The Podium Will Wait
As always, click here for Master List of Fics.
Title: The Podium Will Wait
Characters: John Button, Michael Schumacher
Rating: Yellow Flag
Summary: John helps Michael find his way back to his family.
Warnings: Mention of canon deaths/accidents.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction.
A/N: I wrote this for me, as my own fix-it fic, and mean no harm or disrespect by it.
He’d be lying if he said that’s what he expected. Sure, there was the tunnel and the white light at the end of it, but there were no clouds, no impressive gates, no one to welcome him or tell him to take the elevator all the way down. When his vision adjusted to the brightness, he had this reassuring feeling of being home, of being exactly where he should be.
The sky was azure blue, the sun bright and high above. The smell of gasoline hung in the air, a perfume to his nose. The crowd was thick, happy and excited fans making their way through the turnstiles, flags and banners waving. He looked down, bringing his hand to his chest where a VIP pass dangled on a lanyard. He walked towards a turnstile, the lineup somehow gone by the time he arrived, and he swiped the pass, waiting for the green light and the telling click of the stile being unlocked before he walked through.
He didn’t recognize the venue, yet he knew where everything was. He heard the roar of engines being fired off and the distinct zoom of a car taking a corner flat out. He smiled to himself. V10’s. Beautiful. He soon arrived at the pit lane, and by the action around him, figured today was some sort of practice session. He walked past a garage, doing a double take when he saw the driver.
“Gilles?”
“Hello John! I’m about to go out for a run. How about dinner later?” the driver said with a smile before putting his helmet and gloves on.
John nodded and watched Gilles give him a thumbs up before driving the car out and down the pit lane. He kept walking, looking for someone he knew he was meant to talk to before he could truly enjoy his time here. It wasn’t long until he found him, though not before being greeted by his first name by everyone who noticed him, including some of F1’s Greats who he never had a chance to meet. He assumed that was the way of things around here: people, generations apart, coming together to enjoy their passion.
The one man he was looking for, however, was one he had met many times before. He found him discussing with his race engineer, probably chasing hundredths of seconds.
“Michael,” John said, extending a hand in greeting but being pulled into a hug in return.
“John, good to see you. Come to see us race?”
“Likewise kid. Yes, you know I’m like the rest of you. Racing is part of me. Do you have time for a quick talk?”
Michael looked over to his engineer who nodded and left them alone.
John wrapped his arm around Michael’s shoulders, wondering how to best approach the subject.
“You seem happy here Michael, but you know you shouldn’t be here. Not yet.”
Michael sat down, his thumb polishing a spot on his helmet. “I can’t leave John. I feel so alive here, racing again. I’ve missed it so much.”
“This place, it’ll wait for you. But your family, your friends, heck, the whole world is waiting for you down there. They’re waiting for you to come back, to wake up.”
“But it’s a race weekend. I can’t leave half-way through. I can win this one.”
“You know you’re shit at making excuses, right? Every weekend is a race weekend,” John said, because even though he had just arrived, he knew the racing here never stopped.
Michael laughed, tossing his head back before he let his smile turn downwards. “Fine. I’m scared. I don’t want to go back and risk not being me. I don’t want to be stranded in a body or a mind that doesn’t feel like mine.”
“Then go back and fight. It’s just like a race. You’ve done it before, clawed your way through a pack, through rain. You still have a race down there, one you need to win.”
“I know. But not today John. I can’t today. I need to think about it,” he said, pausing, his fingers drumming on the shiny surface of the helmet. “Jenson will be devastated you’re here,” Michael said, changing the subject.
“Jenson is a tough kid. He’ll make it through, and you’ll keep an eye on him for me when you get back.”
Michael just smiled at him sadly.
“How’s Maria?” John asked, agreeing to drop the previous subject.
“She’s good, has her full sight back. She’s three garages down.”
“Thanks, I’ll go say hi. Oh, and Michael,” John said before leaving, “don’t think for too long. Time hasn’t stopped down there.”
It went on like this for weeks. Every weekend, the same conversation.
“You shouldn’t be here kid.”
“I know John. One more race weekend.”
“You said that last week.”
“I need more time.”
“It won’t get easier.”
Some would have considered having these pointless conversations a damper on a perfect day at the racetrack, but John didn’t see it that way. Thinking back to his life on Earth, his proudest achievement was raising his son. Being a father meant more to him than racing ever could, and though Michael wasn’t his blood, he was a man in need of father, in need of someone who would support him and care for him, but also show him the way when he got lost. And at the moment, no one was as lost as Michael, whether or not he was willing to admit it.
“You shouldn’t be here kid.”
“I know John. One more race weekend.”
“You said that last week.”
“I need more time.”
“You’ve had enough time, Champ.”
“Just one more. You know it makes me feel alive.”
“Son, you’re a smart one, always have been. But for fuck’s sake, you and I both know this is a place for the deceased. And unless something’s changed since I left, you’re not dead. You’re alive and your wife is spending her days crying at your bedside. Your kids probably cry themselves to sleep, hearing the sounds of hospital machines in their dreams. Don’t you think they’d rather have their dad back, regardless of the shape he’s in? They love you. It won’t matter. I know you’re scared, but you’re stronger than that. When have you ever let fear deter you from doing something? You should be raging to go back, to show them that nothing stops Michael Schumacher. Not until he’s old and gray and he decides it’s time to stop. So spare me this feeling alive nonsense and go be alive, where you belong. The podium will wait for you.”
Michael didn’t say anything, merely sighed and closed his eyes. John did the same, feeling the warmth of the sun of his face, hearing the music of the engines in his ears, the roar of the crowd.
“I’ll miss this,” Michael finally said. When John opened his eyes, Michael was smiling and handing him over his helmet. “Keep this until I return?”
“Sure thing,” John answered, accepting the helmet and tucking it under his arm. “Keep an eye on Jenson for me?”
“I will,” Michael said before hugging him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now get out of here. I’ve got a race to watch!” he said as he untangled himself from Michael.
John watched him say his goodbyes and leave, under the same blue sky and through those same turnstiles that he himself had walked through weeks ago.
.