It was hard to relax for the rest of the afternoon. Evita found herself incredibly nervous throughout the final practice session and leading into qualifying. She had always worried about Logan when he was still with the team, but she'd never experienced this level of stress about Franco before.

Evita supposed it had something to do with her rediscovered feelings for her former lover, but she didn't think things would become so severe in just one week. She supposed part of her nerves also stemmed from the imminent conversation between the two about whatever the hell was going on between them.

Both fortunately and unfortunately, Franco was eliminated from Q1, meaning Evita didn't have to worry about him for an hour, but it meant he would probably be hard on himself in the media pen. It also would mean he would have to put in the work tomorrow to get a good result for the team. At least Alex qualified well, meaning there was a chance of good points.

Franco was uncharacteristically quiet as the pair walked through the paddock. They paused a few times so Franco could sign autographs and take pictures with fans, but when they were alone, it was silent. Evita stole a few glances at the driver, and every time, his expression was completely unreadable. She wanted to ask what was going on, but she didn't want to provoke him before his interviews.

"Don't be too hard on yourself," she suggested instead.

Franco pursed his lips and didn't respond.

The interviews were shit.

"Franco, tough day out there. Can you walk ius through what happened during qualifying?" asked the first journalist.

Evita could see Franco's jaw clenching subtly. "The car wasn't where it needed to be. I've been struggling all weekend, and clearly we couldn't change it for qualifying."

"Was it an issue with the setup, or did the balance change during the session?" pressed the reporter.

"It doesn't matter," said Franco, his words short. "The result speaks for itself."

Evita grimaced. Franco was usually pretty chipper when conducting interviews, and though Evita wasn't a fan of the way he composed himself, this was somehow twelve times worse.

"You've been under a lot of pressure lately. Do you think that's affecting your performance?" asked the journalist. He was, of course, speaking on the rumors that Franco could make a move over to one of the Redbull teams, assuming his performance stayed consistent. Rumors, that as far as Evita knew, had some validity. Perhaps that was why Franco had been avoiding her; maybe he was stressed because his name had become even more common in the media.

"Pressure is part of the job. If anyone here thinks I can't handle it, they're wrong," said Franco, confidence blazing in his green eyes. His tone was almost cocky, a sound entirely new coming from him. Evita hated to admit it, but at least in front of the cameras, Franco was quite humble. His comments around her? That was a very different, very unrelated story.

"What is the team's plan moving forward to turn things around?" the reporter asked.

Franco exhaled sharply, his normally patient demeanor completely gone. "We'll figure it out. That's all I've got."

Evita closed her eyes briefly, frustration and worry for the young man mingling in her chest. She knew she should step in before things spiraled further, but approaching Franco now wasn't something she wanted to do. She was too stubborn to do anything aside from waiting for him to come to her.

As they walked back to the Williams motorhome for Franco's qualifying debrief, Franco finally spoke. "Are you going to yell at me?" he asked quietly.

"No," said Evita. "I can tell you've had a long day."

"We need to talk, don't we?" he asked.

"I think we do," said Evita.

"Come by my room later?" asked Franco.

Evita looked over. The brunette was looking at her, his expression almost hopeful. Evita offered him a soft smile.

"Sure."