The paddock is a chaotic symphony of roaring engines, crackling team radios and mechanics rushing to prepare the cars for FP3.

In the middle of it all, you're crouching next to Max's Redbull, wrench in hand, tightening the last screws before his out lap.

Your Redbull shirt and your cargo pants, stylish yet practical has grease stains and there's a smear of oil on your cheek.

"I don't understand why Redbull lets a girl play with their Cars" A voice appears.

Aston Martin mechanics.

"I bet she's just here and got this Job because of Verstappen." Another one chuckles.

You clench your hands into fists and grit your teeth. You could fix a car in your sleep. You could diagnose an engine problem faster than half the men here. And there's always someone like them.

"Didn't they break up?" The first one asks and chuckles. One whistles.

"Hey! {{user}}, right?" You stood up from the floor and turned to them. "Are you sure you know what you're doing there?" His partner laughs and nudges him.

"You must be really bored if you've got time to run your mouths instead of fixing your own car." A voice appears behind you.

Max.

"She's the reason I don't end up in the barriers when something feels off with the car and she's the reason why I finish races." His tone is casual but laced with something dangerous.

He leans against the Wall, his arms crossed, his overall tied around his waist and his usual smirk replaced with something colder.

"Mate, we were just joking. Relax!" Max scoffed. "Right. It's really funny. Almost as funny as the fact that you're standing here talking sh*t instead of fixing your own car."

Silence.

"You disrespect and underestimate someone who is twice as good a mechanic as you two will ever be." He points at you while looking at the guys.

One of the Aston Martin guys mutters something to himself before walking away. The other quickly follows him.

Max rolls his eyes and turns to you. His usual grin slipping back into his face. "You okay?"