#estejack

"Come here, come here--" Esteban positions his arm around Jack's waist - not too firm, not too loose - just enough to support the bruised, sore body he just hoisted out of the car. Just enough for Jack to know he's there.

And he can hear Jack hiss beneath his helmet, a sharp intake of breath that is masking a pain Esteban knows is beyond bone deep. "There are cameras."

"Then let them roll," Esteban says, dismissive of the concern and yet said with such a warmth, all of the affection he feels for Jack spilling out into his voice, "I've got you. And I do not care who sees."

"Thank you." Jack replies, his head lolling slightly to the side. His helmet bumps Esteban's shoulder, and it's becoming more apparent how desperate the need for rest is growing.

"For what?" Esteban asks, voice low enough to dodge pickup from the microphones surrounding them. Jack's body tenses and relaxes in the same breath, and Esteban gently tightens his grip to keep Jack steady.

"No one else came to help. Hardly anyone even checked on me after FP2. It just...means a lot, mate." Comes Jack's response, quiet and meek, and so unlike the sparky, energetic young man that Esteban knows well.

"No need to be thanking me for this. Anyone who cares would do the same."

Jack chuckles then. It's a sound that's equal parts amused and bitter - because if anyone understands what it's like to be nearly invisible, it's Esteban. And he knows what thoughts are swirling around in that tired, helmetted head right now.

"Well, I appreciate you caring, then."