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Here is how it starts: Lewis wakes up on the second day of his break and decides he can't be asked to go outside. In itself, the idea sounds delightful: the bed is soft, the pile of blankets is keeping him out of the slight Monaco chill and, since take-out has been invented, it also doesn't matter he's got nothing in the fridge. There’s only one issue: he's got two dogs.
Necessity is the mother of invention, or so they say. Lewis looks thoughtfully from his bed across the open floor flat and out of his kitchen window and gets an idea. His apartment block is somewhat asymmetrical: an odd, L-shaped building with large grass terraces connecting the different floors, each apartment stretching over two different levels. The grass terrace out of Lewis' kitchen is easily as big as a tennis court, maybe more and it's hidden at the back of the building. Now, Lewis makes no claim whatsoever that his idea is polite, socially acceptable or indeed likely to endear him to the press, fans or neighbours should it become public knowledge. But, well, he can be excused just once. It's not like he plans to make a habit of it or anything.
Lewis shuffles out of bed, picking up Coco as he goes and whistling for Roscoe. He unlocks the screen door and slides it open, letting the two dogs out. There's a moment of general canine confusion, barking at the grass, tail wagging and curious sniffing around. Lewis shushes them with a finger on his lips (he really doesn't want to get caught) then shoos them off, pointing in the direction of the other side of the terrace. Understanding that they have been given freedom to reign, Roscoe and Coco break into a run, rolling happily in the grass.
Lewis watches them for a few moments but everything seems fine, the two bulldogs now playfully chasing each other around. Since there's no sign of complainy neighbours either, Lewis relaxes and starts rummaging around the mostly empty cupboards looking for some coffee or tea.
He has found coffee and has put the kettle on when his peace is suddenly broken by Roscoe’s barking and Coco's terrified whining. Lewis jumps up and runs to the glass door, just in time to catch the inbound dog basically jumping into his arms. It’s Coco, his poor dog a shaky, frightened mess. Confused, Lewis holds her closer, looking around worriedly for Roscoe.
On the other side of the terrace, just beside the emergency exit, there is a lady Lewis has never seen before. She is a funny sort of human, almost as round as she is tall. Well dressed, her purse designer, she wouldn't look half-bad if not for a pair terribly huge sunglasses drowning her face and the neon bright pink and orange nail polish. Lewis wouldn't really have spared her a second thought had she not been walking away as fast as she could towards the emergency exit with a squirming Roscoe in her arms.
"Hey!" Lewis yells. “Excuse me!” The lady either doesn’t hear him or ignores him, continuing instead to hightail it for the emergency exit. Lewis goes to chase her (which, come on, shouldn’t be that hard for a fit F1 driver) when he suddenly realizes he still has Coco, whimpering in fear in his arms and refusing with all her might to be put down. He tires to usher her inside while the lady continues to waddle her merry way to the door. Shit!
“Hey!” He yells again. What the fuck is this lady doing?
"Hey! Ms, excuse me!" A second voice echoes and Lewis freezes.
Aside from politeness (and apparently strangers trying to steal his dogs) there might have been another issue with Lewis' brilliant idea. More specifically, the fact that if the odd shape of the building puts the terrace level with Lewis' kitchen in the higher up part of his apartment, it also puts it level with Nico's kitchen which is instead at the bottom of his. After almost three years of relative radio-silence, Lewis can be excused for overlooking said issue.
Except that now Nico is there, clearly just having woken up himself, squaring down the lady. Bare feet, with only a shirt and boxers on, Nico should look quite ridiculous next to her but, of course, it's Nico and he just looks good instead.
"Excuse me, Miss" - he is saying in his polite press voice - "Where did you find that dog?"
The lady puffs up as best she can and looks down at Roscoe, still her clutches.
"Why, it's mine!"
Nico stares. Lewis stares. What the fuck? Like...What. The. Fuck?! Lewis knows immediately he really should be intervening but there is something about how absurd the situation is that makes him hesitate. His... ex is fighting in his underwear with a crazy lady who is trying to steal his dog from his garden. Yes. Apparently things like this happen. Lewis can't deny it's kind of funny.
Nico clears his throat. "I...am pretty sure that's not the case?"
Pretty sure? Pretty sure?! Lewis is damn well sure it's not the fucking case.
"Oh, are you?" The lady shoots back with a taunting voice "Is it yours then?"
Here is what Nico (what any sensible person in Lewis' opinion) should do. He should say yes. Yes, the dog is his. The dog is Roscoe, he is Mr Hamilton, nice to meet you, hand the dog over lady, please. For good measure, he could also rattle out the phone number (Lewis' personal one) written on the dog tag and which Lewis knows Nico knows by heart.
But Nico is not a morning person and has never done what Lewis thought he should do anyway. So, this is what Nico does instead: he opens his pretty mouth and stammers out "Well, no...I mean kind of...it was mine before…"
It was yours before we broke up? That's exactly the kind of info this lady needs. Lewis honestly wants to facepalm.
"I don't care if you were the previous owner" - the lady says - "You shouldn't have sold it."
"I didn't sell him. The dog has an owner and it's not you."
"How do you know?" She looks down, trying to discreetly read the tag on Roscoe's collar. Lewis regrets having just put Hamilton.
"Are you Mr Hamilton?"
Nico goes white. Then goes red. He opens his mouth, closes it.
"No. No, I am not Mr Hamilton." He murmurs. His voice cracks halfway through.
Lewis feels his heart sink. If Lewis had to name the best moments of his life, hearing Nico say "Yes, yes, yes. Of course, I'll be Mr Hamilton!" is up there with his first podium and his Championships. The simple silver ring had looked so right on Nico's finger. And then everything had gone south and Lewis had found the ring in an envelope on the floor in front of his hotel room the night before Abu Dhabi. Many wonderful things have happened in Lewis’ life and he wouldn’t change them for anything in the world. In his heart of hearts, however, there is also so much that Lewis regrets.
Realizing she hit a weak spot, the lady smiles.
"It's not your name on the tag then!" - she taunts. Nico however doesn't like to be reminded of Lewis in any way and his default reaction is anger.
"Unless you had a shotgun wedding yesterday night, you are not Mrs Hamilton either!"
"And why couldn't I be? Don't believe someone like Mr Hamilton would fancy me? Why would that be? What's not to like?"
"Too much tits and not enough cock" Nico deadpans and Lewis loses it.
Unfortunately the lady does too but not in any sort of hysterical laughing way. She start screaming, she start calling Nico every name in the book, in English, in French and in some form of unintelligibly offended gibberish. Her round face gets redder and redder, spit flying from her mouth as her glasses bounce around wildly on her nose.
"You are an abomination to God!" - she screeches on top of her lungs - " Your kind will burn in hell for corrupting children and innocent animals!"
Said innocent animal cares nothing for her opinion, decides that he'd much rather risk "corruption" in the arms of the quiet person who has spoilt him rotten for half of his life and jumps to the ground. Nico’s reflexes are still thankfully fast and he quickly sweeps Roscoe up, holding him safely in his arms.
The lady goes crazy. Abso-fucking-lutely bat shit crazy. She screeches even louder and launches herself at Nico, neon bright claws aimed at his face. Nico dodges the first lunge - the 20 odd centimeters he has on her proving to be a saving grace. However, since he is still holding Roscoe, he can’t exactly defend himself. With a yelp, he manages to jump back from a second assault without letting go of poor Roscoe but, before he is out of reach, his bare feet slip on the wet grass, making him stumble. The lady lunges again and this time she hits her mark. Her nails catch Nico just shy of his eye and drag down, leaving an angry red scratch all the way to his chin.
It's a flash. Lewis, who had stopped finding the situation funny when the lady started screaming and is already halfway through the terrace, suddenly sees red. Roscoe does too. Before anyone can react, his lazy, ball of fluff, perfectly behaved dog is snarling and barking and trying to get off Nico's hands to sink all of his 42 sharp teeth into the lady's soft flesh.
Lewis himself is there before Roscoe can manage. Without even thinking, Lewis puts one arm around Nico's waist and pulls him firmly into his side.
"Are you all right?"
Nico, who had not noticed him, practically jumps out of his skin.
“Scheiße! Lewis. I am just..she…”
“Are you ok?” Lewis presses again, trying to catch a glimpse of the scratch. It must definitely hurt, a few drops of blood collecting on the surface, but Nico nods in answer to Lewis’ question. He is definitely rattled but there's a quirk to his lips that tells Lewis he'll probably find the whole thing hilarious in a couple hours. Provided that the fucking lady disappears, that is.
"Ms, I believe you have way outstayed your welcome.” - Lewis starts - “Please leave before I call security."
The lady, of course, is having none of it.
"This...this man stole my dog!"
"He can't have stolen your dog because the dog is mine." Lewis cuts her short. The lady is far from deterred but Lewis' murderous tone brings a swift change in tactic.
"But...But the dog, it attacked me! Help, the dog attacked me!"
"Your dog attacked you? Or is it not your dog? Lady, make up your mind!"
Lewis didn't mean to yell but, oh well, sue him. It has the desired effect anyway, likely because Mercedes is such a calm and relaxed environment on a race day that Lewis has definitely had his fair share of lung exercises. Either that or the lady got the fear just looking at his face. She stammers back, edging towards the emergency exit.
"The...The dog is…" she stutters, still not quite giving up though her voice is much lower now.
"The dog is mine."
"But…" - the lady tries again, pointing at Nico - "But he…"
That's when Lewis' already fried temper finally snaps.
"Lady, fuck off. He's mine too. They are both mine. You get your hands off them right the fuck now or I will call the cops!"
It works. The lady finally seems to understand she is fighting a losing battle and runs away to the emergency exit, this time with no dog in her hands. Holding his breath, Lewis watches her go, ready to start again should she decide to turn back. She doesn’t. The emergency door falls shut behind her, cutting out the mumbled insults, and a blessed silence falls at last on the terrace. Lewis closes his eyes and breathes.
What the fuck?
Roscoe has taken the lady's disappearance as signifying the end of any immediate danger and is drooling all over Nico's shirt while happily wriggling his stump of a tail and trying to lick his face. Nico is not exactly protesting, still staring in shock at the emergency exit. Lewis takes the moment to check them over properly. They are both fine, a bit rattled still but Lord, who wouldn't be? People are fucking crazy. Not even half an hour ago Lewis had been contemplating spending the whole day in bed and now he is outside and he has his dog and Nico both curled up in his arms and he just said...he just said… all at once Lewis feels like he can't breathe.
"Oh, no." - Nico says, blue eyes going wide - "Oh, no, no, no. You don't get to do this anymore. If you are going to panic, I will lock you out here with your slobbery dog to suffer without breakfast."
"But I said…"
"I perfectly well know what you said and I am trying to forget it too!" Nico basically yells, his voice doing that high-pitched thing that definitely contributed to the creation of his F1 nicknames. Which is never, ever, a good sign.
Roscoe doesn't seem to register it as the sure sign of the impending doom that is about to befall him and his owner and yaps happily in response, licking Nico's face all over again. Which is utterly, definitely not going to help Lewis's case. Even with all the love he has for his dog it is fairly disgusting and Nico is very much not likely to appreciate it either, going by the way his nose is all scrunched up, eyes closed as he tries to get Roscoe out of his face. And really, Lewis should at least help, and probably apologise, thank Nico for rescuing his dog but his brain is not cooperating with him. So, he just decides that running away in the face of mortal peril is overrated and that laughing his head off at said mortal peril getting slobbered by his dog is an appropriate response instead. Which might have been so, once upon a time, some four World Championships ago, but not now, definitely not now.
Except that, somehow, the craziness is contagious. Nico turns around, still pressed against Lewis’ side and growls “See how you like it!”
Then proceeds to stick out his tongue and lick a wet stripe from Lewis's jaw all the way up to his nose.
Lewis’ world comes to a screeching halt. His heart jumps in his chest, an ache long suppressed flaring back to life because this is Nico. His Nico, the Nico who had yet to decide that Lewis being an ass was not funny or endearing anymore but something to take offence and be upset at; the Nico who hadn't stopped laughing yet, who would smile and be patient instead of returning blow for blow, drawing blood with the ferocity of a wounded beast and the elegance of a coiled snake.
Nico must realize his mistake too because he freezes, his entire body going still and cold like somebody slapped him.
He wrenches himself away from Lewis like he has been burned and Lewis almost sees it all happen again, like a deja-vu. He sees him put down Roscoe, sees him turn away, sees him retreat back to his flat and disappear from Lewis’ world again and Lewis...Lewis just can’t take it.
"No, no, no, no." - Lewis pleads, grabbing him - "Please, Nico. I beg you. I am not panicking, I swear! I am not going to laugh at you. It's fine...just...lick me again, steal my dog, I don't know, do anything! Just don't go away again."
“Please.” - he repeats, digging his fingers in when Nico tries to pull back again.
"Oh, fuck me." Nico whimpers and looks like he would very much like to hide his face in his hands if only they were Roscoe-free. "And fuck you and your mess of a dog and your World Championships and Mercedes and Toto too."
Still holding him tight, Lewis nods along, because yes, of course, whatever. Inside he waits, he hopes.
"Fine." Nico says at last. "Fine. You owe me a shower, a clean shirt, breakfast and a long, long talk. In this order and without soy milk."
It solves nothing, Lewis knows that. They are very likely to tear each other to pieces over coffee once this spell of madness it broken but it's also not nothing nothing at all. He knows now that Nico means it, that his talk in the press, that him being back as a Mercedes ambassador are not lies or mind games. Nico doesn't capitulate, never, not even for his own good but he conceded today, which means he has thought about it, about them before now. It's a step and Lewis will take it, because Nico is not lying and Lewis can't lie to himself or Nico either: he misses the man so much it hurts.
He sincerely apologises to the poor cow whose milk he is going to buy while Nico is showering but it's for a higher cause. Because maybe, just maybe they, can fix them.