Doctor on the grid

13. High Hopes

We had two weeks before the next race - Barcelona. The team members were always excited about the Spanish GP, but not because they liked the circuit itself. In fact they already got bored of it, since it was also the place for the winter testing. Instead, everyone liked the atmosphere of the city with the sunshine, the beach, the food and drinks.

But until that, we still had more or less a week to spend with work in England. Well, the team tested and held briefings and I spent most of the days in the medical office. There was another team doctor working in Milton Keynes, but I didn't meet him. He was on vacation, so Lee and I had to substitute him for the week.

Wednesday afternoon I was sitting in my chair with my feet up on another one - bad habit I knew but it stuck while working long shifts. One had to grab every opportunity to prevent formation of varicose veins.

I closed my eyes for a minute to think through the topics of the first FIA training for the team doctors I supposed to held next weekend in Barcelona. I consulted Dr. Conrad on the phone that morning, and he was still very excited about the idea. We agreed on sending out the application emails next day.

Honestly, I nearly fell asleep when someone knocked on the door.

"Come in," I shouted. The door opened slowly an inch, and Daniel's head popped in. He got an anxious look on his face and I froze in the chair. Last time we talked was Sunday at the GP closing party in Baku. He was flirting and dancing with some fangirls, and I got so pissed about it. Well, I had no right to speak to him so rudely like I did, but it hurt for sure. Especially after having such a great time together previously.

"Hi," he started, still not brave enough to enter. I could just resist a smirk, remembering the last time he came into my office he nearly teared the door down bursting in.

"Hello Daniel, come in," I said with an indifferent tone and took my feet down from the chair.

He did and closed the door behind him. He stood there so hopeless I almost felt pity for him.

"Can I help?" I asked, raising my eyebrow. He sighed and ran his hand through his brown curly locks.

"Look, I know I was an asshole in Baku," he started. "And I feel like shit since then."

He in fact looked like shit. I wasn't the one who thought Daniel Ricciardo was not handsome in any circumstances, but standing in the sterile medical office atmosphere he just looked lost and sad. He got on our team shirt and training trousers. I'm sure they were testing all day in the lab and it's supposed to be his lunchtime.

I softened by his repentant look and shook my head.

"Hey, it's OK, I, too probably overreacted it," I murmured. "I had a little too much of your tequila."

"Well, it was your tequila," he said, and a little spark appeared in his eyes. I looked up and smiled at him. This broke the ice and he let himself giggle a bit.

"Yes, it was mine. But you poured!" I protested. He nodded and raised his hands protectively.

"OK, I admit I poured. It was my fault. May I have some forgiveness?" He asked with the most adorable puppy eyes I ever saw. It even made me bite my lower lip. I enjoyed the view for a few seconds then I nodded slowly.

"Sure."

He was now grinning like fool. He even took a step closer to the table I was sitting at.

"Awesome," he said, and a second later a faint shadow of doubt appeared on his face again. "So I wanted to ask something else," he sighed. "Back in the club."

I froze again, waiting for him to finish, as the uneasy feeling overcame me again.

"So Carlos is organising a party in Spain next week before the race," he explained. "He did one last year, it was pretty decent," he continued. "Most of the drivers were there, but no media. We are still laughing about the photos," he explained and judging from his expression, those pictures must have been worth heavy money to the press.