"Was the suspension tuned right?" Pidge asked, their question echoing off the metal walls of the silent garage. Keith was seated across from the younger's makeshift desk, papers and small car parts strewn haphazardly around the room, bigger metal components making up the surface Pidge was currently writing upon. Keith hadn't been sure that the small engineers laptop should be so precariously balanced on the metal frame holding it up, but it hadn't fallen yet, so he figured it was fine.

Keith was staring vacantly up at the crossbars of the ceiling like he had been for the past hour of Pidge's questioning when he finally answered.

"Yes," He said, not really paying attention to what was being asked. Keith just wanted to be done.

He had to force himself to stop bouncing his leg a few times, restlessness getting the better of him. Keith was still antsy from the race, given barely an hour between crossing that final line and being dragged back to Pidge's workspace for the interrogation. He was also still angry about Rolo, angry about the bland taste winning had left in his mouth, and Keith needed to move. He needed to drive. He needed to go.

But Pidge insisted on getting every last detail of the race out of him 'before he forgot', so he sat in the chair, tried not to fiddle too much, and waited until he could escape back home.

"Do you think the extra traction control helped speed up the turn entries?" Pidge asked as they scribbled furiously on a notepad, the only sound in the room other than the low humming of the air conditioner. Keith clasped his hands together to stop those from moving too, his mind already on the road back home, thinking of taking the back roads so he could drive as fast as he wanted.

"Yes." Keith said again, imaging the feeling of the wind in his hair as he tore down the one lane roads, swerving around any cars in his way. His mind was lost in grabbing his helmet from the locker room, getting changed out of this racing gear, and slipping back on his leather jacket.

"Are you a dick?" Pidge asks, the scratching of pencil on paper finally stopping.

"Ye-" Keith brings his gaze down from the ceiling, his head down from the clouds, and levels Pidge with a glare. The blank look he receives in return informs him that he probably deserved that one.

"Are we done?" Keith asks instead of saying anything to further aggravate the younger. Pidge just sighs as they place their pencil down, lifting their glasses up to rub at their eyes with the heels of their hands.

"For now," They said, "but I'm going to ask Rolo a few questions about the race as well. And I want to hear from you again tomorrow after you've slept on it."

"He didn't even finish three laps," Keith scoffs, standing up from his chair, finally stretching his legs, "I doubt he could tell you much of anything."

"Better than someone." Pidge mutters, but Keith catches it and casts an unimpressed look at the other. Pidge wouldn't even give his anger the time of day, their shoulders cracking as they stretch their arms above their head, "Keith, I'm trying to build the fastest car. I am going to build the fastest car. But to do that, I need feedback, and right now yours is pretty shit. Besides, I need to know how it drives for everyone, not just your life-threatening style of driving."

Keith signs and looks away from Pidge, feeling somewhat guilty now for only thinking about himself, and ruffles some of the hair on the back of his head.

"I know, sorry Pidge." He offers, still not looking at the other.

Pidge lets out a light laugh before Keith can hear the fluttering of paper again, their pencil scratching in the notebook again.

"Now," They said, and Keith glanced over to see the slight smile the other offered him, "get out of here, all your jittering is making me anxious."

Keith offered a small smile of his own, nodding to the other before slipping out of the room, walking quickly towards the locker room. He was so close.

Keith heard his name being called from behind him, and resisted the urge to groan at yet another delay, stopping in his tracks and turning around.

"Allura," Keith said in greeting to the woman walking briskly down the hallway to meet him, smiling as she approached him.

"Keith," She replied, smiling as she placed a light hand on his shoulder, "Congratulations on your win today."

"Oh, thanks," Keith said, still somewhat awkward about praise from his employer, but he tried to smile for her as she removed her hand, instead clasping it in front of her.

"I also wanted to remind you of the meeting tomorrow morning, 10am sharp, to go over the details of the race and how we should proceed with the next few before qualifiers. All five of us should be there."

Keith nods, thinking that he'll probably need to set an alarm for tomorrow morning, when something clicks.

"Only five of us? Who's missing?" Keith asks.

"Oh, you didn't know? Coran is still in California."

Lance pulled into his family's driveway with his wallet a touch lighter than it had been an hour prior, but there were no regrets, the milkshakes had been worth it. Lance had spent the entire drive back with Hunk raving to him about the modifications to his car, how smoothly she shifted gears, how easily she pushed the top speed. He wasn't sure Hunk was ever going to lose the proud flush he had on as they drove back, asking Lance for his opinion on other changes he was hoping to make, not even needing to finish his explanation before Lance was fully on board.

And Hunk deserved that. He was such an amazing engineer, dealing with all of Lance's whimsical ideas which may or may not have included fire boosters a few times. Lance really couldn't thank Hunk enough.

But before Lance could bestow any more of his love upon his best friend, Hunk had to head home. Hunk had an astrophysics midterm in the morning, and as much as Lance loved the other, he knew how the engineer got when he was stressed. Lance had dropped Hunk off and driven the rest of the way home much faster than his motion-sickness prone friend would have appreciated, still jittering.

He had done it. He'd finally broken the ten minute mark that he'd set as his goals over a year ago. Lance could feel it, could feel himself getting better, could feel the endless hours of training on the circuit paying off.

Lance unbuckled himself and turned off the car, but had to pause for a moment when the sound of a rumbling engine didn't stop. He stared at the dashboard, all lights off, before he realized that the sound wasn't coming from his car.

It was coming from the car behind him.

Lance steps out of the vehicle, closing the door behind him as he turned around, staring at the car that had pulled in behind him. The car still rumbling on his driveway is bright orange, specifically the 'Fire Orange' of a 2013 M3, and Lance feels himself gaping at the impossible car. The driver cuts the engine, causing Lance to snap his jaw shut as he watched the mysterious stranger.

The man that stepped out of the older BMW had hair even brighter than his car, his orange moustache curled up at the ends in a way that Lance didn't even think possible. The stranger steps out from around his car door, practically bouncing his way over to Lance, and Lance can't stop himself.

"Is that the Lime Rock Park edition?" Lance blurts, knowing he probably looked as much a fanboy as he felt. The smile the man gives Lance makes his moustache curl up impossibly higher, and Lance wonders what kind of styling gel he used.

"Well don't you have a keen eye!" The stranger says with an accent Lance can't quite place, stopping just in front of the younger, but still seeming to bounce in place.

"Only 200 of those were even made!" Lance gapes, leaning to peer past the man at the car.

"Yup!" And somehow the man sounds even more excited about this fact than Lance, "Allura just bought it for Altea, this is it's test drive weekend."

Lance missed most of his statement, still fixated on the limited edition car parked on his driveway.

"Allura?" He asks.

"Oh my, I haven't introduced myself have I," The stranger exclaims, and straightens up when Lance nods at him, finally tearing his eyes away from the orange paint job, "My name is Coran."

Coran reaches into his back pocket to pull out a slip of paper that Lance assumes is his business card.

"I'm Lance," He says, accepting the card from the other.

If Lance was gaping before, it's nothing compared to how shellshocked he felt at the company name written in elegant cursive at the top of the card. Lance was starstruck as he read the Altea business card, Coran's name in bold black letters followed by his management title.

"Altea Constructors?! As in the reigning champions of the Formula 1 races? The designers of the dual powered electric racing engine? The constructor for Takashi Shirogane the five time world champion?" Lance was practically shouting at Coran by the end of it, but there was no way the most prestigious American F1 constructor company had sent a man to his house, parked on his driveway.

"Yup! That's the one." Coran smiled, clapping his hands together, "We also just had our lead engineer submit a design that should improve the top wind speed of any chassis, we already had a few trial runs, and it looks like we'll be another ringer for this year's final!"

"Coran, my man. This is like super cool and all, and I'm super stoked that you're here," Lance says, smiling harder than before as he tilted his head to the side, "But why are you here? I mean, in Los Angeles of all places because I though Altea operated out of Texas, but also why are you here, on my family's driveway?"

If Lance thought Coran's smile couldn't get any brighter he was proven incorrect with a twitch of a moustache.

"That, my boy," Coran mimics and Lance laughs, "Is because of your driving this afternoon."

"You saw that?!" Lance exclaims, knowing that it was a pretty open area, but no one ever came by that way.

"I sure did! And what a sight it was to see," Coran smiled, looking almost nostalgic.

"Ah, it was pretty great," Lance said, smirking just a little to cover up the flush he felt climbing up his neck, "But I'm sure you've seen better, I mean, you work with some of the best drivers in the world."

"Only the best," Coran said, smiling, and placed a hand on Lance's shoulder, "And I wan't you to join them, if you can that is."

"Me!?" This time Lance was pretty sure he was going to faint. An employee of the best F1 constructor was asking him, Lance, to join their company. To be a driver for their cars. There had to be some kind of mistake.

"Coran, I'm really flattered and all, but I don't think you have the right guy. I mean, I'll admit I was pretty epic on that hill, but there are hundreds of racers in California. And there are so many that are better than me, I mean I get beat on the track all the time." Lance starts to ramble, overwhelmed, "I don't even have my super license, I'm really new at racing, I've only completed in a few small events before, and I didn't even win those. And I didn't even do that with the car on it's own, I have Hunk make modifications, and he's really the only reason I could beat ten minutes on that run, because-"

"Lance," Coran cuts him off and Lance snaps his jaw shut, "Can I tell you why I was in California?"

Lance slowly nods his head, still overflowing with too many thoughts to just think.

"Allura, she's the director of Altea, sent me here to find some new recruits," Coran said, smiling softly down at Lance, "I've been at the tracks every day, watching other drivers like yourself, trying to find someone to bring in. And I don't think I've seen such horrendous driving in my life."

Lance laughs at the face the other pulls.

"You'd think they were trying to hit the other cars!" Corn said, shaking his head, "I was actually on my way back to the airport when I saw you driving. Your form could use a little work, your drift gets a little wobbly at times, but it was some of the best driving I've seen in years. You have talent Lance."

To say Lance felt warm all over would be an under exaggeration, he was practically on fire, a flush running up his cheeks.

"Oh." Was all Lance could say, too stunned for words.

"Well, you don't need to make a decision right away!" Coran said, Lance was starting to be certain the Coran's smile never left his face, "But if you want to give it a try, you can call me with that number on the back of the card."

Lance flips over the business card he'd forgotten was in his hand, and reads the number scribbled on the back, barely legible.

"Also, you mentioned you had a mechanic? Would you mind if I looked at your car?" Coran seemed to be vibrating with excitement again, and Lance just nodded, stepping out of the way as the other popped the hood and whistled lowly.

A few snaps of a phone camera and Coran was closing the hood, turning back to Lance who still hadn't spoken since Coran had broken his rambling.

"I hope you don't mind if I take these photos back to our lead engineer just for a second opinion, but I think it's safe to say that if your mechanic wanted to join us as well, we would be honoured to have him." Coran smiles, reaching a hand out to shake with Lance's, "I hope to hear from you soon Lance."

Lance shakes the older man's hand, brain still whirling with information as the other heads back to their car, starts up the roaring engine, and takes off down the street, leaving a flabbergasted Lance standing in the middle of his family driveway.

Let me know any thoughts, comments, or critiques! Thanks for reading 'til the end!

~Katz7777777