Chapter Text
Max held the long shopping list in his hand, sighing as he muttered. “This is going to take forever." Ahead of him, Charles was pacing back and forth, desperately trying to calm Oscar, who was cradled against his chest in a baby wrap. Oscar’s fussing was loud enough to attract a few looks from nearby shoppers, and Charles seemed close to his wits’ end. "Shh, come on, Oscar, please," he whispered, his tone a mix of frustration and exhaustion.
Max’s eyes drifted to the shelf as he checked two cartons of heavy cream, comparing expiration dates before setting them both back down. He glanced over to find Charles still pacing in the dairy aisle, bouncing slightly as he tried to soothe Oscar. With a bit of hesitation, Max asked, “Do you want to go back home? I can come back tomorrow and get everything we need.”
Charles shook his head immediately. “No, Max, we need food. The house is empty, and the party is next week,” he replied, casting a glance at the shopping list Max was holding.
Max looked down at Oscar, who had started whimpering louder, his little face turning a brighter shade of red with each passing minute. “We could always do this online,” Max suggested, shrugging. But he knew why Charles was insistent—Charles was a bit on edge from being cooped up with Oscar for weeks, and it was his first chance to get some errands done in person. But Oscar’s escalating fussiness didn’t make it easy.
Max glanced at Oscar, who was now red-faced and wailing, his cries echoing through the store aisles, making heads turn. Charles’ soothing efforts, usually so effective, were useless this time. He gently bounced Oscar, cooing softly, but the baby’s fussiness only grew louder. Charles’ own face was tense, showing how much he was struggling to keep calm as he tried to hush Oscar.
“Is there anything I can do?” Max asked quietly, feeling a bit helpless as he watched Charles.
Charles hesitated, glancing down at Oscar with an expression that was part exhaustion and part frustration. He finally looked back at Max, a little desperation in his eyes. “Do you think you could try to calm him down?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper, as if saying it too loudly might just unravel him. “I just… I don’t think I can right now.”
Max’s eyes widened slightly. It wasn’t often that Charles asked for help with Oscar. The baby had barely left Charles’ arms since they brought him home, and Max had gotten used to stepping back, letting Charles handle the soothing and settling. But seeing Charles this worn down, with Oscar’s cries piercing through his usual calm, Max nodded, feeling a mix of nerves and determination. “Alright,” he agreed, trying to sound more confident than he felt.
Charles took a deep breath, preparing to hand over the baby. He adjusted Oscar in the soft blue wrap, supporting the back of his head with one hand as he reached for the ties securing him to his chest. Slowly, Charles began to loosen the wrap, carefully unfastening each section with practiced fingers. Even through his frustration, there was a gentleness in the way he worked, as though he wanted to ease Oscar’s discomfort in every movement.
As he released the wrap, Oscar’s cries grew even louder, and Charles winced slightly, but he continued carefully, supporting Oscar’s little back and neck as he lifted him away from his chest. The baby squirmed and flailed, tiny fists curling in protest as his face scrunched in distress.
Max took a small step closer, holding out his arms as Charles leaned in, positioning Oscar just right before finally letting go. Max swallowed, feeling the weight of Oscar settle into his arms, heavier than he expected but fitting surprisingly well against his chest. Charles helped him adjust, gently guiding Max’s hands to support Oscar’s neck and back. “Just… hold him close,” Charles said softly, his voice tinged with exhaustion and hope.
Max stepped in closer as Charles adjusted his hands around Oscar, helping him support the baby’s head and back. Oscar’s cries grew more intense in Max’s arms, his tiny fists clutching Max’s shirt as if unsure of this unfamiliar feeling.
Max nodded, feeling a bit of a tremor in his hands as he cradled Oscar. Charles stepped back, giving Max a slight, encouraging nod. Max took a steadying breath, rocking gently from side to side, following what he’d seen Charles do countless times. It felt awkward and unfamiliar.
Max looked at Charles, who had leaned back against the wall, rubbing his forehead. He looked utterly drained, and Max could see why—between the sleepless nights and constant demands of a newborn, Charles looked like he was running on fumes. Being the main caregiver had clearly taken its toll on him, but he hadn’t complained.
He started patting Oscar’s back softly as he tried to soothe him, though he was painfully aware of how awkward he probably looked. The baby’s cries began to soften, though Oscar was still clearly on edge, letting out a few unhappy whimpers every few seconds.
Max realized the upcoming weeks were going to be an even bigger shift than he’d thought. Max would have to step up and care for Oscar, a responsibility he hadn’t fully grasped until now. But they’d discussed it together, deciding Max would take the unpaid leave despite the fact that he makes more money than Charles. But he had decided to use this chance to try and work on his father’s case, he will have more time and freedom, at the same time he will also be around to help Charles with Oscar.
Now, though, he could feel the weight of what lay ahead. Charles and Oscar already had this unspoken connection, and Max felt like he was still on the outside looking in, awkwardly trying to find his way. But he was determined. If these twelve weeks were going to be his, he’d make the most of it.
As he looked down, Oscar’s fussing began to soften, and he noticed the baby’s tiny eyes starting to flutter, comforted by the steady rhythm of Max’s rocking. He glanced back at Charles, who was watching with a look of quiet relief. It wasn’t much.
After a few moments, Max noticed Oscar’s little fists unclenching, Peering down, he saw Oscar blinking up at him, big brown eyes wide with curiosity, his gaze fixed on Max’s face as if he was trying to figure him out. The sight brought a faint smile to Max’s lips.
“It worked,” Charles murmured, his voice full of surprise and relief as he opened his eyes. “You actually managed to calm him down.”
Max nodded, keeping his voice low to avoid disturbing the newly found calm. “Yeah, seems like it,” he replied softly, almost to himself. He looked down at Oscar and couldn’t help but chuckle lightly as the baby stared up at him, his expression shifting from fretful to intrigued. “Good boy, Oscar,” he murmured, letting his voice be gentle and reassuring. “You’re a good boy, and you’re doing great.”
Oscar’s gaze remained fixed on Max, as if transfixed by the sound of his voice, and he reached out a tiny hand, grabbing onto Max’s shirt with surprising strength. The small gesture made Max’s chest swell with a mix of pride and wonder he hadn’t expected to feel.
After a moment, Max glanced back at Charles, who was watching the two of them with a faint smile, clearly relieved to have Oscar settled. Max gave him a quick nod, keeping his voice low. “Let’s try to get what we can,” he suggested, not wanting to push their luck with Oscar’s calm but eager to make the most of it.
Max and Charles made their way quickly to the pet section, Charles pushing the shopping trolley while Max cradled Oscar in his arms, carefully supporting the baby’s back and head. Every few steps, Max would glance down at Oscar, checking to see how he was doing. To his surprise, every time he looked, he found Oscar wide-eyed and alert, taking in the sights around him or gazing up at Max as though fascinated. Max chuckled softly, surprised at how alert he was for a five months old. He hadn’t expected so much personality in someone so little.
They reached the pet section, quickly picking out food for their cats and Leo, adding it to the growing collection in the cart. Oscar let out a soft coo, and Max instinctively bounced him gently. Charles shot a warm smile in their direction. "Looks like someone’s enjoying his first outing," he said with a quiet laugh.
From there, they moved to the produce section. Normally, they’d have gone to the farmers' market, but they were pressed for time, so they grabbed what they needed as quickly as possible. Max kept his attention split between Oscar and the task at hand, making sure his Oscar was comfortable and calm. So far, Oscar had behaved perfectly—an impressive feat for a baby on a grocery run.
Finally, they reached the baby section, where Charles tossed diapers and baby wipes into the cart before pausing by the baby food. He picked up a jar of apple sauce and another of carrot puree, examining them thoughtfully. “Do you think we should get the apple sauce or the carrot puree?” he asked, holding them both up for Max to see.
Max looked at him, a little surprised. “He’s allowed to have solid food? Didn’t Carlos say to wait until he’s six months?”
Charles nodded, then explained, “At our last visit, he actually said we could start now if we wanted.”
Max looked at both options before nodding thoughtfully. “All right, in that case I would prefer to prepare something fresh when we get back instead.”
Charles smiled, understanding. “You’re right; that would be better,” he agreed, putting the jars back on the shelf. Just as he did, Oscar started fussing again, his tiny face scrunching up as he prepared to cry. Charles chuckled, watching as Oscar’s gaze focused intently on the jars of baby food. Max grinned. “I think he doesn’t like that idea.”
Charles picked up both jars once again and held them up in front of Oscar. “Look, which one do you like?” he teased softly. Oscar’s eyes lit up as he reached out with his small hand, stretching eagerly toward the apple sauce. Both Max and Charles laughed, amused by his enthusiasm.
Charles placed the jars back on the shelf and leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Oscar’s forehead. “I love you,” he murmured to the baby. “I promise you we will prepare the most scrumptious apple sauce ever.”
It took them nearly two hours to finish shopping and check out, and by the time they were done, it was already 9 pm. Both Max and Charles were tired and hungry, their stomachs reminding them they hadn’t eaten since lunch.
Charles looked around, catching sight of a baby store nearby. “I wanted to check that shop,” he murmured, glancing over at Max. But then he looked down at Oscar, who was starting to fuss again, his tiny face scrunched with irritation. Oscar’s eyes were drooping, but he still looked restless. "It’s already past his bedtime. Maybe we should just head back," Max said, gently bouncing Oscar in his arms. "Looks like someone’s ready for bed, and he could probably use a fresh diaper and a bottle of milk, too.”
Charles nodded, running a hand over his hair as he stifled a yawn. “You’re right. It’s been a big night for him, and he’s done so well.” He gave Oscar’s cheek a gentle rub, smiling as the baby let out a small, tired yawn.
“Alright, let’s get home,” Max agreed, giving Oscar one last comforting bounce as they headed toward the car. The night felt peaceful as they loaded up, and despite their hunger, they couldn’t help but smile at how well they had managed their first big outing as a family.
---
The following week, Max was wrapped up in handing over his cases and tying up loose ends, getting ready for his paternity leave. Daniel and Lando weren't thrilled about his decision—they both thought it was unlike him, that it would be hard for him to step back—but Max knew he was making the right choice.
Balancing his active cases while working on his father’s case, not to mention trying to be present for both Charles and Oscar, was impossible. This leave was the best way forward. Ideally, he’d not only make progress on his dad’s case but, with any luck, he’d also start building a bond with Oscar, one he could see Charles had already formed. Charles has developed this natural, easy rhythm with Oscar that Max still feels outside of.
It’s been five weeks since they brought Oscar home, and Max feels like he’s still playing catch-up, still trying to understand Oscar’s routine and moods. Next week, when Charles goes back to work, he’ll be caring for Oscar full-time. Yet, he can count on one hand the times he’s properly held Oscar.
Charles is incredible with Oscar, so attentive and natural—it’s like he knows instinctively what Oscar needs at every moment. Max envies that ease and familiarity. He wants that connection too, but every time he tries to step in, Charles gently sidesteps his efforts, brushing him off with a reassuring, “It’s okay, I’ll take care of it.”
Charles’s quiet insistence on handling everything himself only amplifies Max’s doubts about his own ability to care for Oscar. Even last Sunday, when Charles needed to run an errand, he hadn’t left Oscar with Max. Instead, he’d called his father to babysit. Max had tried not to let it get to him, but it stung. It felt like confirmation of his own worst fear—that Charles didn’t believe he could handle being alone with Oscar.
And yet, Charles’s decision to return to work surprised him. Max is still processing the idea that, despite the doubts he’s convinced Charles must have actually trusted Max enough to leave Oscar in his care.
Two days ago, Oscar had gotten his vaccine, and almost immediately, a fever followed. Last night, Charles barely left his side, watching over him as he fussed and cried through the night. Max had tried to step in, insisting that he could take turns, but Charles had shut it down quickly, telling Max he needed rest because he had work in the morning.
Max didn’t like it, but Charles left no room for negotiation. Reluctantly, Max went to their room, but he couldn’t sleep, his ears straining to hear any sound from the nursery. He lay there, restless, as the hours passed, only easing a bit when Oscar’s cries finally settled. It was nearly dawn when he heard the quiet creak of the door as Charles finally slipped into bed, his exhaustion palpable even in the dark.
Like tonight—it was close to midnight, and he still hadn’t settled. Charles had been trying to get him down for two hours. Max had checked in on them twice already, only to be waved off by Charles, who claimed he had everything under control.
Max had been trying to sleep, but the sound of Oscar's cries was enough to keep him wide awake. He turned over in bed, pulling the pillow over his head, but it didn’t help. He could hear Charles’s soft, exhausted attempts to soothe Oscar from the nursery.
For the third time, Max dragged himself out of bed, his body heavy with fatigue. He wasn’t surprised to find Charles still pacing in the nursery, his movements slow, like each step took more energy than the last. Oscar’s cries filled the room, piercing and frantic, and Charles was doing everything he could, but Max could see the exhaustion weighing him down.
Charles hadn’t wanted his help. He had refused twice already, each time pushing Max away, insisting that everything was under control. But this time, Oscar wasn’t calming down, and Max could see how drained Charles was. He won’t take no for an answer.
"Charles," Max said gently, stepping into the nursery and leaning against the doorframe. He took in Charles’s disheveled appearance—his shirt rumpled and stained, his face tired and drawn. The sight of him looking so worn out twisted something in Max’s chest.
“I’m fine, Max," Charles replied, though his voice was far from convincing. "I’ve got it. He’ll calm down."
Max knew that wasn’t true. He couldn’t let Charles keep pretending like he didn’t need help. "Charles, you’re exhausted. You need help. I’m here. Let me take him," Max said, his voice firm but kind. He didn’t give Charles a chance to refuse again.
There was a moment of hesitation before Charles reluctantly held out Oscar to Max. Oscar was still crying, his tiny body wriggling in his father’s arms. Max gently took him, feeling the little one’s frantic movements and the warmth of his feverish skin. Oscar’s cries softened for a moment, but only for a brief second before he started up again, the sound sharp and piercing.
Max moved quickly, cradling Oscar as securely as he could. He didn’t care about the noise or the kicking feet—he needed to do something. Slowly, he walked into their bedroom, lying down on the bed. He pulled his shirt off, making skin-to-skin contact with Oscar, hoping the warmth would soothe him.
Oscar resisted at first, squirming and kicking, clearly too upset to calm down. But Max didn’t give up. He held him firmly but gently, patting his back rhythmically. It felt like hours, though Max knew it had only been minutes. Oscar cried, his tiny hands fisted, his legs kicking helplessly. But Max kept going. He whispered softly to him, feeling his chest rise and fall with each tiny breath. "You’re okay, little one. It’s alright.”
As the minutes passed, Max could feel Oscar starting to relax, the crying slowly shifting into soft whimpers. His little body wasn’t as stiff, and his breathing began to steady. Max adjusted him, making sure he was comfortable, his hands moving in slow, gentle circles on his back.
Bit by bit, Oscar's cries lessened, turning into soft, content little breaths and occasional hiccups. Max stayed there, holding him close, not caring how long it took. He kept whispering to him, offering quiet reassurances as Oscar’s small body settled against his chest. Finally, after what felt like forever, the whimpers stopped, and Max could feel the tiny rise and fall of Oscar’s chest as he fell asleep on him.
Max couldn’t help but smile, he laid there for a while, the weight of Oscar's tiny body still warming his chest. He didn’t want to move, not when everything felt so peaceful, but he knew he had to go look for Charles.
Gently, he maneuvered Oscar off of him, feeling the baby’s small, soft limbs shift and squirm as he carefully adjusted him in his arms. Max held Oscar close for a moment, his tiny body still warm and relaxed from sleep. His legs kicked a little as he was moved, but Max stayed calm.
With one hand cradling the back of Oscar’s head and the other gently supporting his body, Max slowly shifted him onto the bed. He laid the baby down on the soft sheets, adjusting him so that Oscar lay comfortably in the center of the bed, his small form nestled in the plushness of the blankets. Max made sure the covers were pulled up, just enough to tuck around Oscar’s tiny body without smothering him, his hands moving carefully over the baby to make sure he was cozy.
Max then took a step back, his gaze lingering on Oscar for a moment longer—he couldn’t help but smile at the sight of Oscar’s peaceful face, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest as he slept.
But then Max’s attention shifted. It had been a while since they came to the room and Charles didn’t join them, and with how exhausted he looked earlier, Max suspected Charles had fall asleep somewhere. With a soft sigh, he stood up, moving quietly across the room to make sure Oscar was settled before heading out. He walked to the door, his steps light as he left the room and moved down the hallway to search for Charles.
Max stepped quietly into the nursery, his eyes adjusting to the soft, dim glow from the nightlight. He frowned when he noticed Charles curled up on the floor beside the crib, asleep. His heart ached a little at the sight—Charles looked exhausted, his face peaceful yet worn.
Gently, Max knelt down beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Charles,” he whispered, giving him a light shake.
Charles’s eyes fluttered open, and for a brief second, he looked disoriented. Then, suddenly alert, he jerked up, looking around frantically, as if searching for something. “Oscar?” he muttered, panic flashing in his eyes.
Max caught his hand, his voice soft and reassuring. “He’s asleep in our room. I think he will sleep with us tonight.”
Charles exhaled, a mixture of relief and fatigue settling over him. He tried to push himself up, but Max held him gently in place. “Stay,” Max murmured. “We need to talk.” Charles looked at him, his shoulders drooping with tiredness, but he nodded in agreement.
Max sat down beside him on the floor, leaning back against the wall. For a moment, neither of them spoke, Finally, Max broke the silence. “Charles, why did you refuse to let me help you with Oscar earlier?”
Charles blinked, clearly taken aback, and then gave a small, tired smile. “Maybe I just have separation anxiety,” he joked lightly, his eyes crinkling as he tried to lighten the mood.
But Max didn’t smile. He held Charles’s gaze, waiting, his expression unwavering. Charles’s smile faded, and he sighed, dropping his gaze to his hands. “Max… I just didn’t want to bother you. You have been working all day, and I assumed you would want to rest. I thought… I thought it would be easier if I handled it.”
Max’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head. “No,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “That’s not how this works, Charles. In a week I will be the one in charge of taking care of Oscar, I want him to get used to me.”
Charles shifted slightly, glancing over at Max with a hesitant look. "I have been thinking about this. Maybe… maybe I shouldn’t go back to work yet," he said quietly, almost as if he was testing the waters. “I mean, maybe it would be better if I stayed home with Oscar for now, and you could keep working.”
Max felt a flare of irritation. “Charles, it’s already a done deal. I’ve worked things out with Lewis, signed the papers, and tied up my cases. This is happening.”
Charles hesitated, looking away as he gathered his thoughts. “I just… I don’t want him to get unsettled. He’s had enough change. And honestly, you know he’s used to me. I’ve been here with him, he’s comfortable. You know he’s going to need stability.”
Max felt his chest tighten at those words, a dull ache growing beneath the surface. Was Charles really suggesting he wasn’t fit to care for their son? It hit harder than he wanted to admit; he’d already been doubting himself, worrying he wouldn’t be a good enough father, that somehow he’d fell short. And hearing this from Charles… it felt like confirmation of his worst fears.
“Charles it sounds like you don’t trust me with him. You don’t think I can handle it?” he asked quietly, his voice laced with hurt. “You think I’d mess this up?”
Charles’s face softened, clearly seeing the effect of his words. “Max, no, I know you’re capable. I just… I’m worried about him. He is already used to me. I thought maybe it would just be easier if I stayed. I don’t want to confuse him, and I just don’t want to put too much on you,” he said softly.
Max’s brows furrowed, frustration and confusion mingling on his face. “What are you talking about?”
“Look, it’s… it’s not a big deal,” Charles replied, trying to dismiss it. “Things have been going well. We don’t need to change anything.”
Max paused, studying him. He could feel the wall between them, one he hadn’t even realized Charles had built until now. Slowly, the pieces started falling into place, and he shook his head. “No, things weren’t going well. Not for me. I want to be part of Oscar’s life, but you keep pushing me away.”
Charles met Max’s gaze, something uncertain flashing in his eyes. “It’s not that I don’t want you involved, Max. I just… I don’t want to push you, make you take responsibility for something that was my choice.”
Max let out a bitter laugh, the humorless sound filling the room. “You really do believe he’s only your son, don’t you?”
Charles blinked, stunned, as Max’s words cut through the air. “Look, Charles,” Max continued, his voice turning hard, “when I agreed to adopt him, I didn’t do it because I wanted to be some absent, distant figure in his life. I did it so that Oscar could have two loving parents. I may not have wanted kids at first, but I signed up for this. And now? He’s my son, too. I’ll be damned if I let him grow up thinking he’s unwanted or that he doesn’t matter to me.”
Charles swallowed, his gaze dropping as Max’s words sank in.
Max took a breath, his voice gentler but still firm. “Stop acting like you’re a single parent. Stop making it seem like I was forced into this because of you. I made this choice too, Charles, for him—so he’d have a family and a stable home.” His tone softened slightly, but there was no mistaking the steel beneath it. “I want to be a part of this family. I don’t want to sit on the sidelines. Let me be his dad. Let me be part of his life with you.”
Charles looked up, his eyes brimming with a mixture of guilt and relief, and he nodded, reaching out to touch Max’s arm.
Charles took a deep breath, then looked at Max with a soft smile, though his eyes held a trace of sadness. "Max," he began gently, "I never doubted you'd be a good dad to Oscar. Not once. I’ve always believed in you."
Max's expression softened, but he still looked uncertain, so Charles pressed on. "It’s just... at the beginning, you were so distant. You barely came near him, and I thought—well, I thought you regretted your decision." Charles paused, watching as Max’s gaze shifted, his eyes flickering with recognition.
Max nodded, his jaw tense, and he exhaled slowly. He ran a hand through his hair, looking down. “I was scared, Charles. I didn’t want to mess this up. He was so small and fragile, I was terrified of doing something wrong... of hurting him. You know why I’ve always been hesitant about kids.” His voice dropped as he admitted, “I didn’t want to end up like my father.”
Charles reached out and placed a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder. "Max, you're nothing like your father. You’re the best human being I know, you’re kind, generous and you have a big heart. I don’t want to force you to do anything, but if you want to be in his life, I know that he will be lucky to have a dad like you." He squeezed Max’s shoulder gently, his voice filled with warmth. “You are already a better father than he will ever be."
Max looked at him, a flicker of gratitude crossing his face, but there was still a shadow of doubt lingering in his eyes. Charles continued, "I didn’t push you because I thought you’re not capable of taking care of Oscar. I just thought you needed space. But maybe… I gave you too much space." Charles’s voice dropped slightly, a hint of vulnerability slipping through. "I just didn’t want you to feel like you were obliged to do something you don’t want."
Max’s eyes softened, and he placed a hand over Charles’s. “Charles, I want to be here. I chose to be here,” he repeated, his voice steady. "Oscar deserves two parents who are all-in. I don’t want you to feel like you have to do this alone." He managed a small smile and squeezed Charles’s hand. “And honestly, I think we’re both still figuring this out.”
Charles’s face lit up, a sense of relief washing over him. “Then we’ll figure it out together.”
Max looked at Charles with a soft smile. "Alright," he said, holding back a laugh, "since we’re going to do this together, you need to let me be a part of everything. I want to hold him, change his diaper, and feed him... all of it."
Charles chuckled, looking more relaxed than Max had seen him in days. “Please, be my guest. Do you think I love doing all of this?”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Yes, actually, I do.”
Charles laughed, unable to hide his wide grin. “Okay, maybe I do.”
After a moment, Charles sighed. "We should probably get to bed," he said, though he didn’t make a move to stand.
“Yeah… I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, though,” Max admitted, stretching his legs out and settling back against the wall.
“Me neither.” Charles laughed softly and stood up. “We’re going to regret this tomorrow.”
“Definitely,” Max groaned, already picturing himself as a zombie. “But it’s normal we’re new parents now.”
Charles smiled, reaching for Max’s hand to pull him up. “Raising a child together… there’s something so intimate about it.”
Max nodded, a warm feeling spreading through him as he stood. Charles’ hand lingered in his, and they shared a quiet look before heading toward their room. Halfway there, Charles stopped. “Oh! I wanted to show you the clothes I bought for Oscar for the party.”
“I thought we were going to go shopping for that together,” Max said, giving Charles a small, disappointed look.
Charles winced. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you, so I just… did it. But after tonight, I’ll do things differently. I promise.”
Max gave a small nod, watching as Charles slipped into their room quietly to not wake Oscar. Charles reemerged, holding a tiny yellow outfit, and his face lit up like a Cheshire cat.
Max’s eyes narrowed. He knew that look. “What… what is that?”
Charles held up the outfit, grinning. “It’s a Pikachu costume!” he whispered, clearly thrilled.
Max sighed, shaking his head with a stubborn frown. “No. Absolutely not, Charles. We’re supposed to take a family picture. I knew I shouldn’t have let you go shopping alone.”
Charles stifled a laugh, quietly whispering, “But he’ll look so cute! Look, I already took a picture of him in it.”
Charles pulled up the photo on his phone, showing Max, and—despite himself—Max melted. Oscar looked adorable, his tiny face peeking out from the yellow costume with big, curious eyes. Max sighed, shaking his head with a small smile.
“See?” Charles whispered, bouncing excitedly on his toes. “I told you he’d look perfect.”
“Fine, fine,” Max relented, chuckling as Charles hugged him, throwing the outfit onto a nearby chair.
As they finally headed for bed, Max mumbled, “I don’t even want to go to this party.”
Charles laughed softly, curling into his side. “Me neither. But if we don’t, dad will kill us.”
---
Max was busy organizing the pets’ crates, getting everything ready for the drive, while Oscar babbled and kicked his legs happily on his tummy next to him. With cheeks puffed in utter concentration, Oscar’s brows knit together as he strained to hold his head steady. His little fists clenched, and his legs kicked slightly behind him as he struggled to keep his balance, almost as if his whole body was pitching in to help. Every few seconds, his head wobbled and dipped, but he would push himself back up
Max had dressed him in a soft white onesie dotted with tiny yellow ducks, a gift from Nico, who had insisted Oscar should look his best for the day he gets to meet their friends and family. Oscar, who had just mastered rolling over, was content on the floor. While Jimmy, one of their cats, sat close by, watching the baby with a curious but protective gaze.
It had been a careful process to introduce the pets to Oscar. Charles, especially, had taken on the responsibility of gradually making sure Leo, Sassy, and Jimmy were comfortable around their newest family member. He started by letting them sniff Oscar’s blanket and gently introducing them one by one. Leo had been curious but calm from the start, while Jimmy and Sassy had been more cautious, preferring to observe from a distance at first. Over the weeks, Charles had patiently allowed them to get used to Oscar’s presence, rewarding them for calm behavior and staying watchful for any signs of tension. Now, the pets seemed to understand that Oscar was part of the family and even seemed drawn to him, as if they, too, sensed that he was something special.
Satisfied that the pets’ crate was set up securely, Max glanced over at Oscar, who was still playing happily, occasionally flapping his arms as though he were trying to fly. Max couldn’t help but smile. He crouched down beside him, reaching out to gently lift Oscar up, who immediately let out a tiny, delighted squeal.
"Alright, little one," Max murmured, smoothing Oscar’s wild, fluffy hair. "Let’s make sure everything’s ready before your papa comes home and we’re off to the party."
The idea of the party began as an offhand suggestion over a quiet dinner at home. Max and Charles were talking about how, since Oscar had come into their lives, so few of their family and friends had actually had the chance to meet him properly. Charles suggested that it might be nice to organize a small get-together so everyone could meet Oscar in a relaxed setting, and Max agreed.
A few days later, Charles mentioned the idea Nico, in a casual phone call. Almost immediately, Nico jumped on the idea. He was beyond excited at the chance to formally introduce his first grandchild to family and friends. Charles hadn’t anticipated how quickly his dad would run with the plan. Nico began asking questions about dates, guest lists, and even started planning some decorations, determined to make the event special for Oscar. What Max and Charles had imagined as a simple, casual get-together was quickly growing into a full party.
Then, when Sophie caught wind of it, things took an unexpected turn. She reached out to Max, suggesting they have the party at the family farm instead. Her reasoning was that the farm had plenty of space, especially with all the people Nico is planning to invite. It also held sentimental value for her as the place where their family had always come together for special occasions. She felt strongly that it would be the perfect setting for Oscar’s introduction.
But Nico was adamant. He thought it made more sense to hold it at his house, where everything would be easier to manage. It was closer to Max and Charles, and he was already deep in planning, adding his own ideas to make it a memorable day for everyone.
Caught between their parents’ wishes, Max and Charles found themselves in an awkward situation. Both Nico and Sophie had valid points, and they didn’t want to upset either of them. In the end, they gently explained to Sophie that they couldn’t pick a side but hoped she would understand. After a few tense conversations, Sophie eventually agreed to let Nico host the event, though she couldn’t help feeling a bit left out. To smooth things over, Max and Charles promised her she’d be the one to organize Oscar’s first birthday party at the farm.
Just as Max finished, he heard the sound of keys in the door. Charles stepped inside, arms loaded with bags from the farmer’s market, a tired but pleased smile on his face. He looked around, taking in the clean house, the pets settled quietly, and then his eyes fell on Oscar, in Max’s hand in his white onesie sprinkled with yellow ducks. Charles’ shoulders dropped, and he tilted his head, lips twisting in disappointment. “Max, we agreed on the Pikachu suit!”
Max looked up from where he knelt beside Oscar, a slight smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. “Relax, Charles,” he said. “The Pikachu suit’s in the bag. We’ll put him in it when we get there.”
Charles sighed, giving Oscar a playful little smile before turning back to Max. “Fine, fine.” He slipped his hand into his pocket, pausing a beat, then pulled out a small brown envelop. Holding it up between his fingers, he looked at it with an odd expression before reaching toward Max. “Someone gave this to me just now. Said it was for you.”
Max took the item, eyebrows furrowing as he examined it, turning it over slowly in his hands. “What is this?”
“Not sure exactly," Charles replied, shifting on his feet. "A man gave it to me outside and said it was work-related. Looked like he was in a hurry.”
Max’s expression darkened, his fingers stopping as he looked up at Charles, a hint of worry crossing his face. “Charles, are you serious? You took something from a stranger?”
Charles blinked, visibly thrown by Max’s tone. “Well, he looked harmless. Smiled, was polite. I thought it’d be fine.”
Max exhaled sharply. “You know better than to trust random strangers. ‘Stranger danger,’ remember?”
Charles bit his lip, a sheepish smile breaking through. “Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said with a small laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Won’t happen again. Promise.”
Max met Charles’ gaze, sighing as his expression softened. “Just… be careful, okay?”
Charles nodded, his hand coming to rest on Max’s waist as he gave him a reassuring smile. “I promise,” he said, voice gentle. Looking down at Oscar, who was now cooing up at them, Charles grinned, his earlier worry easing away. “Now, about that Pikachu suit—how soon can we put it on him?”
Max laughed, giving him a look. “Soon, alright? But I still think this looks better.”
Charles laughed softly, his hand brushing Max’s. “Just wait until you see how adorable he’ll look.”
Charles leaned in, pressing a warm, gentle kiss to Max’s cheek. “I’ll be with you in a minute,” he said softly. “Just need to use the bathroom.” He gave Max a reassuring smile before slipping down the hall.
Max stood there, Oscar in one arm, his gaze drifting back to the envelope Charles had handed him moments ago. It was so ordinary-looking, just a small brown square, sealed carefully. But something about it felt heavier than it should—like whatever was inside held more weight than just paper.
He glanced toward the hallway, hearing the faint sound of water running. Curiosity pulled at him, urging him to open it right then and there. But he reminded himself of the evening ahead, of the promise he’d made to be present.
With a sigh, Max slid the envelope into the drawer, his fingers lingering for a moment before closing it. He looked down at Oscar, who was contentedly sucking on his fist, and gave him a soft smile. “Later,” he murmured, almost to himself.
---
They arrived at Nico’s just at twelive, and it took Max and Charles a solid half-hour to unpack the car. Between Oscar’s supplies, his stroller, bags of party essentials, and crates for Leo, Sassy, and Jimmy, it felt like they were moving in. Sophie arrived shortly after, sweeping in with her usual warmth, playfully scolding them for not calling her sooner.
They had Lunch together in a flurry of laughter and teasing. Max cooked, with Charles at his side, passing him ingredients and stealing bites whenever Max wasn’t looking. Nico and Sophie spent most of the time doting over Oscar, who was reveling in all the attention. With every coo and soft pinch to his cheeks, Oscar’s big brown eyes lit up, his laugh spilling out in delighted squeals that had everyone in the room smiling. Nico took countless photos and videos, capturing every gummy grin and excited kick of Oscar’s tiny legs.
But as the meal ended, Charles noticed Oscar rubbing his eyes, the telltale signs of a nap overdue. “Alright, time for a bath and a nap,” Charles announced, lifting Oscar into his arms with a smile. Nico offered to help, eager to extend his time with his grandson, leaving Max in the kitchen with Sophie.
As they tidied up, Sophie glanced over at Max, her expression softening as she watched him. When they paused for a moment, she asked, “So… how’s everything been, Max?”
Max shrugged, carefully avoiding her gaze as he responded. “It’s going well,” he said, attempting a casual tone that came off a little too flat.
Sophie didn’t miss a beat, picking up on the strain in his voice immediately. She reached out, resting a comforting hand on his arm. “You know, you can tell me anything,” she said, her voice gentle.
Max let out a long breath, his grip tightening on the dish towel in his hand. “There’s really nothing, Mom. Charles and I… we’re fine. We’re working through things.”
Sophie held his gaze, her worry only growing. “And with Oscar?” she prompted softly.
Max swallowed, hesitating. “Yeah… and with Oscar. It’s… it’s great.” He tried to sound confident, but the uncertainty seeped through, and he knew she could hear it.
Sophie didn’t press further, sensing that Max wasn’t quite ready to go deeper. But he could feel her concern, her desire to help him carry whatever weight he was holding inside. He knew he wasn’t entirely settled in this new role. It felt like he was teetering on the edge, wrestling with fears he couldn’t even name—the fear of failing, of not being enough for Oscar or for Charles, of hurting both of them. Of never fully accepting and loving Oscar.
As if sensing his thoughts, Sophie squeezed his shoulder, offering a small, understanding smile. “You’re doing well, you know. I can see it.”
Max nodded, a flicker of relief in her reassurance, even if his doubts lingered. There was more to say, more he wanted to untangle, but for now, he took comfort in being with his mom.
---
After lunch, everyone got to work preparing for the party. Max and Nico took charge of the kitchen, bustling around as they chopped fresh vegetables, seasoned sauces, and arranged trays of appetizers. Charles and Sophie were setting up decorations outside, weaving streamers between tree branches and hanging colorful balloons. Leo was zipping around their feet, barking with excitement, and every now and then, the cats strolled through, playfully swatting at the hanging decorations, making Charles and Sophie laugh as they tried to shoo them away.
Max glanced outside, watching as they transformed the backyard into a magical space for Oscar. There was an arch of lilac flowers framing Oscar’s high chair, the centerpiece of the long table draped with a soft, pastel-colored tablecloth. Nico’s vision for the garden party was unfolding beautifully, and even though they had a lot to do, Max could see how much care everyone was putting into it.
They’d only managed to finish half the setup when the doorbell rang. Charles shouted “I got it” and went to answer the door . Moments later, Max looked up to see Charles walking in with Daniel—and, surprisingly, Lando. A twinge of discomfort flickered through Max; he hadn’t wanted to invite Lando initially after the bar incident, still feeling uneasy with him around Charles. But Charles had asked Daniel to invite him. so he buried his discomfort, putting on a welcoming smile.
“Hey, guys,” Max greeted them. They asked about Oscar, and Max gestured toward Charles’ old bedroom, where Oscar is sleeping soundly. “He’s sleeping right now,” Max said with a grin, grateful for the help but secretly relieved they opted out of the kitchen duties. “But we could use some extra hands outside.”
As Daniel and Lando joined Sophie in the garden, Charles came back to the kitchen, where Max and Nico were setting up trays of finger foods. Nico had meticulously planned the menu—Nachos, sliders, stuffed mushrooms, meatballs and spaghetti, pigs in blankets, mini bruschetta’s, charcuterie boards, and a fresh salad, and for desert brownies and chocolate cake fresh from the bakery. Charles took the grater from Nico and began zesting a lemon over the salad, concentrating as he moved his hands carefully. He chuckled, glancing at the counter overflowing with ingredients. “Dad, this is a lot of food. Couldn’t we have just ordered pizza or something?”
Nico and Max responded in unison. “No!” Max shook his head disapprovingly, while Nico raised his ladle like a pointer, emphasizing each word.
“This is Oscar’s special day,” Nico declared. “It has to be perfect. We’re making memories here.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “He’s not even going to remember what we ate. He wont even be able to eat with us.”
Nico shrugged, stirring a pot of warm tomato sauce. “It’s not just about the food. It’s about doing things right.” He handed a bowl to Max, who started whisking a tangy vinaigrette for the salad.
Sebastian who joined them a few minutes ago, sidled up to Charles with a mischievous grin. He leaned in, whispering something that made Charles grin from ear to ear. Max couldn’t hear what was said, but he saw Nico’s face turn a faint shade of pink as he waved his ladle in mock warning. “It’s not like that!” Nico protested, trying to keep a straight face.
Charles looked at Sebastian with a grin. “Wait—he’s told you about him?”
Sebastian groaned dramatically, and answered sarcastically. “Are you kidding? It’s all he talks about. The guy can cook, he’s thoughtful, he’s amazing with babies and animals, he’s handsome and smart—believe me, I know all about it.”
Nico shot them both an irritated look, throwing a pinch of salt into the boiling pot. “That’s not true. I’m just… appreciative of a good neighbor, that’s all.”
Sebastian smirked, glancing over at Max. “Denial is not just a river in Egypt, Nico.”
Nico turned to Max, looking both exasperated and slightly defensive. “It’s really not like that.”
“Oh?” Sebastian smirked. “So you’re not trying to impress a certain vegan neighbor with your cooking?”
Nico muttered, glancing at the pot as he stirred more vigorously, “No. He’s not even coming.”
Max turned to Charles, brow furrowing. “Wait, what? Nico has a crush?”
Charles chuckled. “Oh, yeah. Totally. “He leaned over to Max, whispering with a mischievous glint, “but I think he’s in denial.”
Max stifled a laugh, trying to act serious. “Nico, maybe there’s more going on here than you’re willing to admit.”
“Ridiculous,” Nico grumbled, shaking his head. “Men can just be friends, you know.”
Sebastian snorted, winking at Charles. “Men can, sure, but you two? Definitely not just friends.”
Nico sighed, looking slightly defeated, but then he shook his head. “You’re all impossible.” Then, with one last wave of his spatula, he added, “Now, are we going to keep gossiping, or are we going to make this dinner perfect for Oscar?”
Max looked back at Charles, eyebrow raised. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
Charles grinned, whispering back, “When I was here after being discharged from the hospital, he’d bring us food almost every other day.” Charles glanced at Nico, who was still stirring, now visibly trying to ignore them. “He even babysat the pets when we were in New York,” Charles continued. “And… he’s already babysat Oscar, too, with dad.”
Max crossed his arms, giving Charles a sharp look, one eyebrow raised. “Have you even met him?” His lips pressed into a thin line, and his tone was tinged with anger as he shot a side-eye at Charles. Not like the fact that a stranger babysat his son.
Charles winced, his shoulders slumping as he looked away, chewing his lip nervously. He finally managed, “I…actually haven’t.” His voice was almost a whisper, as if hoping Max wouldn’t hear him.
Max’s eyes narrowed further, annoyance flashing across his face. “You left Oscar with a stranger! What’s wrong with you?”
Nico jumped in defensively, shaking his head. “Not a stranger! I was there. He was just here for a few hours, helping me out—he even bought Oscar that cute onesie he’s wearing.”
Charles smiled at the thought. “I had no idea it was from him! It’s adorable. I’ll have to thank him.”
Max sighed, shooting Charles an anger glare. “Do you even know his name?”
Charles hesitated, cheeks tinging with guilt. “Uh… actually… no.”
Nico sighed, shaking his head. “His name is—”but before he can finish, the doorbell rang again, startling him. His hand brushed the side of the hot pot, and he yelped, “Ouch!” pulling back quickly.
Charles was by his side in an instant. “Dad, are you okay?”
Oscar’s cry rang out from the bedroom, startling everyone. It was almost a miracle he hadn’t woken up earlier, given all the noise and people coming in and out. Charles looked toward the room, then turned back to focus on holding his dad’s hand under the cold water faucet.
“I’ll go get him,” Max said, already moving toward the bedroom. On his way, he bumped into Mark, he offering him a quick greeting before continuing down the hall.
As Max stepped into the bedroom, he found Oscar in the middle of the bed, red-faced and wailing. The baby had somehow managed to flip himself onto his tummy and was squirming, tiny fists clenching and unclenching in pure frustration. His cheeks were puffed out, his big brown eyes scrunched up in indignation.
“Oh, buddy, you’re really not happy, are you?” Max murmured, reaching into the crib and gently lifting Oscar up. The baby’s cries softened slightly as he was lifted, but his face still showed an expression scrunched, his little fists waving in protest. Max gave him a gentle sway, whispering soothing words, as Oscar began to calm down.
Max shifted Oscar in his arms so he could get a better look at him. Oscar blinked up at Max, his big eyes still glistening from his earlier cries. He gave a few hiccupping breaths before settling, his tiny hand reaching up and wrapping around Max’s finger, trying to suck his thumb.
A familiar scent reached Max, unmistakable and insistent. “Oh, buddy, we sure seem to be hungry” he sighed, smiling despite himself. “But first, we need to get you changed, don’t we?” He remembered Charles’s specific request — the Pikachu outfit — and figured this was the perfect time to follow through.
He carried Oscar over to the changing table Nico had thoughtfully set up in Charles’s old room. Nico had said it would “come in handy with all the babysitting” he’d be doing, and it was already proving him right. Max settled Oscar onto the soft surface.
“Alright, let’s get you sorted,” Max muttered, talking to Oscar as he went through the familiar motions. He carefully changed Oscar’s diaper.
Once the diaper was taken care of, Max washed his hands, and then he reached into the bag he had packed and pulled out the tiny yellow Pikachu onesie. He couldn’t help but grin as he held it up in front of Oscar, who was already waving his arms as if eager to get dressed.
“Okay, little guy, here comes Pikachu,” Max chuckled, slipping Oscar’s arms and legs into the soft fabric. The onesie had adorable little ears on the hood, and as Max pulled it up over Oscar’s head, he laughed at how it transformed the baby into a tiny, bright-eyed Pikachu. “You’re going to steal the show at this party,” he said, brushing a gentle finger over Oscar’s cheek.
Oscar cooed, looking up at Max with a small, pleased smile, as if he knew he looked absolutely adorable. Max couldn’t resist taking a quick picture with his phone, sending it off to Charles with a caption that read, Pikachu, as requested.
“Wow, you’re really good at this,” Daniel said, sounding genuinely impressed.
Max looked up startles to find Daniel leaning against the doorway, arms crossed with an easy smile. “Thanks. You should see Charles, though. He’s the real pro at this sort of thing. Does it in half the time — and with a lot more singing.”
Daniel smiled, but there was a hint of sadness behind it. “Oscar’s lucky he’s got two great parents.”
Max paused, glancing up at him. “Why do you sound sad?”
Daniel shrugged, leaning in a little closer. “Because I am, mate. Three months may not be long, but after all this time working together, it’ll feel like I’ve lost a limb. I’m so used to having you around.”
Max softened, glancing back down at Oscar, who was now wiggling. “Hey, we’ll still be working on my dad’s case. I’m not going anywhere. And you can come visit anytime — I’ll need adult company to keep me sane,” he said with a grin.
Daniel looked at Max, his expression serious but soft. “I just want to make sure you really want this,” he said gently. “And that you’re okay with how things are going to be.”
Max knew Daniel was asking out of care, not doubt. Daniel understood how much Max’s work meant to him, how it shaped so much of his life.
Max nodded, a calm certainty settling in his chest. “I’m good, Daniel. My work matters, but it’s not everything, I am doing the right thing. this way I can be with my family and work on my dad’s case.”
Daniel studied him for a second, a smile breaking through. “Good.”
As soon as Max fastened the last button on Oscar’s Pikachu onesie, Oscar’s tiny face scrunched up, and he let out a loud wail, his little hands reaching up towards Max.
“Oh, I get it, buddy. You’re hungry, huh?” Max said, picking him up and bouncing him gently. Oscar smacked his lips, giving Max a hopeful, pleading look.
Daniel chuckled, watching as Max tried to soothe him. “Guess it’s time for a snack,” he said. “Want me to grab the bottle from the kitchen?”
Max nodded, grateful. “That’d be great, thanks. It should be ready in the fridge — I think Charles prepared it earlier.”
It was Charles who returned with the warm milk bottle not Daniel, Oscar’s face brightened instantly. His little hands stretched out, making grabby motions that melted Charles’s heart. Charles kissed Oscar’s tiny fingers before handing the bottle to Max, who had been ready to pass Oscar over to him. Charles just shook his head, silently encouraging Max to feed Oscar himself.
Max took the bottle, settling Oscar into a comfortable position. The little one latched onto the bottle hungrily, gripping it with one tiny hand while Max held it steady, careful not to let Oscar gulp down too much at once. Oscar’s big eyes stayed fixed on Max, his tiny brows furrowing with focus as he drank, as if this was the most serious task he’d ever undertaken.
Charles came over, resting a reassuring hand on Max’s thigh. “How are you feeling?” he asked softly.
Max let out a small huff, half-amused, half-exasperated. “Why is everyone asking me that?”
Charles winced slightly. “Sorry,” he murmured, but Max just shook his head, offering a small smile.
“No, it’s fine. Actually…I’m having fun. It’s nice to be around so many people again,” Max admitted, brushing a strand of hair out of Oscar’s face.
Charles’s face softened, a smile lighting up his features. “Me too. I can’t wait to show Oscar to everyone,” he said, his eyes twinkling as he glanced down at their son. “And look at him—he’s adorable in that Pikachu outfit. Admit it.”
Max chuckled, raising a teasing eyebrow. “It’s not the outfit—it’s him.”
Charles folded his arms seriously, a stubborn gleam in his eye. “It’s both,” he insisted, with a little huff that made Max grin.
When Oscar finally finished his bottle, he let out a content sigh, his fingers relaxing. Charles looked over at Max and asked, “Want to carry him out and introduce him?”
Max gave a small nod, adjusting Oscar against his chest. “Sure,” he said, a little nervous excitement fluttering in his stomach.
With Oscar nestled in his arms, Max stepped out into the garden, where decorations and balloons fluttered in the breeze. As soon as everyone caught sight of them, cheers erupted. Oscar’s eyes went wide, and for a split second, he froze in Max’s arms, clearly taken aback by the noise. Then his bottom lip quivered, and he let out a startled wail.
The room fell silent, everyone looking sheepish, hands halfway raised as they all waited, feeling guilty for scaring the little one. Leo, bounded over, weaving through the crowd and jumping up on Charles’s leg, eyes trained on Oscar as if ready to offer support.
Max and Charles took turns bouncing and shushing Oscar, his cries gradually quieting until he settled back into a calm, slightly wide-eyed state. Charles took his tiny hand and guided it in the direction of the crowd.
“Hey, buddy, look—this is your family,” Charles said softly, pointing to each person with a warm smile. “You know Grandpa Nico,” he said as Nico stepped forward, pressing a gentle kiss to Oscar’s cheek,. Oscar blinked up at Nico, his little hands gripping Max’s shirt as he began to settle.
Charles went on, introducing each person with gentle gestures. “And this is Grandma Sophie,” he said, and Sophie leaned in, giving Oscar a small wave and a warm smile. Oscar’s eyes lingered on each face in turn, taking in Daniel’s bright grin, Sebastian’s gentle nod, Pierre’s little finger wave, and George snapping pictures quietly in the background, his face split in a delighted grin.
Everyone else took turns greeting Oscar with warm, quiet greetings— their voices gentle so as not to startle him, Kimi, Carlos, Yuki, Lando, and Max’s family members, all keeping their voices soft. Each person waved or gently touched his tiny hand, and Oscar began to relax, curiosity overcoming his initial fear.
Charles held Oscar’s hand, pointing gently as he continued. “Derek and Enzo couldn’t make it, but they promised to come soon. Derek has exams, but as soon as they’re over, they’ll be here too,” he said softly.
Oscar blinked, his big eyes wide with fascination. With a soft smile, Charles looked around at everyone, his voice warm and full of pride. "So, everyone," he said, "I want to introduce you to baby Oscar Evan Verstappen-Leclerc."
Charles carefully handed Oscar a bright, colorful balloon, watching his little face light up at the small, shiny object in front of him. Oscar’s wide eyes followed it for a moment, transfixed by the way it bobbed gently in the air. Then, with an unexpected burst of determination, he grabbed it with both hands, clutching it tightly.
Max watched in concern, ready to intervene if things went awry. “Oscar, no,” he murmured, reaching out gently to take the balloon away. He didn’t want Oscar to accidentally pop it with a tight grip.
Oscar’s tiny face scrunched up in frustration the moment Max took the balloon, and before anyone could react, Oscar’s face began to crumple, as soft wail of protest filled the air. Max instinctively brought a hand to Oscar’s back, rubbing gentle circles to soothe him. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, little man,” he murmured softly, as Oscar buried his face in Max’s shirt, clutching tightly. The sound of his cries made everyone stop and glance nervously at each other.
“That’s it,” Nico said softly, “I think It’s time to open his presents.”
Everyone nodded in agreement, eager to make Oscar feel better. Max gently set the balloon aside and followed Charles inside into the living room, he placed Oscar onto a soft, colorful play mat on the floor that Nico had bought recently.
As soon as Oscar’s tiny hands touched the mat, his face broke into a delighted grin. His eyes sparkled with joy as he reached out to grab the nearest toy—the balloon long forgotten. A plush giraffe, its long neck dangling just within his reach. Oscar’s little fingers wrapped around it tightly, lifting it with a mixture of excitement and triumph.
The others gathered around, sitting on the floor with him, watching with smiles as Oscar giggled softly, his tiny feet kicking the mat in excitement.
Meanwhile, Nico moved to the kitchen to bring the appetizers in, placing small plates of finger foods on the table for everyone to nibble on. The vibrant colors of the snacks—freshly cut vegetables, cheeses, and savory dips.
Just as everyone had gathered to begin opening gifts, the doorbell rang. Nico, ever the gracious host, smiled and went to answer it, The room fell into a brief silence as Nico opened the door, but then everyone heard a voice from the entrance—an unfamiliar one. “You came just in time,” Nico called out. “Come in, we’re about to open the gifts. Oscar just woke up!”
The group paused, curiosity in the air. Max furrowed his brow slightly, wondering who could it be.
---
December 18th, 2024 three months later
Charles sat rooted in the dirt, damp earth clinging to his clothes, and a bitter chill settling into his bones. The ground beneath him was uneven, rough, and cold, but he didn’t care; he’d been here for hours, unmoving, fixed in place as if leaving would make this loss real. his hands pressed to the cold earth, feeling as though he was trying to reach through the ground, somehow willing it to let Max back up. Around him, night had begun to settle in, casting shadows across the cemetery. The others had left, whispering softly, offering their words of sympathy and encouragement, telling him he needed to go home, to rest, to let go. But Charles wasn’t going anywhere. Nico refused to leave without him.
It had been a week, and yet each day without Max felt like he was living it all over again, He couldn’t believe it. He wouldn’t believe it.
Max was here, and so he would stay. Max couldn’t be left alone—not here, not in the silence and stillness of the cemetery, where the night seemed to stretch endlessly. Max hated being still, always moving, always busy with something, always itching to make the most of every single second. And now, Charles couldn’t stand the thought of him here, alone, left behind like this. Max needed him—just as much as he needed Max.
Max wasn’t supposed to die; he was supposed to be here, laughing that dry, wonderful laugh of his, teasing Charles for forgetting his keys, showing Oscar how to hold a spoon. Charles hadn’t had the chance to say goodbye—he’d just assumed he’d see him in a few hours. He thought he’d get to hold him that night, tell him a hundred little things that seemed so trivial but were their life together. But now all those things—Max’s smile, his laugh, the warmth of his hand—were gone, ripped from him in a moment he couldn’t ever get back.
“They say you’re not here, that your soul is… somewhere else,” Charles murmured, his voice breaking, eyes fixed on the grave as if Max might answer. “But your body is here. And if this is where you are, then… then this is where I’ll be too.”
The thought of walking away, of going back to an empty home that would never feel like home again, was impossible. How could he go on, live each day without Max’s presence filling the room, without his laughter, without those quirks that made him so undeniably himself? He couldn’t just… leave. Max had been his world, his home, his other half. And now, in this dark, quiet place, with his fingers digging into the cold, damp ground as if he could somehow hold onto Max just a little longer, Charles knew he wasn’t going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.
Chapter 2
Notes:
hi guys so this is what I managed to come up with so viewer discretion is advised
Please comment and leave kudos, I would love to hear your thoughts on the new chapter.Content Warning: This chapter contains mentions of a suicide attempt, which may be triggering for some readers. Please proceed with caution, and prioritize your well-being.
Chapter Text
"Hey, everyone, I want to introduce you to my neighbor, Lewis Hamilton," Nico says with a smile, though Max notices the warning look Nico throws in Sebastian's direction.
But Max isn’t focused on that. His attention is locked on the fact that his boss is not only Nico’s neighbor but—according to Charles—also his crush? Lewis looks just as stunned as Max. His face pales, and his eyes dart away from Max's intense gaze. He hesitates before turning to Nico and saying, "Maybe I shouldn’t be here."
Nico raises an eyebrow, clearly surprised. "Why not?"
Lewis doesn’t answer right away, his eyes flickering back to Max before he quickly looks away again.
Charles, ever the gracious host, stands from where he’d been sitting beside Oscar, who’s on the floor happily playing with his giraffe. "Nonsense! Come in, come in. Although," Charles adds with mock severity, "I can’t forgive you for declining our invitation, only to show up here after all."
It’s true—Charles had insisted Max invite Lewis, given how helpful he’d been during Max's leave. Max, however, had been relieved when Lewis declined, claiming he was busy. Now, watching Lewis awkwardly linger in the doorway, Max feels his tension creeping back.
Lewis offers Charles a polite smile. "I did have something important to do, but I finished early and thought I’d check on Nico...and maybe see Oscar." His expression softens as his gaze lands on the baby, who is obliviously engrossed with his toy giraffe.
"Well, we’re glad you could make it," Charles says warmly, before turning to Max. "Right, Max?"
Max nods stiffly, forcing himself to smile. "Of course. Come in."
That’s when he notices Nico still standing beside Lewis, looking perplexed. To ease the awkwardness, Max turns to Nico and explains, "Lewis is my captain at the APD."
Nico’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "I never knew where you worked, actually," he says, a touch of curiosity in his voice as he glances at Lewis.
Lewis meets his gaze, his posture stiff but his tone apologetic. "It never really came up," he says simply, offering Nico a faint smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
"Small world, huh?" Nico chuckles, looking around at everyone. His easy humor draws a few laughs from the room, but Max isn’t one of them.
Max’s attention is fixed on Lewis, his eyes narrowed as he studies his boss. The way Lewis smiles curtly in response to Nico’s comment only deepens the knot in Max’s stomach.
"Well," Nico says, clapping his hands together, "come in lewis, we were about to open the gifts?"
Lewis steps into the room, glancing around briefly before making his way to the couch. He offers a polite smile as Daniel greets him with a casual, "Hey, man," and pats the empty space next to him. Lewis sits, his posture relaxed but reserved, resting his hands on his knees as Daniel leans back, one arm slung over the backrest. Their conversation begins in low tones, Daniel's easygoing chuckle breaking through now and then.
Max’s focus remains on Oscar, who is happily munching on his giraffe toy. Max sighs, gently tugging it away. "No, Oscar, that’s not for chewing," he says softly, wiping the drool from the baby’s chin with a nearby cloth.
Oscar’s lips press together in a pout, his wide eyes turning up at Max. "Oh, don’t give me that look," Max murmurs with a small grin. He shifts Oscar on his lap, making sure the baby is comfortable. "Look at all these gifts. They’re for you, little man."
Oscar’s head swivels toward the pile of presents, his eyes lighting up. He reaches out with one hand, his fingers stretching and curling in excitement. His little legs kick against Max’s thighs, the motion enthusiastic but uncoordinated.
Sebastian crouches down beside them, a soft smile playing on his lips as he picks up a brightly wrapped package. "Here we go," he says, holding it out to Oscar but keeping his grip firm, just in case. "Let’s start with this one."
Oscar leans forward, his tiny hands brushing the shiny paper. His movements are clumsy but determined, fingers catching on the edge of the wrapping. He lets out an excited squeal as the paper crinkles under his grip, tugging at it with all his might.
Sebastian chuckles, loosening the paper just enough to help. "Not bad, buddy. Keep going," he encourages, his tone light and playful.
Across the room, Charles watches, leaning against the arm of the sofa. His arms are folded, a gentle smile spreading across his face as he takes in the scene. His gaze lingers on Max and Oscar, a flicker of warmth and gratitude in his eyes.
Nearby, Nico chuckles, shaking his head as he leans against the doorframe. "Smallest one here and already stealing the show," he says, earning a laugh from Charles.
Sebastain hands worked carefully, pulling away the paper to reveal a set of brightly colored wooden blocks and a small animal puzzle. He smiled and gently placed them in front of Oscar, who was eyeing the toys curiously. "These are perfect for his little hands," Sebastian said, grinning as Oscar reached out, eager to grab them.
Nico followed, carefully peeling away the paper to reveal a leather-bound baby memory book. "For all the milestones," Nico said quietly, his tone soft as he handed it to Charles. Max saw Charles’ fingers gently trace over the cover, clearly touched by the thoughtful gesture. He could tell it was a gift that would mean a lot as they made memories with Oscar.
Lando unwrapped his gift next, revealing a light-up teething toy shaped like a giraffe and a matching baby tracksuit. "Thought he could use something comfy and fun," Lando said, showing the little outfit to the group. Oscar’s eyes lit up at the glowing teether, and he immediately reached for it, his tiny fingers grasping at the toy with excitement.
while George gifted a soft, huggable plush bear, and Mark added a touch of Texas flair with cozy onesies featuring cowboy hats and stars. Carlos contributed adorable socks adorned with cacti, and Pierre brought a playful bath-time rubber duck set, complete with a cowboy hat. Lastly, Lewis gifted a soft baby blanket embroidered with stars and moons, blending warmth with charm. Each gift was practical, thoughtful, and perfect for Oscar’s age.
///
Dinner was lively, with Oscar sitting proudly in his high chair at the center of the table, babbling happily as everyone cooed over him. Carlos, ever the pediatric expert, confidently assured Charles and Max that Oscar could handle some mashed carrots, and Charles was eager to try. Spoon in hand, Charles fed Oscar small bites, and to everyone’s surprise, the little one devoured it enthusiastically, giggling with each spoonful.
Sophie, watching with a mix of amusement and grandmotherly concern, raised an eyebrow and teased, “Are you starving my grandchild?” Charles laughed awkwardly, his cheeks turning pink. “No, no, he’s been eating well, I promise!” he said, glancing at Max for backup. Max smirked, playfully adding, “I think he just loves Charles’s cooking.”
As the adults enjoyed their own meals, the conversation flowed easily, peppered with laughter and light teasing. Oscar’s cheerful energy seemed to infect everyone, making the evening feel warm and full of life.
Max stood up from his chair, lifting his glass with a warm smile as the chatter around the table quieted. “I just want to take a moment to thank everyone for being here tonight,” he began, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “It means so much to us to be surrounded by friends and family who care so deeply about us and about Oscar. Your support has been incredible, and we truly couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
His gaze moved to Charles, who was sitting beside him with Oscar in his high chair between them. “Charles,” Max continued, his tone softening, “thank you for being my partner through all of this. For your strength, your patience, and for loving Oscar with all your heart. I love you more than I can put into words.”
Charles smiled, his eyes glistening as he reached out to squeeze Max’s hand.
Max turned his attention to Nico and Sophie, who were seated at the other end of the table. “And to Nico and Sophie, thank you for hosting this beautiful dinner and for making tonight so special for all of us. Your kindness and generosity mean the world.”
Finally, he glanced down at Oscar, who was happily playing with a spoon. “And to this little guy,” Max said, his voice catching slightly, “thank you for coming into our lives and making everything brighter. I’m so grateful to be your dad. You’ve changed everything in the best possible way.”
The room erupted in applause as Max sat down, his hand finding Charles’s again while Oscar giggled, blissfully unaware of the heartfelt moment.
As the dinner neared its end, Max stood up, raising his glass and tapping it lightly to get everyone's attention. “I’d like to make a quick toast,” he began, his voice warm and sincere. “And I also want to use this occasion to ask two of our best friends if they would like to be Oscar’s godfathers—only if you want to, of course.”
Before Max could finish, George immediately shot up from his seat, grinning smugly. “I do!” he declared, earning laughter from everyone at the table.
Daniel, not missing a beat, dramatically pointed at George. “No way! Max, come on. I’m your best friend! How could you let Woody over here be Oscar’s godfather and not me?” His mock outrage had the group chuckling, and Max quickly raised his hands to calm him.
“I was actually going to ask both of you,” Max clarified with a smirk, “but I think I already know the answer.”
George beamed, placing a hand over his heart as he looked toward Oscar. “I vow to be the best godfather and to step up if anything ever happens. Hopefully, nothing ever does. It would be an honor.” His heartfelt words drew a round of applause, though the moment was quickly broken by Daniel’s teasing.
“Be honest, mate. You were practicing that speech at home, weren’t you?” Daniel quipped, earning more laughter as George playfully rolled his eyes.
Oscar, meanwhile, seemed delighted waving his little hands excitedly as if joining in the celebration. Charles leaned over to kiss Oscar’s head, whispering, “Looks like you’ve got two pretty great godfathers, Oscar.”
As the meal began winding down, little Oscar, seated contentedly in his high chair, started to doze off, his eyelids growing heavier with each passing moment. Charles noticed it first, nudging Max with a soft laugh. "Looks like someone's had enough excitement for one evening."
Before anyone could let Oscar drift off, Nico quickly interjected. "No, no, keep him awake for just a little while longer! I want to take a picture with him and the cake," he said, already standing and heading inside to fetch the cake.
Charles sighed fondly, reaching for a napkin to gently wipe Oscar’s face, removing a faint smudge of mashed carrot from his cheek. "Sorry, little prince," he said softly, brushing crumbs off the baby’s tiny overalls. "You'll thank grandpa one day for all these pictures."
The room buzzed with energy as everyone pitched in to keep Oscar awake. Lando leaned across the table, holding up a bright red napkin and shaking it playfully. "Look, Oscar! Look at this!" he called, his voice exaggerated and silly. George joined in, holding up a fork and twirling it like a wand.
Sebastian leaned close, softly saying, “Hey, champ, we’re not done celebrating yet,” while Sophie chuckled and tapped a spoon lightly against a glass to make a melodic clinking sound. Daniel, ever the entertainer, made funny faces, earning a small giggle from Oscar that quickly faded into another sleepy yawn.
Charles smiled at everyone’s efforts while continuing to clean Oscar up, brushing crumbs from his lap and smoothing down his hair. "You’ve got a whole team working for you, little man," he teased gently, as Oscar blinked his wide, sleepy eyes at the commotion.
By the time Nico returned with the cake, complete with a single candle flickering on top, Oscar was alert enough to stare at the glowing flame with newfound curiosity, though the occasional yawn still threatened to sneak through.
“Alright, Charles, Max, come here,” Nico called as he carefully positioned the cake in front of Oscar. “We need a proper family picture before the candle melts.”
Max hesitated, feeling the familiar pang of reluctance when it came to photos, but then he caught sight of Charles. The sheer excitement on his face, the way his smile lit up as he reached for Max’s hand, made it impossible to refuse. Without a word, Max followed him to Oscar’s high chair, standing close as Charles adjusted Oscar’s bib and smoothed his messy curls.
Oscar, now wide-eyed and curious about the glowing candle, let out a soft coo and reached for the flickering light. Charles gently redirected his tiny hands with a laugh.
"Smile naturally!" Nico instructed, squinting through the camera lens as he took a few photos. Max did his best, knowing his smile wasn’t exactly for the camera—it was for Charles and Oscar.
But Nico wasn’t done. “Alright, now just Oscar with the cake.” He snapped a few more, then waved Sophie over. “Sophie, your turn with him.”
Oscar was passed around, his sleepy protests melting into soft giggles as Sophie kissed his cheek. Nico called for the group to gather for a bigger picture, and Max shifted back to the sidelines, hoping he was done.
Then Lewis stepped forward. “I can take the next one so you can be in it too, Nico,” he offered simply.
Nico blinked, then nodded. “Thanks, Lewis.” He handed the camera over and joined Sophie beside Oscar.
Charles nudged Max gently and leaned in to whisper, “he’s such a gentleman.”
Max glanced at Nico and Sophie posing with Oscar, then at Lewis adjusting the camera. He rolled his eyes. “He’s just holding the camera. That’s not exactly heroic.”
Charles leaned closer, his grin playful as he lightly pinched Max's side. “Party pooper,” he teased, his voice low enough that only Max could hear.
Max flinched slightly, narrowing his eyes. “Ouch, Charles, stop,” he muttered, rubbing the spot with exaggerated indignation. “You know I have a sensitive tummy.”
Charles didn’t miss a beat, wiggling his eyebrows mischievously. “Oh, I would know,” he replied, his tone dripping with innuendo.
Max groaned, a faint blush creeping up his neck, he swatted Charles’s hand away. “Behave yourself,” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched in a reluctant smile.
Charles tilted his head, a sly grin spreading across his face. “And what if I don’t behave well?” he said, his voice just low enough to be dangerous.
Max groaned, running a hand down his face in exasperation. “Charles, my mom and your dad are right there, plus Oscar and all our friends.” His tone was stern, but the faint blush on his cheeks betrayed him.
Charles laughed out loud, clearly enjoying himself. “That didn’t stop you in our rehearsal dinner in the bathroom down the hall” he declared with mock seriousness. Then, with a wicked glint in his eyes,
Max’s jaw dropped as his cheeks burned. He quickly glared at Charles, leaning closer to hiss, “Stop it.”
But Charles just laughed harder, his head tilting back as he reveled in Max’s embarrassment. Max shook his head, muttering under his breath about Charles being impossible.
Max silently thanked whatever higher power existed when Nico’s voice rang out, calling them over to cut the cake. “Time for the cake! And don’t even think about cutting it without me taking a picture first!” Nico’s commanding tone left no room for argument.
Max shot Charles a pointed look. “Great more pictures,” he muttered, standing up and straightening his shirt and readjusting his pants, wishing this night would end soon because Max is going to make Charles pay.
‘’Max, are you alright?” Sophie asked, her concern evident as she stepped closer. “You look flushed. Are you feeling okay?”
“I’m fine, Mom,” Max replied quickly, shooting a glare at Charles, who was standing beside him and barely containing his laughter.
After dinner, Oscar had finally succumbed to sleep, his tiny frame bundled up and peaceful in his yellow Pikachu suit. Charles and George carried him carefully to bed, their voices soft as they settled him down for the night. Meanwhile, Max stayed behind to help Nico and the others tidy up.
The garden was cleared, the dining area reset, and the house slowly returned to order. Max found himself in the kitchen again, elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing the last of the dishes. Lewis stood next to him, quietly drying each plate Max handed over, while Nico moved around them, putting everything back in its rightful place.
As Max scrubbed the last of the pots. Lewis stood nearby, drying a plate with practiced efficiency, while Nico returned items to their rightful places. Sophie leaned against the counter, a soft smile on her face as she watched them all work. Eventually, she turned her attention to Lewis, her voice measured but curious.
“It’s been a long time,” Sophie said, her tone almost conversational, though there was a slight edge to it. “I remember when you worked with Fernando. It wasn’t exactly the easiest time for him, or for you, I imagine.”
Lewis’s hands paused briefly, though he quickly resumed drying the plate. “No, it wasn’t,” he admitted, his tone polite but careful. “We didn’t always see eye to eye.” He glanced at her, his expression softening. “But I was still sorry to hear about his passing. My condolences.”
Sophie’s smile tightened, and for a moment, the air seemed to still. She nodded slowly, her voice quiet. “Thank you. It’s been... difficult, but life goes on.”
Max, sensing the subtle tension, glanced over his shoulder as he rinsed the last pot. He didn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders tensed slightly showed he was listening closely.
Sophie, ever composed, shifted the topic slightly. “So, when did you move back to Texas?”
Lewis exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing a fraction. “About a year ago,” he said. “I wanted to be closer to family, to slow things down a bit. Settle down, get married.”
She nodded, her curiosity seemingly genuine now. “Are you engaged? Any kids?”
Lewis hesitated for a brief moment before replying. “Not yet, no kids. But I do have someone special in my life.” His tone was neutral, giving just enough information without inviting further questions.
Sophie tilted her head, a hint of warmth returning to her demeanor. “That’s good. Everyone needs someone to lean on.”
Max noticed Nico stiffen slightly beside him. It wasn’t obvious—just a small pause as he reached for a cupboard, his movements losing their usual ease.
Max glanced at Nico out of the corner of his eye, frowning slightly. Maybe Charles was onto something after all. Nico’s sudden stillness felt out of place, especially considering how composed he usually was.
But if Nico did feel something for Lewis, it didn’t seem mutual. Lewis spoke casually, his tone light, and his expression didn’t shift. If he noticed Nico’s reaction, he gave no indication.
Max shook off the thought, focusing back on the dishes. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t his business. Still, he’d probably mention it to Charles later—he’d enjoy dissecting it.
Sophie chuckled, shaking her head in disbelief. "I still can’t believe you didn’t know Nico is Charles’s dad!"
Lewis, looking genuinely amused, shrugged. "Well, Charles introduced himself as Charles Leclerc, and Nico as Nico Rosberg. How was I supposed to know?" He glanced at Nico, who had his back turned, seemingly engrossed in putting a dish away in the cupboard.
"Oh, yeah," Nico said casually, though his tone betrayed a hint of discomfort. "Charles chose to go with his mother’s maiden name. And I was fine with it."
Max, listening quietly, couldn’t help but find the situation odd too. He remembered when Charles explained it to him early in their relationship. "It was an act of rebellion," Charles had admitted, his tone filled with lingering frustration. "Dad was too busy to be a father, so I chose to be a Leclerc instead."
Though Max understood the reasoning, it still felt strange sometimes. Especially with how close Nico and Charles has become. Max can’t imagine a time where Nico and Charles weren’t attached to each other. As Lewis turned his attention back to Sophie.
Sophie smiled at Lewis as she dried a plate. "I’m really glad you’ve settled back here. It’s comforting knowing Max is working under someone like you. I trust you with my boy."
Max rolled his eyes, setting down a glass he’d just finished washing. "Mom, I’m not a boy."
Lewis chuckled lightly. "Sophie, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Max is brilliant at what he does—one of the best detectives I’ve worked with. Though, I won’t lie, he’s stubborn as hell and sometimes pushes himself too far."
Max felt his shoulders tense, the compliment landing wrong. The man had a way of making everything sound good on the surface, but Max couldn’t shake the feeling it wasn’t entirely genuine. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t trust him.
"Hey," Lando piped up from the table, where he was wiping down the surface. " you are not supposed to pick favorites! That’s, like, Leadership 101."
Lewis turned to him, as he answered flatly. "I’m your boss, not your parent. And for the record, I didn’t say Max was my favorite." He shot a pointed look at Max. "He’s a pain in my ass half the time. I just appreciate his work ethic—when it doesn’t land him in trouble, that is."
"Me too," Daniel chimed in with a grin, stacking plates nearby. "The ‘let’s save Max from himself’ club keeps getting bigger."
Everybody in the room chuckled, but Max stayed quiet, scrubbing another dish. As he could feel Sophie watching him, her pride clear in her soft smile.
---
Max had been stressing about today for a while. The idea of being on his own with Oscar, without Charles there to help, was terrifying to Max. He hadn't shared his fears with Charles, but he knew Charles felt the same way. They’d been in a routine, with Charles being the main one caring for Oscar, and Max would help but most of the time for a short time or with Charles close by. But today was different—Charles had to leave early for work, and Max was going to be on his own.
Charles had gotten up at 7, changing Oscar’s diaper and setting him next to Max before leaving. Max barely stirred as he kissed him goodbye and left the house. The apartment felt quiet when Max finally woke up at 8, still groggy but more aware that he needed to get moving.
Oscar was still asleep, so Max decided to get some things done while he had the chance. He quietly fed Leo, the cats still curled up on the couch, undisturbed. Max grabbed a cleaning cloth and started wiping down the kitchen counters. Trying to keep himself busy. Charles had left a small chaos in his wake—the smell of coffee, a few toys scattered across the floor. He’d read online that it was best to take advantage of the quiet time while Oscar was asleep, so he did just that.
Around 10 a.m., he heard a soft babbling coming from the bedroom. At first, he thought it was just his imagination, but then he heard it again, a bit louder this time. He smiled and set the newspaper down, making his way to the bedroom.
When he walked in, Oscar was lying wide awake in the middle of the bed, right where Max left him, staring up at the ceiling with his little hands moving around, his tiny hands reaching up and down, making soft gurgling sounds as he babbled to himself. He wasn’t upset, just content, watching the light play through the blinds as it crept into the room. He wasn't just a baby anymore. He was their baby.
He carried Oscar into the living room, carefully laying him down on the changing mat. Oscar wiggled slightly, letting out a small coo as Max undid his pajamas and changed his diaper. Max’s hands were gentle, but a bit unsteady. He was still figuring out all the little things—how to hold him, how to make sure he was comfortable. It wasn't hard, just... different. Charles had made it look so easy, and Max couldn't help but admire how natural it seemed for him.
Once Oscar was dressed in a soft pastel colored onesie with a cute pattern of little animals scattered across the fabric, but the sleeves were far too long for his tiny arms. Which almost swallowed Oscar’s hands. Max walked over, and he sat beside him, carefully lifting him into his arms. Oscar let out a soft coo, clearly content, and Max couldn’t help but smile at how cute he looked. Gently, he took one arm and carefully folded the sleeve back, exposing the small, soft wrist and the faintest hint of baby fat beneath it. Max did the same on the other arm, taking care to adjust the fabric so Oscar could move freely, the soft cotton brushing against his skin as he squirmed happily.
“Hey there, buddy,” he whispered, brushing a stray lock of hair from Oscar’s forehead. Oscar looked up at him, making a small cooing sound, still content in his little world. Max checked the time and noticed it was just about time for Oscar to eat. He glanced at the feeding schedule Charles had written up for him and confirmed that it was time for breakfast.
“You ready for some breakfast?” Max asked softly, even though Oscar wasn’t likely to respond. He decided to try the eggs that Charles had mentioned Oscar liked the other day.
Max carried Oscar into the kitchen, setting him down in his high chair. He made sure to strap him in securely, giving him a reassuring smile before turning to the stove. He cracked a couple of eggs into a pan and turned the heat on low. He felt his nerves settle just a little as the eggs began to cook, but he couldn’t help but keep glancing over at Oscar to make sure he was okay.
Oscar made soft sounds, his wide eyes tracking Max’s every movement. Max hummed lightly as he stirred the eggs, trying to focus on the task at hand. He was doing fine, he told himself. It wasn’t perfect, but it didn’t have to be. Oscar was happy, and that was all that mattered.
Once the eggs were cooked, Max scooped them onto a spoon and gently fed them to Oscar, who was more than eager to try them. Max couldn’t help but smile when he saw how much Oscar seemed to enjoy the meal. Maybe today wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
After breakfast Max put Oscar in his playpen, as he did so he glanced over at the rugs in the living room, the soft, plush fibers of the beige carpet beneath his feet. There were a few stray crumbs scattered across the surface, along with a couple of small toys Oscar had dropped earlier in the morning. The rugs, once pristine and neat, now looked lived-in, the occasional trace of a playful cat’s paw or a small spill here and there.
He let out a small sigh, the memories of the loft they used to have flooding back. He remembered a time when everything was neat and tidy, when the house was always spotless. No crumbs from late-night snacks. No little shoes or stuffed animals scattered across the floor. The place had been an extension of their neat and organized lives, everything in its place. But now, everything was different. The house, while still cozy and warm, didn’t look the same.
Max shook his head, trying to push away the feeling of discomfort. It wasn’t like that even before, he reminded himself. “We had cats.” The cats had always been there, shedding fur and knocking things off counters. He thought back to the days when he’d scrubbed the floors, keeping everything clean, but the cats still managed to make their mark. It was never perfect, even before Oscar came along.
Now, with Oscar in the picture, there was even more chaos. But maybe that was okay. Maybe this was his new reality, and he had to get used to it. So what if the house wasn’t as clean as he liked it to be? It wasn’t the end of the world.
Max stood up, wiping his hands on his pants and glanced around the living room. Maybe he couldn’t control everything, but he could at least vacuum. It was a small task, but it would help. He went to grab the vacuum cleaner, pulling it out from the closet.
After making sure the house look spotless, Max decide to watch TV, but he abandoned this idea the moment Oscar seemed to be bored, so he spend the rest of the morning with Oscar, trying to keep him entertained. As the evening approached, things began to take a turn. Oscar started getting fussy, his little face scrunching up, and the soft whimpers quickly turned into louder cries. Max tried everything he could think of — rocking him gently, humming, even offering him a soft toy — but nothing worked. Oscar continued crying, his tiny hands reaching out in frustration.
Max glanced at the clock. It was nearing bedtime, and Oscar was clearly exhausted, but he wasn’t settling down. "You miss dada, huh? I miss him too," Max mumbled to himself, trying to soothe the baby. But nothing seemed to help.
He carefully placed Oscar in the playpen, watching as Oscar’s tears slowed but didn’t stop. Max sighed and reached for his phone. He needed advice, and Charles had called an hour ago to check on them. Hopefully, he could help.
Max dialed Charles's number, and it rang once before Charles answered.
"Hey, Max, everything good?" Charles's voice was soft, warm.
"Yeah, everything’s fine," Max said, though he felt anything but. "Oscar had his milk, I changed him... but he just won’t sleep. He’s been crying for a while now. I’ve tried everything, rocking him, walking around with him... nothing’s working."
Charles paused for a moment. "Hmm, sounds like he’s used to my voice. Try talking to him, Max. Just like I do. And lay down next to him. He loves falling asleep next to someone. It’ll help."
Max hesitated, looking over at Oscar. He wasn’t really the napping type, especially not with a baby, but Charles sounded confident. "Alright, I’ll try that."
Max walked back over to the playpen, where Oscar was still fidgeting and sniffling, his little face scrunched in frustration. "Hey, buddy, it’s okay," Max said, his voice low and soothing. "I know you miss dada. I miss him too. We’ll be alright."
He knelt down beside the playpen and carefully picked Oscar up, gently cradling him in his arms. Oscar let out a small whimper, but didn’t cry this time, his tiny eyes looking up at Max with uncertainty.
Max laid down on the bed next to Oscar, stretching his arm out so that Oscar could feel him close. Oscar shifted a little, his tiny body pressing into Max’s side as he finally relaxed. Slowly, Max’s breathing evened out as he lay there, still and quiet.
Before long, Oscar’s cries stopped completely, and the baby’s tiny, slow breaths filled the room. Max stayed there, eyes closed, his arm around Oscar, not really asleep.
---
Max moved quietly around the kitchen, his every step careful not to disturb the peaceful silence. Oscar had been asleep for two hours, and Max was determined to keep it that way. The simmering pot on the stove filled the air with a warm, savory aroma, and Max used the rare moment of calm to tidy up and prep dinner.
He absently searched for his earbuds, realizing he hadn't seen them since the morning. He checked the usual spots: under the couch cushions, on the coffee table, in the fruit bowl where random odds and ends somehow always ended up. Nothing.
With a sigh, he moved to the side table drawer. As he pulled it open, something caught his eye—a brown envelope. It wasn’t large, just plain and unassuming, It was unmarked, with no return address or identifying details. Frowning, Max picked it up, briefly turning it over in his hands.
He vaguely remembered that it’s the same envelop that Charles had carelessly accepted from a stranger a few days ago. He also remembered that Charles said it was work related. Now, curiosity piqued.
The plain brown envelope sat in the drawer, innocuous and unmarked. No return address, no name. It could have been junk or a harmless mistake, but for Max, it triggered a reflex—a spark of the detective inside him.
No one could blame him for being cautious. He’d once received a dead woman’s head in the mail, a grisly reminder of just how cruel and chaotic his line of work could be. This envelope was small, almost harmless by comparison, but Max’s instincts didn’t allow him to dismiss it outright.
He tore the envelope open carefully, revealing a single USB stick. It looked harmless enough, but Max had learned to never assume.
It was a reminder of his original plan. When he had decided to take time off work, the goal had been clear: to dig deeper into his father’s case. But reality had been far messier than the neat intentions he’d envisioned.
He doubt he will have the time to do so. Between cleaning, cooking, and managing the chaos of life with a six-month-old, he barely had time to breathe. He was exhausted, stretched thin in ways he hadn’t anticipated.
How had Charles done it?
That thought stopped him for a moment. Charles had juggled everything—Oscar, the house—and somehow made it look effortless. Max felt a pang of guilt. He’d always known Charles was strong, but living even a fraction of his day-to-day life had deepened Max’s admiration for him.
Returning to the envelope, Max powered on the laptop, its screen flickering to life as he sat at the desk.
Sliding the USB into the port, he waited as the device loaded. The screen blinked to life, and a single file appeared: William_May.docx.
The name made Max freeze. His jaw tightened, and his hand hovered over the trackpad for a moment before he opened the file.
William May was the District Attorney, a man whose reputation preceded him—and not in a good way. May was known for his relentless ambition, prioritizing conviction rates and public perception over actual justice. He dismissed cases that didn’t align with his agenda, ignored evidence, May had a knack for twisting the law to suit his agenda, dismissing cases with glaring evidence or railroading innocent people just to close cases and bolster his image.
Max had disliked the man for years, but his disdain turned personal after Fernando’s murder. May had shown little interest in the case, dragging his feet on approving resources and dismissing crucial leads. It wasn’t until weeks later, when public pressure mounted, that May finally acted. May had been disturbingly quick to close the case Even then, he rushed to convict a suspect without properly investigating the motive or circumstances. Ignoring key questions.
To Max, it was clear: May hadn’t cared about Fernando’s death. He only cared about optics.
Now, seeing his name on this mysterious file, Max’s unease deepened.
He clicked on the file, opening what appeared to be a spreadsheet. At first, it looked like a series of financial transactions: dates, amounts, and recipient account numbers. But as Max scrolled through, his eyes landed on two specific entries:
- 06/13/20XX: $75,000.00
- 06/15/20XX: $100,000.00
The dates sent a chill through him. June 13—the day before Fernando’s murder. June 15—the day after.
Max’s grip on the laptop tightened as he stared at the screen. The same account appeared repeatedly, with no identifying details. The amounts were significant—far too large to be anything ordinary.
It didn’t take much to connect the dots. The timing of these payments wasn’t a coincidence. Someone had sent him this for a reason.
Max leaned back, his mind racing. May had always been corrupt—that much was no secret to those who worked within the system. But if these transactions were tied to Fernando’s murder, it meant May was involved in something far bigger than just closing cases for public approval.
The document raised more questions than answers. Who had sent it to him? Why now? And how deep did May’s corruption go?
"Looks worth looking through," Max muttered, closing the file but not before saving a copy.
Max stared at the document on his laptop, his mind racing. The spreadsheet with its cryptic transactions and the name "William May" flashing on the screen. Someone wanted him to see it, to piece something together.
But what?
His first instinct was to call Daniel. If anyone could help him make sense of this, it was him. He glanced at Oscar, still nestled on his chest, then reached for his phone. Dialing quickly, he pressed the phone to his ear.
The line rang once. Twice. Three times.
"Come on, Daniel," Max muttered under his breath.
It went to voicemail. He hung up and immediately redialed. The same result.
By the fourth attempt, frustration prickled at the edges of his thoughts. "Seriously?" he muttered, leaning back into the couch.
Max sighed and stared at his phone. Maybe he was blowing this out of proportion. Maybe this document wasn’t even about Fernando. It could just be a random coincidence—a prank or a misunderstanding.
But deep down, Max didn’t believe that.
Whoever sent this had gone through a lot of trouble. The information on it was confidential. This wasn’t something anyone could stumble upon accidentally. These are high classified information. He doesn’t understand why someone will go through the trouble of sending it him, why him?
Still, his rational side pushed back. "It might mean nothing," he muttered, trying to convince himself. But if it did mean nothing, why send it? Why risk exposing sensitive information just to deliver it to him?
Max exhaled, trying to steady his thoughts. For now, there were no answers—just more questions. And until Daniel called back, all he could do was wait and try not to let his imagination run wild.
---
Max sat at the dining table, the faint hum of the laptop filling the otherwise quiet apartment. Max, who had already finished cooking, had turned off the stove He had been scrolling for over an hour now, digging through every article, forum post, and record he could find on William May.
The deeper he went, the more revolted he became. Each detail was worse than the last, painting a picture of someone far darker than he had imagined. The things May had done—the accusations, the rumors—were enough to make Max’s stomach churn.
Charles came home later than usual his keys jingling softly as he unlocked the door. The faint smell of something freshly cooked still lingered in the air
The moment he saw Charles, Max felt warmth flood his chest. A smile tugged at his lips—he’d missed him. Staying at home without Charles felt strange and incomplete.
Charles shuffled toward him, his steps slow and heavy, his posture slumped. He looked utterly exhausted. His head drooped, and his shoulders sagged with every step, giving him the appearance of a sleep-deprived zombie.
Max chuckled softly at the sight, his arms instinctively opening to invite Charles in. Charles didn’t hesitate, burying his face in Max’s shirt with a deep, tired sigh.
"That hard, huh?" Max murmured, his voice warm and teasing.
Charles let out a muffled, almost petulant, "I missed you."
"Me or Oscar?" Max quipped with a small grin.
"Both," Charles answered, his voice barely above a whisper. He pulled back just enough to look up at Max, jutting out his lower lip in an exaggerated pout. "I was so jealous of you two, making me work my ass off while you stayed home and have fun."
Max chuckled again. "We did have fun."
Charles's tired eyes lit up, hopeful. "Really? You did have fun? Oscar didn’t give you a hard time?"
Max could see the unspoken worry in Charles’s expression. No matter how many times he told Charles he was just as much Oscar’s dad, just as capable of handling the hard days, Max knew Charles wouldn’t fully believe it.
"Yes," Max said softly. "We had so much fun." Max pulled him closer, wrapping his arms tighter around him. He pressed his hand gently against the small of Charles’s back, offering silent reassurance
As Max hugged Charles tighter, he felt the other man stiffen in his arms. Charles let out a small, involuntary gasp of pain.
Max immediately pulled back, his eyes narrowing in concern. "Charles?" he asked, his voice low but firm.
Charles avoided his gaze, shifting uncomfortably. "It’s nothing," he muttered, trying to brush it off.
Max wasn’t having it. "That didn’t sound like nothing. Did something happen?"
For a moment, Charles stayed silent, his lips pressed together tightly. Max waited, giving him space to speak without pushing further. Finally, Charles sighed and rubbed the back of his neck.
"I fell," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Max’s concern deepened. "You fell? When? Where? Are you hurt?" He placed a hand on Charles's back, his touch gentle but insistent.
Charles winced slightly at the movement and shook his head. "It was earlier today. Stroll gave me some ridiculous task that involved carrying boxes to another department. One of the boxes was heavier than I expected, and I lost my balance. I landed on my back."
Max's jaw tightened. "And you didn’t think to tell me?” Max frowned, “Why is Stroll giving you tasks anyway? Isn’t Sebastian your boss?”
Charles let out a frustrated sigh, leaning forward slightly on Max’s chest. “He is, but Sebastian and George are away for a training all week, and I just got back after my time off.” He groaned softly as Max’s thumbs pressed into a particularly tense spot. “That means Stroll is in charge, and he’s making it his mission to make my life hell. He filed a complaint about me today, and on top of that, he dumped all the terrible tasks on me.”
Max’s frown deepened. “A complaint? What for?”
Charles shrugged, wincing as he shifted. “Something petty. I don’t even know. He is mad because once I come back to work he will be out of a job. I tried to be nice to him, and now my back is killing me.”
Max exhaled slowly. “You shouldn’t have to deal with this.”
Charles gave a tired laugh, his head dipping forward. “Tell that to Stroll.
“Let me see,” Max said, his voice firm but gentle. Without waiting for much of a reply, Max spun Charles carefully to face his back, his hands resting on his sides. He slowly lifted the hem of Charles’s shirt, careful not to make him flinch, and his gaze immediately landed on the small but visible bruise forming on Charles’s lower back.
Max’s breath hitched in his throat as he had a closer look at the swollen, darkening bruise. It was large, spreading over the area where Charles had been hurt. The deep purple was already visible beneath the skin, and Max couldn’t help but gasp.
“Jesus, Charles…” His tone was a mix of concern and disbelief.
“We should get this checked out,” Max said, his voice suddenly more serious.
Charles just shook his head, but Max could tell he was trying to downplay the situation. “Stroll already had a look at it. He said it’s going to be alright.”
Max’s frown deepened as he examined the injury more closely. He could tell from the way the bruise was starting to form that it was likely just a superficial injury, but still—
“Stroll?” Max repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief. “You mean the same Stroll who was the reason you fell in the first place?”
Charles tried to brush it off, but Max wasn’t ready to let it go. “Yes, but he’s a paramedic, Max,” Charles said with a small shrug. “He won’t lie to hurt me.”
Max turned to face him, his expression hardening as he looked Charles in the eyes. “He’s the reason you got hurt in the first place.”
Charles laughed loudly, the sound not matching the gravity of the situation. “Stop exaggerating, Max. I was doing my job. I’m just clumsy, that’s all. You need to relax.”
Max clenched his jaw, refusing to let this go. “You seriously need to start being more careful, Charles. I don’t fancy being a widower and single father at the age of 28.”
Charles smirked, clearly not taking Max’s concerns seriously. “Would you relax? I’m not dying on you,” he said, rolling his eyes as if it was no big deal.
Max stared at him for a long moment, before replying in a low, serious voice, “You see, Charles, I can’t believe you. You have a record.”
Charles gasped, dramatically faking offense. “What? You should actually reward me for having four months without accidents. It’s a miracle!”
Max didn’t smile. “Don’t joke about it, please,” he said quietly, his voice laced with a hint of frustration.
Charles’s expression softened slightly as he met Max’s eyes, his earlier joking demeanor falling away. He stepped closer to Max, resting his hand on his arm. “Don’t worry, Max,” he said, his voice sincere but still light. “I’m not going anywhere. We’ll grow old together, and we’ll live happily ever after. I promise.”
Max’s heart clenched at those words, but he couldn’t shake the worry gnawing at him. He just wanted Charles to be safe. To be careful. But all he could do was hold him and hope that Charles would start to take his own well-being more seriously.
"Just... take care of yourself, alright?" Max muttered, his voice soft. He gently cupped Charles’s face, brushing his thumb over his cheek. “Please.”
Charles nodded as leaned in for a kiss, He felt Charles lips start to gently move against his, his tongue gently slipping into Max’s mouth, exploring it slowly and gently, wanting to taste him.
Max was surprised by how sweet Charles tasted. Max deepened the kiss, pulling Charles body closer to his, as if he wanted to get more of him, to taste more of him. But the moment was short-lived as a soft whimper came from the crib, followed by the unmistakable sound of Oscar fussing.
Max pulled away with a sigh, his shoulders slumping in frustration. "Every damn time," he muttered under his breath, his tone was laced with frustration. He turned to Charles, who was already looking apologetic.
"I'll get him," Max said, shaking his head with a smile. "You go take a bath and relax for a bit. I’ll get Oscar and we’ll eat when you're done."
Charles gave him a grateful nod, clearly exhausted. "Thanks,"
---
December 20th, 2024
Charles absentmindedly dipped the tea bag into the hot water, watching as the amber hues bled into the clear liquid, swirling and deepening with each pass. His gaze flickered to the living room, a small moment of peace in the chaos of his mind. He exhaled sharply, breaking the spell, It was a disaster. Toys were scattered across the floor, a pile of clothes sat in one corner, and used tissues overflowed from the trash can.
But none of it mattered. The real mess was inside him.
A burst of laughter rang out from somewhere outside, high-pitched and full of delight. Charles froze, the sound cutting through his spiraling thoughts. It was Oscar. His heart eased, if only for a moment, and he set the mug down, stepping toward the window.
The sun was bright, the kind of warmth that Max always loved. Charles stopped himself, his chest tightening. Not now. Focus.
Oscar’s giggles floated up again, drawing him toward the door. He hadn’t seen Oscar since yesterday afternoon, and that fact alone had been enough to leave him on edge. He pushed through the door, stepping into the sunny yard, scanning the open space.
He couldn’t see him.
Panic clawed at his chest as he looked around, the brightness of the day suddenly overwhelming. “Oscar?” he called, his voice tight, as if saying the name out loud would tether him to reality.
Another laugh, lighter now but still nearby. Charles followed the sound, moving quickly, his pulse pounding in his ears. It led him to Lewis’s backyard, and the moment he saw Oscar, his knees nearly buckled in relief.
There he was, sitting on a blanket spread across the grass. His cheeks were rosy, his bright eyes crinkled with laughter as he clumsily tossed a ball toward Leo, who barked and darted after it. Oscar was propped up against Roscoe, Lewis’s bulldog, who sat solid and steady, an unbothered guardian.
Oscar babbled happily, his tiny hands clapping as Leo brought the ball back. He wore a soft pink bodysuit, a little hat perched crookedly on his head, with tufts of hair peeking out underneath. Sassy lounged lazily nearby in a patch of sun, tail flicking occasionally, while Jimmy was nowhere to be seen—likely off causing trouble elsewhere.
Charles didn’t move for a moment, just watched. His throat tightened as a wave of relief and something deeper, almost painful, washed over him. Oscar’s laugh was so carefree, his joy untouched by the chaos that surrounded their lives.
Charles hesitated on the edge of the yard, his body stiff with guilt. He wanted to turn back, to escape to the safety of the house, but his feet wouldn’t move. He couldn’t bring himself to face Oscar, even though the baby had no idea what had happened yesterday. Shame burned deep in his chest. If Max were here, he’d be furious. Max would have been stronger, braver—for Oscar.
Charles swallowed hard, his vision blurring with tears he refused to shed. He bit his lip, his gaze drifting to the cheerful scene in front of him. Leo was the first to notice him, the dog bounding across the yard and barking excitedly, drawing Lewis's attention.
Lewis turned, a smile spreading across his face. “Hey,” he called warmly.
Oscar, hearing Lewis's voice, turned on the blanket, Recognition lit up his face, and a delighted giggle bubbled out of him. Dropping his toy, he leaned forward on his hands, his movements tentative but determined.
The baby’s little fingers pressed into the blanket as he pushed himself forward, his knees shuffling in an uneven rhythm. A look of pure joy spread across his face, his smile so wide it crinkled his eyes. His babbling grew louder as he crawled, his excitement uncontainable.
“Ah, no, Oscar!” Lewis said, scooping him up before he could reach the grass. “It’s dirty over here, little man.”
Oscar squirmed in protest, his small hands reaching out toward Charles, his face splitting into a wide, toothy grin. His excitement was uncontainable, and he wriggled in Lewis's arms, making little noises of frustration until Lewis carried him over.
When they reached Charles, Oscar threw himself at his papa with all his tiny strength. Charles caught him instinctively, pulling him close. The baby’s giggles filled the air, his little hands immediately reaching for Charles’s hair to play with it.
Charles pressed a kiss to Oscar’s soft head, breathing in his baby scent as he whispered, “I’m so sorry.” His voice cracked, barely audible, but Oscar didn’t notice, too busy tugging at Charles’s hair and giggling.
Lewis watched quietly for a moment before breaking the silence. “Thanks for looking after him,” Charles said, his voice still shaky.
“Don’t mention it,” Lewis replied with a kind smile. “How are you feeling?” His gaze drifted briefly to Charles’s hand.
Charles blushed and ducked his head. “It’s nothing.”
Lewis raised a brow but didn’t push. “I know you’ll get through this. You’re strong,” he said gently.
Charles’s eyes filled with tears again, but he blinked rapidly, refusing to let them fall in front of Oscar. Instead, he asked, “Where’s Dad?”
Lewis hesitated before answering, his voice soft and careful. “He’s working. A 24-hour shift. But I’ll be staying with you today.”
“You don’t have to,” Charles said quickly. “I’m fine. I’m sure you have better things to do.”
Lewis shook his head firmly. “No, I want to stay. Besides, I love spending time with Oscar.”
Charles raised a skeptical brow. “Are you sure it’s not just about Dad?”
Lewis chuckled softly, an apologetic look on his face. “Maybe both. I won’t lie—your dad’s worried about you. But I also genuinely love hanging out with this little guy. He’s the sweetest baby on earth.”
Charles tried to dismiss it. “Dad should mind his own business. And stay out of mine.”
Lewis’s expression turned serious. “He loves you, Charles. He’s trying to make sure you’re okay. You’re his only son. He had already lost you way too many times, Can you blame him for being scared?”
He thought about Sophie. She had lost her husband and her only son. How did she keep going after that? How was she still sane?
Charles couldn’t imagine the pain she must carry every single day. Losing everything that mattered, everything that made life bearable—it was unfathomable. He tightened his hold on Oscar.
If he lost Oscar—no, he couldn’t even finish the thought. The mere idea was enough to send his heart racing, panic clawing at his throat. this most be how his dad felt yesterday.
Charles swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around Oscar as he tried to hide his bandaged wrist behind his back. He couldn’t forget the way his father’s hands had trembled while wrapping it yesterday, his voice unsteady with anger and fear.
“I told him I won’t do it again, but he wouldn’t leave me alone. I have never seen him this angry it was like I wasn’t his son but his enemy.” Charles murmured, his voice barely audible.
“You don’t understand what it’s like,” Charles had tried to explain. “I just—I can’t do this anymore.”
His dad’s response had been swift and brutal. “You think you’re the only one who’s hurting? Look at Oscar. Look at me. We’re all trying, Charles. You don’t get to give up.”
Lewis placed a hand on his shoulder. “He was devastated yesterday, Charles. He’s scared of losing you. Please, try to understand that.”
The weight of his father's words lingered, cutting deeper each time they echoed in his mind. "You're selfish. You should be ashamed of yourself. Oscar already lost two parents before he’d even had a chance to understand what it meant to be loved by them. and now you'll take away the last parent figure he has." He knew his dad hadn’t meant to be cruel, but the truth in those words stung more than the anger behind them.
And he was right. Charles looked down at his hands, the bandages still tight around his wrists. His father’s hands had been steady as he’d wrapped them, but his voice had been anything but. He’d been trembling, barely keeping it together.
Charles pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, trying to block out the overwhelming tide of shame. He wanted to believe he wasn’t selfish, that he hadn’t meant to hurt anyone, but his actions had spoken louder than his intentions.
He couldn’t forget the way his dad had stood there afterward, his voice cracking as he’d threatened,” “If you hurt yourself again, I’ll have no choice, Charles. I’ll call social services.”
Charles stared at Nico in disbelief, his heart pounding in his chest. “You don’t mean that,” he said, his voice shaky, almost pleading.
Nico’s jaw tightened, his expression hard. “Pray we don’t have to find out,” he replied coldly. “Because if you do this again, Charles, you’ll lose everything. You’ll never see Oscar again.”
“I didn’t mean to,” Charles said quietly to Lewis, his voice thick. “I was just... in so much pain.”
Lewis nodded gently. “I know. But your dad needs to hear it from you. You owe him that.”
His father, strong and stoic, had been holding it together, but Charles had seen the cracks beneath the surface. His dad was, scared of watching his son slip away.
How selfish he’d been, to even think about escaping his pain without considering the pain he’d leave behind. His father’s words hadn’t been kind, but they had been necessary. As much as he wanted to join Max, to feel whole again in his arms, he couldn’t. He couldn’t abandon the people who needed him here.
Charles nodded, his throat too tight for words.
Lewis’s voice softened further. “Promise me, Charles. Promise me you won’t do it again.”
Charles looked down at Oscar, who was babbling happily as he played with Charles’s hair. He pressed another kiss to his son’s head, inhaling the scent that was pure comfort. “I promise,” he whispered.
Lewis smiled, relief evident on his face. “Good. Now, let’s get inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
Charles nodded, clutching Oscar close as they headed back toward the house. The pets followed behind, Roscoe trotting loyally beside them while Leo chased after a fluttering leaf.
Chapter 3
Notes:
I’ve been awake for 24 hours, and the stress from this weekend’s race really got to me. Watching what happened to Charles broke my heart, but I’m also incredibly proud of Max for winning his 4th championship.
This chapter was written in the middle of all that emotion, so I’m sorry if it’s not my best work. I just felt like I had to do something to process everything. I hope you enjoy it, and please let me know what you think in the comments!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max bent down to tie his shoes, his jacket slung over his arm. "I’ll be back as soon as possible," he promised, glancing up at Charles.
Charles sat at the kitchen table in his ratty pajamas, absentmindedly stirring his cereal. He glanced at Max and waved him off. "It’s fine. Just remember I’ve got a night shift later. I can’t be late, or Stroll will throw a fit."
Max straightened, his brow furrowing. "I still don’t get why you don’t tell your dad about him. Stroll’s a jerk and deserves to be fired."
Charles shook his head, dropping his spoon back into the bowl. "Because he’s right. I do usually go to my dad when things get tough. It’s not a good look. Everyone has to deal with shitty coworkers at some point. I’ll figure it out."
Max’s lips pressed into a thin line as if weighing his options. "Nope," he finally said, his voice firm. "He doesn’t get to treat you like that. No one bothers the love of my life and gets away with it."
Charles rolled his eyes, though a faint smile tugged at his lips. "God, you’re such a simp. Now, go. You’ll be late, and I want you back early." He pointed his spoon at Max before adding, "And say hi to Daniel for me."
Max grinned, grabbing the doorknob but hesitating before stepping out. "Okay, I’ll go. But I’m calling you later."
"You always do," Charles replied, the faint smile fading as the door clicked shut.
For a moment, the apartment felt too quiet, the absence of Max’s voice and movements too stark. Charles sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. He poked at his cereal, his appetite waning.
Tonight would be his first night shift, and the thought of spending the night away from Oscar made his chest tighten. He hated the idea of not seeing Oscar for long hours, although Max is doing great,
Charles swallowed the last spoonful of soggy cereal, sighing as he set the bowl in the sink. He rubbed his lower back absentmindedly, the dull ache from the accident three days ago still lingering. He moved carefully, knowing he couldn’t push himself too hard, but there was so much to do today—cleaning, taking Leo for a walk, grocery shopping, and preparing something for lunch.
He glanced at the clock. Oscar would be awake soon. With a groan, Charles shuffled into the living room, straightening the pillows on the couch and picking up the few stray toys scattered across the floor. He wanted the space ready before Oscar was up, even if his back protested every time he bent down.
As he finished wiping down the coffee table, a soft whimper came from the baby monitor on the counter. Charles paused, listening. A louder cry followed, confirming that Oscar was awake.
“Coming, sunshine,” Charles called softly as he headed toward the nursery.
He pushed open the door to find Oscar laying in his crib, his little face puffy from sleep, his lower lip sticking out in a pout. Charles couldn’t help but smile, though his heart ached at how small and vulnerable Oscar looked.
"Good morning, my love," he said, bending down to pick him up. The motion sent a sharp twinge through his back, but he ignored it as he cradled Oscar to his chest.
Oscar shifted, letting out a whiny sound. Charles frowned as he noticed the dampness of the baby’s onesie. A quick glance at the crib confirmed it—the bedding was soaked through.
“Oh no,” Charles murmured, kissing the top of Oscar’s head. “Did someone have a big accident?” Oscar let out a soft, frustrated whimper, his little hands tugging at Charles’s shirt.
“It’s okay, baby,” Charles reassured him, gently rocking him. “We’ll get you cleaned up in no time.”
Balancing Oscar on his hip, Charles managed to pull fresh clothes, a diaper, and a towel from the dresser with one hand. He headed to the bathroom, already bracing himself for the inevitable protests.
As soon as the bathwater started running, Oscar stiffened in his arms, letting out a preemptive whine. Charles sighed. “I know, you hate baths,” he said, adjusting the water temperature. “But we’ve got to get you cleaned up, okay? It’ll be quick, I promise.”
The moment Oscar’s tiny feet touched the water, the whining turned into full-blown wailing. Charles worked quickly, keeping a firm but gentle grip on the squirming baby as he washed him.
“It’s okay, love,” he murmured, trying to soothe him over the noise. “Almost done. You’re doing so well.”
By the time he wrapped Oscar in a soft towel and held him close, the cries had subsided into pitiful sniffles. Charles kissed the top of his damp head, rubbing his back as he whispered, “See? All done. You’re such a brave boy.”
He carried Oscar back to the nursery, carefully laying him on the changing table to get him dressed. Oscar’s little hands grabbed at Charles’s fingers, his pout still firmly in place.
“All better now,” Charles said, slipping a clean onesie over Oscar’s head. He smiled as the baby let out a soft gurgle, his mood beginning to improve.
With Oscar settled in his arms, Charles glanced at the crib and sighed. The soaked bedding would have to be stripped and thrown into the wash. His back twinged at the thought, but he pushed it aside.
“Let’s get you some breakfast first, okay?” he said, carrying Oscar to the kitchen. “Then maybe we’ll take Leo for a walk. And if we’re lucky, we can figure out lunch before Daddy Max comes back.”
Oscar blinked up at him, his expression softening as he nestled against Charles’s shoulder. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make Charles smile and power through the day ahead.
As soon as Oscar had finished his breakfast and settled on his play mat with a few toys, Charles hurried back to his room. The damp bedding was still waiting, and the sight of it made his shoulders sag. He carefully stripped the sheets, grimacing as he bent to reach the mattress. His back protested with every movement, but he gritted his teeth and pressed on.
By the time lunch rolled around, the house was somewhat cleaner, but Charles felt like he’d barely made a dent in his to-do list. His lower back throbbed, and a dull headache had begun to creep in. He glanced at Leo, who was lying near the door, tail thumping occasionally as if reminding Charles of his missed walk.
Charles ran a hand through his hair, sighing. “I’m sorry, buddy,” he said softly. “I’ll have to ask Max to take you out when he gets home.”
He looked at the clock. Speaking of Max, he hadn’t called or texted all morning. Frowning, Charles grabbed his phone and dialed Max’s number. It rang once, twice, three times before going to voicemail. He tried again, his anxiety growing with each unanswered call.
On the third attempt, Charles sat on the couch, staring at the screen as the call once again went unanswered. Panic started to build, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
Charles bit his lip, forcing himself to think logically. Max had said he’d spend the day with Daniel—surely Daniel would know if something was wrong. Without hesitating, Charles found Daniel’s number and hit call.
The phone barely rang twice before Daniel’s cheerful voice came through. “Hey, Charles! What’s up?”
Charles exhaled in relief, the sound of Daniel’s voice easing his nerves slightly. “Hey, Dan. Sorry to bother you, but... is Max with you?”
“Yeah, he’s right next to me,” Daniel replied casually.
Charles blinked, his worry quickly morphing into irritation. “He’s with you? Why hasn’t he answered my calls, then?”
Daniel must have caught the edge in Charles’s voice because he chuckled nervously. “Uh, hang on—let me hand him the phone.”
There was a muffled sound as Daniel passed the phone, followed by Max’s voice. “Hey, love. Everything okay?”
Charles clenched the phone tightly, a mix of relief and annoyance washing over him. “Why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been calling you for ages!”
“I’m sorry,” Max said, his tone apologetic. “I didn’t hear it ring. My phone was on silent—I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Charles adjusted the phone against his ear, watching Oscar play on his mat as he waited for Max’s reply. “When are you coming back?” he asked, trying to keep his voice steady, though his patience was wearing thin.
There was a pause before Max answered, “I’m sorry, love. I got caught up with Daniel. I need a couple more hours to finish here. I can’t make it back just yet.”
Charles glanced at the clock. It was already past lunch, and the house was a mess. He’d spent the whole morning cleaning, dealing with Oscar, and trying to stay on top of things, all while his back ached. He had been counting on Max to return by now.
“Alright,” Charles said quietly, suppressing the irritation building inside him. “Can you bring takeout on your way back?”
“Yeah, of course. What do you want?” Max’s voice sounded apologetic, but it didn’t do much to ease Charles’s mood.
“Doesn’t matter,” Charles muttered. “Just don’t be too late.”
“I won’t,” Max promised. “Oh, and don’t forget—you’ll need to take Leo for a walk.”
That was the last straw. Charles’s grip on the phone tightened, but he bit back his frustration. He didn’t want to start a fight, not with Oscar right there. “Fine,” he said curtly.
“Hey,” Max added, his tone softening. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” Charles replied, but his voice lacked the usual warmth. He ended the call quickly, setting the phone down with more force than necessary.
Oscar let out a happy squeal, pulling Charles’s attention back to the present. Charles sighed, leaning against the counter as he rubbed his temples. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, but the thought of making lunch felt exhausting. He grabbed some leftover pasta from the fridge, heating it up while his mind raced.
It wasn’t that he didn’t understand Max’s work or his need to catch up with Daniel, but today had been overwhelming. Between Oscar, cleaning, his upcoming night shift and his back still aching from the accident, Charles felt like he was holding everything together by a thread.
As he sat down at the table with his plate, he glanced at Oscar, who was now rolling onto his stomach, attempting to reach one of his toys. Charles couldn’t help but smile a little. “Looks like it’s just us for now, huh?” he said softly.
The pasta was lukewarm and bland, but Charles ate it anyway, forcing himself to focus on the moment. He tried not to dwell on Max’s absence, but a small voice in the back of his mind whispered that it would’ve been nice if Max had prioritized coming home, just for today. For now, he’d manage. He always did.
Charles glanced at the clock, his body already heavy with exhaustion. Three hours until his night shift. The weight of it pressed down on him, and he knew he needed rest, even if it was just a couple of hours.
He looked over at Oscar after finishing food, who was happily babbling and smacking a stuffed giraffe against the mat. “Alright, little one,” Charles said softly, crouching down next to him. “It’s nap time. You’ve had a busy morning, and Papa needs to sleep too.”
Oscar looked up at him with wide, curious eyes, then let out a giggle and threw the giraffe to the side.
Charles sighed, rubbing his temple. “Okay, I see how it is. Let’s make a deal. You sleep, I sleep, and when we wake up, maybe Max will be back with food. Doesn’t that sound nice?”
Oscar responded by grabbing Charles’s hand and chewing on his fingers.
“Guess that’s a no,” Charles muttered with a small laugh. He picked Oscar up, cradling him close as he started swaying gently. “Come on, sunshine. Just a little nap. You’ll feel so much better.”
It took half an hour of humming lullabies, pacing the room, and softly patting Oscar’s back, but finally, he felt the baby relax against him, his tiny breaths evening out. Charles carefully placed Oscar in his crib, holding his own breath as he slowly pulled away.
“Please stay asleep,” Charles whispered, adjusting the blanket around him.
He tiptoed out of the room, his back protesting with every step. As soon as he reached his own bed, he collapsed onto it with a groan, setting an alarm for two hours. “Max better be home by then,” he mumbled to himself, closing his eyes.
Within moments, he was asleep, his body giving in to the exhaustion. It wasn’t a deep, peaceful rest—his mind buzzed faintly with thoughts of work, Oscar, and Max—but it was rest nonetheless. For now, it was enough.
Charles woke to the sharp, piercing cries of Oscar echoing through the apartment. Groaning, he turned his head toward the clock. An hour. He’d barely managed to sleep for an hour.
For a moment, he lay there, heavy with exhaustion, his body begging him to just close his eyes again. But another burst of crying snapped him out of his daze. With a resigned sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he forced himself up.
Dragging his feet toward the nursery, he pushed the door open to find Oscar red-faced and flailing in his crib. “Alright, alright,” Charles murmured, scooping him up. His voice was hoarse with sleep. “What’s the matter, sunshine? Are you sure you don’t want to go back to sleep? Because I sure do.”
Oscar responded with another loud wail, pressing his face against Charles’s shoulder.
“Okay, okay,” Charles said softly, patting his back. “I get it. You win. Let’s see what’s wrong.”
Still half-asleep, Charles changed Oscar’s diaper, then carried him to the kitchen. He settled Oscar into his high chair and opened a jar of baby oatmeal. “Alright, breakfast—well, second breakfast, I guess. Let’s see if this makes you happy.”
Oscar quieted as soon as the spoon approached, his curiosity piqued. Charles managed to feed him a few bites before things started to spiral.
Oscar grabbed the spoon mid-air, flinging oatmeal onto his shirt and the tray. He laughed, smearing the mess across his face.
“Really?” Charles asked, one eyebrow raised as he wiped oatmeal off his own arm. “I thought we agreed that the food goes in your mouth, not everywhere else.”
Oscar giggled, clearly delighted by his chaos, and Charles couldn’t help but laugh despite himself. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” he muttered, reaching for a rag to clean up.
By the time breakfast was over, Oscar was covered in oatmeal, and Charles was even more exhausted than before. “Alright, troublemaker,” he said as he lifted Oscar from the high chair. “Bath time again, I guess. And then you’re taking a nap whether you like it or not. Papa needs to survive the night shift.”
Oscar giggled, as if amused by Charles’s plight. Charles just shook his head, a tired smile tugging at his lips as he carried him back to the bathroom.
Oscar showed no signs of settling down after his second bath of the day. Instead, he lay on the living room floor, gnawing on the edge of his teething toy—a gift from Lando—and babbling to himself. His tiny fists occasionally smacked the stuffed giraffe beside him, his face scrunched in deep concentration. Normally, it would’ve made Charles smile. But right now, he was too tired, too frustrated, to find it amusing.
The minutes ticked by, and Charles’s unease grew. He glanced at the clock—four o’clock. Max had said he was on his way over half an hour ago. Yet, the apartment was still silent except for Oscar’s occasional squeals and the soft jingling of Leo’s collar as the dog paced near the front door, waiting for his walk.
Charles sighed, sitting back on the couch for a moment, his head falling into his hands. He had a shift in an hour, and the clock felt like it was mocking him. He needed to leave soon, but Max hadn’t called or messaged since earlier.
He rubbed his face and glanced over at Oscar, who was now happily drooling on the toy. “Alright, little man,” he murmured, getting to his feet. “Papa needs to get ready.”
A twinge of pain shot through his back as he straightened. He winced but ignored it, heading to the bedroom to pull out his work clothes. As he laid them out, his mind raced with contingency plans. If Max doesn’t get here in time, I’ll have to call Stroll. The idea made his stomach churn. Stroll was never understanding, and showing up late would only fuel his temper.
Charles quickly changed into his uniform, tossing a glance back at his phone on the bedside table. No new messages. No missed calls. His chest tightened. He took a deep breath, trying to shake off the frustration.
Walking back to the living room, he spotted Leo by the door, tail wagging as he stared at Charles expectantly. Charles crouched down, resting a hand on Leo’s head. “I’m sorry, boy,” he said softly, scratching behind Leo’s ears. “Max will take you as soon as he’s here, okay?”
Leo tilted his head, his tail slowing, as if he’s disappointed.
Charles stood up, brushing his hands down his uniform, his stomach growling loudly. He hadn’t eaten much on lunch, and now it was too late to make anything substantial. He glanced at Oscar again, who was still happily gnawing on his toy, oblivious to the whirlwind of stress around him.
“This is normal,” Charles muttered under his breath, pacing the room. “It’s just an adjustment. People take time to adjust their schedule when they have a newborn.” He tried to convince himself.
He checked his phone again. Still nothing from Max. With a sharp exhale, he shoved it into his pocket and looked back at the clock. Thirty minutes left. If Max didn’t show up soon, he’d have to make the dreaded call to Stroll.
Charles stared out the window for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Come on, Max,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t make me do this alone.”
Max burst into the apartment, his keys jangling as he tossed them on the counter. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, his voice slightly breathless. “I got stuck in traffic.”
Charles was standing in the hallway, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his uniform neat but his expression anything but calm. He’d been trying to keep his emotions in check, but the minute Max walked through the door, the frustration spilled out.
“Leo needs a walk,” Charles said curtly, not even acknowledging Max’s apology. His tone was clipped, his words coming out in rapid succession. “I already fed Oscar, but he’ll be hungry again in an hour or two. He’s had two baths, and he ate some oatmeal.”
Max opened his mouth to respond, but Charles didn’t give him the chance. “I’m going,” he said, grabbing his bag and slinging it over his shoulder.
The frustration simmering in his chest was boiling over, and though he didn’t want to show Max just how angry he was, it was too late. He moved past Max, his jaw tight, and yanked the door open. It slipped from his grip as he turned to leave, slamming shut behind him with a sharp bang.
“Great,” Charles muttered under his breath, wincing at the sound. He knew Max didn’t deserve all of his frustration—it wasn’t like the traffic was his fault—but the hours of waiting, the stress of balancing everything, and the thought of facing Stroll were too much.
He inhaled deeply as he made his way to the elevator, trying to push the anger down. The day isn’t over yet. I still have to deal with Stroll. The thought alone made his stomach twist, but there was no time to dwell on it. All he could do now was power through.
---
Charles arrived at the station 20 minutes late, his shoulders hunched and his head already pounding. He knew Stroll would be waiting for him, ready to pounce. As soon as he stepped inside, he spotted Stroll leaning against the wall, arms crossed and a smug look plastered on his face.
“Late again, Leclerc,” Stroll said, his voice dripping with mockery. “What is it this time? Overslept? Lost track of time staring at your reflection?”
Charles ignored the jab, setting his bag down in the locker room before heading to grab his clipboard. He didn’t bother offering an excuse—he knew it wouldn’t make a difference.
“I’m here now,” Charles said evenly, forcing himself to maintain a calm tone. “What do you need me to do?”
Stroll smirked. “Since you’re so keen to make yourself useful, the ambulance needs to be cleaned top to bottom. Inside and out. And while you’re at it, do a full inventory of the supplies. God forbid we run out of something important because someone forgot to check.”
Charles bit the inside of his cheek, holding back the sharp retort on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he gave a curt nod and headed toward the ambulance bay.
The cleaning supplies were exactly where they always were, but even the sight of them made Charles’ stomach sink. It wasn’t the physical labor that bothered him—it was the deliberate pettiness of Stroll’s orders. He knew it was a punishment, a way for Stroll to assert dominance and remind Charles who was in charge.
As Charles scrubbed the interior of the ambulance, his mind wandered back to Oscar. The baby had been happy all day, and Charles couldn’t help but feel guilty for leaving him.
By the time he finished cleaning, his arms ached, and his shirt was damp with sweat. He took a quick sip of water before diving into the inventory, meticulously checking each item off the list.
As the hours dragged on, Charles braced himself for the rest of the shift. He knew Stroll would find more ways to make the night difficult.
He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, ready to face whatever came next.
By the time Charles finished the inventory, his back was screaming in protest. The dull ache from earlier had escalated into a sharp, persistent pain that made him wince every time he moved. He leaned against the ambulance for a moment, trying to catch his breath and stretch out the tension, but it didn’t help much.
Just as he was about to head inside for a moment of reprieve, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Seeing Max’s name on the screen, Charles hesitated.
He didn’t want to answer. He was still angry, still exhausted, and the last thing he wanted was to have another conversation where Max apologized. But then a flicker of worry crossed his mind—what if it was about Oscar? What if something had happened while he was gone?
With a sigh, Charles swiped to answer the call. “Yes?” he said, his tone clipped.
“Hey, I just wanted to check on you,” Max’s voice came through, sounding unsure. “And, uh, I wanted to say sorry again. I know I’ve been—”
Before Max could finish, Stroll’s voice cut through the air. “Leclerc! Hang up! We’ve got a call!”
Charles clenched his jaw, He spoke into the phone quickly, not bothering to hide his irritation. “I have to go. We’ll talk later.”
Without waiting for a response, he ended the call and shoved the phone back into his pocket. Stroll was already standing by the ambulance, tapping his watch impatiently.
“Next time, try focusing on the job instead of your personal drama,” Stroll sneered as Charles climbed into the passenger seat.
Charles gritted his teeth, not responding. His back hurt, his mind was tired, and he’s emotionally drained. The last thing he needed was to deal with Stroll’s attitude. As the sirens blared and they sped off to the next call, Charles let out a long breath. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take.
---
By the time Charles made it to the parking lot, the weight of the day seemed unbearable. He could barely walk, his body aching from hours of working with Stroll,. His head throbbed, and every step felt like it was dragging him further into exhaustion. He didn’t even care about how he looked—his uniform was disheveled, his face pale, and his eyes heavy, clouded by sleep deprivation.
His dad’s worried face flashed in his mind from earlier in the morning, and Charles had tried to assure him he was fine, that he just needed some rest. But now, standing outside, he wasn’t sure if he was fine. The fatigue was overwhelming. He needed sleep, and he needed it now.
As he walked through the lot, he noticed Max and Oscar waiting for him. Charles froze for a moment, surprised. He hadn’t expected Max to come pick him up, especially with how early it is, holding Oscar in a baby carrier, stepped toward him, the concern clear on his face. He looked like he was about to say something, but Charles cut him off before he could speak.
“Can we not talk?” Charles muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion. He rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the fog that had taken over his mind. “I just need to sleep. Please.”
Charles handed Max the car keys without saying a word, his movements sluggish but deliberate. His exhaustion was all-consuming, and he didn't have the energy to speak. He just needed to sleep.
Charles barely registered the movement as Max opened the back seat and started buckling Oscar into the car. His head felt heavy, his limbs like lead. Every inch of his body ached as if the exhaustion had settled deep into his bones. His mind was a fog.
Max made his way to the driver’s side of the car. As he slid into the driver’s seat, he glanced over at Charles, who was already moving toward the back seat, wordlessly making his way to the space next to Oscar, who was happily kicking his legs in the carrier. Charles slouched down beside him, leaning his head back against the seat.
His gaze momentarily flicking over to Max before he allowed himself to sink deeper into the car seat. The world outside the window seemed distant, irrelevant, as the vibrations of the engine lulled him further into sleep. , eyes fluttering shut almost immediately. Without another thought, he curled up. The sound of Oscar’s soft cooing was like a lullaby in the midst of Charles’ tired mind, and within seconds, he was out cold, his body finally surrendering to the deep rest it desperately needed.
---
When Charles woke up, it took him a few seconds to realize where he was. The room was dim, with a faint orange glow from the setting sun slipping through the curtains. His body ached, though not as much as before, and his head felt clearer, though heavy with fatigue. He stretched carefully, testing his back. It was stiff but not unbearable—a small mercy after the grueling day he'd had.
His stomach growled loudly, the pang of hunger pulling his thoughts into focus. When had he last eaten? He couldn’t remember. He sat up slowly, every movement deliberate, and rubbed his face. He felt the weight of exhaustion still pressing down on him, but the need for food won out.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, his muscles protesting slightly as he made his way out of the room. The house was quiet except for a soft, low murmur coming from the living room. Curious and hungry, Charles padded down the hall toward the sound.
What he saw stopped him in his tracks.
Max was sitting on the couch, reclined slightly, with Oscar sprawled out on his chest. The baby’s tiny hand clutched Max’s shirt while the other waved lazily, his face content and relaxed. Max held a colorful picture book in one hand, flipping through its pages slowly while pointing at the illustrations with his finger.
“This one’s a triangle,” Max was saying, his voice low and soothing. “See? Three sides. Just like the pyramid at the zoo—you’ll see that one day too.”
Oscar made a soft cooing sound, more interested in the tone of Max’s voice than the actual book. His legs kicked lightly against Max’s stomach, and his face scrunched as if he were trying to concentrate.
Charles leaned against the doorframe, watching. His hunger momentarily forgotten, he felt an odd mix of emotions—relief, warmth, and a touch of guilt. For all the frustration he’d felt toward Max earlier, seeing him like this reminded Charles of how much Max cared. They were both figuring this out, even if it wasn’t always easy.
“Hey,” Charles said softly, his voice raspy from sleep. He didn’t want to interrupt but couldn’t help himself.
Max looked up, his eyes meeting Charles’s. A small, tired smile spread across his face. “Hey. You’re up. Feeling better?”
Charles nodded, stepping into the room. “Yeah. How long was I out?”
“A few hours,” Max replied, closing the book gently and setting it aside. “You needed it.”
Charles's stomach growled again, loudly enough to make Oscar shift on Max’s chest. Max chuckled softly. “Sounds like someone’s hungry.”
“Starving,” Charles admitted, running a hand through his messy hair. “I don’t even remember the last time I ate.”
“Sit down,” Max said, starting to shift Oscar carefully. “I’ll get you something.”
“No, it’s fine,” Charles began, but Max shook his head.
“You can barely stand. Sit. I’ve got this.”
Too tired to argue, Charles lowered himself into the chair across from the couch, sinking into the cushions. He kept his eyes on Oscar, who was now babbling softly as Max adjusted him in his arms. The sight of the two of them together eased some of the tension Charles hadn’t even realized he was carrying.
Max returned a few minutes later with a plate of leftovers, setting it down on the coffee table in front of Charles. “It’s not the best, but it’ll do.”
Charles gave a small smile. “Thanks.”
Max sat back down on the couch, cradling Oscar again as he resumed their story. Charles ate slowly, the food grounding him, the soft rhythm of Max’s voice soothing. For the first time in what felt like days, the weight on his shoulders lightened, just a little.
Max cleared his throat softly as he settled on the couch next to Charles, balancing Oscar in his lap. He hesitated for a moment, then said quietly, “I’m sorry about yesterday. I got carried away... I should’ve come back earlier.”
Charles paused mid-bite, the fork hovering near his lips. He let out a soft hum in acknowledgment, avoiding Max’s gaze. What he really wanted to say sat heavy on his tongue: Don’t leave me alone again, not when I have a night shift, not when I’m already stretched so thin. But the words stayed locked inside.
It wasn’t that Charles didn’t trust Max. He did know that Max will help if he asked him to help. But asking for more—asking Max to go through more change, to sacrifice even more of his time—felt like too much. Max had already stepped up in ways Charles hadn’t expected. He had taken leave from work, dedicating himself to caring for Oscar, despite never wanting a child in the first place. He had agreed to adopt, even though it went against everything he once envisioned for his life. Charles knew that, and the weight of that knowledge made it harder to voice his own needs.
It felt unfair to ask for anything more. Max was already doing so much, and Charles couldn’t bring himself to take anything that Max didn’t freely offer. So instead, he resolved to do his best to balance things—caring for Oscar when Max needed breaks, giving him the space to spend time with Daniel, and shouldering the responsibilities as much as he could. Max’s sacrifices weighed heavily on Charles, especially knowing how much Max valued his work, his freedom, and the life he’d built before Oscar.
Charles exhaled quietly and forced a small smile. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice softer than he intended. He told himself that Max just needed time. This was a big adjustment for both of them. Max was used to seeing Daniel every day, to working with a team and finding his identity in his career. Now he was a stay-at-home dad, navigating an entirely new world.
Charles wanted to believe it would get easier, that with time, Max would find his rhythm. But deep down, he also knew it wasn’t that simple. Change took more than time—it took effort, understanding, and, sometimes, sacrifices that neither of them were ready to make. For now, though, Charles would do his best to carry his share of the weight, hoping it would be enough.
Max didn’t look convinced. He shifted slightly, his free hand gently brushing against Oscar’s tiny fingers as the baby squirmed contentedly in his lap. Max’s expression was uncertain, almost apologetic.
For a moment, the room was quiet except for Oscar’s soft babbling and the faint rustle of leaves outside the window. Charles let his gaze drift to the baby, his cheeks round and pink, his tiny hands gripping at Max’s shirt. He’d grown so much already—his once-scraggly arms and legs now plump and sturdy, his once-wispy hair thickening ever so slightly. Charles could hardly believe this was the same fragile, premature baby he’d helped bring into the world just months ago.
“He’s getting so big,” Charles murmured, the words slipping out without much thought. He reached over, brushing a finger gently against Oscar’s chubby cheek. The baby turned toward the touch, his mouth forming a curious little ‘o.’
Max followed Charles’s gaze, his lips twitching into a small, proud smile. “Yeah, he is,” Max said softly. “Hard to believe, isn’t it?”
Charles nodded, his chest tightening with a mix of emotions he couldn’t quite name. Exhaustion, pride, and something deeper—something almost too tender to bear. He wanted to hold onto this moment, this fragile, fleeting bubble of peace, even if he knew it wouldn’t last.
“I just hope...” Charles trailed off, shaking his head. “Never mind.”
“What?” Max asked, his voice gentle. “You can tell me.”
Charles exhaled slowly, leaning back into the couch as he cradled a pillow in his lap. Knowing Max is feeling guilty about yesterday “It’s okay, Max. I’m not mad,” he said, his voice quiet and measured, though the fatigue was clear. “I’m just... tired after last night.”
Max sat beside him, Oscar nestled comfortably on his lap, his little head resting against Max’s chest. Max looked hesitant, his brow furrowed as if choosing his words carefully. “About last night,” he began, his tone uncertain, “I think you should talk to your dad about Stroll.”
Charles immediately stiffened. “No, Max. It wasn’t his fault. Yesterday was just a busy night, that’s all.”
Max frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Charles, come on. I’ve seen you after crazy, 24-hour shifts, and you’ve never looked like this. I’m serious—Stroll is pushing you too hard.”
Charles sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “Max, it’s not like that. I haven’t been working much lately, so yeah, it hit me harder than usual. And okay, maybe Stroll is tough, but that’s his job. I think I just got used to my dad or his friends being my captain and letting me off easy.”
“That’s not true,” Max countered, shaking his head. “You’ve had good relationships with all your captains and colleagues—George, Kimi and all the other firefighters. You’ve worked hard for them, and they’ve respected you for it. This isn’t about you. It’s Stroll. He’s the problem. Heck even my captain and colleagues respect you and gets along with you, sometimes more than they get along with me.”
Charles shifted uncomfortably, looking down at his hands. Max didn’t understand—how could he? Stroll might be difficult, but Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that he deserved it. His recent bad luck at work, his missed shifts because of Oscar, even the privileges he’d grown used to—those things weighed on him. Stroll had every right to expect more. And honestly, if it weren’t for his dad’s reputation, Charles wasn’t sure he’d still have his job.
“I just don’t want to talk about it,” Charles said finally, his voice quieter. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
Max opened his mouth to argue, but Charles quickly changed the subject. “Anyway... Lando doesn’t like me.”
Max’s frown vanished, replaced by an incredulous look. “Lando? Lando’s an idiot. How could he not like you?”
Charles chuckled softly, glad for the distraction. “Maybe because I’m not as lovable as you are to him.”
Max’s expression softened, his voice lowering. “Doesn’t matter. I love you. Only you.”
The sincerity in Max’s words made Charles’s chest ache—not in a bad way, but in a way that reminded him of how much he depended on Max, even if he struggled to admit it. It was moments like these, when Max was steadfast and unwavering, that grounded him.
Still, Charles couldn’t resist teasing, a small smirk forming on his lips. “The real question is, who would you choose? Me or Daniel?”
Max’s laugh erupted instantly, loud and infectious. “Is that even a question?” he said, grinning. “It’s you. Always you.”
---
22 December 2023
Charles shifted Oscar’s weight in the wrap as he walked through the parking lot, the straps digging into his shoulders with each step. The bags of groceries he carried in either hand felt heavier with every passing second, and his arms ached from trying to keep them steady. He’d made a mistake—he knew that now. The quick trip for milk and diapers had spiraled into picking up everything else he’d realized they were out of: cereal, flour, fruit, and more. He hadn’t thought about how much it would weigh until it was too late.
He glanced at Oscar, asleep against his chest, his small head nestled under Charles’s chin. At least one of them was comfortable.
The walk home from the supermarket wasn’t far. That’s what he’d told himself when he decided against asking for help. The car was still wrecked from the accident, sitting untouched at the mechanic’s shop. He could have borrowed his dad’s car, but the thought of calling Nico made him feel worse. He still haven’t talked properly to his dad, mainly because he doesn’t know how to approach the subject. It doesn’t help that his dad is also avoiding him, while still keeping a close eye on him.
And Lewis—well, Lewis had been busy. Charles didn’t want to add to his already full plate. Besides, walking was supposed to help, or so Lewis had said. “Get out, move, try to find a distraction,” Lewis had told him.
But now, standing in the middle of the parking lot with two heavy bags cutting into his hands and a baby strapped to his chest, Charles was certain this wasn’t what Lewis had meant.
He’d almost made it to the parking lot entrance when one of the bags gave up on him. The bottom split open, and its contents spilled out, scattering across the asphalt.
Charles froze, staring as an orange rolled under a nearby car. His heart sank, and he let out a frustrated sigh, muttering a curse under his breath. He tilted his head back to look at the sky, as if seeking some kind of divine intervention.
“This day just keeps getting better,” he murmured bitterly.
Oscar stirred against his chest, and Charles immediately softened, muttering an apology. “Sorry, little one. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
Carefully, he crouched down, balancing awkwardly to avoid jostling Oscar too much. His back protested the motion, and he winced. He began gathering the scattered items, shoving the flour and powdered milk into the remaining intact bag. The cereal box, however, was too big to fit, so he set it aside.
As he reached for another orange, a hand appeared in front of him, holding the missing fruit.
Charles blinked, startled, and looked up.
His stomach sank when he saw who it was. Lando Norris stood there, a hand in his pockets, the other held the orange to Charles.
“Lando,” Charles said, his voice flat with surprise and dismay.
Lando offered a small smile, his hand still extended with the orange. “Looks like you could use a hand.”
Charles straightened up carefully, trying not to jostle Oscar too much as he adjusted the wrap around his chest. He dusted his hands against his pants, but the faint grime from the parking lot clung stubbornly to his palms. He caught Lando’s gaze as the younger man looked from the scattered groceries to him, and Charles felt a prick of irritation at the expression on his face.
Pity.
Everyone had been looking at him like that lately, and he hated it.
“Hello, Charles,” Lando said, his voice careful and neutral. “How are you doing?”
Charles blinked, his face a mix of surprise and barely concealed annoyance. Still, he forced himself to be polite. “Lando,” he greeted stiffly, “I’m okay, thank you. How about you?”
“All good,” Lando replied, but his eyes lingered on the groceries Charles was still holding awkwardly. He gestured toward them. “Where’s your car? I’ll help you load these.”
Charles hesitated, then admitted, “It’s still in the garage. The accident… it hasn’t been fixed yet.”
Lando nodded, his expression hardening slightly. “And how were you planning on getting all of this home?”
“On foot,” Charles said, unsure why it sounded so defensive.
Lando frowned, his brows drawing together in disbelief. “Are you serious?”
“Yes,” Charles said, his voice firmer now.
Lando sighed, running a hand through his hair as he looked at the baby strapped to Charles’s chest and the torn grocery bag at his feet. “Charles, come on. Let me give you a ride.”
“I’m fine,” Charles said, the words automatic even as his aching shoulders protested.
Lando didn’t bother responding. Instead, he reached down, grabbed the torn bag and the remaining one, and walked toward a nearby car.
“Lando—” Charles started, but the younger man ignored him, opening the trunk of what Charles assumed was his car and loading the groceries inside.
“Get in,” Lando said, shutting the trunk with a decisive thud.
Charles hesitated, his pride warring with the obvious relief he felt at the prospect of not having to carry everything home. Oscar stirred against his chest, and Charles glanced down at him, brushing his tiny head softly.
Reluctantly, Charles walked over to the car and climbed into the back seat, settling Oscar in his lap. He muttered a quiet “Thank you” as Lando slid into the driver’s seat and started the car.
Lando didn’t say anything at first, just adjusted his rearview mirror and glanced at Charles through it. “You don’t have to do everything on your own, you know,” he said finally, his tone lighter than Charles expected.
Charles didn’t reply, staring out the window instead. But deep down, he knew Lando was right—he just wasn’t ready to admit it yet.
As Lando started the car, the soft hum of the engine filled the silence. He glanced at Charles through the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable.
“So,” Lando began, keeping his tone casual, “where are you staying these days? Still at your dad’s place?”
Charles nodded absentmindedly, his focus on Oscar, who was stirring faintly in his wrap. Then, realizing Lando couldn’t see him, he added quietly, “Yes.”
Lando didn’t reply right away, but instead of heading toward Charles’s father’s house, he turned in the opposite direction. Charles frowned, leaning forward slightly.
“Where are you going?” he asked, his tone cautious.
Lando glanced at him again in the mirror. “Have you had lunch yet?”
Charles blinked at the unexpected question. “Uh… no, I haven’t.”
“Well, then,” Lando said, his voice almost chipper, “you’re not going home until you’ve eaten something. I know a good place nearby.”
“Lando—” Charles began, ready to protest, but Lando cut him off.
“No arguments,” he said firmly. “You’ve got Oscar with you, and you can’t take care of him if you’re starving. Besides, it’s just lunch.”
Charles sighed, leaning back against the seat. He didn’t have the energy to argue, and, if he were honest, the thought of eating something he hadn’t had to prepare himself was tempting.
“Fine,” he muttered, adjusting Oscar’s wrap as the baby settled again.
“Great,” Lando said with a small smile. “You’ll thank me later.”
Charles wasn’t sure about that, but he decided to let Lando have his way—just this once.
Lando drove Charles to Cafe No Sé, a cozy spot in Austin with a charming patio perfect for quiet afternoons. The late sun cast a warm glow, but Charles hardly noticed, his thoughts preoccupied as he adjusted Oscar’s wrap and stared blankly at the menu in front of him.
Lando had already ordered drinks, giving Charles time to figure out what he wanted. Charles, however, wasn’t interested. He hadn’t been interested in food for days. His dad and Lewis had been relentless about it, but no matter how hard they tried, he still couldn’t force himself eat, the thought of eating just wasn’t something he felt like doing.
“You’ve been staring at that menu for a while,” Lando said, snapping him out of his thoughts. “Need help deciding? The chicken and dumplings here are pretty good.”
Charles barely looked up. “I’m not hungry.”
Lando leaned back, frowning slightly. “You’ve got to eat something, mate. Even soup. They’ve got a nice tomato basil one. Light and easy.”
Charles shook his head, his voice soft but firm. “I said I’m not hungry.”
Lando didn’t respond immediately, his gaze lingering on Charles. He wasn’t used to seeing him like this—drawn, pale, a shadow of the confident person he once knew. “When’s the last time you ate?”
Charles sighed. “I don’t know. Recently.”
“Recently like when? Yesterday? The day before?”
“I told you, I’m fine,” Charles snapped, his frustration bubbling to the surface. “Why do you even care? You don’t even like me.”
Lando blinked, caught off guard by the accusation. “I don’t hate you, Charles.”
“Sure feels like it,” Charles muttered, looking away.
“Look,” Lando said, leaning forward, and his tone steady, “I don’t hate you. I hate seeing you like this. You’re stubborn, yes. You’re frustrating, difficult and at time selfish, yes. But I care enough to make sure you don’t waste away completely.”
Charles scoffed. “So you’re saying I’m insufferable.”
“You’re making this hard for no reason,” Lando shot back, his voice tinged with exasperation. “I am saying you’re human. You need help. Anyone in your position would. You’re grieving, you’re hurt, and you’re angry at the world for taking him and what you had away from you. And you’ve still got Oscar, the pets, and your job. You’ve been through a lot. Anyone would need help. It’s too much for one person. You can’t keep doing this to yourself.”
Lando’s voice caught, and Charles’s chest tightened as the unspoken name hung between them. Max.
Charles’s jaw clenched, and he looked away, his nails digging into his palms. He hated when people talked about Max like he was gone. He wasn’t. He couldn’t be. Every time someone referred to him in the past tense, it chipped away at the fragile hope Charles clung to.
“I don’t need your pity,” Charles said coldly, though his voice wavered at the edges.
“It’s not pity,” Lando replied quietly. “It’s concern. You’re running yourself into the ground, and you won’t let anyone help. So yeah, maybe I’m pushing you. Because someone needs to.”
Charles stared at him, torn between snapping back and sinking into his chair to avoid the weight of the conversation.
Lando took advantage of the silence. “I’m ordering the soup for you. You don’t have to eat it all, but at least try. For Oscar.” He flagged down the waiter before Charles could argue.
“One tomato basil soup,” Lando said, “and chicken and dumplings for me. I also want fries”
As the waiter walked away, Charles slumped back in his chair, defeated. He didn’t want to admit it.
The food arrived, and Lando wasted no time digging into his chicken and dumplings. Charles hesitated, eyeing the bowl of tomato basil soup in front of him, steam curling gently from its surface.
Lando glanced at him mid-bite, raising an eyebrow in silent encouragement.
Charles sighed, reluctantly picking up his spoon. He swirled it in the soup a few times before taking a small sip. The warmth spread through him, and he couldn’t deny it was good. He nodded slightly. “It’s… not bad,” he admitted, almost grudgingly.
Lando smirked. “Told you. They know what they’re doing here.”
Before Charles could take another bite, Oscar, snug in his wrap, began reaching out with tiny grabby hands, his soft coos drawing Charles’s attention.
“What’s up, Oscar?” Charles murmured, smiling faintly. “You want to try some?”
Carefully, Charles dipped the spoon into the soup, blew on it to cool it down, and then fed Oscar a tiny bit. Oscar’s wide eyes lit up, and he made a happy sound, clapping his little hands against Charles’s chest.
“He likes it,” Lando said with a chuckle, watching the interaction.
Charles nodded, focusing on feeding Oscar small spoonfuls. He was so wrapped up in the baby’s reactions that he didn’t notice Lando watching him with a satisfied expression.
“Don’t think you’re off the hook,” Lando said, nudging Charles’s arm. “You’re supposed to eat too.”
Charles rolled his eyes but obliged, alternating between feeding himself and Oscar.
At some point, Lando reached into his plate and plucked a fry, handing it to Oscar. Charles frowned. “He can’t—”
Oscar grabbed it eagerly, stuffing it into his mouth. He chewed—or at least tried to—with a gummy enthusiasm that made Lando laugh.
“See? He’s fine. Kids love fries,” Lando said smugly.
Charles shook his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips as Oscar reached out for another. “You’re going to spoil him.”
“Definitly,” Lando quipped. He popped another fry into Oscar’s eager hands and then turned back to his own meal.
As they finished their meal, Charles wiped Oscar’s hands gently with a napkin, the baby cooing softly in his lap. Lando sat back in his chair, watching the interaction with an expression Charles couldn’t quite place. For once, he wasn’t being smug or sarcastic.
As they stood to leave, Lando glanced at Charles, his voice unusually casual. “I go grocery shopping every Wednesday,” he said, hands sliding into his pockets.
Charles blinked, unsure where this was going. “Okay?”
Lando shrugged, glancing at the sidewalk ahead of them. “Just thought, you know, if you wanted, we could do our grocery shopping together until your car’s fixed. Easier that way.”
Charles was surprised by the offer, and for a moment, he didn’t know what to say. Lando wasn’t the kind of person he’d expected to make such a gesture, and yet here he was, extending an olive branch in his own awkward way.
Charles looked at him, then at Oscar, who was now fast asleep in his carrier. “I… I’ll think about it,” he said finally, his tone uncertain.
Lando nodded, not pushing any further. “No rush. Just an idea.”
They walked back to the car in relative silence, the crisp Austin air filling the gaps between them. When they reached the vehicle, Lando opened the door for Charles, who climbed in with Oscar.
As Lando settled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, neither of them said anything. The quiet wasn’t uncomfortable, but it wasn’t exactly easy, either.
When they reached Charles’s place, Lando helped him carry the groceries to the door. “I’ll see you around,” Lando said as he handed over the last bag, his tone light but sincere.
Charles nodded, holding Oscar close as he watched Lando walk back to his car. He wasn’t sure how to feel about this new version of Lando—less sharp, everything is changing even Lando is treating him well. He prefer the old lando, he prefer his old life and he wants his husband back as well.
Notes:
So my beta begged me to add this bit
Honorable mention :
1. real Carlos Sainz lack of the so called honor he was boasting about in the beginning of the season.
2. Oscar's giraffe plushie.
3. Lance fighting nepotism.
4. Lando acting nice for once in his life (rest assured sins will never be forgotten)
5. Max lying about choosing Daniel over Charles (we know better babe)
6. Charles's back pain, we lied it's not Lance's fault it's because Charles has been carrying screwdria on his shoulders.
7. Charles's looking like a cutie little red riding hood, high on Maxie's not so subtle stolen glances in Las Vegas 24 gp.
Oh, and here are some memes my betas made (as requested by Rafis Lightwood) to lighten the mood. Enjoy!
https://www.tumblr.com/take2me5to9hell9/768062203559608320/hi-guys-this-weekend-has-been-tough-i-will-never?source=share
Chapter 4
Notes:
I’ve been really sick, and honestly, it was so difficult to work on this chapter. To make things worse, my whole household is sick too including my beta , so I’ve been juggling a lot. I’m so sorry I couldn’t reply to your comments—it’s not because I don’t care; I just haven’t had the energy. but the minute I saw that podium, I couldn’t help myself; I dove straight into editing this chapter like a maniac.
I also updated the tags for this fic, and I think you’ll like the changes. At first, I didn’t want to add that tag, but after seeing how much Max’s death has weighed on you all, I decided to give it a chance. I want you to enjoy this fic again, and I hope this chapter helps move us in that direction.
Thank you for your patience and understanding. Please let me know what you think—I love reading your thoughts. It keeps me going!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max unlocked the door to the loft, stepping inside with Leo trotting happily at his side. The air inside was warm and cozy, carrying the familiar scent of home—fresh laundry mixed with a faint hint of Charles's cologne. On the couch, Sassy and Jimmy were curled up together, an unusual but heartwarming sight.
Only to stop in his tracks when he sees Charles who was sitting on the couch, cradling Oscar in his lap with a focused look on his face. In one hand, he held a pair of baby nail clippers, and in the other, Oscar’s tiny fist, which the baby was doing his best to pull away.
“What are you doing?” Max asked, his voice tinged with surprise as he stepped closer.
Charles glanced up briefly, his expression calm but slightly exasperated. “Clipping his nails,” Charles replied matter-of-factly, he glanced up briefly, his focus quickly returning to Oscar, who was squirming in his arms, little legs kicking out. Tilting his head to get a better angle on Oscar’s tiny hand.
Max’s frown deepened as he noticed how tightly Charles was holding Oscar. “He doesn’t look too happy about it,” Max pointed out, edging closer.
“Well, he’s not, but it needs to be done.” Charles admitted, his tone calm but strained as he tried to keep the baby’s fingers still.
“Why does it look like you’re trying to wrestle a baby alligator?” Max asked.
Charles huffed, adjusting his hold on Oscar. “Because I am,” he muttered. “He scratched his cheek last night Look.” He pointed at the faint red mark on Oscar’s cheek, which was already starting to fade but still noticeable, proof of the damage his tiny nails had caused.
Max sat beside them, his brows furrowing as he watched Oscar squirm, his little fists clenching and unclenching as he tried to wriggle free. The baby let out a frustrated noise, his face scrunching up, and Max felt a pang of discomfort at the sight.
“Are you sure you’re not holding him too tight?” Max asked, his voice soft but uneasy.
Charles shot him a look, his expression one of strained amusement. “I’m not hurting him, Max. He’s just being dramatic. He’s just upset because he doesn’t like sitting still. I need to do this before he scratches himself again.”
Max bit his lip, still not entirely convinced as he watched Oscar kick his legs harder, his face turning redder with each frustrated cry. “Let me help,” he offered, leaning forward.
Charles hesitated but eventually nodded. “Fine. Just hold him steady so I can finish.”
Max gently scooped Oscar up, shifting him into a more upright position against his chest. The baby immediately wriggled in protest, his cries growing louder as Max adjusted his hold. “Shh, Oscar, it’s okay,” Max murmured, his voice soothing despite the unease in his eyes.
“It’s not that bad,” Charles said softly, noticing Max’s expression.
Max raised an eyebrow. “You’re holding sharp clippers next to his tiny fingers while he’s squirming like that. Feels bad to me.”
Charles laughed under his breath. “It’s fine. I’ve done this before.”
“Doesn’t make it less terrifying,” Max muttered, adjusting his hold on Oscar as the baby twisted again.
By the time they finished, Oscar was red-faced and teary-eyed, but his nails were neatly trimmed. Charles leaned back in his chair with a satisfied sigh, while Max cradled Oscar against his chest, trying to soothe him.
“See? Not so bad,” Charles said, giving Max a faint smile.
Max shook his head, brushing a hand over Oscar’s hair. “I don’t know how you do it.”
Charles shrugged, leaning forward to wipe at Oscar’s face with a soft cloth. “You do what you have to.”
As Charles stood to tidy up, Max took a deep breath, steeling himself. “Hey, I wanted to talk to you about something.”
Charles turned, a curious look crossing his face. “What is it?”
Max hesitated, bouncing Oscar gently on his knee. “I was thinking about going over to Daniel’s today. Just for a few hours.”
Charles frowned slightly, tilting his head, his expression flickered briefly—surprise, maybe disappointment—but he nodded. “Yeah, of course. Is everything okay?”
Max scratched the back of his neck, trying to keep his tone casual. “I just... need to talk to him about something. It’s nothing big, but I’d really like to go. I need to get out, I guess.”
Charles’s lips curved into a small smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s fine, Max. You deserve a break. You’ve been amazing with Oscar all week.”
Max blinked, surprised by how easily Charles accepted it. He’d expected more resistance, especially after that night shift. “Are you sure? I mean, I’ll only be gone a little while.”
Charles nodded, offering a small smile. “It’s okay. You’ve been cooped up here all week. Go see Daniel. Oscar and I will be fine.”
Guilt tugged at Max as he looked down at Oscar, who had finally calmed in his arms, his wide eyes blinking sleepily. He should tell Charles the truth—that this wasn’t just a casual visit, that he had a lead on his father’s case and needed Daniel’s help. But he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Not yet.
Instead, Max reached out, curling a hand around the back of Charles’s neck and pulling him closer. He kissed him gently, a mix of gratitude and unspoken apologies. “I love you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.
Charles smiled against his lips, his eyes softening. “I love you too.”
Oscar, seemingly tired of being squished between them, let out a disgruntled whine and waved his arms in protest. Both Max and Charles laughed, pulling apart just enough to settle the baby back in Max’s lap.
As Max looked down at Oscar—his chubby cheeks flushed, his tiny fists clenched tightly—he felt the familiar warmth of love and guilt mix in his chest. The sight of Sassy and Jimmy curled up beside him, Leo snoozing peacefully on the floor, and Charles sitting close by should have been enough to make him stay. But the weight of his father’s case pulled at him, nagging at the back of his mind.
He would make it up to Charles, Max promised himself. As soon as he got back, he’d make it up to both of them. For now, he had to leave—but he’d make sure it was worth it.
---
Daniel walks into the room, a steaming mug of tea in hand, and sets it down in front of Max. Max barely acknowledges him, his focus glued to the files spread across the table. His brows are furrowed, and his fingers drum absent-mindedly against the edge of the desk.
“You’re going to give yourself a headache,” Daniel teases, taking a seat across from him.
Max finally glances up, his eyes tired but sharp. “I already have one,” he mutters, picking up the tea and taking a sip.
Daniel leans back, watching him with a mixture of concern and amusement. “You know, most people come over to relax, not to drown themselves in work.”
Max shrugs, placing the mug down carefully. “This is relaxing.”
Max attention is locked on the stack of papers spread across the table, a laptop to one side and a notepad filled with frantic scribbles on the other. His brows are furrowed in concentration as he flips between documents, occasionally typing notes into the laptop.
Daniel gestures to the chaos. “Alright, mate. What’s all this? What are we working on?”
Max doesn’t look up, his tone clipped. , flipping through a set of printed documents. “It’s the file someone sent me last week—the one with William May’s financial records. I’m cross-referencing the dates”
Daniel leans in, his curiosity piqued. “Cross-referencing with what?”
Max finally looks at him, his eyes sharp with focus. “Murders. Specifically, murders my dad was investigating.”
Daniel blinks, confused. “Wait, you’re saying these transactions are connected to Fernando’s cases? How?”
Max glances at him briefly before turning back to the papers. “Money transactions. May was moving money to a private account—large sums, on very specific dates.”
“Specific how?” Daniel asks, pulling one of the papers closer to examine it.
“Something that’s been bothering me, so I started cross-referencing the dates with Some of The murders my dad was investigating before he died, and they match. It’s not a coincidence. Two payments were made for each case—a sum before the murder, and another one immediately after. It’s too precise to be random. May was funding something—or someone—that ties back to these killings.” Max taps a page with his pen.
Daniel’s eyebrows shoot up. “Before and after? Like clockwork?”
Max nods grimly. “Exactly. It’s not a coincidence. These payments are tied to the murders. Someone was being paid to make them happen.”
Daniel leans back in his chair, trying to process. “So… you’re saying May was bankrolling a hitman?”
Max sets the paper down, rubbing his temple. “I don’t know if it was a hitman or something else, but May was definitely involved. And whoever sent me these records knew it—they wanted me to figure this out.”
Daniel leans back, stunned. “You’re serious? That’s… that’s not a coincidence.”
“No,” Max agrees, his voice tight. “It’s not. My dad must have been onto something—something bigger than just the individual cases. These transactions are the link.”
Daniel leans forward, his hands clasped together. “So, what? You need to track the person who send you the files?”
Max shakes his head. “Not yet. First, I need to understand the motive. If I go after them without knowing what this is all about, I might scare them off—or worse, they might end up like the victims.”
Daniel exhales, his brows furrowing deeper. “Right. We can’t lose your one lead.”
Max nods, his fingers tapping the edge of the table. “Exactly. If May was willing to kill to keep this quiet, then whoever sent these documents could be in serious danger.”
Daniel tilts his head, studying the files in front of him. “Alright, so we dig into the victims, the payments, and May’s business. Somewhere in there, we’ll find what your dad was onto—and why May had to hide.”
Max spread the files across the table, five distinct piles sitting neatly in front of him; he doesn’t think he would have the time to go through them all, but he will try his best with Daniel who took a seat across from him, his coffee steaming as he leaned forward.
---
“Alright, let’s go over what we’ve got so far,” Max said, tapping the first file. “Three cases. These are the ones we’ve managed to work through.”
Daniel flipped the first folder open, scanning the details. “Case one: Martin Hayes, 46 years old. Police captain. Shot dead from a distance while off-duty, just outside his home in Rotterdam. This was about 7- 6 years. The shooter was arrested at the scene—a man that was previously prosecuted by hayes in the past, his motive was apparently revenge.”
Max nodded. “Exactly. The case seemed closed. But when I checked the timing, it lines up with a payment William May made—a significant sum sent to an account just a day before the murder and another one right after. My dad had flagged this case in his notes, but I couldn’t see why until now.”
Daniel set the file aside and opened the second. “Next: Sofia Martinez, 34. Senior analyst for an intelligence agency. Died in a car accident three months after Hayes. Brake failure. Official ruling was mechanical fault, no sign of tampering. But…” He raised an eyebrow at Max.
“But,” Max confirmed, “The timing is suspicious, there are payments made just before and after her death. The problem is, there’s no direct connection to May—or to Hayes, for that matter.”
Daniel frowned. “So two government employees, both in sensitive positions, both dead under suspicious circumstances.”
Max gestured to the third file. “This one’s even stranger. Paul Decker, 29. Civilian. Worked as a freelance journalist. Found dead of an apparent overdose a year ago. No criminal record, no known ties to the other two victims. Yet, my dad was investigating this case too.”
Daniel glanced over the report, confused. “Why would your dad be interested in an overdose? Was there any sign of foul play?”
Max shook his head. “No. Officially, it was ruled as accidental. But Paul was working on a story about corruption in law enforcement. He had requested records on cases May was involved in just weeks before his death.”
“Let me guess,” Daniel said, setting the file down. “The payments line up here too.”
“Exactly,” Max replied. “May made two payments again—one right before Paul’s death and one right after. My dad must have noticed the pattern, but I can’t figure out why he didn’t report it or how far he got before…” His voice trailed off.
Daniel leaned back, tapping the file. “So we’ve got three victims: Hayes, Martinez, and Decker. Two government employees and a journalist. No apparent connection between them, except May.”
“And the payments,” Max added. “Each time, there’s a sum transferred a day before and after their deaths. It’s too consistent to be a coincidence.”
Daniel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Alright, so let’s break it down. Hayes and Martinez—both in government. Could May have been covering something up? Were they threats to him?”
Max shrugged. “Definitely. They had some dirt on him and he decided to get rid of them.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “Or someone killed him on May’s orders. Either way, it sounds like May had a lot to lose if these people stayed alive.
Max sighed. “And he made sure to make them seem unrelated. Different causes of death, different circumstances. It throws off suspicion.”
Daniel tapped the table. “Alright, so here’s what we know. We’ve got three cases linked by May and these payments. Two more to go. Plus Fernando, he thought these cases were connected, he knew May was related somehow and he was taken down. But how did May knew that Fernando was after him?”
Max nodded, his jaw tightening. “That’s what I need to figure out. And whoever sent me these documents—they know something. They’re the key to all of this. Because how would they even know I am investigating dad’s case? How did Jos know?”
Max stood up from his chair, stretching briefly before starting to gather his things. Daniel watched him, confusion crossing his face.
“I thought you were staying,” Daniel said. “It’s Sunday, isn’t it? What’s the rush?”
Max shook his head, slipping the files into his bag. “Yeah, it’s Sunday, but that doesn’t mean I’ve got all day. I need to get back home to Charles and Oscar.”
Daniel leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Come on, man. You’ve been working non-stop, and now we’re finally getting somewhere with these cases. You can’t stay a little longer?”
Max sighed, his shoulders slumping. “I can’t, Dan. Oscar’s been really fussy lately, and Charles is already exhausted. I promised I wouldn’t leave him alone with Oscar for too long. It’s not fair to him.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “How are things really going, though? With everything?”
Max hesitated, looking down at the files in his hands before putting them in the bag. “Honestly? It’s hard,” he admitted, his voice quieter than usual. “I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. I’m trying to be a good dad, but most of the time, I just feel... lost. Like I’m messing everything up.”
Daniel frowned, leaning forward. “You’re not messing anything up, Max. You’re trying. That’s what matters.”
Max gave a small, tired smile. “Yeah, but sometimes I wonder if trying is enough. I don’t want to let them down.”
“You won’t,” Daniel said firmly. “And hey, if you need help, you’ve got people around you. Including me. But for now, go home. Take care of your family. The cases can wait.”
Max nodded, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks, Dan. I’ll see you later.”
---
Max entered the house, the silence catching him off guard. It was rare for things to be this calm, especially with a baby in the picture. He set his bag down by the door and called out, “Charles?”
“In the nursery,” came the muffled response.
Max frowned and made his way down the hall. The door to the nursery was slightly ajar, and when he pushed it open, he froze. Charles was lying flat on his back on the floor, arms spread out and head turned toward the crib. For a moment, Max thought he might’ve fallen asleep there, but something about the stiffness in his posture made Max uneasy.
“What are you doing?” Max asked quietly, stepping inside and glancing toward the crib where Oscar was soundly asleep.
Charles turned his head slowly toward him, his face tense. “Shh, keep your voice down,” he whispered. “I just got him to sleep.”
Max stepped closer, his brow furrowed. “Why are you on the floor?”
Charles sighed, his gaze drifting back to the ceiling. “I needed to lie down. Help me up, would you?”
Max crouched beside him, offering his hand. He pulled gently, but the moment Charles tried to sit up, a sharp cry escaped his lips. His face twisted in pain as he immediately slumped back down.
“Let go!” Charles hissed through gritted teeth, his breath coming in short, uneven bursts.
Max released his grip instantly, his hands hovering uncertainly. “Charles, what’s going on?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you in so much pain? What’s wrong with your back?”
Charles waved him off weakly, his arm trembling. “It’s fine. It’s nothing,” he said, though his strained tone told a different story.
Max sat back on his heels, his concern deepening. “This isn’t nothing. Is this because of the fall from the stroll accident?”
Charles winced and avoided Max’s gaze, his silence confirming it.
“I didn’t think it was this bad,” Max continued, his voice softer now. “You should’ve told me.”
Charles sighed, his chest rising and falling slowly. “I thought it would get better. And you’ve already got so much on your plate—Oscar,... I didn’t want to bother you with this.”
Max’s jaw tightened as he shook his head. “Charles, you’re not a bother. You’re my priority, okay?”
Charles gave a faint nod, his lips twitching into a small, apologetic smile.
Max crouched beside Charles, his concern deepening with every second. “How long have you been lying here?” he asked, his voice soft but firm.
Charles hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the crib before returning to the ceiling. “Not long,” he said vaguely.
“Charles,” Max pressed, his tone sharpening slightly.
Charles sighed, finally admitting, “Half an hour, maybe.”
Max stared at him, clearly unconvinced. Half an hour on the hardwood floor in obvious pain? There was no way. But he chose not to push the matter, at least not now. Instead, he shook his head and said, “That’s it. We’re going to the doctor. You can’t keep ignoring this.”
“No, Max, I—” Charles started, but Max silenced him with a look.
“No arguments,” Max said firmly. He shifted closer, slipping an arm carefully around Charles’s shoulders. “Come on, I’ll help you up.”
Charles groaned softly as Max began to lift him, his hands gripping Max’s arms tightly for support. He winced with every movement, but Max was patient, moving slowly to avoid causing more pain.
Just as Charles finally managed to sit up fully, a soft whimper came from the crib. Both men froze, their heads turning toward Oscar, who was beginning to stir.
“Perfect timing,” Charles muttered, his voice laced with both humor and exhaustion.
Max let out a small, exasperated sigh but couldn’t help the faint smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll get him,” he said, helping Charles lean back against the wall for support.
Charles nodded, his breathing still uneven as he adjusted his position. “Thanks,” he murmured, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment.
Max stood and crossed to the crib, reaching down to pick up their fussy baby. “Hey, Oscar,” he said softly, cradling the infant against his chest. Oscar’s tiny face scrunched up, but his cries quieted as Max began to rock him gently.
Turning back to Charles, Max’s expression softened. “Once we get him settled, we’re going to the doctor. No excuses.”
Charles opened his eyes, meeting Max’s gaze with a tired but resigned look. “Fine,” he said quietly. “But can we at least try to feed him first? He’s probably hungry.”
Max nodded. “Deal,” he said, a trace of amusement in his voice. “But after that, it’s straight to the hospital.”
Charles sighed, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles. “You’re relentless.”
“Only because I care,” Max replied, gently bouncing Oscar in his arms as he watched Charles with a mixture of love and concern.
---
The hospital waiting room was cold and clinical, the faint hum of fluorescent lights filling the silence as Max sat with Oscar nestled in his arms. The baby was content, gnawing on a rubber toy and drooling all over Max’s hand. Charles was lying back on the examination table, wincing occasionally as the doctor gently pressed along his lower back. Nico stood near the door, arms crossed, his expression a mix of concern and impatience.
The doctor finally straightened, pulling off his gloves. “It’s a lumbar strain,” he explained, looking between Charles and Max. “A strain in the muscles or tendons of the lower back. Has there been any recent accident or heavy lifting?”
Charles hesitated, his gaze flickering to Nico, who was now watching him intently. His lips pressed into a thin line, clearly reluctant to speak.
Max, recognizing Charles’s silence, stepped in. “He fell recently,” Max said, adjusting his hold on Oscar as the baby gnawed on his toy. “At work.”
Charles shot him a sharp glare, but Max ignored it, his focus on the doctor.
Nico’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “What? When? And why didn’t anyone report this incident?”
Before Charles could respond, Max answered bluntly, “Because Stroll hates Charles.”
Charles groaned and turned his glare to Max, his face a mix of frustration and embarrassment. “Max,” he hissed, his tone warning.
Max shrugged, completely unapologetic. “It’s true.”
Nico’s gaze snapped back to Charles, his expression hardening. “We’ll talk about this later,” he said sternly. “But for now, what does lumbar strain mean, and how do we treat it?”
The doctor cleared his throat, clearly trying to maintain professionalism despite the tension in the room. “A lumbar strain means the muscles in the lower back are overstretched or torn. It’s common with falls or overexertion. Treatment involves rest, ice or heat therapy, anti-inflammatory medication if needed, and avoiding heavy lifting or strenuous activities. Physical therapy might be recommended if the pain persists.”
“Great,” Nico said, his tone clipped. “But how long will he be out of commission?”
“Typically, a lumbar strain takes one to two weeks to heal, but that depends on how well he follows the treatment plan,” the doctor replied. He turned to Charles, his expression softening. “You need to take this seriously. No pushing yourself too hard.”
Charles nodded reluctantly, his shoulders slumping. “Got it.”
Max glanced down at Oscar, who had managed to smear drool across Max’s sleeve. “Well,” Max said, shifting the baby onto his other arm, “looks like you’re officially benched for a bit. And don’t worry, Nico, I’ll keep an eye on him.”
Nico sighed, running a hand through his hair, he said pointedly to Charles. “For now, let’s get you home and make sure you’re actually resting.”
Charles gave a faint nod, though the look he shot Max promised that their conversation wasn’t over either. Max just smirked, bouncing Oscar lightly in his arms as the baby giggled.
As soon as the doctor left the room to prepare the discharge papers, Nico turned to Charles, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. His piercing gaze locked on Charles, his tone sharp and unyielding.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this?” Nico demanded. “And don’t tell me it was just an accident, because if it was, you would’ve reported it.”
Charles sighed heavily, shifting uncomfortably on the examination table. “Because it was just an accident,” he muttered, avoiding Nico’s eyes.
Nico frowned, clearly unconvinced. “Charles,” he said firmly, “what really happened?”
Before Charles could respond, Max, who had been leaning against the wall while bouncing Oscar gently on his hip, spoke up. “Stroll thinks Charles doesn’t deserve his job,” Max said bluntly, adjusting Oscar as the baby squirmed. “He’s convinced the only reason Charles is here is because you’re his father, and he’s been overworking him to the point of exhaustion. Since Sebastian and George aren’t around to share the load, he’s been piling everything on Charles. And, honestly, I suspect there’s more to the story that Charles hasn’t told me yet.”
Charles shot Max a glare, his lips pressing into a thin line.
Nico turned his sharp gaze to Max. “If you knew he fell, why didn’t you take him to the hospital?” he asked his son in law, his tone accusatory.
“Because Charles didn’t tell me how bad it was,” Max replied, his expression defensive but calm. “He seemed to be fine at the time.”
“Stop,” Charles interjected, his voice firm but tired. “It really was fine. It was just an accident, and I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”
Nico’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his voice lowering but no less intense. “It doesn’t matter if it was an accident, Charles. Stroll endangered an employee of mine. Sebastian and I will deal with him.”
Charles straightened slightly, wincing as the movement sent a jolt of pain through his back. “This is exactly why I didn’t tell you,” he said, his frustration evident. “You’ll prove him right.”
Nico blinked, clearly taken aback. “What do you mean by that?”
Charles sighed again, rubbing a hand over his face. “He already thinks I don’t deserve my job and that I only got it because of you. And, to be fair, he’s not completely wrong. I haven’t been working much—not with the stalker situation, the assault, spending time in the hospital, and now taking parental leave. He has a point. I haven’t been around enough. If you interfere now, it’ll just make me look weaker. I need you to act like my boss, not my dad who swoops in to fix everything.”
Nico raised an eyebrow, his face unreadable for a moment as he absorbed Charles’s words. Finally, he nodded slowly. “I understand your point,” he said, his voice measured. “But as your boss, it’s my responsibility to address this. What Stroll is doing is bullying, plain and simple. And breaching workplace safety measures is unacceptable, regardless of the circumstances.”
Charles opened his mouth to argue, but Nico held up a hand to stop him. “We’ll handle this professionally,” Nico continued. “I won’t let it escalate unnecessarily, but this can’t be ignored. You deserve to be treated with respect, Charles, whether you’ve worked ten hours or ten days in the past month.”
Charles exhaled sharply, leaning back against the table with a tired expression. “Fine,” he said reluctantly, glancing at Max. “But please, don’t make it worse.”
Nico gave a curt nod. “Noted,” he said simply.
Max, sensing the tension easing slightly, shifted Oscar again, wiping some drool off his sleeve. “Glad that’s sorted,” he muttered, earning another glare from Charles.
“When can I be discharged?” Charles finally asked, breaking the silence.
Nico, who had been pacing by the window, turned to look at him. His expression was calm but firm. “I’ll go ask the doctor,” he said, already heading toward the door.
Charles nodded, leaning back in his chair as Nico disappeared down the hallway.
---
Max shifted slightly under the covers, propping his head on his hand as he lay facing Charles. The faint light from the streetlamp outside filtered through the curtains, casting a dim glow over the room. He could make out the outline of Charles’s profile, his hair slightly tousled against the pillow. Charles lay on his side, one arm tucked under his head, wearing an oversized navy blue t-shirt that Max recognized as his own. His breathing was steady, but Max could tell by the slight tension in his shoulders that he wasn’t asleep.
“Are you awake?” Max asked softly, his voice low and careful not to startle him.
Charles shifted slightly, his eyes fluttering open as he answered, “Yeah. I’m still awake.”
Max hesitated before asking, “Is it your back? Is it still hurting?”
Charles shook his head against the pillow. “No, it doesn’t hurt as much when I’m lying down,” he replied quietly, his tone tired but calm.
Max let out a quiet breath. “Good,” he said, relieved. Then, after a pause, he added, “Then why are you still awake?”
Charles glanced at him briefly but didn’t answer right away. Instead, he adjusted the blanket over his legs, curling up slightly. He wore his old checkered pajama bottoms, the ones Max had teased him about a million times but secretly loved because they made Charles look so comfortable and at home.
“Why are you awake?” Charles countered, his voice soft but curious.
“I’m worried,” he admitted, his tone hesitant.
Charles raised an eyebrow, though Max could only faintly see the expression. “About what?”
Max hesitated again, his hand fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “About you,” he finally said, his voice quieter now, almost like he was afraid to admit it.
Charles frowned slightly, his brows knitting together. “Me? Why?” he asked, his tone carrying a mix of confusion and mild defensiveness.
Max shifted again, leaning slightly closer. The faint warmth of Charles’s presence grounded him as he chose his words carefully. “I’m just… worried about how you’ve been handling things,” he said gently.
Charles let out a soft scoff, turning his head to look away. “If this is about the fall,” he began, his voice tinged with a forced lightness, “it wasn’t a big deal. I’ve had worse.”
Max could hear the faint attempt at humor in his tone, but it didn’t ease the weight in his chest. “Charles,” he said firmly, though his voice remained quiet, “it was a big deal. And pushing through the pain to prove a point isn’t healthy.”
Charles sighed, pulling the blanket up higher as if it could shield him from the conversation. “It wasn’t just about Stroll,” he said defensively.
“Then why didn’t you say anything?” Max pressed, his tone tinged with frustration now. “You didn’t report it because you were scared of proving him right. But in reality, he was at fault. He should’ve been reported.”
Charles shook his head, the motion subtle but noticeable. “You don’t understand,” he said softly. “It wasn’t about him. I wasn’t trying to prove anything to Stroll. I was trying to prove it to myself.”
Max blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “What do you mean?” he asked, his voice gentler now.
Charles hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I just… I needed to prove that I deserve my job. That I’m good enough,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You wouldn’t understand. You’re good at your job. You earned it. I only got mine because of my dad. It feels true. I haven’t worked much this year. I’ve been on leave so many times—sick leave, personal leave, all of it. And it’s killing me, Max. I feel useless. Like a liability. Like someone else deserves my spot more than I do.”
Max stared at him, stunned. He shifted closer, his hand reaching out to rest lightly on Charles’s arm. “Charles, no,” he said firmly. “Your dad had nothing to do with it. You earned your job because you’re brilliant. You’re dual-certified. You graduated at the top of your class. Do I need to remind you how many lives you’ve saved? Including the one sleeping peacefully in the next room?”
Charles stayed quiet, but Max could feel the tension in his body through the light touch of his hand.
“You’re amazing at what you do,” Max continued, his voice softening. “And taking time off when you’re hurt or sick doesn’t make you less deserving. It makes you human.”
Charles let out a shaky breath, finally turning his head to face Max. “But I feel useless,” he admitted, his voice trembling. “I love my job and I want to be someone you and Oscar can be proud of. You don’t understand, Max,” Charles said softly, his tone raw with vulnerability. He shifted slightly on the bed, his head tilted just enough for Max to see the faint outline of his face. “You’re perfect at your job. You get things done, you’re brilliant, and you’re dedicated. You stay late, do overtime, and still manage to be... you.”
Max swallowed hard, the weight of Charles’s words pressing down on his chest. He shifted onto his side, his elbow propped against the pillow as he leaned closer to Charles, desperate to close the emotional gap between them. “Charles,” he began quietly, his voice thick with emotion, “you think I’m perfect at my job? That I have it all together?” He let out a hollow laugh, one laced with regret. “I was anything but perfect.”
Charles’s brows furrowed slightly, even in the dim light. “What are you talking about?”
Max ran a hand through his hair, his frustration with himself evident. “What I did—what I’ve been doing—was wrong,” he said firmly. “I put my job above everything. Above you. I threw myself into work, and for what? To feel accomplished? To avoid dealing with things at home? I worked overtime and left you to handle everything alone.”
Charles opened his mouth to speak, but Max held up a hand, shaking his head. “No, listen to me,” he said, his voice trembling. “I was a terrible husband, Charles. I didn’t support you the way I should have. You were fighting for us while I was too busy fighting for... for myself. For my pride, my cases, my... my obsession.”
Charles turned slightly, the blanket slipping off his shoulder. He didn’t say anything, but the silence was heavy with understanding.
“You,” Max continued, his tone softening, “you were the reason everything didn’t fall apart. You were managing our home, my responsibilities, our relationship and your work perfectly. You were the one fighting for our marriage when I was too blind to see what I was risking. You took care of everything—gracefully, at that—while I put you in danger because of my selfishness. I was the reason you were out of your job so many times this year”
Charles shook his head slightly. “Max—”
“No,” Max interrupted, his voice firm but tender. “I need to say this. I was a shitty husband. I almost lost you, Charles. I almost threw away everything we built together because I couldn’t get my priorities straight.”
Charles turned fully onto his side now, their faces just inches apart. His expression was soft.
“And Oscar?” Max added, his voice breaking slightly. “I almost passed on the opportunity to have him in our lives. I was so caught up in my own world that I couldn’t see what really mattered. It wasn’t work, or being the best at my job. It was you. It’s always been you.”
Charles blinked, his lips parting slightly as if to speak, but no words came out.
Max reached out, his fingers brushing against Charles’s hand. “You are not a failure,” he said, his voice steady despite the emotion behind it. “You’re not useless. You’ve done more for me—for us—than I could ever repay. You’ve been everything I wasn’t, Charles. And I’m so, so sorry for making you feel like you have to prove something. Not to me. Not to anyone.”
Charles’s breath hitched, and for a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint rustle of the blankets as Max’s hand tightened around his.
“You’re more than enough,” Max whispered. “You always have been.”
Charles swallowed hard, his voice barely audible as he replied, “I just... I wanted to be someone you and Oscar could be proud of.” Max’s chest ached at the raw vulnerability in Charles’s voice. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Charles’s temple. “We already are,” he said softly. “I’m proud of you, Charles. Every single day. And so is Oscar. You don’t have to prove anything to us. I don’t need perfect, Charles. I just need you. But I need you to promise me something.”
Charles curiously asked. “What?”
“Promise me you’ll be honest. With me, with yourself. If you’re not feeling well, if you’re tired or overwhelmed, you’ll tell me. Take a break when you need it. Don’t push yourself to the point of burning out. We’re parents now,” he said, his tone softening, “and we have to be responsible. For Oscar and for each other.”
Charles stared at him for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I promise,” he said quietly. “But only if you promise me the same thing.”
Max chuckled softly. “Alright, I promise.”
Satisfied, Charles leaned back against his pillow, his fingers absentmindedly tracing a pattern on the blanket. “My dad called earlier,” he said after a moment. “He told me I’m not working next week. Doctor’s orders.”
Max raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Good. That means I’ll be taking care of both you and Oscar until you’re better.”
Charles let out a small laugh, his eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re going to be insufferable.”
“Only because you’re a mess,” Max shot back, his grin widening.
Charles rolled his eyes, tugging the blanket up to his chin. “You’re such a control freak, you know that?”
Max laughed, leaning down to press a soft kiss to Charles’s forehead. “Maybe. But you love me for it.”
Charles sighed dramatically, though the smile on his face betrayed him. “Unfortunately.”
---
Max carried the tray back to the bedroom. He paused in the doorway, a smile spreading across his face at the sight before him. Charles was stirring, his eyes half-open as he turned toward Max’s side of the bed, his messy hair sticking up at odd angles.
Max approached quietly, placing the tray on the nightstand. He gently lowered Oscar onto the bed beside Charles. The baby immediately wiggled toward him, his tiny fingers brushing against Charles’s hand before gripping it tightly.
Charles blinked awake, his hazel eyes soft and unfocused. He glanced down at the baby, a small laugh escaped him as Oscar attempted to chew on his thumb, drool pooling on Charles’s skin.
“Good morning,” Max said, leaning down to press a kiss to Charles’s lips.
“Morning,” Charles mumbled, his voice still thick with sleep. He looked at Max and then at the tray. “What’s all this?”
“Breakfast in bed,” Max replied simply, his tone light.
Charles sat up, propping himself against the pillows, Oscar nestled in his lap. “You’re sure this isn’t a problem?” he asked, his brow furrowed slightly.
Max knew exactly what Charles meant. He had always been particular about cleanliness, and the idea of eating in bed used to make him shudder. But Max had been working on that with his therapist, pushing past his discomfort for moments like this.
“No problem at all,” Max assured him with a small smile, settling on the bed beside them.
They ate together, passing plates back and forth and sneaking bites between feeding Oscar. The baby’s happy noises filled the room, and Max felt his chest swell with quiet contentment.
At one point, Max leaned back, watching Charles expertly balance Oscar in one arm while reaching for his coffee with the other. “You know,” Max began, a teasing note in his voice, “he can sit up now.”
Charles looked at him in surprise. “What? No, he can’t.”
Max’s grin widened. “Watch.”
Setting down his mug, Max rearranged the pillows into a supportive U-shape. He gently lifted Oscar from Charles’s lap and placed him in the pillow fort. At first, Oscar wobbled, his little arms flailing as he adjusted to the new position. But after a moment, he steadied, sitting upright with wide eyes and a toothless smile.
Charles stared, his mouth slightly open. “When did he—how did you—”
Max’s smile turned sheepish. “I might’ve been practicing with him this week,” he admitted.
Max’s smile faltered as he noticed Charles’s expression shift. The warmth in his hazel eyes dimmed, replaced by something harder to read—disappointment, maybe even sadness.
“Charles?” Max asked softly, reaching out to touch his arm. “What’s wrong?”
Charles hesitated, his gaze lingering on Oscar, who was happily wobbling in his pillow-supported seat, completely unaware of the moment’s weight.
“I just…” Charles exhaled, his voice low. “I wasn’t here when he sat for the first time.”
Max frowned, leaning closer. “But it’s not a big deal. You’re here now, and look at him—he’s doing great!” Max’s tone was warm, his smile encouraging, but Charles didn’t match it.
“It is a big deal,” Charles said quietly, his fingers brushing against Oscar’s small hand. “The first time is always important. It’s something you never get back.”
Max blinked, his confusion deepening. “But he’s just sitting. It’s not like his first word or first step—”
“It doesn’t matter what it is,” Charles interrupted, his voice firmer now. He turned to look at Max, his expression a mix of frustration and sadness. “It’s still a first. And you should always record these moments, Max. Babies grow up so fast, and before you know it, all of these little milestones are just memories.”
Max opened his mouth to respond, but he stopped himself, letting Charles’s words sink in. He hadn’t thought about it that way. For him, helping Oscar practice sitting was just part of taking care of him, something practical. He hadn’t considered the emotional weight Charles might attach to it.
“I’m sorry,” Max said after a pause, his voice quieter now. “I didn’t mean to take that from you.”
Charles shook his head quickly. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m glad you’ve been spending so much time with him and having fun. It’s just… I want to be there for those moments too. And I don’t want to miss anything.”
Max reached out, cupping Charles’s cheek gently. “I get it now. I should’ve recorded it for you. I’ll do that next time, I promise.”
Charles leaned into the touch, his eyes softening slightly. “Thank you. I just—he’s already growing so fast, you know? It feels like I blink, and he’s bigger. I don’t want to miss a thing.”
Max nodded, guilt tugging at him. “From now on, we’ll make sure we capture everything together. No more solo firsts, okay?”
Charles smiled faintly, his fingers wrapping around Max’s wrist. “Okay.”
Max leaned over, pressing a kiss to Charles’s forehead before glancing down at Oscar, who was now gnawing happily on his own hand. “Alright, little man,” Max said softly, “next time you’re about to surprise us, we’ll make sure Papa’s here to see it.”
Charles laughed quietly, the sound easing the tension in the room. “Deal,” he murmured, pulling Oscar closer to his chest.
Max made a mental note to keep his phone close from now on. If Charles thought those moments were important, then they were. And he wasn’t going to let either of them miss another one.
---
December 22th, 2024
Charles shut the door behind him with a heavy sigh, the last of Sophie’s bags in his hands. Today had been exhausting—emotionally more than physically. The hours spent at the hospital, convincing Sophie to stay with them, had been draining. Charles knew Sophie’s heart attack wasn’t just a medical condition; it was grief manifesting in the cruelest way after hearing the devastating news about Max.
He carried the bag inside, letting the door close quietly behind him, and saw Nico helping Sophie settle on the couch. Sophie looked frail, far from the strong, fiery woman Charles had known. She was clutching a throw pillow, her hands trembling slightly, though she tried to mask it with a polite smile.
“Thank you,” Sophie said softly, her voice weak but sincere as she glanced between Nico and Charles. “For letting me stay. I don’t know what I would’ve done otherwise.”
“It’s no trouble, Sophie,” Nico said gently, his tone a mixture of reassurance and firmness as he helped adjust the pillow behind her back.
Charles set the bag down near the stairs and moved toward her, crouching slightly to meet her eye level. “You’re family. And besides, Oscar will need you around.” He gave her a small, encouraging smile. “He’s going to love having his grandmother here.”
Sophie’s lips wavered, forming a thin smile as her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Oscar,” she murmured, the name soft, like it was her anchor.
Before anyone could say more, Charles heard movement behind him. He turned to see Lewis stepping out of the second guest room, holding Oscar securely against his shoulder. The baby was bundled up in a soft blanket, his tiny fist gripping the fabric of Lewis’s shirt.
“Hey, Sophie,” Lewis greeted with a warm smile, leaning down to press a kiss on her cheek. “Good to see you up and about.”
Sophie smiled faintly, her hand resting briefly on Lewis’s arm in thanks.
“Charles,” Lewis added, meeting his gaze briefly with a small nod. Charles smiled back but avoided the look Nico shot in their direction.
“The room’s all ready for Sophie,” Lewis continued, his tone light but with a certain care as he gently shifted Oscar, who was beginning to stir.
“Thanks, Lewis,” Charles said quietly, his voice carrying gratitude as much as exhaustion.
Lewis gave a brief glance at Nico, but neither of them said anything. There was an unspoken tension between the two men, subtle but noticeable. Charles wasn’t in the mood to unpack it, not tonight.
“I’ll take Oscar to the room,” Lewis offered, his voice softening as he glanced at the baby. “He’s almost asleep anyway.”
Sophie nodded, her smile warming slightly at the mention of her grandson. “Thank you, Lewis.”
Charles watched as Lewis disappeared to Charles’s room with Oscar, leaving the three of them in the living room. Nico broke the silence first, clearing his throat.
“You’ve had a long day,” Nico said, turning to Sophie. “Why don’t you rest for a bit? We’ll help you get settled in properly tomorrow.”
Sophie nodded, leaning back into the couch as if her body was finally catching up to the weight of the day. Charles stepped forward, brushing his hands on his jeans.
“I’ll grab you some water,” he offered before heading toward the kitchen.
As he moved away, he felt Nico’s gaze lingering on him. Charles didn’t look back. He wasn’t ready for whatever conversation his father might want to have. Not yet. He still haven’t had the chance to talk to his dad. That is usually rare, Nico is the kind of father who is very patient and forgiving. The fact that he still hadn’t confronted Charles is scaring him.
Charles returned from the kitchen, the cool glass of water held carefully in his hands
He extended the glass to her. Sophie blinked, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached out to take it. “Thank you,” she murmured, she took a small sip, her hand never quite steady as she held the glass close.
Nico, who had been sitting across from her, glanced between them, his expression unreadable. After a moment, he stood, brushing his hands down the front of his trousers as though preparing himself. “I’ll go start dinner,” he announced, his tone soft, deliberate.
Nico’s footsteps echoed faintly in the kitchen as he busied himself preparing dinner. It was his quiet way of giving both of them space, creating a buffer between Charles and Sophie so they could speak without him hovering. He knew both needed the space after a long, emotional day.
Charles sat next to Sophie on the couch, his hands resting on his knees. She looked pale and tired, her body still recovering from the strain of her heart attack. Her hand twisted the fabric of the throw pillow beside her, betraying the nerves she was trying to keep under control.
“I hope this isn’t too much, staying here,” Sophie began, her voice soft but weighed down with worry. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Charles. You have enough to deal with… Oscar, your work… everything else.”
Charles frowned and shook his head, sitting forward. “You’re not a burden, Sophie. You could never be.” He paused, searching for the right words, his voice quiet but firm. “I want you here. I need you here. You’re family.”
Sophie’s lips parted, but Charles continued before she could protest.
“You’re more than family,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “You’ll always be a mother to me. And to Oscar… you’re his only grandmother. His only connection to Max.”
At the mention of Max’s name, Sophie broke down. She let out a small, stifled sob before covering her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking as the tears spilled over.
“I’m sorry,” Charles said quickly, guilt flashing across his face. He shifted closer to her, unsure if he should reach out. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, no,” Sophie interrupted, shaking her head and lowering her hands. Her tears continued to fall, her face crumpling further as she tried to speak. “It’s not your fault. I just… I miss him so much.”
Her voice broke entirely, her hands clutching at her chest. “I didn’t even get to say goodbye, Charles. I just want one more hug. Just one. And I couldn’t even… even go to his funeral.”
The rawness of her words tore through Charles. His throat tightened, and before he could stop it, his own tears welled up and spilled over. He reached for Sophie, pulling her into a hug as she clung to him, their grief merging into one unrelenting wave.
“I miss him too,” Charles whispered, his voice cracking. A tear slid down his cheek and onto his lip, but he didn’t bother wiping it away. “Every day.”
They stayed like that for a while, holding each other, their shared sorrow filling the room.
The faint sound of footsteps made them pull apart slightly. Lewis appeared in the doorway. He hesitated when he saw their tear-streaked faces, his expression softening.
“I just got him down,” Lewis said quietly, careful not to break the fragile air in the room. “He’s asleep now.”
Charles nodded, his voice hoarse as he murmured, “Thank you.”
“So,” Lewis began softly, careful not to startle him, “when do you plan to decorate the Christmas tree?”
Charles frowned, his brows knitting together as he turned to Lewis. “What tree?” he asked, his voice low, almost hollow. Charles hadn’t even realized it was Christmas season. Not really.
Sure, the signs were everywhere—storefronts adorned with glittering decorations, carolers singing cheerfully on street corners, and the occasional jingles playing in the background of the grocery store as he rushed through. But none of it registered. None of it pierced through the fog that had settled over his mind since Max’s passing.
To Charles, the world had turned grey, a muted, lifeless version of itself. The vibrant lights strung up on buildings seemed dull, and the festive energy that radiated from people as they bustled about preparing for the holidays felt hollow.
It wasn’t that he hadn’t noticed the decorations or the music or the cheer. He had. But it was like they existed on a completely different plane from him, something he couldn’t connect to or feel a part of. He’d walked past a Christmas market just yesterday, the air filled with the scent of mulled wine and roasted chestnuts, and it had barely registered.
His world had stopped on the day Max died. Every day since then had blurred into the next, a constant cycle of just trying to make it through. The dates didn’t matter. Holidays didn’t matter. He hadn’t even thought about a tree, or presents, or anything remotely festive.
When Lewis mentioned the Christmas tree, it hit him like a jolt, gently reminding him that this would be Oscar’s first Christmas, that the reality of it began to sink in.
And then came the guilt.
Max had been so excited about Christmas. He’d bought the tree himself, smiling like a child as he planned how they’d decorate it. “It’ll be perfect,” Max had said, his eyes bright with excitement. “Oscar’s first Christmas. I want it to be special.”
Charles clenched his fists, his chest tightening at the memory. Max had been looking forward to this, and here Charles was, completely unaware, blind to the season that Max had been so eager to share with their son.
“The one in your loft,” Lewis clarified gently. “The one Max bought for Oscar’s first Christmas.”
“I hadn’t thought about it,” Charles muttered, his voice brittle. “Does it matter?”
Lewis stepped closer, lowering his voice as he spoke. “It does. It’s Oscar’s first Christmas, Charles.”
Charles let out a sharp, humorless laugh, his head snapping up to glare at Lewis. “Christmas?” he repeated bitterly. “How can you even say that word? You think decorating a tree is going to fix any of this? Max is gone, Lewis. He’s gone. Nothing matters anymore.”
His voice cracked at the end, and he quickly looked down, as though ashamed of his outburst. Sophie reached for his hand, but he pulled it away and stood abruptly, pacing the room.
“I can’t even think about Christmas,” Charles continued, his voice rising slightly as he paced. “Every time I close my eyes, all I see is him. And now you want me to... what? Put up lights and hang ornaments like it’s some kind of celebration? Like everything’s fine?”
Lewis didn’t interrupt. He let Charles speak, let him pour out the frustration and grief that had been simmering beneath the surface. When Charles finally stopped, standing by the window with his back to the room, Lewis stepped closer.
“Charles,” Lewis said softly, “I know this hurts. I know how much you miss him. We all do. But this isn’t about pretending everything’s fine. It’s about Oscar. It’s about giving him something Max wanted for him.”
Charles’s shoulders stiffened, but he didn’t turn around.
“Max bought that tree for a reason,” Lewis continued, his voice steady but gentle. “He was so excited, Charles. He wanted this to be special for Oscar, for you. And I know it’s hard—God, I can’t even imagine how hard—but Max wouldn’t want Oscar to miss out on his first Christmas because of this.”
Charles let out a shaky breath, his hand coming up to rub at his face. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “I just… I can’t. Every time I think about it, it feels like I’m betraying him. Like I’m moving on too quickly.”
Lewis stepped closer, lowering his voice even more. “You’re not betraying him, Charles. You’re honoring him. You’re doing this because he wanted it, because he loved you and Oscar enough to make plans for this before he was… gone.”
Charles finally turned, his eyes glassy, his expression conflicted. “I don’t even know if I can look at that tree without breaking down,” he admitted.
Lewis nodded, his face soft with understanding. “You don’t have to do it alone. I’ll help. Sophie will help. Nico too, if you want. We’ll make it as easy as we can. But this… this is something worth doing, Charles. Not for me. Not even for you. For Oscar. He might not remember this, but one day, he’ll know. He’ll know how much Max loved him and how much you did to keep that love alive.”
Charles bit his lip, his throat tightening as tears blurred his vision. He sank back onto the couch, his head dropping into his hands.
“It’s just too much,” he whispered. “I don’t even know how to start.”
Lewis sat beside him, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder. “One step at a time,” he said gently. “We’ll figure it out together. No rush, no pressure. But don’t shut this out, Charles. Max wouldn’t want you to shut it out.”
For a long moment, Charles didn’t respond, his body shaking with quiet, restrained sobs. Sophie reached over, placing her hand on his other shoulder.
“I’ll think about it,” Charles finally murmured, his voice trembling.
“That’s all I’m asking,” Lewis said with a small, reassuring smile.
Notes:
my beta's honorable mentions :
- This Chapter is brought to you by the lestappasteri podium (cheers to so many more)
- Charles Alfalfa hair
- The power of unfollowing your enemies (Max joining Charles's 101 pettiness courses)
- Oscar nails nearly giving Max a heart attack.
- Max promising himself that he would make it up to them in every chapter is so me coded.
- Max PFA skills is Mwah!
- Max comforting Charles about missing Oscar sitting down for the first time sitting up cracked me (bro enjoy it while it lasts.)
- Max pulling a Russell bin laden, when he snitched and told Nico about Lance's side quest against nepotism
- "Unspoken tension" trouble in brocedes hell.
- Max Christmas tree had me choking up (and I am heartless)
Chapter 5
Notes:
Enjoy reading this one! Love you guys, and please forgive any mistakes or errors.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The house was silent except for the soft sounds of Oscar's rhythmic breathing and the faint hum of the heater. Charles had finally fallen asleep after another grumpy and restless day, and Max had waited until he was sure his husband wouldn’t stir before sneaking out of the bedroom. Oscar lay curled in his crib in the nursery
Max dialed Daniel's number, knowing it was a bit late, but hoping he wasn’t asleep and would pick up. The phone rang three times before Daniel’s voice finally came through.
“Max, what the hell? Do you have any idea what time it is? No normal human being calls this late!”
Max smirked slightly, glancing at Jimmy and Sassy, who were nestled together on the couch. “Sorry, Danny, but It’s really not that late,” he said softly, not wanting to wake Charles or Oscar.
Daniel sighed dramatically, but Max could hear the shuffle of papers on the other end. “Fine, fine. You’re lucky I was already up working. Anyway, you’re calling about May, aren’t you? You never call to ask me how I’m doing.”
Max rolled his eyes, settling onto the couch with a notebook in hand. “How are you doing, Daniel?” he asked dryly.
“Exhausted. Overworked. Tragically underappreciated. Thanks for asking. Now, do you want to know what I found or not?”
“Of course I do,” Max muttered, pen poised.
“Alright, so get this,” Daniel began, his tone shifting to something more serious. “William May was born in 1970 to one of those ridiculously wealthy families, very influential and heavily involved in politics. William May comes from serious power—old money, political influence, the works. His father was a high-profile judge in Ohio, and his mother’s family built their empire on oil. Everything about him screams privilege. But here’s where it gets dark. When he was 18, he was involved in the assault and murder of a 16-year-old girl.”
“He was implicated in the assault and murder of a 16-year-old girl named Heather Martin,” Daniel said. “They were classmates at Saint James High. She was last seen leaving a party with him. Two days later, her body was found in the woods.”
Max frowned. “If that’s true, why couldn’t I find anything about it?”
“Because his father made sure it never saw the light of day. He was close friends with the chief of police at the time,” Daniel explained. “They pinned the crime on another student—a boy who had a known crush on Heather. There was no evidence linking him, but they built their case on conjecture and a fabricated motive. That boy was convicted, spent years in prison, and later took his own life.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “And May walked away without consequences?”
“Yep,” Daniel said. “He went to law school—Harvard, of course—and graduated with honors. Did all the right internships, made all the right connections, and eventually became a DA. Married a nice woman, bought a big house, had the picture-perfect career. But the more I dig into his past, the more I’m seeing a pattern. This guy’s life is built on lies and cover-ups. Every time something questionable happens, there’s a conveniently missing piece of evidence or someone else to take the fall.”
“The guy’s untouchable,” Daniel’s voice came through the line, laced with frustration. “He has connections everywhere—politicians, law enforcement, even private corporations. He’s always been a slippery bastard, but recently? It’s worse.”
“How so?” Max asked, scribbling quick notes in the margins of a notepad already cluttered with scrawled details.
“Maybe he was bad all along, and we’re only seeing it now because we’re too close,” Daniel replied. “But for a while now, he’s been using his position to cover for some major operations. Evidence disappearing from cases, witnesses being coerced or silenced, and innocent people taking the fall for crimes they didn’t commit. The pattern is impossible to ignore.”
Max frowned, leaning back into the worn cushions. “And nobody’s called him out on it?”
“Plenty have tried,” Daniel admitted. “But you don’t get to William May’s level without building layers of protection. Every time someone gets close, he finds a way to discredit them or make them disappear—figuratively or literally.”
Max glanced toward the baby monitor, on the table“So what’s the plan? You’re telling me he’s untouchable, but there has to be a way to expose him.”
“We need to figure out who sent you that USB key,” Daniel said, his voice firm but edged with curiosity. “Whoever it is might be the missing link in all this.”
“I already asked Charles,” Max replied, his tone thoughtful. “He didn’t recognize the guy, but he did say he looked familiar.”
Daniel was silent for a moment, clearly weighing the implications. “Familiar how? Like someone he’s seen around town?”
“I don’t know,” Max admitted, leaning back on the sofa and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Charles said it was hard to place. Maybe someone in passing or someone from the hospital, but he couldn’t be sure.”
“Damn,” Daniel muttered. “That doesn’t give us much to go on, but it’s something. If the guy didn’t want to stay anonymous, he’d have made himself clear. There’s a reason he didn’t leave a name.”
“Yeah, and that reason could be fear,” Max said grimly. “If May’s involved in this, then anyone helping us is risking their neck. I’ll press Charles more tomorrow, see if he can come up with anything else.”
“Good idea,” Daniel agreed.
“In the meantime, I’ll dig around. Maybe we’ll get lucky and find a connection between this guy and May. I’ll need to hang up soon,” Max murmured. “I don’t want Charles to know.”
Daniel’s voice came through, tinged with concern and a hint of irritation. “Max, you should tell him. How long are you going to keep working on your dad’s case without him knowing?”
Max leaned back, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He doesn’t need to know,” he said firmly, though his voice softened near the end. “What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
Daniel sighed on the other end, the exasperation clear. “That’s not how this works, mate. Secrets have a way of blowing up in your face.”
Max clenched his jaw, shaking his head even though Daniel couldn’t see him. “It’s better this way, I already got away got with it for too long.” he insisted, his tone low and steady. “Anyway, I need to go. I’ll try to sneak out of the house this weekend.”
“Alright,” Daniel relented, though Max could hear the doubt lingering in his voice. “Have fun with that, but keep me updated.”
Max felt a light touch on his shoulder. His body reacted instinctively. He jumped off the couch, spinning around in a single fluid motion, his muscles coiled as he assumed a defensive stance. The notebook and pen clattered to the floor, and the cats leaped away, their screeches piercing the air as they scrambled for safety.
“Who’s there?” Max demanded sharply, his voice low but edged with alarm. His fists were raised, his eyes scanning the dimly lit room.
Standing a few feet away, hands raised slightly in a gesture of peace, was Charles. His expression was startled, his wide eyes reflecting the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the curtains. “Max! Relax! It’s me,” Charles said quickly, his voice soft but firm.
Max blinked, his breathing heavy as recognition dawned on him. His shoulders sagged slightly, though his hands remained half-raised as if his body hadn’t fully registered the threat was gone. “Charles?” he asked, his tone still wary.
“It’s just me,” Charles repeated, stepping forward cautiously. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Max exhaled a shaky breath and lowered his hands completely, rubbing his face to mask the embarrassment creeping in. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that,” he muttered, his voice tinged with lingering tension.
“I didn’t sneak up,” Charles replied, a hint of reproach in his voice. “I called your name twice, but you were too focused on your call to hear me.”
Max glanced toward the phone still in his hand and winced. “Sorry... I was talking to Daniel. It’s important.”
Charles crossed his arms, his stance softening but still slightly concerned. “Important enough to keep you up in the middle of the night?”
Max avoided his gaze, bending down to pick up his notebook and pen from the floor. “Yeah. It’s about a case. I didn’t want to disturb you or Oscar.”
Max stared at the phone in his hand, his heart still pounding from the scare. Charles stood nearby, watching him with quiet concern, his arms loosely crossed. Max could feel the weight of Charles’s gaze as he fumbled to end the call with Daniel. “I’ll call you tomorrow,” Max mumbled into the phone before setting it down on the table.
Taking a deep breath, he turned toward Charles, trying to muster a smile. “Sorry if I startled you,” Max said, his voice strained but calm. “Let’s just go back to bed.”
Charles didn’t move. He tilted his head slightly, his brow creasing. “Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked softly, his tone careful, as if trying not to push too hard.
Max reached for Charles’s hand, gripping it firmly but gently. “I’m fine,” he said, nodding as if to reassure himself as much as Charles. “Really, it’s nothing. Come on.” He began to lead Charles back to their bedroom, the dim light from the hallway casting long shadows on the walls.
Max’s breaths came shallow and uneven as they walked. His body still felt on edge, a residual hum of tension prickling under his skin. Why had he reacted like that? It wasn’t like him to flinch so violently. He glanced at Charles, who followed quietly, his steps soft but deliberate. Max knew Charles was trying to piece things together, and he didn’t want to give him anything to worry about.
When they reached the bedroom, Charles stopped at the foot of the bed, turning to face him. “I’m not convinced,” he said, his voice low but steady. His eyes searched Max’s face, and there was no mistaking the concern behind them. “You seem... off. Is everything okay with Daniel?”
Max hesitated, caught off guard by the question. “Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly, his voice tight. “Why? What did you hear?”
Charles arched a brow but didn’t press. Instead, he shrugged lightly and busied himself with adjusting the blankets. “Nothing,” he said, his tone casual but distant. Charles asked again “So What were you talking about with Daniel?” Charles asked, his voice calm but laced with suspicion.
Max, leaning casually against the bedpost, tried to appear nonchalant. “Nothing important,” he said with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep, so I called him to pass the time.”
Charles’s eyebrow arched, skepticism evident in the furrow of his brow. “You couldn’t sleep, so you decided to call Daniel in the middle of the night? And not me?”
“I didn’t want to wake you,” Max replied quickly, his tone light. He avoided Charles’s penetrating gaze, focusing instead on adjusting his shirt.
“But you’d wake Daniel?” Charles pressed, his voice sharper now.
Max felt the weight of the question settle uncomfortably in his chest. He hated lying to Charles, hated the way it felt to obscure the truth. But he told himself it was necessary. Charles didn’t need to know. It would only worry him.
“Daniel doesn’t mind,” Max said with a forced laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “And you’ve been so tired lately. You need your rest.”
Charles didn’t look convinced. His sharp gaze softened, but the doubt lingered. “I am fine and can talk to you for a few hours instead of Daniel” he said, his tone quieter now.
“Its fine,” Max said, stepping forward and gently placing a hand on Charles’s arm. He offered a smile, hoping it would ease the tension. “Daniel dealt with it. Let’s not waste time talking about him, okay?”
“Fine,” he said softly, turning back toward their bed.
Max watched disappear under the covers, exhaling a quiet breath of relief. He hated the half-truths he had to tell, the way they gnawed at him like a splinter beneath his skin. But he convinced himself it was the right thing to do.
Charles didn’t need to know. At least, not yet.
Charles turned his back to Max. “I’ll just go back to sleep, since Daniel had dealt with it.”
Max wanted to say something, to explain the weird moment or maybe even laugh it off, but the words caught in his throat. How could he explain without giving too much? Max watched him for a moment, a mix of guilt and relief washing over him. He hated the idea of keeping anything from Charles, but what could he say?
With a quiet sigh, Max slipped into bed beside Charles. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and he turned onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Charles’s breathing eventually slowed, soft and even, a sign he’d drifted off. Watching Charles’s back rise and fall. He was supposed to be resting not worrying over Max.
---
Max sat cross-legged on the carpet, his grin stretching from ear to ear as he played peekaboo with Oscar. The baby lay on his back in front of him, his tiny legs kicking in excitement, his chubby arms flailing in the air as he waited in eager anticipation.
Max hid his face behind his hands, his fingers spread just enough for him to peek through, though Oscar couldn’t see it. “Where’s daddy?” Max cooed softly, dragging out the suspense.
Oscar’s laughter bubbled up, a high-pitched, joyful sound that filled the room. Then Max pulled his hands away, leaning closer with an exaggerated, “Boo!”
Oscar squealed with delight, his laugh so loud and unrestrained that it made Max chuckle right along with him. It was the kind of laughter that came from deep in the belly, unfiltered and pure, and Max couldn’t get enough of it.
“Ah, you love this game, don’t you?” Max said, his voice warm, as he brought his hands up again to start the game over again.
Oscar’s eyes sparkled with excitement, his gummy smile lighting up his entire face as he waited, knowing what was coming. Max couldn’t help but grin.
“Where’s daddy?” Max teased again, his hands hiding his face.
Oscar let out a tiny squeak, his legs kicking even harder. Max pulled his hands away with another cheerful, “Boo!”
Oscar’s laughter burst out again, louder this time, and Max laughed with him, unable to resist the infectious joy of his son’s happiness. He leaned back slightly, watching Oscar giggle uncontrollably, his tiny body wriggling on the soft rug.
“You’re such a cheerful baby, you know that?” Max said softly, his voice full of affection. He reached out to tickle Oscar’s belly lightly, earning another delighted shriek. “And daddy loves hearing your laugh.”
“I’ll stay at my dad’s tomorrow with Oscar.” Charles spoke, his voice flat and distant.
Max froze mid-motion, his hands still hovering in the air. He turned his head to look at Charles, confused. “What?”
Charles was perched on the couch, flipping through a magazine, quiet and distant. It had been like this all day—Charles brushing off Max’s offers to help, refusing his kisses, barely sparing him a glance. Max tried to ignore it, assuming Charles just needed space, but it was unbearable for Max.
Charles didn’t look up, his focus seemingly on the magazine. “I’ll take Oscar to my dad’s. We’ll spend the day there.”
Max’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t part of the plan. They’d agreed to drop Oscar at Nico’s so they could finally have some alone time together—a chance to stay alone and have a date night and maybe have sex for the first time since they became parents, actual sex not a quickie in the bathroom while Oscar is a sleep. It was something they both had been excited about, or so Max thought.
“But… we were supposed to spend the day together,” Max said carefully, his voice low, trying to mask the hurt creeping in. “Just us. We planned this.”
Charles’s eyes flicked up briefly, his expression unreadable. “That was the original plan. Things change.”
Max’s jaw tightened. trying to keep his composure. “Why?” he asked, his voice steady but tense. “Is your back bothering you again? Are you feeling unwell?”
Charles finally set the magazine down, his movements slow and deliberate. “No. My back’s fine.”
Max felt frustration bubble in his chest. He didn’t understand where this was coming from. “Then why? What happened?”
Charles let out a short, sharp breath, his gaze cold. “What happened is that I realized I was wrong about a lot of things.”
The bitterness in Charles’s tone made Max’s stomach twist. He frowned, glancing at Oscar, who was now fiddling with his toy, oblivious to the tension between them. “Charles,” Max said softly but firmly, “what are you talking about? Why are you acting like this?”
Charles’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he looked Max square in the eye. “I’m not discussing this in front of Oscar.”
Max clenched his jaw, forcing himself to stay calm. He didn’t want to argue, especially not in front of their son. But Charles’s icy demeanor was driving him mad. “So, what? You’re just going to punish me for something I don’t even know I did?”
Charles’s nostrils flared slightly as he inhaled deeply, his fingers tightening on the edge of the magazine. “You know exactly what you did,” he said sharply, his voice low and accusing.
Max blinked, thrown by the sudden hostility. He wracked his brain, trying to think of anything he might’ve done to upset Charles, but nothing came to mind. Charles wasn’t the type to get upset over nothing—if he was this angry, there had to be a reason.
But what?
“Charles,” Max started again, softer this time, trying to reach him. But Charles had already turned his attention back to the magazine, shutting him out completely.
Max sat there, staring at Charles, lost and confused, the weight of the unspoken tension pressing down on him. Whatever was going on, it wasn’t just a bad day. This was something bigger. And Max had no idea how to fix it.
Max spent the rest of the day focusing on Oscar, determined to enjoy their time together despite Charles’s frosty behavior. Charles was distant, his responses clipped, his presence muted. Every time Max tried to engage him, he was met with a cool indifference that stung more than Max wanted to admit.
So, Max poured his energy into Oscar. He carried Oscar through the house, narrating everything he did with exaggerated enthusiasm, as if the baby could genuinely understand.
“See, Oscar? That’s how you fold laundry. Perfect creases, just like your papa taught me,” Max said with a grin, holding up a neatly folded onesie. Oscar gurgled in response, and Max took it as agreement.
“Exactly. You’re on my side, aren’t you?” he continued, pressing a kiss to the baby’s head. “Your papa is being unreasonable, and you know it. If you could talk, I bet you’d tell him to stop making up fights.”
Oscar blinked up at him, his chubby fingers gripping Max’s shirt. Max took it as silent support.
The weight of the unresolved tension with Charles began to wear on him in the afternoon. He mulled over the situation, replaying the events of the last few days. It had to be about Stroll, Max thought bitterly. He’d told Nico the truth about the incident with Stroll, and Nico had made the logical decision to fire him. It was the right thing to do, Max was certain. So why was Charles so upset?
If Charles was angry, why wasn’t he taking it out on Nico? Nico was the one who fired Stroll.
And why did Charles get to take Oscar?
The idea nagged at Max. He didn’t want to start a bigger fight, but it wasn’t fair. Charles could be mad if he wanted, but Oscar was their son—both of theirs. If Charles wanted to leave the house, fine. But he didn’t get to take Oscar with him.
Max ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. He thought about packing a bag and taking Oscar to his mom’s, or maybe just stay here and tell Charles if he wanted to go he can go alone certainly he won’t without Oscar.
“Right, Oscar?” Max said, glancing down at the baby now sprawled on the play mat. “We’re not going anywhere. If Papa wants to be mad and leave, that’s his choice. But we’re staying right here.”
Oscar cooed in agreement—or so Max chose to believe.
Tonight, once Oscar was asleep, Max decided he’d confront Charles. He couldn’t let this passive-aggressive nonsense continue. They needed to talk, to clear the air, even if it led to a fight.
“Your papa is being ridiculous, you know that?” Max muttered softly, “If you could talk, you’d tell him to stop being so dramatic.”
He stroked the baby’s soft hair absently, his mind racing. “Your papa and I need to get our act together, huh?” he whispered. “Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
Once Oscar was finally asleep, Max quietly slipped out of the nursery, closing the door behind him with care. He padded softly into the living room, expecting to find Charles scrolling through his phone or reading one of his magazines. Instead, he found him slouched on the couch, his head tilted at an awkward angle, sound asleep in front of the TV.
Max sighed, his chest tightening at the sight. Despite the tension between them, he hated seeing Charles like this—so obviously worn out and disconnected.
Walking over, Max crouched down beside him. He hesitated for a moment, studying Charles’s peaceful expression, before gently shaking his shoulder. “Charles,” he murmured, his voice low, “wake up.”
Charles stirred, blinking his eyes open slowly. “Hmm? What’s wrong?” His voice was thick with sleep.
Max hesitated for a moment, then spoke with a soft but firm tone, “It’s bad for your back to sleep like this. You need to move.” He reached for Charles’s hand, pulling him gently to a sitting position.
Charles yawned, stretching a little before shrugging. “I’m fine. Just a second.” But his eyes were still heavy, and he seemed to be avoiding Max’s gaze.
Charles attempted to get up But Max reached out and grabbed his hand, stopping him. He didn’t let go of Charles’s hand. “No, you’re not fine. His voice was steady but insistent.
“Wait. Sit down. We need to talk.”
Charles hesitated, his brows furrowing slightly as he glanced at Max. “About what?”
“Just… sit, please,” Max said, his tone softer now.
After a moment’s pause, Charles sat back down, though his posture was stiff. He looked at Max expectantly.
Max took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves. He didn’t want this to turn into a fight, but he couldn’t keep tiptoeing around whatever was bothering Charles.
“I need to understand what’s going on,” Max started, his voice steady but gentle. “You’ve been distant all day. You’re upset, but you won’t tell me why. And then you said you’re staying at your dad’s tomorrow and taking Oscar. What’s going on, Charles? Talk to me.”
Charles looked away, his jaw tightening. For a moment, Max thought he might shut him out again, but then Charles let out a long, tired sigh.
“Max,” Charles began quietly, “I just need some space right now. That’s all.”
“That’s not all,” Max countered softly. “If you needed space, you could’ve just said that. But this… this feels like something more. Did I do something? Is this about me talking to Nico?”
Charles flinched slightly at the mention of Nico, and Max knew he’d hit a nerve.
“I told you I don’t want to talk about it,” Charles said, his tone sharper now.
“Well, I do,” Max replied, his voice firm but not unkind. “Because I can’t fix this if I don’t know what’s wrong. So please, Charles, just tell me.”
Charles’s gaze flicked to Max, and for a moment, his resolve seemed to falter. But then he shook his head, pulling his hand free from Max’s grasp.
“I’m tired, Max,” he said simply. “Let’s not do this tonight.”
And with that, he stood up and walked away.
“Then you’re not taking Oscar with you,” Max said, his voice firm but controlled. Max’s words stopped Charles in his tracks
Charles turned to look at him, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion. “Why not?”
Max crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “Because he’s my son as well, and it’s not good to change his routine. His home is here, Charles. He stays here.”
Charles’s face softened for a second, but it was quickly replaced by a hint of frustration. “He’s also my son, Max,” he replied, his voice low, a touch of defensiveness creeping in.
“I know,” Max said, nodding slightly. “And you can stay with him here with me.”
Charles shook his head, taking a step back. “That’s not fair.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “It’s not fair to me either. I did nothing wrong, and all of a sudden, you’re acting like this. It’s unreasonable. We have a son, Charles. And you’re literally picking fights for no reason.”
Charles froze, and Max could see the internal struggle flicker across his face. But Charles’s expression quickly hardened again, a decision made in his mind.
“I have a reason,” Charles said quietly, his voice dripping with something that made Max’s stomach tighten.
Max’s said tone steady but dripping with sarcasm. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to know how good that reason is, because I have absolutely no idea what I’ve possibly done to deserve being treated like this.”
Charles looked at him for what felt like an eternity, as though trying to decide whether or not to share what was clearly eating at him. Max’s chest tightened in anticipation, but he didn’t say a word, waiting patiently for Charles to speak when he was ready.
Finally, Charles exhaled sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You really think I’m stupid, don’t you?”
Max blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What?”
Charles’s voice dropped, his gaze fixed on Max like a target. “Acting like you’re innocent, when you’re basically cheating on me with Daniel.”
Max felt the words hit him like a punch to the gut. For a moment, the world around him seemed to go silent, his thoughts scattering like dust in the wind.
“What?!” Max managed to choke out, his voice shaking with disbelief.
Max let out a laugh, the sound escaping from him before he could think. He couldn't help it—he honestly couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Charles accusing him of cheating with Daniel? It was so absurd, so completely out of the blue that it felt almost laughable. Daniel was practically a brother to him. The thought of anything more between them was ridiculous.
Max tried to steady his breath, wiping a hand over his face. “Charles, are you serious?” He chuckled again, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t believe you actually think that. You think I’m cheating with Daniel? That’s—”
But as soon as he looked at Charles, the humor in Max’s voice died. The expression on Charles's face had shifted, his frown deepening, eyes darker, and the hurt there was unmistakable. Max’s stomach dropped.
Shit.
“I didn’t mean to laugh,” Max said quickly, his voice faltering as he realized the weight of his mistake. “It’s just—”
But Charles didn’t budge. His glare was sharp, his body rigid with tension. The hurt in his eyes was evident, and Max could see it clearly now—this wasn’t a joke to Charles. It was serious.
Max took a step forward, his tone softening. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to mock your feelings. It’s just... ridiculous.”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about,” Charles interrupted, his voice sharp, cutting through the space between them. “I know you’ve been talking to him. Late at night, sneaking around, and don’t tell me it’s for work. I’m not stupid, Max.”
Max stood frozen, his mind spinning, struggling to catch up. His stomach dropped as he realized what Charles was implying, but even more so, the hurt behind Charles’s words. The accusation.
“Charles,” Max started, his voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know how to explain. How to fix this.
Charles's voice shook with a mix of anger and hurt as he explained everything that had been weighing on him for so long. “You’re always so comfortable around Daniel. You tell him everything, Max. You talk to him like you can’t talk to me, like I’m not enough. You never miss me the way you miss him. And the worst part is, you make all this time for him. You make an effort for him. You look the happiest when you're around him.” Charles paused, his breathing shallow as he continued, voice tight. “For years, I’ve been telling myself it’s just a friendship. Just a friendship. But I heard you yesterday, Max. I heard you talking about lying to me, about how you don’t want me to know about you two. And now, I don’t know what to think anymore. And I can’t keep pretending that everything is fine when I see you lying to me. I’m not that blind.”
Max looked at Charles, his chest tight with a mixture of frustration and guilt. He had always prided himself on being honest, but now, the truth felt like a heavy burden. “Charles, I swear, you’re blowing this out of proportion,” he said, his voice quiet but earnest. He stepped forward, his hand reaching for Charles’s but halting when he saw the hesitation in his eyes. “I didn’t cheat on you. Not with Daniel, not with anyone. Please, just let me explain.”
Charles, though clearly hurt, didn’t look convinced. His arms were crossed tightly over his chest, his gaze hardening as he processed Max’s words. “So, what is all this then?” he asked, his voice raw with emotion. “Why have you been spending all this time with Daniel? Why all the secrecy?”
Max took a breath, trying to calm the nervous knot in his stomach. “It’s not what you think. I’ve been keeping something from you, but it’s not an affair. I’ve been working on Fernando’s case. I should’ve told you earlier, but I didn’t want you to worry. I didn’t want to drag you into it.”
Charles’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Fernando’s case? But the killer was already caught. What more could there possibly be?”
Max felt his heart race, knowing he had to explain everything, but it was difficult. He had kept this secret for so long. “I know, but there was more to it. I found new information, evidences that weren’t part of the original investigation. I’ve been working with Daniel because he has connections. That’s why I’ve been spending so much time with him—he’s been helping me. I should’ve been upfront with you about all of this, and I’m sorry I wasn’t.”
Charles’s posture softened slightly, but the skepticism in his expression didn’t disappear. He seemed torn between wanting to believe Max and still holding onto his anger and confusion. “And all those late-night calls? All those times you’ve gone off to talk to Daniel? You really expect me to believe it was all just about a case?”
Max sighed deeply, the weight of everything pressing on his chest. “I can see how it looks,” he admitted, his voice rough with the emotions he’d been holding back for so long. “But you know how Fernando’s case fucked me up. It really messed with my head. All I’ve done since he died is work on this case, obsessively trying to find out who killed him.”
Charles remained silent, his eyes still fixed on Max, waiting for him to continue. Max swallowed hard before speaking again, trying to be as open as possible. “I know it looks like I’ve been distant or like I’m hiding something. But I swear to you, I was never cheating on you, not with Daniel, not with anyone. I would never do that.”
Charles blinked, still skeptical, but there was a hint of concern in his eyes now. “So, you’re telling me there’s nothing between you and Daniel? Nothing at all?”
Max shook his head, his eyes earnest. “Never. I’ve just been working with him on this case because he’s the only one who knows everything about it. He’s the only one I trust. I didn’t tell you because I knew I was obsessing over it, and I didn’t want you to worry. It’s unhealthy, and honestly, I was ashamed of it, but I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t let it go until I figured out why my dad was killed. That’s all it’s been. Just that.”
Charles stared at him for a long moment, his expression a mixture of confusion and something else—hurt, maybe. “So, this whole thing—it’s about your father, then?” he asked, his voice softer now.
Max nodded, but he left out the details about who is behind his father’s death. It was something too complicated to explain right now. He didn’t want to drag Charles into that mess. “Yeah. I’m not going to stop until I know the truth. But I promise, I’m not hiding anything else from you. And I’ll tell you everything when the time is right. Just, for now, can you keep this between us? I’m not ready to tell anyone else yet.”
Charles paused, clearly processing everything Max had said. He looked at him oddly for a second, his cheeks flushing a little before he quickly covered his face with his hand. “This is so embarrassing,” he muttered, sounding almost flustered.
Max chuckled softly, the tension easing a little between them. “It’s okay,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle. “You’re allowed to be jealous.”
Charles froze, his hands still partially covering his face, and his voice came out in a near whisper. “I wasn’t jealous.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “You were going to leave me and take Oscar with you. I was afraid you were about to die of jealousy.”
Charles’s cheeks deepened in color as he shot Max a look, the defensiveness clear in his expression. “I wasn’t jealous,” he repeated, though his voice had lost some of its edge. “I was just… I don’t know, frustrated. And hurt. I couldn’t stop overthinking. And the way you’ve been acting, always with Daniel... it just felt like you didn’t need me anymore.”
Max’s expression softened, his heart heavy with the weight of Charles’s words. “Charles, I’m so sorry. I never meant to push you away, or make you feel like you weren’t enough. You mean everything to me. I’ve been messed up with this case, and I didn’t handle it well.”
Charles gave Max an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I overreacted! I should’ve had more faith in you,” he said softly, his tone genuine.
Max, still amused by how intense Charles had been, couldn’t help but tease him. “I was actually surprised. I’ve never seen you like this before. Daniel, really?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Charles didn’t look as amused, crossing his arms in frustration. “I wasn’t that bad, Max,” he grumbled. “At least not as bad as you around Carlos.”
Max raised an eyebrow and pulled away slightly, glaring at Charles. “That was different. You and he are terrible together. Why does he have to touch you all the time? You were shirtless for God’s sake.”
Charles’s eyes gleamed with mischief, clearly enjoying Max’s discomfort. He leaned in closer, knowing exactly what buttons to push. “At least now you know how I felt. And he was examining my back, you know.”
Max couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “He’s a pediatrician, Charles! What does he know about your back? Or any adult back injury for that matter? And have you seen how you giggle around him? Why do you giggle like he’s the funniest man alive? He’s so annoying and silly.”
Charles, his face now in a more serious expression, shot Max a challenging look. “Are you really talking about this after I caught you red-handed talking to Daniel in the middle of the night and lying to me?”
Max sighed, knowing he couldn’t win this argument. “I’ll always talk about you and Carlos until you stop acting like a teenager with a crush around him,” he said, giving Charles a pointed look.
Charles raised an eyebrow at Max’s stubbornness. “I will really go to my dad’s in the middle of the night if you don’t stop talking,” he warned, as he wrapped his arms around Max’s waist, leaning in close to kiss him.
Max stiffened for a moment, then relaxed into Charles’s embrace, even though part of him felt defensive. He wouldn’t admit it, but he had been making sure to always take Oscar to Carlos, knowing that the pediatrician had been a huge help. But he was also not happy with how close Carlos and Charles were.
“You’re not allowed to leave us,” Max said, pulling back slightly to look into Charles’s eyes. “We have a baby together, and you need to take responsibility.”
Charles’s expression softened, and he kissed Max gently on the neck. Max shuddered slightly, but then Charles bit down lightly, sending a rush of heat through his body. He could feel the heat building in his pants, and he let out a quiet breath.
Charles pulled away just enough to whisper in Max’s ear. “So, tomorrow’s plans are back on?”
Max’s breath hitched as he smiled at Charles’s question. “Tomorrow? Oh, I think you need to take another appointment,” Max replied, his voice teasing but full of promise.
---
Charles was startled awake by the shrill sound of his phone ringing. Groaning, he reached for it, squinting at the bright screen to see who was calling. The clock read 11 PM, and the name flashing on the screen made him frown. Lando.
He sighed deeply, debating whether to answer, but his curiosity got the better of him. Swiping to accept the call, he brought the phone to his ear.
“Were you asleep?” Lando’s voice came through, tentative.
Charles rubbed a hand over his face, his voice still husky with sleep. “I was. Is everything okay?”
There was a pause on the other end. “Yeah... everything’s fine,” Lando replied, but his voice was anything but convincing.
Charles sat up, instantly more alert. “You don’t sound fine. Where are you?”
Another silence. Then, Lando finally admitted, “I’m outside. Outside your dad’s house.”
Charles blinked in surprise, now fully awake. “What? Why? Stay there. I’ll come let you in.”
Without waiting for a response, he threw the covers off and hurried to get dressed. Pulling on a hoodie and slipping into a pair of sneakers, he quietly made his way out of the guest room and down the stairs, careful not to wake anyone in the house. The cool night air greeted him as he stepped outside, his breath visible in the chill.
There, just past the driveway, stood Lando, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, looking smaller than usual under the glow of the streetlamp.
Charles approached quickly, his concern growing with every step. “Lando, what are you doing here?” he asked, unlocking the gate and gesturing for Lando to come in.
Lando didn’t answer right away, his face shadowed with unease as he stepped inside.
As Lando stepped into the house, his eyes immediately scanned the living room. Boxes of Christmas decorations were scattered everywhere, a half-unwrapped tree leaning against the wall, and random ornaments spilling out of an open container. It was clear the place had been abandoned mid-preparation.
Charles noticed Lando’s raised eyebrow and felt heat creep up his neck, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “It’s for Christmas,” he said quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the mess. Then, almost defensively, he added, “For Oscar. I obviously wouldn’t... you know, celebrate it. But for Oscar.”
Lando nodded, his expression softening. “Of course. It’s his first Christmas,” he said, his tone understanding.
Charles let out a quiet breath of relief, though he still felt embarrassed. His dad, Nico, and Lewis had gone out of their way to bring the decorations, even transferring the tree Max had bought from their house to here. Charles had promised to decorate everything, but the untouched boxes and unassembled tree were a reminder of how much he’d been avoiding the task. Nico hadn’t asked him about it again, but Charles knew the silence wasn’t indifference. Nico had been careful not to push Charles about the decorations. He’d told him, “If you can’t do it or don’t want to, that’s fine. Just let me know if you need help.” And that was it. No guilt, no pressure—just an open offer and space.
At first, Charles had been grateful for that space. But now, as the days stretched on, it felt suffocating. The longer he avoided the decorations—and his dad—the harder it became to face either. He knew Nico was waiting, not impatiently but quietly, hoping Charles would come to him on his own terms. That only made the weight heavier
Their strained relationship was something Charles need to fix, it was hard not to dwell on how much he missed the easy conversations and closeness they used to share.
Charles knew his father well. If he went to Nico now, explained everything, Nico would forgive him in an instant. There would be no hesitation, no anger, just understanding. But that knowledge didn’t make it easier.
Because even though Nico might not be angry, Charles couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d let his dad down. He’d never felt that before, not like this. Nico had always been proud of him, always there to lean on. Now, there was this distance between them, and Charles hated it.
Shaking off his thoughts, Charles turned back to Lando. “Sit down. What do you want to drink?” he asked, trying to refocus the moment and mask his discomfort.
Lando gave him a small smile but shook his head. “Nothing, thanks.”
Charles hesitated for a moment, then motioned toward the couch. “Okay, just... sit, then. You look like you need to rest.”
Lando obliged, sitting down slowly, his movements heavy with exhaustion. Charles followed, his unease growing as he tried to decipher what had brought Lando to his doorstep so late at night.
Charles studies Lando carefully, the dim light casting shadows over his tired face. “What’s wrong?” Charles asks, his voice quiet but firm.
Lando doesn’t answer right away. His jaw tightens, and he shakes his head slightly. “Nothing’s wrong. I just needed…” He stops, his words catching in his throat. His eyes are glassy, and Charles sees the raw emotion there—unshed tears clinging stubbornly, refusing to fall.
Charles doesn’t press. He knows that feeling too well. The tightness in the chest, the heavy ache in the back of your mind, like your brain is carrying too much weight and cracking under it. He recognizes the misery in Lando’s expression because it’s one he’s been wearing himself for weeks.
It’s Max, Charles realizes. Lando is missing Max.
Charles glances away, his gaze drifting to the cluttered living room and the Christmas decorations he still hasn’t touched. Because every time he thinks about unpacking those ornaments and setting up the tree, the guilt creeps in, tightening around his throat like a noose.
He loves Oscar. There’s no question about that. Oscar’s laughter, his little smiles—they’re the light in the darkest days. But sometimes, the darkness feels overwhelming. Sometimes, Charles thinks about how easy it would be to let go.
And he hates himself for it.
He doesn’t say any of this to Lando. He doesn’t need to. Instead, he just nods slightly, acknowledging the silence between them and the weight it carries.
Lando sinks into the couch, his hands clasped tightly between his knees. For a long time, they just sit there. The seconds stretch into minutes, and the minutes stretch into something timeless. Neither of them speaks. The room is heavy with unspoken words, but somehow, the quiet feels less lonely.
Charles stares at the floor, his mind spinning in circles, while Lando stares at nothing, his thoughts likely doing the same.
In this moment, they don’t need solutions or reassurances. They just need to sit and exist, together, as they try to make sense of their own battles. For now, that’s enough.
After half an hour, the silence is broken by a faint, stifled whimper. Charles glances at Lando, his heart sinking as he takes in the sight before him. Lando is trembling, his hands covering his face as tears slip through his fingers. He’s trying so hard to hold them back, to keep control, but it’s a losing battle.
“I’m sorry,” Lando mutters between shaky breaths, his voice thick with emotion. His red-rimmed eyes meet Charles’s for a moment before he quickly looks away, ashamed of his vulnerability.
“Don’t,” Charles says softly, his voice steady but gentle. “You don’t have to apologize. I understand.”
Lando nods, barely, his shoulders still shaking. He wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, but the tears won’t stop. “That’s why I came here,” he mumbles, barely audible.
Charles doesn’t reach out to touch him, doesn’t pull him into a hug. That’s not the kind of relationship they have, and Lando wouldn’t want that. Instead, Charles leans forward slightly, his voice quiet and full of understanding.
“It’s okay to miss him,” Charles says. His words hang heavy in the air, unspoken truths filling the space between them. “He was special. He was loved. He is still loved deeply.”
The tears spill over then, for both of them. Lando doesn’t try to hide it anymore, and Charles doesn’t try to stop his own. For a moment, they’re just two people grieving, letting themselves feel the weight of the loss they’ve been carrying.
The room feels quieter somehow, as if their shared pain has settled into the walls, a silent witness to the tears they no longer try to hold back. Neither of them speaks again, but they don’t need to. The understanding is there, unspoken and unbreakable. And for the moment, that’s enough.
Oscar’s cries pierce the quiet of the living room. Charles sits up straighter, his body immediately tensing. “I’ll get him,” he says quickly, almost apologetically, as he gets to his feet. He doesn’t want Oscar’s cries to wake Nico or Sophie.
He moves quietly through the house, the soft sound of his footsteps the only noise as he enters Oscar’s room. The baby’s cries are louder now, his tiny body wriggling in the crib. Charles leans down, scooping him up gently. “Shh, shh, it’s okay,” he murmurs, cradling Oscar close to his chest.
Oscar’s little face is flushed, his hands clenching into tight fists. Charles rocks him slightly, his heart aching as the baby slowly starts to settle. “You’re alright,” he whispers, running his hand down Oscar’s back.
It’s then that Charles notices the pajamas Oscar is wearing—the festive red and green ones Lewis had brought over last week. Tiny reindeer and snowflakes decorate the fabric, and for a moment, Charles feels a pang of guilt. Lewis has been the one making an effort for Oscar’s first Christmas, while Charles has barely been able to keep it together.
By the time Charles returns to the living room, Oscar’s cries have faded into soft hiccups, his face nuzzled against Charles’s chest. “Sorry about that,” Charles says, his voice quiet as he steps back into the room.
Lando looks up, his eyes red-rimmed but alert. When he sees Oscar, he smiles faintly, the corners of his mouth trembling. “He’s festive,” Lando says, his voice hoarse as he gestures toward the pajamas.
Charles glances down at Oscar, his expression softening. “Lewis,” he says simply, adjusting the baby in his arms before sitting back down. “He’s been trying to make Christmas happen for him.”
Lando leans back in his seat, his gaze fixed on Oscar. “He’s lucky to have you,” Lando says after a moment, his tone genuine but tinged with sadness.
Charles lets out a quiet sigh. “I don’t know about that,” he murmurs, brushing his fingers against the soft fabric of Oscar’s pajamas. “I’m just trying to do right by him.”
Oscar stirs slightly, his tiny hand reaching up to grab at Charles’s shirt. Charles glances at Lando, offering a small, almost self-conscious smile.
“You are,” Lando says softly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Lando looks at Charles, his tone casual but pointed. "I can help you, you know."
Charles shifts Oscar in his arms, avoiding Lando's gaze. "Thanks, but I’ll get to it eventually."
Lando frowns. "When? Christmas Eve is tomorrow."
Charles blinks, surprised. "It is?" He glances at Oscar, pressing a soft kiss to his hair. "I guess we can... try to work on it."
Lando grins. "Good. I’ll start with the tree."
Charles gives him a skeptical look but doesn’t argue. He looks down at Oscar, who’s staring up at him with big, innocent eyes. "What do you think, Oscar? Want to help?"
Oscar doesn’t answer, of course, but Charles laughs anyway. "Alright, alright. No need for the puppy eyes. I said yes." Charles set Oscar in his bouncer and joined Lando on the floor.
The tree wasn’t in great shape—some branches were bent. They worked in silence for a while, Charles fluffing out the branches while Lando untangled the lights, occasionally muttering curses under his breath.
When the tree was finally upright, Lando plugged in the lights, and the room filled with a soft golden glow. Oscar squealed from his bouncer, waving his tiny arms.
"See? Even he approves," Lando said with a laugh.
Charles smiled faintly, but his heart felt heavy.
They moved on to the ornaments, sorting through a mix of baubles, some chipped, others oddly sentimental. a chaotic mix of old family pieces and new additions. Lando held up a glass racing car ornament and smirked. "Max, right?"
"Obviously," Charles replied, his lips twitching into a small smile.
Charles wiped his hands on his pants, glancing at Oscar, who was sitting in his bouncer nearby, watching them with wide, curious eyes. "I think it looks presentable," Charles said, stepping back.
Lando inspected the tree with exaggerated seriousness. "Hmm, not bad for amateurs."
Charles rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. "Come on, let’s start decorating."
They rummaged through the boxes, pulling out ornaments one by one. Charles handed Lando a fragile glass bauble with intricate silver detailing. "Careful with this one—it was my mom’s."
Lando nodded solemnly, taking it with care and finding a spot near the top of the tree.
As they worked, Charles spotted a small box tucked at the bottom of the pile. He crouched down and opened it, revealing a porcelain swan ornament. His heart softened instantly.
He turned toward Oscar, who was watching them intently. "This one’s for you," he said softly, lifting the swan out of the box.
Lando glanced over. "That’s pretty."
Charles nodded. "We got it for him. Last time we went to the park, he couldn’t stop staring at the swans. He was obsessed."
Lando grinned. "Well, that sounds about right."
Charles picked up Oscar, cradling him gently as he approached the tree. "Alright, Oscar, you’re up. Let’s find the perfect spot for your swan."
Oscar’s tiny hands reached toward the ornament, his fingers brushing the smooth surface. Charles guided his small hand, holding the swan steady as they hung it together on a low branch.
"There," Charles said, stepping back with Oscar still in his arms. He looked at the swan, now shimmering in the glow of the lights, and smiled. "Perfect."
Oscar let out a happy squeal, his eyes fixed on the ornament.
Lando crossed his arms, leaning against the wall. "Okay, that’s actually pretty cute."
Charles turned to him, a rare sparkle of warmth in his eyes. "It is, isn’t it?"
They continue hanging the ornaments carefully, Lando insisting on perfect balance while Charles just tried to get it over with. At one point, Sophie appeared in the doorway.
"Looks like you’re finally getting into the spirit," she teased.
Charles shrugged. "Lando wouldn’t leave me alone about it."
Sophie smiles and steps closer. "Let me take him," she says, holding out her hands for Oscar.
Charles hesitates but hands him over. "Thanks."
Sophie bounces Oscar gently, cooing at him as she steps aside to give the others space to work.
"Well, it’s about time." Sophie smiled, kissing Oscar’s forehead before retreating to the nursery with him.
With the tree finished, they turned to the rest of the room. Lando draped garlands along the mantle and windows, while Charles arranged a small nativity scene Nico had insisted they keep. They hung mismatched stockings on the wall—one for Oscar, one for Charles, for Nico, one for Sophie and one for Max.
As the room started coming together, Nico wandered in, his face lighting up at the sight of the decorations. "It looks wonderful," he said warmly. His gaze sweeps over the room—the decorations, the partially assembled tree, and Charles standing awkwardly with an ornament in his hand. For a moment, his face softens, his smile almost reaching his eyes. But when he looks at Charles, his expression shifts.
Charles meets his father’s gaze and immediately feels the weight of it. The smile on Nico’s face is gone,—replaced by something softer, sadder.
Charles paused, hanging a string of lights, and glanced at his father. The smile on Nico’s face faded slightly, replaced by something softer, sadder. Charles felt his chest tighten and turned quickly toward the kitchen.
"I’ll make hot chocolate," he said abruptly, not waiting for a response
Charles’s throat tightens. He looks away, setting the ornament down with more force than necessary. "I’m going to make hot chocolate," he says abruptly. "For everyone."
He heads to the kitchen, his movements quick and deliberate. Halfway there, he glances back over his shoulder. "Dad, can you help me?"
Nico hesitates for a second before following him.
In the kitchen, Charles busies himself pulling out mugs and cocoa powder, not looking at Nico as he enters. The silence between them is thick.
"You didn’t have to start decorating," Nico says finally, his voice careful.
"I know," Charles replies, his back still turned. He stirs the milk in the pot, watching it heat. "But I thought... it might be nice."
Nico steps closer, his hands resting lightly on the counter. "I’m glad you did."
Charles finally looks up, his expression guarded. "I sure took my time"
Nico’s eyes soften. "Charles, at your own pace. You know that, right?"
As the chocolate gently simmered on the stove, the warm steam rising, Charles watched his father closely. He had been quiet for too long, his face etched with something unreadable. Charles hesitated for a moment, unsure if he should press on.
"Dad," Charles began, his voice soft but determined, "I have been meaning to talk to you about something. You've been ignoring me lately, and I can see it. I know why, but I need us to be ok.”
Nico didn’t answer immediately. He kept his gaze fixed on the pot, stirring absentmindedly. His jaw was clenched, and Charles could tell he was trying to keep something locked inside, something he didn’t want to say. The pause stretched long.
"I don't want to push you, but... we will have to talk about it, Dad.. I know I fucked up but we can’t go like this"
Finally, Nico sighed, his shoulders sagging with the weight of his thoughts. He set the spoon down and turned to face his son, eyes filled with a depth of emotion that Charles wasn’t prepared for.
"I know but I hate seeing you like this, Charles," Nico said quietly, his voice thick with pain. "I hate how easily you always give up. I hate that you don't want to be alive, that you never wanted to live for me. And now, you’re not even living for Oscar."
The words hit Charles like a punch to the gut. He stared at his father, stunned by the rawness of what he’d just heard. Nico looked broken, his face twisted with frustration and something else—something darker.
Charles stood frozen for a moment, the weight of his father’s words pressing down on him like a suffocating fog. His heart ached as the conversation twisted into a place he wasn’t prepared to go. Nico’s voice trembled, but there was no mistaking the seriousness in his tone.
“I just lost my fucking husband," Charles said bitterly, his voice tight with emotion. "Of course I don’t want to live."
Nico didn’t flinch, just nodded slowly, his eyes filled with a mixture of concern and pain. "I know," he said softly. "Believe me, I understand how much this is hurting you. But it’s not normal, Charles. It’s not normal to choose death every time something goes wrong. You’ve got to realize that you’re not alone in this. You can’t keep thinking that’s an option."
Charles's breath caught in his chest at his father's words. He had never heard Nico talk this way before, not with this kind of raw honesty. It stung, but it made sense in a way he hadn't fully understood until now.
"Look at Sophie," Nico continued, his voice steadier now. "She lost her husband and son, but she never thought about ending it. You can’t keep choosing that path. You’ve got to understand—it's not just about you anymore."
Charles's eyes filled with unshed tears, the weight of what Nico was saying sinking deep into his heart. "Dad, everything is okay. I didn’t..." His voice broke as he tried to explain, but the words felt too big to say.
Nico’s eyes softened, but the sadness didn’t leave them. "I know. I saved you last time, Charles. But one day, I won’t be there to save you." His voice cracked, and he looked away for a moment before meeting Charles's eyes again. "And I’ll truly lose you. All I thought about, when I found you last time, was what if I was a few minutes late? What if I hadn’t been there? You’d be gone, and Oscar would have lost another parent."
Charles felt his stomach twist. The guilt hit him hard. At the time he didn’t care, he never really thought about the impact it would have on his father—or Oscar. He had been too lost in his own pain to consider anything else.
Nico shook his head, his voice quieter but still firm. "It’s not normal, Charles. And I need you to understand that. You’re hurting everyone around you when you do this, and I can’t keep letting you choose that path."
Charles’s chest tightened, and he wiped at his eyes, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to cause you this much pain. When I’m in that state of mind, I don’t think, I just... I don’t know how to stop it."
Nico sighed deeply, his face showing a mixture of exhaustion and understanding. "I know, son," he said quietly. "But you have to learn to fight through it. You can’t keep doing this. Not for yourself, and not for Oscar."
Charles’s heart was breaking as he looked at his father. "It doesn’t mean I’ll die, Dad. I’m trying, I swear."
Nico met his eyes, his gaze steady. "I’ll make sure you stay alive, as long as I’m alive," he said, his voice firm and resolute. "But once I’m gone, you have to understand that you can’t keep doing this. You have to be there for Oscar. You have to be the parent he needs."
Charles’s throat closed up, and tears streamed down his face as he processed the heaviness of his father’s words. "Why are you saying this, Dad? Are you... are you sick?"
Nico’s expression softened, but there was still a somberness in his eyes. "No, son, I’m not sick. But death is part of life, and you have to understand that when I’m gone, you need to be strong for Oscar. If you try to do this again... he’ll have no one. You need to be a responsible parent. You have to think of him, Charles."
The words were like a punch to his gut, and Charles could barely breathe. He felt the weight of everything his father was saying, and it felt like too much to bear.
"I can’t promise it’ll be easy," Charles whispered, tears choking his words. "But I will try. For Oscar. For you."
Nico pulled him into a tight embrace, his arms strong around him. "That’s all I need, son. That’s all I need."
"I’m so sorry," Charles whispered again, his voice thick with emotion.
Nico pulled him into a hug, his arms steady around his son. "I know. Just don’t give up, Charles. Please don’t."
"So... are we okay now?" he asked quietly, watching Nico as he turned toward a cabinet, rummaging through it.
Nico paused, then nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Yes," he said, his voice steady, though there was still a hint of sadness there. "We’re okay."
Charles watched his father look through drawers and cabinets, He sighed. "What are you looking for?" he asked, trying to break the silence.
Nico didn’t answer immediately. He kept looking through the cabinet, muttering to himself. "Marshmallows," he finally said, as though that would explain everything.
Charles chuckled softly, despite himself. "I don’t think we have any," he said, shaking his head. "We’re not exactly stocked up for Christmas treats."
Nico looked disappointed for a moment, before his expression shifted. "Oh, what a shame," he said, half-smiling. He closed the cabinet and turned back to Charles, still looking a bit down.
But then Charles had an idea. His face brightened, and he stood up. "You know what?" he said, looking over at his dad. "I’ll take care of it. Give me a minute."
Before Nico could protest, Charles had already walked out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, his eyes scanning the space until they fell on his phone, resting on the charging dock. He walked over, picked it up, and unlocked the screen. His fingers hovered over the contacts list before he started scrolling, searching for the name that had popped into his head.
Lewis. He quickly tapped on the number, sending off a message.
"Hey, do you have any extra marshmallows? If you do, could you bring them over? we need them for hot chocolate."
Surprised at how quickly Lewis had arrived. He glanced at his phone, confirming that only a few minutes had passed since their conversation. He quickly put the phone down on the counter and went to the door,
"That was fast," Charles said, half-laughing. He passed by Lando and Sophie, still a bit perplexed.
"It's too late... who would come at this time?" Lando muttered, furrowing his brow.
"It's the marshmallows I ordered... I think.” Charles told Lando and Sophie as he turned to open the door. The hinges creaked as he pushed it, expecting to see Lewis. But to his surprise, standing there wasn’t Lewis at all. Charles froze, taken aback, as he locked eyes—those very familiar blue eyes, the eyes of someone he never thought he’d see again.
Notes:
Honorable mentions:
- Charles affinity to angst irl
- No beta for this chapter we die like tifosi's hopes and dreams of WDC and WCC.
- jealousy jealousy (strong maxiel or fruity charlos)
- Oscar is staying/ I'm his father too
- Lando coming to his crush's husband for support
- Nico is back baby
- Saving Christmas
- Of course Lewis can bring marshmallows it's not like he have lifes to ruin.
- Those blue eyes 👀 💙
Chapter 6
Notes:
Hey everyone! Here's a new update for you all.
I need to start by apologizing for this chapter. Smut isn't really my strong suit, but I gave it a shot. If it feels a bit cringy, I promise I'm just as embarrassed writing it as you might be reading it! Still, I hope you enjoy it, and I’d love to hear your thoughts—your comments mean so much to me. So please let me know what you think, and don’t forget to leave kudos if you’re enjoying the fic!
On another note, I recently started a new job, and it's very demanding. I’ll do my best to keep updating regularly, but it might take me a bit longer to get new chapters out. I appreciate your patience and support more than I can say.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max took a sip of his wine, letting the deep red liquid linger on his tongue as his eyes rested on Charles. The dim candlelight cast a warm glow across the table, but Max’s focus was on his husband.
Charles, was distracted. His eyes flickered to his phone, his phone lit up again, and for the fourth time since they’d sat down, he picked it up to check the screen. Max’s jaw tightened slightly, but he said nothing. Instead, he placed his wine glass down and folded his hands together in a steeple, leaning forward. Watching Charles with a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You’re doing it again,” Max said, breaking the silence.
Charles looked up, startled. “Doing what?”
Max gave him a pointed look, gesturing toward the phone. “Checking your phone every five minutes. I thought tonight was supposed to be about us.”
Charles sighed, setting the phone down but not letting it out of his reach. “I know, but it’s Oscar’s first night out of the house since we brought him home. I can’t help but worry.”
Max leaned back in his chair, a small smile tugging at his lips. He took a sip of his wine before responding. “Charles, he’s in safe hands. Your dad has raised you, and you turned out just fine. I think he can handle one baby for a night.”
Charles shifted in his seat, his brow furrowed. “It’s not about my dad’s ability to take care of him. It’s just... this is the first time he isn’t with one of us since we brought him home. I don’t know, Max. I feel... weird.”
Max reached across the table, placing his hand over Charles’s. “I get it. I really do. I feel the same, but you have to trust that he’s okay. We also need to learn to be away from him.”
Charles bit his lip, looking down at their joined hands. “I just want to make sure he’s happy and safe. That he doesn’t feel... abandoned.”
Max squeezed his hand gently, his voice softening. “Oscar is a baby, Charles. He’s not going to feel abandoned because his parents went out for dinner. And honestly? You deserve this. We deserve this. A night for just us.”
Charles looked at him, his lips curving into a small smile. “You’re right. I just need to let go for a little while.”
Max grinned, his blue eyes sparkling. “Exactly. Now, focus on me for a bit. I’m much more entertaining than your phone.”
Charles laughed, finally setting the phone face down on the table. “You think so, huh?”
Max smirked, picking up his fork. “Absolutely. Besides, I’m a lot better company than your dad’s texts about diaper changes.”
Charles chuckled, “Fine sorry, I will just call dad one more time to check up on them and I am all yours for the night.”
“Alright,” Max said, his voice calm but firm. “If it’ll help you relax, call them one more time. But after that, the night is ours. you have to tell me—what do you think of the food? Because I’m about to order seconds.”
Max watched Charles dialing Nico’s number, trying to ignore the growing knot in his own stomach. Truthfully, Max wasn’t as relaxed as he pretended to be. The idea of leaving Oscar for the first time unsettled him too, but he wanted tonight to be special for them.
Charles held the phone to his ear, his expression growing tense as it rang. Eventually, he lowered the phone and tried again, but it went to voicemail once more.
“He’s not picking up,” Charles said quietly, his lips pressing into a thin line as he set the phone on the table.
Max reached across the table, resting a hand on Charles’s. “He’s probably busy. You know how hard it is to take care of a baby alone. It’s only been an hour.”
Charles nodded but still looked uneasy. “I know, but it’s not like him not to answer. What if something’s wrong?”
Max hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “What do you want to do? Do you want to leave and go back home?”
Charles shook his head quickly, his eyes scanning the restaurant as if searching for reassurance. “No, no. I don’t want to ruin the night. But... give me a second. I’ll try someone else.”
Max watched as Charles scrolled through his contacts, his fingers moving quickly. He felt his own unease creeping in, but he kept his expression calm, tapping his fingers lightly on the edge of the table.
After a moment, Charles put the phone to his ear again. His posture shifted as the call connected, and Max immediately felt some relief.
“Hello, Lewis,” Charles said, his voice polite but still tinged with concern. “Sorry for calling so late, but I’m trying to check on Dad and Oscar. I’ve been calling, and no one’s answering.”
Max raised an eyebrow, glancing at Charles. Why was he calling Lewis of all people? He stayed silent, listening as Charles nodded along to whatever Lewis was saying.
“Oh, you’re with them?” Charles’s expression softened, and he shot Max a small, relieved smile. “No, no, it’s fine. Just tell Dad I said hi and to keep his phone close, okay? Alright. Thanks, Lewis. Take care.”
Charles hung up, exhaling softly as he set the phone down. His lips curled into a sly smile as he met Max’s gaze, tilting his head slightly. “Apparently, Lewis is with Dad and Oscar. They’re having dinner and didn’t hear the phone.”
Max took another sip of his wine, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched Charles hang up the phone.. He set his glass down, leaning back in his chair with an exasperated sigh.
Max set his fork down again, this time with a little more force than before, and tilted his head at Charles. “Why is Lewis with them?” he asked, his voice even but laced with suspicion.
Charles gave him a knowing smile, leaning back in his chair as he swirled his wine. “Because they’re good friends. And Lewis is nice. Dad really likes him,” he said, his voice emphasizing the last part with deliberate intent.
Max narrowed his eyes, leaning forward slightly. “Dad really likes him?” he repeated skeptically. “Charles, he doesn’t even know him that well. For all you know, he could be a serial killer.”
Charles burst out laughing, shaking his head. “Lewis is not a serial killer, Max. I know how to judge people, okay? I can tell the good ones from the bad ones.”
Max snorted, clearly unconvinced. “Oh, sure you do.”
Charles leaned forward, putting a hand on his chest in mock offense. “I’m serious! I’m good at it. I mean, I chose you, didn’t I?”
Max raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching into a smirk. “Excuse me? You didn’t choose me. In fact, if I recall correctly, you spent the first few months running away from me. I had to chase you like crazy just to get you to talk to me properly.”
“That’s not true!” Charles objected, a flush creeping up his cheeks as he fiddled with his fork. “I loved you from the very first moment I met you. That’s why I was scared. I knew you were the one, and it terrified me.”
Max pursed his lips, tilting his head in mock thought. “Oh, sure you did, babe. Whatever gets you through the night,” he teased, a grin spreading across his face.
Charles rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his smile. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re adorable,” Max countered, lifting his glass in a silent toast. “Now, can we finally enjoy this date? No more distractions?”
Charles nodded, raising his own glass with a grin. “No more distractions.”
Max leaned back in his chair, absently toying with the stem of his wine glass, while Charles took another bite of his pasta..
"So," Max began, his tone casual as he stabbed a piece of steak with his fork, "do you want to hear some gossip?"
Charles’s curiosity piqued immediately, as Max knew it would. He paused mid-chew, swallowing quickly before leaning slightly forward. "Of course," he replied, his tone playful. "Spill."
Max smirked, pretending to hesitate for dramatic effect as he sliced into his steak. "It’s about Lewis," he said, watching Charles’s expression shift to one of intrigue.
"Lewis?" Charles repeated, his brow furrowing slightly as he twirled his fork in the remains of his pasta. "What about him?"
Max took a deliberate sip of his wine before continuing, "He’s already in a relationship. With someone named Jenson. They work together, and it’s apparently serious."
Charles blinked, a little taken aback as he reached for his glass of water. "Wait, so Lewis is gay?"
Max gave him a pointed look, chewing slowly before answering. "Yes. But more importantly, he’s taken. In a committed relationship."
Charles frowned, his lips pressing into a thoughtful line as he stabbed a piece of meat aggressively from his plate. "I don’t think that’s true," he said after a moment, shaking his head.
Max leaned forward slightly, his eyebrows drawing together in mild irritation. "What do you mean, ‘not true’? Lando told me months ago," he said, gesturing with his fork.
Charles let out a small laugh, shaking his head as he tore off a piece of bread. "Lando? You’re basing this on something Lando said? Max, come on. Besides, it doesn’t make sense. There’s clearly something between Lewis and my dad."
Max sat up straighter, his expression incredulous, as he set his fork down on his plate. "Wait. Are you saying Nico and Lewis are… together?"
Charles shook his head again, more insistently this time, wiping his mouth with his napkin. "Not together. But they like each other. It’s obvious. Even Sebastian and George have noticed it. There’s definitely chemistry between them."
Max sighed, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms, his steak momentarily forgotten. "Charles, listen to me. Everyone at the office knows Lewis is in a serious relationship. He even mentioned it at the Oscar’s party—your dad was there too. And I heard he’s planning to propose to Jenson."
Charles blinked, his surprise evident as he poked at the last remnants of his pasta. "He’s going to propose? Are you sure?"
Max nodded, picking up his wine glass again. "That’s what I’ve heard. Why don’t you ask your dad about it? Maybe he knows. Since they’re close like that."
Charles didn’t respond immediately, his gaze dropping to his plate as he mulled over Max’s words. He absently pushed his fork through the sauce on his plate, clearly uncertain whether to believe him.
Max suppressed a smirk, taking another sip of his wine. Deep down, he felt a small sense of victory, while he tried to keep his expression neutral. If this little story put some distance between Nico and Lewis, then all the better. Max didn’t like Lewis, didn’t trust him. Fernando hadn’t trusted him either, and Max relied on Fernando’s instincts. If he had to bend the truth a little to steer Nico away from Lewis, so be it.
Charles finally broke the silence, looking at Max with a faint smile as he reached for the last piece of bread. "I guess I’ll talk to Dad about it. But still, I’m not convinced. I think there’s more going on than you realize. The way they are around each other is very telling."
Max shrugged nonchalantly, cutting into his steak again. "Maybe. Or maybe you’re reading too much into things."
As Charles fell silent, seemingly processing the information, Max allowed himself a small, private smile.
Max finishing the last bite of his steak, and reached for his wine glass. "Anyway," he said casually, "it’s none of our business. What really matters is us having fun."
Charles smiled warmly, setting down his fork. "Yes, and us being together."
Max nodded, smirking as he leaned closer. "And having a delicious dinner."
Charles chuckled, raising his glass. "Absolutely."
As the waiter cleared their plates, Max glanced at Charles. "Do you want to take dessert home?"
Charles looked relieved, clasping his hands together. "Can we, please? The place is amazing, and the food is incredible, but…I just want to go back home."
Max raised an eyebrow, amused. "Well, why is that? What’s at home that’s so important you want to leave here so fast?"
Charles tilted his head, his eyes lighting up innocently. "Well, first…my bed."
Max shot him a look, shaking his head. "Our bed," he corrected with a mock sternness.
Charles grinned, rolling his eyes. "Our bed. And my pillow."
Max leaned forward, raising a skeptical eyebrow. "I swear to God, if you say sleep, I will die. I am so fucking horny."
Charles laughed, his cheeks tinting pink as he leaned closer to Max. "Nope. No sleep."
Max’s lips curved into a sly smile, his voice dropping to a low murmur. "Good. Because I’ve been thinking about getting you out of this restaurant since we walked in."
Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head as he sipped his wine. "How can you be horny after talking about my dad and Lewis?"
Max leaned back in his chair, studying Charles with an intensity that made his stomach flip. "First," Max said, his tone teasing but his gaze heated, "have you seen yourself?" He gestured vaguely at Charles, his eyes sweeping over him with deliberate slowness.
Charles flushed, his lips parting as he fidgeted with the napkin on his lap.
"Second," Max continued, leaning forward now, his voice dropping low enough that only Charles could hear, "we haven’t had sex in weeks. I’m so fucking horny, I could come right here and now."
Charles froze, his breath catching as he met Max’s gaze. The desire in Charles’s eyes was unmistakable, and Max felt heat pool low in his stomach.
"Max," he whispered, his voice trembling slightly with laughter and something deeper, "you can’t just say things like that in public."
Max smirked, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. "Why not? It’s true."
Charles looked at him, his lips curling into a sly smile. His eyes, now heavy with want, flicked to Max’s mouth and eyes. "You’re unbelievable," he said softly, but the way his voice wavered betrayed his own growing desire.
Max grinned wider. "And that is why you love me."
Charles didn’t respond immediately, just reached under the table to brush his leg against Max’s leg. "Let’s take the dessert to go," he said quietly, his voice carrying a hint of urgency.
Max didn’t need to be told twice. He signaled the waiter, barely containing his excitement. Charles might have tried to keep things composed, but the look in his eyes promised the night was far from over.
---
Charles and Max stumbled into their apartment, the door clicking shut behind them as their lips collided in a messy, eager kiss. They barely made it past the entrance, hands tugging at clothes with an urgency that left their jackets draped over a chair and Charles’s shirt halfway unbuttoned. Charles let out a soft laugh, cut short as Max pushed him back against the wall, his hands braced on either side of Charles’s head.
Max kissed him harder, his touch trailing down to Charles’s waist, pulling him closer. Charles was so caught up in the moment that he didn’t notice his elbow bumping into a side table until a small vase tipped over, shattering on the hardwood floor with a sharp crack. They froze briefly, glancing down at the broken pieces, before Max shrugged it off, muttering against Charles’s lips, “We’ll clean it later.”
Charles laughed again, quieter this time, and ran his hands up Max’s chest, pulling him closer as they stumbled further into the living room. Max pressed Charles against the living room wall, the intensity of their kiss growing, his fingers fumbling with the buttons on Charles’s shirt. Just as Max started to lose himself in the moment, a sharp, disgruntled meow broke the silence.
They both stopped, breathing heavily, and turned toward the sound. Jimmy was perched on the back of the couch, staring at them with a look that could only be described as pure feline judgment. His tail flicked sharply, and he let out another impatient meow, clearly annoyed by the commotion—or perhaps the shattered vase.
“Ah, shit,” Max muttered, pulling back slightly, his face flushed. He raked a hand through his hair, glancing from the cat to the mess on the floor. “Sorry, Jimmy,” he said, his voice carrying an awkward mix of guilt and exasperation.
Charles bent over, laughing quietly as he shook his head. “I don’t think our audience are impressed with our behavior.” He nudged Max playfully. “And you owe me a new vase.”
Max sighed, looking at the cat like he’d personally offended him. “I’ll buy you two vases if we can just get to the bedroom without any more interruptions.”
Jimmy jumped down from the couch and strutted toward the broken vase, sniffing it disdainfully before letting out another loud meow, as if scolding them. Max groaned and grabbed Charles’s hand, pulling him toward the hallway.
“Come on, before the others join in,” Max muttered, his tone half-serious.
They slipped into the bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind them. Charles turned to lock it, his brows raised. “I’m not taking any chances tonight.”
Max chuckled, tugging Charles close again. “Good call. No more judging eyes.”
As Max and Charles stripped down to their underwear, the soft light in the room illuminated the scars on their bodies, old but permanent against his skin. Max could see Charles hesitation as he caught sight of his own reflection in the nearby mirror, his eyes immediately drawn to the angry, red stab wound on his abdomen. Max could tell a wave of insecurity and shame washed over him.
One of the reasons Max and Charles hadn’t been as intimate lately—hadn’t truly taken their time—which was something Max had sensed but hadn’t fully voiced. Charles’s hesitation.
Max noticed the shift in Charles’s demeanor, the way his shoulders tensed and how his hands instinctively moved to cover the wound.
“What’s wrong?” Max asked, his voice low.
Charles shook his head slightly, trying to brush it off. “It just looks... bad,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s ugly.”
Max frowned, not out of frustration but concern. He reached out, softly pulling Charles’s hands away, exposing the scar. His eyes flickered over it for a moment before meeting Charles’s gaze again.
“Charles,” Max said firmly but gently, “you don’t have to hide it from me.”
Charles glanced away, feeling self-conscious. “It just didn’t heal properly. Yours,” he gestured to Max’s old scar on his shoulder, “looks cool. Mine’s just... mangled.”
Max stepped in closer, his eyes softening. “It’s not about whether it looks ‘cool’ or not. It’s a part of you, and you’re still here despite of it. That’s what matters.”
Max knelt on the floor in front of Charles, his fingers gently tracing the scar that now marked his husband’s abdomen. The wound had healed, leaving behind a thin, jagged line that stood in stark contrast to Charles’s smooth skin. Max’s expression was unreadable for a moment, his blue eyes studying the scar intently.
Charles shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny, his arms instinctively wrapping around himself. “It’s ugly, isn’t it?” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.
Max immediately looked up, his gaze sharp and filled with something almost like disbelief. “Ugly?” he repeated, shaking his head as if the very idea was absurd. His hands moved to Charles’s sides, steadying him, grounding him. “Charles, I could never find anything about you ugly.”
Charles’s lips quirked into a sad smile, but he didn’t look convinced. “It’s a reminder of what happened. Of everything I put you through.”
He leaned forward, pressing a feather-light kiss to the scar, his lips lingering as if he could somehow erase all the pain and self-doubt Charles carried with it. Then he looked up again, his hands sliding to Charles’s hips. “You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever known, inside and out. A scar doesn’t change that. It doesn’t change you.”
Charles’s throat tightened, and he looked away, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “You don’t have to say that,” he whispered.
Max’s hands gripped him a little tighter, his voice low but unwavering. “I don’t have to. I’m saying it because it’s true. You’re my husband, Charles. I’m always going to find you beautiful. Always.”
Charles finally met Max’s gaze, the sincerity in his eyes breaking through the walls he’d tried to put up. With a shaky breath, he let his hands fall away from his stomach, as Max got back up to face Charles. Allowing Max to pull him closer. He rested his forehead against Charles’s, his hands steady and warm against his sides.
“I love you, Charles,” Max whispered against his skin. “Every part of you. Including this scar.”
Charles blinked rapidly, as though fighting tears. “I wish I could see myself the way you do,” he whispered.
Max’s thumb stroked Charles’s cheek softly. “Then let me show you,” he said. His voice was tender but unyielding. “Let me remind you how much I love you. Every part of you.”
Tugging at his lips. Max kissed him then, slow and deep, pouring every ounce of his love and reassurance into the kiss. Max pulled back just enough to look at Charles, his green eyes filled with something soft and unshakable. He kissed him again, this time at the corner of his mouth, then his chin, then back to his lips.
As the kiss turned more passionately, his lips pressing hard against Charles's, demanding and hungry. He didn’t waste time, his lips trailing down quickly to Charles's chin, brushing lightly down the curve of Charles’s jaw then to his throat, biting into the sensitive skin there. He felt Charles relax slightly against him.
Max’s hands gripped Charles’s shoulders firm. The sudden movement caught Charles off guard, but he welcomed the shift. falling back onto the soft sheets as Max hovered above him. Their lips were still locked, the kiss growing more urgent, more desperate. Max’s hands roamed quickly over Charles’s chest.
The kisses continued, slow and deliberate, down the side of Charles’s neck and along his collarbone. Charles’s breathing hitched, Max felt Charles’s body tense at the pressure, and a low groan escaped from his parted lips as Max’s teeth grazed his skin. His lips moved lower, tracing a path to Charles’s chest.
Max’s breath was quickening, a slight groan escaping him as he moved further down, his mouth closing around Charles’s nipple and biting it sharply. Charles arched into the touch, the bite sending a shock of sensation straight to his groin, a familiar ache building in him. Max grinned against his skin, his teeth scraping lightly before he moved lower, kissing along his stomach, his breath hot against the skin.
Max’s breath came in ragged gasps as his hands urgently fumbled with the waistband of Charles’s boxers, tugging at them desperately. His voice was low, rough with desire, as he muttered, “Take this off,” the words coming out in a near growl. The sense of urgency between them was palpable, the air thick with heat as Max worked to rid Charles of the last article of cloths.
Charles, his body already reacting to the intensity of the moment, helped him along, wiggling slightly to allow Max to pull off his boxers. Max palmed at his erection through his underwear as he greedily took in the sight of Charles naked body. His limbs were vibrating with need and his cock was harder than it had ever been in his life.
Max quickly worked on discarding his own boxers, freeing his cock, he looked as a bead of pre-cum was already dripping from the tip. Charles absently licked his lips and Max gripped the base of his dick to steady himself, there would be time later to have Charles choke on his dick but not this time.
Their bodies now completely bare against each other. The feeling of skin on skin, the sensation of their bodies finally aligned, sent an electric jolt through both of them. Max’s eyes never left Charles, his gaze intense, filled with hunger as he leaned in, kissing him again, harder now, with more desperation.
Charles’s hands roamed over Max’s body, pulling him closer as their bodies pressed together, their bare skin sliding against one another with each shift of their hips.
Max smiled reassuringly at Charles as he leaned on his elbow, reaching over the side of their bed to dig into the nightstand. Max raised an eyebrow as he glanced at the used bottle of lube. “I bought this yesterday, yet it’s used?” Max said smirking.
Charles blushed, he can feel his cheeks burning hot. “I might have fingered myself in the bathroom today.”
“Did you think of me?” Max asked, his voice low and playful. He pops the bottle open, squirting a decent amount over his fingers. He takes a moment to rub them together.
Charles’s breath hitched. “No. I was thinking about a sexy detective.”
“lando!” max replied with mischief grin.
“Fuck off” Charles objected indignantly.
Max’s grin slyly as he crawled closer, he used his clean hand to open Charles’s legs wider apart. He dips his other hand lower and Charles’s toes curl in anticipation. He takes Charles’s knees in his hands and gently pull him flat onto the bed. Max’s face is set in a pinched concentration, but he also looks a bit nervous, Charles couldn’t help but tighten his grip on the sheets beside him, and he shivers when Max's smooth’s his palms up his inner thighs. He inhales when one of Max’s slick fingers presses at his entrance.
“Relax, I’ll go slowly,” Max whispered, smoothing his hands up Charles’s inner thighs.
“Just don't go too slow, I don't think I can last.”
“What if I want to, though?” Max asks. “What if I want to take my time with you?”
Charles shivers again, and then his ankles hook around Max’s hips and tug him forward roughly. “Just do something.”
“Right!” Max says eagerly. Sex with Charles always felt more intense. he riles him up without even trying.
Charles tries to get himself to relax. Max’s finger pushes inside him slowly and he fights against tensing up. Max keeps his hand still for a beat before he begins to move in and out.
Max’s erection pressing against Charles’s thigh as he continued to fuck him as he kissed and bit his neck, the growing heat between them undeniable. Charles’s hands moved to Max’s hair, gripping it roughly as he shifted beneath him, his own body reacting against Max’s every touch, every movement. His hips shifted slightly, involuntarily pressing up seeking friction.
Then Max continued, making his way down, his lips moving lower, past Charles’s chest and stomach, until he reached the inside of his thigh. He paused there for a moment, breathing in deeply, before pressing a soft kiss against Charles's inner thigh as he position himself between Charles’s legs.
Charles trembles hard. Little, muffled whimpers leave him each time Max withdraws his finger only to thrust back inside, and he squirms so much that Max has to use his free hand to pin down one of his thighs. “Hold still,” Charles moans softly, as Max slides another finger inside him. The feeling of being penetrated slowly becoming more and more bearable, And Charles can’t help but roll his hips into it.
"More,” Charles begs.
“R-Right,” Max stutters. He’s painfully hard, and he scoots forward more, making Charles spread his legs wider before working in a third finger as he take in the sight of Charles’s cock red and rock hard. Charles moaned in appreciation as Max decided to pay his dick some attention. He sealed his lips around the head of Charles’s stiff dick.
While still working his fingers in and out, steadily and slowly. He thinks that Charles is stretched enough, but he wanted to be careful and make sure Charles was ready. As he try to distract Charles with his mouth.
Charles moaned and trembled as Max’s fingers filled him steadily, Charles arched his hips and planted his feet firmer than before as Max hooked his fingers and rubbed the younger man’s prostate with expert touches.
“Does it feel good?” max asked as he released Charles’s cock from his mouth.
“Feels like -” Charles mutters, swallowing thickly. “It feels good.”
“So it doesn't hurt?”
“It did at the beginning, now it doesn't” Charles says quickly, because he doesn’t want Max to stop.
Max reward Charles by taking Charles’s dick back in his mouth and relaxing his jaw, eyes fluttering shut as he moaned around Charles’s’ cock. It filled his mouth entirely. He wanted more and his cock was throbbing rapidly against the sheets. As he breathed through his nose as set a steady pace, bobbing up and down on Charles’ cock.
All while he’s fingering Charles, max presses in and curls his fingers up, just so. It’s warm and tight and hot, and Max does it again, pulling out only to twist back in and up, rubbing against that perfect spot, that sends jolts up Charles’s spine.
“Max…”
Max pulls back just enough to meet Charles’s eyes, slowing the movements of his hand. “Hm?”
“More… I need more, I need your cock.”
Max blinks, his lips tilting up as a smile melts onto his face. “Do you want to finish in my mouth, are you close?”
Charles cheeks heat up. “I want you inside… we finish together.”
Max grin around Charles’s dick he release Charles’s dick from his mouth as he make his way up to meet Charles’s mouth, knowing that Charles will be tasting himself in Max’s mouth. He brings his hand up to cup Charles’s jaw, pulling his bottom lip down with his thumb.
a third finger slips inside him. The pace hasn’t changed from when he started—slow and steady, almost agonizingly so. Charles squirms, rocking his hips to meet the movements of Max’s fingers.
Max scissors his fingers a few times, stretching him enough. Charles’s thigh tenses under the firm weight of his hand as Max take a long time preparing him. His chest is heaving, and Max isn’t much better off, cock so hard. “Ready?” he asks, voice low, and Charles nods frantically. He spreads his legs even further apart, inviting Max in.
Max pour more lube onto his hand, as he set the bottle aside before leisurely coating his dick. Charles watches as he exhales sharply, eyes screwing shut when his hand slides over his dick. Max shuffles closer, guiding his cock toward Charles’s hole.
“Still doing okay, does your back hurt, Charles?” Max asks when the head of his cock presses against Charles’s entrance.
He nods, but Max remains still. He looks at Charles expectantly, his eyebrows raised. “I am fine” Charles answers impatiently. “C’mon, Max.”
“I’m getting there, love.”
Charles nods, letting out a long breath as he relaxes his body. Max pushes in slowly. Charles moans out loud, nails scratching against the Max’s back. Inch by inch Max sinks into him until he bottoms out, breathing just as heavily as Charles.
Charles fists both hands into the sheets, breathes through it, closes his eyes and lets himself just feel. The stretch, the burn, the heat of Max’s skin and Max's hands rubbing soothing circles where they rest on Charles's hips.
"Jesus Christ." Max moans when he bottoms out, pelvis flush against Charles's ass
Charles rolls his hips. It's barely a movement at all, but it buries Max even deeper inside him, and when Max does it again, it makes something spark deep inside Charles's gut. Charles whimpers, and melting under Max’s touch. Max holds him in place as he slides into him over and over again, keeping the same mild pace to keep Charles on edge.
“Max, please…” Charles begs, his voice cracking when Max thrusts into him particularly hard. “Please go faster.”
Max clicks his tongue. “Fuck.”
He hikes Charles’s legs up higher, keeping a tight hold on them as he begins to slam into Charles, over and over again. It knocks the wind out of him, mouth open in a silent cry as Max drills into him. The grip on his waist tightens, and Charles struggles to keep his eyes open to take in Max’s face. Max’s lips latch themselves back onto his neck.
“So fucking tight… Feels so fucking good, it’s like you were made for me.” Max whispered into Charles’s ear as he pushed one of Charles’s legs to the side, spreading him open impossibly wide. With the new position Max’s dick sinks in deeper, and Charles moaned in approval, Max’s brain is fuzzy and his body is on fire. He seriously thinks he might pass out at this rate.
Max whispers more obscene things into his ear—gushing over how pretty and pliant he is, how good he’s taking his cock, how amazing it feels inside him. He’s already flushed but all of the praise makes him redder.
Charles whimpers. “Kiss me, please.”
“God, yeah, whatever you want.”
Max leans down to kiss him, his hips keeping their relentless pace. The kiss is sloppy and it makes Charles’s brain go numb. Max sucks on his tongue as he pounds into him, holding onto his thighs to fuck him at the perfect angle. Max doesn’t think he’s going to last much longer at this point. Groaning against Charles’s lips when he hits his prostate, causing Charles to cry out. He rambles incoherently, a jumbled mix of ‘Max’, ‘please’, and ‘faster’ repeated over and over again. There’s a familiar tightening feeling and he knows it’s not long before that coil snaps.
“Max,” he pants, desperate for his long sought after release, “I’m close. So, so close, please.”
Max groans when he clenches around him, his hips stuttering. “Mm, me too.” he praises, sliding his hand over Charles’s achingly hard cock and slowly wrapping his fingers around the length, making his entire body jerk. He strokes him at a miserably slow pace. “I want you to cum for me, Charles. C’mon.”
Charles chokes out a moan when Max’s hand matches the pace of his thrusts, his orgasm slowly building. It crashes over him so hard that his vision blurs for a second. He spills over his stomach and Max’s hand, who is still working him through the aftershocks. Max doesn’t last much longer after that, burying himself deep inside Charles as he finishes inside him. His hips slow to a stop, wincing when Charles clenches around him. He soothes his hand over Charles’s abdomen, distracting him as he pulls out.
He exhales, running a hand through his sweat soaked hair. “You—God, you’re just perfect. So unbelievably perfect.”
Max collapsed onto the bed beside Charles, his chest rising and falling heavily, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat. His body was limp, and fully spent. Charles still catching his breath. “That was...” Charles began, searching for the right words, but he couldn't quite find them. Max had missed this—missed them—the intimacy, the sex.
They both laid in bed for a long time, their bodies still intertwined, both of them trying to catch their breath after the intensity of the moment. Max’s hand slowly moved across his stomach, feeling the sticky evidence of Charles’s cum. With a quiet sigh, he realized it was time to clean up.
Max groaned softly as he got up from the bed, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. Charles watched him, confused. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice still a bit breathless.
Max turned to him, offering a small smile. “Just getting a towel to clean you up and maybe change the sheets.”
Charles shook his head, wincing slightly as he propped himself up on one elbow. “No need,” he muttered, feeling the strain in his muscles. “I’d rather take a shower.”
Max’s eyes lit up with an idea. “How about we take a long, relaxing bath instead?” he suggested, a playful glint in his eye.
Charles raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “with music and candles?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips.
Max chuckled softly. “Better than what I had in mind. “He replied as he headed toward the bathroom. “But I’ll get the bathtub ready.”
---
Max lay awake in the dark, staring at the ceiling as Charles’s steady breathing filled the quiet room. He rolled onto his side, trying to get comfortable, but the weight on his chest wouldn’t lift. Sleep felt like an impossible task, so he reached for his phone, the dim light of the screen illuminating his face. As he unlocked the screen, he saw a message from Nico. It was a picture of Oscar sleeping peacefully, looking angelic with his little features relaxed. Max couldn’t help but smile at how cute the baby was. He missed him. They’d be picking him up first thing tomorrow. He then started scrolling aimlessly at first, opening and closing apps without much focus, until he found himself in his messages.
He wasn’t sure why, but his fingers hovered over the chat with Fernando. It had been untouched for almost two years, yet the last message was as vivid as the day it was sent: "I’ll be wearing the navy tie for the wedding. Don’t be late, kid."
Max felt a lump form in his throat. That wedding felt like a lifetime ago. He had walked down the aisle without Fernando there to cheer him on, without the man who had been more of a father to him than his own ever was. And now, he was a father himself. A thought that should bring him joy only deepened the ache. He wanted to call Fernando, to ask him for advice, to hear his voice just one more time.
Swiping to his photo gallery, Max opened a folder filled with memories of them together. He scrolled to a picture from his graduation, Fernando standing beside him, pinching his cheek while grinning ear to ear. Max remembered laughing it off at the time, pretending not to care, but now he wished he had said something—anything—to let Fernando know how much that moment meant to him.
Another photo popped up: the rehearsal dinner for his wedding. Fernando had been there, cracking jokes and stealing the show like always. Max’s heart clenched at the thought that it was the last time.
they had spoken, the last time they had shared a meal. If only he knew that it would be the last time he will see him, he would have told him how much Fernando meant to him.
Then there were the childhood photos: Fernando teaching him to drive a tractor on the farm, the two of them covered in mud after a rainstorm. Memories Max clung to, moments he replayed over and over in his mind to keep them from fading.
Max sighed, his thumb pausing on a picture from a family barbecue. Fernando had a beer in hand, mid-laugh, his eyes crinkled with joy. The sound of that laugh echoed faintly in Max’s mind, and it was almost enough to bring tears to his eyes.
He glanced over at Charles, sleeping peacefully beside him. Charles had lost his mother, and somehow, he had managed to keep going, to build a life in the aftermath of that grief. Max didn’t understand how he did it. Charles carried his pain quietly, but he didn’t let it consume him the way Fernando’s death had consumed Max.
Max wasn’t sure he’d ever move on. He wasn’t sure he wanted to. Letting go of the grief felt like letting go of Fernando, and he couldn’t bring himself to do that. The memories, the pain—they were all he had left.
Every time he thought about moving forward, the image of Fernando came rushing back—his voice, his laugh, the way he’d made Max feel loved and protected. The only thing Max could do for him now was to find his killer, to bring closure to a wound that refused to heal.
But in doing so, Max felt torn. He was a father now, something he never envisioned for himself. It wasn’t planned or wanted, not at first. Yet, looking at Oscar, he couldn’t imagine life without him. The small, fragile child had somehow become a part of him, a bond forming in the quiet moments that caught Max by surprise.
Still, Max couldn’t shake the feeling that he wasn’t giving enough, that chasing Fernando’s killer had made him a distracted, distant father. Charles was the natural caregiver—gentle, attentive, always knowing what Oscar needed. Max envied that bond but didn’t try to replicate it. Instead, he focused on his way of connecting.
A few nights ago, Oscar had been fussy, his tiny face scrunched in frustration. Desperate, Max had started humming a lullaby Fernando used to sing. At first, he felt ridiculous—he wasn’t the singing type. But then Oscar had burst into laughter, a deep, bubbling giggle that lit up the room. It was so unexpected, so pure, that Max found himself laughing too.
For a moment, he’d wondered if Oscar was laughing at him. The thought stung, but then he saw the joy in the baby’s eyes. It wasn’t mockery—it was trust. A connection that felt fragile but real.
Charles and Oscar had an effortless bond, one rooted in warmth and love. Max’s connection was different. It was quieter, built on the unspoken moments between them. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t always easy, but it was real.
As Max stared at the ceiling, he thought of Fernando again. Their bond had been strong, built on trust and understanding. Max wanted that with Oscar, not as a replacement but as something new, something equally meaningful.
He looked over at Charles, peacefully asleep beside him. Max envied how Charles had managed to move forward after his mother’s death, how he could carry his grief without letting it consume him. Max wasn’t there yet, and maybe he never would be. But he was trying—for Fernando, for Charles and Oscar, and for himself.
Max determined to focus on something—anything—that might make the insomnia worthwhile. He opened William May’s social media profiles, scrolling through post after post, searching for anything useful.
May’s Twitter, or X or whatever it was called now, was a carefully curated archive of a perfect life. Picture after picture showed him with his blonde-haired, blue-eyed wife and their equally polished children. There were posts celebrating family milestones, his daughter’s graduation from Yale, and numerous professional achievements.
Max kept scrolling, his irritation growing with every fake-smiling photo. It was all so... pristine. Too pristine.
Then he stumbled on something that made him pause. A photo of May standing on a golf course with a group of friends. At first glance, it seemed like any other picture of men in polo shirts and golf caps. But there, standing casually among them, was Lewis Hamilton.
Max frowned, zooming in to make sure he wasn’t imagining things. Lewis was smiling, his posture relaxed, holding a club like he’d just made a perfect swing.
“I knew it…” Max muttered under his breath.
He scrolled further, finding more pictures—May and Lewis at fancy dinners, paddle matches, and, again, on the golf course. This wasn’t a one-time thing; they clearly had a longstanding friendship.
Max’s mind started spinning. Lewis wasn’t just anyone—he was the man who had taken over his father’s position after his death. The man who had been heavily involved in the investigation into Fernando’s murder.
Could there be a connection? Was it possible Lewis knew what May was up to? Did he help May?
Max shook his head, trying to ground himself. It was just a theory, nothing more. For all he knew, Lewis’s involvement was innocent—rich men hanging out with other rich men.
He closed the app and lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew he couldn’t jump to conclusions. He’d need more than a few photos to prove anything. But it felt like a lead—however small—and that was more than he’d had in months.
---
"Is this Sophie’s house?"
Charles froze for a moment, staring at the man standing on the porch. He looked oddly familiar, but Charles couldn’t quite place him. The man was dressed simply—faded jeans and a blue checkered button-down. His face was blotchy and red, and his blond hair was slicked back, though a bit disheveled.
Charles narrowed his eyes, studying him more intently. He was certain they had never met, but then his gaze landed on the man’s eyes—icy blue, rimmed with redness, as if he’d been crying. Recognition hit Charles like a slap to the face.
"Mister Verstappen?" Charles asked, his voice uncertain.
The man—Jos Verstappen—nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of desperation and impatience. "Yes. I’ve been told Sophie is staying here. I need to speak to her," he said, his tone sharp and insistent, his gaze darting past Charles into the house.
Charles hesitated. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t want to bother Sophie with Jos, especially after everything she’d been through. But this was Max’s father, and despite all the terrible stories he’d heard, Jos looked shaken. He was still a father who’d lost his son, and Charles couldn’t ignore that.
"Can you wait here for a moment?" Charles asked carefully. He gestured to the door as if he was about to close it.
But before he could move, Jos shoved the door open, the edge slamming against Charles’s hand and pinning it against the wall. Charles yelped in pain, jerking his hand back, but Jos didn’t stop. He pushed past Charles and stormed inside.
"Sir! Sir, you can’t just come in like this!" Charles yelled, hurrying after him.
Jos didn’t respond. His frantic energy was palpable as he glanced around the house, his movements erratic and determined.
"Sir, please! Let me get Sophie for you," Charles said, his voice rising as he tried to keep up with Jos’s long strides.
But Jos wasn’t listening. His focus was singular, his demeanor unyielding. Charles’s heart pounded in his chest as he chased after him, unsure how this was going to end.
Jos stormed into the living room, his body radiating fury, and Charles barely managed to keep up. The moment Sophie caught sight of him, her face went pale as if all the blood had drained from it. Without a second thought, she snatched Oscar from his place on the sofa, holding the baby protectively against her chest.
“Sophie!” Jos roared, his voice shaking the walls. “You didn’t even tell me! I had to hear it from someone else! You took him away! You ruined him!”
“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” Lando said sharply, stepping between Jos and Sophie. His voice was calm but firm, his body tense. “If you don’t, I’ll call the police.”
But Jos wasn’t listening. His icy blue eyes burned with hatred, locking onto Sophie as he ignored Lando entirely.
“You never gave me a chance to make things right!” Jos thundered, his voice cracking. “You ruined my son’s life! And now—”
He lunged forward suddenly, and Charles, reacting on instinct, grabbed his arm. “Sir, stop!” Charles shouted, his voice strained as he fought to hold him back.
“Let go of me!” Jos roared, twisting violently in Charles’s grip.
Lando jumped in, grabbing Jos’s other arm as the three of them staggered backward, nearly knocking over a chair. Jos was wild, his strength fueled by raw emotion. He shoved forward, his elbow connecting hard with Charles’s ribs, making him wince.
“I didn’t know!” Sophie sobbed, her words halting and broken. “I wasn’t—”
“You weren’t there!” Jos thundered, cutting her off. His face contorted with grief and anger. “You ruined him! You took my son and introduced him to that freak, Fernando! You turned him against me, made him think I was the monster! But it wasn’t me—it was Fernando! He was the reason Max was killed! And you—you—”
Oscar, sensing the chaos, started to wail, his cries loud and panicked as Sophie clutched him tighter, tears streaming down her face. She stumbled back, her legs shaky, as she tried to shield the baby from Jos’s wrath.
“Sophie, get back!” Lando shouted, his voice tight as he struggled to hold Jos.
At that moment, Nico appeared from the kitchen, a tray of hot chocolate in his hands. He froze in the doorway, his eyes widening as he took in the scene—Jos’s wild struggle, Charles and Lando desperately holding him back, and Sophie sobbing on the floor with a screaming Oscar.
“What the hell is going on?” Nico demanded, his voice rising with panic as the tray clattered to the floor.
“Dad!” Charles yelled, his voice breaking as he grappled with Jos’s thrashing. “Call 911!”
Nico hesitated for only a second before dashing for the phone.
Jos, undeterred, twisted harder, nearly breaking free. “You think you can stop me?” he spat, his voice hoarse with rage. “She deserves to die for what she did! My boy is dead because of her!”
“Enough!” Charles shouted, his arms straining as he held Jos back. “Stop this before it gets worse!”
“Let me go!” Jos howled, shoving forward with such force that Charles stumbled. Lando barely managed to keep them upright, his grip tightening on Jos’s arms.
“Calm down, asshole!” Lando barked, his teeth clenched as he threw his weight into restraining him. “You’re scaring the baby!”
Oscar’s cries grew louder, the sound piercing the room as Sophie rocked him, her own sobs mingling with his. Jos’s wild eyes darted toward her, his face contorted with rage and grief.
“You killed him!” Jos screamed, his voice cracking. “I lost my boy because of you!’
“Jos. That’s enough.”
Everyone froze. Lewis stood in the doorway, his expression cold and unyielding, a gun raised and pointed directly at Jos.
His expression was steely, his movements deliberate, the barrel of the gun gleamed under the dim light of the room. “Jos,” Lewis said firmly, his voice cold and unwavering. “That’s enough. Step back.”
Jos froze mid-struggle, his breathing heavy and ragged. His wild eyes darted toward Lewis, his body stiffening as he registered the weapon pointed at him. For a moment, the room fell eerily silent, save for Oscar’s cries and Sophie’s quiet sobs.
“Lewis…” Charles started, his voice shaky, but Lewis didn’t look at him. His focus was locked on Jos.
“Let them go,” Lewis commanded, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re walking outside. Now.”
Jos’s chest heaved, his face twisted in a mix of anger and despair. He glared at Lewis, his lips curling into a sneer. “You don’t understand,” he spat, his voice trembling. “I lost my son. I— but you do know. You know how it feels, you’ve lost one yourself.”
“You think this is how you honor him?” Lewis cut him off. Lewis’s expression didn’t soften. “do you think attacking his mother and scaring his son is the way to honor him?” he asked, his voice razor-sharp. “You’re not avenging Max—you’re turning into the monster he always feared you were. You’re proving to everyone here exactly why he stayed away from you.”
“Lewis,” Jos said, his voice breaking as the fight drained out of him.
Jos’s shoulders slumped slightly, his movements less aggressive. Charles felt the tension in Jos’s body begin to dissipate, and for a moment, he thought he saw something flicker in Jos’s eyes—regret, maybe, or shame.
“Let go of me,” Jos muttered, his voice quieter now.
Charles hesitated, exchanging a glance with Lando, who was still holding tightly to Jos’s shoulders. Lando gave a slight nod, and together they slowly loosened their grip. Jos didn’t move to resist. He stood still, his head hanging slightly, his breathing uneven.
“Outside,” Lewis said again, gesturing toward the door with his gun. “We’ll wait for the police there.”
Jos hesitated, his gaze sweeping the room one last time. His eyes lingered on Sophie and Oscar, his face twisting with what looked like contempt. He muttered something under his breath—too low for anyone to catch—and then, slowly, he turned and walked toward the door.
Lewis followed him closely, his gun still raised, his steps measured and deliberate. Before stepping out, Lewis turned back to Charles and Lando, his eyes meeting theirs briefly. “Stay inside. Lock the door once we’re out.”
And then he was gone, guiding Jos out into the night, leaving behind a house filled with shattered glass, broken furniture, and a family struggling to piece themselves back together.
The moment the door slammed shut behind Jos, Charles didn’t hesitate. He rushed to Sophie, gently taking Oscar from her trembling arms. Sophie collapsed onto the couch, sobbing uncontrollably, her hands covering her face as Lando and Nico quickly moved to her side.
“You’re okay,” Lando said softly, crouching down beside her. “It’s over. He’s gone. He can’t hurt you.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Nico added, his voice steady but kind, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You’re safe now. You and Oscar are safe.”
Charles held Oscar tightly against his chest, the baby’s cries still loud and panicked. “Shh, it’s okay, baby,” Charles murmured, his voice soft but shaking with emotion. He pressed a kiss to Oscar’s forehead, his heart aching at the sight of his son’s tear-streaked, frightened face.
But Oscar refused to calm down, his tiny fists gripping Charles’s shirt as he wailed.
“I’m taking him to our room,” Charles said, his voice thick, glancing briefly at Sophie and the others before heading down the hall.
Once inside the quiet of the bedroom, Charles sat on the edge of the bed, cradling Oscar close. “It’s okay, Oscar,” he whispered, rocking gently. “Papa’s here. You’re safe.”
He rubbed slow circles on Oscar’s back, his own heartbeat gradually slowing as the baby’s cries softened. Tears pricked at Charles’s eyes as he held his son, the weight of everything sinking in.
After a few long minutes, Oscar’s sobs quieted into hiccups, and eventually, he nestled against Charles’s chest, his breathing evening out as sleep overtook him. Charles stayed there, unmoving, holding his son close and whispering promises that everything would be okay.
Even as Oscar drifted into peaceful sleep, Charles’s arms remained wrapped tightly around him, as though letting go might shatter the fragile calm he’d managed to find.
Once Charles was certain Oscar was fast asleep, he carefully laid him down in the crib, tucking the blanket snugly around him. He lingered for a moment, his hand resting lightly on the baby’s chest, ensuring his breathing was steady. When he felt satisfied that Oscar was at peace, Charles slipped out of the room quietly, closing the door behind him.
He entered the living room to find Sophie sitting on the couch, her face pale and drawn but no longer sobbing. Lando was by her side, speaking softly, while Nico hovered nearby, a mug of tea in his hands. The tension in the room had eased somewhat, but the air still felt heavy.
Charles crossed the room and sat on the coffee table directly in front of Sophie, his movements slow and deliberate so as not to startle her. “How are you feeling?” he asked gently, his voice low but full of concern.
Sophie looked up at him, her eyes brimming with fresh tears. For a moment, she said nothing, and then, unable to hold back, she leaned forward and wrapped her arms around Charles, burying her face against his shoulder.
The tears came again, but this time softer, as Charles enveloped her in a protective hug. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back. “You’re safe. We’re here. He’s gone.”
Sophie sobbed quietly, her shoulders shaking as she let out the fear and grief that had overwhelmed her. Charles held her tightly, anchoring her to the moment, his own emotions threatening to spill over but staying in check for her sake.
---
After hours of calming Sophie and answering endless questions from the police, the house finally quieted. Lewis and Lando stayed by their side the whole time, guiding them on what to say and ensuring they presented a clear version of the events. Lewis’s calm authority was invaluable, his firm presence keeping things from spiraling further.
Eventually, the police took Jos away, and Sophie, exhausted and emotionally drained, allowed Charles to guide her to her room. Lando left with the police and Jos, agreeing to accompany the officers to the station to fill out the official report and explain the situation further. Nico, after a long night of tension, retreated to his room, muttering about needing to catch his breath.
But Charles couldn’t sleep. His mind raced with images of Jos’s outburst, Sophie’s sobs, and Oscar’s terrified cries. Every sound in the quiet house seemed amplified, feeding his restless energy.
Lewis noticed. "You should try to rest," he said softly, standing near the living room window, his arms crossed.
"I can’t," Charles admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced around the room—the shards of glass had been swept away, the furniture put back in place, but the memories of the chaos lingered.
Lewis sighed and moved to the couch, gesturing for Charles to sit. "Then I’ll stay with you until you can. No one should be alone after a night like this."
Charles hesitated but then sat beside him, The silence stretched between them, heavy but oddly comforting. Lewis leaned back, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. "You did well tonight," he finally said, breaking the quiet.
Charles shook his head. "It didn’t feel like it. I should have kept Jos out. I should’ve done more—"
"You did what you could," Lewis interrupted, his tone firm. "You protected your family. That’s what matters." He added his voice calm but serious. "But Charles, you need to file a restraining order against Jos."
Charles lifted his head, frowning slightly. "Me? Why? Jos has never approached us before, never caused trouble. Ever since I’ve known Max, he’s kept his distance."
Lewis glanced at him, his gaze steady like he was reading Charles’s thoughts. “Jos might have stayed away before, but now things have changed. He’s grieving, Charles. Grief can twist people, especially someone like Jos.”
Charles swallowed hard, his exhaustion battling with his need to process what Lewis was saying. “But—”
“Listen to me,” Lewis interrupted gently but firmly.“Jos is not a good man.abusive, Homophobic, racist... you name it. And now, he’s mourning Max. That pain, combined with his anger, makes him unpredictable and dangerous. He didn’t even know Max was gay, let alone married to you, tonight he learned that Max has a son and married to a man. Finding that out in the middle of grieving could have pushed him over the edge.”
Charles exhaled sharply, leaning back against the couch. He ran a hand through his hair. “I— I don’t even know where to start with that right now. I’m too tired to think about it.”
Lewis nodded sympathetically. “That’s fine. I will help you. We can’t be too careful, especially with Oscar in the picture. Jos might try to come back, and I don’t want him anywhere near you or Oscar.”
Charles nodded slowly, though his mind felt like it was running on fumes. The thought of Jos returning made his stomach churn. But he couldn’t focus on it tonight. His thoughts were fragmented, his heart aching for Max, knowing Max had to endure Jos abuse and outburst his whole childhood.
The silence stretched between them until Charles, desperate for distraction, blurted the first question that came to his mind. “Jos said something earlier… that you’d understand. That you’ve a child. I didn’t know you had a son.”
The moment the words left his mouth, Charles regretted them. He saw the way Lewis’s expression shifted, a flicker of deep sadness crossing his face. He lowered his gaze briefly, then met Charles’s eyes. “Had,” Lewis corrected quietly. “And it wasn’t a son. It was a daughter.”
Charles’s breath hitched, horrified by his own unintentional insensitivity. “Lewis… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Lewis waved a hand dismissively, though his voice carried the weight of the loss. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. But, yeah, I understand Jos in a way. Even though he wasn’t a good father to Max, he’s still a father. And losing a child…” He paused, his jaw tightening slightly before continuing. “It breaks something inside of you. We’re not designed to outlive our children. It’s unnatural. You never really recover from it.”
Charles stared at him, feeling a lump rise in his throat. He thought of Max, of how much Jos had failed him, and yet, in some twisted way, he still pitied the man. “I can’t imagine,” Charles murmured. “I lost my mother and now Max. But a child...”
Lewis nodded, his gaze softening slightly. “Losing a parent is a deep pain, no doubt. I’ve lost both of mine. But losing a child…” His voice cracked slightly, and he stopped to compose himself. “It’s different. It’s like losing a part of yourself that you’ll never get back.”
The room fell silent again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Charles felt a strange sense of connection to Lewis in that moment, even in the midst of his own exhaustion and fear. Lewis leaned back in his chair, his face etched with fatigue but resolute. “That’s why I don’t want Nico to go through it,” Lewis said finally, his voice firm. “I don’t want Nico to be hurt ever again, not like this. We’ll protect you, Charles. You and Oscar, but you have to do your part too.”
Charles hesitated for a moment, watching Lewis sit back, his posture guarded despite the openness of their conversation, Charles asked with a soft voice, “What was her name?”
Lewis’s expression softened, though pain flickered in his eyes. “Lisa,” he said quietly. “She was the cutest little girl ever. Born sick, though, with a congenital heart disease. I knew from the start she wouldn’t live long, but…” He took a deep breath, his voice steadying. “I’m grateful for the six years she gave me.”
Charles could hear the depth of love and grief in Lewis’s voice, the weight of loss that never truly faded. Lewis smiled faintly, though his eyes shone with unshed tears. “Oscar reminds me of her sometimes. She had the brightest smile. And she was so calm, always bringing this quiet comfort into my life. Then she was gone, and everything turned dark. Oblique. I’ve never been truly happy since.”
Charles’s heart ached for him. He wanted to offer comfort, but what could he say to ease that kind of pain? Before he could stop himself, he blurted, “She would have wanted you to be happy.”
Lewis’s faint smile faltered, and his tears finally spilled over. He wiped at them quickly, trying to compose himself. “Sometimes I don’t think I deserve to be happy without her,” he admitted, his voice breaking.
Charles shook his head, his own sadness mingling with a gentle understanding. “That’s not fair, Lewis. You should be happy. You’re a good person.”
Lewis looked at him, his gaze soft but filled with sorrow. “You know better than anyone how it feels to lose the love of your life.”
Charles’s breath hitched, the words cutting through him. Memories of Max, of the life they shared, surged forward like a wave. But he steadied himself. “It’s different,” he said finally, his voice low. “I lost a husband. You lost a child. But, Lewis… you can still find someone to settle down with. You’re not replacing Lisa. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to find love.”
Lewis’s smile was small but genuine this time, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m not made for love,” he said quietly, almost as if convincing himself. Then, in a quick shift, he stood, brushing the conversation aside. “You can go back to sleep now. I’ll stay here with you, on the couch.”
Charles shook his head, his exhaustion not enough to overpower his unease. “I don’t want to sleep,” he confessed.
Lewis stepped closer, his voice gentle but insistent. “Try,” he said softly. “I’ll be here. You’re not alone.”
Charles didn’t reply, but the weight in his chest lightened just a little. He leaned back, his head resting against the couch, and closed his eyes. The adrenaline was finally wearing off, exhaustion pulling at him.
Lewis stayed quiet, keeping watch over him. When Charles’s breathing evened out, signaling that he had finally drifted to sleep, Lewis allowed himself to relax, his own shoulders slumping as the tension of the night slowly ebbed away.
Notes:
my Beta's honorable mentions:
- Lestappen giving divorced parents energy while using their traumatized son to communicate in the maFIA Gala.
- The cameraman in the Gala.
- Charles judgement of character.
- Max failed attempt to cause a wedge between Charles and his future step-dad.
- This Max might be head over heals in love with Charles and his scars, but not more than Max irl (JK for legal purposes)
- Not all heros wear capes some of them promise to take your husband out just to save the day with his gun.
- Lewis green flags
- FYI : Pipza got hired as a French translator. Plot twist: the only French Pipza knows is "croissant" and "oui" LMFAO
Dishonorable mentions:
- the spilled hot chocolate and the broken vase.
- Jos, because no decent human being would ever come to someone's house uninvited.
- Pipza The dictator wants to control my right to express my opinion in the honorable mentions!! help!?!?
Chapter 7
Notes:
Another chapter is here! I was supposed to include more case details in this one, but honestly, my brain just isn’t cooperating right now. So instead, you’re getting a chapter full of Oscar's moments!
I’m really sorry if this chapter feels off—and by by off I mean this chapter is shitty. I’ve been super stressed with work, and it’s been hard to focus. Good news, though: if I get fired, I’ll have way more time for fanfic duty!
Let me know what you think in the comments, and don’t forget to leave kudos—it always makes my day!"
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max paced the living room, shifting Oscar gently in his arms. The baby let out a soft whimper, and Max sighed, pressing the phone closer to his ear.
"I don’t know, Charles," Max started, his voice edged with worry. "He doesn’t look good to me."
On the other end, Charles’s voice came through calm but slightly muffled, as if he were multitasking. "What’s going on? Did you check his temperature?"
"Yeah, it’s 38.1," Max replied, glancing at the thermometer on the coffee table. "But he’s been crying all day, and he feels warm. I think he might be sick."
Charles’s tone softened. "That’s not too high, Max. It’s a mild fever. Just keep him hydrated and monitor him for now."
Max frowned, adjusting Oscar in his arms as the baby fussed, his little fists clenching. "He’s so fussy, though. What if it’s something serious? Maybe I should take him to the doctor."
There was a pause, then Charles’s steady voice came back. "Max, if you take him to the hospital, they’re just going to tell you the same thing. I think he’s teething."
Max stopped pacing, looking down at Oscar’s flushed cheeks and the drool dribbling from his mouth. "Teething? So… he’s in pain?"
"Yeah," Charles said gently. "But it’s normal, Max. It happens to all babies. Try giving him something cold to chew on—it’ll help with the discomfort."
Oscar let out another soft cry, and Max’s heart twisted. "I hate seeing him like this," he admitted, his voice almost a whisper.
"I know," Charles replied, his tone full of understanding. "But it’s part of the process. You’re doing everything right, Max. He’s going to be okay."
Max sighed, sitting down on the couch and cradling Oscar closer. "I wish you were here," he muttered.
Charles hesitated, and Max could hear the faint guilt in his response. "I’m sorry, love. I can’t leave work right now, but I’ll come home as soon as I can. Just keep me updated, okay? Call me if anything changes."
Max nodded, even though Charles couldn’t see him. "Okay."
There was a brief pause before Charles added, "You’ve got this, Max. You’re doing great."
Max exhaled, brushing a hand over Oscar’s damp curls as the baby started to settle slightly. "I’ll try. I just want him to feel better."
"I know. He will," Charles assured him. "I’ve got to go now, but call me if you need anything. I love you."
"Love you too," Max replied softly before the line went dead.
He lowered the phone, watching Oscar’s tired eyes blink up at him. "Alright, Oscar," Max murmured. "Daddy says it’s normal and you will be alright in no time."
Max hung up the phone, placing it on the kitchen counter with a soft sigh. He wanted to believe Charles—he really did. But every time he glanced at Oscar with his sleepy eyes, flushed cheeks and whimpers tugged at Max’s heart.
Max cradled Oscar close. The baby let out a soft whine, squirming in his arms. Max rested his palm against Oscar’s forehead—still warm, but not alarmingly so. His lips pressed into a thin line as he kissed the top of Oscar’s head.
"You’re okay," he murmured. "Just teething, right?"
He carried Oscar to the sofa, his movements careful and deliberate. As he laid the baby down, Oscar’s whimpering intensified, tiny fists batting at the air. Max reached for the teething ring on the coffe table, gently placing it in Oscar’s hand.
"Here, chew on this for a bit," Max said, his voice soft and steady.
Oscar brought the ring to his mouth but quickly dropped it, whining louder. Max frowned and leaned closer, gently parting Oscar’s lips with his finger to get a better look at his gums. They were swollen and red, the telltale signs Charles had described.
"Poor guy," Max whispered, brushing his thumb lightly across Oscar’s cheek.
He kissed the top of Oscar’s head, smoothing a hand over his soft hair before noticing an unpleasant smell.
"Ah, really? Already?" Max sighed, his voice tinged with humor.
He carried Oscar to the changing table and laid him down gently. The baby squirmed, his little legs kicking as Max worked to undo his onesie. As he opened the diaper, Max noticed the loose stool.
"Okay, it’s fine Charles said it’s fine," Max said to himself, cleaning Oscar up carefully. He fastened a fresh diaper, dressed him in a clean onesie, and lifted him back into his arms. "Good as new."
Max carried him to the couch and settled down, holding the baby against his chest. He tried feeding him again, tilting the bottle gently toward Oscar’s lips, but the baby turned his head away, letting out a soft cry.
"Not hungry, huh?" Max said, his patience unwavering. He set the bottle on the coffee table and adjusted Oscar in his arms. "That’s okay. We’ll try again later."
Max tried to distract himself by tackling some chores. While frequently checking up on Oscar. He started in the kitchen, loading the dishwasher while keeping an eye on the baby from across the room.
Not even an hour later, Oscar let out a louder whimper, squirming in discomfort. Max abandoned the sink and hurried over. He picked up Oscar and immediately noticed the smell again.
"No way," Max muttered, his brows furrowing. He carried Oscar back to the changing table, and sure enough, there it was again—another bout of diarrhea.
This time, Max worked a little slower, his concern growing. He gently cleaned Oscar, making sure to soothe him as Oscar fussed.
When he moved to the living room, folding laundry on the couch, Max kept Oscar propped up beside him. The baby gnawed on his fist, occasionally letting out a soft whimper. Each time, Max would pause, rub Oscar’s back, and murmur soft reassurances.
By mid-morning, Max was vacuuming the floor, glancing over at Oscar every few seconds. The baby had dozed off briefly in his swing, but the moment Max stopped to check on him, Oscar’s eyes fluttered open, his face scrunching in discomfort.
Around midday, Max heard Oscar fussing again. He approached the playpen, lifting the baby into his arms. His stomach sank when he realized he’d need to change him a third time.
"Oscar," Max said softly, kissing his temple. "You’re really giving me a workout today, huh?"
At the changing table, Max took extra care. His hands moved gently as he cleaned Oscar up, noticing that the baby’s fussing grew louder each time. He made sure to apply extra cream to prevent irritation, whispering soothing reassurances as he worked.
He picked up the baby again, he bounced him gently. Oscar’s head rested against Max’s shoulder, his tiny hands gripping the fabric of Max’s shirt. Max sighed, He could feel the baby’s frustration radiating through his little body, and it mirrored his own growing anxiety.
He pulled out his phone, dialing Charles again. The line rang and rang, but there was no answer.
"Of course," Max muttered, slumping against the couch. Charles was likely on a call, unable to pick up.
Max decided to do his research, cradling Oscar against his chest, scrolling through his phone with one hand while the baby whined softly. The third diaper change had pushed his concern into overdrive, and he decided he needed more information. He typed "teething symptoms" into the search bar, scanning the results quickly.
One of the articles caught his eye: “Teething and Diarrhea: What Parents Need to Know.” He clicked on it, teething symptoms in babies."
The results were instant, and Max scanned the list: swollen gums, excessive drooling, irritability, mild fever, and, in some cases, diarrhea. He glanced over at Oscar, who was grinding his fist against his gums and drooling onto his onesie. It fit—Oscar could be teething.
Encouraged, Max clicked on another link: “How to soothe a teething baby.”
The page loaded with suggestions: cold teething rings, massaging the gums, or using over-the-counter teething gels sparingly. It all sounded manageable until he read: “Keep your baby hydrated, as teething discomfort might make them refuse to eat or drink.”
Max froze, his gaze darting to the half-finished bottle of milk on the counter. Oscar had been refusing his milk all morning, barely taking a few sips before pushing the bottle away with a weak whine.
"Alright, buddy, let's try again," Max murmured, setting his phone down.
He stood and headed to the kitchen, holding Oscar with one arm while he prepared a fresh bottle. He warmed it to the perfect temperature, tested a few drops on his wrist, and sat back down with Oscar.
"Come on, Oscar," Max coaxed, gently pressing the bottle’s nipple to the baby’s lips.
Oscar turned his head away, whining in protest. Max sighed, trying again with a little more patience, holding the bottle steady as he rubbed Oscar’s back. But Oscar refused to latch on, his tiny fists pushing at the bottle.
"Please, Oscar," Max whispered, his voice tinged with worry. "You need to drink something."
When Oscar refused again, Max pulled the bottle away, cradling the baby closer as he let out a soft cry. Max kissed the top of his head, stroking his back to soothe him.
"Okay," Max muttered, running a hand through his hair. He set the phone down and looked at Oscar, whose face was red and scrunched with discomfort.
"This isn’t normal," Max said aloud, more to himself than to Oscar. He adjusted the baby in his arms, feeling the heat radiating from his little body. "I don’t care what Google or your dad says, we’re getting this checked."
He grabbed the diaper bag, packing extra clothes, diapers, and the rejected bottle, just in case. Max slipped his phone into his pocket and grabbed his car keys, he buckled Oscar into his car seat, the baby whined, chewing furiously on his fist.
"We’re going to make sure you’re okay." Max said softly, his voice steady despite the growing worry in his chest. With that, he shut the car door and slid into the driver’s seat.
---
Max arrived at the pediatrician’s office, balancing the diaper bag on one shoulder and Oscar’s car seat in his hand. The baby was still fussing, his tiny face scrunched in discomfort, making Max’s heart ache.
Inside, the receptionist greeted him warmly and led him to the waiting room. It wasn’t long before Carlos appeared, and asked him with his usual calm demeanor to get in.
"Max," Carlos said, as he crouched to look at Oscar. "What’s going on with this little one today?"
Max shifted uncomfortably, lifting the car seat onto the examination table. "He’s been really fussy all day. He hasn’t eaten much, and I think he has diarrhea. I tried calling Charles, but he didn’t pick up, and I just… I wanted to be sure everything’s okay."
Carlos nodded, lifting Oscar carefully from the seat. He placed the baby on the table, his movements practiced and reassuring.
"Let’s take a look," Carlos said, running a hand gently over Oscar’s head. He started by checking the baby’s temperature, then his heart rate and breathing.
"He feels warm," Max said, watching anxiously.
"A slight fever, nothing alarming," Carlos replied. "That’s normal for teething. Has he been drooling more than usual?"
Max nodded. "A lot. He’s also chewing on his fist nonstop."
Carlos smiled softly, lifting Oscar’s chin to inspect his gums. "There’s some swelling here. It looks like his first teeth are starting to push through."
"So, he’s in pain?" Max asked, his voice tinged with worry.
"Some discomfort, yes," Carlos said, stepping back and gesturing for Max to sit. "That’s normal during teething. You’re doing the right thing bringing him in, though. Teething can sometimes cause mild diarrhea and loss of appetite, but I’ll ask a few questions to rule out anything else."
Max nodded, watching as Carlos jotted down notes on a tablet.
"Has Oscar had any rashes or vomiting?" Carlos asked, glancing at Max.
"No vomiting," Max replied, shaking his head. "But his diaper’s been messy three times already today. It’s not normal for him."
"That’s common with teething," Carlos assured. "What about his feeding—how much has he eaten today?"
Max sighed. "Barely anything. He takes a few sips, but then he pushes the bottle away and just cries."
"What about rubbing his ears? Has he been doing that more often?"
Max hesitated, suddenly unsure. "I don’t think so… but maybe? He’s been fussy all morning, so it’s hard to tell."
Carlos hummed thoughtfully, turning back to Oscar, who was now chewing on his tiny fist again. "It’s frustrating for them because the sucking motion can irritate their swollen gums. Have you tried offering him a chilled teething ring or massaging his gums?"
"I did," Max said nodding his head.
Carlos smiled. "That can help soothe him. I’ll also recommend a baby-safe gel for his gums. For now, keep an eye on his hydration. Offer smaller feeds more frequently, and if he refuses, try giving him some oral rehydration solution to keep him hydrated."
"Teething," Max repeated, shifting Oscar into a more comfortable position. "Don’t you think it’s a bit early?"
Carlos shook his head with a small smile. "It’s relatively normal for Oscar, and it means he’s healthy. It’s a milestone—frustrating, but good. But if the diarrhea persists or his fever gets higher, give me a call right away."
Carlos handed Oscar back to Max, who cradled the baby close, gently kissing the top of his head.
"Thanks, Carlos," Max said earnestly.
As Carlos finished jotting down the instructions and the name of the gel for Oscar, he glanced at Max with a warm smile.
"I just want to say," Carlos began, setting the pen down, "I’m really happy to see how much you’ve bonded with Oscar. It’s clear he’s comfortable with you, and honestly, it makes me happy to know he has someone like you in his corner."
Max blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. For a moment, he didn’t know how to respond, he tried to busy himself with buckling Oscar in the baby carrier. The words hung in the air, both reassuring and oddly heavy.
"Thanks," Max said finally, his voice quieter than he intended. He glanced at Oscar, still nestled in his baby carrier, gnawing on the edge of a soft teething toy Carlos had given him earlier. "I’m just... trying to do my best."
Carlos nodded, his tone warm but firm. "And it shows. Believe me, Max, a lot of parents struggle, especially those who didn’t initially want kids. Building that bond doesn’t come easily for everyone, but you’ve done it. Oscar’s lucky to have you."
The words hit Max harder than he expected. He’d been spiraling with doubts all morning, questioning if he was doing enough, if he was enough. Hearing Carlos say this felt like a small lifeline, something solid to hold onto.
Still, part of him couldn’t shake the discomfort. Carlos’s knowledge of his initial reluctance to have kids—of the deeply personal conversations he and Charles had shared—left him feeling exposed.
Max hesitated before asking, his tone guarded, "Did Charles tell you about that?"
Carlos’s expression shifted, guilt flashing across his face. "He mentioned it when he talked about why he can’t adopt Oscar."
Max frowned, annoyance creeping in despite Carlos’s kind tone. "I see."
Carlos raised his hands slightly, a gesture of peace. "Look, I’m not trying to overstep. I just want to reassure you. From what I’ve seen, you’re doing a great job. Oscar’s healthy, happy, and clearly trusts you. That says a lot."
Max nodded, his jaw tight as he processed the words. "Thanks," he said again, this time with a touch more conviction.
Carlos stood, handing Max the written instructions and the prescription for the gel. "If anything changes or you’re still worried, don’t hesitate to call or come back. But for now, I think Oscar’s in good hands."
As they said their goodbyes and Max left the office with Oscar, Carlos’s words lingered. He looked down at the baby, now starting to doze off in his car seat, and felt a mix of emotions swirling within him—relief, doubt, discomfort and a hint of something like pride.
Maybe Carlos was right. Maybe he was doing okay. And for now, that had to be enough.
Max let out a shaky sigh, his gaze drifting upward to the hospital’s entrance.
To the side of the main doors was a brightly lit gift shop, its window displays brimming with stuffed animals, balloons, and tiny trinkets meant to cheer up patients and visitors. Max’s eyes lingered on the cheerful display before shifting back to Oscar.
He looked so small, so fragile. Max’s chest tightened as Carlos’s words echoed in his mind.
“From what I’m seeing, you’ve been a really good father to Oscar and seem to genuinely love him.”
Max had nodded then, automatically, because that’s what he was supposed to say. Of course he loved Oscar. He had worried about him all morning, panicked at the thought of something being wrong. That had to mean he cared, didn’t it?
But Carlos’s statement had opened a floodgate of doubts. Did Max love Oscar the way Charles did? That overwhelming, unconditional love that left no room for hesitation or second-guessing? No. He didn’t think so.
And that terrified him.
"I don’t regret you," Max whispered under his breath, his voice barely audible. "I just... I wish I was better for you."
The admission felt raw, almost painful. He hated himself for even thinking it, for feeling like he wasn’t enough. What kind of father had these thoughts? What kind of father questioned whether he loved his child the way he was supposed to?
A quiet, nagging voice that Max had been trying to ignore. Was he really bonded with Oscar, or was it just... commitment?
He felt responsible for the baby, sure. He had stepped up when Charles asked him to, and he’d done everything he could to make sure Oscar was cared for. But was that love? Or was it just obligation?
Max’s steps slowed as he exited the hospital, sunlight streaming onto the pavement. His grip on the car seat tightened, a flicker of guilt creeping in as he makes his way towards the car. "No father should ever think this way about their child," he thought bitterly. What kind of person hoped their own son had come into their life at a different time?
It wasn’t that he regretted Oscar—not entirely. He couldn’t imagine not having the baby in their home now. But part of him couldn’t help but wish things were different. If only Oscar had come after he’d solved his father’s case, after the weight of his past had been lifted. Maybe then, Max could’ve given him his full attention, his full heart, without all the lingering doubts and distractions.
“Fuck,” Max muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair. His stomach twisted as the thought struck him: what if Oscar felt it? What if, deep down, he already knew? Kids were perceptive, weren’t they? They picked up on things adults thought they could hide.
What if Oscar grew up and realized Max had never wanted him? What if that truth shaped him, hurt him?
Max clenched his jaw, gripping the steering wheel. No. He wouldn’t let that happen. He would make sure Oscar never knew. He’d talk to Charles, tell him they could never, ever let Oscar find out. It wasn’t about lying; it was about protecting him.
---
Max heard the door click open and glanced over his shoulder from where he stood in the nursery. Charles was home. He’d been waiting for this moment, eager to show him the surprise. His gaze shifted back to the train set circling the crib, the tiny engine puffing along the tracks with a quiet hum. It was perfect. Oscar had been too sleepy to notice, but surely Charles would love it.
A few moments later, Charles stepped into the room—and stopped dead in his tracks.
Max turned to him, a proud smile on his face. “You’re home! Do you like it?” He gestured around the room at the newly installed train set.
Charles blinked, his mouth opening and closing as if searching for words. Finally, he managed, “Max… what is this?”
The hesitation in Charles’s tone made Max’s stomach twist. This wasn’t quite the reaction he’d imagined.
“It’s a train,” Max said, trying to keep his tone light.
“Yes, I can see that,” Charles replied, his arms crossing over his chest. “But why is it here? And why is it circling Oscar’s crib?”
Max frowned slightly, the excitement he’d felt moments ago starting to fade. “He was sick today,” he explained, “so I thought this might cheer him up. And look—it’s nice, isn’t it?”
Charles’s face softened briefly, but he still looked unsure. “Max, it’s… a lot. Don’t you think this is a bit over the top for a baby who can’t even sit up yet?”
Over the top? Max’s jaw tightened. He hadn’t expected this. He’d spent all day worrying about Oscar, second-guessing himself, and trying to make things better. And now Charles was acting like he’d done something wrong.
“It’s not over the top,” Max said, his voice firmer now. “It’s thoughtful. He was miserable all day, and I wanted to do something nice for him.”
Charles stepped closer, his tone gentler but still frustratingly practical. “I get that, Max, but this is expensive, isn’t it? We can’t just buy things like this for no reason.”
No reason? Max felt a flicker of irritation. “It’s not ‘for no reason.’ He was sick. He’s been miserable, and I wanted to make him happy.”
Charles sighed, his shoulders softening. “Max, he’s a baby. He doesn’t need flashy things to feel loved. He needs us—our care, our time. Not trains.”
The words stung, even though Max knew Charles wasn’t trying to hurt him. He glanced at the train set, suddenly unsure. “You make it sound like I’m buying his love. That’s not what this is.”
"It’s not a big deal," Charles finished with a small smile, brushing the topic away like it didn’t matter. "I know you didn’t mean it that way, Max. And really, all Oscar needs is happy, loving parents."
Max’s smile faltered, a flicker of unease spreading through him. Happy, loving parents. That’s what Oscar deserved, wasn’t it? But Max wasn’t sure if he fit the mold.
Charles reached out, resting a hand on Max’s arm. His voice was softer now. “I know that’s not what you’re trying to do. But we have to think about what’s best for him—and for us. We can’t spoil him with things he doesn’t even understand yet.”
“I just… I wanted to make today better.” Max admitted quietly.
"When I was a kid," Charles began, his gaze fixed on the train set Max had so proudly assembled, "my dad used to buy me things all the time. Big, expensive things. He thought that’s what I needed, but all I really wanted was him."
Max’s throat tightened as he watched Charles’s expression shift, his eyes clouded with memories that clearly weren’t easy to revisit.
"But he was always working," Charles continued, his voice soft but steady. "And to me, every gift was just proof that he couldn’t—or wouldn’t—choose me. That he thought he could pay his way out of being a father. And as a child... well, it felt like confirmation that he didn’t love me."
Max’s chest ached at the vulnerability in Charles’s tone.
"I know now," Charles added, a faint smile tugging at his lips, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes, "that it wasn’t true. He loved me. He just didn’t know how to show it. And he made up for it later—he really did—but when I was young, it hurt. It made me feel... replaceable. Like I wasn’t worth his time, only his money."
Max looked away, guilt creeping up his spine. He hadn’t meant to, but hearing Charles’s story made him feel like he’d unwittingly done the same to Oscar. He thought of the train set, now feeling less like a thoughtful gesture and more like a desperate attempt to cover up his own uncertainty.
Charles turned to him then, his expression softening. "I’m not saying you’re like that, Max," he said gently. "I know you didn’t mean it that way.”
Max forced a nod, but his heart was heavy. Charles’s words struck too close to home
Max wet his lips, his heart sinking as he stared at Charles. The words were right there, bubbling up, but they felt too heavy to speak aloud.
"Hey, Charles," Max began hesitantly, his voice quieter now. "Do you ever feel..."
He trailed off, searching for the right way to phrase it. But when Charles looked at him, his face open and kind, Max faltered. How could he say it? How could he admit he wasn’t sure, that his feelings for Oscar were complicated and confusing, and he didn’t feel the same effortless love Charles clearly did?
It wasn’t a competition, but it sure as hell felt like one sometimes. And Max was losing.
Charles wouldn’t judge him, Max knew that. But the thought of Charles knowing—of him seeing the cracks Max tried so hard to hide—was unbearable.
Max forced a small, shaky smile, brushing the thought away like it was nothing. "Nothing," he said finally, his voice tight. "I was just... I was scared today, that’s all."
Charles softened immediately, stepping closer and placing a hand on Max’s arm. "It’s okay to be scared, Max. You did great with him. Really."
Max nodded reluctantly, glancing back at the train set. He still thought it was a good idea, even if Charles didn’t. “Fine. But it’s staying for now. At least until he can play with it.”
---
Max sat across from Charles at the dining table, his fork idly pushing food around his plate while Oscar, nestled in his highchair between them, happily gnawed on the milk Popsicle Max had made earlier. It wasn’t fully frozen—just enough to stay firm but soft enough to soothe Oscar’s gums.
Charles glanced at Oscar with a small smile, his eyes warm as he watched the baby contentedly suck and chew on the Popsicle, looking at Max. "That is very smart."
Max shrugged, trying to hide the flicker of pride that passed through him. "Google suggested it," he admitted. "It said it might help with the teething. Oscar seemed struggling all day long, and I... I just wanted to try something."
Charles’s smile softened. "Well, it’s working. Look at him." He gestured to Oscar, who was making quiet, satisfied noises, completely absorbed in his treat.
Max exhaled sharply through his nose, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. “I took Oscar to the doctor today,” he said finally, his voice flat but his eyes flicking toward the highchair where the baby sat.
Charles immediately straightened, concern flashing across his face. “What? Why? Is he okay?”
Max nodded, though his expression didn’t ease. “He had diarrhea, wouldn’t eat anything, and just seemed... off. I didn’t know what else to do, so I went to Carlos for an assessment.”
Charles’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief, but his brow remained furrowed. “What did Carlos say?”
“It’s teething,” Max said, his tone clipped. “Carlos said it’s normal. The diarrhea, the lack of appetite, all of it. He even said Oscar’s fine. But...” Max trailed off, shaking his head as if brushing away his own thoughts. “It was a long day.”
Charles’s face softened, guilt creeping into his expression. “Max, I’m sorry. I should’ve been here. I got caught up at work, but I should’ve called or checked in—”
Max waved him off, his tone a little too casual. “it is fine, Charles. Really. I handled it. Carlos said the same thing. It’s just teething.”
Charles leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he searched Max’s face. “Yeah, but it’s your first time dealing with something like this. And even if Carlos says it’s normal, it’s not normal for you. I know if I didn’t have my studies, I’d probably have freaked out. You did well by taking him to Carlos for a checkup.”
Max leaned back slightly, watching as Charles groaned miserably, rubbing at his temple. “But he still hasn’t eaten much,” Max said, his tone low but resolute. “We need to pay attention to his feeding. I’ll keep trying, but he’ll need more than just the popsicle.”
Charles nodded, his face softening as he reached out to gently pinch Oscar’s cheek. “I wish I could skip work and stay with him,” he said, his voice heavy with guilt.
Oscar, undeterred, turned his head away from Charles’s touch, fully focused on the small Popsicle in his hands. His mouth opened and closed around it in tiny bites, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he clumsily maneuvered the stick. His determination was almost comical—such a serious expression on such a small face.
“Look at him,” Charles murmured, leaning closer to Oscar. “He’s so focused. It’s like the whole world doesn’t exist except for that popsicle.”
Max nodded, his gaze lingering on Oscar’s tiny hands. “Yeah,” he said softly. “it makes him feel better.”
Max glanced at Charles, who was watching Oscar with a fond, tired smile. For a second, Max wanted to tell him everything—the doubts, the guilt, the fear. But then he pushed the thought aside, swallowing hard.
Oscar’s popsicle hit the floor with a faint plop. Both Max and Charles froze, their eyes darting to the baby. Oscar blinked at the fallen treat, then up at them, his lower lip wobbling.
At first, there was silence, and then his face crumpled. A loud wail erupted, his tiny fists clenched, and his legs kicked in frustration.
Charles quickly bent down, picking up the popsicle. “Oh no, Oscar,” he said, his voice stern. “It’s dirty. We can’t give it back to you.” He held it up, inspecting it hopelessly. “How about we make you something else instead?”
Oscar didn’t care. His cries only grew louder, red-faced and inconsolable. His small hands flew to his cheeks as if to protest the unfairness of the world, his sobs echoing in the room.
Max’s chest tightened. He hated seeing Oscar this upset, especially when the baby had already had a rough day. His head throbbed from the crying, but the ache in his heart was worse. Why couldn’t he just fix this?
Then, his phone buzzed on the counter. Max glanced at the screen: Daniel. The phone vibrated again, the sound cutting through Oscar’s cries.
Charles glanced up from where he was bouncing Oscar on his knee, his face tense but understanding. “It could be important, Max. Just answer it. I’ve got him.”
Max hesitated, guilt knotting in his stomach as Oscar’s sobs continued. But Charles nodded again, his expression reassuring. With a sigh, Max grabbed the phone and stepped a few feets away, trying to block out the crying.
“Daniel, this isn’t a good time—”
Daniel’s voice came through, sharp and urgent. “I found him. I finally found him.”
Max frowned, his heart skipping a beat. “What are you talking about?” he asked, glancing back at Charles, who was now trying to distract Oscar with a rattle toy.
“The person who sent you the USB,” Daniel said quickly. “I think I found him.”
Max’s breath caught. He ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. “How do you know?”
Daniel’s voice was firm but cautious. “I don’t have all the details yet, but it matches too much to ignore. I need you to see this.”
Max turned back toward Charles and Oscar. Charles was cradling the baby now, whispering softly to him, and though Oscar was still sniffling, his cries were quieter.
“This really isn’t a good time,” Max muttered into the phone.
“Max,” Daniel interrupted, his tone softer now. “I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t serious.”
Max exhaled heavily, his jaw tightening. “Send me the details,” he said finally.
---
Charles tightened Oscar's blanket around him as the baby fussed slightly, shifting in his arms. Oscar was bundled in a cozy, navy-blue snowsuit with a plush, fleece-lined hood that framed his rosy cheeks. Tiny knitted mittens were snug on his hands, and matching booties covered his feet, the outfit complete with a soft woolen scarf wrapped loosely around his neck.
As Charles locked the front door, he glanced up and froze. Someone was sitting outside, their silhouette hunched against the wall. Squinting, he realized it was Lando, his face dimly illuminated by the glow of his phone.
“Lando?” Charles called out, his voice both surprised and concerned.
Lando’s head snapped up at the sound, and he scrambled awkwardly to his feet. His jeans were damp from sitting on the cold ground, and he brushed them off hastily before shoving his phone into his jacket pocket. His movements were quick, but his shoulders were stiff, betraying how long he’d been out in the winter chill.
“What are you doing here?” Charles asked, shifting Oscar in his arms.
Lando glanced at the baby briefly, then back at Charles, his breath puffing visibly in the cold. “I came to check on you,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I was worried about you and Sophie after what happened the other day with Jos
Charles frowned. “And why didn’t you knock?”
Lando hesitated, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I was going to,” he admitted, his gaze faltering.
Charles’s eyes narrowed as he took in Lando’s appearance: red, wind-chapped cheeks, a faint shiver in his posture, and damp streaks on his jeans. “You should have knocked. It’s freezing out here.”
Lando shrugged, trying for a casual smile that didn’t quite land. “It’s fine. I didn’t want to bother you, and I should’ve called first anyway.”
Charles sighed, adjusting Oscar’s position and pulling the baby closer for warmth. “It’s not fine. You’ve been sitting out here for God knows how long. Next time, don’t do this. Just knock, alright?”
Lando nodded, looking a little sheepish as he shoved his hands deeper into his coat pockets. “Yeah, okay. You’re right.” He glanced at the bundled baby again and added, “Looks like you’re heading out.”
"You looked busy. I didn’t want to bother you."
Charles hesitated, then nodded. "I’m going to visit Max." His voice dropped slightly, the words heavier than he expected. "I wanted to take Oscar to see him for Christmas." Life without Max had been a constant, gnawing ache for Charles, a void he hadn’t learned how to navigate his life without Max. It’s been like living in a haze where every breath was heavy and every step felt wrong. He kept expecting Max to walk through the door, to make a snarky comment, or to cradle Oscar in his arms.
Each morning, Charles woke up reaching for a warmth that wasn’t there. The emptiness on Max’s side of the bed felt colder than the winter air outside. Nights were the worst—Oscar would cry, and Charles would stumble out of bed, exhausted, wishing Max were there to help soothe him. But Max wasn’t there, and the silence that followed Oscar’s cries was a cruel reminder of that fact.
Charles had tried to stay strong, for Oscar’s sake. He forced himself to keep their routine, feeding, bathing, and cradling his son with trembling hands. But it was in the quiet moments—when Oscar’s tiny fingers clutched at his shirt, or when he managed a small giggle despite everything—that Charles felt the heaviest pangs of grief. Max should have been there to share these moments, to witness their son growing, to be a family.
His days blurred into one another. Taking care of his son had become a distraction, but even there, Max’s absence loomed. Charles would catch himself typing out messages to Max, only to delete them when he remembered there would be no reply. He’d send pictures of Oscar or little updates about their day, like Max was still just a call away. But every time his phone stayed silent, the reality hit harder.
And then there was Christmas. The first one without Max. Charles had wanted to make it special for Oscar, even if he was too young to remember. But how do you create joy when your heart feels like it’s been ripped apart?
The hardest part wasn’t the loneliness or the exhaustion—it was the moments when the loss felt permanent. When Charles realized this wasn’t just a bad dream he’d wake up from. Max wasn’t coming back. He wasn’t going to be there to celebrate Oscar’s milestones, to argue over what color to paint the nursery, or to laugh at how Oscar’s entire face scrunched up when he tried a new food.
Charles missed Max’s presence, his steadiness, even his stubbornness. He missed the way Max would tease him, the way he’d hum under his breath when he thought no one was listening, the way he’d look at Oscar with quiet awe. Without Max, Charles felt like he was treading water, struggling to keep afloat while carrying the weight of their grief and trying to shield Oscar from it.
It wasn’t just the absence of Max—it was the absence of their future together. And that was the hardest thing to accept.
Lando’s expression shifted, his eyes softening. "That’s… that’s nice." He smiled faintly, but it didn’t reach his eyes.
Charles hesitated again, unsure of what to say. Their relationship had never been close, but grief had a way of breaking down walls. After a moment, he said, "Do you want to come with us?"
Lando blinked, surprised. "I don’t want to intrude."
"You won’t be," Charles insisted, offering a small smile. "Come on, Oscar wouldn’t mind the company."
As if on cue, Oscar let out a soft coo, his little mittened hand batting at the air. Lando’s lips twitched into a genuine smile.
"Alright," Lando said quietly. "If you’re sure."
Charles nodded. "We can take your car if that’s easier."
Lando gave a quick nod and gestured toward the street. "It’s parked just around the corner."
Lando carefully secured Oscar’s car seat in the back of his car, checking twice to make sure it was in place. “All set,” he said, stepping back to let Charles settle Oscar in.
Once Oscar was safely strapped in, Charles got into the passenger seat without a word. He stared out the window as Lando started the engine, the hum of the car filling the silence.
Charles was happy to see Max—or at least he should have been—but the weight in his chest told a different story. This wasn’t the reunion he’d imagined. He wanted to see Max, needed to, but there was no comfort in this visit—only pain. All he’d have was silence and the stark reminder that Max was gone, lying in the cold earth while the world above moved on without him.
The thought twisted like a knife in his gut. Max, who had been so full of life, now left to the quiet of the grave. And Charles—still breathing, still living—would have to leave him behind.
Tears welled in his eyes, unbidden, and he blinked furiously, willing them away. He couldn’t let himself break, not now. Not in front of Lando. Stealing a glance at Oscar in the rearview mirror. The baby was babbling away, tiny hands waving in the air. The sight softened something inside him, blissfully unaware of the grief that hung heavy in the air.
Lando broke the silence. “How’s Sophie doing?” His voice was cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he should ask.
Charles hesitated, his fingers tightening around his jacket. “Not great,” he admitted quietly. “She keeps blaming herself. It’s... hard for her.” He paused. “She’s not sleeping unless she’s medicated.”
Lando’s grip on the wheel tightened briefly before he sighed. “I’m sorry, mate. That sounds awful.”
Charles nodded, his gaze drifting back to the window.
“What about you?” Lando asked after a beat. “How are you and Oscar holding up?”
Charles shrugged, his expression unreadable. “We’re fine,” he said, the words almost too quick.
Lando glanced at him, unconvinced. “Fine?” he repeated, his tone skeptical.
Charles forced a small smile. “Yeah. Fine.” He hesitated before adding, “It’s just... you know, family stuff. Normal Christmas drama.”
Lando frowned but didn’t push. “Has he tried to call you again?”
Charles shook his head. “No. Not since last time.”
Lando was quiet for a moment, then said firmly, “If he does, you’ll tell me, right?”
Charles didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked back at Oscar, who had moved on to chewing on his own fist. Finally, he nodded. “Yeah. I’ll tell you.”
“Imagine what Max would say, seeing us together willingly,” he said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement.
Lando didn’t even glance at him, keeping his eyes on the road. “He wouldn’t say anything,” Lando replied in a dry tone. “We’ve been around each other before. We even lived together at some point.”
Charles let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Yes, because we had to. And don’t act like you didn’t hate my guts back then.”
Lando’s grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his jaw clenching. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t hate you for you to believe me?” he shot back, annoyance creeping into his tone.
Charles turned to him, genuinely surprised. “Why would you deny it? Everyone knew. Come on, stop pretending. I understand you’re treating me differently now because of…” He waved his hand, unable to say the words, as if speaking them would make the pain more real. “…everything. But you absolutely couldn’t stand me. You accused me of being a serial killer, Lando. You told me I didn’t deserve Max.”
Lando’s nostrils flared as he exhaled sharply. “I was doing my job,” he said defensively. “You fit the profile at the time. And for the record, I’m glad it wasn’t you. But yeah, you were a pain in my ass. I was trying to protect you, Charles, and you never followed my rules. You thought you were above them. And for the record, I’m not treating you differently now—I’m being civil. You’re Max’s husband, and you’re the father of his child. That makes it my responsibility to take care of you.”
Charles felt anger bubbling up, hot and unrelenting. “That’s not true,” he snapped, his voice rising. “You were rude, mean, and you absolutely hated me. It was you who made my life a living hell, Lando. You locked me in, treated me like a prisoner. And let me make one thing clear—I don’t need you to take care of me. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself and my son.”
Lando finally looked at him, his face set in frustration. “You never change, do you?” His voice was sharp, almost cutting. “You’re not the only person who lost Max. I lost him too. I loved him more than you could ever imagine, Charles. And all I have of him now is Oscar.” He paused, his voice softening but no less firm. “This isn’t about whether you can take care of yourself. It’s about me wanting to be part of Oscar’s life. And don’t even try to lie, because you absolutely need the help.”
The tension in the car was thick, and Charles, arms crossed tightly, looked at Lando, his voice dripping with frustration. “I don’t need help, Lando, and you just don’t understand how much I hate when you gaslight me into believing it was my fault. That you weren’t an asshole. I would have literally preferred to run straight into a serial killer’s arms just to get away from you.” His words were sharp, cutting through the silence as he stared ahead, stubbornly locking his gaze forward.
Lando let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair before his eyes flickered to Charles, his expression hardening. “I really don’t hate you. But I might start now if you keep being a brat. At the time we were all struggling but somehow you were the victim alone in that scenario? Quit acting like this, Charles. I don’t have the patience for it. You wanted the old Lando back? Well, here he is.” His words were biting, but there was something almost resigned in his tone.
Charles tilted his head, not backing down. “So, you admit it. You do treat me differently now.”
Lando’s eyes narrowed in annoyance. “Do you have to be right all the time?”
Charles’ lips twitched, his voice dropping into something more vulnerable. “Not always, but I am right about this. And it’s okay. I don’t expect you to see it. What really hurt at the time… wasn’t what you did or said. It was the fact that Max believed you over me.” He paused, the weight of his next words hitting him. “I knew you hated me, but Max is… was my husband.” His voice faltered at the last part, almost breaking. “He was supposed to always be on my team.”
The car fell silent after that, the weight of their words hanging heavily in the air. Charles turned to look out the window, his jaw tight and his hands clenched into fists. Lando kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. Neither of them spoke, the only sound coming from Oscar’s quiet babbling in the backseat. Lando’s next words were quieter, tinged with a kindness that had been absent earlier “Your relationship was terrible at the time. I thought you were making him miserable. I though he deserved better, and then Dominic attacked you, and I thought you were cheating on him. But even when I told Max, he never believed me. He loved you.”
Charles stared at him, wide-eyed, his face frozen in disbelief. “You told my husband I was cheating on him? What the fuck is wrong with you? I would never!” His voice cracked, as the anger surged, and he felt the blood rush to his face.
Lando’s expression softened, a mix of regret and guilt. “You didn’t know? I’m sorry, but… it’s all water under the bridge now.”
Charles glared at him, unsure whether he could fully let this one go. Charles also promised himself he will interrogate Lando about this later, only to know what Max did at the time, still wrestling with the betrayal in his heart. But Lando continued, his voice quieter now. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m sorry. I was out of line. But you made Max happy. I don’t hate you, Charles. You’re actually a pretty nice and polite guy as long as I’m not playing Charade or Pictionary with you, because then you turn into a freak.” Lando’s tone was teasing, but there was sincerity in it.
Charles couldn’t help but laugh out loud, the tension easing just slightly. “I was the reason we won.” His voice was light, despite the seriousness of the conversation.
Lando rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips curled into a small smile. “I don’t think we won. I pretty sure Max won that day.”
Charles shook his head, his smile unwavering. “No, we won. I’ll remember that moment for the rest of my life.”
Lando chuckled softly. “Oh yeah, yeah. Now I remember. We did win. Thanks to you. whatever makes you sleep at night.”
The atmosphere between them lightened as they shared a laugh, a brief but much-needed moment of camaraderie. Charles took a deep breath, feeling like some of the weight had lifted. “Thank you, Lando. For everything. You were right—I do need help sometimes, and I don’t hate you. I never did.”
Lando gave him a half-smile, the walls between them now slightly lower than before. “Good to know.”
---
Charles carried Oscar in his arms as he made his way to Max’s grave. The bag over his shoulder felt heavier than it should have, the weight of its contents and the meaning behind them pulling at him. When they reached the gravestone, Charles hesitated, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced back briefly, seeing Lando waiting by the car, giving him space.
Charles knelt by Max’s grave, his movements slow and deliberate. The flowers Charles had brought e few days still looked fresh, their scent faint in the cool air. Charles shifted Oscar in his hip and began unpacking. Oscar squirmed slightly in his arms, his little fingers reaching out to grab at Charles’s jacket. The quiet around them was deafening, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Charles began unpacking. The first frame he placed was their wedding photo—a perfect day captured in one still moment. Max’s grin, Sophie’s laughter, and Nico’s proud smile surrounded them. Charles traced the edge of the frame with his thumb before placing it gently by the headstone. Next, he pulled out a recent photo of Oscar, standing for the first time. Lewis had snapped it just two days ago, and Charles had printed it as soon as he could. It had been such a happy moment, even Sophie had smiled, though her face was still haunted by grief , and a simple one of Max smiling that he had taken on a random sunny afternoon. His hands lingered on the edge of the last frame before he looked up at the gravestone.
He settled onto the ground, Oscar perched on his lap, the baby playing absently with Charles’s jacket zipper. For a moment, he couldn’t speak, his throat tight and dry. Finally, he found his voice, low and shaky.
“Hi, Max,” he said softly, his voice barely audible. He cleared his throat and tried again, louder this time. “Hi. It’s me. I brought Oscar today. He’s been doing really well… well, better than me.” He chuckled humorlessly.”
His gaze dropped to the ground, and he exhaled shakily. “I—I keep forgetting,” he murmured. “Forgetting that you’re... gone. I keep thinking you’ll talk back, that I’ll hear your voice again.” His lips quivered, but he pushed on.
“We’ve missed you,” he said, his voice cracking slightly. “Oscar and I. It’s not the same without you. I moved in with my dad. I couldn’t stay in our place, Max. It’s too quiet there, too empty. I tried, but... I couldn’t. It’s not home. It doesn’t feel like home without you.”
Oscar babbled something unintelligible beside him, and Charles glanced at him, a small smile breaking through his tears. “See? He’s talking to you,” he said, looking back at the gravestone. “You always said he’d be a talker.”
He waited again, as if Max might respond this time. The silence stretched on, and Charles’s shoulders slumped.
Charles sat cross-legged in front of Max’s grave, Oscar tugged at the zipper of his coat, babbling, but Charles barely noticed. His eyes were fixed on the gravestone, the words etched into it like a cruel reminder.
“I… I wanted to tell you about our days,” Charles continued, forcing his voice to remain steady. “We spent the morning with my dad. He’s been trying to help, but you know how he is. He keeps saying I need to take care of myself, but I’m not sure I even know how to anymore.”
Oscar squirmed in his lap, and Charles shifted to make him more comfortable. “And Oscar—he’s growing so fast, Max. You wouldn’t believe it. He’s standing now, you know? Just two days ago, he managed to pull himself up on the coffee table.”
His smile faltered, and he looked down at his hands, gripping the fabric of his coat tightly. “Sophie is struggling too,” he admitted. “Blaming herself for everything. I keep telling her it’s not her fault, but she doesn’t listen. No one listens, not even me, apparently.”
He paused, staring at the ground as if the dirt might give him the answers he so desperately needed. “I don’t know, Max. I’m trying. I really am. But it’s so hard without you. Every day feels… empty.”
Oscar babbled again, his tiny fingers grabbing at Charles’s sleeve. Charles smiled through his tears, lifting Oscar slightly. “Look at him, Max. He’s so beautiful, so young and innocent.”
Charles stayed by the grave longer than he should have, the chill in the air biting through his coat, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave.
He kept talking to Max, his voice cracking with every word. He asked how Max was doing, told him about their plans for the New Year, and how much he missed him over and over again.
“I know,” he murmured, his breath clouding in the air. “I know you can’t answer. It’s just… I just want to talk to you.”
Oscar’s soft whimper pulled Charles back to reality. He looked down to find his son squirming in his lap, cheeks flushed from the cold. Charles wiped his face with trembling fingers, trying to hide the tears that had frozen on his skin.
“It’s too cold for you, isn’t it?” he whispered to Oscar, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, I’ll take you home soon.”
He turned back to the grave, the weight in his chest growing heavier. “I have to go now, Max. I don’t want to, but… I’ll come back. I promise. I’ll always come back.”
He adjusted Oscar on his hip, brushing off the snow off his jeans as he stood. “Say goodbye to Daddy, Oscar,” he said softly.
Oscar waved his tiny hand, babbling a series of sounds that made no sense, but Charles felt the warmth of them all the same. He bent down to gather the bag he’d brought, glancing at the photos he’d placed earlier, still neatly arranged on the grave.
With one last look, Charles turned and made his way back to the car. Lando was waiting, leaning against the side, his arms crossed. He didn’t say anything, just opened the back door for Charles and helped him secure Oscar in the car seat.
Lando secured Oscar’s car seat with a quick tug to ensure it was properly fastened before stepping back, glancing at Charles, who was rifling through the diaper bag in the backseat.
“Alright, everything’s good here,” Lando said, closing the door halfway.
Charles paused and looked up, his fingers brushing against a bottle of milk. “Lando,” he said softly, “you should go see Max.”
Lando froze, his hand lingering on the door. “Why?” he asked cautiously, his voice uncertain.
“Because he’d want to see you,” Charles said simply, his gaze steady. “You’ve been sitting here waiting. It’s your turn now.”
Lando hesitated, his eyes flickering to Oscar, who was babbling quietly to himself, then back to Charles. “Are you sure?”
Charles nodded, a small, encouraging smile forming on his lips. “We’ll be fine. I’ll give Oscar his milk, and he’ll probably fall asleep. The car’s warm. We’re not going anywhere.”
Lando hesitated, clearly torn. “Okay, but before I go,” he started, leaning against the car door, “I was thinking maybe we should all go out to eat tonight. You, me, Sophie—everyone. It could be good for her.”
Charles tilted his head, considering the suggestion. “We’re supposed to go to George’s tonight,” he said. “He’s hosting a New Year’s celebration for Oscar since we missed Christmas. He thought it’d be a good way to make up for it.”
Lando scratched the back of his neck, a faint grin tugging at his lips. “Of course George would do something like that.”
“You should come. Bring Daniel, too. Sophie would appreciate it, and honestly, so would I.” Charles said, his tone firm but kind.
Lando’s expression shifted, a mix of surprise and reluctance. “Are you sure about that?”
Charles smiled faintly, his voice soft but unwavering. “Yes. I’m sure. You wanted to help, this is how you can help.”
Lando exhaled, shaking his head with a small chuckle. “Alright. But only because you’re guilt-tripping me.”
“Good,” Charles said, his smile widening. Then, gently but insistently, he nodded toward the cemetery. “Now go. Max is waiting for you.”
Lando glanced at Charles one more time before stepping back. “I’ll be quick,” he promised, his voice quiet.
Charles watched as Lando turned and walked away, his figure growing smaller as he neared the gravestone. Turning back to Oscar, Charles adjusted the blanket draped over him and murmured softly, “Your daddy would be happy to see him, too.”
Notes:
Honorable mentions
- Doting Max
- Carlos
- Maturing is realizing that you want someone who is willing to buy your love with expensive stuff.
- Max loves like I do, and it always feels like we don't.
- One of you clocked the USB sender, and I don't know how I feel about it.
- Lando waiting outside
- The fact that we finally get to address all the BS we had to go through with Lando in the first part.
- He accused Charles of being a serial killer, that he is not good enough for Max, that he cheated, and criticized him for adopting the baby he is trying to have a connection with. So yeah, Charles wont forget this overnight. (nor will I)
- The team building crumbs.
- Charles talking To "Max" grave.
- Charlando (or whatever their ship name is) moments.
Chapter 8
Notes:
Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed the chapter. I’m sorry for any mistakes or if it felt a little weird. Don’t forget to leave a kudos if you liked it, and feel free to share your thoughts in the comments. Your feedback means so much to me and keeps me going!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max arrived at the apartment building, parking the car a little further down the street to avoid drawing attention. He pulled his jacket tighter against the chilly evening air as he glanced up at the building. The windows on the fifth floor were dark except for a faint flicker of light, probably from a TV.
Daniel stepped out of the car behind him, slamming the door a little too loudly for Max’s liking. “Can you keep it down?” Max hissed.
Daniel raised his hands in mock surrender. “Sorry, Max.”
The two of them walked toward the building’s entrance, Max’s pace brisk and purposeful. He pressed the buzzer for apartment 502 and waited. After a few moments, the door clicked open without a word from the intercom. Max and Daniel exchanged a glance, both wary but determined, before stepping inside.
The lobby smelled faintly of damp carpet and cleaning products. Max hit the button for the elevator, his foot tapping impatiently as they waited.
Max glanced at his watch—8:07 PM. Two hours. He had two hours before he needed to get back home. Max hated lying to him, but he had told Charles he was going to the pub with Daniel to watch a football match. Charles was with Oscar, who had been miserable all day, crying and clingy from teething. Charles had handled it effortlessly, as always, soothing Oscar with a calmness Max could never seem to match.
Max leaned against the elevator wall, his thoughts drifting. He knew it wasn’t personal. Oscar was just a baby, in pain, and Charles was his comfort right now. It made sense, and Max told himself that over and over. But that didn’t stop the pain.
It wasn’t jealousy, exactly. He didn’t begrudge Charles for being the one Oscar reached for. But it made Max feel… unsure, like he wasn’t doing enough or wasn’t good enough. He’d never been confident about being a dad, especially with the kind of dad he had, and this only seemed to confirm every doubt he’d ever had.
He straightened up, pushing the thoughts aside. There wasn’t time for this now. He had to focus at the job at hands.
Daniel nudged him. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Max replied, his tone clipped. He looked back at his watch. “I just need to get this done quickly. I promised Charles I wouldn’t be gone too long.”
The elevator dinged, and they stepped inside. Max pressed the button for the fifth floor, his hand lingering on the panel for a second longer than necessary. As the doors closed, he adjusted his jacket and glanced at Daniel.
“Are you sure this is it?” Daniel asked.
Max checked the address on his phone for the third time that evening. “Eighty-seven percent sure,” he muttered, his voice low but firm. “It fits. Anna Jones worked with May, and he’d have every reason not to trust the cops. The only reason he even sent me the USB is because I said she wasn’t killed by the Austin serial killer. If this is him, he’ll talk,” Max said, more to himself than to Daniel. “He begged me to investigate her case. He’s desperate.”
Daniel crossed his arms, leaning against the elevator wall. “Yeah, but desperate people can also be dangerous, let’s just hope he collaborates”
The elevator dinged again, and the doors slid open to reveal a dimly lit hallway. Max stepped out first, scanning the numbers on the doors as he moved. Apartment 502 was at the end of the hall.
Max glanced at his watch one more time. It was 8:05 p.m. now. Time was slipping away.
Max approached the door of the apartment, his steps slowing as he noticed it wasn’t fully closed. The door was slightly ajar, the dim light from inside spilling into the hallway. He frowned, his instincts immediately going on high alert.
He paused, straining his ears, and that’s when he heard it—faint, muffled sounds from within. It wasn’t clear at first, but as he stood still, holding his breath, the noises sharpened: scuffling, the low thud of something hitting the floor, and a faint, strained voice.
A struggle.
Max’s jaw tightened as his hand hovered near the doorframe. He glanced back at Daniel, who was a few steps behind him. Daniel’s face mirrored the same unease Max felt, his brow furrowed as he silently mouthed, “Do we go in?”
Max nodded once, with a light push, he nudged the door open further, its hinges creaking softly. The sounds inside grew clearer—a strangled gasp, the scrape of furniture shifting on the floor. He stepped inside cautiously, his eyes darting around the dimly lit living room.
Max and Daniel moved quietly through the apartment, each step calculated and deliberate. The destruction in the living room was obvious—furniture overturned, a lamp shattered on the floor, and papers scattered everywhere. It was clear there had been a struggle.
They could hear muffled voices coming from deeper inside the apartment. Max glanced at Daniel, nodding toward the hallway. Daniel gave a slight nod in return, and the two made their way toward the sound, staying close to the walls.
As they approached what they assumed was the bedroom, the voices became clearer. Max held up a hand, signaling Daniel to stop. They pressed themselves to the side of the door, listening carefully.
“We need to kill him,” one voice said, sharp and impatient.
“No,” another voice replied, calmer but firm. “They said we need to find out what he knows first. And don’t forget about the financial records. Once we have that, then we kill him.”
Max’s mind raced. He didn’t recognize neither of the two voices, but the conversation was enough to confirm that he was in the right place to get answers for some of his question. His eyes flicked to Daniel, who looked tense. Max gestured with his hand, pointing to himself and Daniel in a silent question: Are you armed?
Daniel shook his head, his expression grim. Max cursed silently under his breath. They were unarmed but not outnumbered, and they couldn’t wait.
Max held up three fingers, signaling to Daniel: On three.
He began the countdown, lowering each finger slowly. Three… two… one.
Max and Daniel burst into the room, moving quickly and with purpose.
Inside, they found two men standing near a chair. Jermey, the man who Max believed had sent the USB, was tied to the chair with his hands behind his back. A cloth gag muffled his terrified cries, and his face was pale and bruised.
The two assailants turned in shock at the sudden intrusion. Max’s eyes darted between them, assessing the situation.
Max didn’t hesitate. He lunged at the man holding the gun, grabbing his wrist to push the weapon away. The man was strong and resisted, twisting his arm to keep control of the firearm. Max gritted his teeth, trying to use his body weight to force the gun out of the intruder’s grip.
The man responded with a brutal punch to Max’s stomach, making him stumble back. Gasping for air, Max barely dodged another swing aimed at his face. He retaliated with a swift jab to the man’s side, his fist connecting solidly with his ribs.
Behind him, Daniel was locked in a furious struggle with the second intruder. The man was bigger, forcing Daniel back with heavy blows. Daniel ducked a wild punch and landed an elbow to the man’s jaw, momentarily disorienting him.
Max focused on disarming his opponent. He feinted to the left, forcing the man to shift his weight, then went straight for the gun again. This time, he managed to get both hands on it, twisting the man’s wrist at an awkward angle. The intruder cursed and tried to break free, but Max didn’t let up.
A sharp punch landed on Max’s cheekbone, sending a burst of pain through his head. He stumbled but held onto the weapon. With a final, desperate twist, he wrenched the gun free and pointed it at the man.
As Max stepped forward, gun trained on the man, he saw the elbow coming but it was too late. The intruder swung his arm back sharply, his elbow smashing into Max’s face. Pain erupted across Max’s cheekbone, and he stumbled back with a muffled groan.
The man didn’t stop there. He lunged forward, throwing a heavy punch into Max’s stomach. The force of the hit knocked the wind out of him, and Max doubled over slightly, clutching his side. Before he could recover, another punch connected with his jaw, sending him reeling to the side.
Max winced but quickly pushed the pain aside, instinct taking over. He shifted his weight and lashed out with a sharp kick to the man’s shin, forcing him off balance. As the intruder stumbled, Max used the opportunity to grab the man’s wrist, twisting it hard, pointing the gun at him.
“Stop!” Max barked, his voice firm despite his labored breathing.
The man hesitated, his hands clenched into fists, but before he could decide to keep fighting, Max tightened his grip on the gun. “I said stop!”
The man’s shoulders slumped slightly as he raised his hands in reluctant surrender, his glare sharp with frustration. Max’s chest heaved as he fought to steady his breathing, the pain in his stomach and face a dull throb now.
“Don’t try that again,” Max warned, his voice steely. “You won’t get another chance.”
The intruder froze, his hands reluctantly going up.
Meanwhile, Daniel was still struggling with the second man. He blocked a punch aimed at his ribs and countered with a kick to the man’s knee. The intruder stumbled, giving Daniel the opening he needed to grab his arm and twist it behind his back.
“Max!” Daniel called, struggling to keep the man pinned.
“I’ve got it!” Max shouted, keeping his gun trained on the first man. “Tell him to back down, or this ends badly for you.”
The man glared at Max but eventually muttered, “Stop fighting.”
The second intruder stilled, his chest heaving. Daniel shoved him to his knees, keeping a firm grip on his arm.
Max kept the gun steady, his gaze hard. “On the ground, both of you. Hands where I can see them.”
Reluctantly, both men complied, glaring at Max and Daniel with thinly veiled hatred. Max took a moment to steady his breathing, his jaw clenching as he looked over at Daniel.
Max’s finger hovering near the trigger. “You’re not getting out of this,” he told the intruders coldly.
Daniel glanced at Max, his expression skeptical as he fished out his phone. “I’m calling the police,” he said firmly.
Jeremy Jones, tied to the chair and barely able to hold himself upright, flinched visibly at Daniel's words. His muffled protests behind the gag grew louder and more frantic, drawing Max’s attention.
Max walked over to Jeremy, ungagging him with a swift pull. “What’s your problem?” Max asked, though his tone wasn’t harsh, more curious than anything. “Don’t call the police!” Jeremy interjected with a raspy voice.
As Max began untying Jeremy’s hands, he noticed the man’s condition. Jeremy’s face was battered, his eyes swollen to narrow slits, and there was a concerning gash on his forehead, likely from a blunt object. Max frowned. “You need medical attention, do you have a headache, blurry vision, nausea?”
Jeremy didn’t answer the question directly. Instead, his voice came out urgent and strained. “Calling the police won’t help. May will get them out, and he’ll send someone else after me again.”
Max exchanged a glance with Daniel, whose eyebrows shot up. “And you suggest what? We let them go?”
“I don’t know!” Jeremy snapped, his voice rising with frustration and fear. “But calling the cops will only make things worse for me.”
Max crouched down to look him in the eye. “Why don’t you start with what you did?” he asked, his tone sharp but measured.
Jeremy’s lips pressed into a thin line before he exhaled shakily. “You mean what is May trying to cover up by having me killed.”
Now that caught Max’s attention. He straightened, rubbing his jaw in thought. “Fine,” he said after a pause. “You’ve got my attention. But first, I need to deal with them.” He gestured toward the two men, who were now bound and glaring daggers at the trio from the corner of the room.
Daniel stepped closer, frowning. “Max, this isn’t a good idea. We should call the police. These guys could come after us too.”
Max shook his head. “Not yet. I want to hear what Jeremy has to say. We can’t risk them hearing anything.”
“So what do we do with them?” Daniel asked, crossing his arms.
“We secure them properly. Then I’ll have a little chat with Jeremy. Preferably far from their ears,” Max said firmly, already scanning the room for something to reinforce the bindings on the intruders. He wasn’t sure what to do with them yet, but he’d figure it out after getting the information he needed.
Daniel muttered something under his breath but moved to help Max. Jeremy watched them, his expression tense but slightly relieved, as Max methodically worked to tighten the ropes around the intruders.
---
Max and Daniel secured the two men in the bedroom, tying them to the bedposts with ropes and wrapping duct tape tightly around their wrists, mouths, and ankles. Max double-checked their restraints, making sure there was no chance they’d get loose. The intruders glared at him, their expressions dark and defiant, but Max wasn’t fazed.
“Think that’ll hold?” Daniel asked, his voice low, his eyes darting toward the men.
“It better,” Max muttered, stepping back to survey their work. “We need time to figure this out.”
As they left the room and closed the door, Max’s attention shifted to Jeremy, who was moving frantically around the living room. His bruised face was tight with pain and fear as he pulled a travel bag from a closet and started filling it with his personal items with shaking hands.
Max crossed his arms, frowning. “I don’t recommend flying in your condition,” he said flatly.
Jeremy froze for a moment, gripping the bag as though it might slip away. “I’m not flying,” he whispered, avoiding Max’s eyes.
Max studied him carefully. Jeremy was battered, his eyes swollen and bloodshot, and there was a gash on his temple that definitely needed medical attention. But beneath the physical injuries, Max could see something worse—raw, unfiltered fear.
“What’s going on?” Max asked, his tone sharp. “Who are those men, and what do they want from you?”
Jeremy sank into the couch, letting the bag drop to the floor. He rubbed his hands together nervously, his voice shaky. “They’re May’s men. They’ve been following me for weeks. I was going to run, but they got to me first.”
“Why are they after you?” Max pressed, though he already had a guess.
Jeremy hesitated, then sighed heavily. “They want the financial records I have on May. That’s why they were here. That’s why they were going to kill me.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “So you’re the one who sent me the USB.”
Jeremy nodded slowly, his eyes darting toward the bedroom door.
“Why me?” Max asked, his voice laced with skepticism.
Jeremy let out a bitter laugh. “Because I can’t trust anyone else,” he said simply.
Max wasn’t satisfied with that answer. “But why trust me?”
Jeremy’s gaze steadied on Max, his voice gaining strength. “Because you weren’t afraid to speak the truth. You were the one who said Anna wasn’t a victim of the Austin Killer. Everyone else decided to help May, but not you. You knew someone used the Austin Killer’s killing spree to cover up her murder. That’s not something most people would risk saying. And you were right,” Jeremy countered. “Anna wasn’t his victim, I knew you could help me.”
Max’s mind flickered to Dominic—his childhood best friend, the Austin Killer. The name still left a bitter taste in his mouth. He had solved that case, but it had cost him a lot, he almost lost Charles and he definitely lost the only good thing about his childhood.
The mention of Anna Jones pulling at a thread he’d tried to leave buried. At the time, he hadn’t cared much about her case. He’d only pointed out the discrepancy because it was obvious to him she wasn’t one of the Austin killer…No, one of Dominic’s victims.
The truth was, Max had only been working on the Austin Killer case because he’d been forced to. His real focus, the case that mattered to him, was Fernando’s. But solving the Austin case had been the department’s priority, and Max hadn’t had a choice. The pressure to catch the serial killer had been suffocating, and every moment spent on it felt like a waste of precious time that he could utilize to work on Fernando’s case.
He clenched his jaw, shaking off the memory. “You think May had her killed?”
Jeremy nodded. “I know he did. And now he’s trying to clean up every loose end—including me.”
Max’s gaze stayed locked on Jeremy, “Why did he kill her?”
Jeremy hesitated, his eyes darting to the floor as though the answer physically pained him. “She found something she wasn’t supposed to—suspicious transfers. Large sums of money going to an unknown account. She thought…” He stopped, swallowing hard.
“She thought what?” Max pressed, his patience wearing thin.
“She thought it was embezzlement,” Jeremy admitted. “Like… maybe he was misusing budget allocation or something.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “An embezzlement?”
Jeremy sighed, running a hand through his hair. “It made sense to her at the time. She confronted him, and of course, he denied it. He told her it wasn’t what she thought, he said he will give back the money. He said it was part of an old business deal gone bad—someone was blackmailing him, threatening to ruin his reputation if he didn’t keep paying.”
Max’s expression didn’t soften. “And she believed that?”
Jeremy shook his head quickly. “Not entirely. She told me about it, said it didn’t sit right with her. But she also said he was crying, begging her not to tell anyone. He told her it was all under control and promised it was a onetime thing, he said he will give it back, and nobody will notice that the money was gone in the first place.”
Max folded his arms, his jaw tightening. “And she just… let it go?”
“She wanted to believe him,” Jeremy said quietly. “But I think she was scared too. She thought maybe if she left it alone, it really would just… stop. But then he called her a week later, asked her to meet him at our old apartment. I was working late that night. The next morning, she was dead.”
“Did she tell anyone else about what she found?” Max asked, keeping his tone calm despite the storm of thoughts in his head.
Jeremy shook his head. “No. At least, not that I know of. She trusted me, but… she didn’t get the chance to tell anyone else.”
Max nodded slowly, forcing himself to focus. He knew there was more to this than Jeremy realized, and he needed to figure out exactly what May was hiding. But first, he had to keep Jeremy safe—and decide what to do with the two men tied up in the next room.
Max exchanged a glance with Daniel, who looked as uncertain as Max felt. Jeremy’s story made sense.
Jeremy exhaled shakily, leaning back on the couch. “Anna didn’t believe him entirely, you know. She kept a copy of his records. She told me where she hid it. I was going to go to the police when the investigation into her murder was still active. But then…” Jeremy paused, his face darkening. “The police decided to pin her murder on the Austin killer. That’s when I knew.”
“Knew what?” Max prompted, his voice steady.
“That all hope was lost,” Jeremy said bitterly. “May was controlling the narrative. He’s too powerful. But then I saw you on TV. You were saying Anna wasn’t one of the Austin killer victims, calling out the bullshit when no one else would. That’s when I knew I could trust you. And… I’m glad I did.”
Jeremy was right—May’s influence was dangerous. But this was more than just uncovering corruption; it was personal. May had destroyed lives, and Fernando’s was one of them.
Jeremy said, tone soft but urgent. “You saved my life, Max. But I need to leave. Now. I told you everything I know. Please, you have to let me go.”
Max hesitated. “You need medical attention, Jeremy. You have a head injury, and you’ve been through a lot—”
“I’ll get it,” Jeremy interrupted. “But not here. My sister lives in New Jersey. I’ll stay with her. I can’t stay here, not with May’s men after me.”
Max nodded slowly, his mind racing. “That’s more than 26 hours’ drive, Do you have someone to drive you?”
Jeremy nodded. “My cousin. He lives nearby. He knows enough to help me, but I haven’t told him everything. It’s better that way.”
Max leaned back, weighing his options. “Alright. But I need your number to update you when we catch May.”
For the first time since Max had seen him, Jeremy smiled faintly. “You think you can catch him?”
Max nodded firmly. “We have to. He’s a criminal.”
Jeremy’s smile grew, a hint of hope flickering in his battered expression. “Thank you.”
Max handed him his phone. “Call your cousin. Get him here quickly.”
Jeremy took the phone, dialing with trembling fingers as Max glanced around the room. His head was pounding, his adrenaline waning. He checked the time. Almost three hours had passed since he’d left, and he was already late.
And he still wasn’t done.
As Jeremy spoke quietly into the phone, Max turned his focus back to the men tied up in the bedroom. He still had to interrogate them and decide with Daniel what to do next. But for now, at least, Jeremy had a chance to escape this nightmare.
Jeremy took 40 minutes to finally leave. He’d clearly been preparing for this escape for months—he’d quit his job, severed his lease, and left no loose ends. His plan was meticulous, and as Max watched the car drive off with Jeremy and his cousin, he felt a small sense of relief. At least the man had a chance to disappear and stay safe.
Now, Max could focus on the two men tied up in the bedroom.
He turned to Daniel, who was wiping blood from his split lip. “Alright,” Max said, exhaling sharply. “What’s the plan?”
Daniel glanced toward the closed bedroom door, then back at Max. “We interrogate them first. See what we can get out of them.”
“And then?”
“Then I’ll bring them to the station,” Daniel said firmly. “We report them for assaulting an officer and attempted murder. With the gun they brought and the state we’re in, it’s more than enough to make it stick.”
Max nodded slowly, thinking it through. “They won’t be able to talk, not without incriminating themselves further. If they try to tell the truth about why they were here…”
“It’ll blow back on May,” Daniel finished.
“And May can’t risk that,” Max said, a grim smile tugging at his lips. “If he tries to help them, it’ll take a massive effort and draw too much attention. Either way, these two are stuck.”
Daniel crossed his arms, wincing as he shifted his weight. “Good. But we need to handle this carefully. If May finds out we’ve got his men, he might escalate.”
Max met Daniel’s gaze. “Let him escalate. It’ll only expose him more.”
Daniel didn’t respond immediately, his expression serious. “Alright, let’s get this done. You take the lead—I’ll back you up.
Max nodded, rolling his shoulders and preparing himself. “Let’s make this quick.”
They opened the bedroom door and stepped inside, the two men still tied securely to the bed. Duct tape bound their wrists and ankles, and their gags were firmly in place. Both glared at Max and Daniel, their expressions defiant despite their predicament.
Max leaned against the doorframe, his tone calm but firm. “We can do this the easy way, or the hard way. Up to you.”
One of the men grunted against his gag, his body language screaming resistance. Max raised an eyebrow, exchanging a glance with Daniel.
“Hard way, then,” Max said, stepping closer. “Your choice.”
---
Max stumbled into the apartment at 4 a.m., his body weighed down by exhaustion. His face throbbed, his shirt clung to his skin with dried sweat, and every step sent a dull ache through his body. He kicked off his shoes quietly, determined not to wake Charles. All he wanted was a quick bath and the promise of sleep.
The apartment was silent except for the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen. Max moved through the shadows, his eyes catching the flicker of movement near the sofa. Jimmy, stretched lazily on the couch before hopping down to greet him.
“Hey, buddy,” Max whispered, bending down to scratch behind Jimmy’s ears. The cat purred loudly but quickly recoiled, sniffing at Max’s battered hand before retreating with a soft meow.
Max sighed and straightened, making his way toward the bathroom. He barely made it past the kitchen when a voice stopped him cold.
“Max?”
He froze, his heart sinking at the sound of Charles’s voice. Soft but laced with concern, it came from the living room.
“Yes, love, it’s me,” Max replied, forcing a lightness he didn’t feel.
There was shuffling, then a click as the living room light flicked on. Max squinted against the sudden brightness, raising a hand to shield his eyes. When he looked up, Charles was standing there, wearing one of Max’s oversized hoodies, his expression morphing from confusion to shock.
Charles’s hand flew to his mouth. His wide eyes darted over Max’s face, taking in the split lip, the darkening bruise on his cheek, and the overall disheveled state of him.
“Max,” Charles whispered, his voice trembling.
Max straightened, trying to brush it off. “It’s nothing. I’m fine,” he said quickly. “I’m just going to take a bath and sleep. You should go back to bed.” He turned to head to the bathroom, but Charles stepped forward, blocking his path.
“It’s almost 4 in the morning,” Charles said, his voice sharper now. “Where the fuck were you?”
Max hesitated, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “I was with Daniel,” he started, the lie rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. “We were watching the game. I might’ve had a bit too much to drink, and some fans of the other team didn’t take it well when we celebrated. There was a little fight, but nothing serious. It’s sorted now.”
He attempted a smile, but the movement pulled painfully at his split lip. Charles’s eyes narrowed, and Max could see the disbelief growing on his face.
“You’re lying,” Charles said flatly.
“What?” Max blinked, caught off guard.
Charles crossed his arms, his voice rising. “You don’t even smell like alcohol, Max.”
Before Max could respond, Sassy padded into the room, her tail high as she rubbed against Charles’s legs. Leo, followed close behind, his ears perked as he approached Max cautiously. Even the dog seemed hesitant, sniffing at Max’s jeans before letting out a low whine.
Charles glanced down at the animals, then back at Max. “Even they can tell something’s wrong,” he said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and worry.
Max ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself for slipping up. “Okay, you’re right,” he admitted. “I wasn’t drinking. But it doesn’t change what happened. I just… I needed a night out. I deserve that.”
Charles took a step closer, his jaw tightening. “Max, this isn’t about a night out. Look at yourself! You’re hurt, and you didn’t even think to call me? I’ve been calling you all night! You said you’d be back in two hours, and instead, you come home eight hours later—looking like this—and now you’re lying to me?”
Max’s frustration bubbled over. “I don’t appreciate the way you’re talking to me right now.”
“And I don’t appreciate being lied to!” Charles shot back, his voice cracking. He took another step forward, his eyes glistening. “Do you have any idea how worried I was? I stayed up all night, waiting for you, thinking something might have happened—and now I see this.” He gestured at Max’s battered face.
Max sighing heavily, his face shadowed by the dim hallway light. “Charles, I was out with Daniel. You knew that. Can’t I have one night to myself without you hovering?”
Charles blinked, visibly taken aback. “Hovering?” he echoed, his voice rising slightly. “We always check up on each other, Max. That’s what we do. And you couldn’t even give me the courtesy of answering your phone? You said you’d be back in two hours, but you show up eight hours later looking like this?”
Charles gestured at Max’s battered face, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Max ran a hand down his face, grimacing as his split lip stung under his touch. “I stay home all the time,” he said, his voice sharp. “I take care of the pets, Oscar, the house. You’re back at work, living your life, and the one night I take for myself, you act like this?”
Charles’s jaw dropped, his brows furrowing. “What are you even talking about? You wanted to stay home, Max. You said you wanted to bond with Oscar while I worked. And this isn’t about you going out—it’s about you disappearing for hours and showing up hurt without calling me! I was worried sick!”
Max scoffed, his frustration boiling over. “I can take care of myself, Charles. And honestly? Every time I go out with Daniel, you find a reason to make it an issue. Why can’t you just let me have one night without making it about you?”
“That’s not fair, Max!” Charles shot back, his voice rising. “And don’t act like you don’t matter! Oscar was grumpy all night—he missed you! And I needed your help tonight, but you just—”
Max cut him off, his tone icy. “Don’t bring Oscar into this to make your point, Charles. He’s fine. He has everything he needs. He’s your son first, anyway.”
Charles froze, his mouth falling open. “What the hell does that mean?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.
Max exhaled through his nose, trying to rein in his temper. “It means it’s fine for him to stay with you. He doesn’t need me around every second. I’m taking him to my mom’s tomorrow. She’ll take better care of him.”
“What are you even talking about?” Charles asked, his voice shaking now. “Oscar adores you, Max! He loves you! And he’s sick—he needs to stay home. You should be taking care of him!”
Max shook his head, his resolve hardening. “I’m taking him to Mom’s. End of discussion.”
“Max!” Charles stepped closer, his frustration giving way to desperation. “Why are you doing this? Why are you shutting me out?”
But Max had already turned away. “I’m done talking about this, Charles. Goodnight.”
He headed to the bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. His chest felt tight, guilt clawing at his insides, but he pushed it down. He couldn’t afford to let Charles distract him now.
Oscar would be fine with his mom. Charles would cool off. And Max? He had work to do.
The faint sound of Charles’s voice filtered through the door, but Max ignored it. He turned the shower on, stepping under the steaming water. His body ached, his mind raced, and as the water ran down his face, he tried to shake the image of Charles’s hurt expression.
He couldn’t let it get to him. Not now. He was so close—so close to finding the man who had taken Fernando from him. And Charles? Charles would never understand.
---
Max woke up with a groan, the pounding in his head and the ache in his body making it hard to move. He blinked at the sunlight streaming through the blinds, disoriented for a moment before his brain caught up. His eyes darted to the clock on the nightstand.
12:00 PM.
“Shit. Oscar!”
Panic shot through him as he scrambled out of bed, his limbs heavy and uncoordinated. He hadn’t checked on Oscar all morning. How could he have slept this long? Why hadn’t Charles woken him?
He stumbled down the hallway to Oscar’s room, heart hammering in his chest. But when he reached the living room, he froze.
Oscar was sitting on the floor, surrounded by a barricade of cushions, babbling happily at the television. Leo lay sprawled beside him, tail wagging lazily, while Jimmy perched on the windowsill, licking his paw. Sassy was curled up in a blanket at the foot of the couch, her ears twitching with each sound Oscar made.
Max chest heaving as relief washed over him.
Oscar looked up at him, squealing excitedly.
Max chuckled softly, crouching down beside him. “Good morning, buddy. You’re okay, huh?” He brushed Oscar’s soft curls with his hand, letting out a shaky laugh. “You look way better than yesterday. One night with Charles was all it took, huh?”
“More like the new pain relief Carlos suggested,” Charles’s voice said from behind him.
Max turned to see Charles standing in the living room doorway, a basket of laundry in his arms. He walked over to the couch, setting it down and beginning to sort through the clothes.
“Why are you here?” Max asked, confused. “Don’t you have work today?”
Charles didn’t look at him as he folded a tiny shirt. “Well, you made it clear last night that you didn’t want to take care of Oscar, so I had to call in and take a leave.”
Max frowned, stepping closer. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to take care of him. I said I couldn’t. I told you I don’t know how to help him like you do. And I thought you said you couldn’t take a leave?”
Charles’s hands paused briefly before continuing. His voice was calm but firm. “I had to call my dad and beg him to cover for me. They’re already short-staffed today.”
Max felt his chest tighten, frustration bubbling up. “Charles, that’s not fair. Don’t twist this into something it’s not. You know I care about Oscar.”
Charles sighed but didn’t look up. “Do you? Because it feels like you’re either looking for excuses to avoid him or convincing yourself that you’re not good enough. And I get it, Max. You didn’t want to be a father in the first place, and now you’re a stay-at-home dad. It’s a lot.”
Max stared at him, the words stinging more than he wanted to admit. “Don’t bring my feelings about kids into this,” he said, his voice quieter now. “That’s not fair. I don’t ever want Oscar to feel like he’s not wanted”
Charles finally met his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’d never let him feel that way.” He sighed again, turning his attention back to the laundry. “But it’s hard not to notice how different we are about this.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Max asked, his voice sharp.
Charles shrugged, his tone quiet. “It doesn’t matter. Oscar’s going to be loved, and that’s what’s important.”
Max felt a lump in his throat, the implication cutting deeper than he expected. He cared about Oscar—he knew that—but Charles made him feel like it wasn’t enough.
“Thank you for staying with him today,” Max said, his voice more subdued. “I’m going to check on Daniel. He wasn’t in a great shape last night, and I need to make sure he’s okay. I’ll be back by five, and I’ll take over then.”
Charles didn’t respond, simply shrugging as he folded another onesie.
Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. “And no, I’m not cheating with Daniel. He’s just a friend who needs help. You know that.”
Charles glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Do whatever you want, Max. If I’m staying, you might as well go out and enjoy yourself.”
“It’s not like that,” Max muttered, shaking his head. His phone buzzed in the bedroom, and he turned to leave, pausing to kiss Oscar on the forehead.
“We’ll talk later,” he said softly before walking away.
---
Max stepped inside, the familiar scent of the apartment settling around him. He could hear the soft hum of the TV in the living room, and as he kicked off his shoes, he saw Charles sitting on the couch with Oscar nestled in his lap. The sight of them together made Max’s heart swell, but something in Charles’ posture told him that things weren’t entirely okay.
“You’re back,” Charles greeted, his voice flat but not unkind.
“Yeah,” Max responded, his tone more neutral than usual. “What’s for dinner?”
Charles motioned to the kitchen with a slight nod. “Sandwiches.
Max glanced toward the couch, then back to the kitchen. There, on the counter, was a dish with the leftover sandwich Charles had made for him. A silent gesture, but one that felt loaded with meaning. Max picked it up, microwaved it quickly, and then grabbed a glass of water before heading back to the living room.
He sat down beside Charles, placing the sandwich on the coffee table. As soon as he settled in, Oscar’s face lit up, his chubby arms reaching out eagerly toward Max.
“Hey there, Oscar,” Max chuckled, his heart melting at the sight. Oscar was a little too young to understand the concept of 'wanting' things, but the joy of seeing him so happy was undeniable. Max reached out, not sure if Oscar wanted him or the sandwich, but it didn’t matter. Oscar’s small arms flailed, trying to grab both.
Max chuckled softly, then reached for Oscar, but Charles held him close, tightening his grip slightly. The tension between them felt thick in the air.
“Charles,” Max said, his voice low and firm, but not angry. “Give him to me.”
Charles hesitated for a moment, his jaw tight before he finally relented and handed Oscar over. Max pulled the baby into his lap.
Max settled Oscar on his lap, and the baby giggled happily, reaching for the plate. “You’re just here for the food, huh?” Max teased, sniffing Oscar’s head. That familiar, comforting baby smell hit him, and he smiled softly.
In the corner, Jimmy jumped up to the armrest of the couch, eyeing the food curiously, while Sassy prowled around under the coffee table.
Charles crossed his arms and stayed close, visibly annoyed but saying nothing. Max ignored the tension and focused on Oscar, breaking off a small piece of his sandwich to feed him.
Oscar, however, had his own plans. Every time Max tried to take a bite, Oscar grabbed Max’s hands with his tiny, chubby fingers, directing the sandwich to his own mouth.
Max managed to sneak a bite for himself, It was adorable. Max sighed, giving in to the little one’s insistence and feeding him more. Oscar was making a mess, but that was part of the fun.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” Max laughed as Oscar gnawed on the bread, drooling generously all over it. Max shook his head in mock defeat, sharing the sandwich with Oscar. By the time they were done, Max had managed to eat most of it, but it was thoroughly covered in Oscar’s spit.
Eventually, after a few minutes, Oscar was full, his little hands reaching for the water Max had set aside. As Oscar tried to grab the glass, Charles stood, heading to the kitchen and returning moments later with Oscar’s sippy cup. He moved to sit next to Max, pulling Oscar onto his lap. Oscar eagerly took the sippy cup from him, slurping contentedly.
Max watched, his brow furrowing slightly. “Charles, you really don’t want me to have him for five minutes, do you?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.
Charles didn’t answer immediately, his focus on Oscar. He placed a hand on the back of Oscar’s neck before speaking, voice low. “You can have him tomorrow.”
Max stared at him, a bit taken aback. “What does that mean?”
Charles shot him a sharp look but didn’t say anything more. Instead, he continued to cuddle Oscar closer, his fingers gently stroking the baby’s hair. Max shifted uncomfortably on the couch, unsure of how to navigate the silence. He could feel the weight of Charles’ unspoken frustration. It wasn’t the first time this had happened.
Max shifted in his seat, not sure how to break the tension, but it felt like the walls were closing in. He watched as Charles took over with Oscar again, and despite the irritation stirring in him, something inside Max softened.
“I’ll make it right,” Max said quietly, more to himself than to Charles. “I promise.”
Charles didn’t answer, Charles always needed confrontation. He was the kind of person who would never leave things unsaid. It was part of who he was—always direct, always insistent on talking things through, wanting to fix whatever was wrong. Max, on the other hand, was the opposite. He’d always believed that silence and time would heal things. He’d convinced himself that things would work out, eventually, if he just ignored the problems long enough. But with Charles, that approach never worked. Charles was the type to push until things were addressed, to make sure everything was out in the open, even when Max wanted to bury it all.
Max was used to that. He had always known that about Charles, and for a long time, he’d resented it. Now more than ever but he also knew this time, it was different. This time, it was about Oscar.
Max had promised himself—and Charles—that he would be involved in Oscar’s life. He wanted to be part of it, to be a father, to share the responsibility with Charles. But since yesterday Charles had refused to leave him alone to care for Oscar. Charles was acting like he was an only parent, which is fair enough after what Max had said. The doubt that Max had buried deep inside him—his uncertainty about his role in Oscar’s life—was creeping back, making him second-guess if he can be a good father to Oscar.
Max watched as Charles moved to the nursery with Oscar. Charles had believed him, believed that Max wanted to be a father. But after what happened yesterday, Max have a feeling that he had somehow betrayed that trust. Maybe he should have expressed himself better. But at the time his mind had been consumed by the case, the investigation, the new revelation.
Max didn’t want to admit it, but Charles had every right to feel hurt. Max might have been an asshole to him yesterday and it scared Max. He wanted to be a good father and husband. He needed to be. But it’s just really bad timing. And he can’t tell Charles why he was late or what happened that night.
He looked toward the nursery, where Charles was, still moving about with Oscar. Max couldn’t ignore this. Because like usual Charles won’t let it go unless Max acknowledge it. He had to confront Charles, had to talk to him. But he wasn’t sure how to approach him.
I fucking hate my life, Max thought.
---
29 Dec 2024
It’s New Year's Eve, and Charles is busy packing Oscar’s bag for the night. They’ve been invited to George’s house to celebrate Oscar’s first Christmas and New Year. Lando had offered to drive them, since Nico couldn’t make it. Charles wishes his dad could come, it’s been a tough time for the family lately. They needed each other. Slipping bottles of milk into the insulated pouch, stacking a fresh set of diapers, and tucking in Oscar’s favorite blanket. The soft rustling of the bag mixed with the occasional squeak of a toy as Charles decided which ones to bring.
The cats, sensing the activity, were all over him. Jimmy was perched on the armrest of the couch, his tail flicking lazily as he watched Charles’s every move. Sassy was less subtle, nudging at the bag with her nose, trying to climb inside. Charles gently pushed her away.
“No, Sassy,” he murmured, his voice light with affection. “This isn’t for you. You have your toys, remember?”
Sassy gave him a defiant look before flopping onto the blanket Charles had just folded, purring loudly. Charles sighed, his lips twitching into a small smile despite himself.
Meanwhile, Leo had taken to batting at the zipper pulls on the bag, his paws darting back and forth like he was playing a game. Charles shook his head, carefully moving him to the side.
“Come on, guys,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing as jimmy hopped down from his perch to join the chaos. “I need to get this done”
He added a few more essentials to the bag—a spare set of clothes, and a soft book with crinkly pages. The toys came last. Charles debated between the stuffed bear and the rattle, eventually deciding to bring both.
Oscar’s giggles rang out from the other side of the room, where Lando was playing with him. Lando had arrived ten minutes ago and bee lined straight to where Oscar was, and Charles hadn’t seen him since.
“Lando,” Charles called, zipping up the bag. “Can you grab Oscar’s jacket? It’s on the bed.”
“On it,” Lando replied, he glances over at Nico, who’s sitting on the couch, looking a little lost in thought. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us, Dad?” Charles asks, trying to hide the hint of worry in his voice.
Nico looked up at him, a faint smile on his lips. “Yes, Charles, you go ahead. I’ll be fine. You and Oscar have fun.”
Charles isn’t convinced. Something is off about him, but he wasn’t sure what it is exactly. He sits down next to Nico, nudging him gently. “I don’t like leaving you behind, especially when it's Oscar's first New Year. You don’t want to miss it, do you?”
Nico looked guilty, shifting uncomfortably. He was quiet for a moment, then sighs. “Well…” he trails off, his cheeks turning pink. “I… I have something to take care of.”
Charles frowned, confused. “What is it? It can’t be more important than Oscar’s first New year celebration. You and Sophie had been fighting over who will host for months.”
Nico hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. Charles presses, trying to find the reason why his dad seems off. Finally, Nico mumbled, “Lewis invited me out for dinner.”
Charles’ eyes widened as a grin spreads across his face. “Lewis? Oh, My oh My! I knew it! I told Max, but he told me I was delusional. Oh! Max won’t be happy to hear about this,” he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. He knows he needs to tell Max. He’d visited Max grave earlier that day, but this is something he can't leave out. Max needs to know. Charles was right all along!
Excitedly, Charles stood up and patted his dad on the back. “Well, then we need to get you dressed up, Dad. Let’s make sure you look good for your date!”
Just then, Lando stepped out of Charles's bedroom with Oscar in his arms, looking a bit puzzled. “I thought Nico wasn’t coming with us?” he asked, glancing at Charles then at Nico.
Charles grinned mischievously. “He’s not coming with us. He’s going on a date.”
Lando’s eyes went wide with surprise as Nico groaned, clearly embarrassed. “I thought he was seeing Lewis,” Lando adds, still processing what’s happening.
Charles laughed triumphantly. “See! Everybody think so, too!”
Nico looked at Charles with sad eyes. “Actually, it’s not what you think. I’m going to meet Lewis’s long-term boyfriend for the first time tonight.”
Charles’s jaw dropped. “What? Since when does he have a long-term boyfriend? Why didn’t he mention him before?”
Nico, now more resigned, sighed. “He did mention him, Charles. He mentioned him when I confessed my feelings to him a month ago.”
Both Charles and Lando looked at Nico in disbelief. Oscar tugs at Lando’s curls, but neither of them can seem to focus on anything else right now.
Lando, after a beat, spoke up. “Nico, I’m really sorry you had to go through this.”
Charles now can see beyond His father’s fake smile that he uses to shield his feelings and any cracks to his armor, hiding the pain, he mumbles “why are you going to meet his boyfriend? What the fuck? Dad?”
Nico looked up at him, his face tired but blank of emotions. “Charles. I’ve been miserable about this for the past month, but I’m dealing with it. In fact I think I am over it.”
Lando shook his head. “I really like Lewis, but this is insensitive of him. To invite you to meet his boyfriend after you confessed your feelings to him… it’s just sounds heartless.”
Nico groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “It wasn’t his fault, though. I was the one who suggested it. It was getting so awkward, and I didn’t like how he was avoiding me, so I confronted him. I told him I still wanted to be his friend, that I wasn’t hurt. I blabbered, I know. But… he insisted we stay away from each other. He didn’t want to hurt me, and I knew it. Lewis is a good friend of mine. So, I thought that maybe if I meet his boyfriend, it would prove I wasn’t that serious.”
Charles looked at his dad, concern written across his face. “You don’t have to go if you don’t want to, Dad. You can just join us for New Year’s. Lewis will understand.”
Nico shook his head, a tired sigh escaping him. “No, Charles. As much as I Hate missing my only grandson’s first Christmas, Lewis will think I’m avoiding him. He’ll just go back to keeping his distance thinking he hurt me, and I can’t risk that. I value our friendship too much.”
Lando, who had been quietly observing the conversation, finally spoke up. “It looks like it’s actually hurting you, Nico. Maybe it’s time to let it go of this friendship.”
Charles glanced at Lando, then back at his dad. “Yes, Dad, for once, I agree with Lando.”
Nico’s expression softened but didn’t change. “I know it’s hard, but I don’t want to lose Lewis as a friend. I’ll take whatever I can get, even if it’s just being friends.”
Nico took a deep breath, his expression conflicted as he glanced between Charles and Lando. He said, “Don’t tell anyone about this. It’s unfair to Lewis, and it was a moment of weakness on my part. I shouldn’t have said anything to you.”
Charles frowned, his concern deepening. “Dad, you don’t have to act like this isn’t a big deal. You’re hurting.”
“I’ll be fine,” Nico insisted, his smile tight and unconvincing. “Really. This isn’t the first time I’ve had to deal with... disappointment. It’s life.”
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea for you to go,” Charles urged, his tone sharper than he intended.
“I promised Lewis I’d be there,” Nico said firmly, though his voice wavered at the edges. “It wouldn’t be right to back out now.”
Charles held his father hand, his eyes searching Nico’s face. “But you’re not okay. And you don’t have to pretend to be. We’re your family.”
Nico sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. For a moment, he looked every bit as tired as Charles felt. “Charles, I appreciate your concern, but this isn’t just about me. Lewis has been good to us—good to you and Oscar. I can’t let my feelings ruin our friendship.”
“It’s not about ruining anything,” Charles countered. “It’s about taking care of yourself. You don’t owe anyone anything, dad. Not even Lewis. I can stay with you tonight,” Charles offered, his voice softening. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
Lando, who had been quietly holding Oscar, spoke up. “And what about Oscar?”
Charles shot him a glare but didn’t respond.
“Exactly,” Nico said, giving Charles a small, reassuring smile. “Oscar needs you, Charles. He deserves to celebrate his first New Year with his father. I’ll be fine.”
Charles shook his head. “You’re not fine, and pretending you are doesn’t help anyone.”
Nico’s smile faltered, and for a brief moment, Charles saw just how much his father was holding back. But then Nico straightened, forcing the smile back into place. “Feelings like this come and go,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I’ve been through worse, Charles. I promise I’ll be okay.”
Charles hesitated, his chest tight with worry. He didn’t believe Nico, not entirely, but he also knew his father wouldn’t be swayed. “Alright,” he said finally. “But if you need me, I’ll come back immediately. I mean it.”
“I know,” Nico said, placing a hand on his son’s shoulder. “Now go. Be with Oscar. He needs you more than I do.”
The conversation was interrupted by Sophie entering the living room, already dressed and looking tired yet still made the effort to dress nicely not wanting to bring the mood down. Her eyes flicked between the three of them, lingering on Nico. “Nico you’re still not coming, tonight?” she said, offering him a small smile.
“I’m not,” Nico admitted, his tone light but tinged with sadness. “I have plans to meet Lewis and his boyfriend.”
Sophie blinked, surprise evident on her face. “Oh... I didn’t know Lewis had a boyfriend.”
“He does,” Nico said simply. “And he’s been a big part of our life. He deserves to have us in his life.”
Sophie nodded, her expression softening. “Of course. Lewis is a wonderful man. He’s done so much for all of us, especially Charles and Oscar.” She stepped closer, taking Oscar from Lando’s arms with a practiced ease. “I’ll go bring my bag from the bedroom, I think we need to leave right now.”
As she left, the tension in the room returned. Charles turned back to Nico, his concern unabated. “Are you sure about this?”
“I’m sure,” Nico said, his voice firm but quiet.
Charles sighed, knowing he won’t be able to change his dad’s decision, but he can still do something about it. “Alright then. You should at least get dressed for the occasion. You need to look really good, so he knows you’re fine with it. But not too good, you don’t want to look like you’re trying too hard.”
Nico raised an eyebrow. “What do you mean?”
Charles smirked. “I mean, we’re not going for a ‘trying to impress’ look. Just casual but with a bit of effort. You’ve got to look like you’ve moved on, but not like you’re hoping for anything more.”
Nico paused, then sighed. “I was thinking of just going like this.” He motioned to the simple shirt and pants he was already wearing.
Charles looked horrified. “Absolutely not.”
Lando groaned, looking at Nico. “Yeah, I agree with Charles on this one. You can’t go looking like you’re about to fall asleep at the table.”
Nico grumbled but didn’t argue further. Instead, he headed towards his closet to pick something else out, trying to follow the advice without fully understanding it.
---
Max woke up in a haze, his mind struggling to piece together the fragments of his consciousness. His body feels like it's been shattered into a thousand pieces, and even the slightest movement sends sharp waves of agony through him. His eyelids flutter open, but everything around him is blurred and disorienting. The light is too bright, stinging his eyes, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s still dreaming. But no, the pain—oh, the pain—reminds him that this is all too real.
He knew he'd undergone surgery. At least, that's what he'd heard—the doctor’s voice in the haze when he first woke up. Or maybe it had been a hallucination. He couldn’t tell anymore. What was real? What was a dream?
Pain medication. That was the other thing the doctor had mentioned, but where was it? Why wasn’t it helping? His mind tried to grasp the thought but it slipped away before he could make sense of it. The ache in his chest intensified, like a weight pressing against his lungs. How did Charles deal with so much pain without any medication? How could he endure that?
Charles! The thought hit him like a punch to the gut.
He opened his eyes, or at least tried to, but the light sliced through his skull like a blade. His eyes were too sensitive. God, it had to have been days, maybe a week? Max wasn’t sure how long he’d been in this place, or even where he was, but that didn’t matter now. The only thing that mattered was getting back to Charles. To Oscar.
He tries to speak, but his throat is dry, scratchy, and his voice comes out as a weak rasp, barely audible. His head throbs in time with his heartbeat, his thoughts muddled and slow, as if he trying to run through a fog. The world spins and tilts around him, the room shifting with each blink, and for a second, he wonders if he’s still trapped in some nightmare.
But as he tries to move, a sharp pain stabs through his side, and he can’t hold back the tears that well up in his eyes. He started crying, silent sobs wracking his body. His throat felt raw, like it couldn’t take any more. His eyes stung from the tears, and his head felt like it was about to split open. Every part of him ached, but the thought of his family, was all that kept him tethered to some kind of reality. It’s so much, so overwhelming. His throat aches from the sobs, his body trembling with exhaustion.
He’s at their mercy. There’s no way they will allow him to leave.
He heard them talk to him, asking him questions, trying to get him to respond. But he’s too tired, too drained to do anything but listen. He can’t answer, can’t even make sense of most of what they say.
They come every day, saying the same things, trying to get him to talk. From what he understood, they’ve been after him for months, and now they finally have him. They even said no one is looking for him, that he’s been forgotten.
But that’s not true. Charles won’t forget him. Charles will never stop looking for him. Max can feel it deep in his chest. He knows Charles is out there, searching, trying to find him. Max holds onto that hope, even as everything else around him feels uncertain. He can’t let them take that away from him. He has to believe that Charles will come for him. He has to.
The pain in his chest intensifies as his heart pounds harder, and for a brief, terrifying moment, he wonders if he might not make it through. The thought sends a wave of panic through him, but he pushes it down, forcing himself to focus. He needs to get out of here, to get better. He can’t stay in this hospital, trapped, when there’s so much left to do.
Max tries again to move, this time pushing himself with all the strength he can muster, but his body is too weak. The pain is too much, and everything goes black. The last thing he hears is the soft click of a door opening, but even that fades as he slips away, his consciousness swallowed by the darkness.
Notes:
Honorable mentions
- The pets were not left out this time
- Who needs a gun when they are trying to work a complicated corruption case # kill_them_with_kindness.
- Max: Oscar doesn't even needs me, Charles is a better father.
Charles: Max doesn't want to be Oscar dad.- This fic is brought to you by miscommunication.
- Max should consider a career in archaeology, because god was he so good at digging a deep hole for himself in this chapter.
- If your partner came back late looking like shit, do not ask about what happened, because he will maxplain, maxslaughter, and maxipulate his way out of it.
- Nico singing last Christmas
- Lewis's long term boyfriend is a better partner then I will ever be, because if my long term boyfriend treated his
neighbor like that I would serve Lewis's balls in that new year dinner.- Charles visiting Max grave because he loves him ❌️
Charles Visiting Max grave to tell him he was right ✅️
Chapter 9
Notes:
Hey everyone,
It's been over three weeks, I think. I'm really sorry for the delay—life happened, and my new job has been exhausting. This chapter wasn’t beta-read, so I apologize for any mistakes you might find.
This one was really difficult to write, and I just hope you enjoy it despite all the it being a messy chapter. Your kudos and comments mean the world to me, so please let me know what you think!
Enjoy reading!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max leaned back on the worn sofa, gripping the USB tightly in his hand. He glanced at the laptop on the coffee table, its screen now reverted to the desktop background—a photo of a younger Matt Roberts, his father's best friend and work partner, standing beside a smiling woman by a lake. Max handed the laptop back to Matt and fixed him with a hard look.
"You knew," Max said, his voice steady but sharp. "Didn’t you?"
Matt sighed, his shoulders slumping. He avoided Max’s gaze, running a hand over his face. "I tried, Max," he said finally, his tone low. "I did everything I could. But in the end… I couldn’t help when it mattered."
Max’s jaw tightened. "Why didn’t you report May? Why didn’t you tell the police what you knew? You had evidence—you knew the truth. Why didn’t you do anything?"
Matt shook his head, his voice breaking slightly. "Because they wouldn’t have believed me."
Max scoffed, leaning forward, anger rising. "That’s bullshit. You were respected. You had connections. You could’ve pulled this off if you wanted to."
Matt’s expression hardened as he met Max’s gaze for the first time. "You think I didn’t try? You think I didn’t fight for it? I was strong, Max. I am strong. But May was stronger. He controlled everything—the investigation, the evidence, the people. Every move I made was blocked."
Max frowned, disbelief evident in his eyes. "You’re telling me May controlled the police? The entire investigation?"
Matt nodded grimly. "The lead detective was a close friend of May’s. Lewis, He wasn’t there to investigate; he was there to protect May. I pushed to lead the investigation myself, but they shut me down—conflict of interest, they said, my hands were tied."
Max’s frustration boiled over. "You could have still insisted! You could have gone to someone higher up, gone public if you had to. You could have done something!"
"I did insist!" Matt snapped, his voice rising. "I pushed until I was blue in the face. I risked everything, Max. My job, my reputation, my family. But every door was slammed shut. Every lead I followed disappeared. Every ally I thought I had either turned their back on me or vanished under the pressure. You have no idea what it was like."
Max stared at Matt, his anger mixed with confusion. "Then why didn’t you go public? Why not expose him? You had the truth, Matt. You could’ve made people listen."
Matt shook his head, his voice weary. "And what would that have done? May would’ve buried me before I got a word out. Or worse, he would’ve come for my family. He was untouchable, Max. Still is. I’ve never hated anyone more in my life, but hating him didn’t change what he could do. And when Fernando kept pushing… he paid the price."
The mention of Fernando brought a lump to Max’s throat, but he swallowed it down. He clenched his fists. "So what? You just gave up?"
Matt sighed again, the weight of his decisions etched on his face. "I didn’t give up. I just… couldn’t win. And neither can you. Don’t make the same mistakes Fernando did, Max. Please. It’s not worth it."
Max’s voice was firm, unwavering. "I’m not backing down, Matt. I can’t. He was my father, and I have a duty to him—and to the people who’ve been hurt because of May. He needs to be stopped. You say you couldn’t do it then? Fine. But you can help me now."
Matt shook his head slowly, pain flashing in his eyes. "You’re just like him. And I hate that I see him in you. Because I know how this will end."
Max let out a bitter laugh, snorting at the excuse. "You hate that we’re not cowards like you. The truth is you were scared? Scared of death, why? Don’t you think he was scared as well, but he went with it anyway, because it was the right thing to do. You had a family that would miss you? And what about him? You think he didn’t have people who loved him?"
Matt looked pained but composed, shaking his head. "God, you sound just like Fernando. Young Fernando. All that fire, all that temper. And the same misjudgment. Look, I told him. I warned him to stop. They gave us a warning, Max. But he mocked me. Called me weak and pathetic. The truth is, I knew a losing fight when I saw one. They were stronger, and your dad was too proud and too stubborn to see what he’d lose if he kept going. And he did. I helped him when I could" His voice cracked, and he added bitterly, "I loved Fernando, but I hate him for it. For being so damn proud."
Max’s eyes narrowed, anger simmering just beneath the surface. "That’s not an excuse, Matt. You swore an oath, same as him."
Matt snapped, his voice sharp. "It is an excuse, and you know it! Because at the end of the day, you wish you had Fernando back. You wish he’d never gotten involved. That he was there at your wedding that he is still in your life. He couldn’t see that he wasn’t invincible. You’re not, either. And you’ve seen what it did to your family, what it took from you all. Don’t be stupid, Max. Stay out of it."
Max shook his head, his determination unwavering. "I’m not backing down. He is my father. Unlike you, I have a duty to him—and to the people who’ve been hurt because of this. He needs to be stopped."
Matt rubbed his face with both hands, exhaling heavily. "You’re a stupid boy. Worse than your father. At least he had connections. You’ve got nothing to stand on." He paused, desperation creeping into his tone.
Max leaned forward, his voice low but steady. "That’s why I’m here. I’m asking you to help me. It’s not too late to do the right thing. We can bring him down, together. I have people working with me. This can work. You can tell me what you know, you don’t have to be heavily involved."
Matt shook his head, his voice heavy with frustration and fear. "You really don’t listen, do you? I’ll tell you what I told your old man—I’m not suicidal. They’re too strong, Max. At some point, they threatened my family. That’s why I backed out. I regret not helping Fernando every damn day. I wouldn’t want you to end up like him."
Max sat in silence, staring at Matt, hoping the older man would offer more. But Matt’s expression was resigned, his eyes tired and sunken. Finally, the man sighed heavily.
"We knew what you know," Matt said, his voice low. "He was killing people. We could never figure out why. Some we did—they discovered dirt on him, tried to expose him. But others… we never found the connection. Fernando took what we had to the police, and you know how that ended. The case disappeared, and Fernando paid the price." He looked at Max with a mixture of regret and warning. "So please, don’t trust anybody. Take care of yourself."
Matt stood slowly, signaling the conversation was over. His voice softened as he added, "I wish you the best, Max. Truly. And I hope this won’t be the last time we meet."
Max frowned, his mind racing with more questions, but Matt’s body language was clear—he was done. The older man walked toward the door, his movements deliberate and final.
Max stood as well, reluctantly following him. "You’re really walking away from this?" he asked, disappointment heavy in his tone.
Matt paused, his hand on the doorframe. "I’ve put that life behind me. I moved out here to get away from people, from that world. I’ve lost enough—friends, partners, people who were like family. I can’t go back to that life, Max. I won’t. I just want to spend whatever years I have left in peace."
Max bit the inside of his cheek, frustrated but unable to argue, because he can see the sense behind Matt logic, while Max refuses to admit it out loud, he have had doubts of his own. He glanced around the cozy cabin, nestled deep in the woods. It made sense now why it had taken him months to find Matt. The man had chosen to disappear, to bury himself in isolation.
Max couldn’t help but think, Maybe one day, I could do this too. Retire somewhere quiet like this with Charles, leave it all behind.
Max stared at the wooden walls of Matt’s cabin, the scent of pine and smoke filling the air. It was peaceful here. He could understand why Matt had given up—why he had retreated to a quiet corner of the world to live out his days in solitude.
This job breaks you.
As detectives, they faced the worst of humanity every single day. Their lives were spent chasing evil, confronting the darkness that lurked in the corners of the world. It wasn’t just about solving cases; it was about the lives left shattered in the aftermath.
Max could still see the faces of the victims' families, etched in his mind like scars. He remembered the trembling hands he’d held, the broken cries of mothers and fathers as they begged for answers, for closure. He’d promised them justice, but even when the killers were caught, it never felt like a victory.
Closure was a myth. It was something they told themselves to keep going, a way to give the families hope. But Max knew better. He’d seen it too many times. Once the court cases were over, once the perpetrators were locked away, the families were left to face the cold reality: their loved ones were gone. No amount of justice could fill the void left behind.
And the cases never stopped. One tragedy bled into the next, each more horrific than the last. There was no time to process, no time to grieve. Evil didn’t rest, and neither could they.
Max understood now what Matt had meant. The fight never ended. The wins felt hollow, and the losses piled up. He thought about the colleagues he’d lost along the way, friends who had been like family. They’d been strong, resilient.
Matt had been one of the best, once. A man Max had respected and admired. But years of chasing monsters had worn him down. The fire that once fueled him had burned out, leaving behind a man too tired to keep going.
Max clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. He didn’t want that to be his future. He didn’t want to wake up one day and realize he’d lost everything in pursuit of justice that never felt complete. He thought about Charles, about Oscar, about the life he wanted with them. He’d promised himself he wouldn’t let this job consume him.
He knew he couldn’t keep doing this forever. Not until his 50s. Not even until his 40s. It was too much. The faces, the pain, the endless cycle of death and despair—it was already getting to him.
And yet, here he was, standing at the door of a man who had chosen peace over justice, still unwilling to let go.
“Max.” Matt’s voice broke through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. “You can’t save everyone. Trust me, I tried. But at some point, you have to save yourself.”
Max looked at him, his eyes burning with unspoken emotions. He nodded, but he wasn’t sure if he agreed. He wasn’t sure if he could.
“Take care of yourself,” Matt said softly, patting Max’s shoulder.
Max stood there for a long moment, staring at Matt, forcing a small smile. "Thanks, Uncle Matt."
Matt looked pained, his shoulders sagging as he shook his head. "I didn’t do much. I wish I could’ve done more. Max, you know who’s behind this— it is not enough but it’s something." He hesitated, his voice cracking slightly. "Step back. Please."
Max’s smile faltered as his chest tightened, He shook his head slowly, his voice barely a whisper. "I can’t. You know I can’t. They’re out there, living their lives, happy. And he’s six feet under."
Matt’s face softened, understanding but powerless. "I know, Max. I understand."
Max sighed as he walked back to his car. The crisp air felt sharp against his face, but it did little to clear his mind. Sliding into the driver’s seat, he stared at the steering wheel, his fingers gripping it tightly.
Matt had been one of the last connections to Fernando’s world, a person Max believed could help him piece everything together. But instead of support, all he got was resignation and warnings.
His phone buzzed, the sound breaking through the stillness of the moment. He glanced at the screen. A message from his mom: “Oscar’s ready. Let me know when you’re close.”
Starting the car, Max pulled onto the quiet road. He’d pick up Oscar and then head to the precinct, to Daniel. Daniel would help—he always did.
---
Max leaned back in the chair, his gaze fixed on Daniel as he tried to make sense of everything. "I understand why he's doing this," Max said, his voice edged with frustration. "But he worked with Dad for years. How can he just let go?"
Oscar, perched on his lap, munched on a dried fig Daniel had given him when they arrived. He didn't seem to enjoy it much, but with his teething, he was making do. Drool trickled down his chin, soaking the small bib tied around his neck. Max fumbled for a napkin to clean him up, muttering under his breath as Oscar babbled contentedly.
Daniel finally broke the silence, his voice calm but distant. "Well, he had his reasons, Max."
"Not good enough," Max shot back, his tone sharp.
Daniel sighed, avoiding Max's piercing gaze. "Are you saying your family isn't worth it? This job—we do what we can to help people, but we have limits."
Max leaned forward, his frustration boiling over. "I can't believe you're saying this. What do you suggest? That we just go on with our lives while May kills more people? Be for fucking real."
"Max," Daniel snapped, keeping his voice low but firm. "I’m saying this is dangerous. We don’t have enough proof or power to bring him down. And we’ve already compromised ourselves when we arrested those people. What if they get to us? What if we die? Your mom would have to mourn you. Charles. Oscar."
Max’s anger faltered as he glanced at Oscar. The baby was babbling, completely oblivious to the weight of their conversation. At the mention of his name, Oscar perked up, kicking his little legs and reaching for Daniel, his chubby arms flailing.
Amused, Max chuckled softly. "It seems like he wants you."
Daniel raised an eyebrow but smiled despite himself. "At least someone in this life does," he muttered, gesturing for Max to hand Oscar over.
Oscar couldn’t wait for Max to hand him over, so he throw his body at Daniel as Daniel caught him “hey, easy buddy.” The door swung open, and in strode Lando, his face set in a scowl. He didn’t even bother with pleasantries as his gaze landed on Max.
“Verstappen,” Lando barked, his voice laced with irritation. “What the fuck is wrong with you? What kind of a friend are you? You absolute piece of shi—"
Max held up a hand and pointed to Oscar, who was now sitting in Daniel’s lap, giggling and babbling away. "Language, Lando," Max said firmly.
Lando paused, glancing at the baby, who was now kicking his feet and staring at Lando with wide, curious eyes. Taking a deep breath, Lando switched gears, though his frustration was evident in his tone.
"Fine," he huffed, kneeling slightly to be at Oscar’s eye level. "You know what, Oscar? Your dad is the worst kind of friend. The absolute worst kind of… fish."
Max raised an eyebrow, amused. "Fish?"
"Yeah, fish," Lando said, clicking his fingers with an exaggerated baby talk to keep Oscar entertained. "Yes, he’s like a slimy, stinky mackerel that’s been sitting out in the sun for too long."
Oscar let out a delighted squeal, clapping his tiny hands as Lando continued his tirade.
"Imagine, Oscar, this slimy fish just ignoring your calls, your messages, like he’s too busy swimming around in his little happy family pond to give his friend a single moment of his time!" Lando clicked his tongue, shaking his head at Max while still addressing the baby. "Unbelievable, right? The audacity of this fish!"
Max groaned, though his lips twitched with a reluctant smile. "You’re being dramatic, Lando."
"Dramatic?" Lando shot back, straightening up but keeping his playful tone. "I’ve been trying to get ahold of you for days, Max. DAYS! You’re lucky I don’t turn you into fish sticks."
Oscar burst into laughter at Lando’s animated gestures, his little hands reaching out toward him. Lando sighed, letting the irritation melt away as he gently ruffled the baby’s soft hair.
"At least someone here appreciates me," Lando muttered, glancing at Daniel, who smirked silently.
Max chuckled, shaking his head. "Nice to see you too, Lando."Max pointed at Oscar, who was happily babbling away in Daniel’s lap. “Well, you have no one to blame but this little cute angel,” Max said with a small smile. “I’m a father now, Lando. He’s been teething, and he takes all my time.”
Lando smacked Max on the shoulder, glaring. “Stop lying! You’ve been in contact with Daniel but not me. I see how it is. You know what? I won’t forgive you. You’re officially not my friend anymore. I don’t have a friend named Max.”
Max raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Your literal best friend from childhood is also named Max. What are you going to do about him?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Lando snapped, crossing his arms. “I’m still done with you. And don’t think you can fix this.”
“Alright, alright,” Max said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “You’re right. I’ve been neglecting you, and I’m sorry. Let me make it up to you. What can I do?”
“Nothing,” Lando shot back. “I’ll never forgive you.”
Daniel, watching the exchange with mild amusement, chimed in. “You could take him to that play he wanted to drag me to as punishment.”
Lando turned and glared at Daniel. “I wasn’t dragging you. I invited you.” Then he paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “But you’re onto something. Yes, Max. You’re coming with me to the play.”
Max glared at Daniel. “I was thinking more… family-friendly events. I have Oscar to take care of.”
“Oh, so something you can get out of,” Lando said, rolling his eyes. “Forget it, Max.”
“No, no,” Max said quickly, sighing. “Come on, Lando. We can go out next week for breakfast. Saturday? Monday?”
Lando looked at him pensively. “But I want someone to come with me to the play. I have two tickets!” Lando said indignantly. “It’s a high-production play with big names. I’m not wasting free tickets.”
Max sighed. “Lando, I’m sorry, but I just can’t go. I can barely find time for myself and Charles, let alone anything else.”
“Well, you have time for Daniel!” Lando snapped, his irritation flaring again.
Before Max could respond, there was a knock on the door, and Lewis stepped in. Max groaned inwardly. Great. The last person he wanted to deal with right now.
“Hey, everyone,” Lewis said, giving a polite nod to Daniel before looking at Max. “Max, it’s good you’re here, I need to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”
Max exchanged a look with Daniel. “What’s this about?”
Lewis gave him a pointed look. “It’s about your leave. I’ve got some papers you need to sign. Whenever you’re done here, come by my office.”
Max sighed, already feeling drained. “Of course,” he said, standing and grabbing the diaper bag from the chair. He extended his arms toward Oscar, who babbled happily and reached for him. “I’m done here anyway.”
Max shifted Oscar higher on his hip as he entered Lewis’s office, closing the door with a quiet click. Oscar gurgled, his tiny hands batting at the strap of Max’s bag. Max forced his expression into something neutral, polite but distant.
“Alright, Captain,” Max started, glancing at Lewis, who stood leaning against his desk with arms crossed. “Let’s get this over with. You said you needed me to sign some papers?”
For a moment, Lewis didn’t respond, his gaze steady and unreadable. Finally, he shook his head. “There’s no paperwork, Max.”
Max frowned, his grip on Oscar tightening slightly. “No paperwork? Then why am I here?”
Lewis nodded toward the chair across from him. “Sit down. I want to talk.”
Max hesitated, shifting on his feet before reluctantly lowering himself into the chair, settling Oscar on his lap. The baby squirmed, reaching for a pen on the desk. Max distracted him with his keys.
“Max,” Lewis began, his voice calm and deliberate. “I want you to know I respect you. You’re a good detective. One of the best we’ve got.”
Max’s brows lifted slightly. “Thank you, sir.”
But Lewis didn’t stop. “You’re talented, driven, and thorough. But sometimes, that drive can get you into trouble. Sometimes, you need to recognize when it’s time to step back.”
Max tilted his head, his expression carefully blank. “Step back from what?”
Lewis exhaled, leaning forward and folding his hands together. “You know what I’m talking about, Max. Fernando.”
Max’s stomach clenched, but his face didn’t show it. He shrugged casually. “I don’t know what you are talking about. What do you mean? I’m on paternity leave, remember?”
Lewis’s gaze didn’t waver. “Don’t play dumb, Max. I know you’re looking into his death. And I’m not the only one who knows.”
Max blinked, feigning confusion. “I am not working on the case, because the case was already solved, so I don’t know what are you on about?”
Lewis leaned back in his chair, his tone cooling slightly. “You know what I am talking about. And they know you’re digging. Max, you’ve got a family now. A child. Is this worth risking everything?”
Max let out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Risking what? You’re being cryptic, Captain. If you have something to say, just say it.”
Lewis’s jaw tightened briefly before he spoke again. “Max, listen to me. I’m saying this because I care. You need to stop. You’re a father now. Oscar needs you. Charles needs you. Don’t put them in danger because you can’t let this go.”
Max looked down at Oscar, who was happily gnawing on his lion toy, oblivious to the tension in the room. He forced a faint smile and glanced back at Lewis.
“I’m on paternity leave,” Max said evenly. “I’m with my family, focusing on my son. I’m not working on anything.”
Lewis shook his head, his voice softening. “Max, I know you don’t trust me. But you and I both know this is dangerous. Pushing further will only end one way.”
“And you’re right,” Max said, his tone laced with disdain. “I don’t trust you, so stay away from my family.”
Lewis remained stoic, his calm demeanor a sharp contrast to Max’s intensity. “I am not going to hurt them,” he said evenly. “I’m just worried about you.”
Max’s lips curled into a bitter smirk, his blue eyes narrowing. “Mind your own business. If I were you, I’d be more worried about myself. Stay away from my family, Lewis. You’re not good for them. Stay away from Nico.”
Lewis exhaled slowly, his expression tightening for a brief moment before returning to its usual composed state. “Look,” he said carefully, his voice quieter but still steady. “If you want, I’ll stay away from Nico. But promise me you’ll stop investigating your father’s case. I can ensure your safety, Max, but you have to trust me.”
“Never,” Max snapped without hesitation. Max stood abruptly, lifting Oscar and slinging the diaper bag over his shoulder. “Thanks for the concern,” he said coldly. “But as I said, I’m not working on anything. My family’s my priority.”
He turned toward the door, but Lewis’s voice stopped him.
“Max,” Lewis said quietly. “Just think about what you’re risking. Please.”
Max didn’t turn back. He opened the door and stepped into the corridor, his jaw clenched tightly. As he walked outside, Oscar cooing in his arms, a knot of fear twisted in his chest.
Max glanced down at Oscar, the baby’s wide eyes staring up at him trustingly. Fernando would understand, a small voice in his head whispered. He was a family man too. He’d want you to let go.
But another thought followed, sharper and more insistent. Fernando didn’t let go. He made his choice. And now you need to make yours.
Once he reached the car, Max secured Oscar in his car seat with practiced ease, his movements automatic but his mind far from the task. His hands lingered for a moment, brushing over Oscar’s tiny hands as the baby cooed.
Lewis’s words echoed in his head. This wasn’t how Max had planned it. He wanted to catch the man who killed his father, to expose him and see justice served. Instead, he’d put himself—and everyone around him—in danger.
His fists tightened on the wheel. Backing down wasn’t an option. It never had been. But now he had responsibilities—Oscar, Charles. If something happened to him, or worse, to them because of his choices…
He sighed heavily, leaning his head back against the seat. Lewis’s offer of help had been unexpected, but it made sense. Lewis cared about Nico, and by extension, Max and his family.
The deal could protect them. It could give Max a chance to fix this without risking everything.
But taking it meant he has to stop investigating, and let it go.
He let out a breath, steadying himself. Maybe this wasn’t the fight he’d imagined, but he couldn’t afford to let his pride get in the way. For Oscar. For Charles. For Daniel.
He just hoped—prayed—that it wasn’t too late to step back.
---
By the time Max climbed into bed, it was barely seven o’clock. He grabbed a book from the nightstand, flipping through the pages without really reading. From the living room, he could hear Oscar’s giggles and Charles’s soft voice as he talked to the baby.
The playful noises faded as Charles moved to Oscar’s nursery. Max listened to the soft creak of floorboards, expecting Charles to join him any minute. But the minutes stretched on, and when Charles finally slipped into bed beside him over an hour later, he didn’t say a word.
As Charles settled into bed, the room fell into a heavy silence. Max lay on hi+s back, staring at the dark ceiling, thoughts swirling in his head. Finally, in a whisper, he broke the stillness.
"Do you ever think about what would happen to Oscar if we… if we died while working? Or just… died, really?"
Charles didn’t respond immediately, and Max’s chest tightened. Maybe Charles had fallen asleep—he looked exhausted—or maybe he was ignoring him, as he had been for the past two weeks. Max turned his head to glance at him, only to hear a faint groan.
Charles rolled over to face him, his voice carrying the weariness of someone at their limit. "Max, I’m too exhausted to have this conversation right now. Why are you even talking about this?"
Max took a deep breath, willing himself to stay calm. "Because we’re parents now. We need to be responsible and think about everything. We need to secure Oscar’s future."
But even as he said it, Max knew it wasn’t the whole truth. Before meeting Matt, death was never something he actively considered. But now… now, the danger felt closer than ever. Not that he could tell Charles.
Charles sighed, his tone soft but firm. "Then we need to be responsible and make sure we’re extra careful. We can’t die on him, Max."
Max frowned, frustration bubbling up at Charles’s response. It wasn’t what he wanted to hear. He wanted plans, reassurance—something tangible to hold on to. But Charles didn’t even know how deep Max had sunk, how close he’d been playing with death.
"Charles, be realistic," Max said, his voice sharper now. "Our jobs are dangerous. We can’t always guarantee our safety."
Charles exhaled, his voice quieter but edged with tired patience. "Mine isn’t. It used to be, back when I was a firefighter. But not anymore. My job is safe now."
Max turned his head away, bitterness creeping into his tone. "Well, at least Oscar has someone to take care of him."
Charles’s brow furrowed at the remark, and he shifted closer, his concern cutting through the tension. "Max," he said softly but firmly, "why are you asking these questions? Does this have to do with the other day when you were attacked? Are you… involved in something dangerous?"
The worry in Charles’s voice was palpable, his usual restraint giving way to raw emotion. Max hesitated, guilt twisting in his gut. The truth was complicated, and while he couldn’t outright lie, he also couldn’t give Charles the full story.
"Well, no," Max began, fumbling for words. "I mean… kind of. A lot has happened, Charles. I just didn’t tell you—couldn’t tell you—because you haven’t talked to me in weeks."
Charles’s expression hardened, his voice sharp as a blade. "Whose fault was that?"
Max’s shoulders slumped. "Mine. I know. I just… I wanted to talk to you. I missed you."
Charles didn’t soften. "Max, if you’re not going to be honest and respect our relationship—if you don’t communicate with me, not just when it suits you—we wouldn’t be in this mess."
Max had spent days rehearsing apologies, but now, as the conversation unraveled, he felt like he was only making things worse. "I know, Charles. I’m sorry. I should’ve called that night."
"And?" Charles pressed, his tone unyielding.
Max met his gaze, his voice faltering. "And… I shouldn’t have lied."
"Exactly," Charles said, his voice quieter now but no less intense.
“So,” Max asked quietly, lifting his head slightly, “are we okay now?”
Charles sighed, “Not really. I’m still mad at you.”
Max flinched but tried to keep his voice steady. “Why?”
Charles’s gaze dropped to the bed sheet. “I hate how you were the one who offered—no, insisted—on taking paternity leave. But now it feels like you hate it. Most days, I have to run myself into the ground to make things easier for you, and on top of that, my job is exhausting.”
Max blinked, as he slowly pushed himself up from the bed. His legs bent at the knees, his feet planted firmly on the sheets. He took a deep breath. The accusation Charles had thrown at him felt like a physical blow, his gaze focused on the crumpled sheets beneath him, unable to meet Charles’s eyes. His chest tightened as he processed what Charles had said. That wasn’t true. That wasn’t how he felt. He loved being with Oscar, loved the moments they shared. In fact, Max dreaded the idea of going back to work, especially now that his father’s case had grown so complicated. He didn’t want to leave this.
But parenting—parenting had its challenges. And Max couldn’t ignore that, couldn’t pretend it didn’t affect him. There were nights he stayed up late, there were times he was at lose and didn’t know what to do with Oscar, or the constant feeling that he is fucking up everything, like he was simply doing it wrong. His insecurities crept in, doubts about his ability to be a good father, the fear that he wasn’t doing enough, that he would never be enough. But none of that meant he didn’t want to be a part of Oscar’s life.
Charles shifted beside him, Slowly, Charles followed Max’s movement, sitting up beside him, facing Max. His body language was open but hesitant.
He cleared his throat. As he left his head and look at Charles eyes. “Charles, I love staying with Oscar. I’m happy doing this. It’s you who hates seeing me with him. You take him away the minute you come home—out of spite.”
“Well, yeah,” he admitted reluctantly. “Because I don’t want it to be used against me later on. I don’t want a day were you would hate Oscar for being the reason you lost your freedom.”
“Against you?” Max asked, his voice rising in disbelief.
“You never wanted to adopt him, Max. I forced you into it, and the paternity leave should’ve been mine. You hate staying with him at home and not being at work with Daniel”
Max stared at Charles, his chest tightening at the words. He hated this part of their story—yet it would always be a part of Oscar’s life. Of how they got him. What would Oscar think when he grow up and found out that Max didn’t want him? Would he believe Max didn’t love him?
His voice broke slightly as he said, “Would you stop bringing this up? It’s so unfair. I changed my mind, Charles. I’m happy. Oscar is my son, and I love him. I’m trying to make up for everything—for him and for you. But you—you’ll always hold this over my head. I deserve to spend time with Oscar.”
“That’s not true,” Charles said softly, his voice trembling. “I am eternally grateful you allowed me to adopt him. I just hate that I forced you into it. That’s on me.”
Max’s hands clenched into fists on his thighs as he leaned forward, his head hanging low. “You didn’t force me,” he said firmly, his voice heavy with emotion. “I said no at the beginning, but once I was convinced, I said yes. I don’t regret it, and I don’t feel forced into it. I need you to stop this narrative because it’s not true.”
He lifted his gaze, his eyes meeting Charles’s with an intensity that made Charles swallow hard. “Get it into that thick brain of yours: the minute I adopted Oscar, I never looked back. You can’t deny me my own emotions, Charles. I’m already struggling with this—knowing I could never be a good father.” His voice cracked, but he pressed on. “But I love him. I’ve never felt anything like this before. Just because I’m not as good as you doesn’t mean I don’t deserve to be his father.”
Charles’s reached out, his hand resting gently on Max’s arm. “Max,” he whispered, his voice full of regret, “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt this way. I never meant to make you feel like you weren’t good enough. I was scared… scared you’d regret this, scared you’d resent him—or me.”
Max shook his head, his voice steady but raw. “I’ll never resent him or you, Charles. He’s my son. I’m ashamed of how I felt in the beginning, but I love him with everything I have. I don’t want you to doubt that. Ever.” Max’s voice wavered as he continued, “You take him away from me the second you walk through the door. It’s like you’re trying to prove he’s only yours. And he feels it too. He’s so happy when he’s with you.”
Max didn’t notice Charles move closer to him until he felt the warm touch of his hand lifting his face. Charles’s green eyes were soft with something like regret. “I never knew you felt like this,” he said. “Max, it’s not true. He loves you. I wasn’t trying to take him away.”
Max shook his head, pulling back from Charles’s hand. “You thought I was a shitty dad,” he muttered.
“No,” Charles said firmly, grabbing Max’s face again, his grip gentle but insistent. “I thought you regretted adopting Oscar. You said he was my son. You seemed miserable, Max. And whenever I came home, you ran to Daniel like you couldn’t wait to escape.”
Max’s heart sank. He hadn’t realized how his actions must have looked. “I was working on my dad’s case with denial, and I will admit that I messed up and took it too far, but from now on I will stop, because I saw how it’s effecting us. “He said quickly. “But I still feel …I just—he has you, Charles. He doesn’t need me because of how close you two are. I love spending time with him. I guess I was jealous of how strong your bond is.”
Charles’s surprised laugh broke the tension, and Max’s cheeks flushed. “What?” Max asked, feeling childish.
“Would it make you feel better if I told you I feel the same way?” Charles asked, his lips curving into a small smile. “You two are so close now. You have so much fun together, and your bond is so strong. Sometimes I feel like I am an outsider.”
Max stared at him, stunned.
“I was scared,” Charles admitted, “that you’d grow to resent him because he changed everything for us. I thought you’d resent me for pushing him on you. But hearing you now—I’m happy you love him. I’m sorry I doubted you.”
Max looked away, his voice breaking. “I’ll never hurt him, Charles. I love him so much. I’m ashamed I rejected him at first. He could’ve joined our family sooner if I’d just listened to you.”
“Hey, no,” Charles said, taking Max’s hands in his. “You had every right to not want kids. What matters is that you love him now. And honestly? He’s going to grow up with two very pathetic fathers who compete for his affection instead of just talking to each other.”
Max let out a watery laugh, squeezing Charles’s hands tightly. “I’ll take that.”
Max pulled Charles gently by the hand, guiding him back toward the bed. They settled back onto the bed together, the sheets cool against their skin. Max wrapped his arms around Charles, pulling him close, until their bodies were pressed together, their legs naturally entwining under the covers.
Max rested his chin on Charles's shoulder, the soft scent of his hair filling the space between them. Charles’s breath was steady, Charles shifted slightly, snuggling into Max’s arms, his back melting against Max’s chest. Max could feel the rise and fall of his breath. He allowed himself to press a soft kiss to Charles's shoulder, his lips lingering there for a moment longer than usual. Max made a decision then, a quiet vow to himself.
He didn’t want to leave this. He didn’t want to leave his family, not ever, not when they were still figuring it out, not when there was so much more to learn and grow together. Fernando would understand. The thought of leaving them—leaving Charles and Oscar—was too painful to even consider. He knew the ache of loss too well. He’d lost so much in his life, but the one thing he didn’t want to lose, the one thing he couldn’t imagine being without, was them.
Oscar was growing up so quickly—too quickly—and Max couldn't help but feel like time was slipping through his fingers. He was excited, more excited than he had ever been. He wanted to be there for every step, every milestone, and every moment that made Oscar the person he was becoming. There was so much he wanted to share with his son and Charles. Max kissed Charles’s shoulder once more, his lips pressing softly into the skin, Charles’s hand rested gently over Max’s, fingers entwining.
He exhaled deeply and asked, his voice quiet but steady, “Am I allowed to join in on your time with Oscar now?”
Charles stilled for a moment before lifting his head slightly, just enough for his lips to brush Max’s skin as he mumbled, “Yes, please. I miss you… and I miss how cute you and Oscar are together.”
Max couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. He pressed his lips against Charles’s hair, breathing him in, and whispered, “I miss it too. I miss us—all of us.”
Just as they began to settle into the warmth of each other’s embrace, a soft, insistent cry crackled through the baby monitor on the nightstand. Oscar’s tiny voice filled the room, and Charles groaned into Max’s neck, his exhaustion evident. “I’m so tired,” Charles murmured, his words muffled by Max’s skin. “I just put him to sleep.”
Max chuckled softly, shifting to meet Charles’s face as he gently moved Charles’s head from his neck. “Don’t worry,” Max said softly, brushing his thumb along Charles’s cheek. “I’ll take care of him. You go to sleep.”
Charles blinked at him, his eyes heavy with fatigue but warm with gratitude. Slowly, Max untangled their legs, sliding his hand from Charles’s grasp as he leaned down to press a tender kiss to Charles’s forehead. “Rest,” he whispered, his voice filled with a gentle command.
Charles nodded sleepily, letting himself sink back into the mattress as Max stood. With a final glance at Charles, Max smiled softly before padding toward the door.
---
The morning sunlight filtered gently through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the room. Max blinked awake, a soft weight on his face pulling him from his slumber. He groaned, shifting slightly, only to realize he was sprawled across Charles’s stomach, his face pressed against something soft yet oddly positioned. He cracked one eye open and saw it—tiny baby feet resting squarely on his cheek.
Max chuckled quietly, the sound vibrating through him. As he turned his head, he was met with Oscar’s bright eyes and curious smile. The baby lay wide awake, babbling softly and playing with his hands. Next to him, Sassy, Leo, and Jimmy were nestled in a cozy pile, all fast asleep.
Gently, Max sat up, careful not to disturb Charles, who shifted slightly but remained asleep, his face peaceful. Max tugged the blanket up over Charles’s shoulders, a small smile playing on his lips as he thought, Good, he needs the rest.
Oscar’s coos grew louder, a cheerful “bababab” echoing through the room. Max grinned. “We’re getting there,” he muttered to himself, pride swelling in his chest. He had been trying to teach Oscar to say “Papa.”
Oscar reached out to Max with one chubby hand, the other grabbing Sassy’s tail. The cat’s ears perked up immediately, her head snapping around in alarm. Max quickly intervened, leaning forward and gently prying Oscar’s hand from the fluffy tail.
“Hey, buddy,” Max whispered, his voice soft but firm. “Don’t do that—it hurts. How would you feel if someone pulled your hair, hmm?”
Oscar turned to Max with wide, curious eyes, and then, as if he understood, he wrapped his arms around Sassy instead. Max sighed in relief. “Good boy,” he said, brushing a hand over Oscar’s hair. “Yes, gently, Oscar. You have to be gentle with them so they can love you back.”
Sassy, no longer alarmed, stretched out and snuggled closer to Oscar, her purrs filling the quiet room. Max leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to Oscar’s chubby cheek, while the baby giggled.
Straightening up, Max grabbed his phone from the nightstand, his fingers lingering over the lock screen as if hesitating to take the next step. He stared at the faint reflection of his face in the darkened screen. With a deep breath, he unlocked it. The image of Charles holding baby Oscar filled the screen, a picture he’d taken a few nights ago—Charles and Oscar, the two of them curled up on the couch, Charles fast asleep with Oscar nestled in his arms, and Max couldn’t resist capturing it.
He opened the messaging app, his thumb hovering over Lewis’s name. What was the right thing to say? Could there even be a right thing in a situation like this?
His fingers hesitated over the keyboard, typing and deleting words in rapid succession. The longer he stared at the blank text box, the more uncertain he was about his next move.
Finally, Max exhaled sharply and let his hands drop onto his lap, the phone resting loosely between his fingers. Just keep it simple, he thought, swallowing the knot in his throat. Anything too complicated might make things worse.
Slowly, he typed:
"I won't investigate. I just want to be with my family."
The words felt foreign, almost like they weren’t his, but Max couldn’t bring himself to change them. They were the truth. He stared at the message for a long moment, his thumb hovering over the send button.
Was this the right decision? Would it make things better, or had he just set himself up for more trouble?
His jaw tightened, and with a reluctant sigh, he pressed send, the small whoosh of the message delivering felt far louder than it should.
Max stared at the screen for a moment longer, his chest tightening as the gravity of what he’d done began to settle. Shaking his head slightly, he opened a new message thread with Daniel. His thumbs hesitated over the keyboard again, but this time, he didn’t linger as long.
"We need to stop. It’s getting dangerous. I’ll explain later." He hit send before he could second-guess himself.
Just as he was about to lock his phone and set it aside, the device vibrated in his hand. A new message popped up on the screen, the preview displaying a single word:
"Okay."
Max’s stomach twisted as he opened the message. It was from Lewis.
"Okay. But we need to meet and plan how to keep you safe."
His grip on the phone tightened. He chewed on his lower lip, this wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
Oscar’s babbling snapped him out of his thoughts. The baby had grown louder, his small voice filling the room as he tugged on Sassy’s fur. Max glanced over at Charles, who remained blissfully asleep, his face half-buried in the pillow.
He leaned over, scooping Oscar up from the bed with practiced ease. “Alright, Oscar,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the baby’s forehead. “Let’s let Papa sleep, okay?”
Oscar giggled, patting Max’s cheek as if in agreement.
Max glanced back at his phone, which vibrated again, the screen lighting up with Lewis’s name. His stomach clenched, but he ignored it, sliding the device onto the nightstand. He wasn’t ready to deal with whatever web Lewis was spinning.
Holding Oscar close, Max quietly made his way out of the room, each step deliberate so as not to disturb Charles.
---
Charles lay in bed, unmoving, his body sinking deeper into the mattress as though it could swallow him whole. He had been awake for hours, staring at the ceiling and then the wall, trying and failing to muster the energy to get up. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in a soft glow, but it did little to lift the oppressive weight pressing down on his chest.
The sound of the door creaking open made him flinch slightly, though he didn’t move. He knew who it was before Nico’s voice reached him.
“Charles, get up,” Nico said firmly, standing in the doorway.
Charles groaned, pulling the covers over his head in defiance. “It’s the weekend, dad. Leave me alone.” His voice was muffled but carried an edge of exhaustion.
Nico didn’t budge. He stepped into the room, his presence solid and unyielding. “Weekend or not, you still need to get up,” he said, his tone calm but insistent.
When Charles didn’t respond, Nico approached the bed and gently but firmly tugged the covers down, exposing his son’s disheveled hair and pale face. Charles immediately turned his head, burying it in the pillow.
The pillow was damp, and Charles winced slightly as he realized how wet it was from the tears he had shed earlier. He didn’t have the energy to feel embarrassed, though.
Nico crouched beside the bed, his gaze steady. “You still have Oscar to take care of,” he reminded him, his voice softening slightly but losing none of its conviction.
Charles’s shoulders tensed. “Oscar is asleep,” he mumbled, his voice strained.
“Not for long,” Nico countered, his tone turning matter-of-fact. “And besides, you have a meeting with your therapist today.”
At that, Charles exhaled sharply, his breath catching. He didn’t respond, only burying his face deeper into the pillow. Nico didn’t press further immediately, instead placing a steadying hand on his son’s shoulder.
“Charles,” Nico said after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost gentle. “I know it’s hard. But staying in bed won’t make it any easier.”
Charles squeezed his eyes shut, feeling the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill again. He wanted to protest, to argue, but the words died in his throat. Deep down, he knew Nico was right.
After a long silence, Charles finally muttered, “Just… five more minutes.” Five minutes. He told himself he’d get up in five minutes.
Nico gave a faint nod, standing up but lingering near the bed. “Five minutes, and then you have to eat something before your appointment with your therapist today.” he agreed, though they both knew he wouldn’t let Charles stay any longer.
"I don’t want to go," Charles muttered, his voice hoarse and low. "It won’t help."
Nico crossed his arms, his tone calm but insistent. "You promised, Charles."
"Yes, but today I’m not feeling well," Charles shot back, shifting his face into the pillow.
"I know," Nico said, his voice softening. "And that’s exactly why you need help. Hence the therapist."
Charles let out a frustrated sigh, turning his head to face Nico. "The therapist won’t help, dad. This isn’t another mental health disease they can talk me out of. It’s a loss. I lost the love of my life, my husband. No amount of talking about it is going to fix that."
Nico’s expression didn’t waver. "Yes, but it’s been a month, Charles."
Charles’s head snapped up, anger flaring in his eyes. "So? The worst month of my life, and he’s not going to come back. I’ll mourn him for the rest of my life, and probably the next one!"
"I know son, you will love him forever, but you still need to live" Nico said evenly. "You have to learn to live without him. That’s life, Charles. People die and it hurt, but we can’t stop everything. I am not saying go out and party and go wild, but you also need to try to at least take care of yourself."
Charles scoffed, shaking his head. "Even the therapist said she can’t help me right now. She said it’s normal to mourn. After six months or a year, if I’m still like this, then they’ll consider intervening."
Nico’s gaze hardened just slightly. "How about when it starts affecting your health?"
"What health?" Charles snapped, his voice rising.
"Charles, you haven’t been eating," Nico said bluntly.
"That’s a lie," Charles countered defensively. "I ate yesterday."
Nico shook his head, his voice unwavering. "No, Charles. The last time you ate was two days ago. Yesterday, you threw up your breakfast and didn’t eat anything after that. And I let it go because you weren’t feeling well."
Charles felt the walls closing in. He could feel his face flush with frustration and shame. "Are you watching me now?" he demanded angrily. "Jesus, I’m being monitored in my own home. Maybe I should go back to my place where you won’t bother me."
"You know I won’t allow that," Nico said firmly.
Charles knew he couldn’t go back even if Nico allows it—not without Max. The last time he was there, he’d tried to… he tried to take his own life, since then Nico never allowed him to go back there, he had been the one to collect his belongings, moving him out almost entirely.
Before Charles could retort, the doorbell rang.
Nico straightened, glancing toward the hallway. "Oh, he’s here. I need to get that."
Charles didn’t respond. He didn’t care who Nico was talking about. He just wanted to be left alone. He’d been doing fine for the past month—taking care of Oscar, working, spending time with Lewis, Sophie, and Nico. He’d taken care of their pet, gone through the motions, even smiled when necessary. But now? He wasn’t crashing again; he was just resting. His stomach growled loudly, but he ignored it.
A few minutes later, Nico returned. This time, he wasn’t alone.
Charles’s eyes widened as Lando appeared beside Nico, dressed sharply in tight jeans and a leather jacket that clung to him like a second skin. He smelled fresh and clean, his presence an unwelcome contrast to Charles’s unwashed, disheveled state.
Charles immediately pulled the blanket over his head, his face burning with embarrassment. He hadn’t bathed in three days. He’d thrown up three times yesterday. And now, here was Lando, looking like he’d stepped out of a magazine.
"Get out," Charles mumbled from under the blanket, his voice muffled but laced with irritation.
"Charles," Nico started, his tone warning.
"I said get out," Charles repeated, burying himself further under the blanket, wishing he could disappear entirely.
Charles narrowed his eyes at Nico, shaking his head slightly. "Why is he here?" he asked, directing his frustration at Lando.
Lando leaned casually against the bedpost, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Because I wanted to be," he said simply.
"Get out," Charles snapped, his voice muffled under the blanket.
"No, I won’t," Lando replied firmly. He crossed his arms and tilted his head in challenge. "If you want me gone, you’ll have to get out of bed and throw me out yourself."
Charles groaned and turned his head toward the pillow. "Why are you here?" he asked again, his irritation thinly veiling the exhaustion in his voice.
Lando softened slightly, though his tone remained teasing. "I’m here to take you on a trip."
"I don’t want to go," Charles said flatly.
"Really?" Lando raised an eyebrow. "Max will be disappointed to hear that you didn’t want to see him."
At the mention of Max, Charles froze. Slowly, he pulled the blanket down enough to peek out, his hair messy and his eyes red from crying. "Max? You’re going to visit Max?"
"Yes," Lando said with a shrug. "And I thought I’d take you with me. Because, you know, he’d want to see you and hear about how you’re doing."
Charles sat up slightly, his movements hesitant, as if the words hadn’t fully sunk in. "Max..." he murmured, his heart clenching at the thought of seeing him again. But he felt heavy, unsure if he even had the strength to move, let alone get ready.
Lando watched him carefully and then gestured toward the bathroom. "How about this: you get up and take a bath while Nico prepares something for you to eat. Then we’ll head out."
Charles frowned, his brows knitting together in defiance. "Eat? I don’t want to eat. I want to see Max and talk to him."
Lando crossed his legs and leaned forward slightly, his voice calm but firm. "You will. But I’m thinking about Max. He’ll be worried if he sees you like this. You need to eat something first."
Charles’s glare shifted between Lando and the doorway Nico had disappeared through. "I’m not a child. I know what you’re doing."
Nico’s as he left the room voice called faintly from the hallway, "I’m not doing anything, Charles. Just making lunch."
"Lunch?" Charles muttered under his breath, as if the concept baffled him. "Already?"
Lando moved closer to the bed, sitting down beside Charles. The mattress dipped under his weight, and Charles instinctively leaned away.
"What are you doing?" Charles asked, eyeing him warily.
"Helping you get up," Lando said casually, his tone light but his intent clear.
"I don’t want help," Charles muttered. "But I don’t want to get up either."
Lando tilted his head, studying Charles for a moment. Then, without a word, he sat beside him, leaning back slightly on his hands. "Fine," Lando said with a shrug, his voice taking on a teasing edge. "We’ll sit here all day. Max can wait."
Charles sighed, his resolve crumbling ever so slightly as he glanced at Lando. "You’re impossible."
"And you," Lando said with a small grin, "are stubborn. Now, come on, Charles. Let’s get you ready. Max is waiting."
As Charles sat there, his exhaustion palpable, he could feel his body and mind at war. He wanted to find the strength to push through, but it felt like an impossible task. Finally, the words spilled out before he could stop them. "I feel tired, Lando. Like I don’t have the power to lift a finger. It’s not physical, or maybe it is. I’m just tired, Lando, and I’m tired of telling my dad that. I fear he’s getting tired of me. And how about Oscar? He needs me. And all I do is sleep."
His voice was faint, barely above a whisper, as if his words were not worth saying. He wasn’t sure Lando could even hear him, but when Lando spoke, his tone was gentle, yet firm. "But you’ve been doing well for a while, right? You ate, worked, and took care of Oscar. I’ve seen you a few times, and you looked well."
Charles nodded slightly, but the guilt still lingered like a shadow. "I did, but this past week was really difficult. I was so exhausted…" His voice trailed off. Charles doesn’t know why he’s telling Lando about this, he thought he hate him, or… he hated him. And now he’s telling him how stupid and weak he have become."
Lando, though always brash and bold, softened his gaze, understanding there was more beneath the surface. "But isn’t that normal?" he asked gently. "You just lost someone important. To me, what really matters is you focusing on eating and taking care of Oscar because he needs you. Everything else doesn’t matter. If you feel too exhausted to do your job, you can find a better job, one that’s less exhausting."
Charles frowned, shaking his head. "It’s not that easy."
"I know," Lando said quietly, shifting closer. "Look, Charles, I’ve had depression for a long time. Longer than I can remember not having it. It’s a silent killer, trust me. There were days I couldn’t talk or eat, I forgot what it felt like to be happy. But I decided I didn’t like it, and I needed help. And I did. The decision to get help was the bravest thing I ever did. It taught me how to deal with it."
Charles looked at him, surprised by the openness. "What did you learn?" he asked softly, not sure he wanted to talk about help or therapy himself, but unable to deny the small flicker of curiosity.
Lando met his gaze. "I just learned to take small steps. To go easy on myself. If I’m not feeling well, I set small goals. Take a bath. Eat something I like. Maybe call someone to talk or watch a movie. Just little things until it passes. Of course, it might not work right away, but at least you can try. And today… today, I’m making ‘eat’ your goal."
Charles chuckled weakly, his gaze dropping to his lap. "How about visiting Max?"
Lando nodded. "Do you want to visit Max?"
"I want Max," Charles said quietly, "not the cold gravestone where he lays."
Lando’s expression softened, understanding the pain behind the words. "We can visit him some other day."
Charles nodded silently, feeling a wave of sadness crash over him, but he appreciated Lando's understanding.
Lando then tried a new approach. "So lunch? But not here. How about the garden? It’s nice outside. You can have it alone if you don’t want company."
Charles hesitated, feeling the lump in his throat tighten. "I miss Oscar, but look at me… I look disgusting."
As he regarded Charles with an unwavering gaze. His expression a mixture of disbelief and genuine honesty "I don’t think you look disgusting. Actually, I don’t think you’ve ever looked bad in your whole life. You’re one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen. Handsome, sure, but you have this ethereal beauty about you. And it’s not a mystery where it came from—seeing your dad."
Charles felt the heat rise in his cheeks, a flush creeping across his skin, reaching his ears. He couldn’t stop the embarrassed smile that tugged at his lips. "So, it’s okay if I don’t take a bath?"
Lando shrugged, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. "Yeah, but you’ll need to change. I’m sure Oscar will want you to hold him."
Charles nodded, slowly getting up. "I can do that."
They sat in silence for a moment longer before Nico called from the kitchen, announcing that lunch was ready. Lando stood, excusing himself. "I’ll go inform your dad about today’s agenda. Take your time."
Charles nodded silently, still feeling unsure. He slowly made his way to Oscar's bedroom, the familiar ache of longing in his chest. He missed Oscar so much, and his mind kept spiraling with the thought that he was failing as a father. "God, I’m such a lousy dad," he whispered to himself. I should have died, and Max should have stayed alive. He would have taken better care of Oscar."
---
Charles walked out to the garden, the crisp air brushing against his skin as he stepped onto the neatly cut grass. He wasn’t sure what to expect but found a small table set under the shade of a tree, sunlight filtering gently through the branches. On the table was a steaming bowl of stew, its aroma wafting toward him, unmistakable and familiar.
His chest tightened as he recognized the smell. It was his mom’s stew—the one she used to make for him whenever he was sick as a child. His dad had tried to replicate it over the years, but he could never quite master it. This... this smelled perfect. The memories tugged at him, bittersweet and warm. He missed her so much.
He looked around, expecting to find someone nearby, but the garden was empty. Glancing toward the kitchen, he saw Nico and Lando talking through the sliding glass door. Their figures were relaxed, their conversation animated. Charles was about to call out to them when the door opened, and Sophie stepped outside.
She smiled at him brightly, her eyes sparkling in a way that felt unfamiliar—cheerful, almost overly so. It was unlike Sophie, who had been deeply depressed for month. "Charles!" she said, her voice full of an almost unnatural excitement as she walked toward him.
"Hi," he replied softly, unsure of her sudden mood shift.
She greeted him enthusiastically, almost too much, but her energy was contagious in a strange way. When she asked if she could join him, Charles glanced at the stew, then at her. He hesitated but decided he wouldn’t mind her company. Before he could answer, Nico slid open the kitchen door.
"We’re having lunch inside," Nico called out. "Charles will have his outside."
Sophie nodded, but as she turned to leave, Charles reached out and gently took her hand. "Stay," he said quietly, surprising even himself.
She paused, looking down at their hands, then back up at him with a small smile.
Charles turned his gaze to Nico. "You can join me too," he added, Nico looked slightly taken aback but nodded. Before Charles could say anything else, he noticed Lando turning toward the door, as if to leave.
"Lando," Charles called out, his voice stopping the other man in his tracks.
Lando turned back, eyebrows raised. "What?"
"You can stay as well," Charles said, almost shyly.
Lando’s expression softened. "Alright," he said, shrugging casually but with a flicker of warmth in his eyes.
Nico cleared his throat. "Lewis was supposed to join us too," he said, stepping out into the garden.
Eventually, they all gathered around the table, filling the garden with a quiet hum of life. Charles sat in the center, baby Oscar nestled in his arms. The infant’s tiny fingers gripped at Charles’s shirt.
As they settled in, Nico brought out a small high chair, placing it next to Charles. "Here," he said, gesturing for Charles to set Oscar down.
Charles hesitated, reluctant to let go, but eventually placed Oscar in the high chair. The baby looked content, babbling softly as he played with a small toy Nico had handed him.
Lando leaned in closer to Charles, his voice low. "Remember, your goal is to eat something," he said gently. "If it gets too much, you can tell us to leave."
Charles nodded silently, picking up his spoon. He dipped it into the stew, the warm aroma wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. Slowly, he brought the spoon to his lips and tasted it.
The flavor exploded in his mouth—a perfect blend of spices and warmth. It tasted exactly like his mom’s stew, the one that had always made him feel safe and loved. His chest tightened, and his eyes welled with tears as memories flooded back. He could almost hear her voice, feel her hand brushing his hair back as she coaxed him to eat when he was too tired or sick.
He swallowed hard, blinking quickly to keep the tears at bay. The stew was perfect, almost impossibly so.
"Charles," Nico said softly, watching him. "Are you alright?"
Charles nodded, "It’s... its really good," he finally managed.
“It was Lewis who made it,” Nico said, breaking the silence. “I knew I couldn’t get it quite right, but he could.”
Charles blinked, glancing up at Lewis, who was sitting across the table. “Thank you. It was... really good.”
Lewis returned the smile. “I’m glad you liked it. It’s nice to see you eating.”
Charles lowered his gaze, his fingers lightly brushing the edge of the bowl. His dad and Lewis exchanged an easy glance, another thought pushed to the forefront of his mind—one he couldn’t quite shake.
It had been a mystery to him for months now. The relationship between Nico and Lewis seemed... unconventional. Nico had developed a surprisingly close situationship with Lewis to a point that everybody and their mother were sure they were a thing. Then Lewis boyfriend came to the picture, and the situationship grew weirder because Nico had also developed a friendship with Jenson, to the point of inviting him to family dinners.
Charles still remembered that dinner, awkward tension hanging in the air. Lewis had barely spoken, at some point he looked upset, and Charles had caught Jenson throwing flirtatious smiles in Nico’s direction more than once.
Whenever Charles tried to question his dad about it, Nico would simply wave him off, saying, “We’re friends.” But the whole thing felt strange, and Charles couldn’t help wondering what really went on behind closed doors.
“At least he’s died now but I still hoped he would have served time in jail.” Sophie’s excited voice jolted him back to the present. She was leaning forward, her expression uncharacteristically animated.
Charles frowned, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. “What?” he asked.
Sophie nodded emphatically. “He’s dead. William May. Finally. Justice was served.”
“Wait... William May?” Charles put his spoon down, staring at her.
“Yes,” Sophie said, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and bitterness. “I was scared he’d somehow find a way out of it, but now it’s over.”
Nico, who had been quietly sipping his drink, chimed in. “There was no way he could have gotten out of it. There was evidence too many evidence against him. He knew that. That’s why he took his own life.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, the weight of the conversation sinking in. William May.
He glanced at Sophie, who was practically glowing with relief. He understood why. Max had spent years chasing answers about Fernando’s death, refusing to let it go, determined to find the truth. But he never got the chance. The truth had come too late, after Max was gone.
Now, William May was dead, his long list of crimes finally brought to light. May’s name had been a fixture in the headlines for weeks, the details of his crimes laid bare for the world to see: corruption, drug trafficking, organized crime, and the countless lives he’d destroyed along the way.
But for Charles, it felt... hollow. He couldn’t shake the thought that if Max were here, he’d have been the happiest person alive. This was what Max had wanted—to see May held accountable. Max had fought for it, but never lived to see. Charles stared at the table, his appetite gone. He spoke. “I’ve changed my mind,” he said quietly.
Lando, who had been sitting beside him, turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”
Charles took a deep breath, his hands resting on the table. “I want to go to Max.”
Notes:
Honorable mentions:
- Loving fish is a red flag i said what i said.
- Max choosing his family.
- This fic was going to be named "I lied" initially, but we ended up choosing "Haunted by the ghost of you."
- Deep midnight conversations can fix anything.
- Nico calling Lando to deal with Charles warms my heart.
- I suggest that Lando takes Charles out to the play because Max is so busy with Daniel.
- Not Daniel getting a lot of hate from Charlando because Max uses him to solve his dad's case.
- Matt : Max you should stop, think of your family!
Max: I am not a coward!Lewis: you should stop investigating.
Max: yeah, I will stop.- Jenbrocedes weird throuple situationship.
- May is down
- disclaimer: we didn't have the time to beta this chapter because Adulting sucks : so ; no beta we die like the tifosi's hopes of WCC.
Chapter 10
Notes:
Hey, I’m back from the dead. Guess what? I just had the worst two weeks of my life, and the worst is probably still ahead. I honestly don’t know if I can do this fic justice with everything going on in my life, but I’m trying.
On top of that, I’m 100% sure I’m getting fired. I fucked up so bad, and my boss is beyond pissed. So yeah… things are not looking great. but I will have more time to right so it's win lose situation.
I don’t know when I’ll post next, but I’ll try in the next two weeks. Love you guys, and I missed you. Let me know what you think in the comments!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max lay flat on his back on the bed, Oscar sitting on his tummy, wobbling slightly but steady enough to keep his balance. The baby was dressed in an obnoxiously bright yellow onesie, one that Max had strongly disapproved of when Charles bought it. Charles's obsession with yellow had somehow started infiltrating Oscar’s closet, and Max couldn’t stand it anymore. His son was beginning to resemble a tiny banana, and it was driving him mad.
"Come on, Oscar, you can do it," Max coaxed, his voice gentle yet persistent as he looked up at his son. "Pa. Pa. Pa. Come on, say it for me."
Oscar, with wide, curious eyes, stared at Max in silence. His little hands patted Max’s chest absentmindedly, more interested in the texture of Max’s shirt than his father’s pleading attempts.
Max groaned, turning his head to look at Charles, who was lying beside him, his head resting on Max’s side, just inches from Oscar’s tiny feet. Charles looked utterly at peace, his messy hair brushing Max’s arm as he gazed up at the baby.
"Are you sure he said it?" Max asked, his tone filled with skepticism.
Charles laughed softly, his fingers reaching up to tickle Oscar’s belly. "Yes, I swear, Max. He said ‘pa-pa’ twice. You should’ve seen it."
Max frowned, his brows knitting together as he gave Charles a dramatic pout. "You’re telling me I’ve spent an entire month cooped up in this apartment trying to get him to say his first word, and the second I leave to take a five-minute shower, he says it?"
Charles couldn’t hold back his laughter, his soft chuckles vibrating against Max’s side. Oscar, amused by his papa’s laugh, let out a string of joyful giggles that sounded like music to both their ears.
Max groaned again, throwing his head back against the pillow in mock defeat. "Is this how it feels to be betrayed by the people you love the most?"
Charles burst out laughing, and it seemed to encourage Oscar even more. The baby’s tiny hands reached for Charles’s cheeks, kneading them like they were the softest dough.
Max watched, his eyes narrowing in exaggerated jealousy. "See? He already has a favorite. You two are in cahoots against me."
Charles turned his head, his cheek still in Oscar’s grasp, and shot Max a playful grin. "Maybe it has nothing to do with you maybe I am just irresistible."
Max huffed, adjusting Oscar slightly on his tummy to make sure he didn’t wobble too far forward. The baby squealed in delight, clapping his hands at the sudden movement.
"Fine," Max said, staring up at the baby, his lips twitching into a smile despite himself. "But I’m telling you, Oscar. If you don’t say ‘pa-pa’ again, you’re going to have to spend the rest of your days looking like a banana."
Oscar simply giggled in response, leaning forward to pat Max’s cheek with his tiny hand.
Charles reached up to hold Oscar’s hand, his laughter softening into a fond smile. "Give it a rest, Max. He’ll say it when he feels like it."
Max let out a dramatic sigh but couldn’t hide the warmth in his gaze as he watched his son babble nonsensically, still ignoring his father’s attempts. "Yeah, yeah. I just won’t be surprised when his next word is ‘Charles,’ now that you’re officially his favorite forever."
Charles smirked, tilting his head up to press a quick kiss to Max’s jaw. "Oscar loves us both equally, Max," Charles said, resting his chin on his folded arms as he gazed up at Max. "And I know that because of how difficult it was for me to convince him to go to sleep an hour ago. He started crying and mumbling 'pa-pa-pa' like he didn’t want me, only you."
Max felt his heart flutter at Charles's words. His chest tightened with an unfamiliar mix of emotions—relief, joy, and a tinge of self-doubt. It was hard for him to believe sometimes that Oscar truly felt anything for him. He was still adjusting to being a father, to having this tiny human rely on him. The thought terrified him more than he wanted to admit.
But hearing Charles confirm those words—Oscar's soft cries for "pa-pa"—was reassuring in a way Max couldn’t describe. His lips curved into a genuine smile as he glanced down at the little ball of energy on his chest. Oscar was now happily patting Max’s ribs, his hands moving with the aimlessness of a baby who had no intention of calming down.
"I shouldn’t have let him nap before dinner," Max muttered, shaking his head in mock frustration. "Now look at him. He’s not even close to sleep."
Charles chuckled softly, scooting closer until his head rested against Max’s shoulder. "Do you really think he’d sleep earlier?"
Max glanced at Charles, his voice quieter now, tinged with hesitation. "You really think he loves me? That I’m not just… I don’t know… there in the background?"
Charles’s expression softened, his gaze unwavering as he cupped Max’s cheek. "Of course, Max. Why wouldn’t he? He has the coolest daddy in the world."
Max blinked at him before his lips twitched into a faint smirk. "Daddies," he corrected gently, his tone laced with affection.
Charles grinned and pressed a kiss to Max’s shoulder before shifting to sit up. "Speaking of daddies, I was thinking of visiting my dad tomorrow. I’ll take Oscar with me."
Max’s brow furrowed as he turned his attention back to Oscar, his smile fading. "Oh? Why?"
Charles gave him a look. “Because we’ve been stuck in here for weeks. I mean, I go out, but you haven’t left the house at all. You don’t even walk Leo anymore, and I’ve been the one getting groceries.”
Max turned his gaze back to Oscar, his fingers lightly tracing the baby’s back. He didn’t want to meet Charles’s eyes because, deep down, he knew he was right. He hadn’t left the apartment in a month. Not once.
It wasn’t about their fight, or trying to prove anything. Max just… didn’t feel safe.
Lewis had told him to lay low, to wait until things settled down. He had promised Max that he’d be safe, and surprisingly, he had followed through. Their building owner had suddenly been informed that security needed upgrading, and a camera had been installed outside their apartment. It made Max feel a little better. But not enough to step outside.
Lewis had even called him last week, saying it was fine to go out now, as long as he had someone with him the first few times. But Max hadn’t. He didn’t want to risk it—especially not with Oscar.
Charles shifted closer, resting a hand on Max’s arm. “Max,” he said gently, “I know you’re struggling, but you can’t stay in here forever.”
“I’m not—” Max started, but Charles cut him off.
“You are.”
Max sighed, finally glancing at him. Charles wasn’t accusing him, just stating a fact.
“I know it’s not about the fight anymore or about being tired. I think… I think you’re scared to go back to work and leave Oscar.”
Max frowned slightly, not looking up as he gently stroked Oscar’s back.
Charles leaned closer, his hand brushing against Max’s arm. “I went through the same thing, remember? When my leave ended, and I knew I had to go back to work, I spent every second I could with him. I didn’t want to miss a thing.”
Max finally glanced at Charles, his blue eyes clouded.
“But you’re going to have to go back eventually,” Charles continued gently. “And Oscar’s old enough for daycare now. We’ve got a shortlist of places we liked, remember?”
Max gave him a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine, Charles. Really. I’ll go out. I’ve just been busy at home. There’s this show I’ve been binge-watching, that’s all. It’s not what you think.”
Charles raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Okay,” he said after a moment. “But tomorrow, we’re going out. As a family.”
Max hesitated for just a second. “Tomorrow,” he echoed, then quickly added, “Oh, wait. I just remembered—I promised my mom I’d visit her tomorrow morning. She asked me to help her clean the kitchen.”
Charles tilted his head, studying Max for a moment before nodding. “Alright,” he said, satisfied for now.
Max offered him a reassuring smile, one that Charles returned, even if a hint of doubt lingered.
As Max shifted slightly, Charles took the hint and stood. Max leaned back against the headboard, giving Charles space to reach for Oscar.
“Think you can get him to sleep now?” Max asked.
Charles nodded, adjusting Oscar gently against his chest. “I’ll try.”
He carried Oscar to the nursery, humming softly as he walked.
The moment the door clicked shut behind them, Max’s expression shifted. The reassuring smile dropped, replaced by a tense, focused look. He sat up straight, reaching for his phone. His fingers hovered over the screen before typing a message.
“I need to go out tomorrow.”
Max stared at the words for a moment, debating whether to send them.
The reply from Lewis came almost instantly: “Ok. Send me the time and destination. I’ll arrange someone to escort you.”
Max sighed, setting the phone down on the nightstand. His hands lingered there for a moment before he rubbed his face.
---
Max raised an eyebrow. Pierre? Interesting.
"Good morning, Pierre," he waved awkwardly, unsure if Pierre was his escort today or just here by coincidence. He stood there for a moment, shifting his weight between his feet, until Pierre finally spoke.
"Captain Hamilton told me you're going to the farm today to visit your mom. Do you want me to follow you in my car, or do you want to carpool?"
Max shrugged. "Carpool. It'll be easier. But you can't come inside—I don't want my mom to get suspicious. I won’t take long, an hour tops. After that, I want to stop by the market before heading home."
He didn't have anything specific to buy, but he wanted to make sure no one was following him.
They got into the car, and Max kept stealing glances at Pierre, unsure how much he knew about the situation. He didn’t want to ask outright, but the silence between them felt heavy. Pierre, on the other hand, didn’t seem fazed at all. He kept his eyes on the road, professional and unreadable, not offering any conversation. The only sound filling the space was the radio.
Max had hoped Pierre would say something, maybe ask a question, but he got nothing. When he pulled up near the farm, he turned to Pierre, finally deciding to break the silence.
Before he could speak, Pierre beat him to it. "I’ll wait for you here. I’ll stay low."
Max nodded and unbuckled his seatbelt, hesitating for a second before looking at Pierre again. "Look, I’m not sure what Lewis told you about my situation."
Pierre’s expression remained impassive, his face giving away nothing. His posture was composed, professional, like he was following protocol rather than engaging in casual conversation.
"I understand if you're skeptical about me being here, especially after what happened with Charles," Pierre said evenly. "But I was informed about your predicament, and I’ll make sure you get home safely to Charles."
Max blinked. "No, it’s not that—"
Pierre cut him off. "It's okay if you have your doubts. I failed to keep Charles safe. But don’t worry. I’m going to do my job well."
Max hadn’t even been thinking about that, but clearly, Pierre did. There was something rigid about the way he spoke, like he was carrying the weight of what happened to Charles. Max sighed, realizing Pierre probably still blamed himself.
"I trust you, Pierre," Max said sincerely. He gestured vaguely with his hand, motioning toward the situation as a whole—his safety, the threats, the reason Pierre was here at all. "I was just asking to see how much you know about this whole thing."
Pierre finally glanced at him, but his face remained neutral.
"I don’t blame you for what happened to Charles," Max continued. "And I know how good you at your job, so don’t worry."
Pierre didn’t respond right away, but Max saw the smallest flicker of something—maybe relief?—before he nodded. Max gave him a reassuring smile.
Max stepped out of the car, shutting the door behind him with a quiet thud. The wooden steps creaked slightly beneath his weight as he climbed onto the porch. He didn’t even have to knock—the door swung open before he could lift his hand, and his mother stood there, her expression lighting up at the sight of him.
"Max," she breathed, reaching for him without hesitation.
He leaned into her embrace, wrapping his arms around her tightly. Max closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting himself sink into the comfort of being around his mother.
When they pulled apart, his mother held him at arm’s length, scanning the place as if searching for something. Then, almost immediately, her expression shifted into a slight frown.
"Where’s Charles? And Oscar?" she asked, her tone filled with quiet disappointment.
Max let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. "Nice to see you too, Mom."
She crossed her arms, arching a brow. "I thought you were bringing them. I even made a chocolate cake for Oscar."
Max glanced past her into the house, spotting the neatly set table with the cake sitting in the center, waiting. His mom had clearly been expecting them, and he could tell she was trying to hide her disappointment.
Feeling a little guilty, he reached out, squeezing her hand. "I know, I’m sorry. But you can visit us tomorrow. We don’t have anything planned, and Charles doesn’t have work. You can spend time with your favorite men."
His mother hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I don’t want to be a bother."
"You’re not a bother," Max assured her, squeezing her hand again. "Actually, it’s the opposite. We’d love to have you. Let’s make it a family lunch."
Her expression softened at that, and she finally nodded. "Alright," she agreed, stepping aside to let him in.
As Max entered, he pulled out his phone to text Charles. But before he could type anything, he noticed a new message—an image.
It was Oscar, grinning wide, showing off his two tiny new teeth.
Max couldn’t help but smile. His son looked ridiculously cute, dressed in a Christmas onesie. Except… instead of the usual red, green, or white, it was yellow.
He stared at the picture in disbelief, then turned the screen toward his mother. "How does Charles even manage to turn Christmas colors into yellow?" he muttered.
His mother chuckled, shaking her head as she looked at the photo. "Well, he does look good in yellow."
Max let out a sigh, but his heart swelled as he stared at the picture. "Yeah… he does, he looks good in colors."
---
Pierre’s voice caught Max off guard, making him blink and turn to him with a confused expression.
“Hah?”
Pierre didn’t even glance at him, keeping his eyes on the road as he repeated, “Does Lando know? About your involvement with your father’s case?”
Max’s face hardened instantly, any trace of casual conversation disappearing. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “No one knows.”
Pierre finally turned his head slightly, giving him a sharp look. Max could feel the weight of his stare, the unspoken challenge behind it.
Max exhaled slowly, gripping the steering wheel tighter. He hated talking about this. He hadn’t even spoken to Daniel about it, despite how close they were. Every time he thought about telling him, it felt like betrayal—betrayal to his father, to himself.
A part of him, the son and the detective, felt guilty for letting go after digging this deep, but the other part of him—the father, the husband—was furious. Furious that he had allowed himself to get this involved, that he had put Charles and Oscar’s lives at risk. For prying into something that had already cost his father’s life without thinking of the consequences.
Lewis had assured him they were safe. That if Max truly backed down and stopped investigating, the people responsible wouldn’t come after them. But why the hell would Max trust Lewis? The man literally worked for the people who had killed his father.
Max wasn’t stupid. The people who wanted him gone weren’t just going to let him walk away, no matter how much influence Lewis had. It didn’t make sense. He knew they were just buying time, and that meant he had to do the same. He had a plan—a backup—but it required two weeks to put into action. Two weeks he was trying to secure by playing along.
Pierre’s voice cut through his thoughts, impatient and slightly irritated. “And Daniel?”
Max realized he had zoned out, his grip on the wheel still tight. He flexed his fingers and forced himself to relax.
“Not even Daniel,” he admitted. “It was my own thing.”
Pierre hummed, unconvinced. Understandable—Max and Daniel had been practically inseparable lately. It was impossible to believe Daniel didn’t know anything.
Max didn’t bother explaining, didn’t try to convince him. Instead, he shifted gears smoothly, keeping his eyes on the road. The engine purred as the car picked up speed.
Pierre, still watching him, finally said, “He must know something.”
Max shook his head. “Not really.”
Pierre exhaled sharply, his expression unreadable. “I see.”
Max tapped his fingers against the steering wheel as he pulled into the gas station, the car rolling to a smooth stop next to a pump. He glanced at Pierre before saying casually, “I need to refuel.”
Pierre nodded. “Yes.”
Max’s grip tightened slightly on the wheel. “It’d be better if you did it,” he added, keeping his voice neutral.
Pierre didn’t hesitate. “Yes, of course.”
Without another word, he unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed the door open, stepping out with practiced ease. He moved around the car, reaching for the fuel nozzle, his expression as impassive as ever.
Max took the opportunity to check his phone. No new messages from Charles, but he still had the photo of Oscar from earlier open on the screen. He stared at it for a moment.
Then, through the windshield, he watched Pierre finish up, securing the cap back onto the fuel tank. The moment Pierre turned to put the nozzle back, Max shifted the car into drive and stepped on the gas.
The tires screeched slightly as he pulled away, leaving Pierre standing there, caught off guard.
Through the rearview mirror, Max saw Pierre react immediately. His body tensed, and then he was running, sprinting after the car, his hand reaching out as if he could grab hold of the back. His fingers barely skimmed the surface before Max accelerated further.
Pierre kept running, but Max didn’t slow down. He watched as Pierre’s figure grew smaller and smaller, eventually shrinking into nothing more than a dot in the mirror.
His jaw clenched. Maybe he was being paranoid. Maybe Pierre’s questions didn’t mean anything. But Max couldn’t afford to take any chances. Not now.
His phone vibrated against the console.
He glanced down.
Lewis Hamilton.
Max let it ring. He didn’t answer. His phone didn’t stop vibrating—Lewis called him nonstop.
At first, Max ignored it. He kept his eyes on the road, his mind racing through everything that had just happened. Ditching Pierre had been necessary, he convinced himself. But now, the persistent buzzing was getting on his nerves.
When the phone lit up with yet another call,
Max exhaled sharply through his nose and, without taking his eyes off the road, pressed the answer button on his steering wheel.
“What?” he snapped.
There was a brief pause before Lewis’s voice came through, calm but laced with something sharp. “Took you long enough.”
Max clenched his jaw. “I was busy.”
“Busy ditching your escort in the middle of nowhere?” Lewis asked, unimpressed. “What the hell was that, Max?”
Max didn’t answer immediately. He checked his mirrors, scanning the road behind him out of instinct. “Pierre was asking too many questions.”
“And your solution was to strand him at a gas station?” Lewis let out a dry laugh. “You do realize that makes you more vulnerable, an easy target, right?”
Max’s grip tightened on the wheel. “I don’t trust him.”
“Pierre is on your side.”
Max scoffed. “Yeah? Whose side are you on, then?”
Lewis was silent for a moment. Then, his voice dropped to something quieter, more serious. “You already know the answer to that.”
Max tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his fingers pressing into the leather as he sped down the road. “exactly I know and this is why I don’t trust you,” he told Lewis flatly.
There was a sigh on the other end of the line, the kind that sounded both frustrated and exhausted. “I know,” Lewis admitted. “But, Max, listen to me. It’s not safe. You need to at least go back home.”
Max scoffed, shaking his head even though Lewis couldn’t see him. “No. I’m not going back home.”
“Max, please,” Lewis’s voice took on an edge of urgency now, the calm façade cracking. “I know you don’t trust me, but don’t do something stupid. If you won’t go home, then at least go to Nico’s. Just— look, you still have Charles and Oscar to worry about. Just go back to Nico’s, and we can talk. Nico has a gun—you can use it to protect yourself. I know you’re scared,” Lewis continued, his voice softening just slightly. “You weren’t ready to go out. But you need to go back before you do something stup....”
Max hung up before Lewis could finish.
His phone screen went dark, and for a moment, the only sound in the car was the steady hum of the engine and the faint ringing in his ears.
Lewis wanted him to go to Nico’s.
Which meant Lewis knew exactly where he was going.
---
Max sighed as he slumped back against the driver's seat, running a hand over his face. Four hours. He had driven aimlessly for four hours, stewing in paranoia and stress, only to realize that maybe—just maybe—Lewis had been right. Maybe he really wasn’t ready to be out yet.
His fingers hesitated over his phone screen before he finally unlocked it, scrolling through his unread messages. Most were from Lewis, the same repeated plea: Come back, Max. Don’t do something stupid. Just tell me where you’re, I will send Daniel to get you.
Max huffed. Stupid? Yeah, maybe. But he had needed space.
Then there were messages from Pierre and Daniel. Great. So Lewis told Daniel. Max exhaled sharply. He didn’t even want to read them right now.
But then his eyes landed on one from Charles.
Charles: Hey, I just got home. Can you get tea? We ran out.
Max blinked. Tea. Just tea. As if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just spent hours spiraling, pushing away the people who were trying to help him, running from ghosts that may or may not even be chasing him.
He looked around. He wasn’t far from home now. The exhaustion from his earlier meltdown weighed heavy on his chest. He felt stupid—humiliated, even. Pierre had always been good to him. Nervous or not, Max had treated him like a suspect.
Swallowing down his pride, Max tapped Pierre’s contact and pressed the call button.
Pierre answered immediately. "Max?" His voice was sharp, worried.
Max exhaled slowly. "Hey… Listen, I’m sorry." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I wasn’t thinking straight. I—I shouldn’t have left you like that. I was stressed, and I panicked, but that doesn’t justify what I did."
Pierre was quiet for a second before he sighed. "I get it. I really do." His voice softened. "I know this is a lot, Max. Just—next time, don’t handle it alone." Pierre hesitated for a moment before asking, "Where are you, Max? Do you need me to come get you?" Pierre said his voice laced with a hint of concern beneath it.
Max shut his eyes briefly, guilt twisting in his chest. Pierre was a better person then he will ever be, Pierre didn’t deserve to be treated like this. After Max had literally ditched him at a gas station.
"No need," Max said, forcing his voice to stay even. "I'm heading back home now."
There was a short pause before Pierre finally responded. "Good. Be careful."
Max swallowed hard. "Yeah. I will."
He ended the call, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter. The exhaustion was still there, lingering, but the momentary clarity he had gained didn’t waver.
Time to go home.
He tossed his phone onto the passenger seat, and started the car. First, he’d stop and buy the damn tea. Then he’d go home.
Max let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head at himself. How stupid had he been today? He prided himself on being logical, on not letting emotions cloud his judgment. Fear had never dictated his actions before—what was the point of being scared of things he couldn't control?
That had always been his way of thinking. Focus on what you can control. Ignore the rest.
But ever since he found out who killed Fernando, he hadn't been okay. Not just because he had to live with the knowledge—knowing exactly who murdered his father and being powerless to do anything about it. But because that person knew about him too.
And Max was sure they were after him.
But then there was Lewis, insisting that wasn’t the case. Telling him that if he just listened, if he backed off, he would be fine.
And somehow, somehow, Max believed him. At least for a moment. But today had proven otherwise. Today had proven that he didn't really trust Lewis at all.
Max exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face.
Okay. Maybe this was really getting to his head.
He just needed to go back home.
But first—tea.
---
The next week, Max focused on forcing himself to go out, trying not to let his fight-or-flight instincts take over every time he stepped outside.
It wasn't easy. It felt unnatural. His body tensed at the smallest sounds, his mind constantly overanalyzing his surroundings. But Daniel noticed right away and bullied him mercilessly for it.
And, of course, Pierre joined in.
Max took it, let them tease him, let them call him paranoid. He figured if he could laugh about it, then maybe it wasn't so bad. Maybe it would help. What mattered was that Charles didn't notice.
But Charles definitely noticed.
To be honest, Max wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He hadn’t even felt like this when he was being stalked by a serial killer. But now? Now, everything felt like a threat.
And it was a problem.
He was supposed to go back to work soon. And before that, he and Charles needed to pick a good nursery for Oscar.
Max had dragged Daniel along to one of their appointments, mostly to feel safer. But Charles had been furious. Beyond furious. To the point that Max had to promise—swear—that he wouldn’t bring Daniel again.
So instead, he had armed himself and gone to Charles’s favorite nursery alone with him.
Both of them had been escorted out.
Charles had been livid. He started going to the appointments alone, ignoring Max entirely when it came to the decision-making.
Max tried to reason with him. He wasn’t being paranoid, he was protecting them. Especially Oscar. School shootings were on the rise, and wasn’t it better to be prepared? To be cautious?
Charles didn’t buy it.
Eventually, he called Nico and got him involved.
Max hated it. He hated that Charles had to do that, that he was becoming a problem.
But how was he supposed to stop?
Every time he went out with Charles and Oscar, he felt like he was putting them in danger.
Today, Charles had taken Oscar to the nursery he had chosen, determined to spend a few hours there with him under the care of the staff. He wanted to see how Oscar would react to the new environment.
Max hadn’t been invited.
Charles had refused to let him come because of his recent, concerning behavior.
Max had been conflicted. A part of him wanted to be there, to see how Oscar did, to be with his son. But the thought of taking Oscar out without a weapon? That terrified him.
So he decided to distract himself.
He put on a show, something mindless, something to keep him busy. Then his phone rang.
Unknown number.
He let it ring out.
A few minutes later, it rang again. Then again. And again.
Max ignored it.
Whoever it was, they could leave a message. He wasn’t in the mood. He turned his attention back to the screen, pretending like he wasn’t unsettled by his family being out alone and him sitting down.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Charles arrived home.
Oscar was in his arms, looking as happy as ever.
Charles was practically glowing.
"He had such a good time," Charles started, excitement laced in every word. "He even played a bit with the older babies there!"
Max listened, watching as Oscar sucked down his formula like he hadn’t eaten in days.
"The staff said he's so energetic and advanced for his age," Charles continued, grinning proudly. "He looks really healthy, and he's also very calm. He was basically the star of the daycare today—even the director took notice!"
Max couldn't help but smile at the way Charles was beaming with pride.
Charles glanced down at Oscar, shaking his head fondly. "I promise I fed him, but he really went all out today. He played a lot, right Oscar?"
Oscar, too busy drinking, kicked his little feet in response.
After feeding Oscar Charles decided to give him a bath and bedtime, Max busied himself in the living room, arranging pillows and straightening the coffee table. Then his phone buzzed with an incoming call.
Unknown number.
He pauses.
Normally, he’d ignore it. But this number had been calling him all day. Eight times.
His fingers tighten around the edge of the pillow he was fixing. Something feels off.
He grabs his phone and swipes to his messages. Dozens of unread texts, a few from Daniel. And then—
One from Matt.
"Max, it's Matt. I need to talk to you. It's urgent. It’s about your father’s case." Intrigued, Max recalled that the last time he saw Matt, he had insisted on staying out of the case, seeking peace of mind. Perhaps Matt had changed his mind or had new information. However, Max had already stepped back from the investigation, and Matt had previously chosen to distance himself as well. It seemed unlikely he would reengage without reason.
As Max walked to the table, an idea formed in his mind: What if they involved Uncle Matt?
Charles emerged from the nursery. He was out before his head hit the pillow; he was really exhausted," Charles remarked. “You know, I think it's really important for him to socialize. While I don't feel comfortable leaving him, and I imagine you feel even worse because of your line of work, it's essential he learns." Max hummed in acknowledgment, only half-listening.
Max glanced at his phone one last time before deciding. He needed to check on Matt. something about Matt’s sudden change of heart didn’t sit right with him. If Matt was in danger, Max would rather find out now than later.
He took a deep breath, looking across the room at Charles who was eating the lunch Max has prepared. "I need to go out," Max said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
Charles looked up immediately, his brows pulling together. "Why?"
Max hesitated for a second before answering. "I need to meet Matt. You remember him? Dad's old partner?"
Charles frowned. "Yeah, I remember. What does he want?"
"He called me," Max explained. "He said he wanted to see me. We talked for a bit."
Charles didn’t say anything at first, but Max could tell from his expression that he wasn’t happy about it. He sighed and walked over to where Charles sat, gently pulling him into a hug. "I promise, once I come back, I’m all yours."
Charles exhaled against his shoulder, his arms coming around Max's waist reluctantly. "I just wanna spend some time with you."
"I know," Max admitted, pulling back just enough to press a quick kiss to Charles’s temple. "Me too."
Charles still didn’t look convinced, but he nodded, pressing his lips together like he wanted to say more but decided against it. Max gave him one last squeeze before stepping away to the living room. "I won’t be long," he promised.
Max sat on the couch, his phone in hand, staring at the screen with growing frustration. He had tried calling Matt multiple times, but each attempt went straight to voicemail. He had even sent a text, a simple “Call me back when you can”, but there was still no response.
The uneasy feeling in his stomach only grew. Something wasn’t right.
With a sigh, Max opened his messages and quickly typed out a text to Lewis:
“Matt, my dad’s work partner isn’t answering my calls. I need to go check on him. I am concerned something happened to him.”
He sent the message and leaned back against the couch, drumming his fingers against his knee. He hated waiting. Every minute that passed only made the knot in his chest tighten.
Thirty minutes later, his phone buzzed.
Lewis: “Daniel is busy, and Pierre as well. You’ll have to wait.”
Max clenched his jaw. He didn’t want to wait. He had a bad feeling about this, and the last thing he wanted was to sit around doing nothing.
“Lewis, I really need to go now.” He fired back quickly.
This time, the response was immediate.
Lewis: “I don’t have anyone I trust to send with you right now. Give me two hours.”
Two hours.
Max exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t like it, but he knew Lewis wouldn’t budge. He had no choice but to wait.
For the next two hours, Max did everything he could to distract himself. He tried watching something on TV with Charles, but he couldn’t focus. He paced the apartment, checked his phone every few minutes, and kept calling Matt, only to be met with silence.
By the time the two hours were up, his nerves were shot.
Max grabbed his jacket, checked his gun, and sent Lewis a final message before heading out the door.
“I’m going now.”
Just as Max reached the door handle, his phone buzzed.
Lewis: “Jenson is waiting for you downstairs.”
Max let out a breath, relieved that Lewis had finally sent someone with him. He hadn't expected Jenson, but it was better than going alone.
He made his way to the elevator, tapping his fingers against his thigh impatiently. When the doors slid open at the ground floor, he spotted Jenson, arms crossed, and a casual yet sharp look on his face.
“Like an idiot,” Jenson said as Max approached. “Lewis said you were about to do something stupid.”
Max scoffed. “I wasn’t going alone.”
Jenson raised an eyebrow. “Sure.”
Max didn’t argue. The sooner they got to Matt’s, the better.
Max walked toward his car with Jenson, but before he could reach the driver’s side, Jenson held out his hand.
“I’m driving,” Jenson said firmly.
Max frowned. “I know where Matt lives.”
“And I know how to keep you alive,” Jenson countered, giving him a pointed look.
Max wanted to argue, but he was in a hurry to fight over something so trivial. With a sigh, he tossed Jenson the keys and walked around to the passenger side.
“Fine. But don’t mess with my seat position.”
Jenson chuckled as he got in. “No promises.”
Max huffed but didn’t push it. He had bigger things to worry about. As Jenson started the car and pulled out of the parking lot, Max leaned his head against the window.
After driving for one hour, Jenson parks the car a short distance away from Matt’s house, cutting the engine and sitting in silence for a moment.
Max huffed, rolling his eyes as Jenson positioned himself in front of him like some kind of personal bodyguard. He wasn’t helpless. He wasn’t some clueless civilian who needed to be babysat. Max had spent years in dangerous situations, had faced down worse threats than whatever awaited them behind Matt’s door. He could protect himself.
But Max wasn’t stupid, either. He knew going alone would have been reckless, which was exactly why he asked for someone to accompany him in the first place. That didn’t mean he had to like the way Jenson was treating him.
Pierre and Daniel would never.
But this wasn’t Pierre or Daniel. It was Jenson, who, despite his experience, was acting like Max was fragile.
Max exhaled sharply. “Are you done pretending I need protecting?”
Jenson gave him a flat look. “Are you done pretending you don’t?”
Max clicked his tongue but didn’t argue. Instead, he turned toward the house, assessing the scene. The blinds were drawn, windows shut. No sign of movement.
Jenson checked the windows first, glancing back at Max. “Can’t see anything inside.”
Max nodded and stepped up to the door, knocking firmly.
The seconds stretched, silence hanging heavy in the air. Then, the sound of movement from inside. Footsteps.
Matt opened the door, looking perfectly fine—calm, even, as if nothing was wrong.
“Max,” he greeted with a small smile, then his eyes flickered to Jenson. “Didn’t know you were bringing company.”
Max blinks, studying Matt carefully. He didn’t look in danger. Maybe Max was overreacting. He looks fine. Normal, Alive, No blood, no bruises, no panic in his expression.
“You weren’t answering your phone,” Max said.
Matt sighed. “Yeah, sorry about that. Service out here is terrible. Come in.” then Matt shifted uncomfortably as he glanced at Jenson, then back at Max. His expression was guarded, tense.
“I’d prefer to talk in private,” Matt said. “Without him.”
Max crossed his arms. “Jenson is with me.”
Matt exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I just don’t trust anybody, Max.”
Jenson’s eyes narrowed slightly, his stance firm, but Max could tell he was assessing the situation. He wasn’t going to argue, but he also wasn’t thrilled about it.
Matt turned to Jenson, offering a tight smile. “You can wait here. It won’t take long.”
Jenson looked at Max, waiting for his decision. Max hesitated. He didn’t like the idea of being alone in there, But if Matt really had important information, he wouldn’t share it with Jenson around.
“Fine,” Max finally said. “I’ll go in alone.”
Jenson didn’t like it. Max could tell from the way his jaw tightened, the way his stance shifted like he was bracing for an argument. But before Jenson could protest, Max gave him a look. A look that said *I know what I’m doing*.
Jenson exhaled sharply through his nose, clearly not convinced. “I’ll be right outside,” he muttered, stepping back but not moving far. His eyes stayed locked on Matt, making it clear that he’d be listening for any sign of trouble.
Max steps into the house and closes the door behind him, the quiet thud of it settling into the stillness of the room. Matt gestures toward the couch, offering Max a seat.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Matt asks, his voice casual, though there’s an undertone Max can’t quite place.
Max shakes his head. “No I can’t stay here for long, I was just worried about you,” he says, his voice edged with concern.
“Worried about me?” Matt laughs lightly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Why? What happened?”
Max shrugs, masking the unease gnawing at him. “Nothing... but I’m glad you’re okay.”
Matt doesn’t seem convinced but gestures toward the couch again. “Sit down. You just arrived, at least relax for a moment. Let me get you something.”
Max doesn’t argue this time, though his instincts scream to keep his guard up. “No, thanks,” he insists, though his tone softens a little.
Matt’s smile doesn’t waver as he walks toward the kitchen. “I’ll insist,” he says, moving away from Max’s line of sight.
Left alone in the living room, Max glances around, his eyes narrowing as he surveys the space. It’s unlike any home he’s been in before, the decor too... raw. The walls are adorned with mounted animal heads, each one staring down at him with glassy eyes. There are rifles and hunting knives on the walls as well, the gleaming steel catching the light. His dad would have loved this. Max has never liked it, even when his father hosted hunting trips here. The thrill of the hunt had always eluded him.
Max’s gaze shifts toward the fireplace, where several framed pictures are displayed. Most of them are of a young boy—no doubt Matt’s son—capturing his growth from childhood to young adulthood. There are a few of Matt’s wife too, though Max doesn’t remember much about her. The last time he’d seen her was when he was fifteen, a fleeting figure in the background of his father’s life.
His eyes land on one particular photo—a picture of Matt and his dad at some formal event, both of them in uniform, their faces gleaming with pride. They’re holding medals, standing side by sid. Max picks it up, inspecting it closely. Fernando looks so young in this one. Max wonders how long ago it was taken, trying to gauge the time.
Max held the old picture frame, staring at the photo, their smiles frozen in time. The frame was worn, the edges cracked with age.
Suddenly—snap.
The fragile wood broke in his hands, and the glass slid free, shattering against the floor. As the photo slipped from the frame, another picture fell out, one that had been hidden behind it.
An older photo, poorly printed, its quality fading. Unlike the others that have been carefully preserved, this one looks out of place. It’s a little wrinkled, the edges curling as if it’s been left out in the open for too long. Curious, Max leans in closer, trying to make out the faces.
In the photo there is a young version of Matt, almost unrecognizable compared to the man Max knows today. His breath hitches when he realizes who the other man in the photo is.
It is William a very young William, standing next to a very familiar woman, the woman Matt has as a screen saver on his laptop.
The shock of recognition sends a chill through Max’s spine.
Max feels the ground shift beneath him. What does this mean? Why is there a picture of William here? His fingers tremble slightly as he holds the photo, trying to piece together something that doesn’t quite make sense. The man who had been so instrumental in his father’s life, in his father’s death, standing alongside Matt.
Just then, Max hears the sound of footsteps approaching from the kitchen, Heart pounding, Max shoved both pictures into his pocket and quickly hid the broken frame. He needed to get out of here—fast.
Matt returns with two cups on a tray, the rich aroma of coffee wafting through the air. Max takes a quick breath, his thoughts still racing from the photo, but he pushes it aside for the moment.
“Here you go,” Matt says with a casual smile, placing the tray on the coffee table between them. The quiet warmth of the gesture almost feels too normal, too out of place considering the unease building up inside Max.
Max nods, a forced smile on his face. He doesn't reach for the coffee yet, instead, he walks back toward the couch, sitting down carefully. He doesn’t want Matt to see his discomfort, or the suspicion now gnawing at him. His fingers itch to go back to the photo, to examine it more closely, but he knows he needs to stay focused on the present.
He glances at Matt, who’s sitting across from him, completely unaware of the tension Max feels. Max forces his attention back to the phone in his hands.
“I need to tell my husband that I’ll be a bit late,” Max mutters, his voice low, though his thoughts are elsewhere. It’s a lie, but one he knows will at least give him a moment to gather his thoughts.
Instead of messaging Charles, Max quickly opens his contact list, fingers hovering over Lewis’s name. He starts to type, the message simple: I’m here at Matt’s. Something’s off. I’ll be careful, but I think he’s involved with William and this is a trap. He presses send, but nothing happens. The message fails to send. Max frowns at his phone, confused. He tries again, but it doesn’t work.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.
Matt looks over at him, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Problem with your phone?”
Max forces a smile, trying to downplay his concern. “Yeah, just a little issue. It’s nothing.” He quickly glances up at Matt, trying to keep his voice steady. “Hey, Matt. Do you have Wi-Fi here? I think I’m having some issues with my service.”
Matt’s smile doesn’t waver. He seems unbothered. “We don’t really have coverage out here,” he replies nonchalantly, shrugging. “The signal’s pretty spotty. Sorry about that.”
Max’s pulse quickens, the unease in his chest now rising. It could all be a terrible coincidence, but something about this feels wrong. The lack of coverage, the photo, and now his phone refusing to send the message.
Trying to maintain composure, Max shoves his phone back into his pocket. He can’t shake the feeling that he’s being watched, that there’s something in Matt’s house that doesn’t want him to leave. He focuses on Matt again, forcing a calm expression. "Well, I guess I'll just have to wait until I get back to town."
Matt nods, sipping his coffee. "No problem. You’ll be fine. Relax a little, yeah?"
Max forced himself to stay calm, to act as if he wasn’t piecing it all together, as if he wasn’t seeing Matt in a completely different light now. He leaned back against the chair, feigning ease, and asked, “So, what was the information about my dad’s case?”
Matt exhaled, like he was relieved Max had finally gotten to the point. “I actually wanted to give you some of your dad’s old files,” he said. “I have them in the garage. We can go bring them in. I kept them as evidence, and now that you’re working the case, I thought you’d need whatever you can get your hands on.”
Max held back the scoff that nearly slipped. So that’s how you want to play this? He tilted his head slightly, studying Matt’s face, trying to ignore the way his stomach churned.
“No, I stopped working the case,” Max said, voice even. “I think you were right. I should think about my family.”
Matt gave a fake look of surprise, lips parting slightly. “Oh, really? That’s strange, because you convinced me to help. Because it was the right thing to do. For Fernando.”
Max forced a smile. “He would’ve wanted me to stop. To focus on my family.”
Matt’s expression barely flickered, but Max saw something dark in his eyes. A glint of something he didn’t want to name.
“And what about all the other people he’s killed? And will probably kill?” Matt asked, voice laced with something that almost sounded like regret.
Max’s heart was pounding, but he shrugged, keeping his voice neutral. “You tell me,” he said. “If you can live with yourself knowing that this man has been killing people for two to three years now, I guess I can, too.”
Matt exhaled deeply, his eyes now filled with something close to sorrow. “Son,” he murmured. “Not a day goes by that I don’t feel guilty. But this is all I could do at the time. Maybe now, me and you—we can do something.”
Then, as if nothing had happened, he gestured to the table. “Drink your coffee, son.”
Max glanced at the cup. His stomach twisted, nausea crawling up his throat. He put something in the coffee.
“Actually,” Max said smoothly, keeping his tone casual, “I’m not allowed to drink coffee. Blood pressure. Trying to be healthier.”
The look that crossed Matt’s face confirmed everything. It was brief, a flicker of disappointment, calculation, frustration—then it was gone, replaced by his usual warmth. But Max had already seen it.
He’s involved.
He’s the reason my dad is dead.
The realization hit Max like a physical blow. He wanted to throw up. He wanted to grab Matt and shake him, scream at him, demand to know why.
This was his Uncle Matty. The man who had been a constant in his life since he was fifteen. The man Fernando had trusted. A man Max had trusted.
And now, he knew—Matt had either helped William, or was the reason Fernando was killed.
It was disgusting.
And yet, Matt looked comfortable. Confident. Not at all like a man who had carried the burden of guilt for years. He sat there, lying with ease, living off of the suffering of others, going against everything their job had required them to do.
Max swallowed the bile rising in his throat, his hands clenching into fists under the table. How the hell am I here again?
First Dominic. Now Matt.
The realization that Dominic was the Austin serial killer had been one of the most painful things Max had ever gone through. The betrayal, the heartbreak—it had nearly torn him apart. But at least Dominic had his demons. It wasn’t an excuse, but the man had been a victim before he ever became a monster. He had been tortured, abused, twisted by the very people who were supposed to protect him.
Matt?
Matt had no excuse.
There were no demons haunting him, no years of suffering that could explain why he had betrayed Fernando. It was greed. Hunger for power. Self-preservation, maybe.
And yet, despite it all, Max had never suspected a thing.
He thought of Fernando—his sharp mind, his ability to read people like an open book. Fernando could pick up on the smallest shifts in tone, the tiniest inconsistencies in a story. He was good.
And still, Matt had flown under his radar.
That, more than anything, was terrifying. Because it meant Matt wasn’t just a traitor.
He was a damn good liar, a mastermind.
Max forced a tight-lipped smile, nodding as if he wasn’t already mapping out every possible way to get out of this alive. He had spent the past hour keeping up the act—pretending he wasn’t aware of what Matt had done, that he wasn’t itching to reach for his gun, that he wasn’t waiting desperately for Lewis to send him a signal.
Lewis.
Max didn’t trust him. Not entirely.
Lewis had made it clear—William is too strong. There was no taking him down. All he could do was protect Max. But that had never sat right with Max. Lewis wasn’t clean. He could pull strings, keep Max alive, but he never once talked about stopping them. About taking them down.
Because he wouldn’t.
Because Lewis was one of them.
But right now? Right now, Max’s survival depended on him.
There was Jenson, of course—Matt wasn’t an idiot. He wouldn’t kill Max with Jenson right outside.
But he was making his move now. Max could see it in his eyes, the way his smile stretched a little too wide.
You want to make your move? Fine. I’ll be ready for it.
Max exhaled slowly, keeping his voice calm. “Sure. Let’s get the boxes.”
Max stepped into the dimly lit garage, his heartbeat steady but alert. He made sure to walk behind Matt, keeping his eyes on every movement, every shift in the man’s posture. But Matt didn’t seem concerned.
And that was concerning.
There was no hesitation in the way Matt moved, no tension in his shoulders, no wariness in his steps. He wasn’t on edge. He wasn’t worried about being caught. That, more than anything, sent a chill down Max’s spine.
Matt flicked the switch, flooding the garage with sickly yellow light.
Max barely kept his expression neutral.
This wasn’t a garage.
The concrete walls were lined with tools, but not the kind used for fixing cars—chains hung from the ceiling, some stained dark, others rusted with age. A metal table stood at the center, its surface covered in deep, erratic scratches, as if someone had fought against whatever had been done to them there. A drain lay beneath it, the dark stains surrounding it making Max’s stomach churn.
Along the far wall, there were shelves filled with neatly organized instruments—pliers, scalpels, syringes, rolls of duct tape. A cabinet stood slightly ajar, revealing rows of labeled glass jars. Max didn’t want to think about what might be inside.
A chair sat in the corner, thick leather straps bolted to the armrests and legs. The seat cushion was torn, but the stains remained—brown, dried, old.
Max forced his breathing to stay even, forced himself not to react, not to show that his skin was crawling, that his instincts were screaming at him to run.
This wasn’t just some evidence stash.
This was a place built for pain.
For control.
For death.
Matt turned to him, his expression calm, as if they were just two old friends catching up over coffee.
Max clenched his fists.
He had walked straight into hell.
Max’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes landed on the lump on the floor. Something moved—barely. His stomach twisted.
Jenson.
He was lying motionless on the cold concrete, his chest rising and falling faintly, the only sign that he was still alive. Relief and dread crashed over Max all at once. Jenson was breathing—but for how long?
Then, before Max could even fully register what was happening, Matt shifted.
He was crouched beside Jenson, a pistol lazily balanced in his hand, his fingers loose around the grip as if he had all the time in the world.
Max’s blood ran cold.
Matt turned, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face.
Max’s hand went straight for his gun.
Matt didn’t flinch. Instead, he spoke, his voice almost gentle, like he was recounting a fond memory.
"I couldn’t see Fernando’s face when he died," Matt murmured, eyes distant, lost in thought. "He didn’t realize it was me. That’s something I regret. I always regretted it."
Max clenched his jaw, his grip tightening around his weapon, but Matt continued, unfazed.
"But then there’s you," Matt mused, his expression shifting into something almost wistful. "I always wondered… What would Fernando have felt if he had known? Would he have felt like a failure? Would he have realized, in those last moments, that I outplayed him?"
Matt exhaled, shaking his head with something that almost looked like pity.
"I was his partner for over sixteen years, and not once did he suspect me," he said, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "And he got all the credit, all the recognition for being a better detective, I was the partner. But I consoled myself with the truth—Fernando wasn’t as good as people thought. If he was, he would have discovered me."
Matt’s gaze locked onto Max’s, something dark glinting behind his eyes.
"Not even you did."
The triumphant smile on his face sent a shiver down Max’s spine. But his eyes—his eyes told a different story. They were filled with something far more terrifying.
Sadness.
Regret.
Like he was mourning something. Like he was remembering a time when things had been different.
The contradiction made Max’s stomach churn. It was unnatural. Wrong.
"You see, Max," Matt’s voice softened to a near whisper, "I am better than both of you."
Max swallowed, forcing himself to stay still, to suppress the instinct to shoot, to fight.
Max felt his heart plummet to his stomach. His grip on his gun trembled, but not from fear—from something deeper. Something raw.
"But you're Uncle Matt," he whispered, his voice barely audible, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it real. "How could you? How could you betray my dad?"
Matt tilted his head slightly, watching Max with something that almost resembled pity. "Because I’m better than him," he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You see, son, you have a lot to learn."
Max clenched his jaw, his mind racing, searching for a way out of this, for some kind of explanation that made sense. But Matt wasn’t done.
"You always looked up to Fernando, but the truth is, the man was reckless, stubborn and cruel. Smart, yes, but only to a limit. He was nothing special."
Max felt something crack inside him.
"But I understand," Matt continued, his tone almost gentle, like he was doing Max a favor. "He was the only father you ever knew. But if you ask me, I think Jos would have done a better job. He would’ve straightened you out, prepared you for this world better than Fernando ever did."
Max stiffened.
Jos.
Matt sighed, his gaze flickering toward Max’s hand still gripping the gun. "Anyway, son," he said, voice calm, almost conversational. "Drop your weapon and come here."
For a second, it sounded like a simple request. A small favor.
Then Matt moved.
With a slow, deliberate motion, he brought a knife to Jenson’s throat.
The blade pressed just enough to make his point clear.
Max sucked in a sharp breath.
"Or else he dies."
Max’s knees nearly buckled as the weight of the situation hit him. He trembled, taking a shaky step forward, his eyes wide in feigned horror. He needed to play this right. He couldn’t let Matt see the truth—couldn’t let him realize just how much Max had figured out.
“No, no, no,” Max whispered, his voice cracking as he dropped his gun, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. “Uncle Matt… You’re the one who… killed him? My dad?”
Tears welled up in his eyes, but they were fake, forced. His chest tightened, not from emotion, but from the need to stay alive. “I can’t… I can’t believe it. How could you?” Max staggered forward, stumbling as if struck by a wave of grief, all the while keeping his eyes on Matt’s every movement. He had to get close. He had to get close enough.
Matt didn’t notice.
As Max reached him, just a few feet away, his hand grazed one of the workstations. It was barely a movement—barely a second—but he slid the sharp blade from the top drawer, concealing it in his hand.
“I always thought you cared about me,” Max muttered, his voice shaking with sorrow. “I always thought you were... family.”
His face was twisted with pretend pain, but inside, his pulse was hammering. Every muscle in his body screamed to act. He could feel the cold steel of the knife, ready to strike.
As he closed the distance between them, Max made his move. He lunged forward, thrusting the blade into Matt’s thigh, twisting it deep into the flesh before Matt could even react.
Matt’s eyes flared with shock, pain, and rage. “You bastard!” he roared, his voice vibrating with fury. He spun around and slammed the butt of his gun into Max’s face with a force that left him gasping.
Max crumpled, the world tilting around him as pain blossomed in his skull. Blood trickled down his lip. But he didn’t let himself fall—not yet.
“You’ll pay for this, Max,” Matt spat, his voice low and filled with venom. “You’ll regret this.”
Max wiped the blood from his lips, pushing through the dizziness. His vision blurred, but he kept his eyes fixed on Matt, who was clutching his leg in agony. Max gritted his teeth. He wasn’t done yet. Not by a long shot.
Max’s head was swimming, but the adrenaline was keeping him upright, forcing him to ignore the dull ache throbbing through his skull. Matt was clutching his leg, but that only fueled the rage inside Max. He had to act now.
Before Matt could regain his bearings, Max surged forward, adrenaline coursing through his veins. He shoved Matt in a swift, violent move. They tumbled to the floor, each struggling to overpower the other, grunts and growls of exertion filling the air.
Max's muscles burned with the effort, but his focus was clear—survival.
He shoved Matt hard, slamming him into the workbench, making the tools rattle. For a split second, the older man was stunned, his breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Max didn’t waste the opportunity. He kicked the gun away, grabbing it and rolling to his feet in one fluid motion.
Matt tried to scramble up, but Max had the upper hand. He pointed the gun straight at Matt’s chest, his finger hovering just over the trigger. Max’s breathing was ragged, but his hands were steady, a new coldness taking over him.
“It’s over, Matt,” Max said, his voice low and filled with cold finality. His eyes locked onto Matt’s, seeing the fear begin to crawl into the older man’s expression.
Matt froze, his eyes wide, disbelief washing over his face. “Max, please… You don’t understand…”
Max’s eyes narrowed. “I understand perfectly. You betrayed my dad. You killed him. And now… you’re gonna pay for it.”
His finger twitched, but the gun stayed steady. Matt’s hand slowly moved towards his injured leg, as if to ease the pain, but Max wasn’t fooled. This was it.
He had the power now. The control he needed.
Max kept his eyes trained on Matt, the barrel of the gun unwavering. “You always thought you were better than him,” Max continued, his voice calm and dangerous. “But the truth is, you’re nothing but a coward hiding behind your lies.”
Matt’s lips twitched as if he wanted to speak, but nothing came out. His eyes flickered between the gun and Max’s face.
“it is over,” Max said, voice strained.
Max’s heart pounded as he moved swiftly to Jenson’s side, kneeling beside him. The man was still breathing, his chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. Max reached out, gently feeling for a pulse in Jenson’s neck. It was there, faint but steady. Sleeping pills? He didn’t know for sure, but it seemed likely. If Jenson had taken something, it was making him too lethargic to move or wake up.
Max glanced up at Matt, his jaw tight with fury. “What did you give him?” he demanded, his voice low and threatening. But Matt’s response was only a sickening smirk. The bastard wasn’t going to answer him.
Max gritted his teeth, forcing himself to focus. There was no time for anger. He needed to think.
He checked his phone—nothing. No service. The screen was a constant reminder that he was cut off from the outside world, with no way to reach anyone. His stomach twisted with anxiety. If he couldn’t reach Lewis or anyone else soon, he and Jenson would be in serious trouble.
Max’s eyes darted around the garage, calculating the next move. He couldn’t take Jenson with him—not in his current state. He’d have to leave him behind for now. But he needed a way out. He needed to find the keys.
The keys.
His gaze shifted back to Jenson’s unconscious body. Max knew Jenson had been carrying them. Max moved quickly, stepping past him and toward Jenson. He grabbed the keys from Jenson’s pocket
Max turned back to Matt, his voice cold and commanding. “Move. Now. Get up and move.”
Matt’s smirk faltered just slightly, but he remained defiant. He wasn’t scared. Not yet.
Max stood up again, his eyes locked on Matt. He didn’t trust the man—he never would. But right now, Max wasn’t focused on Matt. He was focused on getting the hell out of there and get help for Jenson.
“Let’s go,” Max said, his voice barely above a whisper, but the weight of it was clear. “You’re coming with me.”
Matt narrowed his eyes, but he made no move to stop Max. They both knew who had the upper hand now.
---
Max stepped out of the dimly lit garage, his pulse still hammering in his ears. The cool night air hit his face, but it did nothing to ease the tension gripping his body. He had to move fast. He had to get out of here.
Dragging Matt behind him, Max made quick work of getting him to the car. Matt struggled, of course, but he was disoriented, his movements sluggish after their fight. Still, Max wasn’t taking any chances. He shoved him against the side of the car, yanked Jenson’s handcuffs from his belt, and snapped them around Matt’s wrists before pushing him into the backseat.
"You even think about moving, and I swear to God, I'll make you regret it," Max warned, voice low and sharp.
Matt only glared at him, breathing heavily through his nose, but Max could see the calculating glint in his eyes. He wasn’t scared. He was waiting.
Not happening.
Max grabbed a roll of duct tape from the garage and wrapped it around Matt’s wrists for extra security before using a rope to bind his ankles together. He shoved him further into the backseat, making sure he wouldn’t be able to kick his way out of anything, then slammed the door shut.
With a final glance at the dark house behind him, Max climbed into the driver’s seat, gripping the wheel tightly as he pulled out of the driveway.
His phone was still useless. No signal.
Gritting his teeth, Max drove with one hand, the other gripping his phone as he watched the screen, waiting for even a single bar of service to appear. The road stretched out ahead, dark and deserted, but Max didn't slow down.
Then—ping.
Max’s heart leapt. His phone buzzed violently in his hand as notification after notification flooded in. he immediately pulled over.
First from Lewis. Then from Charles.
19 messages. 45 missed calls.
Max hesitated for a moment before opening the thread. The sight of Charles’s worried messages made something heavy settle in his chest.
"Max, please answer me."
"I know you're working, but just—let me know you're okay."
"I have a bad feeling. Please, just one message. Anything."
"Max, please."
Max felt like the worst husband in the world.
He always did this to Charles. Always put him in positions where he had to worry, where he had to fear for his life. He could picture Charles now—pacing, running his hands through his hair, and anxiously checking his phone every two minutes.
He deserves better.
Max tightened his grip on his phone, jaw clenching. No more near-death experiences. No more making Charles feel like this. No more putting him through hell.
He forced himself to sit up straight, cleared his throat, and quickly typed out a message to Charles.
“I’m okay. I promise. I’ll call you soon.”
Max exhaled shakily, pressing his forehead against the steering wheel for a brief moment before forcing himself to focus. He was still in danger. Jenson was still in danger. And Matt—bound, gagged, and furious in the backseat—was still a problem.
But the last message from Lewis, sent 30 minutes ago.
"I’m on my way."
Max's stomach twisted as he read it. Good Lewis is coming, he know where they’re
Then, without hesitation, he called Lewis.
The phone rang but before Max had time to register the feeling. A strange pull in his gut, a sensation of weightlessness, like the ground had disappeared beneath him. Then, suddenly—impact. A violent, gut-wrenching lurch. The world around him flipped, twisted. The sharp, metallic crunch of metal against metal filled his ears, followed by the deafening shatter of glass exploding.
His body slammed forward, the seatbelt biting into his chest, knocking the air from his lungs. His head snapped to the side, pain blooming across his temple as something—dashboard, window, steering wheel—collided with his skull.
For a split second, he was airborne. The car rolled, gravity shifting, tossing him like a ragdoll. His stomach twisted violently, the disorienting sensation of spinning, falling, crashing, repeating over and over until—
Stillness.
Max lay there, disoriented, his ears ringing. His body ached, his limbs heavy, his vision swimming. Something warm trickled down the side of his face. Blood. His breath came in ragged gasps, and when he tried to move, pain flared across his ribs, sharp and unforgiving.
The world tilted around him, and it took him a moment to realize the car was upside down. His seatbelt held him suspended, the weight of his body straining against it. The windshield was cracked, spiderweb fractures. Smoke curled into the air, the scent of burning rubber and gasoline thick in his nostrils.
Somewhere in the backseat, Matt groaned.
Max blinked, dazed. What the fuck just happened?
Max tried to move, but pain tore through his body like fire, sharp and unforgiving. His breath came in shallow gasps, each one sending a fresh wave of agony through his ribs. His legs—fuck, he couldn’t feel his legs properly. Panic clawed at his chest as he struggled against the seatbelt, but it was no use. He was stuck.
His fingers fumbled weakly along his side, searching for his phone. Where is it? He had it just before the crash. He had been about to call Lewis. He had been so close.
But now? Now, there was nothing. No phone. No signal. No one. Just the broken wreckage of the car, the distant hum of the wind, and the warm, sticky wetness pooling beneath him.
Max swallowed hard, but his throat was dry. The metallic taste of blood coated his tongue. He tried to call out, but his voice barely came out—a rasp, a weak whisper. He was suffocating under the weight of his own injuries, his body giving out on him.
His vision blurred. His arms felt like lead. His head lolled against the shattered window, and for the first time in a long time, real fear settled deep in his bones.
He was going to die here. Alone.
A broken, strangled sob left his throat, hot tears slipping down his face. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to leave Charles. He promised—he fucking promised—that this would be the last time. That Charles wouldn’t have to go through this again.
But Charles would.
Because Max was bleeding out in the wreckage of a car, his body growing lighter, the pain fading into something distant and cold. His eyelids grew heavy. His thoughts started slipping away.
He didn’t want to die.
Max’s thoughts were slipping, fading into darkness.
He couldn’t die. Not now. Not like this.
And then there was Oscar.
Their son.
A baby who had already lost so much. If Max died, Oscar would grow up without him, never knowing how much Max loved him, never knowing how desperately he wanted to be there for him. He was supposed to make it up to him. To Charles. To himself.
But now?
Now, he was bleeding out in a wrecked car, unable to move, unable to scream. He had been so fucking stupid. He shouldn’t have involved himself in this. He should have left it alone. He should have been home, holding Charles, watching over Oscar.
Instead, he was dying.
His vision blurred again, and this time, he let it take him.
Max woke to chaos.
The world around him was a blur of movement, pain, and heat. He could feel himself being dragged, rough hands gripping him, pulling him away.
Voices. So many voices.
They were shouting—urgent, panicked.
Max wanted to speak, to ask what was happening, but his throat was raw, and his body refused to obey him. He felt weightless, as if he wasn’t really there. His mind was still catching up, but then he heard it—
"Get him out! We need to get him out before the fire engulfs the whole car!"
Fire?
What fire?
And then it hit him—the unbearable heat licking at his skin, the acrid smell of smoke filling his nostrils. His wrecked car was on fire.
And he had been inside it.
A wave of panic surged through him, but he was too weak to react. His body wouldn’t move, his voice wouldn’t work. He was helpless, trapped in his own fading consciousness.
The last thing he heard before everything went dark again was the crackling of flames and someone shouting, “We’ve got him! Move, move, move!”
Notes:
Here are my beta's Honorable mentions:
- Oscar saying papa for the first time.
- Never trust a verstappen in a a gas station.
- Yellow Christmas onesie.
- kids are scary but bringing a gun is a bit much.
- Max feeling trapped with a bodyguard and panicking, why does this sound familiar?! Yeah Charles in take me back to the night we met.
- Max didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose him.
- That fluffing scared.
- Max trusting lewis: 📉📈📉📈📉📈
-Praying for Pipza to get fired ASAP—because if she loses her sanity first, the rest of this fanfic is gonna be written in crayon and conspiracy theories.
Chapter 11
Notes:
Hey, it's me again!
Sorry for the late update. This chapter is really special to me—I originally planned for this to be the main plot of my first fic instead of the serial killer storyline. Your thoughts on it mean a lot!
I know there might be a drop in quality; please forgive any mistakes or errors—I barely had the time to go over everything properly. Work has been absolutely draining, and honestly, I’d quit just to write fics full-time if I could.
Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! Please don’t forget to comment and leave a kudos—it really keeps me going!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lewis exhaled heavily, his grip tightening on the steering wheel as exhaustion settled deep in his bones. His head throbbed from the lack of sleep, his body aching from a restless night spent trying to calm Oscar down. His arms felt stiff, his shoulders tense, and every part of him longed for a strong coffee and a moment to breathe—but there was no time for that.
Lewis hadn't planned on pulling an all-nighter, but when Charles mentioned that both he and Nico had night shifts, and Sophie was at her brother’s house, Lewis had offered to stay over. Someone needed to take care of Oscar, and handle the pets.
At first, it seemed manageable. He had spent the evening feeding Oscar, playing with him, and making sure the pets were settled. But as the night dragged on, things took a turn. Oscar had been inconsolable. He refused to sleep, no matter what Lewis tried. Milk, pacifier, lullabies, walking around the house, driving through the quiet streets—nothing worked.
It wasn’t until Lewis had found one of Max’s shirts that Charles told him usually helps calm Oscar down and gave it to Oscar—that he finally settled. He curled up with it, his tiny hands clutching the fabric tightly, and for the first time that night, he stopped crying. Within minutes, his breathing evened out, and he fell asleep, his face still damp with tears.
Lewis had exhaled in relief but didn’t dare move right away. He just stood there, watching over the sleeping toddler, wondering how much of Oscar’s distress was due to missing Max. Charles had mentioned that Oscar wasn’t himself lately—fussier, more restless. And tonight had proven it.
By the time Lewis finally collapsed onto the couch, exhaustion hitting him like a truck, it was nearly 5 AM. He barely got an hour of sleep before his alarm went off.
He glanced at the rearview mirror, watching Oscar’s small chest rise and fall. he was asleep. His cheeks were flushed, too warm for Lewis’s liking, and worry gnawed at him.
His phone buzzed on the passenger seat. He groaned, dragging a tired hand down his face before reaching for it, barely glancing at the screen before answering.
“I’m sorry, Jenson,” he said immediately, voice hoarse from exhaustion. “I know I’m late. I’ll be there in—” His eyes flicked to the dashboard. Fuck. He had completely lost track of time.
“You’re not gonna make it, are you?” Jenson’s voice was sharp, irritation clear.
Lewis clenched his jaw, guilt sinking in. “I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you. Look, I’m stuck in traffic—there’s no way I can make it.”
A heavy pause followed. Jenson exhaled sharply, voice clipped. “Okay.”
Lewis ran a hand over his face again, rubbing his eyes before gripping the wheel. “I owe you one.”
“You owe me a lot.” The frustration in Jenson’s voice was unmistakable.
Lewis let his head fall back against the headrest for a second, eyes closing briefly before forcing himself to focus back on the road. He did owe Jenson a lot. And right now, he didn’t even know when he’d have the time to make it up to him.
Lewis pulled up outside Oscar’s nursery, cutting the engine with a tired sigh. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Oscar, still fast asleep in his car seat, his small fingers curled loosely around Max’s shirt. at least now, for a little while, Oscar looked peaceful.
The baby seat was a recent addition, one Lewis had installed last month despite Nico insisting it wasn’t necessary. But Lewis had used it more times than he could count, and right now, he was grateful for it. He didn’t regret it at all.
He unbuckled his seatbelt and stepped out, the morning air crisp against his skin. Moving quickly, he opened the back door and grabbed Oscar’s diaper bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He double-checked its contents—diapers, spare clothes, snacks, and the toys Charles insisted he bring—before gently unbuckling Oscar.
Oscar stirred slightly but didn’t wake as Lewis cradled him against his chest. He was so small, his body warm and limp with sleep. Lewis moved carefully toward the entrance, his steps steady as he adjusted the weight in his arms.
As soon as he stepped inside, he was met with a skeptical look from the nursery nanny at the reception. She didn’t recognize him, and Lewis immediately knew what she was thinking—he was late, he wasn’t on the drop-off list, and she had no reason to just let him walk in with Oscar.
“I’m Lewis Hamilton,” he said quickly, shifting Oscar slightly in his arms to free one hand. “I live next door to Mr. Leclerc. He had a night shift, and I was watching Oscar for him.”
The nanny didn’t look convinced. She folded her arms, glancing at Oscar before returning her sharp gaze to Lewis.
“I understand,” Lewis said, nodding. He wasn’t even offended. She was doing her job, and he respected that. “You can call Mr. Leclerc to confirm.”
As if on cue, Oscar stirred, his face scrunching up slightly at the lack of movement lulling him to sleep. Lewis sighed, rocking him gently while flashing the nanny a tired but understanding smile.
Eventually, she nodded and gestured for him to follow her to the director’s office. Lewis exhaled, already knowing that this delay meant he wouldn’t be making it to his second meeting of the day either.
He looked down at Oscar, brushing his fingers gently over the boy’s tiny hand before bringing it up to kiss it.
---
Lewis barely looked up from his laptop when Jenson’s voice cut through the silence.
"Lewis, I need your signature on this report."
He blinked, refocusing his eyes before glancing toward the door, where Jenson stood with a file in hand.
"Yeah, of course. Come in."
Jenson stepped inside, shutting the door behind him without another word placing the file on his desk. He didn’t push, giving Lewis time to skim through the report.
Lewis frowned slightly as he flipped through the pages. "Didn’t know you were working on Mrs.Anderson’s case."
Jenson gave him a tight, almost forced smile. "There’s a lot you don’t know, Lewis."
Lewis sighed, rubbing his temples. "Yeah, sorry. Been really busy lately."
Jenson nodded, but his expression remained unimpressed. "I know."
Lewis could already hear the underlying frustration in his voice. He sighed again, bracing himself. "Jenson, it’s not what you’re thinking."
Jenson raised an eyebrow. "Oh really? Where were you today?"
Lewis hesitated. "I can explain. It’s not how it seems—"
Jenson snorted. "Did you kiss yet?"
Lewis nearly choked. "Are you crazy? Nico would never accept— he knows we’re a thing!"
Jenson rolled his eyes. "Will you stop it, Lewis? Stop lying to yourself."
Lewis shook his head, exasperated. "I mean it. I know you think I have feelings for him, but it’s not true. I’m doing this for Charles and Oscar. He reminds me of my daughter. And they’ve already suffered enough because of me."
Jenson’s eyes softened, but his tone stayed firm. "I get that you feel guilty for your involvement, but Lewis, you tried to help. Max didn’t listen to you—he kept pushing his luck, and now look at the mess we’re in. Williams is dead, and we have no clue where Matt is."
Lewis clenched his jaw. "You don’t understand, Jenson."
"I do. We all do. You’re the only one making excuses because you’re scared." Jenson took a step closer, lowering his voice. "You’re scared of loving him. You’re scared of losing him. So instead of taking the risk, you’d rather pretend it’s not there. But Lewis—he loves you. So much."
Lewis’s fingers curled into fists. "I told you, I don’t want to talk about this. You always make things dramatic." He exhaled sharply. "Even if I did love him, they’d never forgive me. Not for what I did to Max. Or Fernando."
Jenson’s expression softened. "It’s not too late. If you bring Max back, I promise you—they will forgive you."
Lewis shook his head. "No, they won’t."
Before Jenson could argue, Lewis’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and immediately tensed. Oscar’s nursery.
That wasn’t good. It wasn’t time to pick him up yet.
He answered instantly.
The woman on the other end was calm, professional, but the words made his stomach drop. "Mr. Hamilton, we’ve been trying to reach Mr. Leclerc and Mr. Rosberg, but we couldn’t get through. Oscar has been crying non-stop all day. He’s thrown up twice, and he’s inconsolable. We’re really worried."
Lewis was already standing, grabbing his keys. "I’m on my way."
As he hung up, he caught Jenson’s unimpressed expression.
"You came in late, and now you’re leaving early?" Jenson muttered, arms crossed. "Very professional."
Lewis had never seen him this mad before. He understood Jenson’s frustration, his concern—but what did he expect him to do? Leave Oscar there?
He turned to Jenson, his voice firm. "Oscar is sick. Nico and Charles are on a 24-hour shift, and they couldn’t reach them. What do you suggest I do? Leave him at the nursery?"
Jenson sighed heavily before stepping aside and waving a hand toward the door in surrender. "Go."
---
Lewis rushed through the doors of the nursery, barely registering the soft chime of the bell above him. This time, Ms. Helen Oscar’s nanny didn’t greet him with suspicion—instead, she looked relieved, as if she'd been waiting for him.
"Mr. Hamilton, thank God," she exhaled, already stepping aside to let him through. "He’s been crying nonstop."
She handed Oscar to him, and Lewis's chest tightened at the sight of the little boy.
Oscar was miserable—his cheeks flushed an unhealthy shade of red, his eyes puffy and wet from endless crying. His sobs still shaking his tiny frame. His breathing was uneven, each inhale catching on another hiccup.
Lewis felt his heart clench.
"Shhh, little man. I got you," he murmured, rubbing slow, soothing circles on Oscar’s back.
The lady gathered the rest of Oscar’s things, handing Lewis the diaper bag.
Lewis nodded, taking the bag from her without a word.
He carried Oscar out to the car, settling the diaper bag inside before hesitating.
He needed to calm Oscar down before anything else.
So instead of immediately buckling him into the car seat, Lewis adjusted his hold, cradling Oscar against his chest as he gently rocked him back and forth.
Lewis kept rocking him, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a slow, rhythmic sway. He hummed softly, not even sure what tune it was—just something low, soothing, steady.
The sniffles slowed.
Oscar hiccupped once, then twice, his body still shuddering from the earlier crying fit. But little by little, he melted into Lewis’s hold, his limbs no longer tense, and his fingers loosening their desperate grip.
Lewis ran a hand through Oscar’s curls, his touch gentle. "That's it, little man. Just breathe. You're doing so well."
Oscar let out a tiny sigh, his breath warm against Lewis’s collarbone. He shifted slightly, nuzzling closer, his small nose pressing against Lewis’s skin. His breathing was still uneven, but the sobs had faded, replaced by the occasional tremble.
Lewis swallowed hard.
Lewis’s phone buzzed sharply in his pocket, with one hand cradling Oscar securely against his chest, Lewis shifted slightly, adjusting his grip so he could reach for his phone. He could feel the warmth radiating from Oscar’s small body, even though the fabric of his shirt. His skin was too hot.
Shit. He might have a fever.
The screen glowed with Charles’s name, and he immediately answered.
“Hey.”
Charles’s voice came through in a frantic rush, words stumbling over each other. “Lewis, how is he? Where are you? I can come to you guys—”
“He’s okay,” Lewis reassured, trying to keep his voice even. “He’s with me, don’t worry. But… I think he’s sick. I’d rather get him checked, just in case.”
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end. The panic in Charles’s voice was impossible to miss. “Is it that bad?”
Lewis felt a pang of guilt. He knew Charles was already worried out of his mind, and the last thing he wanted was to make it worse. But he couldn’t lie either.
“I don’t think it’s serious, but he threw up twice, and Miss Helen said he has diarrhea too. And—” He hesitated, shifting Oscar slightly. The heat pressing against his chest was undeniable. “I think he has a fever.”
Charles exhaled shakily “Okay. Austin General Hospital. I’ll call Carlos, see if he’s on shift. I’ll be there in less than ten minutes.”
Lewis let out a slow breath, rubbing a soothing hand over Oscar’s back. The baby stirred slightly, letting out a soft whimper but didn’t fully wake.
“I’ll be there in twenty,” Lewis told him, already moving towards the car. “Drive safe, Charles. Everything’s going to be fine.”
Charles didn’t sound convinced, but he still muttered, “I won’t drive I will take a taxi. See you soon.”
---
Carlos hums thoughtfully as he looks over Oscar’s test results, his brows furrowing slightly.
“Hmm.”
Charles, who hasn’t taken his eyes off Oscar since they arrived, immediately tenses. “Is it bad?” His voice is tight with worry.
He’s sitting on the hospital bed next to Oscar, despite the nurse previously asking him not to. Something about IPC procedures, but the moment she left the room, Charles climbed back up, cradling Oscar against his side. He’s been trying to get him to take the ORS from a syringe, but Oscar keeps turning his head away, whimpering softly.
Carlos glances at them before shaking his head. “Not necessarily. His tests are clear—it’s just a viral infection.”
Charles exhales, relief washing over him, but his fingers still tremble slightly as he strokes Oscar’s soft curls.
“His body will flush it out on its own,” Carlos continues, his voice calm and steady. “But you need to keep a close eye on him. His fever might go up and down, so you’ll have to monitor that closely. He’s a bit dehydrated, which is why it’s important to keep pushing the ORS, even if it’s just small amounts at a time. If he refuses, you’ll have to try different methods—maybe a spoon instead of the syringe. Whatever works.”
He moves to the counter, scribbling something on a chart before turning back to them. “You already know most of this, Charles, being a paramedic, which is good. But I’ll go over the main points just in case.”
He lists the treatment plan, plenty of fluids. Small but frequent doses of ORS to prevent dehydration. Fever management. If Oscar’s temperature rises too high, alternating between medication and lukewarm sponging should help. Rest and comfort. No unnecessary stress, just a calm environment to let his body recover.
“Now, tell me,” Carlos says, watching Charles carefully. “What are the danger signs you need to look out for?”
Charles nods “If he stops drinking completely, if he becomes too lethargic, if his breathing changes—either too fast or struggling—if he has fewer wet diapers, or if his fever doesn’t come down with medication.”
Carlos nods approvingly. “Exactly. If any of those happen, you bring him back immediately.”
Beside him, Lewis has been quietly absorbing everything, arms crossed as he listens carefully.
“Does he need to stay here for observation?” Lewis asks.
Carlos shakes his head. “No, it’ll actually be better for Oscar to recover at home. He’ll be more comfortable there, and as long as you keep an eye on him and follow the plan, he’ll be fine.”
Charles lets out a slow breath, his grip on Oscar tightening just slightly. He presses a kiss to his damp curls and whispers, “Did you hear that, baby? You get to go home soon.”
Oscar barely reacts, his body limp with exhaustion, but Charles keeps holding him close, as if that alone can make everything better.
Lewis feels his phone vibrate in his pocket as Carlos writes notes on the chart. Across the room, Charles starts gathering Oscar’s things—tossing the small cup into the waste bin, bundling the baby up in a blanket to prepare him for the cool air outside.
He glances at the screen. Daniel.
With a sigh, he answers. “Hey, Captain. Sorry to bother you, but I tried coming by your office three times today.”
Lewis instantly remembers why Daniel is calling. He runs a hand over his face, already knowing he won’t be able to make it. “I was out of the office most of the day. I’m actually at the hospital with Charles and Oscar.”
Silence stretches on the other end, but Daniel doesn’t hang up. Lewis can hear his breathing, the quiet hesitation. Then, Daniel asks, almost cautiously, “What’s wrong?”
“Oscar has the flu. We took him to see Carlos—he’s okay, don’t worry.”
Daniel exhales sharply. “I’m sorry.”
Lewis shakes his head, even though Daniel can’t see him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I... it doesn’t matter now.”
Lewis frowns. There’s something off about Daniel’s tone—something small, almost imperceptible, but Lewis has gotten close enough to him over the past month to recognize guilt when he hears it.
“He’s fine, Daniel. Really. Don’t worry,” he reassures him. “We’re heading back to Nico’s now. You can join us if you want.”
But Daniel’s response is immediate, almost frantic. “No. You said we’d go today.”
Lewis exhales. He doesn’t think he can go with Daniel today. Not with Oscar being sick. Charles and Nico both just had a 24-hour shifts, and they will need rest. now with Oscar needing care, it’s clear that Lewis is needed.
“Maybe we can reschedule,” Lewis suggests, keeping his voice even.
“No. You promised, Lewis. Please. It has to be today. You’ve been putting this off for ages.”
Lewis rubs his forehead. “It’s really difficult today, Daniel.”
Daniel’s voice sharpens. “I don’t care. You make time for me. I helped you, don’t forget that. Now I need your help.”
Lewis clenches his jaw. “I understand, Daniel. But I really can’t. Maybe tomorrow.”
Silence.
Then, without another word, the line goes dead.
Lewis sighs, lowering the phone and rubbing his fingers over his temple. Daniel is angry—Lewis knows that much—but he can’t just leave. Not tonight.
When he looks up, Charles is watching him, something unreadable in his expression.
“Was that Daniel?”
Lewis nods.
Charles shifts slightly, adjusting Oscar in his arms. “You seem busy. You can go if you need to. I can go back home alone.”
Lewis shakes his head immediately. “Nonsense. We’re going back together. It’s better this way.”
Charles doesn’t argue, but he watches as Lewis pockets his phone and moves toward the door.
“I’ll go buy the medications Carlos prescribed,” Lewis says.
“I can do it,” Charles offers, already reaching for the prescription.
“No, I will. You take Oscar and wait for me in the car.”
Charles hesitates, then reluctantly nods, Lewis presses his car keys into Charles’s palm, feeling the slight tremor in Charles’s fingers as he takes them. The exhaustion in Charles’s face is evident—the dark smudges under his eyes, the way his shoulders sag just a little as he shifts Oscar more securely in his arms.
As he turns away, Lewis hears the soft murmur of his voice—gentle, affectionate.
“We’ll go home and cuddle in bed,” Charles whispers to Oscar, adjusting the baby’s blanket as he walks toward the exit. “Maybe spend time with Grandma and Grandpa… we’ll get to do everything you like today, okay, Oscar? It’s your day.”
The words are tender, filled with quiet devotion, and Lewis feels something tighten in his chest.
Charles disappears through the automatic doors, stepping into the cool air, his voice still low and soothing as he speaks to Oscar.
Lewis watches him for a beat longer, then turns on his heel, scanning the room before approaching the nearest nursing station.
“Excuse me,” he says, clearing his throat. “Can you point me to the pharmacy?”
---
Lewis pulls the car to a smooth stop in front of Nico’s house, exhaling as he shifts the gear into park. The street is quiet. He unbuckles his seatbelt, stepping out into the crisp air, stretching his stiff shoulders before moving to the backseat.
He opens the door, reaching in to grab the diaper bag. The straps are slightly tangled, and he fumbles for a second before pulling it free. Charles, on the other side of the car, carefully unbuckles Oscar, who stirs slightly but doesn’t fully wake, his tiny fingers twitching in sleep.
Lewis follows Charles up the steps to the house, unlocking the door and pushing it open. The warmth of the house greets them instantly, a stark contrast to the cool air outside. Charles walks in first, heading straight toward the nursery, his steps quiet and deliberate, careful not to disturb Oscar’s light sleep.
Lewis watches him disappear into the dimly lit room before stepping inside himself. He drops the diaper bag onto the floor near the entrance, exhaling as he rolls his shoulders. He feels the weight of the long day pressing down on him, but before he can dwell on it, he realizes how dry his throat is. He needs water.
With that thought, he moves toward the kitchen, his footsteps muffled against the hardwood floor. The house is quiet, save for the occasional creak under his weight.
And then he sees Nico, who is standing near the counter, a half-empty glass of wine in his hand, his gaze lifting as Lewis enters. There's a brief moment of silence—just the faint clink of the glass as Nico sets it down—before he speaks.
“Long day?” Nico asks, his voice even, but his eyes flick toward the hallway where Charles had disappeared with Oscar.
Lewis exhales sharply, nodding as he moves toward the cabinet to grab a glass. “Yeah. Really long.”
Lewis leans against the counter, watching Nico take another sip of his wine before setting the glass down with a quiet sigh.
“Why are you here?” Lewis asks, brows furrowing. “Your shift doesn’t end for another two hours.”
Nico exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “I was worried about Oscar.” His voice is softer than usual, the tension in his posture betraying his concern.
Lewis nods, glancing toward the hallway. “Carlos checked him. It’s just a viral infection. Nothing serious, but he has a fever, threw up a couple of times, and had diarrhea. Carlos said his body will flush it out, but he needs rest and hydration. We just have to keep an eye on him, make sure his fever doesn’t spike too high, and get him to take fluids. That’s pretty much it.”
Nico presses his lips together, shaking his head slightly. “God, we can’t seem to catch a break.”
Lewis huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “It’s just the flu, he’ll be fine.”
“Yeah, I know,” Nico says, but there’s a tiredness in his voice, like he’s not entirely convinced. He looks at Lewis for a long moment before tilting his head slightly. “You must be exhausted too. Did you even manage to sleep today?”
Lewis opens his mouth to answer, but the second he actually thinks about it, he realizes—no, he didn’t. Not really. He hadn’t eaten either. The entire day had blurred past in a haze of worry and rushing from one place to another.
Before he can say anything, the quiet creak of a door opening makes both men turn their heads.
Charles steps into the kitchen, his fingers fidgeting at the hem of his shirt, his expression tight with something Lewis can’t quite place.
“Hey, Lewis,” Charles starts, a hesitant edge in his voice. “I—um—I’ve been looking for Max’s red shirt. Do you know where it is?”
Lewis blinks, taken slightly off guard. “Max’s red shirt?”
Charles nods quickly. “Yeah. Oscar will probably need it tonight.” His voice is quiet, but there’s urgency in it.
Lewis presses his lips together, trying to remember. His mind is sluggish from exhaustion, but after a few seconds, it clicks. He had given it to Ms. Helen at the nursery today.
“Wasn’t it in the diaper bag?” he asks.
Charles shakes his head, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his own shirt. “No, I checked the car too. It wasn’t there.” He exhales sharply, shoulders tensing. “And Oscar needs it. It’s the only shirt that still has Max’s scent. He—he did the laundry before he left. That was the last one I had of him.”
Lewis doesn’t miss the way Charles’s voice wavers slightly at the end, the way his eyes are just a little too bright. He exchanges a glance with Nico, who looks just as concerned, before shifting his focus back to Charles.
“I think I left it at the nursery with Ms. Helen,” Lewis says gently.
Lewis watches quietly as Charles take his phone quickly out of his pocket he starts dialing the daycare Lewis imagines, he presses the phone to his ear, the soft hum of the conversation filling the brief silence in the room. Charles listens intently, his face initially calm as he nods slightly, but as the call continues, there’s a subtle shift in his expression.
“Mm-hmm,” Charles murmurs, his voice soft and polite as he listens, but there’s a slight tension in his posture. He presses the phone closer to his ear, clearly focused on what’s being said, though Lewis can see the worry beginning to creep in.
After a moment, Charles’s expression falters,. "What?" Charles’s voice cracks, barely above a whisper, "He threw up on it? Oh, God..." “You washed it? Alright… but I need to pick it up in thirty minutes?” His voice tightens, and he takes a slow breath.
There’s a long pause as Charles listens to the other side of the conversation, his gaze drifting to the floor, and Lewis watches quietly, not interrupting.
Finally, Charles responds with a soft sigh. “Alright… I’ll be there soon,” he says, his tone a little more strained than before. He ends the call and lets out a breath, his shoulders sagging slightly as he lowers the phone from his ear.
He doesn’t look up immediately, and Lewis can sense the frustration building in Charles. When Charles finally looks up, his brow furrowed in irritation, he lets out a shaky breath and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have given it to him... I should’ve just kept it. I was stupid.”
He runs a hand through his hair, clearly upset with himself. “It was the last shirt Max wore... Now it’s just... gone.”
Lewis doesn’t say anything at first, giving Charles a moment to gather himself. The frustration is written all over Charles’s face, but Lewis knows there’s no point in making it worse by adding to the weight. Instead, he just nods quietly, allowing Charles the space to vent if he needs to.
Nico speaks with his usual calm, firm voice. "Charles, listen to me. You’re not terrible. You have so much left—so much of Max."
Charles doesn’t look convinced. He stands stiff, his eyes clouded with guilt and sadness. "But I’m losing everything. So many things connected to him. Oscar will never know how he smelled, how he sounded. His dad should be here, not just in some photo or a shirt." There’s desperation in his voice, raw and unfiltered.
He takes a small step forward but doesn’t interrupt, letting Nico deal with Charles, after all he’s not well equipped to deal with this situation knowing the role he played in this tragedy, Lewis hate this, he hates that he’s partially responsible for Charles and Sophie predicament, he tell himself it wasn’t entirely his fault it was Max who went and fucked it all up, he tried to worn him to stop him, but he didn’t listen he never does just like Fernando and the result is this.
Nico keeps his calm. "Max is not gone, Charles. He’s still here—in all the things you’ve kept, in your memories, in the stories you’ll tell Oscar. And you’re not alone. You have Sophie, and you have me. We’re going to make sure Oscar knows Max, and he will always carry pieces of him." Nico’s words seem to echo in the room.
Charles shakes his head, a frustrated sigh escaping him. "But what if I forget? What if Oscar doesn’t remember him? He should be here to teach him to play sports, to guide him... I’m terrible at that kind of stuff." His voice cracks a little as the fear sets in, the uncertainty about how to fill Max’s place so deeply embedded in his heart.
Lewis doesn’t know what to say. He wants to tell Charles that he’s sorry, that he really wants to help and he could, but they will never let him, and Charles, Nico and Oscar could get hurt. Instead all he can do is to stand there silently.
Nico exhales and pats Charles on the shoulder. "You’re not terrible at anything. Max was not perfect either, you know. He didn’t have all the answers. But we will help you. Lewis can help, he’s a great athlete, and he’ll teach Oscar if that’s what you’re worried about."
There’s a flicker of something in Charles’s eyes at Nico’s reassurance, but it fades quickly, replaced by the same sadness and worry. "I just... I wanted him to know Max, to remember him the way I do."
He feels like he should say something, offer some kind of comfort, but the truth is, he doesn’t know what’s enough for Charles. He just watches as Nico continues, trying to lift Charles out of his spiral.
"Oscar won’t forget his dad. You have all the voice notes Max left behind, pictures, even some of the interviews he did for the cases he solved. We can show Oscar these when he’s old enough. Max will always be a part of him, and he’ll understand, in his own time, how special his dad was."
Charles takes a shaky breath, nodding slowly. "Okay," he says softly. "But I need to hold on to as much of him as I can. I need to make sure Oscar knows who Max really was."
Nico nod, squeezing Charles’s shoulder gently, his voice steady and firm as he reassures Charles that he’ll help him through this. "And you will, Charles. You’ll make sure he knows."
“Charles,” he hear himself saying, “It’s not gone.”
Charles looks at him then, eyes wide and desperate, as if searching for any shred of hope. “What?”
And for a moment, Lewis hesitates. He doesn’t want to make things worse, doesn’t want to feed into Charles’s panic, but he knows he can’t just stand by. “Ms. Helen must’ve been talking about Oscar’s other clothes. Because—the shirt isn’t with her.”
Charles’s brows furrow, confusion taking over his features. “It’s not?”
Lewis shakes his head, forcing himself to speak calmly. “No. It’s with me. I—I forgot it in my car when I took Oscar to the nursery today. It’s actually in my office.”
He watches Charles, eyes scanning his face, and for a long moment, nothing happens. The silence stretches, thick and heavy, until finally, Charles’s entire body seems to relax. He exhales, a shaky breath that seems to release all the tension from his body.
“Oh.”
It’s barely audible, but it’s enough. Lewis sees the way Charles’s shoulders drop, the way his eyes close for a split second as if he’s just been given back a piece of his sanity.
And that’s when Lewis knows it was worth the lie. The relief in Charles’s eyes is enough to make him feel like he did something right, even if it meant bending the truth just a little.
Lewis tell Charles. "I'll go bring Oscar's clothes from the daycare myself, then head to the office. I have a few things I need to take care of at work. I'll bring the shirt, and I'll be back soon."
Charles nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, Lewis."
Before Lewis could step away, a voice came from behind them. "You should lock the door, you guys. This is not safe."
They all turned to see Lando standing there. Lewis raised an eyebrow. "Lando, what are you doing here?"
Lando blushed slightly before answering. "Daniel told me Oscar is sick. I got worried about him. I tried to call Charles, but I couldn't reach him. So I came to check up on you."
Lando studied Charles intently, concern deepening the crease between his brows. "What's wrong with Oscar?"
Charles exhaled heavily, running a hand through his tousled hair. "He has the flu. We took him to see Carlos, and he said he'll be fine."
Lando’s gaze lingered on Charles, skeptical. "Then why do you look like a ghost? Are you okay?"
Charles let out a hollow chuckle, shaking his head. "All of us are. We haven’t eaten anything, and we just pulled a 24-hour shift—Lewis included."
Lando’s lips curled into a knowing grin as he lifted the bag in his hand. "Good thing I brought food, then."
Charles' tired eyes brightened, relief flickering across his face. "Oh god, I could kiss you." A flush crept up Lando’s cheeks.
Lewis didn’t used to care about anyone. He had done his job and stepped aside, never finding it difficult to separate himself from the people he worked with. He had never built a connection with any of his previous cases. He was professional. He still is.
But then there was Charles and Oscar.
Lewis glanced at Nico, the man who, unknowingly, had started it all. He never could have imagined that his charming neighbor—the worst date he’d ever had the displeasure of experiencing—would play such a pivotal role in his life. Well, it wasn’t the worst date, but the fact that Nico hadn’t even recognized him despite Lewis literally greeting him that morning was a blow to his ego.
He had never dated after what happened with his first marriage. Linda was his first love, his college sweetheart. He had loved her, and he never doubted their love. But then they lost their daughter, and they never recovered. She blamed him, and he blamed himself too. Eventually, they had to end it because they started hurting each other. Lewis had tried to make it work, but it was too much for Linda, and they separated.
After that, he never tried to date. He never even thought he could like anyone or let anyone in. That didn’t mean he didn’t have fun every once in a while—he was a man, after all—but nothing serious.
And then Nico happened.
Lewis met Nico for the first time at a barbecue party hosted by one of their neighbors. The minute his eyes fell on him, he felt drawn to him, so he tried to strike up a conversation. But Nico was too busy arguing with Dennis and Mac over the war in Afghanistan. Lewis had stood there and watched him talk for an hour, but a call from Jenson had pulled him away before he could introduce himself.
The second time he met Nico, he was out on a run with Roscoe when Nico quite literally landed in front of him. Apparently, he had been on top of a tree, trying to trim some branches. Lewis had introduced himself, and Nico had done the same.
The third time was at the neighborhood association meeting. Lewis had confidently walked up to him, eager to make an impression.
“Hey,” he had said.
Nico had blinked at him, confused. “hey.”
Lewis frowned. “You don’t remember me, do you? We’ve met before. Twice, actually.”
Had Nico remembered him then? No.
Lewis liked Nico a little bit less after that. No matter how gorgeous he was, he was clearly very cocky, eccentric, and, apparently, rude.
The next time he heard about Nico was from their neighbor Collette, who had taken it upon herself to find Lewis a suitable match after hearing his story. She mentioned she was now preoccupied with two single men—him and Nico. Unlike Lewis, however, Nico was actually interested in dating and had met several of the people she suggested.
Lewis wasn’t sure what got into him, but he told her he appreciated her efforts and she was right, admitted that life was getting lonely. He actually is open to find someone.
“Gender doesn’t matter,” he had said offhandedly.
Collette had caught the hint because the next time they met, she asked him if he’d be interested in going on a date with Nico.
He had said yes so fast Colette was so happy after. He figured Nico must have been interested if he had agreed to the date.
Except, when they met at the restaurant, Nico didn’t recognize him. Again.
That set Lewis off, and he had actually fought with him over it. But what really hurt was the clueless expression on Nico’s face. He truly had no idea what he had done wrong.
That night, Lewis decided that no matter how beautiful Nico was, he wasn’t worth the trouble.
At least, that’s what he told himself at the time.
Lewis excused himself, and he pulled out his phone and dialed Daniel’s number. The line rang twice before a familiar voice answered.
"Hey, Captain."
"We’re going out today, bring Jenson with you."
---
Lewis was not a lucky man by any means. Everything he had, he worked hard to get, and that was why he appreciated everything he had and understood the meaning of loss. Losing his parents, his daughter, and then his wife had taught him that he was not made to be happy, to love, or to be loved. He was born to live, work, serve a purpose—whatever it was—and then die. He had accepted his fate.
But every time Nico did something as simple as texting to ask if he had eaten or slept well—which was literally every day—it unsettled him. Why was he being tested like this? Why was the only person who had ever made him feel so deeply happens to be connected to Max and Fernando?
"Is that Nico?" Jenson asked as they walked quietly through the calm neighborhood, Daniel trailing behind them angrily.
"No," Lewis answered too fast. He realized it immediately.
"Don't lie to me."
Lewis sighed. "It's Nico, but it's nothing."
Jenson scoffed. "It's always 'nothing' with you."
"Because it is," Lewis insisted. "He's just nice like this. And I know for a fact he texts you a lot too."
Jenson shrugged. "He does. But it's different."
Lewis huffed. "Why do you care? Are you jealous? We had a deal, Jenson."
Jenson rolled his eyes. "Jealous? Oh please, I would never."
Lewis smirked. "Never? Really?"
Jenson snapped, "That was nothing, and a long time ago. Besides, remember, I’m doing you a favor—which, honestly, I don’t even know why I’m still doing it, I don’t even approve of this stupid plan, and you did it behind my back."
Lewis narrowed his eyes. "Why do you care?"
Jenson exhaled sharply. "Because you're my friend, and I want you to be happy. And because you're being unfair to him."
Lewis shook his head. "On the contrary—if he thinks we’re dating, he won’t have hope. I won’t have to reject him and ruin our friendship."
Jenson raised an eyebrow. "Oh boy, you are the most delusional person I know. I would love to see your face when you realize you’re not friends. Not only do you two want to fuck each other’s brains out, but you’re also both ridiculously soft for each other. He’s literally in so much pain because of your lie, and yet he still agreed to meet me, made the effort to befriend me—despite the pain. Cut the man some slack. He’s not going to leave you because of what happened to Max.
"Although, come to think of it, he might after finding out about this whole fake-dating thing."
Lewis knew Jenson was partially right. But Jenson didn’t understand what it meant to lose someone. Lewis was old enough to control his feelings, to preserve what he had with Nico. The promise of more was tempting, but the idea of losing Nico was something Lewis was too scared to risk. He wouldn’t take the chance.
Daniel complained from the back, his voice carrying a whine. "Are we there yet?"
"I think it’s here, right Lewis?" Jenson replied, Lewis nod his head as he looks up at the house.
The house was enclosed by a tall, weathered wooden fence, its once-polished surface now rough with age. It stretched around the property, standing just high enough to keep prying eyes away without drawing unnecessary attention. The gate creaked slightly as Lewis pushed it open, the metal latch cold against his fingers.
Inside the fence, the yard was mostly overgrown, patches of grass and weeds creeping toward the narrow stone pathway leading to the front door. The house they approached was a two-story building, it sat at the outskirts of the neighborhood, a little farther from the rows of neatly packed homes. It was surrounded by a sparse line of trees, offering just enough coverage to make it feel isolated without being completely hidden. White paint slightly faded from years under the sun, the house had a small porch with a single chair pushed up against the railing and a porch light that flickered faintly as if undecided whether to die out or keep going. From the outside, it looked ordinary—but that was the reason Lewis had chosen this place.
He glanced back at Daniel, who was eyeing the house with mild suspicion. "This is actually closer than the last location," Lewis said, his voice low but steady. "But it's safe and secluded enough so no one could hear or suspect anything."
Lewis pulled out his phone, his fingers moving swiftly as he sent a message to Cole. A moment later, his screen lit up with a reply. Immediately, the front door clicked open.
They walked into the house, greeted by Cole, who immediately tensed upon seeing Daniel. His eyes darted toward Lewis in alarm.
“He’s with me,” Lewis assured him. “Don’t worry.”
Cole still looked uncertain but nodded. Lewis wasted no time. “Where are they?”
“In their rooms,” Cole replied. “The doctor just left. Mister Verstappen had his stitches removed.”
He stepped aside, allowing them in. As they walked through the house, Cole continued to report to Lewis.
“Max isn’t in the mood for visitors today,” he said. “He threw a fit, tried to escape, but his wounds kept him from getting far. Don’t worry, though—he won’t be out of his cuffs anytime soon.”
At that, Daniel froze. His head snapped toward Cole, his expression hardening. “You handcuffed him?” His voice was low, dangerous.
Before anyone could react, Fernando entered the living room. “It had to be done.”
“You son of a bitch,” Daniel snarled, launching himself at Fernando with full force.
Jenson and Lewis moved fast. Jenson grabbed Daniel by the waist while Lewis caught his arm, the two of them struggling to hold him back. Daniel fought, muscles tensed with rage, but they held firm.
“Let me go!” he spat, his body twisting in their grasp.
“Enough, Daniel, or else you won’t get to come here again.” Lewis gritted out.
Daniel took a sharp breath, then abruptly stopped resisting. The moment their grips loosened, he yanked himself free, no longer concerned with attacking Fernando. Instead, he turned to Cole.
“Take me to Max.”
Cole hesitated, glancing at Lewis, who gave a small nod. Without another word, Daniel stormed out of the room, following Cole down the hall, his previous fury redirected toward something more important.
Lewis turned back to Fernando, eyes sharp. “You really should learn how to be more considerate of Max’s situation,” he said. “Don’t make me remind you how it was for you. You weren’t happy about it either, and you sure as hell didn’t make things easy for me. Be patient with him. Comfort him.”
Fernando’s jaw tightened. “You think I enjoy doing this?” he snapped. “He’s out of his mind, paranoid. He trusts no one—he attacked me twice.”
Lewis didn’t flinch. “Do you blame him?”
Fernando exhaled harshly, rubbing a hand over his face. “No,” he admitted. “But I’m trying, goddamn it. I had to do this to save his fucking life, and all he wants is to go back there.” His voice rose with frustration. “He got himself into this. You tried to warn him, but no—he wouldn’t just let it go. He’s so damn stubborn.”
Lewis studied him for a moment before speaking. “is it possible,” he asked quietly, “that you’re angry at yourself for being the reason Max is hurt?”
Fernando’s face twisted in something close to pain. “Of course I am,” he muttered. “I did all of this to protect them. I lost two years of my life, my family. I have a grandchild I’ve never met. My wife thinks I’m dead—all of it, just to keep them safe. And now she thinks she’s lost her son too.”
Lewis nodded. He had been there. He had witnessed the pain firsthand. He sighed, lowering himself onto the couch.
“Sit,” he said, motioning for both Fernando and Jenson to do the same.
They did.
“It will pass. We’re so close,” Lewis said, his voice steady, though the weight of their situation pressed down on all of them. “May is dead. We just need to find Matt, and that’s it. It’ll be over.”
Fernando stiffened at the name. The mention of Matt still struck a nerve, but this—this was something else. It wasn’t just shock; it was betrayal.
Matt, his old partner.
Matt, the man he had once trusted with his life.
It had been a surprise to learn that Matt wasn’t just helping May—he was the mastermind, the one pulling the strings, moving the pieces like a goddamn game master.
Jenson exhaled sharply. “I don’t know how the hell he survived that accident. It was massive.”
Lewis nodded, his expression dark. “From what we gathered, the person who crashed into Max did it deliberately—to stop the car, to hurt him. But they lost control. The car went flying.” His jaw tightened. “There were two people in that car. One survived, and helped matt escape. The other …” He exhaled. “Well, we all know which grave he’s in.”
Jenson’s gaze flickered to Fernando. “And we also know who killed him.”
Fernando didn’t flinch. “He was in pain,” he said coolly. “I decided to help him.” A pause, then a slight tilt of his head. “Besides, there’s no proof.”
Jenson scoffed. “Thanks to who?”
Lewis cut in, voice firm. “Jenson, stop it.”
Fernando’s eyes darkened. “Yes, drop it. Because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.” His voice was sharp now, each word laced with restrained anger. “You don’t have kids. That son of a bitch tried to kill mine. If we hadn’t needed a body at the time, I would have made damn sure he lived just long enough to regret it.”
Lewis sighed. “You too, Fernando. Max is safe. That’s what matters. Now, we need to focus on finding Matt. Once we do, this will all be over. And maybe—just maybe—you can fix your relationship with Max.”
Fernando let out a bitter laugh. “Fix it?” His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “He refuses. You told me he cannot believe that he put himself and his family at risk for a coward like me. He was so desperate to find whoever killed me. Well, apparently, that’s all he wanted—the person who killed me. Not me.”
The room fell into a heavy silence, thick with tension and things left unsaid.
Then, the sound of footsteps.
Daniel walked back in. His face was pale, his expression shattered. Lewis could see the wet streaks on his cheeks, the tears he had barely bothered to wipe away.
“He wants to see you,” Daniel murmured, voice raw.
Lewis huffed, getting up. “Alright, gentlemen,” he said, casting a pointed glance at Jenson and Fernando. “Try not to kill each other while I’m inside.”
And with that, he walked out.
---
Lewis took a deep breath before stepping inside.
This was only the second time he had seen Max since the accident. The first time, Max had been barely conscious, heavily medicated, lost in a haze of pain and hallucinations. That time, Lewis had spoken to him, but he wasn’t sure if Max had even registered his presence.
Now, as he closed the door behind him, his eyes fell on Max sitting upright in bed. He was wearing a plain white shirt, though the fabric stretched awkwardly around his injuries. The bruises that had once turned his face unrecognizable had begun to fade into sickly shades of green and yellow. One of his arms rested in a sling, stiff and immobilized—broken in two places, with a dislocated shoulder to match. The bandages beneath his shirt hinted at deeper wounds: a ruptured spleen, a gash between his shoulder blades that had come dangerously close to puncturing his lung.
And then there was the handcuffs.
His free arm was bound to the bed in an awkward position, the metal digging into his wrist. It looked uncomfortable, borderline painful. Fernando had never been one for softness, but this? This was just cruel.
Lewis exhaled through his nose. Such a bastard, even to his own son.
“Hey, Max.” He kept his voice light, knowing full well Max had never liked him. There was no need to pretend this would be some kind of heartwarming reunion. “Heard you got your stitches out today.”
Max looked at him, unimpressed. “I feel better,” he said, voice hoarse but resolute. “Ready to go back to my family.”
Lewis sighed. He had known this was coming.
He kept his expression neutral, choosing his words carefully. “Yeah… Hopefully, you’ll get to go back.”
Max’s jaw tightened. “No,” he said, eyes sharp. “Not ‘hopefully.’ Tonight. I want to go back to them.”
There it was.
Max shifted slightly, wincing as he moved his bound wrist. His frustration was simmering just below the surface. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, but it’s over. May is gone. Matt is a wanted man. He’s not going to risk showing himself, and he sure as hell isn’t going to waste time on revenge when he’s too busy trying to stay alive.”
Lewis frowned. He understood why Max wanted to believe that.
But it wasn’t that simple.
“Max, believe me, I want you back out there so bad. But I can’t. We can’t.”
Lewis kept his voice firm, steady. He needed Max to understand this wasn’t just about him anymore.
“Matt isn’t the only problem,” Lewis continued. “This whole thing—it’s bigger than just him. We uncovered an entire network of corruption—government officials, drug deals, money laundering. The evidence we found with Matt is enough to incriminate a lot of people, but there are more. People we haven’t found yet.”
Max clenched his jaw, frustration evident in the tense line of his shoulders. He had never been the patient type. He had spent his entire life fighting for control, and now, everyone was telling him he had to sit back and wait.
Lewis sighed. “And besides… last time I checked—before May’s death—Matt had people going after you.”
That got Max’s attention. His eyes darkened, hands curling into fists against the bed. But when he spoke, his voice wasn’t angry. It was quiet. Tired.
“This won’t ever go away, will it?” He swallowed hard. “You’re literally saying I need to disappear forever.”
Lewis shook his head. “Not forever. But for now? You need to lay low. Just for a few weeks. Let us uncover the rest, find Matt, and then you’ll be free—you and your dad.”
Max let out a breath, his chest rising and falling with the effort of keeping himself together. Then, barely above a whisper— “No. I can’t. Please, I can’t.”
Lewis knew before Max even said it. Knew from the way his gaze flickered, from the hesitation in his voice.
“That’s a few weeks away from Oscar. From Charles.”
There it was.
Max’s walls, the ones he always kept up, the ones he needed to keep up, cracked just enough to let Lewis see the truth. This wasn’t about him. It never had been.
Lewis hesitated for a moment before exhaling. “They’re fine.” His voice softened. “Actually, I came here for a reason tonight.”
Max watched him as he reached into the bag he had brought with him, pulling out a shirt. He held it up, watching as Max’s brow furrowed in confusion.
“You brought me clothes?” Max asked, eyeing him warily. “Wouldn’t Charles suspect you?”
Lewis shook his head. “It’s not for you.”
Max’s frown deepened.
“It’s for Oscar,” Lewis clarified. “He’s used to sleeping next to your shirt. This shirt, in particular.” He glanced at it before meeting Max’s gaze again. “But today at the nursery, they accidentally washed it, and Charles—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Charles wasn’t fine with it.”
Max’s breath hitched.
“I told him they didn’t wash it,” Lewis admitted. “But I was hoping… you’d wear it for a bit. Just until it smells like you again.”
For a moment, Max just stared at him. Then, his eyes glossed over, red-rimmed and brimming with emotion. He didn’t hesitate—immediately started pulling his shirt off, only to struggle when the handcuffs kept him from slipping his arm free. He let out a frustrated grunt, tugging uselessly at the sleeve.
Lewis handed him the shirt. “I’ll uncuff you.”
Max let out a humorless laugh, voice sharp with bitterness. “Good luck with that.” His expression turned cold. “He has the keys.”
Lewis didn’t need to ask who he was.
“Wait here.”
He turned on his heel, stepping out of the room. Cole was standing just outside, arms crossed, alert as ever.
“Hey,” Lewis said. “Can you go downstairs and tell Fernando to bring me the keys to the handcuffs? Tell him I asked for them.”
Cole raised a brow but didn’t question it.
Lewis might have been Fernando’s superior on this mission, but most days? It sure as hell didn’t feel like it.
Lewis stepped back inside the room, closing the door behind him. He sank into the chair opposite Max, studying him for a moment before speaking.
“Cole will bring the keys in a minute.”
Max nodded, but his eyes lingered on Lewis, scrutinizing him like he was trying to figure something out. Eventually, he spoke.
“How come you’re talking to me?” Lewis asked, tilting his head slightly. “You didn’t like me much when I was a ‘good guy.’ And now you’re here, you asked for me. And now you’re not talking to your dad.”
Max let out a slow breath. “It’s the opposite.”
Max’s lips curled slightly, something bitter in his expression. “You know… I thought you were the one who killed Fernando. I never trusted you, I had low expectations, but Fernando and Daniel…” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I was wrong. If anything, you were trying to protect me. My family.” His voice dropped, almost too quiet. “If I’d been smart enough to trust you, I would’ve been with them right now.”
Lewis leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “I get why you’re frustrated,” he said carefully. “But maybe try to cut Fernando some slack. He was just trying to protect you. He loves you. And you get to have your father back—that’s not nothing. That’s a big deal.”
Max let out a hollow laugh, shaking his head.
“No,” he said, voice sharp. “He should have trusted me instead of faking his death for two years. He put us through hell—Mom, Charles… He broke my mother’s heart, and I almost lost Charles because of his little stunt. And now?” Max’s throat tightened. “Now he’s making me do the same thing. God knows how much pain Charles and Mom are in right now.”
His hands clenched into fists at his sides, his breathing uneven.
“Oscar…” Max swallowed hard. “He doesn’t know me. He doesn’t remember me. Maybe by the time I get back, he wouldn’t want me anymore.”
Lewis shook his head immediately.
“Oscar isn’t sleeping well,” he said gently. “Because he misses you.” He gestured toward the shirt. “That’s what this is for. He even takes it with him to daycare. Charles and Oscar fight over it.”
Max’s breath hitched.
“They can’t wait to have you back,” Lewis continued. “So please—focus on getting better. Let us handle Matt. You will be in Oscar’s life again.”
Max opened his mouth like he wanted to argue, to protest, but Lewis didn’t give him the chance.
“Do you want to see pictures of Charles and Oscar from last week?” he asked, reaching into his pocket. “I took them for you. I usually do this for Fernando.”
---
“Hey,” Lewis said as he stepped into Nico’s living room, where Nico, Charles, and Lando were deep in conversation.
Charles looked up immediately. “How is Oscar is doing?”
Nico sighed. “He just fell asleep. His fever spiked again this evening.”
Charles’s jaw tightened, his eyes filled with concern. “Where’s the shirt?”
Lewis didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out two shirts—one red and one white. He handed them to Charles, watching as he hesitated before taking them.
Max wore it for two hours. He hugged it, walked around in it… even tried to run. He wanted it to smell as much like him as possible.
Charles ran his fingers over the fabric, swallowing hard.
“And the white one?” he asked, frowning at it.
Lewis hesitated before answering. Max had begged him to give it to Charles “it’s Max’s shirt, he left it at the office once.
Lando, standing off to the side, scoffed. “I’ve never seen Max wear this.”
Lewis shot him a look. “It was mine. He borrowed it once.” Then, turning back to Charles, he added, “It doesn’t really matter, does it? What matters is—you now have two shirts from Max.”
Charles, however, was too preoccupied to notice. He hugged the shirts tightly to his chest, like they were the most precious thing in the world. “I’m so lucky,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Then, looking up at Lewis, he smiled—soft, genuine. “Thank you.”
Lewis forced a small smile back. “I’m just glad I remembered the shirt.”
Charles nodded eagerly. “I’ll give one to Oscar once he’s feeling better. And I’ll save the other for the future. Tomorrow, Lando and I will go home to see if we can recover anything of Max’s.”
Lando immediately cut in, “Maybe not tomorrow. You need to rest.”
Charles sighed but didn’t argue. “Yeah, I should probably sleep now.”
As Charles turned to head to bed, Lando lingered awkwardly, shifting his weight. After a moment, he finally asked, “Uh… do you have a spare pair of pajama pants? I didn’t bring any clothes.”
Lewis blinked at him. “You’re staying here?”
Lando nodded. “Yeah. Charles and Nico are exhausted. They had a 24-hour shift. They need to rest.”
Lewis raised an eyebrow. That was… unexpected. Lando had been extra nice to Charles lately, almost too nice. It was strange. And Lewis didn’t trust strange.
Lewis wasn’t buying it.
Lando had hated Charles. That much was clear from the very beginning. Lewis had seen the formal requests—twelve of them—Lando had submitted, trying to be reassigned during the Austin Killer case. It wasn’t just annoyance; it was full-on resistance to being anywhere near Charles. And things had only gotten worse when Charles ran off to New York. From what Lewis had pieced together, that whole mess had something to do with both Max and Lando.
And yet, now, Lando was here. A lot. More than not, actually. Hanging around Nico’s place, hovering over Charles, staying overnight like it was normal.
It wasn’t.
Lewis didn’t believe in sudden changes of heart—not without a reason.
Lewis swallows hard, forcing himself to look away from Nico’s exposed skin, from the effortless way he exists—beautiful, warm, and completely unattainable.
He hopes he’s wrong about Lando. because if he’s not… Max will kill him. And this whole thing is already messy enough without adding that into the mix.
Nico stretches again, oblivious to Lewis’s inner turmoil, and then his voice softens. “Did you eat anything?”
Lewis wants to lie. Wants to say yeah, of course, but he looks into Nico’s eyes, and the words die in his throat. He just shakes his head.
Nico sighs, concerned. “I saved you some food. You need to eat, Lewis. This isn’t healthy.”
Don’t worry about me, Nico. He wants to say it. Tries to. But Nico beats him to it.
“I always worry about you. We are sorry we always get you involved in our mess, and take you away from Jensen”
And Lewis hates this. Hates the way Nico says it. Hates the distance he always puts between them, like he’s reminding Lewis of everything that stands in their way. Like he’s reminding himself.
Jenson.
Lewis clenches his jaw. He knows what Nico is doing—bringing up Jenson, using him like a shield. Like a wedge to keep them apart. And it hurts because Lewis sees right through it. He sees the pain in Nico’s eyes, the longing he tries so hard to suppress.
But Lewis lets it happen. Because if he doesn’t—if he pushes—then things will escalate.
And he can’t afford that.
Not now.
Not when the only thing scarier than losing Nico completely is having him on a foundation of lies.
Lewis wishes—really wishes—he could just hug Nico. Just pull him close and breathe him in, let himself forget everything for a moment. But he doesn’t. Instead, he watches as Nico moves around the kitchen, effortlessly preparing food for him, like it’s second nature.
When the food is ready, Nico sets it down in front of him. “Eat,” he says simply. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
Lewis watches him disappear down the hall, the silence stretching in his absence. He eats, savoring the calmness of the night, knowing it won’t last. He dreads the moment he’ll have to go home, back to reality, back to everything waiting for him outside of this stolen moment of peace.
When Nico returns, he’s not alone. He’s carrying Oscar in his arms, the baby small and warm against his chest.
Lewis looks up, startled. “Oh, he’s awake?”
Nico nods. “Yeah. Charles and Lando are out cold already. I thought we could enjoy this little angel’s company.”
Lewis smiles despite himself as Nico settles down with Oscar.
“He’s okay,” Nico says softly, almost like a reassurance.
Lewis nods. “I know.”
There’s a pause before Nico adds, “I’m sorry you had to go to the hospital with them. I know how much you hate hospitals.”
Lewis swallows. He hates how well Nico knows him—how he sees right through every facade, every wall Lewis puts up. But he keeps his voice steady. “Oscar is fine. That’s all that matters.”
Nico hums in agreement, rocking Oscar gently. “That’s true.”
Nico steps closer, slow and deliberate, until he’s right in front of Lewis. Lewis doesn’t hesitate—he stands, reaching out to take Oscar from Nico’s arms. The baby is warm and soft against his chest, his tiny fingers curling slightly.
It was too familiar. For a split second, it wasn’t Oscar he was holding—it was Julie. His little girl, fragile and small, her light weight a comforting pressure in his arms. He could almost hear her tiny voice, feel the way her little fingers used to grasp at his shirt, her baby scent lingering in the air.
God, he missed her.
The ache in his chest burned, sharp and unrelenting.
He knew he had to let go—
But for now, just for a moment longer, he let himself hold on.
Lewis sways gently, instinctively, and Nico follows, placing a steadying hand on Oscar’s back. The movement is unspoken, natural, their bodies moving in sync. It starts as a quiet moment—just the two of them and the baby, the world outside slipping away.
Then, Nico looks up. Their eyes meet, something unspoken lingering between them, and Lewis leans in.
The kiss is slow, hesitant at first, lips brushing like a whisper, like a question. Oscar is nestled between them, but neither of them pulls away. Nico’s hand shifts slightly, fingers brushing against Lewis’s arm, grounding him.
Lewis deepens the kiss, just a little, his breath catching when Nico sighs against his lips. They move carefully, mindful of the baby between them, but the closeness—the quiet intimacy—is overwhelming. It’s a kiss filled with everything unspoken, every moment they’ve held back, every unsaid word.
Oscar stirs slightly, a tiny noise escaping him, and they break apart, foreheads resting against each other as they breathe.
Lewis lets out a soft chuckle, pressing a lingering kiss to Oscar’s forehead. "Looks like we have a little chaperone."
Nico smiles, his fingers ghosting over Lewis’s wrist. "Yeah… but I don’t mind."
Notes:
Here is my beta's Honorable mentions:
- Oscar is sick because kids are always sick.
- This chapter was the result of cold war between Pipza and me, and I would like to think this is the consolation peace offering.
- I am melting.
- What on earth is going on in the house of commons?
- Hear me out technically Jenson is the other women.
- Lewis might steal and lock your man up but he does step up for your family.
- Fernando bitching about Max.
Also Fernando: let's handcuff him.- Lando stepping up and Daniel is stepping down?!!
- Charles and Oscar fighting over Max's shirt.
-Lando in Max's pajama.
- Lewis and Max working hard to give them the shirts ( is this the real life? is this just omegaverse?)
- Ms. Helen doing her job.
- Nico and Charles baby trapping everyone in this fanfic with just the one baby.
- What do you mean they kissed and had the most heartwarming moment for us but most have been very awkward for Oscar! Am I supposed to be fine with that!!!!
- Oscar third-wheeling!!
plus here are some memes made by my betas
https://www.tumblr.com/take2me5to9hell9/775689727466668032/hi-guys-this-is-chapter-11-of-haunted-by-the-ghost?source=share
Chapter 12
Notes:
Hey guys, it's me again!
I'm so sorry I haven't posted in over a month, but I haven't forgotten this story—I still fully intend to finish it! I just got caught up with my new fic (which I’d love for you to check out) and also got super sick.
But here we are with another chapter, and I plan to upload another one in the upcoming days. I missed you all so much! Please don’t forget to let me know what you think in the comments—I’d love to hear your thoughts! And if you haven't yet, leave a kudos.
Love you all! ❤️
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"Come on, man, let’s go out today," Lando says, leaning casually against the achieve door.
Daniel doesn’t respond. Instead, he grabs a stack of heavy files and walks out, his shoulders tense, his steps brisk and deliberate. He ignores Lando completely, hoping he’ll take the hint. But Lando follows him, weaving between the cubicles with effortless ease, keeping up without breaking stride.
Daniel reaches his desk and drops the files onto it with a dull thud, then sinks into his chair. His fingers press into his temples as he exhales sharply. Maybe if he ignores Lando long enough, he’ll let it go.
But Lando won’t let it go.
"Come on, Daniel. You’ve been absolutely miserable. It’s been four months already. You should at least try to—"
Daniel’s head snaps up, sharp eyes locking onto Lando’s. His jaw tightens, brows knitting together. "Should what, Lando? Move on? Pretend nothing happened? Go out, party, have fun, and forget that I lost my best friend?"
Lando swallows, but he doesn’t back down. "That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying you should try to get out and learn to live with it."
Daniel’s lips press into a thin line. "You mean move on and forget he existed? Not everybody can be as careless as you."
Lando’s expression hardens, but he doesn’t look away. "Why are you being a dick about it? Why so defensive? You’re not the only one who lost him. You can lash out all you want, but eventually, you have to understand—he’s gone. And all of us have to learn to live without him. If Charles can still manage to smile and be kind, I don’t see why you can’t."
Lando watches as something flickers in Daniel’s eyes—anger, grief, exhaustion. He’s not upset with Lando, not really. He’s upset at the world, at himself. Every single one of them is coping with losing Max, but Daniel… Daniel seems to be struggling the most. Maybe because he was Max’s partner, working alongside him for years. Maybe because he believed it was his job to protect him. And maybe, just maybe, he thinks he failed.
Even though Max died in a car crash, Daniel still carries the weight of it.
Lando sighs and softens his stance, his arms uncrossing as he leans on Daniel’s desk. "Look, you can yell at me all you want, but you’re only hurting yourself. I know it’s difficult, but you’re doing it wrong.
You’re isolating yourself, punishing yourself. You should try to get out. Do things you enjoy. Talk to us."
Daniel doesn’t answer, his fingers drumming lightly against the desk.
"When was the last time you visited Charles?" Lando presses.
A flash of guilt crosses Daniel’s face. He shifts in his chair, suddenly looking smaller. "I visited him a while back."
Lando scoffs. "You’ve only visited him three times since the accident. He’s worried about you, you know. He asks about you all the time. He doesn’t want to bother you, but I think you should go see him. That’s what I do when I miss Max—I go to Charles, talk to him, and play with Oscar. Works like magic."
Daniel swallows hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Lando watches as his shoulders drop slightly.
"You can call me if you don’t want to face Charles yet," Lando offers, trying to keep his voice light. Then he grins. "Also, for God’s sake, shave, you are no Tom Selleck."
Despite himself, Daniel cracks a small, fleeting smile. But just as quickly, it’s gone, replaced by something more serious. His gaze meets Lando’s, something unreadable in his brown eyes. "How’s Charles doing? And Oscar?"
Lando shrugs. "He’s holding on. Wants to move back into the loft, actually."
Daniel’s eyebrows lift slightly. "Oh? Is he ready for that?"
"Nico doesn’t think so, but he’s stubborn," Lando replies. "Oh, by the way, I’m planning Oscar’s first birthday party. You should come."
Daniel blinks. "Already?"
Lando glares at him. "Well, yeah. You’re his godfather, and you didn’t even know?"
Daniel winces, lowering his head, hands clasped together in his lap. "I…" He doesn’t finish the sentence.
Lando sighs, clapping a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. "Don’t worry, I was joking. It’s not too late. The party’s in two. You should come."
Daniel nods slowly. "I’ll be there."
He doesn’t say anything more, but Lando doesn’t expect him to. Instead, he stands, stretching his arms behind his head. "He’s obsessed with cars now, by the way," he says casually. "Figured you’d want to know."
Daniel’s lips part slightly, like he wants to say something, but no words come out.
Lando pats the desk twice before stepping away. "Not just the birthday party, though. we need to go out together. Found this club downtown—it’s got great music, great booze. You’ll love it."
Daniel doesn’t answer.
Lando doesn’t expect him to.
As he walks away, he passes by Max’s old office, his gaze lingering on the empty space. He used to gravitate toward it without thinking. His cubicle was directly in front of the window, and he’d sit there, watching Max out of boredom. At least, that’s what he used to tell himself. But Max had always been interesting—so smart, so sharp in ways that Lando found fascinating at the time. Before he really knew. Before he understood.
Then he glances at his watch— "Fuck!" He's late.
---
Lando strides into the fire station, the scent of smoke and rubber lingering in the air. The place is alive with movement—Kimi is perched on top of the fire truck, wiping it down with practiced ease, while Bottas wrestles with the heavy fire hose, coiling it neatly. George is tucked inside the ambulance, checking supplies.
Lando lifts a hand in greeting. “Hey, guys.”
They nod back, absorbed in their tasks. “Charles upstairs,” Bottas offers without prompting.
Lando quirks a brow. “With Nico?”
George glances up from his clipboard. “Yeah. Just a heads-up—he’s in a mood.”
Lando sighs. “Why?”
George shrugs. “No clue. But he looked ready to bite someone’s head off.”
That’s… not great. Charles being in a bad mood wasn’t unusual these days, but the fact that George found it noteworthy means it’s bad. Lando sighs and makes his way upstairs, knocking on the door before stepping inside at Sebastian’s invitation.
The room is tense. Nico is seated behind the desk, his expression severe, eyebrows furrowed deeply. Sebastian stands behind him, arms crossed, lips pressed in a thin line of sympathy. But it’s Charles that catches Lando’s attention immediately. He’s biting the inside of his cheek, and his entire posture radiates anger. He’s glaring at his father like they’re in some kind of silent staring contest.
Sebastian exhales in visible relief the second Lando enters. “Oh, look, it’s Lando,” he says, like Lando is some magical solution to whatever the hell this situation is.
Charles turns to Lando, like he’s only just registering his presence. His expression is still tight, his jaw clenched.
“Hey, grumpy,” Lando says, trying to keep his voice light. “What happened?”
He doesn’t expect an answer—Charles isn’t exactly forthcoming when he’s in moods like this—but instead, Charles huffs and gestures to Nico and Sebastian. “Finally, a sane person. These two have decided to gang up on me because I want to go back home.”
Lando stares at him. Oh. So they’re still fighting about that.
He’s never been a fan of these arguments—it’s been getting worse lately, the tension between Charles and his father becoming unbearable. He’s avoided taking sides, but now Charles is looking at him expectantly, like he expects Lando to back him up just because they’re friends.
Lando sighs. He kind of agrees with Nico, but he’s not suicidal enough to say that outright. “What happened?”
Charles folds his arms, jaw set. “Nothing.”
Nico scoffs. “Oh, really? Nothing? Why don’t you tell Lando what happened today?”
Charles doesn’t answer, just glares harder at his father. Lando pinches the bridge of his nose.
“Okay,” he tries again. “What happened this morning?”
Nico takes it upon himself to explain. “We went to the loft to look for pictures for the baby book. Since we were already there I thought maybe I should tidy up a bit, didn’t get far I only managed to wash a mug hell broke loose.” He pauses, glancing at Charles.
Lando frowns, confused. “What did he do?”
Nico doesn’t answer. Instead, he turns to Charles, voice eerily calm. “Why don’t you tell him, Charles?”
Silence. Charles’s glare sharpens.
Lando looks between them, rubbing his temples. This is ridiculous. Thankfully, Sebastian takes pity on him. “Charles lashed out, had a breakdown over the mug, kicked Nico out of the house, and stayed there alone for three hours. Then he showed up to work looking like this.” He gestures to Charles’s bruised lip and red rimmed eyes.
“That’s not what happened,” Charles snaps. “You’re not telling the full story.”
Lando exhales sharply. “Then how about you tell me the full story?”
Charles nods quickly, turning to Lando. “You know how Dad doesn’t want me to move back home?”
Lando nods, though he internally thinks—for good reason. But he doesn’t say that.
“Well,” Charles continues, “he did the cruelest thing ever today. Before we went in, I told him not to touch anything and that we’d leave as soon as we got the album. But instead, Dad washed the cup.” His voice is thick with anger and hurt.
Lando stares at him, still not understanding. That’s literally what Nico just said. It still doesn’t explain why Charles lost it over a cup.
Sebastian, ever the patient one, clarifies. “The mug was the last thing Max used, and Nico unknowingly washed it.”
“No,” Nico interjects. “I knew it was his. I also knew it was unsanitary to leave it sitting there for four months. I should’ve thrown it out.”
Charles whips his head to his father, eyes blazing with fury, hands clenched into fists at his sides. “The fuck you won’t.”
Lando swallows. Okay. He thinks he finally understands now, and it makes Charles’s reaction even more unsettling.
Sure, Charles is mourning, but this? This is something else.
“Uh—Charles,” Lando starts hesitantly. “You said you wanted to go back home, right?”
“Yes,” Charles says stubbornly. “I’m not staying with Dad tonight.”
Lando scratches his head, glancing at Nico, who looks like he’s barely holding himself together. “But… what about Oscar? The place is filthy. That’s not healthy for a baby. If CPS finds out, they’ll take him away.”
Charles’s expression shifts, something close to betrayal flashing in his eyes. “Not you too,” he says, voice tight. “Look, I’m not stupid. I have a plan.”
Lando shifts, uneasy. “A plan?”
Charles nods quickly, looking almost eager. “Yeah. I’ll keep Max’s things—his toothbrush, his hairbrush, his sheets, his clothes. Basically, I’ll keep our room the way it is. Then I’ll move into Oscar’s room, and I’ll store everything of Max’s in our bedroom. That way, I’ll have a room full of him, but the rest of the house will be clean and safe for Oscar.”
Lando’s breath catches as he meets Nico’s eyes.
This is bad. Really, really bad.
“Oh!" he says, forcing his voice to remain light. "Hey, Charles, did you talk to your therapist about this?"
"Why should I?" Charles snaps.
Lando keeps his tone calm. "Well, moving back is a big decision. You need to be prepared."
"He’s not moving back," Nico interjects firmly. "He’s staying with me."
Charles glares at him. "No, I won’t. Don’t listen to him, Lando. It’s not as bad as he’s making it sound."
Nico lets out a sharp laugh. "Only because I haven’t told him about the mac and cheese in the fridge, the cereal bowl on the counter, and all the dust on the couch that you refuse to clean."
"I will dust the place!" Charles argues. "I just don’t want to wash the pillows and the quilt."
"Charles, it’s been four months."
Charles’s voice drops to a whisper, laced with pain. "I know exactly how long it’s been since I lost my husband, Dad."
Nico stands abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. "I can’t. Please, talk to him, Lando. I can’t do this anymore. He’s not moving out. And that’s final."
Charles scoffs, mocking, "Oh, what? Scared I’ll end my life? I’m in therapy. I’m working on myself."
Nico doesn’t answer. He just walks out.
Lando exhales, rubbing his face. He understands both sides—Nico wants to protect Charles, but Charles can’t stay with him forever. At some point, he has to go back home.
But not like this.
Sebastian excused himself shortly after, leaving Lando and Charles alone in Nico’s office. Charles slumped into his seat, covering his face with his hands. His voice was muffled when he spoke.
"It’s not that bad, I promise."
Lando leaned against the desk, watching him carefully. "I know."
Charles lowered his hands, skepticism flickering in his eyes. "You do?"
Lando stood and moved to sit on the coffee table in front of Charles, reaching for his hand. Charles let him take it without protest. "Look, Charles, I’ve been around long enough to know you’re trying. And I also know you have every right to want to go back home. That’s not the question. It’s not about whether you will—because you will, eventually—it’s about when. You need to be sure you’re ready."
Charles’ expression turned hopeful, almost desperate. "I am ready!"
Lando gave him a small, sad smile. "Then tell me why you want to go back now."
Charles hesitated, searching Lando’s face for something—approval, understanding, maybe both. "Why not? I’m fine. I can take care of Oscar. And it’s my home."
Lando traced lazy circles on Charles' knuckles before shifting his gaze to Charles' nails—bitten down, a habit Lando constantly scolded him for. "Yeah, but why now?"
Charles sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "I don’t know. I was looking at our pictures recently, saw the house, our memories, and I just wanted to be back there. I guess I miss being home."
Lando didn’t hesitate. "Fair enough."
Charles blinked at him in surprise. "You’re not going to stop me?"
Lando shook his head. "Why should I? You’re an adult. A responsible adult with a child. If you think you’re ready, you can go back. Nobody can really stop you."
Charles frowned. "But Dad won’t accept it."
Lando shrugged. "Well, you’re old enough to do this without your dad’s approval."
"I want Dad’s support. I care about his opinion."
Lando sighed. That was one of Charles’ worst traits—caring too much about what others thought, always trying to satisfy everyone. Before Max’s death, Lando would have called him out for it, pushed him to stand his ground. But now? Now that Max was gone, now that Daniel wasn’t here either, Lando was all that was left. The only one Charles would listen to.
"Well, your dad doesn’t want you to move back, and you do. One of you is going to be unhappy about this. The important thing is knowing your boundaries, your limits. You need to be sure you’ll be able to take care of Oscar while living there."
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Charles’ face.
Bingo. This was what Lando needed.
Before Lando could add more, his alarm went off, signaling that he had to return to work. He glanced at Charles, who nodded. "It's okay, you can go," Charles said.
Lando stood up, looking at Charles. "Well, yeah, I have to go, but I'll pass by Nico's tonight. We can talk then."
Charles waved him off, "No need. It's okay."
Lando nodded, still unsure but respecting Charles's wishes. "Text me, okay?" he asked.
Charles responded with a small smile, "Okay," as he stood up and wiped his hands on his white jeans.
"It's going to be okay," Lando reassured him, a hint of concern still in his eyes.
Charles gave him a faint smile. "I know."
It was only when Lando was halfway to the precinct that he suddenly remembered—he had completely forgotten to pick up the pictures for the baby book that he had promised Charles he would make. The very reason he had come to the fire station in the first place. He cursed under his breath, the frustration of the day catching up with him. He should’ve grabbed them before leaving, but his conversation with Charles had completely distracted him.
---
Lando hadn’t heard from Charles—not in the way he wanted, at least. Their schedules never aligned, and the texts Charles sent were brief, vague, never giving enough detail to ease Lando’s concerns. It bothered him more than he cared to admit. So, he did the next best thing—he checked in through Nico, asking subtle questions, gauging how Charles was doing from the outside. It wasn’t ideal, but it was all he had.
Their first real meeting in weeks happened at Oscar’s first birthday. Lando had planned to arrive early—he had spent weeks helping Sophie organize everything, after all—but, as usual, Daniel managed to throw a wrench in his plans.
"Why didn’t you just buy the gift earlier?" Lando groaned, drumming his fingers impatiently against the steering wheel as Daniel fussed over the carefully wrapped box in his lap.
Daniel shot him a glare. "Because I wanted it to be perfect, alright? You only turn one once!"
Lando rolled his eyes but bit back a snide remark. It wasn’t worth arguing over, and in a way, he was relieved Daniel had agreed to come. Maybe this could help. Maybe seeing Charles again, seeing Oscar, would give them both some clarity.
Still, the delay gnawed at him. He had wanted to get there early, to find Charles before the party started, before he could slip away into the crowd of guests and polite conversation. Instead, he was now watching the minutes tick by, his window of opportunity closing fast.
The party was being held at the farm—Sophie’s idea. It had something to do with a promise Charles and Max made months ago, one she had clung to despite everything. She had moved back a month ago, and Lando had been there to help, along with Charles, Nico, and Lewis. She was doing better now, and that was something.
But none of that changed the fact that Lando was running out of time.
He exhaled sharply, glancing at Daniel, who was still adjusting the ribbon on the gift.
Lando arrived earlier than most, but even then, the place was already buzzing with people. Charles had gone all out for Oscar’s first birthday, inviting parents from the daycare along with their kids. He had stressed over it for weeks, worrying about making the right impression.
Lando hadn’t understood why at first—why Charles had cared so much about a bunch of parents he barely knew. But when Charles had explained, it started to make sense. These are the people we’ll be seeing at every school event, every birthday party for the next decade. I need to make friends with them.
The level of commitment it took to be a parent shocked Lando. He’d always known it was a big responsibility, but this? This was a lifetime contract. Thank God I’m gay and will never have to deal with this, he thought, shaking his head.
He walked in with Daniel, hanging up their coats, only to be immediately ambushed by George, who plopped down next to them, grinning smugly.
“You would not believe how much effort it took me to help Charles arrange all this,” George said, stretching his arms as if he’d carried the whole event on his back.
Lando rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. Oh, give me a break. George hadn’t done much at all—just showed up and now wanted to take credit. Before Lando could call him out, Sophie joined them, and soon after, Lewis.
The conversation shifted, and Lando found himself caught in a deep discussion with Lewis about the farm and how difficult it must be for Sophie to manage everything. It wasn’t until much later that he noticed Daniel was missing.
Frowning, he excused himself and went looking for him. He found him standing off to the side of the room, eyes locked onto something—or rather, someone. Lando followed his gaze and finally spotted Charles for the first time that evening.
Lando didn’t say anything he stayed beside him for a while, giving him the time he needed to gather his courage. He might not fully understand, but he wasn’t going to judge. Some things just took time.
As Lando stood beside Daniel, nursing a half-empty glass of soda, a man approached them with the kind of confidence that only came from knowing he was attractive. And, to be fair, he was.
The guy was a little taller than Lando, with strong thighs that his fitted shorts did nothing to hide. His shoulder-length hair was glossy and effortlessly tousled, framing sharp cheekbones and full lips. He wore a black fitted shirt, unbuttoned halfway down his chest, showing off smooth, golden skin. The dainty rings on his fingers glinted in the soft lighting, and when he smiled, dimples deepened in his cheeks—one even sat in the center of his chin.
Lando raised an eyebrow as the guy stopped in front of him, tilting his head.
"You looked bored," the guy said, voice smooth and lilting with amusement. "Figured I'd come rescue you."
Daniel snorted beside him. Lando, never one to back down from a challenge, leaned in slightly, lips curling. "Who says I needed rescuing?"
The guy grinned, shifting his weight onto one hip, letting his shirt fall open just a bit more. "Oh, I don’t know. The way your eyes keep scanning the room, maybe? Or the way you sighed like ten seconds ago."
Daniel let out a low chuckle, sipping his drink. Lando, intrigued despite himself, tilted his head. "Maybe I was looking for someone."
"Well, you found me," the guy shot back smoothly, running a hand through his hair. "Lucky you."
Lando laughed, a short, amused sound. The guy was cocky, but not in an annoying way. It was effortless, charming.
"And who are you, exactly?" Lando asked.
"I'm Luca," the man introduced himself, offering a hand. His fingers were long, adorned with delicate silver rings, and when Lando shook it, his grip was firm.
The guy struck up a conversation, his focus primarily on Lando, his voice warm and playful. He flirted shamelessly, and Lando flirted back out of habit. It should have been easy—they were both attractive, both clearly interested. But for some reason, it wasn’t clicking. Lando tried for a while, laughing at the right moments, mirroring the teasing energy, but the spark just wasn’t there.
Eventually, he decided to let it go. No use forcing something that wasn’t working. With a polite smile, he excused himself, nodding at Daniel to follow. The guy looked momentarily disappointed, his expression faltering before he plastered on a charming smile.
As they wove through the crowd, Daniel shot him a baffled look. “He was literally all over you.”
Lando scanned the party, searching for Charles and Oscar. “Yeah, and?”
Daniel huffed. “And you were flirting back. I thought you’d at least take his number.”
“He’s not my type.”
Daniel let out a snort. “You don’t have a type. Anything with legs works for you.”
Lando turned to glare at him. “I have standards.”
Daniel raised an eyebrow. “The guy was hot.”
“I know,” Lando admitted. “But something about him was just… off. Maybe his nose? Or his eyes?” He paused, shaking his head. “No, actually, I think it was the dimples. They were just wrong.”
Daniel looked at him like he’d grown a second head. “Since when do you have opinions about dimples?”
Lando smirked. “Looks like you were interested. You should go talk to him.”
Daniel made a face. “I’ll stick to girls, thanks.”
Eventually, Lando and Daniel spot Charles sitting on the floor with Oscar, who is playing with a baby girl slightly older than him. She’s stacking blocks while Oscar watches, occasionally reaching out to touch them, only for her to grab them back with a determined look. Charles sits beside Oscar, supporting his back with one hand, his attention shifting between the children and the people around him.
For a second, Lando just… stared.
Charles always looked good—unfairly so—but there was something about this version of him that made Lando pause. Maybe it was the clean-shaven face, the way his green eyes sparkled under the lights, or the effortless way he carried himself in a simple cream-white shirt and dress pants. His mullet, still slightly messy, added to the look, and Lando found himself silently thanking whatever force had stopped him from getting a haircut.
Beside him, Daniel exhaled. “He looks fine.”
Lando nodded. “Yeah. He has his moments. You’re not the only one struggling, you know.”
Daniel hesitated before saying, “But today, he looks better than usual.”
Lando hummed in agreement. “Yeah. He does.”
Lando doesn’t give Daniel a chance to overthink—he makes his way over to Charles, nudging Daniel to follow.
Charles’s face lights up the moment he sees them, and he immediately gets up, keeping one hand on Oscar’s tiny shoulder for balance. He bends slightly as he looks at Daniel, his voice warm and genuinely happy.
"Daniel, you came!"
Daniel nods. "Of course. It’s Oscar’s first birthday—I wouldn’t miss it for the world."
Lando scoffs. "Yeah, after giving me a headache for weeks over what gift to buy. He’s been fretting like an old man."
Daniel rolls his eyes but doesn’t deny it. "Well, I am his godfather. I had to get him something special."
Charles smiles, shaking his head. "You coming is special enough. Oscar will appreciate it." He glances down at Oscar, still awkwardly positioned between standing and sitting, playing with the baby girl.
Daniel shifts uncomfortably, guilt flickering across his face. "I’m sorry I wasn’t around much," he murmurs.
Charles doesn’t hesitate. "None of that," he says firmly. "What matters is that you’re here today."
He kneels down, scooping Oscar into his arms, and turns to the little girl. "I need to borrow the birthday boy for a few minutes, okay?"
She barely looks up, nodding before returning to her blocks, entirely unbothered. Oscar, on the other hand, whines softly, squirming in Charles’s hold before settling with a tiny pout.
Charles grins as he looks at Oscar. "Our little boy turned one today," he says, voice soft with affection.
Daniel watches them, eyes slightly wide, as if taking in the weight of it all. "Wow," he says. "He’s all grown up now."
Charles chuckles. "Yeah, he is." He lifts Oscar slightly, gesturing for Daniel to take him.
Lando watches closely, expecting Daniel to move forward, to reach for his godson —but Daniel doesn’t. He just stands there, staring at Oscar with something unreadable in his expression.
Seconds pass. Charles waits. Then, finally, with a soft sigh, he pulls Oscar back to his chest, bouncing him gently.
Daniel opens his mouth, maybe to explain, maybe to say something, but Charles beats him to it. "So, how’s your mother doing? Lewis mentioned you took time off because of her surgery."
It’s an obvious change of subject, but Daniel takes it. He exhales, nodding. "Yeah, hip replacement. She’s recovering well, but it’s been a lot."
The conversation shifts, and Lando listens, happy to step back and give them space. But as the party stretches on—cake, gifts, more people coming and going—Lando grows restless.
Daniel doesn’t leave Charles’s side.
Not until the very end, when Lando finds himself standing outside Sophie’s house, watching Charles cradle a very tired baby Oscar as he says goodbye.
Lando just wanted a moment to talk to Charles, to check in and see how he was really doing. He hadn’t seen much of him lately, and he had hoped today would give him the chance, but Charles was constantly occupied—with Oscar, greeting parents, making sure everything ran smoothly. It bothered Lando more than he cared to admit that Charles hadn’t even tried to talk to him.
---
Lando shows up at Charles’s house on Sunday afternoon to babysit Oscar. He doesn’t really mind—well, not much. Weekends used to mean partying, going out, and hooking up. But lately, he hasn’t felt like going out. Most of his weekends are spent at home, with his family, or at Nico's. Either way, spending a quiet Sunday afternoon looking after his dead friend’s kid doesn’t seem like the worst way to pass the time.
Charles has a day shift at the fire station. Originally, Lewis was supposed to babysit, but something came up last minute, leaving Charles scrambling for a backup. Lando had agreed without hesitation.
He arrives just after lunch, and Lewis greets him at the door with Oscar already half-asleep in his arms.
"He's been fed, changed, and is going down for a nap," Lewis informs him.
"Perfect," Lando grins, carefully taking the sleeping baby. "You did all the hard work."
Lewis rolls his eyes. "Don't get too comfortable. He’ll be up soon, and then he’s all yours."
True to Lewis’s warning, Oscar wakes barely half an hour later, well-rested and full of energy. Lando spends the afternoon entertaining him—playing with his toys, making silly faces, chasing him around the living room.
By the time Charles finally gets home, Lando is lying on the floor, exhausted, with Oscar sitting triumphantly on his stomach, giggling as he pats Lando’s cheeks.
"Having fun?" Charles asks, dropping his bag by the door, a small smile tugging at his lips.
"Yeah," Lando huffs, pretending to struggle under Oscar’s weight.
Charles chuckles, stepping closer to scoop Oscar up. "He does that."
Lando watches them for a moment—Charles pressing a quick kiss to Oscar’s chubby cheek, the way Oscar clings to him instantly, small fingers gripping his shirt. The sight makes something in Lando’s chest twist, but he shoves it down, replacing it with a smirk.
"So," he says, stretching out on the floor. "You owe me, like, five drinks for this. Minimum."
Charles laughs softly. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks, Lando."
Lando waves him off, but he doesn’t miss the way Charles looks at him—grateful, a little tired a little relieved too.
Nico comes in just after Charles, pressing a quick kiss to Oscar’s forehead before turning to Lando. “Stay for dinner,” he says.
Lando hadn’t planned on staying, but he also didn’t have any plans. He glances at Charles, debating, then shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”
Dinner is pizza, something simple and easy. Afterward, Lando helps with the dishes, washing while Charles dries.
“You were supposed to reward me with a meal, not using me to wash your dishes,” Lando grumbles, passing him a plate.
Charles smirks faintly as he sets it in the cupboard. “We did provide dinner.”
Lando scoffs. “I really don’t deserve this.”
Charles mumbles absently, his back turned. “Life’s unfair, Lando.”
It’s not just the words—it’s the way he says it, quiet, resigned. Lando glances at him, at the set of his shoulders, the way his lips press into a thin line, as if surrendering to something inevitable.
“I’m sorry,” Lando says, softer this time.
Charles shrugs. “It’s okay.”
Lando doesn’t believe him, but he lets it go, rinsing the last dish. “We haven’t talked in a while. How have you been? Oscar? Your dad?”
“We’re doing well.” Charles takes the dish from him and dries it.
Lando wipes down the sink, hesitating before pushing further. “And? What happened to your plan of moving back to the loft?”
“I’m moving back next month.”
Lando stills for a moment, surprised. Nico hadn’t wanted Charles living alone. He didn’t think Charles could convince Nico, from what Lando had understood something had happened after Max’s death—specifically Charles had done something that had made Nico wary and protective.
“Of course, Dad doesn’t want me to go back,” Charles continues. “But I don’t care. I think it’s time. I want to go home.”
Lando exhales through his nose, watching him. It’s a lie, he knows Charles cares—cares too much about what the people he loves think. It’s one of the things he doesn’t like about Charles.
“Your dad will come around,” Lando says. “He can visit, call you.”
Charles smiles, small and tired, as he walks over to the couch. Lando dries his hands on a towel and follows. “He threatened to move in with me,” Charles adds.
Lando huffs a short laugh, though he knows Nico well enough to realize it’s not an empty threat. He drops onto the couch beside him. “He’s just worried about you.”
“I know.” Charles sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “But I feel stuck, Lando. I need to go back. I need to move forward. This—this isn’t working.”
Lando isn’t sure moving back will be progress. The loft isn’t just an apartment; it’s a space filled with memories, a place that could easily swallow Charles whole. He understands both sides—Nico’s fear, Charles’s restlessness—but what matters is Charles’s and Oscar’s safety.
“It’s your choice,” he says eventually. “But you have to be sure you can handle it. It won’t be easy.”
Charles leans back, exhaling slowly. “It won’t be. But I still have to try.”
Lando studies him for a moment. “Do you want to go back because you need your own space, or because you want to hold onto your memories?”
“Both.” Charles hesitates, fingers grazing the hem of his sleeve. “But it doesn’t really matter where I am. He’s always with me. It’s been four months, and it still hurts like the first day. Some days, even more.”
Lando nods. “It takes time. Right now, it feels like you’ll never move on. Like you’re stuck. But one day, without even realizing it, you’ll start to live again. You won’t forget him, but the grief will change. It won’t always feel like this.”
Charles shakes his head. “I don’t want it to change. I don’t want to forget or move on. The pain—it’s proof he was here. It means he mattered. I want to miss him. I want him to know he’s still loved. That life isn’t the same without him.”
Lando leans back against the couch, watching Charles carefully. “I get what you’re saying. But Charles… grief isn’t the only proof that someone mattered.”
Charles’ fingers tighten around the hem of his sleeve. “It is to me.”
Lando hesitates, trying to find the right words. “I know it feels that way right now. That if you stop hurting, it means you’ve let go of him. That if the pain fades, it’s like he was never here. But that’s not how it works.”
Charles looks away, his jaw tight. “And how would you know?”
Lando exhales slowly. “Because I’ve lost people too.”
Charles’ gaze flickers back to him, something uncertain in his expression. Lando rarely talks about his own grief—not because he doesn’t feel it, but because he doesn’t like to talk about his emotions with others.
“The thing is,” Lando continues, “grief doesn’t go away. It just… changes shape. Some days, it’s this heavy weight on your chest, pressing down so hard you can barely breathe. Other days, it’s this quiet ache, this shadow that lingers at the edge of everything. And then one day, you realize you smiled without feeling guilty. Or laughed without immediately remembering why you shouldn’t.”
Charles’ lips press into a thin line. “That’s what I don’t want. I don’t want to stop missing him.”
“You won’t,” Lando says, voice steady. “But missing someone doesn’t mean you have to suffer forever. It doesn’t mean you have to keep yourself stuck in the worst parts of losing them. Would Max want that for you?”
Charles flinches at the name. He doesn’t answer.
Lando leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You said it yourself—you want to go back to the loft because you feel stuck. But grief can trap you just as much as it can guide you. If you only hold onto the pain, you’re not keeping Max’s memory alive. You’re keeping yourself from living.”
Charles looks down at his hands. “Maybe that’s what I deserve, to be haunted by the ghost of him”
Lando’s heart clenches. “Charles.”
Charles swallows hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “If I let go of the pain… if I move forward… then what do I have left of him?”
Lando doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches out, resting a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “You have everything. You have Oscar, the memories, the love, the way he changed you. The way he’s still here, in all the little things—your habits, your choices, the things he taught you. That’s what matters. Not how much it hurts.”
Charles looks at him for a long moment before nodding, barely perceptible. “Yeah.”
Lando leans back, watching Charles carefully. “And what does your dad think about all this?”
Charles lets out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “He doesn’t know, have been acting really well recently, and he thinks I’m better.” He gestures vaguely, like the thought itself is absurd. “He doesn’t know about… this. The grief. The way it still eats me up some days.”
Lando frowns. “You haven’t told him?”
Charles shrugs, looking down at his hands. “He knows it still fuck me up but not this bad, because I am seeing a therapist. He even talked to me about dating in the future the other day.”
Lando raises an eyebrow. “And?”
Charles scoffs, genuinely insulted. “The fuck, Lando? Max just died, and he wants me to jump into another man’s bed?”
Lando sighs, leaning forward. “That’s not what I’m saying. Look, there’s nothing wrong with putting yourself out there—when you’re ready.”
“I’ll never be ready.” Charles’ voice is firm, his expression hard.
“You don’t know that.”
Charles opens his mouth, ready to argue, but Lando places a hand over it before he can get a word out.
“No. Hush,” Lando says, shaking his head. “Right now, you don’t see it, and that’s fine. We’re not asking you to date, love, or even fuck. But it will happen, whether you like it or not. One day, you’ll meet someone who makes you feel again, and you’ll owe it to yourself to try.”
Charles’ eyes shine, and for a moment, it looks like he might cry. But he doesn’t. He just swallows hard.
Lando squeezes his shoulder. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get there. For now, just focus on moving out.”
Charles exhales slowly, like he’s trying to let the conversation go. He almost says something, but then stops himself, shaking his head with a quiet chuckle. “Dad was right about you.”
Lando tilts his head. “Huh?”
Charles smile brightly at him. “He thinks I always gets better when I talk to you.”
Lando snorts. “Well, yeah. I am a certified grief and relationship counselor.”
Charles laughs at that, an actual, genuine laugh. “Oh, yeah? A certified couple counslor with nothing but one-night stands for experience? You really do know a lot about feelings.”
Lando grins. “I’ve had my share of heartbreak.” His voice softens slightly. “But I survived. And so will you.”
Charles looks uncertain, but after a moment, he nods.
They sit in silence for a while, the weight of their conversation settling between them. Then, out of nowhere, Lando frowns. “Wait—where’s Nico? I didn’t see him after dinner.”
Charles waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, he left. Said he wanted to give us space.”
Lando narrows his eyes. “Space?”
Charles’ grin widely. “Dad thinks we like each other. He’s convinced that if we spend enough time together, we’ll fall in love.”
Lando blinks. “You’re joking.”
Charles shakes his head, looking way too pleased with himself. “Dead serious.”
Lando doesn’t like it, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to upset Charles—not when he’s this vulnerable, when his emotions are so raw, when attachment has always been his Achilles’ heel. Lando knows how Charles operates, how he clings to the people he loves, how he’s always needed someone by his side, guiding him, grounding him.
It’s how he was with Max.
And now, Lando realizes, it’s happening again.
Charles has latched onto him, maybe without even realizing it. He’s filling the space Max left behind, leaning on Lando the way he used to lean on Max. It’s not a burden—not yet—but Lando wonders how long before it becomes one. How long before Charles starts relying on him too much, needing him in a way Lando isn’t sure he can handle. And with Oscar in the picture, it’s only going to get worse. Charles isn’t just responsible for himself anymore; he has a baby now.
Max struggled with it. Lando remembers that. The way Max tried to balance his job while making sure Charles wasn’t left alone for too long, the exhaustion in his eyes when he’d complain—not about Charles, never about Charles, but about how heavy it all was.
Lando doesn’t mind helping. But he’s afraid of the moment he’ll have to stop Charles, the moment he’ll have to remind him that he can’t be everything he needs.
So he forces a smile, pushing away the thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.
“Maybe your dad needs to learn to have friends and not fall for his best friend,” Lando says, aiming for something light, something that will shift the mood.
The reaction is instant.
Charles’ face falls, his expression tightening in a way that makes Lando regret saying anything. He doesn’t take it back, though—because it’s true.
Nico and Lewis’ situation is ugly.
At first, Lando thought it was cute. Two friends, taking their time, figuring things out. He even admired it, in a way. But then he learned the truth.
Lewis had someone else in his life.
And yet, Nico still hovered, still lingered in the background, waiting for something that was never going to happen.
Lando lost all respect for him after that night.
He hadn’t meant to snoop—he just wanted a glass of water. But when he walked into the kitchen, he saw them.
Kissing.
And Nico looked at Lewis the way Charles looked at Max, and now the way Charles leans on him.
Like he was his entire world
It was a month ago, when Lando was barely awake, made his way through the dimly lit house. But as he stepped into the living room, he stopped in his tracks.
Nico was standing there, baby Oscar cradled in his arms. And Lewis—Lewis was close, too close, his hand hovering at Nico’s wrist, hesitant.
Then, before Lando could even process what he was seeing, Nico leaned in and kissed him.
But then Lewis pulled away.
“I—” His voice was quiet, uncertain. “I’m sorry.”
Nico just smiled, soft and understanding. “It’s okay. I wanted to.”
Lando should leave. This wasn’t his moment to witness. But his legs wouldn’t move, his breath caught in his throat.
Lewis, however, shook his head. “I didn’t.”
Silence settled between them.
Nico’s smile faltered, but he held himself steady. “Are you going to keep running away?”
Lewis exhaled sharply, like he was bracing himself. He hesitated so long that Lando thought he might not answer at all.
Then, finally, Lewis spoke.
“It’s not running away,” he said, voice low and strained. “This… this is wrong.”
“Why?”
Lewis looked down, as if the words were difficult to say. “Because of Jenson.”
Lando’s brow furrowed. At least he still remember he has a boyfriend.
Nico didn’t miss a beat. “But you broke up,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Jenson told me the other day.”
Lando stiffened. Broke up? That didn’t make sense.
He had seen them together just yesterday—laughing, standing too close, shoulders brushing in that effortless way people in love do. Jenson and Lewis had always been glued to each other, moving as one. There was no distance, no cracks in their bond.
How could they have broken up? And if they had, how are they still hanging around each other like nothing had happened?
“I’m sorry,” Lewis said again, softer this time. “But I can’t. I… I love him.”
Lando still couldn’t see Nico’s face, but he didn’t need to. He could feel the way the air changed, the way something inside Nico probably caved in, even as he tried to act like it didn’t.
But then Lewis said, almost desperately, “I don’t want to lose you.”
And that was the moment Lando hated most.
Because Nico’s love for Lewis was obvious—painfully so. It bled into everything he did, the way he followed Lewis without question, the way he let himself be pulled back in over and over again. This could be his way out, his one real chance to stop this, to put some space between them and actually move on.
But instead, Nico took a breath, steadied himself, and said, “You won’t.” His voice wavered slightly.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Then, quieter, barely audible—
“I just… I just wanted to know what it felt like.”
A pause.
“Of course, we’re friends first and foremost,” Nico added, like he needed to say it out loud to make it true. Then, with a small chuckle, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Actually, allow me to apologize for this moment.”
Lando clenched his jaw.
It was pathetic.
The way Nico let himself be dragged through this endless loop, hoping for scraps of something that would never be his.
And the way Lewis let him.
Lando didn’t wait to hear more. He turned around, walking back to the guest room. He didn’t need to hear whatever excuse Lewis gave next, whatever lie Nico told himself to make this okay.
He had seen enough.
Charles shakes his head, a small, wistful smile playing on his lips. “Lewis and my dad… their friendship is beautiful. I don’t think you understand because you’ve never known love like that. It’s unique. It doesn’t have to be sexual.”
Lando exhales slowly, his fingers curling into his palm. He doesn’t argue. Because he does understand.
He’s been there before—been in the exact place Nico is in now. The kind of love that isn’t quite enough, that keeps you tethered in hope but never gives you what you truly need. He knows exactly how it feels to love someone like that, to lose someone like that.
And that’s why he won’t ever let himself feel it again.
But he doesn’t tell Charles that. It’s easier to let Charles believe he’s never known love at all.
Instead, he keeps his voice light, casual, even as something inside him twists. “Do you really think your dad isn’t hurting?” He glances at Charles, gauging his reaction. “I think he’s dying from the inside, but he can’t get himself out of it. And Lewis—Lewis won’t let him.”
Charles’s smile fades slightly, but he doesn’t argue.
Lando sighs. “This is why you should never fall in love with your friend.”
There’s something pointed in the way he says it, in the way he wants Charles to hear it.
A warning. A hint. A plea.
Charles doesn’t say anything right away, and Lando doesn’t push. He just hopes—prays—that Charles gets it before it’s too late. Before Charles end up in a situation just as painful, just as pathetic as the one he’s watching unfold now.
---
Lando spends the next two weeks avoiding Charles, putting space between them. And it’s not difficult.
They don’t work together, and Charles, to his credit, gets the hint. He doesn’t reach out, doesn’t try to corner Lando into a conversation.
Still, Lando can’t stop thinking about him. About what he said. About how he’s moving back and will need help, need support.
And that’s exactly why Lando is pulling away.
Because Charles as a person is someone Lando doesn’t like.
He hates weak people. Hates them. And he’s seen Charles cry more times than he can count. Seen him break down. Cling to Max. Seen how possessive he was, how he fucked with Max’s job, how he manipulated him into adopting Oscar.
Oscar—who Lando loves, but isn’t ready for.
Just like Max wasn’t ready.
Charles would make a terrible partner. Lando is sure of it. Too much. Too intense. Too desperate. He doesn’t understand why Max stuck around for so long when they were so obviously incompatible.
And yet.
Lando knows Charles would make an excellent fuck.
Because for all his faults, Charles is beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that fucks with your head.
And Lando—weak, impulsive, easily guided by lust—knows it’s dangerous to be around him. He would want to know what it would feel like to have Charles on his knees, those perfect lips wrapped around his cock, those big, wet eyes looking up at him—
Fuck.
Lando needs to stay away.
For both their sakes.
It doesn’t help that Lando literally had a wet dream about Charles last night.
He woke up sticky, breathless, mortified, staring at the mess in his pajama pants like he was a fucking teenager again.
And now?
Now he’s horny as hell and needs a release.
He needs a distraction. Needs to get Charles the fuck out of his head before he does something stupid.
So he decides to go out tonight. Get wasted. Find someone. Fuck it out of his system.
But he doesn’t want to do it alone.
Lando scans the office, eyes landing on Daniel. Perfect.
Except Daniel is too fucking miserable to be fun company. But then again, so is Lando. Losing Max fucked both of them up in ways they’re still trying to drink away.
So Lando spends the whole day pestering Daniel, wearing him down until, finally, Daniel gives in with a sigh and a roll of his eyes.
Lando grins.
Tonight, they’re getting drunk. They’re going to dance their hearts out.
And Lando?
Lando is going to get laid.
Lando and Daniel go to Lando’s favorite club, the one that guarantees a good time.
At least, it usually does.
Tonight, though, Daniel is fucking miserable. Depressed as shit.
He’s sitting at the bar, nursing a drink, eyes vacant. Mourning.
Because Max is gone.
And Lando?
Lando is trying not to think about Max at all. Because if he does, he’ll have to acknowledge the fact that he spent all day trying to ignore the fact that he wants to fuck Max’s husband.
And that’s just not something he’s ready to deal with.
So, after half an hour of trying—and failing—to get Daniel to have fun, he gives up.
Leaves him at the bar and disappears into the crowd, into the music, into anything that isn’t his own goddamn thoughts.
He drinks. Not too much. Just enough to loosen up.
Eventually, he finds someone. A guy.
Tall, sharp features, attractive as fuck.
They dance. They kiss. It’s easy.
And then Lando is dragging him to the bathroom, hands already working on his belt, getting on his knees before he can think too much about why this feels wrong.
It’s quick. Messy.
The guy is impressed. Invites him home.
Lando doesn’t even hesitate.
"Yeah," he says. "Let’s go."
But first—he has to find Daniel.
Because Daniel came with him, and even if he didn’t, he’s definitely too hammered to be behind the wheel.
And Lando isn’t completely heartless.
Lando makes his way back to the bar where he last saw Daniel, but he’s not there.
He frowns. Looks around. Nothing.
Maybe Daniel left?
Wouldn’t be surprising—he wasn’t exactly in the mood for a night out.
With a shrug, Lando grabs the guy’s hand and starts heading for the exit.
And that’s when he sees him.
Daniel.
On the pavement. Throwing up.
Lando sighs, dragging a hand down his face. "Oh, man. Daniel..."
The guy beside him—what was his name again?—makes a noise of disgust.
"You know him?"
"Yeah," Lando mutters, already stepping forward. "He’s my friend."
He crouches next to Daniel, placing a steadying hand on his back.
"Come on, mate. Let’s get you up."
Daniel stumbles as he gets to his feet, swaying. Lando grabs him before he can face plant back onto the pavement.
But Daniel shrugs him off.
"Let go of me," he slurs. "I have to go find Charles. I have to tell him—"
Lando blinks.
Charles?
Tell him what?
He’s not the only one with Charles on his mind, apparently.
Although—he’s pretty damn sure Daniel isn’t thinking about Charles like that.
He’s straight.
But then again... Charles could probably make a straight man reconsider.
With that ass.
And those tight fucking jeans he’s been wearing lately.
Lando hated the baggy ones, but recently, He’s started to miss them.
Daniel starts to stumble forward, and Lando quickly catches his arm.
"Hey, buddy. Wait. You can’t go to Charles this late."
Daniel tries to shake him off.
"What you need is to go home and rest," Lando says firmly. "I’ll call you a cab—"
The guy Lando was with huffs impatiently, crossing his arms.
Lando ignores him.
Daniel, though—Daniel is getting more agitated by the second.
Daniel tries to walk, but his legs give out beneath him.
He crashes to the ground, hands barely catching him.
Lando moves to help, but Daniel doesn’t even try to get up.
Instead, his shoulders start shaking.
And then—he’s sobbing.
"I can't," Daniel chokes out, voice broken. "I’m sorry. I can’t."
Lando freezes.
His stomach twists, something tight and uncomfortable curling in his chest.
He glances at the guy beside him—the one he was supposed to go home with—and lets out a long, defeated sigh.
"Yeah," he mutters. "I don’t think I can leave him like this."
He doesn’t wait for a response. Doesn’t even look back.
Instead, he crouches, wrapping an arm around Daniel and hauls him up.
Daniel barely reacts, leaning into him, weight heavy and unsteady.
Lando guides him to his car, settling him into the passenger seat.
By the time he slides into the driver’s side and starts the engine, Daniel is already fast asleep.
---
Lando ends up taking Daniel back to his place.
Not the man he wanted to spend the night with.
Daniel is barely standing when they get to the elevator, mumbling incoherently as Lando hauls him inside.
By the time they reach his apartment, Daniel is half-asleep on his feet. Lando kicks the door shut, guides him to the couch, and starts damage control—shoes off, aspirin found, glass of water set nearby. He even places a bucket next to him, just in case.
As Lando turns to leave, Daniel stirs again.
"Stay still," Lando sighs, rolling his eyes as Daniel tries to get up.
Daniel slurs, “I—I gotta go t’Charlesssh—”
Lando frowns. "You’re not going anywhere, mate."
Daniel shakes his head wildly, eyes glassy. “I hafta tell 'im—he needs to know—he has the right t’know.”
Lando huffs. "How about you tell me, and I’ll tell him?"
Daniel jerks upright, nearly tipping over. “N-no! Nobody should know—hic—not even Charles—Lewis… Fern’nndo won’ acc’sspt—”
Lando freezes. “Lewis and Fernando?” He sighs, rubbing his temples. “Daniel, you’re hammered. Sleep, and you can tell him tomorrow.”
Daniel stiffens, his hands gripping the blanket tightly. “No. Tonight. I sh-should do it tonight—Charles deserves to know.”
There’s something in his voice—desperation, urgency.
Lando ends up calling Charles. The phone rings, but he doesn’t answer.
Lando doesn’t expect him to—it’s too late.
Lando turns to Daniel, watching him closely. “What does Charles need to know?”
Daniel’s eyes well with tears as he hiccups through his words.
“Max wants him to know—but Lew’s—n’ Fern’ndo won’ let ‘im.”
Lando’s heart stops.
His stomach drops.
He leans in, suddenly alert. “Daniel… what are you talking about?”
No response.
Daniel’s eyes fluttering shut, and for a moment, Lando thinks he’s passed out again.
Shit.
Lando groans, rubbing his face. Taking Daniel out was a stupid idea.
He grabs the blanket, throws it over him, and is just about to leave when—
His phone rings.
Charles.
Lando stares at the screen.
Maybe he should ignore it. Pretend this never happened.
But if he doesn’t pick up, Charles will just worry.
With a sigh, he answers, voice casual.
“Hey.”
Charles sounds sleepy. “Lando? Did you call me? Is something wrong?”
Lando swallows hard. "Nah, sorry about that. Daniel was drunk and wanted to talk to you."
A beat of silence.
Then, Charles hums. “Okay… I’ll go back to sleep then.”
“Yeah,” Lando mutters. “Goodnight, Charles.”
And that’s when—
Daniel shifts on the couch.
His voice is barely a whisper.
“’S that Charles?”
Daniel sniffles, blinking blearily.
“Lando… Charles has to know. Max is alive.”
Lando stops breathing.
Daniel’s voice cracks. “He has to know, Max is alive—he’s not dead. Lewis won’t accept it. Fernando won’t accept it. But he’s alive. He misses him.”
Lando feels the world tilt.
His chest tightens.
This… this isn’t real.
Daniel is drunk. This isn’t real.
Charles’ voice, soft and confused, comes through the phone.
“Lando? Is something wrong with Daniel?”
Lando’s grip tightens around his phone.
“No. No, he just threw up.”
And before Charles can say another word, Lando hangs up.
He turns back to Daniel, who is still half-conscious, face streaked with tears.
Lando’s breath shudders.
He crouches down, voice low. “Daniel… where is Max?”
Daniel’s chin wobbles.
“I—I can’t tell you,” he whispers, eyes wet, broken.
“I’m not s’pposed to talk ‘bout it. But—I’m dying, Lando—” his voice cracks, raw and aching.
Lando clenches his jaw.
His head spins.
Max died. He died. They buried him.
There’s no way—no way—Max would do this to them.
No way he would do this to Charles.
Max isn’t that cruel.
…Right?
Lando spends most of the night scrolling through Daniel’s messages, eyes burning from exhaustion.
He finds nothing incriminating.
No secret conversations. No hidden messages.
Just normal texts—except for one thing.
Daniel’s entire chat history with Lewis is gone.
Lando frowns. That’s… weird.
But it doesn’t mean anything.
Daniel was drunk off his ass—he didn’t know what he was saying.
It’s just—just nonsense.
Lando exhales sharply, rubbing his temples.
And then—
Daniel’s phone vibrates.
A new message.
From an unknown number.
2:07 AM.
Why did you send Max Oscar’s birthday party pictures? He’s furious!!!!
F.A
Lando freezes.
His heart stops.
No.
No, this isn’t real.
It’s a different Max. It has to be a different Max.
But—Oscar is mentioned.
Fuck. No.
Lando’s breath stutters.
His hands shake.
His vision blurs before he even realizes he’s crying.
He doesn’t believe it.
He can’t.
But—
Max.
Max.
His Max.
Alive.
Lando presses a hand over his mouth, gasping for air.
He never thought—never let himself think—that he’d see him again.
But if this is true, if Max is really alive, then—
Then why wouldn’t they tell him?
Or at the very least—why wouldn’t they tell Charles?
Why does Daniel know—but not them?
Lando’s stomach twists.
This doesn’t make sense.
This is unfair.
Lando stares at the message, again his mind a whirlpool of emotions, spiraling out of control.
At first, it’s pure, unfiltered joy.
Max is alive.
Max, his Max, the one he had convinced himself he would never see again. He’s not gone. He’s not buried. He’s alive.
Alive.
Lando’s hands are shaking, his heart racing, the tears flowing without warning. He feels like he’s been punched in the chest, the weight of it all crashing down on him. He’s happy, so happy that Max is alive, that he’s breathing, and out there somewhere.
But then—
It doesn’t make sense.
He loved Max, with everything he had. And Max—he loved him, too. They had been there for each other through everything.
But this? This secrecy?
Why would they hide it from him? Why would they let him think Max was dead?
And Charles?
Why didn’t Charles know?
They—Lewis, Fernando, Daniel, Max—they all kept this from him.
It doesn’t make sense. And it hurts.
Lando paces the room, the anger rising now, hot and bitter. He’s furious.
He’s angry at Max for being alive and not telling him.
Angry at Lewis for being involved in this—why would he be in on this secret? And Fernando? Is still alive!
And then there’s Daniel, lying on the couch, passed out, drunk off his mind, and Lando feels a pang of guilt for using this to get him to talk, But Daniel’s the one who spilled the truth, in his drunken haze.
Lando’s emotions crash together in a cacophony of confusion, hurt, anger, and betrayal.
He can’t process it.
He can’t deal with it.
He needs to leave.
He can’t stay here, not with Daniel sprawled across the couch, not with the flood of emotions crashing over him, not with the weight of all the lies.
He needs air.
He needs space.
He walks over to Daniel, who’s still unconscious, his breathing deep and even. Lando’s hand hovers over his shoulder for a moment, but he can’t stay. He can’t face Daniel right now, not when his head is spinning with a hundred different emotions.
---
Lando stands outside Nico's house at 6 pm, taking a deep breath as the cool evening air fills his lungs. He’s all fresh, calm on the surface, but inside, his mind is a mess. It’s been a week since he found out about Max, and every single day since then has been consumed by it. He can’t stop thinking about it. The confusion, the anger, the hurt. But most of all, the relief that Max is alive. He hasn’t been able to shake the feeling of betrayal, though.
He had to meet with Charles. He had asked him two days ago, knowing it was time to confront everything, even if he didn’t know exactly how. Daniel didn’t remember anything from that night, Daniel had asked him if he had used his phone the night before. He lied he told Daniel—that he hadn’t.
But Lando? He’s been so stressed. He couldn’t keep this to himself anymore.
Charles walks out of the house, looking effortlessly perfect. His black skinny jeans fit him just right, and that crimson red shirt makes his eyes stand out even more. Lando’s heart skips a beat as he greets him, trying to mask the swirl of emotions inside him.
"Hey," Charles smiles warmly, his eyes lighting up when he sees him. "Ready to go?"
Lando nods, unable to hide the small smile that tugs at his lips. They head to dinner, and all night, Lando tries to find the courage to speak. But every time, he chickens out. He doesn't want to hurt Charles.
Tonight, he tells him. He has to.
As the evening winds down, Lando stands on the doorstep, the cool air pressing against him, but it’s the weight of the words he’s been holding in for days that makes his palms sweat. Charles, ever the gracious and kind person, thanks him for the night, that soft, sincere smile lighting up his face.
Charles turns to head inside, and that’s when Lando moves, his heart hammering in his chest. He steps forward, the distance between them closing. With a shaky breath, he reaches for Charles’s hand, his fingers brushing over the warmth of his skin.
"Wait, Charles…" Lando’s voice is quieter than he intended, but it holds a raw urgency that stops Charles in his tracks.
Charles pauses, the confusion flickering across his features, but the smile never fully fades. He turns to face Lando, his brow furrowing slightly, like he’s trying to read him.
"What?" Charles asks.
Lando feels his throat tighten, and for a split second, he considers backing out—running away and pretending none of this ever happened. But the thought of that, of leaving things unsaid, feels like it would suffocate him.
"I need to tell you something," Lando says, his voice shaky, but there’s a firmness buried beneath it.
Charles’s smile falters, just for a moment, and the worry in his eyes deepens. He waits, eyes locked with Lando’s, as if silently urging him to say it, to be honest. Lando swallows.
"Charles, I...."
Notes:
Honorable mentions :
- Lando POV is my favorite
- and the award for the godfather of the year doesn't go to Daniel nor George did everything/ did nothing Russell
- Lando has high dimple standard
- Sofia might have lost her son but at least she got to host her grandson's first birthday party.
- All the love and hate packed in a funsize man.
- I knew that the old Lando is there somewhere
- Lando be like we listen to judge
- the brocedes situationship through Lando's eyes cracked me.
- Lando came for the glass of water and he left with the tea
- Lando slut shaming Charles and then proceeds to thirst over him the whole chapter.
-So I got a sneak peek of the next chapter so beta privilege.
Dishonorable mentions :
- Daniel moustache
- Max crumbs
-Honestly this chapter is miracle baby, pipza is clearly going through the ao3 curse even her baby bird attacked her and gave her a nose piercing, I think she broke he thumb as well lol
Also, here are some memes my beta worked on. I've posted them on my Tumblr! If you want to chat or discuss the story, feel free to send me an ask.
https://www.tumblr.com/the-person-i-became/779488227590537216/hi-guys-heres-chapter-12-of-haunted-by-the-ghost?source=share
Chapter 13
Notes:
No honorable mention for this chapter—things haven’t been going too well lately, to be honest. But if you want, feel free to write your own honorable mention in the comments. I’d really love to read them.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Lando had tried. God, he really had. The words had nearly made it to the edge of his tongue more times than he could count—but he just couldn’t say them.
Every time Lando tried to speak the words, they get caught in his throat like glass.
He wasn’t even sure how to say it out loud, if he ever could. I mean—how do you explain that?
Who even does that in this day and age? Couldn’t he have just gone to get milk and never come back like every other dad?
He wasn’t unable to explain because he was protecting Max or Daniel. No—he was mad because Max hadn’t told him.
They used to be close. Lando would’ve trusted Max with his life. But apparently, Max trusted Lewis and Jenson instead.
If even Charles didn’t know, did that mean Lando was just as important to Max?
To be honest, at this point it didn’t feel like much.
If Max really had to disappear, fine. But he could’ve at least told Charles first. Charles would’ve preferred that over a dead husband, Lando was sure of it.
It blew Lando’s mind too. It messed him up in ways he couldn’t explain. He wasn’t just angry at Max for lying—he was furious. Furious at how Max didn’t trust them. At how Max, of all people, didn’t trust him. And why the hell should it be Lando’s responsibility to clean up the mess Max left behind? Why should he be the one to tell Charles?
So, no. Lando didn’t tell him.
Instead, he took the low road. He told Charles he was worried. That he looked like shit. That he was underweight, malnourished, and pale. That he was neglecting himself. That he needed to stop clinging to a ghost and try to live again. Maybe even date again. Love again. Because Max was gone, and Charles couldn’t keep wasting his life waiting for someone who wasn’t coming back.
Lando hadn’t even known where it all came from. The words had just spilled out—cruel, cold, and sharper than he meant them to be. But that was the thing about Charles: he brought out the worst in him. With Charles, cruelty always seemed to come easy.
He just wanted a way out, and the words slipped out before he could stop them.
Charles looked surprised—like he was ready to snap back, ready to fight Lando. But then… he didn’t. And that was strange. Because Charles always fought him. That was their thing.
Honestly, Lando believed he brought out something fiery in Charles. With Max, Charles was softer, calmer—almost too calm. But with Lando? He pushed back. He didn’t take his crap.
Lando knew he could be cruel, too. He knew he deserved to be called out, and he was trying—really trying—not to be that person anymore.
But every time he saw Charles around Max, it was like all the fight had gone out of him. Like he was giving up. And Lando couldn’t stop thinking it:
With Max, Charles just looked… defeated.
But now… here they were. In the gym. On goddamn Saturday night. Where lando had to pay for his sins.
Lando worked out to feel better, not to feel worse. But Charles had called last week asking if they could go together. Then again yesterday. Persistent in that quiet, hopeful way of his. So Lando said yes.
Now, he regrets it.
Because Lando is running—and Charles is struggling. He’s barely ten minutes in and already panting like he’s been at it for an hour. Loud. Distracted. He keeps glancing over at Lando, clearly self-conscious in his oversized T-shirt and short shorts, face flushed, hair sticking to his forehead.
I’d change nothing about you… his mind whispers. But then it flashes to something darker: Charles naked, straddling him, lips wrapped around his cock—no, stop! Lando slams the mental brakes.
Charles glanced at him, “You okay?” His voice is soft, concerned.
“You’re breathing too loud, It’s annoying” Lando said flatly, not even looking at him.
He saw the reaction out of the corner of his eye—how Charles’s lips twitched downward, how his throat worked around a sharp inhale. That expression—hurt, annoyed.
Lando swallows the guilt, tells himself to shut up, to be less of a dick. But it’s too late. He’s already done the damage.
Why am I like this? he thinks. Why did I have to say that?
Charles moves to the weight bench without a word. Lando clicks his machine off and steps down, and reach for his bottle of water, as he watches Charles settle in
He lay back on the bench, lifting the bar with shaky arms, sweat trickling down the curve of his throat and disappearing beneath his thin shirt. His legs were slightly parted, short shorts barely covering him, and every breath made his chest rise and fall.
Lando should look away. He should focus on his work out.
But he didn’t.
He stood there, towel slung over his shoulder, heart pounding—not from the run, but from the sight of Charles, flushed and sensual. He watched a bead of sweat slide down Charles’s neck, cling to his collarbone, and vanish into the fabric. His gaze drifted lower, tracing the shape of Charles’s thighs, Charles’s knees bent and the inside of his thighs stretched taut, the soft skin of his inner leg peeking from under the shorts. The sight sent a heat racing through Lando’s veins—an ache low in his belly that begged for release
Lando licked his lips, his throat suddenly dry.
He shouldn’t be thinking like this. Not about Charles. Not when the man was still married, still grieving the ghost of someone who didn’t deserve to be mourned. But Charles looked fuckable, and Lando couldn’t stop himself from staring.
Lando imagined stepping forward, sliding between Charles’s legs until his hips were flush against Charles’s. He’d hook Charles’s powerful thighs around his waist and pull him in close, skin to skin. He pictured the soft exertion of Charles’s breath against his mouth as he tipped his head back and whispered apologies before capturing those lips.
The heat pooled low in his stomach.
He imagined what Charles would sound like if he gasped not from lifting weights but from pleasure, imagined his fingers clenched not around the bar but into Lando’s back.
Fuck.
He adjusted his stance, shifting slightly as arousal pulsed through him, sudden and all-consuming. He wanted to touch him. To press his lips to that damp skin. To bite. To see if he could make Charles gasp for him instead of for air.
He stepped closer.
“Need help?” His voice came out lower than intended—gravelly, rough around the edges. aroused.
Charles glanced up, cheeks flushed, lips parted. “I’m fine.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I said I’m fine.” Charles snapped, voice annoyed.
Lando leaned down, hand brushing against Charles’s thigh as he pretended to steady the bar. Then he swallowed hard and looked away straightened up and walked off—quick, before he did something even worse. But his body was already betraying him, semi-hard and aching, thoughts spiraling., jaw clenched, because desire like this—burning, aching, twisted up in everything he hadn’t said—was dangerous. Especially when it was Charles.
He needed to get laid but first a cold shower.
---
The locker room was quiet when Lando stepped out of the shower, His towel hung low on his hips, droplets of water trailing down his skin.
Charles was also there.
Shirtless. Back to him. muscles flexing as he rummaged through his gym bag. His little shorts clung to his hips like they had no shame, like they knew Lando’s eyes would land there and linger.
Lando turned around so fast he nearly slipped. His hands were shaking as he pulled his shirt over his damp skin, fingers fumbling like they didn’t belong to him.
“What's wrong with you?”
The voice was casual. But Lando heard the edge beneath it.
He didn’t answer. Just muttered, “Nothing,” and kept his back to him.
A beat of silence. Then, “Well then why are you being a dick?”
Lando’s breath caught. He’s not being a dick damn it! he’s being tested, and he’s not god strongest soldier.
He wasn’t trying to be. But being near Charles like this—half-naked, skin flushed, lips parted—it was torture. Not because he didn’t want him. God, he did. That was the problem.
“I’m not being a dick,” Lando said, but his voice was thin.
Charles laughed, short and bitter. “Yes, you are. First you comment on the way I look at dinner the other day, and now that I’m actually trying—because of your cruel words, mind you—you look at me like I’m disgusting.”
Lando turned slightly, just enough to see him in the mirror. Charles’s looked hurt, upset.
“You could’ve said you don’t want to train with me,” Charles continued, voice sharp. “You didn’t have to be a dick about it. I understand, because I too don’t always like you, Lando. And I know your brain is fucked most of the time, but this? This is cruel.”
Lando stared at his own reflection, jaw locked. Apparently in his way to make sure Charles didn’t know about Max, about Lando’s newly found and exclusively physical attraction toward him.
It made Charles think that lando was disgusted by him, that he found him repulsive. Lando never thought he was that much of a good actor.
He turned, finally facing him. “Charles—”
“No,” Charles snapped. “I’m talking now. You think I haven’t noticed? The way you look at me like I am something vile? Like my body offends you? You look at me like I’m dirt under your shoe. Like you’d rather be anywhere else.”
“And the worst part?” Charles whispered. “You know why, you know how difficult it was for me, how I have been barely surviving. I understand you just want to help me, but you had to make me feel small first. Because that’s easier, right?”
Lando stepped forward before he could stop himself.
“You’re not repulsive,” he said, voice low, cracking at the edges. “It’s not. I’m the one who's—fuck. I’m under a lot of pressure, Charles. Work. And… life. But I like being here with you. I like training with you. I don’t think you’re repulsive. I never have.”
Charles looked at him, silently.
“I just wanted you to do better for yourself, while also considering the possibility of love, You deserve someone,” Lando continued, trying to steady his voice, “who looks at you and sees everything you are. Someone who won’t leave. Who’ll love you and Oscar the way you should’ve been loved from the start.”
His eyes were soft now. Honest.
“And if I sounded like I wanted you to change just to be worthy of that—then I fucked up. But I promise, I just wanted you to take care of yourself. For you. Because you matter.”
Charles’s brow furrowed. Then he rolled his eyes, exhaling a slow breath. “You really need to learn how to say things better.”
Lando huffed out a laugh. “Yeah. I know.”
A pause. Then Charles smiled faintly. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan. My therapist and I are working through things.”
Relief washed over Lando like cold water.
Charles moved past him, pulling on a hoodie, grabbing his bag. “But to make it up to me…”
Lando blinked. “What?”
“You’re coming with me.”
Lando narrowed his eyes. “Where?”
Charles just smirked, tossing his towel in the basket. “To help me shop.”
Lando raised a brow. “For what?”
Charles turned back, smug and a little dangerous. “For my date.”
And just like that, Lando’s stomach bottomed out.
---
“Where is it, Norris?”
Lando looked up from his desk, brow raised. “Where’s what?”
Bernie stepped into the office, arms crossed, frown already set in place. “Where’s what?” he echoed, mocking. “The report, Lando. The media report Jen prepared on jackson’s case.”
Lando blinked, lost. “Why would I have Jen’s report?”
Bernie’s frown deepened. “Because you asked for it. Said you wanted to read through it. Add a few comments.”
Lando stared at him, genuinely confused, and honestly not in the mood. “That doesn’t sound like—”
Before he could finish, the door creaked open again.
“It’s here.” Daniel strolled in, a file tucked under one arm and a half-apologetic smile playing on his lips.
“I asked for it. Thought Lando might want to take a look too, so I said I’d make copies.”
Bernie turned to him, relief flickering across his face. “So it was you. Okay, good.” He grabbed the file from Daniel’s hands, already half out the door again. “Next time, say that from the beginning, Norris,” he grumbled as he walked out.
Lando stood up, trailing behind him. “I was trying to—”
But before he could reach the doorway, Daniel stepped in front of him, hand pressed gently to Lando’s chest.
“Leave it, Lando.”
Hearing Daniel’s voice trying to calm him, made Lando pause.
Then Daniel asked him, voice confused. “What’s wrong with you?”
Lando replied coldly. “Nothing.”
“You sure?” Daniel stepped closer to lando. “You’ve been... distant lately. You want to go out sometime soon?to catch up and drink. It’s on me this time.”
Lando sighed. “Can’t.”
“It’s the weekend,” Daniel pressed.
Lando paused for a second too long. He could lie. He could pretend he was just tired or overwhelmed with work. But something mean and bitter twisted inside him — vindictive and sharp — so he gave Daniel a half-truth of why he is miserable instead.
“I’m babysitting Oscar tonight.”
Daniel blinked. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” Lando finally looked up, his voice a little colder. “Charles is going on a date.”
Daniel’s reaction was instant. His mouth opened, then closed. His brows knit together in something between confusion and panic. Lando watched every flicker of it with quiet amusement.
“Well, that’s...” Daniel started, but Lando cut him off, tone dry.
“A guy from his grief group. Imagine that.” He leaned back on the wall, folding his arms. “You seem upset. I thought you’d be happy. Charles is moving on.”
Daniel fumbled for composure, but Lando saw the tension in his jaw, the tight set of his shoulders. “No, I’m just... surprised. Concerned, maybe. I didn’t know he’d move on so fast.”
The entitlement, Lando thought bitterly. Max disappears and expects to waltz back into Charles’s life like nothing happened. Five months isn’t much time, no — but it’s more time than Charles deserved to be left alone, drowning. If anything, Lando would’ve supported the date, encouraged it even... if he wasn’t also uncomfortable about the idea himself.
And because he needed to stay petty, he added, “Honestly, five months is a long time, and people deal with grieve differently I personally think Charles is more than ready and it makes sense. They get each other. No pressure. They’ve both been through loss.”
Daniel looked physically uncomfortable now. Lando relished it. He felt smug.
Daniel cleared his throat. “That doesn’t sound right. I mean... dating someone from a grief group? Sounds like a recipe for disaster. They’ll just be looking for replacements.”
“Or maybe,” Lando said, voice clipped, “they’ll understand each other better than anyone else. Maybe it’s not about replacing anyone. Maybe it’s about not being alone. Moving on together and learn to love again.”
Daniel’s mouth opened again, but no words came.
Lando didn’t feel the satisfaction he thought he would from provoking Daniel.
He wanted to — hell, it was the entire reason he’d told Daniel about Charles’s date in the first place. A small part of him had hoped it would spark something, force a reaction, maybe even set things into motion. But now, sitting on the floor with Oscar, in Charles and Max’s loft hours later with his phone face down on the table and the silence pressing in from all sides, he couldn’t pretend the bitterness didn’t taste hollow.
He told himself it was because it felt wrong. That was the truth, wasn’t it?
Charles was still married. Max was still alive — Charles didn’t know, yes, but he’s still alive. Lando knew, they shared a child now. Oscar was theirs in every way that mattered. And Charles was... moving on.
Lando wasn’t sure what Max was feeling. But the message that Fernando send to Daniel, the one Lando had read, was desperate. It made it clear Max wasn’t doing well. That he wanted to come back.
But none of this was Lando’s responsibility. He didn’t ask to be in the middle of it. He wasn’t the one who faked his death or started dating someone new.
And yet, here he was, babysitting a baby that wasn’t his, feeling more tangled up in Charles and Max’s mess.
Lando sat cross-legged on the floor, watching as Oscar stacked his colorful blocks with the kind of intense focus only a toddler could have. They’d been at it for a while — Oscar building, Lando pretending to help but mostly trying to remember the last time he went to the bathroom.
“Okay, buddy,” he said, standing up slowly, “I’m gonna take a quick two-minute break, alright? Don’t go anywhere.”
Oscar looked up, blinked, and then shoved another block onto the top of his wobbly tower. Lando took that as a yes.
To be safe, he gently lifted Oscar into his playpen, tossed in a few toys, and made sure everything was secure before jogging to the bathroom.
When he came back thirty seconds later, his heart nearly stopped.
Oscar was hanging halfway out of the playpen — one leg dangling over the edge, the other still stuck inside. His little hands clung to the top rail, and he was grunting with determination.
Lando rushed over. “Oscar! I asked you politely to stay put!”
Oscar gave him a wide, innocent grin.
Lando helped him out and placed him gently on the ground, only for Oscar to immediately start crawling toward the kitchen like a wind-up toy set on chaos.
“No, no, no—hey! Kitchen’s closed!” Lando scooped him up and deposited him back by the blocks.
Oscar didn’t even pause. He gave a little shout, spun around, and made a break for it again.
“Oscar!” Lando chased after him, laughing. “Wait for me! Your Uncle Lando is old, okay?”
Oscar babbled, delighted. “Ando! Ando!”
Lando heart twisting a little in his chest. Which happens every time Oscar says his name.
There were only three names Oscar knew how to say: “Dada,” “Nini” for Nico… and “Ando.”
Charles had told him once that it wasn’t really a surprise. Lando had become part of the routine — always around, always there when needed. He’d been trying to get Oscar to say “Papa” for Max, but so far, Oscar had settled on his three favorites and didn’t seem interested in expanding.
It wasn’t lost on Lando how much that meant.
Eventually, after several laps between the blocks and the cupboards, Lando wore himself out. He decided to settle for a movie, they ended up on the couch, Lando half-asleep with Oscar curled in his lap as The Lion King played on low volume.
Every time Lando started to nod off, a tiny hand would slap his cheek or tug his shirt.
“Hey,” he mumbled, blinking awake for the fourth time, “I’m watching, I swear…”
Oscar, unimpressed, pointed at the screen and babbled nonsense commentary, his eyes wide with wonder.
That’s how Charles found them when he walked through the door just after ten — Oscar wide awake, Lando barely holding it together, and Simba mid-monologue on screen.
“Tired?” Charles asked softly from the doorway.
Lando didn’t open his eyes. “Physically? Yes. Emotionally? Also yes. Mentally? Gone.”
Charles chuckled, stepping inside.
Oscar perked up immediately, shouting, “Dada!”
Lando gently lifted Oscar into his arms and stood up, his gaze flicking toward Charles
Charles looked… off.
His eyes were puffy, red-rimmed. Had he been crying?
Lando’s brows furrowed as he studied him silently. Did the guy do something? Did something happen?
Charles caught the look, and for a moment, something unreadable passed through his expression — then he smiled, soft but tired, like he was trying to pretend nothing was wrong.
“How’s my favorite guy doing?” Charles asked, voice lighter than his face suggested.
Lando, still watching him with quiet concern, shrugged. “Like I said — I’m tired.”
Charles chuckled, shaking his head. “Not you, silly. I meant my Oscar.”
He stepped in, too close but familiar, and Lando brought Oscar closer to Charles over without a word.
Charles instantly buried his face in Oscar’s cheek, peppering kisses across his face, his nose, even his tiny mouth as he murmured nonsense and tickled his sides.
Oscar shrieked with laughter, squirming in his arms and reaching for more.
Lando smiled, the sound of Oscar’s giggles and Charles’s quiet laugh—it was soft, warm, and something close to what peace must feel like.
“Well, Oscar,” Charles said, pulling back slightly and looking into the boy’s eyes. “It’s bedtime.”
Oscar blinked up at him, then grinned and held his arms out, asking silently to be carried. Charles scooped him up without hesitation.
He turned back to Lando, hesitating for a beat.
“Are you leaving?” His voice was quiet, almost unsure, like he didn’t want the answer to be yes.
Lando shook his head. “I’ll stay.”
He was exhausted — every bone in his body begged for a bed — but he didn’t want to leave. Not like this.
“I’ll make us some coffee,” he added.
Charles nodded, grateful.
Lando headed to the kitchen, setting Oscar’s chatter and Charles’s soft humming behind him like background music. He started brewing the coffee.
Lando’s phone buzzed just as he turned off the stove. He glanced at the screen—Lewis.
He picked up. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Lewis said. “Did Charles come back?”
Lando blinked, already sensing the tension in his voice. Daniel must’ve told him about the date. Guess he was stressing about it too. “Yeah, he’s back.”
A pause.
“Alone?” Lewis asked.
“Huh?” Lando frowned.
“I said,” Lewis repeated, slower this time, “did he come back alone?”
Lando hesitated, glancing toward the living room where Charles was softly singing to Oscar as he tried to put him to bed. “Yeah. Alone… why?”
Lewis didn’t answer right away. He just stayed on the line, breathing quietly.
Then, “How about Nico?”
Lando’s frown deepened. “Nico? I don’t know—he didn’t come back with Charles if that’s what you mean.”
There was something odd in Lewis’s tone when he responded—something meant to be light but edged with tension. “He must be enjoying his date then.”
Lando blinked. Wait, what?
Oh. Oh. Nico was out too?
He chuckled, the pieces clicking together. “Well, that’s going to be interesting. Charles did mention the guy was handsome and had a lot in common with Nico. There’s a good chance he won’t be back tonight.”
Lando stirred the coffee absentmindedly as he went on, “Honestly, I think it’s a good thing. Nico really deserves to find someone. He’s a great guy—caring. I’m glad he’s finally putting himself out there.”
Lewis didn’t comment. His voice just came back, flat this time. “Sorry, I’ve got to go. Roscoe needs his food.”
“Oh. Right. Goodnight, boss,” Lando replied.
The line went dead.
Lando set his phone down, poured the coffee, and leaned against the counter. He was officially wide awake now—and more than ready to hear all the gossip when Charles decided to share.
Or if he didn’t… Lando was pretty good at pulling it out of people anyway.
Lando returned from the kitchen, carefully balancing two mugs of coffee. He placed one gently on the table in front of Charles, who was curled on the couch with a fast-asleep Oscar resting against his chest. Charles glanced up, mouthed just a minute, and stood slowly to take the baby to bed.
Leo, tail wagging softly, sitting on the carpet. Jimmy was already curled up on the backrest of the couch, watching with wide, curious eyes.
When Charles returned, he flicked off the hallway light and lowered himself onto the couch beside Lando with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead gently.
“I have a headache,” he muttered, his voice quiet.
Lando just nodded, not pressing, handing him the coffee. The soft clink of the mug against the coaster was the only sound for a moment. The dim table lamp cast a warm glow across the living room. Jimmy leapt down gracefully and settled in Charles’s lap without asking. And Leo lay at their feet, one paw resting over Charles’s shoe.
After a beat, Lando asked, “So… how was your date? And more importantly—how was Nico’s date?”
Charles blinked, surprised. “How do you know about that?”
Lando gestured toward the kitchen. “Lewis called.”
Charles let out a soft breath. “Right. Yeah. We went on a double date.”
Lando raised an eyebrow. “You and your dad went on a double date together?”
Charles sipped his coffee. “Yeah. Isn’t that the point of a double date?”
Lando squinted at him. “Okay but like… isn’t that weird?”
Charles frowned. “Why? It’s completely normal and common.”
Lando didn’t argue. He knew better. The relationship between Nico and Charles had always been less father and son and more like best friends with an eighteen-year age gap and a shared Spotify account. It was bizarre, but it worked for them.
“So?” Lando prompted. “How was it?”
Charles leaned back against the couch. Jimmy’s tail flicked against his cheek, and he absently scratched under the cat’s chin.
“It was good. I guess.”
“You guess?” Lando said, watching him closely. “You look disappointed.”
“I’m not,” Charles replied quickly, then softened. “Because Dad had the best time. The guy was lovely. Kind, soft-spoken. Loves gardening. Vegan. Retired vet. Has two teenage daughters. Grew up in a religious household—couldn’t come out for a long time. But his ex-wife knew, supported him. His family accepted him.”
Lando blinked. “Wow. You sound more into him than your own date.”
Charles shot him a withering look.
“So… how was your date?” Lando teased, sipping his coffee.
Charles groaned. “I went for my dad, okay? I met Thomas a while ago. He’s nice. I just… wanted someone solid to introduce to Dad. Someone who isn’t Lewis.”
Lando nodded knowingly. “I agree with you on this matter.”
Charles sighed. “Exactly. I just… wanted him to move on, you know? And Thomas is great. And it was supposed to be a double date so I asked him to come. He said yes. They hit it off. My dad laughed—really laughed—for the first time in ages. And I… I left early to give them some space.”
Lando gave him a genuine smile. “You’re a good son.”
Charles groaned again. “Don’t start.”
“What?” Lando laughed. “I mean it. I’d never go on a double date with my dad. I’d never spy on his conversation and force a poor man to fourth-wheel your weird little family dynamic.”
“I talked to Lee,” Charles argued. “I wasn’t rude. But I kept an eye on them. Stepped in when the conversation lagged.”
“So you were dating Lee, while chatting with your dad’s date Thomas, and eavesdropping on their conversation? Sounds exhausting.”
“You have no idea.” Charles let his head fall back. Jimmy meowed softly in protest and shifted.
“But they were sweet. Thomas. Lee. Both. I was just distracted.”
Lando’s voice turned serious. “I think you did the right thing.”
Charles looked over at him. “Don’t say that if you’re going to laugh two seconds later.”
“I’m not joking,” Lando said honestly. “You did. Nico needs to date. He needs to see someone new. Lewis isn’t it, and your dad’s stuck in this endless loop of hope and hurt.”
“Exactly,” Charles said quietly. “I love Lewis. I always will. But he led my dad on, Lando. Maybe not maliciously. But it still happened. My dad’s my priority. And if tonight is the start of something better for him… I’ll take it.”
Leo let out a soft huff at their feet, stretching.
“Yeah,” he said softly. “He deserves that. And so do you.”
Charles doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are fixed somewhere far beyond the room. Lando watches him quietly for a moment before gently coaxing, “So… how was your first date? After everything?”
There’s a long silence. When Charles finally speaks, his voice is faint, barely above a whisper. “It felt wrong. Like I was cheating. It wasn’t a date, not really. I just… I wanted my dad go out, and the only way was to convince him I needed him there. I kept telling myself it wasn’t a date. I’m not cheating on Max. I’m not.” He swallows hard. “But at the end… he tried to kiss me. And it was…”
Lando’s eyes widen slightly. He leans forward. “Did you kiss him?”
Charles quickly shakes his head. “No. I said no. He was… annoyed.”
Lando releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He doesn’t want to think why it mattered so much. “Good. Who cares if he was annoyed? Never do something you don’t want to do.”
Charles nods slowly. “I know. It’s just… uncomfortable. Hopefully, I won’t have to do it again. Hopefully, Dad and Thomas work things out.”
Lando hums in agreement, then adds gently, “You’ll get there. Maybe not tonight, maybe not even soon—but someday.”
Charles turns to him, something almost fragile in his gaze. “But what if I don’t want to? What if… what if I already have everything I need? My dad. Oscar. Max—or the memory of him. This house. His texts. Lando… the texts are keeping me alive. There are so many. Voice notes. Pictures. Videos.”
He pauses, looking down at his hands.
“I have you,” he says, quieter. “I know you won’t be here forever, of course, but… you’ve become my best friend. Things are going well. I miss Max—God, I miss him—but I have Oscar. And yeah… am I selfish for still wanting to live, even though my husband is dead? I still love him, but I went on a date. And all I could think was—what if it were me who died, and Max was the one going out with someone else? And then I tell myself—Max never would have.”
Lando takes a deep breath. He listens, jaw clenched, heart twisting as he watches Charles beat himself up over something so innocent—while Max, alive and well, continues to let him suffer in silence.
“I’m going to punch him,” Lando mutters under his breath. “This is cruel.”
“Lando—” Charles starts, but he’s cut off.
“No, listen. I don’t know what Max would’ve done, okay? But can we not idealize him? He wasn’t a saint. He hurt you while he was alive.”
Charles bristles. “It wasn’t all him. I was… too much, sometimes.”
“Too much?” Lando repeats, incredulous. “What does that even mean? Wanting him to come home at night? Talk to you? Believe you? Communicate while you were being targeted by a serial killer—who, by the way, turned out to be his childhood best friend? I’m not saying it was all his fault, but he left you at the hospital, Charles. After everything.”
“I don’t want to talk about this, please,” Charles says, voice tight. Then, after a beat, “Besides, that’s not what you thought of me back then. You were part of the reason we fought. You didn’t think very highly of me. I remember you saying I was holding him back. That he deserved better.”
Lando looks down, ashamed. “I did say that. But I was wrong. Now that I actually know you, I see it wasn’t your fault—at least not entirely. You were doing your best with someone who wasn’t really there.” He sighs. “All I’m saying is, don’t put him on a pedestal and forget to live. He’s not coming back. And you’re still here. Still young. It’s okay if you want to talk to people, flirt, and even hook up.”
“I know,” Charles says softly. “But I don’t want to. After doing everything with the person you love… it’s hard to build that kind of bond again. And everything you just listed—talking, flirting, hooking up—it’s ten times better with someone you love.”
Lando nods slowly. “Well… that I wouldn’t know.”
Charles glances sideways at him, a mischievous glint breaking through the melancholy. “Exactly. You’re always worrying about my love life, when really we should be fixing yours. You’re young, charming—why aren’t you dating?”
Lando raises an eyebrow. “You’re not trying to set me up, are you?”
“I am,” Charles says, already grabbing his phone. “Let’s see… Carlos! You know him. Oscar’s pediatrician. You’d like him.”
Lando grabs Charles’s wrist just as Jimmy bolts off his lap in surprise. “No!”
Charles bursts out laughing. “Why not? Come on! You two would be so cute together.”
“I am not dating Oscar’s doctor,” Lando says, trying to wrestle the phone out of Charles’s hand. “Give me that.”
“Nope! You’re going to thank me for this later—”
“Charles!”
Lando lunges forward, trying to grab Charles’s phone, and Charles squeals with laughter as he rolls to the side, keeping it just out of reach.
“Give it back, Leclerc!”
“Never!” Charles giggles, squirming as Lando climbs on top of him, straddling his hips with one knee planted on either side. “Come on, he’s perfect for you!”
“You are insane,” Lando huffs, finally prying the phone out of Charles’s hands.
Charles grins up at him, breathless, hair tousled. “Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to date someone right now,” Lando says, holding the phone triumphantly out of reach.
Charles squints up at him, suspicious . “unless you already have someone you love?”
The smile falls off Lando’s face before he can catch it. His gaze flickers away, down and to the side. That’s all Charles needs.
“Oh my God,” Charles gasps, sitting up slowly with Lando still on top of him. “Lando Norris is in love?”
“No—no, it’s not what you think,” Lando stammers, eyes wide. “It’s—just—it's not like that.”
Charles leans in, head tilted, a soft smile playing on his lips. “You can tell me. I tell you everything, remember? Come on.”
Lando presses his lips into a thin line. “I’m not in love,” he says, firm but quiet—more to himself than to Charles. His voice carries the weight of someone trying to make it true just by saying it.
Charles nods right away, giving him an easy out. “Alright. Sorry. I’m just in my matchmaking mood, I am on a streak today.”
Lando lets out a breath of relief, but he makes the mistake of looking into Charles’s eyes. Really looking.
And there it is—that soft, understanding gaze. The way Charles’s lashes catch the light. The small smile he wears, gentle and open and unguarded. He stares at Charles’s lips.
Lando’s heart stumbles.
He hates kissing. He always has. He’s avoided it, even during hookups, brushing it off with well-timed distraction. Sex has always been simple. Detached. But kissing? Kissing means something. It’s intimate.
But right now, with Charles beneath him, still laughing just a little, cheeks pink and eyes kind—Lando wants to kiss him. More than he’s ever wanted to kiss anyone in his entire life.
And Charles notices that Lando is looking at his lips.
The smile falters, replaced by something quieter. Curious. His breath catches just slightly.
“Lando…” he whispers, not in warning—but something softer. Something close.
“Lando…” Charles whispers again, softer this time. A breath, not a word.
He’s not pulling away. He’s not laughing anymore. His smile has faded into something delicate—fragile, almost—as if he’s not sure what’s happening but he’s not ready to stop it either.
Lando’s pulse is loud in his ears. He should move. He should laugh it off. Crack a joke. Roll away and say, you wish, Charles. But he doesn’t.
Instead, his gaze flickers from Charles’s eyes to his lips—then back again, asking a question without speaking.
And Charles… doesn’t look away.
So Lando leans in. Slowly. Carefully. Like the whole moment might break if he breathes too hard.
He stops just before their lips touch, close enough to feel Charles’s breath against his skin. Still giving him a chance to pull away.
But Charles doesn’t.
He tilts his chin up the tiniest bit.
And that’s all Lando needs.
He kisses him—soft, tentative, like he’s afraid to ruin it. Like he’s been holding this in for so long he doesn’t even know how to let it out all at once.
Charles exhales against his mouth, and Lando feels it—feels how warm and real it is.
There’s no rush. No heat. Just something raw and quiet. A kiss that says I’m here. I’ve been here. I don’t know what this is, but I’m not letting it go.
Lando pulls back a fraction, forehead resting against Charles’s. Their breaths tangle in the small space between them.
Charles’s eyes are still closed.
“Sorry,” Lando whispers, though he’s not sure if he means it.
Charles doesn’t say anything. Just blinks, stunned, eyes wide and glassy as if the kiss shattered something delicate inside him.
Then comes the guilt. It crashes into his expression all at once—raw and violent. His eyes search Lando’s face like he’s looking for an answer, or maybe for a way to undo what just happened.
“Charles—” Lando starts, voice a little too breathless, a little too desperate.
But Charles doesn’t speak. He just looks at him. And the silence feels louder than anything else in the room.
Shit. Fuck. Shit. Lando’s heart sinks.
He scrambles to his feet, suddenly hyper-aware of what he’s done—where his hands were, how close they’d been. He takes a step back. “I’m sorry,” he says, grabbing his phone. “I didn’t mean— I’ll go.”
He makes it to the loft door, hand on the handle, heartbeat thundering.
He should leave.
He should.
But he doesn’t.
He turns around.
Charles is still on the couch, sitting there like he’s been frozen mid-breath, his brows pulled tight in confusion, his lips slightly parted, like he doesn’t understand what just happened—or maybe he does, and that’s what scares him.
This is it.
Lando knows it. This is his chance. His only one.
He’s tried so hard not to let it become this. Denied it every time it crept up in the quiet—when Charles laughed too hard at his jokes, or when Oscar clung to his shirt like he belonged there. He told himself it was just grief. Just affection. Just pity.
But it’s not.
He likes Charles.
He likes him, and he wants him. Wants all of it. The mess. The love. The baby. The stubbornness. The good and the bad.
He wants them.
Lando wasn’t delusional—he knew Charles loved Max. That kind of love didn’t just vanish, not overnight. It lingered, tucked into the corners of Charles’s heart like it belonged there. And maybe it did. Maybe it always would.
But Lando also knew something else: Charles liked him. They understood each other. They could sit in silence or argue for hours, and it would still be fine. They fit—not in a perfect, fairy tale way, but in a real one.
And tonight… tonight Charles kissed him back. It wasn’t just muscle memory. It wasn’t just grief or guilt or desperation. It was heat. Trust. Maybe curiosity. A flicker of something that could grow into more, if they let it.
Lando could work with that.
He could be patient. He could be better. He could make Charles happy in a way Max hadn’t—not because Max was a bad partner, but because Lando had seen Charles at his worst and still stayed. He knew where to reach, where to soften, when to push. And if Max stayed gone long enough… if fate gave Lando that time… then maybe, just maybe, Charles would let himself move on.
And if Max came back?
Well. That would be unfortunate.
But Lando wasn’t worried. Not really.
Because he believed, with everything in him, that he could be better for Charles than Max ever was.
And when the time came, Charles would choose him.
So he turns back.
He walks slowly, carefully, like he’s approaching a wounded animal.
Then he kneels.
Right in front of Charles, who stiffens when he does.
“Lando…”
“No, listen,” Lando says gently, his voice low, steady, scared but firm. “Please.”
Charles looks like he’s about to tell him to stop, but he doesn’t. He just watches.
Lando swallows. “I know you’re not ready. I know you miss him. I know tonight was too much and I crossed a line and I’ll regret that if it made you feel worse.” He pauses.
Charles inhales sharply.
“I know I’m not him,” Lando continues. “And I never will be. But I’m here. I’m still here. And I’ll keep being here, even if all I ever get to be is your friend.”
He places a hand on the couch cushion beside Charles—not touching him, but close enough that the warmth is there.
“I know it’s too soon,” Lando said, voice soft, trembling with the weight of his confession. “And I know you’re still grieving. You’re allowed to. I’m not trying to rush anything. I just… I need to say this.”
Charles doesn’t speak. His silence isn’t rejection though, so he keeps going.
“We can just be friends,” Lando continues. “If that’s all you want, I’ll take it. Gladly. But I’ll wait, Charles. Even if nothing ever changes, I’ll still be here. Because I’ve never felt this safe with someone. Not like I do with you.”
He pauses, then adds, more to himself than to Charles, “I think I’ve always liked you. I just didn’t know how to deal with it. I kept pushing it down, pretending it wasn’t real. But it is.”
His voice cracks slightly.
“And if you ever give me the chance… even the smallest chance… I’ll try my hardest to make it work. I’ll be there for you. And for Oscar. Always.”
Charles opens his mouth to speak, to stop this spiral before it gathers too much speed, but Lando quickly cuts in, eyes pleading.
“You don’t have to say anything now,” he says, swallowing. “Or ever. But if someday… if you wake up and you feel even a little something—can you just… tell me?”
Charles finally speaks, voice hesitant and quiet. “Lando, we need to talk about this. You can’t wait forever. It wouldn’t be fair to you.”
Those words hurt more than he expected. A quiet, slow stab of truth. But Lando still nods, managing a small, sad smile.
“Not tonight,” he says. “Let’s not talk about it tonight.”
Charles nods once, and that’s enough.
Lando stands. Hesitates. Then leans down, lips brushing gently against Charles’s forehead. It’s brief—delicate. A goodbye and a promise all at once.
Then he pulls away. Too afraid to look at Charles’s eyes. Too afraid he’ll see rejection, or worse—pity.
He turns and walks to the loft door, fingers gripping the handle tightly. He hesitates. Just for a second. Just long enough to consider what he’s done. And then he is out of the door.
He knows Max is out there somewhere. He knows if Max comes back, everything might crumble. But right now? Max isn’t here. He left.
And Lando didn’t.
He rubs a hand down his face, the kiss he left on Charles’s forehead still burning on his lips like a brand.
To Lando’s heart, Max is dead.
Dead because you don’t do what Max did and still get to come back and pretend nothing happened. You don’t leave someone like Charles. You don’t abandon a baby who did nothing wrong. You don’t disappear and expect the people you hurt to stay frozen, waiting for your return like a dog.
Max made his choice.
And now Lando’s making his.
“I know it’s wrong,” Lando mutters to himself, walking faster now, trying to outpace the guilt nipping at his heels. “But he’s not here. I am.”
If he plays this right. If Max ever comes back, things will change. But until then? Until then, Lando has a chance. A real one.
To show Charles he’s safe with him. That he’s loved. That he and Oscar could have more—could be happy with him, Charles might choose him.
Maybe it’s selfish. Maybe it’s cruel.
But Charles is still hurting. Still healing. And Lando can be gentle. He can be patient. He can be everything Max wasn’t.
So yeah. Max is alive.
But he’s dead to Lando.
And maybe—just maybe—someday, he’ll be dead to Charles too.
---
“Max, I haven’t seen you all day. Are you okay?”
Max barely looked at Fernando as he stepped out of his room, eyes dull, limbs heavy.
“I’m fine,” he said flatly.
Fernando offered him a small smile. “I made dinner. Want to eat with me?”
Max shook his head and walked past him into the sitting room. He dropped onto the couch and picked up the remote, flipping through channels without watching any of them. Static voices. Bright colors. Nothing real. Nothing worth caring about.
Eventually, he turned the TV off. The silence was louder anyway.
A few minutes later, Fernando appeared beside him with two full plates—steak and rice, warm and inviting. He didn’t care. He wasn’t hungry.
Fernando sat down beside him anyway, holding out one plate. Max took it not intending to eat it. The food looked good, smelled even better. He hadn’t known Fernando could cook like that.
Max ignored him. Not because he didn’t want to talk—God, he did. He wanted to scream. Wanted to shake him and yell and ask why. Why did he do it? Why did he bring Max into this and take him away from everything he loved.
But Max was angry. And when he’s angry, he doesn’t talk. He shuts down.
He’d been stuck here for months, cut off from the world. No phone. No connection. No Charles.
Just Fernando.
And now that he was physically recovering, all Max could do was work out to pass the time. Try to dull the rage. Tire himself out so he would fall asleep at the end of the day.
And he thought about Charles. Constantly.
It had been six months.
What was Charles doing now? Was he okay? Was he hurting?
Max couldn’t bear the thought of Charles believing he was dead. The idea made his chest ache. He’d come close to losing him before, and each time had been unbearable. But that was before Oscar.
Oscar.
His chest twisted. He left Charles thinking he’s dead and he will have to raise their son alone.
He missed him. God, he missed him. His laugh. His little arms around Max’s neck. The way he cuddle into him in the morning. That tiny, joyful voice.
He must have forgotten him by now.
Before Max left, they were inseparable. Max had finally understood what it meant to be a parent—what it meant to love something so small, so completely.
And now?
Now Charles was living in a world where Max is alive—but wasn’t. And Max was trapped in a world where he was dead to all the people he loves.
It wasn’t his fault. Not entirely. He’d been unconscious for two months. In recovery after that. But it was partially his fault.
Everyone told him not to get involved.
And he did it anyway.
Because he had to know. Because he had to find closure and avenge Fernando’s death
Now, Charles was alone. Oscar was growing without him. And Max had nothing but silence and guilt for company.
He didn’t even notice the food had slipped slightly on the plate until Fernando gently took it from his hands.
“Careful,” Fernando said softly, dabbing at a small stain on the couch.
Max blinked down at it.
Fernando returned with wipes, crouched, and began cleaning in silence. Max watched him, almost amused. Fernando never used to allow them to eat in front of the TV. It was one of those strict rules he passed to him.
Was it because he was scared Max won’t forgive him?
He should be.
Because Max had lost him. And the grief had broken something in him.
Max… Max was furious.
Not because Fernando is alive.
But because Fernando fucked up Max’s life. Fernando took him from his family. Locked him in.
“Lewis hasn’t come by in a while,” Fernando said carefully. “Do you want me to call him? See if there’s an update on the investigation?”
Max didn’t respond.
Until recently, that was the only thing he’d even allow Fernando to talk to him about. The investigation. Leads. Clues. Because Since Max didn’t have a phone. He wasn’t allowed a phone.
Because Fernando knew—if Max had one, the first thing he’d do was call Charles.
And Fernando was right.
He would call him. In a heartbeat.
So he gets his updates on the case from Fernando— and Fernando is now used to bringing up Lewis or the investigation when the silence stretched too long.
Max nodded stiffly as Fernando picked up his phone and dialed Lewis. The two untouched plates sat abandoned on the coffee table, steam long gone.
The line rang.
No answer.
Fernando exhaled through his nose and put the phone down. “He’s probably caught up. He’ll call when he can.”
“Maybe,” Max murmured, voice flat.
“Maybe he’ll have good news for us,” Fernando added, trying to sound hopeful.
Max gave a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Don’t lose hope, Max. I’ve been stuck like this for over three years and I’m still holding on.”
Max turned to him, eyes burning. “Yeah? Well, I’m not you. I’m not staying here for three years. I’ll find a way out, and when I do—I’ll go straight to the police. I’ll report everything you did.”
Fernando’s face hardened. “You’re not doing that.”
“Watch me.”
“Max, listen—”
“No, you listen.” Max stood, voice rising. “You took me away from my life. From Charles. From Oscar. You lied. You made choices for me and locked me in this fucking cage while the people I love are out there thinking I’m dead.”
“I was protecting you,” Fernando said quietly.
Max scoffed. “Protecting me?” He stared at him like he didn’t even recognize the man anymore. “You didn’t protect me. You destroyed me. And for what?”
Fernando sat back, jaw clenched, then said, “You’re angry. I get it.”
“No, you don’t,” Max snapped. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose someone you love so deeply that breathing hurts. Because if you did, you wouldn’t be sitting here expecting me to ‘think positive.’ You’ve clearly never loved anyone.”
Fernando’s face twisted, as if that accusation struck deeper than Max expected. But he recovered quickly, groaning, “You’re being dramatic. Loving someone doesn’t mean acting reckless. It doesn’t mean dragging everyone down with you.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Max’s voice cracked. “Why didn’t you trust me enough to say something? So I wouldn’t have wasted everything I had left for a man who was already alive?”
“I wanted to,” Fernando admitted, his voice low. “Lewis tried to tell you. But you wouldn’t listen. You were too busy playing the hero.”
Max froze, the silence between them thick with grief and betrayal.
“I know you blame me. And you’re right to,” Fernando continued, quieter now. “You had a family. A child. I took you from them. But I didn’t want this. And I sure as hell didn’t want you to get hurt. All I’m asking is—stop fighting me and trust that I’m trying to make this right.”
Max’s throat tightened. He wanted to scream. To punch something.
But instead, he turned away, jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Because as much as he hated it… a small part of him still trusted Fernando.
And that made it worse.
Fernando sighed heavily, pressing his fingers to his temples before he spoke again.
“Look… I’m trying to be patient with you. I know you’re hurting, Max. I understand you.” His voice was quieter now, steadier. “But this wasn’t easy for me either. Do you think I wanted to disappear? Do you think I wanted to miss your wedding?”
Max didn’t reply. His jaw ticked, eyes fixed on the floor.
Fernando pushed on, pain flickering in his voice. “I saw the photos. I saw you in that suit, looking so happy and nervous. And Charles… God, he looked at you like you were the sun. And I couldn’t be there. I couldn’t stand beside you. Couldn’t hug you after. Couldn't even let you know I was proud of you.”
He hesitated before continuing, voice tighter now. “And Oscar… you have a son. A grandchild, Max. My grandchild. And I haven’t even met him. I haven’t heard his laugh. I’ve never held him in my arms, while Lewis is out there playing granddad to my grandson.”
That did something to Max—his throat clenched, and for a second, his fingers twitched like he might reach for something—maybe Fernando, maybe nothing.
Fernando kept going, his tone thick with guilt. “Do you know how hard it was for me? How much it broke me to watch from a distance as you built your life? I missed everything. I missed you becoming a father. I missed watching you be happy.”
He paused, voice trembling. “And then I found out you were working the case. That you were getting closer. And I panicked. Max, I was terrified—for you. Because the people I was hiding from… if they realized you were involved—” Fernando shook his head, eyes shining. “I couldn’t lose you."
Fernando leaned forward, elbows on his knees, voice low but insistent. “You know, I actually wanted you out sooner. When you got shot—when I heard what happened—I begged Lewis to pull you out of there.”
Max stiffened, his eyes narrowing. “Then why didn’t he?”
“He said he couldn’t,” Fernando answered. “Said he needed you for the Austin serial killer case.”
Max's eyes searched Fernando’s face, and then—quietly, but with a sharp edge—he said, “So it was them… May or Matt. They were responsible for the shooting. Not Dominic.”
Fernando nodded slowly. “Yeah. It was them. After you reveled to the press about there being a copycat killer, after Anna Jones case, they tried to kill you. They contacted Lewis immediately, they wanted you sacked, but Lewis refused and took you off the case officially while you worked the case off the record.”
Max let out a bitter breath, almost a laugh. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”
Fernando’s voice cracked a little. “We were lucky they weren’t good at their job. God, Max, I was terrified. All I wanted was for that case to end so we could take you out—get you out—before they tried again. Or… we were hoping you'd step away on your own. When you finally took paternity leave, I thought maybe—maybe that was it.”
Max gave a dry nod, his voice heavy. “I didn’t even want to work the Austin killer case. Not at first. I wanted to solve your case.”
Fernando exhaled slowly, nodding too. “I know. Lewis tried to get you off my case by piling others on you. He thought he could distract you. But you… you just kept solving them. Fast. Too fast. He used to complain to me about how frustrating you were to work with.”
That made the corner of Max’s mouth twitch. “That sounds like me.”
Fernando smiled faintly, then added, “But he liked you, Max. He really did. He admired you. Always said you were one of the best. That you had this instinct, this focus. You earned his respect.”
Max didn’t respond right away, but something in his expression shifted—like he wasn’t sure how to take the compliment.
Fernando added, gently, “I think the same, by the way. I was proud of the man you became. I just… I wish I could’ve told you sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t.”
“You shouldn’t be proud of me. I wasn’t doing well. I was crashing, actually. I pushed everyone away. I was moody, impossible to be around… obsessed with work. I was terrible to Charles.”
Fernando didn’t flinch. He just watched Max carefully, then spoke with quiet certainty. “I know, Max. I know you were grieving. That’s why you were like that. You were hurting. You lost someone you loved, and the world didn’t give you time to fall apart.”
Max clenched his jaw, swallowing hard. Max think about Charles. About how much pain he must be in.
He remembered how it felt when he thought he had lost Fernando—like the world had stopped, like every breath hurt. That empty, crushing feeling.
Now Charles was going through the same thing. And it was because of him.
“But the people who love you?” Fernando continued, “They understand. Charles—he knows you. He’s was there, wasn’t he? Still waiting. That’s because he sees past the bad days. He sees you.”
Fernando continue, his voice low. “I never told you this, but… I was the one responsible for the Austin case. Before you. Long before you.”
Max’s eyes flicked to him. He already knew Fernando had worked it—he’d seen the reports, the brief mentions of his name in the archive.
“I was terrible at it,” Fernando went on, eyes fixed on some memory far away. “At the time, I had just met your mother. I’d fallen in love with her… and I’d met Jos too.”
His mouth twisted, like the taste of that name still left bitterness behind.
“I hated him, Max. With everything I had. And then I got the Austin case. It was like... I couldn’t not see him in the killer. Every clue I touched, I bent it to fit Jos. I went after him so hard, I stopped following the evidence. I wanted him to be guilty so badly, I convinced myself he was.”
Fernando took a shaky breath, his voice rougher now. “I could’ve found the real killer closer. I could’ve stopped it sooner. Fewer people would’ve gotten hurt. Dominic could’ve had a normal childhood. But I chose to go after Jos.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “Wait… you were leading the case with Lewis, right? But how come Lewis got taken off and you stayed on?”
Fernando nodded, looking suddenly tired. “Lewis was brilliant, even back then. New, but sharp. He didn’t like my methods. He pushed back. Asked too many questions. He actually… proved Jos wasn’t the guy.”
Max’s jaw clenched.
“I was furious,” Fernando admitted. “I got him off the case. Reported him for insubordination, said he mishandled evidence. Transferred him. Lied. All because I was angry that he was doing what I couldn’t. Because I was the experienced one, and I was failing.”
He explained his voice full of shame.
“The case went cold after that. Because of me.”
Fernando looked at him, eyes glassy. “What I’m trying to say is—we all make mistakes. Mine destroyed lives. Yours... yours came from grief, from love. But thanks to you, Dominic was stopped. You did that. For everyone. For him.”
Max blinked, stunned. His mind spun. Fernando—his Fernando—had willingly derailed an investigation. Framed Lewis.
Max’s voice was low, steady. “I know what it’s like to want someone to blame. To need something to make sense when it doesn’t. I’ve done things I’m not proud of either. Let grief turn me into someone I didn’t recognize. I hurt people. Pushed Charles away. Chose work over healing. I thought… if I just solved everything, the pain would go away.”
He looked down, then back at Fernando. “So no—I’m not here to judge you. I understand.”
Fernando blinked, visibly moved.
“That doesn’t mean I think you did the right thing,” Max added firmly. “You didn’t. You let your anger cloud your judgment, and people paid the price. But I also don’t think you were entirely wrong about Jos.”
Fernando frowned, brows drawing together.
“I spoke to him,” Max continued. “After Dominic died. He knew. He knew that Roger was the serial killer. He said he always knew.” His voice dipped, bitterness curling at the edges. “And he told me something else—said he offered to kill mom, years ago. Jos said no.”
Fernando looked horrified.
“So yeah,” Max said darkly. “You weren’t far off. Maybe he didn’t do the things Roger did, but he’s not innocent. And I still believe he had something to do with the Williams May case. I don’t know how, but he kept on warning me, he knew I was after May, investigating your murder, he’s got... — a lot of information that he shouldn’t have—”
Before Max could finish, Fernando’s phone started ringing. He glanced at the screen. “It’s Lewis,” he muttered, already pressing the phone to his ear.
Max didn’t try to hide that he was listening. He could hear Lewis’s voice, sharp and tight with something Max couldn’t place—panic, maybe, or fury.
Fernando went still. “How long ago?”
A pause.
“Shit.”
Another pause.
“Yes—we’re coming.”
Max’s chest tightened, a cold ripple spreading down his spine.
Then Lewis's voice rose loud enough that even Max could hear it through the speaker: "Of course we’re coming. He has a right to know, Fernando!"
Fernando didn’t argue. He just ended the call, his hand shaking slightly as he turned to Max. “We’re leaving. Now.”
“What happened?”
Fernando didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he grabbed the remote and turned on the TV, flipping to the news.
Max’s eyes locked onto the screen—and the world tilted beneath him.
There, in full color, was a photo of Oscar.
Older. His baby fat filled out his cheeks, and his tiny teeth peeked through a wide, innocent grin. He was laughing, held in Lando’s arms.
Then the headline burned across the bottom of the screen in bold red letters:
“BREAKING: Oscar Leclerc-Verstappen kidnapped mall parking lot.”
Max’s ears started ringing. The sound around him became muffled. The only thing he could hear was the frantic thud of his own heartbeat.
He barely registered the news reporter’s voice:
“According to police reports, Oscar was last seen with his father Charles Leclerc earlier this afternoon. Surveillance footage confirms that the child was taken from the backseat of Charles’s car in the underground parking lot of free Shopping Center. Authorities have issued an Amber Alert and are pursuing multiple leads—”
Notes:
I’m really sorry. I know this chapter—and maybe the whole fic—has been a bit messy. Life’s been a lot lately, and it’s showing in my writing. But thank you for sticking around. If you enjoyed the chapter, please leave a kudos or share your thoughts in the comments
Chapter 14
Notes:
So… I kinda hate this chapter. But honestly? I knew it was going to be difficult. It’s a turning point and emotionally heavy, and writing it felt like dragging my soul through mud. especially because I am going through similar but not quiet the same experience. that said—thank you for sticking with me.
Also, some real-life lore because why not suffer together: I’ve had a hell of a month. it's my birthday month😭😭, First, something happened at work that was almost jail-worthy. Not because I’m a criminal—but because I’m clumsy and managed to lose something important. Let’s just say it was a “career-defining oopsie daisy.”. Then I lost my phone. And someone stole it. Yep. Just took it and ran with all the chaos it contained. And let me tell you: that phone had a lot of gay content. Like… Lestappen fanart, fics, manga. And the worst part? I can’t even report it to the police. because of my first oopsie daisy.
The problem? I live in a place where same-sex relationships are taboo—and dangerous. Like life-threatening dangerous. Like public execution levels of danger. And I’m a girl. A girl whose family is part of a very religious, very scary circle I didn’t choose to join. So yeah. That was already enough stress for one lifetime, I’m basically hanging on by a four-letter password and sheer spite.
In conclusion: the AO3 Curse™ persists. But honestly? Writing helps. It really helps. And your support—all the comments you guys left on the last chapter—means the world to me. I read every single one when I felt like crumbling. So thank you. You kept me going.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“What are they doing?” Charles’s voice cracked as he looked around the station, his fingers twitching restlessly at his sides. “Why are they just standing there? Why aren't they out there looking for him?”
He took a step forward, eyes scanning the crowd of uniforms and detectives moving too slowly for his liking, his heart hammering in his chest like a frantic drum. “We should be searching—we should be out there—I should be out there!”
“Charles,” Nico said, catching his arm as he tried to push through. “You need to stop. They're doing their job. Let them help. You need to rest Charles, you’re injured.”
“Well they are not helping!” Charles snapped. “I need my son.” His words came fast now. “He’s out there, he’s alone, he’s—he’s gone, Dad.” He touched the bandage on his head. “This? This is nothing. I don’t care if I’m hurt— I deserve to be hurt, I need to go.”
Nico gripped him tighter. “You were attacked. You need to rest. You need to breathe, Charles.”
“Rest?” Charles’s voice rose in pitch, panic laced in every syllable. “Dad, they took him. Oscar. They took my baby. It’s been four hours. Do you understand that? Four hours since I held him—since I knew he was safe. What if he’s crying? What if he’s cold? What if he’s scared and I’m not there—I’m not there.”
He sucked in a breath but it caught halfway. His chest tightened. It was too tight. The air wasn’t enough.
His legs trembled. He stumbled, gripping a nearby table to steady himself. “Dad—I can’t—breathe.”
Nico moved closer, alarmed. “Charles—look at me. In through your nose, out through your mouth—”
“No—no, no—” Charles gasped, backing away, his hands trembling violently now. His chest rose and fell too fast. The floor seemed to tilt beneath his feet, the lights too bright, and the voices too loud. Everything was too much.
“I just wanted to do the groceries,” he whispered, voice hollow with disbelief. “I was putting it in the trunk. I shouldn’t have. I should’ve stayed home. I should’ve—I should’ve never turned my back.”
The world spun. His vision blurred, and the pressure in his head spiked—throbbing, searing. It felt like it was going to split open. His stomach twisted violently as he slid to ground.
“I think I’m—gonna be sick,” he choked, stumbling into Nico’s arms as he doubled over. A sob tore through him.
Lando reached out. “Charles—hey, hey, breathe. Come on. Look at me.” His hand cupped Charles’s jaw gently, forcing him to focus. “It’s going to be alright. I promise you, we’ll find him. But you need to stay with me right now. Just keep breathing—one, two—”
Charles tried. He really did. But nothing was working. His lungs were on fire, his heart was slamming against his ribs like it wanted to break free. He couldn’t see. His ears were ringing. Everything felt distant, muted—like he was underwater.
“Dad…” he whispered again, weaker this time. “He’s allergic to peanuts. What if they feed him the wrong thing? What if he’s crying? What if—” his voice cracked again, “what if they hurt him?”
Nico was holding him now, arms wrapped tightly around his son, but Charles barely noticed. His hands went limp at his sides.
“I need to find him,” Charles said one last time, eyes glazed over. “I need—”
Then everything tilted. The floor rushed up to meet him.
“Charles!” Nico shouted, catching him as he collapsed, dead weight in his arms.
Lando lunged forward, helping to lower him gently to the ground.
“He passed out,” Nico said, voice shaking. “Call someone—now.”
Charles lay there, motionless, chest barely rising, his face pale, lips parted slightly like he was still begging for air even in unconsciousness.
---
A dull ache throbbed behind Charles’s eyes as he blinked against the harsh hospital light.
He was lying in a bed. The sheets were stiff, his body heavy, and his head felt like it had been split open and poorly stitched back together.
He tried to move but even the smallest shift sent a wave of nausea rolling through him.
“Charles?”
His dad’s voice came from beside him—soft, relieved, and tired all at once.
Charles turned his head slowly, groggily. Nico was sitting by the bed, eyes red. Next to him stood Lando, arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched. And beside Nico, seated with her hands folded tightly in her lap, was Sophie.
Charles opened his mouth, but his throat was dry. He swallowed, tried again.
“Oscar?”
The room stilled.
Sophie’s eyes flicked up to meet his. She didn’t say a word.
But the look she gave him was enough.
Charles’s chest tightened. It felt like the air had been sucked out of the room. He wanted to scream, to tear the IV line from his arm, to run out and find his son himself. But all he could do was stare.
His body refused to obey. The adrenaline was gone, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that wouldn’t let go.
“I need to—” he whispered, trying to sit up, but his limbs were lead. “I have to find him... I can’t stay here...”
“Shh,” Nico said, brushing a hand through his hair gently. “You need to rest. Please, Charles. You fainted. Your body shut down from the panic and the head injury. You’re not well.”
Charles shook his head weakly. “I don’t care... He’s still out there...”
“I know,” Lando said quietly from across the bed. “And we’re going to find him. But you need strength, Charles. He needs you to be strong.”
But Charles barely heard him. The buzzing in his ears returned, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the ache, against the unrelenting fear.
Oscar was gone.
The last thing he saw before he drifted off again was Sophie silently crying.
And then the nightmares came.
He was running through empty hospital halls, screaming Oscar’s name. Doors opened into darkness. Cribs overturned. Blood-stained blankets. Oscar’s cries echoing off walls that didn’t end.
Charles screamed himself hoarse in the dream.
And when he woke up again, heart racing, soaked in sweat, the pain was still there.
Because the nightmare hadn’t ended.
He was still living in it.
---
The next time Charles opened his eyes, the world felt… wrong.
His head was still aching, but less than before, dulled to a slow throb. The room was quiet, dimly lit by soft morning light peeking through the curtains. Familiar. Warm. Too warm. He shifted slightly and realized he was lying in his own bed in their loft.
How did he get here?
Oscar.
The name slammed into him like a truck. His breath hitched. He tried to sit up, limbs sluggish and heavy, panic starting to build again. He had to feed Oscar. He had to check on him. He—
He stilled.
His head wasn’t resting on a pillow.
It was someone.
Warm skin. Steady breathing.
He turned slowly and whispered, “Lando?”
Maybe Lando brought him home. Maybe he had answers. Maybe—
But when he raised his head, it wasn’t Lando beside him.
The moment he sees the skin beneath him—pale, familiar, freckled just faintly across the collarbone—his breath catches in his throat.
No.
The slope of a throat. The shadow of a jawline, unshaven and rough. He always shaved. Always. He hated the itch.
Still, he can recognize this jaw.
He keeps going. Up to the lips—soft, thick, parted slightly with sleep. Then the nose. The lashes. The eyes.
His heart slams against his ribs.
Max.
But—not. Not really. His hair is longer now, curling slightly past his ears, softer somehow. This is not the Max he knows. This is a Max he’s never seen before. A Max that doesn’t exist. Can’t exist.
Because Max is dead.
It was Max.
Charles froze, the air catching in his lungs so suddenly he thought he might choke. He blinked hard, heart pounding in his chest.
No.
No. This wasn’t real.
Max was dead.
He’d seen the burned body. He'd grieved. He’d begged the universe to bring him back.
And now Max was here, lying next to him, looking pale and exhausted, but real.
Too real.
“Max?” he breathed, terrified of saying the name aloud.
Max stirred, eyes opening instantly like he’d been waiting for Charles to wake up. His gaze met Charles’s—those unmistakable blue eyes—and there was fear in them. Fear and sorrow.
Charles's stomach flipped.
Was this a dream?
Was this Max’s ghost, came to punish him for being careless with their son?
“I…” Charles looked closer, breath trembling. “You’re not real. You can’t be real.”
The Max in front of him didn’t speak. He just looked at him with aching eyes, Sad, Soft, and Scared.
It broke something in Charles.
Because even if this was a dream—his brain creating false comfort—he couldn’t bear to see that look on Max’s face.
He pressed the heel of his hand into his temple. “I’ve gone mad,” he whispered. “I’ve finally lost it.”
Oscar was gone. And now his mind was pulling Max from memory, turning pain into hallucination.
And still, hallucination Max was watching him—silent, breathing, very much alive.
Too alive.
Charles couldn’t decide if that made it better or worse.
He’d begged the universe to bring him back.
His voice shakes as he speaks. “He didn’t sleep in his crib last night,” he whispers. “Oscar didn’t sleep in his crib last night.”
He says it again, quieter this time, like he’s trying to make sense of it.
“He always kicks off the blanket. Did you know that? Every night. He gets too warm, and I always put it back on. And now—now he didn’t sleep in his crib. I wouldn’t know if he did. He isn’t even home.”
His breathing stutters, hands clenched in the sheets. “I fucked up, Max. I left him. Just for a second. Just to put the groceries in the back of the car.” His voice cracks again. I can’t even remember where I put them. Did I put them? I don’t remember. I just remember waking up and Oscar wasn’t there. The car seat was empty. Too still. They took him.”
He finally looks up at Max again, eyes wide and soaked with tears. “Oscar is gone, Max. Like you. He’s gone. But this time it’s my fault.”
His voice breaks completely, a whisper of devastation. “And he’s just a baby. He doesn’t know how to ask for help. What if he’s crying and no one comes? What if they hurt him? What if he’s cold? What if—”
Charles covers his mouth with a shaking hand, like he’s trying to trap the thoughts inside, but they keep slipping through anyway.
“What if he thinks I abandoned him? What if he’s in pain and I’m not there? I promised him I’d always be there, Max. I looked after him, I promise I did. And now he’s out there and I’m here and he’s all alone and it’s because of me. I should’ve fought harder. I should’ve never left. He’s paying for my mistake—”
He breaks off with a sob so full of pain it doesn’t sound human. “I fucked up. I don’t deserve to be his father. I don’t deserve to be alive.”
And then, quietly, desperately: “Please… please don’t take him away from me.”
Max, silent this whole time, finally moves. He reaches out, his hand trembling as it touches Charles’s shoulder—warm and steady, grounding.
A thumb brushes his skin in a gesture that’s too gentle to be real. Charles flinches at first, gasps, because dream hands aren’t supposed to feel this warm, he is not supposed to feel them at all, He turns slowly, eyes wide and scared, locking onto Max’s.
Max.
Max is touching him.
“You’re not real,” Charles breathes out, but his voice betrays him—too small, too desperate.
Max’s eyes soften. His voice is low, steady, the voice Charles has heard in his dreams, in his memories, in his grief. “I am real, I am back, and it’s not your fault, Charles. It wasn’t you. I promise—it wasn’t you. And we’re going to find him. We’ll bring Oscar back.”
The world tilts.
“You’re not real,” Charles repeats, more forcefully this time, yanking his wrist free. “You’re not—this isn’t real. You can’t be here. You died.”
Max flinches, and Charles swallows the sob clawing up his throat.
“You don’t smell like him,” he whispers, eyes wide. “You shouldn’t feel warm. You shouldn’t be looking at me.”
He moves away, clutching his arms around himself like he’s holding together the pieces of his sanity. “I need to wake up. I need to leave. I have to find Oscar.”
“Charles, love, please calm down I can explain” Max tries again, stepping forward.
“No!” Charles’s voice breaks. “This isn’t real. This is my brain. You’re a dream or a ghost or something cruel. And I—I can’t stay. I can’t stay here with you, not even in a dream. I have to find our son. I lost him, and I don’t get to have comfort now. I don’t deserve it!”
He turns and runs, feet slapping against the floor, heart punching at his ribs. He makes it to the living room, eyes locked on the front door.
He grabs at the lock. Fumbles with it. It won’t budge.
Panic swells. “Please, no,” he whispers, voice breaking. “Please—please just let me out.”
Then—
Click.
The lights flicker back on.
“No—no, no, no—he’s here. He’s here.” Charles claws at the door trying to open it.
And then arms wrap around him from behind. He thrashes, instinct taking over.
“Charles!” a voice commands—sharp, familiar, real. “It’s me. It’s okay.”
His body stills.
He turns slowly.
“dad?” he croaks.
Nico holds him by the shoulders, his own eyes wide with worry.
And suddenly, the room is full.
Sophie stands near Oscar’s room. Lando lingers by the sofa, Daniel is motionless by the hallway, looking like he’s aged years in hours. Lewis next to the armchair, watching Charles with concern.
And then—
At the bedroom door.
Max.
Still.
Standing there, hands trembling at his sides.
And next to him—
Fernando.
Charles stares.
The air thickens. His ears ring.
This isn’t real.
It can’t be.
Fernando’s gone.
Max was gone.
And now they’re both here.
His voice barely makes it past his lips. “I’ve lost my mind.”
No one answers.
Because maybe he has.
Because this can’t be real.
Because if it is…
Then he doesn’t know what’s true anymore.
Charles’s gaze is fixed—glued—to Max like his eyes might betray him if he looks away.
Without turning his head, he speaks to Nico. “Dad…” His breath shudders. “I think… my injury is worse than we thought.”
His hand lifts slowly, pointing toward Max like he’s afraid touching the air might shatter the illusion. “It’s serious. I’m seeing things. I’m seeing him.”
His voice breaks around the word.
“I’m seeing Max.”
Nico doesn’t move. No surprise crosses his face. No denial. Just a steady sadness that mirrors Charles’s own. “Charles… you’re not hallucinating.”
His world rocks again, harder this time.
“What are you saying?” Charles breathes, almost afraid to hear the answer. “dad, what are you saying?”
“You’re not wrong,” Nico repeats, softer this time. “Max… he didn’t die.”
Charles stumbles back a step. “No,” he says automatically, shaking his head, chest tightening. “No, that’s not possible.”
He turns his head sharply, eyes locking on Lando. “You can see him?” he demands.
Lando nods slowly, a flicker of guilt flashing in his eyes. “Yeah. We all can.”
Charles's throat closes. The air is too thick. “What do you mean he’s alive?” he whispers, voice cracking apart.
Lewis steps forward, voice low, grave. “There was danger, Charles. The kind that doesn’t go away by putting locks on doors or hiring protection. We thought faking his death was the only way to keep him safe. To keep you safe.”
“No. No.” Charles stumbles back further, dizzy. “You’re lying. This isn’t real. It’s not just Max—Fernando is here too. I saw him.”
“I know,” Nico says gently. “He’s alive too.”
“No—no!” Charles's voice rises, wild now. “This is wrong. You’re lying to me! You’re all lying—this is another dream, another nightmare, Max would never do this to me, to us—he wouldn’t—”
Then Max speaks, his voice low and trembling. “Charles.”
Just one word.
Charles stops breathing.
“I never died. I couldn’t tell you. I wanted to—God, I wanted to—but I couldn’t. And then I saw the news… about Oscar. I couldn’t stay away anymore. I had to come back. I had to find him.”
Charles doesn’t hear the rest.
He’s already moving.
His body moves like it’s not his—slow, unsure, trembling. Every step is agony. His chest aches. His head spins. But he doesn’t stop until he’s standing directly in front of Max.
Charles stops mid-step. The moment his eyes meet Max’s, everything inside him twists. His breath catches, and for a second, the world feels unreal—too quiet, too sharp.
He just stares.
Max.
Alive.
Standing there like he was never gone, like the ache in Charles’s chest for all these months wasn’t real.
But it was.
This—this—is what he used to pray for in the silence of the nights, gripping Oscar’s tiny hand, begging whatever god was left to just give him back.
And now he’s here.
Charles doesn’t move. He doesn’t breathe. His chest is tight with something between joy and grief, between disbelief and dread. He looks at Max—not the idea of him, not the memory—but him. Hair longer now, brushing past his ears, his face thinner, older somehow, eyes impossibly blue.
But it hurts.
Why does it hurt?
If someone had told him yesterday that Max was alive, he would’ve cried. Screamed. Fell to his knees in relief.
But now? Now it feels like being split open from the inside.
“I… I think I need to sit down,” Charles whispers.
Max steps forward instinctively, his hand brushing against Charles’s forearm to steady him—gentle, familiar.
But Charles flinches like he’s been burned.
Max pulls away fast, as if the contact hurt him too. “Sorry,” he murmurs. His voice is rough and quiet.
“How about we talk? Just us. In our room.”
Charles shakes his head. “No.”
He looks up at Max with eyes full of pain, and for the first time, it’s not grief that breaks his voice—it’s something darker.
“Oscar. Bring me Oscar.”
Max’s face crumples slightly. “Charles… we’re doing everything we can, I swear to you—”
“I don’t want your everything,” Charles snaps, his voice trembling. “I want my son. Today. Not updates. Not promises. I want him.”
His voice breaks at the end, and he lowers it to a whisper. “You’re the best detective in this city. You found strangers. You found bodies. You always did. Now bring my son back, Verstappen.”
The room is unbearably quiet. No one breathes.
Charles looks around, eyes darting like he’s searching for air, for space. He feels crowded, trapped, drowning in too many people and not enough answers.
He turns to his father. “I want to go to the roof. Just for a few minutes. I… I think I need you to come with me.”
Nico takes a step forward immediately, but before he can say anything, Lando cuts in.
“Can I come instead?” he asks gently. “Just me and you, if that’s okay.”
Charles hesitates. Every fiber of him wants his father, needs that steady presence.
But Lando looks at him like he’s begging for a moment out himself.
So Charles nods. “Okay.”
It’s barely a sound, but it’s all he has.
He casts one last look at Max, who hasn’t moved, who looks like he’s holding onto the doorframe to stay upright.
Charles turns without another word and walks toward the door, Lando quietly following behind.
He doesn’t look back.
Because if he does, he knows he’ll shatter.
And for now, he needs to stay in one piece.
---
Charles sits on the old wooden bench, his hands rest limply in his lap, knuckles pale, fingers twitching now and then—like his body’s trying to find a reason to move when his mind is too far gone.
He doesn’t look at Lando.
He can’t.
The ache in his chest is too loud. His thoughts too heavy.
Maybe he should jump.
He doesn’t want to die. Not really. But maybe—maybe if he did, the pain would stop. The ringing silence in his ears would fade. The weight in his chest would lift. Maybe if he jumped, he'd stop feeling like a walking wound.
But he won’t. He can’t.
He’s not brave enough for that.
Instead, his voice cracks out of him, barely a breath. “Do you think they’ll find him today?”
Lando doesn’t answer at first. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, cautious. “We’re close. We know who took him. That’s more than we had before.”
Charles slowly lifts his head, eyes glassy. “You… know?”
Lando shifts. “Yeah. I thought someone told you. Max didn’t?”
Charles turns his head, stares at him. Shakes it. His pulse picks up. “No one told me anything.”
“Oh.” Lando swallows. “Shit. Sorry. I thought—”
“Who?” Charles cuts him off, his voice hoarse. “Who took him?”
Lando hesitates. “Max came to the station yesterday,” he begins, eyes flicking to Charles’s pale face. “We went over the surveillance again. He saw something. Said the way the guy walked… how he held himself… it reminded him of someone.”
Charles already knows. Somewhere deep inside, he knows.
“He said it looked like his father,” Lando finishes quietly.
Charles goes very still.
He doesn't breathe.
He doesn't blink.
Jos.
The name alone makes his stomach turn. “No,” he whispers. “No, please. No.”
“I’m sorry, Charles. We checked. He left home three days ago. Said it was for work. But there’s no business trip. No flight records. And…”
Lando trails off like the next part hurts to say.
“We found footage of him meeting Matt.”
Charles clenches his jaw so tightly he thinks it might break.
His eyes blur.
“He took him,” Charles chokes out. “He took my baby.”
Lando doesn’t speak.
Charles wants to scream. Wants to throw the bench off the roof. Wants to tear his skin off just to find a way to escape the agony pulsing inside him. He wants to break something, everything, until the world reflects the way his heart feels—shattered and wrong.
Instead, he just sits there, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“You were unconscious, Charles,” Lando says gently. “And then… you were so out of it, and Max—I don’t know why he didn’t tell you.”
He turns his face up to the grey sky, blinking hard.
And then, for the first time, he whispers what he hasn't allowed himself to say.
“I thought he was dead. I thought I lost Max. And now I’m told he’s alive, but Oscar… my baby…”
His voice breaks. His throat closes up. He can’t say it.
He swallows it down, presses his palms against his knees to stop his hands from shaking.
Lando sits beside Charles in silence, “This is good news,” Lando says eventually, his voice gentle. “We’re closer now. One step away from finding Oscar.”
Charles doesn’t move. His eyes stay fixed on the skyline, hollow and distant. “Maybe,” he says, barely above a whisper. “But knowing who took him doesn’t ease the terror. It makes it worse.”
Lando looks at him carefully. “Because it’s Jos.”
“Because it’s Jos,” Charles echoes, like the name tastes like ash in his mouth. “Because he is sick in the head. Because he abused Max for years, his own son. And now he has my baby. My son.”
“I don’t think he’ll hurt Oscar,” Lando says, and Charles turns to him with disbelief.
“You don’t think?” His voice shakes. “You hope. That’s not the same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” Lando agrees. “But it’s more than that. Do you remember New Year’s Eve? When Jos came to Nico’s house, wasted and barely able to stand?”
Charles nods slowly. “I remember.”
“I arrested him and took him to the station. He was rambling. He was grieving, Charles. Grieving Max,” Lando says softly. “He kept saying he had a grandson now. That maybe, somehow, he could do better this time. That he had a piece of Max left in the world. A second chance.”
Charles swallows hard, throat tight. “You think he’s trying to fix what he ruined with Max.”
“I think that’s what he believes,” Lando says. “And that belief… it might be the one thing keeping Oscar safe. Not because Jos is good. But because he’s desperate to rewrite his failures.”
Charles shuts his eyes, “He doesn’t get to use my son for redemption.”
“No, he doesn’t,” Lando agrees. “But it means Oscar is still out there. Alive. Maybe even cared for, in his own warped way.”
Charles lets out a shuddering breath. “So now what?”
“Now there’s an Amber Alert. And an APB across the entire state. Jos’s face is everywhere.”
Charles nods, but his shoulders still tremble. “I want him back today, Lando.”
“I know.”
“Not tomorrow. Not after.” His voice cracks. “Today.”
“Okay,” Lando says softly, “you’re going to get Oscar back. I believe that. But… can you try to go easy on Max? He’s not okay, Charles. He looks like hell.”
Charles turns to glare at him, eyes narrowing. Just hearing Max’s name stirs something dark in his chest. “Of course,” he says, voice biting. “Now that he’s back, you go right back to defending him.” Lando loved Max. Quietly. Painfully. And when Max died, Charles was the closest thing left — someone who felt the same loss, someone who understood. Grief makes people reach for something warm, something that doesn’t fall apart when you touch it.
But Charles has been falling apart for months.
Lando didn’t love him. He just mourned with him. And somewhere in that mourning, he confused comfort with something more.
Now Max is back. And so is the version of Lando who looks at Charles like he’s the enemy.
But Charles isn’t playing this game.
Lando opens his mouth, but Charles doesn’t let him speak.
“No, I get it. He’s back now, so you’re back to being his number one fan.”
“Wait—no, that’s not what I’m saying—”
Isn’t it?” Charles cuts him off sharply. “You think I’m the monster, don’t you? That poor Max needed protection from me. That I ruined his life. That I’m the reason he disappeared. That he faked his own death because living with me—loving me—was unbearable.”
Lando tries to interject, but Charles keeps going, voice rising with each word. “You were right. He was so miserable, he chose death over me. Over our son.”
Charles’s voice breaks, eyes shining with unshed tears. Eyes wild and rimmed red. “You don’t get to do this, Lando. You don’t get to stand here and act like I’m the problem because I’m angry. I am angry. I’m furious. Do you know what it felt like, Lando? To accept he was dead? To bury him in my heart and keep waking up alone? I lost my mom—but this, this was worse. He was my husband. And now he’s back and everyone’s siding with him, like I’m supposed to just understand.”
He takes a shaky breath, fingers twitching at his sides. “I didn’t eat. I didn’t sleep. I cried in front of people. You know how much I hate that? I collapsed in your arms. I almost lost my job. I had to tell Oscar his papa wasn’t coming home. I had to live like that.”
Charles laughs, but it’s not funny. It's twisted and broken. “I didn’t just lose my husband, Lando. I lost my whole life. I lost my son’s father. I had to look at Oscar and lie. Every single day, I lied to him and said it was going to be okay, when I didn’t even believe it myself. I held him at night and cried so hard I couldn't breathe.”
He swallows, hard, like the next words are ripping out of him. “And now you’re telling me he was never really gone. That he chose to stay away. That he let me drown while he disappeared into some case or whatever the hell else mattered more than us
He lets out a bitter laugh. “I spent nights staring at his pillow like it might bring him back. I begged God for one more minute. One more second. I broke, Lando. He broke me.”
Charles doesn’t understand why is Lando hovering like he’s afraid Charles might fall apart right here, on the roof.
And maybe he will.
Because Oscar is gone.
And Max was gone.
And now Max is back but Oscar still isn’t.
“I don’t know what’s worse,” Charles whispers, voice trembling. “Losing him... or realizing he was never really gone. That he was just hiding. From me. From us.”
“Charles you have to understand,” Lando says quietly. “I’m so—”
“Charles.”
The voice is so soft, so broken, it cuts right through the noise.
Charles turns. Max is standing there. His face is streaked with tears.
“I didn’t choose death,” Max whispers. “God, Charles, believe me—I chose you. I know you won’t believe me but this time I choose us. But they didn’t give me a choice. I wasn’t allowed to come back.”
Charles can’t hear this. He won’t. He shakes his head, backing away. “No. Not now. I had everything under control. I just need to find Oscar. That’s all that matters.”
Max steps forward, hesitating. “Please, just let me explain—”
“I told you I don’t want to talk about it,” Charles snaps, swallowing the scream clawing its way out. “I told you I need you to find MY son.”
Max nods quickly, wiping his face. “Yeah. Yeah, I—I came up here to tell you. There’s been a sighting. Jos was seen—with a baby.”
Charles goes completely still. His heart slams into his ribs.
---
Charles squints at the grainy footage, willing it to sharpen. He just wants to see Oscar’s face—just a glimpse. But the image stays stubbornly blurry. All he can make out is Jos unloading groceries: formula, milk, diapers.
He exhales, a flicker of relief tightening his chest. At least Jos is feeding him. Taking care of him. For now.
Then he sees Oscar fussing in the baby carrier. Jos shakes it, not violently, but not gently either. Charles flinches and looks away.
Nico is beside him, one hand rubbing slow circles into his shoulder. “We’re going to get him back,” he says softly.
Charles nods, but the fear in his gut is growing roots. He turns to Max. “What’s the plan?”
Max doesn’t hesitate. “We’ve had multiple sightings. I’m working on mapping them to find a pattern—maybe there’s a geographic connection.”
It sounds thin. Like chasing smoke. But it’s something, and Charles clings to it. “Do you want help?”
Max glances at him, as if surprised. “Yeah. Actually, yes. It might help distract you.”
“Good,” Charles says quickly. “I need something to do.”
“Lewis and Fernando are combing through property records—anything linked to Jos, Matt, even May,” Max adds. “You can help me with the map. Here”
Charles sits down beside him. Max explains the system—how to log sightings, how to cross-reference dates—and Charles listens, tries to focus, to follow. But his fingers are clumsy, his eyes unfocused. He keeps making mistakes.
Max doesn’t say anything. He just quietly fixes them, moving pins, adjusting entries. No judgment. No comments.
Time blurs. Four hours pass. No one’s eaten. When George and Sebastian arrive with pizza, they act like Max and Fernando’s return from the dead is old news—Nico must’ve told them. They hand out plates and insist everyone eat.
Charles manages a few bites, chewing without tasting. Max doesn’t touch his slice. He excuses himself, quiet and unreadable, and disappears into their bedroom.
The door clicks shut.
Charles sat with everyone, listening more than speaking. Their voices blurred—strategies, sightings, theories—but all he could do was wait. Wait for Max to join them. But he didn’t.
Charles told himself he didn’t care. He didn’t need Max to sit beside him. But when the wind outside picked up, stirring the dust beyond the windows, he stood up, using it as an excuse.
“I’m just going to check the windows,” he murmured, no one really listening.
He stepped into their bedroom and quietly closed the door behind him. Max was there, sitting on the edge of the bed like he didn’t belong to it anymore, laptop on his knees.
“What are you doing?” Charles asked, voice soft.
“Cross-referencing the sightings with old security footage,” Max replied, not looking up.
Charles nodded, unsure what to say. He sat beside him, leaving enough space between them to feel the absence. The room felt familiar and foreign all at once. It was their room, still—but Max being here, alive, with him—it was hard to comprehend. He had mourned this man. He had cried for him. And now? Now he wasn’t happy. He should be. But he wasn’t.
“We’ll find him,” Max said quietly.
Charles hummed in response, eyes distant. “He has all his teeth now.”
“Yeah,” Max said. “Lewis told me.”
That hurt more than it should have. If Max knew that—what else did he know? Had he heard about Charles’s breakdowns? The suicide attempt? And still, he stayed hidden?
Charles's fingers drifted to the scar on his wrist, tracing it absentmindedly. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile peace, but something inside him wanted to talk about Oscar. About all the tiny, silly, beautiful things Max had missed. But a voice whispered bitterly in his head—He doesn’t care. If he did, he wouldn't have faked his death.
“I’m sorry,” Max said suddenly. “I’m really sorry. I put us in this situation.”
Charles didn’t respond. Because it was the truth. Max’s disregard for his own life, for their family’s safety—it had always been there. Charles didn’t used to mind. He had accepted it as part of loving Max. But now that Oscar was in the middle of it? Now that Oscar had been taken?
Now, Charles minded. Strongly.
“I’m also sorry for all the pain I put you through,” Max continued, voice thick. “I shouldn't have gone that deep. I should have stopped. And I did, Charles—I swear. A few weeks before the accident, I stopped. I chose you. I chose Oscar. I was ready to stay home, to be a father, to leave it all behind.”
His voice cracked. “But it was too late. Everything happened so fast. And then you had to live through all of it—because of me. I can’t even ask you to forgive me. I’m ashamed of myself.”
Charles stared at the wall. “Did you hear what I said on the rooftop?”
Max nodded. “Yeah. I did. And I understand. I felt the same way when I found out Fernando was alive.”
Charles looked at him then. “And you still went and did the same thing.”
Max opened his mouth, but before he could respond, the door burst open. Lando stood there, holding a plate of food.
“Charles. I brought you something to eat.”
Charles didn’t even glance at it. “I don’t want to eat.”
He turned to Max. “How about you? You haven’t eaten either.”
Max shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”
“You should eat something,” Charles said gently.
Max’s voice was flat. “I don’t want to eat. And food isn’t allowed in this room.”
Lando scoffed. “Oh, so that’s where you got this habit from? Well—Max, I get it. But you, Charles?” His voice dripped with disappointment. “Really?”
Charles turned back to Max. His expression had shifted—closed off, wounded.
“So you’re both not going to eat?” Lando asked from the doorway, holding the plate like a peace offering. “It’s really good, you know.”
Max glanced up briefly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “No, Lando. But thanks.”
He turned back to his laptop without another word.
“I’m not hungry either,” Charles added quietly, not looking at Lando.
Lando hesitated for a second, then stepped out, leaving the door wide open behind him. It shouldn’t have mattered. They weren’t doing anything wrong. But Charles still felt exposed—like someone had pulled back the curtain on a moment too private to share.
Max didn’t comment. His fingers moved steadily across the keyboard, blue light reflecting off his tired face.
“I’ll find him,” Max said softly, like a promise. “Don’t worry.”
Charles had come in here to hear exactly that. Not from Lewis, not from Fernando—from Max. Because no matter how broken things were between them, he still trusted Max. At least the part of him that was a detective.
“Do you really think we can?” Charles asked, unsure if hope would make this harder.
Max nodded. “Yes. Statistically, when you know the abductor—when there’s a personal connection—you have a better chance of getting the child back. It gives us something. A pattern. A motive. We can work with that.”
Charles felt relieved, because Max wasn’t offering false comfort.
He was offering facts and numbers.
---
Despite Max’s reassurances, they didn’t find Oscar.
Not on the first day.
Not the second.
And not even on the third.
By the third day, Charles is unraveling. His body aches with exhaustion, but his mind won’t rest—it whispers to him in dangerous tones, suggesting ways out. Every time he passes by a knife or something sharp, the thoughts return like a cruel lullaby. Plans of salvation, dressed as escape.
That first night, when the apartment had finally fallen into an uneasy quiet, Nico found Charles alone in the kitchen, hunched over a glass of water he hadn’t touched.
“You remember what you promised me?” Nico asked softly, like the words might shatter if he said them too loud.
Charles didn’t look at him. “This isn’t the time, dad.”
“I think it is.”
The words landed like a slap. Charles turned to face him, hurt flashing behind his tired eyes. “You think I might do it?”
Nico didn’t answer, but his silence was loud enough.
Charles shook his head, voice low and sharp. “It’s not the same. Don't confuse this with what happened before.”
“I’m not confusing anything,” Nico said gently. “I’m reminding you that you matter. That you promised.”
Charles looked away, jaw tight. He wanted to scream, to throw the glass against the wall, to make his father understand. But all he did was whisper, “I made that promise. And I meant it. And this... this is different.”
“How?”
“Because I will get Oscar back,” Charles said, voice trembling now. “He’s coming home. My son is coming back to me. So don’t talk to me like I’ve already given up. I haven’t.”
Nico stepped back, his expression softening. “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
People came and went—offering comfort, food, distractions. Nico stayed. Sophie and Fernando too.
That first night, Max had quietly asked Charles if he was comfortable sleeping in the same room. Charles told him he could take the bedroom—he didn’t mean it out of anger, just… detachment. Things were too raw between them, too fragile. But Max had shaken his head and said, “No need. You can share it with Nico—I’ll take the couch.”
And he did.
And he had. Every night since.
Lando and Lewis come by every day with groceries and food that no one touches. Lando’s been relentless in trying to get Charles to eat.
Charles started noticing other things too. Max looked different—thinner, pale, and his movements slower. Like he was running on fumes.... he’d lost weight too. He seemed hollowed out, tired in a way that sleep couldn’t fix.
The night before, Charles had spoken to the news. Begged Jos—on national television—to bring Oscar home. His voice had cracked, but he didn’t care. The reward had been raised again by the police. Still, nothing.
On the fourth day, something inside Charles snapped.
“I need to get out,” he said suddenly, standing up from the couch. “Just for a bit.”
“I’ll come with you,” Lando said instantly, rising to follow.
“No,” Charles said, pulling on his jacket. “I want to go alone.”
“Then take Nico,” Lando argued. “You shouldn’t be alone.”
“I’m not a child.”
“I didn’t say you were. I said you shouldn’t be alone.”
Charles sighed. “I won’t be long. I promise.”
Fernando glanced over confused. “Let him walk. He’s been cooped up in here for days.”
“Yeah, it will be good for me to take a walk, I need air too,” Nico added, playing along.
Charles turned to glare at his father. “Then I am not going, you can go by yourself. Because I don’t need a babysitter.”
Max, from the armchair, blinked at him with a puzzled frown.
“How about Max goes with you?” Lewis offered quickly, trying to help
Max straightened slightly. “I—uh…”
Charles hesitated. He didn’t want to explain the reason for Lando’s insistence, or the way everyone tiptoed around sharp objects when it came to him now. He didn’t want Max to know.
Charles tries to object, his voice low. “Max doesn’t want to come—”
But Max cuts in before he can finish. “I do,” he says, already rising to his feet. “I want to come. Just give me a minute—I’ll change and meet you outside.”
---
The moment they stepped outside, Charles turned to Max. “You don’t have to come. Really, you don’t need to.”
Max looked at him like he’d just said something absurd. “I want to come with you.”
Charles blinked, taken aback. He hadn’t expected that. He knew why his family insisted on joining him—it wasn’t out of solidarity, it was because they didn’t trust him. Not fully. Not when things got bad. They worried he’d break. Relapse. Do something irreversible. And while Charles didn’t blame them—he did have a history—it still stung. He knew his limits now. Knew how to ask for help if he couldn’t cope.
And sure, this was the worst thing he’d ever lived through. Worse than losing his husband. Worse than losing his mother. Because Oscar—his son—was innocent. Tiny. Helpless. That was exactly why Charles couldn’t give up. If he stopped looking, who would fight for Oscar?
The answer was: everyone. His father. Sophie. Lewis—who loved the boy like he was his own. Lando. Daniel. And Max.
Max would move the earth to find Oscar.
Charles had doubted Max’s feelings in the beginning. But the second he’d seen the fear in Max’s eyes as he held Oscar, the tenderness in his voice when he spoke to him—Charles knew. Max would die for their boy.
Still… Charles liked believing that he loved Oscar the most. That it was his job—his responsibility—to bring him home. He couldn’t face Maria if he didn’t.
“I don’t want to just walk,” he murmured.
Max looked at him. “Then where are you going?”
“I’m going to look for Oscar,” Charles said. “Supermarkets. Convenience stores. I’ll show them Jos’s face.”
Max gave him a look—like it was foolish. And it was, maybe. But it was something. And Charles needed to do something.
Then Max nodded. “Okay. Let’s go.”
Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out Max’s car keys. “Do you want to drive?”
Max didn’t answer. He just stared at the car in the lot.
Charles dangled the keys between them. Max always drove. Always.
But Max only shook his head. “You drive,” he said softly, eyes still locked on the vehicle.
Charles slid into the driver’s seat and waited for Max to follow. Max moved slowly, stiffly, like every step was a decision. He looked scared.
And then it hit Charles—Max had been in the accident.
Their car. Crumpled like paper. He’d seen it. The blood. The wreckage. Someone had died in that car. But Charles was under the illusion that Max wasn’t in the car. He thought the car accident was a ploy, a trick to fool everybody, but there was a body, the burned man Charles saw at the morgue. Was Max with him in the car during the accident? Was Max hurt?
Everyone had been trying to explain and tell Charles what happened since Max return. He hadn’t listened. He couldn’t. Not then.
But now…
“Were you in the car when it happened?” Charles asked, his voice hesitant.
Max turned to him, confused. “Huh?”
“Were you in the car during the accident?” Charles asked again, more direct this time. “Or was that just part of the act?”
It came out too harsh. Not how he meant it.
Max nodded once, barely.
Charles had never seen Max look so small. So scared.
The silence stretched. Charles wanted to ask more—was he okay? Was he hurt?
Maybe he should wait. Wait until Oscar was home. Until he was thinking clearly. Until he could ask gently, not like this.
But a new fear crept in—What happens when Oscar comes back?
Would Max disappear again? Go back into hiding? Would he want to take them both with him?
Charles didn’t know. And he could get the answer to all of his questions if he just asked, but asking terrified him.
Max’s voice pulled him back. “Pay attention to the road, Charles.”
Charles hummed softly. “Yeah.”
---
They were halfway across the city when Max broke the silence, his voice tentative.
“Can you… tell me about Oscar?” he asked, not quite looking at Charles. “Everything I missed. How’s he doing at the nursery? Does he walk now?”
Charles blinked, caught off guard. The question wasn’t casual—it was soft. It was good enough for Charles, he loves talking about Oscar, it is his favorite subject.
So he nodded, slowly. “He’s… a calm baby,” Charles started, then smiled faintly. “But so energetic. Now that he’s crawling, it’s a nightmare.”
Max gave a soft laugh, and something in his shoulders eased.
“He walks too. Kind of,” Charles continued. “It’s honestly the funniest thing. He doesn’t really walk—he just sort of… runs. Like a tire rolling down a hill. No balance, arms flailing, always on the verge of falling.”
Max chuckled. “He still loves giraffes,” Charles said, voice warm. “And purple. But he’s added red to his list too. And oranges. The fruit, I mean. He eats one every day. It’s his favorite snack.”
“really?” Max grinned, scrunching his nose.
Charles laughed. “Yes! Lando’s tried everything. Chocolate, chips, burgers, fries—you name it. But Oscar always goes for the oranges. People bring him oranges like they’re bribes. It’s ridiculous.”
There was something golden in the way Max’s eyes lit up—so much pride, so much love.
Charles added softly. “And he’s obsessed with ice cream. Won’t go near a swing, but if there’s ice cream, he’s running.”
He laughed softly, and Max laughed with him.
“He’s sweet with the other kids at the nursery,” Charles added. “He has a little friend he plays with at the park now. He sleeps with me now, since you were… you know.”
There was a pause.
Max laughed, but it cracked. “Well, none of that. I want my place back. Oscar’s moving back to his room.”
Charles raised a brow. “Oh? You think you can resist Oscar’s puppy eyes?”
Max was grinning—but then his smile faltered. “To be honest, I don’t …” he began, then stopped, swallowing hard.
He didn’t finish the sentence. And to be honest, Charles didn’t want to know how it would have ended either. I don’t think I will be coming back? I don’t think it will work out? I don’t care and Oscar can take my place because I don’t want to come back?
Charles looked at him and thought for a moment. I don’t know if you’ll stay. But Oscar—Oscar will come back. And I’ll never let him go again.
“I’m sorry,” Max said, voice low. “I am the reason Oscar is not here.”
Charles shook his head. His voice sad “It’s not your fault. He was my responsibility and I failed him”
“It’s.” Max turned to face him fully. “Charles, I know you think I didn’t want Oscar and that I didn’t care. That I didn’t love him. But you’re wrong. I did. I do. He means the world to me. Both of you do.”
Max’s voice thickened. “What I put you through… it’s unforgivable. I will never forgive myself for it. But I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to fix it. I’ll make it right—for you, for Oscar. I’ll earn your love again. And his. I’ll quit my job. This time for real. For good. I want to stay.”
Charles blinked. Something in his chest twisted—tight and petty and victorious. Like he had finally won Max back from his work. His mistress.
“Good,” he said, a little too quickly. “He’ll be happy. He didn’t know why you weren’t there, you know. It was confusing for him. Having you back will mean everything.”
Max looked away. “I don’t think he remembers me.”
Charles frowned. “He does.”
Max turned toward him, skeptical. Charles kept going.
“It was really hard after the accident. He didn’t sleep. He cried for days. He wouldn’t play, wouldn’t eat properly. He was grumpy all the time. And whenever someone came through the door, he’d look around, curious—like he was waiting for someone.”
Charles reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone with one hand, unlocked it, and held it toward Max.
“My screensaver,” he said. “It’s a picture of you. And him. It’s his favorite thing. He always takes my phone and just… stares at it.”
Max took the phone slowly, eyes softening when he saw the photo.
“He sleeps with your shirts,” Charles added. “Still. I tried giving him toys. Blankets. He refused. Only your shirts.” Charles smiled to himself, full of quiet love. “He’s got a strong personality already.”
Max swallowed. “The shirt.”
Charles glanced at him. “Yeah. Your shirt.”
Max shook his head slowly. “No… Jos’s shirt. When he went grocery shopping.”
Charles stiffened. “What?”
Max stared at the photo on Charles’s phone, silent for a long moment. Then he whispered, almost to himself, “I know that shirt.”
Charles blinked. “What?”
“The one Jos was wearing.” Max’s voice was tight, low. “I’ve seen it before. I know where it came from.”
He looked up, meeting Charles’s eyes, and something about his expression—haunted, furious, and angry.
“In 2009, Jos was furious with my mom,” Max began, voice measured, like dragging the memory out took effort. “I don’t remember the exact reason, maybe she just breathed wrong that day. He wanted to punish her, so he sent me away. Told me I needed discipline. Said a summer on a farm would ‘make a man out of me.’
“It was his friend’s place,” Max continued. “Stacy and her husband. Somewhere in the middle of nowhere. They owned a farm. A working one. Not cute or peaceful or charming. It was brutal. Long hours. Manual labor. No phones. No breaks. I think Jos told them not to go easy on me—and they didn’t.”
Charles stayed silent, eyes wide.
“We had to wear uniforms,” Max said, voice distant now. “navy blue shirts, always stiff with sweat. Dirt. They never really came clean no matter how much you washed them. Jos was wearing that exact same kind of shirt when I saw him.”
Charles’s lips parted in shock. “Wait—so you’re saying...”
“That Jos got the shirt from them. He’s connected to them. And there’s more.”
He paused, then added, “At Matt’s place… I saw his laptop. His screensaver—it was a woman. Something about her felt familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Now I know why. It was Stacy’s sister. Steph.”
Charles sat still, his heart pounding now. “Max…”
“I don’t have a phone,” Max said, looking at him. “Can I use yours?”
Without hesitating, Charles pulled over quickly. “Yeah, of course.”
Max unlocked the map app, quickly typing in the address. The places where there were sighting of Jos from the investigation. The pharmacy. The convenient store. The stretch of highway where they lost sight of the car.
Slowly, painfully, the map began to connect.
“This could be it,” Max whispered. “This could be where they’re holding Oscar.”
Charles leaned in, eyes wide, heart leaping into his throat. “Are you sure?”
“I’m not sure,” Max said, still staring at the screen, “but it’s a lead worth following.”
Notes:
Honorable mentions:
- Charles p3 I am happy the pope sacrifice didn't go to waste.
- That p3 got pipza to stop the silence treatment, so yay ( lestappasteri heals all wounds)
- you'll are rooting for Lando now, but I was Lando truther in take me back to the night we met. We are not the same.
- Lando thristing over Charles thighs me to brush me too
- Lando getting jealous over Charles's date.
- Lando being petty with Lewis and Daniel slay queen.
- Charles's relationship with Nico
- Nico is definitely winning the father of the year award ( not that there is any competition.)
- Nico going out with Thomas is like Rachel dating Russ after breaking up with Ross (Thomas is a black, mid forty, handsome man. he has two dogs and a family.)
- That kiss got into my head
- Charlando endgame
/ source: Trust me, bro- "Who thought it was a good idea to make concussed Charles wake up next to Max" me i did
- Max eavesdropping on Charlando's heated 😉 conversation
- The things that I would do to get a Fernando POV
The real victim is Lewis he deserves better (he was stuck with Fernando and Max for so long.)
- Max might not be a good husband, but he is at least a good detective
Dishonorable mentions:
- Ben So-Lame-
- 119 lone star i don't like it , it opened my eyes to the Owen effect ( Pipza almost dropped the fic because she fell out of love with the show)
- Long honorable mentions ( sorry, I was kidnapped by one of you)
- Jos
- I drew the line at Oscar getting kidnapped, shame on you, Pipza!
Pipza's dishonorable mention: all the slander and defamation Max is facing. you guys he's not that bad, and I am going to sue.
And Memes:
Part 1
https://www.tumblr.com/take2me5to9hell9/781844109449150464/hi-everyone?source=share
Part 2
https://www.tumblr.com/take2me5to9hell9/781844219256045568/part-2?source=share
Chapter 15
Notes:
Hey guys! I’m back with a really long chapter. This story is almost done—just two more chapters to go! Thank you so much for all your comments. I’m really sorry I haven’t been able to reply, but I’ve read and loved every single one of them. And yes… sorry for another messy chapter, haha. Life has gotten better—no more crazy Caracter development arcs—but I’ve just been a bit busy with work lately. Thanks for sticking with me!
I hope you enjoy this chaotic chapter, and please let me know what you think in the comments—I'm excited to hear your thoughts!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max couldn't hear anything. The noise around him was just a blur — the flashing lights, the distant sirens, the low murmur of voices. They’d been here over an hour.
He should’ve come straight to the farm. He shouldn’t have listened to Lewis. Waiting for a warrant had cost them precious time — four hours lost. Max knew it usually took days, and that Lewis and Fernando had pulled every string to make it happen faster. But to Max, it hadn’t been fast enough.
Oscar was inside. And Max was outside, useless.
He wanted to break in. To get Oscar out with his own two hands. But he was paralyzed. His body wouldn’t move, and his thoughts wouldn’t settle. There was a constant buzzing in his head, like white noise, ever since the moment he found out Oscar had been kidnapped. He looked at Charles — standing between Nico and Lando — pale, trembling, terrified.
Max wanted to reach for him. Wanted to tell him it would be alright. That soon, they'd have Oscar back in their arms. But he couldn't. He couldn’t do anything —Max was barely holding it together.
Charles had already broken. He’d been hysterical, had tried to rush in more than once, stopped only by Lando and Nico. Max hadn’t even tried. He just stood there.
Then he felt a hand on his shoulder. Gentle. Reassuring. His mother.
“We’ll get him, Max. I promise you — Oscar’s going home with us today.”
From behind her, Fernando spoke, calm and certain. “Don’t worry. It’s over he can’t do anything.”
Max nodded, but he barely heard them. He’d been in this situation before — too many times. But this time, it was different. This time he was on the other side. This time, he wasn’t the officer trying to save someone. He was the one waiting. The father. The man who could do nothing but listen.
He should be doing something. Anything. But his thoughts were fogged, frozen. Being a father made him weak. Terrified. He’d never been this scared in his life — except once, when Charles had been bleeding in his arms and Dominic had stood over them. Then, he acted. He fought.
But now?
Now he was scared to move. What if something went wrong? What if Oscar got hurt?
This isn't just another case. This is his son.
He can’t think clearly, can’t do what he does best—strategize, analyze, act—because every time he tries, his brain is flooded with the sound of a baby crying. His baby.
But Max does have two advantages.
He knows the place. Every creaking floorboard, every crooked doorframe. And he knows Jos. Knows how he thinks. What might provoke him. What might calm him.
The idea had come to him not long after they arrived—that maybe he could talk Jos down. Maybe he could get inside, get Oscar out. But Lewis had shut it down immediately.
“Too risky,” Lewis had said. “We still don’t know his motive. He might snap if he finds out you’re alive, Max. He might not take well to knowing we lied to him. I will go in instead.”
Max had agreed then.
He watched Lewis go in, he looked well composed—like always. But Max knew better, it takes effort. Lewis loves Oscar. Max has seen it. He holds him like a grandfather, like all of them he fell in love with Oscar. But he can’t afford emotion right now.
None of them can.
Max needs to know—needs to ask. Will he get his son back?
So he starts moving to the nearest person—pushing through the fog.
“Sir,” Max calls. “Sir—!”
A hand grabs his wrist, it’s Charles.
“Did they tell you something?” Charles asks, voice shaking, eyes wide with fear.
“What?” Max breathes.
“About Oscar,” Charles says, each word trembling but sharp. “You’re one of them. They will tell you first if something went wrong with my son. You will hear it first from them, Right?”
Our son, Max wants to say. But he doesn't. He doesn’t have the right. Not when it’s his fault Oscar’s in danger.
He shakes his head—then nods toward the officer. “I just wanted to ask if something came up.”
Charles nods too but doesn’t let go of Max’s wrist. He walks with him, close. When the officier sees them, he offers a tired smile.
“Hey. How are you both holding up?” he asks gently, his voice strained.
Max doesn’t answer. He just looks at him. Pleading.
“Any news?” Charles asks for both of them.
The officer, Bryan sighs. “Negotiations with Jos are officially over. We’re not talking to him anymore.”
Max’s brows shoot up. “What? Then who—?”
“Matt,” Bryan says. “He’s inside. Apparently, he’s been hiding out with Jos all along. He didn’t want to be implicated. But I don’t think he trusts him. Jos seems… unstable. Matt stepped in.”
Charles stiffens. “This is bad, right?”
“Don’t panic, Charles,” Bryan says quickly. “Matt won’t benefit from hurting Oscar. Not right now. So let’s not spiral.”
Max adds, mostly to remind himself, “Jos is still in there. He won’t let Matt hurt Oscar.”
Charles doesn’t seem convinced. “Or maybe Jos can’t do anything. Maybe he’s the hostage now.”
Bryan shakes his head. “Not exactly. Just… off the negotiating table.”
Charles exhales sharply and turns to walk away.
“Charles,” Max calls. “Where are you going?”
Charles stops, looks back with steel in his eyes. “To get my son.”
He turns again, walking toward the other side of the house, unfazed by the police officers shadowing his steps.
Max follows him. The ground is uneven beneath their feet—mud, roots, rocks—but Charles doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. The house looms ahead.
“Let’s break a window,” Charles says, eyes scanning the exterior. “We sneak in.”
“It’ll be too loud,” Max warns.
“Then we find a way in,” Charles says. “Max, he’s in there. He’s right there. This is the closest I’ve been to him in four days. I need to see him.”
Max swallows. He wants to see him too. Every cell in his body screams for it. But this isn’t just a desperate father’s moment. This is a standoff. One wrong move and—
“They’ll hurt him,” Max says under his breath. “If we mess this up, they’ll hurt him.”
He’s seen this go wrong before. He’s lived through it. Chaos. Blood. Screams.
But Charles is right. Time is running out.
Max looks at Charles. He doesn’t want to stop him — truthfully, he can’t. But charging in now would cost them Oscar. Lewis is already inside. So are Austin’s best men and women.
It’s been too long.
This could spiral into a hostage situation — or maybe it already has. They were supposed to catch them off guard. If they had, someone should’ve gotten to Oscar by now. Someone should’ve brought him out. Unless…
Unless they couldn’t find him.
Max’s throat tightens.
If they can't find him, what happens next?
He turns to Charles, sees the same panic brewing in his eyes — the helpless.
Max straightens. “I’ll go in—”
“None of you is going in.”
Lando’s voice cuts through the tension like a blade.
Max spins to face him. “My son is inside.”
“And we’re doing everything to get him out,” Lando says, tight-lipped. “But storming in now could get him hurt. Lewis and the team are already inside—”
“I might be able to reach Jos,” Max argues. “He’s my father. If anyone can talk him down—”
“He’s not alone,” Lando says, jaw set. “Matt’s inside with him.”
Jos is many things — violent, manipulative, and cruel— but Matt is worse. Matt doesn’t just hurt. He destroys.
Charles steps forward, desperate. “Max, come on. Let’s just—”
“No.” Lando’s voice sharpens. “Charles, if you go in now, it puts Oscar at even more risk. Promise me. Promise you won’t.”
Charles opens his mouth, ready to defy him—
Then they hear it.
A cry.
Thin, piercing, unmistakable.
A baby.
Oscar.
For a beat, everything stops. Then chaos erupts inside Max. That sound — his son’s voice — it's the first time he’s heard it in months. And he’s crying. Really crying.
Fear. Pain. Distress. It’s all in that one, gut-wrenching sound.
Max doesn’t think. He runs. So does Charles. They shove past the officers and race toward the house.
Lewis is already outside, cradling a bundle wrapped tightly in a blanket. Max’s heart lurches — he can’t see Oscar, but he hears him, and that’s enough.
Charles doesn't hesitate. He crosses the distance in two strides, carefully taking Oscar from Lewis’s arms.
He presses the baby to his chest, holding him as tightly and gently as a father could.
Oscar keeps crying.
Charles rocks him gently, whispering soothing words— prayers, apologies, promises.
Oscar’s cries are sharp, not the soft fussing of a baby, but full-throated wailing, hoarse from exhaustion and soaked in panic.
Max stands just a step away, frozen.
Oscar is here. Alive.
But Max can’t bring himself to take a single step closer. He doesn't deserve to. Not after everything.
Charles finally looks up. His eyes, red and shining, find Max’s.
Charles’s eyes are wide with panic. “Max,” he says, desperate. “Why is he still crying? Is something wrong with him?”
Max’s chest tightens. His mind flashes to all the worst-case scenarios — injuries, internal trauma, something hidden they haven’t noticed yet. He steps forward without thinking, his eyes scanning Oscar’s tiny frame with laser focus, looking for bruises, cuts, swelling — anything.
Please, no. Please let him be okay.
Max’s hands hover close, aching to touch, to help, but he freezes.
He can’t.
If he holds him, he’ll break him. He’s the reason Oscar was taken in the first place. That sound — that horrible, heart-wrenching scream — it’s because of him. Max swallows hard and takes a step back.
Charles’s arms shake harder, and Oscar keeps crying — his voice cracking from strain, his body wriggling with panic. It’s almost too much for Charles to hold him steady.
Nico steps in without a word, moving beside his son and gently slipping one hand under Oscar’s back to support him in Charles’s trembling arms. His other hand rests on Charles’s shoulder.
“You need to let the paramedics have a look at him,” Nico says gently. “He needs to go to the hospital, Charles.”
But Charles shakes his head frantically, like he hasn’t heard a word. His eyes don’t leave Oscar. “There’s no injury,” he insists, voice cracking. “There’s nothing. So why is he crying?”
Lando’s voice cuts in from behind, firm but not unkind. “Of course he’s crying, Charles.”
Everyone turns.
Lando steps closer, his eyes flicking briefly to Oscar. “He’s in distress. He’s been kidnapped for four days. He’s just a baby, and now he’s out here with all these sirens, people shouting, flashing lights…” He gestures vaguely at the chaos around them. “He’s overwhelmed. He’s scared. And probably hungry and cold. You’d be crying too.”
Charles blinks, eyes still glossy, as if the explanation only half registers. His grip on Oscar tightens anyway.
Max finally finds his voice. “We need to get him to a calm place,” he says quietly. “Let the paramedics check him over. Please, Charles.”
Oscar’s wailing doesn’t stop. It only builds, his cries hitting a crescendo before collapsing into a breathless sob — then starting again. His voice sounds like it’s giving out from the strain.
Charles hurries toward the ambulance, Oscar cradled tightly in his arms, his cries still loud and relentless. The paramedics are already waiting, doors open, hands outstretched — but Charles hesitates when he reaches them. His feet slow to a stop just shy of the open doors.
He doesn't want to let go.
Not after everything. Not after four days of fear and nightmares.
Max is right behind him, close enough to feel his panic. He doesn’t touch Charles. He isn’t letting either of them out of his sight.
“It’s okay,” one of the paramedics says gently, a woman with kind eyes and steady hands. “You can stay with him. We just need to check his vitals.”
Charles nods stiffly and finally, reluctantly, lowers Oscar into the open arms of the paramedic. The moment his hands leave Oscar’s body, and he reaches out again instinctively, fingertips brushing Oscar’s tiny leg.
Oscar is still crying — hoarse now, his breath catching on every inhale. His little chest heaves with each sob, and his hands wave aimlessly in the air, searching for someone, anyone.
Charles and Max lean over the stretcher, watching intently. The paramedics work fast but calm, checking his oxygen, his pulse, his breathing. Oscar squirms, kicking in protest as wires and sensors are attached to him, his cries shrill and cracking.
“That’s good, right? His oxygen, that’s good?” he asks, voice tight.
One of the paramedics glances at the monitor and gives a small nod. “It’s a little low,” she says, adjusting the sensor. “But that’s normal for a baby crying this hard. He’s just in distress. His body is working overtime.”
Max’s jaw clenches. He swallows hard, eyes locked on Oscar like he’s afraid to blink.
Charles nods quickly, too quickly. “Okay. Okay.”
Oscar’s cries continue, though fainter now, hiccuping as if he’s run out of strength but not fear. His face is flushed, skin blotchy with tears and stress, lips trembling around the ghost of another wail.
Charles grips the side of the stretcher, knuckles white.
“He’s stable,” the paramedic says. “We’re going to take him to the hospital now, just to be safe. You can ride with us.”
Charles looks at Max, eyes shining. Max doesn’t hesitate.
“I am not leaving him again.”
---
“He just needs fluids,” Carlos says, leaning beside the hospital bed, his voice gentle. “He’s a little dehydrated, that’s all.”
Oscar sits upright on the mattress, dwarfed by the white hospital shirt that hangs loosely off one shoulder. His curls are damp, cheeks blotchy from crying, lips wrapped around a straw as he quietly sips orange juice. His fingers still tremble slightly, clinging to the juice box Charles is holding for him.
Carlos carefully takes Oscar’s hand. “We also found a bee sting,” he adds, lifting the tiny pinky. “Right here, on the inside. Must’ve happened two, maybe three days ago. It’s already healing. Whoever took care of it did a good job.”
Oscar lets out a soft noise — something between a babble and a protest — and stares down at his injured finger as if only just realizing it hurts. His lips purse as he whines again, this time more deliberately.
Charles, who’s half-sitting on the bed, his upper body curled protectively around Oscar, leans in and kisses the swollen pinky. “Oh,” he murmurs. “That awful. But my baby was so brave.”
Oscar turns his head, he stares at Max and Lando with tear-glossed eyes, wide and solemn. Then, with all the focus his little body can muster, holds out his hand—small, trembling.
Lando doesn’t miss a beat. He crouches down, all exaggerated alarm and theatrical concern. “Wait a minute—what’s this?” His voice is playful, full of awe. “Did a bee hurt our little Oscie?”
He takes Oscar’s hand in both of his and gasps dramatically, pressing a kiss to the pinky. Then another to his cheek. “That’s it. She’s going to bee jail. Maximum security. No honey, no flowers, no sunlight. Just solitary confinement for life.”
Oscar blinks at him. Then a small, hiccuping sound escapes his mouth—half sob, half giggle. It’s the first sound that isn’t pain or fear, and it cracks something open in the room.
Lando grins and runs his knuckles gently through Oscar’s curls. “You’re a hero, little man. The bravest there is.”
Max doesn’t speak. He can’t. The words would lodge somewhere between his heart and throat.
The way Lando talks to Oscar, he has never seen Lando like this before—easy, gentle, familiar—it unsettles Max, It’s affectionate. Intimate. Effortless. And something inside Max clenches tight in response.
Then Charles leans in. His lips brush Oscar’s temple, his voice soft and full of reverence. “He is,” he whispers. “He fought the bad guys. And he won.”
And just like that, Max sees it—clear as day. The way Oscar curls into Charles. The way Lando kneels beside them, still holding Oscar’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world. The way they orbit around Oscar.
They look like a family.
And Max—he feels like a stranger. Like a guest standing outside a home. Watching something beautiful through a window, too far away to touch.
His chest aches.
Because he should be kneeling there. He should be kissing Oscar’s cheek, holding Charles’s hand. He should feel like he belongs.
The door creaked open just as Oscar took another slow sip from his juice box. Sophie stepped in first, followed closely by Fernando.
“How’s he doing?” she asked, barely above a whisper, eyes locked on the small figure curled against Charles.
Charles glanced up. “See for yourself.”
Sophie moved closer, her breath hitching when she saw Oscar properly. “Oh, he looks tired,” she murmured, eyes shining. “What did the doctor say?”
“He’s exhausted,” Charles said gently. “He needs rest, but he can’t quite shut down yet. He’s overstimulated—too much noise, too many faces.” He ran a soothing hand through Oscar’s curls. “But he’s safe now. That’s what matters.”
Sophie reached toward him. “Can I hold him?”
Charles hesitated. Oscar had only just calmed down, his small body still tense beneath the blanket. His wide eyes darted between voices, fingers clinging to Charles’s shirt.
Before Charles could reply, Max stepped in, quiet but firm. “He just settled, Mom. I don’t think that’s a good idea right now.”
Sophie blinked, taken aback. “I’m his grandmother.”
“Of course,” Max said quickly. “And you will hold him. But Carlos said it might take time before he’s ready for more people. Right now… only Charles.”
Fernando folded his arms, tone lighter but not without bite. “And you?”
Max didn’t answer. His eyes were on Oscar, who hadn’t even looked at him at all, he didn’t acknowledge him. Of course he hadn’t. Max hadn’t seen him in six months. He probably forgot about him, Oscar after all is just a baby, and Max had been gone for a long time. He missed on so many things almost all his firsts. Hadn’t held him. Hadn’t earned that right back—not yet.
He swallowed hard. “Only Charles”
But God, how he wanted it to be. Just for a second. How badly he wanted to hold his son, to feel the weight of him, to breathe him in and pretend nothing had gone wrong. But Oscar didn’t remember him. And Max couldn’t blame him for that.
Sophie, sensing the tension, forced a soft smile. “I am sorry, I just missed him so much. He looks older. Even though it’s only been four days.”
Fernando huffed dramatically. “Four days? Try never. This is the first time I’ve met my grandson.”
He gestured wildly. “And I am literally his only grandfather. Imagine how that feels.”
Nico, who had been silently observing by Charles’s side, lifted a brow. “Excuse me? I am his grandfather. And his favorite, by the way.”
Fernando pointed at him, offended. “Only because I haven’t had a chance yet. Just you wait. Oscar and I? Best friends in the making.”
Oscar, oblivious to the slowly escalating grandfather war, sipped his juice again with a soft slurp, peeking between the adults with a furrowed brow—confused, but not afraid. Just curious.
Charles leans over and whispers something in his ear, soothing, and Oscar leans closer, pressing his cheek against Charles’s arm.
Max watches, silent. And aching.
Another knock sounds at the door, and it swings open to reveal Lewis and Daniel stepping inside, offering a reassuring smile as his gaze sweeps the room.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here earlier,” he says. “I had to take care of a few things.”
Charles rises from his chair slowly, hands reluctant to let go—but after a moment, he nods toward Lando. “Can you...?” he asks softly.
Lando steps forward, instantly understanding, and Charles carefully let go of Oscar—for the first time since they got him back.
Crossing the room, Charles pulls Lewis into a firm hug. “Don’t apologize,” he says, voice low and shaking. “You brought him back. Thank you. I don’t know how to repay you for saving my baby.”
Lewis exhales, returning the hug with steady hands. “You don’t have to repay me. I love Oscar like he’s my own. I did what anyone would.”
He pulls back slightly, giving Charles a look. “And anyway, thank Max. He’s the one who figured out where to find him.”
Charles glances over at Max, but Max doesn’t meet his eyes.
“It wasn’t fast enough,” Max says quietly, almost to himself. After all he was the reason Oscar was taken.
In his mind, four days might as well have been a lifetime. Four days of hell. Four days where Oscar was gone, and Max had no idea if he was safe, if he was scared, if he was even alive. The idea of ever being apart from him again makes Max feel physically ill, considering the state of things between him and Charles…. It’s going to be a problem
Lewis turns toward Oscar, softening the moment his eyes land on him.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently. “How’s our little guy?”
Oscar, leaning on Lando, lifts his pinky with intense seriousness and lets out a string of babble.
Lewis chuckles, already moving closer. “Your fingers were hurt?” he asks, crouching. “That’s terrible.”
He kisses the little finger with mock solemnity. Oscar lets out a small, satisfied sigh and immediately reaches for him.
Without missing a beat, Lewis lifts him into his arms. Oscar buries his face into Lewis’s shoulder like he belongs there.
Fernando lets out a dramatic scoff. “Why does Lewis gets to hold him before I do?”
Sophie sighs like she’s not surprised in the least. “Honestly? Sometimes I think Oscar loves Lewis more than he loves me. And I’m his grandma.”
Lewis blushes. “I—That’s not true—”
Nico lifts an eyebrow, arms crossed. “Speak for yourself. I’m still his favorite. Right, Oscar?”
Oscar, thoroughly uninterested in the debate, clutches Lewis’s collar and stares at him with droopy, trusting eyes. He lets out a soft yawn.
“Traitor,” Fernando mutters under his breath. “Just wait. He and I are going to be best friends. He just doesn’t know it yet.”
Oscar blinks at him slowly, then lets out a tiny burp.
Charles lets out a tired laugh and wipes a hand across his face.
“I’ve got to get going—my shift’s about to start. Do you need anything before I head out?” Carlos says as he checks his watch, then turns back to the room with a sigh.
Charles straightens in his chair, one hand resting lightly on Oscar’s blanket. “When can we be discharged?”
Carlos pauses. “Because of the situation... unfortunately you can’t be discharged today. It’s mandatory to keep Oscar under observation for another 24 hours.”
Max frowns. “Observation? Just because of a bee stink?”
Carlos hesitates. “It’s more than that. I’ve already contacted social services. It’s protocol when a child is placed in harm’s way.”
Max feels his stomach drop. His blood turns to ice.
Social services.
His mind immediately jumps to the worst: this is bad. Are they going to take Oscar away?
Charles looks just as stricken. “Why are social services involved?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. “Are they saying we’re unfit?”
Carlos shakes his head gently. “They’re not saying anything yet. But anytime a child is involved in a violent incident, it gets flagged. It doesn’t matter that it wasn’t your fault. It’s about making sure everything is still safe.”
Charles’s voice trembles. “But we didn’t do anything wrong. I was attacked—I didn’t leave him alone. He was taken. Every social worker who visited said Oscar looked healthy and happy. They said we were doing a great job. And we’re not just fostering him anymore—he’s ours. We adopted him.”
Carlos gives a sympathetic smile, but his words don’t soften the blow. “I know, Charles. And I believe you. But paperwork doesn’t always keep up with the reality. The fact remains: Oscar was in danger. That’s enough to trigger an internal review.”
Daniel speaks up, voice steady and calm. “They won’t take him, Charles. Don’t panic. You’ve done everything right.”
Max looks over at Daniel, surprised by how certain he sounds.
Fernando clears his throat. “We’ll handle whatever comes. For now, Oscar is safe. That’s what matters.”
Nico nods, stepping closer to Charles. “And both of you need rest. You’ve been through enough for one day.”
Charles leans back, exhausted. “Dad... could you stop by the loft later? Bring some of Oscar’s things? And maybe a change of clothes for me?”
Nico hesitates. “I’d rather stay. How about Lando goes instead?”
“I was planning to stay,” Lando quickly clarifys.
“No you guys can go, I’ll stay,” Sophie adds. “I’m not leaving Oscar.”
Lando sighs, exasperated. “You all need to go home and get some sleep. I’ll stay here tonight.”
“I’d prefer to stay,” Nico says again. “I’ve spent enough nights in hospitals. I’m used to it.”
Sophie snorts. “Oh please. And I’m not?”
Charles closes his eyes for a second, trying to summon patience. “Guys, please. You all need to rest. I’m okay. Oscar’s stable. You can come back in the morning. There’s no need for anyone to stay.”
Max still hasn’t said a word. He wants to stay more than anything, but he doesn’t know if Charles wants him there. If Charles asks him to leave... he’ll just find a chair outside and sit all night. He’s not going far. Although he doesn’t think he’s physically capable of leaving Oscar.
Then, almost without thinking, Max speaks. “I’ll stay. You all can go.”
Charles looks at him. Hesitates. And for a moment, Max can’t breathe—waiting to see if he’ll be kicked out.
Max steels himself for rejection—but to his surprise, Charles just nods.
“Okay. It’s settled then. Max stays. Everyone else—go get some rest.”
Lewis claps his hands together. “Great. Nico, come on—I’ll drive you back.”
“I don’t want to leave,” Nico argues, his tone clipped.
Lewis lowers his voice, firm but kind. “Charles and Max need time alone. Let’s go bring them clothes and food. I’ve got that meat pie Charles loves, and soup. He needs something warm in him. They both need to eat.”
Nico still looks reluctant, but Lewis is already guiding him toward the door. “We’ll be back soon.”
Max turns to his mom. “Come on, Mom. You too.”
Fernando nods in agreement. “We’ll come back first thing tomorrow.”
Sophie hesitates, then walks over to the bed and presses a kiss to Oscar’s temple. “I’ll see you in the morning, baby.”
One by one, they all file out, leaving behind soft footsteps and murmured goodbyes.
And then it’s just Max and Charles.
Oscar is already half-asleep in Charles’s arms, his tiny breaths soft and even. Max sits quietly beside them.
Max glances at Oscar, then at Charles, and allows himself to exhale. He’s still scared. Still unsure.
But tonight, he gets to stay.
---
Charles had slipped beneath the blanket after an hour of everybody leaving unable to resist the exhaustion, curling instinctively toward Oscar. It doesn’t take long for sleep to claim him.
Max stays where he is, eyes fixed on them both.
Three quiet hours pass.
Max doesn’t look away once.
He traces every soft breath Oscar takes, every small twitch of Charles’s fingers. His heart feels so full it might collapse in on itself. Six months—six months without this. Without them. Just watching them feels like being allowed to breathe again.
But something’s wrong. A persistent weight sits on his chest. He doesn’t understand it at first—it’s quiet, safe, warm—but the knot won’t go away.
Then he remembers.
Lando.
The way Lando moved through the loft like it was his. The way he knew where Oscar’s things were. The familiarity in his voice when he spoke to Charles. The way Oscar smiled when Lando carried him.
Daniel had said Lando was helping. That he’d been there for Charles when no one else was. Max told himself that was a good thing.
But now… now he’s not so sure.
There was something too seamless about it. The coordination, the comfort. Lando didn’t feel like a visitor. He felt like a fixture. And that drawer full of Lando’s things in their loft—it wasn’t normal, Nico didn’t have a drawer in their loft. It wasn’t casual.
Max feels a cold wave wash over him.
And the part that scared Max the most? Charles trusted Oscar with him. Instinctively. Like it was normal. Like Lando wasn’t the person Charles used to barely tolerate. The guy he used to argue with, the one Max had to keep separate just to maintain the peace.
What changed?
Max shakes his head, pressing his hands to his temples. No. No, don’t go there.
Lando’s his friend. He was just looking after Max’s family. Doing what Max couldn’t. It’s not betrayal—it’s grief. Support. That’s all.
Still…
He closes his eyes tight.
It doesn’t matter. Charles loves him. Always did. Even when they were at their worst, even when Max made mistake after mistake, Charles stayed. He was angry, hurt—but he stayed.
Max can’t ask for forgiveness yet. He doesn’t deserve it.
But he can work for it.
He will.
It’s nearly midnight when Max gently brushes his hand along Charles’s arm. His voice is barely above a whisper.
“Charles… hey, wake up.”
Charles stirs, eyelashes fluttering against his cheek. His gaze darts around the dim room before settling on Max, then Oscar. “What—?”
“Nico and Lewis came back,” Max says softly. “They brought food… and some clothes for Oscar.”
Charles blinks a few times, trying to shake off the haze of sleep. His voice is groggy. “Oh. That’s good. I didn’t even hear them.”
“You were out cold,” Max says, a quiet smile tugging at his lips. “You needed the rest.”
Charles sits up slowly, wincing a little as he adjusts his arm. He glances toward the bag by the chair. “Did they leave already?”
“Yeah. Said they’d come back in the morning. Lewis dragged your dad out before he could settle in for the night.”
A breathy chuckle escapes Charles. “That sounds like my dad.”
Silence stretches between them. Oscar, curled up in the hospital bed, hasn’t moved. The steady rhythm of his breathing is the only sound in the room.
Charles yawns, covering his mouth. Max watches the motion, watches the exhaustion settle back into his face like it never left.
“You can get some more sleep after eating,” Max says gently. “I’ll stay up.”
“You should sleep too.”
“I will. Just... later. You need it more.”
Charles shifts, more alert than before. “Did you sleep at all?” he asks softly.
Max shakes his head. “Didn’t want to.”
Charles hesitates, visibly torn, then gives a soft nod. “Okay. But we’ll switch later.”
Charles rubs his eyes, stretches stiffly, and then glances toward the corner where Nico and Lewis had dropped off the bags. He gets up, careful not to wake Oscar, and walks over. Max watches him.
Charles crouches beside the bags, sifting through them. “They brought a lot,” he mutters, pulling out a small folded blanket and a few neatly rolled baby onesies. He smiles faintly. “This one’s from his New York set. I thought we lost it.”
He sets it aside, then keeps rummaging. “There’s something for you too.”
Max straightens slightly. “Me?”
Charles pulls out a plain grey hoodie and a pair of joggers. “Yeah. Yours. From the loft.”
Max stands, slowly. “Right. I guess I should change.”
“Me too,” Charles says, grabbing a clean T-shirt for himself. he hesitates. “We could just… turn around?”
“Yeah. Good idea.”
They both stand there for a second longer than necessary, unsure how to start. Then, almost in sync, they turn their backs to each other.
The rustling of clothes fills the silence. Max peels off his shirt, the air of the hospital room cool against his skin. He can hear Charles moving too—fabric sliding, a zipper, the soft thunk of his shoes.
It shouldn’t be awkward.
But it is.
He hadn’t expected any of his things to still be around.
Honestly, he thought Charles would’ve gotten rid of them—not out of cruelty, but out of necessity. He had died, after all. Max didn’t blame him. Most people would have packed everything away, maybe donated them to make space, to start healing. That’s what people did when the person they loved was never coming back.
But his clothes were here.
Folded. Washed. Waiting.
Max pulls the hoodie on and clears his throat lightly. “I, uh… I didn’t look.”
Charles lets out a tired laugh, not quite amused but not cold either. “Didn’t think you would.”
Max turns around just as Charles does the same. Their eyes meet. For a second, neither of them looks away.
Charles turns toward the bed, “Alright, Oscar,” he murmurs. “Your turn.”
Max watches him, eyebrows lifting. “You sure you want to wake him? He looks pretty knocked out.”
Charles doesn’t look up as he gently undress him. “My dad brought baby food. He hasn’t eaten in hours, and he needs a change.”
Oscar wakes with a low, groggy wail, small fists rubbing at his face like he’s trying to bury himself back in sleep. His lower lip quivers, and his cries grow louder as Charles lifts him carefully.
“Shhh, I know,” Charles says softly, voice instinctively soothing even as he moves quickly. “You’re not happy about this, I get it. Let’s make it fast, okay?”
Max stands nearby, watching in silence as Charles wipes him down and changes the diaper with practiced ease. Oscar wriggles and cries, but Charles stays calm, humming under his breath, kissing the top of his head once he’s done.
And Max just stands there—hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.
There was a time, not long ago, when this was his job.
Back when Charles had overnight shifts or long days at the fire station, Max had taken care of everything—feedings, diaper changes, lullabies at 3 a.m. He used to complain about it sometimes, teasing Charles that he should come home early and rescue him from diaper duty. But now, he’d give anything to go back to those moments. To do it all again, without the anger, without the distance. To choose better. To stay.
He’d kill to go back and hold on tighter.
To not waste a single second of the life he had with them.
Charles adjusts Oscar against his chest and finally looks over. “He’s calmer now. You want to feed him?”
Max froze.
“I—” he started, then shook his head, looking away. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Charles frowned. “Why not?”
Oscar was still blinking slowly, heavy-lidded and drooling against Charles’s chest, and Max couldn’t stop staring. He wanted to say yes. God, he wanted to. But there was a knot in his stomach, twisted and sharp, and his hands wouldn’t move.
“I just... I’m not sure it’s right,” Max said finally, his voice low.
Charles adjusted Oscar and said softly, “It’s okay if you don’t want to.”
Max looked up, panicked. “No, no—it's not that I don’t want to. I do. I want to. It’s just...”
He trailed off, eyes back on Oscar. The baby looked at him, calm and quiet, and something about the way those eyes studied him mad Max feel like he was being seen through completely. It wasn’t fear—it wasn’t even hesitation. It was just... unfamiliarity. Like Oscar didn’t know what to make of him.
Maybe because he didn’t.
“He must be scared,” Max murmured. “I probably look like a stranger to him.”
Charles didn’t say anything.
Max swallowed, thinking not a complete stranger because he looks like Jos, doesn’t he? A little?”
That made Charles blink. His jaw tensed.
“You haven’t held him once since we got him back,” Charles said quietly, and the edge in his voice was unmistakable. Hurt. Accusation. Fear.
Max flinched. “I want to,” he whispered. “I really do. But I... I don’t think I should. I don’t think I should be near him.”
Charles asks brows knit. “Because of what happened?”
Max hesitated. Then, “what happened was because of me. he was taken because of me.”
“Max—”
“He doesn’t even remember me,” Max said, his voice breaking. “And he shouldn’t. He was kidnapped because of who I am. Because of my dad. I disappeared. I left. I thought I was protecting you, and instead—”
“You think that’s your fault?” Charles interrupted, voice sharp. “You think what Jos did is your fault?”
“I gave him an opening,” Max muttered. “I left you both. That’s on me.”
Charles’s stare was steady, almost blazing. “Max, no. Jos hurt you your whole life. You cut him out. You did everything you could to protect Oscar. What happened is not your fault. That’s on him. All of it. And I swear to you, this—” he glanced down at Oscar and kissed his hair, “—this is the last time that man gets to hurt you. Or our son.”
Max’s eyes stung. He didn’t deserve this grace, but Charles was offering it anyway, like he always did. And it undid him.
“You still want to feed him?” Charles asked after a beat, gentler now.
Max hesitated, then slowly nodded. “Yeah,” he said hoarsely. “Yeah, I do.”
And this time, his hands didn’t shake when he reached for the spoon.
Max fed Oscar slowly, hands trembling only slightly now as he guided the spoon to the baby’s mouth. Oscar blinked sleepily, more focused on resting against Charles than eating, but he took a few bites before finally dozing off again, cheek pressed into his father’s chest.
Charles looked down at him and then over at Max. “You should carry him.”
Max froze. “I don’t—Charles, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“It is,” Charles said softly, already shifting Oscar in his arms. “It’s late. He’s sleepy. You’re here. He knows who you are.”
Max shook his head, doubt etched across his face. “He doesn’t. It’s been months, Charles.”
Charles didn’t argue. He just looked at Max and said, “Maybe. But I know he remembers you, somehow. And I think it would feel good for him. To be held by his dad.”
That word struck something deep in Max’s chest. His dad. Him. Oscar’s.
Still, Max hesitated—until Charles leaned forward and gently offered Oscar out to him.
And Max couldn’t resist.
He stretched out his arms, careful, unsure, and Charles slowly transferred Oscar into them. The weight of him—small, warm, sleeping—settled against Max’s chest like something sacred.
His breath caught.
He hadn’t held Oscar in months. But the moment the baby was in his arms, something clicked into place. Like his heart remembered before his mind did. Like his body exhaled for the first time in weeks.
It felt so safe. So right.
Maybe Oscar didn’t know him anymore. Maybe he didn’t need him.
But Max needed this.
A tear slid down his cheek before he even noticed it, and Charles reached out to wipe it away, his smile soft and proud.
Max stood there for a while, holding Oscar close, tears slipping quietly down his cheeks as he rocked him gently. The room was dim, still, safe. Oscar’s tiny fingers curled into Max’s shirt like he belonged there—like he’d never left.
Then Charles’ voice cut softly through the quiet.
“How about you sleep next to him?”
Max looked up, startled. “But… it’s your turn.”
Charles gave a tired smile. “I already slept a little. You haven’t.”
Max hesitated again. “But—”
Charles stepped closer. “Max. I’ve had him for the past six months. You didn’t. Let him be yours for a bit now.”
Max didn’t argue. He couldn’t. Because the truth was—he didn’t want to give Oscar back. And the fact that Charles knew that, without needing it explained, made him feel warm.
Max had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. He thought Charles would throw every hurt back at him, every day of pain and silence. He thought Charles would say he didn’t trust him anymore—didn’t want him anymore. Because that’s what Max had done, hadn’t he? Chosen his job. Chosen lies. Chosen to disappear.
But instead, Charles was offering him peace. Offering him Oscar. Offering him *grace*.
Because Charles understood him.
He always had.
There was a time Max understood Charles just as deeply. He used to be Charles’ anchor, the one person who steadied him when the world went sideways. But when Fernando died, everything shifted. Max had changed. And Charles had become the one left behind—promised love, but handed absence and pain instead.
Max closed his eyes and took a deep breath, holding Oscar tighter.
He needed Charles to know—he loved him too. Not just Oscar. Him. The man he married. The man who kept believing in him when he didn’t deserve it.
They would talk. They had to talk.
As Max settled into the bed with Oscar nestled against his chest, the silence stretched between them—peaceful, but fragile. He could feel Charles watching them, the weight of everything they hadn’t said still pressing at the edge of the room.
“I think we should talk,” Max said quietly, eyes still on Oscar, who was fast asleep in his arms.
Charles didn’t answer right away. He let out a slow breath, brushing a hand through his face as he leaned back in the chair beside the bed.
“After the social worker,” he said finally, his voice steady but low.
Max looked up at him. “Okay.”
He understood. Charles was nervous. So was he. The visit tomorrow wasn’t just paperwork or formalities—it was the next chapter. And maybe the scariest one.
So he didn’t push.
Charles had already given him more than he thought he deserved tonight
they had to get through the social worker visit. Then go home. Settle. Sit down. Open every wound and try to heal them together.
Later.
---
Oscar woke them up at six in the morning with loud, desperate cries that filled the room like an alarm. Charles was the first to move, already reaching for him with practiced hands. He gently lifted Oscar into his arms, murmuring soft reassurances, rocking him against his chest. Max sat up, rubbing his face, watching as Charles moved automatically—changing Oscar’s diaper, checking his temperature, soothing him with a kiss to the forehead.
They both tried for a few minutes to calm him down, but Oscar was still fussy, shifting in Charles’s arms with little sobs.
“I can go get something for him to eat,” Max offered, standing up suddenly. “Maybe something he likes.”
Charles looked at him, tired but grateful.
Max paused. “What… what does he like?”
Charles opened his mouth to answer, but Max beat him to it—remembering.
“Oranges,” Max said softly. “You told me he likes oranges.”
He looked at Oscar, still squirming. “I’ll go find you some oranges, buddy. I’ll be right back.”
He turned to Charles, reluctant to move toward the door. “Are you okay if I leave you for a bit?”
Charles bounced Oscar lightly. “We’ll be okay. Don’t worry.”
Max hesitated for just another moment, watching them. Charles was pacing slowly, Oscar curled into his chest like a piece of him. Max didn’t want to leave—not really—but he nodded.
“I’ll be quick,” he promised.
---
The scent of fresh coffee pulled at something inside him. God, he needed it. They both did. Though Charles hated coffee—always wrinkled his nose at it—he loved tea. Max remembered that, too. So, he stopped, bought himself a coffee and picked up tea for Charles.
The coffee smelled burnt— hospital cafeteria quality—but Max didn’t complain. It was hot, bitter, and exactly what his frayed nerves needed. He balanced the small paper bag of oranges in one hand and the tea and coffee tray in the other as he stepped back into the hallway
On his way back to the room, he runs into alone Nico, standing by the hallway outside the ward.
“It’s too early,” Max said, surprised.
Nico nodded. “Lewis wanted to come by before work. He won’t be able to visit again today.” There was a pause, then a quieter, more personal confession. “And I… I needed to see him. Them.”
Max gave a polite, almost unsure smile, about to move past him. “I should go give Oscar his oranges—”
“I brought him some,” Nico interrupted gently. “He’s eating right now.”
Max froze for a moment, unsure what to say. Of course Nico had thought of it. Max nodded slowly.
Then Nico’s hand landed lightly on his arm, stopping him. “We need to talk.”
Max looked at him, finally registering the seriousness in his expression
“Let me just drop these off first, we can talk inside” Max said carefully, his voice low.
Nico didn’t let go. “Max,” he said softly but firmly, “I want to speak to you on private.”
---
They walked down the hallway in silence, Nico leading the way, stopping only when they reached a quiet waiting area tucked into a far corner of the hospital.
Nico gestured to the chairs, and Max sat, stiff and wary. The silence lingered.
Then Nico broke it, his voice low and steady. "Max, I hope you don't take what I'm about to say the wrong way. You know I love you. You're the father of my only grandchild. You were the love of my son's life."
Max flinched at the past tense.
"And I'm happy you're alive, Max," Nico continued. "Truly. It was devastating to think you were dead."
Max blinked, caught off guard. "I'm... I'm sorry," he murmured.
Nico shook his head. "You don't need to apologize to me." His tone shifted—sharper, colder, but heartbreakingly restrained. "I don't want your apology, Max. I want your promise."
Max frowned, confused. "Promise?"
Nico looked him dead in the eye. "Promise me you'll stay away from Charles."
The words landed like a punch to the chest. Max's heart stalled. "What?" he asked, barely a whisper.
"I think your story with Charles should end here," Nico said, voice calm but firm. "He's done a tremendous job putting himself back together. It's been six months, Max. Six months of pain. Of silence. Of surviving. He's been doing better—slowly, yes, but better."
Max opened his mouth, but Nico kept going.
"You weren't working before the disappearance, and you know that. You drifted. You neglected him. You left him with a baby and grief and no explanation. He tried to live through the pain, Max. God, he tried. But he broke under it. And... that was too much for him."
Nico's voice cracked slightly, and he looked away, hands clasped tightly in his lap. "I almost lost him, Max. I need you to hear that. If I hadn't found him when I did—if I was five minutes later—Charles wouldn't be here right now."
Max felt the blood drain from his face. "What—what are you saying?"
Nico turned back to him, eyes red-rimmed but clear. "I'm saying he tried to end his life, Max. He gave up. And I don't think he will survive another heartbreak like that."
The world tilted under Max. He stared blankly at Nico, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. "No," he whispered. "No, I didn't know—he never told me. He would never do that again we spoke about it many times in our relationship. He had Oscar, why would he do that? He got better. Therapy. He never showed any signs."
"Because he was done. He didn't want to live without you," Nico said. "And he doesn't talk about it. He was mad at me for a long time for saving him. He's also trying to protect you. Even now. But I'm not. I'm his father, and I will do whatever it takes to make sure he never falls that far again."
Max's eyes welled with tears, one slipping down his cheek before he even realized. He swallowed hard, voice broken. "I never meant to hurt him. I thought—No, I didn't want this to happen. I love him."
"You left," Nico said simply. "And everybody thought you were dead. You chose work. You chose yourself. And Charles—Charles suffered. We all did. But Charles loved you to the point he lost himself for a while. He fell apart."
Max put his head in his hands, the guilt crushing. "I didn't know it got that bad. I didn't even think about it. I didn’t know he... he tried."
"I love you, Max," Nico said quietly. "You've been like a son to me since the beginning. But Charles is my son. My real son. And I won’t let you break him again. And you're a father now too—you understand why I’m asking this. Please, leave him. He's doing better. He can live without you now. So let him live. You never know—he might find someone who truly loves him. You can co-parent. And he can be happy with someone who will cherish him."
Max looked up slowly, face soaked in silent tears. "But I love him. We love each other."
Nico hesitated. Then said, "Love is not everything. I don’t want to interfere. This isn't my place, and it's his life. Both of your lives. And Charles will be so mad if he finds out I told you all of this. So I’d appreciate it if you kept it between us. … but he was this close of moving on… there is a person, they’re not rushing into anything, but... there might have been someone. It's not official. But they're good together. He's gentle. Steady. I trust he'll cherish Charles."
Max's heart twisted. Charles loves someone? Charles moved on? Never—not once in the past six months—did he think that was a possibility.
It hadn’t occurred to him.
Because in his head, Charles was frozen in time, just like he had been. Waiting. Hurting. Still his.
"But I can't just stop loving him," Max said, voice raw. "I still love him. I always have. We love each other. It's only been six months."
Nico's gaze softened, but his words didn’t. "Six months is a long time, especially when you're grieving. Prove that you love him by letting him heal. Let him go."
Max stared at the floor, unable to breathe past the weight in his chest. All of these new revelations are sending him into a frenzy, Charles had tried to die. And Max hadn’t been there. He hadn’t even known.
Max swallowed hard, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I should’ve been there. I know he went through a lot because of me”
“He is better,” Nico said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean he’s healed. Grief doesn’t work that way. Neither does trauma.”
Max nodded, eyes fixed on a scuff mark on the tile floor. “You said there might be someone else.”
“I said it’s not official,” Nico corrected gently. “They’re taking it slow. But he’s good to Charles. He’s calm. He’s there.”
Max let out a bitter, broken laugh. “And I wasn’t.”
Nico didn’t deny it. He just looked at him. “You can still be a good father, Max. But maybe not a husband. Maybe not right now.”
Max’s jaw clenched, and his hands curled into fists in his lap. “I don’t want to be just someone who shows up for Oscar every other weekend.”
“Then don’t,” Nico said. “Be present. Be steady for your son.”
Max felt sick. His chest tightened, lungs refusing to fill properly. The thought of someone else touching Charles, holding him, whispering to him in the quiet hours of the night—it made his stomach churn.
Had Charles smiled at him the same way?
Had he let someone else sleep in their bed?
Had he laughed—really laughed—with someone else?
It wasn’t just jealousy clawing at him. It was grief. Grief for something that might already be lost.
He had been trying to get back to Charles, but what if there was no place left for him to return to?
Max looked up at Nico, his voice barely audible. “Is it serious?”
Nico’s eyes flickered. “No. Not yet. But it could be.”
Max swallowed hard. It felt like the floor had opened beneath him. “Does he love him?”
“I don’t know,” Nico said honestly. “I’m not sure Charles knows either. But he’s calmer with him. Softer. It’s different.”
Different.
Not better. Not worse. Just… not Max.
Max closed his eyes, biting the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood.
---
Max didn’t move. He sat frozen on the hard bench in the corridor, surrounded by silence that didn’t feel quiet—it felt hollow. Vast.
He had walked down this hallway with oranges and lukewarm coffee, with hope balanced precariously in his hands. He thought—God, he thought maybe he could fix things. That Charles still loved him the same way. That they could start again, somehow. A new chapter, slower, gentler. One where Oscar had two parents, and where Max was worthy of being one of them.
But now?
Now all of that felt laughable. Pathetic.
He couldn’t go back to that room. Not with this storm crashing inside his chest. Because that room still smelled like hope. Because Charles would look up at him with those soft eyes and Max would have to pretend he wasn’t shattering. He would have to lie.
So he stayed on the bench, cold coffee cooling further beside him, the oranges untouched in the bag. He sat there while nurses walked by without noticing, while the world continued to turn as if Max’s didn’t just come to a screeching stop.
His heart hurt. Physically hurt. Not in the poetic way people sometimes said. No—this was real. Like a pressure had clamped down around his ribs, squeezing until he could hardly breathe. And he didn’t want to. Not anymore.
He wished he’d stayed dead.
Because at least then, Charles’s pain would have meant something. His grief would’ve had a shape. An explanation. A grave to visit. He could have healed knowing Max had no choice in leaving.
But this? This was cruelty.
Charles had survived him once already. He’d pieced himself together through the screams and the sleepless nights and the endless questions. He had clawed his way out of the dark—alone—with a baby in his arms. And Max hadn’t known. Max hadn’t been there.
And now he knew Charles had tried to die. That he had wanted out. That love had almost killed him.
Max’s love.
Tears blurred his vision. He didn’t even feel them fall until they reached his chin. His shoulders trembled with the force of it, but he didn’t stop them. For once, he let himself cry—not quietly, not discreetly. He sobbed for everything: for the family he’d broken, for the man he used to be, for the father he didn’t know how to become, for the boy who still lived inside him hoping love would be enough.
It wasn’t.
And now Charles might be loving someone else. Someone who hadn’t left. Someone who showed up. Someone steady, safe, enough.
Max pressed his fists into his eyes until colors burst behind his lids. He wanted to scream. To run. To disappear. To be anything but Max Verstappen, the man who left, the man who ruined everything, the man Charles had to survive.
How was he supposed to survive this?
His grief wasn’t neat. It wasn’t noble. It was ugly and messy and filled with guilt and self-loathing. It tasted like ash. Like regret. Like the kind of sorrow that didn’t soften over time—it festered.
He had died once. But this—this felt worse.
Because he was still here.
And somehow, that was the cruelest part of all.
“Max?”
The voice was soft, hesitant—like someone afraid to scare away a wounded animal.
Max flinched, curling in on himself a little more, but he recognized it instantly. Lewis.
Footsteps approached, careful and slow, then the quiet rustle of a paper packet. A small, crinkled pack of tissues appeared beside him, held out gently.
“Here,” Lewis said. “You don’t have to talk. Just… take your time.”
Max didn’t move at first. His hands were still over his face, his shoulders hunched. He hadn’t even realized how tightly he was clenching his jaw until the ache settled deep into his bones. Finally, with trembling fingers, he took the tissues and pressed one to his soaked face.
“I—I’m fine,” Max croaked. His voice didn’t sound like his own.
Lewis sat beside him, not touching, but close. “You’re not. And that’s okay. You don’t have to be.”
Max tried to breathe again, slow and steady like he’d learned years ago, but his chest still felt too tight. Like his body had forgotten how to function.
Lewis watched him for a moment, then said gently, “It looked like a panic attack. I’ve seen them before.”
Max blinked, trying to focus, to speak. “It’s not a panic attack.”
Lewis gave him a look—kind, but skeptical. “Max…”
“No,” Max repeated, firmer this time. He wiped his nose, crumpling the tissue in his hand. “I used to get like this when I was a kid. When I got… overwhelmed. It’s stupid. I’d just—freeze. I couldn’t breathe properly, and my head would get loud, and I’d feel like everything was… too much.”
He paused, his voice lowering. “Eventually I grew out of it. Or I thought I did.”
Lewis sat with that for a moment. Then nodded, slowly. “Okay,” he said. “Not a panic attack.”
Max exhaled shakily. “It’s just everything, Lewis. It’s—Charles. Oscar. Nico. The fact that I came back and thought maybe… maybe there was still a chance. But I missed too much. I didn’t know how bad it got. And now it’s too late.”
Lewis looked at him, his face unreadable for a second. Then he said, “You don’t know if itt’s too late, Max. Not yet.”
“I do,” Max whispered. “I saw it in Nico’s face. Heard it in his voice. Charles is done. Nico wants me gone. And maybe he’s right. Maybe Charles is better off without me… he already found someone who makes him feel happy.”
There was silence. A long one.
Then Lewis placed a careful hand on Max’s shoulder
“It doesn’t matter what Nico thinks,” Lewis said quietly, his voice steady.
Max shook his head “But he knows, Lewis. He saw it in Charles. He’s done with me. I hurt him so bad. I lost my family… and there’s already somebody else.”
Lewis leaned forward slightly, his hand still resting lightly on Max’s shoulder, “Max, I do know how much losing you hurt Charles. I was there. I saw him. He was broken. That man loved you.”
Max’s lips parted, but no words came—just a harsh breath that shook his chest. “But Nico said—” Another wave of panic surged in his body, and he gripped the edge of the bench like it could ground him.
“Nico wouldn’t know love if it hit him in the face,” Lewis said bluntly. “You know that.”
Max looked up, desperate. “So… you don’t think Charles has someone?”
Lewis hesitated—then he carefully tells him. “I think Charles loves you. I think that kind of grief—what he went through—only comes when there was a great amount of love to begin with. And if he does have someone now… Max, I still don’t think you should give up.” he adds quietly “You know, Charles fought for you. For both of you. When things got hard, when you pulled away, he didn’t back down. He stayed. He tried. And sometimes… he had to fight you just to get through to you.”
Max let out a bitter, breathy laugh. ‘I know Lewis this is why I am telling I have no chance. I hurt him greatly he almost killed himself because of me.”
Lewis didn’t look away, even when Max’s voice cracked.
Max doesn’t even care about being weak in front of Lewis right now. Normally, he’d hate this—hate showing anyone this side of him. But right now… Max swallowed hard. Right now, he just doesn’t care.
Lewis inhaled slowly. “What you’re saying, That’s simply not true. That’s not what happened.”
Max frowned, confusion flashing across his face.
“You had no choice in the matter,” Lewis continued. “You were kept away. Against your will. You were out of it for the first three months—barely conscious from the pain and the surgeries. You didn’t choose to leave. You didn’t abandon him, Max. Yes, Charles was in pain. But so were you.”
“But it was still because of me,” Max whispered. “Everything—the obsession, me putting my life and everybody I love at risk… it was all a result of my choices.”
Lewis didn’t argue with that. He nodded. “The whole death thing? That wasn’t on you. That was our fault. The team. We thought it would protect you—buy time. We were wrong. But what I know is he believed in you even when you gave him every reason not to. He held on because he loved you. That man deserves someone who will fight for him with the same kind of stubborn, relentless love.”
Max looked down again, he says in a faint voice. “I don’t deserve to be excused.”
Lewis’s voice softened. “It’s not an excuse, Max. It’s the truth and you’re not asking for forgiveness for being kidnapped. You’re asking for a chance to make things right. There’s a difference. This is how you show you care. You don’t back down. You fight. You show up. You don’t let go. Talk to Charles. Show him how much your family mean does to you.”
Max didn’t hesitate. “Everything,” he said, voice low. “They mean the world. I’d die for them.”
Lewis looked at him then, steady and sure. “They don’t want you dead, Max. They want you alive—with them. Charles, your son… they need you.”
Max stayed quiet, jaw tight, throat thick.
“And the idea of seeing him with someone else?” Lewis continued. “I know that thought physically hurts you. It’s unfair, isn’t it? Because you didn’t choose this—being gone, being presumed dead. Yeah, you screwed up before all that. But the lies after? That wasn’t you. You were taken from your life, your family. And I think… for once, you should be selfish. Go for what you want. Chase him. Love him. Woo him.”
Max gave a dry, bitter laugh. “But I hate the chase.”
Lewis raised a brow. “You’re a detective, Verstappen. Chasing is what you do.”
That made Max pause. Something flickered in his eyes—nostalgia, maybe.
Max smiled faintly. “You know… Michelle, my friend told me the exact same thing once. Back when I was whining on her couch about how impossible Charles was being.”
There you go.” Lewis smiled. “You’ve done it before. You can do it again.” Lewis grinned and stood.” Come on, we’ve been gone a while.”
Max stopped him. “Wait—before you go, I have one more question.”
Lewis glanced back. “Shoot.”
Max hesitated. “This person in Charles’s life… who do you think it is?”
Lewis shrugged. “I don’t actually know. But I think it might be the guy from the blind date Nico and Charles went to.”
Max froze. “Charles went on a blind date?”
Lewis nodded casually. “Yeah, about a month ago, I think.”
“A month ago?” Max’s brows drew together. “Nico made it sound serious.”
Lewis scoffed. “Told you not to trust Nico’s judgment. They had dinner. That’s it. Yeah, he talked about him a bit and apparently they went on a couple of dates afterward, but it’s not serious. I think they kissed”
Max’s breath caught. “they kissed?”
“They kissed?” he repeated, softer this time. The thought felt like a punch to the ribs.
It was serious. Or at least, it felt serious to Max.
He could feel jealousy crawl up his spine, hot and sharp. And shame, right behind it. He didn’t have the right to feel like this. because Charles literally thought he was dead. But the image—Charles kissing someone else—was unbearable. Max could never. His lips belonged to Charles. Apparently, Charles’s lips weren’t his anymore.
Lewis must’ve seen the way his expression changed because he said, “It’s not serious. Trust me. The guy’s delusional—he thinks they’re soulmates because they both like gardening and came out late in life.”
Max blinked. “Gardening? Charles is into gardening?”
Lewis looked confused for a second—then laughed. “Charles? No, Nico is into gardening.”
Max looked at him sharply. “Wait—are you saying… you were talking about Nico and his boyfriend?”
Lewis froze. “They are not dating you can hardly consider them boyfriends.” Then he goes quiet for a second and adds “Wait—you were talking about Charles?”
Max’s says unsure. “Yes?”
Lewis rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “Okay… we might’ve been talking about two different people.”
Max’s heart thudded. “So the kiss—the blind date—that was Nico’s?”
“Yeah. Nico and the new guy. Not Charles,” Lewis confirmed. “As far as I know, Charles came back early that night. Said the guy was boring, that is what Lando told me.”
Max blinked, stunned. Then exhaled, a slow, shaky breath. Relief flooded through him like a wave, easing the tight grip around his chest.
Charles hadn’t kissed anyone else.
Maybe Nico didn’t know what he was talking about.
Maybe Charles was still his.
Max get up as he gave Lewis a knowing look. “Apparently I still have got a chance. But it seems like I’m not the only one doing the chasing anymore. Maybe you have get someone worth running after as well.”
Notes:
Honorable mentions :
- I am willing to sign a petition to make lego cars part of f1 because what do you mean Ferrari had a better chance with that!!!!!!!!
- Pipza for finishing this chapter
- Fun fact there was a whole lestappen reunion scene where Charles wake up to see Max and then take him to bed and cuddle with him which Charles simply doesn't remember because of his head injury, but I forced Pipza to only show the impact. Cause it would be chaotic!lol
- Lestappen panicking over baby Oscar
- Oscar saved unharmed by his favorite grandpa lulu.
- Rumour has it, Bee jail is a scary place where they send hard-core criminals who don't beehive.
- Who would have known Lando did ended up having a drawer in Lestappen marital home.
- Nico pulled the rich kdrama mother when she protects her chaebol nepo baby against the "gold digger" dirt poor love Interest.
- Oranges! I LOVE oranges so much that all my doctors tell me to stop eating it (I am over-dosing on vitamin C)
- Nico : back off
Lewis: fight harder
If only do they listen to their own advice.- A couple of dates and a kiss is nothing Lewis! You share a grandchild together you can woo him over.
- "I hate the chase","you're the one with the handcuffs" bruh.
Also—I know some of you may have expected a full hostage situation or to see Oscar kidnapped, but I just couldn’t do it. It was too much for my heart, and honestly, so I did it this way. Thank you for understanding.
And here's some memes my beta made:
https://www.tumblr.com/take2me5to9hell9/783185569587085312/hi-i-am-running-on-a-4-hours-of-sleep-so-no?source=share
Chapter 16
Notes:
I’m really sorry for the delay and all the false promises of an update — I truly tried, I rewrote this chapter three time and I am still not happy with it.
Anyway, just one more chapter to go, and then it’s a wrap.
I’m sorry for the mistakes, also want to say thank you — truly — for all the kind comments. I love reading them more than I can explain. Even if I haven’t been able to reply to every one, please know that I’ve seen them, and they’ve meant so much to me., but I haven’t had much time lately… and I may have accidentally started a million other fics (oops).
Thank you for sticking around. As always, let me know what you think of the chapter.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
"I think we should’ve gotten a lawyer."
Charles paused mid-rock, frowning. He turned to his father, confused.
"For what?"
Nico nodded toward Oscar. "For the social worker visit. Hand him to me."
Charles adjusted his hold instinctively. "Only if he wants to."
Nico reached out, patient but expectant. Oscar stirred slightly, then turned his head and buried his face deeper into Charles’s shoulder. His tiny fist curled into Charles’s hoodie.
"He wants to sleep," Charles murmured, brushing a hand down Oscar’s back. His voice dropped. "Why would we need a lawyer?"
Nico sighed, fidgeting with his fingers nervously. "Because Oscar was kidnapped while he was under your care. That alone could be enough for them to question your fitness as a parent."
Charles stiffened. "What? That makes no sense. We love Oscar and we have nothing to do with the kidnapping. We take good care of him. They know."
"Well, do they?" Nico replied grimly. "All they know is you're married to a man who faked his death and left you and Oscar exposed. And that Oscar was kidnapped under your care. Max put you both in danger to save himself."
Charles felt the anger rise before he could stop it. "They do dad, Oscar had never had any problem since we got him, and we have nothing to do with the kidnapping. And Max saved Oscar. He loves him."
"He’s also the reason Oscar was in danger to begin with," Nico shot back, voice low and sharp. "If he hadn’t played dead, Jos might not have snapped. Oscar would’ve been safe not in a hospital, after spending god knows how many hours with a psychopath."
Charles closed his eyes. God, he wanted this conversation to end.
Yes, Max had made reckless choices. He’d broken their trust and hurt them in ways that still made Charles’s blood boil. But he wasn’t responsible for Jos’s actions. Max had spent his whole life trying to survive a monster of a father—he didn’t become him nor should be held accountable for his sins. God knows Max had suffered enough because of his father. And he was a good father. Flawed, scared, full of doubt—but loving. Devoted.
“I know you’re worried but everything is going to be fine. “Charles finally said, his voice quiet but firm. “Nothing’s going to happen. They’ll understand. And Max... Max is Oscar’s father. That’s what matters.” Carlos had informed him that a committee panel had been formed—comprising both hospital staff and CPS representatives—and they would be the ones to decide whether he would be allowed to keep Oscar or not.
Oscar was now sound asleep in his arms, breathing softly. Charles carefully laid him down on the bed, adjusting his blanket. Then he turned and led Nico aside.
Nico exhaled hard, cracking his knuckles.
"I hope so, but all I’m saying is this could be a way out. Use this. File for custody now—before Max does. This would help you immensely in the divorce process."
Charles stared at him.
"What?"
"Max is going to fight you for Oscar. I promise you that. And no matter what he said before, when it comes to custody, he’ll want him. Even if he never wanted kids. Which we can still use in court. He can see him of course but I am thinking under supervision."
Charles slowly raised a hand, cutting him off.
"Max is Oscar’s father." His voice was even, but firm. "I don’t have the right—or the desire—to take that away from him. He’s a good dad. Oscar needs him. Needs both of us."
"Charles, you’re misunderstanding—"
"No, I’m not," Charles said, already turning toward the bedroom door. "I’m going to look for Max. Can you stay with Oscar?"
Nico frowned.
"Do you think it’s smart to leave him? You need to show the social workers that you care and that you won’t leave him alone again. What if they show up and don’t find you here? Beside If Max actually cared, he’d already be here.”
"I don’t think it matter, and it’s a ridicules expectation to have. And he won’t be alone they’ll find Oscar with his grandfather. Plus I do care, we care, Max and I have been here since yesterday. It’s ok to leave for a few minutes"
Charles turned and walked out, not waiting for a reply. He didn’t want to keep talking. He knew his father was angry. Angry at Max. Angry at everything. He had carried Charles through the aftermath—and this wasn’t the first time he had picked up the pieces after one of Charles’s failed relationships. But Charles was tired. He had just gotten Oscar back. Max had came back from the dead. And now Nico was talking about custody and divorce. Couldn’t he just get one moment to breathe? He stepped into the corridor, rubbing at his face.
Charles doesn’t want to have this conversation with his dad. Honestly, he doesn’t want to have it with anyone. But he knows he’ll have to — eventually.
Because after everything that’s happened, Charles knows he can’t avoid the talk he needs to have with Max. He’s starting to realize he might have to make a decision. An uncomfortable one.
Because even though Charles loves Max, and Max loves him… it’s not enough. Not anymore. Max’s way of loving him isn’t the kind of love Charles needs.
It’s not that Max didn’t try — he did, in his own way. But Charles has reached a point where he believes Max just doesn’t have the capacity. He just had other priorities.
Max faked his own death.
To solve a case.
He did it without telling Charles, without even considering what it would do to him. And not just to him — to Oscar, to the life they’d built.
Charles understands how important it was for him, he knew Max was grieving, and was not coping well with his father’s death. But never — not in a million years — did he think Max would go that far. That he would leave him to grieve, to fall apart, and to raise their son alone while drowning in a grief that hollowed him out from the inside.
And now that Max is alive?
Charles can’t even be happy about it.
He’s relieved, yes. But not joyful. Because it feels like betrayal. It’s a proof. Proof that Max didn’t love him. That Charles was an afterthought. He was just someone Max kept around so he wouldn’t feel lonely — someone who had to be easy to deal with, who had to be okay with being sidelined when work came up. Someone Max could assign a role to, then move on.
Charles isn’t ungrateful.
He’d still pray every night to whatever deity that brought Max back.
But that doesn’t silence the ache in him. The ache of being unloved. Because Max being alive means Max chose to hurt him. Not out of cruelty — but because he didn’t think about him at all. He didn’t think about how much pain it would cause.
And the truth is, this didn’t start now. For the past few years, Max had given him so little love. Charles had to carry the weight of it all, And Charles filled the rest in with hope, with silence, with pretending he didn’t need more. had to pretend he didn’t have needs. Because if he admitted that Max wasn’t the same man he fell in love with, he’d have to face the fact that their relationship was failing.
Back then, Max was in such a dark place that Charles could have filed for divorce and Max wouldn’t have noticed. So he gave him time. Gave him space as much as he could. Hoping he will come around.
And Max did come back. For a while.
But now Charles knows he never truly did. Max wasn’t rebuilding. He was plotting, working using his paternity leave as a cover.
And Charles wonders:
Did he know that day?
Did he know it would be the last time they spoke, that it will be the last time for a long time where they were a family under one roof?
Was he impatient to leave? Already thinking about implementing the plan?
---
“This meeting is strictly for assessment purposes,” the woman at the head of the table began, her voice calm but clipped. “Our only concern is Oscar’s safety and long-term wellbeing. Please understand that we are here to review the circumstances thoroughly—not to assign blame.”
The social workers arrived shortly after Lewis had left. Charles, tense and tired, felt a faint sense of relief when he saw familiar faces, Mark and Carlos. Mark took a seat near the head of the table, beside a woman with sharply defined features and a navy blazer so crisp it seemed to hold a posture of its own. She was introduced as Eve Hart, a state-appointed child welfare officer assigned to the hospital review board.
Across the table sat the newly formed Child Protection Committee. Among them was Carlos, Oscar’s pediatrician, who offered Mark a polite nod before focusing on the papers in front of him.
“Let’s begin,” Ms. Hart said, folding her hands on the table. “Dr. Sainz, we’ll start with your report on the child’s current condition.”
Carlos cleared his throat and spoke with measured clarity. “Oscar is stable and recovering well, considering the trauma. He wasn’t physically harmed—just dehydrated and visibly distressed when he was brought in. Charles and Max were both present when I evaluated him. Their presence helped settle him. This morning’s follow-up confirms he is medically fit for discharge.”
Charles exhaled quietly. That was something, at least.
Mark made a note on his pad. “And developmentally?”
Carlos nodded. “There’s no indication of regression or cognitive delay. We’ll continue to monitor for longer-term effects of emotional trauma, but right now, he’s alert, responsive, and engaging appropriately for his age.”
“Vaccinations?” another committee member asked.
Carlos slid a folder forward. “All up to date. I’ve included a full record of his immunizations and routine check-ups since birth.”
“Thank you, Dr. Sainz.”
Then the attention shifted. The stillness in the room made Charles sit straighter.
“Mr. Leclerc,” Ms. Hart said, her tone softening slightly. “Thank you for being here today. First, let us be clear: you're not on trial. What happened to Oscar was not your fault. This is simply a procedural step. We need to ensure everything is in order—so Oscar remains safe and protected. What happened to Oscar is deeply unfortunate, but this meeting is about assessing the environment he is returning to. The safety of the child is our mandate.”
“I understand,” Charles said quietly. “That’s what I want too.”
“Then let’s start with the night in question. Can you walk us through what happened, in your own words?”
His hands trembled slightly, but his voice held steady.
“I had stepped out briefly—to get formula,” Charles began, eyes fixed on a point just beyond the table. “We’d run out unexpectedly. It wasn’t a long trip—just a few minutes from the loft to the nearest store.”
He took a slow breath, grounding himself.
“I picked up what we needed and headed back to the car. It was quiet. Nothing felt off. I was just unlocking the trunk to unload the groceries when—” He faltered slightly. “They came out of nowhere. Someone struck me from behind. I blacked out before I even saw them. When I came to, Oscar was gone.”
He reached for his phone resting on the table, with a tap, he unlocked his phone, went to the studio he knows they had seen it but he need to show them the video, he hand his phone out to Mark who passed it to Eve, Grainy security footage from the parking lot had gone viral—Charles being slammed to the ground, Oscar yanked from his car seat and carried away by a shadowy figure.
No one spoke as the clip ended.
Charles’s voice broke the silence. “I didn’t fight because I didn’t even know it was happening. As you saw, they were waiting—hidden. It was a planned ambush. I had no warning. I’ve never felt unsafe in our neighborhood, not until that moment.”
He paused, eyes flicking up toward the committee. “After Dominic… we changed the locks. Took every precaution we could think of. I rarely go out at night. But we needed formula. I didn’t think—” His voice cracked. He swallowed. “I didn’t know.”
He wasn’t asking for sympathy. He was asking them to believe him—because he needed them to trust that he could keep Oscar safe. Because losing Oscar wasn’t an option. He blames himself for what happened to Oscar, but he need to make sure they don’t.
One of the women on the committee gave a small, solemn nod.
Eva passed the phone back to Charles, she adjust her silver-rimmed glasses. “And your injuries, Mr. Leclerc? I’ve read the medical report,” “It states you suffered a concussion. Could you elaborate on your current condition?”
Charles hesitated, then lifted his chin. “I’m doing better. I’ve been cleared by the hospital. I have follow-up appointments scheduled, but nothing that affects my ability to care for Oscar. I’m fully capable of looking after him.”
There was another round of quiet note-taking, followed by polite nods. A practiced smile appeared on Eve’s face, an indication that Charles’s portion of the review had concluded.
“Thank you, Mr. Leclerc,” Ms. Hart said. “We appreciate your honesty.”
Charles offered Max a small, steadying smile as the attention in the room shifted.
The tone shifted as well.
Eve cleared her throat. “Now, Mr. Verstappen,” she said, her voice more formal, “we’ve been asked to include an additional participant for this part of the interview.” Then she nods to Mark who gets up and head to the door, he get out for a while and come back with an older man—stern-faced, with greying hair and an unmistakable air of authority. His tailored navy suit was immaculate, and a gold badge gleamed on his hip and many medals decorated his coat.
Max immediately stood, posture straightening instinctively. “Sir,” he greeted, surprised but respectful.
The man offered a brief nod. “Sit down, Verstappen.”
He crossed the room and took a seat directly across from Max. “My name is Richard Green, Chief Commissioner of State Investigations,” he said, his voice even but commanding. “Given the nature of this case, and its connection to an active, high-profile operation, I requested to join this session. I’ll be responding to any questions regarding the investigation and Mr. Verstappen’s involvement.”
The room took a collective breath, adjusting to the shift in gravity.
Charles blinked. Lewis’s boss, he thought. No, everyone’s boss. The state’s Chief Commissioner.
The questions began formally—focused, procedural.
“What time did you last see Oscar before the abduction?”
“When exactly did you learn your son had been taken?”
“How did you confirm that Jos Verstappen was the person responsible?”
Max answered clearly, his tone clipped but respectful. The details—his brief disappearance, the recovery operation, Jos’s identification—were recounted factually, as though he had rehearsed this in his head countless times.
Then the line of questioning shifted.
“Mr. Verstappen,” Eve said, adjusting her glasses as she reviewed her notes. “Tell us about your relationship with your father.”
Max blinked, caught slightly off guard. Charles could see the way his husband’s shoulders tensed, the flicker of discomfort in his eyes.
This wasn’t easy for Max. It never had been. Even with Charles, it had taken years to talk about Jos. Years to trust that the memories wouldn’t consume him if he gave them words.
“It wasn’t good,” Max said finally, voice low but even. “He wasn’t good. Not to me. Not to my mother. That’s why we left.”
“When did you cut ties?”
“I was ten,” Max said. “My mom made the decision. We left. Changed numbers. Moved without telling anyone.”
“Did he attempt to reestablish contact after that?”
Max nodded slowly. “He didn’t. Not for a long time. Almost two decades. He found me again shortly before Charles and I began the adoption process for Oscar.”
“Was the encounter hostile?”
“No,” Max admitted, though guilt edged his tone. “He… begged, actually. Said he’d changed. Wanted to reconnect. Claimed he regretted everything. I didn’t trust him, so I told him to stay away.”
“And did he?”
“I thought so,” Max said quietly. “He never contacted me again. No calls, no visits. I thought that was the end of it.”
Another pause.
“Was your father aware that you’re gay?”
Max’s jaw tensed. Across the table, Charles felt his own chest constrict.
“I don’t know,” Max said eventually. “Maybe. I was a child when we left. I hadn’t even figured it out myself back then.” He lifted his eyes to the panel. “But I don’t understand how that’s relevant.”
“Do you believe he could be homophobic?” Eve pressed.
Max hesitated, then gave a single nod. “Yes,” he said. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”
“When did you become aware that your family might be in danger? Was the reason you kept your father away is because you knew he would harm your family.”
Max exhaled slowly, clearly struggling with the weight of the question. “I didn’t think he was,” he said. “Not until it was too late. He didn’t show up again after that meeting. I had no reason to believe he’d hurt anyone. I hadn’t seen him in almost twenty years.”
“But you faked your own death,” another committee member cut in. “That suggests you anticipated a threat. That there was prior knowledge.”
Max stiffened. His lips parted, but the words faltered before they could form. Charles felt Max flinch, hesitate.
Charles leaned in, whispering just loud enough: “You can do it.”
They needed to get through this. Charles wouldn’t care if Max bent the truth—what mattered was that they convinced them they were safe. That Oscar belonged with them. If Charles can live with Max’s lies so can Max.
Max drew in a breath and nodded.
“Yes,” he said. “I believed I was a target. But not from Jos. And I never thought he or anybody else would go after my family.”
“But that doesn’t make sense,” the woman across from him pressed. “You must have known they could hurt your partner, your child, to get to you.”
Max looked down at the table. His jaw flexed.
“It’s complicated. Yes, I—” He faltered.
That was when Commissioner Green, who had been silently observing, spoke for the first time. His voice was calm, precise.
“I’ll answer that,” he said. “Mr. Verstappen was removed from the picture for his own safety. But let me be clear: it was not premeditated. The decision was made by federal authorities following a near-fatal incident.”
The room stilled.
“Mr. Verstappen was severely injured in a targeted car crash,” Green continued. “He sustained multiple life-threatening injuries. Due to the extent of his trauma, he was placed in a medically induced coma for several months. He underwent extensive surgeries and only recently recovered enough to resume normal activities.”
Max nodded slowly, confirming the commissioner’s words with quiet dignity.
Across the table, Charles’s eyes widened, the breath catching in his throat. He turned to Max, stunned.
“You didn’t tell me…” he whispered, almost inaudibly.
Max looked away.
The silence in the room was thick.
Green cleared his throat. “In light of that, I suggest we reframe our assumptions. Mr. Verstappen did not choose to disappear. He nearly died. His recovery has been slow, painful, and conducted under protective custody for reasons that remain classified. His absence was not abandonment—it was survival.”
The panelists scribbled notes in silence. No one interrupted.
“You were… in a coma?”
Charles’s voice came out as a whisper, trembling with disbelief.
Max didn’t look at him. But he gave a tiny nod.
Charles felt the air shift. His mind was spinning, but he kept his expression composed, eyes darting toward the panel instead of Max. They were all watching—closely. Looking for cracks for any excuse to dig into their relationship, to find evidence of instability or dysfunction.
So Charles stayed quiet.
As much as he wanted—needed—to ask, to understand, he couldn’t afford to let emotion bleed through. Not now. Not when everything depended on convincing these strangers that they were stable, united, capable of providing a safe and loving home for Oscar. Even if, deep down, Charles wasn’t even sure they were still a “they.”
Still, his thoughts ran wild.
Max had almost died. And he was mourning him. He could’ve been buried again. And Charles wouldn’t have even known— Charles sat in sorrow while Max quietly fought for his life somewhere else. He would have been too busy grieving his death to grieve his real death, thank god that wasn’t the case. That Max recovered and came back, and he was alive and healthy.
The commissioner had said Max was incapacitated, that he hadn’t been in control of his decisions during that time. Still, Max didn’t seem to be in pain now. Charles hadn’t noticed a limp, or a scar, or even a sign of strain. No remnants of whatever had happened to him. Nothing to show for that trauma or maybe Charles just wasn’t looking hard enough. And Max was good at hiding.
Was he alone all that time? Or… was Fernando there?
Charles blinked rapidly, trying to suppress the ache that had crept into his chest.
Did he think about me? About us? When did he wake up? Was he told that Charles was told he was dead? How long has he known?
Max had only been back a few days, and yes, those days had been chaotic. Finding Oscar had become their shared, unspoken priority. And it’s crazy how little Charles knew about this whole thing.
Still… this was worse than Charles had imagined.
The only good news, if there was any, was that it would end. Eventually, this hearing would be over, and Charles would go home with Oscar. He’d figure out a way to co-parent with Max, somehow. They’d survive in parallel. Not all stories were meant to end with a happily ever after. Some people were meant to love quietly, from a distance.
Maybe some people weren’t meant for relationships at all. Maybe some people weren’t meant for marriage, or soul mates, or beautiful, picture-perfect families. Maybe some people just… weren’t good enough. Not for love, not for forever. Maybe some hearts were too broken, too sharp for anyone else to hold.
Maybe I’m one of those people.
But he had Oscar. And he had his father. That would be enough. Being loved was overrated anyway.
Once he got through today, everything would settle. And he can go back to his life. A slot had opened in his schedule now—he no longer had to grieve a husband who wasn’t actually dead. No more Sunday cemetery dates. No more midnight sobs in the kitchen.
He just had to survive the next few hours.
The panel's questioning resumed, shifting focus.
Eve sat forward, her voice calm but direct.
“Commissioner, before we go any further, I have to ask—are they safe now? Is the threat really over?”
Charles blinked, surprised by the question. He hadn't thought to ask. He’d been so focused on getting Oscar back, on saying the right thing, he hadn’t considered… the danger might not be over.
Commissioner Green didn’t hesitate. “Yes. The immediate threat has been neutralized. May is dead, Matt is in custody—we have strong evidence against him, and he’s not going anywhere. Jos as well. They’re both facing serious charges. The case is strong. We’ve already begun coordinating with the new DA.”
he turned slightly toward Max. “You’re also entitled to request a restraining order, Mr. Verstappen. Against both of them. It would extend to your family. It's your right, should you want that extra protection.”
Max gave a quiet nod. “I’ll take it. Whatever keeps them away from Charles and Oscar.”
Charles shifted beside him, then added softly, “We’ve also been thinking about moving. Even before all of this… We wanted a fresh start.”
Mark raised an eyebrow. “You’re thinking of leaving the state?”
Charles paused. That hadn’t been the plan—but he glanced toward Max, then back to the panel. “We talked about a new home, a house. Somewhere smaller. Quieter. But… if you believe it’s necessary, if it would make Oscar safer, then yes. We’d move.”
Max’s voice came in steady beside him. “We’d go wherever he needs us to be.”
Eve shook her head gently. “We’re not asking you to relocate. That’s not our place. You’re safe here now. What you do next—that’s your choice.”
Commissioner Green gave a small nod. “There’s no legal reason for you to leave. Do what’s right for your family. No one’s chasing you anymore.”
There was a beat of silence before Eve flipped to a new page in her file.
“Let’s talk about Oscar now,” she said. “He’s going to daycare?”
Charles sat up a little straighter. “Yes, because of work, but I had strict criteria, I prioritized safety, child-to-teacher ratios, and flexibility with my schedules. Oscar is doing so well, he has friends and loves going there.”
“And your work, Mr. Leclerc?” another asked. “When do you plan to go back to work?”
“Soon. But it won’t affect Oscar greatly, I’ve recently adjusted my shifts—less overnight work, more daytime availability. I am also looking into additional childcare support.”
They turned to Max. “And you Mr. Verstappen when are you going back to work?”
Max hesitated, then answered honestly. “I’m… not sure yet. I don’t know if I’ll go back to work or take a break or quiet all together. But right now, my focus is Oscar. And Charles. That’s what matters.”
There was a soft murmur of note-taking. Surprisingly, Commissioner Green stayed for the remainder of the hearing, even as the questions grew more logistical and routine, he didn’t speak—but his continued presence seemed deliberate. Like a silent vote of confidence.
“How have things been between you since Mr. Verstappen’s return?” Mark asked, pen poised.
Charles was the first to speak. “We love each other,” he said, his voice calm and measured. “There’s been a lot of confusion. But none of that changed how I feel about Max.” Charles nodded wanting to sound more confident, forcing a smile. “I couldn’t be happier to have my husband back,” he added sincerely, “We’ve both been through something unimaginable. But we’re here. We’re together. That’s what matters.”
“And your son?” Eve asked. “How does Oscar factor into your reunion?”
Max didn’t hesitate. “He is—and will always be—our priority. We’ve always been on the same page about Oscar. Whatever happens between us, he’ll never be caught in the middle. He’ll always be surrounded by love. That’s not negotiable. I know I lost time. I know what I missed. But I intend to make the most of every moment I have going forward. With my husband. And with our son.”
A stillness fell over the room. The panel continued to take notes, their faces impassive.
Charles inhaled, steadying himself. “Oscar is the center of our world. We’re not perfect, but we’re here. And we’re ready to do whatever it takes to give him the love and safety he deserves.”
After several long moments of quiet deliberation among the panel, Eve leaned forward, her expression composed yet warm. She folded her hands neatly on the table before speaking.
“Thank you both for your time and your honesty today. This has been a difficult and unusual case, but after reviewing all documentation, doctor’s statements, and today's hearing, we’ve reached a decision.”
Charles felt his heart stutter. He held his breath without realizing it.
Eve continued, “Effective immediately, Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen will retain custody of Oscar. You are authorized to take him home today.”
The words landed with relief. Charles closed his eyes briefly.
“However,” Eve said, her tone shifting slightly to emphasize structure and accountability, “this reunification will proceed under supervision for a transitional period.”
She glanced at her notes before elaborating. “There will be unannounced home visits conducted by a designated child welfare officer. These visits are not meant to disrupt, but to ensure a safe, stable, and supportive environment for Oscar as he adjusts. The frequency of these visits will decrease over time based on our assessments.”
Charles nodded slowly. “Understood.”
“We expect full cooperation,” Eve added, though there was no doubt in her voice that they would comply.
“Of course,” Max said without hesitation.
Eve offered a small smile. “Oscar is a bright, resilient child. He’s been through a great deal in a very short time. What he needs now is continuity, love, and a calm environment. From everything we’ve seen and heard today, you are both prepared to provide that.”
Charles nodded again, this time more firmly. “He’ll have it. We promise.”
---
Charles could barely hold himself back. His legs moved faster with every step, his chest tight with anticipation. He wasn’t running, not exactly—but it felt like if he didn’t exit the room soon enough.
Oscar was waiting. His Oscar. Theirs.
And this—this would be the last time he ever lost him.
Behind him, Max walked more slowly, his steps steadier, quieter.
They’d already said goodbye to Eve and Mark—Mark had clasped both their shoulders, smiling as he congratulated them with a firm nod and a quiet “take care.”
But Commissioner Green had stayed behind.
Max turned back and extended a hand first, firm and direct. “Thank you for being here, sir.”
Charles mirrored the gesture, a little slower. “Really. Thank you.”
Commissioner Green looked at them both.
“I had to be here,” he said simply. “It’s the least I could do. After everything… the system failed you—failed both of you—more than once. And despite that, you stayed. You served. You protected. Not just this city, but its people.”
His voice didn’t waver, but it carried something heavy. Earnest.
“You deserve better,” he went on. “You deserve peace. And protection. And acknowledgment for everything you’ve sacrificed.”
Charles blinked at him, thrown by the honesty in the man’s tone. It was rare to be seen that clearly by someone in power.
“In fact, Lewis called me yesterday,” the commissioner added with a small smile. “Wanted my permission to attend the hearing. I told him no—I told him I needed to be there myself.”
Max exhaled a small laugh, brief and surprised. Charles glanced at him, caught the quiet glimmer of emotion in his eyes.
Commissioner Green continued walking with them toward Oscar’s room, his voice steady. “You’ve risked your lives for this city over and over. And you’ve done it quietly. Without fanfare. Without asking for anything in return. People like you deserve someone to stand in your corner. To fight for you the way you fight for everyone else.”
They reached the hospital room.
Charles froze with his hand on the door handle, heart hammering. Just on the other side of the wall, Oscar was waiting. Alive. Safe. His.
“Do you want to meet him?” Charles asked, turning slightly, offering the moment.
The commissioner smiled. “Not yet. This is yours. Go be with your son.”
Charles hesitated. “Are you sure?”
“I’ll meet him soon,” Green said. He stepped forward and placed a firm hand on Max’s shoulder. “Hopefully when we give you your medals. Go be with your family, Verstappen.”
Max gave a quiet, “Thank you, sir.”
Then the commissioner stepped back and nodded once.
Charles opened the door and stepped inside.
The first thing he heard was laughter—light, innocent, beautiful. And then he saw him.
Oscar sat in Nico’s lap, legs bouncing slightly as he waved a plastic toy back and forth. Nico looked up the second they entered and stood.
“He’s ours?” Nico said, his voice breaking on the words.
Charles nodded, smiling so hard it hurt. “He absolutely is.”
And then he moved forward, arms outstretched.
Nico passed Oscar into his arms without hesitation.
Charles held him close, pressing a kiss to the soft curls on his head, and then another to his tiny cheek. Oscar wriggled in his embrace but didn’t protest—he clung to him with small, chubby hands.
Charles couldn’t speak. His throat was thick with emotion, his heart aching with love.
Max stood near the doorway, just watching. Silent. Still. His expression unreadable.
But Charles didn’t press. Not now. He didn’t need anything else in this moment except Oscar. And Oscar was here.
Alive. Breathing. Safe.
Charles swayed slightly, cradling him tighter. “We’re okay now,” he whispered into his hair. “We’re okay.”
Oscar babbled something unintelligible in response and grinned up at him like the world made perfect sense.
++++
“Charles, you're back?”
Charles had barely stepped into the station before George pulled him into a quick hug.
“Yes,” he said softly, nodding.
George grinned. “We missed you, man. I missed you.”
“George, leave him alone,” Sebastian said from across the station.
“But he’s finally back! I can’t deal with another replacement, please.”
Before Charles could answer, Nico came down the stairs from his office, arms crossed, his voice echoing across the room.
“Hey, Charles. Good to finally see you.”
Charles gave him a tight smile. “Yeah. I thought it was time to come back to work.”
“You could have took your time,” Nico said bluntly. “But it would’ve been good to hear from you. I get that you missed Oscar—but that doesn’t mean you forget about us.”
Charles rolled his eyes. His dad was so dramatic. It had been three days since they last saw each other.
Charles hadn’t seen his father in three days—not since the day they were discharged from the hospital.
The goodbye had been tense.
Nico hadn’t taken it well when Charles told him they were going back to the loft.
“You should come home with me,” Nico had said—firm, insistent, avoiding Max’s presence entirely, even though Max was standing right there, Oscar sleeping in his arms. “You and Oscar can stay with me.”
He didn’t say “and Max.” Never even looked at him.
Charles had kept his tone level. Tired, but calm. “We’re just going back to the loft, dad. It’s our home for now.”
“But Charles, It’s where you lived before everything happened,” Nico snapped, and that had been the closest he got to anger. “That place is full of ghosts. You don’t need to go back there. You need to heal. And Oscar needs support—Lewis and I can help with that.”
Nico was right, at this point bad memories outweigh the good ones in the loft. But it wasn’t Nico’s call to make.
Charles had glanced at Max, who was standing quietly, one hand protectively over Oscar’s back, eyes on the floor.
It would’ve been easier to give in. To let Nico take over, like he always did when things got too intense, too overwhelming.
But Charles had stood his ground, gently but firmly. “We need normal, dad. Or something close to it. We’ve barely had any of that.”
Nico didn’t argue further—not out loud, anyway. But the tension simmered the entire drive back, quiet and suffocating. Charles had thanked him anyway—sincerely—and told his dad that they just needed rest. That they’d talk. Charles promised he would call.
He hadn’t. He texted his dad thought.
Not because he didn’t want to—but because he and Max had been exhausted. Physically, emotionally, spiritually. The past three days were spent sleeping in shifts, took turns watching over Oscar like he might disappear again if they dared to look away, Max had tried to talk a few times, started conversations about what they were, what this meant, what came next.
But every time, Charles shut it down. A gentle deflection. A change of subject. A vague “not now.”
So now Nico was here. And he was pissed.
Not in any loud or obvious way. No, Nico preferred the quieter tactics. Precision strikes. Passive-aggressive landmines buried in casual conversation.
“Well, I’m back,” Charles said. “You can see me more now.”
Nico wasn’t finished. “Yeah, but I can’t see Oscar every day like I used to.”
Charles sighed. “We’ll visit, Dad.”
“Leave them be, Nico,” Sebastian interrupted. “He just got his son and husband back. You shouldn’t expect to see him much for the next couple of years.”
From near the fire truck, Kimi—who’d been wiping soot off a panel—lifted his head.
“What the fuck. So it’s true? You’re not a widower anymore?”
Charles grimaced. “Yes, Kimi. Max is alive.”
Kimi whistled under his breath. “That’s gotta be awkward.”
Charles bit his lower lip and avoided his dad’s eyes. Kimi wasn’t wrong. But he also wasn’t exactly helping.
Nico clapped his hands once. “Alright, everyone, let’s get to work.”
With that, the crew dispersed. Charles made his way toward the changing room to start his first shift back. He felt... something close to excitement. He couldn’t wait for life to feel normal again—or as normal as it could get. He still hadn’t figured out the mess at home.
But he had Oscar now. His work. And Max.
On paper, it looked like they were back to how it was before Oscar—but in reality, they weren’t talking. Not really. Not about anything that mattered.
This time, it was Charles who was pulling away.
But Charles had his reasons, he was angry with Max. He’d just gotten Oscar back and wanted to enjoy that, not reopen old wounds or dig through the chaos Max had left behind. Max had tried to talk, tried to fix things—but Charles kept avoiding it, and for a while, it worked.
But now that he was back at work, it was harder to avoid. Especially when it came to Oscar’s care.
He didn’t want to put Oscar in daycare—not yet. So, finally, he brought it up to Max.
But before Charles could explain, Max had said, “That won’t be a problem. I can stay with him.”
Which was fine. To him at least, Nico wasn’t thrilled when he received Charles’s message to inform him about his return to work.
So when Charles heard footsteps behind him on the way to the changing rooms, he wasn’t surprised. He turned just before opening the door. Nico stopped short, clearly not expecting to be caught.
“What is it, Dad?” Charles asked, not hiding his irritation.
“I just wanted to talk.”
“About what?”
“You know what.”
Charles groaned. “Come on, Dad. Would you just drop it?”
“I won’t,” Nico said. “Oscar is my grandson. I care about his well-being. Especially after everything that’s happened.”
“I understand that. But my son is with his father.”
Nico scoffed. “Oh, the father who faked his own death and put your life in danger?”
Charles closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Dad, stop. Please. You know Max loves Oscar. I don’t ever want you to talk about him like that again.”
“You’re forgiving him too easily. You’re going to regret this.”
“Oh my God, Dad, I’m not a teenager. Stop interfering in my life. I know what I’m doing.”
“But do you really know what are you doing?” Nico said, stepping closer. “You almost died—multiple times—because of him. You deserve better. You deserve someone who actually loves you. Someone like—like Lando.”
Charles let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. Not amused. Just tired.
“First of all,” he said, rubbing a hand over his face, “despite what everyone seems to think, I can live without a man. I’m not out here shopping for replacements.”
He paused, eyes fixed somewhere over Nico’s shoulder.
“And second… Lando doesn’t like me, Dad. He tolerated me, barely. That’s it.”
But even as he said it, his voice faltered. Because it wasn’t the whole truth, was it?
Because the truth was… he didn’t know what he and Lando had.
It wasn’t something he could define. In the past, he would’ve easily said Lando hated him—But things had changed. Lando had been there for him in all the right ways when everything else had fallen apart. He had shown up when it counted, stayed when it got messy, and carried Charles through moments he thought he wouldn’t survive. They grieved together, and were helping each other.
Charles owed him so much. And yet…
There was something different. Something comforting about having Lando around. With him, things were better and at ease.
He still didn’t understand why Lando had done any of it. Yes, Lando had confessed his feelings, but Charles hadn’t believed him. He still didn’t.
Because grief—grief was a confusing. It made people see what wasn’t there. Feel things they shouldn’t. Lando had been grieving Max, just like Charles was. And Lando had confused his love for Max with love for Charles. Maybe he’d been projecting. Maybe that kiss—God, that kiss—was nothing more than misplaced sorrow. A need for someone familiar.
Yet Charles had never seen Lando like that before. So soft. So gentle. So… kind.
But no—he couldn’t explain any of this to his father.
How could he begin to say: I kissed my husband’s best friend while I thought my husband was dead. And I still don’t know what it meant. I don’t even know what Lando meant.
So he swallowed and finished quietly hoping he’s not making things worse, “We’re not like that.”
He didn’t meet Nico’s eyes.
Nico’s voice sharpened. “Don’t lie to yourself. You can’t be that dense to believe he doesn’t like you, everyone can tell how deep he feels for you. The way he looks at you—you’d have to be blind not to notice.”
Charles shook his head, already feeling the pressure build in his chest.
“You’re wrong,” he muttered.
“I’m not,” Nico pushed. “And you’re too lost right now to see clearly. But Lando—he’d burn the world to protect you. Max? He’d burn you to protect his.”
Charles flinched. It wasn’t the words—it was the conviction behind them. The certainty.
“You’re unbelievable,” Charles said, his voice cracking under the strain. “Lando hated me. He was in love with Max. And when Max died, he and I… we were just two people trying to survive the same grief. That’s all it was.”
He took a shaky breath, forcing his voice to steady.
“And now that Max is back, I’m sure Lando will go right back to pretending I don’t exist. That’s fine. That’s the natural order of things, isn’t it?”
Nico’s eyes narrowed. “You couldn’t be more off if you tried.”
Charles’s voice rose, frustration bleeding through. “Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. But I’m trying. I’m trying, Dad. Can’t that be enough?”
He stepped back, arms crossing defensively.
“Wrong or right, it’s my life. And I’m exhausted. I haven’t had a moment of peace since—God, I don’t even know. I’m not asking for advice, I’m asking for space.”
Nico stayed silent.
Charles kept going, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
“You can’t control every part of my life. I know you’re lonely. I know you’re used to me being around because you’re scared to live your own life, but you can’t live through me. It’s not healthy. You need to go live your own life. Go out. Let me go. Get off of my back, dad.”
It was too much. He knew it the second it left his mouth.
The silence that followed was sharp.
Nico’s expression froze. Then he laughed—quiet, bitter.
“Oh. I see. Now that you’ve got him back, you don’t need us anymore.”
“That’s not—”
“No, it’s fine,” Nico interrupted. “You don’t need us. Got it. But when this all goes to hell—and it will, because it always does—don’t come crawling back. I’m done.”
Charles opened his mouth, but no sound came out.
“You think you’re unlucky?” Nico said. “You’re not. Everything that’s happened—every time you got hurt, every time he broke you—you let it happen. You stayed. You let him turn you into someone who doesn’t even know what self-respect looks like anymore.”
Charles’s breath caught.
“You’re not unlucky,” Nico went on, each word sharper than the last. “You’re not cursed. You’re just—this is the result of your choices. Of letting him use you, walk all over you, break you again and again—and still coming back for more. You’ve got no dignity left. And he knows it. That’s why he keeps doing it.”
He wanted to say something—anything—but his mind was blank. All he could hear was the low thrum of his own heartbeat in his ears. All he could feel was the sharp sting of humiliation settling in his chest.
His father's words hit somewhere deep, somewhere raw.
He tried to search Nico’s face for hesitation, for regret. But there was none. Just resentment.
Which, maybe, was fair. Maybe Charles had earned it. Maybe he was pathetic.
His shoulders sank.
No wonder Max didn’t respect him—his own father didn’t.
His jaw tightened, his chest aching with humiliation. Without another word, he turned and walked to the changing room.
“I don’t want to talk about this ever again,” he said over his shoulder. “I’m going to change.” shoving the door shut behind him. The latch clicked softly.
---
By the end of his shift, Charles couldn’t get out fast enough.
It had been his decision to return to work—he wanted to come back. Needed it, even. But despite the rhythm of station life, his mind kept drifting back to Oscar.
He’d called Max three times. Texted him twice more. Each time, Max had replied calmly: He’s good. He ate, slept. We’re okay.
Still, Charles couldn’t shake the restless ache in his chest. He missed Oscar.
As he stepped out of the firehouse, his jacket slung over his shoulder, he spotted Nico at the curb—already in civilian clothes, keys in hand, heading to his car.
Charles hesitated. He hadn’t expected to run into him again, Nico had been avoiding him the whole day. Which wasn’t difficult, since Charles is no longer a firefighter, and now he didn’t know what to say. Charles was deeply hurt by what his father had said. But he hated when his dad get mad at him.
“Hey, Dad,” he called out, careful, uncertain. “Heading home?”
Nico didn’t smile. He didn’t even look at him. So his dad is still mad.
“wouldn’t want to bother you with my life, son,” he said flatly.
Charles blinked. “About this morning, I think we both were out of line and said things we didn’t mean.”
Nico stopped. Turned.
The look on his face made Charles’s stomach drop. It wasn’t anger—it was something worse. Disappointment. Hurt.
“Oh I think you were quiet serious and you know we know where we stand with you, Charles,” Nico said, his voice quieter now, but razor-sharp. “You only call when you need something. But the minute things go well, we don’t hear from you.”
And with that, he turned again and walked to his car.
Charles didn’t move. He couldn’t.
His throat felt tight. His arms hung useless at his sides.
He wanted to call out—to explain. But what would he even say? That it wasn’t like that? That he’d just been overwhelmed? That he was scared Nico would show up and confront Max.
But it’s unfair of his dad to imply that he used them?
The words sat in Charles’s chest like a stone, too heavy to swallow, too sharp to ignore.
Yes, they helped him, and for that he was grateful. Eternally grateful. He would probably never be able to repay everything they did for him—and he never forgot it for a second. But he didn’t ask for help. Not once.
It was his dad who dragged him home. His dad who made sure he didn’t sleep alone that first night. Who practically forbid him from moving back to the loft, even when Charles had said he was ready. And Lewis was there at every turn trying his best to make Charles’s life easy, out of guilt maybe Charles thought. Lando—well, Lando had been there too. He had needed Lando. And later… well, things had gotten complicated, and whatever that was, it didn’t matter now.
Because none of it had been calculated. He didn’t sit there, scheming how to use them as a replacement and leave the second Max came back. He was drowning. And they threw him a lifeline.
That wasn’t using someone. That was surviving.
But now? Now it felt like his father had been keeping score the whole time.
He watched his dad get into the car and drive off without another word.
And the guilt sank in.
Because Nico wasn’t completely wrong.
Charles did pull away. Not out of spite. Not because he didn’t care. But because he felt trapped. Pressured. His dad expect him to sort out his life, it felt like being cornered into a decision he wasn’t ready to make. About Max. About Oscar. About their future.
He didn’t know how to choose.
So he’d chosen silence. Chosen to focus on the small happiness of having his son back. Chosen to delay.
But delays come with a cost.
He exhaled slowly and finally turned toward home.
Oscar was waiting.
---
Charles stepped inside the apartment and paused.
Daniel and Lando were there.
He hadn’t expected them—not today, not like this—but the surprise didn’t last long. He quickly schooled his expression, smoothing the flicker of emotion off his face before anyone could catch it. He smiled.
Daniel was—sprawled out on the armchair like he hadn’t spent the last few months as part of the lie that gutted Charles from the inside out. He looked… happy. Healthier than Charles had seen him in months. Clean-shaven, glowing, dressed in a bright orange shirt and jeans.
Jimmy is lying near the window, and Sassy is playing with one of Oscar’s toys. Leo is curled up by the wall, half asleep.
Daniel was already rising, his usual bright grin in place. “Charles!” Daniel greeted cheerfully, “Look at you! First day back, huh?”
Charles offered a polite smile. “Hey. Yes back to business as usual.”
His eyes scanned the room, landing on Lando next. Lando didn’t get up. He just gave a small wave, one hand raised casually while the other held a slice of orange to Oscar’s mouth. The baby sat comfortably in his lap, sucking at the fruit, holding onto Lando’s hand with both of his own.
Oscar looked up and beamed when he saw Charles, but didn’t move from where he was. He seemed content—safe. He stepped forward and leaned down to kiss Oscar’s forehead, ignoring the stickiness that transferred to his lips.
Charles gave a tight smile, his eyes flicking briefly toward the kitchen.
Max was there—chopping vegetables, laser-focused on the cutting board. Shoulders squared, jaw tight. It was foreign to Charles to see Max in the kitchen preparing meals for a hangout, playing the role of a husband he had long stopped knowing how to be. For a moment, Charles was dragged back to the early days—when they used to host dinner nights, the 118 hangout. It felt like a different lifetime now. A different Charles.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Max said it was your first day back, so we figured we’d stop by. You know, now that quarantine’s done and the newlyweds are out of the nest.”
He grinned again, trying to make it light.
Charles’s smile was a little too tight. “Thanks.”
Daniel seemed to notice the strain. His grin faded. “We should’ve called, huh?”
Charles shook his head slowly. “No, you’re always welcome. We could use the company.”
He crossed the room and sat next to Lando, offering a small smile— Lando returned it—barely.
Then, without looking at him, Lando said quietly, “Can you take him? I need the bathroom.”
Charles’s smile faltered. “Of course.”
Lando carefully passed Oscar over. The baby let out a low, unhappy grunt but settled into Charles’s arms without much protest, still clinging to the now-drenched orange slice. Charles held him close, kissed the top of his head again, and exhaled.
The minute Lando left the room, Charles felt—lonely. It was ridiculous, maybe. The apartment was full. Daniel was beside him, Max was in the kitchen, Oscar was on his lap. But it still felt like the apartment was empty.
Daniel chatted for a bit, asking about Charles’s first day back. It was light, casual. But then his tone shifted. His voice dropped low, almost cautious.
“Charles,” Daniel said, glancing toward the kitchen to make sure Max was still occupied. He lowered his voice. “I’m sorry.”
Charles looked at him, confused. “What for?”
“I know you’re mad at me,” Daniel said. “For lying. And I’m also sorry for not being there. I realize now I failed you—and him.” He jerked his chin slightly in Max’s direction.
Charles was quiet for a moment. He didn’t know how to answer that. He didn’t even know if he was mad.
He looked down at Oscar, still settled in his lap, little fingers sticky from the orange. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “It was a lot for all of us.”
And it was. When Max had died—supposedly died—Charles had noticed Daniel’s absence. Because Lando kept mentioning how miserable Daniel was. But Charles hadn’t been mad. He understood that Daniel wasn’t doing well himself. If anything, he’d felt guilty. Guilty for not being able to be there for Daniel either.
But now, knowing the truth… it changed things.
Daniel must’ve felt trapped—watching Charles grieve, carrying the weight of a secret, worrying about Max in a coma and unable to do anything about it. Charles didn’t envy that burden. But it still stung. Knowing how many people had known, and he hadn’t.
“I get it,” Charles said quietly. “You were in a hard position. Don’t worry about it. It’s all in the past now.”
Daniel didn’t look convinced. “Is it in the past, though?”
Charles’s gaze drifted to the kitchen, where Max was focused on the salad like it was the only thing keeping him upright. He hadn’t said much since he arrived. Just kept his head down and his hands busy.
Charles looked back at Daniel, who was watching Max too—his face quietly sad. So maybe Charles wasn’t the only one hurting. Maybe he wasn’t the only one betrayed that night. And maybe everyone had their own wound to carry.
Then Oscar threw a piece of orange peel on the floor with an annoyed huff.
“Oscar,” Charles said gently, reaching down to pick it up. The baby just blinked up at him and he began wiping his sticky hands on Charles’s shirt.
Charles stood up with Oscar in his arms. Happy to have found a way out of this conversation, He stepped away from the living room and looked briefly toward the kitchen again. Max didn’t turn. Didn’t even glance over.
So instead of joining him, Charles turned toward the hallway. “We’ll use the bathroom,” he murmured, more to himself than anyone else. It felt simpler. Less exposed. More familiar.
And quieter.
++++
Charles walked down the hall with Oscar settled against his chest, warm and sticky from the orange slices. Outside the bathroom door, he paused. Lando had been in there for a while. He raised his hand and knocked gently.
“Lando?” he called softly. “You in there?”
No answer.
He shifted Oscar on his hip, just as the baby reached out and tapped the door with his small, orange-smeared hand. “’Ando… ’ando…”
Charles smiled faintly. “Oh, you want to see Uncle Lando?”
As if summoned, the door creaked open. Lando stood there, a little flushed. The second Oscar saw him, he leaned forward with both arms outstretched. Lando didn’t hesitate — he stepped forward and took him into his arms, holding him close.
“Careful,” Charles murmured. “He’s all sticky. I was going to wash his hands.”
Without a word, Lando stepped back to let him in, settling Oscar on his hip while Charles moved to the sink. The small bathroom filled with quiet sounds — the water running, Oscar’s little hums.
Charles washed Oscar’s hands slowly, taking his time. He wasn’t in a hurry to go back to the living room. Not yet.
He glanced over at Lando and smiled. “I think someone’s picked a favorite uncle.”
Lando gave a faint smile but didn’t look up, just focused on Oscar’s hands like it was the most important task of the day.
Charles dried Oscar’s fingers one by one, not speaking until the last one. “Lando…” he began, just as Lando said, “Look…”
They both paused, then Charles nodded. “You first.”
Lando exhaled. “I’m sorry. I know this is awkward. I didn’t want to come, honestly. But Daniel insisted. And he didn’t want to come alone. Things are still... tense between him and Max, and I guess I was the buffer.”
Charles tilted his head. “Well, I’m glad you did.”
Lando looked at him, surprised.
“I missed you,” Charles said softly, like it was something fragile. “I didn’t realize how much until you weren’t here. It’s quieter without you. Less warm.”
Lando’s gaze flicked down. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it.”
“I do,” Charles said. “You were here through the worst of it. We went through all of that together. You saw me fall apart, and you didn’t walk away. That... that means something. And now that you’re not around, the place feels emptier. Like something’s off.”
Lando didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet. “Well, things have changed. Max is back.”
Charles nodded, eyes falling to the floor. “I know.”
They stood in the silence that followed, Oscar blinking between them like he understood every word.
“We should probably go back,” Lando said, adjusting the baby in his arms.
“Yeah,” Charles murmured, then added with a smile, “Thanks for helping.”
As they stepped out of the bathroom and rejoined the others, something in Charles felt lighter. He took Oscar back into his arms, and Lando gave him a small, unreadable look before sitting down again.
Dinner was easier after that. Charles laughed at Daniel’s jokes. He let himself settle into the noise. He didn’t miss how quiet Max and Lando stayed, didn’t miss the glances they avoided — but Charles didn’t care, because he knows they are all in this together and would have to find a way out of it. They were all struggling with the change, whether they admitted it or not.
Daniel, Lewis, Max,, Fernando, Sophie, Lando, even his father — all of them were trying to figure out how to live with what happened, the damage, the love that had changed shape. Eventually — not now, not easily — they’d find a way to make it work.
++++
Daniel was the first to leave.
Charles thanked him at the door, offered a quick hug, and watched him disappear down the hallway without much more than a wave. The apartment felt quieter the second he was gone.
In the kitchen, Lando and Max were washing the dishes in silence. Charles watched them for a moment from the doorway. Lando hadn't looked at him since dinner ended—hadn't spoken to him unless absolutely necessary. He'd practically leapt at the chance to help Max in the kitchen, as if it gave him a legitimate excuse to put distance between them.
Charles had tried to act like it didn’t bother him. But it did.
It hurt more than he wanted to admit.
So Lando was back to being Lando. Cool. Detached. Max-adjacent.
Charles wasn’t sure if Lando was trying to quietly end whatever fragile friendship they’d built while Max was gone—or if it was guilt, discomfort, or regret. Maybe all of the above. Maybe now that Max was back, Charles wasn’t someone Lando had space for anymore.
And fine. Maybe that made sense. But it didn’t make it hurt any less.
They had been good to each other. At least, Lando had been good to him. But apparently Charles hadn’t been enough in return.
Charles stayed quiet. He got up, turned his attention to Oscar, whispering soft words as he carried him into the bedroom. He changed him, tucked him in, and stayed there a little longer than necessary, letting the quiet ground him. When he finally stepped out, the apartment was empty aside from Max, who had turned off all the lights but the kitchen lights.
“Where’s Lando?” he asked.
Max didn’t look up from the counter he was wiping down. “He just left.”
Just left.
Without saying goodbye.
“I need to talk to him,” he said quietly.
Max didn’t say anything, just nodded.
“I’ll be back in a bit,” Charles added, slipping his feet into his sneakers. He grabbed the keys from the hook, already moving toward the door.
++++
When Charles stepped outside, he spotted Lando by the curb, just about to get into his car.
“Lando!” he called, breathe hitching as he jogged down the steps. “Wait—Lando!”
Lando paused, hand on the car door, clearly surprised. He turned just as Charles reached him, slightly out of breath.
Charles put his hands on his knees, catching himself before standing up straight. “Sorry—just give me a second—I ran.”
“You don’t say,” Lando said with a faint smile. “You sound like you’re dying.”
Charles let out a breathless laugh. “God, I’m so out of shape.”
Lando raised an eyebrow. “You’re always out of shape.”
Charles nudged him lightly. “Hey. Be nice.”
Charles grinned, breath finally steadying. It was the first time he’d seen Lando smile all evening.
“I just... wanted to say thank you,” Charles began. His voice was calmer now, steadier. “For everything. For being there. For staying. Even when things were hard. I know things are different now, and maybe you don’t want to be my friend anymore now that Max is back, but I needed you to know—I noticed. I remember. All the things you did.”
Lando looked at him, saying nothing.
Charles’s voice lowered. “The late-night calls. The pharmacy runs. The stupid movies. Your terrible cooking. You helped me survive. And I don’t know if I ever said it properly, but... I’ll always be grateful for that.”
He blinked quickly, a lump forming in his throat. Charles’s eyes glistened with tears. He didn’t know why exactly, but he felt it—this might be the last time he got to talk to this version of Lando. His Lando. And he needed to make it count. Say everything he wanted to say, everything he’d been holding back. Because next time they talked, he would be talking to Lando, Max’s friend “I guess I just wanted to say thank you, goodbye and I will miss it, you, being your friend.”
Lando didn’t answer. He didn’t smile, didn’t joke. He just looked at Charles like something inside him was breaking.
Then he spoke, softly. “Don’t do this.”
“I have to,” Charles said. “You deserve to hear it. I forgive you. For all the shit you put me through. And I’m sorry, too. For the times I wasn’t easy to be around.”
Lando looked away for a beat, then back again. “Can I ask you something?”
Charles, disappointed by Lando’s lack of response to his speech but still eager to do anything to make it up to him, said “Anything.”
“Can you not tell Max about the kiss?”
Charles nodded quickly. “Of course. He’ll never know. I know you didn’t mean it—you were projecting, it wasn’t real. Nobody needs to know.”
But Lando didn’t nod. He didn’t even blink. He just stared at him.
“You think I was projecting?” Lando asked, his voice low, careful.
He tells him, “I thought… no, I think you were grieving, and I was just the closest person who understood what it felt like to lose the love of your life.”
Lando tilts his head, his expression a mix of confusion and disbelief. “The love of my life?”
Charles falters. It’s awkward—talking to Lando about their shared love for his husband? Still, he clears his throat and says, voice barely audible, “Max.”
Lando lets out a short laugh, almost disbelieving. “You thought I was in love with Max and that I was projecting those feelings onto you?” He shakes his head. “God, Charles… you’re really not that bright, are you?”
Charles stares at him, thrown. “You… weren’t?”
Lando simply shakes his head.
“But… you loved Max,” Charles insists, trying to make sense of it all.
Lando shrugs, his voice calm, almost tired. “I liked Max. A lot. But that was a long time ago. It was admiration… maybe even infatuation, but it wasn’t love.”
Charles blinks, still processing. “Oh,” he says, quietly. “Then… your feelings,” he gestures between them, “for me…”
Lando nods slowly, eyes on him. “Yeah.”
“Oh,” Charles said, stunned. “Then... the kiss?”
Lando looked directly at him. “Was because of you, Charles.”
Silence dropped between them like a stone.
Charles opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Oh,” he said finally. “I didn’t know.”
“I figured,” Lando said, his voice quieter now, more tired. “But it doesn’t matter. I should’ve known better than to get myself into this.”
“No,” Charles said, stepping forward. “None of us saw any of this coming. Don’t blame yourself.”
Lando laughed bitterly. “But we’re in it anyway, who could have known that Max was alive and it was unwise to get entangled with his husband.”
Charles stepped closer. “If I had known—if I had understood—”
“You would’ve what?” Lando asked, shaking his head. “Nothing. That’s the truth. There was never going to be anything. Not really.”
“That’s not fair,” Charles said. “You mean something to me.”
“I know,” Lando said. His voice was softer now. “Just... not the way I wanted.”
Charles looked down. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
Lando tells him softly, “It will pass.”
Charles nods, swallowing hard. “I’m sorry. I wish I could…”
Lando cuts in, his voice quiet but sharp, “What? Love me more? Love him less?”
Charles shakes his head. “This isn’t about him. I don’t even know if I am there anymore.”
A tear slips down Lando’s cheek as he whispers, “Yes, you do. It’s always been him. Deep down, you know exactly where you stand with someone. Hope blurs the lines a bit, but… you know.”
Charles looks away, guilt curling in his chest. “Maybe. But no matter how much we try… no matter how much we want it… some stories just don’t have a happy ending.”
Lando breathes in, steadying himself, and says, “Look inside yourself, Charles. You already know the answer to all your questions—I promise you, you do.”
Charles looks at him then. Really looks. At a man who had just laid his heart bare for him, fully exposed, and still accepted rejection before it was even said out loud. And Charles—Charles has been avoiding everything. Cowardly dodging the decision that would finally sort out his life. Because even if Max came back, Charles isn’t sure he ever did. Losing Max to death was unbearable. But choosing to lose him willingly? That’s something Charles hasn’t been ready to do. Even if it’s the right thing. Even if it means restoring order and balance into his life.
He meets Lando’s gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s complicated.”
Lando smiles, soft and bittersweet. “It’s okay. Love is complicated. We may love someone who doesn’t love us back, or we may miss love even when it’s in front of us. Sometimes love arrives and disappears before we even realize it was there. The pain it leaves often lingers far longer than the love itself. Ultimately, not all love stories are meant to have happy endings, and not all wounds are meant to heal quickly—if at all.”
Charles looks at Lando confused, his voice thick. “Why are you helping me make a choice that’s hurting you? Why aren’t you trying to convince me otherwise?”
Lando lets out a shaky breath, eyes glistening but steady. “I’m not trying to convince you to choose, I am telling you my worst fears… and you're confirming them.”
Charles’s heart clenches. “Lando—”
“I was hoping,” Lando continues, voice breaking just slightly, “that you'd convince me otherwise. That maybe you'd say something—anything—to make me believe I was wrong. But honestly…” He smiles, but there’s no joy in it, only ache. “I’m not surprised.”
Charles takes a breath and says quietly, “I’m sorry.”
Lando offers a small, tired smile. “Don’t worry about it. Things will be alright. Eventually.”
Charles nods. “Yeah… they will.”
He glances up at the loft window, where a faint light still glows. “I should go back inside,” he says, then turns to Lando again, offering him a soft smile. “Hug?”
Lando hesitates for a second, like he’s weighing how much this might hurt. Then he nods. “Yeah.”
Charles steps forward slowly, carefully—his arms wrapping around Lando without pressing, like he doesn’t want to impose. But Lando sets the pace. He pulls Charles closer, tightens his hold around his waist, and presses his face into the curve of Charles’s neck.
And then, in a breath, barely more than a whisper against his skin, he says, “I love you.”
They stay like that—quiet, close, and still—for a long moment. Then Lando lets go, stepping back with a soft, sad smile.
“Goodbye, Charles.”
Charles nods, swallowing the lump in his throat. “Goodbye, Lando.”
++++
Charles walks back upstairs, fully aware he took too long. Max is probably already asleep by now—or maybe in the bath. He unlocks the door quietly and slips into the apartment, careful not to make a sound. But just a few steps in, he accidentally steps on Jimmy’s tail.
The cat lets out a low, offended moan and shifts away.
Charles winces, scrunching his face. “Sorry, Jimmy,” he whispers.
He walks over to the window to close it when he notices it's already open—and then he sees Max. He’s standing there, completely still, staring out onto the street. He doesn’t turn around. Doesn’t even flinch when Charles approaches.
“You’re still awake?” Charles asks softly.
No answer.
Charles steps closer, his concern growing. That’s when Max finally speaks, still not looking at him.
“So it’s Lando.”
Charles frowns. “What?”
Max’s voice is flat, detached. “The new man in your life is Lando.” It’s not a question. It’s a statement. An accusation wrapped in resignation.
Charles takes a breath, voice quiet. “I think… we need to talk.”
Notes:
Honorable mentions:
- Charlando right in front of Max’s salad.
- We went back to all the comments in the earlier chapters and let me tell you some of you wouldn't recognize yourselves.
- Charles was like either I get to take care of Oscar legally or he is getting kidnapped again!
- you all are trying to be gentle with Pipza by not pushing her to update while i was literally tormenting and torturing her throughout the past week till she came up with this to get rid of me.
- Kimi saying what we all couldn't voice out
- Charles would have sent Max to his second grave if he didn't lie his ass off during the social worker session.
- Uncle ando <3
- Nico having a bitch fit so late in the story like the internet explorer that he is.
- "It will pass" and "I love you" why am I peeing from my eye??
Dishonorable mention:
- Some authors were hurt in the process of making this chapter but know that I will make sure I get my updates by ALL means.
- The orange peel and the stickiness
- I am so sorry charlando nation! I couldn't give you what we all wanted but worry not we still have next chapter.
Here are some memes my beta made:
https://www.tumblr.com/take2me5to9hell9/786271467230969856/hi-gays-happy-pride-month-youll?source=share
Chapter 17
Notes:
I really struggled with this one, and I want to start by saying I’m sorry if the last chapter didn’t land for you—I wasn’t happy with it either. Honestly, this one hasn’t been betaed; my beta and I are going through a bit of a fallout right now, and on top of everything, it’s just been a rough week. I’ve been sick with COVID… what happens with Charles today really broke me.
I know this chapter isn’t perfect and needs more work, but I needed to post something, anything to feel better. Thank you so much for sticking with me. If you like it, please consider leaving a kudos or a comment—it means more than you know.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max breaks the silence first.
"Do you love him?"
His voice is low, almost a whisper, and His heart pounds. He can hear it in his ears. He and Charles are sitting close—yet not close enough for comfort.
Charles had chosen this spot on the sofa. Leo and the cats—had disappeared into the bedroom, sensing the storm brewing in the living room.
For days now, Max has been holding back—giving Charles space, giving himself hope. Pretending, just a little, that not talking about it means he still got a shot. But the weight of what he saw at dinner—Lando, the way he looked at Charles, the way Oscar is familiar with him, the long late night discussion in the street and the hug—it finally opened his eyes.
Max had felt uneasy about it—watching Lando and Charles interact stirred something uncomfortable in him. Something that felt off. Especially with their history. But everything in their lives was already so tangled and out of sync, he hadn’t let himself dwell on it. Sure, it bothered him—how easily Charles turns to Lando, how naturally they fell into conversation—but Max told himself it was just because Lando probably knew Charles better than he did right now. He didn’t consider the possibility that Lando and Charles had grown close. That close.
He couldn't ignore it anymore.
“Do you love him?” he repeats.
Charles blinks. Then he shakes his head. “No. He’s a good friend.”
Max watches him closely. Charles isn’t lying. Max can tell, Charles is not a good liar. Relief floods his chest.
Still, he has to ask the next question.
“Does he love you?”
Charles doesn’t answer right away. There’s hesitation, something unreadable flickering across his face. Too carefully masked. Then he says, “No,” but it lands—like a defense, not a truth.
‘He’s lying,’ Max thinks. He doesn't press. He already knows. Let him lie, he thinks bitterly. Lando’s feelings are his business. Let him choke on his one sided love.
“I have one more question,” Max says.
Charles nods. “Okay.”
“You can be honest with me. It won’t hurt me. Do you still love me?”
The question lands heavy between them.
Charles doesn’t look away. He looks through Max, like he's digging for the answer himself. Then, quietly, after too long, he shifts. Crosses his hands. His voice is soft.
“I do. I love you.”
It knocks the air out of Max.
He hadn’t realized how badly he needed to hear those words—how long he’d feared he never would again. Months without them. Months believing he’d lost not just the man he loved, but the love itself.
“You’re being honest?” Max asks gently. “You're not just saying that to make me feel better?”
Charles huffs, annoyed. “It’s the truth.”
Max smiles, just a little. “Okay.do you have a question?”
“I thought we’d talk more than that,” Charles says, raising an eyebrow.
“We are talking,” Max replies. “Those were the questions I needed answers for. Do you have any for me?”
“I do,” Charles says, already sighing. “But I’m also exhausted.”
“We don’t have to do this now.”
“No. Tonight,” Charles insists. “But you have to put up with my tired brain. You know how I get when I’m sleep-deprived.”
Max winces. “I was hoping to talk to a well-rested Charles. He’s usually nicer.”
Charles glares. “Well, this is what you’re getting.”
“I’m not complaining,” Max laughs. “Ask away.”
Charles looks at him seriously. “Tell me everything. what happened with you.”
Max hesitates. “You mean... the accident?”
“No,” Charles says firmly. “All of it. From the beginning. The investigation. Matt. Jos. All of it. I know some of it’s classified. But I want to know.”
Max sighs. “That’s never stopped me before.”
It’s true — Max used to talk to Charles about his cases all the time. It had almost been their thing. Long nights spent sitting at the couch or curled up in bed, Max bouncing theories off Charles, who always saw what he couldn’t. Sometimes Charles helped him connect the dots, helped him solve things no one else could.
But then he stopped.
Max remembers exactly when.
After Fernando’s death, everything changed. He had spiraled — no, dove — headfirst into the investigation. Charles noticed immediately. He was worried. Scared, even. Not just about Max getting hurt, but about the way Max was letting his grief consume him.
Then came the arrest. A suspect — the wrong one, Max was sure of it. But Max needed Charles to believe it was over. That justice had been served. That Max could finally come back to him.
Max didn’t.
Instead, he kept going — secretly, quietly, until the secrecy became a wall between them. He didn’t want it to. But the obsession had taken over.
“I didn’t mean to shut you out,” Max says quietly, voice tight with regret. “I just… couldn’t stop. I knew something still wasn’t right. And I didn’t know how to explain that without making you worry.”
He looks at Charles now, eyes tired, but honest. “I should’ve told you everything. I should’ve trusted you with all of it.”
And so he begins.
He tells Charles everything—how Fernando’s death wrecked him, how Lewis knew he was investigating the case, how he tried to pull him off the case, how he gave him the Austin serial killer to keep him busy. How it made him more suspicious. More obsessed. How he lost himself in it.
He tells him about the nights at the precinct, how coming home started to feel like stepping onto another planet. How nothing felt real except the case. Not even Charles.
He tells him how he almost got Charles sent away, to a witness protection when the Austin… Dominic came for him. How terrified he was. How he begged Lewis to hide him. To protect his mother too. How Lewis said no.
How he tried to remove Lando from the case, Lewis insisted Lando was the safest option, and Max hated it. He tried to reason with Lewis then with Lando. Asked him to be kind. Lando didn’t listen. Then Lando came to him and complained too—said Charles was reckless, stubborn, wouldn't stay safe.
Then Charles left.
Max pauses there. Looks at Charles with quiet regret.
“And that... weirdly enough... was the best thing that happened to me at the time, I missed you of course, but the feeling of relief was greater,” he admits. “You were safe. Far. Out of reach. It cleared my head. It gave me the space I didn’t even realize I needed. And I started to see again. Started to work again. I had multiple break through.”
Charles’s face is unreadable. But Max keeps going.
“I know it sounds awful,” he says. “But I couldn’t breathe back then. I was drowning in grief. Everything felt like noise. Then I got shot, and I knew—someone was after me. Someone other than the Austin serial killer.”
Charles’s eyes widen. “It wasn’t the Austin killer?”
Max shakes his head. “No. It was May. It was a good thing, I remember at the time it felt good, It meant I was going in the right direction. I’d gotten too close. I was asking the wrong people the right questions. And after I exposed the copycat theory, they panicked. Lewis pulled me from the case, but he still needed me. He was hoping the killer would make a mistake—and I was the bait, but they knew I didn’t stop looking. So they tried to take me out themselves, but they failed and it kind of worked in my favor.”
“And then you came back,” Max says, voice quiet but trembling.
“I remembered how much I missed you. How scared I was that I'd lost you. That once I made sure the people who took Fernando from me paid, I’d have nothing left—no one to come back to.”
He swallows hard, hands clasped tightly in his lap.
“I didn’t realize how far I’d pushed you away. But somehow, you gave me a second chance. And I was so damn grateful.”
Charles doesn't speak, but Max sees it in his eyes—he remembers too.
“I tried to pull myself together,” Max continues. “Gave you space. Tried to be better. Tried to be there for you. But the truth is, I was petrified. That I’d already lost you and was just too afraid to admit it.”
He breathes in shakily.
“So I focused on the Austin case. I thought—maybe if I could solve it, I’d at least know you were safe. That I’d done something right.”
A bitter laugh escapes.
“And then everything changed. You changed. Oscar happened. And suddenly I felt like I wasn’t enough anymore. You stopped talking to me. Stopped trusting me. I didn’t blame you. I blamed myself.”
He looks at Charles. “I’ve been trapped in my own head for so long, I forgot what it felt like to talk to you. To listen to you. To make you feel heard. To be your partner.”
He takes a breath. “When I lost Fernando, I stopped listening to you. Then I stopped talking altogether. And when I got taken, locked away after the accident, all I could think about was how much I missed just... hearing your voice. Having you with me.”
Charles’s face doesn’t change, but Max pushes on.
“Dominic…” He shakes his head. “That broke something in me. He was my childhood best friend, Charles. And finding out he was capable of that? That he had hurt so many people? That he hurt you? That he was also hurting all these years while I was happy. Safe and comfortable. It shattered me. I was already a mess, but that—that sent me spiraling.”
His throat tightens. “But you—you brought me back. Again. Because I almost lost you for the sixth time since we got together, and this time... I don’t think I would’ve survived it.”
“I started therapy. I tried to work on myself. Not just for you—for me. Because I wanted to be the person you saw in me back when all I saw was a mess.”
He hesitates, then says quietly, “And then Oscar.”
A long silence. He’s careful with the next words.
“That was the last thing I wanted back then. Not because of him—I love him. God knows how much I love him now. But because I was scared. Scared you didn’t see how broken we were. How dangerous our lives were. How he deserves better than both of us. And I knew—the moment I saw your face when you talked about him—I knew you were already gone. You’d already chosen him. And I hated that. I hated that you made that decision without me. Because I was just starting to think we could fix us. But suddenly, it wasn’t just about us anymore.”
He doesn’t wait for Charles to interrupt—he presses on.
“Even when we agreed not to adopt him, I could see him in your eyes. Like he never left. You loved him already. And when he was taken by that other family, you were miserable. And when he came back—you were happy. I knew this time you won’t let go of him.”
He gives Charles a bitter smile. “And I hated that too. I know how shitty that sounds. I know it makes me sound like a terrible person. But I thought, what more can I do? I’m going to therapy, I’m trying. And it still felt like I was losing you.”
He exhales slowly. “Then I met Jos. And he told me to stay away. That I’d only bring more danger. and he was right.”
“But I didn’t stay away. I couldn’t. Charles. And when Oscar came back… I knew we had to adopt him. Because if we didn’t, you’d never forgive me.”
There’s a long silence. Then, softly:
“And it was the best decision I’ve ever made.”
Max lets that hang there before continuing, voice softer now.
“I never wanted kids. Not because I don’t care—but because I knew I’d screw it up. That I’d bring trauma, fear, danger. And I have. Oscar’s paid for being near me—maybe not always directly, but through you. Through this mess I keep dragging home.”
He looks down. “I knew I wasn’t meant to be a father. But I did it anyway. For you. And maybe that’s selfish. Maybe it’s reckless. But I don’t regret it.”
His eyes meet Charles’s.
“Even after everything. Even after Oscar was kidnapped because of me, after the chaos and the pain—I don’t regret it. I don’t regret adopting him. I don’t regret loving him. And I will still fight to keep him.”
“I know.” Charles said reassuringly.
Max knew it wasn’t necessary to share everything with Charles—but he wanted to. No, he needed to. After being trapped in his own head for so long, buried under guilt and silence, he needed to let it out before it ate him alive. Before he exploded.
“I took paternity leave hoping to use the extra time to work on Fernando’s case. I know how awful that sounds. At first, I couldn’t really accept that it was paternity leave—that I was supposed to focus on Oscar, since I’m his primary caregiver. All I felt was responsibility—and fear.” Max wanted to focus on the case instead of caring for Oscar—the very thing that made Charles so happy. That jealousy ate at him. He was so damn jealous because Charles had found that spark again, the one Max had lost somewhere along the way, and it was because of Oscar.
But in time, Max ended up right where Charles was—completely, utterly in love with Oscar, and absolutely terrified of losing him.
“Then, with some outside help, I got close to the man who supposedly killed Fernando. I ended up in a few reckless situations, exposed myself more than I should have. Warnings started coming in—from all sides, including Matt and Lewis. Lewis tried to make me back down and offered protection.”
Then Max tells Charles about the weeks leading up to the accident—how scared he was, how royally he had messed everything up. He doesn’t try to hide it. He knows he fucked up, badly.
He tells Charles everything. About Daniel, about Lewis. About the warnings Matt gave him, and Jenson. He lays it all out—the mistakes, the lies, the guilt.
He’s not looking for forgiveness. He just wants Charles to know everything.
Max pauses, catching his breath. He hasn’t spoken this much in a long time, but now that it’s out, he feels lighter. He looks at Charles, who doesn’t seem angry—more like quiet and thoughtful.
Charles nods, silently telling him to go on, but Max just says, “That’s it.”
Charles meets his gaze and asks softly, “what about the accident?”
Max hesitates, swallowing hard. Talking about it hurts. Honestly, he was unconscious for most of it—there are only fragments, sharp flashes of pain and confusion.
“I don’t remember much about the accident,” he begins, voice low and uncertain. “They said I was out for almost three months. I think I woke up a few times, but I was so doped up I barely knew my own name apparently When I could speak, I begged them to let me go home. I tried everything. They wouldn’t let me.” He laughs, but it’s bitter.
Charles nods slowly, his brows furrowed with hesitation. “Your injuries…?”
Max watches him, Charles doesn’t move—his spine straight, hands tense on his knees, sees how hard it is for him to ask. He doesn’t want to hurt Charles more. But he also knows that honesty is the only thing that matters now.
“I had a concussion,” he says, voice tight. “Fractured my skull. I needed stitches… My ribs were broken, lungs collapsed. They had to intubate me twice. My collarbone—shattered. I lost too much blood, had two surgeries. My shoulder was torn again. Worse than before.” Charles’s eyes widen in quiet horror. He flinches visibly, lips parting but no words coming. He shifts forward slightly, his hand reaching out instinctively, hesitating in the space between them but not touching.
“Does it still hurt?” Charles asks, barely above a whisper.
Max nods, not looking at him. “Yeah. It still aches sometimes. But I manage. Nothing painkillers can’t fix.”
Charles flinches at that, and Max immediately realizes why. “I’m sorry, I try not to use them.” he adds softly. Max knows exactly how Charles feels about the painkillers. Truth is, he feels the same. Especially after hearing about how Charles battled his way through addiction and fought through every injury to stay sober—But at the same time, Max had been in so much pain he genuinely thought he was dying. For months, it was unbearable—so relentless he started to hope he was. That pain hasn’t fully left him;
But Charles just shakes his head. “No, it’s okay. I get it.” He hesitates, voice smaller. “I just… I don’t like the idea of you being in pain.”When it first happened. Everything had hurt, and he was drowning in it. And even when he started to get better, there were still some pains that never really went away.
It made him question his choices and cursed his past self, he had stopped caring about himself a long time ago. Probably since he lost Fernando. After that, Max didn’t feel like a person anymore—just someone surviving, barely. The mess he made was so big, even he couldn’t understand all the choices he had made. Some days, he didn’t know what he was doing. Other days, he just didn’t care.
“It was. But I don’t care, that’s the thing. I didn’t care, not back then. I didn’t care about pain. Or healing. Or my long list of fuckups. Or anything.” he says honestly.
His voice cracks, and for a moment, neither of them speaks.
“It’s my fault,” Max adds, quieter. “I ruined us. And for what?”
Charles’s throat bobs. “I understand why you did it,” he says, gently.
Max blinks at him. “I don’t think you do. I don’t even remember why I did it anymore. The grief, yeah—but was it bad enough to destroy everything else in my life?”
Charles nods. “Yes. It was that bad. That ugly. Grief like that—it twists you. It changes you.” Charles admits. “I also didn’t understand at the time why you were behaving like that, I was angry. I was hurt. But after I lost you—after I thought you were gone—I felt it. That same darkness.”
Max watches him, barely breathing.
Charles continues, voice trembling now. “I lost my mother—and that was so difficult. But At the same time, I still couldn’t understand your actions. But after losing you… I finally understood your pain. And while what you did was wrong, I see now that you were just trying to survive. You were doing anything you could to avoid facing the truth—that he was gone. And all you could is desperately look for a distraction and you found it in seeking justice. With you, I had no one to blame. Just a random car accident. Two victims. That’s it. So I blamed God. I hated Him. Fought Him. Yet I found myself begging Him every night to bring you back. And when He didn’t, I’d wake up the next morning, check if you were there—and when you weren’t, I’d curse Him all over again. I remember how terrible I was to the people who tried to help me. They stayed. They supported me. And I—I was terrible to them. My father, who I love, and my son—who I worship—they were right there, begging me to be strong. To hold on. But I didn’t want to. I didn’t care. I just… I wanted to die.”
His voice caught in his throat, eyes fixed on some distant point Max couldn’t see. “They tried so hard to help. They did everything they could. And I hated it. I hated how they kept forcing me to stay alive. Pushing me to eat. To get out of bed. To breathe. I thought they were being selfish.”
Charles let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Imagine that. Thinking they were selfish—for not wanting to lose me too.”
Max listened intently.
Charles turned to him slowly, his fingers absently curling around the hem of his sleeve. “You went for revenge. That was your way of coping. And I…”
He trailed off. His hand lifted slightly, a small, tired motion as he gestured toward himself. He didn’t need to finish the sentence.
And Max understood.
Max’s face falls. He knows exactly what Charles is talking about, Even if Nico hadn’t told him that Charles had attempted to take his own life—he would’ve known. Though he doubt Charles will talk about it with him. Not now. But Nico had told him. And it wasn’t the first time. There was a time Charles tried to tell him, to explain the darkness that crept in after his mother died—but the truth had come out jagged and incoherent. Max still doesn’t know whether Charles had truly wanted to die, or if he just wanted the pain to stop for a moment by stealing the drugs.
Back then, he and Nico had acted fast. They’d gotten him into therapy. They’d put safety plans in place—unspoken, but firm. Max kept close watch at home. Nico watched him at work. They never told Charles, but they were always there, always alert.
Nico had been furious when it happened. Not just hurt—angry. And though he eventually forgave Charles, the anger never left entirely. He still checked in with Max constantly, for years.
“He told Max once, that if it weren’t for him, for them, Charles would’ve been gone years ago.”
Max looks down. He always thought that was unfair. He understood where Nico is coming from. Nobody has to watch their son die in their life time let alone witness your son die over and over again. He was scared. He probably watched his son die a thousand deaths in his head, and maybe that trauma rewired something in him. But he always thought it was cruel. Because Charles tried. He tried so hard to get better.
what Nico refused to understand was that they could have been there twenty-four hours a day, standing at Charles’s side, holding him, reminding him to eat, breathe, sleep—and none of it would’ve mattered if Charles didn’t want to live. If Charles didn’t want to let them in.
But Charles did try. Every day.
And the idea that he could have come back and found Charles gone—really gone—cuts through Max terrifies him. Even now, with Charles breathing quietly beside him, very much alive, that fear clings to him. He can’t shake it.
His jaw tightens. His fists curl in his lap, knuckles white. Because along with the fear comes anger—sharp and senseless. At Fernando. At Lewis. At himself, for letting it all happen. And yes, at Charles, too.
He hates this.
He hates how helpless it makes him feel. How little he understands of the storm Charles is constantly weathering. There’s no logic to it, no clear solution he can fix with stubbornness or strength. And that’s maddening.
He glances sideways at Charles, who stares at the floor with distant eyes, hands loosely folded, shoulders hunched in quiet shame.
Max exhales shakily, rubbing at his face. He’ll never understand—not fully. But he also knows now: Charles doesn’t choose this. He doesn’t control it any more than Max controls the sun rising.
And that knowledge does nothing to ease the ache in Max’s chest.
Max swallows hard. “I’m sorry,” he says. It’s all he can manage.
“Don’t,” Charles says gently. “It wasn’t your fault.”
“It was the consequence of my choices,” Max says, eyes downcast.
Charles looked at him, firm but gentle.
“No, Max. It wasn’t because of your actions. It was because those people were evil. They destroyed so many lives, and from what I’ve learned, they’d been doing it for years. You exposed them. You stopped them.”
Max opened his mouth, guilt heavy on his face, but Charles cut him off.
“Don’t. Please. The truth is, you did the right thing. Those people were monsters. You made it out—others didn’t. And yes, it’s unfair, horribly unfair, but I’m glad they’re finally behind bars. And if the system screws up and lets them out, I swear, I’ll lose it.”
Max shook his head.
“They won’t.”
Charles didn’t look convinced.
“I don’t trust the system for shit.”
“The new DA’s a close friend of my dad,” Max said. “He’s been working on this case with Lewis for a while. He’s a good guy. And look—they’re already in jail. Just give it a few weeks. They won’t be spared.”
“Because they kidnapped a child?” Charles asked.
“That. But also... nothing’s worse in prison than being a cop,” Max said grimly.
“Matt put a lot of people behind bars. Same with William—which we thought he was taken down to be silenced, but turns out he was killed by a prisoner who had been wrongfully convicted. The same fate probably awaits Matt and Jos.”
Charles hesitated. “I’m sorry. I know he was your dad, and—”
Max cut him off, eyes cold.
“I don’t give a fuck. He’s not my dad. He’s a criminal. Just as bad as Matt. He’s been working with them for years. I never gave him a chance, and yet he still managed to disappoint me. This time, he went after my family. I might forgive Fernando, but Jos? He means nothing to me. He deserves what’s coming.”
According to Daniel and Lewis, Matt and Jos had been working together for years. The real reason Jos became a cop was because he had been involved in their illegal activities from the very beginning—it was simply easier for them to operate with him working for them from the inside with some power that could come in handy. So no, Jos wasn’t a good person, not even for a single day in his life.
And surprisingly, May wasn't the head of the operation like everyone thought. It was Matt all along.
In fact, Matt was the one who pulled May into that world. According to Lewis, it was all because May was implicated in the assault and murder of a 16-year-old girl named Heather Martin, he remembers Daniel telling him something about it. She and May had been classmates at Saint James High. Heather was last seen leaving a party with him. Two days later, her body was found in the woods. But the case never went public—May’s father, who was close friends with the judge, made sure of it. They framed another student instead—a boy who had a known crush on Heather. There was no real evidence linking him to the crime, but they built a case on conjecture and a fabricated motive.
That boy was convicted, spent 5 years in prison, and was later reported to have taken his own life.
But that turned out to be a lie. The boy didn’t die. He was later found innocent and quietly released. He moved to another state, disappeared completely—until rumors of his suicide began to spread.
That boy was Matt.
And apparently, Matt had evidence that could incriminate May. So the moment he was released, he tracked May down and began blackmailing him. At the time, May had just been accepted into a prestigious law firm—thanks to his father’s connections—and his career was about to take off. But his past came back to haunt him. He thought it would be a one-time payment to keep Matt quiet, but the blackmail went on for years. Slowly, Matt began forcing May to clean up his messes—until those messes became May’s too.
Over time, William's name became tainted through his involvement. Meanwhile, Matt maintained the image of a clean, respected cop, enjoying power without any consequences.
In Max’s opinion, this doesn’t mean William was a complete victim in all of this—he still made his own choices—but it certainly made Matt far worse than he ever imagined. Matt may have started out as a victim, but he chose his own path. He made his decisions, and now they’re catching up to him.
It didn’t take long before May was deeply involved with drug lords, organized crime, and covering up corruption. He became paranoid—terrified, even. He was the public face of so many injustices, and calls for accountability were growing louder. His name became synonymous with corruption, and people began demanding investigations. That’s when Matt stepped in.
To protect his own interests, Matt offered May a solution: he could help eliminate anyone who posed a real threat. And so, they began recruiting people in power. It wasn’t difficult—many were willing to look the other way or help in exchange for favors.
Ironically, everything Max and Lewis now know came from Jos himself. After learning that Max wasn’t dead, Jos agreed to give up all the information in exchange for a chance to see him.
But Max has no intention of ever seeing Jos again.
Lewis assured him it won’t be necessary. With the evidence they’ve gathered—especially from Matt’s house alone—there’s more than enough to prosecute. The case is solid, and Max takes comfort in knowing they’ll finally face justice.
Max paused, then added bitterly,
“You know it was Jos stupidity that got them caught. Apparently, he was grieving so hard he kidnapped Oscar without even telling Matt. Matt nearly killed him for it—but he didn’t, because Jos was helping him hide and ran their activities while he was in hiding. It’s... it’s a Verstappen thing, I guess. To self-destruct when we grieve.”
Charles told him gently, “you’re not the same. You’re nothing like Jos. He had betrayed you so many times. He always hurt you. And although you don’t like to admit it, it hurt and it’s okay to feel something about it.”
He’s not sure why it’s bothering him but he was upset about it and doesn’t even want to talk about Jos. Max’s frustration boiled over. Why couldn’t Charles understand?
“I’m not hurt, Charles. I’m angry. Just angry. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Why did he have to come back after all these years and ruin everything? I almost lost my son because of him. Why did he have to be a criminal too? I mean… I could never understand the abuse, but I tried to forget it. But why keep hurting me, over and over?” Max’s voice was shaking now. “He hurt me when I was a kid. He hated me—he told me so. Then he came back and decided to love me in the most twisted way possible, and ended up hurting everyone I care about—Oscar, you…”
Max paused, his chest tight. He hadn’t even thought about Jos this deeply until now. He didn’t want to. Jos had only mattered as a lead, to finding Oscar. Nothing more. But now here he was, in the quiet dark of the living room, dumping it all on Charles when he should be making amends. He took a breath, then another, but it didn’t help. His chest felt heavier.
Charles gently reached out, patting Max’s back. Then, without a word, he shifted closer, folded one leg up on the couch, and pulled Max between his legs. Max sat sideways, and Charles rested a hand on his back, the other pressed gently to his chest.
“Breathe, Max. Just breathe.”
“I am,” Max said, voice cracking. “I’m fine. It’s just—none of it is fair. But then again, I still get to sit here and be angry about having a shitty dad. Dominic can’t. His dad died without ever paying for what he did to him in fact Dominic had to pay for his dad crimes, and the world will forever remember him as a monster but nobody will remember his dad and what he did to him to get him there. And mine? Mine’s still alive, and it doesn’t even feel good.”
His voice dropped. “Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?”
Charles said softly, “You’re allowed to be confused and angry. You’re allowed to hate him and feel like he betrayed you.” Charles says gently, his voice low but firm. "Even though Dominic couldn’t be, even though he didn’t get the chance nor the justice—we’ve talked about this, Max. You both were victims. Just because you think he had it worse doesn’t mean you have to silence your own pain. Feeling these things doesn’t make you selfish” Charles continues. He shifts closer, reaching out to rest a hand on Max’s forearm. "It doesn’t mean you deserve less. Or that your grief is less than his. You’re still allowed to feel."
Max swallows hard, throat visibly bobbing. His lip trembles for just a second before he wipes at his face roughly, like he’s angry with himself for the emotion.
Max looked up at him, completely defeated. “But I’m not. I mean—I don’t know. Why should I be mad at him for grieving? For caring about me in the worst way possible? I did the same thing to you. I hurt you because I loved you. I fucked us up. It’s a Verstappen thing, right? We don’t know how to love properly. We don’t know how to feel anything the right way.”
Charles’s face darkened. “What the hell are you talking about?” he snapped. “You are not him, Max. He’s a criminal. A fucking criminal. He hurt you, your mother, so many others. He worked with Matt and May for years. You? You’ve spent your life helping people. You’ve saved more people than I can count. You saved me—more than once. And loved me enough to make me love myself. I owe you everything.”
He leaned in closer. “You’re honest. You’re stubborn. You’re good, Max. So good. You’re in this mess because you wouldn’t let go of the truth. Yes, it hurt, but you saw something wrong and you weren’t scared of standing up for those who were getting hurt, not just this time—every time. That’s the man I married. That’s who you are. You’re the man the universe sent as an apology for creating Jos. don’t ever say you’re like him. You’re not. You never will be. You are a great dad to Oscar. He wishes he could be half the man you are.”
Max closed his eyes, biting his lip. He tried to hold it in—he really did. But the tears came anyway. He wasn’t crying to gain sympathy, not to manipulate or run away from responsibility. He just couldn’t hold it anymore. He’d cried over the surgeries, the pain, losing Charles, losing Oscar… and now he was crying over Jos.
Charles held him close, rubbing his back and chest. “Let it out, Max. Come on, baby. You’re going to be okay. You’re gorgeous. You’re good. You deserve to be happy. You deserve to live.”
Max cried. He let himself cry for a while, and Charles just held him until he calmed. When he finally caught his breath, Max whispered, “I’m sorry. This is so selfish of me. I shouldn’t dump this on you. I’ve already put you through enough.”
Charles pulled back just enough to look him in the eyes.
"Max," Charles says again, softer now. "You are the least selfish person I know. You always think about others first. About me. About Oscar. About everyone but yourself. So please…stop apologizing—wanting comfort... is not selfish. It’s human. "
Max looks at him finally.
Charles whispers. “You know, you used to do this for me all the time. Before everything with Fernando. You were always there to make me feel better—even when it was just me whining about something stupid like not having my favorite snack. I used to wonder if I was being selfish and think you most hate that about me, always running to you with my problems. But now? Now I understand.”
His voice softened. “It actually hurts that I can’t do more for you. I feel helpless. But if I can help even a little—just by holding you, listening—that makes me happy. Max, I missed this. I missed us. Just being together, talking. Being happy, being sad, and being us. I missed you.”
"I'm sorry, I miss you, too" Max said his voice barely more than a whisper. “Charles, I hurt you, and yet You still care.”
Charles nods slowly, then lifts his eyes to meet Max’s. “Let me be perfectly honest with you… everything that happened before the incident became noise. Meaningless compared to the silence you left behind.”
Max shifts uncomfortably, unsure. “But you did care. When I first came back. You wouldn’t talk to me. You ignored me. That wasn’t nothing. So what changed?”
He doesn’t want to sound ungrateful. He should be thankful Charles is talking to him now, letting him in again—but it still feels… strange. Like Charles didn’t want to talk to him, but he is talking.
Charles blushes, looks away. “It doesn’t matter.”
Max studies him. “Does it have anything to do with Lando’s visit?”
Charles snaps back too quickly. “Of course not.”
Max raises an eyebrow.
He knows Charles too well—knows when he’s lying. And Charles knows it too. He sighs, defeated. “Okay… maybe. A little. Look Max I didn’t get you back only to walk away from you, not many people get to have a second chance, but I did.” He shook his head slowly, disbelief in his own words. “I can’t. Especially not when none of this was your fault. None of it was mine either. We were just… victims of everything around us.”
Max’s brow furrowed. “Yeah, but… what changed?” His voice was quiet, almost hesitant. Max knew he shouldn’t ask these questions but he wanted to know where Charles’s head at the moment “You’ve been distant all week. You didn’t even seem happy to see me. So why now? Why are you suddenly—understanding?”
Charles looked away for a moment, staring at his hands as if the answer might be written there. He took a breath, then another, before lifting his eyes to meet Max’s.
“Because you were dead, Max,” he said, the words landing with weight. “I spent months trying to accept that you were gone. Every day I woke up and reminded myself: Max is dead. You’re not coming back. I had to learn how to live with that.”
His voice trembled, but he pushed through.
“And now you’re here. Alive. Sitting in front of me like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But it’s not. My brain—my heart—didn’t know what to do with that. I was lost. I am still a little lost.”
Max’s lips parted, but he didn’t say anything.
Charles ran a hand through his hair, his gaze drifting. “At first… I didn’t recognize you. I know that sounds awful, but it’s the truth. You looked like Max. Sounded like him. But you didn’t feel like him. It was like… like you were a stranger wearing his face.”
He swallowed hard, blinking back the tightness in his throat.
“I wasn’t trying to push you away. I just didn’t know how to hold you again when I’d already let you go. Lando showed me that I was being a coward.” He didn’t mean to press, but he needed to know. What was it between Charles and Lando that had changed Charles’s mind? He still didn’t understand. Charles had spent the past week acting like he didn’t want Max back at all. And now, suddenly, he was softening, understanding. So he asks “what do you mean?”
Charles hesitated, his fingers loosely fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “It’s not just one thing. It’s... different things that happened while you weren’t here. And Lando was there for me—in a way that’s hard to define or understand. When you came back, things weren’t simple. But he stayed. Even now, when it’s still difficult, he comes anyway. He’s being brave. And I realized I was hiding from something good, pushing it away because I was scared. He made me realize I was given a chance at love not everyone else gets to have, and instead of running, I should cherish it.”
A second chance…
With Max?
Or with Lando?
Charles’s words felt vague, and from what Max could tell, They’d helped each other. Maybe they’d developed feelings. Maybe it was one-sided. But Charles seemed fond of Lando. Really fond.
Max tilted his head. “Weren’t you two trying to kill each other at one point? I mean… I think you did actually try once.”
Charles flushed. He looked away with a small, sheepish smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah... he’s insufferable. But… he kind of grows on you. You were right. He’s not so bad.”
Before Max could say anything else, Charles changed the subject.
“So anyway… what does that mean for us?”
Max blinked. “Huh?”
“What are we supposed to do next?” Charles clarified.
Max thought about it, then said gently, “Whatever you want. I want my family back, but I know it’s not simple. We’ll have to take it slow.”
Charles nodded, biting the inside of his cheek.
“Therapy?”
“Yes,” Max said immediately. “Individual and couples. And communication. Real communication. We talk. We figure out our new boundaries. Our limits.” Max is quiet for a moment. Then he explain. “Actually, Lewis said something interesting today. I was talking about how hard it is to go back to how things used to be—with Daniel, with my dad, with almost everyone from my past. I just… can’t. I feel different now. Detached. In my dad’s case, I pulled away completely. And he told me it’s because I’ve changed. I’m not the same person anymore. And if I want to keep these people in my life. I have to rebuild something new—with who I am now.”
He looks at Charles meaningfully. “I think that applies to us too. Because I wasn’t here. I didn’t see your change. I didn’t change with you and you didn’t change with me . And the last time we were really together… we were in a completely different place. Add to that everything we’ve been through since.”
Charles falls silent for a moment, then asks softly, “So what do we do?”
Max answers gently, “We don’t chase what we used to have. And we try to build something new instead.”
Charles is quiet. Then he says, “I don’t think I know how.”
Max’s voice low and steady. “You know… I actually think it’s easier with us. We just… learn each other again. Slowly. Without pressure or expectations.” his voice quieting. “While the way everybody else treat me… irks me sometimes. Like they’re stuck in the past. But with you, I don’t feel like I have to pretend because you don’t even recognize me too.”
He turns to face Charles fully. “We just go with the flow. If you still want to.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” Charles muttered, stifling a yawn.
Max smiled. “I’m willing to put in all the work. And we can go at your pace. We can start by getting you to bed.”
Charles gave a tired smile. “Me too, I am willing to work on us. That actually sounds really good.”
Max stood up, then extended his hand to him. Charles looked at it for a moment, then didn’t take it. Instead, he stood up on his own and asked,
“Can I ask you for a favor tonight?”
“Yes,” Max said instantly. “Anything.”
Charles looked at him, vulnerable but steady.
“Can we just… hug? Not do anything else. Just sleep. I want to hold you. That’s all.”
Max’s heart clenched. He wanted that too—had wanted it for months. To hold Charles again, to kiss him, to be near him. But he reminded himself: All in good time.
“Of course,” he said softly.
Charles finally took his hand then, but instead of leading them to their bedroom, he pulled Max toward Oscar’s nursery.
“I want him to sleep next to us too,” he whispered.
Max nodded, the idea of his husband and son asleep in his arms made him feel whole again.
++++++++
“Dad. Dad. Da…” Oscar babbles, his chubby hand patting Max’s cheek as he bounces slightly in his father’s arms.
“You wanna walk?” Max asks softly. Oscar nods eagerly, his curls bouncing with the motion.
“In a minute, love,” Max murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of Oscar’s head as he steps into the fire station.
It’s the first time he’s walked through these doors since coming back—not because he didn’t want to, but mostly because of Nico. He apparently is still mad at Charles for choosing Max, Charles had told him he’d come around eventually, but it has been a few days and he hadn’t.
Still, Lewis had asked Max to stop by today, so he didn’t have a choice. He was just here to drop Oscar off with Charles.
“He’s in the changing room,” George told him. “He’s leaving early.”
Max nodded, tightening his grip on Oscar and making his way down the hallway. But as he turned the corner, he stopped in his tracks. The door is half-open, left ajar enough that he can hear voices echoing softly inside. He doesn’t step in.
Through the gap, he sees Charles—his back turned, half in uniform, half out, Nico was there. And so was Sebastian.
“I’m just saying, we’ll be down one staff member for a full hour,” Nico said, arms crossed.
Sebastian shrugged. “We can cover it. It’s no big deal.”
“It is a big deal,” Nico snapped. “What if there’s a major incident? Mass casualties? We can’t afford short staffing.”
Charles stood taller. “I informed Seb yesterday.”
“And you should inform us at least a week in advance,” Nico fired back. “So we can find a proper replacement.”
Max watched as Charles exhaled sharply through his nose, the muscle in his jaw twitching. “That’s ridiculous,” he said. His voice was tight, his shoulders tense. Max could see it—Charles trying so hard to keep it civil.
Charles had told him Nico was making things harder at work. Max had offered to talk to him, but Charles refused. I can handle it, he’d said. But looking at him now? He was not handling it well.
“Don’t be a dick,” Charles muttered under his breath.
Max’s eyes widened.
“What did you say?” Nico’s voice cut sharp through the air.
“You heard me,” Charles snapped. “You’re being a—”
“Hey, hey—” Sebastian interrupted quickly, stepping between them. “He didn’t mean it like that. We’ll make sure to notify you earlier next time, alright? But today he has to leave. He’s has to be with Oscar.”
“Everyone here has families,” Nico said coldly, ignoring Sebastian. “I don’t see anyone else using theirs as an excuse to ditch their job. And with his husband going back to work. His family will keep effecting his work. Thinking he can get away with it because his dad is his captain.”
Max blinked, stunned. Why the hell is Nico being a complete dick?
Charles stood frozen.
And Max—Max felt his stomach twist. He looked down at Oscar, who had gone quiet, thumb in mouth, eyes wide.
Why did they get selfish men as parents?
There was no universe in which he’d ever let himself become that kind of parent.
Max decides he needs to step in. He knocks gently, then walks into the room with Oscar in his arms.
Charles turns instantly. His expression softens. He smiles and presses a kiss to Oscar’s head. Nico watches silently, a quiet look of longing on his face.
Max says after greeting them, “Hey, Charles. I was thinking I’d take Oscar to the precinct. It’s just for an hour. I figured Lewis probably misses him—he’d love to see him.”
Charles stiffens. “No, I can take him. It’s important.”
Charles thinks Max is meeting Lewis to talk about going back to work. He doesn’t know Max has already decided to retire—maybe find something different, something that allows him to always be home and doesn’t endanger his family.
Max tries again. “It’s okay. Nico’s right. I can take care of him.”
God knows Charles has sacrificed more than his fair share. And Max, now a full-time stay-at-home dad, can manage Oscar on his own. He wants to be that person for Charles.
But Charles shakes his head. “No, Max. I can take him—”
“No, you can’t,” Nico cuts in sharply. “And can you stop acting like he’s the only thing that matters? What about your job? Your commitments? This—” he gestures toward Max, “—is why he’ll never see you as his equal.”
“Hey,” Max warns, voice low. “I think you should stop talking.”
“Or what?” Nico snaps. “You’ve done enough, Verstappen. You screwed up our lives, you broke my son, and now you think you can waltz back in and play the loving husband? I give you three months before you go back to your old games.”
Before Max can speak—before he can defend their relaionship—Charles explodes.
“Shut up!” he shouts, eyes blazing. “Would you just shut up for once?”
Nico steps closer, voice dark. “Watch your tone when you speak to me. I’m still your captain. And your father.”
Sebastian steps in quickly, trying to diffuse the tension. “Alright, enough. Both of you. This has to stop.”
But Charles doesn’t back down. He looks his father dead in the eye. “Then act like a father. Not a control freak who wants to dictate every inch of my life. I’ve been patient, dad, but this isn’t working. You don’t get to belittle me or my husband just because you don’t approve of my choices, you still get to respect them. I’ve respected you. And I deserve to be respected. And yes I’ve accepted your help. But helping me when I was down doesn’t give you the right to walk all over me. That’s the least you could do after being absent most of my life. Also you don’t get to treat me like that. I’m not a child. I’m a grown man—with a husband and a son. And I’m not leaving either of them.”
Charles breathes heavily, trembling with anger—but he’s not done.
“I love Max. And if I can forgive you for leaving when I needed you most, then I can damn well forgive my husband. Maybe it’s time you focus on fixing your own mess instead of obsessing over mine.”
Nico’s face hardens. “I am in a happy healthy relationship. Healthier than yours. Beside I’m not like you—I don’t need someone to survive. Especially not someone who hurt me. I learned my lesson watching you.”
Charles lets out a cold, bitter laugh. “You think I need Max to survive? I don’t. I choose to be with him because I’m not a coward. I’m not afraid to forgive and love… to feel something real.”
“I have a boyfriend,” Nico snaps.
“Oh, you mean the one you can barely kiss?” Charles scoffs. “The one you’re not attracted to, don’t even like—because you’re still hung up on your neighbor?”
Nico flinches.
“You rejected the one person who you actually care about, the one you like, the one who stood by us. Lewis offered you a chance, and you turned him down because you wanted to prove a point to me.”
Oscar began to squirm in Max’s arms, clearly unsettled by the rising tension. Max held him a little tighter, rocking him gently. “He lied to me,” Nico said through clenched teeth. “He’s hardly Mister Perfect. Don’t turn him into some self-sacrificing hero.”
Nico looked directly at Max. Calm, but firm. “Charles… sometimes we have to let go of the people we love to make room for the ones who love us.”
Charles stepped forward. “That’s selfish,” he told Nico, voice breaking. “You love him. He loves you. Why would you choose and use someone you don’t even like just to feel liked?”
Oscar suddenly dropped his toy with a loud clatter. Sebastian, who had been hovering quietly in the background, bent down to pick it up and offered it back with a soft smile. But Oscar didn’t take it—instead, his lips trembled, and he started to cry, overwhelmed by the thick, unspoken sadness in the room.
“Give him to me.” Sebastian instruct.
Max hesitated, holding Oscar a moment longer before reluctantly handing him over. Sebastian took the diaper bag from the floor, slinging it over his shoulder. “Alright,” he said, calmly. “Max, go to your meeting with Lewis. Let me handle this. And you two—”he gestured at Nico and Charles “—talk. Work it out.”
He didn’t wait for a reply. Just turned and left with Oscar in his arms, who is still crying.
Charles watched them go, then turned to Max. “I think I should lea—”
But Max shook his head, stepping in before he could finish. “No, baby. You need to stay. You need to sort this out.”
He kissed Charles gently, hands brushing his cheek with care, and then turned to Nico.
“I’m sorry for all of this,” Max said sincerely. “But I’m not fumbling this time. I love him. And I’m going to cherish him—and protect my family.”
There was a quiet pause before he added, almost casually, “I’m not going back to work. I’m quitting.”
Nico blinked. “You’re what?”
It was the first time Max had said it out loud, and even he seemed surprised by how calm he felt. He loved his job—everyone knew that—but he simply loved his family more.
Charles stepped closer, stunned. “What? Max no… don’t.”
Max gave him a faint smile. “Not now, love. I really have to go.”
++++++
Apparently, Charles wasn’t as clueless about his decision as Max thought he was—at least not about Max’s decision to never return to work. Max had just gotten back home; the meeting with Lewis had been long, Lewis had took him out for dinner after. In fact, Lewis had told him that Charles had practically begged him to talk with him and convince him to change his mind about quitting. Charles had asked Lewis to talk to Max—because he didn’t know who else to go to.
Everyone who could have gotten through to Max—weren’t on talking terms. He still wasn’t speaking to his mom, not after she forgave Fernando, he still doesn’t feel comfortable enough to open up to Daniel, and Fernando was out of the question. Even if Max’s mom had forgiven Fernando, Max couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. And honestly, rightfully so.
Max had come to realize, with the help of his therapist, that even him being hurt at Jos hadn’t been entirely about Jos. It was about being failed again by another father figure. He had told Fernando as much—that what Fernando did hurt more than anything Jos ever did. Because Jos was never his father, not truly. But Fernando was. And that’s why it cut so deep.
Fernando had been furious when Max compared him to Jos, offended at the implication. But Max hadn’t backed down. In fact, he had gone as far as to say that what Fernando did was worse. And sure, maybe that wasn’t fair. Maybe Max had said it just to hurt him. He knew Fernando’s motivations weren’t as malicious as Jos’s, and that his actions came from seeking justice, not cruelty. But it didn’t matter. It hurt just the same.
Max sighed as he made himself a cup of tea in the quiet kitchen, waiting for Charles.he had called earlier to say he’d be having dinner with his dad tonight. Apparently, Nico missed Oscar and wanted to spend some time with him. Max figured that meant they’d made up. Good, he supposed. Max reached for the kettle with one hand, Leo’s sat at his feet, chew toy in mouth. Jimmy and Sassy ate on the tiled floor, tails twitching in contentment.
He still loved Fernando, that deep down he wanted things to be okay. And it was true—he did. But he wasn’t ready. He was still angry. It bothered him how quickly Fernando seemed to bounce back. Like he got to go home and pick up the pieces while Max returned to a shattered life, Invaded by one of his best friends. And sure, Max knew he wasn’t blameless. But the straw that broke the camel back was Fernando faking his death. And breaking Charles’s heart and made whatever happened with Lando and Charles happen.
He reached for a mug, then paused.
He and Charles were together again, technically. But they weren’t better.
Charles asking Lewis to talk to him instead of doing it himself said enough. He still didn’t feel safe talking to Max directly. He looked like he was constantly trying too hard—like he was walking on eggshells, overcompensating for something Max couldn’t name. Max tried not to wonder if it was love. If Charles had realized—after everything—that he didn’t love him the same anymore.
They started couple’s therapy. He wasn’t delusional—he didn’t think they’d just pick up where they left off. He knew they’d rebuild. Together. Slowly. Intentionally.
One of the things they spoke about last race was intimacy something they’re yet to get to, Max can’t wait to get to sex, He hadn’t touched anyone in months. Charles, though? Max didn’t know. He didn’t know if anything happened with Lando that could be intimate enough. He didn’t know if Charles had slept with him. He had asked, once, tentatively. Indirectly. Charles had just said, “Nothing happened.” His voice had cracked a little, Like he does every time Lando is brought up into a conversation. Charles had also complained once about how Lando wasn’t answering his calls or messages anymore.
And the way Charles looked devastated by it is what made Max question their relationship.
Max doesn’t have the right to ask again. He already had once—and Charles had told him plainly that nothing happened. And even if something had happened, Max knows he’s in no position to bring it up. even if there was something, it’s not like Charles cheated on him, to Charles, Max was dead. It’s not like he has a claim on that part of Charles’s life. He tells himself it doesn’t matter. They’re back together now. Things between them have been calm and almost domestic.
The kettle clicked off.
Max poured the water over the tea bag slowly, watching the amber swirl spread through the mug like smoke. His fingers tightened around the handle. He blew gently over the steam and took a sip too soon, burning his tongue.
The front door creak open. His body reacts before his mind does—he puts his cup of tea down and walks to the hallway, heart quickening even though he’s not sure why. Instinct.
Charles walks in, Oscar cradled against his chest, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.
“Dadadada,” Oscar babbles, reaching his hand out excitedly.
“Yes, dada is here,” Charles says softly, kissing the baby’s cheek.
“Welcome back,” Max says, his voice gentle.
Max pulls both Charles and Oscar into a hug the moment they step inside. He holds them tightly, burying his face into Charles’s neck and breathing in deeply. There’s a trace of sweat, something earthy and familiar, something that smells like Charles.
Charles gives him a small shove, not unkind. “I know I stink,” he mutters, shifting his hold on Oscar.
Max shakes his head without letting go. “No, you don’t.”
Charles raises an eyebrow, clearly not believing him, but he doesn’t argue. He crouches down and gently places Oscar on the floor. The baby barely has time to find his balance before spotting Sassy across the room and taking off in that direction with determined little steps.
Jimmy is nowhere in sight—probably hiding somewhere, as usual—but Sassy is lounging on the windowsill, his tail flicking lazily. Oscar makes a beeline for him, hands reaching out, full of excitement. But Sassy, in classic Sassy fashion, just watches coolly as the baby tries to clamber up. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t run either. Just watches.
Sassy wagged his tail lazily from the window, just out of Oscar’s reach. The toddler whined in frustration, stretching his arms up. His tiny fingers scraping the edge of the sill.
Max got up with a sigh. “Oscar,” he said gently, “remember what we talked about? If Sassy and Jimmy don’t want to play, we don’t force them.”
Oscar turned and looked at him with wide eyes before plopping down and sulking dramatically.
Charles dropped onto the couch and, with what seemed like casual interest, asked, “So what did Lewis say?”
Max crouched down next to Oscar, guiding him to sit between his legs. “Hey, you wanna play with your phone?” he asked the boy.
Oscar nodded enthusiastically, expecting one of the real phones. Instead, Max handed him the toy one, which he had forgot to put back into Oscar’s toy box. Oscar blinked at it, frowned, and then pointed at Max with a pout, babbling, “Dada—oh! Oh!”
Max chuckled. “Yeah, I know. But for now, that’s the only phone you’re getting.”
Charles raised a brow. “So?”
Max exhaled and sat down properly before his legs cramped. “He approved my resignation.”
“What?” Charles blinked. “Why would he let you go? You’re his best detective.”
“He’s not letting me go,” Max said quietly. “I quit. I wanted to leave.”
Charles stared at him. “I don’t get it… shouldn’t he have tried to talk you out of it? Or at least given you some time to think?”
Oscar sat between Max’s legs, holding his fake phone up. “Ello, Dada. Ello.”
Max smiled and mimicked holding a phone to his ear. “hello, Oscar?”
Oscar burst into giggles.
Then Max looked back at Charles. “Honestly? After everything that happened, he was just glad I’m happy and safe.”
Charles gave a slow nod. “If you say so.”
Max tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly. “But you clearly don’t think I’m happy. Otherwise you wouldn’t have asked Lewis to talk to me.”
Charles shifted in place. “He told you?”
“Yeah,” Max said. “Why didn’t you just come to me instead?”
Charles looked down at Oscar’s little feet. “Because I knew you wouldn’t listen.”
Max’s heart cracked a little at that—Charles doesn’t felt safe sharing his thoughts yet. trust takes time. Max was still rebuilding it.
He inhaled deeply. “Can you… tell me what you really think about me leaving my job?”
Max gets up and goes to sit next to Charles. There’s a pause—Charles hesitates, biting down on the inside of his mouth as he tries to find the words. Max notices and decides to help him out.
“So… you don’t think I should leave my job?” Max asks gently. “Why?”
Charles sighs. “Because it’s wrong.”
“Wrong?” Max repeats, confused. “Why?”
“Because you’re doing it for the wrong reasons.”
Max frowns. “I’m doing it for my family. You both deserve my full attention after everything I put you through.”
Charles shakes his head. “See? That’s exactly it. That’s guilt, Max, not a decision. There’s no shame in working and having a family. I do it—you can do it too.”
Max looks away. “But it’s not about shame. It’s about responsibility. I put you both in danger, Charles. I need to protect you.”
“That’s not how you protect us,” Charles says, his voice firmer now. “You protect us by making the city safer. That’s what you do best.”
Max lets out a breathless laugh, unconvinced. Just then, Oscar starts babbling, trying to speak into a toy phone. “Dada! Dada!”
Max smiles and leans forward. “The line’s kind of busy, love,” he jokes.
Oscar toddles over and wedges himself between them, sitting down like he belonged there all along.
That had been his thing lately—coming between them. Literally. At bedtime, on the couch, anywhere they sat. He’d climb into the space between and demand attention and kisses. They gave it to him, of course, but Oscar had boundless energy neither of them could fully keep up with—especially Charles, who has work.
Charles reaches out and brushes Oscar’s hair back. “You know, Max, you’ve saved me more times than I can count. And Oscar too. You did that because of how good you are at your job.”
He looks at Max. “Somewhere out there, there’s another little boy or girl who needs someone like you. A mother or a father who also went through what we did. They deserve to have their baby’s back. And I know you can do it. You’re smart, and you’re good. You’re dedicated. Of course many can do it. But none like you. I trust you not to drift away from us. I know you can find the balance between work and family—especially now that there’s no unresolved case pulling you away in the middle of the night.”
Max opens his mouth, but Charles cuts in.
“No. No buts. Be honest with me—are you doing this because you want to, or because you think it’ll fix what happened?”
Max doesn’t answer.
Charles continues, softly but firmly, “If it’s just for us, then don’t. We don’t want you to make this kind of sacrifice. We know how much you love your job, how good you are at it. So don’t walk away from it—just adjust. Find balance. Make it work.”
He glances down at Oscar, who is now fiddling with Max’s sleeve.
“Soon Oscar will be in nursery, then preschool, then he’ll have his own life. I’ll have my job. And you’ll have nothing—if you give it all up now. Don’t do that to yourself. Not for us. I mean it, Max.”
“And if you get carried away, I can always bring you back,” Charles says with a smile.
Oscar, chims “dadadada.”
Charles grins and adds, “And Oscar will too. Look at this little brat—does he look like someone who’d want to share you more than strictly necessary? This little devil will definitely make it known.”
Max thinks about it. The truth is, ever since he came back, he knew he needed to let go of his job to keep Charles—and it hadn’t even been a hard choice. He would choose his family this time. But Charles isn’t asking him to choose or to give up his work. He’s just asking him to do both. Can he?
Can he manage being a father and stay in the job?
He and Charles had managed everything else before—so maybe they can manage this too.
“But what about Oscar? How can I balance work and Oscar?” he says aloud, uncertainty creeping in.
Charles, sitting close, answers calmly, “What about him? He’s going to be okay.”
Oscar, who’s sitting between them, looks up at them seriously, trying to follow the conversation with his big eyes.
“You’re not alone,” Charles continues. “I told you, there’s nursery, there’s you and me—we can manage. Plus, we have our parents to help, and Lewis. We’re not doing this alone. My dad would love to babysit Oscar. So would your mom. Even your dad—and yes, Max, he’s your dad, and you’ll have to talk to him at some point.”
Max exhales, finally admitting one of the two things—the easier one.
“I do think I still want to work,” he says quietly, “but… are you sure it won’t bother you that I’m backing off my decision?”
It’s embarrassing to admit. He feels weak, like it only took Charles five minutes to undo his whole resolve—and now, selfishly, he just wants both.
Charles turns to him and says softly, “Of course not. I’m just happy you’re finally being honest—with yourself and with me. I wouldn’t want to leave my work either, and I don’t expect you to leave yours. Unless it’s too much, and you don’t want to risk your life anymore. In that case, I’ll support you completely. You’d absolutely have my blessing to quit.”
Max really loves his job. It gives him a strong sense of purpose and belonging—it always has. He thrives on being busy, and the work provides the kind of mental stimulation he craves. Of course, with Oscar around now, there’s no shortage of distractions. He looks at the baby, who is starting to nod off, his head swaying gently with sleep. Max pulls him into his lap, cradling him carefully as Oscar pops his fingers into his mouth.
“I still want my job,” Max says quietly. “I love it. I don’t want to let it go… but of course, this time, it’ll be different.”
Charles nods, his voice soft but sure. “I know.”
“Now that that’s out of the way,” Charles said, voice steady but his fingers fidgeting slightly in his lap, “and I’m being brave… maybe we should talk about the elephant in the room?”
Max turned to look at him, brow furrowed. “Sex?” he asked cautiously.
Charles blinked, then let out a soft laugh. “No, Max. I meant Fernando.”
Max groaned. “Oh, come on. You just started talking to your dad again like—what? An hour ago? And now you’re on my ass about mine?”
“Yes,” Charles said simply, crossing his arms. “Because he’s your dad. And you should at least hear him out.”
Max scoffed. “Right. Hear out the man who ruined everything for me? Hard pass.”
Charles didn’t say anything for a moment. He just looked at Max with that quiet, stubborn determination Max had come to know too well.
“You love him,” Charles said finally
Notes:
No honorable mentions this time. Like I mentioned before, my beta is currently angry with me, and honestly… there’s not much to say about this chapter. It just feels meh. I don’t like how it turned out. I hate my writing lately.
This fic is my favorite, and I feel like I’ve ruined it— beyond saving. But I still wanted to post this.
I’m pretty sure this chapter is full of mistakes. I completely forgot what’s even happened in this fic—so if something sounds wrong, it probably is wrong. Your author has the memory of a fish and the inability to reread anything to save her life.
Chapter 18
Notes:
Thank you so, so much for your support throughout this story. Writing this fic has been one of the most emotional, chaotic, and unexpectedly beautiful experiences of my life. It wasn’t perfect—it was messy and full of flaws—but it was written with love, and I’m truly grateful that you chose to read it.
To every single person who left a kudos, a comment, or simply read in silence: thank you. I wish I could mention every single one of you but I’m terrified of forgetting someone. So if you ever left even a single word—know that it mattered. and it helped me continue writing, you guys helped me overcome the AO3 curse.
I know I may have disappointed some of you along the way, and for that, I’m sorry. But I’m thankful for all the patience, encouragement, and kindness you’ve shown me.
I’m going to miss this fic more than I can say. And I’m going to miss you, too—the theories, the chaos, and the love.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Max’s hand slips beneath Charles’s shirt, the warmth of his skin like fire under his palm. Charles had straddled his lap a while ago, legs snug on either side of Max’s thighs, and neither of them had bothered to take of their clothes.
Max's lips drag along Charles's throat, open-mouthed kisses turning into bites and soft sucks. He feels the way Charles’s throat vibrates with a breathy whine, the sound going straight to Max’s already aching cock. Charles’s fingers twist into Max’s hair and yank him up, crashing their mouths together again. He tastes so sweet, like chocolate and something Max could never name. His goatee scrapes deliciously against Max’s chin, rough and soft at once, and Max moans into the kiss.
Charles rolls his hips once, slow and deliberate, and Max nearly loses it. The way Charles feels under his hands—soft skin, warm and flushed, those goddamn thighs pressed against his hips—it’s intoxicating. Max’s hand roams, dragging over his ribs, fingers curling around his love handles, down to where his thumb skims along the waistband of Charles’s jeans. He wants to pull him closer, press their bodies together until there’s no space left between them.
Charles grinds down again, and Max groans into his mouth, breath catching. This feels so good—Charles's hard length pressed to his thigh, the smooth skin under his shirt, the slight tremble in his thighs as he presses harder.
And yet, despite how worked up they are, Charles is slow. Deliberate. Like he’s taking his time on purpose. Like he’s not in a rush. And maybe he isn’t.
Max’s mind twists it immediately. Maybe he’s not as eager. Maybe it hasn’t been as long for him. Maybe… He groans, frustrated. Not just with desire, but with the ache that flares in his chest. Not again.
Charles stills. Pulls back slightly, eyes searching his. “Max?”
His lips are red, His shirt is revealing the flushed skin of his chest. His hair’s a mess from Max’s fingers. He looks like sin and softness all at once, and Max doesn’t want to talk. He wants to taste.
But Charles is frowning. “What was that noise?”
“What noise?” Max deflects, trying to lean in again, but Charles isn’t having it.
“That noise,” Charles insists. “You groaned. Not the good kind.”
Max sighs and tries again to kiss him, to pull him back in, but Charles resists and instead sits beside him on the bed. Max protests, frustrated. “Charles—come on, it’s not time for talks. We’ve got two hours. We have to pick Oscar up.”
“No. Not like this.”
“We don’t have time for this talk,” Max said, exasperated.
Tonight had been the night. Nico had wanted to spend some time Charles and Oscar, but Max and Charles had dropped off just Oscar—because they had plans. They went out, danced, laughed. It felt like the good old days.
But now, right when it mattered, Max’s mind was ruining it.
Because some deep, rotten part of his brain wouldn’t stop whispering: He’s not eager because he doesn’t want you.
Maybe he’s just choosing you because of Oscar. Maybe his heart chose Lando.
He’d been resisting that voice for weeks, refusing to ask questions he had no right to ask, scared of the answers. Charles had every right to be with someone else while Max was gone.
Still, the thought of it—of Charles touching someone else—made something inside him ache.
"Talk to me," Charles said gently.
Max shook his head. “We don’t have time.”
“We have all the time for this. We’ll do this another time,” Charles said firmly. “Right now, I want to talk.”
That wasn’t true, and they both knew it. They never had time anymore. Oscar had been clinging to them lately, even sleeping in their bed every night. He refused to stay at Nico’s unless Charles begged—and even then, he cried when they left.
They barely had any time for themselves. And Max had planned this night so carefully. He’d needed it.
Charles sits down heavily on the edge of the bed, breath still uneven. His lips are swollen, slick from kissing, and Max can’t stop staring. His neck and chest are flushed a deep pink, shirt still half-open, hair tousled and damp with sweat. Max watches him begin to button his shirt, clearly catching the way Max is looking.
Max rolls his eyes and scrubs a hand down his face. He doesn’t want to do this now. Doesn’t want to ruin the mood or push Charles away. But the thought won’t leave him alone—the question keeps clawing at him every time he thinks about how close and intimate they seemed when he first came back, every time Charles says Lando’s name like it’s lined with glass.
“Max?” Charles’s voice cuts through the haze. Sharp but not unkind. He’s looking at Max now, brows drawn together.
Max sighs. “It’s nothing.”
Charles narrows his eyes. “Time is ticking, Max. If you want us to get back to what we were doing—which I would very much like, thank you—then you better start talking.”
“That’s the point,” Max says, voice low. “You won’t want to after what I’m about to say.”
Charles folds his arms, already tense. “Just say it.”
Max swallows. “Lando. It’s about Lando.”
For a moment, Charles just blinks. Confused. Then it hits him, and his expression twists. “You think I slept with Lando?”
Max winces. “I don’t know. Maybe? I’m not saying you did. It’s just… the way you talk about him. The way he acts. Something happened, right? I’m not mad, I am not going to overreact. I’m just—confused. I can’t stop thinking about it.”
Charles groans, looking genuinely hurt now. “How many times do I have to tell you nothing happened between me and Lando for you to believe me?”
“That’s the issue,” Max says quietly. “I think you’re lying.”
Charles’s jaw tightens.
“I think you’re keeping something from me. And you are—you said you promised him not to talk about it. And that’s fine, but I’m your husband, Charles. He’s my friend. If something happened… I should know.”
Charles inhales sharply. “Nothing. Happened. We spent time together, yes. He was there when I needed someone, he was perfect with Oscar, but we were never involved romantically, we weren’t intimate. Not once.”
Max studies him for a long beat. His eyes are clear. Steady. And tired. Max knows that look—he’s not lying. He sighs, letting his shoulders drop. “Okay. I believe you.”
Charles gives him a deadpan look. “You better. I was mourning you. Raising our son. I didn’t have time—or the mental capacity—to fuck around, Max.”
Max flinches, guilt seeping in.
“And honestly?” Charles huffs. “You come back to a husband who waited for you, who’s still here, and your first instinct is to doubt me? Maybe I should have fucked around.”
Max reaches forward and pinches his nipple.
“Max—!” Charles gasps, half-whining, swatting at him.
Max grins, pushing Charles gently until he’s flat on his back. “Don’t say shit like that.”
He kisses him hard, hands sliding up to undo the buttons Charles had just fastened, mouth trailing down to the flushed skin he’d missed. Charles gasps against him, grabbing at Max’s shirt to pull him closer.
“Ungrateful, am I? let me show you how grateful I am for your loyality.” Max mutters into his neck.
Charles just whines.
They kiss.
It starts slow, hesitant — but it deepens quickly. Max kisses Charles like he’s trying to claim every second he’s lost, his hand sliding up under Charles’s shirt, palm pressed to warm skin. Charles makes a soft noise against his mouth, and Max feels him shiver.
“I bet Lando can't kiss you like that,” Max murmurs between kisses, voice low and rough.
Charles flushes instantly, going red from his cheeks down to the line of his neck. But before he can say anything, Max pulls back, breath catching.
“Oh my god. You kissed,” he says, half in disbelief, half in something sharp and sour. “Fuck.”
Charles’s eyes widen. “You said you wouldn’t overreact.”
“So you did kiss.” Max stares at him. “God. Were you, like… in a relationship when I came back? Was it the start of something?”
Charles groans and drops his face into the pillow, trying to disappear. “No. No, we weren’t. There was one kiss. That’s it. It just happened.”
Max swallows hard. Kissing isn’t the worst thing that could have happened — he knows that. It still burns in his chest, but he has no real right to be angry. Not when he’s the lucky one to be here with Charles after the mess he got them into, the one kissing Charles now. Not when it’s his hands on Charles’s skin and not Lando’s.
He tries to breathe through it, but one question still claws at him.
“I have to ask,” Max says. “One last thing.”
Charles doesn’t look up. “Sure. It’s not like we’re on borrowed time or anything.”
“I love you,” Max says seriously. “But this matters. If I hadn’t come back… would you have been with him? Would you have let yourself think of him as your partner?”
Charles goes quiet for a second. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “He was good. He was perfect with Oscar. But I never let myself think of it like that. I was mourning you. I didn’t have space for anything else.” He looks up, eyes soft and tired. “And thank God I don’t have to think about it. It’s always been you. Since day one. I can’t be with anyone else.”
He leans forward and kisses Max’s cheek — slow, deliberate.
That’s all Max needs to hear.
He kisses Charles again, mouth hot and hungry, fingers making quick work of the buttons on Max’s pants. Charles gasps into his mouth as Max’s hand slides over his bare chest, thumb brushing across a nipple. Max feels the way Charles arches into it, eager and responsive.
Charles leans back, bracing himself on his elbows as Max kisses down his neck, trailing over his collarbone. Then Max reaches for the button on Charles’s jeans and pops it open with a sharp flick. Charles lifts his hips obediently, hissing softly when Max drags the denim and underwear down, revealing him fully. Charles unbuttons max’s jeans, as he help him take it off.
Max swallows hard, eyes dragging over every inch of him.
His hand settles on Charles’s thigh first, warm and firm, fingers splayed as he leans in to kiss him again — deeper, rougher this time, like he’s making up for every second he couldn’t touch him. Charles moans into his mouth, hands gripping Max’s shoulders, pulling him closer.
Their wet chests pressed together and Max's warm breath ghosting over Charles’s cheek. " I missed this.” Max says darkly, Charles biting his lip when Max’s thigh slips between his legs, their bodies pressed so tight together that Charles can’t even move. Max can’t help it, the breathy sound he lets out when Charles’s thigh moves to press against Max's cock, his leg already beginning to grind slow circles against him. His mind turns to static as Charles grips his hips tighter, his thigh moving with more purpose as he rubs it against Max’s hardening cock, his tongue playing with his lip as he stares at Max with hunger in his eyes.
Then Charles leans in, nipping at Max’s jaw, his breath hot and uneven. “You’re not the only one who missed this.”
A strangled moan rips out of him the second Charles’s long fingers curl around him—warm, sure, stroking slow and deliberate, and Max sees stars behind his eyes.
“Shit, It’s been so long” he breathes, hips twitching as Charles’s thumb presses into his slit, smearing the leaking precum over his sensitive head.
+++++
"I'm coming," Max calls out, walking slowly to the front door to give Charles time to get dressed. He glances through the peephole—it’s Nico, holding Oscar. That’s odd—they still have almost an hour before they were supposed to pick him up.
Max opens the door right away, eyebrows raised in surprise. But before he can say anything, Oscar, snug in Nico’s arms, immediately reaches out for Max, stretching his little hands eagerly. arms shooting out toward him.
“Dadaa! Dada, hey Dada!”
Max barely has time to smile before Oscar wriggles in Nico’s hold, desperate to be in his arms. He scoops him up, and Oscar clings to him like a little monkey, arms tight around Max’s neck, legs gripping at his waist.
“Hey, Nico,” Max says, adjusting Oscar against his chest. “Something wrong?”
Nico shakes his head but then sighs. “No—or yes, I guess. Oscar started getting really anxious, wouldn’t settle down, and cried a lot. I figured I might as well bring him back early.”
Max frowns apologetically. “Sorry. We should’ve come earlier. If you had called…”
Nico waves it off. “No, it’s fine. I love having him over. I even tried convincing him to spend the night, but he got so upset once it got dark. He just kept crying for you.”
Max presses a kiss to Oscar’s soft cheek, still flushed from crying. “Yeah… He’s been really clingy lately. He’s sleeping with us again, full time. He panics if he wakes up alone—or if even one of us isn’t there.”
Oscar makes a quiet humming sound, burying his face against Max’s shoulder. His tiny fingers curl into Max’s shirt, and he lets out a soft breath like he’s finally able to relax.
Max gently rubs his back. “We think it might be because of the kidnapping. It’s like he remembers it every time we’re not around. We should probably talk to a specialist.”
“He played a lot today,” Nico adds, watching Oscar with a fond smile. “And then cried just as much. He should be exhausted.”
“Thanks for bringing him,” Max says sincerely.
At that moment, Charles steps out of the bedroom. “Dad?”
Oscar perks up instantly, lifting his head and twisting in Max’s arms to get a better look. His eyes widen, his whole body leaning toward Charles with excitement.
“Papa!”
“Hey, Charles,” Nico greets with a teasing grin. “Looks like you were having fun.”
Charles's cheeks go red, and Max blushes too—Charles’s hair is messy, his lips still a little swollen, and there’s a hickey on his neck Max absolutely remembers taking his time putting there. Maybe he should’ve gone easier on him, but how could he, when Charles looked that good?
“He brought Oscar back,” Max explains quickly, clearing his throat. “He cried for us again.”
Nico sighs dramatically. “You two need to work on that separation thing. I’d love to have him stay over, but now that you and Charles are basically glued together, I can’t have both of you. Let me keep my grandson for a night, will you?”
Charles snorts. “You don’t need my son to fight off loneliness. You need to grow a pair and call Lewis.”
Nico huffs. “Alright, alright. I’ll leave before we go there, again. Bye, Oscar.”
He kisses Oscar’s cheek, but the boy is already resting his head on Max’s shoulder again, eyelids heavy now that he's finally calm.
“Bye, you two,” Nico calls as he heads out.
Max glances at Charles. “I’ll put him to bed.”
Charles nods, already turning toward the bathroom. “I’ll take a quick shower.”
Oscar sighs softly, his grip loosening as Max carries him to the nursery, finally safe, finally home.
+++++
Late that night, Max returned to the bedroom after tucking Oscar in, changing the sheets, and taking a quick shower. But as he walked in, he froze at the sight—Oscar was nestled under the blanket, snuggled against Charles, both of them wide awake with a picture book open between them.
“Did Uncle Lewis come?” Charles asked, eyeing the book suspiciously.
Oscar looked up, ignore Charles’s question, eyes wide and sparkling. “Dada! Duckie!” he squealed, pointing at something on the page. He burst into giggles and wriggled closer to Charles, clearly delighted.
“Oh, he’s here,” Charles said with a grin, hands raised in mock surrender. “He came all by himself.”
Max narrowed his eyes, amused. “Really? Nothing to do with you wanting to interrogate him about Lewis and Nico?”
“Me?” Charles gasped, feigning offense. “How dare you accuse me of using our son like this! Come on, Oscar, let’s go to bed. Your dada is being a meanie.”
Oscar looked between them, confused, then declared with complete sincerity, “No! dada good.”
Charles laughed, cupping Oscar’s cheek. “Oh, my sweet little pacifist. Just like his papa.”
Max chuckled, making his way over to the bed. “Come on then. Let’s kiss and make up.”
Max leaned in and brushed a kiss to Charles’s lips—slow and soft, the kind that lingered just enough to make Charles smile against his mouth. But the moment they pulled apart, Oscar stared at them with a frown, his little nose scrunching and brows furrowing as if personally betrayed.
He huffed, grabbed his book with exaggerated importance, and turned his back to them with a tiny grunt. “No kiss,” he mumbled with all the seriousness a toddler could muster.
Charles laughed quietly, eyes gleaming with mischief as he winked at Max. “Uh-oh. Jealousy alert.”
Max smirked. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”
They both leaned in at the same time, surrounding Oscar with kisses—one on each cheek, another on his nose. Oscar squealed, dropping the book as he flailed his little arms, laughter bubbling up from his belly.
“Nooo!” he shrieked through his giggles, trying to hide under the blanket while they followed him with even more kisses.
Charles grinned, breathless. “That’s what you get for looking that cute.”
Oscar wiggled and rolled until he was tucked tight between them, cheeks flushed pink from laughing too hard, book forgotten once again.
Oscar didn’t fall asleep for long, just enough to rest his tiny limbs curled between them. But it was long enough for Charles to get a full update—apparently, Lewis had come over and played with him. One of the things Max still hadn’t gotten used to was the talking. Oscar had learned to speak, and he just wouldn’t stop. The problem? Nobody but Charles understood him.
Max had picked up a few key words here and there, but Charles… Charles spoke Oscar fluently. And the worst part? He refused to correct him. Charles thought the mispronunciations were too adorable to fix. “He’ll grow up soon,” Charles often said, “and I’ll miss this.” Max agreed—it was cute. But Oscar didn’t share their sentiment. He got deeply embarrassed when Max couldn’t understand him, going quiet or hiding his face in Charles’s shirt, his cheeks red with frustration.
Charles loved to record—Oscar’s little nonsense words that somehow made perfect sense to him alone. He’d laugh softly and kiss Oscar’s hair when a particularly charming phrase popped out. But lately, they’d both tried to be careful not to make Oscar feel self-conscious. Still, it wasn’t easy when Charles visibly melted at every new word and celebrated each syllable.
Max, meanwhile, often felt like he was being judged by a toddler.
“I missed so much while being away.” Max asked in a quiet voice.
“No,” Charles murmured as he tucked Oscar’s small hand under the blanket. “He started talking just before you came back. You’ve missed the early bits, but he’s learning fast.”
Max glanced down at Oscar’s peaceful face and mock-whispered, “So? Are you happy? Spying on your dad through a baby?”
Charles snorted. “I wasn’t spying. I was checking in. If dad wasn’t so secretive about Lewis, I wouldn’t need Oscar’s updates.”
“He’s a baby. How would he even know if they’re dating or just hanging out?” Max said.
Charles smiled. “Exactly. He doesn’t know how to lie or sugarcoat. He just tells me what he sees. That’s more honest than anything dad’s given me.”
“I thought your dad was dating someone else? That guy he didn’t like?”
“They broke up,” Charles said, brushing Oscar’s curls back gently. “I gave him a wake-up call. He realized it was a mistake.”
Max hummed. He’d never quite understood the way Charles and Nico operated. Their bond was intense, complicated, and somehow worked for them. “Even so… he’s an adult. He knows what’s best for him.”
“Lewis is what’s best for him,” Charles replied firmly. “He just needs to stop being scared. I’m meeting him next week to see what his intentions are.”
Max sighed. “Maybe we shouldn’t interfere? They’re grown-ups. Let them figure it out.”
Charles just smiled knowingly. “They’ll both thank us eventually.”
Max didn’t look so convinced, but he let it slide. Or at least, he tried—until Charles added, “And you need to talk to your dad.”
Max groaned and immediately rolled over. “I’m going to sleep.”
“No, no!” Charles whispered urgently, poking him. “The therapist said I’m supposed to stop you when your avoidance issues kick in.”
Max grumbled, “Yeah, but this isn’t about us. This is about my dad.”
“And Sophie,” Charles said quietly. “She deserves better too.”
Max nodded slowly, eyes closed. “I know. But I can’t right now. I just need… space.”
“You’re going back to work soon. So is he. How much space will you have?”
Max opened one eye. “Wait—he’s going back to work?”
Charles nodded. “Temporarily. Until they find somewhere else for him. Lewis offered to move and let Fernando have his place back, but the rules say your dad can’t be your captain, so he’s stepping aside.”
Max blinked. “How do you know that?”
“We talk, you should try it. Just because you’re angry doesn’t mean you stop caring about that person.” Charles said. “Same happened with dad. We argued, but we kept taps on each other, he knew everything going on in my life and I knew everything going on in his.”
Max gave him a deadpan look. “You and your dad are actual weirdos.”
Charles just grinned.
“Anyway,” Max said, pulling the blanket higher over Oscar’s chest, “I guess you’re happy I’ll have to face him, soon.”
“I don’t want to pressure you,” Charles said softly. “But I know this is eating you up. And your mom—she’s already lost so much. She shouldn’t have to choose between you two.”
Max didn’t answer. But he didn’t argue either.
Instead, his fingers reached under the blanket and brushed against Charles’s, both of them wrapped around Oscar’s tiny frame like a safety net.
+++++
Fernando!
Max froze.
What is he doing here?
From the other side of the door, Fernando’s voice called out, casual and annoyingly confident:
"Come on, Max, I know you're in there. Charles told me you're home."
Fuck.
Max looked around at the chaos that was their house. Oscar had just finished breakfast and a bath. The pets had eaten—but left their usual trail of destruction—and Max had barely started cleaning. The kitchen table looked like it had survived a small explosion, they still haven’t even washed the dishes from last night. They were both exhausted from their long shifts, which was an absolute nightmare to Max but he’s a dad now and these things happens.
Oscar sat perched on the couch in nothing but a towel, having declared himself “clean enough” and refused to get dressed. He'd promised to let Max know if he needed to use the bathroom, which was a deal Max had reluctantly accepted after a ten-minute debate.
There was another knock.
Max sighed.
Why am I even trying?
He opened the door. Fernando stood there, arms crossed, but his tone was surprisingly soft.
"I know you don’t want to talk to me. But we really need to. Just hear me out—if you hate what I have to say, I’ll leave. I won’t try again for a while."
Max raised an eyebrow.
Fernando added quickly, "A month. I’ll give you a whole month without me bothering you."
Max considered it. Honestly, Fernando wasn’t exactly in a position to negotiate—but a month of peace sounded like heaven. Work had already been unbearable with Daniel; things were getting better, but Daniel has been overcompensating, trying so hard to go back to the way things were, something Max is not interested in. And Lando? Still avoiding him like the plague. Lewis and Fernando still pretended the other didn’t exist, while Fernando actively hunting him for a conversation, and Jenson was just... there, like always.
So yeah. A Fernando-free month was a good deal.
He stepped aside.
"Fine. Come in."
As Fernando walked in, his gaze swept over the room—and he froze.
Oscar was standing on the couch, towel still firmly wrapped around his tiny body, staring curiously at their visitor with wide eyes.
Max followed Fernando’s gaze, already bracing for judgment.
"I know. The place is a mess."
But Fernando just smiled softly.
"You have a kid. It’s supposed to be a mess."
Max didn’t say anything. He stood there, arms crossed, jaw tight, waiting.
Behind him, Oscar let out a soft giggle. Max turned his head slightly to check—Oscar had slipped down into the couch cushions, Leo hopping up beside him. The boy was completely swallowed in his big towel, wrapped around him like a burrito, only his damp curls and smiling eyes peeking out. Sassy curled against his side, purring contentedly.
Fernando shifted uncomfortably. He walked toward the kitchen and rolled his sleeves up, standing at the sink.
Max raised an eyebrow.
“What are you doing?”
Fernando didn’t look back.
“Washing the dishes.”
Max took a few steps forward.
“No. Let’s not go there. Just say what you came to say—and then leave.”
But Fernando had already turned on the water.
“I talk better when my hands are busy,” he said quietly.
He started scrubbing a plate, his movements slow, methodical.
“You used to do that too. Still do, I bet.”
Max didn't respond, but he didn’t stop him either.
Fernando continued, his voice steady but low.
“Max… I understand if you don’t want to hear from me. I know what I did is unforgivable. Taking you away from your family the way I did—it wasn’t saving you. It was hurting you.”
Max’s jaw clenched.
“You think?”
Fernando nodded slowly. He didn’t turn around.
“I shouldn’t have made that decision for you. I thought I was protecting you. But I didn’t protect you. I didn’t protect your mom. I didn’t protect Charles. Or Oscar.”
Fernando’s hands paused in the soapy water, then resumed.
“I don’t regret saving you. But I regret how I did it. I regret not being there in the right way.”
Max crossed his arms again, staring at the back of Fernando’s head like he could burn a hole through it.
But Oscar laughed, light and unbothered.
And Max… stayed quiet.
Fernando helps with the dishes. Once the sink is empty, he starts rearranging the kitchen while Max heads to the laundry room. The loft is quiet, save for the occasional bursts of Oscar’s laughter from the living room.
When Max returns to the kitchen, he finds Oscar standing in front of Fernando with a stern, judgmental look on his little face. Fernando glances down at him, guilt already in his eyes.
“Sorry,” Fernando says, lifting his hands in surrender. “He wanted juice, so I gave him juice.”
Max narrows his eyes. “Tell me you used a zippy cup.”
Fernando hesitates. Max sighs and looks Oscar up and down—his towel is soaked.
“He still can’t drink from a regular cup,” Max says flatly.
“Seems like it,” Fernando murmurs.
Oscar, unfazed, looks up at Max with wide, innocent eyes. “Bath,” he declares, then spins on his heel and makes a run for the bathroom.
“Oh no you don’t—” Max says, quickly scooping him up before more juice ends up across the loft.
“I don’t think we’ll be able to talk right now,” Max tells Fernando as he balances Oscar on his hip. “I need to give him a shower again.”
“It’s okay,” Fernando replies. “You can go. We’ll talk later.”
Max nods and takes Oscar to his room to give him a bath and get him dressed. He’s learned his lesson by now—Oscar is not allowed to leave the bathroom until he's dressed. Lately, Oscar’s been obsessed with water, fascinated by it, especially in this summer heat. Max and Charles have been meaning to take him to the pool, but between work and everything else, it hasn’t happened yet.
Charles had told him that Oscar already had his first swim at the farm. That he'd spent afternoons with chickens, and that Oscar couldn’t get enough of the pool in Max’s parents’ place. Max knows exactly what Charles was doing, he was trying to get him to go to his parents’ house.
Oscar barely makes it through the second bath, warm and clean, He falls asleep as Max gently combs through his soft hair. Max carries him to bed, tucks him in, and quietly closes the door behind him.
When he walks back into the kitchen, the whole place is spotless. Fernando is tying the garbage bag.
After Fernando finishes cleaning the entire apartment, Max feels it would be too cold to just send him away. Fernando helped. And Max was raised better than to use someone’s kindness then shove them out the door.
So he offers him a cup of coffee.
They sit quietly across from each other at the kitchen table. The silence stretches while they sip. Max says nothing—he knows offering the coffee is already giving Fernando the floor.
Fernando breaks the silence first. “So… you’re a dad now. Hah.”
“Yes,” Max answers simply.
Fernando stirs his cup slowly, gently playing with the handle. “How did that happen?”
Max’s eyes narrow slightly. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing,” Fernando says calmly, not defensive but careful. “It’s just... you never wanted to be a dad. At least, not when I knew you. So, I’m curious, that’s all.”
Max exhales slowly. He understands where the confusion comes from. Everyone who knew him back then knew he was adamant—he never wanted kids.
“A lot happened,” Max finally says. “You missed most of it. But we adopted him. Things changed.”
Fernando nods slowly, looking thoughtful. “Did you want to?” he asks. “Or did you feel like you had to?”
Max’s jaw tightens at the implication. “What are you getting at?”
“I just want to be sure,” Fernando says, raising a hand in peace. “That you weren’t pressured. That you wanted this.”
Max sighs, a bit of the anger draining from him. “I did. Well, at first... I didn’t. I said no. I was against it. But Charles—he was already attached. He saved Oscar. And I—”
He pauses, thinking back.
Max says quietly. “Something just clicked. I fell in love with him. With Oscar. And I’ve never looked back. He’s my son. I’d do anything for him. He and Charles… they’re my family now. I never regretted it. Not once. He’s special.”
Fernando smiles gently, nodding. “I know.”
Max glances up. “Of course you know. You raised a boy who wasn’t yours.”
Fernando’s expression softens. “You were never someone else’s. You were always mine. No matter what. You’ll always be my son—even if you don’t see me that way anymore.”
Max looks at him for a long moment. He missed him. God, he missed talking to Fernando. He missed his dad.
“I know,” Max says quietly. “It’s just… a lot.”
“I made mistakes,” Fernando says. “Big ones. I shouldn’t have taken that choice from you. I shouldn’t have taken you from your family. And if I was going to do it, I should’ve done it right.”
Max shakes his head. “That’s not even why I’m mad.”
Fernando blinks. “It’s not?”
“No. That was incredibly dumb, don’t get me wrong,” Max says dryly. “But I’m mad about your death. Not mine. You died on me. On my wedding.”
Fernando looks down.
“I’m sorry,” he says quietly.
“No, you’re not,” Max snaps. “Because you’d do it again. You didn’t even think about us. You left. For two years. I was gone for six months—half of that, I was barely alive—and I couldn’t wait to come back. But you? You missed my wedding. You left Mom. You left me.”
Fernando swallows hard. “I know. I know you probably won’t believe me, but I missed you. All the time. It was harder than I ever expected. I fought with Lewis constantly. I wasn’t happy. I was miserable. I missed you. Your mother. Everything.”
He pauses. “Hearing that you got married, passed your detective exams, and became a father... and I wasn’t there? It killed me. I know I fucked up. And if losing you is the punishment—then fine. I deserve it. But don’t punish your mother, Max. She didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not punishing her,” Max says quietly. “I talk to her.”
“But you haven’t seen her,” Fernando says, gently but firmly. “She misses you. And Oscar. She’s terrified you’ll make her choose. And just so you know, if she had to—she’d choose you.”
He finishes the last sip of his coffee and rises slowly.
“For now, you don’t have to talk to me. You can text. Or get Charles to. I’ll leave the house when you come. You can bring Oscar. Stay at the farm. I’ll be gone a few nights if you want.”
He starts toward the door, then pauses.
“I love you,” he says softly, not turning back.
And then he leaves the loft.
++++++
Max couldn’t stop thinking about the meeting with Fernando. Or his mom. The weight of it all sat heavy on his chest. He had texted her earlier, just a simple “I love you. I miss you.” It didn’t feel like enough, but it was all he could manage.
Charles returned later that evening, clearly burdened with something of his own. They moved around each other quietly most of the night, not speaking much, until Charles finally broke the silence.
“Max, I think you should talk to my dad.”
Max didn’t even look up from his phone. “About what?”
“About Lewis,” Charles said, settling beside him. “You could tell him how much Lewis helped you, and that he didn’t have a choice—that it was his boss who forced him to do what he did. So dad doesn’t keep thinking Lewis hurt us on purpose.”
Max sighed. “You’re still on this?” He put his phone down. “Come on, Charles, we shouldn’t interfere.”
“But it’s unfair,” Charles said, his voice tinged with frustration. “Everyone’s getting their happy ending, and Lewis and dad are just… stuck. It’s been years. Beside Oscar would love to have another grandpa.”
“That’s their business. And Oscar already has the regular number of grandfathers—there’s no shortage”
Charles narrowed his eyes. “You just don’t like Lewis. You want him to suffer for what he did to you. But from what I understand, he saved your sorry ass. And maybe it’s time you paid him back.”
Max rolled his eyes. “First of all—language. Secondly wow.”
“He’s asleep,” Charles said, gesturing at Oscar, whose tiny chest rose and fell gently as Charles brushed a hand through his hair.
“Still,” Max muttered. “And—no, I don’t hate Lewis. I strongly dislike him. But I honestly think we should stay out of it. Give them space. If it’s meant to happen, it’ll happen.”
Charles huffed. “It’s been three years, Max. Does it look like it’s going to happen anytime soon?”
Max leaned back. “From what I heard, Lewis was holding back because he didn’t want to start anything with Nico while carrying a lie. Now that everything’s out in the open, he’ll probably make his move. At his own pace.”
Charles turned to him, eyes wide. “Oh my God, this is exactly what you should tell my dad. Come on, let’s call him—”
Max caught him by the shoulders and gently pulled him back down. “Settle down, lover boy. It’s two in the morning. I am not calling your dad to give him a romantic pep talk.”
Charles pouted, then immediately switched tactics. “Did I ever tell you how much Lewis did for us while you were gone? The hours he spent helping me with Oscar? The way he tried to keep things together?” He launched into a string of stories, hoping to tug at Max’s heartstrings.
Max did feel it—quietly, somewhere deep. But he still didn’t think meddling was the right move. He waited for Charles to finish before muttering, “I’m still not interfering.”
“You’re heartless,” Charles accused.
Max smirked. “My heart’s kind of occupied—by you and your perfectly shaped ass.”
Charles stared at him, deadpan. “Max. Language.”
Max chuckled, leaning into the couch. Maybe it was time to change the subject. “Alright, alright. No matchmaking. I’ll tell you what happened with Fernando instead. I—” His voice faltered. “He came today to the loft, I am sure you know. He helped around the place. And I was supposed to be angry at him, I think a part of me still is. But also… I don’t know. I miss him. And Mom. I’m confused. It’s a mess.”
Charles softened. The fire in his eyes faded into something quieter. “Okay,” he said gently. “Tell me everything.”
Charles listens carefully, not interrupting once. When Max finally finishes speaking, there's a pause before Charles gently asks, “And how do you really feel about Fernando’s visit?”
Max exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “I felt… nostalgic. And having Oscar here, seeing Fernando help with him— It made me feel good. Safe, even.” He pauses, eyes flicking to Oscar’s tiny sleeping form between them. “I was so mad at him for leaving that I forgot to be grateful he's back. With him here, I’m not scared anymore. We don’t even talk, but I know he’s got my back.”
Max shrugs, eyes tired but honest. “Still, I don’t know what to do.”
Charles nods slowly. “Well… I guess you’ll have to figure it out.”
Max gives him a perplexed look. “You’re not going to tell me what to do?”
He was expecting one of those oddly wise Charles lines—something soft and cryptic straight from a fortune cookie, and suddenly everything would make sense.
But Charles just smirks. “Nope. You’re a big boy now. You made it clear you don’t want me to interfere. No more getting involved in family drama, no more helping struggling family members chase happiness, remember?”
Max snorts. “Oh, I get your struggle. But I also respect your decision. If that’s what you want.”
Charles blinks. “Wait—so you don’t want my opinion?”
Max shrugs again. “Of course I do. But it sounds like you’ve made up your mind. I respect that. Besides,” he adds with a slight grin, “it’s not that hard to make this decision on my own.”
Charles raises a suspicious brow. “Really? What decision?”
Max glances at Oscar, then back at Charles. “To stay away—for the sake of our families.”
Charles’s eyes widen. He immediately jolts forward and reaches for Max’s hand, accidentally nudging Oscar between them. The toddler stirs with a small grumble, shifting closer to Max, his soft curls pressing into Max’s arm. Both adults freeze, waiting. After a few moments, Oscar exhales deeply and settles back into sleep.
Charles turns back to Max, whispering fiercely, “Absolutely not. You need to fix things with your dad. You need to talk to your mom. And my dad—my dad needs to fuck Lewis already.”
Max stifles a laugh, shaking his head as he stares at the man beside him. Only Charles could turn an emotional intervention into chaos that quickly. God he loves this man. To shut him up, Max leans in and kisses him—long, steady.
Charles hums against his lips, smiling even as he lets himself be kissed quiet.
++++++
“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...”
They all sang in chorus while Oscar bounced excitedly on his little feet, barely able to contain himself as he waited for them to finish the song so he could blow out his candles. Two candles. Oscar was two years old.
Max stood behind Charles, arms wrapped loosely around his waist. As the final line was sung, they shared a soft kiss before turning toward Oscar, who was standing on a chair between them.
“Hey, Oscar,” Max said gently, smiling. “Come on, make a wish.”
Oscar squeezed his eyes shut dramatically for a few seconds, then popped them open and puffed his cheeks to blow out both candles in one go. Everyone clapped.
Charles and Max leaned down and kissed the top of his head.
Then came the gifts.
Fernando was the first to step forward, wheeling in a small red bicycle. “This one’s from me, champ,” he said.
Oscar’s eyes went wide with amazement. He gasped, then he got down from the chair with the help of Max and ran to the bike, practically vibrating with excitement.
Fernando had turned out to be a very good grandfather. Once Oscar got over the initial confusion of suddenly having one more grandfather—because yes—he’d grown very attached to Fernando. Since retiring a few months ago, Fernando had been spending most of his time at the farm with Sophie, and together they’re looking after Oscar during the day. It had been their idea, and a gesture both Max and Charles were grateful for. Oscar loved it there.
But this was the last year before preschool. One more year of staying with them then he’s off to preschool.
Charles and Max had briefly considered moving closer to the farm, just to give Oscar more time there. But between their work schedules and future schooling plans, it hadn’t been practical. Instead, they’d found a different kind of solution—they bought Nico’s house after he moved out to live with Lewis.
Max looked over at them now. Nico and Lewis stood next to each other, apparently while Charles was talking Max’s ears off trying to get them both together, these two had been dating in secret for a while. Charles had only found out because he’d walked in on them kissing in Nico’s kitchen during a surprise visit.
Charles had been so angry, he refused to speak to either of them. Max didn’t think it was a big deal—they just wanted to test the waters without any pressure. But when he told Charles that, Charles had snapped, “What pressure? I would’ve been so happy for them! I love Lewis. I’d be rooting for them!”
And he meant it. Charles adored Lewis, and the idea of Lewis being with his father had made him happy. He would never do anything to harm their relationship.
But Max had explained gently that—that expectation, that enthusiasm—was its own kind of pressure. Lewis and Nico had just wanted to take things slow, figure it out quietly. Max explained that Charles had been seeing them as a couple for a long time, but the truth was, they weren’t. Not officially. No matter how couply they acted, they were friends, this was Nico’s first gay relationship, and they were only now starting to get to know each other intimately. They needed space.
Charles had understood. And he’d backed off, waiting until they were ready. When they finally made their relationship public, Charles was delighted.
A month ago, Nico and Lewis announced they’d be taking a six-month break from work to travel across Europe together. Nico had asked Charles if he was okay with it—if he needed them to stay—but Charles had assured him that they would be fine. He wanted them to go. Max knew, though, that it was hard for Charles. He was deeply attached to Nico, and always had been.
They were leaving next week, and Charles had been a little down. Stressed, mostly about their safety. But Lewis had promised he’d take care of Nico.
Max smiled as he glanced at his own father. He and Fernando had finally buried the hatchet, and things were good now—really good. Having his dad back in his life gave Max a peace. It was like something deep in him had unclenched.
He still goes therapy. They still fought sometimes. The past still came up. Charles still had depressed days, and that part—they hadn’t quite figured it out yet. But overall, they were in a better place.
They were healing.
After all the gifts had been opened, Oscar thanked everyone with bright eyes before eagerly diving into whichever toy his tiny hands could grab first. The room filled with soft chatter and laughter.
Max and Charles naturally drifted apart in the crowd. Max made his way to Daniel, who had somehow slipped back into his life with that same quiet persistence. They were partners again, now and they are closer than they used to.
But then, from the corner of his eye, Max saw him.
Lando.
He froze for a heartbeat and looked at Daniel, surprised. “Lando’s here?”
Daniel followed his gaze, then nodded when he spotted him. “Yeah. Charles asked me to invite him. He said he’d be busy though—said he probably wouldn’t make it.”
Max watched as Lando caught Daniel’s wave but then locked eyes with Max and, without a word, turned away.
Max’s gaze shifted to Charles, who was already walking toward where Lando stood. His chest tightened. Six months later, and Charles still sounded hurt whenever Lando’s name came up. Max could hear it in his voice, feel it in the silence that followed.
They kissed.
That’s all that happened. Just a kiss.
Max forced a smile, but Daniel didn’t buy it. His eyes were sharp, too observant.
“You two still not talking?”
Max shrugged. “It’s not like we’re ignoring each other. He just… wanted space. After all the lies,—it was too much for him.”
Daniel gave him a look, slow and skeptical. “It’s strange, how deep it cut him. I still remember the day you came back. The look on Lando’s face—he looked like something inside him had completely shattered.”
Max had noticed too, back then. At the time, he chalked it up to shock. Maybe even hurt because Max faked his death. But now? Now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe it wasn’t confusion. Maybe it was grief—grief that Max had come back and what that meant for Charles and him.
Lando bent down and handed his gift to Oscar, who stared at him blankly for a second before offering a polite little “thank you.”
Daniel sipped from his drink and said, “You should talk to him. You know, when you were gone, he tried his best. He was there for your family. For Charles. He showed up more than I did.”
Max glanced away, jaw tight.
Daniel added, “He was just hurt that he was left out. I think he felt betrayed—especially when I was let in on everything. He didn’t talk to me for a while either.”
Max shook his head. “He refuses to talk to us.”
Daniel handed Max a glass of cocktail and gave him a look that said he wasn’t going to let him get away with that. “Since when has that ever stopped you?”
Max stared at the glass, then back at Lando—who still hadn’t looked his way.
Maybe Daniel was right.
Maybe it was time.
Max eventually made his way toward Lando, nudged forward by Daniel.
“He’s leaving,” Daniel had whispered. “Go talk to him.”
Max approached cautiously, not wanting to crowd Lando or upset him. He’d understand if Lando didn’t want to talk at all.
Lando looked at him with a blank face, no visible emotion.
Max offered a faint, awkward smile. “Hey, Lando. I’m... I’m glad you made it.”
Lando’s voice was flat. “It’s Oscar’s birthday.”
Max nodded. “Yeah. It means the world to him.”
Lando shook his head. “He didn’t even recognize me. He doesn’t remember me anymore.”
There was hurt in his voice—quiet, but unmistakable.
Max’s tone softened. “I’m sorry.”
But Lando just shrugged. “Don’t be. He’s a kid. I haven’t been around. That’s on me.”
Max nodded again. “Still, I’m sorry.”
Lando looked away. “Anyway, I should go.”
He turned, already moving to leave, but Max instinctively reached out, grabbing his hand.
“Lando, wait.”
Lando stopped, tense. Max let go of his hand.
“I just wanted to say… I’m sorry. And thank you. For everything you did for Charles and Oscar. While I was gone.”
Lando replied coolly, “I didn’t do it for you.”
“I know,” Max said quietly. “But I’m still grateful. And I understand if you want space, but I still like you. I still consider you my friend.”
“You shouldn’t.”
“Why?” Max asked. “Because of what happened between you and Charles? I know nothing really happened.”
Lando smiled bitterly. “Not for lack of trying. On my part.”
Max’s voice was calm, but firm. “Yeah, but I don’t fault you for that, because you didn’t know. You didn’t know I was alive. I don’t blame you for that. And if you had chosen to stay away because of the guilt, don’t.”
Lando looked at him, something cold flickering in his eyes. “I did know.”
Max blinked. “What, no you didn’t?”
“I knew you were alive,” Lando said.
Max stared at him in disbelief. “How? That is not possible” was all he could manage.
Lando shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. I just knew.”
But Max couldn’t believe it. The people who’d hidden him had been careful. Precise. There was no way. Lando must be lying. Just trying to get under his skin.
“If you knew,” Max said slowly, “you wouldn’t have gone after Charles.”
“I did,” Lando said. “Knowing full well you were alive and would come back one day.”
“Why are you telling me this? If you knew you wouldn’t have told me” Max asked, voice tight.
“Because you said you still wanted to be my friend,” Lando said. “And I needed you to know what kind of a friend I am. I pursued Charles anyway. I went after him while fully aware that you were alive.”
Max shook his head. “That’s impossible. You wouldn’t. It’d be crazy to think you even had a chance.”
“It wasn’t crazy,” Lando said flatly. “He and I were getting close. Really close. And your relationship was so toxic, it wasn’t so difficult to show him what if feels to be loved. It was only a matter of time. If Jos hadn’t ruined everything—you’d still be gone, and today, I’d be celebrating Oscar’s birthday. With them. As my family.”
Max clenched his fists. His jaw tightened.
“You wouldn’t,” he said, struggling to keep his voice low. “You knew how much we loved each other. How could you even think of pursuing him?”
Lando’s voice turned mocking. “Knowing you were alive is exactly what pushed me. I knew you'd come back eventually, and I needed to put a plan in motion to make sure I got to him first, but if you had stayed away just a little longer… I would’ve had him. I would’ve had both of them.”
Max could barely breathe. His heart was racing. Every part of him screamed to punch Lando, to yell, to shatter this twisted version of reality—but he reminded himself: this is Oscar’s birthday. Not today.
“You don’t mean that,” he said, nearly begging. “You’re angry. You’re lying.”
But Lando’s eyes didn’t waver. “You know it’s true. Even if you don’t want to believe it.”
Max took a shaky breath. “Aren’t you scared I’ll tell Charles?”
“No,” Lando said calmly. “I don’t think you will. I don’t think you’d risk reopening that can of worms. Not after everything.”
Max clenched his jaw so hard it hurt. He looked Lando in the eye. “Well, I like this reality better. You filled in for me when I was gone, and I appreciate that. But you’ll never have to again.”
He took a step back. “Go find a family of your own.”
Lando looked at Max with a mockingly casual expression. “What’s the matter? You don’t want to be my friend anymore?”
Oh, he’s begging to be punched.
But Max doesn’t give in. He treats the conversation like an interrogation—an attempt to provoke him. Calm, measured. “Is that how you treated Charles before? When it was me you really wanted?”
Lando’s face flushed instantly. “That was childish. Not even worth mentioning,” he said quickly. “And I apologized to Charles for it. He forgave me.”
“Well,” Max replied coldly, “it seems not much has changed. You’ve just found a new person to be petty with. Let me make this very clear—you need to find someone outside this relationship to love, because Charles and I? We’re not leaving each other.”
Lando smirked. “Oh, so you’re not planning on dying again for the job?”
Max scoffed. “Not anytime soon.”
Lando smiled faintly and shrugged. “Relax, I have a boyfriend. I’m not after your family.”
That caught Max off guard. If Lando was in a relationship, then why this confrontation?
As if reading his thoughts, Lando continued, voice quieter now. “I think I’m just mad at you… for faking your death. I know it wasn’t your choice, but if you hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have loved just to lose him.” He tilted his head subtly toward Charles, who stood laughing softly across the room.
Max sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“It’s unfair,” Lando said, eyes sharp with something still burning beneath the surface. “He deserves better than you. And I was learning how to be that for him—and for Oscar. Then you came back and ruined everything.”
“Lando, stop,” Max said firmly. “We were all thrown into a shitty situation. None of it was ideal. But it’s over now—and this is what it is. Charles and I are trying. We’re learning how to be better—for each other.”
Lando held his gaze for a long moment, then nodded. “I know,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to come between you.”
As if to prove his point, he extended his hand. “Friends?”
Max hesitated. This man had tried—intentionally or not—to dismantle his relationship. But in the end, Max had won. He still had Charles. He had Oscar. Maybe that was enough to forgive.
He shook Lando’s hand.
“Friends,” he said.
Lando gave a small nod, turned, and walked away without looking back.
Max stared into nothing for a long moment, thoughts spinning, trying to calm down, until Charles followed him quietly. He wrapped his arms around Max from behind, resting his cheek against his back. Max exhaled and lifted his hand, guiding Charles to his side and pulling him under his arm.
“What did you talk about with Lando?” Charles asked softly.
“Nothing,” Max said, a little too quickly.
Charles frowned. “That looked like something.”
“He just wanted us to be friends again,” Max muttered.
Charles's whole face lit up. “That’s good—”
Max narrowed his eyes at him, his voice dry, “How good was that kiss?”
Charles rolled his eyes. “Hey! That’s not it. He was my friend too.”
Max wasn’t convinced. He’d never really believed Charles and Lando had a real friendship, not from Lando’s side at least, to think about it now, It had always felt like Lando’s resentment was just cover for something else. A crush maybe. But Max didn’t want to dig into that. Not anymore. It was done.
Lando had someone new. Max had his family. And after everything, Max was too tired to visit that part of their life. He just wanted peace. A simple life. A future where he could finally rest.
He leaned down, whispering into Charles’s ear, “Oscar’s going to be really tired tonight… I think we can manage some time alone tonight.”
Charles grinned, eyebrows wiggling. “I hope so.”
Max chuckled. “Can’t wait.”
They both turned to watch Oscar wobbling along on his little bicycle, Nico and Fernando on either side, holding him up but pretending they weren’t. Oscar beamed, convinced he was doing it all on his own.
Notes:
My last honorable mentions:
- so sorry for the half assed attempt at smut me and my sister are virgins matter of fact we have never even seen a Dick irl (nor do we want to ew)
- RIP Max's blue balls
- ngl "I'm coming" had me giggling
- Max is not asking the real question which is who is a better kisser MV or LN?! (Asking for a friend)
- Hear me out Charles should have chosen Lewis (because how can you trust Max and Lando is so problematic) or be a single not ready to mingle queen (like me)
- Charles's relationship with Nico is so strange
- Oscar and ducks
- BREAKING NEWS: Family Feud Erupts!
"Austin’s Deadbeat Dad Lashes Out at His Deadbeat Stepfather in Explosive Showdown!"- Charles: your honor my client did nothing wrong "points at Lewis"
- I didn't want to alarm you all but I have been kidnapped by one of you guys that's why I couldn't write the honorable mentions in the last chapter!
- Oscar can have all the grandfathers that he wants.
- If i had a knickle for every time people Walk in on brocedes I will have two knickles which is not much but it's so weird that it happened twice!
- Lando is so petty he doesn't hold grudges, he frames them and hang them on the wall!
- Me and Pipza started the story with divorce as the endgame but the story was writing itself.
- 18 chapter instead of 17 yay!
- And I thought my work environment was toxic!! Sorrows, Sorrows, prayer!
- It has been an honorable journey to get to know you all, I loved each one of your comments and I appreciate your kudos, I am so grateful for your support to Pipza stories because I grew up hearing about all the amazing worlds and stories that she creates with love and I have always wanted her to share this talent with the rest of the world <3
Dishonorable mentions:
- Silverstone
- That bookmark!
- Pipza because she never mentions wizard the lizard anymore 🦎 🙄
- Pipza because she doesn't mind giving BABY OSCAR abandonment issues.
- Owen! It's because of him that I realized that there is a version of him in every show and it is always the annoying self-centered character with the cringe storyline.
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