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Max's phone rang at half past midnight. Charles was asleep next to him but he'd been awake waiting for a text. He hopped out of bed carefully and slipped into the bathroom. He left the door open just a little behind him to avoid the click it made when it closed. Charles was asleep, it was fine.
"Hello." He answered the phone.
"Sorry to keep you up Max," Christian began and then paused, it was bad news then. "We've had a look at the soft tires after quali and there's absolutely no way we can use them in the race."
Fuck. Max glanced out the crack in the door, Charles was still asleep.
"Those softs or all of them?"
"All the softs, we don't know what's causing the problem but it's too risky, the ones we've got from qualifying wouldn't last another too laps, some kind of material failure … the tire guys .... It's just not happening." Christian said.
Max didn't reply, he wanted to shout or break something but Charles was there in the room behind him. He could just hear Christian breathing, probably waiting for the outburst he was holding back.
"Listen Max, you don't need the fastest strategy tomorrow, even if Leclerc wins you only need to come third. We just can't risk a dnf."
"Checo?"
"He's got the same problem."
"Fuck" Max cursed.
"Everyone will start on the mediums and two stop we think and as far as we're aware none of the other teams know about the issue we've got. We can probably trick at least one of the Ferraris into covering us off before they realise…" Christian paused again. Still expecting Max to shout at him the way Max so desperately wanted too.
"The Mercs are gonna be fast tomorrow too." Max said instead. He was counting his breaths the way his performance coach used to teach him trying to keep his volume down.
"You'll be fast Max, you're the best driver on the grid, we just need P3, you've done better in worse circumstances." Christian continued, that was it then, the last race of the season and the Championship was gonna be fucked again.
"So a one stop?"
"Looks that way. Get some sleep Max, we're all behind you for tomorrow."
He came back to Charles, sleeping impressively soundly considering the pressure he must be under tomorrow. Though Charles, he supposed, must think it's Max's championship to lose. Charles was always good at dealing with emotions. It was Max who'd wanted to see him right before the race, in case they pissed each other off tomorrow. He knew Charles could suck it up but he probably couldn't.
*
Charles slipped out of his room early the next morning, kissed him and wished him bad luck, the habit they'd picked up this season. It was routine by now but even Charles' nerves were cracking a little today and he left much quicker than usual. When this had all started a year ago they'd promised each other they would race the same, no hard feelings. Max sometimes wondered if it was as easy for Charles as it was for him to forget everything else when they were in the car.
The press always asked the same questions. How was the pressure going to change things today? It didn't, the long strategies, upgrades and engine parts, were worked out long before the race weekends. After that every weekend was the same, they raced every race to win, the way the team worked every weekend was the best way they could come up with it didn't change. Max got in the car and the Championship and Charles didn't matter, only that race.
Charles got a good lead on Max from the start of the race, but then he only needed his tires to last a third of the laps Max did. Max had a decent lead on Carlos behind him which was more important. Charles would pit the next lap Charles’ tires were dropping off and Max would start to close the gap, they would have been expecting Redbull to try the underrcut but they hadn’t. Ferrari would get nervous and keep Carlos out which would slow him down and hopefully at least disrupt their race, George would be faster than him at the end of the race but all Max needed to do was keep one of them behind. That was plan A, perhaps if he did get the safety car he could even have challenged for the win.
Carlos did pit though, the lap after Charles. Which would have been an incredibly risky move from Ferrari, if Max could have pitted for softs. Instead the faster cars behind him were going to be running at their fastests and Max would be as slow as he was going to be keeping these mediums alive. No miraculous safety car appeared and by the time Max pitted for hard, Charles and Carlos could both pass him. The rest of the race was a fight with George that he might have remembered fondly if George hadn’t finally passed him on the second to last lap.
That was the race, and the Championship finished. If Max were a better man he might have thought it nice how he and his boyfriend finally both now had a world Championship. He finished what felt like hours of media duties employing every mental trick he had to stay there and stay polite. He said a quick public congratulations to Charles who replied with a polite public thanks for a good season. It wasn’t until the debrief that things really began to unravel. A radio message from Charles was innocuous enough that it was only brought up once but not to Max.
“Consider redbull onestop.”
And then.
“Carlos should pit.”
Charles is a good guesser and Ferrari make the risky decision not to cover Max with Carlos.
Except it doesn’t have to be a guess because last night Charles was lying two metres away while all this was being discussed. Max told himself not to be paranoid. Both he and Charles knew the importance of them not letting their relationship affect racing, if they were ever going to become public things like this couldn’t happen. He texted Charles, something about seeing him soon, perhaps not tonight but something that would let Charles know he was happy for him anyway. He should be now they were both world champions.
Charles took a long time to reply, but that was not unexpected either. Max left his debrief as quickly as possible to cool off with an invite to join some of the team for drinks later but Charles surely would be basking in glory tonight. Certainly his mind would be lighter than Max’s last year. He wished he were a bigger man, then he might get to see Charles lit up like that without it tainted with bitter jealousy. Charles would have been able to. In the privacy of his hotel room Max let himself snap. A year of work lost to an inch of tire. He kicked a dent into the coffee table and threw his rucksack into his TV with a satisfying crack. Charles would tell him off for that, fuck it Max could pay and it felt good.
It took another hour to hear anything from Charles, just a ‘yes x’. God even Charles was tiptoeing around him. He wasn’t a child he knew how to lose, he would go to drinks with Christian and celebrate the constructors, write some nice post about Charles and then go treat his world Champion boyfriend the way he knew Charles would have treated him.
Well he did his best with the drinks, made it through until it was socially acceptable to leave, and the drink took the edge off everything a bit. Then got it into his head that he’d surprise Charles, or try, he probably wouldn't be in his hotel room. Max would have told him he was proud and they’d have fucked or cuddled and then they could start the whole winter together properly.
Charles did answer the door, Max was flooded with relief that turned cold before it had even had a chance to spread. Charles’ face. The way he looked at Max. Those paranoid thoughts took their firm place in reality.
“Max.” Charles' breath fluttered as he said it, tensed up for an impact. Max couldn’t say anything either, stared straight back at Charles until he moved aside and let him into the room.
“I thought you…I thought I wasn’t going to see you.” Charles trailed off. He shuffled back to the bed and perched himself right on the edge. His eyes barely met Max.
“What did you do?” Max said calmly, watching the way Charles squirmed.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” Max spat.
Charles' eyes were red and wet but he hadn’t cried yet. He sniffled a little and sat up a little straighter.
“I heard the phone call, I pretended to sleep and I told Xavi-” Charles never finished but it was enough.
“What the fuck is wrong with you!” Max kicked the side table. The leg snapped and the pretty vase slipped off, crashed into the wall and shattered.
“Tell me you're joking!” Max yelled. Charles' phone was ringing but neither of them moved to get it. They stood in silence until the noise stopped.
“It might not have made a difference.” Charles said. Max’s fists clenched so tight his fingers turned white.
“Are you kidding?” He glared daggers at Charles. “Carlos would have been behind me with his second pit, he got lucky with-"
Charles didn't say anything still. Max wanted to shove him, he was holding himself back almost harder than he could take.
"It's ruined." Was all Charles said. Max looked down at him so full of contempt, Charles was crying, he almost laughed.
"I hope it is, and I'll still always be the one with the sham title, do you not think you're good enough to get something yourself? Huh?"
Charles shook his head, rubbed his eyes with his hands, and looked down staring into the floor. "Us. We're ruined - it was inevitable."
Max froze - inevitable - it hadn't felt that way not recently, even as they'd been competing for wins.
"No." He said. "It's just you, your fault, it's - "
"You would have done it." Charles interrupted.
He was looking at Max differently now, his eyes had cooled, his tears. Max couldn't forgive him. "I can't - "
"I know." Charles paused. "You would have done it."