2019 Pre-Season

JANUARY

TORO ROSSO TESTING

IMOLA, ITALY

The crash was disorienting. All that Mac could do was close her eyes and brace herself as the Toro Rosso spun into the barrier, the side crunching in like a tin can as the front wing broke.

She felt claustrophobic. There was a ringing in her ears, her grandfather on the other end of the headset. She could hear Graham yelling. Blindly, she undid the seatbelt before yanking at a tear off from her helmet, reaching her arms over the halo to try and extricate herself from the car.

Except she couldn't. Her knee was trapped, wedged between the crushed side of the car and steering wheel, which was at and awkward and unhealthy angle.

"Dakota, are you okay?" Graham asked again. "Your mother isn't going to like this. Hell, I don't like this."

"I'm okay, granddad." She breathed out, sinking back in the seat and trying not to cry out in pain. The wind had been knocked out of her lungs and it hurt to flex her knee.

Sure, she had crashed before, in the Outback. But never in a Formula 1 car going at the speed the Toro Rosso had been. 

"My leg is stuck, it's wedged in here at a bad angle. Fuck, I think I've done summat to it."

"Stay where you are, Dakota. Alex and the medics are coming out with the recovery vehicle. I'm sure it's nothing to worry about. Do you see any blood?"

"Very reassuring, thank you grandfather. Can I take my helmet off, it's getting really hard to get my breath back in here?"

She didn't wait for an answer, practically ripping the helmet and balaclava off before fumbling with the steering wheel, trying to yank it out of the cockpit. Her knee screamed with pain, and she bit back tears.

The medical car and recovery vehicles pulled even next to the car, leaping into action to get her out of the tin can. Alex Albon reached over the halo, clutching her hand through the Nomex gloves as she bit back a scream, one of the medics abruptly yanking her leg free before removing the steering wheel.

Back at the garage, it still hurt to put pressure on her leg. She clung to Alex as they walked back inside, her helmet hanging limply from her hand, sweaty strands of her shoulder-length hair hanging equally as pathetically over her face.

"I'm fine." She exhaled as the Albon boy helped her sit down. "I just need to ice it. I think."

"As far as crashes go, it could have been worse." Alex shrugged. "And you were making really good time. I think we've built an okay car this year, all things considered."

Mac shook her head, undoing her boiler suit and stripping down to her fireproof shirt and equally as fireproof compression leggings, propping her leg up on another chair as Jake Volkov brought her an ice pack.

"Sorry about that one, guys. I can help you fix it. Many hands make light work."

Graham McManus shook his head, patting his granddaughter on the shoulder. He was prouder of Dakota than he could ever put into words. All of his grandchildren had inherited his love for practical mechanics:  Dakota was in the pit lane every weekend, and working towards her superlicense on the side in private FIA tests. Jackson was a mechanic on a navy warship in the Arafura sea. And Virginia? Well, she knew how to change a tyre, which was more than most girls her age could do.

"Get some rest. You're not going to do yourself any favours if you make that injury worse. We need our best mechanic in shape for Melbourne."

"It could have happened to anybody, kid." Franz Tost agreed. "Don't beat yourself up over the crash. God knows Pierre and Brendan did worse last year."

"Can I talk to Miss McManus for a minute?" A gravelly, thickly accented voice cut through the garage like a knife. Dakota instantly tensed, pain shooting up her leg. She bit he rlip to stop herself from shouting, bracing internally as Dr. Helmut Marko came into view.

Helmut Marko was a tough man. Currently in his mid seventies, the Red Bull advisor had been around for a very long time. And from what she had heard and seen, he was a very abrasive man who was very complicated to get along with.

He thought he was such hot shit for a man with zero career points.

"I don't know if that is such a good idea, Dr. Marko." Daniil Kvyat spoke for the first time since Dakota had returned to the garage. the Russian had been at Red Bull for years, and he knew what Helmut could be like. What the entire organization could be like. 

And he wanted to protect Dakota from that harsh reality for as long as he could.

"It was a rookie mistake you made out there, McManus." Helmut ignored the other driver, beginning a speech that would imprint itself on Dakota's memory for years to come. "You'll never amount to anything at this rate."

"Helmut." Franz said, a threatening tone to the team principals usually calm demeanor. "She's just a kid."

"Teenage girls don't belong in the cockpit!" Helmut raised his voice, and Dakota flinched, almost as if she had been slapped in the face. "Do you know how much that crash is going to cost us?"

"No, sir." Her throat felt like cotton, closing up as she tried to talk.

"If it weren't for Graham, you wouldn't even be allowed in my garage. You're weak. You're not like Max, and you're not like Pierre. You never will be. So why don't you go back to Queensland and look pretty for some half-wit surfer boy?"

Fuck you. That's what she wanted to say, biting her tongue to stop herself form screaming it and losing her job. Begging to at least get considered for a testing role had rocked the boat at Toro Rosso enough.

"Helmut, you're out of line." Franz's voice was even sterner this time. "You have minimal jurisdiction here. Now get out of my garage and stop harassing my testing driver."

2022 Season

BARCELONA, SPAIN

ROLEX SPANISH GRAND PRIX

THURSDAY - MEDIA DAY.

2:27 AM

Dakota woke up in a cold sweat, gasping for air and with a sick feeling in her stomach as she leaped out of the king sized bed, stumbling over open suitcases, their contents spilling out onto the hotel floor as she made her way to the ensuite bathroom.

She clutched the sink, waiting for the water to run cold before she splashed it on her face, Helmut's voice echoing in her head.

Go back to Queensland and look pretty.

Words that had haunted her throughout a fair portion of 2019. 

She thought the nightmares had stopped. She thought they had stopped a long long time ago, way before COVId-19 gave her other things to be worried about. 

She was supposed to be getting better, supposed to be healing. What was the point of all that time she had spent in therapy if it wasn't fucking working? The doctor told her she didn't need to go back if she didn't want to, that he was satisfied with her progress.

All the Aussie wanted to do was scream, but she couldn't do that without waking Yuki.

"Fuck you, Helmut. Fuck you and your fucking racing team."

She felt her stomach churn, lunging for the toilet before emptying her stomach in the porcelain bowl. When vomiting turned to dry heaving, she slumped back against the tile wall, feeling the cool marble against her skin. She vaguely registered flushing the toilets contents into the Barcelona sewage system before she let out a strangled cry, tears starting to fall down her face, throat raw from throwing up.

What had Red Bull done to her?

"Love bug? Dakota, are you awake?" She heard Yuki shout from other room, heard his footsteps inching closer to the bathroom, where he saw her curled up in the corner, looking like death as she sobbed. The AlphaTauri driver ran over to her, dropping to his knees and pulling her in close. "It's okay, Mac. You're okay, we're okay. Everything is okay."

"No it's not, Yuki. You don't know what Red Bull did to me." She cried softly. "They broke me just like they broke Pierre. I'm broken, Yuki. I need to get out of here, away from them."

And she hoped that her meeting with Toto Wolff would offer a solution to that.