Chapter Text
Spanish GP 2024
“Max! You have to have an input over this! It was my corner!” Lando’s shout echoes around the room, but the Dutchman holds his hands up, his innocence clear.
Charles fires back before Max can declare it so, “It was a free practice, Norris! You were holding me back unfairly. You could’ve just gone off the line and let me pass.”
Lando scoffed, “Exactly, a free practice , and you nearly clipped my mirror taking the damn line back unnecessarily! Max, c’mon mate, you have to say something, you know he was in the wrong.”
Max looked between his boyfriend and one of his best friends, but they both knew where Max stood on this – firmly in the middle. “No, I’m not doing this. I think you were both at fault for different things, and I will not be elaborating.” The Dutchman stands from the table, race suit still tied around his waist. One would think after how many years they’ve shared the grid, that they would know Max doesn’t waver in situations like this. He doesn’t give in to the heat of the situation but will talk it out after a few days have passed. He had been tossed into an entire year of it before, being pulled back and forth, and he was smart enough to never fall victim to it again.
At first, it had been a running joke with himself, a small notebook he kept tucked into the backpack that accompanied him to every race. After Daniel found it in 2018 and published photos of it in the WhatsApp chat with every driver on the grid, Max was known for it. He got the odd text every so often asking for a bit of advice from other F1 drivers, both current and retired, but also the junior drivers as well. He’s had the rare Indycar pilot approach him every year without fail, but he is always happy to send the guide their way. The stories the pages of his notebook could tell were well… they still apply today.
Rule #6: Caution When Crossing the Sides of the Street
2016
Max was no stranger to fighting. His house had been filled with it when his mother still lived with him and his father, and it was the only thing that filled the halls, love long gone from his home. He had fought on track from four years old until now, at the ripe age of eighteen was finally in an F1 car that could perform. The Torro Rosso he just came from had been good, but there was nothing like the beast that roared beneath him.
They always say that fate is a funny thing, the twist and pull of the treads that bind people together never to sever or separate, an everlasting bond. They never talk about the way others can get knotted within that little red string, the cord having wrapped around Max’s joints until he is strung up between them like a miniature marionette for their entertainment. God knows he didn’t mean for it to happen, he had wanted to stay far, far away from whatever the hell was happening between the Blonde and the Brit, but fate had other plans.
It all started with his Red Bull debut, in Barcelona, and he was practically shaking with nerves. He was driving against men twice his age and experience, Fernando Alonso standing two over from him during the Spanish national anthem like it was just an ordinary day. Max tried not to focus on Sebastian Vettel or Kimi Raikkonen, both scarlet-clad, to his left, or –
“They’re doing it again,” he hears Daniel Ricciardo mutter from beside him, and Max follows his gaze until it lands on them. Max was still generally new to the grid, but he had heard the rumors the closer he got to F1. And, now? Well… he could see how they were all true.
They, as in Nico Rosberg and Lewis Hamilton, were pointedly ignoring one another, their backs practically pressed together with just how much indifference they held. The national anthem was still playing loudly above them, but every time Lewis would shift, even the barest movement of his shoe, Nico would sigh loudly . Every driver in the lineup could hear it, the officials could see it, and Max knew damn well that the commentators and cameras were picking up every sliver of it with salivating jaws.
Max wanted to laugh. They acted like how he and his sister, Victoria, did when they were forced to get along. All cherry-stained cheeks and loud huffs remind their parents of their displeasure, but this seemed like something deeper, something more. Then, Max was too young to understand, but when the Mercedes cars took one another out on the edge of turn one, he didn’t care. His first Formula One Grand Prix victory was that day, and as the trophy was held high, he didn’t think about the glowering looks and brewing hatred those drivers began to hold against one another.
-
It’s a month later when it happens again, and this time Max is startled by how deep the connections run. The Canadian Grand Prix had been an uplifting weekend for him, especially after the disaster that was Monaco. P4 was an accomplishment, one that sat well with his soul, but he had a taste of the top step and craved it. For now, he was sated, enjoying as he watched Lewis, Sebastian, and Valtteri spray one another with champagne.
He didn’t even notice the blonde man come up to stand beside him, anger and resentment seeping from his pores like he was made of it. “Must be nice winning after a cheap shot.” Max heard Nico grumble, the younger driver turning to look at the older man.
“What?”
Nico, as if just realizing that Max was a breathing, conscious human, looked startled that he had been overheard. “I – well, I was just saying that he pulled a cheap shot and pushed me wide at turn one. I would’ve had him. Then with Bottas and the puncture…I should’ve at least finished third.” He explains it to Max like he were a toddler, and although the Dutchman was raised with an iron fist with the ability to bruise, he was a talker at heart.
“But you finished fifth,” Max said factually like the blonde had misremembered his placings, “Did you forget? When you tried to overtake me in the final lap and locked up? You’re fifth, third finishes on the podium.” Max walked off, feeling weird about the interaction because the race was finished, there was no point in dealing with hypotheticals. He missed the dazed expression he left on Nico’s face as the blonde had to stand there for multiple minutes and gather his bearings.
When Max told Daniel about it later in the day, claiming it as an odd interaction, the Aussie had laughed so hard he cried. Max then learned what the terms ‘roasting’ and ‘a burn’ meant, and how they tied into what Max had told Nico. Max still thought it was silly for the blonde to think he deserved a position he did not drive well enough to get.
-
Austria is just as awkward.
Max finished second, standing with a blistering smile on his face as he sprayed the Lewis Hamilton with champagne, and he felt giddy because of it. It had been a fantastic race for him, but he could see the Brit’s unease on his face clear as day as the alcohol dripped from his skin.
Max is no stranger to conflict, his dad once fractured a man’s skull after a race, and he is always hyperaware of the subtle changes within a person. He sees how Lewis stands with a strained smile on his face, and the fact that Nico has already stormed off deep into the depths of the Mercedes garage, Max can understand why. Incorrect driver order in the pits followed by slow stops, and then ruthless driving around the final turns of the latter laps? The two Silver Arrows had collided again, the second time this season, but this time one of them had made it out.
He doesn’t mean to overhear the comment that Kimi Raikkonen makes to Lewis, but he cannot help it. These people just talk around him, and Max has to stand witness to their sins.
“It’s racing, Lew. He’ll get over it.”
The three drivers tap their champagne bottles together, and it is strong against Max’s tongue as he watches history unfold.
-
The British Grand Prix is phenomenal for Max, but it yanks a brick from the Brocedes foundation.
Max finishes second, a position elevation after Nico’s gearbox penalty, and although the podium is shining…he would rather be anywhere but the top steps. Lewis is practically glowing from the top, and as Max smiles along, he cannot ignore the scowl on the blonde’s face as Nico stares at him.
Max had, without a doubt, driven the best he had all year, practically keeping pace with Lewis, but in the end-stage of the race, Nico had overtaken him. Max had put up a fight, but it hadn’t been enough when the chequered flag dropped.
He had been bounding down the steps, the P2 trophy in his grasp, when a hand gripped his shoulder.
Max flinched, a by-product of his upbringing, but the man didn’t seem to notice. He turned to see Nico, eyes blazing with frustration. “Hold up there, Verstappen. I get that you’re still a kid but when you drive, you have to be a bit more conscious about changing direction when someone overtakes you.”
Max stares at the German driver, unsure of what to say. He had driven brilliantly today – the cooldown tapes had shown that. Max had been proud of today, but then to hear that…
Another hand claps his back, right along his spine. What is with people touching him? The voice is British beside him. “Nico, is it stinging a bit to have a kid giving you a run for your money?” Lewis asks.
“M’not a kid,” Max mumbles, but it’s ignored by both drivers.
Nico’s jaw sets painfully. Max thinks he can hear the man’s teeth grind. “I’m just pointing out that I overtook him and he was all over the place. It was dangerous and you know it.”
Lewis laughs. Nico watches the lines of Lewis’ throat. Max watches Nico. “He’s a rookie, Nico. He’s still learning, and for him to have given you that much trouble, well,” Lewis looks at Max and winks as the joke stands between the two of them, “I guess we just have to keep a close eye on him, huh?”
The Mercedes men split, going in separate directions although their destination would be the same. Max is still rooted to the spot, absolutely unsure what the hell just happened.
-
From then on, both drivers seek out Max randomly, but separately. Lewis finds him walking through the paddock in Hungary, phone clenched in his hand as he turns around for the fifth time, desperately searching for anyone in navy. He had panicked and found himself knee-deep in Mercedes, and Max was trying very hard to find his way out.
“Hey, Kid!” Lewis calls, and Max looks at the man like a lost toddler. He is then directed to the Brit’s motorhome, and promptly given a bottle of water and snacks by Peter Bonnington.
Lewis had pulled his phone out as Max munched on the animal crackers, oblivious to the oddity of the situation.
[PM with Daniel Ricciardo]
Lewis:
Hey, Mate. I have a young Dutch person sitting in my motorhome.
He’s a bit of a terror already, but seems to respond to the name ‘Max’
Think he might be yours?
Daniel:
OH MY GOD.
THANK YOU
I’m on my way now. Christian is losing it.
Does he not have his phone on him? I’ve been trying to call him for a half-hour.
Lewis looks up at Max, the Dutchman and Bono already in a conversation about tyre deg for the weekend. “Hey, Max, did you not answer your phone at all? I have Daniel on the way, but said he tried to call”
Max’s cheeks went pink, and the burn of embarrassment spread all across his face and neck. “I forgot to charge my phone overnight, and it died this morning. I went to the bathroom, took a wrong turn, and well… here I am.”
Lewis hums, knowing all too well what it’s like to be a rookie on the grid, and Max is so…young. It feels impossible for him to be a driver. He feels this need to protect him, but Daniel bursts through the door moments later, dragging his young teammate out, laughter ringing between them as they leave.
-
When Nico and Sebastian are knee-deep in a conversation in their mother tongue, it feels refreshing, like shedding a winter coat when you get in from the cold. Their default is always English during the races for obvious reasons, but small moments like this are reminiscent of home. They’re in Germany after all, it was only fitting that they speak it.
“The calendar is only halfway over and I feel like I have lived nine lifetimes already,” Sebastian grumbles, the German flying from his lips as he runs a hand over his face. Nico couldn’t have agreed more, his mouth opening to say just that, when –
“ Ah, Max! Not a bad day for racing, eh? Are you ready for the weekend?” Sebastian asks, still in German, and Nico watches as the Dutch driver freezes in his tracks. His eyes are wide as he approaches the table, not daring to sit without an invitation.
He looks so young, Nico thinks, unable to stop the thoughts that run across his mind.
“ I am hoping for the best result today that I can drive. I’m excited for today.” It is slightly slower than Sebastian and Nico’s pace, but the words are fluent nevertheless. When Seb motions for him to sit, Max gives Nico a wary glance before sliding the chair back, body tense.
Nico rolls his eyes, but finds himself softening as the driver assumes his space, “ Relax, Max, I promise not to bite.” He smiles at the boy, earning a sheepish one back, and Nico stares at him for a moment, an odd paternal feeling lancing his chest. It is gone within the next breath.
-
Sazuka is…something.
Max finishes second, once again stuck between the two Mercedes drivers, but this time, it is Lewis Hamilton that was stuck behind him. Max knew that Nico would win it, a solid five seconds ahead, and had managed the race from the first turn. The Brit in third had clawed his way back from eighth after a botched start, and Max’s heart was still hammering in his chest from the penultimate lap lunge.
Max’s smile was broad as he held the second-place trophy, no stranger to the way a hard-pressed gaze landed on his back, on the sides of his face. He ignored it until the celebrations had finished, but the air was stagnant between the three men. Nico and Lewis were refusing to talk to one another, and Max had become their podium moderator.
“ Good race today, Max. I heard how hard that last lap was, and the defending against Lewis? Phenomenal. He couldn’t keep up. We might be seeing you on the top step a bit more frequently than one might think.” Nico said, laughing around the German that flowed from his mouth.
Max smiled at him, glancing toward Lewis who had a scowl on his face when Nico spoke. Did he not know German, then? “ Thank you, Lewis put up quite a fight, and it was a very fun race, ” Max replied in in the same language, matching Nico.
The blonde tried again, his consonants and vowels effortlessly pronounced in the language Lewis clearly couldn’t speak or understand. “ Still, for as young as you are, you sure give us more grief than we were expecting.”
“You’re doing this again? You pulled this shit with Vettel in Italy. Give it a rest, Rosberg. Don’t act like the kid didn’t defend like hell against you in the last four races. You couldn’t pass him in the last three.” Lewis crosses his arms over his chest, staring at the blonde man before him. Max glances between the two of them, ensnared in whatever this is. Their connected string knotted around him, looped around his waist, his back, until it tightened to the point of pain. Lewis stared at Nico, and Nico stared at Lewis.
Something churned within Max’s stomach, the same feeling he got when he watched his mother and father fight until all the love around them came crumbling down. Both men turned their attention to Max when he started speaking. “Whatever this is – whatever game is happening here, I didn’t ask to play.” Then, just to spite the blonde, Max added in German, “ If you are going to insult someone, do it to their face in a language they understand. Cowards hide behind doors.” He took his P2 trophy and left, leaving the Silver Arrows standing with only one another for company.
-
In Austin, Max is almost thankful to have a DNF. He watches Daniel celebrate with Lewis and Nico on the podium, and the two Mercedes drivers don’t seem like their at one another’s throat. Max knew better, and the second those cameras stopped rolling or they were behind a closed door…Max was thankful he didn’t share a podium with them.
-
Brazil 2016 is many things, but it is the start of Max’s solidification in the long-standing history of Formula One. He steals every ounce of spotlight from Lewis’ win, and he sheepishly ducks his head when the praises come his way.
The race left both drivers and the track drenched, with a slew of penalties, red flags, safety cars, and crashes, all of which were mixed in for an exciting race. Max stands in third as both Lewis and Nico stare at him with wide eyes, neither driver believing that Max had clawed his way back up from sixteenth on lap 49.
He stormed the grid, breezing past world champion after world champion, driver after driver, until he sunk his fingers into third and held it.
After the trophies and champagne were presented, the drivers left the podium, the small, stuffy room behind a moment of quiet reprieve before going back to their respective teams.
“Hey, kid!” It is said with no malice, a hint of appreciation in the consonants as Lewis calls out to Max, wiping the sweat and rain from his brow. When Max turns, Nico has his back to Lewis, something akin to pain saturating his features, but the Brit keeps his eyes solely on the Dutchman. “You drove a masterclass today. You’re only eighteen, yeah?”
Max holds the P3 trophy against his chest, thumb running over the rim of the base, “I turned nineteen in September.”
Regardless, Lewis shakes his head, the disbelief clear over his features. Nico cannot stomach looking at either of them, but Max is unintentionally partially blocking the stairs. “Still, it was phenomenal. Proud of you.”
The words hit Max in the middle of his chest, a phrase his father so rarely said, if ever. He knows what it feels like to look up and see a father, and that feeling burns through his chest as he looks at the two men before him. It hurts, but it is not something he can speak aloud, at least not now. Max offers a sheepish smile, turning to leave, his steps heavy on the stairs, but he still hears it - the broken words shared between the two men.
“Abu Dhabi?” Lewis asks, voice tight.
“Abu Dhabi,” Nico answers, a sob tight in his throat.
-
The weekend is tense, and Max desperately tries to claw his way to a podium. He can’t help but give in to the wanting within his chest, and Lewis practically designs it. A Lap One spin ruins Max’s chances of a win, but he’s practically nose to nose with Vettel as they cross the line. The fireworks have already exploded overhead as both Mercedes cars cross the line just under a second before them.
Max can see the purple of Lewis’ helmut as the car in first, but he knows that a win here means everything and nothing. Nico is second.
Lewis won the battle, but Nico won the war, and it demanded everything between them. They took and took and took from one another, and Max knew that there was nothing left to give.
Daniel had sat Max down after the Mexican Grand Prix, tired of Max’s prodding questions of” ‘Why do they hate one another so much?’ or ‘What is their problem?’
Max was introduced to a concept of love that he had never considered, and as he looked back at all the podiums they shared, he saw it. It lived in their small touches, the way they held one another as they danced between finishing places. It was in the soft smiles, teeth no longer shown because all they had learned to do was bite. It was the assurance of meeting one another here, in Abu Dhabi, to give it their all, where one would be the victor no matter how hard fate tried to pull them away from it.
Max felt the red string that tied the two drivers sever, the loops and knots that pulled at Max’s skin falling away like they were nothing at all. As Nico stood atop his car, turquoise helmet and shoes gleaming harshly against the silver and black, the splash of purple was nowhere in sight after the podium.
When Max managed his way into the depths of Mercedes, a packet of vegan animal crackers in hand, he found Lewis sitting amongst the concrete, hands shaking with bottled restraint. Lewis looked taken aback at first, but as Max sat down, the silence helped to hold the former world champion together. Together they munched on too-brittle crackers, and the fireworks still shone overhead.
-
When Nico Rosberg announced his retirement from Formula One in December of that year at the FIA ceremony, Max’s eyes darted to Lewis in the dim light, but his expression was empty for there was nothing else left of him to give.
Later that night, when Max made it back to his nearly empty apartment in Monaco, he pulled out that silly little notebook he had started last year and wrote down his next rule.
Rule #6: Caution When Crossing the Sides of the Street
- When coming between two drivers, heed caution. Whether it be love or hate between them, no one is safe from the destruction they might cause. Don’t pick a side, because both of them end up losing. They cannot look one another in the eye, and it is easy to hear how they choke on the other’s name. The war or the battle, is either worth it in the end?