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“We have news,” Robin grinned deviously over her Shure SM7B, waggling her eyebrows at her co-host. Nancy felt a familiar kick of excitement in her stomach, the same one she’d felt ever since they bought the tickets and sorted out the details.
“We’re going to the Austin Grand Prix.”
Robin swiveled in her chair, mimicking a crowd cheering and whooping. “Us! The fail queens of Formula 1 podcasting! In Austin!”
“This means episodes will pause for two weeks starting next week, and then we’ll be back with a mega episode about Dallas- oh my god, Robin, you’re going to-”
Robin crashed to the floor spectacularly, knocking down a fake Driver’s Championship trophy with “Best Lesbian” engraved on it on her way. It took them a second for them to stop laughing long enough to form a coherent sentence.
“Holy shit, I don’t think I’ll be able to contain myself when I see Steve Harrington in the flesh,” Robin wiped tears from her eyes.
“There you go again about Steve Harrington. This is the podcast, folks.”
“Okay, first of all,” she settled back in her seat. “I’m not obsessed with him in the way everyone else is obsessed with him. And secondly,” she drew in a deep breath, Nancy smiling as she realized what Robin was about to say. They said it in unison, laughter creeping into their voices.
“Gay recognizes gay.”
Nancy sipped her drink, trying to compose herself. “I feel like every F1 podcast has a resident Stonathan truther, and that’s you.”
“I’m honestly shocked you’re not a Stonathan truther.”
“My gaydar is broken, I guess.”
“It really is. Folks, the other day Nance was talking about Jim Hopper deserved to win the 2018 title. I genuinely feel like that’s homophobic.”
“ROBIN.”
“ JIM HOPPER? ”
“He’s one of the greats! Oh my god, I’m not even explaining myself to you. We all know I’m a Mercedes girl, and I stand by that,” Nancy motioned to the giant poster of the Mercedes W14 behind her.
“Get with the times, bro. Stonathan .”
She tried to bite down a smile. “You should break into the Red Bull paddock and ask if it’s real.”
Robin cackled. “No, oh my god, I should track down fucking Argyle-”
“Like, ‘I’m sensing some tension, could it be… something more? ’”
And with that, the two collapsed in laughter again, rounding out the episode with their segments Racing Gay of the Day and DRS: Did that Really need to be Said? (Jonathan Byers’ saddle bag and serial offender Billy Hargrove cursing out his race engineer, respectively.) By the time they turned the lights off in the studio, Robin was planning on wearing a shirt with Harrington’s face on it that said “LESBIANS 4 SH7,” and Nancy’s cheeks hurt from laughing.
__________________________
Pretty much everything about Nancy and Robin’s obsession with Formula 1 racing started as a joke. A joke, like “what if we got into sports?” And then, “what if we started a commentary podcast?” And then, “what if we went to a GP?” The progression of it all made Nancy’s cheeks flush with joy. She’d been creatively stuck, wanting to use her journalism degree for something other than somber, monotone local news, and the thrill of watching the cars fly past at breakneck speeds, each pushing for dominance, was nothing short of inspiring. Sports commentary was something she took pretty seriously. Her part of the podcast was analytical, talking about performance and statistics while Robin read AO3 live on air and made headcanons about the drivers. This contrast was what made their podcast– “Formula What?” stand out, and what drew in over 700,000 listeners weekly. This contrast also drew straight men to their comment sections, losing their shit about Hargrove’s various penalties and “purposeful biological misinformation” about male boobs.
In both of their defenses, the Stonathan thing was a joke. The male podcast duos did it all the time, messing around about torrid player affairs. Why should it be different with them? They didn’t even brand themselves around being women, just around being opposites, one unhinged lesbian and one semi-serious sports journalist. The vast majority of their episodes were race breakdowns, completely unrelated to whether or not Red Bull drivers Steve Harrington and Jonathan Byers were fucking, yet people still liked to paint them as crazy fangirls. This didn’t stop Robin from speculating, and making what can only be described as lewd comments about Chrissy Cunningham while the cameras were rolling. Nancy was proud of her, of both of them, and the space they’d cultivated with Formula What? Ignoring the haters had always been Nancy’s specialty, and the result was a space where women could enjoy being slightly crazy about Formula 1 without worrying about what anyone else thought. She knew all this, logically. But as she looked out the window of Robin’s beat-up old Corvette, some of her excitement still verged on worry.
“What if people recognize us?”
“What, the two greatest F1 podcasters of all time? What if, indeed.”
“What if people who don’t like us recognize us?”
“We’ll have earplugs in, so we won’t be able to hear them. Or we’ll throw Coke at them.”
“This is why we’re friends.”
“Haha!” Robin tipped her head back in laughter, holding the steering wheel with one hand in a very un-racing-like way. “This is true.”
__________________________
A couple hours later, it was Nancy’s turn to drive, and Robin immediately got to trying to make Nancy laugh with Stonathan imagines.
“Oh my god, Rob, do you seriously read that stuff off-camera?”
“I’m a shipper! This is what shippers do!”
“I don’t understand how you can do that. Imagine if people wrote fanfiction about us.”
“I’m pretty sure they do.”
Nancy had to try very hard to stay concentrated on the road. “ROBIN.”
“About me and Chrissy Cunningham! Or, like, Vickie! Sexy engineer meets a fan… it’s fun! Not like she’ll ever see it.”
“But you will!”
“And I think it’s fun.”
“Okay, fine, whatever, hit me.”
“Oh, this isn’t even fanfiction, this is a video!”
Nancy pulled into a gas station, moving to get out of the car as Robin giggled at her phone.
“Seriously, Nance, look at this.”
The video was grainy and far-away. It showed Harrington and Byers walking together, probably sometime after Byers ran away with P1 in Japan, leaving Harrington in P4 after an unfortunate pit stop. Harrington was on a winning streak before that, Nancy knew, sounding beyond frustrated over his team radio. But this was… oh. Harrington stepped away from Byers in disbelief, hands carding through his gorgeous hair. Byers wasn’t as visible, clearly talking or motioning at something. Harrington dropped his hands rapidly, shoving Byers in the chest and walking away. Jonathan just stood there, yelling after him. Then the video cut out.
“I probably won’t mention that on the pod. Looks kinda bad.”
“Jeez…”
“The enemies to lovers goes crazy though.”
“Rob.”
“This is part of it, okay? Remember when they got into a screaming match in Belgium? Or when Steve overtook Jonathan right at the end in Austria? It’s the drama! It’s why they’re so good together.”
Nancy stepped out to refill the gas, rolling her eyes. “How come their press together is so awkward, then?”
“That’s also part of it!” Robin yelped from inside the car. “You really don’t get it.”
“I really do not.”
“You will, though! Watch, they’ll get on the podium together and they’ll hug and you’ll understand why people ship them even though they, like, kinda hate each other.”
“Sure, Rob.”
“Oh my god I found an edit to a Brandi Carlile song. Get back in the car.”
“I’m coming!”
__________________________
The environment in Austin was, in a word, thrilling. They’d splurged on three-day passes because why not, and by the end of the first Free Practice, Nancy’s hair was windswept and her heart was racing. Robin was using binoculars to look at the drivers and techs, analyzing the storylines at play. They stayed out until they were both sunburned to shit, their Red Bull hats doing absolutely nothing to protect their faces from the Texas sun. The Red Bull cars, however, proved absolutely dominant over the rest. Seeing them go by, knowing who was inside driving and how hard both of them had worked for their place on the team, sent a shiver of excitement down Nancy’s spine.
Robin punched her in the arm.
“Do you get it now?”
Nancy just smiled and hugged Robin, awash with gratitude for the sport that had brought them together. And their community. As it turned out, they did get recognized, by women young and old, people with dyed hair and piercings, little kids and grandmothers, all wanting to take a picture with the two and compliment how funny and informative the podcast was. Nancy had never felt so awestruck in her life. The entire experience was a blur of photo-ops, cars, long lines, and more cars. Before Nancy knew it, it was race day, and the buzz of the crowd was almost louder than the car engines.
Robin sunk her fingers into Nancy’s shoulder, nervous and excited, practically jumping up and down as the cars started their formation lap to get into place. Jonathan and Steve had qualified second and first, and the Red Bull fans in the crowd (AKA most of the crowd) were pulsing with anxiety. They were an even match, and everyone knew it. The other cars barely stood a chance, but it was the teammates who had the bitterest fight. It was about as spicy as it could get, considering the RB19 was better by such a large margin.
Turn 1 was happening before they even knew it, one of the McLarens sustaining front damage and the Red Bulls rocketing off as always. Their pace was incredible, but it was the overtakes that were the craziest to watch, Steve and Jonathan battling it out right at the front. Robin was vocal, practically shouting every time the boys got too close, or it looked like one might be trying to get feisty with the other. Nancy just couldn’t help but imagine the kind of race strategy Red Bull must have, having two teammates who refuse to concede to each other. When Jonathan finally got a good lead on Steve, the crowd went insane.
“What the fuck! What the fuck!”
“Byers hasn’t been P1 since… Japan.”
Robin’s mouth formed a perfect “O.” “Ohhhh my god.”
Nancy couldn’t help but laugh at her theatrics. Then an Alpine spun out and hit the barrier, drawing everyone’s attention away from the battle up front.
__________________________
When all was said and done, it was Jonathan in P1, with Steve right behind him in P2. Steve smiled for the cameras, bringing Jonathan in for a hug that went on for a while, even by Nancy’s standards. She laughed when Robin started freaking out.
“I need to try and get close to the press area. I want to see my boys!”
“Go ahead. Let’s meet at the car in like… 2 hours? I need to see some replays of that action.”
“Sounds good. I’ll text you.”
And with that, Robin was off, joining the crowd of people leaving the stands and heading to the grounds. Nancy let herself be moved by the flow of people, finally settling on a bench where she had a good view of a screen displaying real-time footage and memorable moments. The sun was setting on Circuit of the Americas, casting a dusky haze on everyone who walked by. Nancy was enthralled by people-watching, seeing everyone in their favorite team’s gear, from Alpine fans with dejected smiles to Red Bull fans with manic grins. Nancy even got to see some staff and reporters rushing amongst the crowd, bypassing barriers and metal detectors with various keycards and badges. That was the world she loved. The world she’d someday be a part of, if her involvement with Formula What? didn’t exclude her from ever being able to talk to a driver in real life. By the time her phone chime pulled her out of her trance, two hours had passed. It was a text from Robin.
hey i’m in line to get out but the crowd is crazy lol. i’ll be at the car in like 30.
She shot a quick text back.
Sorry. Lost track of time. I’ll be there a little after probably. I’ll text you when I find the exit.
She stood up, hitching her backpack up on her shoulder and feeling the cool October breeze settle onto her skin. Now, where the fuck is the exit?
The crowd was still pretty dense and meandering, and Nancy felt unsure in her step. She stopped to consult her phone multiple times, but several wrong turns led her to a quiet, rapidly-darkening part of the circuit. She gripped her phone, real fear shooting through her momentarily.
I’m pretty lost, Rob. Sorry. Will be a second longer.
all good ;)
Nancy turned into what looked like an alleyway, hearing the bustle of people nearby and rushing to rejoin the fray. The noise seemed to be coming from deeper inside the concrete hall. She just wanted to see people again, to reassure her that she wasn’t trespassing, that she wasn’t lost forev-
Oh my god.
Two people were wrestling with each other against the wall, sucking in sharp breaths and, well. Okay, so not wrestling. They were making out. One of them wrapped his fingers in the other’s hair, pushing him down and-
“H-oly!” Nancy choked out involuntarily, and both figures stopped and turned. The one on his knees scrambled upwards, stumbling into the light and yeah, it was Steve Harrington. Fucking Robin, fucking fuck! What the fuck? Jonathan covered his face with his hands and made a noise that sounded like a scream dying in his throat.
“Hey, hey, FUCK! Fuck, hey! Hi, do you mind, uh, maybe signing an NDA, you…”
“Steve,” Jonathan said, voice muffled by his fingers. “Fuck.”
The actual real life Steve Harrington was lurching towards her, hair disheveled and looking desperate but not in that way, Jesus.
“I- uh.”
“Oh my god!” Jonathan said. “Oh my god.”
Steve was face-to-face with her now. “Are you a reporter? How the fuck did you get back here?”
One thing that Nancy had noticed about herself, a fact that she tried to ignore for a long time, is that in situations of fight-or-flight, she often chose to fight. “I got lost. Um. Congrats on the…” she motioned at both of them. “The podium.” What the fuck am I saying?
They both stayed silent, looking at her. Then, incredulously, Steve doubled over laughing. Jonathan stayed pressed up against the wall, laughing like he wanted to wake up from this nightmare ASAP. Steve, meanwhile, wiped tears from his eyes.
“Oh my god. What a day. I don’t know who the hell you are, but fun fact, this is part of the Red Bull paddock,” he slapped the wall next to him. Jonathan sniffled. Was he crying for real? “And you need to sign an NDA.”
“Yeah, gotcha.”
Jonathan took a deep breath. “Okay. If we take you inside, they’ll think you’re a WAG or something. Sorry, uh, about that. But Argyle will get a piece of paper and you just…”
Steve mimicked a signature. “Boop. Done.”
“Got it,” Nancy said, slightly dazed. “How many times has this happened to you two?”
Jonathan still kind of looked like he was going to throw up. “Enough.”
Steve looked at the ground.
“I’m, uh, a podcaster. Just thought you should know. I won’t break the NDA though.”
That got a chuckle out of Jonathan, at least.
“No shit?” Steve stepped closer to examine her. He still smelled like sweat and rubber. “I think I’ve seen clips of you and the other one. People send them to us.”
Heat spread across her cheeks like wildfire, and apparently Jonathan’s too. “Oh my god, that’s insane.”
“You’d be surprised how much we see of what goes on. If we want to.” Jonathan bit his lip.
“Let’s get going.”
“This is crazy,” Nancy said, to no one in particular.
“You don’t know the half of it,” Jonathan grumbled as they turned the corner into a secluded patio area. “Actually, wait here, you two. I’ll just go get it.”
“Got it, captain,” Steve smiled. Jonathan glared at him.
Steve sat comfortably on a picnic table while Nancy tried to busy herself looking at literally anything but him. She could feel his eyes burning holes into her side, fingers twisting and untwisting a hoodie string.
“I take it you’re a hardcore fan?”
This is some fanfiction-ass shit. “You could say that. I prefer ‘analyst.’”
“Your friend sure likes to analyze videos of us.”
“It’s a joke. You guys know that, right?” She turned to him. “Nobody actually thinks you guys are… well, except the real shippers, but that’s like…”
“I know. It’s just funny.”
“What’s funny is that I was a denier,” she scoffed.
“Really?”
“Yeah, I thought it was… weird, to assume…”
Steve started laughing in earnest again, a sound that made Nancy’s stomach do flips in a way it hadn’t before. “It is weird to assume… Noelle? Nora?”
“Nancy. Wheeler.”
“Hah, Wheeler. Like a car.”
Before Nancy could make a bold remark on how stupid that comment was, Jonathan emerged from the darkened building, illuminated only by the string lights above them. He had a pen and paper in his hands.
“Here you are, Ms…”
“Wheeler,” Steve supplied.
Jonathan shot him another look. “Ms. Wheeler. Sorry about… everything…”
“No worries. I bet you deal with crazy fans all the time, I just…”
“Got lost?” Steve seemed to be on a kick of finishing other people’s sentences. Nancy could barely focus on writing her signature while being acutely aware of the two men’s eyes on her, and on each other.
“You’re not a main character type,” Steve said abruptly, as if he’d finally reached a conclusion.
“Steve…” Jonathan warned.
Nancy looked up from the finished document. “Should I be offended?”
“No, ‘main characters’ usually try to fuck him,” Jonathan said, a hint of a smirk in his voice.
“Hm.” Nancy looked between them. Steve dislodged himself from the picnic table.
“Can I kiss you?”
“I don’t know, can you?”
It felt like a bubble being popped. Jonathan made a facepalm motion and Nancy internally swore off judging Robin for the rest of her life, the mental image of Steve on the podium just hours before ringing in her mind as she surged forward to kiss him.
“C’mon, Byers,” Steve said in between grazes, his breath and saliva hot on her prickly skin. Nancy thought she might collapse. “Have a little fun.”
“You might be a rich fuckboy athlete, but I’m-”
Nancy pulled away. “A rich virgin athlete?”
Steve snorted, covering his mouth and waiting for Jonathan to get pissy. Instead, Jonathan locked eyes with Nancy, tilting his head by way of asking if it was okay to smash their faces together. Nancy laughed into the kiss, at the ridiculousness of it all and also at how Jonathan, the winner of today’s race, was the more timid of the two. Soon, all three of them were wrapped up in each other, working up a sweat in the chilly night. Steve hummed against her skin, messing with Jonathan's shirt as the first-place winner bit Nancy's lip gently. It was absolutely delightful, but Nancy glimpsed the time on her phone and stepped back, leaving the two boys looking like they’d just been in a 120 mile-per-hour race… again. The power she held over them gave her a heady rush.
“I have to go…”
“You put your number on the NDA, right? Then we can fight about who gets to fly you to Italy in the off-season,” Steve grinned. Jonathan looked at her warily.
“Please, reject his advances so he learns humility. I’m begging you.”
“It’s up to you two. Have fun with your… um, relationship. But guys?”
“Yeah?” They said, in tandem, following her back down the alleyway.
“In a couple months, when Red Bull needs a new media person, could you two voice your support for a particular candidate?”
“Yes,” Steve nodded.
“Absolutely,” Jonathan smiled at her. The first time he’d really smiled. Still looked scared as hell though.
“Great. Thank you, boys.”
She pulled her phone out of her pocket once she was safely out of their sight, navigating her way to the exit in the now-empty grounds.
I have something illegal to tell you
nance what the fuck did you do
She turned off her phone, smiling brightly as she strolled back to Robin’s old Corvette.