feelin' loopy; oscar piastri

06 - for your hands

a/n: i think you guys will like this one 😉

Vasilisa stood in the back of the Haas garage, picking nervously at the skin around her nails—a nervous habit she just never seemed to be able to kick—as she watched the cars line up in their grid spots after the formation lap. Despite how many races she'd watched, she could never shake the feeling of unease and fear whenever there was a close call. 

She watched Mick settle into the P9 spot, and her eyes couldn't help but wander over to the P16 spot where Oscar had parked. She swallowed the bile that had risen up in her throat at the thought of Oscar; the reminder of the crash that had happened years before—taking away her father—and Oscar's absence while she had been grieving. 

Mick and Sebastian had been the ones who had held her while she sobbed into their shirts, but Oscar had been the one she needed; the one who she used to tell all her secrets to, the one who had held her through her panic attacks. And he had been conveniently absent. Even Alé, her boyfriend of six months at the time—before he had shown his true colours—had held her through the long nights wracked with whole body hiccups. 

Vasilisa forced her eyes away from the obnoxiously bright-orange car and turned back to watch the lights, which were slowly lighting up in red one by one.

Lights out and away we go.

She spent the majority of the race watching Mick anxiously as he fought to defend against Pierre—who was right behind him—and cheered loudly when he managed to smoothly overtake two cars, climbing up to P7. Oscar, she noted in the back of her mind, had managed to rise spectacularly in the ranks, jumping from P16 to P12. 

Vasilisa's heart skipped a beat when Magnussen made contact with the wall on lap 55 and she held her breath painfully when 5 drivers DNF-ed upon the restart—every small stutter of the cars left her mind reeling. Her mind couldn't help flash to a hazy memory of being pulled out of her father's car, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of the wreckage left behind.

Finally, the race ended and she let out a whoop of joy when she saw Mick cross the finish line in P6, happiness replacing her concern. Laughing and cheering with the rest of the Haas garage, she was pulled into tight hugs from people she hardly knew.

When Mick finally finished his interviews and weighing, he re-entered the garage to the roars of all the Haas mechanics; no one could stop smiling at the incredible race he had driven—P6 was had been practically unimaginable this season for Haas. 

Vasilisa instantly threw herself at Mick, wrapping her arms around his neck to engulf him in a tight hug.

"Holy shit, Micky mouse," she screamed over the noise of the cheering, "I am so bloody proud of you."

Mick laughed, adjusting his hold on her to spin her around before setting her back onto the floor and ruffling her hair. "I guess I'm not half-bad."

They shared cheeky grins, making their way out of the paddock to his drivers' room, hardly able to stop grinning the whole time. Vasilisa's heart swelled for her best friend's success. Until she caught sight of a man walking with a group of Mercedes employees. 

Alejandro Diaz.

Fuck.

Her breath caught painfully in her throat, and she stopped, practically frozen in fear. Thousands of memories flashed through her eyes; drunken sex, kisses that bordered on bruising; the actual bruises pressed into her wrists, swollen cheeks that she waved away to others as "skating accidents." 

Skating accidents didn't leave hand prints.

"Mick—" she managed to whisper, not moving her eyes away from Alé. She couldn't finish her sentence. Mick looked down at her in concern, following her gaze until his eyes landed on Alejandro. Instantly, his hands curled into fists and he drew himself up menacingly.