#march 2020

March didn’t feel like disaster at first.

It felt more like a pause.

The street below the condo went quiet in layers. First the traffic thinned. Then the tourists vanished. Then even the delivery vans stopped double parking on the street downstairs.

The air changed.

It wasn’t dramatic, or scary really. Just… flatter. No airplane trails stretching across the sky. No background roar from the nearby motorways. Just an odd, hollow stillness, like someone had turned down the volume on the world.

Inside, the refrigerator hummed louder than she’d ever noticed before.

The email had been open far too long. Elena wasn’t even reading it anymore, just staring at the same line, over and over, like her brain hadn’t caught up to what the words meant yet.

Australia postponed.

Postponed.

Not canceled.

Not gone.

Just… not now. Not in 2 weeks like they had been preparing for.

“Elena?”

She didn’t answer, didn’t move

Marco’s footsteps were quiet against the hardwood. She barely registered him until his arms slid around her from behind, warm, solid, familiar.

He pulled her back into him without asking, chin brushing her shoulder.

“You’re going to burn a hole through the screen,” he murmured.

She exhaled, slow. “They’ve delayed Melbourne.”

He went quiet, long enough to read the subject and a few key lines.

It was clear he hadn’t been warned yet, so this was fresh news that they had to tell the teams first, so the teams could tell the sponsors. 

Marco tightened his hold slightly, one hand flattening against her stomach, grounding.

“Okay,” he said, not dismissive, or alarmed, just reevaluating the situation before responding.

“It’s not just Melbourne,” she added. “They’re reviewing Bahrain. Vietnam might go too.”

He hummed, thinking some more, then he pressed a kiss just behind her ear, soft and absentminded. “It’s a week,” he said. “Maybe two.”

Elena didn’t respond. Her eyes stayed on the screen. She was supposed to have left two days ago, be in Melbourne with the team but James had called and told her to hold off, that news would be coming.

Marco shifted, turning her slightly in the swivel barstool so she had to look back at him over her shoulder. “Hey.” His voice was gentle and reassuring.

“This is the first time you’ve stopped moving in… what, years?”

She almost smiled.

Almost.

It still felt so, gutting. 

“We’ll take it,” he continued, “Sleep in. Eat real food. Be a couple, of two normal people, for just a minute.”

Another kiss, this time to the side of her head, lingering. His nose was pressed into her hair, she could feel him breathing through the changes.

“It’s like a forced vacation.”

Vacation. The word didn’t sit right, but it didn’t feel wrong enough to argue with. A few weeks, just a little bit longer than the teams got for winter break before testing. She could do that. 

Elena leaned back into him again, her back pressed to his chest. She let herself be held.

For a second it worked and she felt like the world was no longer breaking. Then her laptop chimed again, it was another email from her work account, which meant another update.

She pulled away, not fully, just enough to where she could reach the keyboard and click on the brand new email. It was just responses to the delay from other teams, nothing that should concern her, yet she felt sick again

Marco didn’t stop her when she reached for the computer, his hands lingered a second longer before dropping.

“Come back to bed?” he asked.

Elena glanced at the screen, then at him. The panic of her emails could wait until later, until it was no longer 3 am.

“Yeah,” she said closing the laptop, taking his hand and shuffling back to their shared bedroom. 

By that afternoon, Bahrain had followed in the way of Melbourne.

By evening, Vietnam.

By the next morning, flights were being “reviewed,” then “adjusted,” then quietly canceled altogether.

The calendar didn’t collapse all at once.

It just emptied.

One notification at a time.

Elena’s laptop seemed to take a permanent residence on the kitchen table, cables sprawled across placemats that were meant for dinner guests they’d never had time to invite.

Marco’s laptop stayed in the study, door half closed, light always on. 

Lockdown created strange intimacy in the condo.

Marco started cooking because Elena burned pasta twice in the first week. Not a little joking burned, she blackened it. The smoke alarm wailed so loudly the neighbor knocked on the wall to see if they needed to call the fire brigade.

He took over after that.

“Sit,” he’d say, tapping her hip lightly with the back of his hand. “You’re not allowed near fire anymore. You handle the wine, Yes?”

She rolled her eyes but watched him move around the kitchen with calm precision. He always played music from his phone, sleeves pushed up, jaw relaxed. He chopped vegetables like it was meditation.

Some nights, they ate on the floor with plates balanced on knees, laughing when sauce dripped onto the rug. Other nights they sat on the kitchen counter and ate directly from the pot.

On occasion, they even get to the ‘making dinner’ part of it all.

Sex filled the hours the world gave back to them. 

Many lazy mornings were spent tangled in sheets. Afternoons when she was supposed to be in meetings but wasn’t because he had lured her away. Marco jokingly called it a good substitute for the gyms being closed. 

It was the kind of intimacy that felt like reassurance, like proof that things were still solid, still good, still theirs. Elena cherished every one of those days that forced her to slow down and breathe.

Though as days turned into months the days of quiet bliss slowly turned stagnant. They were back to work, but not in the normal way. Races were still an unknown variable but cars still had to be designed, and sponsor agreements still had to be created. 

Marco started asking about her schedule on certain nights, it was harder to find time now that they were both back on somewhat schedules stuck in the small condo.

“Do you have to take that call tonight?” he asked one evening while plating dinner.

“It is a call to work on strategy now that we created the new wing.” she said, filling their glasses with tonight's drink of choice.

Marco nodded slowly, then said, “There aren’t even races. How can you be working on strategy?”

He wasn’t wrong, without a set race calendar the strategy meetings on zoom were just Mercedes' way of getting everyone on a call to ensure they kept their minds sharp. But his words landed heavy anyway.

Later that evening, Elena was mid sentence on a call, pacing the hallway without realizing it. She had smuggled her headphones with the mic back from Brackley when she got to go get her things. Marco leaned out of the study, watching her pace for a moment before she finally noticed that he was there, he gently pressed his fingers to his lips. 

Elena nodded, covering her mic before whispering, “I’ll move to the dining room.” 

Days blurred.

She disinfected groceries even though she knew it was irrational. Marco washed his hands until the skin on his knuckles cracked. They ordered takeout less and cooked more. Delivery windows stretched from days to weeks.

News played constantly on the tv in the background, world panic seemed to grow, countries were closing borders and it slowly seemed like the race calendar would disappear entirely. 

Outside, a neighbor clapped from their balcony every evening at eight. Someone else started playing the trumpet badly at nine.

Inside, time lost its shape.

It was sometime around noon, but Elena didn’t have anything else on her schedule, the only meeting she had was at 6 am, but that was because certain team members were still in Australia. 

“You’re still in pajamas.”

Elena glanced down at herself, plaid fuzzy pants and an old university t-shirt. She shrugged glancing into the doorway of the study, Marco was wearing a collared shirt, his meetings probably had a camera. “It’s lockdown.”

“It’s still a weekday.”

The doorbell startled her.

That was a sound that had sort of fell by the way side when no one came to the door anymore. Even the food delivery drivers just put the bags down and walked away. 

She waited for a long moment staring at the door, like she’d forgotten what it meant.

Marco appeared in the hallway.

“Did you order something?”

“No.”

When she opened the door, the box filled up most of the doorway. It was far too big to be anything casual. 

The box was tilted, and she struggled to get it up and over the doorway ledge, it was heavy. Eventually Marco helped her drag it to the space between the living room and the kitchen. 

Elena Vasilakis was printed cleanly across the label. Well, that answered one question, but so many more popped up in its place. There was no company branding, and no explanation. But, it was the most excited she had been in weeks. 

Rushing to the kitchen, she grabbed a knife and quickly walked back, settling on her knees next to the box. Marco stood a few feet away, arms crossed like he was supervising. 

She cut it open there on the floor, folding back the cardboard flaps and pulling back some of the foam layers. 

There was metal. Wiring. 

She pushed a few packing peanuts out of the way and came across a steering wheel, wrapped in plastic and protective foam. Then Pedals.

Elena's breath caught when she realized what it had been. 

Her phone buzzed on the ground next to her, a message came in. 

🇳🇱The Child🇳🇱

You look bored on calls. This will fix it. Now you have no excuse to avoid me.

She couldn't help but laugh, as silly as she wanted to say that it was, she was grateful. 

Marco leaned against the kitchen island, arms crossed, watching as she pulled each part out. “He sent you… a cockpit.” 

Elena ran her fingers over the shifters on the steering wheel, “He sent me a way to be connected.” 

She didn’t wait, or think it over. It took about half an hour for Elena to rearrange the guest room, the bed was now pushed in the corner, and the bedside tables were split, one went into the closet for storage and the other was kept for a side table to the sim. 

The entire sim was built in one afternoon, there were pieces spread across the floor, and the instructions had been somewhat discarded after the fifth page. She understood F1 cars for a living, how difficult could this be? 

Now there was something to do, something to solve, something to make her feel alive. 

Marco watched from the guest room doorway for a while, then he disappeared down the hall and back to the study. 

The first time she logged on, it felt like stepping into another room. Into a garage. Into a home that felt like a memory.

“Welcome back to civilization,” Lando’s voice crackled through her headset as she joined the call. 

Elena smiled before she could stop herself, “It’s been so long, I think I forgot what engines sound like.”

George scoffed, his name lighting up on the call frame. “We’re about to traumatize you.”

“WAIT-” Alex’s voice cut in, distant and panicked. “I’M STILL LOADING-”

The simulated engine noises roared to life in her ears. Sure it was artificial and digital, but it was perfect. 

Hands gripped the wheel as the lights went out. The first time she took the corner she missed the apex and slid into the gravel some. 

She didn’t seem to care, laughing it off as she recovered on the track. 

To be fair, she was paid to understand and build cars, not race them. 

A few days into her new hobby, Marco slipped into the guest room during his lunch break. 

“They don’t need to rely on you.”

Elena looked up from her phone, genuinely confused at the nature of the statement. 

Marco was leaning in the doorway, watching her with that same easy expression he sometimes dawned when he was trying to be convincing.

“They’re my friends,” she said.

“Of course,” he replied immediately, “I just mean-” Marco sighed, “-I don't want you to burn yourself out.” 

“They’re bored.”

“So are we,” A glass of water was placed next to her, “but, whatever makes you happy, Coccinella.” Marco placed a kiss on her head before walking back to the doorway.  

Midnight slowly became her favorite hour.

Marco went to bed relatively early every night, she’d kiss him goodnight, and close the doors, then take off across the condo, down the stairs and around the corner in soft padded footsteps. 

It was routine. 

When the sim powered up and the call was joined the room came alive. 

It was no longer just George, Lando, and Alex in the calls. Now there was a frequent group of drivers who joined up for races. From Daniel Riccardo, to Charles Leclerc, Max of course, and even Pierre. Carlos sometimes joined, but not many words were exchanged between them besides comments about placements. 

The argument still stung in her chest a bit whenever she saw his name on her screen, but time is what they needed. And, she loved Marco, so if it came to it? There was a clear decision. 

It took a few weeks of consistently driving to get to a point where she could be competitive with any of the drivers. The engineer side of her had to learn to use instinct over the urge to know everything, it took lots of trial and error, running into walls, and solo track time. 

Elena's trial and Error got to the point where Max had video called her, demanding that he watch her do a couple laps so he could give her a tip or two. He claimed that her performances were making a fool out of engineers everywhere. 

Apparently, the translations of knowledge to application were more difficult than she had expected. 

They raced without talking much.

Just the sound of engines and the occasional “You are shifting too late.”

“You’ve been saying that all evening.”

“Because you are.”

It reminded her of her time with Max in the Toro Rosso garage, but now it felt like the roles were reversed. It was no longer her criticizing and giving advice to him, now Max was giving her the advice. 

But, it was comfortable. She had forgotten over the quarantine how much she missed being around him, even if it was just a short conversation after a race.

“Wait,” Max said suddenly, reaching for his camera, adjusting it, tilting it down slightly. 

Two cats climbed into frame like they owned it.

One draped himself over his shoulder. The other attempted to sit directly on his keyboard.

Elena melted instantly. “You have cats?”

“Obviously.”

She leaned closer to the screen, like that would somehow make them real and she would be able to pet them. “I always wanted one.”

“Get one.”

The answer was so simple it almost hurt, but it was Max, that man didn’t know how to be subtle, so to him, it was just as simple as it seemed.

A smile appeared, small and tight, along with a ghost of a shrug. “Marco’s allergic.” 

Max didn’t hesitate, he never seemed to.  “Dump him. Cats are better anyway.”

Elena laughed, shaking her head, choosing to believe that he was joking, but she also knew that Max very much was not. 

“I won’t.” A decision was made, and her voice dropped, getting softer rather than quieter,  “I think he’s the one.”

Max didn’t laugh, he was mid way through lifting the cat from his shoulder, and was now unmoving, staring at the screen, head lifted slightly. 

“Do you think that,” he asked evenly, “or are you convincing yourself?”

Elena looked away first, she had complained to Max plenty of times over the quarantine but it was because she liked feeling connected to him and bugging him with text messages of complaints was a good way to do that. 

“Max, Relationships plateau,” she said quietly. “They stop being loud. That doesn’t mean they’re wrong. And it isn’t like all relationships aren't under stress from the quarantine.”

Max shrugged, “Cars don’t plateau.” That was his way of focusing the conversation back on the sim race. He clearly didn’t have much else to say about it. 

And somehow that wasn’t reassuring. 

The session wound down not long after.

A quick goodnight and Elena pulled off her headset, letting it rest around her neck for a second before setting it aside. The sim powered down with a soft hum, the room settling back into silence.

She padded down the hallway and up the stairs, the apartment dim and still.

The bedroom door was half open, and Marco was already asleep, like he had been for nearly 2 hours.

She slipped inside, leaned down, and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. He shifted slightly, not waking, a content noise slipped from his lips and it made her smile. He looked so unguarded in his sleep.

Elena lingered for half a second then climbed into bed on her side, sliding under the covers, turning onto her back as the quiet settled back in.