AUTHOR'S NOTE: I was gonna wait until this Saturday to post a new chapter, but I just couldn't wait! Exams are finished and now I get to finally return to this fic! We're back to weekly Saturday releases :D

I hope this chapter isnt too boring, It was much more race-centred than expected, but i thought that'd be fitting since its the first race of the season. These things are important, people!

March 10th, 1996

The 1996 season finally commenced under the Australian daylight. Sauber had a new bout of confidence this year— their engine was better than ever before, and Gunther had a strong feeling that with this, combined with their new driver lineup that brimmed with potential, then they really had a chance at competing against the bigger teams. It was a sense of promise Chandler never felt before, and now, he was looking forward to finally giving Timothy and Gavin a run for their money.

The real excitement was not just in the car, but in the garage next to his. It was time for him and Joey to compete alongside each other, and Chandler practically shook with eagerness. He remained blissfully ignorant, pretending that Joey wasn't his number one rival, because it was much more fun to think about what would happen after the race. Celebration after celebration, assuming they score any meaningful points.

From his own garage, Chandler kept a careful eye on Joey. The boy had barely begun his debut yet he was already smothered by reporters who didn't get a taste of him back in the testing sessions. The posse of cameramen and journalists took up an annoying amount of space in the pitlane, much to the visual dismay of David, who always seemed to have a problem with the sport's publicity.

"Can't they just wait until after the Grand Prix is done?" He muttered, keeping his attention to the computer screens in front of him with the occasional side-eye.

"Let it go, David. They won't hurt you." Monica arrived just in time to calm the engineer down. She joined alongside where Chandler stood, unaware of where her driver's focus was being kept.

"It's just not polite. There's people who need to do their jobs here."

Monica smiled. "Aren't they doing their jobs too?" She did not mean to challenge him, only inquire.

A defeated sound left David's mouth, then he turned to face Chandler in his chair, snapping his fingers to break the driver's trance. "See? They're distracting our people, too."

Chandler rejoined the people back on Earth. "Hm? Oh. Yeah. Sure." He was never the best at pretending he was paying attention.

Monica raised a single scandalous eyebrow, looking at the starstruck boy with the kind of suspicion he didn't need. "What are you, jealous?"

"Jealous?" Of all those people clawing at his friend? Waiting to sink their teeth into the fresh new meat? Wondering if the new guy would put out for any of the female reporters with low-cut blazers? "Why would I be jealous?"

"Joey's getting all the attention now. You're no longer the heartthrob of Formula 1."

Oh, that too.

"Don't worry, it gives you more space to become a champion." Monica assured, but she was always slightly off about the things that bothered her friend.

Joey was still caught in the webs of probing microphones, a lamb who managed to charm his predators. He'd already overcome his old stage fright, and was now bouncing between different journalists without a single waver as if they were only old friends. Of all people, it'd make sense for Joey to immediately become a fan favourite. He was the young new player replacing the beloved Allagash— and as Chandler was all too familiar with, he had a charisma that forced all cameras to point to him.

He tuned in to the broadcast that played on one of David's many screens.

"The ladies are really loving you from what we've seen!" A woman with a large mane of dark curls appeared in frame, standing only centimetres away from Joey within the cramped crowd. Her nasally voice was unfamiliar— Chandler figured she must've been a new hire from whatever media company he didn't care for. "Tell us, do you have any girls waiting for you back at home?"

"They're not even asking anything important!" David tutted from his chair.

Joey looked taken aback from the question— a colour he never wore, being as sexually confident as was. Then he leaned into the microphone, answering with "Not right now, but I'm always open." then delivering a wink to the lens. Chandler's stomach churned, but his heart skipped a beat.

"And your teammate…" Somehow, the reporter's harsh voice grew even more strong, syllables mushing together as she leaned in closer. "What's his situation?"

Chandler looked out to the pitlane again. His view of Joey was somewhat obscured between all the crew members working and machinery in place to handle incoming cars, but even then, he saw the golden boy looking right back at him with a bright white smile.

"He's free as well."

"Ugh!" The woman gushed, her knees nearly buckling. "We had Kip, now we have you, and we have Chandler…" She fanned herself with her impossibly long, red nails. "Seriously, is Sauber's only requirement that their drivers must be devilishly handsome?"

Joey let out a boastful chuckle. "It might just be," He leaned his head back to get a better read of her nametag, "...Janice."

David waved a disappointed hand to the screen. "Journalism, everyone."

"Seriously, David. Let it go." Monica ordered, before patting Chandler on the back with a question. "I managed to convince Rachel to fly out here for today's Grand Prix. Do you think she's at the Ferrari garage right now?"

"That, or the nearest Ralph Lauren."

Though he joked, Chandler could very well be entirely correct. Monica acknowledged that possibility with a peck on the cheek before going out to find her friend.

And with Monica making her departure, in came Joey from his escape out of the reporting crowd and into Chandler's garage. He sparkled in the blue jumpsuit.

"Look at you." Chandler enthused, holding his arms out to the newly decorated driver. "It's not every day I see such a young driver. I guess it's up to me to take you under my wing, huh?" He nudged an elbow to Joey's hard chest.

From behind, David had a curious look beneath his glasses. Never did he see the cynical Chandler Bing act so smug.

"Oh, please do. I'm your biggest fan, Chandler~" Joey channelled Janice's loving and whiny tone, joining his hands and rolling his googly eyes. It was mockery as plain as day, but still enough to excite Chandler. He'd take every crumb of affection he'd get, even when the flirting was only for laughs.

Chandler looked the other driver up and down, taking in the new sight. He was initially worried that this transition would be jarring, but nothing fit Joey more than classic racing attire. He was born on the checkered line.

"Sauber really suits you."

In actuality, everything suited him. There wasn't anything that would tarnish Joey's beautiful physique.

Joey flexed one arm up, never ceasing to catch Chandler off guard with his perfectly cut muscle. "Not as much as Ferrari will!" Pride cracked through his words.

Part of Chandler knows how risky comments like these were— subtle nods to his good looks, the occasional risque joke. Everytime he playfully leans in for a kiss and they both laugh it off, meanwhile Chandler hopes they can one day make it sincere. When he sees Joey play along or take these compliments without disgust, it only feeds into his delusion.

David spared a comment for the conversation that he merely observed. "You should probably tone it down with the Ferrari-talk. You're on Sauber now— you have to mention our name as much as possible."

Chandler nodded in agreement. "And you have to start drinking Red Bull at every second of the day."

"No problemo." Joey assured with a thumbs up. "I need the energy anyway, yeah?"

"Exactly."

Chandler made a vow to be more honest with Joey— and that wasn't limited to just the dark secrets he kept locked away; he wanted to make his appreciation known as well. He loved those moments when the curtain's shadow brought an end to their late night rendezvous', and they'd let slip just how much they meant to each other. Everything was easier in the dark.

And soon this vocal admiration no longer had a curfew and Chandler would speak his mind even in the daytime; even when David was around. "Y'know, I'm really excited for—"

"Dang it, the race's boutta start." Joey caught a glimpse of the digital clock sitting on David's desk, then immediately made a break for his garage next door. Before he was out of sight, he waved goodbye to Chandler where the garage met the track. "We'll talk later, yeah?"

Though he asked a question, he was gone before Chandler could even answer.

This shouldn't have been surprising. Now that Joey was officially employed and part of the team, of course there'd be less time for the two to yap around the track. Chandler always knew that no matter how careless Joey was, racing was the one thing he took most seriously. He'd bring around a degree of professionalism never expected of the usually easygoing driver.

Hopefully this wouldn't become a regular occurrence, where Joey no longer had time for his friend. There was no doubt that he should be putting his passion first and foremost, but it'd be difficult for Chandler to hide his hurt once he was cast away for cars. Speaking of, he had to get strapped into his own.

The mechanics helped him jump into the cockpit, and as he was just about to drive out into the pitlane, he saw the other Sauber car leave before him, and it hit him once more; he'd be driving the season with Joey. It still sounded too good to be true, having his best friend and one love alongside him at the job he grew to tolerate. Chandler counted his blessings— was God finally returning him that good karma he worked so hard for?

The cars all began to line up on the grid, ready for the formation lap. Chandler would be starting at fifth right behind Timothy, who was spending his last year at Williams before leaving for Benetton the following year— and as a certain ecstatic manager hoped, passing his position onto Chandler. The view of Timothy's glorious and quick Williams was unfamiliar. Chandler had never qualified so close to the star driver, but that was the beauty of Sauber's new car. It let Chandler drive to his full potential.

All drivers drove in their usual zig-zag pattern down the track to warm their tyres up in the final minute leading up to the race. In his rear-view mirror, Chandler could see Joey's car diagonal from his, starting from seventh, and the single thumbs up Joey stuck out from the cockpit. A reflexive grin managed to stay hidden under his helmet.

He got one good look out to the crowds before he'd have to lock his attention to what drove directly ahead of him. Fans in the grandstands waved their large flags, and for every US flag he saw, his selfish brain wondered if they were all for him. Even with American talents like Gavin or Timothy on the track, Chandler still hoped that all those flag bearers were here cheering for him. This selfishness extended onto this friend— were those Italian flags for Paolo, who stayed loyal to Ferrari for countless years by now, or were they for the junior driver just behind him? The best part was that it was impossible to discern for sure. Schrodinger's Flag, Ross might say— or he might criticise Chandler's misuse of fundamental sciences.

The cars returned to their starting positions. The five lights counted down, each circle illuminating red one-by-one. Each second that passed, suspense only grew, until all five lights went out, and the Australian Grand Prix commenced, the beginning of a new season. As per usual, Chandler was quick to hit the gas, already closing the gap between him and Timothy and following the driver ahead right behind his rear wing.

With every turn he made; with every gear he shifted; each move he calculated with utmost precision. Sauber had a car that could genuinely place him on podiums at a consistent pace, and he wasn't going to waste that opportunity. No repeats of the mistakes he made on this very track last year would be made. No more reckless driving; that wasn't Chandler.

But in his rear mirror, he saw the man who honed that style better than anyone he's ever paid attention to. Joey just barely missed collisions for every car that dared getting near him. He had already managed to gain on Gavin's teammate, placing himself comfortably in sixth place. Who Joey was on track was unrecognizable from who he was outside of it— the usually merciful man spared no space for any car attempting an overtake. It's like he knew he had some sort of immunity against penalties, but he didn't. He just wants to win.

The question burned in his mind: when the time came, would he pull the same dangerous maneuvers on Chandler?

Up ahead, Paolo was only becoming slower and slower. Surprising, as Ferrari was usually the team to count on to bring real speed. Instead, Timothy grew closer to the red car once taking the outer curve, slicing through the air and incidentally giving Chandler a tow. With this reduced air resistance, both cars overtook Paolo; the Italian not even putting up a fight.

"Great move!" David's praise came through the radio like church bells. "Gavin's wheels aren't looking good. There's a chance there."

The McLaren driver was currently second, but as David mentioned, his tires lost their grip at an alarming rate. Chandler banked on this leading to an early pitstop for the driver, granting himself third place assuming he could maintain it— but just as he thought this, the Malboro branded car launched off the white lines, straight into the barrier with a cloud of gravel floating around him.

With Gavin in the wall, Chandler had a spot on the podium. The first in a long time.

"That looked bad." was all he could say without letting his excitement become apparent.

"It's a yellow flag." David announced for him. "They're about to call out a safety car."

This would mean all cars were ordered to go slowly, and barred from any overtaking action until Gavin's car was successfully removed from the barrier. Everyone was granted a free opportunity for a tire-change while the grid positions were locked in for the duration of the waving yellow flags, and with only twenty laps left of the Grand Prix, Chandler was confident he could really go home with bronze.

Several laps had passed in the time it took to carefully extract his car off the track. Chandler couldn't recognize which driver was in the Benetton car that led the race, but all that mattered was that he and Timothy were right behind the winning car. It was up to the race leader to decide when the race would return to its regular pace now that the green flags were waving. He waited patiently, ready to pounce the second he saw the leading car speed up— not only to take Timothy's place, but to protect his own spot against Joey, who was a hair's length behind him.

Eventually, the Benetton picked up the pace and the race was back in regular session. Chandler hit the gas and went on the outer line of the upcoming curve, ready to cut Timothy off and snatch the silver trophy. However, a good engine can only get you so far— Timothy was still the superior driver, and managed to protect his position.

Soon, the race came to a close, and Chandler sailed home at third place. Any moment now, he'd wake up from a dream and find himself in his hotel room again— but his neck still throbbed in pain from the car's downforce, meaning he was very much awake and this was all very much real.

"P3! Chandler, that was P3!" David yelled on the other side of the radio. "Absolutely incredible drive, man!"

He drove his car up against the third place sign, jumping out of the cockpit to find the whole team crowding together at the edge of the pitlane. Fists in the air and cheering his name; flushed cheeks as they welcomed home their number one driver. With a running start, he jumped and launched himself into the happy arms of Sauber, where all the mechanics and strategists enveloped the star boy in unbridled glee. The claps against his back were strong with triumph, enough to break his bones, but he remained strong at the sight of his happy manager and her red smile. He owed Monica a good result, and today, he had officially reclaimed the Australian Grand Prix from the despair that soaked his last race.

The team had let him down from their grasp, but he wasn't safe just yet. As he took his own helmet off, another joyous pair of hands clasped onto his shoulders, and he turned to face the driver who had finished just behind him. Joey— his hair slick with sweat and eyes shiny with tears— pulled Chandler into a tight hug, nearly suffocating the bronze boy.

"That was awesome!" The exhilarated Italian said in between breaths, spinning in place and lifting his friend off his feet. His hand found home in Chandler's hair, holding him close as if he'd fall apart. "That was so, so awesome!"

Chandler was still at a loss for words. The world was bright and the crowd's cheers were still echoing in his skull. When did God find the time to orchestrate all this for him?

Either way, he melted into Joey's arms, and the happiest boys in the world continued to laugh and scream over their brilliant finish and a glorious start to the year.

Joey didn't let go of him until he absolutely had to, when Monica tugged at the sleeves of his jumpsuit. She was joined by Rachel and Phoebe, with the latter jumping onto Joey and smothering him in a grand hug. Rachel simply kept put.

"That was spectacular! Both of you!" Monica enthused, swooping in and giving Chandler a hug of her own. Her embrace was much more concise, giving him a pat on the back and then facing him directly again. "You were amazing out there, Chandler. You really showed yourself."

"Do those crashes always happen? Was the orange guy okay?" Rachel asked, but her question went unanswered.

Chandler gained his footing after a light stumble, seeing stars after Joey shook him around for so long. His vision focused and he finally recognized Monica standing in front of him. The first thing his dry throat could muster out was a hoarse "Thank you."

His congratulations didn't end there— in the dazzling white and blue Williams jumpsuit, Timothy approached Chandler with a hand extended out. He was the splitting image of his father, minus the moustache. He carried an innocent smile that meant he never faced the same mid-field horrors as Chandler did.

"Great race, man." He waited for Chandler to shake his hand.

Entirely new territory this was. To be honoured by the current championship holder, a driver who always left the Grand Prix adorned in gold, was an honour he'd never even imagined of achieving. By shaking his hand, could this mean that Chandler was really Williams material? If they get to share today's podium?

Hesitantly, Chandler took Timothy's hand in his, surprised when he could actually feel the physical touch. This all still felt like a dream. "Thanks. You too."

"Honestly, I didn't expect you guys to be so fast." Timothy continued, running a hand through his wet hair. "You guys have a great car."

"Better than yours?"

Timothy only smiled before leaving off to catch the race winner. His sweat was still on Chandler's hand, a moist reminder that even for just today, he was on the same level as Timothy Burke. Was that a weird thing to think?

"Hubba hubba." Rachel gushed the moment he was out of hearing distance, only to yelp after Monica swatted her arm.

"Can you control yourself? This is a Grand Prix, not a marriage convention." The black haired girl reminded her friend. She was met with Rachel's stubborn pout and crossed arms.

Through conversation, Chandler couldn't ignore the cheers of the crowd. Still as deafening as when his helmet was on, but those American flags he kept note of sailed even higher. Red, white, and blue spelled out his name all across the grandstands. Not all of them were for him, surely, but he knew a good amount of those people were wearing caps with his number on them. That was enough.

A race official motioned with his hands for Chandler to reach the podium, but he was stuck in place. All he could do was watch his glove catch sunlight as he waved to the crowds, relishing in this victory just a little longer. It wasn't until Monica nudged him off gently that he snapped out of his trance.

"Go on," She said, her blue eyes bright with pride. "The crowd will still be here when you're up on the podium."

He nodded, and finally took those heavy steps to the stage. He could barely see the path under the flashes of hundreds of cameras, and his ribs still ached from the weight of Joey's crushing hug. He rubbed the back of his neck where Joey's fingers left burns, hoping they'd bruise and never go away. It'd be a piece of him he could keep wherever he went; a souvenir he had that the girls watching at home would never.

Chandler stepped onto the third place pedestal, where his trophy awaited him. This view was not fully unique— he's won before, he's been on the podium before— but all those results still came with whispers of doubt that kept him up at night to this day. But drunk on the love of the crowd; the high energy that racing promised him all those years ago; he paid no mind to those demons that belittled him every night.

In the sea below, his eyes met Joey's— he noticed crows feet from where his smile was too big for his face. Joey had one hand shielding his eyes from the glaring sunlight, but the honey still shone bright in the shade, and they were locked on the boy in the matching blue jumpsuit. Not even a single glance to the true winner.

There were a couple of seconds of peace— when the national anthem became white noise and his surroundings blurred, holding no importance compared to his friend down below. Maybe Joey noticed this too, because he held a proud thumb up, and it glowed brighter than the relentless sun above.

Bizet's Carmen prelude played through the speakers, and bottles of champagne were thrust into the hands of the three decorated drivers. Timothy was the first to pop the cork, baptizing Chandler with the explosion of foam. He shook the white drink out of his eyes, but didn't do much else to defend himself. He let himself be embellished in the alcohol.

Chandler breathed in the celebration. The hot sun rained down on his skin and left him golden, and he feels alive. He feels the air in his lungs even though it's been knocked out of him and he feels the heavy weight of his heart— thick with bliss. He soaks it all in; achievement, recognition, love. They fill him up until tears pour from those blue eyes, and his cheeks become sore from the smile he didn't know he was wearing.

This is it, he thinks. The moment Joey had been alluding to for a long time. He let it be known that he saw Chandler's skill, even if no one else did. He carried this secret for a year now; he always knew Chandler had this sort of potential. It was never just money.

Chandler didn't understand how people so blindly believed in a God with no proof of existence, but Joey had done just the same for him. Faith didn't seem so impossible afterall.

If every race week is like this one, with Joey close by his side and something to celebrate, then he could really see himself sticking around in this sport for a little longer.