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Chapter Text

Clara sits at the back of the school assembly hall, zoning out as she is supposed to be listening to a talk held by Formula 1 driver Carlos Sainz. Follow your dreams. To her it just feels like a mockery. What dreams? It isn't as if any of it could apply to her.
When the talk ends she quickly slips out and heads for her usual spot, a stone bench behind the cafeteria. It has become her refuge. Quiet, out of sight and far from the other people crowding the school.
As she eats the sandwich and banana she has brought for lunch she mulls over worries she can't share with anyone. The constant threat of being transferred to yet another foster home, to a new school with more new people she doesn't want to get to know. For as long as she can remember that has been her reality, and she has long since stopped trying to fit in.
The sound of footsteps startles her. She looks up, freezing in shock when she sees Carlos stop a few meters away.
"Hi," he says casually.
Clara doesn't reply. What does he want anyway?
"I didn't see you at lunch."
How does he know she didn't join the others? She averts her gaze.
"I don’t do lunch crowds."
"Not a fan of small talk?”
"No."
To Clara's surprise he approaches her bench and sits down on the opposite end.
"You know, I don't get this kind of treatment very often."
She snorts. "What? People not throwing themselves at you?"
"Yeah." He grins. "Most of the time they can't wait to tell me how 'inspiring' I am. But you didn't look too impressed in there."
Clara hadn't expected him to notice, much less follow her outside. She rolls her eyes.
"I wasn't interested."
"Clearly." He actually sounds faintly amused. "Mind if I ask what was so much more engaging than my talk?"
"Maybe some of us have actual things to worry about," she bites back.
"Fair enough. I just thought it looked like you had a lot on your mind."
Was it that obvious? "So what if I do?"
"Sometimes it helps to talk to someone."
He is so calm, so completely unbothered by her sarcasm that it is infuriating.
"Why do you care?" she challenges. "You don't even know me."
"Maybe not. But that doesn't mean I can't be here to listen."
She scoffs. "Sure. I'll just pour my heart out to a random guy who shows up for half an hour to tell us to 'follow our dreams' or whatever." She immediately regrets saying it, but it is easier to push people away than to risk letting someone in.
Carlos doesn't even flinch, just nods. "I get it. Those big speeches can sound pretty empty."
"So why do you give them?"
"Because sometimes someone does listen. And I figure, if that happens for even one person it's worth saying." He looks up at the sky, where clouds drift slowly across the sun. "You know," he continues, almost as if he is talking to himself, "I wasn't the 'sit in a school assembly' type either."
Clara looks at him again. "So what changed?" she asks before she is able to stop herself.
He glances back at her. "I started racing. It was something I cared about and wanted to stick with, even when it got tough. Sometimes it's just about finding that one thing that makes you feel… less lost."
She rolls her eyes. "Some of us don't get those kinds of chances, so don't waste your time with the pep talk."
"Noted. No pep talks." Carlos pulls a card from his pocket, offering it to her. "You don't have to decide right now, but if you ever want to talk I'm here to listen."
"Yeah, right."
He smiles slightly. "Try me. You might be surprised."
Clara looks at the card for a long moment, unsure of what to do. People don't usually give her anything without expecting something in return, and here he is offering her an open invitation. Slowly she reaches out and takes it.
"Have to go, next class is in five minutes."
"Take care, it was nice to meet you."
Clara stuffs the card into her phone case, stands and slips back into the school. He doesn't know that it's not just five minutes until the next class. She just isn't sure how to deal with the fact that someone is actually talking to her as if she is a normal person and not a problem child.

The next morning Clara is woken by her foster mother's usual hard knock on her door.
"Clara! Get up!"
"I'm up."
The 17th of April. Her sixteenth birthday. Clara sighs as she slowly gets out of bed. There is no need to check her phone for congratulatory messages, and she doesn't expect her foster parents to remember. No one ever does.
Grabbing a pair of jeans from the floor she pulls them on before heading to the bathroom. She looks herself in the mirror. The reflection staring back at her is as unremarkable as she feels. Messy hair, the faded tanktop she had worn to bed. The same girl she was yesterday and the day before that.
Maybe this year will be different though. Maybe this year they will actually remember. But that tentative flicker of hope is effectively shattered when she enters the kitchen.
Her foster mother is bustling about, pouring coffee into a mug and flipping through a newspaper. Clara hesitates in the doorway.
"Morning."
"Toast is on the counter," her foster mother replies without looking up.
Clara glances at the counter, where two slices of slightly burnt toast sit on a plate. She grabs one, already cold, and bites into it. She wants to say "It's my birthday, you know", but the words catch in her throat. Because what's the point? The last time she tried, when she was nine, the awkward apology had stung worse than being forgotten.
At school there is no one congratulating her either. Clara keeps to herself, and spends the lunch break alone on her bench as usual. Curled up, eating her sandwich, she almost wishes that the Formula 1 driver, Carlos Sainz, would return. She doesn't really think he meant what he said about reaching out, but the fact that he talked to her made her feel a little less invisible. If only for a moment.
She glances at the card he gave her. She hasn't planned on using it. Why would she? But she can't bring herself to throw it away either.
When the last class of the day is finally over she heads to a nearby convenience store, and makes her way to the bakery section. There is a selection of cupcakes, and she picks a small one with chocolate frosting on top. As she pays for it the cashier gives her a friendly smile and wishes her a good evening. Clara gives her a tentative smile in return.
When she comes home she slips quietly into her room. Sitting on her bed she looks at the cupcake, trying to swallow the lump in her throat. A birthday isn't a big deal. It doesn't matter that no one has congratulated her.
"Happy birthday to me, happy birthday to me," she whisper sings quietly. "Happy birthday dear Clara, happy birthday to me."
The cupcake is too sweet, and the frosting sticky. She eats it anyway, the lump in her throat refusing to go away.

It's Saturday afternoon, a few days after her birtday, when Clara gets a text from Elena, a two year older girl she met at school about a year ago.
'Are you coming to Eduard's tonight?'
Clara hesitates for only a moment before replying that she will. Anything is better than staying here. The house isn't home, and the people inside aren't family.
'Don't be late.'
'Chill. I said I'll be there didn't I?'
'Good. Don't make me come get you'
As Clara comes downstairs a couple of hours later her foster mother, sprawled on the couch in the living room, looks up from her magazine.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
Clara quickly slips on her shoes and leaves the house before someone can stop her. She heads to the nearest bus stop, barely making it before her bus arrives.
Seated at the back Clara stares out the window, watching buildings rush past. Twenty minutes later she steps off at the edge of the city. She makes her way up a cracked stone path, weeds brushing her ankles, until she reaches a large garden. It is a mess of overgrown bushes along with too long grass, and the house perching in the middle of it all a two-story relic of better days. Music thumps from inside, growing louder as she approaches.
Clara quietly pushes the front door open, the noise engulfing her immediately. Laughter, loud voices and music all blending together. The smell hits her next. Beer, cigarette smoke and something sharper, almost metallic.
Elena spots her from across the room, a grin spreading across her face. She weaves through the crowd.
"Took you long enough," she says, somewhat good naturadely, shoving a bottle into Clara's hand.
Clara takes it without a word and drinks, the bitter taste familiar now.
Eduard, stretched out on one of the couches, glances up and smirks. "The quiet one's back. Starting to think you like it here."
"I get bored easily."
"Clara! You're here!"
She looks around and sees Alejandra, barely fourteen, hurry towards her. Clara gives a small smile, letting herself be pulled into a hug.
"Elena wouldn't have taken no for an answer."
Alejandra flits away, and Clara sees one of the older guys beckon her over. Saying something to her he holds out a pill, which she quickly pops into her mouth before taking a swig from her beer can.
"She shouldn't be here," Clara mutters.
Elena raises an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Because she's just fourteen. Shouldn't she be out riding her pony or taking ballet lessons or something?"
Elena shrugs. "She's better off here than alone."
Fransisco, another older guy in the group, approaches. He gives Clara a once over.
"Still hanging out with us lowlifes?"
"What can I say? You're inspiring."
He laughs. "I like your sense of humour."
Elena leaves them, and Fransisco beckons Clara over to a small couch in a corner. She sits down next to him, and doesn't protest as he puts a hand too far up on her thigh. Instead she empties her beer and looks around the living room.
She doesn't like these people. Not really. But at least they let her be part of something, drink and forget. And isn't that better than being stuck in a house where no one cares?
A while later Elena returns, carrying two glasses. She hands one to Clara.
"Here."
She takes a sip. It's definitely stronger than beer.
"Thanks."
Clara finishes the glass in four large gulps, despite the foul taste. She isn't here to feel better- she is here to feel nothing.
A guy she doesn't even know the name of walks up to them and holds up an opened whiskey bottle. Fransisco nods, and takes the bottle as the guy walks off. Turning to Clara he lets his gaze run over her, smiling slyly.
"Do you want some?"
Clara nods. Yes, she wants some. Just to take the edge off. As she reaches for the bottle he pulls it away.
"You know the deal."
Her stomach twists. She wants to say no, turn and walk away, but as Fransisco stands and gestures for her to follow she complies without a word.
As she walks behind him up to the second floor her mind drifts to the card still tucked into her phone case. Carlos Sainz. What would he think? He probably doesn't even know places like this exist.
He stands on stages telling people to follow their dreams while she is here, trying to navigate the mess that is her life. What dream is she supposed to follow? Survive the night without throwing up?
Reaching the top of the stairs Clara glances back at the chaotic living room below. Maybe she should text him. ‘Hey Carlos. Guess where I am? Bet you couldn’t even imagine it in your worst nightmare'.
Fransisco opens the door to one of the bedrooms. Clara tries to block out the memories of other times she has been there, keeping her gaze on the floor as she walkes past him. The click as he closes the door sends a chill through her.
Undoing his jeans Fransisco puts a heavy hand on her shoulder. Clara kneels. At least it's better than the alternative.
Afterwards, as he hands her the bottle, she takes three large gulps in an attempt to wash away the taste of him. The alcohol burns in her mouth and down her throat, but does little to take away the feeling of shame and guilt.
Without a word he leaves the room. Sitting down on the small, creaky bed Clara pulls her knees up to her chest, taking another swig from the bottle.
She absentmindedly pulls out her phone, her fingers reaching for the card Carlos gave her. What would he even say if she told him? ‘Hey Carlos. Having a fantastic night at a house where alcohol and drugs are handed out to minors and the only thing anyone cares about is what they can take from you.’
She presses her knuckles to her mouth, trying to drown out the sour taste and the burning in her throat. He would probably try to say something nice. How she doesn't have to live like this, like there is some magic exit door she just hasn’t found yet. Easy to say when your whole life is a racetrack and a penthouse view.
She almost puts the card away, but something makes her open a new message. 'You probably don't remember'. Backspace. 'Sorry to bother you'. Delete. Everything feels too much but the promise, "I'm here to listen", makes her try again.
'You probably don't remember but we met a couple of weeks ago at my school. You gave me your card and said you'd listen. That still true?'
Her thumb hovers over the delete button. She will just make a fool of herself. But she sends the message anyway, her heart pounding as it delivers.
She expects him to not reply, but a few minutes later his response comes through.
'Of course I remember. What's on your mind?'
Clara hesitates, but there is something inside her that needs to be heard. She types, deletes and retypes before finally settling on a message.
'Sorry if I'm bothering you. Just having a rough night'
Carlos' response comes quickly. 'You're not bothering me. What's going on?'
The simplicity of his reply catches her off guard. There is no judgment, no probing- just an unfamiliar openness. She takes a deep breath as she starts to type.
'Just feel like I keep screwing things up. And it's just hard. Being this person everyone expects nothing from.'
She has never been so candid with anyone and it's scary, but what does she have to lose? She can just block him later if she wants to. She sends it, and a reply comes through moments later.
'I'm sure you're more than what people see and more than their expectations.'
No one has ever said anything like that to her before- no one has ever believed in her beyond what she shows on the surface. It makes her feel strangely vulnerable, making her type out another message
'I don’t even know why I'm telling you this'
'You don't always have to know why. By the way, want to tell me your name?'
She hesitates. Letting him in will only make it hurt more when he inevitably leaves, but she replies again.
'Clara'
'Hi Clara, nice to hear from you. You're welcome to keep in touch any time.'
Her head is buzzing from the alcohol and her hands tremble as she reads Carlos' latest message again. The words feel like they come from another world. One where people care, where kindness doesn’t come with a price. A world where someone like her doesn't have a place.

Carlos is sitting at a table in a grand dining hall, the chandeliers above casting a warm, inviting glow over the room. Around him the air buzzes with laughter and conversation as drivers, team principals and sponsors mingle over fine wine and gourmet food.
"Who was that?" Lando asks from beside him.
Carlos looks up from his phone. "Sorry?"
"Your phone." Lando grins. "Was it a girlfriend?"
Chuckling, Carlos shakes his head. "No. You know the outreach program I work with? The talks I give at schools?"
"Yeah, the inspirational stuff. Be like Carlos, follow your dreams."
Carlos smirks. "Something like that. At one of the schools there was this girl. She seemed... less than impressed with me and my talk."
"So then what? You asked for a chance to make her see sense and got her number?"
For once Carlos doesn't joke back. "She just seemed... I don't know. She just sat at the back of the room, didn't pay attention to anything and left as soon as the talk was over. She didn't even sit with the others for lunch, she went outside by herself."
"And then what?"
"I went out to talk to her. I guess I just wanted to see if she was okay."
Lando is now looking intently at him, clearly waiting for him to continue.
"She didn't say much. She was just very sarcastic."
"Sarcastic?"
"Yes. It was almost as if she used it as a... a shield, you know? It didn't matter what I said. I gave her my card, and told her she can reach out if she needs to talk."
"And did she?"
"Yes. Now, tonight."
At that monent the phone buzzes again. Picking it up he finds a new message from her- Clara.
'Thanks for answering. Didn't think you would.'
Carlos quickly types a reply. 'Of course I would. Want to tell me what’s going on?'
This time it's several minutes before her response comes through.
'No. Just needed to vent I guess.'
'Any time Clara'
Lando raises an eyebrow. "Well? What does she say?"
Carlos smiles slightly. "Nothing you need to know."
"Oh, come on. She has clearly got your attention, what's the deal?"
"She just… seems to have a hard time."
Lando's grin falters. "Like, really bad? Should you be calling someone for her?"
"No. But she reached out, that is already a big step."
"You care about her, don't you?"
"I don't even know her. But if she wants me to, I will listen."
"Good."
Carlos studies Lando for a moment, the unexpected support catching him off guard.
"You are not going to make this into a joke?"
"No. It sounds like she needs someone to talk to, and if that someone is you, then good for her."
"Thanks."
They are interrupted when the toastmaster for the evening begs for attention.

Clara stares at her phone, Carlos' last message glowing at her.
'Any time Clara'
She tries to suppress her embarassement. She doesn't really know why she reached out, doesn't know what she expects. People like him don’t waste their time on people like her- yet he had responded to her mess of a life without any judgment.
A part of her wants to believe that he meant it when he said he is there. But the louder, crueler part insists he will be like everyone else. Kind for a moment and gone when things get hard.
She looks at his latest message again. What’s his angle? She doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t even know if she can trust him. But she doesn’t delete his number.
Not yet.

Chapter Text

At the end of yet another day to forget Clara is curled up on her bed, aimlessly scrolling on her phone. Without thinking she opens Carlos' texts. She hasn't heard from him since the night at Eduard's, and she hasn't texted him either. What would she say anyway?
Switching to the browser she hesitates. This is stupid. He is just some guy. A famous guy. With sponsors, and fans, and probably a private jet or something. What does she care? But her fingers move of their own accord, typing in his name. Carlos Sainz.
The screen fills with photos of him smiling for cameras, standing on podiums and casually walking through what looks like a red-carpet event. She looks at one picture for a moment, snorting. Of course he looks like that, with a perfect smile, perfect hair. He probably doesn’t even know what a bad hair day is.
Curiosity piqued, she moves on to Carlos' Instagram. His feed is a mix of race photos, travel shots and impossibly candid moments. Everything screams 'perfect life'. One of the posts is from the day he gave the talk at her school. There is a photo of him standing on stage, smiling as he holds a microphone, and the caption reads 'Inspiring the next generation!'
Clara snorts. Half the kids, including her, just wanted an excuse to skip class. But she pauses over the comments section, where loads of people have chimed in.
'Such a role model!'
'Wish he’d come to our school too.'
'What a great initiative.'
'Carlos, you're amazing!'
Clara scoffs at the gushing comments. Is this what happens when you're famous? You just have a built-in fan club? Still she can't stop scrolling, skimming through more posts and articles.
He is famous. Rich, most likely. Probably with a perfect life, perfect everything. Why does someone like him care about someone like her?
She finds a race schedule, realising that there is a race coming up this weekend. What if she would actually watch it? It's not like she cares, but something about the way Carlos answered her that night has stuck with her and there is a part of her that wants to know what he is about.

The sound of engines fills Clara's room as she lies on her bed, watching the race on her laptop. She has no idea what is happening. The commentators throw around terms like 'DRS zone', 'undercut' and 'pit windows', and it could as well be a foreign language.
Still she keeps watching, and when Carlos crosses the finish line in the top five she lets out a relieved breath.
Later that evening she even sends a message before she can second-guess herself.
'Saw you finished fifth in the race today. Not bad.'
A while later a response comes through.
'You watched the race? I didn’t expect that! What did you think?'
Surprised that he replied, Clara hesitates before texting back.
'Just wanted to see what the fuss was about. Not convinced.'
'At least you gave it a shot'
Clara smiles slightly. Yes, at least she gave it a shot.
Later still she finds herself on her phone again, scrolling through Instagram and clicking on one of Carlos’ tagged posts. A fan account appears, filled with pictures and videos of him smiling for cameras, signing autographs, posing with fans, laughing with other drivers.
The posts are intense- gushing captions and replies including heart emojis and hashtags like #SmoothOperator and #CarlosSainzForever. Squinting at one of the captions, 'Carlos is literally perfect in every way!', she snorts. No one is perfect. And for all these posts and emojis she is sure that none of them has ever texted him like she has.

Yet another race weekend. Inbetween practice sessions Carlos finds himself in the garage, the chatter of engineers filling the air. As he scrolls through his phone, catching up on messages from family and friends, his thumb hovers over Clara’s contact. It has been some time since her last message, and he wonders if she is okay or if she has just decided he isn't worth her time after all.
On a whim he switches to the camera and snaps a photo of his car, gleaming under the garage lights. Before he can change his mind he captions it and hits send.
'Do you think we could tempt you to spend a couple of hours in front of the TV on Sunday?'
Her reply comes faster than he expected. 'Looks shiny. Still don't get it.'
Chuckling, Carlos replies. 'Come on, you might even enjoy it.’
'Doubt it. But I guess I can watch for five minutes.'
'Five minutes? That's it? I thought we were making progress.'
'Progress? You mean getting me to stare at cars driving in circles? Sure, if you want me to fall asleep out of boredom'
'We'll see. Maybe I'll surprise you.'
'Don't count on it'
A voice interrupts him. "Carlos, ready for the briefing?"
He looks up, pocketing his phone. "Coming."

He doesn't hear from Clara again until Sunday. When he finally gets to check his phone after the race a message from her is waiting. A picture of a laptop screen where his car is parked behind the sign with the number 2, accompanied by a caption.
'Proof I didn't die of boredom. Still don't get the hype.'
Carlos chuckles, quickly typing a response.
'That's progress. And you didn't fall asleep.'
His phone buzzes moments later.
'You don't know that'
'I'm pretty sure I do. At least you're awake now since you're texting me.'
'Obviously'
'So what kept you awake? The race or my shiny car?'
'Neither. The commentators were like auctioneers on caffeine at times kind of entertaining actually.'
This makes Carlos laugh. 'Next time, pay attention to the overtakes. That's where the fun is.'
'Next time? You're being very optimistic.'
'Always. Besides you watched today. That's at least a little curiosity isn't it?'
There is a pause before Clara's next reply.
'Maybe I was just bored'
'Boredom doesn't last two hours. Admit it, you're starting to like it.' Carlos counters.
'Don’t push your luck Smooth Operator.'
He chuckles at the nickname. 'I see someone's been doing their homework.'
'Doesn’t mean I’m interested in cars going in circles'
'I’ll win you over eventually'
'Good luck with that.'
As strange as this is, whatever it is they are doing, Carlos can’t help but enjoy it. Clara's quick wit and sarcasm are a refreshing contrast to the carefully curated compliments and polished interactions he is used to. He types another message.
'By the way, auctioneers on caffeine is the best description I've ever heard of F1 commentary. I might steal it.'
'Go ahead. It'll make you sound smart'
Carlos bursts out laughing. 'Smart? You sure you're not just trying to make me look bad?'
'Wouldn’t dream of it, Smooth Operator.'
He shakes his head, still smiling. There is something about Clara's complete indifference to his fame that makes every interaction feel... real. She doesn't try to impress him, doesn't care about his achievements. And for the first time in a long time Carlos feels like someone outside his family and circle of friends is talking to him- not the driver, not the celebrity, but just him.

Chapter Text

Clara is curled up on her bed, phone in her hand, the message thread with Carlos open. She had actually enjoyed their latest back-and-forth, and it had felt like he did too. But why is he still texting her?
She rereads the conversations they've had over the past few weeks. The playful banter, the way he responded to her frustrations. She should feel good about it, shouldn’t she? Instead a familiar feeling creeps in. He'll leave. People always do.
The memory comes unbidden, of a foster family she stayed with when she was eleven. For the first time in years she had started to believe it could work. The mother had braided her hair, the father had helped her with homework. Then, one day, a social worker came to visit.
"We think Clara would do better in a different placement," the foster mother had said. "This is just not a good fit".
Clara remembers standing in the hallway, her bags by her feet, as they told her goodbye. They hadn't even looked her in the eyes.
It wasn't the last time.
She blinks, pushing the memory aside. But the feeling lingers. That sick certainty that it's only a matter of time before people decide she isn't worth the effort.
Her thumb hovers over Carlos' contact. It would be easier if she ends it before he could. But she doesn't. Instead she sets the phone down and buries her face in her hands. He seems different. But how could he be? He is Carlos Sainz, a racing driver with a life she will never understand. The kind of person who has everything handed to him on a silver platter.
Clara glances at her phone again. She could text him, pretend none of these thoughts exist. He would reply- he always does. But what if this time he doesn’t? What if she sends a message and it's the beginning of the end?
Her foster mother's voice cuts through the silence.
"Clara! Dinner!"
She reluctantly shuffles off the bed and heads into the kitchen. Dinner is quiet as usual and she eats quickly, feeling her foster mother's supervising gaze as she puts her plate and cutlary in the dishwasher afterwards. Clara snorts inwardly. For someone who doesn't care about her, her foster mother is awfully nitpicky about the way she cleans up after herself. Her foster father is actually a little better- at least he tries to seem somewhat interested in what goes on in her life. Not that it matters. It's not like she would confide in him anyway.

A week later she sits on the bench behind the school cafeteria as usual. A teacher's words replay in her mind, sharp and dismissive.
"You're not even trying. Maybe if you put in half the effort everyone else does, you wouldn't be failing."
She wants to scream, throw something as hard as she can. But instead she pulls out her phone, and despite promising herself that she wouldn't text Carlos again she hesitates for only a moment before sending a message.
'You ever want to punch someone but can't because it'd just make things worse?'
After a few minutes his reply comes through.
'Many times. What's happened?'
'Teacher. Keeps acting like I'm stupid and not even worth the effort. I suck at school.'
Clara half-expects him to agree with the teacher or worse, not reply at all. But soon her phone buzzes again.
'Maybe it's not about you "sucking". Maybe it's about no one teaching you in a way that works for you.'
Clara blinks, caught off guard. No one has ever framed it like that before.
'Still feels like I’m the problem.'
'Don’t let one person's opinion make you doubt yourself.'
The words manage to calm something inside her. Maybe he is right. Maybe she is more than a teacher's opinion after all.
'Thanks' is the only reply she can think of.
'Any time. Want me to tell you about the time I got yelled at by my old coach for forgetting my race suit?'
She snorts softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
'You forgot your race suit?'
'Yep. I was so nervous that I left it on a chair in the kitchen and we didn't realise it until we got to the track. Coach was furious and dad had to drive two hours to fetch it.'
'Bet you never forgot your race suit again'
'Not once'
Clara smiles wider, picturing Carlos' dad driving to retrieve the race suit. And somehow Carlos telling her about the incident makes her feel a little better.

Carlos adjusts his bowtie, forcing a smile as he poses for photos at yet another posh event. At the moment he can't even remember what it's for, just thinks that he could find a better use of his time during a Friday night before quali.
Once inside the venue he is thrown into the kind of superficial small talk always present at these events. Among the ones approaching him is a woman who compliments his outfit, her gaze lingering as she laughs a little too loudly at his response.
His mind wanders, wondering what Clara would make of all this. He can almost hear her voice- "Wow, Carlos, who'd you bribe to make you look like an overgrown penguin?". He stifles a laugh as he imagines her rolling her eyes at the extravagance, muttering some dry remark that would make this whole thing a lot more bearable.
"Everything alright?" Alex asks, looking curiously at him.
Carlos nods quickly to assure his new team mate.
"Yes. Just… thinking of someone who would probably make fun of all this."
Alex chuckles. "You know, I kind of get it. This isn't exactly my favourite thing either."
As the evening wears on Carlos finds himself checking his phone to see if Clara has texted. There is nothing from her, and he hopes it means that she is doing okay.
Another woman approaches him, her smile too bright and practiced, the neckline of her dress too deep.
"Hi Carlos," she purrs. "I just want to say good luck for qualifying tomorrow."
He gives her a polite smile. "Thanks."
"You make it look so easy," she continues, locking eyes with him. "You must hear this all the time, but you're so inspiring."
There it is, that word again. Inspiring. Carlos hears it so often that it has begun to lose its meaning, and he thinks of Clara who practically laughed in his face when she heard him use it.
The woman tilts her head, her expression expectant, and Carlos realises she has asked him something.
"Sorry, what was that?"
"I said, you must have so many stories. I'd love to hear them some time."
Her fingers brush his sleeve lightly, a gesture that feels anything but genuine, and it hits him harder than usual that everyone wants something. They all smile, flatter and charm, but it all feels… hollow.
His phone buzzes in his pocket and he pulls it out, grateful for the distraction. As he sees Clara’s name on the screen he quickly opens the text.
‘Ever feel like you’re in a room full of people but still completely alone?’
The timing is almost too perfect. Carlos' thumbs fly over the keyboard.
'More often than you'd think. You okay?’
'Yeah. You?'
"Excuse me."
Without even glancing at the woman still waiting for his attention Carlos turns away, walking towards a quieter corner of the venue.
'Same. Thinking about how much I hate small talk.’
'Told you it's the worst. What's going on?'
What is going on? For the first time Carlos really feels the difference between this life- one of bright lights, parties and shallow compliments- and the simplicity of Clara's blunt, honest texts.
'I'm at an event I don't even want to be at'
‘Where would you want to be instead?’
Carlos responds without thinking. 'On a bench in a quiet corner behind a school cafeteria.'
'Boring.'
'At least it's real'
It isn't until the message is sent that he realises how much he actually means it.
Clara doesn't reply after that, which is fine. Carlos pockets his phone, and spends the rest of the evening smiling and making pleasant conversation with other guests at the event.

After a good quali, the race on Sunday is one to forget. Carlos finishes P13 after a penalty for speeding in the pitlane and the team miscalculating on the strategy. When he checks his phone afterwards there is a message from Clara.
'Sorry about the race. What really happened?'
So she had watched it. Despite the bad result Carlos can't help but smile.
'Got a penalty for speeding in the pitlane. Not my best day...'
'Do people get mad at you when stuff like that happens?'
'Sometimes but mostly I get mad at myself. You feel like you’re letting people down.'
'Guess everyone screws up sometimes'
'Exactly. It’s just about how you bounce back.'
Carlos decides to go a little further, to show her that she isn't the only one going through rough patches.
'You know, people always assume my life is perfect but there's a lot of pressure to get everything right all the time. When things go wrong it's public and everyone has an oppinion.'
Clara's reply is slower this time. 'Sounds stressful.'
'It is but it's worth it when things go right. And honestly, having people to talk to about it makes a difference'
The conversation fizzles out, and Carlos gets ready to go to the airoprt to fly home.

The next morning he is just about to check on the toast he is making for breakfast when the toaster starts to smoke. A bang folows, and the bread is flung across the counter into the sink. Swearing loudly he unplugs the toaster. So much for a nice, relaxing breakfast...
Without knowing exactly why, he reaches for his phone and sends Clara a text.
'So, remind me to never trust my toaster again. It just launched a piece of bread into the sink.'
The response is immediate. 'Let me get this straight. The mighty Carlos Sainz is really telling me about his toaster right now.'
'My life isn't all races and champagne. Sometimes it's burnt toast and broken appliances.'
'Wow. How do you even manage?'
'Barely. This is why I need people like you to keep me sane.'
'You’d probably trip over your fancy toaster if I wasn’t here to make fun of you.'
'See? That's what I'm talking about.'

Clara sits at her usual spot behind the school cafeteria, scrolling through her recent conversation with Carlos.
'People always assume my life is perfect but when things go wrong it’s public. Everyone has an opinion.'
She has thought of him as someone untouchable, someone with a life so far removed from her own struggles. But now, for the first time, she starts to see him not just as a successful figurehead of a glamorous sport but as a person with his own struggles and insecurities.
Her thoughts drift back to his misbehaving toaster, and before she can stop herself she types World’s most expensive toaster into the search bar. The results are ridiculous. One toaster is gold-plated with diamond accents, another has a built-in touchscreen with Wi-Fi connectivity.
Clara giggles as she clicks on one particularly absurd listing: Limited Edition Swarovski Crystal Toaster - $3,000. Without thinking she takes a screenshot and sends it to Carlos with a message.
'Found your next toaster. Perfect for a man of your stature.'
'My mornings will never be the same again. I'll order one right now.'
'Don't forget to make it your next Instagram post #LivingTheDream'
'With a caption about finding the true secret to success?'
'Of course. And if you don’t tag me as your inspiration I'll be offended.'
'And we wouldn't want that, would we?'
'Obviously not'

Encouraged by Carlos' response, Clara dares to take her toaster joke to the next level over the next few days. More outrageous finds include a platinum toaster with a built-in espresso machine, a retro-style toaster modeled after a race car and a fully automated toaster that delivers slices to your plate via a conveyor belt.
Each one is accompanied by a cheeky caption.
Carlos keeps getting in on the joke, sending her a photo of the ordinary, battered toaster from his kitchen.
'What can I say? It’s humble beginnings.'
Clara replies, 'That thing’s a health hazard. It's an F1 driver’s duty to have a toaster as fast as their car.'
'Speed isn't everything. It’s about reliability.'
'You sound like a team principal'
The back-and-forth becomes a running joke and a rare source of pure fun, something Clara hasn't allowed herself to indulge in for a long time. One evening, after another round of toaster-related texts, she sends a more serious message.
'Thanks for putting up with my nonsense. I didn’t think I'd ever laugh this much.'
'Any time. I really like your nonsense.'
Clara doesn't know how to respond to that, and puts the phone down. She hadn’t expected Carlos to be so open, to show her a side of himself that wasn't polished and confident. It makes her feel... closer to him, in a way she hasn't anticipated. She is stil hesitant though, the question about him potentially texting with others like her lurking at the back of her mind.

Chapter Text

As much as he enjoyed the toaster antics there is something that makes Carlos want to get to know Clara better, and he decides to try a different approach.
'What's something you've always wanted to do?' he texts one evening.
The reply doesn't come immediately, and he wonders if he has pushed too far. But a while later his phone buzzes.
'What's with the deep questions?'
'Just curious. Everyone has something, right? A dream or a goal, something they've always thought about.'
There is a longer pause this time before she replies.
'I don't know. Dreams aren't exactly a thing when you're just trying to get through the day'
Carlos has already realised that Clara is guarded, but this is something else.
'That makes sense. But if you could, what would you do?'
Her next message takes even longer to arrive.
'I used to want to be an artist. Drawing or painting, something like that. But it's stupid.'
'It's not stupid. And you don’t have to give up on it.'
'It's not like I'd be good enough to make a living off it'
Carlos is trying to figure out how to respond to that when she texts again.
'You don’t have to keep texting me you know. Pretty sure you have better things to do.'
Then he sends a picture of his half empty dinner plate.
'Nope just having dinner. Gourmet pasta from my microwave.'
'Classy'
'Very. And you know Clara, we're all allowed to dream.'
'You really are persistent, you know that?'
'That's part of my charm.'
The three dots appear and disappear several times before a new message appears.
'Dreaming just seems pointless. It's not like anything I do will actually matter.'
'That’s not true. What you do does matter even if it's just for yourself.'
Clara doesn't respond after that and Carlos finishes his dinner, pondering their conversation. It's not just what she said. It's the resignation, how she dismissed her own worth.
The way she mentioned art sticks with him, and he wonders if there is something he can do to encourage that. Maybe it's a bad idea though. He doesn't really know her after all, and doesn't want to overstep any boundaries. But he still decides to try.

Clara is on her way home from school when a text from Carlos pops up.
'Hi quick question. What's your address?'
She frowns. 'Why?'
'Just for reasons.'
'That's not suspicious at all.'
'Okay fine. I'm sending you something.'
Clara stops in her tracks. Why would he send her anything?
'What is it?'
'You’ll see.'
She hesitates for a moment before typing out her address.
'There. Now tell me what this is about.'
Carlos' reply is frustratingly vague. 'Something will be on its way to you soon'
'If it's something weird I'm blocking you.'
'Do I look like someone who sends weird things?'
'Yes.'
'I guess you'll just have to trust me'
Trust me... People who say that usually break that trust. But Carlos hasn’t given her any reason to assume that about him. Not yet, anyway.

A few days later Clara comes home to find a package waiting for her. As she picks it up her foster mother glances up from her magazine.
"Who is sending you stuff?"
"No one."
Clara hurries to her room, closing the door firmly behind her. So Carlos really did send her something. What's the catch?
Slowly opening the package she finds a sketchpad and a set of high-quality pencils along with a hand written note.
'You told me dreams are not a thing when you are just trying to get through the day. But maybe they are what actually gets you through - Carlos'
Clara doesn't know what to do with this, with him. Who does he think he is, trying to fix her life with pencils and a sketchpad? But a part of her feels something she hasn't felt in a long time. Posibility.
She picks up her phone. What is she supposed to say?
Finally she settles on 'I got the package. You didn’t have to do this.'.
'I wanted to.' comes the reply a while later.
Clara looks at the sketchpad and pencils sitting on her desk, suddenly unsure.
'I don't know if I can do it anymore'
'It doesn't have to be perfect. Just pick up a pencil and see what happens.'
Clara reads it twice. She hasn't drawn in years, but maybe it's okay to try again. Sitting down at her desk she opens the sketchpad. Her fingers hover over the pencils, and eventually she picks one up and starts to draw. The lines are shaky at first, but she soon loses herself in the process.
When she leans back to look at it it's far from perfect, but it's hers. A drawing of a rugged tree, its branches twisting towards the sky.

"So, are you still texting that girl? The one you texted during the dinner."
The question comes when Carlos and Lando are catching up between practice sessions ahead of yet another race.
"Clara? Yeah, I am."
"Getting invested, I hear. Is she on social media?"
"I don't know. Why?"
"She's probably roasting you online while texting you." Lando smirks. "You know, playing both sides."
Carlos snorts. "Right."
Lando's words stick with him though, and that evening as he is scrolling through Instagram curiosity gets the better of him.
The search results show a private account with a small number of followers and an understated profile picture: a shot of a rainy street. Her bio reads 'Professional observer. Amateur at everything else.'.
Carlos debates whether to hit the Follow-button. Would she see it as an intrusion? Still, he presses it. She doesn't have to accept if she doesn't want to, he reasons.
Half an hour later a notification pops up that she has accepted his follow request. Carlos immediately clicks on her profile, and what he sees throws him off guard.
A black-and-white photo of the bench behind her school cafeteria. The caption reads 'Home sweet home. Or as close as it gets'.
A shadowy shot of a narrow hallway with the caption 'Echoes of promises no one keeps'.
A photo of a pair of battered sneakers, the toes scuffed and worn, captioned 'Walk a mile in these and see how you feel'.
Graffiti on a brick wall reading 'Hope is a cruel joke' captioned 'Amen'.
A meme of a cartoon cat drowning in paperwork- 'Me, failing at pretending to care about school'.
A blurry picture of a cloudy sky, taken from what looks like the rooftop of a house, captioned 'Sometimes I think I could disappear and no one would notice'.
Carlos scrolls further, encountering more similar posts. This is more than her usual sarcasm, he realises. This is pain.
Without thinking he sends a message.
'Nice profile. Didn't realise you were secretly a poet'
Clara’s reply quickly pops up. 'Stalker much?'
'Just checking if you're roasting me behind my back. Looks like you're roasting life instead.'
'Life deserves it.'
Carlos frowns. He wants to say something that might cheer her up, but doesn't know anything that would suffice.
'You know, you should try roasting me some time. I can take it.'
'You'd cry. But I'll think about it.'
Carlos pictures her from the day of his talk at her school, curled up on the bench behind the school cafetria. Shoulder-length, slightly unkempt dark hair framing her face and brown eyes peeking out from behind a fringe. The sneakers from the Instagram post on her feet, along with baggy trousers and a worn hoodie. The suspicious look she had given him when he approached.
Her sarcasm had caught him off guard. At the time he had thought it was just her way of standing out, but now he realises it is probably her way of protecting herself.
Her posts speak to a part of him that understands what it is like to carry weight you don't talk about. His pressures are different, sure- media, sponsors, races- but the feeling of being unseen beneath all the expectations? That he knows well.
Carlos rereads their conversation. 'Life deserves it' she had said. Maybe it does. And he isn't going to pretend he can solve her problems, but he can be there- listening when she needs to vent.

Clara is spending yet another evening at Eduard's. She is sitting on the floor in a corner of the living room, an opened wine bottle beside her. Around her the room buzzes with music and loud conversations, but she barely registers any of it. Instead she is scrolling through her Instagram.
Carlos must have seen all of it by now. What does he think? The question gnaws at her, even though she knows she shouldn't care.
Part of her wants to post something raw- darker, angrier. If he really cares he will stay, she reasons. But then another thought hits. What if that will be what makes him walk away?
Clara scans her posts, attempting to push away the unease. Maybe she should archive some of them. Or all of them. But that feels like defeat. Her Instagram is the only place where she feels like she can say what she wants without pretense. Adjusting it now, for anyone, would feel like giving up a piece of herself. But leaving them feels just as vulnerable- like handing someone her diary and daring them to understand.
A message notification pops up. Carlos.
'How's your day going?'
'It's fine. Yours?' Safe. Simple.
'Pretty good. Can I say, your Instagram is very you.'
Clara frowns. What is that supposed to mean?
'And what's me?'
'Honest. Thoughtful. Real.'
She doesn’t know what she expected him to say, but it wasnt't that. And the idea that he sees her posts as 'real' rather than 'too much' is both comforting and terrifying.
'So you really are stalking me'
'You accepted my follow. Not my fault you post interesting things.'
Clara takes a swig from the wine bottle. Part of her wants to brush it off while another part churnes with unease, not used to being noticed like this. She slowly types a reply.
'What's so interesting about it?'
'Just stuff that makes me think. Like the one about walking a mile in your shoes.'
She remembers how raw and angry she felt when she posted it.
'That was just a dumb caption'
'It didn’t feel dumb to me. It felt honest.'
Clara drinks more, and before she can overthink it she sends 'Why do you even care? You don't know me. You don’t have to act like you do.'
'Because I'd like to get to know you better.'
She reaches for the wine again.
'You don’t get it. Everyone says stuff like that and then they leave. They always leave.'
'I'm not everyone.'
Clara's fingers move over the keyboard almost of their own accord. She doesn't know why she does it- maybe because she wants to test him, to see if he will really stick around. Or maybe because, for once, she wants someone to actually know her.
'I don't even know where to start. My life isn't exactly a fairytale.'
'Start anywhere'
She drinks more. Here goes nothing...
'I'm in foster care. It's not like in the movies where someone sweeps in and saves you. It's more like being passed around and hoping you don't end up somewhere worse.'
'That must be tough. I can't imagine.'
Clara snorts loudly. Of course he can't. Him with his perfect life.
'It's exhausting. You don't get attached you just exist.'
'That sounds lonely.'
Another large mouthful of wine.
'You get used to it. People make promises but they never keep them so you stop believing in them.'
'Is that why you thought I wouldn't answer when you texted me that first time?'
'Yeah. People like you don't usually stick around for people like me.'
'What's people like me mean?'
'Famous. Successful. Not broken.'
'You're not broken Clara. You might just be carrying a lot that feels hard handle at times.'
She scoffs. Most days hard to handle feels like an understatement.
'It doesn't change anything I still screw things up all the time.'
'What matters is that you keep trying'
Clara doesn’t know how to respond to that, so she drinks more and shifts the conversation.
'This doesn’t mean I'm gonna start telling you everything'
'I'll take whatever you’re ready to share.'
She lowers her phone. Her head is buzzing from the alcohol, and maybe from the conversation with Carlos as well. She still doesn't know how to handle it, the fact that he is still there, texting her like she is just... a normal person.
She looks around the living room, once again aware of the noice and chaos. This is her life, her messy, unpredictable life. It is all she knows and letting Carlos in, even if just over text, is stepping into unfamiliar territory.

Clara spends the next day in bed. Hungover. Her foster father checks on her once, leaving after a quick "I'm fine, just tired".
Her mind keeps returning to her texting with Carlos. Why had she told him all that? He comes from a world of fast cars, flashing cameras and perfect appearances. A world where people don't get tossed around like unwanted baggage.
And now he knows.
What if he decides she isn't worth the effort and disappears like everyone else? What he will make some lame excuse as to why he can't keep in touch anymore, or just disappears?
It's better to cut things off now than wait for the inevitable. Clara unlocks her phone. Her fingers hover over his contact, about to delete it, but instead she turns the phone face down and shoves it aside.
Maybe she is overthinking it. Maybe it won't bother him as much as she thinks it will. But even if it doesn't, what is she supposed to do? Apologise for oversharing? Blame the alcohol? Pretend like she hasn't poured a piece of herself into those texts?
Why did she let him in?
It is a question circling at the back of her mind since the evening she hit 'send' for the first time. She has spent years perfecting the art of not caring, of brushing off promises, cutting ties before people have the chance to disappoint her. And yet she has been texting someone she doesn't even know. Someone who will most likely disappear too.
Putting the phone away she resolves to not texting him again. It's best that way.

Four days later Carlos texts her again. 'Hi, haven't heard from you in a bit. Everything alright?'
Clara doesn't reply. But she still doesn't delete his contact.
Two days after that he texts again. 'Not sure if you’re busy or just avoiding me, but I hope you're okay.'
Clara spends the entire evening debating with herself if she should reply after all. In the end she switches her phone off.
A new text arrives after two more days. 'I don’t know what's going on but I'm getting worried. Are you okay?'
Clara's thumb hovers over the message. Part of her wants to respond, if only to prove herself wrong, but silence feels safer.

Sitting on her bench behind the school cafeteria, Clara clutches her phone in her hand. It's three days since Carlos’ last messages and she wants to respond, but there is a voice at the back of her mind, taunting and persistant.
He'll leave. You know they always do.
But Carlos isn't like anyone she has ever met. He hasn't been offering empty promises or false reassurances. He has simply been there. Tears sting her eyes as her thumb hovers over the keyboard. Finally she takes a deep breath and starts typing.
'Sorry I've been silent just needed some time to think'
A reply comes almost immediately. 'Clara!! I was starting to think I offended you.'
She smiles faintly. 'No not offended. Just needed space.'
'Fair enough. Are you okay?'
She rereads the message. He isn't pushing. He isn't angry. He is just there.
'I'm okay. Just thought maybe you'd change your mind about me.'
'Why would I do that?
Clara bites her lip. 'Because I'm in foster care'
'Why would that make me change my mind?'
'You don’t know what it’s like.' The words spill out before she can stop them. 'Being the person everyone forgets. Feeling like you're not good enough for anyone.'
'I might not know what that's like but I know what it's like to want to prove yourself. And I know how much it hurts when people don't see that and just critisise you.'
Clara’s vision blurrs. She hadn't expected him to understand, but somehow he does. And reaching out again suddenly doesn't feel like a mistake.

Chapter Text

Carlos adjusts his tie, flashing a polite smile at the cameras around him. The lights, the perfectly manicured guests, the flutes of champagne. He has done this a hundered times but tonight something feels different, a little emptier. Almost absurd.
On impulse he pulls out his phone, taking a picture with himself at the edge of the grand ballroom with chandeliers, golden lighting and tables adorned with intricate floral arrangements. He sends it to Clara.
'A little different from the real world, don’t you think?'
A few moments later his phone buzzes. 'Yeah I don't think the rest of us live on the set of a Bond film'
'You don't think I fit in? Thought I'd make a great Bond villain.'
'Please. You'd be the guy who accidentally spills champagne on Bond and blows his cover.'
Carlos snickers. 'So you’re saying I'd ruin the whole operation?'
'Absolutely. Nice tie by the way. Did you bribe someone to pick it out for you?'
'Just for that I'm sending you a selfie with it. Try not to swoon.'
He quickly snaps a picture, and Clara's reply as he sends it is immediate.
'Careful I might post this online and blow your secret identity as the awkward Bond wannabe'
Carlos laughs out loud this time, and doesn't care about the curious looks he gets from people around.
For the rest of the evening their conversation lingers at the back of his mind- something that feels real in this world of superficiality while he does everything expected of him: smiling for cameras, making polite small talk, laughing at bad jokes.
The ride back to his hotel afterwards is quiet, apart from the hum of the car engine and the occasional buzz of his phone as notifications trickle in. He taps the message thread with Clara. He wants to say something- thank her, maybe, for making him laugh when the rest of the night had felt so pointless. But what can he say that won't sound awkward or too much?
In the end, he doesn't write anything. Instead he puts the phone away, and gets ready for bed as soon as he is back in his hotel room.

A couple of days later he comes back from a gruelling training session to find a message waiting for him.
'Did you survive the extravagance at the event?'
'Just about. Did the world survive your sense of humour today?'
‘Barely'
'Glad to hear that. So, how's it going?’
'Foster mum's been on my case all day. Apparently I don't do enough around the house while she spends her time in front of the TV or reading her stupid magazines.'
'What's happened?'
'She's nitpicking. I didn’t clean well enough, put a mug on the counter for more than three seconds instead of washing it and didn't put my shoes in the right spot.’
‘Sounds rough. Does she always act like that?’
'Pretty much. She doesn't really want me here.'
Carlos is still processing what she is really saying when his phone buzzes again.
‘Sorry it's not like it's your problem'
'That doesn't mean I don't care.'
'I don't get why you do.'
He knows she will most likely brush off anything overly sentimental, but he wants her to know she isn't as alone as she seems to think.
'Because you deserve someone who does.'
Just as he is beginning to wonder if he has said something wrong her reply appears.
'Thanks'
Carlos smiles faintly. If that is all he'll get he'll take it.
'Any time.'
A part of him wants to sit with her on her bench behind the school cafeteria and tell her that everything will be alright. But he doesn't know if anything he could say would help.

Clara flops down on her bed. The day has been rough-another dismissive teacher, a spat with her foster mother. Grabbing her phone she types a message, hitting send before she can second-guess it.
'Ever feel like everything is pointless?'
She expects Carlos to reply with something vague or motivational, something easy to ignore. Instead her phone starts buzzing.
Clara sitts up. He is calling, actually calling. She hesitates, her finger hovering over the green button, before finally answering.
"Hello?"
Carlos' deep voice comes through. "Hi Clara. I figured it was time to experience your sarcasm live instead of just over text.”
"Lucky you."
"You sound thrilled to talk to me."
"I'm just wondering what I did to deserve this honour."
"Your message seemed a little heavy, so I thought maybe you could use an actual conversation."
He sounds calm, not annoyed or pushy. Clara starts to pick at the hem of her t-shirt.
"You didn't have to call."
"I know, but I wanted to." The same warm, calm tone. "What's going on?"
She hesitates. Talking to him is different than texting. Hearing his voice makes everything feel more... intimate and the prospect of sharing something personal more daunting.
"Just a bad day."
"Want to talk about it?"
"Not really."
"If you change your mind I'm here."
Clara smiles slightly. "You know, you're sappy for someone who drives fast cars in circles for a living."
Carlos chuckles. "There's the sarcasm I was waiting for."
"Wouldn't want to disappoint."
"Never. So, what are you going to do to make the rest of the day better?"
"I don't know. Go to bed early?"
"Solid plan. And if you need company, sarcastic or otherwise, you know where to find me."
They chat for a few more minutes, and when they hung up Clara sets the phone down carefully. She isn't used to someone caring enough to call, and she wants to hold on to the way Carlos' voice had dulled the earlier frustration.

Over the next three weeks their texting becomes more frequent. Sometimes it's Carlos joking about his hectic schedule or Clara commentating her school day, and at one point Carlos recounts how he managed to get his team to rethink the plans for a PR event by chanelling Clara's sarcasm. She replies with several applauding emojis.
'I'm so proud. About time I started rubbing off on you.'
Other times the conversation touch on more serious things. Clara shares a little more about life in foster care, while Carlos vents about the pressure of his career.
'And I swear, some of the rumours flying around. I'm even supposed to have a secret child.'
"I hope you can see how hard I'm rolling my eyes on your behalf right now.'
'I knew I could count on you.'

The second call takes place on a Sunday after a race.
Carlos sits on the bed in his hotel room, staring into the oposite wall. The race had been a mess. A pit stop that took far too long, a minor collision that wasn't his fault costing him places and the media spinning their usual narratives.
Without thinking he grabs his phone, scrolling to Clara's name on the contact list. But why call her? He doesn't even know if she watched the race. Something makes him press the call button though, and after a few rings she picks up.
"Hello?"
"Hi. It's Carlos.”
"I know. What's up?"
"I just needed to hear a voice that doesn't want to discuss botched pit stops or crashes."
"I saw. Rough race, huh?"
"You could say that."
"I don't know that much about F1 yet, but… everyone has bad days, right? Even the Bond villains."
Carlos chuckles despite himself. "I'm a Bond villain again?"
"Of course. And I guess even they need someone to complain to."
"Are you volunteering to be my evil sidekick?"
"Only if I get to wear a cool uniform."
"Of course. Only the best for you."
For a moment the line goes silent.
"I don't really know why I called you," Carlos admits eventually. "I guess I just… didn't want to stew over the race alone."
"Stewing alone is miserable."
"Yeah."
"Just don't expect me to start giving you pep talks. That's not really my thing."
"I wouldn't dare."
As the conversation goes on he finds himself relaxing, and by the time they hang up he actually feels better.

After the race Carlos goes to visit his parents. It's a welcome break from the constant pressure, and as always it's nice to spend some time at home.
He is sitting in the living room with his dad, when he asks an unexpected question.
"Is something on your mind? You've been quiet today."
Carlos hesitates. It isn't often that he opens up to his dad about personal matters. Racing and career decisions are easy topics, but this is different.
"Have you ever felt like everything surrounding racing is too superficial?"
"Superficial in what way?"
"Just... everyone's too nice, too polite, and just say what they think you want to hear. Not the team, but fans and other people you meet."
His dad nods slowly. "I get what you mean. But why have you started to think about this now?"
"There's someone I'm texting."
His dad raises an eyebrow. "Someone?"
"A girl. Not in that way," Carlos adds quickly. "I met her when I gave one of those school talks. She's blunt. Honest. She tells it like it is, and doesn't care about fame. Half the time I don't even think she likes racing at all."
His dad chuckles. "That sounds refreshing."
"It is. But she is dealing with things I can barely understand while I'm here, surrounded people who don't mean half of what they say."
"And that bothers you? The superficiality?"
"It never used to, but lately I've been thinking about it more."
"You're starting to see your world through her eyes."
Carlos frowns. "I'm just texting her. It's not like she's changing my worldview."
His dad smiles knowingly. "Isn't she though? You say she's honest and tells it like it is, and now you're looking at what goes on around you and realise how much of it is superficial. It's a perspective you didn't have before, and it's making you question things."
Carlos hasn't thought about it like that. Maybe his dad is right.
Later that evening, as he is walking through his parents' garden, he pulls out his phone and film a quick video. He pans over the glowing lanterns strung between trees and the soft glow of the city in the distance.
He sends it to Clara with a message. 'This is home.'
'That looks so peaceful.'
'It really is. So different from the commotion on race weekends'
Later he sends a video of his mother in the kitchen, cooking paella.
'Mum's fantastic paella. I'll save you some.'
Clara's response takes longer this time. 'Looks nice'
Sensing the shift in her tone Carlos hesitates before replying.
'You’ll have to let me know your favorite food. Maybe we can make it some day.'
'Maybe'
He pockets his phone. He has always taken this place for granted- the warmth, the comfort of knowing there is a home waiting for him no matter how chaotic the season gets. Clara, on the other hand, hasn't said very much about her foster family, but what she has shared paints a starkly different picture. And for the first time Carlos feels a pang of guilt. Sending her those videos- was that insensitive? A reminder of something she doesn't have? But maybe it is simply about showing her a different kind of life. Something calmer. Safer.

Phone resting on her lap Clara replays the video of Carlos' parents' garden. The image of the glowing lanterns feels almost unreal, like something out of a movie.
She switchws to the second video, the one with his mum in the kitchen. The way she chats with Carlos, seemingly unaware that he was filming, carries an intimacy Clara doesn’t fully understand but finds herself longing for.
She is not jealous- she has spent too many years pushing that feeling away- but there is something else. A kind of ache she can't quite name. For so long she has convinced herself that this is all life has to offer. That her foster families, her schools, her messy existence, is just how it's meant to be. But seeing Carlos' world- a world where families eat together and gardens are strung with lights- makes her wonder if she has been wrong.
"Stop it," she mutters to herself, pulling her pillow into her lap. She can't start hoping for something different now. That is how she will get hurt. But her mind circles back to Carlos’ message, 'You'll have to let me know your favorite food. Maybe we can make it some day'. 'Maybe' had been all she could manage.
On a whim she types another message.
'What makes you so sure it'll happen?’
Carlos responds some time later. 'Because it should.'
It's such a simple thing to say, but it unsettles her. He says it like it's obvious, like the world is supposed to be fair and things are supposed to work out. Like good things just… happen. But that is not how life has ever worked for her.
Clara's fingers dig into her arms. She can't count how many times she has heard words like his before. Empty reassurances, hollow promises meant to make someone feel better in the moment, only to be forgotten the second they are inconvenient. "I'll come visit". "You'll always have a place here". "Things will get better".
None of it ever turns out to be true.
And yet something about Carlos' messages feels different. He has never tried to fix her problems or pretend to understand things he can't. Instead he just listens. And when he says things like 'Because it should' it doesn’t feel like pity. It feels like... belief. But what if she starts believing too? What happens then, when he drifts away like everyone else?
Clara pushes the thought away. It's not like they are close. He is just a guy she texts- a guy who happens to live a life so far removed from hers it's laughable. She shouldn't be getting attached.
Her gaze drifts to the sketchpad on her desk. She hasn’t drawn in days, the outlines of a hand reaching upwards sketched out on the page. Usually art is her way of escaping, but lately even that feels too vulnerable. Like putting her feelings on paper through images will make them too real.
She stands abruptly, pacing her small room. Why did he have to send those videos? They had been fine- lighthearted messages, sarcastic banter. She had been comfortable keeping things surface-level, even when he has nudged her to open up a little. But now, seeing his parents, his world, it’s like he has invited her into a space where she doesn't belong.
Her phone buzzes again. She glances at the screen, her heart lurching when she sees Carlos’ name.
'Hope you’re not overthinking what I said. Just wanted you to know you deserve good things.'
Clara closes her eyes. How does he always manage to say exactly the thing she is afraid to hear?
She sits back on her bed, clutching the pillow against her chest. She wants to reply- something sarcastic, something that will keep things at a safe distance- but no words come. Instead she just stares at his message, the ache in her chest growing sharper.
Finally, she types out a single word. 'Thanks'
It feels inadequate, but it’s all she can manage. She presses send and sets the phone aside.
Why does he care so much? But more than that another thought burrows its way into her mind, quiet but persistent. What if he is is right? What if she does deserve more?

After the visit to his parents Carlos goes back racing. After a Friday of solid practice sessions he has just finished dinner when a text from Clara pops up.
'whyy do you even care'
Carlos rereads the message, noting the unusual misspelling. Her tone too feels different.
'Of course I care. Are you alright?'
'not rly Idk wats wrong wth me but every1 so mad and I just fuk up all th time. No point anymore'
Carlos frowns. Something is wrong- this isn't the Clara he knows.
'What's going on?'
'Doesnt matter noone care. evry time i try its wrng and ppl yell wish i cld jus disapear'
'Where are you?'
'Had sum drinks. make it stop'
Drinks? He has never known her to mention drinking before, and the chaotic texts suggest it isn't just a casual beer. On a whim he calls her, mentally begging her to pick up.
It goes to voicemail.
"Damn it," he mutters, typing out another message.
'Clara I need you to answer your phone. Please.'
'Cant talk 2 much noise'. And then another right after- 'sory u dont deserv this'
'It's okay. Can you tell me where you are?'
This time there is no immediate response. Carlos paces the room, hating the sudden feeling of helplessness. Is she safe? Is she alone or with someone?
Finally another message pops up.
'Ur too nice dnt kno y u care'
His response is the first thing that comes to mind. 'I care because you matter.'
Should he try to find someone near her to check on her? But who? Clara has never talked about anyone that he could reach out to.
Another message comes in.
'wish i cud stop bein me'
'Don’t say that. I know it feels bad right now, but I promise it can get better.'
'U dont kno'
'You've made it through hard days before. You're strong, you can do it again.'
Clara doesn't reply, and Carlos sends one last message.
'I’m not going anywhere. Call me when you're ready.'
He doesn't sleep much that night, his mind racing through worst-case scenarios while he waits for a reply that doesn't come.

Chapter Text

After a restless night Carlos goes to the circuit early the next morning. Sitting in the team hospitality nursing a cup of strong coffee his mind constantly circles back to Clara, and eventually he sends a message.
'Good morning it's me again. I just want to know if you're okay.'
He smiles ruefully. Most of their conversations are just sarcastic exchanges or fleeting glimpses into each others' lives. Yet here he is, worrying over a girl he has met only once. He still isn't quite sure what he is doing, but maybe that's okay. Maybe it's okay for him to just try to be there, as whatever kind of support Clara might want.
He jolts when his phone chimes. It's her.
'I'm okay'
Carlos immediately calls her. This time she answers, her voice barely audible.
"Hi."
Hearing her voice, relief washes over him. "Hi Clara. You had me worried last night."
"Sorry." The same subdued, quiet voice.
"You don't have to apologise. I'm just glad you answered now."
"I... I didn’t mean to worry you."
"I know. Are you safe?"
"Yeah. I'm at home. I just... I kind of messed up last night."
"Do you want to tell me what happened?"
There is silence, and Carlos can practically feel her debating whether to answer. When she finally does she speaks slowly, as if unsure how much she should tell him.
"I was at Eduard's."
"Eduard's?"
"It's... this place. This house where people... hang out. There's drinking... drugs. I go there sometimes."
"Clara, why?"
"Because... I don’t know." Her voice cracks. "It's better than being alone?"
Carlos closes his eyes, trying to process what she is telling him.
"Did something happen last night?"
"I... had too much to drink. And someone... gave me something. I didn't ask what it was, and... I felt so out of it. That's when I texted you."
The idea of Clara in a place like that makes his stomach churn. She is what, sixteen? She shouldn't even know such a place exists.
"How often do you go there?"
The reply is quick, defensive. "Not all the time. Just... when it gets bad at home or school. When I need to get away."
"And the people there? Are they your age or older?"
"Mostly older."
"Do they ever... pressure you into anything?"
There is another long pause.
"Sometimes..."
Somehow, Carlos doesn't want to know what that entails.
"It doesn’t sound like they have your best interest in mind."
"But I don't have anywhere else to go."
Carlos closes his eyes, trying to keep his voice calm. "I know it might feel like you don't have other options, but you do."
"You don't get it!" Clara snaps, her voice suddenly sharp. "You don’t know what it's like to feel like no one wants you and like you're always in the way no matter what you do!"
"You're right, I don't. But I do know that I don't want you putting yourself in danger just to feel less alone."
There is long silence. Carlos waits and finally Clara speaks, her voice trembling.
"Why do you even care?"
"Because you're worth caring about." After a beat he adds, "And besides, who else would be more suitable to be my evil sidekick?"
Clara makes a noice somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and when she speaks again her voice is thick.
"You don't mean that."
"I wouldn't say it if I didn't."
She sniffles. "You're not going to tell anyone, are you?"
"Not unless you want me to. But can you promise me something?"
"What?"
"If you ever feel like this again, call me. Not text, call. Any time."
"Okay."
"Good. Now, do you have water? And something to eat?"
"Yeah."
"Take care of yourself. And if you ever need to talk you know where I am."
"I know," Clara replies quietly.
At that moment Carlo's physio appears, gesturing towards the door. Carlos raises his free hand, indicating that he'll be there in a moment.
"I have to go, people are telling me it's time to start working."
"Okay. Good luck with quali."
"Thanks. Talk to you soon, yeah?"
"Yeah. Bye."
As the line disconnects he pockets his phone and goes to join his physio.

Clara leaves school, dragging her feet as she walks towards the bus stop to go home. The summer holiday is approaching, and while her classmates eagerly discuss plans for the future she is avoiding thinking about it. There is no point- with her grades she won't be accepted into any further education. Not that she knows what she would like to study anyway.
On a whim she pulls out her phone and texts Carlos.
'Can I ask you something?'
He doesn't reply, and as the minutes tick by she becomes sure that he doesn't want anything to do with her anymore. Maybe her intoxicated texting was too much, maybe he has finally realised how fucked up she is. It hurts, more than she had thought it would, but had she really expected anything else?
Then her phone buzzes, an hour after she sent her message. Clara quickly grabs it, relief filling her when she sees that he has replied.
'Of course. What's up?'
She pauses for a moment, unsure of how to phrase what she wants to say.
'Be honest. Do you think people like me can make something of themselves?'
'What do you mean by people like you?'
Clara scoffs. How can he not understand?
'Screwups with bad grades and without money or connections'
'I do think people like you can make something of themselves and I think you already have more going for you than you realise.'
'Like what?'
'You're smart and funny. And you're a survivor. That's more than a lot of people can say.'
Survivor? Clara snorts. She sure as hell doesn't feel like one most days.
'Being a survivor doesn't get you a job'
"No but it shows you know how to keep going even when things suck. That matters.'
'What if I try and fail?'
'Then you try again. No one gets it right the first time, maybe not even the tenth time.'
'Easy for you to say. You're a freaking Formula 1 driver.'
'You think I never failed? I've lost important races, got passed over for teams. There have been times I thought about quitting.'
The revelation surprises Clara. 'Why didn't you?'
'Because I love what I do even when it's hard. And I wasn’t going to let failure stop me from trying again.'
He makes it sound so easy.
'What if I don’t know what I love?'
'Then you try different things until you figure it out. You’ve got time. You don't have to have it all sorted right now.'
"Sometimes it feels like if I don't figure it out soon it'll be too late.'
"It's never too late.'
The words feel like they're meant for someone who isn't her and Clara wants to tell him he is wrong, that he doesn't know her well enough to say these things. And the possibility of him texting others, saying the same thing, suddenly gnaws at her. Before she can think better of it, she sends a new message.
'I bet you tell all the kids you meet that they have potential'
'What do you mean?'
Clara hesitates. What if there are dozens of other kids he is texting, and she is just one in the row of "projects" he has taken on? She wants to know, but doesn't want to sound like she cares too much.
'I'm just guessing I’m not the only person from your school talks you've stayed in touch with'
'No, you’re the only one. Why?'
She hadn't expected that.
'Really? Why me?'
'Because you've never tried to impress me or treat me like someone I'm not'
Moments later her phone buzzes again. 'And for the record, I'm not just saying that. I mean it.'
A warmth that she doesn't quite know how to handle spreads through her. It's stupid, really, that it makes her feel special, but it does.

Graduation day comes and goes, with the awkwardness of teachers giving speeches and classmates celebrating futures that feel unreachable to Clara. She sits quietly at the back of the auditorium, and when the ceremony is over she doesn't stay for pictures or goodbyes- there is no one she wants to take a picture with anyway.
Social services have tried to make her care about her future, scheduling meetings where they drone on about applications, vocational programs and finding her purpose. But she hasn't bothered, because it's not like they actually listen to her. Tthey just push her towards what they think is best, without ever asking what she wants. She isn't even sure what that is anymore.
It's much easier with Carlos. They text regularly and he even calls her again once, much to her surprise. The conversation is lighthearted, but he seems genuinely concerned. And he has started asking more questions lately. "How are things at home?" or "What have you been up to?". Clara always tells him she is fine. She doesn'st want to worry him again, after the night of her intoxicated texting.
But even with Carlos there is a part of her that stays guarded. It's hard to fully believe that someone can care that much, that consistently, without eventually getting tired of her.
Two days after graduation Clara finds herself back at Eduard’s. She hesitates at the door for a moment, her thumb brushing over Carlos' name in her phone. Part of her wants to tell him where she is, but she quickly shoves the phone into her pocket. He wouldn't understand.
Inside, the chaos is the same as ever. Empty bottles scattered on tables, the air heavy with cigarette smoke and something else. Eduard greets her with a lazy grin, tossing her a can of beer and raising his own glass in salute.
"Look who's back. The graduate herself."
"Don't remind me," Clara mutters, catching the can.
Eduard's smirk disappears. "You doing okay?"
She shrugs, cracking open the can. "Same as always."
She sinks into the old couch in the corner. Around her people drift in and out, their faces blurring together as the hours pass. The beer numbs her mind, and for a little while it's easier not to think about anything- her future, her foster home, Carlos. He texts her, and she tells him that she is fine but tired and plans to go to bed early.
She doesn't return home until the small hours of the morning, taking the last bus from Eduard's part of town. Her foster parents aren't even awake, and she quickly makes herself a sandwich before going to bed.
When she wakes again her foster parents have gone to work, and Clara ventures out into the living room. Flopping down onto the couch she switches on the TV, and spends a couple of hours channel surfing. She likes these moments when she can be alone, without anyone hovering over her and telling her what to do.
As her foster mother returns home that evening Clara announces that she is going out, and goes back to Eduard's. Elena is there, promptly handing her a glass with something strong. Clara imenses herself in the party, and when people start to leave she finds herself staying. Eventually Eduard flops down beside her on the couch.
"You okay, kid?"
Clara is about to retort that she is not a kid, but it's clear that he doesn't mean it in a degrading way.
"I guess."
Eduard studies her for a moment, his usual smirk replaced by something more thoughtful.
"You don't usually stay this late."
"I know, sorry. I just... don't feel like going home."
"You can crash in one of the guestrooms if you want."
Clara hesitates, caught off guard by the offer. "Why would you let me stay?"
Eduard shrugs. "Why not?"
She wants to brush him off, but the thought of going back to her foster home isn't appealing. As long as he won't try anything with her. But that is always others- never Eduard.
"Thanks," she mutters finally.
He nods, like it's no big deal.
"Towels are in the bathroom closet if you need 'em."
Clara heads upstairs, her steps slow. The room she chooses is surprisingly clean, the bed made with a thick blanket. She closes the door and sits on the edge of the bed. This isn't so bad. And maybe there is more to Eduard than she has been thinking.

This pattern repeats itself over the next three weeks. Clara spends most of her time at Eduard's, and he lets her stay over whenever she wants. Which is most nights...
One such night, past midnight, Clara is sitting on a couch in Eduard's living room. The party has fizzled out, leaving behind the smell of smoke, beer and the occasional clink of bottles as Eduard tidies up.
“You know,” he says, dropping onto the couch beside her, "you're spending so much time here I should start charging rent."
Clara snorts. "What, for the privilege of inhaling secondhand smoke and stepping over beer cans and wine bottles?"
"Exactly. Premium rates."
For a while they sit in silence, the faint music the only sound.
"You decided what you’re gonna do after the summer?" Eduard asks suddenly.
Clara shrugs. "What's there to decide? It's not like I have options."
"Everyone’s got options."
"Yeah, well, mine suck."
Eduard leans back against the backrest of the sofa, looking up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at her.
"You know I dropped out of school, right?"
Clara looks back at him, surprised. "No, I didn't. Why?"
"Because I thought it was pointless. My grades sucked, my teachers didn't care, and I figured, what's the point of pretending like I'm gonna amount to anything?"
"And how'd that work out for you?" Clara asks dryly.
Eduard chuckles. "Touché. But seriously, I thought I was too screwed up to make anything of myself. So I quit. Figured I'd just float through life, take it easy. But, turns out life doesn't let you just float. You either sink or you start swimming."
Clara frowns, not sure where he is going with this. "And which one are you doing?"
"Bit of both, depending on the day. But the thing is, if I could go back and do things differently, I would. You've still got time to figure your shit out. Don't waste it like I did."
"It's not that simple."
"Of course it's not. But nothing worth doing ever is. I'm not saying you've gotta have everything figured out right now, but don't write yourself off before you've even started. Alright?"
"What if I try and fail?" The same question she asked Carlos a while back.
"Then you try again," Eduard says simply. "You screw up, you learn, and you keep going. That's how it works."
It's almost eerie how much Eduard's words sound like Carlos', despite how different they are. Clara scoffs.
"Easy for you to say."
Eduard shakes his head. "Nah, it's not easy. But it's worth it."
Clara looks at an empty beer bottle on the coffee table, her thoughts swirling.
"You don't think it's too late for me?"
"Not even close. But you've gotta want it. No one's gonna drag you out of this mess but you."
"You ever regret dropping out?"
"Every damn day."
"Why?"
"Because it made everything harder. Getting a job, finding a place to live, even looking at myself in the mirror some days."
"You seem fine now."
"I get by. But it'd be nice not to feel like I'm always playing catch-up."
"Why do you do it?"
"Do what?"
"All this. Letting me crash here, looking out for me."
"Because someone did it for me once. And it saved my life."
"You mean, like, foster care or something?"
"Not exactly. I was a mess, worse than half the people who show up here. And then this guy- my old neighbor- took me in. Gave me a second chance. Not everyone gets that, you know? A second chance. So I figured, if I can give someone a little bit of what he gave me, maybe it’s worth it."
Clara stares at him. "I didn't know that."
Eduard shrugs. "Not something I tell people. But I figured you'd get it."
For a long time, Clara doesn't reply. Eduard's honesty unsettles her, but it also makes her think. What if she ends up like him- scraping by, always feeling like she is one step behind?

The following afternoon she is lounging on the least worn couch in Eduard’s living room. Her phone is propped up against a stack of coasters on the coffee table, showing the build-up to the weekend's quali.
"Didn't know you watch racing." Eduard’s voice cuts through the room, startling her.
"I don't. Not really."
Raising an eyebrow he sinks into the armchair opposite her.
"Could've fooled me."
"It's just qualifying."
"Qualifying for what?"
"The Formula 1 race tomorrow."
Eduard chuckles. "Pretty knowledgeable for someone who doesn't watch racing. What's the deal?"
Clara hesitates, unsure now much to share, but with his curious gaze fixed on her it seems pointless to avoid the subject.
"I know Carlos Sainz."
Eduard's eyebrows shoot up. "You know Carlos Sainz? Like, personally?"
"Yeah. We text and stuff."
He leans back in his chair, giving her a look of disbelief. "Sure you do."
"I'm serious. He came to my school for this lecture thing a few months ago, and we started talking after that."
"Really?"
"Yeah. He's nice. Down-to-earth."
Eduard tilts his head, studying her. "But what's a guy like that texting you for?"
"I don't know. Maybe because he actually gives a damn?"
Eduard holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Relax. I didn't mean anything by it.”
Clara's attention drifts back to the screen, where Carlos' car is being prepped in the garage. After a while Eduard breaks the silence.
"So... what's he like?"
"He's really nice. A little sappy sometimes, but not in a bad way. He is funny and he doesn't intervene and try to fix everything, you know? He just listens."
"And you trust him?"
"Why wouldn’t I?"
"I'm just saying, guys like him live in a completely different world. Fancy cars, people kissing their asses 24/7. You sure he's not just being nice for the sake of it?"
Clara’s scoffs. "He's not like that. He doesn't even talk about racing unless I ask."
"Alright. If you say so."
"Why does it matter, anyway?"
"It doesn't. Just curious."
Clara turns her attention back to her phone, watching as cars line up to begin Q1. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Eduard watching her, his expression thoughtful.
"Just be careful, alright?"
"Careful of what?"
"Of getting too caught up in something that might not last or be what it seems."
As he stands and walk into the kitchen Clara turns her attention back to her phone. Carlos finishes a flying lap, putting him among the current top three. For a moment Clara feels a flicker of pride, but then Eduard's words return. Be careful.
She doesn't want him to be right, but what if he is? What if she has led herself to believe something that will never be real?

Chapter Text

Clara is going to Eduard's again and she isn't really planning to draw, but something about bringing her art supplies feels important. Like a way to challenge what Eduard said about Carlos the day before. She shoves them into her bag before she can overthink it, and pulls on her hoodie. As she heads for the hallway her foster mother looks up from the TV.
"Where are you going?"
"Out."
The answer is automatic. Her foster father makes a vague noise of acknowledgment, but doesn't press.
As Clara steps outside her phone buzzes. Carlos.
'Race soon! Does my evil sidekick have any advice?'
Clara quickly taps out a reply. 'Don't crash.'
'Brilliant strategy. I'll tell my engineers.'
She smirks, shoving her phone back into her pocket.
Eduard's is the same as always- the smell of cigarettes lingering in the air, music playing from an old stereo. Eduard is the only one there when she arrives, sprawled in his usual armchair, feet kicked up on the coffee table. His gaze flickers to her bag as she sits down and drops it onto the couch.
"What's this? You running away from home?"
"No."
Clara pulls out the sketchpad. As she flips it open to a blank page Eduard raises an eyebrow.
"Didn't peg you for the artsy type."
"I used to draw when I was younger, but it turns out foster families don't exactly encourage that kind of thing. It was more like 'Don't draw on the walls Clara'."
"So what made you start again?"
"Carlos. He sent this to me."
"Carlos? Damn, I didn’t realise you had a sponsor."
"It's just a sketchpad and pencils."
"Still. An F1 driver sending gifts? What's next? A fancy car? A private jet?"
Clara scoffs. "It's not like that."
"Oh? Then what's it like?"
She hesitates. She doesn’t want to explain, not when he is making fun of it. But at the same time she feels a need to defend Carlos.
"He knew I liked drawing, so he sent it."
Eduard raises an eyebrow. "He knew you liked drawing?"
"Yeah, I mentioned it once."
"And he remembered?"
Clara frowns. "What's your point?"
"My point is that you don’t strike me as the type to pour your heart out to some rich guy who drives in circles for a living."
"I don't. It just came up."
Eduard regards her. "Whatever you say, kid."
"You don’t believe me?"
"Oh, I believe you. What else does he do? Send you good morning texts and check in during the day just to see how you're doing?"
Clara hesitates a moment too long, and Eduard's smirk fades.
"You're joking."
"It's not like that," she says quickly. "We just talk."
Eduard lets out a low whistle. "You really get the VIP treatment, huh?"
Clara rolls her eyes. "Why do you care?"
"I don't. I just think it's hilarious that some millionaire hotshot is texting you like you're best buds."
Clara turns her focus to the sketchpad, trying to ignore him. After a pause Eduard's voice turns more thoughtful.
"What do you talk about?"
"Stuff."
"Like?"
"Like…" Clara searches for a way to explain it without making it sound weird. "Like how I don't know what I'm doing with my life."
"And what does Mr. Formula 1 driver have to say about that?"
"That it's not too late to figure things out."
"Wow. Really original."
Eduard snorts, and Clara glares at him.
"What's your problem?"
"No problem. Just… weird that he's this invested."
"Why does it have to be weird? Maybe he cares."
Eduard gives her a long look, his usual teasing edge gone. "People don't just care, Clara."
She stiffens, his words hitting too close to things she already tells herself.
"I mean, maybe he's just a good guy. But come on. Rich, famous, checking in on you, sending you presents? Doesn't that seem a little… I don't know. Off?"
Clara grips the pencil tighter. "You don’t know him."
"Do you?" Eduard counters.
She opens her mouth to argue but stops herself. Does she know Carlos? She likes talking to him, but how much does she really know about him beyond their conversations?
Eduard must see something in her expression, because he sighs.
"Look, I'm not saying he's messing with you. I just… I don't want you getting caught up in something that’s not real."
Clara stares at the blank page in her sketchbook. "It feels real."
"Alright. If you say so."
But there is something in his tone. Something skeptical, something warning.
When it's time for the race Clara props her phone up on the coffee table. She keeps sketching absentmindedly, and Eduard watches her for a moment before shifting his attention to the phone.
"So, what? You actually care about this?"
"Not really."
"But you care about him."
She doesn’t answer, eyes on the race where Carlos is in the midfield battle, jostling for position. When she finally glances up Eduard is still watching her.
"What?"
He shrugs. "Still trying to figure out why some rich guy gives a shit about you."
Clara scowls. "Not everyone has an angle, you know."
Eduard raises an eyebrow, but doesn't argue. Instead he gestures at the sketchpad.
"You gonna show me what you're working on, or is it top secret?"
Clara glances down. She has drawn a hand reaching forward, fingers curled slightly, like grasping for something just out of reach. She flips the page before he can see.
"It's nothing."
Eduard just shrugs.
Carlos finishes the race in P6, and Clara sends a text.
'Guess you didn't crash. Congrats.'
He replies some time later. 'Your faith in me is overwhelming.'
'I'm just saying, don't get a big head about it.'
'Too late. It's huge now.'
Clara rolls her eyes, but finds herself smiling. Eduard, however, doesn't look amused.
"You sure he doesn't just feel bad for you?"
Clara glares at him. "Why do you care?"
"Because I know you don't trust people easily, but somehow you trust him."
She doesn't know how to respond to that. Instead she opens her sketchbook again, pretending to focus on drawing.

A couple of days later Clara finds herself back at Eduard’s, perched on the couch with her sketchpad on her knees. Eduard lounges in his armchair, flipping through his phone.
"Still texting your rich boy?” His voice is casual, but there is an undertone she can’t quite place.
Clara doesn't look up. "Yeah."
"What's he up to? Flying private jets? Buying another penthouse?"
"Training. Probably exhausted."
"Yeah, poor guy. Must be tough."
Clara scoffs. "What, are you jealous?"
"Look... I'm not trying to be a dick, but I know damn well what it's like to want someone to swoop in and save the day. And I don't want you getting your hopes up."
Clara doesn't reply, and Eduard presses on.
"What are you hoping he'll give you?"
The question catches her off guard. "What?"
"I'm serious. What are you expecting from this? Friendship? A ticket out of here? Something else?"
Clara looks away. "I don't know."
"And that's the problem."
"Not everything has to have an angle, you know."
"Maybe not. But guys like him don’t just text girls like you for no reason."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
Eduard looks at her evenly. "It means he lives in a completely different world, and I don't want you thinking you belong there when you don’t."
Clara knows she shouldn't let what he says get to her, but something about the way he says it, so matter-of-factly, makes it so final. She shoves her sketchpad into her bag.
"I don't need you telling me what to think."
"I'm just saying, be careful."
She stands up. "Maybe you don’t know everything that's going on."
"Maybe not. But I've been right before."
Suddenly Clara has had enough of the snide remarks and obvious distrust. Without answering she slings her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door.
Eduard doesn't stop her.
That night Clara lies in bed staring at the ceiling, Eduard's words replaying in her head.
"What are you hoping he'll give you?"
"Guys like him don't just text girls like you for no reason."
What does she want from Carlos? She has never really wanted anything from anyone before, and sometimes she still finds it hard to believe that he is still texting her. He says he cares, but how can he actually care about someone like her? What does he even want from her?
Before she can think better of it she grabs her phone, opening Google.
Carlos Sainz girlfriend
The screen is flooded with pictures of gorgeous, put-together women who look like they belong in high fashion campaigns. Clara scrolls through images of tanned skin, white smiles, perfect hair and outfits that probably cost more than what her foster parents make in a month.
She eventually clicks on an article. Something dumb and clickbaity, but it confirms that Carlos is currently single. Not that it matters. Not that it should matter. But looking at the pictures of his exes she suddenly feels impossibly small, and Eduard's words return unbidden.
"I don't want you thinking you belong there when you don’t."
She glances at her worn-out hoodie tossed onto the edge of the bed, her tattered sneakers. What the hell is she even doing? A lump forms in her throat and she flips to her messages, Carlos' name on top of the pathetically short list of message threads.
'Maybe we shouldn't talk so much anymore'
She types it out but doesn't send it. Instead she turns off her phone and rolls onto her side, closes her eyes and attempt to go to sleep.

Carlos settles on the bed in his hotel room, finally able to relax after a hectic race day. He grabs his phone and scrolls through his messages. Smirking, he taps on the conversation with Clara.
'Race done, no crashing this time either. You impressed?'
Twenty full minutes pass before she replies.
'l'll allow it.'
'Come on, I was expecting at least a slow clap or something.'
A much longer pause.
'l'll send you a trophy emoji if you win next time.'
Carlos frowns. Since after the last race things have felt... off. Normally she would throw in some sarcastic remark, maybe a gif for dramatic effect, but now her replies are curter and much longer inbetween.
What changed?
He tries again. 'What are you up to?'
'Just hanging out'
'Hanging out where?'
'Eduard's'
Carlos sits up straighter, a prickle of unease running through him.
'Are you there a lot?'
'Yeah it's chill'
Carlos runs a hand through his hair. He doesn’t want to intervene, but damn it. The last time she mentioned Eduard she was telling him about how she had been so drunk she could barely think straight.
'Is that a good thing?'
This time her response is much quicker.
'Why wouldn't it be?'
Carlos' gut tells him he won’t get much more out of her over text, so instead he calls her. Clara answers on the fourth ring.
"What do you want?"
Carlos ignores the bite in her tone. "You okay?"
"I'm fine," she replies, a little too quickly. "Why do you care where I am, anyway?"
Carlos rubs a hand over his face, frustration and concern tangling together. "Because last time you mentioned being there you texted me saying you wished you could disappear. That's not exactly something I can just forget."
A moment of silence. Then, almost challengingly: "You think I can't take care of myself?"
"I know you can take care of yourself. But that doesn’t mean I can't be worried."
Clara doesn't respond right away. When she finally does there is something even more edgy in her tone, like she is testing him.
"You know, you're not the only one who thinks they know what's best for me."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"Eduard thinks you don’t get it. That you don't understand what it's like for people like us."
Carlos frowns. "People like you?"
"People who don't have it easy. Who don't have connections or money, or people handing them opportunities."
"I've never said I understood your life, but that doesn't mean I don't care about it," Carlos counters. "I wouldn't text you like I do if I didn't. And why are you telling me this? Because you believe him?"
Clara doesn't answer right away. "I don't know."
"Look... I don't want to tell you what to do. But don't let someone else decide what you should believe about me. And I..." Carlos pauses, trying to figure out how to say it, "I just don’t want you getting too deep into something you can't walk away from."
"I'm fine."
Carlos sighs. Somwhow he doesn't quite believe it. "Just promise me one thing."
"What?"
"That you’ll keep thinking about what you want outside of that place. What's next for you."
"I already am."
He hadn't expected that. "You are?"
"Yeah. I don't know exactly what yet, but I've been thinking."
"That's great. Keep thinking."
Clara doesn't reply immediately, and Carlos doesn't mind the silence. Because for the first time she seems to be looking forward instead of just trying to get by.
"Eduard's actually been helping me figure things out."
Eduard? How is someone like him the right person to be guiding Clara? Carlos wants to say as much, but Instead he settles for,
"How?"
"Because he's been where I am. And he gets what it's like to have to fight for stuff."
"You don't think I get that?"
A pause. "I guess, but... Maybe not in the same way."
Carlos knows she doesn't mean it as an insult, but it still stings.
"So, what, he's giving you career advice?"
"Kind of. He's… practical. He knows what's worth putting effort into."
Carlos leans back against the headboard, frowning at the ceiling. He should be glad. He wants Clara to think about her future, but the fact that it's Eduard's influence that pushed her in that direction? It doesn’t sit right with him.
"What does he think you should do?"
"I don't know yet. We're talking through it."
Carlos sighs. This isn’t the battle he wants to pick with her today.
"If it's helping, then that's good." He doesn't know if he really means it, but he does mean what he says next. "Just… don't let him be the only one you listen to."
"I won't. I have to go, I'll text you later."
Carlos has much more he wants to say, but settles for "Alright. Take care."
The line goes dead.
He lowers the phone. This isn't just about Eduard. It's about Clara and the fact that, for the first time since they started talking, he is not sure if she believes in him the way he believes in her.

Chapter Text

Carlos leans against the kitchen counter, phone pressed to his ear. His dad picks up on the third ring.
"Hi Carlos. Everything alright?"
"Yeah, all good. I just wanted to ask you something."
"Go on."
"You remember Clara? The girl from the school event I told you about last time I was home."
"I do. What about her?"
"She's been figuring out what she wants to do and she's got people giving her advice, but I don't think all of it is good for her."
"And you think your advice is better?"
Carlos frowns. "Well, yeah. I just don't want her to make choices based on someone who..." He stops himself, unsure how to describe Eduard.
"Someone who isn't you?" his dad finishes for him.
Carlos groans. "That's not what I meant. I just- there's this guy. He's from the same world as her, and she listens to him a lot. Too much, maybe."
His father is silent for a moment. "You don't trust him?"
"Not really. He runs this house where there's drinking, drugs, all of it. She used to go there when things were bad for her."
"Is she still going there?"
"Yeah, but she says it's different now. That he's helping her. That he gets her."
Carlos realises too late how bitter that last part sounds.
"And that bothers you?"
"Of course it bothers me! She deserves better than that."
"And you think you're what's better?"
"I..." Carlos stops, realising he doesn't have a simple answer.
His dad's voice softens. "Carlos, I know you. You see a problem, you want to fix it. You see someone struggling, you want to help. But this girl… she's not a race to be won. I'm not saying you shouldn't care, but ask yourself if you want to help her because she needs it or because you need to be the one helping."
Carlos opens his mouth to argue, but the words don't come.
His dad continues, "You're a good man. But you come from a world where if you work hard enough, you get what you want. That's not how it works for everyone."
"I know that! But what am I supposed to do? Just step back and hope for the best?"
"No. But if you really want to help her you have to let her choose to trust you. Not because you think she should, but because she decides to."
Let her choose. It sounds simple. But Carlos has spent his whole life making things happen through effort and persistance. What if that is not enough this time? How is he supposed to just sit back and let things play out?
"I hear you," he says finally.
"And don't forget to be her friend first."
Carlos thinks of Clara's dry humor, the way she has no respect whatsoever for his celebrity status or the glamour that he is used to. Friend first. He can do that.
"I won't."
"Good. I hope it will work out for the best for her."
"Me too. So, how are things at home?"
His dad procedes to tell him about what has been going on since last time they spoke, and Carlos also says hi to his mum before she heads out to a lunch with friends.
After the call he logs onto Instagram, and checks Clara's profile. A new post has appeard- a picture of a whiteboard with random scribbles and a confused looking woman standing in front of it, captioned 'Step 1: Make a plan. Step 2: Ignore the plan completely. Step 3: ??? Step 4: World domination.'
Chuckling, Carlos hits like.

Clara sits in her usual spot at Eduard’s, sketchpad open on her lap. She is absentmindedly shading a corner of the page when she gets a text from Carlos.
'Have you thought about your grand plan any more?'
'Eduard says I should look into programs that get you hands-on experience, not just classroom stuff.'
Three dots appear, then disappear. Then appear again.
'That's smart'
Clara had half-expected Carlos to shoot it down just because it was Eduard's idea. Then another message pops up.
'But if you end up picking something classroomy you could do an internship alongside it. Maybe shadow someone?'
That's exactly the kind of suggestion that sounds good in theory, but…
'Doubt anyone would take me on without experience'
'You don’t know that'
'I kinda do'
'I could ask around'
'No Carlos!'
'Why not? It's just asking.'
'Because it's not the same if someone hands it to me!'
'Okay. I get that.'
Clara sighs, relieved that he drops it.
"You’re quiet," Eduard remarks a while later. "Something on your mind?"
"Carlos said I should look into an internship."
"Oh yeah? Where, Williams headquarters?"
Clara scowls. "Obviously not. Just, like… something alongside studying."
"And how exactly does he think you're gonna land an internship when you don't have a degree, work experience or connections?”
"I don't know, okay? He just meant I should look into it."
"Right. Look, in his world people might get opportunities just by asking the right person, but you don't have that luxury. You gotta take steps that actually lead somewhere."
Clara frowns. "So you're saying I shouldn't even try?"
"I'm saying don't waste time on things that only work for people with built-in safety nets."
"You sound like you think he's an idiot."
"Nah. Just a little out of touch. Speaking of which, have you thought any more about what you want to do after summer?"
Clara hesitates. She has, but it suddenly seems stupid.
"I think... maybe something with kids like me? Not as a social worker, but maybe there are other things I could do?"
Eduard nods. "I think you'd be really good at that. You won't be someone behind a desk just pretending to care, you'll actually know what the kids go through."
"You think I should go for it?"
"Yeah. Look into what kind of programs and educations there are, and what you need to do to be able to apply." He falls silent for a moment before speaking again. "What does Prince Charming have to say about your plans?"
"Don't call him that."
"Fine. Listen, can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"You and Carlos. You got a thing for him?"
Clara snorts, caught off guard by the sudden change of subject. "No, I don’t have a thing for him. He's my friend."
Eduard hums, like he is not entirely convinced. "You sure about that?"
"Would I be sitting here listening to your crap if I had some secret crush on him?"
"I'm serious. You talk about him a lot."
Clara is suddenly painfully aware of how often she does mention Carlos.
"So what?"
"I just want to know where your head's at."
"It's not like that. He's just… He's Carlos."
"Wow, that cleared everything up."
"He's my friend, okay? And yeah, he's nice and yeah, I like talking to him, but that doesn't mean I have some crush on him."
Eduard studies her. "Alright. I believe you. But what happens if that changes?"
"It's not going to."
"But if it does?"
Clara hesitates. She hasn't even considered the idea before, and the fact that Eduard is making her think about it irritates her.
"I don't think about him like that," she mutters. "Why do you care anyway?"
"Because I know you. And I know what happens when you let people matter too much."
"You think I'll fall for him and get my heart stomped on?"
"I think you're not used to having people stick around. And if he doesn't, for whatever reason, I don’t want you thinking it's because there's something wrong with you."
Clara opens her mouth to snap at him, but stops herself. She hates that part of her knows that. That part of her expects it, no matter how much Carlos insists he is not like that.
"Look, I'm not trying to be an asshole about it," Eduard continues. "I just... I don't want you getting hurt, okay?"
Something about the way he says it makes Clara realise that he isn't mocking her or trying to prove a point. She doesn't know what to do with that, so she looks back at her sketchbook.
"I can handle myself."
"I know you can. Doesn't mean I want you to have to."
Clara says nothing more. Why can't they just accept each other? That would make her life a hell of a lot easier.

Over the next few days it seems like both Carlos and Eduard make it their mission to bombard her with suggestions and advice regarding her future. If it isn't Carlos asking if she has applied for anything yet it is Eduard texting instructions on how to find suitable courses, and it feels like they always try to outdo each other.
'Did you check out any programs yet?' Carlos asks one afternoon.
Clara did. She spent the morning researching, scrolling through websites until the words blurred together. But she doesn't know what to tell him. If she says no he will encourage her to keep looking, and if she says yes he will want details. And if she tells Eduard he will probably remind her that people like her don't get handed opportunities.
She doesn't want either response, so she types out a half-truth.
'Still looking.'
Carlos replies instantly. 'Good! Take your time, but don't talk yourself out of something before you even try.'
Clara sighs and locks her phone, tossing it onto the bed. She knows he means well, but she is tired of feeling like a project.
Eduard is no better. At his place later that day he tosses her a soda and flops down into his armchair.
"So, what's the latest on Operation Escape The System?"
"Nothing new."
Eduard gives her a look. "That all you're gonna say?"
"I mean, it's not like anything's set yet."
"Fair enough."
She hates this. She wishes they would both stop prying.

The next morning Clara doesn't check her messages first thing like she usually does. She just needs a break. A break from the questions, the check-ins, the expectations. From the way they both make her feel pulled in two directions when all she wants is to figure things out for herself.
She remains in her room for most of the day, switching between different TV shows on free streaming services. Her foster parents don't seem to notice that she barely comes out, and honestly, she is grateful for it.
One message from Carlos and one from Eduard pops up during the day. Clara doesn't even read them. Instead she puts her phone on mute.

By the second day she feels restless.
Lying on her bed isn't helping. Staring at the ceiling isn't helping. Scrolling aimlessly on her phone isn't helping.
Eventually she grabs her hoodie, shoves her earbuds in and walks out the door.
At first she just wanders. She doesn't have a destination, doesn't even know why she is doing this- she has never been the type to take walks. But as she moves through streets, past parks and houses she notices something. It helps. The noise in her head, the constant loops of thoughts, pressure and doubt, eases.
The guys text again. Clara doesn't reply.

On the third day she heads out again. She avoids the busy parts of town and sticks to the quieter streets, the places where no one looks twice at her. Her phone stays in her pocket. She knows she should at least send one text, just to let them know she is alive, but the moment she thinks about it she just can't bring herself to do it.
Carlos texts again. 'Hi, just checking in. I'm here if you want to talk.'
Then Eduard. 'Still alive ghost girl?'
She locks the screen without responding.
That night, as she has gone to bed, another message comes in from Carlos.
'At least let me know you're okay'
Clara turns the phone face-down on her nightstand.

On the fourth day Carlos calls once in the morning and again in the evening. Eduard tries once, then follows up with a text. 'Ignoring me is rude you know'.
Clara almost texts back just to tell him to shut up. Almost.

By the fifth day she finds herself at the edge of town, near an abandoned train yard. She feels… lighter. But also guilty. She hasn't just been avoiding Carlos and Eduard, she has been avoiding the entire conversation about her future. About what she wants.
Eduard is right, she needs to figure it out. Carlos is right, she can't let someone else dictate her decisions. So where does that leave her?
For the first time that day she checks her latest messages.
Eduard: 'Fine, be dramatic. But if I have to check the obituaries tomorrow I'm gonna be pissed.'
Carlos: 'I don't know if you need space or if something's actually wrong. Just tell me which one it is.'
Clara sighs, pulling her hoodie tighter around herself. Maybe it’s time to stop running. But not yet.
She turns off her phone and starts walking home.

Carlos scrolls through his messages for what must be the fifth time that day, staring at the last text he sent to Clara. 'I don't know if you need space or if something's actually wrong. Just tell me which one it is'. No response.
While he is trying to be patient, the silence is getting to him. He reminds himself that she has done this before- pulling away when things feel like too much- but that doesn't make waiting any easier.
His phone buzzes. His heart jumps, but it's not Clara. It's a message request on Instagram. From Eduard.
'Has Clara talked to you?'
Carlos frowns. He wasn’t expecting this. He hesitates for a moment, debating whether to respond at all, but then his fingers move on their own.
'Not for a few days. You?'
'Same. Thought maybe she was just ignoring me but if she's ignoring you too...'
Carlos runs a hand through his hair, and types back 'Yeah. I think she just needs space.'
'That what she does?'
'Sometimes'
'Look man I don’t like you much and you probably don't like me either. But we both want her to be okay so maybe we should talk.'
Carlos doesn't particularly want to talk to Eduard, but if it's about Clara he'll deal with it.
'Fine. Call me.'
Seconds later his phone rings. Carlos hesitates, then answers.
"Yeah?"
Eduard’s voice comes through, tense. "Figured talking would be faster than texting. You really haven’t heard from her?"
"No. Have you?"
"No. She seemed fine the last time I saw her, but now she's just... gone."
"She'll come back when she's ready." Carlos sounds more reassuring than he feels.
Eduard scoffs. "That how it works in your world? You just sit back and wait?"
"I give her space when she needs it. Pushing will only make her run further."
"Maybe." Eduard sighs. "I just don't like sitting on my ass when I know something's wrong."
Carlos gets that, more than he wants to admit. And he doesn't know what to make of this. He and Eduard aren't friends, but in this moment they have something in common: they both care about Clara, even if they show it in different ways.
"So, what do we do?"
"We wait."
Eduard mutters under his breath. "Fine. But if she doesn't come back soon I'm gonna start knocking on doors."
Carlos almost smiles. "Noted."
There is a brief pause before Eduard speaks again. "Why do you care?"
"What?"
"Why are you here? Guys like you, rich, famous, living the dream, don't usually stick around for girls like Clara. So why her?"
Carlos had expected some hostility, but hearing it phrased like that stings.
"I met her," he says simply. "I was doing a school talk, and she wasn't fawning over me like the others. She was skeptical, sarcastic. Honest. And I don't know. It seemed like she needed someone, and I wanted to be there for her."
"She's not some charity case."
"I never said she was," Carlos shoots back. "And honestly? It pisses me off that you think that's why I care."
"Then why do you?"
Carlos clears his throat. "Have you ever had people around you who pretend to care, but really they're just there because of who you are? People who say all the right things, but none of it means anything? That's my life. Constantly surrounded by people who only see Carlos Sainz the Formula 1 driver, not Carlos the person. And then Clara comes along, and she doesn't give a shit about any of that. She's the only new person in a long time who's treated me like a normal guy, and I need that."
Eduard stays quiet for a moment. "I can actually get that. And what about her? Why do you think she keeps texting you?"
"I don’t know. You'd have to ask her."
"Yeah, well. I have my theories."
"Oh?"
"She doesn't trust people. But she wants to, I think, and you just happen to be one of the very few she's willing to try with."
Carlos mulls that over. It feels like a weirdly big deal.
"My turn. Why do you care so much?"
"She reminds me of myself in a lot of ways. My life hasn't been easy either."
"So what? You're trying to save her from making your mistakes?"
Eduard scoffs. "I'm not in the business of saving people. Just nudging them in the right direction."
"And you don't think I've been doing the same?"
"I think you’ve been trying. But you don't get it the way I do."
"You don't know what I get."
"Okay. Tell me, then. If she drops out of school and lets herself spiral, what happens next?"
"She'll..." Carlos stops, realising he doesn't actually know.
"Yeah. That's what I thought."
Carlos' stomach twists. "You think she'll spiral?"
"I think the risk was bigger at the beginning of the summer. At least now she's trying to figure things out."
"Until she ghosted us."
Eduard chuckles dryly. "Yeah. Guess she finally had enough of us old men. You really care about her, don't you?" he adds after a moment.
"Yeah," Carlos replies without hesitation. "I do."
"Shit."
"What?"
"That means we actually have something in common."
Carlos laughs, despite himself. "Unbelievable."
For a moment neither of them speak. Then, Eduard clears his throat.
"Truce?"
"Truce."
It’s not friendship, but it is something. And for Clara's sake it will have to be enough.

Chapter Text

On the sixth day Clara wakes up feeling restless. Like something is telling her it is time to stop avoiding things.
She pulls on her hoodie, shoves in her earbuds and goes for another walk. Ending up at the old train yard again she flops down on the edge of a concrete ledge, her thoughts drifting to Carlos and Eduard. They don't deserve to be ghosted like this, and she actually... misses them. She, who never allows herself to miss anyone.
Pulling her phone out she types two messages.
To Carlos: 'I'm okay'
To Eduard: 'Still alive. Happy now?'
Within minutes her phone buzzes twice.
Eduard: 'There you are finally. You coming over?'
Carlos: 'Good to know! Do you want to talk or do you need more space?'
Clara hesitates for a moment before calling him. He picks up after the second ring.
"Hi Clara." He sounds relieved, happy even, to hear from her.
"Hi. Sorry for disappearing."
"You don't have to apologise. Just... I was worried. You okay?"
"Yeah. It was just too much, you and Eduard going on about my studies."
Carlos sighs. "I'm sorry. I thought we were helping."
"You were. But I need to figure stuff out without feeling like I'm being watched all the time."
"That's fair. I won't do it again." He is silent for a moment. "If you ever feel like you need space again, at least let me know you're okay."
"Deal. So, how are things in the world of racing?"
Carlos tells her about what has been going on since last time they spoke, and once they hang up Clara feels better. He wasn't angry, just worried. This is also new to her. She can't remember the last time someone told her they worried about her.
She also goes back to Eduard's that afternoon. He too seems relieved to see her, but in true Eduard fashion there are no grand gestures or speeches.
"Shit, kid," is all he says when she shows up. "Why did you disappear like that?"
Clara flops down on the nearest couch, fingers curling around the hem of her hoodie.
"I needed space."
He sits down next to her. "We didn't mean to push you that far."
"I know."
"You doing okay though?"
"Yeah." Clara looks up at him. "Let's say I actually do this. Fix my grades, get the qualifications I need to do something with my life. How do I even start?”
"First you have to figure out what exactly you need. Some courses let you retake subjects individually, others make you redo a whole year. Do you want to apply for something specific or just patch up the worst of the damage?"
"I don't know yet. Just… enough to move forward."
"Alright, then you'll probably want an adult education program. They do flexible retakes, some are online, some in person. Depends on what you can handle."
"Great. Where do I sign up?"
Eduard chuckles. "Easy now. First we find the right program. Then you apply, which means paperwork, probably some fees."
Clara groans. "Of course there's paperwork."
"Welcome to adulthood. Is money gonna be an issue?"
"I don't know. But I can figure it out."
"Alright. But if you need help with the boring stuff like applications and deadlines I've been through that shit before."
"You? Education?"
Clara stares at him in surprise, and Eduard grins.
"I did my fair share of system-doding. Besides, someone will have to make sure you don't accidentally enroll in clown school."
"Tempting, honestly."
Eduard's smirk fades, and the teasing in his voice is gone. "But seriously. Are you sure about this?"
"Yeah. I think I am."
He claps his hands together. "Alright, then. Step one, find a program that doesn't suck. Let's get to work."

The next couple of days are spent going through options for education and funding. Despite Eduards help Clara gets frustrated by the sheer vastness of alternatives, and by the end of day two she still hasn't decided what to chose. In a fit of desperation she calls Carlos.
"It's just… There are so many options. And what if I'm not smart enough? What if I fail again?"
"You won't."
"You don't know that," Clara mutters, flopping onto her bed.
"Neither do you. You're acting like you'll fail regardless."
"Yeah, well... I haven't exactly been known to be good at studying."
"I've also doubted myself at times. And you know I lost my seat at at Ferrari, right?"
"Yeah. But you got one at Williams instead."
"Sure, but at the time I didn't know that was going to happen."
"So what did you do?"
"I prepared like I already had a new seat, even when I didn't."
"So, what? You're telling me to just pretend I've already passed my exams?"
"No. But I am saying you have to work for it. You don't just sit there and hope for the best- you make sure the best happens."
"That's easy for you to say."
"Is it?" Carlos counters. "Clara, I didn't just wake up one day as an F1 driver. I worked for it, even when I was doubting myself. You have a goal now, but goals don't mean anything unless you actually do the work."
"I know. It's just… overwhelming.”
"Then don't look at the whole picture at once. Break it down. What's the first thing you have to do?"
"Figure out which subjects I need to retake."
"Then do that. Don't think about the exams, just get that first step done."
"And after that?"
"Then we figure out the next step. And if you need help staying on track I'll make sure you don't slack off."
We... Clara likes the sound of that. And it's not that she suddenly believes in herself, but something about the way Carlos lays it out makes it feel less impossible.
"Are you making me a training program?”
"Maybe." She can hear the smirk in his voice. "As villain I need to make sure my evil sidekick is prepared for when we take over the world. By the way, can we switch to video call? I need fashion advice for a dinner tomorrow."
"Erm, sure."
Carlos disconnects the call, and moments later her phone buzzes again. Clara hesitates. They have never done this before, and she tells herself it is just Carlos before accepting the call.
The screen shifts, and suddenly he is there.
"Hi!" He grins. "Finally I get to see your face again."
Seeing him feels different than just hearing his voice. Intimate, almost, and Clara is suddenly shy.
"Yeah. I guess you do."
Carlos switches to the front camera, and films two shirts lying on the bed.
"So, I need to pick a shirt for a sponsor dinner tomorrow. Which one? Dark blue or burgundy?"
"That's why you wanted to video call?"
Back on the screen, Carlos gives her a mock-offended look.
"It's important! I need to impress people, you know?"
Clara rolls her eyes, maybe to mask the feeling of pride. He actually wants her opinion, and even if it is just deciding between two shirts it feels significant.
"Burgundy. It stands out more than the blue one."
"Expert opinion noted."
She watches as he hangs the shirts in a wardrobe, still all too aware of the fact that she can actually see him move around in real-time.
"You okay?" he asks suddenly.
"Yeah. Why?"
"You got quiet for a moment."
Clara shrugs in an attempt to deflect. "I guess I'm just not used to this whole video call thing."
"Well, now that I know you have a face I'll make sure I see it more often."
She scoffs, but can't stop the smile creeping onto her face. "You're ridiculous."
Carlos chuckles. "Is that really the way for the evil sidekick to address the villain?"
Just as Clara is about to retort there is a sharp knock on her door. She tenses instinctively.
"Clara!" Her foster mother's voice is clearly heard. "Laundry. Now."
"Just give me a minute."
"I said now."
Carlos' easygoing demeanor turns into something more alert.
"Was that..?"
Clara keeps her face blank. "Foster mum. I have to go."
"Okay. Talk to you later."
She dissconnects the call. Her foster parents are lounging in the living room as usual, and her foster mother briefly glances up as she passes.
The folding of clothes is monotonous, but her thoughts are anything but. She hasn't told Carlos much about her time in foster care. Not about all the placements, the way it always feels like she is just existing in someone else's house rather than living in her own. Now he has gotten a glimpse of it, and somehow it makes her feel less alone.
An hour later her phone buzzes with a new message from him.
'Everything alright?'
For a moment she considers ignoring it. Not because she doesn't want to reply, but because she doesn't know what to say. Eventually she hesitantly types back.
'Yeah I'm fine'
'Good. Just checking.'
No questions. No prying. Just Carlos being thoughtful. Clara sends a single word as reply:
'Thanks'
'Any time'
The fact that someone cares, that it's him, makes an odd feeling of warmth settle over her.

The next day finds Clara sitting cross-legged on a couch at Eduard's, laptop perched on her lap. Her fingers hover over the trackpad, but she doesn't click anything. Eduard, sprawled in his armchair, eyes her.
"You've been staring at that screen for ages. Found the meaning of life yet?"
Clara gestures vaguely. "There's a hundred different ways to do this. I don't know which program is right."
Eduard grabs the laptop. "You said you wanted something flexible, right? Where you don't have to deal with a bunch of people?"
She nods.
"That narrows it down." He scrolls for a bit, then turns the laptop towards her. "This one. A full diploma program, all online, you can basically work at your own pace."
Clara leans forward to read. "But it's self-directed. What if I suck at keeping myself on track?"
Eduard smirks. "Then it's a good thing you have two people who'll keep your ass accountable. It fits what you want."
It does, but she still isn't sure.
"Look... If it doesn't work you can adjust, but you have to start somewhere."
"Okay. This one."
"Good choice. Now we apply."
Once the application is sent Clara texts Carlos.
'I picked a program. Online, flexible, seems manageable.'
The reply comes a few minutes later. 'That's great! I'm proud of you.'
Clara looks at the message for longer than she should, the same kind of warmth as yesterday settling inside her.
'Haven’t even started yet'
'You made a decision. That's the first step.'
She allows herself a smile. It is, and right now it feels like a huge accomplishment.
That night there is a lot of people at Eduard's, as usual. Sitting on one of the couches Clara sips her drink, listening to the buzz of conversation around her. She actually feels something. Relief, maybe. Pride. She finally has a plan.
And that is how it starts.
At first it is just a couple of drinks. She never lets herself go too far anymore, she learnt that lesson the hard way. But tonight she is in a celebratory mood, so when someone passes her a shot she downs it without thinking. Then Elena sits down next to her, pressing something into her palm.
"Try this. It makes everything feel even better."
Clara hesitates, but then she glances at Eduard and the people around her. They are laughing, carefree. Tonight she wants to feel like that too, so she swallows the pill. Then another.
At first nothing feels different. She drinks more and the alcohol keeps things hazy, warm. She even takes a third pill. Then her limbs start to feel heavier, her head lighter. The conversations around her turn into white noise.
She blinks. She doesn’t remember closing her eyes. And when did she lie down on the floor?
"Clara."
The voice feels distant, like it is coming through water. A hand shakes her shoulder.
"Clara, wake up!"
She forces her eyes open. Eduard is crouched beside her, his face tight with something she doesn’t recognise.
"Hey," she murmurs, her voice sluggish. "M’fine."
"The hell you are," he snaps.
She tries to sit up, but the room tilts violently. Eduard presses his fingers to her wrist.
"Shit. Hey! Someone help me get her up!"
Hands grab her and suddenly she is being lifted, her legs barely cooperating. Voices blur together.
"She took something..."
"How much did she drink?"
"We need to get her out of here."
Clara wants to tell them to stop fussing, that she is fine, but the words won't come. The last thing she is aware of is the cool night air hitting her face and Eduard's panicked voice.
"Stay awake, okay? Clara, stay with me!"
Then, nothing.

Chapter Text

Lounging on his couch Carlos absentmindedly scrolls on his phone. On a whim he opens his contacts, and calls Clara. The phone rings once, twice, five times before finally clicking, but the voice that answers isn't hers.
"Hello."
Carlos sits up straighter. "Eduard?"
"Yeah."
"Where's Clara?"
Eduard is silent for a moment. "She's in hospital."
Carlos' stomach drops. "What's happened?"
"She overdosed. I don't know what she took, but she's here now. They're… They're working on her."
Carlos stands, and starts to pace the living room.
"Is she going to be okay?"
"I don't know."
"Was it intentional?"
"I don’t think so. I didn't give her anything, alright? She was just happy about applying for school, and I didn't know she'd… mix stuff."
"I’m not blaming you," Carlos says quickly. "I just need to know she'll be okay."
"You and me both, Sainz." Eduard sighs. "She is a good kid. She just doesn't always see it."
Carlos nods, even though Eduard can't see it. "She's more than good. And she's lucky to have you around even if…"
"Even if what?"
Carlos chooses his words carefully. "Even if I don't always understand how you do things. But you were there when she needed someone tonight, and that matters."
"Yeah, well…" Eduard mutters, "She's lucky to have you too."
"Will you stay with her?"
"Of course."
"When she wakes up, tell her I want to talk to her when she feels up for it."
"I will." Eduard's voice is softer now. "And for what it's worth… I really hope she will be there to call you."
"Me too." Carlos doesn't even want to imagine the opposite.
"I'll keep you updated. If anything changes you'll know."
"Thanks. And… take care of her."
"I will."
The line goes quiet. Carlos lowers the phone, his mind racing. He doesn't know what she took, how much or what happens next- only that she is lying in a hospital bed and he is here, useless. He pulls up the browser on his phone, and starts typing.
Overdose recovery time
How long do you stay in hospital after an overdose?
What happens if you mix alcohol and pills?
The results blur together- statistics, symptoms, medical jargon he doesn't fully understand- but none of it answers the one thing that actually matters.
Is Clara going to be okay?

Clara drifts into consciousness, her body feeling heavy. The harsh fluorescent light makes her squint, and there is a steady beeping close to her. Her throat is dry, her head throbbing in time with her pulse. She tries to shift, but something tugs at her arm- an IV.
"Hey. Welcome back, kid."
Eduard's voice. Clara turns her head, finding him sitting in a chair beside the bed. He looks exhausted, but a relieved smile spreads across his face.
"What… What happened?"
"You scared the hell out of me, that's what happened. You overdosed. Ended up here."
Overdosed. Clara's stomach churns.
"You didn't have to stay," she mutters.
Eduard scoffs. "Like I was gonna leave you alone in some hospital bed."
"Carlos doesn't know, does he?"
"He called earlier. I told him what happened."
Clara turns her face away. "You didn't have to do that."
"He deserved to know," Eduard says gently. "He cares about you. Said he'd like to talk when you feel up for it."
Clara doesn't answer. She just closes her eyes, trying to figure out what to feel.

Over the next two days she drifts in and out of sleep. Nurses come and go, and she barely remembers a doctor explaining what happened. Something about alcohol and whatever pills she had taken mixing badly, her body shutting down for a while.
Her foster parents visit once. They don't seem disappointed exactly, but not surprised either. Just as if this kind of thing is what they had expected from her. They ask how she is feeling, but she can tell they don't really care.
Social services arrive the next day. A woman Clara doesn't recognise sits beside her bed, flipping through a file. The conversation is a blur of formalities, of phrases Clara has heard too many times before. "This isn't a punishment, Clara". "We just want what's best for you". "This is a fresh start".
She listens without really hearing. It's not like she has a choice, the decision has already been made. She is moving again.
By the time Clara is discharged her belongings have already been packed for her and brought to the hospital. The same social worker picks her up and leads her to a waiting car, where she is handed information about her new placement.
Madrid.
Carlos lives in Madrid. That should be a comfort, but Clara can't bring herself to text him. She doesn't know what to say, and everything has happened so fast. Too fast.
When the social worker attempts to make small talk Clara shoves her earbuds in and listens to music. All she wants to say is that she needs to go and say goodbye to Eduard, but she doesn't. Because what's the point? It won't change anything.
Her new foster home turns out to be a decent-sized flat in a quiet part of the city. The walls are painted warm, neutral tones, and the air smells faintly of cleaning supplies. Too crisp, too sterile.
Her new foster parents, Teresa and José, are polite but cautious, watching her carefully as if waiting to see what kind of kid she is. Clara speaks as little as possible, merely nodding along as they go through the house rules and routines.
Her room is small with a bed, a desk and a wardrobe. The sheets are fresh and there is a folded towel at the foot of the mattress, like in a guest room. Because that is what this is, really. Another temporary stop. Clara drops her bags by the bed and sits down. The bed is too soft, sinking under her weight. The sounds from outside are unfamiliar, and the light switch is on the opposite side of the door from what she is used to. It's little things, but thet get to her.
Teresa tells her to rest and settle in, let them know if she needs anything. Clara nods and waits for her to leave, then stares at the closed door.
She knows she promised Carlos to at least check in even if she needs space. He believed in her, actually seemed to think that she would be able to turn things around. And Eduard, who she didn't even get to say goodbye to. He believed in her too.
The knowledge that she has let them down makes her hate herself. So she doesn't pick up her phone. Instead she just sits on the too soft bed in the unfamiliar room, trying to grapple with an overwhelming sense of displacement.

Carlos' phone chimes with a new message. He quickly grabs it, only to put it aside again when it's his mum just confirming an upcoming family dinner.
He checks his phone way too often. First thing in the morning, between meetings, during meals and gym sessions, last thing before bed. Always the same. Nothing.
Five days have passed since he found out about Clara's overdose, and yesterday Eduard texted again. He had gone to see her, only to learn from her former foster parents that social services had moved her to Madrid.
Even though Carlos knew Clara is in foster care, he hadn't realised just how little control she has over her own life. No wonder she doesn't trust easily and keeps people at arm's length.
He opens his message thread with Eduard, and quickly types a new message.
'Have you heard from Clara yet?'
A reply appears moments later. 'No. You?'
'Nothing.'
There is a longer pause before Eduard replies again.
'She'll reach out when she's ready.'
Carlos knows he is probably right, but that doesn't make it easier. Especially not since he is away racing in another country.
It's not like he is acting completely out of character. He still does his duties, still jokes around with the team. But when he is not distracted by work his mind circles back to the same question. Is Clara okay?
On Saturday night he goes out for dinner with his trainer Lucas and photographer Marco. It's meant to be a casual night, a break from racing mode, but halfway through the meal Marco sets his fork down and gives him a pointed look.
"Alright mate, what’s going on?"
Carlos takes a bite of food. "Nothing."
"Yeah? Because you keep checking your phone like you're waiting for bad news."
"And you're getting irritable," Lucas adds.
"I'm fine."
Lucas sighs. "You're not fine. We just want to know what’s going on, and don’t say 'nothing' because I've known you too long for that."
Carlos could brush them off, tell them to drop it. But they know him, and they are right. He is not fine. He has been carrying this for days and it's exhausting.
"It's Clara."
Marco frowns. "The girl from the school talk?"
Carlos has mentioned her a couple of times in exhasperated amusement, when recounting her sarcasm and complete lack of interest in his celebrity status.
"Yeah. She overdosed a few days ago."
Both Lucas and Marco straighten.
"What?"
"Is she okay?"
Carlos sighs. "I don't know. A friend of hers told me when she got discharged from the hospital, and that social services moved her to Madrid. She hasn't answered either of us since."
Lucas studies him for a moment. "You should go see her. If she won't answer you, go to her."
"I don't have the address. And I doubt social services will just hand it over to me."
Marco leans forward. "Do you know anyone else who might have it?"
"No."
"So, let me get this straight. This girl overdoses, gets uprooted and now she has shut you and her other friend out?"
"Pretty much."
"And you're this worried because…?"
Carlos scoffs. "Of course I'm worried.”
Lucas gestures vaguely. "You've known her for what? A few months? You meet tons of people, but you don't normally look like you're about to panic over one person not answering."
"She's not just one person."
"Okay. So who is she?"
Carlos runs a hand through his hair. "She's… different. She barely even knew who I was when we met, and she just treats me like a normal guy."
"You think she's the only one who treats you like a normal guy?" Lucas asks, his voice softer now.
"No. It's just... Clara doesn't expect anything from me, I can just be myself. And she's been through more than anyone should have to deal with."
Marco hums. "Okay, so you can't go to her. But you also can't just sit here, staring at your phone like a lovesick teenager."
"I'm not..."
Marco holds up a hand. "Wrong choice of words. But you get my point."
Carlos feels himself deflate. "I don't know what to do."
"Then do what you always do when something isn't working."
"What do you mean?"
"When your car feels off you don't just drive and hope it gets better. You talk to your engineers, look at the data, make adjustments. And now if she won't talk to you, figure out how to make her listen. Find another way in."
Carlos ponders that, and once back in his hotel room he finds himself browsing for something, anything, that would make Clara want to reach out to him. He eventually finds a YouTube video, an outtake video from a previous media day. It's stupid, really. Just him messing around while Alex laughs in the background.
Clara likes dumb things.
He copies the link and pastes it into a message.
'Still villain. Still ridiculous. Still waiting for my evil sidekick to roll her eyes at me again.'
He hits send, and stares at the little symbol indiating that his message is delivered. Now all he can do is wait.

Chapter Text

Clara is curled up on her bed, just staring into the opposite wall. It has been almost three weeks since the move to Madrid, and she still resents herself. She was trying to sort her life out and now she is stuck in a new city with strangers she doesn't care about, feeling like all the progress she made was for nothing. And she doesn't know how to face Carlos and Eduard.
She looks around the room. The half-eaten sandwich from breakfast still sits on her desk along with a mug of tea long gone cold. She has barely been outside her room today, and only spoken a little with Teresa and José. They seem okay. At least they are not overbearing, leaving her alone most of the time.
To take her mind off things she takes out her sketchpad and pencils. It turns into aimless lines that don't mean anything, but at least it keeps her hands busy.
When the intercom buzzes she ignores it. It won't be for her anyway. Then the front door goes, and she can hear her foster parents talk to someone. They chat for a good while, and suddenly there is a knock on her door. She ignores it, expecting whoever it is to go away if she doesn't respond.
"Open the door, kid."
Clara freezes. She knows that voice. Slowly getting on her feet she pads over to the door and cracks it open, to find Eduard standing there.
"What the hell?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Is that all I get? No 'thanks for coming all this way'?"
"I didn't ask you to come."
He regards her for a moment, something flashing in his eyes. Worry?
"And you also haven't answered your phone in weeks."
"You didn't have to come and check on me."
"Yeah, I did. Can I come in?"
Clara steps aside to let him into her room. She flops down on the bed, and Eduard joins her.
"This seems like a nice place."
She shrugs. "I didn't choose it. Again."
He nods, like he understands exactly what she means.
Clara glances down at her hands, fingers picking at the hem of her t-shirt, then back up at him.
"Why'd you come?"
"You almost die and then ghost me. You think I wouldn't check in on you?"
Clara looks down at her hands again. "I didn't think you'd want to see me."
"Why not?"
"Because I fucked up. Because I threw away everything I was working for. Because..."
"Clara." Eduard's voice is surprisingly gentle. "You didn't throw anything away. You made a mistake, but that doesn't mean you don't get to fix it."
"Easier said than done."
"You think I haven't screwed up a thousand times worse? You were thinking about your future and now you're just gonna throw it away because you made one mistake?"
She shakes her head. "You make it sound so simple."
"It's not. But you don't get to just quit because things got a little hard."
"But I don’t know how to fix it."
"You take one step at a time." He nudges her arm lightly. "Do you still want that future you were talking about?"
Clara nods, just barely.
"Then start again. That whole plan of yours is still there, and there's no rule saying you can't pick yourself up and keep going." Eduard falls silent for a moment. "Carlos texted me, by the way, and asked if I'd seen you. You should talk to him, he's worried about you."
Clara is about to claim that Eduard is wrong, that Carlos must have tired by now, but he looks so sincere that she realises that he is telling the truth. She still doesn't know what she could say though, and the idea of talking to Carlos makes her nervous. Will he be disappointed? Angry?
Will he still be her villain?
"I'll think about it."
"Good."
Clara shifts, suddenly restless.
"Want to take a walk?"
Eduard looks surprised, but agrees. They wander through the neighborhood, and when they pass café he stops.
"I could use a coffee, do you want anything? It's on me."
Clara peers inside, reading through the boards listing the offered drinks.
"A hot chocolate."
The café is almost empty, and they grab a table in a corner. Clara sips her chocolate while Eduard quickly finishes his coffee, and it's a moment of normalcy that Clara hadn't realised she needed.
Eventually Eduard checks the time.
"I should head to the station soon. Train leaves in less than an hour."
Something inside Clara sinks, she doesn't want him to go. She goes with him to the station, and Eduard doesn't comment when she follows him onto the platform. Maybe he gets it, how she wants to hold on to this moment for a little longer.
The train is already waiting, doors open. Eduard turns to her.
"It was really good to see you."
"Yeah. You too."
Before she can change her mind Clara wraps her arms around him. It is a little awkward, unfamiliar, and thankfully Eduard doesn't make a big deal out of it. His arms just close around her shoulders, solid and steady. Clara leans into him. He is warm, real, and he doesn't pull away first.
When she finally steps back he studies her for a moment.
"Take care of yourself. Text me, alright?"
"I will."
When he has stepped onto the train Clara turns and walks away. Suddenly things don't feel quite as hopeless, and maybe talking to Carlos isn't such a bad idea after all.
The next day Clara sits with her phone, her thumb hovering over Carlos' contact. She should just call. But what if he will scold her, or not even pick up at all? She drops the phone onto her bed, but picks it up again. Eduard did say he was worried, so maybe it won't be too bad.
This time she dials, stomach churning and half-hoping he won't pick up. But he does, and he sounds happy to hear from her.
"Clara! There you are, I thought you had disappeared for good. How are you?"
"Better, I guess." Clara hesitates, then blurts out, "I'm sorry."
"For what?"
"For… everything. For worrying you, for being a mess."
Carlos' voice softens. "You don't have to apologise for any of that."
She doesn't know what she had expected, but it isn't this. Carlos isn't angry, he isn't frustrated. He just… cares, and somehow that makes her feel even worse for ghosting him.
"Right now I just feel like a bad sidekick."
"Nonsense. You're still my top recruit, even if you did take an unapproved vacation."
"Wasn't exactly a vacation."
"No, but you're still here. And that ruins my theory that you went into hiding to plot world domination. Or is that still happening?"
Clara chuckles. "Can't confirm or deny. But let't just say that if I disappear again you should be worried."
"Noted, then I'll alert authorities." There is a beat of silence. "It's good to hear your voice again."
"You too."
"Look, I'm at a lunch and should probably go back before they send out a search squad. Talk again soon?"
"Yeah."
"Bye, sidekick."
"Bye, villain."
As the line goes dead she remains on the bed, phone in hand. She hadn't realised how much she had missed talking to him until now.
Over the next few days the texting become routine once more, and Carlos calls her again. Then, after the next race weekend, Clara gets surprised when he texts in the middle of the day on Monday.
'You up for a video call? Haven't seen your face in ages and need to make sure you haven't been replaced by an imposter.'
A regular call would be easier, less exposed. But it is Carlos, and Clara kind of wants to see him too.
'Ok'
After a moment her phone buzzes. She takes a deep breath, accepts the call and there he is. Carlos, looking a little tired but relaxed. He grins at her.
"Look at that, it is actually you."
Clara rolls her eyes. "Disappointed?"
"Nah, just making sure. I was prepared to demand proof of identity.”
"You've already seen me on video once."
"Yeah, but that was before you disappeared for weeks. For all I knew the real Clara Martín had been replaced."
Clara snorts. "Hate to break it to you, but I'm still me."
"Good, because I'd have a hard time finding another sidekick." Carlos studies her for a moment. "How are things? Have you settled in okay with the ones you're staying with?"
"Define okay."
"Are they nice? Treating you well?"
"I guess. At least they don't have any stupid, nitpicky rules and they don't yell at me, if that's what you mean. What about you? How's life as a world-famous Formula 1 driver?"
"Oh, you know. Endless interviews, training, traveling. It's hard work being so adored."
Clara snickers. "Must be so difficult."
"I manage. You on track with studying?"
"It's been hard to focus."
"That's okay. You're figuring it out."
Clara fiddles with the hem of her hoodie. "Do you really think I can do this?"
"I do. Just take one step at a time. Speaking of time, what are your plans for the rest of the day?"
"Got a packed schedule of doing absolutely nothing."
"Sounds exhausting."
"It is," Clara deadpans. "Might even have to cancel the planned hour of staring at the ceiling.”
Carlos laughs. "In that case I have a better idea."
"Oh?"
"Come over."
Clara stills. It's so unexpected, so casual, throwing her completely off guard.
"To your place?"
"You don't have to if you don't want to, but, you know… I've got a way better ceiling to stare at."
As if to prove his point Carlos tilts the camera upwards, making Clara chuckle.
"You sure? About wanting me to come over, I mean."
Back on the screen Carlos nods, like it's no big deal. "We can just watch a film, eat something."
Still surprised Clara finds herself nodding as well.
"Okay. I'll come over."
"Cool." Carlos smiles. "I'll text you the address. I'll be home, so come by whenever."
"Sure, see you in a bit. You and your ceiling."
"We're looking forward to it. See you!"
He disconnects the call, leaving Clara to process what has just happened. She is actually going to see Carlos Sainz. At his place.
She knows that Teresa and José expects her to tell them if she goes out, but she is reluctant to mention him. Bracing herself she calls Teresa, who answers promptly.
"Hi Clara. Is everything alright?"
"Yeah, sorry to call you at work. Just wanted you to know I'm going out to see a friend."
"A friend? Who?"
Teresa sounds surprised, for which Clara can't really blame her. Since moving to Madrid she hasn't spent time with anyone but Eduard.
"They study the same thing I do. We have this chat provided by the school, and we started talking there."
The part about a chat is true, although Clara has never bothered to use it.
"That's nice. Will you be home for dinner?"
"Not sure, we were talking about eating together."
"Let me know either way, and have a good time."
"I will, thanks."
An hour later Clara is walking through Carlos' neighborhood. The streets are wide, lined with trees and luxury buildings. Expensive cars glide past, and the people walking by are well-dressed and well-groomed. Clara looks down at herself. Her baggy jeans and scuffed sneakers feel out of place, her hoodie and canvas bag too worn. She doesn't normally care about these things, but now it's hard not to.
As steps into Carlos' building the feeling intensifies. A middle aged concierge stands behind a polished desk, and the moment she approaches he looks up. He gives her a once over before his face settles back into polite attention.
"Hello, can I help you?"
Clara clears her throat. "I'm, uh… here to see Carlos Sainz."
"Your full name, please."
"Clara Martín."
"One moment."
Clara shifts on her feet as he reaches for a phone and dials.
"Señor Sainz, señorina Martín is here to see you." A brief pause. "I'll send her up." He disconnects the call, and gestures toward the lifts. "Take the lift to the twelfth floor. It's the second door on the right."
Clara mutters a quick thanks and hurries towards the lifts. There is soft music playing, and looking herself in the mirror she runs her fingers through her hair in a futile attempt to smooth it down. It's not nerves, exactly, but texting and calling someone is different from seeing them in person.
As she steps out of the lift the second door to the right opens, and a smiling Carlos appears.
"Hi Clara." He steps aside to let her in. "Make yourself at home."
Clara looks around, wide eyed. Everything looks expensive- from the large couches in the living room to the elegant kitchen and the large terrace.
"It's huge."
Carlos chuckles. "I'll give you a tour."
Clara trails him through the flat, in awe. There are two guestrooms, an office, Carlos' bedroom and even a gym. After the tour he leads her back to the living room.
"Can I get you anything to drink?"
"No thanks, I'm good." It's an automatic response. She has learnt to not be needy when being somewhere for the first time.
"If you get thirsty, just help yourself to anything in the fridge. Glasses are in the cupboard over the sink."
Carlos flops down on one of the couches, and Clara follows suit. Sitting on the edge she keeps her hands folded in her lap, and her back straight. Once again self taught to seem likable after years in different foster homes.
"As for food, I figured I'd cook something. Unless you'd rather order in?"
"I'm good with whatever."
"That's not an answer."
Clara shrugs. "I don't know. What were you going to make?"
"Pasta."
"Pasta is good."
Carlos chuckles. "You are so opinionated over text, and now I just get 'pasta is good'?"
"I just… don't want to be a hassle."
"Clara, you're not a hassle."
She looks down at her hands, the sincerity in his voice making her uncomfortable.
"You say that now. Wait until I start complaining about your cooking."
"I bet you you won't." He stands. "Come on, let's make some pasta."
While Carlos cooks Clara stands to the side, making sure she won't get in the way. As he tells stories about his racing and a ridiculous fan interaction he had during the last weekend she slowly relaxes, and when they sit down to eat she is at ease.
The moment she finishes her meal she stands and carries her plate to the sink, out of habit. She rinses it and is about to load it into the dishwasher when Carlos speaks.
"Clara."
"Yeah?"
"You know, the plate won't explode if you leave it for five minutes."
"It's fine. I don't mind."
"You're not somewhere where you have to be on your best behavior." Carlos' voice is softer now. "You don't have to be afraid to leave a trace."
Clara looks away, resenting that he is so perceptive.
Putting his own plate in the sink along with hers, Carlos nudges her lightly.
"Come on, film time. You're picking."
Clara trails him out of the kitchen. "At least tell me if there's anything you hate."
"Nope." Carlos hands her the remote, grinning. "It's all your decision."
Clara eventually settles for Night At The Museum. She sits a little stiffly at first, out of habit, but as the film progresses she allows herself to mimic Carlos and sink into the couch cushions.
After the film she gets up to use the bathroom. One towel hangs neatly over the drying rack, and a single toothbrush rests in a mug on the sink. As she washes her hands Clara's eyes flick toward the bathroom cabinet. She knows it's none of her business, but before she can think better of it she opens it to find shaving products and deodorant for men, collogne, painkillers and a tube of toothpaste neatly arranged on a shelf. No stray makeup, no hair ties, no bottles of face cleanser that aren't his. Clara closes the cabinet, glancing at the shower. One bottle of shampoo, one body wash.
It's not like it matters- it's just confirmation that no one else is here often enough to leave things behind. Still, it makes her strangely relieved.
She pads pack to the living room, and sits down closer to Carlos than before. Before she can talk herself out of it she glances at him.
"Thanks for not giving me a hard time about all my stupid shit."
Carlos studies her for a moment before reaching out, gently pulling her into a hug. Not prepared for this kind of closeness Clara stiffens at first, before slowly leaning into him.
"Why would I?"
"People always do when I fuck up."
"Then maybe I'm not like most people."
A small smile flits over Clara's face.
"I knew that already though."
Carlos keeps holding her and she stays there, letting herself relax even more. After a while though she wonders if she is overstepping, wanting too much. She shifts, and Carlos squeezes her shoulder before letting go.
"You know, for someone who claims she doesn't like people you're surprisingly good at hugging."
Clara just chuckles, unsure how to respond to that.
Carlos glances at the time on his phone.
"It's not late yet. You up for another film?"
"Yeah, sure."
"My turn to pick, then."
"That's a dangerous sentence."
Carlos simply smirks at her, and Clara snorts as he makes his selection.
"The Fast And The Furious? Really?"
"Hey, it's a classic."
Clara curls up in the couch corner, legs tucked in under her. She remains like that until the film ends, then she stretches, stifling a yawn. Carlos switches the TV off.
"If you're getting tired I'll get you a taxi."
"I can take the metro."
But he is already pulling up a ride-hailing app.
"I don't want you to be out by yourself this late. I'll cover it."
Clara doesn't protest, not even when he insists on following her downstairs. There is a woman behind the concierge desk this time, greeting Carlos with a too warm "Good evening, señor Sainz". Clara snorts inwardly as he simply smiles politely in reply.
The night air is crisp, the street quiet. As the taxi pulls up Carlos opens the door for her, and Clara stops before getting in.
"Thanks. For the food and good film company."
Carlos smiles. "My pleassure. Text me when you're home, okay?"
"Yeah."
Clara slides into the car, and Carlos closes the door. She spends the taxi ride in silence, pondering the past hours. She can still recall the feeling from when he pulled her close, and it terrifies her how much she had wanted to stay there.
When she is home she takes out her phone to text him, but as she is about to start typing she hesitates. What does she say? 'Thanks for today'? Too formal. 'No one has ever hugged me like that before'? Definitely not.
'Survived taxi ride'
Carlos' reply comes moments later. 'Great. You good?'
'Yeah'
Clara allows herself a smile. Yes, she is good. Better than in a long time.

Chapter Text

Carlos tosses his phone onto the kitchen counter and pours himself a glass of water. Not relly because he is thirsty, but because he is restless. His flat is too quiet, and even if it should be easy after an intense race weekend he can't relax.
On impulse he picks up his phone again and fires off a text to Clara.
'Hi are you busy?'
Half an hour later she texts back.
'Define busy'
'Doing anything more important than eating free food and maybe watching a film at my place?'
'That depends. Do I get to chose film again?'
'Let me guess. Night at the museum 2?'
'Ha ha ha. But sure when can I come over?'
'I'm home so whenever'
The running girl emoji comes as reply.
An hour later Clara arrives. Carlos meets her at the door again, and this time she actually smiles at him.
"Hi."
"Hi, come in."
Seemingly more at ease this time, she immediately flops down on a couch.
"Do you want anything to drink?"
She hesitates for a moment. "Maybe some water?"
Carlos fetches a glass for himself as well, and joins her on the couch. Clara lifts her glass in a toast.
"Congrats on fourth place. Does the villain have any good stories from the weekend to share?"
Carlos recounts a ridiculous moment from media day, and instead of making a sarcastic comment Clara is silent for a moment.
"Do you ever get tired of it? The attention, the cameras... just always being watched?"
"Sometimes. It's strange, you know? I worked my ass off to be here and I love racing, but sometimes it's exhausting. I can't really go anywhere without people recognising me, there's always someone watching or taking pictures."
"Sounds suffocating."
"It can be. But it's part of the job, and I think I'd feel worse if no one cared."
"At least people acknowledge you for what you do."
Carlos is about to ask what she means by that when Clara pulls her legs in under her and continues.
"When people hear I'm in foster care they make assumptions. No one ever asks anything about it, they just decide."
"And what's the truth?"
Carlos regards her as she looks down at her hands, picking at the hem of her t-shirt.
"It's not a great story."
"I'm not expecting a great story."
She still won't look at him, and Carlos can see her debating with herself.
"I've been in foster care since I was about one," she begins eventually. She speaks quietly, hesitantly. "It didn't work out with my parents, they... It's drugs. I think they've been trying to quit over the years, but... they haven't been able to."
Carlos doesn't know how to respond. What do you even say to something like that?
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay, I've learnt to live with it. But you never feel at home. Most people have tried I guess, but... it doesn't matter. I've never stayed for long with anyone, so it's no idea getting to know them." She falls silent, and Carlos waits for her to continue. "And it's always the same. Social workers say one thing but then something else gets decided. Foster parents make promises they don't keep. Teachers see you as a problem before they even know you. And it's no use making friends because you're moving all the time."
She says it so matter-of-factly, like she has long since stopped expecting things to be different, and Carlos hates that she sounds so resigned to it. Like she has just accepted that this is how life is.
"I just want to feel... like I belong somewhere," Clara continues quietly after another long pause. "But you learn to not trust people and stop believing anyone will stick around. Sometimes I think... I don't know... that if I disappeared it wouldn't really matter. At least then I wouldn't be a nuisiance to everyone else." She shifts, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "Sorry. That was depressing."
Carlos shakes his head. "No. It was real."
She glances at him as if she hadn't expected that.
"I've never... talked about it with anyone before."
Carlos leans forward in an attemt to catch her eyes. "I'm glad you told me. And at least now it makes sense why you like villains so much."
That earns him a small smirk. "Obviously. Heroes are overrated."
Carlos chuckles. "Yeah. Are you hungry, by the way?"
"I can eat."
"Want to order in this time?"
"Sure. I mean, I need to know what the posh neighbourhood offers."
They end up ordering pizza. While waiting for the food Carlos takes Clara in, really looking at her, and for the first time it truly hits him how different she is from the women he usually spends time with.
They are tall, sleek, beautiful, immaculately dressed and use designer bags. Models, influencers, socialites, women used to attention.
Clara is… not that.
She is small, her frame hidden beneath an oversized t-shirt and a pair of baggy trousers. She is curled up in the corner of the couch, legs tucked in tightly under her. It is like she has trained herself to be unobtrusive, to take up as little space as possible. Her worn canvas bag is tossed by the front door.
Everything about her is such a stark contrast to what Carlos is used to. And Clara may not fit in the racing world, but somehow she fits here, in his space. He just has no idea what to make of that.

Carlos' dad flies out to support him for the next race. It's nice to have company, and as always his dad brings good insight when it comes to the racing.
On Sunday night they decide to go out for dinner. As Carlos is getting ready Clara video calls, and they chat until there is a knock on his door.
"I have to go, dad's here."
"Have fun, talk to you later."
Clara waves at the screen before she disconnects the call, and Carlos goes to let his dad in. He gazes into the room like he is looking for something.
"I thought I heard two voices."
"I was video calling Clara."
His dad looks surprised, but doesn't comment on it.
They find a restaurant close to the hotel, and halfway through the meal he regards Carlos closely.
"Do you talk to Clara a lot?"
Carlos shrugs, surprised by the sudden change of subject. "Yeah, I guess."
"Can I ask, what is she to you?"
"We're friends."
"And?"
"And what?"
"You have plenty of friends. But you don't video call all of them and you don't check your phone like you're waiting to hear from them."
Carlos rolls his eyes. "It's not like that."
"She is in foster care if I remember what you told me correctly?"
"Yeah. She actually moved to Madrid a while ago." Carlos doesn't want to talk about Clara's situation without her concent, but at the same time he hasn't been able to let go of what he told him last time she visited.
"She is trying to turn her life around. She is studying, and it seems to be going well."
"So do you trust her now? And the people around her?"
Carlos nods. "I do."
"And does she trust you?"
"I hope so. She doesn't… trust easily. People have let her down too many times."
"And what happens if you ever give her a reason to doubt you?"
"I won't."
"Not on purpose, maybe. But life doesn't always go how we plan."
"I wouldn't just disappear or do something to hurt her."
"Not intentionally. But you're always traveling, always on the move. One day that will end, but what about before that? If you get caught up and pull away without meaning to?"
Carlos stays silent. He hasn't thought about that.
"You said Clara doesn't trust easily," his dad continues. "So If that ever happens, do you think she will wait for an explanation?"
She probably wouldn't. That realisation hits harder than expected.
"I just want you to think about it. If you're in, be in. Because if you walk away you might not get to change your mind and expect her to still be there."
His dad takes a bite of food. Carlos follows suit, and the conversation shifts to today's race.
Later that night, as Carlos has gone to bed, the conversation loops in his mind. His schedule is relentless, his world constantly shifting. And Clara is steady in a way she doesn't even realise. She is his evil sidekick, and somehow that means more than he ever realised.
The unconventionality of it doesn't matter. Not the age difference, not the fact that they live completely different lives. Because he doesn't want to lose her, and if proving that means showing up not just now, but always, that is exactly what he is going to do.
Carlos pulls out his phone. He contemplates texting her, but what could he even say? 'Hey, just had an entire existential crisis about how much our friendship means to me. Hope you're doing well.'
Yeah. No.
Instead he settles for something simple.
'Goodnight sidekick sleep well. Talk to you tomorrow.'
She doesn't reply, but that is fine. Because he is in no rush. He is in it for the long haul.

Chapter Text

Clara is on her way to Carlos' place when he texts. Expecting some lame last minute excuse as to why she can't come over she braces herself before reading it.
'I've cleared with front desk so you don't have to check in anymore. You can head straight up, door's unlocked.'
Checking in has been a small thing, but still a reminder that she doesn't really belong there. Now Carlos has apparently decided that she does, and Clara doesn't know how to respond.
'Ok'
The concierge smiles in greeting as she passes the front desk, and outside Carlos' flat she hesitates. Does she knock first, or go straight in? Eventually she knocks three times before slowly opening the door.
"Hello?"
Carlos sticks his head out of the kitchen.
"Hello! I hope you're hungry, I've made pancakes."
"Why did you tell the concierge I don't have to check in anymore?"
"I figured it will be easier if you want to keep coming over."
Clara flops onto a chair by the kitchen table. "You're weird."
Carlos chuckles. "And yet you're here again. By the way, what do your foster parents think about you spending time here?"
"I don't know. We haven't talked about it."
"You haven't told them?"
"They think I'm hanging out with a study friend."
"And you don't see a problem with that?"
Clara shrugs. "If I tell them they'll just make a big deal out of it. Probably tell social services, who'll meddle just because."
"Look... I understand if you don't want them interfering, but lying will just make things worse when they find out."
"It's not like I've lied about spending time with someone. They wouldn't get it."
"What exactly do you think they wouldn't get?"
"That we're friends." And that she wants this to be just hers. Theirs.
"And what makes you think they'd assume otherwise?"
"People always assume things about me. I told you."
"Then tell them before they assume the wrong things."
"What if they freak out?"
"Then we deal with it. Okay?"
We.
Carlos can't really mean that, can he? But he looks sincere, so maybe he does.
"Okay."
"And promise to let me know if there's any problem."
"Sure." Clara falls silent, picking at the hem of her t-shirt. There is a part of her that feels like she oversteps, but she musters the courage to ask anyway. "Would it be okay if I grab some orange juice?"
"Of course, help yourself."
"Thanks. I just... didn't want to assume."
Carlos then places a hand over his heart with mock solemnity.
"As the lawful owner of this flat I hereby grant you unlimited access to any and all edible and drinkable items in the kitchen."
Clara can't help but laugh, relaxing somewhat. Still she is careful when she takes a glass off the shelf, and makes sure to not spill any juice.
After dinner they end up in the livingroom as usual. Carlos reaches for the remote.
"You want to put something on?"
"If you don't pick another car chase film."
He grins. "Deal."
They settle on The Man With The Iron Mask, watching mostly in silence and occasionally commentating on what goes on on the screen. At one point Clara turns to Carlos to make a joke, something about a character clearly not making it past the first thirty minutes, and realises she is smiling. Not politely just to keep up appearances, but genuinely, because she is enjoying herself.
"You're getting better at this, you know," Carlos says quietly as the credits roll.
Clara frowns. "At what?"
"Relaxing."
She shrugs, not sure what to make of that. "Maybe I'm just too full of pancakes to move."
He chuckles. "Sure."
Later that night, on her way home in a taxi he once again insisted on getting for her, Clara ponders that. Is she getting better at relaxing? Maybe. At least at Carlos' place.

A few days later, Clara has finally mustered the courage to talk to Teresa and José. Sitting across from her at the kitchen table they are looking like she might have just sprouted a second head.
"Carlos Sainz?"
"As in the Carlos Sainz? The F1 driver?"
Clara nods.
"And how exactly did you get to know each other?"
"He came to my old school for a lecture and we started talking."
José and Teresa exchange a glance.
"And why didn’t you tell us before?"
Clara looks down at the table. "I just wanted something that's mine without people making it weird."
Teresa nods, as if she understands. "So, let's be clear. It's just friendship?"
"Yeah. Why?"
"We're not accusing you of anything, sweetheart. But you're sixteen and he is much older. From the outside that can look problematic."
"But it's not like that. He just... treats me like a normal person. Not a foster kid, just me."
"Has he ever tried to make you do anything you're not comfortable with?"
Clara vehemently shakes her head, and José studies her for a moment.
"Okay. We believe you. But we will need to meet him."
"Why?"
"Because we're responsible for you. We won't control who you see, but we need to know that the people in your life are safe. That's about anyone you spend time with, not just Carlos."
"You won't tell social services?"
"As long as we can meet him and make sure everything is in order they won't have to know."
"And Clara? You don't have to hide things from us. We're not here to make your life harder."
She snorts inwardly. She has heard that, or versions of it, too many times before to really believe it.
Later that night she texts Carlos.
'Told Teresa and José. They want to meet you.'
When he eventually replies Clara hesitate before opening the text. What if he declines?
'No problem. We can arrange something when I'm back home.'
The fact that he agrees so readily throws her off. Why would he want to do that for her, really? She is thankful for it though, and just hopes it will be enough.

Carlos looks around. His flat is spotless, no shoes are lying around in the hallway. Everything looks fine.
Before he can overthink, the doorbell rings. Taking a deep breath he goes to open, finding Clara standing in front of who must be her foster parents. She looks tenser than he has ever seen her, and in an attempt to reassure her he offers her a smile.
"Hi."
She mumbles a "Hi" and gives him a don’t you dare mess this up look before stepping inside. Teresa and José follow. Carlos makes sure to shake hands with them both before showing them into the living room.
"Nice place," Teresa says, her tone neutral.
"Thanks. Have a seat, anywhere. Can I get you anything to drink?"
They politely decline, and Carlos takes a seat next to Clara. He is used to being scrutinised by fans, media and teams, but this isn't about his talent or public image. He glances at Clara. She is sitting stiffly on the edge of the couch, looking like she is waiting for something bad to happen, and he realises that he has to get this right.
Teresa clears her throat. "I hope you understand why we wanted to meet you."
"Yes. If I were in your position I'd want to know who Clara is spending time with too."
"And how does a Formula 1 driver become friends with a 16-year-old?"José chimes in.
"I did a lecture at her previous school. We talked a little afterwards and she didn't care about who I am or what I do. She just talked to me like a normal person, and I liked that. I still do."
Teresa studies him for a moment. "Do you understand why this might look… unconventional?"
"I do. And I wouldn’t have let it continue if I thought there was anything wrong with it."
"As long as you don't mind Clara being here."
"Not at all. It's just nice to spend time with someone not involved in motorsports."
José turns to Clara. "And you feel safe here?"
She responds immediately. "Yeah."
"As long as you'll let us know whenever you're here."
She nods, and Teresa and José exchange a look.
"Alright. I think we're both satisfied, we just needed to see for ourselves. But before we go there's one more thing. We should swap phone numbers."
Clara stiffens. "Is that necessary?"
Teresa gives her a look. "I promise we're not going to track your every move, but if you spend time here it makes sense that we and Carlos can reach each other. It's just practical."
Carlos exchanges numbers with both Teresa and José. Meanwhile, Clara slouches on the couch.
"Great. Now you can all start a group chat about how annoying I am."
Carlos smirks. "You read my mind."
José chuckles, then stands. "Thanks for having us, and being upfront."
"Of course."
Teresa turns to Clara. "Are you coming back home with us?"
A firm shake of the head comes as the answer. She doesn't even look at Carlos for approval, and honestly he doesn't mind. He walks Teresa and José to the door, and as soon as it has closed behind them Clara exhales loudly.
"Well, that was fun."
"Could've been worse."
Snorting, she curls up against the backrest of the couch. Carlos regards her as she fidgets with one of the sleeves on her hoodie.
"Do you know that you pick at things when you're tense?"
"Can't help it." She glances at her hands, then up at him. "Thanks for not making it weird."
He sits next to her. "I do my best. And they seemed fine."
"I've stayed in worse places."
"You know that's not a glowing review, don't you?"
"It still makes top five."
"Out of how many?"
Clara frowns in thought. "Fifteen, maybe?"
"You've lived in fifteen different places?" Carlos had not expected that.
"I've lost count. Some were just short stops."
Fifteen places in sixteen years... Suddenly he understands even better why she is so guarded.
"I meant what I told José and Teresa, you know. I don't mind you spending time here."
Clara gazes at him as if trying to determine if he is serious.
"Thanks," she murmurs eventually.
When they watch a film later she settles slightly closer than she would have sat even a couple of visits ago. Carlos doesn't comment on it, but it feels like just a small step forward.

'Hi are you busy today?'
'Just going biking soon, no other plans. Why?'
Clara hesitates. She doesn't want to intrude by inviting herself, but decides to take the chance.
'Just wondering if maybe I could come over. T and J's son + family are visiting & I need to finish an essay. Basically impossible in a place full of people so if the villain would take pitty on his evil sidekick she'd greatly appreciate it.'
'Of course. You can come over whenever.'
'Thanks. See you soon'
She quickly gets ready, ignoring Teresa's assurances that no one will disturb her while working on the essay. As she arrives at Carlos' place he is already dressed in cycling gear.
"So, ditching a family visit for this place?"
Clara makes a face. "I don't feel like being scrutinised by relatives of the ones I'm staying with."
"And what's the essay about?"
"Second world war, the D-Day."
"See you in a bit, good luck with the writing."
"Don't crash your bike."
Carlos grins. "I'll try not to."
Relishing in the stillness when he has left Clara makes a cup of tea before retreating to her usual spot on the couch. She has been here a few times now, and is feeling more at ease than she did at first. She glances at the mug Carlos has let her claim, filled with tea he bought without question when she dared to ask before a recent grocery run; the mobile charger plugged in by the couch because she forgot hers once; the blanket she always hogs without asking. It's small things, but somehow they mean a lot.
Turning her attention back to the essay she loses track of time, and doesn't look up from her laptop until Carlos appears again.
"How's the essay coming along?"
"Almost done."
He walks past the couch, brushing a hand briefly over her shoulder. Surprised, Clara doesn't even have time to react before it's over.
"Have you eaten?"
"No."
"Then I'll cook something when I've showered."
Without waiting for a reply Carlos heads for the bathroom. Clara concentrates on the essay again, and by the time the food is on the table it's finished.
Halfway through the meal she musters the courage to bring it up something that has been gnawing at her since Teresa and José met Carlos and exchanged numbers.
"About Teresa and José. Have you talked to them since they came over?"
"No. Why?"
"You're not gonna start updating them about stuff, are you?"
"Of course not. That's not what this is."
Clara looks down at her plate. "It's just... people talk. Behind your back. And they justify it by saying it's just practical or for your own good."
Carlos is silent for a moment. "They don't call me, I don't call them. But if something comes up that you need help with it's good if we can reach each other. That's all."
"And if they would ask you something? About me."
"Then I'd tell them to talk to you instead."
He says it without hesitation, and Clara wants to believe him.
"Okay."
"Are we good?"
"Yeah. Can I... show you something?"
"Sure."
Carlos looks intrigued as Clara takes out her phone and pulls up the website of a local art class. She stumbled across it a few days ago, and haven’t been able to shake the idea. Small group, work on own projects, no strict requirements. It should be an easy decision, but the idea of walking into a room full of strangers, of putting her work in front of people who might actually look at it, ties her stomach in knots.
Carlos scrolls through the page. "This looks really good. Are you going to sign up?”
"I don’t know.”
"Why not?”
"It's just... scary. I've never done something like that."
He slides the phone back across the table. "You know, I felt like that when I first got into F1. Suddenly I was around all these guys who had been doing it for years, everyone watching and judging if I deserved to be there. It was intimidating."
"So what did you do?"
"I showed up anyway." He is silent for a moment. "Would you like to do this?"
"I think so."
"Then go, see if you like it. If you hate it you don't have to go back. Besides, worst case? You realise you're better than everyone else and get to feel smug about it."
Despite herself Clara smirks. "Now you're just appealing to my evil sidekick tendencies."
"Exactly."
She clicks the register button before she can change her mind.
"If it's terrible I'm blaming you."
"Deal."

Standing outside the art studio Clara has half a mind to walk away and forget all about it, but she remembers Carlos’ words. "You want to do this, don't you?". Before she can talk herself out of it she pushes the door open and steps inside. A woman in her mid-forties looks up from where she is sitting behind a table, and Clara clears her throat.
"Hi. I'm Clara Martín."
The woman smiles and dries her hands on a paint-streaked cloth. "I'm Beatriz. This is your first time here, isn't it?"
Clara nods.
"Welcome. Let's get you settled."
She follows Beatriz into a large room with high windows. The air smells like turpentine and paint, comforting in a way she hadn't expected. Beatriz gestures around the room.
"You can set up anywhere. Just make yourself at home."
Make herself at home. It's far from the first time Clara has been told that, but the first time it feels really genuine. She scans the room. There are already a few people there, and no one spares her more than a glance.
"First time can be a bit overwhelming," Beatrize says kindly. "No pressure to make anything perfect, just get something on the page."
Clara picks a spot in a corner. She sets up her sketchbook on an easel, and hesitate for a moment before opening the box of pencils. A few tentative lines at first. Then more.
Around her there are hushed conversations, the scratch of charcoal, clinks of paintbrushes against jars. And for the first time she is just Clara. No one bothers her, asks prying questions or assumes anything about her.
She risks a glance up. Beatriz is helping a woman mix paint. A guy in another corner shifts his canvas, tilting it toward the light. Another teenage girl catches Clara's eye and gives her a small smile before going back to her work.
By the time Beatriz calls the class to a close Clara has managed some rough studies. They are not perfect, but at least it's something. As she heads for the door Beatriz turns to her.
"See you next time?"
Then, for the first time, Clara meets her gaze.
"Yeah."
She had meant to go home after class, but after a text to Carlos she ends up at his place.
"How was it?" he asks the moment she walks in.
Clara flops down on the couch, as usual. "It was... good."
"Good?"
"Yeah. No one really talked to me, but they seemed… normal. Not trying to figure me out or expecting something from me."
"And how was the actual art part?"
"It felt good to just… draw. With other people."
"So you’re going back?"
"Yeah."
Sitting down next to her, Carlos nudges her arm. "I'm proud of you, you know."
She rolls her eyes. "It's just an art class, Carlos."
"It's you doing something for yourself, something a little out of your comfort zone. That's a big deal."
The part of Clara that always deflects and downplays wants to make a joke, but for once she doesn't.
"I guess."
"I read about this Netflix series, La Brea, by the way. Want to try it?"
"Sure!"

Carlos glances at Clara, curled up in her usual corner of the couch. They have done this a few times now, food and films at his place. The simpleness of it is far from what his life is like outside of whatever this is, and he has come to look forward to it. Sometimes they talk, about his racing, Clara's school and anything inbetween, and other times they just sit in silence and watch whichever movie they agree on. She has seemed happy tonight. Carlos guesses it has to do with the art class, and promises himself to keep encouraging her.
Suddenly he notices her stillness. Her breathing has evened out, her hands have gone slack and her eyes are closed. It's no big deal, really. People fall asleep during movies all the time. But this is Clara. Clara, who doesn't trust easily. Who never relaxes completely, even when they are just hanging out. Yet here she is, on his couch, fast asleep. Something warm settles within Carlos, and he lowers the volume on the TV before texting José.
'Hi it's Carlos. Just to let you know that Clara fell asleep watching a movie. She's fine, I'll make sure she gets home tomorrow.'
He also snaps a picture of her, adding it to avoid any unnecessary questions. José replies immediately.
'Thank you for letting us know.'
Carlos grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and gently drapes it over Clara. She doesn't even stir.
"Goodnight Clarita," he murmurs, turning the TV off. "Sleep tight."

When Carlos wakes the next morning it takes a moment before he remembers that Clara fell asleep on the couch last night.
Normally he remains in bed for a few minutes before getting up, but now he immediately dresses and pads out to the living room. Clara is still asleep, the same peaceful look on her face as last night. As Carlos carefully adjusts the blanket she mumbles something inaudible and shifts slightly towards him, but doesn't wake.
He continues to the kitchen, and has just made himself a cup of coffee and prepared tea for her when he hears rustling from the living room. When he goes to check he finds Clara is sitting up, looking disoriented.
"Good morning, Sleeping Beauty."
She whips her head around. "Why didn't you wake me?"
"You looked comfortable, didn't see a reason to. Want breakfast?"
She hesitates. "I don't want to..."
"Be a hassle?" Carlos finishes for her. "You're not. I texted José yesterday, by the way. Said you fell asleep so they wouldn't expect you home."
That seems to do the trick. Clara shuffles off the couch, and as she flops down by the kitchen table Carlos sets the cup of tea in front of her. She looks at it, then up at him.
"You leave again on Wednesday, right?"
"Yeah."
"I'd kind of hoped you'd be around on Saturday."
Carlos grins. "Why? Will you miss me?"
He expects her to reply with some sarcastic remark, but instead she looks down at the cup again.
"Teresa and José are hosting this big dinner, and I'd... rather not have to be there."
Carlos notices the way her shoulders hunch, the look of distaste on her face.
"Is it that bad?"
"Everyone will just judge me and everything I do and say."
He doesn't say anything at first, just watches her fiddle with the edge of her sleeve. He wants to help, but knows better than to say something vague like "It'll be fine". And then it hits him. He stands, and goes into his office to rummage through a drawer. A few moments later he is back in the kitchen, something small in his hand. He places it on the table in front of Clara.
A key.
She frowns. "What's that for?"
"To the flat. If you want you can come here even if I'm away."
She looks up at him, searching his face as if to determine if he really means it. "Are you serious?"
"I'm serious."
Taking the key like it's something precious she gets her bag, and carefully hooks it onto a keyring.
"Thank you."
"Any time. Just don't, you know, burn the place down."
This earns him a tiny smirk. "No promises."

Clara slowly pushes the door to Carlos' flat open. It's silent, and dark apart from a couple of dim lights on in the living room. The way Carlos has just trusted her with this is overwhelming, and she remains in the hallway for a moment before making her way into the living room.
There is a note on the coffee table.
'Welcome sidekick
Make yourself at home. I've made the bed in the largest guest room, and feel free to eat and drink anything in the kitchen. You will also find a clean towel and a new toothbrush in the bathroom.
P.S: Apart from warching the racing I expect you to make full use of the streaming apps installed on the TV.
- C'
Clara had not expected that. Almost hesitantly she heads into the kitchen, finding it stocked with everything she might want. Even her favourite ice cream and a couple of dishes she recognises from the restaurant they always get takeout from.
In the bathroom a toothbrush, still in its packaging, lies on top of a neatly folded towel. Clara tries to swallow the sudden lump in her throat, and quickly makes her way to the guestroom. The bed is made, and she runs her hand over the duvet. Carlos has really done all this for her. It shouldn't feel like such a big deal, but it does. And it's almost too much.
Back in the kitchen she gets the tub of ice cream and a spoon before resolutely heading back to the couch. Cradling the tub in her lap she snaps a photo and sends it to Carlos.
'Just so we're clear, I'm interpreting "help yourself to anything in the kitchen" as full license to deplete your ice cream reserves.'
A moment later her phone buzzes.
'I expect no less than a spoonful per lap'
'So if I can actually be bothered to watch both the formation lap and cool-down lap tomorrow I get more ice cream?'
'Blasphemy. Don’t let FIA hear you'
She chuckles. 'Noted. But seriously thank you so much for everything'
'Any time. I have to go prepare for quali, wish me luck'
'Good luck Sainz!'
While waiting for the broadcast to start Clara scrolls through the streaming apps on the TV. It feels strange to be here without Carlos, but at the same time it is a relief. No one is there to have oppinions about her and what she does, she can just mind her own business.
Quali is tense, and Carlos just about manages P4. Clara texts him immediately afterwards.
'P4, not terrible'
'Could've been worse!' comes the reply a while later.
'See, I told you.'
There is no response after that, and Clara assumes he is busy. To pass time she reviews some study notes, and scrolls through Netflix again. When she gets hungry she heats one of the meals from the restaurants, and eat in front of the TV. Just because she can.
It's past nine PM when Carlos video calls, lounging on the bed in what must be his hotel room. Clara waves at the camera and he smiles, tired but genuine.
"Hi. You look cozy."
"I am. And you look… like you've been answering the same dumb questions since Thursday."
"Media is exhausting. Lando said I look like I've aged three years since then."
"He's not wrong."
Carlos rolls his eyes. "I give you a key, and now you mock me from my own living room."
Clara smirks in response. "Of course. Thanks for letting me stay, by the way."
"Any time."
Clara picks at the hem of her t-shirt. "Still feels a little weird."
"Good weird or bad weird?"
"Good weird."
"Good. Got any plans for tomorrow?"
"Watch you race. Then gloat or offer condolences depending on how it goes."
Carlos laughs, the laugh turning into a yawn. "And I should probably sleep soon."
"Goodnight. You'll do fine tomorrow."
Carlos looks at her for a moment. "Goodnight. Talk to you tomorrow."
The screen goes dark, and Clara is left feeling a little less alone than before. It's strange, she thinks, how Carlos just lets her be, with no expectations, no questions. Something she never thought she would have with anyone.
And yet, somehow, here they are.

The next morning Clara wakes early. Too early for her liking, but she gets up anyway and makes a cup of tea and a sandwich. She eats out on the terrace, wrapped in her blanket, watching the city wake up. It's calming, and she remains on the terrace until the noices from the street below get too loud.
Taking advantage of the peace and quiet inside she gets her laptop out, and manage to finish an English assignment before the race broadcast starts. A while into the pre-race coverage the Williams garage comes into view, and the camera pans to Carlos bent over his phone. He is tapping away, and suddenly her phone buzzes.
'Let me know if I crash. Can't see the TV from here.'
Keeping an eye on him, still on screen, Clara quickly replies.
'If you crash you're walking home. With revoked snacks privileges.'
She watches him smile crookedly and shake his head before putting the phone away. Clara stills. The whole world has just seen Carlos Sainz smile when getting a text from her, and somehow that makes her feel special.
She knows enough by now to know what the commentators are talking about, but mostly just keeps track of Carlos's name on the screen and whenever the camera cuts to his car. When Charles Leclerc tries a particularly bold move on him she leans forward and hisses "Don't you fucking dare!", relaxing again when Carlos manages to hold him off.
He brings the car home in one piece, a solid P3. Clara watches the post race interviews and the podium ceremony, just to see him. He is smiling, seemingly satisfied, and she is proud. So much so that she dares to text him.
'P3! So proud of my villain right now.'
Eventually there is a reply. 'Do I still have snacks privileges?'
'The snacks are safe'
'Good to know. On my way home now.'
It's late when the door finally unlocks, and Carlos steps inside. As his gaze lands on Clara, on the couch nestled under her blanket, he smiles. Not his PR smile, the one he gives cameras and reporters. It's the soft one, the real one. She likes that one best.
"You're still up."
"Didn't want to miss the grand return of the villain."
"Did the place behave while I was gone?"
"More or less."
He flops down next to her, arm almost brushing hers. She doesn't flinch or move away, just lets it happen.
"It's good to be home. Are you staying the night?"
Surprised, Clara looks at him. "Is that okay?"
He gives her a really? kind of look. "You have a key and you've stayed here since yesterday. Of course it's okay."
Thus ressured she nods. "Then I'll stay."
Carlos leans back and closes his eyes. "I'm too tired to come up with more clever things to say."
"Then don't," Clara murmurs. "You can just sit here and recover from all your glory."
"Good plan."
And for a while they just sit. No rush, no pressure, no demands. Just them, together. Clara glances at him. She is glad he is back, and that he is okay. Not just because it means that nothing serious happened during the race, but because this, this quiet, this couch, this closeness, feels just a bit like normalcy.
And that scares her a little.

Chapter Text

Carlos stands in the doorway to the guest room. Clara hasn't been over in a couple of days, and the room is as neat and impersonal as ever.
He hasn't asked for the key back. Deep down he knows he probably never will, because he hasn't been able to forget what she told him about her placements. Fifteen, maybe more. He can't imagine that, never knowing how long you would be allowed to stay and where you would end up next. But more than the number it's the way she said it. Casual, like it didn't matter. Like she didn't matter.
The guest room contains a bed, a nightstand and a pair of white curtains hanging in the window. Too little for such a big room, really, but he has never bothered with furnishing it properly. After all it's not very often he has guests staying over. The rest of his flat is all high-end furniture and interior details selected by a designer. Nice for sure, but Clara would most likely roast him, the furniture and the designer in one go if he did the same in the guest room.
On a whim he goes to fetch his car keys. He isn't entirely sure what he is doing, only that the room isn't right anymore. Not for her.
It's a short drive to the nearest IKEA, as usual a chaos of arrows, displays and people crowding the restaurant. Carlos grabs a cart, and has barely made it past the first display when a thought hits him. What would Clara actually want?
On his way around the store he picks out a low bookshelf and a small desk along with a matching chair. Nothing fancy, just things that feel practical. He adds a reading lamp and a soft rug a well as a blanket that reminds him of the one she always hogs. He also picks up a set of curtains in a soft moss green as well as matching throw pillows and a bedspread. It's more than he meant to buy, but it all feels right.
Back at his flat Carlos assembles everything himself. Normally he would call someone, but it somwhow feels important to do it without help. By evening the room actually looks like a place where someone might want to stay, and he almost calls Clara to ask her to come over just to see her reaction.

The next day Carlos has invited his sisters, trainer and photographer for lunch. It starts casually, the five of them just hanging out, but changes when Lara wanders down the hallway and pauses by the guest room.
"Carlos, when did you redecorate in here?"
Marco raises an eyebrow. "You've redecorated?"
Lara returns with a smirk. "There's a desk and a bookshelf now. Even new curtains, pillows and a rug."
Carlos busies himself with the drinks. "I just thought it could be useful."
Marco grins. "Useful for who? Someone staying over regularly?"
Lucas, back from a trip to the bathroom, joins in. "I saw an extra toothbrush and a hair tie in there. What's up with that?"
Marta gives Carlos a sly look. "Are you going to tell us what's going on or do we have to keep playing detective?"
He sighs. "Her name's Clara. She's a friend."
Lucas perks up. "The foster kid you've mentioned?"
"Yes."
Lara raises an eyebrow. "Foster kid? What have you not told us?"
"She was at a school talk a few months ago. We talked afterwards and have stayed in touch since."
The others exchange glances and Carlos is suddenly not in the mood for wrong assumptions.
"Look... Nothing is going on. She's sixteen. She's been in foster care since she was one, and until now she has stayed in at least fifteen different places."
That does the trick. The teasing immediately stops.
"But can I just ask..." Marta says, solemn now, "Why the room and the toothbrush?"
"I guess I want to help. She doesn't trust easily, and it's like she assumes nothing is really hers. She once asked if she could get herself a glass of juice, and it seemed like she was expecting to be told no. And when I went grocery shopping a while back it wasn't until I double-checked that she said she likes a specific kind of tea, and she almost apologised for asking if I could buy it. I don't know what else I can do, but I figure if I can give her a space and make sure she knows she is welcome here at least that's something."
Marco nods slowly. "Thanks for explaining."
"You don't have to understand. Just… don't joke about it like she's some random fling."
"We've got your back. I hope things will turn out alright for her."
Carlos finds himself silently agreeing.

Clara steps into the art studio for the second time, this time with less hesitation. The people from last time are there, and Beatriz greets her with a smile as she moves towards the same spot by the window.
"Welcome back."
Clara smiles shyly. "Thanks."
Last time she had kept things small. Studies, rough lines, nothing personal. Today though, she lets the pencils move freely, sketching the curve of a figure. She doesn't realise she is lost in it until she hears someone behind her.
"That's really cool."
Clara looks up to find the other teenage girl, the one who smiled at her last time, peering over her shoulder.
"Just messing around."
"Still cool."
Before Clara can figure out how to respond the girl is walking back to her own work, leaving her to process what seemed like a genuine compliment. She can't remember last time someone gave her one, and doesn't quite know how to feel about it.
After class she once again ends up at Carlos' place. She has barely stepped through the door when he appears.
"I've got something to show you."
Clara trails him down the hallway. As he he stops outside the guest room she raises an eyebrow at him.
"Have a look."
Curious, she pushes the dooe open and freezes.
The bed and nightstand are the same, but everything else is different. A small bookshelf stands in a corner. A desk and a chair have been placed under the window, a reading lamp put up on the wall over the bed. The curtains are no longer the generic white ones but green. A soft rug covers the floor. Matching throw pillows rest neatly at the head of the bed, and a blanket reminding her of the one she always hogs lies folded at the foot.
Carlos clears his throat. "I thought a desk might be useful. You know, if you'd want to do school work or whatever. And the shelf might be good too, if you... ever want to leave things here."
Clara runs her fingers over the back of the chair. Relief, confusion, gratitude and something else she can’t quite name washes over her and she swallows, willing away the lump in her throat.
"So, what do you think?"
Then she looks at him for the first time since entering the room.
"I think it's the best evil sidekick lair ever."
He grins. "Damn right. And now, what does the evil sidekick think about pasta carbonara for dinner?"
Clara nods happily, and with one last look around the room she trails Carlos to the kitchen. She keeps him company while he cooks, surprised by how he can act so normal. He chats away like he always does, like he hasn't just given her something no one ever has before.
After dinner they retreat to the couch. Clara can't quite concentrate on the film they pick, her thoughts returning to the room. When she eventually starts yawning, Carlos nudges her gently.
"Go to bed."
Clara hesitates for a moment and almost asks if it's okay for her to stay over, before heading for the bathroom. Her toothbrush is still sitting next to Carlos', and she looks at it for a moment before grabbing it. It's such a small thing and shouldn't really mean so much, but it does.
When she has finished up in the bathroom she finds him in the ktchen, tidying up. She stops for a moment, glacing at him.
"Goodnight."
He smiles. "Goodnight. Sleep well."
Once in her room he closes the door softly and sinks down onto the bed. For the first time in too long it feels like something is really hers, and it's not just the room. It's the fact that Carlos actually set it up for her. Not out of obligation, but because he wanted to.

Carlos wakes with a jolt. He usually remains in bed for a few minutes, but now he immediately gets up and dresses.
He expects Clara to still be asleep, but when he checks her room the bed neatly made. He finds her on the terrace, curled up in one of the chairs with hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands and a mug cradled against her chest. Her hair is tousled, and she is staring out at the city. Carlos leans against the doorway, watching her for a moment.
"Good morning."
Clara startles, then smiles softly. "Hi."
"Do you always wake up this early?"
"Only when the city is quiet enough to enjoy it."
"I feel like I should be offended you didn't wait for me to make tea."
Taking a sip she glances up at him over the rim of the mug. "You snooze you lose."
He chuckles. "I'm getting coffee, do you want anything else?"
"No thanks."
She remains on the terrace while Carlos makes his coffee, and when he returns he finds her with the same faraway look on her face. He sits down on the chair next to her.
"A penny for your thoughts?"
Clara keeps her gaze locked on whatever she is looking at.
"You're too nice," she mumbles eventually.
"Too nice?"
"Everyone else would've left by now. Why don't you just go? I'm not your responsibility, you don't owe me anything."
"I'm not planning on leaving."
Her fingers tighten around the mug. "The room... Everything. I'm not used to people doing things like that."
Carlos takes a sip of coffee. "Just because things have been a certain way doesn't mean it always has to be the same."
She looks doubtful, so he presses on.
"And you're making changes for yourself too. Studying, and joining that art class."
Then she nods, barely. Carlos leans back in the chair, drinks his coffee and looks out over the city. Clara keeps sipping her tea, less tense than before. He wonders if he should say something more, but lets the silence stretch on. It's comfortable, not awkward. He smiles to himself.
He could get used to mornings like this.

Clara arrives a little early to art class. She makes her way to her spot near the window to set up, and a few minutes later someone drops their things at the easel beside hers.
It's the same girl who complimented her work. She looks about Clara's age, with short, dark curls and paint-streaked fingers.
"Hi. You're the one who did those studies a couple of weeks ago, right?"
"Yeah."
"I liked them. I'm Inés."
Clara hesitates, out of habit more than anything else. "Clara."
"I'm terrible at people but pretty good at drawing dragons."
This makes Clara smile. "Honestly, same. Except the dragon part."
Inés grins. "We all need goals."
As Beatriz starts the session they fall into silence as they sketch. Every now and then Inés looks at Clara’s work or shows her what she is working on, and as they are packing up she pauses.
"There's this bakery two streets over that does these ridiculously good cinnamon rolls. Want to grab one?"
Clara panics, and her response comes automatically. "I... I can't today. I have… homework."
Inés smiles. "No worries. Next time, maybe."
Clara watches her go, the words next time looping in her head for longer than they should.
Later that evening, at Carlos' place, she tells him what happened.
"There's this other girl in my art class, Inés. Today she asked if I wanted to get cinnamon rolls after.”
Carlos glances up from his laptop. "Did you go?"
"I said no. I don’t know why. I just... I'm not used to people asking me to do normal stuff."
He regards her. "It's okay to say no. But it's also okay to say yes."
"I didn't want to seem weird."
"You wouldn't. And even if you did… it would have been in a good way."
Clara rolls her eyes, but the corners of her mouth lift. "You think I should say yes next time?"
"If you want to. You don't have to prove anything to anyone, but maybe let yourself try. You deserve that."
Carlos' words stick with her, and during next class Clara tries to muster the courage to actually ask. When they are packing up she clears her throat.
"Hey, that bakery you mentioned. Do you still want to go?"
Inés lights up. "Obviously. I've been waiting for an excuse to get a cinnamon roll."
Clara lets herself smile. "Let's go then. Lead the way."
The smell hits them before they even open the bakery door. Warm sugar, cinnamon, coffee. It's comforting in a way she hadn't expected, and she follows as Inés slides into a corner booth.
"Prepare yourself. These things are basically sugar in spiral form."
"You really make them sound gourmet."
"They are." Inés takes a big bite. "So," she says through the mouthful, "what did you think of class today?"
Clara tears off a piece of roll. "That charcoal technique Beatriz showed was cool."
"I know, right? I kept smudging everything but I kind of liked it." Inés grins. "Though I still feel like everyone else has their shit together and I'm just there winging it."
"You're not the only one." The words slip out before Clara can stop them, and Inés raises her glass in mock cheers.
"To the winging-it club."
Clara taps her glass against it, and she doesn't feel the usual tight coil of tension in her stomach. Inés isn't trying to pry, she isn't pushing. They just keep talking, about charcoal smudges, the one girl who always works with pastels, how Beatriz seems to be able to read minds when someone is struggling. Clara listens more than she speaks, but Inés doesn't seem to mind. She laughs easily, switches topics without needing long answers and never once looks like she is judging.
By the time the rolls are demolished and they are finishing their drinks, Clara finds herself leaning back in her seat.
"This was nice."
Inés smiles. "We should do it again."
Clara hesitates only for a moment. "We should definitely do it again."
On her way home she calls Carlos. To him it's probably not a big deal, but she still wants to tell him.
"I had cinnamon rolls with Inés after class today."
"You did?"
“Yeah. I asked her."
"And? Good cinnamon rolls or overrated?"
"Messy. Too much cinnamon. But pretty great."
"I'm glad you went."
"Me too, actually. It wasn't weird. She just… talked, about art mostly."
"Sounds like someone you can hang out with again."
"I think so."
"And you bought me a roll, didn't you?"
Clara smirks at that. "Absolutely not."
"Damn. By the way, want to come over before I leave for the next race?"
"Yeah, sure."

The next day Clara is curled up on Carlos' couch again, absently scrolling through her phone while he is replying to e-mails. Eventually he closes his laptop, and gestures towards her phone.
"Do you have Netflix on there?"
Clara glances up. "No."
"Then how do you watch stuff?"
"On dodgy sites with ads popping up every five minutes?"
"Are you serious?"
"How else am I to know when I've won an iPhone?"
Carlos then holds out a hand. Clara narrows her eyes.
"What?"
"I'll add you to mine."
"You don’t have to..."
"It's no big deal. I promise."
She relents, and hands him her phone. "If you set up some fancy ultra-premium account just for me I'm deleting it."
"You're just joining the existing one."
He fiddles for a while before handing the phone back to her.
"There, all set."
Clara expects a generic profile menu. Instead the two profiles, Villain and Evil Sidekick, are accompanied by a superhero icon each.
"Really?"
Carlos grins. "Of course. What else was I supposed to name us?"
Clara masks the warmth spreading inside her with a lifted eyebrow.
"Am I to interpret this as the first step towards world domination?"
"Most definitely."
"Bring it on."
Later that night, when she has gone to bed, she opens Netflix again and just looks at the two icons. Villain and Evil Sidekick, next to each other like it has always been like that.
Pulling the duvet tighter around her, Clara lets her thoughts wander. Christmas is approaching, and she has no idea what to get Carlos. She wants to show how much she appreciates what he has done for her, but what do you give someone who has everything?
Then it hits her: the perfect present.
An hour later she has ordered a customised, black waterbottle with the text 'Villain dehydration elixir' engraved in white; a custimised black towel engraved with 'Dr. Sainz', also in white; a long, black cape; a pair of black, sleek sunglasses; a pair of thin, black leather gloves. She grins to herself. This is going to be good.

Las Vegas, Qatar and Abu Dhabi, the last three races of the season. The day before Carlos is flying out Clara comes over for one last night of film and takeout. She is unusually quiet, and eventually Carlos decides to bring it up.
"Is something wrong? You're quiet."
She gives a small, quick smile. "It's fine. Just tired."
Carlos doesn't quite believe that, but doesn't press. Instead he grabs the remote.
"Want to watch something dumb so we can roast all the characters and their poor life choices?"
"Definitely."
He promptly selects The Proposal.
"You said dumb. I'm delivering."
Clara snorts. "You're dangerously proud of this choice."
"Fake fiancés, corporate blackmail, awkward family bonding. What more do you want?"
Halfway through the film, Clara is alternately laughing and snorting loudly.
"This is your idea of quality cinema?"
Carlos smirks. "No. It's my idea of excellent roast material."
They keep commentating on everything that goes on, and as the credits roll Clara pulls her knees up to her chest.
"That was fun."
"It was. And you laughed a lot."
"Yeah, well… It was easy to laugh at."
"Still, it's nice to hear. You don’t always let yourself."
She tugs at a loose thread on the blanket. "It's easy here."
"And you don't have to be careful, you know. Not here."
She nods, once, and stands. "I should head to bed."
"Goodnight."
"Goodnight. And... Thanks. For everything."
"Any time."

The next morning they have breakfast together before Clara leaves. Carlos waits by the door as she gets ready, surprised when she gives him a quick hug.
"Safe travels, and no crashing."
"Take care."
When she is gone Carlos goes to retrieve his bags. The car picking him up is due in fifteen minutes.
A long flight later he lands in Las Vegas, and is driven to the hotel. As he unpacks something flutters out of his backpack. A folded napkin from his and Clara's favorite takeout place with a cartoon of a racecar and the caption 'Villain mode engaged!'. He smiles and snaps a picture, sends it to Clara.
'This you?'
Folding the napkin neatly he puts it in a side pocket of the backpack. Clara replies a while later.
'I deny everything. But you're welcome.'
The week is full of the kind of glitz that only Las Vegas can provide. Carlos goes along with everything the team has planned for him and Alex, but it's with relief that he retreats to his hotel room at nights. He and Clara fall into a routine of texting daily, and after quali he video calls her. They talk about tomorrow's race, and Clara mentions Inés. Carlos encourages her to suggest they go for cinnamon rolls again, and she seems to at least concider it.
For the race on Sunday Carlos manages to get into the points, but not much more. Clara texts him, letting him rant about slow pit stops and stupid questions from the media until it's time to board the plane to the next race.
They keep texting during the week in Doha, and Carlos video calls after quali again. Seeing Clara curled up on her bed, hair slightly messy and with the usual lack of makeup, makes him once again ponder how different she is from the women he usually encounters.
The race on Sunday is practically flawless, ending in a third place. Carlos texts Clara as soon as he can afterwards. They cheer together, and he ignores the looks he gets from his trainer and manager as they keep texting for the entire car ride to the airport.
Once checked in and past security he spots a store selling tea. Immediately heading inside he picks out four different kinds, and when he returns to the others he simply says "For Clara".
Arriving in Abu Dhabi Carlos isn't counting races anymore, he is counting nights. He calls Clara on Friday as well as Saturday, and on Sunday he doesn't go to the end-of-season party despite a great race. When he is in a car on his way to the airport he texts her.
'On my way home.'
She replies instantly. 'Blanket is already claimed just so you know. Ok if I spend the night?'
'Of course'
'See you, Smooth Operator'
After a long flight that he mostly sleeps through, Carlos finally steps into his flat. There is low music playing, and he quietly puts down his bags.
"Hello."
Then Clara appears, hoodie on, her hair in that messy little bun she always uses. Without a word Carlos wraps her in a hug, and she doesn't squirm or pull away. She leans slightly into him, her arms slowly coming around his waist.
Eventually Carlos pulls back just enough to look at her.
"Hi."
She smiles slightly, and steps out of his arms. "Hi. Welcome home."
While Carlos unpacks and loads the washing mashine she retreats to the kitchen to make breakfast. When he joins her he finds a cup of coffee on the counter.
"Since when do you make me coffee?"
Clara shrugs. "Since now?"
"Thanks."
He takes the cup with him to the couch, and she follows. They take their usual spots, and for a while they say nothing. Clara drinks her tea and eats her sandwich, while Carlos sips his coffee.
"I've missed this," he murmurs eventually.
Clara's voice is even quieter when she replies. "Me too."
Carlos exhales. The season is over, and the whirlwind has finally stopped. Something settles in him, too. Clara is here, and after nearly a month of constant movement that feels like reassurance. Like he can finally stop performing, breathe again and just be himself.

Chapter Text

Just a quick note.

Firstly, thank you all so much for reading, the kudos and the comments. It all means so much!
I'm currently in the middle of a vacation consisting of a total kitchen renovation and a love hate relationship with flat packages. This means I don't have time to write at the moment, but I'll get back to it as soon as I can. Meanwhile, I would love to hear from you guys if you have any thoughts or ideas about what you'd like the story to include. I have some general ideas about where I want to take it, but it's always fun to get fresh ideas so feel free to drop a comment or DM!

Chapter Text

Christmas is approaching. Clara has never liked this time of year, because it always reminds her that she doesn't belong. Some families have tried, sure, but there is always something making it clear that she is different. The presents are never quite right either. How could they be, when she never stays anywhere long enough for anyone to know what she actually wants?
"So," Teresa begins during dinner a couple of weeks before, "we got an invitation from Mateo and Lucía for Christmas. They want us to spend Christmas Eve and the weekend with them."
Clara tenses. "Okay."
"They invited you too, of course."
"It'll be nice," José adds. "They live outside Toledo, on a small property with a guest house we'll sleep in. And Lucía is a fantastic cook."
Clara looks down at her plate. "I just… I don't know them."
"We understand," Teresa says gently. "But we can't leave you alone at home even if it's just for a few days."
Clara mutters something noncommittal. Yet another Christmas decided for her, in an unfamiliar house with unfamiliar people.
She quickly finishes her meal, and retreats to her room. Flopping down on her bed she takes out her phone. Carlos will no doubt celebrate with his family, and she can't exactly invite herself. Maybe she could visit Eduard. She hasn't seen him since he came to Madrid, and it would be nice to spend a few days catching up. Before she can text him and ask though, her phone rings with a video call from Carlos. Clara immediately accepts, met by his usual bright smile.
"Hello. Just wanted to check in, how are things?"
"Kind of meh."
The smile is replaced by concern. "What's going on?"
"I just found out that we're going to Teresa and José's son and his family for the entire Christmas weekend."
"Family Christmas might not be so bad."
"But it's not my family." Clara blinks back tears of frustration. "And I don't want to spend days stuck God knows where with people I don't know."
Carlos seems to think for a moment.
"How would you feel about celebrating with me and my family instead?"
"What?" Clara stares at him. She was not expecting that.
"We'll be at my place for both Christmas Eve dinner and Christmas Day lunch, and no one will stay overnight."
Clara has begun to learn that Carlos doesn't say things he doesn't mean, but inviting her for Christmas?
"Are you sure? What will your family say?"
"They'll let me invite who I want."
"I just don't want it to be weird."
"We'll keep it lowkey."
"Okay. If you're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Then I'll come."
Carlos smiles, seemingly happy with her decision.
After the call Clara ventures back into the kitchen.
"Carlos has said I can celebrate Christmas with him and his family. They'll be at his place."
Teresa and José glance at each other, and Clara braces for a no.
"Did he invite you, or did you ask?"
"He invited me. I didn't ask."
"And do you want to celebrate with his family?"
"I think so."
Another look passes between José and Teresa.
"If this is what you want we'll tell Mateo you won't be joining us."
Clara looks between them. "I don't have to go with you?"
"No," Teresa says, softer now. "You're sixteen, you're allowed to choose who you spend time with."
José nods. "And we know Carlos. As long as he is okay with you being there it's fine with us."
Something in Clara unclenches. "Thanks."
As she heads back to her room she texts Carlos.
'They said yes'
A reply comes a while later. 'Matching socks and weird holiday films it then'
Clara allows herself a smile. Christmas this year might not be the worst, because she is finally getting to choose who to celebrate with.

During the last art class before Christmas Clara is in her usual spot near the window, sketchbook open, pencil resting between her fingers. Beatriz’s voice echoes in her mind.
"Draw something that makes you feel safe."
Simple, right? Everyone else seems to think so. One woman is drawing a bedroom, another is painting a dog curled on a rug. Inés is sketching what looks like the roof of a house with a figure sitting on top.
Clara thinks of a couch. Carlos' couch, with the blanket she always steals. But that is ridiculous, isn't it? Drawing a couch like it is some holy relic. Still, her pencil moves tentatively. Backrest, armrests, the blanket. It looks hollow, stupid. She closes the sketchbook, walks over to Beatriz and mutters something about a headache. Then she is gone before Inés can say much more than "Hope you feel better soon".
She ends up at Carlos' place, without even texting him to ask if she can come over. Stupid, because what if he is busy or has people over? But she still lets herself in, to find the lights off and the flat silent.
"Hello?"
There is no answer, much to her relief. She doesn't want to talk right now. Settling on the couch she pulls the blanket around herself, staring unseeingly at the dark TV screen. She doesn't know how much time has passed when the front door opens and Carlos walks in, pausing mid-step when he sees her.
"Hi." His voice is soft, and he doesn't seem surprised to find her there. "You okay?"
Clara keeps her gaze on the TV. "Just… needed somewhere quiet."
Carlos disappears into the kitchen and returns with her mug, filled with tea. He puts it on the coffee table and settles in his spot on the couch, scrolling on his phone without saying anything. Clara remains cuddled up, not speaking either.
"Want to tell me what's happened?" Carlos asks eventually.
"Beatriz gave us a prompt at art class. Draw something that makes you feel safe." Clara curls her hands tightly around the blanket. "I didn't know what to draw. Everyone else started right away, and I just sat there like an idiot."
Carlos moves closer. Still giving her space, but close enough for her to feel his warmth.
"I thought about your couch," she continues, so quietly she barely hears herself. "But that felt dumb. I mean… it's just a couch."
"It's a really good couch," Carlos replies, deadpan.
Clara huffs, almost a laugh, but it fades quickly.
"I started sketching it but it felt stupid. And I couldn't draw you either. That would've been… weird."
"It's not," Carlos says simply.
Clara finally looks up. "It's not?"
"You drew something that makes you feel okay. That's not weird. That's honest."
"I didn't finish it."
Carlos shifts so he is facing her. "You don't need a life of safety to be able to do a prompt like that. You just need a moment, and if that is a couch with a blanket and questionable films… that counts."
Clara doesn't know what to say to that. Her eyes sting, but she blinks it away.
"Can I stay over?"
"Of course."
The shame from earlier subsides, replaced by a calm she rarely feels except for when she is here. With Carlos, wrapped in a blanket on a couch that is not so dumb after all.
Later, in the privacy of her room, she takes out her sketchbook and flips to the drawing of the couch. The proportions are slightly off, the lines messy. But it is true. Tearing the page out she sets it on her desk before switching off the light and getting into bed. When she hears the door to Carlos' bedroom close, she smiles to herself. There is something comforting in knowing that he is just on the other side of the hallway.
The next morning she is a little apprehensive, half expecting Carlos to bring up last night and make a huge deal of it. But when she pads into the kitchen he simply hands her her mug, filled with tea.
"Good morning. What would you like for breakfast?"
Clara thinks for a moment. "Muesli and yoghurt?"
"Muesli and yoghurt coming right up."
She settles at the kitchen table, in the seat that has become hers, and Carlos puts a bowl in front of her before preparing his own breakfast. Clara eats slowly, glancing at him as he flops into the chair opposite her.
"I'm sorry for showing up without asking."
"It's fine. It was unexpected, but you're always welcome here."
Clara lets herself sit with that. It's not the first time someone has said it, but this time she actually believes it.

The little time left until Christmas passes quickly. Cheered on by Carlos and Eduard Clara finishes her classes for the term with better grades than she expected, and with Carlos' help she buys small presents for his family.
The day before Christmas Eve, José and Teresa drop Clara off at Carlos' place on their way to Toledo. Saying a quick goodbye she doesn't wait for a reply before getting out of the car, and hurries towards the building. She passes through the Christmas decorated lobby, past the concierge wearing a santa hat. He greets Clara with a smile, and she smiles back.
"Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, señorina Martín."
She knocks twice before letting herself into Carlos' flat. He appears from the kitchen, and taking one look at him Clara snorts loudly. He is wearing red pajama pants covered in candy canes and a grey hoodie. The red and green socks are worse, striped and fuzzy.
"I'll allow the hoodie, but the rest is a crime."
"You'll change your mind when you see yours."
He disappears into his bedroom and returns with a gift bag containing green pajama pants with cartoon cats in Santa hats, a grey t-shirt and socks matching his own. "No chance you found these by accident."
Clara laughs, and Carlos feigns innocence.
"My taste is questionable but festive."
She goes to her room to change. When she returns Carlos raises his hands in mock reverence.
"Balance is restored. Lunch is ready if you're hungry."
Clara trails him into the kitchen, and takes her spot at the already laid table.
"So, Christmas," Carlos says. "You sure you're up for this?"
Clara nods, more decisive than she feels. "I think so. I'm just... not very good at family stuff."
"I haven't told them any details, but they know not to crowd you and give you space if you want."
Once again Carlos seems to know what she needs without her saying anything, and it unnerves her at the same time as it's comforting.
"You really don't mind this?"
He shakes his head. "No. I invited you because I wanted to, not because I felt bad or obligated."
Clara is struck by how honest he seems, and can't not believe him.
For the rest of the afternoon they talk about anything and everything, until Carlos claims that they need to watch a Christmas film. He lets Clara veto three, before she finally approves of Bad Santa.
She drifts off after a while, and when she wakes again it's almost one AM. All the lights as well as the TV have been switched off, and Carlos is nowhere to bee seen. Assuming that he has gone to bed Clara quietly gets ready as well, and it's not long before she is asleep again.
On Christmas Eve she wakes to the sound of Christmas music. Dressed in her new Christmas outfit she pads out into the kitchen, finding Carlos in his candycane trousers and fuzzy socks. She stops, taking him in as he fiddles with the coffee machine.
"Merry Christmas."
He smiles at her. "Merry Christmas. Breakfast is ready, and when we've eaten we've got prep to do for tonight."
"Prep?"
"Mum and dad are in charge of desserts, Lara and her husband are bringing wine and we're doing the main dishes."
After breakfast they set to work preparing the dinner. Clara finds a playlist with Christmas music, wich she regrets when Carlos starts singing, loudly and off-key, into a wooden spoon. She groans.
"If you keep that up I'm calling the FIA to investigate this noise violation."
Carlos smirks. "You say that, but I own the vocals."
Clara snorts, but there is no edge to it. And when he spins in a circle and bows dramatically she laughs.
Once the food is prepared Carlos goes to shower, leaving Clara alone with her thoughts. What if it was a mistake to agree to this? What if it will be like usual, despite his reassurances? She almost gets up to leave but then he appears from the bathroom, hair still damp.
"Shower's all yours if you want."
Clara takes her time, drying herself with the towel he got her when she stayed over the race weekend a while back. It has remained in the bathroom, like another small sign that she might actually be allowed to feel... just a little bit at home here.
When Clara comes out Carlos has changed into a pair of black suit trousers and a blue shirt, and she suddenly gets all the fans she has seen gushing about him online. She quickly pushes the thought away. He is her friend, and she is definitely not one of those girls.
She changes as well, into a pair of regular jeans and a red, shortsleeved top. It is far from the oversized clothes she usually wears, but she wants to seem... normal when meeting his family. She even puts on some mascara.
When she joins Carlos in the living room again he gives her a quick onceover.
"That looks really good on you."
Clara feels herself blush. She goes to sit on the couch, smoothing the hem of her top for no real reason except to keep her hands busy. Carlos regards her.
"Nervous?"
"A bit."
"You don't have to talk if you don't want to. Just sit where you're comfortable, you don't owe anyone anything.”
Clara kind of knows that. But knowing doesn't make it easier.
As a buzz from the intercom cuts through the flat Carlos goes to answer it. Clara pulls the blanket over her lap. Kind of like armor.
Soon his family fills the hallway with cheerful greetings, hugs and cheek kisses. Clara debates with herself whether to join them, but it feels safer to remain where she is.
A woman who she recognises as Carlos' mum from pictures she has seen is the first to greet her, smiling warmly.
"Hi. You must be Clara."
"Yeah. Hi."
"It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm Carlos' mum, Pilar."
A man introducing himself as his dad then approaches, also with a kind smile. Clara greets him as well before they are interrupted by Carlos.
"Drinks in the kitchen first everybody!"
Clara remains on the couch for a while, listening to the friendly banter, before tentatively going to join them. Carlos immediately hands her a glass, and introduces her to his sisters and their husbands. They simply offer her smiles and a chorus of "Nice to meet you!" before turning their attention to their children.
When dinner is served and everyone gathers around the table Carlos gestures to the seat beside him, and Clara slips into it quietly. She automatically braces for being scrutinised, but no one asks complicated questions or points out that she is a guest. She even manages to add a few comments to the conversation, and during dessert she finds herself talking about her art class with Pilar.
As they all drift into the living room after dinner Clara settles in her usual spot on the couch, legs tucked under her. Sitting down beside her Carlos leans in.
"You good?"
She nods as Pilar claps her hands.
"Shall we start with the presents?"
Clara watches as the gifts begin to circulate. Her own are small, like candles, scarves, books and puzzles for Carlos' niece and nephew, but people seem genuinely happy. When she hands Carlos his present he opens it carefully, and laughs as he takes out the towel, the water bottle, the sunglasses, the gloves and finally the cape.
"You're kidding."
Clara lifts an eyebrow. "Only the essentials for a proper villain."
Marta calls for an explanation, and demands Carlos puts on the cape.
"You need a catchphrase," Lara adds, giggling.
Carlos adjusts the cape over his shoulders. "I'll work on it," he says, looking at Clara. "Honestly, this is great."
She tugs the blanket a little higher around herself, a smile creeping over her face before she can hide it.
Then Pilar leans across with a neatly wrapped box. "This one is from all of us."
"From… all of you?"
Clara looks around, met by nods and smiles from everyone as she opens the present. A thick, leather bound sketchbook. She slowly runs her fingers over the soft cover.
"Thank you so much."
"You're welcome. We thought you might like something for your art."
Carlos puts another present in her lap. "One more."
Clara unwraps charcoal sticks and a large set of colored as well as grey and black pencils.
"You're not serious," she murmurs, almost to herself. "Thank you."
Carlos shrugs. "Sidekicks need proper supplies."
She doesn't say anything else. Just tries to fathom that someone, for the first time, knows her well enough to know what kind of presents she would like.
Soon after the presents have been opened Carlos' niece and nephew both fall asleep in their mums' laps, and eventually Lara's husband suggests they go home. Marta and her husband also decide to call it a day, and Carlos' parents don’t stay for much longer.
Before they go, his mum gives Clara a soft hug.
"Thank you for joining us today."
"Thanks for… having me."
"You're easy to have. And I liked hearing about your art class. I hope you'll keep at it."
Clara nods.
Carlos' dad just says "Take care, Clara. And keep him in line."
She smirks slightly. "I'll try."
As door clicks shut behind them she exhales, slouching back onto the couch. Carlos sits down next to her.
"You okay?"
Clara nods. "Yeah. It was... good."
"Just good?"
She sighs. "Meeting new people always kind of feels like… an audition."
Carlos frowns. "An audition?"
"Every new foster home, every new social worker, every new school. It was all about making a good first impression. Like, if I was polite enough, quiet enough, easy enough, maybe they wouldn't regret taking me in. Maybe they'd actually want me there."
"You don't have to feel like that with my family."
"Old habits."
"You know what? Next time they stop by I'm making you answer the door in the cape. Let's see how polite they think you are then."
Clara snorts. "That would definitely make an impression."
"Exactly." Carlos bumps his shoulder lightly against hers. "Merry Christmas, Clara."
Looking at the discarded wrapping paper still lying on the floor and her presents sitting neatly on the coffee table, Clara finds herself smiling.
"Merry Christmas, Carlos."

Chapter Text

The day before Carlos is flying out for his pre season training camp he is making the last preparations while Clara is perched on the sofa, sketching.
"I talked to mum last night," he says as he joins her once he is finished packing. "She said she likes you. Dad too."
Clara stops sketching, and Carlos notices her fingers tightening around the pencil.
"Did you think they wouldn't?"
She looks anywhere but at him. "People don't just… like me. They tolerate me or feel sorry for me."
"Well, you're wrong. My mum likes you, my dad likes you and I like you too, but you already know that."
"I just… I still don't understand why you care."
"I can give you a hundred reasons why if you want."
A raised eyebrow. "A hundred? Go on, then."
"Okay, maybe not a hundred," Carlos admits with a grin. "But I've got a few good ones. One, you make me laugh. And not just regular laugh, but laugh-loudly-enough-in-the-garage-for-the-team-to-stare laugh."
"I did that?"
"Yep. That text about Lando being the human equivalent of a puppy on caffeine got me."
Clara chuckles, and Carlos grins.
"See? Two, you're honest. Brutally honest sometimes. Do you know how rare that is in my world?”
She fiddles with the pen. "I'm not sure that's a good thing."
"It is," Carlos assures her. "It keeps me sane. And three, you make me feel grounded."
Clara snorts. "Me keeping you grounded?"
"Yes, you. You remind me to be real and not get caught up in everything."
"You're being dramatic."
"I'm being honest."
This time Clara doesn't deflect. She just looks at him, like she is deciding whether or not to believe him, before returning to her sketching.
Carlos watches her, bent over the sketchpad. He has seen guarded people before, but this is different.
Clara doesn't expect people to let her in, and when someone does and offer kindness it seems to throw her off balance.
He doesn't ask what made her that way. Some things she will share when she is ready, some things he already understands.

The next day Carlos travels to Morocco together with Marco, Lucas and a couple of other friends joining him for the training camp. Before the first gym session he places the villain water bottle and towel next to each other on a bench, and Lucas immediately comes to have a look.
"What's this?"
"Christmas presents from Clara."
"I need context."
"She calls me villain and I call her evil sidekick."
Lucas laughs. "She sounds fun."
"She is."
After the session Carlos takes a photo of the bottle and towel, the text clearly visible, and posts it on Instagram.
'New year, new era!'
The comments immediately start flooding in, among them one from Williams.
'Is there something you haven't told us? Should we be worried?'
Carlos replies 'Absolutely. Fear me' with an added superhero emoji.
Some time later Clara texts a screenshot of the post.
'Of course you did this'
Carlos quickly replies 'Wouldn't you?'
'At least you're not wearing the cape'
'Bold of you to assume I wasn't wearing it behind the shot'
'God help Williams'
Carlos just chuckles.
Over the course of the training camp he keeps the joke alive. After a long biking session he snaps a close-up of the water bottle, and posts it without caption. Internet then does the work for him: memes, edits, someone even photoshopping his face onto Darth Vader.
A couple of days later he does a grueling strength circuit and afterwards flops onto the floor. The villain towel is around his neck and the bottle is standing next to him. Lucas snaps a candid shot.
"This one has to be posted as well."
Carlos does, captioning it 'Evil never sleeps. Except for recovery naps'.
Clara texts him that night. 'You're ridiculous'
'Takes one to know one'
The guys also record a video of Marco making fun of the villain theme.
"You know he also brought an actual cape, right? Like, on purpose?"
Carlos pans the camera to his bag, where the cape hangs from a side pocket.
"You laugh now. Just wait for the final transformation."
Off-camera Marco groans loudly. "I need new friends."
Within minutes of Carlos posting the video people are asking when the villain-themed merch drops, much to his amusement. And on the last day of the training camp he escalates it. Marco, halfway between amused and exasperated, snaps a shot of him with the cape billowing slightly in the wind, villain sunglasses on, sipping from the bottle and holding the towel like it is part of a ceremonial robe.
'Last day of training camp. Final form. #villain #preseasonprep #hydratedandhostile'
The comments pour in, a blur of emojis, memes and someone asking if "hydrated and hostile" will be the new team slogan. Carlos doesn't really reply to anything, but then Clara actually comments.
'You should've brought a fog machine for full effect'
Carlos can't help himself. 'Budget cuts. The dry ice goes to tyre testing now.'
Just their usual banter. Their joke, living in the wild.

A few days later he is back in Madrid. He has just been to record an episode of a podcast, and when he comes home he hears clatter from the kitchen. And there, standing by the stove, is Clara. The Christmas socks are on her feet, and her hair is tied up in a messy bun threatening to fall out any moment. She has been staying over since yesterday, mostly studying, and now she has appparently decided to cook. There is a cutting board on the counter with chopped mushrooms and thin strips of ham neatly piled, a jar of pasta sauce and a packet of pasta lying next to it.
Carlos leans against the doorway, just watching her for a moment before clearing his throat gently. Clara startles.
"Oh. Hi." She shifts awkwardly. "I, uh, thought I'd make pasta? I thought you might be hungry."
Carlos can see the way she tenses, like she is bracing for him to tell her off.
"Pasta sounds amazing. Ham and mushrooms?"
She nods, still looking a little unsure. "I'm not using anything expensive, just... basics."
"You can use whatever you want."
She smiles then, small but genuine. Carlos smiles back.
"I'll go and check my e-mails, let me know when it's ready."
He brings his laptop to the couch, immersing himself in work until Clara calls from the kitchen.
"It's ready now, I think."
Carlos quickly finishes the e-mail he is typing, and joins her. She has laid the table for once, even made a salad. He pauses, taking it in.
"This looks surprisingly domestic."
Clara rolls her eyes, her fingers twitching slightly.
"It's just pasta. Don't expect a Michelin star."
Carlos sits down. "I'll expect seconds if it's good though."
He takes the first bite and chews thoughtfully.
"I take it back, this might actually qualify for a star. Seriously, it's really good."
That earns him another smile, and when Clara starts eating she seems less tense.
They eat mostly in comfortable silence, and Carlos lets his mind wander. It is strange, really, this connection he has found with her. He knows how easy it would be to let it fade, to chalk it up to one of those fleeting moments that come and go, but he doesn't want that. Because has seen the the moments when her walls come down enough to let him glimpse the person beneath. She is trying, and he can't help but feel honored that she has chosen to try with him even though their lives couldn't be more different. She doesn't care about his fame, his wins or his image. To her, he is just Carlos. The guy who sat on a bench with her once and promised to listen.
When they have eaten Carlos stands to grab their plates.
"I've got it. You cooked, I'll clean."
Clara lingers for a moment, then heads back to the living room and her usual spot on the couch. When Carlos has washed up she is sketching again, and he gets a book he started reading recently. As he settles next to her she glances up.
"Good book?"
"Really good." He flips to where he last stopped reading, and she goes back to sketching again.

The air outside is bitingly cold, but inside the studio it is warm. Clara is packing up after class when Inés appears beside her.
"Are you busy Saturday night?"
Clara looks up, surprised. "I don't think so. Why?"
"I'm going to the cinema with some friends. Double feature, vintage horror. You should come."
Clara hesitates, every response she can think of crowding her mind. I'm not sure. I don't really do group things. I'll let you know. But Inés is just watching her, like it is no big deal either way.
"Yeah, okay. I'll come.”
Inés grins. "Nice. Meet us at the theatre at six?”
Clara agrees, and as Inés heads off she remains for a moment longer, the idea of being included settling slowly.
Over the next few days there are moments when she regrets saying yes, but on Saturday night she pushes down the doubt and heads to the theatre. She finds Inés just inside the doors, flanked by three others.
"Clara! You made it. This is Rico, Paola and Andrés."
The others smile and offer hellos. Rico makes a joke about the popcorn sizes being a scam, and Andrés quotes the first movie's trailer line for line. Clara mostly just listens to the others talking, but no one seems to mind her not joining in.
The films are bad, on purpose. A fog machine is clearly visible in one scene, and a monster is made of rubber and enthusiasm. But it is hilarious, and the laughter around her is infectious.
At one point, Inés leans toward her and whispers "If this guy opens that door he deserves whatever's coming."
Clara snorts, for a second forgetting to check herself. And on her way home she wonders if she could actually fit into this group if she would allow herself to try.

Next Saturday Clara is standing outside an unfamiliar apartment building, hands curling inside the jacket pockets. Going to the cinema had been easy. Dark room, no need to talk. Game night means talking, laughing, people noticing when you don't know the rules.
She presses the buzzer anyway.
"Hi!" Inés' voice crackles through. "Come on up. Fourth floor, door's open."
Clara climbs the stairs slowly, mentally rehearsing her escape plan. When she tentatively pushes the door to Inés' flat open the smell of pizza and something vaguely herbal hits her, and there is laughter coming from the living room.
Inés appears, grinning. "Welcome to a night of board games, pizza and chaos!"
There is a pile of games on the living room floor, soda cans on the table and several pizza boxes in the kitchen. Andrés, Paola, Rico and two guys Clara doesn't know yet are already there. Rico moves to give her space beside him on the couch.
"We're starting with Dixit. No rules to memorise, you just have to be vaguely poetic and wildly interpretive."
As the game starts Clara is careful, watching. She plays the first round with her usual dry humor, but says little outside of her turn. No one seems to mind though. They just pass the cards around, make ridiculous guesses, argue over who interpreted whose trauma better and laugh. And slowly, Clara starts to relax.
During a break between games she ends up with Paola in the kitchen, grabbing a slice of pizza.
"You were good at that," Paola says. "Your card descriptions were weirdly specific."
Clara shrugs, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I have a weird mind."
"You should definitely come next time."
Paola grins and Clara smiles back, for real.
"Maybe."
The night air is crisp as she steps outside much later that night, jacket zipped up against the cold and hands deep in her pockets. She walks slowly, her head full of inside jokes she barely understood, of Paola calling dibs on a purple game piece like it was her birthright, and Rico's weirdly good imitation of Jeff Dunham and one of his ventriloquist dolls.
And it hits her. She didn't just survive the evening, she enjoyed it. No counting down until she could leave, no pretending to be someone easier to like. She hadn't said much, but people laughed and listened when she spoke. Even invited her back.
When she gets home she takes out her sketchbook and opens it to a blank page. She draws a pizza box, a playing card, a beanbag, and a game piece. For once she doesn't try to make it perfect. She just wants to remember.

Carlos has just wrapped up the second day of pre-season testing, and is heading to the parking lot when his press officer beckons him over.
"Have you met Valeria Ríos? From Carrera & Co?”
She is... very easy on the eye. Sophisticated, without a visible bead of sweat despite the hot afternoon sun. Almost as tall as him, darkhaired, slim and dressed in a tight skirt and shortsleeved blouse. A pair of sunglasses are perched on her head.
Carlos offers a polite smile and a handshake. "I don't think we've officially met."
"Not officially," Valeria replies, shaking his hand firmly. "But I've heard enough stories."
"Hopefully good ones."
"Mixed," she replies with a teasing grin. "But the good ones are excellent."
They end up walking to the parking lot together. She asks insightful questions about the car and the upcoming season, evidently no stranger to this world.
"You seem to know a lot about all this," Carlos says.
"My dad used to handle logistics for Mercedes, so I grew up watching the circus from behind the velvet rope."
They pause on the edge of the parking lot. Valeria is clearly in no rush, and suddenly neither is Carlos.
"You know," she says, "I always thought drivers were kind of mechanical off-track. But you're actually... personable."
He chuckles. "Is that a compliment?"
"A big one."
"Well, in that case I hope I've exceeded expectations."
"So far," she says, meeting his gaze for a long moment before pulling her sunglasses down. "Maybe I'll run into you again."
"Maybe," Carlos echoes.
She walks off, and he watches her for a moment longer than he means to before heading to his car.

On Wednesday night before the action begins in Melbourne Carlos is attending a sponsor dinner he doesn't really want to be at. He complained to Clara earlier, who promptly offered to beam him up to the villain lair.
The venue is sleek, glass-fronted, and there is soft lighting, white tablecloths and champagne in tall flutes. Suits, CEOs, everyone playing nice for the cameras as they mingle and make polite small talk. Carlos has been nodding along to a tirade about activation metrics when a familiar voice cuts in behind him.
"If you make it through this dinner without hearing the phrase ‘brand synergy’ three times I'll owe you a drink."
He turns to see Valeria, in a pale green dress and matching sandals, holding a fluit of champagne. She is smiling, and Carlos smiles back.
"Are you here as Carrera or as emotional support?"
"A bit of both. The drinks are on Carrera, everything else all me."
Then dinner is announced, and before they part Carlos leans closer.
"I'll find you later."
"Looking forward to it."
As the dinner is finally winding down he steps outside for air and finds Valeria already on the terrace, leaning against the railing.
"Too many speeches."
Carlos joins her. "Too much everything."
"Are you ready for the weekend?"
"As ready as I'll ever be."
"And how's the car?"
"Hopefully fast enough."
"Pre-season pressure?"
"Something like that." He shrugs. "Do you ever feel like everyone has an idea of who you should be before you even speak?"
Valeria exhales. "Constantly. Comes with the territory."
Carlos glances at her, sensing that she gets it. The world they move in. The perfect polish, the pressure to be seamless and deliver.
As someone calls her name Valeria pushes off the railing.
"We should do this again. Maybe somewhere with less synergies and more actual conversation."
"I'd like that."
"Good. Because I already picked the wine."
With that she is gone, and Carlos remains on the terrace for a while before leaving the event. He returns to the hotel alone, but not entirely unaffected.
Scrolling through his texts before bed he sees one from Clara, a meme about cartoon villains and long capes. He replies with a 💀 before switching out the lights. The image of Valeria's eyes lingers for a while before sleep comes.
They don't run into each other again until Saturday in Shanghai. Carlos exits the garage after a pretty good quali, to find her standing outside the Williams hospitality unit. She is in a navy pantsuit, sunglasses and heels that makes her slightly taller than him.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Villain himself."
Carlos chuckles. "You're keeping up with my career change, I see."
"It's all over my feed. Very on-brand."
He smirks. "Thanks. Didn't know you were coming here."
"Last-minute addition. One of Carrera’s Chinese sponsors asked for presence, and I'm very good at being present."
"Will you stay through the race?"
"Of course. I want to see if the villain makes the podium."
"Pressure noted."
Marco walks past, and gives Carlos a subtle thumbs-up. He pretends not to notice.
"Catch you later? I have a debrief in five."
"Definitely."
She walks off, graceful, confident, seemingly at ease in this world. Carlos watches her, for just a little too long, before heading to the debrief.
That night he has dinner with Lando, and when he is on his way back to the hotel he gets a DM on Instagram from Valeria.
'There is a rooftop bar next to your hotel. Come up for a while?'
Carlos knows he should sleep, but curiosity and something else wins out. She is already there when he arrives, seated with a glass of wine. Carlos opts for water.
"That was faster than I expected," she says when he sits down opposite her.
"I was nearby."
They remain on the roof terrace until Carlos realises that it is really about time he got some sleep. Valeria brushes his hand with hers as they part.
"I'll be at the circuit tomorrow as well."
"Then I'm sure we'll run into each other."
They do, conveniently when Carlos is on his way to have lunch. He invites her to eat with him, aware that it will cause rumours. But he doesn't mind, and Valeria doesn't seem bothered by it either.
The race afterwards goes well, with Carlos ending in fourth place after a particularly bold overtake on Lewis Hamilton. Williams acknowledges this with a picture of the overtake captioned 'Villain move of the day! #hydratedandhostile'.
Clara messages as usual post race, and his sisters also send a message each.
'Saw pictures of you and a woman having lunch today. She looks lovely! Who is she?'
'So… you and the woman you had lunch with. Is it serious?'
Carlos answers with a shrug emoji.
Going to England straight from Shanghai he spends a couple of days at the factory, working in the simulator. Clara is a constant in his messages as usual, and there is also a message from Valeria.
'Want to meet when you're back in Madrid? Dinner somewhere quiet?'
Carlos replies immediately. 'I'd like that. I know somewhere.'
'I'll be there'
Carlos arranges a table at an upscale restaurant where his family knows the owner and it goes without saying that they will arrange a secluded table, away from prying eyes.
On the night of the date Valeria arrives looking every bit the polished socialite. Black wrap dress, heels, gold earrings. And it's easy, almost too easy. She is confident, sharp and they make each other laugh. Carlos takes that as a good sign.
"You ever think about what comes after all this?” Valeria asks at one point. “After racing?”
"Sometimes. But I'm not in a rush to get there.”
"You'd make a good brand lead or team ambassador. People like you."
Carlos smiles. "Do you?"
She meets his gaze. "I wouldn't be here if I didn’t."
It's late when they leave the restaurant, and Carlos walks her to her car.
"I had fun tonight. If you want, I'd like to do it again."
"Yeah. I'd like that."
She smiles, and leans in. The kiss is warm and soft, and when they eventually pull apart she squeezes his hand.
"Don't crash in Japan."
"I'll try."
On his way home Carlos replays the evening in his mind. Everything went well. And he knows that everyone in his family would most likely approve.

Carlos is finally back home after the races in Asia. Clara has spent the last couple of days at his place, studying and sketching while he has trained and spent a lot of time talking with his team. It has felt good. Nornal.
They are halfway through dinner, sprawled on the couch with takeout and a film, when he lowers the volume and clears his throat.
"I wanted to tell you something."
Clara's stomach tightens. "Okay?"
"I've started seeing someone. Just recently. Nothing serious."
Oh.
He looks at her, waiting. For what, she isn't sure. Shock? Questions? Approval? So she gives him the only thing she can. A smile.
"That's nice," she says, keeping her voice level. "Anyone I know?"
He shakes his head. "She works for a sponsor. She's cool. Fun."
Cool.
Fun.
Clara forces herself to smile again. "You deserve that."
Carlos rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, I mean… it's early, we'll see what happens. I just didn't want you to hear it somewhere else first."
"Thanks for telling me."
He smiles at her then. And something breaks.
She helps tidying up after dinner, before excusing herself.
"I just remembered I promised Teresa to help her redecorate the living room tomorrow, so..."
Carlos frowns, but doesn't say anything as she gathers her things and leaves.
When she gets home Clara shuts herself in her room. Even though she doesn't really want to know more she logs onto Instagram, and it doesn't take long before she finds photos of Carlos and the woman. She scrolls past them too quickly to register the captions before clicking the phone screen off, heart oddly still. No jealousy. No fury. Just the usual confirmation she hadn't even realised she was bracing for.
She hadn't expected it to hurt. Not like this. Because she has no claim on him, and it isn't as if she is in love or anything is going on between them. It just... hurts. Because now she knows. Even though he made room for her, so much so that she had genuinely started to think that he meant it when he said he cared.
She doesn't belong in his world. Not really. She has been borrowing space in it, making it easy for herself to forget that he lives in a world of red carpets, tailored suits, women who are so much more than her.
Everything will change now. Because couches and mugs and villain streaming profiles don't mean anything in the long run. Not when someone like her is only ever passing through, always discarded when something better comes along.
Clara closes her eyes, her fists clenching at the edges of her duvet. It isn't fair. It isn't fair that so many people have promised her safety, a home, but never delivered. And now, when she finally got a glimpse of it, it isn't hers to keep.
It never is.

Chapter Text

Valeria has invited Carlos over to her place, and he supposes it is the next logical step in whatever this is becoming. She answers the door wearing wide-leg trousers and a crisp blouse. Her hair is lose, cascading down her back in smooth waves, and her make up is flawless.
"You found me."
"Just had to follow the scent of generational wealth."
She laughs, and steps aside to let him in.
The flat is pristine, all minimalist perfection. Light and spacious, with art that blends in perfectly and luxurious furniture. There is a bottle of white wine breathing on the kitchen island and a charcuterie board already prepared.
"It's beautiful," Carlos says, genuinely meaning it.
Valeria smiles. "Thank you. I thought we'd start with a glass of wine."
Without waiting for a reply she pours two glasses and beckons him over to the sleek L-shaped couch. Conversation flows easily. They talk about the Japan race, an upcoming campaign launch and a ridiculous gala she is expected to attend.
They clear the charcuterie board before dinner is delivered from a nearby restaurant. Coq au vin and potatoes, cooked to perfection. Valeria even fetches a new bottle of wine, claiming that the one already open doesn't suit the food. After dinner they settle on the couch again, with more wine and dimmed lights. Valeria rests her head against Carlos' shoulder as they keep chatting, and when it turns out that she is into golf he perks up.
"Maybe we can play together some time."
She nods eagerly. "I'd like that."
Carlos closes his eyes for a moment. This is good. This makes sense.
When he eventually leaves, Valeria walks him to the door and kisses him goodbye. Soft, precise.
"Let's do this again soon."
"Definitely."
She smiles, and brushes his hand before he heads out.
On his way home Carlos checks his phone. A couple of e-mail notifications, a new picture in the family group chat of his nephew, smiling proudly and covered in flour. But no new texts from Clara. He hasn't heard from her in a couple of days, since she claimed to have forgotten about redecorating the living room. She is probably busy with school, which Carlos supposes is a good thing.

Four days later he is back at Valeria's place for lunch. She greets him with a hug and a peck on the lips.
"So you came back. I didn't scare you off last time?"
"You didn't."
She smiles. "Good. I haven't started lunch, I thought we could cook together."
Carlos readily agrees. While cooking they easily pick up where they left, and it is easy, comfortable. They share golf stories, and Carlos makes her double up with laughter at a tale of a prank involving large rubber snakes he and his sister played on his parents when they were kids.
The conversation flows through lunch, and once they have cleaned up they take a cup of coffee each to the living room. The topic turns to films, and at one point Valeria scoffs.
"Joker gets a one. Maybe a two for cinematography, but otherwise? No."
Carlos takes a sip of coffee. "Joker gets a one?"
"Misery porn for people who mistake trauma for personality."
He chuckles and nudges her knee with his. "You're just upset because your villain-crush didn't get redemption."
"Excuse me?"
"You always go for the villains, don't you? It's a red flag, honestly. We should call someone about it."
"I do not always go for villains."
Carlos grins. "Really? Because the evidence is damning. For starters I'm here."
She laughs, polished rather than spontaneous. "You're awfully sharp-tongued tonight."
Carlos hadn't thought he was being sharp, just playful. The way he usually is with Clara.
"Sorry. Habit."
"It's fine," Valeria assures him. "I'm just not used to being roasted during a date night."
She says it lightly, and the mood smooths over again. But for the rest of the evening Carlos finds himself watching what he says.
It is late when he returns home and he is tired, but sleep doesn't come easily. His mind replays the moment on the couch. It wasn't a big thing, not really. And yet… He is used to joking like that, using sarcasm and snark as a kind of comfort language that Clara never flinches from. Valeria hadn't been offended, not exactly, but she is probably used to a different kind of sharp. The curated kind. Not the kind that comes wrapped in half-joking insults that mean I trust you to know I'd never say this to hurt you. And it is not her fault, she just doesn't know that language. Carlos reminds himself that it is early. Things are still settling, and it is just a different kind of connection. Less chaotic, more… deliberate.
An image appears, of Clara in Christmas socks and a messy bun, standing by his stove. She is still silent. A meme he sent three days ago just got a heart four hours later, and she hasn't initiated any conversation. Carlos knows that she withdraws if she gets overwhelmed, so he tells himself to give her space. She will come back.
This goes on through the next race weekend in Bahrain. Carlos sends a couple of ridiculous memes as well as a vivid recount of a hilarious moment with his race team, to which Clara just responds with 'lol'. By now he is wondering what is going on, but still doesn't ask. Instead he decides to do something that will make her see that he will still be there.
It comes to him at 5.45 in the morning, after a night of too little sleep and too many restless thoughts. He hopes she will accept it, because he needs her to know that the door is still open.

Clara and Inés are staying late after art class, tidying up while the others have already gone. Clara ia scrubbing at a smear of dried paint on her forearm when Inés finally speaks.
"You've been quiet today."
Clara glances up. "I'm always quiet."
Inés gives her a look. "No. You’re usually controlled. Today you're… somewhere else."
"You sound like a therapist."
"I've been told that before." Inés wrings out a sponge. "You don't have to tell me, but you look like you're trying not to scream into the sink."
Clara isn't usually this open, but she also can't keep it to herself anymore. "There's this guy. We're just friends. Nothing more."
Inés nods.
"He is…" Clara pauses, searching for the right words. "He was the first person in a long time who made me feel like I had a place. Not just in his flat. Like, in his life. You know? And then he started seeing someone."
"Oh."
"It's not like he owed me anything. We were never a thing."
"But you still feel like you lost something?"
"Yeah, I guess."
"Doesn't have to be yours to hurt when it's gone."
Clara looks up, surprised by how perceptive Inés turns out to be.
"I thought I finally had somewhere I could… just be. He didn't have to let me in, but he did. And now I feel stupid for thinking it would last. I mean, he won't want me around as much now when he has her."
Inés shakes her head. "You're not stupid."
"I miss him."
"So tell him."
"What if that won't change anything?"
"Then at least he'll know how you feel."
"I guess."
On her way home, Clara mulls over what Inés said. So tell him. But what could she even say? It would just come across as needy and delusional, like she is calling dibs on him.
So in the end she doesn't say anything.

The morning of the 17th of April is like any other morning, and as usual Clara hasn’t told anyone it is her birthday. To her it is still just another day, another reminder that she is still floating through a life that never seems to fit. But both José and Teresa are in the kitchen when she appears for breakfast.
"Happy 17th birthday sweetheart."
Teresa gives her a little hug, and José clasps a hand gently on her shoulder before handing her an envelope.
"We hope you'll find use for this."
Clara stares, first at them then at the envelope. No one remembers. Not usually, not for her.
"You knew it's my birthday?"
She doesn't mean to say it out loud, but the shock makes the words tumble out before she can stop them.
Teresa smiles. "Of course."
Clara takes the envelope and carefully opens it. Inside is a gift card for El Corte Inglés.
"Thank you."
"There's something else too, it was delivered this morning."
José picks up a neatly wrapped box that Clara hadn't seen, and puts it on the table.
"Do you know who it might be from?"
There is no sender, no return address. Clara shakes her head. She kind of has a hunch though, and heart beating hard takes it with her to her room. Setting it on her bed she flops down next to it, and just looks at it for a long moment before opening it.
The first thing she sees is a water bottle. Matte black, sleek. Lettering in silver says Evil Sidekick Potion. Beneath it she finds a black, soft towel with Dr Martín stitched in white. Then there is a pair of gloves in black leather, elegant and soft. A short, black cape and a pair of dark sunglasses that match the ones she got Carlos to a ridiculous degree complete the gift. At the bottom of the box there is also a handwritten note. She slowly picks it up.
'Happy birthday, evil sidekick.
Consider this an official upgrade kit.
The villain is still on call, whenever you need him.
- C'
Clara folds the note, clutches it in her hand. Her eyes sting. Why is he doing this? He has a girlfriend now, a whole different life. And she has been pulling away, telling herself that it is better that way. Distance is safer, familiar.
She pulls the towel into her lap and runs her fingers over the stitching. Dr Martín. She wants to laugh and yell at the same time. It is so him. Stupid. Funny. Thoughtful in the way only he manages to be, casually and without warning. It hurts. Not because he remembered, but because it makes her want to believe that he still means it.
She takes a picture of the towel in her lap and sends it to him without caption, just to let him know she received the present. He replies a while later with two superhero emojis, one male, one female. Clara allows herself a smile. Maybe they are still villain and evil sidekick after all.

Carlos has invited Valeria to his place for the first time. Before she arrives he puts Clara's toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. He hasn't mentioned her to Valeria yet, doesn't want any assumptions.
When she arrives, well dressed as ever, he gives her a tour of his flat. As they reach Clara's room she looks around, a surprised look on her face.
"This is different, it kind of gives student dorm vibes. IKEA?"
Carlos nods. "I put it together myself."
"Really? You should let your designer fix it, otherwise people might think you don't care about your image." She says it lightly, clearly as a joke, but Carlos doesn't respond right away. He just follows her back to the living room, Clara's voice appearing in his mind. "Best evil sidekick lair ever."
"That room is for someone."
Valeria turns. "What?"
"You remember I told you about the youth outreach I work with?"
She nods.
"About a year ago I did a talk at a school, and there was this girl. She just sat at the back of the room, and it was clear that she didn't listen to anything I said. Afterwards I talked to her, and gave her my card. Told her to keep in touch if she ever needed someone to talk to."
"And she did?"
"Yeah, a few weeks later. I think it was mostly her needing to... be heard, maybe, and we started keeping in touch. Turned out she was in foster care. She was moved here to Madrid a while back and I've been supporting her. I set up the room if she needs somewhere to crash or somewhete quiet to study."
Valeria nods. "And nothing else is going on?"
"No."
"Alright. It's actually kind of you, mentoring someone like that."
Carlos doesn't tell her that it is way past mentoring by now.
He does, however, introduce her to his Team55. Marco, Lucas, his cousin slash manager Rodrigo and the rest of the inner circle. They meet at a tapas bar Carlos likes, one that is tucked away enough to avoid unnecessary attention. Valeria arrives in a crisp blazer and heels that click confidently against the tiled floor. Her handshake is firm, her smile polished, and she wastes no time charming every single person at the table. Even Lucas, famously skeptical, cracks a grin when she pokes fun at Carlos' gym playlist.
They talk about racing, training, and logistics. Valeria even asks a few pointed questions about tyre compounds and Marco immediately leans in to answer, visibly impressed.
Afterwards, Carlos lingers outside with Marco and Lucas while Valeria calls a cab.
"You'd be an idiot to let that one go," Marco declares.
Lucas hums in agreement. "Seriously, she's got the whole thing. Smart, stylish, knows what a floor diffuser is."
"When's the family introduction?"
"Next week. Lunch at my parents' place."
Marco smirks. "Careful, man. That's the kind of thing that gets you a text asking when the grandkids are due.”
Carlos laughs, and then Valeria appears. The guys stay with her until her taxi arrives, and after seeing her off they walk for a while, just chatting.
Carlos knows Valeria had made a strong impression. Confident, smart, charming. And if she keeps that up she will win over his family too, no doubt. He just doesn't know if he is ready for the questions about engagement, marriage and kids he knows will come sooner rather than later.
He once again tells himself it is early, that they are still figuring each other out. It is normal not to feel completely settled yet.

The dining room in Carlos' parents' house is already buzzing by the time he and Valeria arrive. The table is half set, his mum moving swiftly between the kitchen and dining room. Lara and Marta are there with their husbands and kids, the cousins chasing each other through the hallway.
Carlos kisses his mother on the cheek. Valeria follows closely, wine bottle in hand, smiling warmly.
"Hola, Señora Sainz, thank you for having me. I hope red is okay."
She beams. "It's our pleasure, Valeria. And red is perfect."
Carlos watches his sisters size Valeria up with the kind of curiosity only sisters can muster. She doesn't flinch, simply takes a seat and engages immediately. Asks Carlos' nephew what he is building out of lego, and laughs at Lara's story about Carlos crashing his bike into a fence at age nine.
As lunch progresses Carlos finds himself more and more silent. Not because he is left out, but because Valeria doesn't need his help. She carries herself with the same calm she had at the sponsor event, only here it softens into warmth. She helps pass plates, asks Pilar for a recipe, even volunteers to help with dessert. At one point Carlos glances at his father, who nods almost imperceptibly. Approval.
After dessert the kids are back to running around, and the adults linger at the table. Valeria is telling a story about a brand event that went wrong due to a champagne cork and a startled influencer. Everyone laughs.
When it's time to leave, Valeria receives hugs and kisses from everyone. She readily reciprocates, and smiles happily when they are on their way back to the car.
"They were all really nice."
"They are," Carlos agrees. "They liked you."
Somehow, Valeria doesn't seem surprised. "I liked them too."
They go back to Carlos' place, Valeria spending the night. She falls asleep quckly, while Carlos remains awake. As opposed to Valeria's confidence around his family he envisions Clara. Her hesitant first approach to the kitchen at Christmas, and fiddling with her top under the table at the beginning of dinner. She is engaging a little more now, sometimes even initiating conversations herself. It's still not back to the way it was though, and Carlos wonders if he should bring it up. But he is in no rush, he thinks right before he finally drifts off. The important thing is that she is still there.
A few days later he is back at his parent's house, just to be able to spend some time with them by himself. Because therre are usually always others around and no real time to catch up just the three of them.
His mum immediateky brings up Valeria. "She was wonderful."
Carlos nods. "Yeah."
His dad chimes in. "She's got presence. And she’s good with the kids. That's not something you fake."
Carlos only hums in response.
"Do you think about the future at all?"
"Sometimes."
"It matters who you build that future with. Don’t wait too long to decide."
Carlos recalls Valeria crouched next to his niece, admiring her crayon drawing. She looked up at him like it had always been that way, like it was already home.
"It's not just about love, you know," his dad continues. "Marriage, family. It's about building something solid. Finding someone who can be a good life partner, but also a good mother."
Carlos only nods.
"Your mother and I knew very early. When it's right it doesn't need much explaining."
"I knew on our second date," his mum declares. "It was just so easy."
His dad smiles, and Carlos can see the love he holds for her. A love that has been there for as long as he can remember. He chuckles.
"I'll try not to disappoint."
He leaves shortly after, and says yes when Valeria texts and asks if he wants to come over.
His father's words linger. About love. About choosing someone he could build a life with, not just fill space beside him. Carlos isn't sure what he is building yet, but he keeps seeing Valeria.
They don't go public.
"I don't want any of us to get any problems with Carrera," Carlos explains as he brings it up. They have just woken up, and Carlos has an arm wrapped around Valeria's waist.
She agrees, thankfully. "And I'd probably get roasted by your fans."
Carlos knows full well that the partners of him and the other drivers get scrutinised to a ridiculous degree.
"You'd do fine. You'd just charm them like you have everyone else around me."
Valeria grins. "It's my super power."
Carlos chuckles, and leans in too kiss her. It is easy, ccmfortable. Just the two of them, no rumours circling anymore, no cameras. And for now, that is enough.
Later that day he travels to Barcelona. Home races always carry a different kind of pressure. Familiar faces in the crowd, louder cheers, expectations. But he loves it.
He has just arrived at the circuit on Thursday morning, when his phone buzzes. He immediately thinks it might be Clara or Valeria, but it is a message from Teresa.
'Hi. We're just wondering if Clara is at your place.'
Carlos frowns. 'Not that I know, I'm away and we haven't talked in a while. Why?'
'She wasn't in her room this morning and her shoes and one of her bags are gone. We've called and texted but she's not responding.'
Carlos immediately texts Eduard. 'Is Clara at your place? Her foster parents just texted me and said she's gone'
Minutes later there is a reply. 'Wtf? She's not here I haven't talked to her in a few days'
Carlos then calls her. It goes straight to voicemail.
"Hi, where are you? Teresa just texted and said you're not home and Eduard said you're not at his place. What's going on? Please call me."
Lucas appears, with two coffees and his usual grin in place.
"Morning champ!"
Carlos doesn't take the offered mug.
"Clara has run away."
Lucas' grin immediately vanishes. "What? When?"
"Her foster mum texted, they noticed it this morning. We've called and texted but she's not answering."
"Shit."
Lucas flops down next to him, and Carlos checks his phone. Just to make sure Clara hasn't reached out in the last sixty seconds.
"Yeah. Shit."
"Keep trying. I'm sure she'll be in touch soon."
"I hope so. It's just... Lately she's been off."
"Off?"
"She's barely answered my texts. Just a lol or thumbs up if anything. And I haven't asked, because she does that sometimes. If something is bothering her she'll disappear for a while before she pops back up like nothing happened. I thought it was just one of those times..."
"But she's never run away before?"
"I don't know. At least not since I got to know her."
Lucas runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. Do you know where she would go? Someone she trusts? Somewhere she feels safe?"
His couch. Why didn't he think of that before?
"Hang on."
Carlos quickly calls the concierge desk in his building.
"Hi, this is Carlos Sainz. Could I ask a favour please?"
"Of course."
"Can someone check my flat and see if Clara Martín is there? She is approved, and has her own key."
"Certainly, right away."
Carlos hangs up, and they wait in silence. Five minutes later his phone rings.
"Hello."
"Señor Sainz? We have checked your flat, and no one is there."
"Okay. Thank you."
Hanging up again Carlos shakes his head. "She isn't there."
They are interrupted by his press officer, striding in briskly to drag him off for media day. Before following her he shoves his phone into Lucas' hands.
"Pick up if she calls."
The day blurs past in a haze of interviews, meeting fans, posing for photos. Between obligations he circles back to Lucas, each time met by a solemn look and a shake of the head. He even texts Clara again, and tries not to act too distracted in front of the media and the crowds of people there to see him and the other drivers. But his smile is strained, his mind somewhere else.
When he is finally back at the hotel that evening he calls José.
"Have you heard from Clara?"
A sigh on the other end tells Carlos all he needs to know. "No. Have you?"
"Me neither. Can you guess why she ran away?"
José hesitates. "A couple of days ago we told her that we will have to move. My work is relocating me to Valencia in three months, which means we won't be able to keep her with us."
Oh. Fuck. "I didn't know that. She didn't tell me."
Just a few months ago she would have. And she would have been curled up on his couch, wrapped in her blanket, instead of running away.
"It's not your fault," José assures him. "I'll let you know if she gets in touch."
"Thanks. Me too."
Ending the call Carlos sits on the bed, phone resting in his hands. He types and deletes a message to Clara half a dozen times, finally hitting send.
'Please just tell me you're safe. That's all I need to know.'

Still no reply.

Chapter Text

The next morning there is still nothing from Clara, so Carlos sends a new text.
'It's me again. You don't have to tell me where you are, just let me know you're okay.'
He keeps his phone unlocked while getting ready, to no avail, and on the way to breakfast he barely keeps himself from calling her again. Down in the dining room Marco and Lucas are already seated at a table, and the moment they see him they both fall silent.
"No news?" Marco asks.
Carlos shakes his head, and Lucas nudges a chair out with his foot.
"Sit. Eat something."
He tries, but the food tastes like cardboard and his coffee goes cold before he gets halfway through.
The rest of the day unfolds in fragments. Engineering briefings, FP1, debrief, media, FP2. He moves through it all with practiced professionalism, but knows that it must be clear to anyone who knows him that his mind is elsewhere. He checks his phone between every session, once even during a tyre review, and calls her after FP2. Straight to voicemail.
"Hi, it's me. I'm… I just want to know you're safe."
Eduard texts him. 'Still no word. Let us know if you hear anything.'
Carlos promises that he will, and somehow concern starts forging a strange bond as they exchange a few texts that almost veer into casual. A story of Clara zoning out completely during a Marvel movie, and the first time she spent the night at Eduard's. Teresa also keeps in touch.
'We just realised she packed snacks, all our regañá are gone. At least she's thinking ahead'.
Carlos almost smiles. That is the kind of thing Clara would do. Take off without notifying anyone, but make sure to bring food.
He goes to bed that night with his phone beside him, sound on.
The next morning his parents arrive, and Carlos doesn't even try to keep up appearances.
"Clara is gone," he tells them as soon as they have exchanged hugs.
His dad frowns. "How long has it been?"
"Since Thursday morning. Her foster parents realised she was gone when they woke up. She took a bag and some clothes."
"What do you think made her leave?"
"Her foster parents are moving in a few months. She'd have to start over again with a new placement."
His mum shakes her head. "Poor thing. I can't imagine what that must be like."
"I think none of us can," his dad replies solemnly.
Carlos is called back to the garage, and he doesn't see his parents again until lunch. Noticing his mum's questioning expression he shakes his head.
"Nothing. What if something has happened?"
His parents exchange a glance. They don't say anything, for which Carlos can't really blame them. Because what can really be said?
The sun is just starting to dip when he is finally done for the day. P5 in quali is not so bad, and he is hoping for a good race tomorrow. His parents are waiting by the hospitality, and Carlos readily accepts a hug from his mum that is more grounding than celebratory.
"She's still gone."
His mum is silent for a moment. "She must be scared, not knowing where she'll end up."
Carlos swallows. "I should have asked more questions. Been more present."
"No," she says gently. "You've been more than present. You've been constant. Sometimes that's all someone like her needs."
His dad joins them. "Do you think she'll come to you?"
"I hope so."
His mum squeezes his arm. "How about we go out for dinner? We all need to eat, and you can have your phone close in case she reaches out."
Marco and Lucas go with them, and Carlos is glad for the extra company. At least he can keep checking his phone in peace while the others entertain each other.
He doesn’t sleep much that night either, but he is steady when he arrives at the circuit on Sunday morning. Everything that needs to be on autopilot, is. The only thing out of rhythm is the tightness in his chest every time he checks his phone and there is no reply from Clara. Just before the race he pulls it out again. His mum, standing nearby, then comes over.
"I'll hold it."
"If there's anything..."
"You’ll know the moment you cross the finish line," she promises.
Carlos hands his phone to her. "Thanks."
"And be safe out there."
The race is a blur of adrenaline and noise. A clean start, good pit stops and a tough wheel-to-wheel fight with a McLaren midway through. Carlos ends up in P4, just off the podium. Normally he would be disappointed by missing out so narrowly, but this time something else is on in his mind as soon as he climbs out off the car. And the moment he is back in the garage his mum is there, handing him his phone.
"She wrote."
A message timestamped twenty minutes after race start.
'I'm okay sorry for disappearing. Can you come get me?'
Below that, a pin drop. Zaragoza. And, as an after-thought, another message sent five minutes later.
'Don't tell anyone'
Exhaling, Carlos flops down on a nearby chair. His mum puts a hand on his shoulder.
"Go to her."
He hurries to the team principal, who listens intently to his incoherent explaining.
"Of course, go," he says eventually. "I hope she's fine."
Half an hour later Carlos leaves the circuit. By then Lucas and Marco have booked a room for the night for him and Clara at a self-check in hotel. Carlos has briefly heard about those, and right now he is beyond grateful they exist. They have also managed to arrange a car, delivered to the paddock parking lot.
As he gets in, he texts Clara.
'Driving from Barcelona now, I'll be there in three hours. Text me if you need anything'
It isn't until he is outside Barcelona that he remembers Valeria. They have only texted sporadically throughout the weekend, mainly because he has been preoccupied with Clara. Stopping briefly by a petrol station he taps out a message.
'Hi, just a heads up I won't be back home tonight. Something urgent came up with the girl I set up the room for. I'll explain tomorrow.'
Back on the road he turns the music off and drives in silence, the engine humming beneath his thoughts. He is relieved. She reached out, she is alive. But under that relief is something unsettled. Not quite anger. Not worry, not exactly. Just a tightness that will not ease until he sees her in person.
Crossing into Zaragoza Carlos stops by a burger place and buys two meals, including fries and drinks, before texting Clara again.
'In Zaragoza now. Where are you?'
She immediately texts him an address, leading to a sidestreet behind the train station. She must have chosen it on purpouse, because only a handful of people pass by despite the central location. Even so, Carlos pulls the hood of his hoodie in an attempt to stay unnoticed as he slowly drives along the street.
When he finally sees Clara sitting on the pavement, small, slumped against a wall with her chin resting on her knees, the wave of relief that hits him is staggering. She is here. Alive. Alone.
He parks quickly and rolls down the window.
"Clara!"
She looks up, her face pale and drawn. Gazing around as if to make sure he is alone she stands, and when she gets into the passenger seat Carlos relaxes fully for the first time since Thursday morning.
"You came."
"Of course I came. What were you thinking, running off like that?"
Hands twist into hoodie sleeves, and Clara won't look at him.
"I didn't know what else to do."
"You scared me! I didn't… I didn't want to lose you. Are you okay?"
She shrugs.
"If you're hungry I got us both burgers and fries. Bag is behind my seat."
She immediately retrieves it, and digs into one of the burgers as Carlos pulls out into the road. She eats quickly, finishing her whole meal just as they reach the hotel.
There is just a small sign on the door with its name, a smart lock, a pin code and instructions sent via text. Clara trails behind him through the corridor, lined with grey doors marked with equally non descriptive number signs, until they reach theirs. Carlos punches in the code, opens the door and motions for her to step inside before him as he gives the room a once-over. Neutral colours, two decent sized beds, blackout blinds already lowered. It is not what he is accustomed to, but they don't need more for tonight.
"This seems okay, don't you think?"
Without a word Clara puts her bag down before stepping forward to wrap her arms around his waist. It's unexpected but Carlos immediately responds in kind, resting his chin on top of her head.
"I'm sorry," she murmurs, voice cracked and muffled against his chest.
"Just… don't ever do it again."
She doesn't answer, just holds onto him tightly. And Carlos can't bring himself to let go of her.
"Why did you come?"
"Because I care about you."
She looks up at him then, her expression unreadable. "But I'm… a mess."
"Everyone's a mess sometimes. And it doesn't mean you don't deserve someone to be there for you."
She sniffles. "I'm tired."
"Let's get you into bed."
Without another word she withdraws from him and disappears into the bathroom. Carlos hears the shower run, and while waiting he eats. The hamburger and fries have gone cold, but he doesn't care. Because Clara is safe. Tired and hungry, but safe.
When she reemerges she is dressed in a worn tanktop and sleep shorts. She moves over to the bed Carlos is not occupying and curls up under the duvet, face turned towards him.
"They're going to move," she says quietly. "Teresa and José."
"I know. They told me."
"I don't want to move again."
"We'll deal with it all when we get home."
"Will you be there?"
"Of course I will. Try to sleep now."
Then Clara closes her eyes. Carlos switches off the lights, and when he is sure she is asleep he texts Teresa and José.
'Clara reached out today she's okay and we're staying in Zaragoza for the night. I'll bring her back to Madrid tomorrow.'
Another message goes to Eduard. 'Clara is found! She's ok, we're in Zaragoza for the night. Will bring her home tomorrow.'
Then he texts his parents. 'In Zaragoza, have picked Clara up. She's ok.'
There is also a message from Valeria, sent after he texted her from the car. 'What's going on?'
Carlos quickly replies 'We're fine, don't worry. I'll call you tomorrow x'
Then he puts the phone face-down on the nightstand and gets ready for bed. Once under the duvet he listens to the occasional car passing outside and Clara's breathing, soft and even. He looks over at her bed, unable to make out more than her body under the duvet. He will most likely not sleep much tonight, not with everything swirling in his head. But that is fine as long as she gets to rest.

Chapter Text

Clara wakes slowly, groggy from the deep sleep. For a moment she doesn't remember where she is, but then she hears the hum of traffic from outside and the faint rustle of sheets from the other bed. She turns her head. Carlos is still asleep, one arm draped over his stomach, mouth slightly open. He looks relaxed, not like yesterday when it was clear that he was worried. She still can't quite believe he came. That he chose to come to her instead of going home straight after the race.
She tiptoes to the bathroom and washes her face with cold water, staring at her reflection for a long moment. She looks… normal. A little tired, but not like someone who ran away for four days.
When she steps back into the room Carlos is awake. He is sitting up in bed, t-shirt already on, and when he sees her something eases in his expression.
"Hi. How did you sleep?"
"Pretty good.”
"Listen, how about we pack up and head home? We can stop for breakfast somewhere."
Clara's stomach knots. She doesn't want to go back, to meetings where strangers decide her future again. But she nods anyway.
A while later they are in the car, on their way to Madrid. Clara watches houses and roads flick past. She should say something, but the words are stuck. Carlos hasn't raised his voice once. He let her sleep. And now he is driving her home like it is the most natural thing in the world.
As they stop by a small convenience store he hands her his credit card.
"I thought you could get the breakfast. If I go inside it might do more harm than good."
Clara gets a little bit of everything. The cashier, a tired looking guy a few years older than her, barely looks at her as she pays and promptly goes back to checking his phone when she packs the groceries.
When she gets back to the car Carlos seems to be in a hurry to get home, because he immediately pulls out of the parking lot and they eat while driving.
"You okay?" he asks eventually.
Clara doesn't respond right away, her gaze fixed on the world blurring past.
"Yeah."
Fiddling with the radio, he lands on a station playing soft acoustic music.
"You want to pick a song?"
"No, I'm good."
"You know my taste is questionable."
"The whole of you is questionable," Clara mutters. It might not be the time for snark, but it feels good to joke despite everything and Carlos actually laughs. He is silent for a moment, concentrating on the road, before speaking again.
"Can I ask you something?"
"What?"
"Why did you run away? I'm not mad at you, I was just really worried."
Clara keeps her eyes on the passing landscape. "I just… I don't want to have to do it again. New family, new rules. I thought I could figure things out on my own." It sounds so stupid now, but last week it had been real.
"Why Zaragoza?"
"It was easy to get to."
"Where did you stay?"
"There was a big library. With a café. I was there most of the time."
"And when they were closed?"
"I mainly just... There were night busses..."
Carlos doesn't say anything at first. Just squeezes the steering wheel tighter.
"You slept on busses?"
Clara fiddles with the hem of her t-shirt. "They were warm. And no one bothered me."
"You didn't have anywhere else to go?"
"I didn't want to be found."
Carlos sighs. "You should've called me." He doesn't sound accusing, just tired. "You could've stayed at my place. I just... I hate that you thought you had to do this alone."
Clara says nothing, frowning when he pulls over and stops the car by the side of the road.
"Why are we stopping?"
"Because I need you to hear this."
He waits until she is looking at him. He looks more serious than she has ever seen him, and she braces herself to be told off. But he still doesn't yell, doesn't try to guilt trip her.
"You don't have to disappear to figure things out. I know you think you can't rely on anyone, but you're not alone even if it feels like it sometime. And I'm not going to pass you off as soon as things get complicated."
Clara fidgets with her t-shirt again. "But you have a girlfriend. You don't need me in your life."
"Don't say that."
"But..."
"Clara. You have a room in my flat and a key. That's permanent for as long as you want."
She glances at him. "You mean that?"
"I wouldn’t have driven three hours after a race if I didn’t."
"Okay."
Then he smiles. "Now let's go home."
"Can we go to yours?"
"You don't want to go to Teresa and José?"
Clara shakes her head.
"Then we'll go to mine. But we'll have to let them know you're safe."
She gets that, but she doesn't want to face them right now. She closes her eyes, the steady hum of the engine lulling her to sleep.

Carlos glances at Clara from time to time. She keeps sleeping, and he lets her rest until they are home. When he has parked the car he touches her shoulder gently and she stirrs, blinking sleepily at him.
"We're home."
Unbuckling herself she yawns and stretches. It kind of reminds Carlos of a cat, and he smirks.
"You look like a gatita dormilona just now."
"I am not a cat."
She smiles though, and Carlos smiles back.
"Come on, let's get inside."
Clara trails him inside, and when the front door closes he can see her relax.
"How about I call Teresa and José? Meanwhile I'm sure Eduard would like to know you're home safe."
Clara nods, and disappears to her room. When the door closes with a soft click Carlos heads into his office.
He calls Teresa and José first, and Teresa picks up on the second ring.
"Carlos?"
"We're back in Madrid. Clara is okay."
He hears her exhale. "Thank God, we were so worried. We'd like her to come home."
Carlos hesitates. "She said that she wanted to come here, and she is resting now."
"We'd like to speak to her at least."
"I'll ask her to call you."
"We've also talked to social service. They want a meeting as soon as possible with the four of us."
"When?"
"We'll let you know once it's set."
A pause, then José's voice joins in from the background.
"Tell him we're just glad Clara alright.”
Teresa repeats it, and Carlos promises both them and himself something.
"I'll make sure she stays that way."
"There's something else. The case worker insisted on speaking to you directly."
Carlos straightens. "Now?"
"She said she'd be available today. I can text you her number."
A few minutes later Carlos is on the phone again, pacing his office as the line rings.
"This is Juliana Álvarez," comes a clipped voice.
"This is Carlos Sainz. I heard you want to speak to me regarding Clara Martín."
"Yes. I understand she is currently with you?"
"She is, we're home. She's safe."
"And how come you went to Zaragoza to pick her up?"
"She asked me to."
"Why didn't you bring her home to her foster family?"
"She specifically said she wanted to go to my place."
"I see. What is your relationship with her?"
"We're friends."
Carlos can hear the faint clicking of a keyboard.
"And your... friendship began how?"
Carlos tries not to bristle. He is used to probing questions, but this hits different. "I met her at her previous school when I was there for a lecture with a youth outreach program I'm part of. We talked, and kept in touch afterwards."
"I need to be very clear, Señor Sainz," she says crisply. "Clara is a minor under state care. Any extended contact, especially overnight stays or travel without approval, has to be accounted for. Her safety is our responsibility."
Carlos clenches the phone tighter. "And mine. I didn't take her anywhere without her consent. I went to pick her up because she asked me and no one else."
More keyboard clacking.
"Be that as it may, this situation raises a number of questions. We'll need to meet with both of you as well as her foster parents, because we're obligated to understand what kind of environment Clara is in. Her history shows a pattern of instability and we want to avoid reinforcing that."
Carlos can't stop himself. "With all due respect, fifteen placements in seventeen years can hardly be concidered stable."
A beat of silence. "Where did you get that number?"
"Clara told me. In confidence."
"Well... sometimes placements don't go according to plan."
"Clearly," Carlos replies dryly.
"As for the hotel stay I'm sure you meant well, but we’ve seen cases where good intentions blurred important boundaries," the caseworker continues, swiftly changing the subject. "We're not here to judge. We're here to ensure she's safe and supported."
"Then at least that's something we agree on."
"And as for the meeting, would tomorrow morning at nine work?"
"That works. I'll let Clara know, and if we can be at my place I'd appreciate it."
"That can be arranged. I'll inform her foster parents."
Carlos gives the caseworker his address, and after hanging up he stares at the phone for a long moment. No accusation had been made, but it had felt like a test. And suddenly he understands why Clara feels like she is constantly monitored.
He finds he in the living room, curled into the corner of the couch, sketchpad on her lap. She looks up when he enters, instantly wary.
"I talked to Teresa and José," he says, sitting down next to her. "They were glad you're safe. Really glad."
Clara's gaze flicks back to the sketchpad. "Okay."
"They told social services you are with me, and your caseworker asked to speak with me."
That gets her full attention, and Carlos notices the way she tenses. "Why?"
"She wanted to understand the situation," he says carefully. "She had a lot of questions. About how we met, why I came to pick you up, what kind of relationship we have."
Clara's face hardens. "She thinks I'm some sort of problem."
"No, she's just… doing her job. But I see now why you feel the way you do."
Clara exhales through her nose, jaw clenched.
"There's going to be a meeting," Carlos adds. "With you, me, Teresa, José and the case worker. Tomorrow morning, here."
"Of course there is." Her voice is flat.
"I know you don't want to. But we'll figure this out, together."
Clara scoffs. "They never listen."
Carlos leans forward. "Then we'll make them listen. You won't be alone."
Clara doesn't answer, but she picks her pencil back up and starts sketching again. Carlos then texts Valeria to tell her he is home, and she promptly replies.
'Bored and working from home, please save me'
'On my way'
"I'm heading over to Valeria."
Clara looks up. "The girlfriend?"
"Yes. I don't know if I'll spend the night, but I promise to at least be back tomorrow morning well before the meeting. Will you be alright on your own for a bit?"
"Yeah."
Thus reassured Carlos gets ready, and before he leaves he checks on Clara one last time.
"Call me if you need anything."
With that he is out the door, hoping that she won't run away again at the prospect of tomorrow's meeting.
As he arrives at Valeria's place she leads the way to the living room, and Carlos settles next to her on the couch.
"So... this weekend. What happened?"
"On Thursday morning I got a text from Clara's foster parents, saying that she had run away. We spent the whole weekend trying to get hold of her, but she didn't reply to either of until she texted me on Sunday. Said she was in Zaragoza, and asked me to pick her up. Marco and Lucas booked us into one if those hotels without a reception, and this morning we drove home."
He shows Valeria the texts, just so she won't get the wrong idea. She is silent, clearly processing what he is telling her.
"It was good of you to pick her up," she says eventually. "Do you know why she ran away?"
"Her current foster parents have to move because of jobs, and they can't take her with them. She turns eighteen in less than a year, and she doesn't want to have to move to yet another place for just a few months."
"Poor thing. I really hope it will work out for the best for her."
"Me too. We'll have a meeting with her foster parents and case worker in the morning."
"Let me know how it goes. By the way, want to stay the night?"
Carlos kisses her. "Do you really have to ask? I have to be home before nine though, for the meeting."
"No problem. I have to be up for work."
Carlos sends a quick text to Clara, telling her he will be home tomorrow, before putting his phone away and wrapping his arms around Valeria. As he settles her in his lap she readily wraps her arms around his neck.
"Well well... Does someone want something?"
Carlos nuzzles her neck. "Maybe."
"Then I guess we'll have to do something about it."
Valeria kisses him, and with her still in his arms Carlos stands and heads for the bedroom.

When Carlos comes home the next morning Clara is up, sitting on the terrace with a cup of tea. A look of relief passes over her face when she sees him.
"You made it."
Carlos nudges her shoulder. "Told you I would, didn't I? You good?"
She shrugs. "I'll get back to you on that after the meeting."
After finishing her tea she retreats to her room, and Carlos starts pacing. He keeps checking the time and at 9 sharp the concierge calls, announcing that Clara's caseworker, Teresa and José have arrived. Carlos straightens his shirt, and knocks on Clara's door.
"Clara? They're here."
He opens the front door to find Teresa and José, looking tired but relieved. Teresa hugs him, murmuring a quiet thank you. The caseworker is armed with a clipboard and an efficient smile. She looks around, sharp eyed and clearly assessing, as Carlos lets them in and guides them to the dining table.
"Where is she?"
"Clara knows you're here," Carlos replies calmly. "Does anyone want tea or coffee while we wait?"
Teresa and José opt for coffee, and Clara appears just as Carlos hands them a cup each. She says nothing, just sits beside him, hands in her lap, fingers curling around the hem of her t-shirt.
"We're not mad at you, sweetheart," Teresa assures her. "We're just glad you reached out to Carlos."
"We're grateful she's safe of course," the caseworker says, looking at Clara like she is a difficult case study. "But running away like that is exactly what puts you in danger and you should have called José or Teresa, not someone who isn't responsible for you."
Carlos watches as Clara's both hands twist her t-shirt.
"Carlos listenes when no one else does," she says quietly. "He lets me stay here when I need to, he has even set up a room for me and given me a key to the flat."
"Thats not something someone outside the foster system should be doing."
"Foster homes just do it because they have to. Carlos did it because he wanted to."
The caseworker doesn't respond to that, just looks down into her papers.
"Given that José and Teresa are moving we need to plan the next step and review available placement options."
José turns to Clara. "We would have kept you if we could."
"I know." She speaks quietly, but she looks straight at the case worker when she continues, "I want to stay here. With Carlos."
"I understand, but we need to follow protocol. There are..."
Then Clara stands up so abruptly that her chair crashes to the floor behind her.
Everyone freezes.
"I'm so fucking sick of always being told what to do!" Her voice is suddenly loud, shaking with fury. "Go stay with strangers and go to a school where you know no one! By the way, this new family won't be able to keep you so we're moving you again! Over and over! And now I won't get to stay with the one person who treats me like a normal human being because of some stupid fucking protocol!"
Without waiting for response she whips around and stalks off to her room, slamming the door shut.
The caseworker blinks. Teresa is clearly fighting back tears. José shifts uncomfortably.
"I'll talk to her."
As the caseworker starts to stand, Carlos straightens.
"If you do," he says sharply, "you'll only make it worse."
"Excuse me?"
"Clara shuts down when she is cornered. What she needs is for you to listen, not treat her as a problem to be managed."
"I understand that this is frustrating..."
"I'm serious." Carlos forces himself to keep his voice even. "She has a room here and her own key. She celebrated Christmas last year with me and my family. When she ran away she called me. And I'm more than happy to have her staying here permanently."
"That isn't how placement typically works. We'd need an official foster registration..."
"Then let's do it."
"I think it's a good idea," Teresa agrees. "José and I have seen how much this place means to her, and I think not listening to her now would be a mistake."
José nods. "She has spent a lot of time here. And we trust Carlos."
The caseworker looks between them for a long moment. Finally, she nods slowly. "We could begin an emergency placement process. You'll need to meet with our office for interviews and assessments."
"Done."
"I'll need your e-mail to send over more information."
Carlos quickly writes it down, and with a final promise to be in touch the caseworker leaves.
"We'll give you two some space," Teresa says gently. She squeezes Carlos' shoulder. "Thank you for standing up for her."
When the door clicks shut, Carlos takes a moment to breathe before going to check on Clara. He knocks gently, then opens the door just a fraction. She is curled up on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees, eyes red.
"Hi," Carlos says softly. "They've all left now. Can I come in?"
She glances up, visibly wary, and when she gives a nod he steps inside and sits down next to her. For a moment neither of them speaks. Then Clara lets out a long, shaky breath.
"I can't do this anymore."
Her voice cracks and Carlos reaches for her, pulling her into a hug without hesitation. She doesn't resist, just presses her face against his chest and curls a hand into his shirt. As silent tears begin to fall, he strokes her back slowly.
"I've asked for you to stay here," he says after a while. "Officially."
Clara sniffles. "Officially?"
"I'll have to be approved, go through some checks. But I've started the process."
She wipes her eyes. "You'd really let me stay? For real?"
Carlos leans his chin lightly against her head. "Yeah. For real."
They stay like that for a long time. Carlos keeps one arm around Clara's shoulders while she leans into him, eyes closed now but still awake.
"They probably think I'm insane."
"They think you're exhausted. And pissed off. Rightfully."
"I meant it, you know. I want to stay here."
Carlos squeezes her shoulders. "You're more than welcome. I'll talk to Valeria."
She finally looks at him. "Even after the running off and all the drama?"
"Teresa said you packed snacks," Carlos says dryly. "It was clearly not a total disaster."
Clara almost laughs, but quickly becomes solemn again. "Do you think they’ll actually let me stay here?"
"I think they saw what happened when they pressed on about the placement, and I think they'd be idiots to risk that again."
Clara entangles herself from him. "I need a shower."
Once she has disappeared into the bathroom Carlos steps out onto the terrace and calls Valeria. She picks up on the second ring.
"Hi. How did it go?"
He leans against the railing, looking out at the street below. "It's been… a morning."
"Everything okay?"
"During the meeting Clara made it clear that she wants to stay with me, but the caseworker claimed it wasn't protocol. Then she lost it."
"I can imagine," Valeria says carefully.
"And I told them I want her to stay here. Officially."
A long pause.
"Are you serious? You're going to foster her?"
"I'm starting the process, yeah." Carlos swallows. "I couldn't say no."
"No, of course not. It's just a big commitment."
"I know."
"I mean, Carlos, this is your life. You're thirty. You travel constantly. You have a career to think about. A relationship. Or whatever we're calling this."
Carlos doesn't answer immediately. He watches a woman walk her dog down the opposite sidewalk, and a delivery van driving past.
"I didn't plan this," he says finally, "but it doesn’t feel like something to walk away from. Clara doesn't expect much from anyone, and I don't want to be another person who proves her right."
"That's admirable." Valeria's voice is still even, but there is something underneath it now. "But you're not just helping her out anymore. You're taking her on. And I need to be honest, I'm not sure this is what I signed up for."
"I know. I still want you here, but I get that it'll be different."
"Yeah." Another pause. "I'd like to meet her. If she'll move in permanently I figure the sooner the better."
"Of course. How about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow's fine."
"Great, I'll let Clara know."
As soon as she is out of the shower he tells her.
"I just spoke to Valeria. She'd like to meet you."
"Okay."
"Would it be okay if she comes over tomorrow?"
"Sure."
"Great. I'll tell her."
As soon as Clara is out of the shower he goes to her.
"I just spoke to Valeria. She'd like to meet you."
"Okay."
"Would tomorrow be okay?"
"Sure."

Valeria is not nervous, exactly. She never is when it comes to meeting new people. But this is different. This is about someone who wants to stay with her boyfriend, someone he has set up a room for. And she turns out to be nothing like Valeria has imagined.
She is small, just reaching Carlos' shoulders, and her jeans and t-shirt are at least two sizes too big for her. Her hair is slightly unkempt, tied back into a messy little bun, and Valeria also notices the lack of make up.
Carlos makes the introductions. "This is Clara. And this is Valeria."
Clara's eyes briefly flick to her, guarded. "Hi."
Valeria smiles. The practiced smile that always works at client dinners, in boardrooms, at press events.
"Hi. It's nice to meet you."
A small nod, nothing more. Before Valeria can say anything else Clara retreats to one of the couches, pulls a sketchpad onto her lap and opens a pencil case. Valeria remains standing, with a feeling of being dismissed that she isn't used to.
"She's always drawing," Carlos reveals casually. "Claims she doesn't draw people, but I saw a page with my face on once."
Clara doesn't even look up as she retorts. "Don't get a big head about it, Sainz. It could've been anyone."
Carlos smirks. "Sure, sure."
Valeria lets out a short laugh, more out of surprise than amusement. She is not sure what unsettles her more. Clara's snark, or the fact that Carlos responded without even batting an eyelid. Like it was normal.
He brushes her hand. "Want something to drink?"
"Water's fine, thank you."
Heading for the kitchen he also makes a cup of tea as well as a cup of coffee. Valeria is about to ask if he is going to drink both when he returns to the living room and hands the tea to Clara. She takes it and gives him a smile before resuming her sketching.
Carlos hands Valeria the glass of water and settles beside her. They chat about a new sponsor deal coming up while Clara remains in her couch corner, silently drawing. She glances at Valeria from time to time though, as if asessing her.
When it nears dinner time Carlos pulls out his phone.
"I'm thinking takeout for dinner. Is Italian okay with everyone?"
Clara gives a thumbs up and Valeria shifts closer to him to see the menue. She chooses a salmon pasta, and as he picks a shrimp pasta and a chicken Alfredo she frowns.
"Wait, you didn't even ask Clara what she wants."
"She always gets the Alfredo from this place."
"La Familia?" Clara asks.
Carlos nods, and something inside Valeria shifts. It is not the banter, the food or the tea. It is the obvious knowing. He knows what she wants from a specific restaurant, and she knew which restaurant he ordered from just by the food.
When it arrives Valeria expects the three of them to eat in the kitchen, but Carlos puts the Alfredo on the coffee table in gront along with just a fork. As he steals a piece of chicken Clara lifts an eyebrow.
"Checking for poison?"
"Yes," Carlos replies deadpan. "Social services might come after me if you die."
"They can die, for all I care."
Carlos' expresion softens. "Just a few months left."
Muttering something under her breath Clara starts eating, and Carlos heads back to Valeria.
After dinner Clara cleans up, and Valeria notices the ease she moves with around the kitchen. She seems to know where everything goes, never hesitating for a moment. She even gets herself a bowl of ice cream without asking. All while they throw the occasional sarcastic comment at each other. Meanwhile, Clara treats Valeria pretty much with indifference.
When they have gone to bed Valeria is quiet for a long moment before speaking.
"Clara doesn't like me much, does she?"
Carlos props himself up on one elbow. "You just have to give her time. She's slow to trust."
"Is she always this... snarky?"
He chuckles. "Not always."
"How long has she been in foster care?"
"Her whole life. Fifteen placements in seventeen years."
Valeria had not expected that. She had imagined a few and maybe some rough patches, but not that.
"Really? That's… awful. No wonder she hangs on to you like she does."
Carlos lies back down beside her. "She doesn't hang on to me," he says gently. "She just finally lets herself belong somewhere."
Valeria lets that sink in. And she wonders if she might have been wrong in assuming that it is simply about mentoring.