, the kids are still up there, energy up from the high of the win they are jumping and singing, but Salim is nowhere to be seen. Jason knows he’s got he’s own debrief to get to – let alone Cadillac’s own celebrations. He gives a nod back, turning to go back to the Cadillac garage. As he does so he notices the crowd of Yalla Speed staff ripple, and Salim is walking through the middle of them. Jason can’t help but beam watching this happen; but he keeps walking. Until Salim catches his eye and winks. Jason knew what that meant. See you later.

Before Jason rendezvous with his team back at the motorhome, he stops by the garage; by this time their car has been scrutineered and she sits gleaming proudly despite the fact that it’s getting dark. The mechanics are just packing away. And Jason mentions to them that they better get their asses to the celebration quick. He doesn’t want anyone to miss this: they all worked so hard.

Jason places a hand on her back wing, skimming it down to her tail, along her side, across his name on top of the door, over the front wheel arch – fingertips lingering on her front, where he stops at the badge. “You did it, pretty girl.” He crouches in front of her. “You won us the Goddamn Championship!” He places his arms out gently on her hood and tilts his head so his cheek meets cold carbon fiber, “You fought so hard all season and you never gave up on us. This one is yours, baby.”

Jason pulls back and smiles fondly: next year will mean new upgrades and a new chassis even if the paint job is the same. She’ll never be this car for him again. Jason hopes she gets pride of place: displayed front and centre for any visitor to Cadillac’s racing headquarters. She deserved that more than anything.

He leans in again, touching his lips to her – just as he had done in Le Mans.

“Thank you for everything.”

For a couple of hours, once he’s back with the crew, Jason plays the part of good driver, good teammate. It’s not that he’s not having a good time. It’s not that his whole heart isn’t in this. As he makes charismatic speeches and celebrates both championships with them this is the BEST he’s ever felt. But in the back of his mind, he’s getting more and more excited for what comes after. There had been so much to celebrate tonight. It was going to be a great evening.

Starting this celebrating with his best friend, who had just clinched them the Championships; could there be anything better? He wants to give this team everything he has. They’ve given him everything. Including these championships.

Of course as soon as he thinks he can sneak out, he goes straight to Salim’s trailer. It’s open and Jason walks straight in. Salim is sitting on the couch staring at the First place trophy and medal in front of him. He’s rubbing his hands together. It looks like he can barely fathom this is happening. Jason isn’t surprised.

“You did it!” Jason announced, running across the room and flopping on the couch next to him, “You fucking WON!” He grabs Salim’s shoulders, “Baby, you’re gonna be on the grid next year! You all saved the team together!”

Jason realises, horrifically, that his own joy is very misplaced. Because Salim isn’t responding happily at all. In fact, he looks dejected. His hands clench and he sighs, shaking his head. Jason’s entire face falls, “Salim…?” “It’s not enough. This team is going under, Jason. We have one more race.” He turns to his partner and he looks hopeless. “Wh- why?” “There just…” He presses his lips together, “There just isn’t the money. Even with this… They were going to tell us today anyway. The win was… unexpected. But when they run the finances again the prize money just…” Jason reaches out, hand rubbing Salim’s back, before he moves it up to his neck, caressing his thumb over Salim’s jaw line. Once again, sorry isn’t anywhere near enough. His brain quickly moves to what he knows is Salim’s main concern, “Shit… do the boys know?!” Salim nods, placing his hand delicately over Jason’s, “Dar, Tariq, Zain… myself. We’ll tell the rest later. Not right now, they need to have this one…” His eyes glance over to the trophy. “I’m sorry, Jason… I know you came here to celebrate. I really want to celebrate but, I…” “No, no, no…” Jason shakes his head, “It’s okay…” He pushes the brim of his cap up, gently pushing his forehead against Salim’s. “Fuck, baby I’m so sorry…” “There’s nothing you can do, Jason.”

Jason begs to differ but he’s not about to say that yet. He wraps his arms around Salim’s shoulders, holding him tight. Salim rubs his back, “You should go back to your team. I need to get back to mine too; while there is something to celebrate.” Jason pulls back and shakes his head, his laugh is more for the irony: “We’re going to have something worth celebrating when it happens at some point, right?” Salim snorts, “Maybe it’ll be easier when I’m off the grid.” Jason doesn’t want to entertain the thought. Hates that Salim has to think that way right now. He doesn’t dare agree, at most he shrugs. Before he leans forward and kisses his partner.

“Congratulations, Habibi. You won. And they’re never going to fucking take that from you.”

***

Jason does not go back to celebrating with the team, instead he grabs Eric’s arm the second he thinks he can get away with it, and drags him over into a corner. “Jason, whatever you’re about to say-” “Look I have no idea whether you’ve even talked to the board. Or if you thought that you wouldn’t even need to worry after this race. Cuz I sure thought they were fucking safe. But we need to move NOW, Eric!” “…What are you talking about, they just won?” “It’s not enough.” “…That’s where you went off to.” Eric puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head, though Jason is slightly perplexed. He didn’t realised he’d been missed. “Did you talk to the board?” “Never you mind what I did.” Eric pats him on the shoulder, “I’ll be back.” With that, Eric disappears to the back of the motorhome, and Jason is left standing confused.

By now the building is warm, with all the bodies and all the drinks flowing, the Cadillac team are starting to move the party to the rooftop for the fresh air. And they aren’t the only team that has decided to do so. Opposite them, Yalla are partying too.

Jason spends a couple of minutes making sure he’s seen before he grabs a beer and heads to the edge of the balcony. Now he’s conflicted about the celebrations. This should be the best night of the season for both of them. Now they stand with the prospect of only one of them being on the grid next year. How can Jason possibly celebrate that?

He lifts his eyes from the paddock below to the Yalla Speed motorhome and almost double takes. Salim is standing opposite him, beer bottle (0.0% Jason can guess) in his hand. Like Jason he is standing away from the main celebration. Probably having the same thought process. Jason straightens from where he’s been leaning and raises his bottle to Salim. Although the distance between the two motorhomes means they can’t cheers; Salim raises his too with a little smile, and they drink at the same time.

Jason looks over to the group of Iraqi’s celebrating: it looks like a fun time, maybe a little rowdy. He can bet Zain and Tariq are right in the middle of it. Kids being kids. He wonders if this is Salim’s scene at all: or if it was once, when he was their age. Jason makes a mental note to ask. When his eyes trail back to Salim’s, Salim has also turned to see what Jason is watching. When he looks back to his partner Salim merely laughs. Jason is sure he’s thinking the same thing.

They continue to stare at each other and drink together over the expanse for a little while. Jason is happy to get to ‘celebrate’ with Salim in this way at least. Even if he wishes the Iraqi was right beside him instead.

Eventually Jason’s eyes drop to the rest of the Yalla building. Something else catches his attention, and Jason leans himself slightly over the balcony to get a better look. Despite the fact that the whole bottom floor of the building is privacy glass; opaque at best and too reflective especially in sunlight. Now it’s dark and lights are on, Jason can see through a little better. On the floors above, where the staircase wraps around to lead onto the roof are the drivers own prep spaces and a number of offices. The glass here is much easier to see through; and with the dazzlingly bright lights, Jason can’t help but notice Eric King and Dar Basri in heated discussion. “Holy shit!” Jason says to himself, propping himself on his elbow he takes casual sips of his beer as he watches. There a lot of back and forth – and it’s very hard to tell who has the power. What Jason wouldn’t give to be in that room right now. He glances up; Salim is now craning his neck over the side of his own motorhome to try and figure out what is taking Jason’s attention, but the angle is all wrong. When he looks up and gives a shrug, Jason simply raises his eyebrows before taking another sip of beer.

He isn’t sure how long he watches for, but eventually the two men stand up. And then they shake hands. Jason’s heart leaps. He has no idea what that’s for – but he can only hope the best. His knuckles are turning white as he grips the balcony. Watching the two team principals laugh together for a moment, before they shake hands again, and Dar sees Eric out.

This time when Salim and Jason look down onto the paddock below, they watch Eric walk out of one building and across into the other. Jason barely lets himself catch Salim’s eyes; although it’s obvious that his partner has questions. Instead, Jason leaves the balcony, and placing his finished beer on a side table he rushes downstairs.

Salim watches him go; slightly puzzled. Jason must have spotted and been watching Eric below. But what was Eric doing over here? Salim shakes his head ‘Americans…’ before staring at the drink he’s still nursing.

His team principal has suddenly joined him, leaning backwards on the railing Dar sighs deeply. Salim looks across to him, “[Let me guess, you want my advice?]” They’d been friends a long time, Salim would like to think he knew Dar fairly well at this point. “[If someone gave you a way out of a predicament but it stood against everything you believed, what would you do?]” Salim’s eyebrows furrow; he looks to his drink once more. “[Try me.]” Dar turns himself to the side, away from the party and lowers his voice, “[Cadillac want to take the team over.]” If Salim was drinking he would have choked, “[Sorry?]” “[That’s what I said.]” “[The Americans, want us?]” Salim can’t help but be shocked, “[It’s barely been a few hours since we found out. The news didn’t break did it!?]” “[I’m sure there’s been leaks somewhere, Salim. We’ve known it could happen a lot longer than that.]” For a moment Salim forgets all about the fact he leaked it to his partner himself, and he scowls at the thought of someone from the team telling anyone else. “[…And Cadillac’s deal is… good?]” He’s trying not to sound hopeful, he knows Dar won’t like that. “[Does it matter, they’re American.]” Salim’s eyes drift over Dar’s shoulder to Zain and Tariq – still wrapped up in the celebrations. “[For those kids I would-]” “[Kid.]” Salim’s gaze runs back to Dar’s, and his team principal gives a shrug. “[Seems Tariq has been shopping himself around anyway. He already has a contract secure if something happens to us.]” Salim can’t help but raise his drink to that, and takes a sip. “[Smart kid.]” “[It’s a good deal, Salim, but it’s…]”

Salim nods, he understands what that means. No more small underdog rewriting the rules for itself… instead the big American corporates are in charge… And that’s just the start of the problems.

As Dar starts to explain the deal to him in more detail, Salim’s eyes drift over to the Cadillac motorhome. From here he can see Jason’s ready room. The American is half dressed to leave already; jeans on as he fumbles with his shirt to pull it over his head. Salim smiles as his eyes trace up Jason’s spine. His partner is clearly distracted by someone who is just out of Salim’s sight, as every so often Jason will glance up in that direction as if he’s talking. Eventually he manages to get the shirt over his head and his cap goes back on. He gesticulates as if he’s still conversing, and then he waves them off before moving to pack his bag.

Salim continues to watch him as Dar concludes. “[So, what would you do!?]” Salim shakes his head, “[What else can we do? If we want to be here next year. If we want to race… We’ll have to make a deal with someone. Why not this year’s winners?]” Salim turns and puts his hand on Dar’s shoulder, “[The decision is yours, my friend. But, Zain…]” Salim nods his head behind him. If the decision was his he’d have snapped Cadillac’s hand off just to make sure Zain wasn’t without a seat. And Dar knows that. Dar nods, then looks across to the Cadillac motorhome himself, shaking his head with a frustrated sigh. “[Americans.]”

Salim nods again absentmindedly, eyes trailing back to Jason’s room just in time to watch the lights flick off.

Mhm.

***

Jason has just about finished getting ready for bed when there is a knock at his hotel room door. He groans and hangs his head, before his eyes flick up to watch his grimace in the bathroom mirror. If this is Merwin and Joey trying to drag him down to the hotel room bar, he’s giving them a firm No. (At least that’s what he’s swearing to himself).

He stares at himself in the mirror for long enough that the knock becomes more urgent. Jason looks down to his shirt and boxers. Fuckin’…

He doesn’t check, just opens the door ready to give his friends an unimpressed look. Preparing himself to tell them to leave, rather than force him to get dressed and get drunk.

Even if he had checked first, Jason would not have expected to come face to face with his partner. “Salim!? What the fuck are you-!?” Salim doesn’t answer, he just walks forward. Pushing the door shut behind him, Salim collects Jason’s body against his in a sensual kiss. The American’s initial complaint becomes a quiet moan as Salim lifts him from the floor, and Jason wraps his legs around Salim’s waist. “I’m sorry…” the Iraqi murmurs quietly. “I’m sorry.” Jason pulls back slightly, eyebrow raised, “The fuck you gotta be sorry for!?” “I said we couldn’t celebrate…” Salim moves one of his hands so it settles against Jason’s cheek, and his smile is painfully apologetic. “Habibi, of course we can celebrate! I… want to celebrate with you. We just won the race – you just won the Championship! I-” Jason’s smile is nothing if not teasing, “You got nothin’ to be sorry for. Although, if you’re so insistent on apologisin’, I’d say this was workin’…” Salim walks them hurriedly over to the bed, causing Jason to wrap himself around him tighter. They collapse in a tangle of limbs and fingertips touching everything they can possibly reach.

Jason already panting hard against the travel of Salim’s hands and lips against his skin. He says Salim’s name breathlessly.

Yeah, he wants to celebrate too.

***

It’s a couple of weeks later that it becomes official. The motorsport news is rife with it the minute the post drops. Jason is standing in Salim’s London apartment kitchen, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, reading the post over and over.

The picture is poignant. Background in completely sunset orange as the car crests the curves of Le Mans up to the Dunlop bridge. Taillights aglow. He thinks that the Arabic at the top of the picture must say ‘thank you.’

The text underneath it, translated, insists that although this is the end of the team as their fans know it on the grid, it’s NOT the end of Yalla Speed Motorsport. The comments from the fans are as devastating as Jason would expect. But there is some excitement for the future too… it’s something he supposes the whole team have to cling onto themselves. Whatever is going down with Cadillac still isn’t entirely clear; that’s all gone far beyond even Eric’s reach in negotiations now.

He takes another sip of coffee. Whatever does happen now, he sure is going to miss this team on the grid. It’s been the best rivalry. Without them, he doesn’t have the partner he does now. ‘Speak of the…’ Salim’s arms snake around Jason’s torso, pulling him close. His hands skim under Jason’s shirt, brushing over his abs and stomach. The American is glad his hands are warm at least. Salim leans his head on Jason’s shoulder, eyeing Jason’s phone. “Kinda sad to think this had to happen… I can’t believe they really pulled you…” Jason muses, biting his bottom lip in his frown. “Mmm…” Salim adjusts his position and kisses Jason’s shoulder, “Is this about the time I say we should talk about what you did?” Jason’s coffee is halfway to his lips again, but he pauses. The little smile making its way across his face becomes sheepish.

Oh… He’s probably going to pay for this.

***

The season is over. Jason should be chilling on a beach somewhere a little too hot, disconnecting for a couple of weeks and unwinding from the season.

Instead he’s stuck in Cadillac racing headquarters in a meeting room practically on lockdown. The Yalla Speed social post has been a talking point; mostly because Cadillac is the next step now.

Fans are upset but excited and Tariq has already announced his team for next season – he’s moving into Aston Martin’s new Hypercar program. It’s a good prospect; he gets to establish himself at a brand new team. That leaves Zain on lockdown and Salim has an account, but it’s barely used. He’s the last person on the team anyone would look to for any information. Which almost makes him being the source of this happening ironic. Everyone is here, but there are multiple meetings going on and everyone is scattered around the campus. It’s allowed everyone the chance to socialise, to know names and faces and roles even if there is no finalisation yet. After all, it’s not just the drivers that have come, Cadillac have brought over the whole team, engineers, mechanics… everyone. There’s going to be a big mix up. And Jason wonders how stable the team can really be next year: will it more be about rebirth and growth. Can they really defend a championship when they will be so busy redefining themselves? Right now the standings are the furthest thing from his mind.

They’ve been here two days already and there’s one more to go. This is about the first time everyone has been in a room together since this started. No one is allowed a phone. Jason thinks they are being ridiculous – but he can hardly complain.

He can bet Cadillac were not the only ones bidding for Yalla when the news broke. Yet they still ended up here. Zain has immediately been drafted into the Cadillac Young Driver Program – something the team have created just for him; Jason isn’t surprised given how vocal he was about that, but it will help Zain grow fast. He has access to far more here than he’s been exposed to before.

There has to be six drivers between the two cars: Salim and Zain are brand new, but Joey is also getting promoted up to full time driver from his reserve role. They’re finally calling him over from IMSA. And the two cars mean a new livery is on the cards. The blue car is still on the table, but now there’s a yellow one in the mix. Jason is surprised it isn’t red. But he can bet that Iraqi flag is getting in somewhere once each car is finalised. Even the lineups aren’t chosen yet, which is why they are all sitting in here.

Jason assumes there will be a shake up, having three new drivers in one car is asking for trouble. Salim might be experienced and steady but this is a brand new car to get used to. He can’t be expected to lead right from the off. But which of Jason, Nick and Merwin are going to want to give up the car that just won both championships? This is not the most riveting meeting he’s ever been in; it’s nothing they’ve not heard before in every other meeting they’ve been sitting here for. Then they get told they are moving into more rooms. Except Jason. Jason is told to stay.

He tries not to sigh too loudly as he sinks back into his chair. Now he’s the only driver in the room, stuck with Eric and some of the race team executives. So he’s in trouble then.

Eric settles into the chair at the far end of the table opposite Jason and folds his arms; staring him down. “So, Jason. This is what you wanted.” Jason’s eyes narrow, “I thought it was worth looking into, what of it?” He knows he has to be measured here. “Well, we got it.” Clearly. “Uh huh. And now you have two great drivers to fit into our model… but they seem to be being welcomed. It’s going to be a lot to get used to, right?” “It’s not just drivers Jason, we have to fit in a new engineering team, race engineers, social media… everyone’s coming over.” Salim knew that by now, but Jason remembered him being particularly vocal about those concerns. “It’s a lot. And we have just a couple of months to get everything running smoothly.” “I’m sorry, now you’re acting like I’ve caused a massive issue!?” “No, Jason.” Eric laughs, but it’s really a warning to shut up. “But you’re the lead driver here. You’re the team lead. You’re going to be doing the heavy lifting.” Eric turns to the screen, where the two liveries still sit, “Time to put your money where your mouth is.” Jason considers what he’s saying for a moment. “…How can I lead a two car team by myself?” Eric turns back, “That isn’t what I’m saying.” Jason’s eyes widen, “You’re---” He looks around the room, “You’re giving me both Salim and Zain?!” “Well,” Eric steeples his fingers, “The preference of team should be yours. But that would be our preference.” He smiles, but it’s not friendly, “You know why they chose Cadillac, Jason? You know how many people we had to bid against?” Jason isn’t sure he cares how many. Jason knows the worst thing on the list for Cadillac is that they’re American. Besides, he’s sure Eric is about to provide the answer. And Eric does, pointing across the table, “You.” “Me!?” Jason can’t help being a little surprised. “Nothing to do with fastest man on the grid. I’m just as surprised.” This time Eric’s smile is a little warmer, “Apparently, you’ve shown exceptional respect and professionalism this year. I mean I didn’t dare ask for evidence!” The room laughs, but Jason knows: Salim had Dar’s ear. There was that nod in Le Mans… there was Spa last season… The podium in Fuji. “So you’re trying to give the team what they want?” “It might just be you need to be the mediator between the two teams to make this work…” “Steady, technical… fast.” Jason can’t help but almost smirk as he ticks that partnership off, “But you want me to teach them everything.” “Like I said, you brought us this. Now you do the work. Think you can handle it? The pressure?” Jason nods, he could thrive in pressure. “It’s a tested formula. Spa 24 Hours?” He leans back, grinning, hands behind his head, “Just tell me when I start!”

The answer to that was early the next morning. And when Jason turns up to the room with a coffee, Salim, Zain and Dar of all people are already sitting in the room waiting for him. Jason tips his head and points at Yalla’s old team principal, Eric is keeping his job, and while Jason is sure Dar wouldn’t be happy losing a role, Jason expected he’d be whisked into something back office or an executive role. “What the hell are you doing here man!?” Besides, he hasn’t seen Dar for the past two days. Eric shakes his head: off to a great start. “He’s part of the team Jason.” “Well, obviously.” Jason shoots Eric a ‘duh!’ look but then gestures back, “You started in the back with the engineers and designers right, you returning to that? Make her a little faster for us?” Dar shakes his head, “You’ll see me at the track, Jason.” Jason tips his head, “What like… Sporting Director? You gonna be at all the races?” Eric smirks, “Think a little closer to home, Jason.” Jason frowns and then double takes, glad he hadn’t decided to take a sip of coffee at that moment or he might have been choking on it: “You gotta be fucking with me.” Dar simply laughs, shaking his head. “You went from Team Principal to…” Oh, he was so screwed, “our race engineer?” That gets everyone laughing and Jason is wondering if he’s going to enjoy Rachel or Dar yelling at him more. Maybe he’d have to get Salim to teach him some Arabic. Thank God they had the off season for things like that. (If they ever got out of these damn meetings.) “All I’m sayin’ is good luck and you should probably talk to Rachel about me!” From the look on Dar’s face, he’d already been heeding that advice.

He takes a sip of coffee, clapping Zain on the back and settling into the chair next to Salim.

“Well, now everyone is here…” Eric stands up, “We can get started.” Jason checks his watch, muttering to himself, “Not my fault everyone else was fuckin’ early…”

The first discussion is the livery. Although it’s not a discussion. It’s been decided; and apparently not by Jason.

He’s of course ecstatic to see his beloved blue car up on screen. Jason is known for this car; the blue has always been his signature. Even at Corvette. It’s present in his race logo, his helmet. Blue is his favourite colour. He would have given it up for the two men sitting either side of him, but they had the opposite idea. Eric explains that when given the choice, Salim and Zain immediately asked for the blue for their beloved American boy. Jason acts like he’s leaning his chin on his hand, hand over his mouth and cheeks: but really, it’s to stop everyone from seeing how much he’s beaming and checking he’s not getting too hot. He owes them: he’s not sure how he’s supposed to say thank you for that.

But the blue car has an alteration to her colours from this year, also. The Cadillac stripe down the side evokes the badge: usually shifting, shattered lines in black, red and gold. They are still present; but where it breaks into shards across her fin, Jason realises they are red, white and black. He doesn’t miss the little ‘يلا’ - Yalla! that had been stylised as their team logo. It’s been worked into the livery beautifully, whoever had designed this had done some nice work. He folds his arms, and he can’t help but laugh even though no one has said it out loud yet, he turns to Salim, grinning, remembering their conversation from Spa last year. “So, are you guys ever driving anything without an Iraqi flag on?!” Salim’s smile is sweetly sarcastic. “It’s the least you could give us while you still get to drive her in blue.”

Jason smiles back, and it’s grateful. Salim is right. It is the least he can do.

The rest of the meeting explains how they expect the season to go. With two brand new line ups Cadillac are looking for a total reset. Until they know how everyone is going to perform there is no number one car. Even though Jason is the team lead. They’ve also given he and Zain a list of things to work on together – although Jason knows he already has some ideas of his own. He wonders just how ready he is to teach his partners kid in a professional context. There’s a difference between giving advice and it being his job. But the way Zain looks at Jason gives him the upmost confidence; Zain trusts him and believes in him. And Jason isn’t about to let him down, or Salim. Salim will have his back too; he still has much he can offer his son despite the car being new, and Jason is going to be grateful for all the support he can get on this. It's going to be one hell of a season.

Jason tries not to wonder too much if the focus is survival. But he doubts the team is expecting a repeat of this season even if they want it. Luckily for the three of them, it’s going to be easier to gel when they already have so much rapport. Salim and his relationship is still their business only. And they’re still going to clash while they’re teammates. Maybe even more now they’re in the same damn car. But they’re also going to have a bond and understanding that no other driver pair on the grid has: and that’s before they involve Zain. If he can really hone his own skills this year, the three of them will be a lethal combination.

The WEC better watch it’s back.

Eventually there is soft knock on the door, and in walks Clarice and the ex-Yalla team press officer. Jason was grateful that Clarice was about to have help to positively spin all his PR mishaps now.

Eric nods to them, and finishes up his general overview comments. “Now, I’ll leave Clarice with you all so you can figure out how you want to word this to the press…”

He says his goodbyes and exits, leaving the four of them to turn their attention to her. Jason isn’t surprised that they want to get ahead of this and get everyone’s quotes to show a unified front.

Yalla Speed made it clear they were coming back as something else. But there were enough issues Eric had already pointed out to Jason at the time about them being an all-American outfit. He realises he should be grateful that controversy didn’t take them out of the running all together, else Salim might not be sitting right next to him now.

Clarice sat across the table from them, sighing. Clearly she’s expecting some issues; and Jason almost smirks.

Well… she doesn’t know what she doesn’t know.

She lays out all her things, and their press officer sits beside her, ready to take just as many notes. Jason feels strangely relaxed for someone whose words are about to come under PR scrutiny.

Once she’s ready, she looks directly at Salim and Jason: her brown eyes staring at them hard, almost piercing. Clarice isn’t here to mess around.

“You two have had trouble in the past, both on and off track. That’s pretty well known. Are you going to be okay working like this?”

Zain and Dar give each other the same look across the table; to say it’s a knowing look could be an understatement. But Salim and Jason don’t even notice.

There is a moment of silence before Salim and Jason turn to each other. For a second Jason allows himself to get utterly lost in the look on his lover’s face, and his eyes. Salim is amused; it’s a look on the verge of ‘so should we just tell them?’ Although they both know they aren’t ready for that. Jason has been so lucky with this man so far, he never in his wildest dreams would think Salim would have shared the same feelings, let alone acted on them. They’d survived long distance, an insane season and were still going strong.

And now they got to be partners in every sense of the word. Whatever this season brings, they will face it together. And beat it, too.

Hands entwine and feet touch under the table and they both smile.

“I think we’ll be just fine.”

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