Chapter Text
Fred
Frederik Verstappen was 11 months old when he took his very first steps.
The whole Verstappen clan was in Abu Dhabi for the Finals. George was covering the deciding race between his husband Max and Oscar for the WDC title for sky sports. This was the fifth race of the year he had covered since he had started his gig as a pundit.
After several years at Mercedes and 2 WDC titles to his name George had retired. Fred was born and both he and Max were thrilled but the longing for the adrenaline for racing was still lingering in his blood stream. When Nico reached out to him asking if he would be willing to do a broadcast with him for Silverstone, George had agreed. With a 5 month old Fred perched on his hip and his mother on stand by to help when he needed to be present infront of the microphone.
George paced around Max’s drivers’ room, the owner of the room sitting down on the massage table feeding their son formula; his big blue eyes blinking following his pacing Dada.
“Schatje you’ll be fine, you love talking.” Max sighs he has spent the last five minutes trying to calm his husband down.
“The only reason I haven’t thrown a pillow at your head is because you’re holding our son.” George grumbles back, the temptation to run his hands through his hair was alarming. However, he perfectly styled it back at the hotel room and it was further touched up by the sky make up team.
George with all his time as GDPA co-president and his time in the sport had set him up for nothing but success at his very first pundit gig. Following that success Sky offered him a contract, he had a professional in back at his former job and het got paid to criticise his husband’s technical performance – for George that was the best job he could ask for.
Fast forward to the Abu Dhabi race after some brief contract negotiations George was commentating on his fifth race of the season, his initial concern was Fred. The constant travel and inconsistencies in routine had worried George, how do you keep a baby’s routine when they were in a time zone and hotel room nearly every weekend. They had come to an agreement that he could start later in the year when Fred could do more than just wiggle on a play mat.
Now at eleven months old Fred was a regular in the paddock, just about every one knew him. This was also the case when you parents held several WDC titles between them. Fred had achieved a few milestones with in the fences of the paddock. He tried his first food in the Red Bull hospitality with everyone waiting with baited breath for his reaction.
George had tried every high risk allergen food in that very hospitality unit with the team doctor on standby in case of any reactions. His first proper smile was in the garage in Albert Park and his first proper laugh happened they tried to sit him in Max’s helmet.
It was safe to say Fred was absolutely loved by everyone.
At eleven months old decked out in an miniature version of Max’s race suit with a Mercedes hat strapped firmly on to his head, Fred was on a mission to see as many people as he could. On wobbly legs under George’s guidance he wobbled with the support of whatever he could find, chair legs, table legs, people legs and hands.
He greeted every person with a big gummy smile, the first impression of soon to be visible teeth visible on his gums. He babbled away happily.
George had brought the boy to quieter corner of the suite, practising his walking. With George’s index fingers firmly in Fred’s grasp he toddled around their corner occasionally shooting his Dada a big gummy grin.
“Alright bub, we are going to have lunch and then you will have a nap and then it will be Dada’s turn to drive and we can yell go Papa!” George says as he swoops Fred into his arms before blowing a raspberry onto his cheek. The sensation makes Fred giggle.
Following a meeting with strategy Max had entered the hospitality suite in search of his family. Spotting George’s tall figure and Fred’s giggles he found them in corner.
Fred was holding onto the seat of the chair bouncing up and down and George was infront of him holding his phone presumably taking photos.
“Freddie, Papa is here.” Max calls out as he approaches crouching down lower to meet his sons eye level from a few steps away.
Fred’s head whips around to the sound of his second favourite person’s voice, George moves out of the way slightly so Father and son can reunite.
That is when Fred decides to do it, letting of his chair, he puts one foot in front of the other. Taking three steps independently before crash diving head first into his Papa’s arms.
“Oh my god, did he just take his first steps?” George gasps, everyone in hospitality whips their heads around at the exclamation.
“He’s done it, Frederik Verstappen has crossed the finish line! You are the world champion.” Max yells out switching to Dutch half way through, as he does this he swings Fred above his head.
Fred giggles excitedly at all the attention.
The couple crowd around the boy, placing kisses on his chubby cheeks.
Now if someone within the hospitality takes the perfect shot of George and Max kissing both of Fred’s chubby cheeks they would be none the wiser, but much appreciative as it becomes their phone home screens later that day.
Later on that evening Max goes on to win his fifth WDC.
When asked by Nico in the post-race interview what got him to push through the race to snag those much needed points to win, Max excitedly tells the world that Fred had taken his first steps earlier in the day and that he needed to match his son in taking home something special that day.