Chapter Text
It’s just after the race that George can’t hold onto his curiosity any longer. He approaches Kimi somewhat nervously as the young alpha downs a bottle of water, fresh out of the ice bath, as sweat lingers on his brow. Kimi turns, eyeing George suspiciously. Fair enough. George usually heads straight to the pack room after the race to make sure everyone’s alright— something he did before he was involved with the GPDA.
“Hey,” Kimi says slowly, testing the greeting out on his tongue. “Aren’t you heading to the pack room?”
“Thought I might ask if you wanted to come. It’s been a while, and maybe—”
“I’m okay.”
George sighs, running a hand through his hair. Kimi doesn’t even offer him a smile. “I understand that you’re very close to Max, especially now that you’ve presented, but it doesn’t mean you have to give up the grid pack to do that.”
It’s not like they’re opposing sides. Kimi can have both, spend time with the two packs. Sure, George has never really been part of two packs at once— and neither has most of the grid, really, since their family packs are so far away— but it shouldn’t be impossible for him to do. George can’t fathom why Kimi’s suddenly changed and now refuses to even divide his time.
“I know.”
“So why don’t you come to the pack room, then? Lewis apologised for what happened during his rut, and we all miss you being there. Especially me.”
Kimi sighs forcefully, and it occurs suddenly to George that he’s probably pushed too hard on the matter. Fuck. He knows he should’ve done it gradually, but Kimi’s being so stand-offish with him and it’s starting to get on George’s nerves.
“You’re not treating Max right.”
“What?” Surely that’s not what this is about. Is Kimi really picking sides and pushing away the pack because…
Well, maybe there have been some issues since Max’s designation was revealed, and maybe they’ve been the pack’s fault, so Kimi’s not quite lying.
“The isn’t good enough for Max, and since Max is my dam, the pack’s not good enough for me.”
“Wait— dam?”
Kimi huffs as if George should’ve known already, but George is still reeling from the word. Had Kimi gotten that close to Max already? Did Max know about this? And, most importantly, why was George feeling a tang of jealousy in his gut?
Sure, he’d felt a bit of responsibility for Kimi since he joined Formula 1, teaching things, giving advice and such, but George isn’t… George is just a teammate to him. An older, more experienced teammate maybe, but still just a teammate. All it took was for an omega to show up in Kimi’s life and suddenly George was put in his place.
“Yes. Max is my dam.”
Right. George shifts uncomfortably, not really sure what to say to that. Not really sure what to say to Kimi’s confidence in his words. Not really sure why he cares so much that Max is closer to his rookie teammate than he is.
“You said we’re not treating him right,” is what George manages to say.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah. You’re treating him like every other omega, but he’s not.”
“Of course he’s not,” George says automatically without thinking about it. He’s Max. No one is like him in any sense of the word. “But how should he treat him?”
Kimi hums. George is getting desperate— Max is stubborn, but so is the grid pack. An unstoppable force against an immovable object. Why can’t Max see that the grid pack is good for him? What could it possibly take for him to realise that?
Finally, Kimi shrugs. “You should treat him like Max.”
The race is long, the media duties even longer— but finally, Max settles into his driver’s room nest. It feels strange to have one after all these years, tucked into the corner like it’s supposed to be there. He tries not to think about how it looks out of place. Too soft for the harsher lines of furniture, not soft enough to calm his instincts.
And there’s not even a fucking podium to keep him happy.
Max tries not to think about how disappointed his father would be, and instead opens his phone to send a half-hearted congratulations text to Nico for getting a podium for the first time in his career. He deserves it, Max knows, but he selfishly wanted to be standing up there too. Just to prove it to himself.
(And Carlos. His father. Everyone, really. He wanted to prove it to everyone that any moments of weakness he has means nothing. Max’s designation means absolutely nothing.)
But now he is sitting here, in his driver’s room, no trophy to show for any of it. A meeting that he should probably attend is going to start soon, but Max can’t be bothered to get up and talk about what went wrong until his team is happy enough, because they’re never happy.
Not unless he’s winning.
A knock on his door jumps him out of the thoughts. He lifts his head, debating whether to shoo them away or if he’s willing to hear them out, but Max is interrupted by a soft “Can I come in? Please?” and he softens immediately.
“Come in, Franco.”
The driver opens the door tentatively, shoulders tense as he glances awkwardly at the nest. “Sorry, is this a bad time?”
Maybe a little, in all honesty. It’s weird having one of the rookies (though he supposes Franco isn’t one, but he’s around their age and seeks his advice, so… rookie.) so close to his nest, especially because his instincts have decided that Max should drag them into his nests and never let them go. It is a tempting thought, admittedly, to have the five of them bundled up and warm and safe from the pressures of the sport that he knows can be crushing at a very young age.
“No,” he murmurs, gesturing to the nest. “It was getting a little lonely in here.” It’s been ‘getting a little lonely’ for quite some time now, if Max was being honest. As Franco gets into the nest, it becomes less lonely.
Franco takes a minute to realise he’s allowed to settle into the nest, and once he does get comfortable, Max decides to ask; “So, what brings you here?”
“Is it wrong to just want a bit of company?”
Max raises a brow, eyeing the rookie with a hint of amusement. “No… but I don’t think that’s what you came here for.”
“No, it isn’t.” Franco sighs, leaning his head so it barely brushes Max’s shoulder. He doesn’t want to comment. What would he even say that he hasn’t already said to himself, hissed at his reflection in the mirror? “I’m just… frustrated by how the race went. How all of these races are going. I feel like I can be doing better. I know it, I do— I just… ” he shakes his head. “Maybe this is the best I can do after all.”
Max remembers hearing about what happened to Franco— he’d stalled in the pitlane, ending his race before the lights had even gone out. “I’m sure you can do better than stalling, Franco. This just happened to be an unlucky day for you. My rookie season had plenty of DNFs,” Max says, grimly recalling the memories. “And it’s not like you’ve got a rocket ship of a car, anyway.”
Franco snorts. His scent warms with amusement and joy, something Max prides himself for. “That is true. But… Pierre seems to be dealing with it just fine. He gets points, and I…”
“Pierre’s been at Alpine— god knows why— for longer than you have. He knows the car, it’s… uh, issues, and does his best to use that to his advantage. Plus, he’s got more years overall in general, yeah? You shouldn’t compare yourself to his experience.”
Franco sighs, biting back something he was likely itching to say. Instead, he fully leans on Max’s shoulder, taking a deep breath of his scent. “I will try,” he murmurs half-heartedly, as though he barely believes it himself.
Max is about to say something more to the poor man when a knock rings throughout his driver’s room. He tries not to let his scent sour as he calls out; “Who’s there?”
“It’s Kimi! And the other rookies, too,” he adds after a moment.
Max raises a brow at Franco, unsure if he wants people near him right now, but the rookie nods. Max manages to bite back an ‘are you sure?’. “Come in.”
Kimi opens the door, scent blooming with happiness. Behind him are the other rookies, which Max pretends to be annoyed at seeing, who smile sheepishly. “Can we nest?”
“Uh…”
“I’m tired,” Isack mumbles. “Please?”
“I mean, I’m sure your hotel rooms are more comfortable. I barely have enough materials for Franco and—”
“That’s why we brought more!” Kimi announces, showcasing the pillows and blankets in his arms with a wide, toothy grin. “If you’d like us.”
“... Fine. Get in here.” Max doesn’t understand why they wouldn’t want to be in their own hotels, or at least in the pack room, but he doesn’t complain as they help make the nest larger before settling into it. The room smells of the rookies, happy scents mixing together as Gabi and Ollie start bickering with each other quietly. Kimi chuffs against his chest, Franco on his other side, and Max wonders if this might be what he’s been missing out on his whole life.
A group of people that care about him.
“You look annoyed,” Lewis comments for what feels like the hundredth time this year. George sighs, flopping onto the cushions beside his old teammate, happy to be in fresh clothes after such a race.
“I am. Kimi and I had… a talk just after his ice bath.”
Lewis lets out a long, knowing sigh. Part of him doesn’t want to hear about it, what to live in his ignorance just a little longer, but he gives a nod for George to go ahead. He’s pack alpha, after all.
“He says we aren’t treating him right.”
Lewis sighs. “And how are we supposed to treat him? We’ve given him gifts, given him encouragement and support…” He drags a hand down his face, already exhausted from the meeting he had with a disappointed Fred and the fact that he’d just missed a podium on home soil.
“Kimi says we should treat him like Max.”
Lewis pauses, mulling the words over in his head. They haven’t had the greatest relationship since 2021, so Lewis can’t quite remember how he treated him before that. Before that, when he was still a kid in Lewis’s eyes, eager to take on the sport Lewis now knows isn’t ready for him. “How on Earth are we supposed to do that? He doesn’t want to talk to any of us to begin with.”
George can give him nothing but a shrug.
“Fine,” Lewis sighs, adding it to the infinite list of things he needs to work on. “I’ll try and figure something out.”
Yuki is still bummed about his chocolate.
It was nice chocolate, and though he had eaten it all because he didn’t want such good chocolate to go to waste, it hurt that Max didn’t like his gift. But Yuki is determined, even if getting Max something he likes is the last thing he does before he dies.
Yuki heads through the Red Bull garage, hoping to spot his teammate. The race hadn’t gone well— when had it ever— but he’s just hoping to see the omega before heading off.
“Hello, Christian. Is Max here?”
“No,” the man says, gathering his things in a hurry. “Driver’s room, I’m pretty sure.”
Yuki raises a brow as Christian knocks over his water bottle in his haste to leave. “What’s so urgent?”
“Toto wanted to talk about something.”
Yuki can’t remember anything happening between Red Bull and Mercedes during the race. No reporters had asked him any questions about it, at least. But before he could speak, Christian was gone.
Right.
The walk to Max’s driver room is short, but throughout the hallway is the smell of the rookies. Young alpha scents piling on top of one another in a mix of lemon, coffee, caramel and deeper, woody scents he can’t put a finger on but recognised anyway. When he knocks, Max calls out a ‘hello’ and the voices inside go quiet. Yuki opens the door to a large nest filled with the rookies, Max in the centre like a sun and its planets— too glorious to truly touch or understand, but one could bask in its warmth and believe they were close.
“Yuki? What are you doing here?”
“Hello.” Yuki realises suddenly that he doesn’t have a reason to be here at all and stands awkwardly for a moment at the doorway as the six look at him strangely. He taps his fingers on the can of Red Bull he hasn’t yet opened— and oh! That’s an idea. “I came to give Max a Red Bull.”
“Why?” Kimi asks demandingly, crossing his arms.
“... He normally drinks one after the race?” Yuki says. Luckily, Kimi relaxes back into the nest, satisfied with the response.
“Max? Do you want a Red Bull?” Gabi murmurs.
“Sure.” Is his scent getting sweeter?
Yuki takes a step into the room to try and hand the drink over, but Kimi growls low in his throat. Liam rolls his eyes and takes the drink, handing it off to Max.
“Sorry about that,” Liam says, glaring directly at Kimi as he speaks. “Someone hasn’t gotten used to his new instincts yet.”
“Hey!” Kimi snarls as he lunges for Liam. As Liam growls in response and the two begin to wrestle, Yuki leaves before anyone can point fingers at him.
Being in the Mercedes garage is strange for Christian, of course, but he walks past the engineers giving him stares and heads straight for Toto’s office. Should it concern him how little he cares that he’s going straight to his rival’s office? Maybe. But it doesn’t— Toto sounded concerned over the phone when the spoke, and curiosity is outweighing Christian’s senses right now.
Or he just wants to talk to Toto, rivalry be damned. How ridiculous that would be.
“Toto,” Christian says, barging into his office without even knocking. Toto is hunched over his desk, staring at his laptop like it might change any moment. “You called?”
“You answered,” Toto murmurs glumly.
Christian crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrow. “You’re acting weird.”
“Muhammed Ben Sulayem just called.”
The words send a chill down Christian’s spine. That’s never a good thing, when the FIA president calls a team principal out of the blue. Mercedes hadn’t done anything wrong, had they?
“He said the FIA is enforcing new blood test regulations.”
“Doesn’t sound too bad. What’s all the fuss about?”
Toto lifts his head to look at him, eyes weary. “They’re checking designation hormones. And it must be done by FIA-employed doctors.”
Shit.
Christian had asked Max not too long ago how he’d gotten away with being an omega for so long without anyone knowing, and the man had replied with; “I paid the doctors off.” But FIA doctors wouldn’t accept any bribes, no matter the amount of money, meaning that Max’s secret is about as secure as a car key on a park bench, waiting for someone to come by and snatch it away.
“When?” Christian rasps.
“Starting next month.”
Next month. He doesn’t know what to think anymore. The FIA, who is not exactly known for being… progressive, will find out in a month that Max is an omega. The star driver of Red Bull, suddenly one of a handful of omegas in the entire world— they would not let him race.
“They won’t let him race. They’ll say it’s too dangerous for him, and— fuck, Toto, they’ll… they’ll…”
Christian finds himself wrapped up in Toto’s arms the next moment, breathing in his rich, woody scent buried under the Mercedes shirt he’s wearing. Christian almost protests, almost pulls himself away— he doesn’t need to be in the arms of his rival, comforted by the scraps he’s giving him. He should be stronger than this, but like the weak man he is, Christian circles his arms around Toto’s neck and buries his nose there. He hides the soft sniffles as best he can.
“I know. I know, Christian. We’ll figure it out.” The German accent in his ear makes him relax. It’s more familiar to him than his mother’s by now. He thinks to himself in the back of his mind, jokingly in that awkward way that you do when crying, that he should ask Toto to record his voice. Just for him. Maybe it would help him sleep better at night.
“No, Toto, I don’t think we will. This doesn’t feel like one of those things that we can sort out.”
Toto sighs quietly, one hand drifting up to Christian’s hair to run his fingers through the curls. Christian melts into him, rubbing his scent glands on Toto’s neck before he can stop himself. Toto huffs out a silent laugh before it tapers of contemplatively.
“We’ll figure it out.” Toto pulls back from the hug, ignoring Christian’s subtle protests. “And if need be, we’ll get all the drivers involved. God knows they’d do anything to help Max.”
Christian snorts wetly, wiping his eyes. “I’ve seen one too many of them trailing after him like hopeless puppies.”
“See? They won’t mind. We’ll figure this out, Christian. Hmm?”
Christian pauses, nodding hollowly. “We’ll figure it out. Okay.”
Toto pauses, frowning slightly down at him. “You might want to tell Max, though, before it springs up on him.”
Yeah. He’ll do that. “In a minute,” Christian murmurs, pressing back into Toto’s frame. Breathing him in. “In a minute…”
Max taps the toes of his shoes together in boredom. He’s been sitting there, in Christian’s office, just waiting. He isn’t sure for what. Christian had told him the news of the new blood test rules, the news that he’d be kicked out of the sport under the guise of some protection bullshit.
And then Christian had left too, saying that he had work to do. Which left Max here, alone, and practically done with his career.
You can ask the grid for help. Together, I’m sure you could form a plan. It isn’t the worst idea Max had ever heard, but…
Is he really going to throw away his career for pettiness? For not wanting to forgive the pack for what they’d done to him over the last decade?
Max didn’t know what to do. And for the first time in a while, he couldn’t see a way out of this.
Daniel stands at the door of Max’s Monaco apartment feeling, quite honestly, like an idiot. Lewis’s text had sent him into a spiral like no other, clawing at his memory for anything that suggested Max wasn’t an alpha like he thought, but nothing came to mind. How was it even possible? The word omega didn’t fit Max at all.
Daniel’s perception of him, anyway.
“Hey,” Max says, pushing open the door and pausing with surprise. A smile lights up his face. “Daniel! I didn’t know you’d be coming. What’re you in Monaco for?”
Ah. Yes, he probably should’ve let Max know he’d be showing up.
“Oh, yeah, just thought I’d stop by and see everyone,” Daniel replies with a casual shrug, stepping into his living room. It’s spacious, nice, but most importantly, smells sweet. Summer and strawberries and all of the good, warm childhood memories Daniel can remember. Lewis really wasn’t shitting him, then.
He fights himself not to comment on it, but he just wants to find Max’s pillow and bury himself in there. If Max wanted to tell him, he would’ve already. Maybe they weren’t as close as Daniel had thought.
“What’s wrong? You smell upset.”
“Nah, just jet lag. Always fucks with my hormones a bit.” Daniel turns to find Max frowning at him from the hall. “I promise you, mate. I’m fine.”
Max hums, satisfied for now. He passes Daniel a bottle of whiskey which he happily takes despite it being only three in the afternoon, letting the burn of it slide down his throat as he mulls over what he wants to say. Should he press Max? Ask him straight up, or tell him that Lewis told him?
Daniel’s body buzzes with a light warmth as he watches Max fidget with himself. He probably shouldn’t ask— doesn’t seem like he’s welcome to. Were all those memories, parties, one-on-one pep talks really just for nothing?
“Daniel. I need to tell you something.”
He snaps his head up to meet Max’s gaze, but it flickers away before he can find those ocean blues. Daniel resists asking for them back like a petulant child. “What is it?”
“I, um… I’m an omega.”
“Oh,” Daniel says softly. He’s not surprised, obviously, but he wasn’t expecting Max to tell him at all. He sets his glass down on the marble countertop, sifting through the appropriate replies. Max has always been an unstable character in situations like this, but Daniel knows him. He knows the right things to say to Max to get him to open up. “You know I don’t care about shit like that, right? I mean, it’s great you’re an omega, that’s super rare, and I’m not saying it’s not special or anything, but—”
“Daniel.”
“Yeah?”
“They’re changing their blood test regulations. The FIA. They’re monitoring designation hormones now, and they’re going to find out. They’re not going to let me race anymore,” Max says, voice tight and heavy.
Daniel knows what that means to him. He knows Max loves racing more than anything else. They’d joked one time many years ago that he was born just to do that, like a Jesus kind of figure or some other garbage they’d laughed about. But Daniel, honestly, he meant it.
“Shit. That’s fucked, mate, I’m so sorry.” He finds himself dragging Max into his embrace before even asking himself if it’s appropriate. Luckily, Max doesn’t seem to mind and buries his face into Daniel’s neck, each of them getting a mouthful of each other’s scents. Sad, hollow, but familiar like family.
“I don’t know what to do.”
“Me neither, Maxie,” Daniel replies, and he hates the way he says it. Because it's true.