Chapter Text
The headquarters of the Mercedes AMG Petronas F1 team is as lively as one would expect them to be.
In front of the team logo shown on a big screen stand a girl in a black hoodie and Torger ‘Toto’ Wolff, the team principal. Camera flashes, journalists running around, everyone focused on them. The entire media presence is controlled, and even though all speculations have already been addressed, the flow of questions from desperate journalists seems endless.
“As a first female driver of modern F1, do you feel the pressure you’re under?”
“How do you view your role, given the controversy of your signing?”
“After being held back, you’re the oldest rookie on the grid this year. How much does that stand out in your opinion?”
Ignoring it and simply smiling, the girl turns to the side, catching a glance of a woman in tidy black suit. Almost unnoticeably, she brings her finger to her lip corner, reminding.
Smile, dearest.
“Madame Virtanen, would you join up please?” Toto Wolff gestures, “For a few final pics.”
And so, she joins. Her hand immediately finds its way to the girl’s shoulder, brushing off some loose blonde strands.
“The posture.” The woman whispers.
“I know, mom.” The girl responds. A barely heard exchange they both are used to.
Just a few more flashes, and the time is up.
“Alright, I believe that’s all for today.” Another woman with a tablet in her hand raises her voice, “Thank you for coming, we’ll get in touch with you in--”
While the press is taken care of, the girl visibly relaxes. Her lip corners fade, and shoulders drop just a little.
“That’s certainly more attention than I’m used to.” She says, watching the room empty, “I bet it’ll only get worse from now on.”
“Eden, we’ve discussed this.” The woman, whom Toto earlier referred to as Madame Virtanen, hisses.
Eden almost shrinks but straightens herself up when she notices that the team director’s attention is drawn to her.
“Nothing a driver cannot get used to.” He smiles reassuringly before turning his head to girl’s mother, “I would’ve gladly shown you the factory, but I’m afraid you don’t have access to that area.”
As those two discuss various parts of Eden’s newly signed contract, the girl herself wanders off a little, looking over the large glass windows. Her mind drifts elsewhere as she watches sunrays dance on white tiles.
All these years, and it has finally come to this. I couldn’t even imagine that I would stand here as something more than a driver from a junior program.
She catches a ray with her watch, and guides it up the column, trying to place it directly in the middle of silver arrows.
I must not let myself and everyone else down.
Clarissa Virtanen has always known – the only child of this family has no other choice than to become something great. She made sure her daughter knew that as well.
Eden’s father was consumed in his pharmaceutical company and really didn’t concern himself with what his wife was up to, and Clarissa, being a wise woman she was, understood that quickly and didn’t budge. Given a brilliant education, a rich, intelligent husband and complete freedom, she knew she needed a way to find her place in life, and, preferably, something more than just being a happy wife and a proud mother.
Not that she minded women who had that as their only goal. She even understood them and the serenity this choice brought. But her upbringing and, frankly, boredom simply couldn’t let her sit still.
The moment Eden was born, Clarissa immediately knew there was something special about her. She couldn’t quite identify it, searching for the answer in her daughter’s smile or behavior, but one evening finally gave her clarity.
“Mommy, what is this man doing?” Eden once asked, pointing at the screen of the TV she had been glued to for the last hour. “Why is he standing like a pink bird we have in our backyard?”
“A flamingo, darling…” Clarissa answers, only now paying attention to the program that was playing, “What are you watching?”
“It says F1. There were cars racing, so exciting!” Little Eden exclaimed, “Fer-nan-do Alonso, that’s his name!”
“Yes… You liked the race, didn’t you?”
“I did! When will there be another one? Can we go to it?”
Clarissa brushed off that question in that moment, but Eden repeated it the next time another race was playing. And then again. And again. And every time someone even briefly mentioned racing being on, the girl dropped whatever she was doing and sat in front of the screen.
One day at breakfast, as Clarissa watched Eden guide a bit of pastry she was eating through the imaginary line, she finally asked.
“Would you like to try racing, dearest?”
The way those grey eyes lit up set the course for the next few years.
Of course, the woman could refuse. Set her daughter up for some music lessons or hire a ballet teacher to give her a more acceptable hobby.
As it turned out, getting Eden out of her first kart was a complicated task, so the question solved itself.
Now, standing in Brackley, the newly minted rookie, of course, doesn’t remember any of this. Only numerous hours spent behind the wheel, leading to this exact moment.
Having said her goodbyes, she follows Toto somewhere deeper into the building to meet the team. The first impression is important, as Clarissa often reminds, so no reflective surface escapes from Eden’s notice as she checks whether everything is in place.
“You worried?” Eden hears when Toto and her approach the door to the main briefing room.
“Should I?” Confident smile, already on her face, lines up with a daring attitude.
If they see how terrified I really am they will lose all respect without me even earning it first.
“I’m confident this is a start of a fantastic, productive partnership.” He grins, “You have a team of professionals, including your teammate. I expect great things from you.”
If the smile could have grown any wider, it would’ve.
“Of course.”
***
A few months ago, George Russell used a small break between races to visit his family back home. That’s where the call from Michael, his racing engineer, caught him.
“Hey, I’ve got some news for you. Barely rumors, but I think you’d want to know.”
The driver brushed some dust off one of his old helmets.
“Something about the second driver, I presume?” He asked carelessly, “Nothing is decided as far as I’m aware.”
“It isn’t. But it seems Toto’s eyes are set on this… interesting choice. I’ve sent you the file.”
Humming some song under his breath, George walked to a computer and, after a few minutes of silence at both ends of the call, asked with suspicion.
“A girl?”
“If the rumors are true.”
The driver looked through the resume.
British Formula, Formula 3… GT series…
“She has many big wins to her name.” He finally states, “Formula 2 champion?”
“Toto would never consider an amateur.”
The clicking continues – headlines, local newspapers in French, even some interviews.
“Belgian?”
“Correct.”
“She’s older than one would expect.”
“She’s three years younger than you.”
George leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. The phone warms up against his cheek, as he calculates the possible outcomes of someone like that driving in the same team as him.
“It doesn’t matter who it will be, right Michael?” He asks, “I mean, she could be a marketing tool or a decent driver… or both, frankly. One way or another, she won’t be the one fighting for a championship next year.”
Now, as he watches her look over the briefing room, the doubt does find a way into his mind.
Eden studies the crew – it is important to at least know the faces of those she would be working with. The bearded man, closer to the left catches her attention first. The badge says ‘Roger Williamson’.
Toto mentioned he would be my race engineer.
Responding to his smile, her gaze travels further. Eden is already familiar with Elise, responsible for team PR. The talks were already done with the aerodynamics department and other people of the technical side of the team.
As Toto continues his speech of introduction, her eyes flicker between faces, oblivious to the fact that there is one watching her every move with more precision than anyone else.
“…Now, this is George. I don’t believe you’ve met before.”
As tall figure rises from somewhere behind, Eden already braces herself for this introduction.
It was no secret that the main rival of a driver is a teammate. Same machinery, same environment and only the skill does the difference. Eden knows he did a background check; his evaluating gaze tells her more than that. Expecting judgment, she responds with the same, hiding it behind a charming smile.
George steps closer, hand already stretched forward, the same smile resting on his face.
“George Russell. We’ll be driving together.”
I find it hard to believe a person with your story is that lighthearted.
Eden accepts the handshake. Her palm is soft, nails polished, almost as if she hasn’t spent most of her life wearing racing gloves.
“Eden Virtanen. Nice to meet you.”
I was told you’re aiming for the championship this year. Are your expectations for me based on that?
The girl takes her seat next to Roger as Toto turns on the presentation on the upcoming testing. She had expected to be immersed into the working process that fast, however, that doesn’t stop her from losing focus from time to time. The day’s been long.
Eden’s phone chimes in her pocket, and, using the moment when someone from the back asks a question, she glances at it for barely a second.
The notification turns out to be some new article in a racing journal.
[EDEN VIRTANEN – THE NEW ERA PIONEER OR A MERCEDES ATTENTION SEEKER?]
Eden stares at the headline for a bit too long before tucking the phone back into her pocket.
Nothing we didn’t anticipate.