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The guy is new - like, very new. An alpha engineer for Alpine, with some sort of “J” name. James, Jake, John, Max honestly doesn’t remember, nor does he care to. The point is, he’s new and Max does not like him.
George mutters beside him that Max doesn’t like anyone, but the look on his face suggests that the sentiment is mutual. The whole grid is watching as not-James struts around like he owns the paddock, pushing his scent and alpha dominance on anyone who stands too close, smirking when a few of the omega engineers tremble and flinch away.
“You’re glaring,” George murmurs next to his ear.
“I’m not,” Max grits out through clenched teeth. “I’m observing.”
Sure, in an official capacity, the grid are the only pack members, but Max considers anyone who works in the paddock under his protection. When he became pack alpha, he took the time to meet individually with every paddock employee and their own pack alphas, and established a truce of safety, that as long as someone was within these walls, he would keep them out of harm’s way.
Max hasn’t met this alpha yet, not in any official capacity, and that grates on his nerves. All of the team CEOs are aware of his status as pack alpha, and by extension they all know that anyone who enters employment also needs to be screened by Max himself.
Alpine has a nasty habit of ignoring that bit.
It’s a small relief that Franco is late today. His early appointment at the gynecologist means he can avoid the unpleasant newcomer for at least a little while longer. Pierre, unfortunately, doesn’t have that luxury, and Max is not at all surprised when the beta comes marching towards the Red Bull garage from Alpine, muttering curses in French under his breath.
“Fucking asshole dickhead tried to Push me,” he snarls, anger radiating off him in waves.
Beside Max, George straightens his shoulders. “He what?” he demanded, his scent souring in a way Max decides he does not like.
A low growl starts deep in Max’s chest, and he can feel his eyes flaring alpha red. It’s the most he’s lost control in a very long time. They never have problems like this, it’s confusing and frustrating to think why now. “I’ll talk to Alpine, try to get him removed,” he assures Pierre, who nods tensely. “What time will Franco come back?”
“An hour,” Pierre grumbles. “I wish he’d taken the whole day.”
“Alpine wouldn’t have allowed it.” George’s fists are clenched at his sides, knuckles white. “They barely let him take a couple of hours for a necessary omega health check.”
Max takes a deep breath, releasing it slowly as he forces his muscles to relax. “Getting angry won’t solve the problem,” he says carefully, every word measured. “I will talk with Alpine at the end of the day. Let’s just make it through until then. Pierre, when Franco gets here, don’t leave him alone.” As Pierre nods, Max turns to George. “I want you with me later. As the grid representative for the FIA, you should also be part of the conversation.”
George nods, clearly unhappy and confused by Max’s sudden calm. “And for now?”
“For now, we keep all the omegas far away from him,” Max decides. He spins on his heel to head towards the locker room, wanting to be alone, but George is hot on his heels.
“You’re really just going to-“
George stutters to a halt at the door, eyes widening as Max slams his fist into one of the lockers, knuckles splitting against the dented metal. His breathing is ragged, head hung low, and for a moment George thinks it’s safe to approach. Before he can, however, Max curses violently and lands three more blows to the already destroyed locker door, each accentuated with another expletive, the last knocking it off its hinges entirely and into the locker cavity.
George has never seen Max like this. His alpha is always the image of control and power, never letting anything get too close except George himself. But now, looking at Max’s glowing red eyes and disheveled hair and bleeding knuckles, George knows there’s more to what’s going on than what’s on the surface.
“Max,” George coos, softening his scent and pushing calm into the air. He lowers his voice to a whisper when Max doesn’t acknowledge him. “Alpha…”
Max whips his head in George’s direction, feral eyes unseeing as a snarl rips through the air. George immediately tilts his head in submission, showing off the mating mark he so proudly displays. Max is on him in an instant, crowding George against the wall and pressing his nose against the mark, inhaling deeply. George realizes that Max is shaking, trembling like a leaf in his arms, the overwhelming and bitter scent of fear filling the air around them.
It’s then that George understands. This runs much deeper than some show-off alpha being a dick. This is Max’s deepest traumas and insecurities roaring back to life and suffocating his control. George purrs against Max’s ear. “‘S okay,” he whispers. “‘M here, alpha. ‘M here f’r you.”
Max immediately sags against George, letting out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, trembling hands reaching up to grip George’s hips, fisting the hoodie he’s wearing. It’s Max’s hoodie, and Max knows this. He usually relishes his own scent on his omega, but now it’s a tether in his storm of emotions threatening to drown him. “I’m sorry, ‘mega.”
George coos in his ear again, twisting the short hair on the back of Max’s head around his fingers and tugging gently. Max is letting it grow, the front now curling just past his ears and the back tickling the top of his spine. George loves to play with it and pull on it, watching Max shudder in response to the attention. “Tell me what’s wrong, love,” he murmurs.
Max sighs heavily again, shifting so he’s leaning against the wall with his hands as opposed to putting his weight against George. “Alpha Pushes are illegal in Belgium, just like most other countries,” he begins, eyes fluttering shut at George’s skillful fingers still in his hair. “My father never cared for legalities. He used to Push my mum all the time, whenever he was pissed off or drunk or just particularly horny. It made me sick. Seeing it happen now, even after so many years…”
“It’s illegal in Monaco as well,” George tries to reassure. “With Pierre as a witness to an attempt, we can get rid of him and be done with this by the end of today.”
Max nods, resting his forehead against George’s shoulder and crowding him against the wall again. He inhales the omega’s scent deeply, and hums low in his throat. “You need to put in for leave,” he mutters, then chuckles. “Guess I do, too.”
George huffs in amusement and tangles his fingers into Max’s hair, pulling him until their bodies are flush against each other. “We need to get back,” he murmurs, though he despises the words as they pass his lips. “They’ll start looking for us soon, and I don’t want to pay for that locker.”
Max laughs, more genuine this time, and pulls back just enough to capture George’s lips in a kiss. “Fine, but I’m flying you somewhere nice tomorrow, expensive like I know you like. I’m thinking a private beach. We did mountains last time.”
Before George can even open his mouth to respond, the door to the locker room flies open and Pierre bursts into the room, eyes blazing gold and panting heavily. Max stiffens and pushes George behind him, his own eyes flaring red.
“Franco,” Pierre gasps, leaning against the door for support. “It’s Franco, he - he came back early, and the alpha-“
Before Pierre can even finish the sentence, George is shoving past Max and sprinting into the hallway, toward the garages. Max doesn’t hesitate to follow, with Pierre right behind him despite his state of breathlessness.
The Alpine garage is, of course, on the complete other side of the paddock, but George makes it in record time, skidding to a stop at the edge of a crowd that’s formed. The alpha stands in the middle, sneering towards the ground, and George snarls, shoving past everyone in a fury. Franco is kneeling before the alpha, head bowed and his entire body trembling.
“What the FUCK do you think you’re doing?” George roars, storming right up to the alpha and using both hands to shove him backwards by the shoulders.
Gasps and murmurs of shock echo around them, but George doesn’t give half a mind to them. He’s growling at the alpha, eyes flaring icy blue as he stands in front of his fallen pack mate and pup. His lips twitch into a snarl, the sound echoing in the uneasy silence surrounding them.
The alpha turns his sneer to George, and begins to step forward, only to be stopped by a hand on his chest. Both he and George look to see Max holding the alpha back, growling deep in his chest and exposing elongated fangs waiting to tear into flesh.
“You take one step closer,” Max says, voice low but commanding, “and it’ll be the last one you ever take.”
The alpha finally falters. His eyes widen and his hands start to tremble, and George has only a second to wonder why, until he feels it. The strongest alpha Push he’s ever experienced, coming from Max.
Because it’s not directed at him, George doesn’t feel it as strongly as the alpha clearly does, but the intensity of it still pulls a whimper from his throat. Max’s hand twitches on the alpha’s chest, but he offers no other reaction.
“You will leave,” Max commands. “Leave this paddock, put in your immediate resignation, and never - ever - set foot in here again. If I so much as see you in the parking lot, I’ll make you regret ever being born.”
The alpha nods and Max uses the hand on his chest to shove him backwards. The alpha stumbles and turns tail, tripping over his own feet in effort to get away as fast as possible.
As soon as it had appeared, Max’s Push disappears, and George can finally breathe. Max turns, placing a gentle hand on the side of George’s neck over his mating bite. George leans into the touch for a moment, then nods at Max. Taking the permission, Max lets go of George and kneels in front of Franco. The same hand he’d used to comfort George, he places on the back of Franco’s neck and squeezes firmly.
Franco gasps as if woken from a bad dream. His head snaps up, and he blinks glassy eyes at Max. “Papa?” he whispers brokenly.
Max nods, massaging the back of Franco’s neck. “He’s gone, pup. You’re safe now.”
Franco’s lip trembles and his eyes fill with new tears before he launches himself into Max’s arms. His frame shudders with sobs and Max just coos low in his throat, rocking the omega pup back and forth in a comforting gesture. George joins in, rubbing his cheek against Franco’s hair to scent him. He meets Max’s eyes, which still hold a tint of red. “Let’s take him to the nest room,” he whispers, and Max nods.
It takes hours for the Drop to wear off, but when it does, Max is still there, holding Franco against his chest, gripping the back of his neck with one hand and rubbing soothing circles on his back with the other. When Franco’s eyes blink open, finally clear, Max smiles softly and kisses his forehead.
“You’re safe now, hondje,” he murmurs. “Get some more sleep.”
Franco nods with a small yawn, and settles deeper into his pack alpha’s arms. “Thank you, Papa,” he mutters against Max’s chest.
Max offers a questioning hum, moving the hand on Franco’s neck to his hair to scratch his scalp. Franco sighs into the contact, a purr starting up in his chest.
“For protecting me.”
Franco doesn’t see it, but Max smiles, tears of his own shining in his eyes. “I always will, pup.”