Chapter Text
Lewis couldn’t quite keep the grin off his face as he finally made his way back towards his own motorhome, champagne still clinging to his skin. Sure, he was still frustrated by second place – he’d always prefer to be on that top step, if he had the choice – but Sebastian had been undeniably fantastic in the Ferrari this weekend. Truly, Lewis had not expected Seb to be as quick as he was – which maybe he should have. He was Sebastian Vettel, after all, even if he was in Ferrari red now.
Plus, a double podium for the team was nothing to scoff at, even if a 1-2 would always be better.
He was so lost in his own thoughts that he nearly didn’t notice the man – boy, really – on the ground in front of him until he nearly tripped over him. Thankfully, he had a little more awareness than that, and Lewis managed to stumble to a stop before he crashed into Max Verstappen.
Max hadn’t been around the paddock – at least not full-time – for long, having first stepped into an F1 car during the first practice session at the Japanese Grand Prix last year, making him the youngest person to ever participate in a Formula One race weekend. Clearly, he’d managed to impress more than a few people, because this season he’d become the youngest driver to drive in a Grand Prix when he made his debut with Toro Rosso at the Australian Grand Prix at just 17 years old.
And he’d had an impressive start to the season, even in Lewis’ eyes. Despite being forced to retire in Australia due to an engine failure, he’d managed to snatch some points for himself this weekend in Malaysia, finishing seventh in the race. Which wasn’t just impressive because he was in a Toro Rosso, but also because he was still a child – and now the youngest driver to score World Championship points.
Which was why it made absolutely no sense that he was sitting on the ground, tucked between two motorhomes that were decidedly not his own, trying to hide his tear-stained face.
“Max?”
“I – I should go, I am sorry,” Max stuttered, rubbing almost aggressively at his face as he scrambled to his feet.
“Hey, kid – Max, wait,” Lewis called, arm snaking out to grab Max’s arm. When the kid visibly flinched, Lewis quickly dropped his hold, but didn’t entirely back down, shifting slightly to put himself between Max and the most obvious route of escape.
“What,” Max mumbled, gaze now downcast, as if that could hide his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks from the older man.
Lewis sighed.
“Come on – my motorhome is right here,” Lewis gestured. “You can get cleaned up in there – that way no one else sees you, yeah?”
The silence stretched for several long moments, Lewis growing more and more convinced that Max was just going to make a run for it – but then the younger man nodded, almost shyly, gaze still firmly fixed on Lewis’ racing boots.
“Come on, then,” Lewis murmured, gesturing for Max to follow him as he led the few steps back to his motorhome. Once inside, Max lingered awkwardly near the door, making no real effort to move further into the space.
Lewis bit back another sigh, resisting the urge to scrub at his own face in frustration.
Max was just a teenager – a child, really – and Lewis could readily admit that he had absolutely no idea how to manage a fucking seventeen-year-old. Christ, he could barely take care of himself half the time. But, Lewis suddenly remembered, Max wasn’t expected to take care of himself, because he was seventeen, and there were rules about these sort of things.
“Do you want me to call your Dad?” Lewis asked suddenly.
“Nee!” Max yelped, suddenly looking up, panicked. “Alsjeblieft, nee.”
Lewis didn’t speak Dutch, but even he could understand that whatever Max has said was a very definitive no.
“Okay, okay,” Lewis placated, hands raised. “Bathroom is through there – go wash up, then we’ll figure out what to do, yeah?”
Max nodded and scrambled past Lewis to do as he’d directed, leaving Lewis to just… hover anxiously. Which, if Lewis was honest, was not something he was entirely comfortable with. Which was how he ended up instead nervously making tea, because even though he had no idea if Max even liked tea, it certainly couldn’t hurt, right?
When Max re-emerged, eyes still red-rimmed but face clean, if tinged a bit pink, Lewis gestured towards to couch pushed against the far wall with his free hand, cup of tea in the other. Max sat without comment before silently accepting the tea, watching warily as Lewis pulled up a chair across from him.
“I know that you don’t want me to call your Dad – and I won’t – but I do need to know that you’re okay,” Lewis explained. “Are you physically hurt in any way?”
“No,” came the quiet reply.
“Okay, good, good,” Lewis breathed a sigh of relief. “Are you in danger in any way?”
“No.”
“Alright,” Lewis acknowledged. “Is there someone else that I can call for you? Carlos maybe, or…?”
“No,” Max whispered. “I – I can go, I’m okay, really.”
Lewis bit back a sigh. He may not have much experience with teenagers – or kids in general, really – but the idea of sending a clearly distressed Max Verstappen off by himself didn’t sit well with him, even if they were supposed to be competitors.
“I’m not trying to kick you out,” Lewis began, holding up a hand when Max looked inclined to interrupt him. “Seriously, just drink your tea and listen, kid.”
“I’m not a kid,” Max mumbled petulantly.
“Sure,” Lewis pacified. “You can stay here as long as you want, okay?”
“I – Why are you being so kind to me?”
Instead of answering, Lewis just shrugged. Because honestly? He had no idea why he was suddenly so inclined to comfort and care for the younger driver. Sure, he hadn’t liked the sight of the kid crying, but that was Formula 1 – even if Lewis didn’t understand what he was so upset about, given his impressive performance so far.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Lewis offered, practically cringing at how awkward he sounded.
Really, he had no idea how to do this. Maybe he could call Jenson or something – even Sebastian would probably be better at dealing with a teenager than him. Or maybe Fernando? Lewis was almost positive he remembered the kid mentioning that he looked up to Fernando at some point.
“I should be doing better,” Max spoke quietly, interrupting Lewis’ spiralling thoughts. “He expects me to be doing better.”
Lewis didn’t ask who he was – the British driver had a pretty good idea, given Max’s earlier reaction – instead opting to just nod and smile encouragingly.
“I know that seventh is not bad, but I can of course do better,” Max continued. “But I am making too many mistakes, he – he had a whole list of things, and he is right.”
“Mate, it’s your second race in Formula 1 – seventh is fantastic, you know?” Lewis tried. “And you outperformed your teammate – that counts for something.”
“Only by one position,” Max countered sulkily. “It is not enough.”
As if Carlos Sainz isn’t a force to be reckoned with unto himself. As if both Toro Rossos hadn’t finished ahead of their Red Bull counterparts – despite Daniel and Daniil sporting a whole host of problems throughout the race. As if anyone – apart from apparently one person – expected seventeen-year-old Max Verstappen to be on the podium in his second Formula 1 race.
“For what it’s worth, I think you’re doing great,” Lewis offered, along with a wry smile. Max just snorted before taking another sip of his cooling tea, expression stubbornly frustrated.
“I – this – I should not be talking about this with you,” Max fumbled aloud, gaze still fixed on his tea. “I should go – he might be looking for me, by now.”
Lewis stood before Max had a chance to do so, a gentle hand slowly reaching out to rest on the younger man’s shoulder. This time, Max did not flinch at the contact, which Lewis took as a win – even if he did look ready to bite Lewis’ hand off.
“Finish your tea,” Lewis instructed. “I’ll let… someone know where you are so they don’t send out a search party, yeah?”
Max mumbled something unintelligible before taking a large gulp of his tea, and… yeah, Lewis was just going to ignore that, because what the fuck? Instead, the British driver quickly scrolled through his contacts, pulling up the only Red Bull driver he had saved to the device.
———
Lewis Hamilton
I found Max by the motorhomes earlier.
He’s having a cuppa at mine.
Daniel Ricciardo
Jesus Christ.
Thank-you.
I swear Franz and Christian were about the call in the army.
Carlos is beside himself thinking this is somehow his fault.
Lewis Hamilton
He’s fine – just a bit shaken up.
He was pretty adamant about not calling his Dad.
Daniel Ricciardo
I’m not surprised.
I’ll come get him.
Try not to lose him before I get there.
———
Satisfied that somebody would come to take Max off of his hands – and hopefully keep an eye on the kid too – Lewis turned back towards Max, only to find the kid’s eyes drifting shut, his mostly empty cup of tea wavering precariously in his hand as he started to doze now that the adrenaline had worn off.
Lewis leapt forward and carefully snatched the cup from Max’s lax grip. The younger driver merely grumbled incoherently, eyelids fluttering in vain as he attempted to stay awake. By the timer Daniel gently knocked on the door, the kid was fully asleep, head lolling back against the couch.
“Hey,” Lewis greeted quietly. “He’s just fallen asleep – be quiet, yeah?”
Daniel nodded before slipping inside the motorhome, gaze almost immediately seeking the younger driver out. His face broke into his huge, trademark grin when he spotted him. Beneath it, his expression was undeniably fond.
“We should get a blanket on him,” Daniel observed, looking around. Lewis nodded, quickly moving to rummage through a nearby bin before tossing a simple throw blanket towards Daniel.
“You can take it with you – I’m not fussed about getting it back,” Lewis explained – before turning back to find Daniel tucking Max in on the couch, as if –
“He needs the sleep,” Daniel explained. “He’s been putting too much pressure on himself – spending way too much time in the sim, or going over data.”
“Daniel –”
“Our flight isn’t until tomorrow – text me when he wakes up, and I’ll come back and get him,” Daniel decided, grin still affixed to his face – though it was decidedly more mischievous now.
“Daniel –”
“Relax, mate. He’s asleep, and he’s nearly a fully grown adult,” Daniel encouraged. “How much trouble can he possibly get up to?”
Lewis sighed, deflating as he accepted defeat.
“Good man,” Daniel clapped Lewis on the back as he moved to leave the motorhome once again. “I’ll deal with Franz and Christian. Jos too, if I must. Though I’d really prefer to not.”
Which reminded Lewis – he pulled out his own phone, not bothering to acknowledge Daniel as he left, the little shit. Toto would be wondering where he’d gotten to when he didn’t show up to their debrief as scheduled. Better to come up with some kind of excuse now, no matter how contrived, than to have to explain this.
Somehow, Lewis very much doubted Max Verstappen babysitting duty was a valid reason to skip a post-meeting in Toto Wolffe’s books.