Julien qualifies fifth behind both Red Boars and Mercenaries. It’s the first time all year that a Ferraro isn’t in the front two rows, and it feels like he let his team down.
The reporters in the media pen give him a lot of grace. They compliment him on his performance, and there’s a lot of “despite”s in the conversation.
Despite not running in Free Practice. Despite suffering a family emergency. Despite having to learn a new car.
Still, it’s Julien’s job to work as a seamless replacement for the full-time drivers. If Thomas would’ve taken pole today, Julien failed.
When they ask about Thomas’s condition, Julien can’t do anything but shrug. He hasn’t seen his brother except in flashes throughout the garage and lingering shots of his disappointed face on the broadcast.
Maybe it’s for the best. If Julien doesn’t know the extent of the injury, he won’t have to lie to the press about it.
He’d think his brother was purposely avoiding him, except Thomas settles into the chair next to him during the Quali Debrief meeting. Without a word, he clicks through his computer and opens telemetry in multiple tabs.
“How are you?” Julien asks, cautiously. Is he supposed to ignore the whole brain injury thing? It feels like they should talk about it.
“Ça va.”
He must not be veryça vaif he’s answering in French. “Do you still not remember English?”
“I know English,” Thomas replies.
Or maybe he said, “I no English.” It’s hard to tell.
“Alright.” Either way, Julien can take a hint. He turns his attention to his own computer and clicks around for something to do.
Thomas grunts and leans closer.“I’m not supposed to strain my brain for the next 48 hours.”He whispers it, like someone might overhear his muddled French.“It takes effort for me to translate to other languages, so I’ve been told to speak only French for the next two days.”
“Oh.” That makes things like debrief meetings slightly more difficult. “Did you want me to translate for you?”
“Merci.”Thomas raises his chin as he relaxes back into his chair.“Jean-Luc is fine for normal conversation, but his technical English isn’t as strong as his German. I have a lot to say about Qualifying.”
Oh no.
“Great.” Julien just made his life so much harder, didn’t he? “Can’t wait.”
Between accepting feedback from the team and speaking for Thomas, Julien doesn’t find a moment to say anything about the brakes until the very end of the meeting when Lorenzo asks, “Does anyone have any other questions or thoughts?”
Julien raises his hand and Lorenzo says, “Yes, Thomas?”
“Uh, actually, I’m speaking for myself this time.” Julien slowly lowers his hand until it’s safely placed in his lap. “I have a question or thought.”
“Yes,Julien?”
“I—uh…” Nobody wants this. Everyone in the room wants to end the meeting, return to the hotel, and sleep before tomorrow. If Julien says something, he’ll open a can of worms.
Besides, the only person who would benefit from him speaking up has been glaring daggers at his skull from the moment he parked the second Ferraro in eighth behind both McLeans.
Rafael doesn’t want Julien’s help. He already made that very clear.
“Julien, please.”
But Julien works for the benefit of the entire team—even Rafael. He clears his throat and braces himself. “I noticed, um, a discrepancy. Between the cars. That might be of note.”
Of note?Don’t be a fucking ponce—spit it out.
“I warned you about that,” Hector replies. “The steering is more sensitive. It's driver’s preference.”
“Yes, the steering is definitely different, but so are the brakes.” Just say it and get it over with. “The brakes feel better. Easier to control. Uh, more responsive, almost.”
