Archive of Our Own

He's tired. Really frickin tired. This wasn't Singapore. It wasn't Jeddah. He shouldn't feel like he's racing in an oven. 

Stepping onto the scale he doesn't think about it. Not really. Just getting somewhere he can sit. And get some water. And maybe take a nap. But when he looks down at the number, he stops. Blinks. Then he's being handed a piece of paper and is sent on his way. He looks at the paper just to make sure he's reading it right. 77.8kg. That couldn't be right. It was almost five kilos off of the weight. 

He looks back at the FIA delegate. Would they let him be weighed again? This had to be a mistake. What had he been before the race? He knows he was weighed in the garage but he hadn't looked at the number. Hadn't felt the need to. 

This could end it all. This slip of paper in his hand could be the end of his championship bid. He didn't have twenty five points to lose. 

He's not stopped. Not told to reweigh. So it must be final. He needs to stop looking at the paper. People are going to start to talk. He passes it on to Rupert in a blur. 

“Max?” The hand on his arm lets him know that Rupert at least sees whatever weird haze has passed over him. Then he looks down at the paper. “Let’s get you a sugary drink, huh?” 

“But I-” 

“Let's raise your blood sugar and we can deal with the rest later, okay?”

No. No, not okay. Not okay at all. “Rupert-” 

“Max, it'll be okay. What won't be okay is if we can't your blood sugar up and your body temperature cooling down. Now your options are us going to the cool down room for this, or I can pull you now and take you to medical.” 

Max nods, hoping that his choice is obvious. It is. 

They linger in the hallway before the room, the place where there are less cameras. 

“How long will it take them-”

“I took care of it Max. You won't get disqualified. Stop worrying about it and drink.” 

Max blinks, not exactly sure what any of that means. How Rupert could have possibly taken care of it he doesn't know. But the question remains, how had he lost five kilos in a race that wasn't even that physically demanding? 

Rupert is staring at him, so he takes a sip of his drink, sure whatever is in it will help him feel a bit better. Because he has to admit. He's not feeling super steady at the moment. Not that he can confess that.

Max makes it through the podium and back to the garage. He stands in the spray of the shower trying to muster the energy to move. He might have stood there, trying not to think, even longer, but Rupert is waiting for him. After changing he’s led to the driver’s room. He's still not feeling great but Rupert hasn't been more than half a step away since he left the podium and is still standing unnecessarily close in the small driver's room.

He's pointed at the couch and he doesn't hesitate to collapse down into it. Rupert shoves a protein bar in his face and Max takes it, staring at it. He doesn't want it. He thinks if he tries to eat it he may throw up. But Rupert is staring at him. And he was five kilos under the weight today and - 

He unwraps the bar and takes a bite. It tastes like cardboard. 

Three bites in and he can't eat it anymore. He can't. It's like trying to eat sand. It's all wrong in his mouth. 

Rupert watches him, but doesn't speak when Max tosses what's left of the bar in the trashcan.

“I am sure I am needed in debrief I should-” 

“You're going to sit there and drink the rest of that bottle in slow, measured sips, or I'm dragging you to medical and you can get an IV. Either way, they'll survive without you.” 

Max thinks he should probably be offended. 

The drink is too sweet. It got to be more than  water. He remembers Rupert mentioning something about his blood sugar. But the taste in his mouth is too much. He's not sure what it is but it's too much. “Do we not have normal water or something?” He asks after realizing there's no way he's finishing this without throwing up. 

“Drink that first then I'll get you some.”  It feels like a challenge and max has never been one to back away from those. But it's not mixing well with the protein bar.

But he tries. He takes a sip. Slow like he was taught. He knows there are electrolytes in there, can taste the powder that Rupert likes. But it adds a thickness, a sliminess, a sweetness that's making him feel struggle to swallow. It's frustrating. It never bothered him before. Neither did chocolate but he hasn't been able to bring himself to eat it for weeks. He forced another sip down but it catches in his throat, he forces it down, breathing harshly out of his nose. Rupert is shoving a trash can in his face before Max even fully realizes what is happening. 

Rupert does all the right things, whispers soothing words while rubbing Max’s back as the world is just sound around him. The plastic of the bag feels wrong under his hands, the pounding in his head that had started somewhere in the last five lap ramps up to an almost unbearable height. Bile and acid burning his throat. The hand on his back is a steady presence against the floaty surrealism trying to drag him away. 

“Alright Max, take a breath for me.” 

He tries, he really does, but he ends up coughing again. There’s nothing else for him to choke up so it ends as a painful dry heave. 

When it finally stops, he leans back, his head finding Rupert’s shoulder. He tries another breath and this time the air enters properly. 

One hand stays wrapped gently around him while the other reaches for the pulse point in his wrist. After a long moment, Rupert lets out a breath. “Max, I think we should go to medical.”

“No, no I am fine.” The words scrape painful past his throat. 

“You’re crashing and you can’t keep anything down. You need an IV.” 

He bites back the immediate denial. Because he doesn’t need medical. He’s fine. He’s okay. But everything hurts and his head is killing him and if he tries to drink one more sip of that stupid sugary drink this whole thing is going to start over again. “Can’t we do it here?”

Rupert frowns at him, calculating, considering. “I’ll make you a deal, we can set up an IV here and we will sit and we will talk until the treatment is done. Or you can go to the medical delegate and let them decide what needs to be done.” 

Max hesitates. He doesn’t know how sick he looks to someone who doesn’t know him. He’s not bad enough that they would be issued a race ban, right? But he also does not want to draw the FIA’s attention to his weight. He’s still not sure how he was not disqualified. But the very last thing he wants to do is talk. To anyone. But especially to Rupert. But he can’t risk a race ban-

“Fine.” He bites out. 

Rupert smiles and gives him a pat on the leg. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.” He fixes him with a glare from the doorway. “Don’t make me send GP after you.” 

Max rolls his eyes, but stays seated. He stares at the water bottle at the counter, wanting to wash the taste from his mouth but afraid of it just causing another fit. He’s sure there’s a bottle of regular water somewhere but that would require standing and searching and - yeah he’s not doing that right now. Instead he sighs, scooting closer to the wall so he can lean his back against it. Closing his eyes, he just breathes. 

Even after the shower, he still feels sticky. Like he couldn’t quite get his skin clean. And he’s tired. So tired. Maybe he can fall asleep and get out of talking to Rupert. Then again he’d probably consider that passing out and just make him go to medical anyway. 

He loses time for a bit, he must fall asleep, because the sound of the door jolts him awake, blinking rapidly. Rupert gives him an unamused look but doesn’t comment. “Do you want to lay down?” 

Max shifts so he’s laying with his head on the armrest. He has to sit up a bit when Rupert places pillows behind him so he’s more reclined than fully lying down. Rupert hangs the IV bag off of one of the cabinets and slings the chair over to sit down. Max holds out his arm, Rupert positioning it before sliding the needle in. 

He doesn’t flinch. That could dislodge the needle. He lets Rupert move his arm again, noting the slight twinge disappears in its new location. 

Silence settles over the room and Max lets his eyes fall shut. He’s not sure how much time passes of him hoping Rupert will just let it go, be thankful he’s accepting the fluids without a fight and move on. 

“How are you feeling?” 

Max opens his eyes and rolls his head over to the side. Rupert is still sitting in the chair, watching him. He reaches for Max’s wrist, checking the pulse point. 

“I am fine.”

“Good.” Is the unexpected answer. “Now, let’s talk about the race.” 

Max bites back a groan. “I won, what is there to talk about?” 

“And you were almost disqualified.” 

“But I was not.”

“And do you know why?” 

No. He doesn’t know. And he’s been too afraid to ask. Too afraid it would shift something and they would realize their mistake. 

“I had GP add ballast to your seat.” 

Max starts to sit up but a hand on his chest pushes him back down. “You what?” 

“And you should be thankful. I told you you were losing weight too fast.” 

There’s a war raging inside of him now. Because this saved him. It kept him the twenty-five points he had worked so hard for. But he also went behind Max’s back. Did something Max had explicitly told him not to do.  

“I am-”

“If you say you’re fine one more time I’m bringing the delegate in to check your head.” 

Max presses his lips together and sends a huff of breath out his nose in an attempt to self regulate. “What do you want me to say?”

“Thank you for one.”

“I told you not to.”

“And if I had listened we’d be having a very different conversation right now.” 

That was true. It was. But he couldn’t help the spark of anger anyway. This meant Rupert had talked to other people about it. This means Rupert had talked to GP about it. And GP was already looking at him like he was some injured puppy that needed to be cared for. But Max wasn’t eighteen anymore. He could take care of himself. He was fine. 

“Now,” Rupert continues after giving Max a moment to calm down. “We agreed to talk about it. Let’s do so.”

“What is there to talk about?” 

“You aren’t eating.”

“I’m eating.”

“Not enough.” 

“Why does it matter?” 

“Because, Max, you almost fell off the podium after losing too much fluid. Because you’re borderline hypoglycemic. Because you couldn’t eat one protein bar.” 

“It is heat sick.” Max defends. “It is not the first and will not be the last.”

“No, it's more than that.” He leans forward until he is almost hanging over Max. “Talk to me, Max. I’m on your side.”

“There is nothing to talk about. I am fine.” 

Rupert sighs, pushing himself back in his chair. “Is it because the car is overweight?” 

“What? No. Of course not. That would be silly. There is, of course, a driver weight limit and while, yes, it is best to be as close to exact as possible I am already under the limit. Why would I want to add more weight to the car when it is already over weight? This makes no sense.” 

Silence stretches just long enough to make Max turn his head. Rupert is just staring at him. “What?” 

“There’s got to be a reason, Max.” 

“A reason for what? It is not uncommon to lose weight during the season.” 

“You normally gain weight over the break. This year you lost it.” 

“I was sick for much of the break.” 

“Did you stop eating?” 

“What?”

“When you were sick, did you stop eating when you were sick?” 

“It was not like that. I did not- I did not stop eating. It is not that simple.” 

He needs Rupert to understand that this is not a problem. It is not like he is trying to lose weight. It is not his fault that the only thing worse than the thought of putting food in his mouth is the actual act of it.

“What does that mean, Max?”

“Why are we even having this conversation? I do not understand why it matters.” 

“It mattered when you thought you were going to be disqualified.” 

“But I was not.”

“Because I knew you would drop below the weight. I took care of you. I want to take care of you, Max. But you have to let me.”

“I do not need your help.” 

Rupert is just watching him again. He needs to stop doing that. 

“Okay, Max.” The eventual answer, as well as the disinterested voice, surprises him. “You don’t need my help. So you’ll find a way to gain five kilos over the next week without me. Or are you going to add more weight to the car? Or maybe just hope the stewards aren’t paying that much attention, because we all know how the FIA is particularly fond of you.” 

Max turns to stare at the ceiling. He could put the weight back on. He could. The IV was already helping. He was starting to feel better already. 

“Rupert,” Max runs his free hand down his face. “I am not trying to lose weight. It is not like- like you said that would be silly with the weight requirements and everything.”

“Okay.” Rupert’s voice is even. “It’s not on purpose. Max, that actually worries me more.” 

Well that had certainly not been his intent. 

“So let’s figure this out. You were sick and started losing weight. You are no longer sick, and are still losing weight. Why?” 

“Isn’t it your job to figure it out.” He mutters from behind his hand.

“Help me out here, Max. Do you feel sick? I could order blood work if you think-”

“No, no I am not sick. Not like that. It was just the flu. I am fine now.” 

“You’ve been more tired than usual. There could be-”

“I am not sick, Rupert. Stop it.” 

Rupert presses his lips together. “Then you have to help me, Max. Have you been doing anything different? Are you working out more than we have planned?” 

Max chokes out a laugh. “No, I do not do that anymore that I have to.” 

“That’s true enough. What have you been eating? Are you staying on the plan?” 

“Yes.” Mostly. Kind of. When he could stomach it.

“Really?” Rupert sounds amused. “No, kinder on the side?” 

“No. I can not eat that right now.” Max confesses. He certainly wasn’t adding anything to his meal plan. 

“What do you mean?” Rupert’s voice changes and Max isn’t sure what he said wrong. Rupert should be glad. 

“It’s just- it’s not right.” He didn't know how to explain it. 

“What’s not right? The texture, the taste, the smell?”

“Just- all of it. Everything tastes wrong.” 

“Everything. And you can’t eat because it tastes… wrong.”

“Yes.” He snaps, glancing up at the IV bag wishing for it to drip faster because he was tired of this conversation. 

“So you haven’t been eating.” 

“Eating is just so difficult.” He groans without thinking.

“In what way, Max?” 

“I don’t know. It just is. It is not worth the effort.” 

The silence returns. Max closes his eyes, the post race exhaustion was really starting to sink in. The adrenaline had been so high in the car but now… 

“Max.”

“Hm?”

“Max, look at me.” 

He pulls his arm away and rolls his head lazily to the side. He has to blink to bring Rupert into focus. “What?” 

“You haven’t been eating.” 

Max opens his mouth, letting the last few moments run through his head. “No- No I did not mean- I eat.” 

“Okat, let’s go over it.” Rupert had shifted into the clinical fixer which meant Max was probably about to get really annoyed really fast. “What have you eaten today?” 

“Rupert this is not necessary-”

“For breakfast. What’d you eat for breakfast.” 

Max moves back to staring at the ceiling. He doesn’t want to answer. It’s not that it’s a problem, it’s just that Rupert will see it as a problem and-

“Max?” 

“I was not hungry this morning.” And it’s the truth. He hadn’t been hungry. 

“And lunch.” 

“I had the chicken breast, that was the plan, yes?”

“Just the chicken?”

“There were vegetables too.” He hadn’t really eaten those but they were on the plate. 

“So chicken and vegetables. Did you eat the entire allotment?” 

“Most of it.”

“So you ate most of a grilled chicken breast and some vegetables.” 

“Yes,” It’s not a lie. “See, it is food. I eat.” 

“Anything else?” 

Wasn’t that enough? It had been more than enough for Max. “Well  there was the protein bar-”

“That you ate two bites of?”

“It was three.”

“And then threw up.”

“I told you I did not want to drink your stupid drink.” The bar being sweet hadn’t helped.

“That would put you at a calorie deficit on a normal day. You would have burned through that before even getting in the car.”

In the car wasn’t the problem. It was the getting out of the car that had been the problem. 

“That’s why your weight dropped so much. You were already on the line and then your body was burning through anything it could get a hold of to keep you conscious.”

Max frowns, “I won.”

“And then almost passed out.” 

“What is your point.” 

“Your body is in shutdown mode. Your blood sugar is dropping. You’re dangerously dehydrating. Your body is cannibalizing muscle because it’s out of fat to burn.”

It sounds like an exaggeration. If it was that bad Max would feel much worse than he currently does. “I am fine.”

“You are not.”

“If you don’t have a solution then there is no reason to continue talking about it. The race is over. I won. I was not disqualified.” Max slings his arm back over his eyes, trying to block the piercing light that seems to mock him even with his eyes closed. 

“What if we got rid of the meal plan?” Rupert suggests, drawing him out of his half sleep.

Max frowns, moving to squint at him. “What?” 

“Give it a week where you can eat anything you want. You want a kebab? Get a kebab. Pasta? Eat the pasta. Don’t worry about the calories or carb load, just eat what you want.” 

His stomach churns at just the thought. “But I can not do that during the season-” 

“Max. Food is food. I would rather you eat nothing but junk food for the next three weeks than not eat anything.” 

He can’t help but laugh, “But then I would not be able to fit in the car.”

He means it as a joke, but Rupert is giving him a look that says it was not funny and he probably should not have said it. 

“Okay. Then we can set more accountability for the plan we already have in place. I’ll tweak some things to add a higher fat and calorie intake. This way you’ll gain weight instead of only maintaining it.”

“That is not necessary- I am not-”  It's insulting. He doesn’t need a modified plan and he certainly doesn’t need accountability for something as stupid as food. “I am not a child.” 

“I'm not saying you are. But this is a problem even if you can't see it yourself.”

“It is not-” 

“If you lose much more weight before the next race the FIA will get involved.”

“What? Why-”  

“If they see you've lost 15 kilos since the beginning of the season they're going to mandate a health check. They'll probably make you do a full drug panel just to make sure you’re not doping.”

“I am not-!”

“I know you’re not, but they’re not going to care what either of us have to say. And with the current push for mental health, they'll probably make you see a psychologist, a real one not just me.” 

Max wanted to deny it. But he knew he couldn't. Not really. Because Rupert was right. “I do not know what you want me to do.” 

“I want you to eat Max.”

“I-”

“It affects more than just the car weight. Your bones will be more brittle. Your stamina will shorten. Your brain will be sluggish. It will affect your driving whether you like it or not.” 

But he didn't want to eat. Even thinking of food tried to set off his gag reflex.

“Max, I need you to try. Try to tell me what the real problem is.” 

It was hard to explain. He didn't know how to even try. But Rupert was asking and everyone was worried. Maybe if he tried to explain they would worry less? “It is not that- it is just that- food is so difficult.”

“In what way?” 

“It is just- that there are already not enough hours in the day and stopping to eat is just far to much to remember. And then I think- I know I should not eat until I have completed training or my sim session or whatever it is that needs done.But by the time I am done I am either no longer hungry or there is no time.” 

“Why can't you just stop when you are hungry?”

“I am not going to interrupt myself or else it will never get done. And besides, I am not often hungry. It is more likely to be a headache or something to let me know but it goes away.” 

“Okay, but why can't you stop to eat.” 

That was a good question. Why couldn't he? “It is not that simple. If I have no completed so of my tasks I should not eat.” 

“Food isn't a reward for completing a to-do list. It's necessary for survival. Especially as an athlete. You know this.”

“Well... yes I know. But as is being in shape. It is part of my job.” 

“And you think the best way to accomplish that is by not eating?”

“Well it is not as if I am going to start working out more.” He laughs. Rupert doesn't reciprocate. 

“I thought you said you weren't trying to lose weight?” 

“I am not. Not really. Keeping my weight down is of course a benefit but it is not my reason for doing so.”

Max squirms under Rupert's stare. How had this all become so complicated? 

“So you're not trying to lose weight, but you're also not mad about it.” It is said as a statement not a question. 

“I suppose so, yes.” 

“And it’s not that you’re not eating in order to lose weight, it’s just too ‘difficult’ to make yourself eat.”

“Yes, exactly.” 

There’s silence for a long time. Max is thankful as his head really is starting to pound. 

“Okay.” Rupert nods to himself and Max readies himself for whatever is to come. “Here’s what we’re going to do. I am going to make you a meal plan.”

“We already have a meal plan.” Max frowns. 

“This one will be direct. No options. Eat exactly what’s listed.” 

Max frowns, “What if I do not like it.”

“Then you’ll tell me and we’ll find something else.” 

“Okay.” Mak answers slowly, but he doesn’t like it. 

“And you’ll text me when you ate and how much.” 

“What? Why?” 

“So we don’t have any more surprises like we did today. You need to put on weight.” 

“I’m-”

Rupert holds up a hand. “This is not about you. It’s about racing. About the team. It’s not fair to them if you get disqualified.”

“Oh.” That was actually a fair point. “I was not trying-”

“I know, Max. I know that. I’m not accusing you, but it’s something we have to think about.”

“So you tell me what to eat and I eat it? That is it?” On the actual level of difficulty it seemed fairly easy, so why did the concept feel so difficult? 

Rupert nods, “We are just trying to at least keep you from losing weight. Keep you away from the medical delegates and keep from having to add more weight to the car. Reasonable?”

“This is- this makes sense, yes.” 

“Good. Now, do you think you could eat something now?”

Max’s stomach twists and he knows the tremors have been there but right now he feels them more than before. 

He shakes his head, feeling a bit of heat enter his cheeks. No. He can’t. If he’s given something to eat he will just throw up again. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, feeling shame at the inability to complete the simple task.

“We’ll work through it.” Rupert assures him gently. Max isn’t so sure. 

Max looks up at the bag that had been steadily leaking through his veins. It’s mostly gone. And when he goes to sit up this time, Rupert doesn’t stop him. And his head doesn’t spin and lurch - even if it still aches - so it must have done its job. 

“Better?” 

Max nods, pulling the IV from his arm. Rupert sighs, but doesn’t scold him, grabbing gauze. Max doesn’t look at him, while he makes sure everything is how it needs to be. “Are you-” He starts, but then frowns, “Are you going to tell GP?”

Rupert sits back down across from him. “What do you think?”

“I think it’s none of his business.” He grumbles.

“Try again.” 

“So long as we do not have to add more weight to the car I do not understand why he needs to know anything. And I am okay. It is really nothing to worry about.” 

“The fact that you don’t want him to know says enough.” 

“I could fire you for this, you know.” He mutters, rubbing at his eyes, but they both know he won’t. 

“You can fire me after we get your weight up, how about that?” 

Max snorts and honestly he’s just glad Rupert has lost that serious tone he’d been using the entire conversation. “This is acceptable.”

Rupert rolls his eyes, but then his face shifts again and Max knows that the lightness was only a short reprieve. 

“Okay, so here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to text you tonight with what I want you to eat. I don’t care how you get it, go out, room service, whatever you want. But you will send me a picture of it before you eat it, then a picture when you are done. But Max, for this to work you have to be honest with me. I won’t be mad if you don’t eat it all, but I need to know how much you are eating.”

“Okay.” It seems ridiculous, but it will not be the worst thing ever. And he can always choke it down and deal with the consequences later. 

“And Max, you have to tell me if you throw up afterwards. I don’t care if it’s on purpose or not. I need to know these things. The calories you eat and keep down affect everything else we do. If I don’t have accurate data I can’t plan the best strategy.”

He can feel his face twist in displeasure. That was a bit more difficult of an ask. Because - while it was never on purpose, he did not of course enjoy throwing up - a lot of the food just did not sit right. If he could manage to actually swallow it, the chances of it staying down were slim. 

“If you’re genuinely struggling to keep food down then there is a problem. One that we have to figure out. I’m willing to try it your way, no doctors, no blood panels, but only if it works. But- Look at me-” He waits until Max has turned his gaze back to Rupert whose intensity is starting to make him uncomfortable. “If I find out you’re lying to me, it’s over. One lie and you’re going to medical. This is serious, Max. I’m not playing with it.”

Max’s eyes dart away again, trying not to squirm. “I understand what you are saying.”

“Do you? Do you understand how serious this could get if we’re not careful? We’re talking hospital stays and FIA involvement. Don’t think I won’t do it.”

“I hear you.” Max snaps, tossing a glare at his trainer. 

“Good. Because I’m worried, Max.”

“You do not need to be.”

“Well I am. Because if you lose much more weight it won’t be about the car anymore. We’ll be entering the danger category. Especially if your blood sugar keeps dropping.”

Max wrinkles his nose. “It is just that… sweet things are too sweet. Like that drink.”

“You have never complained about it before.”

Max shrugs. He doesn’t know why. Chocolate has also never bothered him before. Bland food- flavor filled food- has never made him throw up before. 

Well. That wasn’t entirely true. 

There have been other times when eating was difficult but there was usually a reason. Like championship stress (and likely other things) in 2021. Or simply days where he did not feel like eating. But this is the first time it has affected him for so long. The first time that water with electrolyte packets, foods and drinks that he used to enjoy, set off his gag response. He didn’t understand. And he was too tired to try and figure it out. 

“Okay. Okay, I need to look into some things. For now we're going to follow the plan. I'll text you what to eat. You send me pictures proving how much you ate. And tell me if you throw up.”

Max grit his teeth, feeling frustrated, but nods. It makes him feel like a child. Like his Mama hanging over his shoulders telling him he needs to finish his plate or he can't go with Papa to the track. 

But this was worse. Because what if he did throw up. What then? It's not like he can help it. 

Rupert seems to read him. “You won't be in trouble. I want you to eat and want you to keep it down, but right now I just need to know. It’s a practice session. Data harvesting.” 

“Fine.” He concedes, still far from happy. Whatever kept him out of the med center and in the cockpit. 

“So long as you’re honest with me, we can make this work.” Rupert reinforces. “But I”m serious, if I find out you’re lying to me about anything-”

“I heard you the first time.” Max snaps back. “Just don’t get medical involved and I will do what you say.” Afterall, if Rupert was making rules, Max could too. 

Rupert takes a calming breath and he’s probably being too kind all things considered. But Max isn’t going to back down. This is about his pride. Because it’s embarrassing. He knows it’s just food but he doesn’t want it. And athletes lose weight all the time. Why is he being singled out like this?

“I’ll text you tonight. Get some rest. Even with the fluids your body is in reset mode, you’ve got to let it heal.”

“Fine. Can I go now?” The team meeting was probably over. Which meant Rupert probably cleared him from it. Which means people are going to wonder why. Which means they’re going to worry and- 

It was fine. Max had bigger things to worry about.