[FIC] Fast Lane - Part I (Arthur/Merlin; NC-17)

[merlinmusesmod]

Author: Anon
Title: Fast Lane
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Merlin/Arthur; Taliesin, Elena, Lancelot, Elyan, Gwaine, Vivian, Valiant
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Arthur's a step away from gaining the WDC, when his car breaks down. Sour from the loss of the title he'd wanted so much and striven for so hard, he asks Excalibur's chief engineer be given the sack. Merlin Emrys, young and practically out of uni, steps in as new CD. Pity that Merlin's already off to a bad start with Excalibur's top racer. And to say that the new season's just begun. Or an F1 AU.
Warnings (if any):
Total Word Count/Length: 32,000
Original prompt number: 105 - Submitted by flaggerbasted
Disclaimer: This story/artwork is based on characters and situations created and owned by the BBC and Shine TV. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Beta(s): Kindly beta'd by Anon and Anon

( Read on AO3 )

Fast LaneAbu Dhabi Grand Prix

Arthur set off down the pit-lane. The EX-25 lurched forward, groaned, and almost stalled. Arthur rolled his eyes, hating as he never had before the new gear change mechanism. “Fuck,” he mumbled, hitting the wheel, glove padding out the effects of the hit. Telling himself to stay calm, he programmed in the correct gear change and, car rumbling as it should, drove back towards the race track, careful about not exceeding the speed limit. He'd be a fool to risk a penalty lap now.

However, even though the pit stop team had made it in 6.8 seconds, a better time than that of most of his rivals, when Arthur resumed the race he'd dropped back to sixth position.

He needed more.

If he wanted a shot at the championship he needed to edge out Valiant in front of him. Maths was against him. He was so many points behind he needed a full victory now to still be able to compete for the championship this year.

G-forces slicing through him as he gained speed, he went down on the accelerator, daring to do so even though he was aware of the existence of a chicane about to come. As if that wasn't enough he had two other cars darting about his rear-wing, pushing him nose to tail.

Sweat running down his face behind his helmet, Arthur realised this was the moment he'd have to make a split second decision, one that would influence the rest of the race. He either pressed onto his course to try and gain on Valiant - who had already refuelled and had the advantage of those in front of him - or he did the prudent thing and slowed down, preparing for the impending curve and the pressure at his heel.

It was a no contest decision. He didn't want to lose to Valiant. He pressed on, tailing Valiant's Western, pressing on him first from one side, then the other. It was crazy but he was making Valiant nervous. That was the plan. Valiant wasn't famed for being able to keep his cool. A troubled Valiant would make mistakes.

Arthur's strategy seemed to be succeeding for Valiant was reacting. For one he was trying to hold him off, protecting his position by swerving left and right. For another he was becoming more predictable. He closed the access to the curve by veering to the left, bottling Arthur off, but in a way Arthur could almost call before it happened.

Nevertheless Arthur had to go over the inside curb to avoid impact. That was the way it had to be. That was racing. Action and reaction.

“Arthur, stop it,” the team boss said over the radio. “You'll kill yourself.”

“I know what I'm doing,” Arthur said, still attempting to squeeze ahead, fingers twitching over the controls. “He's slowing down too. I just need an in.”

“Arthur, don't show off now.”

“I'm not showing off!” He went into the dirt but controlled the car and wrested it back onto the lane, once again a hair's breadth from Valiant's tail. And then the car started sliding around and he to shake inside it. “What the fuck!” he said. “What the hell?”

The team's engineer's voice sounded in his ear: “You're dumping coolant, Arthur. Come back to the pit.”

Arthur had the numbers by heart; if he didn't win this race or place second he could say good-bye to the championship.

“Arthur, you're risking others as well.”

Arthur blinked off sweat and thought of the podium.

“Arthur.”

Arthur felt his heartbeat in his fingertips. “Got you.”

He drove back to the paddock, techs surrounding the car, banged on the wheel, then released his seatbelt harness, took out the wheel and leapt out of the car.

Taking his helmet off, he left the car to the mechanics and stalked into the paddock, shouting. “I've had enough!” he said. “The Ex 25 is falling to pieces. Has been since the racing season began.”

Mr Taliesin, the team boss, met him halfway inside the private area, where cameras couldn't follow. “Arthur. Arthur, calm down, please.”

“That car is dangerous,” he barked, pointing his helmet at the team head engineer, John Bedivere. “Ever since he's been on board it's been like that but this takes the cake. He's lost me the title.”

“There's something wrong with the brake cooling mechanism,” said Bedivere. “I'll fix it.”

“Won't make much of a difference this season, will it?” Arthur spat, sweat running into his eyes.

Bedivere blanched. “Not this championship, no. But we can prepare for the next.”

Arthur walked up to him, heat in his face. He knew he must look a sight with hair plastered to his skull and likely a murderous expression, but he didn't care. He'd lost face. He'd lost so much. “It could have been this one,” Arthur said, with a cold, cruel smile. “It should have but for your stupid modifications.” He turned to Mr Taliesin. “Either you get rid of him.” He tilted his thumb at Bedivere, “or I won’t be racing for Excalibur next year, contract or no.”

He stormed off to Mr Taliesin's protestations, Lancelot, Excalibur's second driver, goggling at him as if he'd sprouted a second head.

****

Mr Taliesin pawed at Merlin's file one more time. “Your MSc lab project was patented, I see.”

This was Merlin's third job interview so he didn't know what kind of answer to give. That project had been meant as a lab exercise but when Professor Chung had read the report accompanying it and tested his model - wind tunnel and all - he said it'd be criminal not to patent it. Merlin had gone with the proposal because his professor knew better. Admitting to it today, he was afraid, would sound like bragging. He went for telling the truth in a roundabout way. “The uni was thinking of the legal issues involved.”

“Well, I wouldn't say no to buying your design,” Mr Taliesin said, turning a page. “It would make Excalibur more competitive.”

Merlin had heard about Excalibur's less than lucky streak in the past year. He couldn't have avoided the news. It had been in all the newspapers dedicating a page to sports. Yet he didn't think talking about them would endear him to his prospective boss. “You want to buy my patent?” Merlin said.

Mr Taliesin nodded. “For the new car we want you to develop.”

A grin spread on Merlin's face. He knew he should keep his cool but he couldn't help reacting. “So I've got the job?”

Mr Taliesin returned Merlin's grin with a smile. “Indeed, and not just as team engineer. We trust the person who devised this-” He tapped the sheet of paper resting on his desk, the one with the patent design. “To come up with more brilliant ideas. We trust him, you, to be our Chief Designer.”

Merlin spluttered. His heart took a little leap in his chest. “But I didn't even apply for the position.”

“We were looking for a CD,” said Mr Taliesin. “Our careers office sent me the blueprints for your project and on that basis I decided.”

“Oh,” Merlin said, nearly stuttering. “Oh that's...”

“We'll discuss figures later,” Mr Taliesin said, closing the folder he'd been studying. “For now I suppose I should welcome you on board.”

As Mr Taliesin stood and held out his hand, Merlin matched him and shook it firmly. “Thank you, sir,” he said. “Thank you.”

When Merlin walked out of the sleek office, Will stood up from one of the chairs lining the anteroom and lolloped up to him. “Well,” he said, clearly trying to read Merlin's face for clues. “How did it go?”

Merlin shook his head, biting his bottom lip, which quivered. He then broke into a smile he was sure was silly. “I got it. I'm their new CD!”

“Christ,” said Will, hugging him and clapping him on the back as he did so. When that wasn't enough Will tried to lift him and since Will wasn't exactly built like Schwarzenegger was in his prime, they almost ended up rolling on the floor. “Christ, I can't believe my mate's got a job in Formula 1!”

****

February, pre-season test.

Leafield Technical Centre, Leafield, Oxfordshire.

Crossing the race car bay, where the mechanics where working to get the new prototype ready for testing, Arthur walked into the catering area and to the coffee machine. Theoretically, he shouldn't be touching stimulants so as not to affect his performance, which would, in turn, affect his assessment of the car, but he couldn't help himself. He needed a boost.

While Bedivere had been given the sack over the winter, Arthur hadn't been informed as to the identity of his new replacement. The new Chief Designer was an unknown, who, Mr Taliesin had promised, was also a genius gifted with brilliant ideas and a magic touch for both technical innovation and teamwork. That sounded to Arthur like a sales-pitch designed to persuade him to stay on the team and accept the new recruit. Since he wanted to stay on anyway, and the more so after he'd cooled off after the end of the last Championship, he'd obviously accepted the shoeing in of the new engineer.

He still needed a coffee though. Too much depended on what was going to happen today. Even if he only had to complete a straight-aero test today that didn't mean that a lot of things didn't hang in the balance. That test would be enough to prove whether the new prototype was better than last year's failure of a car. If it wasn't, then Arthur was done, both with the team and as a driver. He was nearing thirty; the clock was ticking.

When he found the vending machine, he was stymied to find someone was hogging it. It was a scrap of a boy, a mess of unkempt dark hair unfurling on top of his head, a shirt sticking to his back as though the air around them wasn't frosty and perspiration was normal. This guy was lanky as some kind of new calf muddling through his first pen prance. His shoulder span was wide enough though. Overall he came across as gauche and slightly underfed.

As for his calling, he had a pair of headphones slung around his neck and this told Arthur he was some kind of techie or other. They did have a few young ones.

Arthur wanted his coffee, but the man was about to punch in his request and this meant he'd have to wait till he was done. “Mine is a macchiato,” Arthur said.

Tech boy whirled around, his finger poised to hit the button that went with a Hot Chocolate caption.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I was here first.”

“And I'm the team's best pilot and in a hurry.”

“Well,” Tech Boy said, eyebrows meeting over eyes that were flashing fire. “Get it yourself.”

“I'm sorry but do you know who I am?”

“Unfortunately,” said Tech Boy, pushing the Hot Chocolate button, “I do.” The vending machine spat out a plastic cup that slowly filled up. “And I know who I am.” He thumbed at his chest. “Not your serving boy.”

“You work for the Excalibur team,” said Arthur, crossing his arms. “That means you have to do your best to ensure I'm in peak condition.”

Tech boy said, “Oh, I see, maybe I should go on my knees and suck your cock. Just to ensure you reach peak condition.”

Arthur opened his mouth to splutter, shock heating his cheeks. He wasn't a prude; he'd had his fair share of paddock girls and boys met in clubs. But this was definitely a first in terms of sarcasm and lewdness. At least on the job. He was racing through a series of reply options that would make him come out on top in the trading barbs race when Mr Taliesin shambled over.

“Oh, Arthur,” he said, “I see you've met our new Chief Designer.”

Arthur's head snapped from Taliesin to Tech Boy. “He's our new CD? Him!” He raised both eyebrows speculatively. “I'm sorry but are we sure he's old enough to have an engineering degree?”

“Whiz kid,” Mr Taliesin said. “Getting Merlin was a stroke of luck.”

Merlin said, “Actually I got a first in Mechanical Engineering from Cambridge and an MSc in Race Car Aerodynamics from Southampton, so you're wrong. I'm old enough.”

Arthur stared. Merlin looked as if he couldn't possibly have achieved all that. A work experience tech boy? Sure. Especially if he had connections. Their new CD? Not so much.

Almost reading his mind, Mr Taliesin said, “We decided to go for innovation this time.”

Arthur hadn't liked Bedivere. Not because he was a bit staid and his ideas on aerodynamics were of the past. He simply couldn't put up with a car that broke down two times out of three. That didn't mean he wanted a primary school reject to design the engine he'd have to not only test but compete with. “And you had to go with someone in need of weaning?” he asked, running his eyes over this Merlin person.

“Hey,” Merlin said, “One, I'm here so you could at least include me in the conversation. And two, try the car. The EX-26 is my design. If you've got shit to say about it after you've driven it, we can talk.”

“Right, I'd like to be alive in order to do that,” Arthur said.

Merlin's hands went to his hips. “You will be. Don't worry. You'll be so alive you'll be praising the 26 to the skies.”

Arthur huffed; Merlin huffed. They stormed off in different directions.

The 26 was a different car. Even a sweeping glance could tell you that. The barge board was wider than the one that had gone before, sporting a mixture of panels. It had cut edges at the upper side of the main board and smaller vanes. The front wing had a new design. The end-plate was more elongated and featured four vertical gills instead of the three the EX-25 had. In the few months between the end of the last championship and now, the engineering team - Merlin - had redesigned the Excalibur almost from scratch. Any idiot could see that.

“It's different.”

“I changed the barge board to improve airflow,” Merlin said, watching the car as the Excalibur mechanics flitted around to prepare it for the installation run. “Oh and you'll notice the small carbon plate between the two bigger panels. That's also a new add-on. I'm sure you'll like the overall effect.”

“I won't know till I try it,” Arthur said, sceptical.

Mechanics making way for him, Arthur climbed into the car's cockpit and strapped himself up.

Merlin walked up to him and leant against the EX-26. “Just tell me how you find the on-low fuel option,” Merlin said.

“I know how installation runs go, Merlin,” Arthur said in a long suffering tone. “I just hope this can go further on low fuel than the 25 could.”

Merlin grinned. “You'll see.”

Arthur strapped himself down, lowered his helmet on his head, and focused on running the test lap.

The car was started; the mechanics cleared the car. Merlin gave him the thumbs up.

The EX-26 barrelled out of the paddock. He spun it out with flair and as it got momentum he could tell that this new model ran like a charm. He focused on weighing the car's responses when taking curves and on gauging the amount of petrol consumed. He had an eye out for tyre response and grip. He assessed the overall performance and reliability.

The low air temperature was causing tyre graining, which made it difficult to get test conditions accurately, but even so he saw the difference between this new model and the old one. The aerodynamics configuration was new and the EX26 was flying.

He pushed the prototype to its limits just to see what it could do. The response was perfect.

He whooped, laughed, and ended up with a smile on his face. This was driving.

He made the car go faster still, not because it was needed - he'd never pull this performance on the race track with other cars around - but because he'd never been given something like this to drive.

Arthur was a racer because he loved speed and mechanical feats and this was one. Not that Merlin needed to know.

By lap's end he'd sobered. When he stopped the car, the team of mechanics surrounded him, the car went up on air jacks so the tyres could be checked and Merlin came up to him. “So how was it?”

Arthur took off his helmet, his features schooled into sobriety. “We could shave off seconds yet.”

Merlin nodded to himself. “We can fine-tune the balance,” he said, biting his lower lip. Then he clapped his hands and told the rest of the team, “Strip the engine and gearbox. Remove the KERS and let's test this baby.” He patted the car and went stumbling back into the innermost area of the paddock. “Oh how about taking the new rear wing design for greater down-force?” He was addressing another engineer, leaving Arthur to extricate himself from the car. As if his input wasn't as valid as that of any engineer on team. Or more. He was the one who'd have to milk the car for best performance, the one in whose hands everything lay. Merlin, apparently, didn't think so.

Merlin's taking it to the engineering team meant that he thought of Arthur as a lowly racer. Sadly, that wasn't a first. People respected him. He'd gained that respect because he'd always pushed the envelope and proved he was good at what he did.

But sometimes some boyos with uni degrees scoffed at Arthur for being the brawn behind the wheel. Arthur hated it. He was used to being acknowledged. So maybe he hadn't done extensive studies; he'd come to the racing world when he was eighteen and there'd been no time for that, but he was still someone who understood his job and what came with it. He thought in terms of engines, performance and yield. Construction technique was close to his heart. He understood each and every design presented to him. Before Bedivere he'd even given engineers a pointer or two. He didn't like being slighted.

He pouted.

Mr Taliesin came bounding over to him. “I just saw the lap test results,” he said. “They're fantastic.”

“Better than last year,” Arthur admitted even though he hadn't had a look at the stats yet. He could guess what they were on the basis of how the car had felt.

“Way better,” Mr Taliesin said, looking at Merlin, who was starting some computer simulations to establish something or other only he knew about. “I'm quite glad you agree with me.”

Helmet under his arm, Arthur said, “Not about him. I'm not sure I agree about him.” He tipped his head at Merlin, who was currently walking to and fro with a tablet in his hand, an eye on the set of monitors hanging over his head. “I don't think he's going to live up to your expectations.”

Mr Taliesin put his hand on Arthur's shoulder. “Give him the benefit of the doubt.”

“Half a season,” said Arthur, holding up a finger. “That's as long as I'm giving him. For now let's see if we even qualify.”

“I'm sure we will,” said Mr Taliesin with a glint in his eyes that was all about ambition. “I'm sure we will.”

This meant, of course, that Arthur would have to put up with Merlin for the foreseeable future.

****

Excalibur Communication Centre

Merlin was sitting in the entertaining area, the fibreglass roof allowing light to shine on his table. Merlin had chosen this spot because it was the closest to the glass fronted fridge and coffee machine that he could find, making it easy for him to make lots of trips over to them so that he could have endless reserves of tea and snacks.

Currently there were three empty Styrofoam cups sitting next to his tablet and a series of wrappers were strewn about the gleaming stainless steel table surface.

A 62-inch plasma screen was blaring on, showing sports montages, but Merlin wasn't paying attention to that but rather to his calculations. He was so much in the zone, checking designs, that he didn't notice someone stomping downstairs until he was faced with Lancelot.

“Saw you from the mezzanine above,” he said in explanation. “Can I sit?”

Merlin tried to clear the table of litter by moving it all to one side. “Sure, sorry.”

Lancelot lifted his hand. “Not a problem, I was just wondering why you were sitting here when you could have asked for an office upstairs.”

“Why wouldn't I? This is a nice spot,” said Merlin, winging an eyebrow. “I have a nice view of the spiral staircases over there and the kitchens are closer.”

“Merlin,” Lancelot said in a calm, amicable, yet no nonsense tone. “I know I don't know you but I don't believe you.”

Merlin sighed, long and rattling. “All right, then. You got me. I was avoiding Arthur Pendragon.”

Lancelot tipped his head to the side. “Arthur? Why?”

“He's...” If Merlin thought back to the man's behaviour from the day they'd met, he'd have only one thing to say about Arthur Pendragon. “He's a conceited, arrogant twit. A true wank--” Merlin decided self-censoring was the better part of valour. “Prat.”

Lancelot's lips dipped downward. “I'll give you this. He comes across as very self assured at times.”

“If that's your definition of self-assured,” Merlin huffed. “I'd say he's more like Emperor Nero ordering his slaves about.”

“But he's fast,” said Lancelot. “Very.”

“I thought it was a given in Formula 1,” Merlin said. While Merlin knew how to build fast F1 cars, he'd never interacted with pilots before and wasn't sure of their standards. “I mean you can go as fast.”

Merlin knew; he'd seen Lancelot race the EX-26 during a further string of tests Arthur hadn't participated in.

Lancelot smiled softly. “You're right,” he said even though Merlin had the distinct impression Lancelot wanted to contradict him. “There are many fast drivers out there. I'm fast enough. Valiant's a crazy beast on the track and everyone knows that.” Lancelot lifted a shoulder. “But this is about more than raw speed. As you said, Arthur is just as fast as others are but he's got an eye for data analysis that is truly second to none.”

“But he can read his data in the telemetry charts,” Merlin said. “They will always tell him what’s going on with the car. Believe me, I know. I get the same data on my laptop.”

“It's just not the magic of science though,” Lancelot said, moving his head from side to side in denial.

Merlin was unconvinced. He very much believed in raw numbers and tech data. It was his job. Arthur could benefit from them just as much as Merlin did via the engine control unit attached to his car. The data acquisition package was at his disposal: on-board logging electronics supplied him with all he needed to know. “Then what is it that makes him so special then?” Merlin asked.

“He has perfect recall of every lap he drives,” said Lancelot, his tone warm and full of admiration. “He can tell you at any moment how the EX is handling. He can do that for every corner and every bump in the circuit. Not even a computer works as well. It's a sight to see.” Merlin could see that Lancelot was warming to the subject. “Pacing aside, his driving may seem aggressive and a bit foolhardy, but that's a cover really. In actuality Arthur's uncannily gifted, level-headed, and very clever behind the wheel.”

Ever since taking on the job Merlin had watched one or two tapes of earlier races. “He's not that smart. He isn't prudent.”

“Are you talking about his early days?” asked Lancelot, conceding. “Because he's not entirely like that now.”

Merlin begged to disagree. One of the last races in the past championship had seen Arthur pushing it till his car broke down. “Not really.” The video he'd been given was only months old. It had been supplied to him because of the car breaking down incident. Merlin had been meant to review the video so that he could fix whatever was wrong with the EX-25. (That had meant lots and lots.) But what he'd gleaned from it was something else. Sometimes Arthur did stupid things. “More like a few months ago.”

Lancelot let out a big, shuddering breath. “He's nearly 30. That's not young in drivers' terms. His contract with Excalibur is up next year. He's under pressure to perform well.”

“I see,” said Merlin, who didn't wholly, truth be told. He was pretty sure Arthur Pendragon was a show off who thought the rest of the world should bow down to him because of his glamour job and impressive good looks. “Correct me if I am wrong, but I was under the impression he gives you a hard time too. Treats you like his lackey, turning you into some sort of second fiddle, and doesn't allow for you being as much a part of the team as he is. Why are you even defending him?”

“But that's Formula One,” Lancelot said calmly. “If you have a star racer you'll favour him. But that's because he's the one with the true chance at winning the driver championship.” Lancelot smiled to himself. “Arthur's more often than not in that position because of the way he performs. So, yes, he can be a handful, but there's more to him than that and most of his privileges are based on how well he does. And this is coming from someone who remembers Arthur from his more immature days. He was worse when he first came on. And yet there was something about him, you know.” Lancelot beamed. “He was this fresh faced blond boy just out of Formula Ford and there he was telling us all how it was done. And the truth is he really knew.” Lancelot leant a little forward with the clear intent of catching Merlin's eyes. “Do you understand why we put up with him now?”

“No, why?” Merlin asked, not wanting to give in to the lure of success when it's just an excuse the higher ups have come up with to justify their greed for wins. Formula 1 was a multi-billion business. The higher ups clung to great performers and allowed them lots .

“Because even though he may still have his moments,” Lancelot began.

Merlin cut him off. “Like ordering me to get him coffee when I hadn't even got mine and I was first queuing anyway...”

“Even though he still has those,” Lancelot said, face gentle but eyebrow arched, “he's a good guy. Give him a chance.”

Merlin took a sip of the dregs of his gone-cold tea. His shoulders slumped in defeat, “I suppose I shouldn't deny talent a chance, should I?”

Lancelot looked beatific.

*****

It was a week to the start of the new season and they'd all done the impossible in terms of working on the new engine. Arthur had tested the car in all possible set-ups, ramped up his gym regime to make sure he was in top form, and been more attentive to his diet for the same reason.

Mr Taliesin had worked the PR field and the engineering team had holed itself up in the pit and at headquarters in order to work on modifications that would make the F-26 even faster than it had been on the first testing day.

Since everyone on the team was on countdown and looking to the start of new season with both hope and anxiety, Mr Taliesin had organised a party so they could all unwind a little.

The party was hosted at a London club called Pink Panther, the VIP floor of which had been reserved for the team and their guests.

Arthur had one in the shape of Vivian, a paddock girl. She was blonde and petite, loved motors - engines turned her on - and was as much of a looker as anyone would wish. Her conversation wasn't exactly brilliant, though she understood F1, but she was a great dancer and that was why Arthur had thought she'd make a fine companion for the night.

“Why don't we go to the bar?” said Arthur, leading Vivian to it. They had to weave through the dancing crowd. “I'm sure you'd like a drink.”

“I want a Mai-Tai,” Vivian said, smiling brightly. “And I want a cherry on top.”

“Heard the lady?” Arthur told the barman. “A Mai-Tai.”

The barman, dressed in a garish uniform for the night, smiled and said, “Coming up.”

While he mixed the cocktail, Elyan, one the aerodynamics R&D experts on the team, came up to him. “Arthur,” he said, “it's such a joy to see you.”

Arthur smiled confusedly. “We saw each other yesterday, remember?”

“Yeah,” Elyan said, making a sign 'two' to the barman so he'd get a second Mai-Tai for himself. “But I wasn't sure I'd get to come tonight.”

“Why,” Arthur said with a snort, “you've suddenly been demoted and you were afraid you wouldn't be invited?”

Vivian got her cocktail and started sipping at it.

“No.” Elyan shook his head. “But Merlin's gone crazy. He's tweaking everything. He doesn't eat; he doesn't sleep. He's always on the job. And he's asked some of us to work on a few variables he wants to try. That could take days. Meaning no free time ever.”

“I didn't make him out to be like that,” Arthur said, tapping his fingers on the polished bar counter. “I thought--”

“Believe me,” said Elyan, getting his drink from the bartender, “his head is firmly on the job. He's dead set to prove he's good, in love with engines, and has a fixation for detail that made me fear I wouldn’t be able to stay on the team this year.”

Vivian perked up. “Who's in love with engines?” she asked, sucking on the straw, her fingers keeping it in place. “I love men who know their way about engines.”

“Merlin does,” said Elyan. “New engineer with the team.”

“I do too,” Arthur said, thumping his own chest. “I race cars.”

“But you don't build them,” said Vivian, wrinkling her nose.

Arthur growled. Why were people suddenly in love with engineers now? He was the one with the job that entailed risking his life at least thrice a week.

“Oh there's Merlin,” said Elyan, making Arthur's head snap towards the VIP floor entrance. “I wasn't sure he'd make it. I was convinced he'd stayed glued to those dynamometer charts of his. Instead look, lo and behold.”

Merlin was, in fact, making his way to them, raising his palm in salute. “Hi, there,” he said, falling onto the stool next to Elyan's.

“Hi, Merlin,” Elyan said, slapping his shoulder.

“Hiya,” said Vivian, bypassing Arthur in order to slide between Merlin and Elyan, her hip canted against the counter. “I understand you're an engineer.”

Merlin's eyes flared with confusion. “Yeah, I am. Er, Elyan told you?”

“Yeah,” Vivian said. “Engineers fascinate me.”

Merlin blushed and splayed both hands on his knees, which he promptly nervously rubbed up his thighs. “Really?”

“Yeah. A lot.”

As Merlin and Vivian started talking chassis and composites, with Merlin drawing diagrams on a napkin, Arthur felt more and more as if he was being dumped and superseded by a bashful, big- eared nerd who was admittedly passionate about his job but also too enthusiastic by far not to be obnoxious. “A Vodka,” he asked the barman, fingers threaded through his hair. He was supplied quickly and spent the following twenty minutes listening to Merlin pontificate about engineering.

True, he had a nice way of going about it, explaining difficult concepts to Vivian in the most straightforward way possible, but he was still annoying. He irritated Arthur and with reason.

He had Arthur's girl's attention. (Well, maybe Vivian wasn't his. Didn't seem to be, leaning as she was into Merlin and making him dimple up. Oh, well, it was better this way. Racing would start next week and he'd better concentrate on nothing but the WDC title.)

Merlin had this endearing way about him that made people think he was cute. (He was endearing looks wise, but Arthur didn't believe his naïve act, not for one minute.)

Mr Taliesin liked him. Elyan seemed to as well even though Merlin caused him to work twice as much as he did when Bedivere was on board. The team had accepted him without a glitch. (If there had been Arthur would have heard.)

Why was Arthur the only one not to like him? He couldn't be the only one level-headed enough to understand that Merlin hadn't proved himself yet. Despite his degree he couldn't have as much field experience as older men. Why did nobody see that?

Arthur finished his vodka.

“Want to dance?” Vivian asked Merlin.

A strip of red that went from cheekbones to nose coloured Merlin's face. “Me?”

Vivian nodded. “Yeah, why not?”

Merlin looked to Arthur. Arthur raised his palm and Merlin said, “Yeah, okay.”

Vivian put down her glass and took Merlin's hand, leading him to the dance floor. She moved well. Merlin didn't, but he did have a nice body, one that looked nicer still when wrapped around Vivian's. He looked wirier compared to her, broader, stronger. His arms were encasing her. His sleeves pulled up enough to show a little bit of muscle. Yet his hips were not a lot wider than hers, tapering as they did from a slightly larger torso. They made a nice couple. One Arthur wouldn't mind watching them having sex.

They'd look good, spread out on sheets, limbs tangled, Merlin's cock easing into her.

And where the hell had that come from? It couldn't be the vodka. Arthur had had one single shot and that wasn't enough to throw him for a loop. He wasn't one to fantasise about aesthetics either. So why? Maybe he was just sublimating his need for Vivian. It couldn't be Merlin.

Arthur wasn't one to be led around by his cock. He didn't approve of Merlin. Didn't trust him. That meant that Merlin was off limits, even where fantasies were concerned.

He ordered himself another drink and watched as Vivian and Merlin spun around. Their dance wasn't provocative but it wasn't tame either, hip grinding being present and rather noticeable.

After the second song, they stopped though. Vivian brushed her lips against Merlin. Merlin put his hands on her hips and shook his head. Vivian murmured something in his ear and then moved on to dance with another partner. Merlin trotted back to the bar, joining Arthur again.

“I don't understand why you're back,” said Arthur, stealing cashews from a bowl. “You could have got laid.”

As Arthur chomped on his cashews, Merlin's smiled, head tipped lower. “Doesn't mean I should have.”

“No man with a pulse would say no to sex,” Arthur said.

Merlin blinked, eyelashes a whirl of black. “I have a pulse,” he said, low and throaty. “I just. I had my reasons.” He dragged the cashew bowl closer but then didn't pick any. “You should be happy. She was your date.”

“She dumped me for you,” Arthur said, tilting an eyebrow. “Not much to be happy about.”

“True, she likes brains.” Merlin smiled but his smile wavered as he read Arthur's less then enthused expression. “Oh come on, I thought the man who orders others about like cattle could take a joke.”

Arthur cleared his throat, throwing his shoulder's back. “Of course I can take jokes.”

“But you think I meant it,” said Merlin, angling himself towards him.

“No, of course, not,” Arthur said. “And even if you did, I don't care enough for it to--”

Merlin put his hand on his wrist. “I don't think you're a dumb racer though I do think you're arrogant and trying to live up to the hype.”

Arthur shook his head but had to smile. “If you're apologising, I'll warn you, you're digging yourself in deeper.”

“And now you're wilfully misunderstanding me.”

Arthur stood, leant close behind Merlin so he could say things in his ears and said, “You flatter yourself.”

“Still hanging around though,” Merlin observed with waggling eyebrows.

Arthur huffed. Merlin was right. He was paying him too much attention. Merlin was ruffling his feathers but he shouldn't preen about it. He wouldn't last long. He was so new he was sure to make a mistake, and when he did he would be out.

“Well, have a good night then, Merlin,” Arthur whispered in his ear. And with that he was gone, headed towards the dance floor.

He danced all night long with different partners, had a chat with a journalist from Motors & Races, and barely even took notice of Merlin, who danced some, exchanged a few words with various people, burst out laughing at a joke, thus alerting the entire roomful to his hilarity, and then went home early, though more than a little pissed.

Arthur made a point of dancing all night.

*****

Even though he'd only had few drinks, Merlin felt the effects of his night out. They were unmistakable. His mouth tasted like a bad batch of paint remover -- he'd know because as a kid he used to stick his fingers everywhere - and his stomach felt like a balloon someone had filled with water, water that was roiling this way and that. He could barely move lest he hurl.

Being in his head wasn't that fun either. And that was because he'd left early. He dreaded to think what would have happened had he stayed till dawn.

He'd just rolled on his side hoping his body wouldn't interpret that as an invitation to rid itself of the contents of his stomach, when the phone rang.

“Hello, Merlin,” a chirpy female voice sounded in his ears, appearing even louder thanks to Merlin's hangover, “I'm Vivian from last night? You gave me your number over a Blood Shot.”

Merlin remembered Vivian - pretty, blonde, flighty, quite a head for motors - and the infamous Blood Shot. “I remember some of that.”

“Yeah, Elyan said you're a light weight.”

Merlin scratched at his nose with the end of the receiver. “I must lose all aspiration to coolness and admit that's true.”

Vivian giggled. “Oh Merlin,” she said, “you're so funny and you make me laugh.”

“I'm glad my pitiful condition is hilarious to you.” He flipped onto his bed and the move made him want to gag. He moaned, feeling rather sorry for himself. “Truly glad to be of help.”

“Don't get me wrong,” she said. “I didn't mean it like that, though you sound like you need some aspirin and a shower.”

“Then what did you mean?”

“I wanted to invite you out for lunch.”

Merlin started seeing where this was going. “I’m not feeling too good.”

Vivian chuckled. “Shouldn’t have touched that second shot.”

“Probably.”

“Please, stop feeling sorry for yourself and tell me what you think about the invite?”

Merlin hummed, drumming his fingers on his stomach. “I feel I should say I'm gay.”

“That's all right,” said Vivian, sounding indeed like she wasn't bothered at all even though Merlin thought she'd been going for a hook up. “I'd sleep with you in a heartbeat - because you're cute and for your brain - but I'm fine just taking you out for a spin.”

Merlin relaxed now that he was sure there'd be no misunderstandings. Besides Merlin was under the firm impression Vivian was more or less Arthur's girl and Merlin had promised Lancelot he would try to 'befriend' Arthur. They’d mostly got along yesterday, hadn’t they? “I still feel a bit queasy,” Merlin said, sounding less certain about refusing the invitation than before.

“Okay, all you need to do is to be Zen about it. The mind presides over your body so if you tell your mind that you're sober you'll be sober.”

“I don't think it quite works like that but if you promise there'll be coffee I promise I'll come.”

“Great,” Vivian said, enthusiastic and bubbly, “I'll text you an address and there'll be coffee.”

There was coffee. It was excellent and black and steaming up his nose. Vivian bought him three cups and sat back to watch him imbibe them, her eyes hidden behind a pair or stylish sunglasses Merlin suspected to be designer, her smile telling him how amused she was at his antics.

“So,” she said, slowly sipping her own tea, “how did you get to be the new chief engineer at Excalibur?”

“I applied and was interviewed,” said Merlin, not wanting to sound like he was bragging. “Like most people.”

“But most people don't get hired when they're so young,” said Vivian, taking off her glasses and waving them around. “You must be special.”

“No, I just had a nice design,” said Merlin. “That's all.”

“What kind of design?” Vivian asked airily.

“Why, you a spy?” Merlin drank the last of his coffee.

Vivian giggled. “And who would I spy for? Western?”

Merlin had been told by the highers up at Excalibur that Western was the competition. Besides, it wasn't as if different news sources didn't confirm as much. “Maybe? It seems preposterous, I know. And I'm sure you're not. Still, I can't blab.”

“Well, I'll tell you one thing,” said Vivian and suddenly her tone got no nonsense. “I hate Valiant. You'll find I used to date him and he's... a thug. A horrible person. I wouldn't want to help him.”

Merlin said, “I've never had the pleasure.”

“Call yourself lucky then,” Vivian said with a sneer of disgust. “He's not the kind of person you want to have dealings with. Arthur has a long standing feud with him.”

Merlin leant forwards. “Really? Did he tell you?”

Vivian shook her head. “He didn't need to,” she said. “Though he did call him 'that pig who doesn't rate a driving licence', but it's in every newspaper rating a sports page. I thought you'd know seeing as you're on the Excalibur team now.”

“Well, I've been with them for a month,” said Merlin, setting his last cup aside. “And with my head in my charts. I haven't had time to ask around or concern myself with personal rivalries.”

“With the Championship beginning now you will just have to,” said Vivian. She fished a magazine out of her bag and pointed at the captions. A couple (Clash of the Titans and F1 Rivalry of the Century) were sober enough though they did nothing to confuse the reader as to who was set against whom. Others were a lot more imaginative and hinted at more than feuds, implying that death threats had been hurled and so on.

“Maybe,” Merlin said, unable to hide a giggle at the headlines. “But the truth is I have a feeling I won't stay on long if Australia goes bad.”

“You fear you'll be fired?” Vivian frowned then patted his hand. “But why? You have those nice designs of yours. There's no reason for them to let you go.”

“Well, if we lose,” Merlin said, happy with Vivian's touch and the comfort it offered, “then they'll know that my car's not competitive. In which case I think I'll be kicked out.”

“Well, we'll see,” said Vivian, eventually letting go of his hand. “But I'm sure your car is brilliant and that Melbourne will prove it.”

****

Australian Grand Prix
Melbourne circuit.

The Friday practice session had just finished when Arthur drove back to the paddock. He'd spent the morning identifying hairpin turns and all other curves as well as memorising the track for the qualifying session. Now, with the real thing looming before him, choices had to be made. Choices he couldn't make alone. Choices he'd have to consult the team and most particularly both Mr Taliesin and Merlin about.

He found them both in the monitoring area of the paddock and stalked up to them. They were already having an animated discussion and Arthur had to keep a surge of annoyance at being left out in check in order to sound perfectly professional when he said, “Discussing strategy without me?”

“No,” said Mr Taliesin, looking at Arthur as though he'd grown two heads, “Merlin was merely pointing out a series of options as to how to tackle the DRS wing balance without hitting the rev limiter.”

“You're the one who can tell us how the circuit was,” Merlin said. “You're the driver. Can't do this without you.”

Arthur suspected Merlin was trying to keep Arthur out of major discussions if he could, but he didn't say that. He didn't wish to sound paranoid. “It's a fast one.”

“Yes, it's famed to be,” said Taliesin.

“Shorter top gear,” Arthur said, monosyllabic. “I'll get smoother acceleration in corners.”

“You'll be sacrificing top speed,” Merlin said, his voice toneless, matter of fact, reciting data. “Especially on the EX-26.”

“But I'll be able to use the DRS exactly how I want,” Arthur said. He knew it was a risk, but it was one he wanted to take. He felt it in his bones. This was the best strategy by far. “That's something to consider.”

“Your choice,” said Mr Taliesin, lifting his shoulders and washing his hands of it.

“You'll be slower,” Merlin said, pronouncing the words Arthur had been dreading to hear. “But I think you have a feel for the car now, so go for your idea.”

Arthur's eyebrow pointed upwards when he said, “I'll get the pole, unless your car can't make it.”

“It can take everything,” Merlin answered with a small confident smile and a spark in his eyes.

The following day was qualifying session day. The first part of this session was all about getting the fastest time to get a good grid positioning. The slowest cars got eliminated. Arthur counted on being one of the firsts. With that in mind he completed the formation lap and took his place on the grid.

“Good luck,” came Merlin's voice from the radio.

Arthur was now waiting for the green. “It's not about luck. It about your car and my skills.”

“It should be a match made in heaven,” Merlin said, chuckling softly.

Arthur couldn't answer; the green had flashed. He took off, concentrating on his own timing rather than the others. After some vying for top positioning, he ended up sixth. Even with his limited field of vision he could tell that's where he was at. His strategy was simple: count the cars. Take those he couldn't see into account. Never ignore the fact that something could suddenly fill his field of vision.

Despite the slight disadvantage he was at, he wasn't nervous. The car was responding to his inputs quickly and smoothly. Everything was fine and this wasn't last year. He had this.

Valiant with his Western, on the other hand, didn't seem to trust his car to take him there. He pushed and pushed from the very beginning.

“Don't engage,” was the order Arthur got from the paddock.

“Don't plan to,” he said, focusing on the next curve and the next, not the overall circuit, though he had it ingrained in his memory, but just on the next moment.

Hands steady of the wheel, vision tunnelling on the track ahead, he pushed his car to the max. When he exited a corner, he used the boost button and the energy available thanks to the KERS to get a burst of speed. Now he was not only defending his position. He was improving it. Others were dropping behind: he took over Cenred King, Cador, and de Ganis.

But that meant that he still had Velany and Valiant to contend with. He needed to get at least past one of them to score a better position on the grid. He and Velany were on the same the same lap coming in, so Velany it had to be.

One step at a time.

Making sure he was close to Velany after the corner, he stuck to him all through it. Turning into it though, the car failed to respond as well as it should have, fighting him as he tried to steer. Arthur's heartbeat accelerated and he thoughtlessly muttered, “Fucking understeer.”

“Calm down, Arthur.” It was Merlin talking, not Mr Taliesin. “Slow down into the curve.”

Arthur did; he had no choice. Merlin knew how to tame his car. By doing what Merlin said, Arthur lost on Velany. But even though he was wide on the top of the hill he gained speed when he was onto the straight. The next thing he knew, Arthur was next to Velany and then just in front of him, getting away, and gaining.

He finished behind Valiant.

Q1 done with, Arthur steered the EX-26 to the paddock. The mechanics crowded the car, refuelling and changing the worn tyres.

As Arthur lifted his visor, Merlin came over, saying, “We're adding ballast.” He leant over the cockpit and Arthur tilted his head up and nodded. Merlin's suggestion was the best option to counteract the understeer he'd experienced before. “Go ahead.”

Arthur saw Merlin's face scrunch up in thought. “Can you handle it though? It's going to oversteer and spin.”

“I can handle it going into a spin.”

Merlin's fingers curled around the sides of the car. He went down into a crouch so he was face to face with Arthur. “I designed it like this to have you safe.”

“I can handle it,” Arthur repeated, locking eyes with Merlin to make him see that he could do it and that he ought to be trusted with this. He didn't know why but he needed Merlin to see eye to eye with him on this. He needed Merlin to get a sense of who he was as a pilot.

The clock was ticking and Merlin hadn't come to a decision yet. They could consult Mr Taliesin but Mr Taliesin wasn't the one who had designed the car and he wasn't the one who'd have to wrestle it into behaving either.

It was all on them: Merlin and Arthur.

Merlin clapped the side of the car. “Okay, all right.” Merlin turned to give the head mechanic an order. “Add ballast to the front end-plate and under-body. We'll see if that keeps the car's centre of gravity down.”

The head mechanic stopped checking the car and wrenched his head up. “Mid qualifying and without Mr Taliesin's go ahead?”

Merlin took a step back, gave Arthur a look.

Arthur willed him to get this done and for once Merlin seemed not only to be on the same page as him but to be willing to do as he was told. “Add ballast. My responsibility.”

Arthur smiled. “You do have some backbone.”

“More than you think,” said Merlin, hunkering down again. “Now try not to get killed while you're at it or the fault will be mine.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, in a tone he loaded with more intent because, burdened as he was with the helmet, he couldn't rely on facial expressions, “I didn't know the man who'd deny me a coffee would care.”

“I do,” said Merlin, then hastily he added. “'m not a monster.”

Merlin watched as the car was weighted as per his prescriptions. When Arthur rolled off the pit lane to get back to the grid for the second qualifying round he said into the radio, “Good luck, Arthur.”

“Why, thank you, Merlin, but a break a leg would be better.”

“Fussy,” Merlin quipped not hiding a gargling laugh.

With their previous lap times cancelled, the remaining racers had to fill the empty grid positions and fight to not be eliminated. Q3 only would decide the pole.

With the car newly weighted, Arthur had better control but less speed. That meant he could be more daring in corners and a little less so on straights. He didn't know what the other racers had done, how they'd adjusted to the Q1 session, but being unaware of the competition's strategies was part of the F1 deal.

Even so, he made a good start and kept his position throughout the opening lap. He attacked de Ganis first, locking him in a tight battle, driving side-by-side with him for most of the fourth lap, but overtook him by the next. The car responding in every way he wanted it to now that ballast had been added, he moved up and up until he finished third. It was good. Now he had a measure of the car he hadn't had before.

“Now I want you to maintain consistent pacing, Arthur,” Mr Taliesin said when Arthur made it to the paddock prior to the last phase of qualifications.

Consistent pacing was Arthur's by-word for running Q3. The pole was at stake after all. After the first round of pit stops, Valiant put him under pressure, nearly taunting him, getting so close he was almost risking an accident. Arthur let him do his thing and didn't engage although he tried to stay safe and out of the Western's range.

Arthur's first attempt at squeezing between the Mercia team car immediately in front of him and the pit-wall on the main straight was unsuccessful. He had to avoid a repeat of the same circumstances unless he wanted to shave the chassis off the car. But he managed to push through a couple of laps later, overtaking both de Ganis and Valiant. Cador's engine just stalled and that meant Arthur was opening the season with a pole.

When Arthur got back to the paddock he was feted by everybody around. This was a marked improvement compared to last season, and though they couldn't be sure their luck would keep, Arthur could understand the team's need for celebration. He felt it too. So he smiled at each pat on the back he received and responded to every hug.

He was surprised to find he couldn't find Merlin anywhere. He was the demonstrative one as well as half responsible for the result and yet he was nowhere to be found.

Arthur searched for him with his eyes and at last spied him perched on top of a stool, an enormous laptop perched on the counter in front of him.

For a moment Arthur experienced the urge to go talk to him and tell him that his decision had paid off but then he rethought it. What would he say anyway? He wasn't sure Merlin was here to stay and encouraging him because of one single positive outcome wouldn't be fair. If he didn't live up to expectations, he'd be going. And Arthur would be the first one to press for that.

So he kept himself to himself and let Merlin busy himself with his host of tech data.

Later that night though, Arthur found himself thinking about Merlin again. He'd been tossing and turning in his hotel bed, tired and wired both. His back ached a little from the car's insistent jostling and his thoughts were running in circles. Tomorrow the first race of the new season would take place and he kept visualising the track and accounting for variables, until he realised he needed to unwind.

He dressed in joggers and went downstairs to the bar. He didn't mean to drink anything alcoholic simply because he couldn't, not with the race tomorrow. But he wanted to have a sip of something anyway and was reckoning a chat with the barman would help him relax. Small talk could be convenient.

While a barman was there, he also found Merlin perched on a stool by the counter, nursing a beer.

Arthur sank into the seat next to him. “Think you can stay clear-headed tomorrow?”

“It's just a beer,” Merlin said. “I need to relax. I have a headache and this will help.”

“Headaches are what happens to geeks,” Arthur said. “You wouldn't be feeling like you do if you were the pilot. Less thinking and more action involved.” Arthur had a few symptoms that came from sitting in a tiny monocoque but he didn't comment on them.

Arthur felt Merlin's gaze on him and caught the spark of indignation in his eyes. It made him feel quite ashamed about having spat that out. Guiltily, Arthur averted his own eyes.

“I'm not competitive,” Merlin said, raking his thumb up the side of his glass. “So racing wouldn't do for me.”

“Bullshit,” said Arthur, his eyes trained on Merlin's fingers. “You're how old? 26? And have the job fifty-somethings think of as the apex of their careers. I think it takes a lot of competitiveness to get there.”

“Maybe my kind is not the same as yours, then,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “I don't need to show off to crowds.”

“But you are,” said Arthur, pointing to the television set hanging from a wall set in the bar alcove. The results of today’s qualifying session were being displayed. “There's a constructors championship too. And what people are tuning in to watch is...”

“You prancing on the circuit,” said Merlin with a smile that was softer than his words.

“No, they're watching your car, the feats of engineering it's capable of.”

Merlin nodded imperceptibly. “Partly,” he said. “But it's you behind the wheel. It's you making those feats possible. That's why you have fans and the engineering team doesn't.”

Arthur shook his head. “Not true.”

“Well, we're the self-effacing bit of F1,” Merlin said, sniggering. “You know, the unsung heroes.”

“I think you need an adrenalin rush,” said Arthur, less boldly than he'd set out to do. “That way you'd be more relaxed and less jealous of my having fans.”

Merlin tossed his head back and laughed. “Ha, me jealous.”

“Adrenalin starved,” Arthur said, bumping shoulders with Merlin.

“Adrenalin junkie.” Merlin rose. leaving his half full beer glass to stand on the counter. “See you tomorrow. I'm sure you'll be getting your adrenalin fill then. And a dose of adoring fans.”

Arthur smiled at the counter, not turning around to look at Merlin but feeling his breath on his neck all the same. “Tell yourself that bravely racing like I do is the reason people like me.”

“They certainly don't because of your winning personality.” The words tickled at Arthur's nape. He could smell barley on the air. “Night, Arthur.”

The next day Arthur woke early, primed for the race. He didn't know what had changed overnight but the stress he'd felt on the Saturday had gone by Sunday, as had his lower back pain. He'd even been able to go out for an early jog that had loosened all remaining stiffness in his limbs. And now he felt fantastic.

Even the weather had improved. The race started in dry and warm conditions, perfect for medium tyres, and also for good visibility.

Arthur felt confident this was his race.

Going into it, the team had concurred on a new strategy: stopping for only one single pit stop. With the car newly ballasted, Arthur had better control in the curves but less overall. Also he was losing speed in order not to get more understeer than necessary. If he wanted to beat Valiant he had to rely on a single pit stop to shorten lap times.

Now it was starting time.

When the red lights went out, Arthur went straight across to get ahead of Valiant, who'd placed right after him yesterday, nearly bumping into him. They both held station, vying for an in to the lead.

Further back Arthur could see two other cars tangle together, one them being Lancelot's. He couldn't slow down to try and make out more but now there was a chance he was the only Excalibur team member stil in the race. This made him doubly motivated to do well.

A moment later Arthur had confirmation of what had happened over the radio. “Lancelot is out of the race.”

“Got it,” Arthur said. “Still in and meaning to win.”

To make it true he stuck to team's strategy. So as not to burn too much fuel in the first part of the race Arthur let himself fall behind. He could imagine Valiant's smug face at the thought, but he told himself that Valiant's reaction didn't matter. What mattered was the strategy.

Less fuel meant more speed; he just needed to ride that razor's edge where he had just enough to make it, to handle the car so that it would perform its best while at its lightest fuel-wise.

He clung to the wheel, the engine roaring in his ears. A look in the mirror told him this was the moment to put the car to the test. This was the moment to rise from the ashes of last year.

Valiant had a clear five over him but this meant little. With tens laps to go Arthur pushed, gaining a second on de Ganis and another on his rival, Garcia.

By keeping this rhythm, Arthur was rounding out the top five, but he wanted more. He pinballed through a straight and on to engage a rival car. The gap between them was minimal, no more than a second. This was the right time to fight for the win.

Being in the prescribed zone, he could use the DRS now, so he activated the adjustable flap on the rear wing of the car. The device reduced drag, allowing a pursuing car to hit higher speeds and offering a greater chance of overtaking the vehicle ahead.

He looked to his right and at the gap between himself and the other Western car in third position. At first the gap stayed especially across the line and through corners. But Arthur persevered, played a dangerous game and wove through.

He overtook two cars, poking next to Valiant. Valiant didn't give up on finishing first, attempting to nose back under. Arthur knew they had only two more laps so he swerved and veered, cutting Valiant off.

That worked. Arthur smiled when he realised that he had a clear gap. And then the chequered flag came down. Arthur had won. He lifted his fist in exultation; the crowd lifting flags to celebrate.

The elation didn't settle in until he'd driven the car back to the box. He met Merlin on his way to the podium. “So you win,” said Merlin. “Congrats.”

That was when the truth of the win really sank in for him, stressed for him by Merlin's quirked lips and bright eyes.

He squared his shoulders out proudly. He gave Merlin a clap on the shoulder that ended with him nearly overbalancing into the man because Valiant, on his way to take second place, barrelled right into him. “Clear the way, Pendragon!”

Arthur found himself plastered to Merlin, chest to chest, Merlin's team cap pushing against his forehead, his breath playing on Arthur's throat.

Feeling like he'd been burnt, the adrenalin high and the proximity making the blood rush through his veins, he husked out, “So, you'll probably get to stay.”

Merlin's eyes had a happy glow about them. “Told you the EX-26 was good.”

“Now don't brag, Merlin,” Arthur said, taking that step back that Valiant's absence allowed. “Without me your car would have sat in the box.”

Arthur could see that Merlin was about to reply and, wanting to keep him on his toes, he left to accept his trophy.

He showered the crowd in champagne.

****

Part II