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Chapter Text

Scuderia Ferrari is pleased to announce that Lewis Hamilton will be joining the team in 2025, on a multi-year contract.

- Scuderia Ferrari, Team Statement

―――

Lewis was leaning against the raised parapet along the roof edge of the Hospitality Suite Mercedes was inhabiting while in Bahrain, looking almost listlessly out over the still bustling Paddock, when Max Verstappen silently appeared next to him.

Lewis waited for a few moments, wondering if Max was going to speak first, but when the younger man made no indication that he had anything particular to say, Lewis sighed and made the first move.

“How did you even get up here?” Lewis asked.

“Mick,” Max responded simply with a shrug.

“Will he be joining us too?” Lewis inquired lightly.

“Eventually, probably,” Max answered. “He stopped to show Charles the cappuccino machine that prints the pictures on the foam? He seemed very excited about it.”

Lewis snorts at that, because yes, Mick was enamoured with the newest coffee machine they’d added to Mercedes’ Hospitality – Lewis had actually heard him refer to it as “the coolest part of the motorhome”, as if they weren’t surrounded by actual Formula 1 cars.

“Is this a coordinated attack, then?”

In the nearly ten years he’d known Max, Lewis had learned that it was best to be direct with the Dutchman, or else they’d never get anywhere in a reasonable amount of time.

“Can’t we just want to come hang out with you?” Max asked, all faux-innocence and nonchalance.

“No.”

Maybe Lando could, or Oscar and Logan, but when it came to his self-proclaimed Grid Kids (which was really just most of the Grid, nowadays), nothing was ever simple with Max and Charles. Especially when they were together.

A moment of silence, and then –

“Have you spoken to George yet?”

Lewis sighed, unable to stop the way his shoulders slumped as he scrubbed tiredly at his face.

Because he hadn’t spoken to George, outside of contractually obligated meetings and media commitments, since the Ferrari announcement had bene made public. He’d expected the younger Brit to be hurt by his decision, had wanted to talk to him about it himself, in-person, before the announcement, but then the media had gotten wind of the change and everything had gone to shit.

“He doesn’t want to talk to me,” Lewis said instead. “And I won’t… It was my decision; I won’t push him to speak to me if he’s not ready.”

“That is, of course, stupid,” Max responded immediately.

“I can’t make him talk to me, Max,” Lewis snapped. “You don’t think I’ve tried? That I haven’t been trying?”

“That is not –”

“Because I have been, every fucking day since the news leaked,” Lewis continued. “I fucking went to Toto’s god damn house to tell him in person, but he ran away, and since then he won’t even stay in the same room as me long enough to get a word in edgewise!”

“Lando said that Alex said that George said that he thinks you leaving is his fault,” Max offered gently.

“It’s not about George, or even Mercedes, no matter what the media says,” Lewis responded, frustrated. “It’s about me, and where I am in my life right now.”

When Max didn’t say anything, Lewis continued, staring forlornly at his own hands as he ranted into the night air.

“It’s just – I know where I am in my career,” Lewis admitted quietly. “I’m not getting any younger, or any faster, and I’m at a point now… There are so many things beyond racing that I want to do, which I couldn’t have imagined saying even five years ago. But I just… I didn’t want to leave without doing this one last thing, y’know? Every driver dreams of driving in red, and I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do it, at least once, before I retire.”

Behind them, there’s a sort of strangled sound, and Lewis whipped around just in time to catch George as his teammate all but threw himself at him, engulfing him in a bone-crunching hug. As he held him, Lewis could feel that he was crying by the way the younger Brit was shaking against him, somehow managing to tuck himself in Lewis’ neck just as he always did, despite being nearly a full head taller.

Over his shoulder, Mick and Charles were standing shoulder to shoulder, matching cappuccino cups in hand.

Lewis raised a brow.

Charles shrugged.

“He found us when we were making our coffee,” Mick explained.

“What did you choose?” Max asked curiously, moving away from Lewis and George to investigate the pair’s cappuccino creations, unintentionally – or perhaps intentionally – give Lewis and George a bit of space.

“George?”

George mumbled something unintelligible into Lewis’ shoulder, but a little jostling had him pulling back to blink petulantly at Lewis, big green eyes wide and still rimmed with unshed tears.

“I thought that it was my fault,” George admitted. “Which is probably selfish, I know, but I just couldn’t understand why you would want to leave right now, when we just signed new contracts together, when we’ve been working so hard on the car –”

“Breathe, Georgie,” Lewis interrupted gently.

A few deep breaths later, Lewis spoke softly, voice pitched so as to not carry to the little trio on the other side of the roof who were doing their best to pretend they weren’t eavesdropping (they absolutely were).

“It was always about me, and my career, and what I want to do before I retire – which isn’t such an abstract concept anymore, so much as an eventuality, y’know?” Lewis offered. “I wanted to tell you sooner, but…”

“You couldn’t,” George filled in quickly.

“It wasn’t… I hadn’t even told my family when the news leaked,” Lewis admitted. “I got permission to call them and the team when I was already on my way to Toto’s – Susie had said you were both there – but you left pretty much as soon as I got there –”

“I wanted to give you and Toto privacy,” George interjected.

“I know, and I appreciate that, but I wanted to tell you too,” Lewis explained. “Everything was happening so fast, and nothing was going to plan, but I still wanted to tell everyone important to me myself, just like Ferrari and I had agreed to. Before everything went to shit, obviously.”

For several moments, there was just silence, and then –

“I’m… I’m important to you?”

“Oh my God,” Max breathed incredulously.

Definitely eavesdropping, then.

“Of course, you are,” Lewis responded, pointedly ignoring Max continued incredulous muttering in favour of focusing on George. “You – all of you – are. I was terrified to make this change because I couldn’t stop worrying about how it would impact all of you – but especially you and Charles.”

He looked over George’s shoulder as he spoke, making eye contact with a visibly flushed and flustered Charles.

“This – going to Ferrari – it’s for me, yeah?” Lewis explained. “But, I never wanted it to impact my relationships off-the-grid, so I’m sorry that I wasn’t better when it came to communicating that.”

There’d been a lot of that lately, it seemed – Lewis would have to do better, now that he’d sorted out his own mess. And maybe call in some back-up too – there were entirely too many of these Grid Kids for one driver, even with Fernando constantly fawning over Lance.

“I should have talked to you about it too,” George admitted bashfully. “Instead of just assuming.”

Lewis couldn’t help but chuckle at that, a bittersweet thing.

“You can always assume that you’re important to me.”

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Mar 2, 2024 at 10:44 pm

Lewis Hamilton

I’m going to need you all to start pulling your weight.

Jenson Button

I would like to remind everyone that I never consented to any of this.

Fernando Alonso

Stop trying to make me take care of more children.

They are your problem.

Valtteri Bottas

I do not know what you are talking about.

Guanyu is a delight.

Mark Webber

I am quite literally managing Oscar’s entire career.

What more do you want from me?

Sebastian Vettel

I’m retired, this is no longer my problem.

Lewis Hamilton

Sometimes I wish I was retired.

Fernando Alonso

Do it.

Chapter Text

Carlos Sainz has been diagnosed with appendicitis and will require surgery.

As from FP3 and for the rest of this weekend, he will be replaced by reserve driver Oliver Bearman. Oliver will therefore take no further part in this round of the F2 Championship.

The Ferrari family wishes Carlos a speedy recovery.

- Scuderia Ferrari, Instagram

―――

Lewis Hamilton was minding his business, trying to relax in the (relative) privacy of his Driver’s Room, when Charles Leclerc practically fell through the (regrettably) unlocked door in a flash of bright red. If his vibrant clothes hadn’t given him away, the way he practically screeched the moment the door had been slammed shut behind him would have.

“Lewis!” Charles yelped, accent thickening as it always did when he was stressed.

Lewis wasn’t particularly bothered.

It was unlikely that anything overly… concerning had happened since Charles had arrived in the Paddock, given the security and whatnot.

Aside from the obvious, clearly.

“Carlos cannot race – he has app – appen – the thing that Alex had, before,” Charles rambled in distress. “They are replacing him with Ollie!”

“Yes, I had heard,” Lewis responded sagely, waving his phone in Charles’ face as he did so.

For the most part, Lewis steered clear of social media – especially on race weekends – but this was big enough news that it has permeated even Lewis’ self-imposed bubble long before Charles had burst into his space.

“Oliver Bearman!” Charles shrieked as he threw himself down beside Lewis – once again, uninvited – rather dramatically.

As if Lewis didn’t know who Ollie was.

“Yes, you mentioned that,” Lewis repeated steadily.

He was not so prideful that he couldn’t admit to some confusion. As far as he knew, Charles liked the 18-year-old Brit. He’d been teammates with Charles’ younger brother, Arthur, and Lewis knew that Charles had karted with the younger driver on at least one occasion.

So, he wasn’t really sure where the wild panic that was encompassing Charles’ entire being had come from.

“What am I supposed to do with him?” Charles demanded. “Fred just said to keep an eye on him and show him around, but what does that mean?”

With a sigh, Lewis sat up, fixing Charles with an exasperated look.

“Charles, he’s 18 years old,” Lewis pointed out. “He’s not actually a child, whatever storyline the media and public are peddling. You don’t have to like… take care of him. Just be nice to him? Offer advice, answer his questions, that sort of thing?”

Charles’ eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the panic not receding the way Lewis had expected.

“I am not prepared for this – I do not have time – What advice –” Charles rambled incoherently, hands flapping dramatically as they were wont to do when he truly worked himself into a strop.

“Just – what have you done in the past?” Lewis asked, utterly bewildered at this point. When the younger man didn’t respond, Lewis pressed. “With previous teammates?”

“I’ve never been the older teammate!”

And –

“What?”

“Always, there is someone older than me,” Charles explained, more dejected than anything else now. “Always, there is someone to give me advice, but no one ever asks this of me.”

Suddenly, Charles’ panic made more sense – if only in the sense that the Monegasque was always more dramatic than Lewis himself tended to be, but also because Lewis remembered the same sense of panic – and dread – when Max had first begun relying upon him for support and advice. It had tempered – the panic, at least – over the years, but Lewis still felt the weight of being a role model every time one of the younger drivers turned to him for support and advice.

Especially those who’d dubbed themselves his “Grid Kids”.

He still blamed Sebastian for that one.

Speaking of which –

“I think that maybe there is someone better suited to have this conversation with you,” Lewis suggested gently, passing over his phone. Sebastian Vettel’s contact was already pulled up.

“I cannot… He will be so disappointed in me, not knowing what to do,” Charles whined, trying to hand Lewis’ phone back almost desperately. “He knew exactly what to do, always what to say… Maybe I should get a notebook? To give to Ollie? Only, I do not think I have time…”

“Call him, or I will,” Lewis interrupted Charles’ rambling gently.

For a moment, he thought Charles might throw the phone – or else flee – but then the fight went out of the younger man and he hit the call button, quickly shifting the call to speaker phone.

As expected, Seb answered quite quickly, concern tinging his tone.

“Lewis?”

“Hey, Seb,” Lewis responded after a few beats a silence, when it became clear that Charles would not speak up. “Charles is here with me too.”

Another pause, and then –

“Please tell me that you have not already lost Ollie, Charles,” Seb sighed.

“I did not lose him!” Charles objected. “He is impossible to lose, with so many people swarming around him, trying to talk to him, to touch him, to –”

Charles froze, eyes wide and terrified.

“I’ve left him alone to deal with all of that,” Charles realized. Before Lewis could say anything, the Monegasque had darted from the room, phone abandoned on the couch.

“He has not changed,” Seb observed drily from his side of the call.

“Did you know that he’s never had a younger teammate?”

“He exaggerates,” Seb scoffed. “One of his teammates in Formula 3 - Alessio Lorandi – was a year or so younger than him, if I remember correctly.”

“Seb, that was in 2015,” Lewis snorted. “Somehow, I doubt he did much mentoring when he was, what? Seventeen? Eighteen?”

There’s another long, poignant silence, and Lewis could almost believe that Seb had hung up on him, except –

“You’d better go check on them.”

Lewis sighed, making sure to sound purposefully aggrieved and long-suffering, just in case Seb was unclear on that point.

“Yeah, I figured as much.”

―――

By the time Lewis caught up the Charles – likely because he hadn’t sprinted through the Paddock like a man possessed – he was already back within Ferrari’s garage, entire being focused on one Oliver Bearman.

Lewis wasn’t alone in trying to snoop, given that practically everyone – from media to team members to drivers – was trying to catch a glimpse of the chaos unfolding in the Ferrari garage, so he couldn’t really be blamed for letting his curiosity get the best of him. Admittedly, most of the people milling about weren’t able to get nearly as close to the action as Lewis himself, but no one seems to notice Lewis as he lingered just outside the glaringly red garage, eyes fixed not on 18-year-old Oliver Bearman, but instead on his teammate for the weekend.

In his defense, Charles is clearly trying not to hover over Ollie’s frantic preparations for FP3 and the rest of the weekend – he was just failing miserably.

Judging by the looks Carlos’ Race Engineer, Riccardo Adami, kept shooting Charles from where he was going through the complexities of the Ferrari steering wheel in the garage with Ollie, Charles wasn’t exactly succeeding at looking as unbothered as he had hoped.

Elsewhere in the garage, the mechanics and engineers were scrambling to make the necessary alterations to Carlos’ car ahead of final practice. They’d already carefully peeled off the number 55 stickers before quickly pasting the number 38 ones in their place, and if Lewis had to guess, they were mostly just waiting for Ollie to finish up with Adami so they could check the adjustments they’d made to the pedals to fit Ollie’s 6ft 3in frame, along with seatbelt and headrest changes to fit the 18-year-old.

18-years-old.

For the first time in his career – including junior leagues – Charles was older than his teammate (if only for the weekend), and he was quite obviously trying not to publicly panic about it (despite his earlier behaviour), judging by the way he was gnawing almost obsessively on his thumbnail.

Lewis bit back a sigh at the sight.

There’d be no convincing Charles that Ollie wasn’t his responsibility, not when he’d already clearly decided that that F2 Driver was his, judging by the slightly frantic and clearly possessive look on his face as he watched the mechanics guide Ollie into the cockpit to prepare for his FIA jump-out test.

“He looks like a mother bear preparing to protect her young,” Max observed drily, having appeared nearly silently at Lewis’ side while he was fixated on Charles.

“I am pretty sure if Ollie looks even remotely unhappy Charles may bite someone’s head off,” Lewis agreed sagely. Indeed, Charles was already inspecting the abandoned steering wheel, brow furrowed as he pointed something out to Adami.

Surprisingly, Carlos’ Race Engineer seemed to be taking the whole thing in stride.

Still, it was probably best to pull Charles away before he got too invested and started debating race strategy or something equally insane.

“Charles,” Lewis pitched his voice to carry just a bit more than usual, but still quiet enough that it couldn’t be considered a yell, hoping to grab the Ferrari driver’s attention without drawing unwanted media attention.

Thankfully, Charles’ head immediately swiveled, snapping around almost comically fast to meet Lewis’ gaze.

The way his body sagged with relief was a palpable thing, and Lewis couldn’t help but feel the way his own body relaxed at the sight of Charles making his way over to him. He hadn’t realized how tense he’d been, despite the fact that no one had noted his presence in a very clearly definitely Ferrari space. At his side, Max remained silent and stoic, gaze fixed on where Ollie was now practising his FIA jump-out test.

Wonderful.

Now there were two of them.

“Lewis,” Charles sounded impossibly relieved and stressed all at once, eyes darting around nervously as he too realised – for seemingly the first time – just how many people were trying to catch a glimpse of the chaos unfolding within the garage behind him.

“How are you holding up?”

Charles laughed wryly at the question.

“I feel like you should be asking Carlos that,” Charles muttered. “Or maybe Ollie. They are the ones in the impossible situation, yes? I am just a – what is the word? For being a person that is watching?”

“Bystander?”

“Yes, that,” Charles agreed readily. “I keep trying to help, to do more, but already the rest of the team is fluttering around Ollie, pulling him in every direction. What am I supposed to do?”

Just as Lewis opened his mouth to respond, Oliver Bearman himself bounced – bounced – over to their little trio, a smile absolutely lighting up his entire face.

“Charles, did you see?” Ollie crooned. “I was in the car, it was perfect.”

“You are doing so good,” Charles immediately agreed. “Wasn’t he so good, Lewis? Max?”

Max was immediately agreeing, launching into what was sure to be a detailed and long-winded explanation of – from the sound of it – a play-by-play breakdown of Max’s preferred strategy for FP3 in Jeddah, which –

Lewis smiled at the sight of Charles grinning proudly up at Ollie while Max’s hands flailed in time with his enthusiastic bout of what Lewis had seen dubbed as “Maxsplaining”, the younger man’s head practically on a swivel as he basked in the attention being lavished upon him by not one, but two (or even three, if you counted Lewis) Formula 1 drivers.

The kids would be alright.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Mar 9, 2024 at 5:16 pm

Jenson Button

Lewis, come get your child.

Lewis Hamilton

You’re going to have to be more specific, Jense.

Jenson Button

He won’t stop singing Ollie’s praises to quite literally every interviewer.

I don’t even think the last one asked about Ollie.

Lewis Hamilton

I think the feeling is mutual.

Given that Ollie is just following Charles around like a lost duckling.

Sebastian Vettel

He knows he has to give Ollie back to Prema, right?

Lewis Hamilton

I’m not going to be the one to tell him that, mate.

Mark Webber

If Charles adopted Ollie, does that make you two grandparents?

Sebastian Vettel

No.

Lewis Hamilton

No.

Fernando Alonso

It absolutely does.

Grandpa Lewis.

Lewis Hamilton

I’m too young to be a grandfather.

Seb.

Make Charles give Ollie back.

Sebastian Vettel

The only person here old enough to be a grandfather is Fernando.

Fernando Alonso

You are lucky you are far away.

Mark Webber

And retired.

Like a grandparent.

Chapter Text

Having been forced to retire the car dur to engine failure on Lap 17, Lewis couldn’t do anything by watch on in horror from within the Mercedes Garage as George’s car careened out of control, barrelling through the gravel pit before making contact with the wall and spinning back out to rest on its side in the middle of the track.

At his side, Toto was swearing under his breath, while behind him, Frederik Vesti didn’t seem to be breathing.

“Oh, that’s a big crash! George Russell with a massive accident at the end of the Grand Prix at Turn Number 6. And that will end the race as a contest,” the race commentary echoed through the utterly silent garage, every eye fixed on the nearest computer or television. “The Virtual Safety Car is out, but Russell is pitched up by the wheel that’s underneath the car.”

Through his headset, Lewis could also hear George’s Race Engineer, Marcus Dudley, asking if he was okay.

For several long moments, there was no response, then –

“Red flag! Red flag! Red flag!” George gasped; voice clearly panicked. “I’m in the middle of the track!”

“Can’t they do something?” Frederik demanded; voice lined with the same terror Lewis felt.

Already, Toto was on a different line demanding a Red Flag, and Lewis could hear Marcus yelling about driver safety, but it was taking too long, and George was just sitting, exposed, in the middle of the track –

“Red flag! Red flag! Red! Red! Red! Red! Red!” George was still yelling. “I’m in the middle! Red! Fucking hell!”

“Fuck,” Lewis breathed.

George was on a blind bend, where cars approached at 250km/h, right on the racing line with the car half upside down, just waiting for disaster to happen. Fortunately, he’d had a 10-second gap behind him when he’d initially spun out of control – in any other situation, there could have been five, six, seven cars in the time it took for the Virtual Safety Car to activate – which would have seen George hit numerous times.

“Why the fuck aren’t they red flagging the race,” Lewis growled.

“It’s the last lap, maybe –” Vesti responded shakily – only for Lewis to cut him off.

“It doesn’t matter, he’s just sitting there, anyone could hit him,” Lewis ranted, uncaring of the race results when George was still sitting, exposed, in the middle of the track. Later, he’d feel bad about snapping at the younger man, but in this moment, Lewis’ entire being was simply too stressed, too focused on George.

At least the Marshalls were there now, flocking to help him out of the car whilst the rest of the Grid slowly filtered by on their cooldown lap.

Lewis watched on silently as they helped a shaky – but seemingly unharmed – George out of the car, safely guiding him away from the debris and danger on wobbly legs.

It was only once he disappeared into the waiting Medical Car, a Race Marshall closing the door behind him, that Lewis breathed a sigh of relief, tension flowing out of him. Behind him, Vesti was quiet, but still attentive.

Shit.

“I’m sorry,” Lewis offered with a smile that was probably more of a grimace than anything else. “I should not have –”

“It is okay,” Frederik interrupted with a genuine smile. “You should go check on him, yes? I will stay with Toto in case he needs any help.”

Toto was clearly listening in, given that he didn’t even bother looking up as he waved Lewis away, still engaged in a heated dispute over the radio with whoever from the FIA he’d decided to terrorize today.

Lewis didn’t envy them.

It didn’t take long for Lewis to make his way to the Medical Centre where George’s trainer, Aleix Casanovas, was already waiting in the sitting area, brow furrowed as he glowered at the closed door.

“Any news?”

“No,” Aleix bit out, clearly aggrieved. “They’d already taken him back for an assessment when I got here, and no one has come out since then.”

Lewis nodded and silently settled in next to Aleix, glad of the company even if the Spaniard clearly wasn’t in the mood to chat.

Eventually, in a seemingly comical coordination of events, Alex Albon and Logan Sargeant tumbled into the waiting area, the latter still clad in his racing suit (albeit now tied around his waist), just as the door opened to reveal George and the medic he’d been sequestered with.

Albon didn’t even bother with pleasantries, barrelling directly into George’s waiting arms before seemingly remembering the Brit might be injured and pulling back to examine him thoroughly. At their side, Aleix was grilling the Medic for information, voice pitched low and fast as he worked to understand how George was doing.

Lewis watched, bemused, until he felt Logan settle next to him, shoulders brushing almost timidly.

“How are you holding up?” Lewis asked quietly with a sideways glance at the young American.

“Still disappointed, but…” at Lewis’ raised brow, Logan trailed off bashfully, looking down at his feet before mumbling. “I’ve been better.”

Lewis smiled sadly, but tucked the younger man into his side nonetheless as a still fretting Alex and Aleix approached with George wedged between them.

“How are you feeling?” Lewis asked, fully aware that his concern was bleeding into his voice as he spoke.

“A bit bruised, but no worse for wear,” George admitted.

But his voice was small, and Lewis could hear the fear lingering there, could see the barely restrained terror behind his eyes. Physically, George might be fine, but this incident had shaken him in a way he wasn’t prepared to admit in front of the gathered crowd.

“I’ve already done my rounds in the Media Pen, and I’m sure no one’s expecting you for a bit, so why don’t get you back to the motorhome and just relax for a bit?” Lewis suggested gently. Hopefully, Toto was working on getting George excused from media duties altogether, but in the meantime, he could get changed out of his race suit and take some painkillers – assuming the medic hadn’t already given him some.

Probably a snack too.

“That sounds good,” George agreed readily, already moving towards the exit.

It was comical, watching both Alex and Aleix try to stay at George’s side while they made their way through the doorway that was in no way wide enough for three fully grown men, but somehow, they made it work, Logan and Lewis trailing a few paces behind them.

They were nearly back to Mercedes’ motorhome when Fernando appeared in front of their little group, race suit tied around his waist and expression lined with concern. Before George, Lewis, Alex, and Aleix, could say much of anything, the older driver was wrapping George up in a relieved hug.

Just as he always did with Lewis, George melted into the embrace, becoming impossibly smaller as he let himself be cuddled.

“I saw the replay, on the cameras. Your car – it was sideways, and you - are you okay?” Fernando demanded, pulling back to frantically scan George for injuries in a move that was startingly reminiscent of Alex’s earlier assessment. “I did not mean – I would never put you – or anyone – in danger intentionally, yes? You know this?”

“It is – I really don’t know what happened, to be honest,” George admitted slowly, nervously. Knowing George, he’d rant about the move Fernando had pulled in private, but would never challenge the older driver directly to his face. “I was half a second behind you on the entry of the corner and then suddenly, before the apex, I was right on your gearbox and lost the car, ran wide.”

“I – it is just, I did not realize that you were so close,” Fernando explained worriedly. “I wanted to approach Turn 6 differently, so I lifted earlier to have less speed into the corner to get a better exit. I did not mean – I would never –”

“Hey, Nando, let’s –”

“That is not my name,” Fernando interrupted, briefly distracted from his fretting by his seemingly inherent need to be a pain in Lewis’ ass at all times.

Some things would never change.

“Okay, Fernando, why don’t we take this conversation inside,” Lewis suggested sarcastically, subtly tilting his head towards where more than a few reporters were watching the exchange with increasing interest.

“Ah, yes, right – of course,” Fernando agreed readily, falling into step with Lewis and Logan as they hurried into Mercedes’ motorhome.

Lewis wasn’t sure if it was his own stressed expression paired with Logan’s kicked-puppy look, Alex and Aleix’s matching expression of determination, or Fernando’s openly challenging glare, but Toto said nothing as their group slipped by and into Lewis’ Driver’s Room, until –

“They’re expecting George and Fernando at the Steward’s in 20 minutes,” Toto called after them, sounding exasperated. “And they are insisting that George attends the Media Pen as well, once he’s wrapped up with the Stewards.”

Of course.

Lewis barely heard what George responded, too busy trying not to laugh at the string over Spanish curses Fernando grumbled out in response.

At his side, Logan giggled a little helplessly.

“I’d better get changed, then,” George decided aloud from where he was still lingering by the door to Lewis’ Driver’s Room, Alex and Aleix at his side.

Before he could slip away, Lewis finally – finally – stepped forward and wrapped his teammate up in a hug of his own, needing to feel that George was solid, and breathing, and okay with his own hands. George let him, folding just as easily as he had with Alex and Fernando earlier, not even hesitating to snuggle into Lewis’ neck despite the height difference. It wasn’t long before Lewis could feel the wetness there, never mind the way George was silently shaking in his hold.

“Hey, you’re okay, kid, you’re okay,” Lewis reassured him gently. “They got you out, you’re safe now, yeah? I’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

 George just continued crying into Lewis’ shoulder, the tension finally bleeding out of his limbs alongside his tears.

Eventually someone – Aleix, probably – cleared their throat.

“We have to go,” Aleix said apologetically.

When George pulled back, his eyes were red-rimmed and wet, his cheeks tear-stained, but he still offered Lewis a shaky smile.

Lewis didn’t hesitate to offer on back.

“I’ll get some snacks sorted while you lot sort that out – you should eat something before they drag you all over the Paddock,” Lewis said. “D’you want tea, or just some water for now?”

“Just water,” George responded softly before slipping away, leaving Lewis with just a clearly timid Logan and a flummoxed Fernando.

“Right – would you two like some TimTams?” Lewis asked brightly.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Mar 24, 2024 at 6:14 pm

Mark Webber

I never thought I’d see the day.

Jenson Button

Did I just watch Fernando Alonso apologize to George Russell?

Lewis Hamilton

He’s apologized like 5 times today.

Even before the Stewards gave him the penalty.

Sebastian Vettel

Does this mean you are sharing custody of George now?

Lewis Hamilton

Given that George is an adult.

Of whom I do not actually have custody.

No?

Fernando Alonso

You say this like you were not waiting outside the Stewards with his favourite tea.

Lewis Hamilton

Well, he didn’t have time to drink it before going to the Stewards.

Because he had to go to Medical.

Because someone was driving dangerously.

Fernando Alonso

I have told the Stewards; it was not on purpose.

I was trying to get a better exit.

Lewis Hamilton

Yet you keep apologizing.

Seems suspicious to me, Nando.

Fernando Alonso

That is not my name.

Already I have told you this.

So. Many. Times.

Sebastian Vettel

George is going to be a child of divorce before they get to Japan.

Chapter Text

A special helmet in memory of a very special person for me. ❤️ 10 years this year since we have lost Jules here in Japan. So many memories together that I’ll never ever forget. I miss you and I’ll do everything to bring that helmet on the top step of the podium on Sunday. 🤍

- Charles Leclerc, Instagram

―――

Lewis wasn’t surprised to find to find Charles leaning against the barrier long the run-off area on the outside of Turn 7, bike abandoned carelessly and ridiculously baggy jeans tucked into his socks. Charles had made a habit of coming out here, year after year, albeit privately, to quietly recognize and mourn his godfather, Jules Bianchi.

Especially this weekend, exactly ten years after the Marussia racer’s fatal accident at Suzuka.

He was, however, surprised to see not only Max, but also Daniel, leaning alongside him, the prior’s head tilted so that it was resting on Charles’ shoulder while Daniel looked on fondly.

Lewis cleared his throat, unwilling to approach if he was interrupting something, then smiled thinly when Charles and Daniel turned to look at him.

Unsurprisingly, Max didn’t bother.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Daniel glanced towards Charles, clearly leaving the decision up to the Monegasque, who simply nodded silently before turning back to the track.

Lewis carefully made his way over to the melancholy trio, sidestepping Charles’ bike to stand on his unoccupied side. As he settled in, Charles leaned over slightly to bump their shoulders together, earning himself a disgruntled grumble from Max, who’s head nearly slipped of Charles’ shoulder in the process.

“How are you holding up?”

Charles shrugged.

“Of course, I knew it would be hard, this weekend, wearing this special helmet for Jules, because it is all everybody wants to talk about, now,” Charles admitted, the roughness of his voice matching his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. “But Jules is still there in my heart and needs to be remembered. If I’m here today in Formula 1, it’s thanks to him. So, it is important for me to wear this helmet, yes?”

“Yeah, Charles, I know,” Lewis agreed gently. “I wish I had known him better, y’know? But from what I knew of him, he was a kind heart with a great spirit and a bright future.”

Charles laughed wetly, the sound more heartbreaking than if he’d actually burst into tears again.

“Always, everybody is talking about his future,” Charles sounded so bitter, so hurt. “A future he never gets to have, so now I am trying to… What is it they are always saying? Continue his legacy?”

“Charles –”

“Instead, I am qualifying in P8,” Charles continued miserably. “All I wanted was to – to have a great weekend, for Jules, and now… Probably I cannot even get on the podium.”

Lewis could have sworn his heart was physically breaking as Charles trailed off miserably. Judging by the absolutely devastated looks on Daniel and Max’s faces, he wasn’t alone. Helplessly, Lewis pulled Charles more firmly against his side.

“Oh, Charles, no, that is not –” Max jumped in, clearly flustered but trying. “Jules would be so proud of you, you know this, yes? Already his father is saying so –”

“He said Jules would be proud if I won the race,” Charles interjected.

“No, Charles - that was not contingent on you winning, I do not think,” Max denied firmly.

Lewis forgets, sometimes, that Max was there when Jules crashed – had been making his debut as a Formula 1 driver that weekend, had witnessed the entire thing as it unfolded in real time.

That Max had known Jules too, in his own way.

As had Daniel, who was now looking at the pair like his heart was breaking.

“Jules never would have made his pride in you contingent on you winning or not,” Daniel interjected softly. “I think I can say that I knew him well enough to know that. To know that he was always proud of you, no matter what.”

Lewis watched as Charles finally looked away from Max to stare forlornly at Daniel.

Thankfully, the Monegasque stayed plastered to Lewis’ side; he wasn’t entirely sure he was ready to let the younger man go quite yet.

“He wasn’t like that, y’know?” Daniel said with a shrug that he was clearly trying o pass off as nonchalant, even though it was anything but. “He was… I remember when I met him, training at Formula Medicine in Viareggio in Italy, when we were 17.”

“I remember,” Charles voice was small.  

“He could have been a huge douchebag – everyone treated him like he was an F1 driver already, practically worshipped the ground he walked on – but he was just so damn nice,” Daniel continued. “I didn’t know anyone, and he made a point of being my friend, when no one else was. It didn’t matter to him if I was successful or not – once he’d decided he loved you, it didn’t matter.”

The moment Daniel finished speaking, Charles launched himself into the Australian’s waiting arms; Lewis let him go without any inkling of resistance, fully aware that right now, Charles and Daniel needed each other more. Daniel, for his part, didn’t hesitate to pull Charles in close and tuck him face into the crook of his neck before leaning down to hide his own face in Charles’ fluffy hair. Judging by the way they were both visibly shaking, more than a couple tears were being shed.

In the ensuring silence, wherein Max and Lewis politely pretended Charles wasn’t quietly sobbing into Daniel’s shoulder while the Australian did his best to soothe the Monegasque, Lewis reminisced.

He thought about how different it had been, to be part of the race that took Jules’ life, instead of just hearing about it second-hand or in retrospect. To have known him – if only in passing – then to have to watch as the sport, his team, his friends, his family mourned him.

“I wish, just once, that Ferrari would do better by Charles,” Max admitted. “So that he could do this – not only for Jules, but also for himself.”

“I don’t think Charles wouldn’t appreciate you handing him a win,” Lewis observed drily.

“No – I will of course still win,” Max responded with a shrug.

Brat.

“But I would like for him to make it to the podium,” Max continued. “He deserves that, I think – he has worked so hard to be where he is, and if this is what he needs to prove something to himself, I wish Ferrari would get their shit together and make it happen.”

Lewis didn’t gape at Max, but it was a close thing.

It was truly astounding, how much the Dutchman had matured during his time in Formula 1, and even more inspiring to see how well he knew – and cared – for those who were important to him. Well enough to notice, to understand, that this wasn’t just about Jules.

It was about Charles.

People always said that Charles had a mission to do what Jules would have done, but in that moment, Lewis saw what Max saw, too - that Charles’ mission wasn’t simply to make Jules proud.

It was to prove to himself that he could do it on his own merit.

Because while it was true that Jules would have achieved incredible things in Formula 1 – everyone was pretty sure about that – it didn’t negate all the things that Charles had done, since making his own way into Formula 1.

Lewis saw it.

Max saw it.

Charles just needed to find a way to prove that to himself, too.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Apr 7, 2024 at 4:17 pm

Sebastian Vettel

How is he?

Mark Webber

Who?

Fernando Alonso

Who?

Jenson Button

Who?

Lewis Hamilton

Disappointed, I think.

He wanted to put that helmet on the podium.

To make Jules proud.

Sebastian Vettel

Jules would have been proud of him even if he finished last.

Surely Charles cannot doubt that?

Lewis Hamilton

I think it’s just hard, sometimes, for him to remember that.

Especially here.

Valtteri Bottas

It is never easy.

Jules was a nice guy, everyone liked him.

It is not easy to let that go.

Fernando Alonso

For me, he was not just a driver who we shared the track with together - outside the track I spent a lot of time with him, too.

I will always have him in my heart.

This is true for Charles too, I think.

Lewis Hamilton

Yeah, mate.

I don’t reckon he’ll ever forget Jules.

But, he definitely worries that others might, y’know?

Sebastian Vettel

If Charles asks, tell him that we miss Jules too.

That we will always remember him, yes?

Jenson Button

Seb’s right, mate.

Jules and I, we were very different ages, but the bit I remember most from Jules is his persistence. He was never in an easy position in Formula 1 in terms of his equipment, but he would always get the maximum out of it.

We all know how talented he was.

Lewis Hamilton

Thanks, guys.

It’ll mean a lot to him, I think, to know that others remember Jules too.

That we’ve not forgotten.

Chapter Text

Lewis barely bothered looking up from his phone as a familiar knock rattled his too-thin Driver’s Room door.

“Come on in, mate,” Lewis called, ignoring George’s curious look from where he was slouched over Lewis’ desk chair in favour of wrapping up the message he was sending. “It’s unlocked.”

It almost always was, now, given that it was less of a hassle to leave it unlocked than it was to get up every time one of his so-called Grid Kids wanted a snack or just a safe space to complain about their race, or their car, or their teammate…

Speaking of teammates –

“You are still a shit host, mate,” Nico Rosberg observed drily as he dropped down onto the couch beside Lewis with a groan.

At least he’d closed the door behind him.

“And you’ve still got a shit attitude,” Lewis intoned blandly, pointedly ignoring the way George was frantically typing on his phone.

Whatever he was up to, it was a problem for later, probably.

Hopefully.

“Whose fault is that, I wonder?”

“By the way – who even let you in here?”

“You said to “come on in”,” Nico pointed out blithely, just to be contrary.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Lewis grumbled. “Did someone give you permission to wander around the motorhome, or are you just sneaking about?”

Nico waved his hand dismissively with a nonchalant shrug. “Who do you think?”

“Fucking Toto,” Lewis grumbled, though it was mostly fond. “He’s still annoyed with me about the whole Ferrari thing, I think.”

“I am sure that particular list is extensive,” Nico drawled. “Speaking of which – have you forgiven him for that move yet, kid?”

George looked up, wide eyes not unlike those of a deer caught in the headlights, expression a mix of terror and general surprise at being addressed, given that up until now the two older men had been staunchly ignoring him in favour of bickering.

“I – that is – why do you care?” George stuttered, clearly wrong-footed and flustered.

“It must have been quite the shock, yes?”

“Give it a rest, Rosberg,” Lewis snapped, nudging Nico’s shoulder fondly as he did so to lessen the blow. He knew from the tone of Nico’s voice that the retired driver was simply poking fun, trying to get a rise out of the younger man.

George, evidentially, did not.

“How I feel is none of your business,” George sniffed indignantly.  

Nico laughed brightly at the twin looks of discontent both Brits were levelling him, to which Lewis merely rolled his eyes, fully aware that his fondness for Nico was probably written all over his face.

“Alright, so Toto let you in, you’ve insulted my hosting abilities – despite the fact you weren’t invited – and you’ve poked your fun at George,” Lewis needled. “What do you want, Nico?”

Because they’d been working on their friendship – for years, really, but it had been a more concerted effort since Christmas, just as he’d told Max and Charles – but they’d both agreed to keep it outside of racing. Racing had been their ruin, last time, and neither of them were particularly interested in repeating the experience.

So, unless contractual obligations pushed them together, they’d been mostly orbiting each other on race weekends, avoiding direct interactions – especially if there was a camera nearby.

“I was impressed, by your race start,” Nico started slowly, pausing ever-so-slightly to glance at Lewis for his reaction.

He was here for a good old-fashioned debrief, then.

Lewis smiled and nodded – the only permission Nico needed to continue, apparently.

“I did not expect you to hang on for so long with the shi – the car that you have,” Nico admitted. “Even when DRS was activated, you held Fernando at that safe distance.”

If Max wasn’t so dead-set on hating Nico’s guts, they’d get along fantastically, Lewis mused. They both loved this – dissecting the race piece by piece, debating the ifs and buts, carrots and nuts. It was one of the reasons Nico made such a good commentator and race analyst – even if he was still struggling to remain impartial on occasion.

“But?”

“You could have kept Verstappen behind you on Lap 9,” Nico pointed out.

Speaking of which –

“Yes, I heard,” Lewis responded with a smirk. “What was it you said? I should have “Closed the door”?”

Nico huffed, but continued, unperturbed.

“Yes, you should have – you know to close the door, then go aggressive, once you have properly closed it,” Nico lamented with an overly dramatic sigh. “Pity to just let him through so easily – amateurish on your part, Lewis.”

Which was, of course, when Max Verstappen himself chose to come tumbling through the still unlocked door, a flustered Charles only half-a-step behind him, phone clutched in his hand.

“Of course,” Max sneered, already sizing Nico up. “You are here to insult Lewis’ driving.”

Which –

Lewis opened his mouth to defend Nico, but the German merely clapped a hand on his shoulder and shot him a withering look before pushing himself to his feet, meeting Max halfway to glower up at the younger man.

“I understand that you have not forgiven me for the things I said – for the things I did – in 2016,” Nico began scathingly. “But Lewis and I are working to repair our friendship, and that does not involve you.”

“I do not give a damn what you say,” Max seethed.

“Max –”

“One moment you are saying one thing, then the next, you are saying something else. Always, it is like this,” Max continued, ignorant of Lewis’ attempted intervention. “No one can trust anything that you are saying.”

Nico snorted, which only seemed to incense Max more.

“What is it that you really want – attention?” Max demanded. “If that is it, bother me – Lewis does not deserve your – your hatred.”

Nico stepped towards Max, expression hiding none of the anger he was currently feeling, and Lewis made an aborted movement to… He wasn’t even sure, really. Put himself between the pair? Restrain Nico? Slap the pair of them upside the head?

Fortunately, Nico had other ideas.

“Halt die schnauze!” Nico snapped, the familiar phrase flowing off his tongue effortlessly.

Max snarled back in indistinguishable but recognizable German, face contorted with that once familiar and that he so rarely let bubble to the surface anymore, and Lewis –

Fuck, it was like 2016 all over again, and Lewis didn’t know what to do.

He hadn’t known what to do then, and he didn’t know what to do now, didn’t know how to fix this because he couldn’t handle the important people in his life fucking hating each other. He couldn’t stop it, they were going to fight, and he couldn’t breathe –

“Would you two fucking knock it off!” George snapped as he pushed between the pair, towering stature forcing them apart.

“You are okay, yes?” Charles murmured gently, suddenly at Lewis’ side, green eyes wide and concerned as he looked down at Lewis.

Mutely, Lewis nodded, focusing on evening out his breathing, which – fuck. Max and Nico were still glowering at each other, but at least with George between them they seemed less likely to come to blows.

Probably.

Maybe.

One of his stuttering breaths caught Nico’s attention, and he turned around, anger dropping from his face as he took in whatever Lewis’ expression was doing – nothing good, probably.

“Lewis –” Nico’s voice was barely more than a whisper, brows knit together as he made an aborted motion to move closer to Lewis – only for Charles to hold him off.

“Fix that first, yes?” the Monegasque suggested. “I have Lewis.”

For a moment, Lewis thought Nico was going to argue with Charles – which would truly be the end of any civility here, because Max wouldn’t stand for any affront against the Monegasque – but then Nico nodded, expression shifting towards something resolute and painfully familiar before he turned back towards Max.

“I did not come here to insult Lewis,” Nico explained tersely.

“You would say this –”

“I think he’s telling the truth, Max,” George interjected. “They were bickering like children, but also… Nico complimented his race start? I think?”

Max scoffed, but Nico jumped at the opportunity.

“Of course I complimented Lewis’ race start,” the retired driver sniffed. “His first few laps were perfection – it’s an art, the way Lewis drives. No one could have done it better.”

“Nico –” Lewis objected meekly from where he was still leaning into Charles’ hold while trying to regulate his stupid breathing, earning him an exasperated eyeroll from his friend.

“What? You do not believe me?” Nico scoffed, faux-offended. “Sure, Max has been driving incredibly this season, but he is not you.”

The affronted sound Max made was entirely offended, but at Lewis’ side Charles merely giggled, clearly delighted by the sudden turn in events. It helped, somewhat, existing so close to Charles’ perpetual optimism, knowing that nothing ever truly got him down for long.

Lewis could handle this.

“I am the best,” Max argued petulantly, pulling Nico’s attention back to pouting Dutchman.

“It is unbelievable the run of form you have had and the level that you are driving at,” Nico acknowledged, voice lilting in a way that spelled trouble. “But you are still not Lewis, nor are you Schumacher, or Senna, or even Fangio.”

Lewis groaned.

“And why not?” Max demanded; his earlier anger forgotten in favour of whatever this was.

Clearly, George felt the same way, stepping away from the pair to reclaim his chair as they debated the finer points of why Max wasn’t one of Formula 1’s all-time greats just yet – despite being well on his way to future glory.

“There are two of them now,” Charles observed, wide-eyed and moderately horrified.

Lewis sighed.

“They could be at it for awhile,” Lewis admitted. “Do you want a snack? I have your ice cream – but I only managed to get my hands on the Vanillove flavour, apparently everything else was sold out – I hope that’s okay?”

Judging by the Charles lit up at the mention of his ice cream, Lewis had a feeling that he was about to be subjected to an enthusiastic breakdown of all things LEC.

Wonderful.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Apr 21, 2024 at 6:44 pm

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Nico Rosberg

Absolutely not.

Nico Rosberg left the conversation.

Fernando Alonso

That is an option?

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton

I’ll just keep adding you back.

I’m on a very long flight with nothing but time.

Nico Rosberg

I am on the same flight, asshole.

Two can play at that game.

Nico Rosberg left the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Nico Rosberg left the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Valtteri Bottas

Should we… do something?

Mark Webber

Like what?

Nico Rosberg left the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Jenson Button

Mate, if there was something to be done about those two, we would have done it by now.

Fernando Alonso

Nico, tell me how to leave the chat.

Nico Rosberg left the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton

Max is your problem now too, accept it!

He asked for your phone number so he could keep texting you about race strategy.

Sebastian Vettel

Oh.

You are one of us now, Nico.

Nico Rosberg

I want nothing to do with this.

Fernando Alonso

Nico, tell me how to leave the chat.

Nico Rosberg left the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Valtteri Bottas

How long can they keep this up?

Jenson Button

Years.

Sebastian Vettel

Forever.

Fernando Alonso

Nico, tell me how to leave the chat.

Nico Rosberg left the conversation.

Lewis Hamilton added Nico Rosberg to the conversation.

Chapter Text

"About time, huh? Fuck, sorry. What a race, huh? Yeah, it's been a long time coming, but finally I've managed to do it, so I'm so happy for my whole team. I finally delivered for them. And, yeah, long day, tough race, but finally on top, so I'm over the moon."

– Lando Norris, Post-Race Radio Message

―――

Lewis’ cheeks were physically hurting from the size of his grin as he watched Lando launch himself over the barrier into his team’s waiting arms, the younger Brit’s raucous laughter mixed with tears as the team repeatedly tossed him in the air.

When they finally let him back down, Lewis watched as Lando accepted hugs from both Zak Brown and Andrea Stella, the fondness in his heart swelling as he watched how carefully both men wrapped Lando up in their arms, the adoration that McLaren felt for Lando so obvious in the way every single member of his team received Formula 1’s newest race winner.

While Lewis would have loved to join the celebrations, his post-race commitments were calling, and he knew Lando was in good hands.

There was simply no way McLaren would let anything dim this experience for Lando.

Still, Lewis kept half an eye on the televisions as Jenson interviewed a jubilant and tearful Lando, then later as a baby-blue clad Charles and Max absolutely doused the younger driver in champagne. The alcohol had to be burning Lando’s eyes – and probably to still healing cut on his nose – but he was all smiles when he finally emerged from the torrent of champagne to do his signature champagne-pop on the podium.

Eventually, after far too many interviews, Lewis found Lando in the Paddock.

While Lewis had found the time to change, Lando still had his champagne-soaked race suit tied around his waist.

He didn’t hesitate before pulling the younger Brit into a big hug; as always, Lando simply melted into the embrace, arms coming up to cling to Lewis’ team shirt as he tucked his face into the older man’s neck.

“I knew you could do it,” Lewis whispered against Lando’s sticky curls, satisfied in the way he felt Lando smile curl against his neck before the younger man pulled away.

Lewis didn’t let him go too far, and firm hand on his shoulder and a grin on his face.

“I don’t think it feels quite real yet,” Lando admitted almost sheepishly.

“That’s because you haven’t celebrated properly yet,” Lewis pointed out. “You’re staying tonight to celebrate, right?”

Lando wrinkled his bandage-clad nose.

“I was meant to fly tonight,” Lando admitted. “But I’ve already spoken to Zak, and he said we can fly tomorrow.”

“Good,” Lewis acknowledged. “You’ve got to stay – you just won a race!”

Lando giggled at that, before wrapping an arm around Lewis’ waist and tucking himself back into the older man’s side, his next words slightly muffled against Lewi’s shoulder.

“You’re right, I know,” Lando agreed. “This only happens once – taking my first win – and I’m not sure I’ll be able to sleep anyways, so tonight will be a good night!”

“I’m sure you’ll have a great time.”

Lando pulled away at that, brow furrowing slightly.

“You’ll be there, right?” Lando asked. “I mean – I obviously don’t know what the plan is yet – and I obviously have to celebrate with the team first – but you’ll be wherever we end up later tonight, right?”

Lewis smiled softly.

He wasn’t much for the late-night bar scene – not anymore – but if Lando wanted him there, he’d be there.

Someone had to make sure he didn’t slice his nose open again, after all.

“Of course, kid,” Lewis promised. “Just let me know when and where, yeah?”  

―――

Lewis didn’t see Lando again until later in the evening, after he had wrapped up what sounded to have been extensive celebrations with the McLaren team.

Lando bypassed the other drivers lingering in the hotel lobby – notably Max and Daniel – to practically launch himself at Lewis for another snuggle, clearly already more than a little tipsy. Oscar followed at a more sedate pace.

“Are you having a good night so far?” Lewis asked once Lando had pulled back a little bit.

“We went back to the Hilton to have a few drinks with the team,” Lando immediately began retelling, face lighting up with unrestrained joy. “Then Zak took us out to have a nice dinner and keep celebrating.”

“A nice dinner,” Oscar scoffed. “Mate, we went to the Carbona Beach party, freaking Travis Kelce and Patrick Mahomes were there. They had Flo Rida and Pitbull performing, you absolute muppet.”

“Doesn’t mean the food wasn’t good,” Lando muttered petulantly, earning himself a round of laughs from the gathered drivers.

“That sounds nice,” Lewis agreed.

“It was nice – to celebrate it with the team, y’know? Because they’ve been just as much a part of it as I have, and that makes it even more special,” Lando agreed readily. “But now I’m ready for the real party!”

The real party in question – according to Max and Daniel’s excited and overlapping explanations – was being hosted at the exclusive E11EVEN nightclub. The pair continued excitedly explaining the night’s line-up, which apparently included not only DJs, but burlesque dancers and trapeze artists.

Not for the first time, Lewis wondered if he was getting too old for this.

―――

Lewis eventually found himself lounging on a low-lying couch nursing a lukewarm soda, a small smile on his face as he took in the club around him.

It was everything Max and Daniel had enthusiastically described hours ago – but more importantly, everyone had found their way here to celebrate Lando’s first win, and the younger Brit was clearly over-the-moon about that.

From Charles, Zhou, Yuki, and Pierre dancing enthusiastically (but not well) on the crowded dancefloor, to where a reluctant Logan was bracketed between Alex and George while they spoke with Fernando, everywhere Lewis looked one of his fellow Formula 1 drivers seemed to catch his eye.

Esteban, Mick, and Lance were huddled together at a nearby table, a concerning number of empty drinks piled onto the surface between them; thankfully, Valtteri, Checo, Kevin, and Nico drinking languidly at the nearby VIP bar seemed to be keeping an eye on that situation.

The man of the night himself seemed to be everywhere, but thankfully Carlos, Max, and Daniel seemed to be fully committed to their self-appointed roles of shadowing a very drunk Lando, because Lewis was rather stuck in place, on account of a certain sleepy Australian currently napping on his shoulder.

How Oscar was managing to flit in and out of consciousness given the sheer volume of the club was beyond Lewis, but then again, McLaren’s current driver duo did seem to be capable of sleeping anywhere, anytime.

Still, Lewis couldn’t help but jostle Oscar slightly, smiling softly when the sleep rumpled Australian looked up at him.

“What?” Oscar murmured, clearly disgruntled.

“Do you want me to call you a cab?” Lewis offered gently.

“‘M not leaving without Lando,” Oscar insisted for the umpteenth time.

“Mate, I don’t think Lando is planning on going back to the hotel tonight,” Lewis tried, again, because while Oscar was clearly exhausted, his teammate was currently being cuddled by Carlos on the dancefloor after yet another failed escape attempt.

Because, apparently, a drunk Lando Norris was a runner.

Lewis didn’t really understand where Lando was trying to go, but his escape attempts had been skillfully intercepted by not only Carlos, but also Max and Daniel, with startling efficiency – and frequency – as the night went on.

Probably, he needed to go to bed, but Lewis was even more unlikely to convince Lando of that than he was Oscar.

“That’s fine,” Oscar mumbled sleepily, the words partnered with an almost comically large yawn. “‘M good right here.”

It was impossibly endearing, so Lewis dropped the matter, going back to his drink and observations, content to leave Oscar napping fitfully against his side for the time being.

Eventually – after Fernando had seen the absolutely smashed trio of Lance, Esteban, and Mick into a cab, and Checo, Kevin, and Nico had done their rounds to say goodnight – Daniel deposited a very drunk and very argumentative Lando on Lewis’ other side with a disgruntled huff of his own, startling Oscar awake.

“Osc!” Lando sounded delighted as he clambered over Lewis to get to his teammate. “I thought you left!”

“Wouldn’t leave without you, mate,” Oscar reassured his lapful of very drunk, very squirmy Lando.

“You’ve got him?” Daniel asked of Lewis, ignoring the McLaren teammates in favour of the older driver at their side.

“Yeah, man, I’ve got them,” Lewis responded, exasperated. “Can’t be that hard to keep track of them, can it?”

Unfortunately, it could, in fact, be that hard the keep track of a drunken Lando.

―――

Grid Dads

Mon, May 5, 2024 at 4:44 am

Jenson Button

Is Lando still alive?

Mark Webber

He’d better be.

He took Oscar with him.

Jenson Button

Bold of you to assume Lando is the more responsible teammate in that scenario.

Fernando Alonso

Please, we would not let anything happen to him.

We are not Martijn Garrix.

Lewis Hamilton

That being said.

I may not survive this.

Valtteri Bottas

How does he still have this much energy.

Lewis Hamilton

I think Max and Daniel are sneaking him Red Bull.

Nico Rosberg

I’m so proud.

Sebastian Vettel

Lewis.

He should not be mixing energy drinks and alcohol.

It is dangerous.

Fernando Alonso

Okay, mum.

Lewis Hamilton

If it helps, I think the last couple of “vodkas” Oscar gave him were actually just water?

Mark Webber

That’s my boy.

Jenson Button

Alex and Logan already came back to the hotel.

Very responsible.

Fernando Alonso

Because they do not know how to party.

Lewis Hamilton

Hey Fernando, where’s Lance?

Fernando Alonso

I called him a taxi – he was tired.

Lewis Hamilton

Interesting.

Fernando Alonso

Obviously I am talking about George.

He is much more fun than his teammate.

Lewis Hamilton

I take offense to that.

Fernando Alonso

You were meant to.

Chapter Text

Lewis was nearly back to the Mercedes’ motorhome – and the relative privacy of his Driver’s Room – after an uneventful race, when he heard the tell-tale signs of someone sniffling and crying.

For a moment – or two – Lewis considered ignoring the sounds and leaving whoever it was to it. But then, memories of a younger version of Max in a similar position – crying between motorhomes after the Malaysian Grand Prix in 2015 – flashed through his mind, and Lewis sighed, knowing he couldn’t simply ignore whoever it was.

Whether it was a fellow driver, or a mechanic, or even an unknown team member… Lewis had to make sure that they were safe, and supported, however he could.

Rounding the corner to peak into the alleyway between motorhomes, it turned out to be Oliver Bearman and Kimi Antonelli, the latter hunched over as he sniffled into his younger – and much shorter – teammate’s shirt. For his part, Kimi was awkwardly patting his head and murmuring something indistinguishable, all while looking a bit lost and more than a little concerned.

Lewis sighed.

“Boys,” he greeted gently, making his presence known.

As expected, Ollie jumped away from Kimi, keeping his head angled away from Lewis as he frantically scrubbed at his face, while Kimi merely remained in place, not unlike a deer frozen in headlights as he stared, wide-eyed, at Lewis.

“Lewis,” Kimi eventually squeaked out as he glanced frantically between a still silent Ollie and the 7-time World Champion slowly approaching them. “We are – that is – he is – it is not –”

“It’s alright, kid,” Lewis interrupted gently. “Are you two okay?”

It was probably a silly question, given that Ollie was still trying to inconspicuously wipe the tears out of his eyes, but Lewis wasn’t really sure what else to say. He hadn’t had a chance to check out the results from Formula 2’s Feature Race earlier in the day just yet, but he imagined this had something to do with that.

Hopefully.

“I am okay,” Kimi responded immediately, in what was likely a poorly veiled attempt to distract from Ollie – who was finally looking at Lewis with red-rimmed eyes and flushed cheeks.

“And Ollie?” Lewis prompted.

“I’m fine,” Ollie’s voice wavered very unconvincingly as he spoke.

Lewis bit back a sigh.

“Well, since you’re fine, I suppose that means that you don’t want to try some of the LEC ice cream I have in my Driver’s Room?” Lewis asked lightly.

Kimi’s entire face lit up immediately, but Ollie still looked apprehensive.

“Come on,” Lewis waved the F2 pair along, barely concealing his grin as a bouncing Kimi practically dragged a still reluctant Ollie along with them, excitedly pointing things out to his friend as they passed through Mercedes’ motorhome.

As they walked, Lewis pulled out his phone to send a quick message.

―――

Charles Leclerc

Sun, May 19, 2024 at 5:16 pm

Lewis Hamilton

Your kid is here.

Charles Leclerc

But… Leo is with me?

Lewis Hamilton

The human one.

Tall, fluffy brown hair, British accent.

Looks sad.

―――

By the time Charles burst into Lewis’ Driver’s Room – Leo in hand and Max inexplicably in tow – Kimi and Ollie were happily sharing a tub of Peanut Caramel Tango, despite the fact that Ollie still looked morose.

“Are you okay?” Charles demanded, practically flinging himself at Ollie. In his arms, Leo made his discontent known – only to be scooped up into a cuddle by Ollie the next moment, ice cream abandoned in favour of cuddling the adorable pup.

Lewis – and Kimi, honestly – were systematically ignored as Charles scanned Ollie for non-existent injuries, before simply pulling the younger man closer to him, heads tilted together as they whispered back and forth, Charles’ brow knitting as Ollie resolutely focused on the wiggly pup in his arms.

“Hello, Lewis,” Max greeted sagely as he closed the door Charles had flung open.

“Hey, Max,” Lewis responded. “There’s RedBull in the fridge.”

Max grinned and moved to grab a can before dropping down next to an increasingly flummoxed Kimi, who honestly kind of just looked terrified to move at this point, spoon hovering halfway between his mouth and the tub of ice cream in his lap as his gaze darted between the three F1 drivers nervously.

Lewis offered him what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

“Ollie, you cannot say you are okay when your eyes are still red like this,” Charles said, voice pitching louder as he grew frustrated.

“Charles,” Lewis tried, only to be pointedly ignored.

While Kimi and Ollie had been digging into their ice cream, Lewis had taken the time to quickly pull up to Formula 2 results and race summary, quickly scanning the breakdown to figure out why Ollie was so upset.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ollie mumbled into Leo’s fur.

It seemed that Ollie had taking the lead in the race after pole-sitter Bortoleto suffered a slow getaway and dropped down to fourth, which he’d managed to hold on to – just barely – leading into the first pit stops of the race. Which was, as far as Lewis could tell, when everything had gone wrong. Following the pit stop, the PREMA driver had stalled twice as he tried to pull away, handing Hadjar the race lead while the Brit dropped to the back of the field.

“The stalling, it could happen to anyone,” Charles comforted gently. “It is not the end of the world, yes?”

“I just… I wanted to win,” Ollie responded miserably. “I see what people say, you know – about how maybe I don’t deserve a shot at F1, if I can’t even perform in F2, and I just…”

“Without the stalling, you could have won,” Kimi interjected casually before shovelling another scoop of ice cream into his mouth.

“You don’t know that,” Ollie pouted stubbornly, gaze resolutely fixed on a now drowsy Leo in his arms. Which was a bit of a relief, honestly – Lewis wasn’t sure he could handle four drivers and a hyperactive puppy in the small space.  

“Of course, it is not certain, but your pace was good,” Kimi pointed out. “Your best lap time was 1:30.960; Hadjar’s best time was only 1:30.660, you were not far off that – probably, you could have kept him behind you without to stalling. Your defense is good, yes?”

Lewis blinked at the younger man, utterly bewildered.

Max, by comparison, looked absolutely delighted.

“You know the lap times?” the Dutchman demanded.

“He remembers the lap times of all the sessions he’s ever done,” Ollie offered with a sniff.

“This is easy,” Kimi explained with a shrug before returning his focus to the ice cream, unaware or ignorant of the way Max was staring at him in obvious awe.

Brilliant.

Still, Ollie was looking miserable, Charles looked at a loss about how to comfort him, so Lewis finally stepped in, crouching down in front of the younger Brit so that he could better meet his downturned gaze.

“Everybody has bad days, kid. Me, Max, Charles – we’ve all been there,” Lewis began. “There is nothing we can do about the past but learn. The next race is a new opportunity and chance to be better – I believe that you can do that, but you have to believe that too, yeah?”

Ollie sniffled, tears welling in his eyes again – thankfully, Charles gently pulled him into a snuggle, mindful of a sleeping Leo curled up in the younger man’s lap, letting Ollie hide his face in the crook of the Monegasque’s neck as he did his best to cry quietly.

Next to them, Max was eagerly – but quietly – quizzing Kimi about various lap times, utterly enthralled by the young Italian as he rattled off lap times with ease.

It was an adorable sight – Charles, Ollie, and Leo cuddling on one side of the couch while Charles quietly comforted the Formula 2 driver. Meanwhile, Max and Kimi still had their heads tilted together, the younger man’s earlier apprehension forgotten in the face of Max’s obvious approval and enthusiasm.

Lewis sighed and internally wondered how Toto would feel about hosting some extra Formula 2 drivers throughout the season.

At very least, they were going to need more snacks.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, May 19, 2024 at 4:44 am

Lewis Hamilton

I think I just watched Max adopt Kimi.

Kimi Räikkönen

I like little Kimi.

Jenson Button

Has… has he been here the whole time?

Lewis Hamilton

Yeah.

To be clear, Max is currently fawning over Antonelli, not Räikkönen.

Nico Rosberg

I think that bit was clear.

Mark Webber

What did they do – go into the Formula 2 Paddock looking for kids to adopt?

Lewis Hamilton

I found Ollie crying after the race.

Kimi was with him.

Sebastian Vettel

How did Charles hold up this time?

Lewis Hamilton

There was definitely less nervous fluttering.

He’s going to have to work on his pep talks though.

Max was completely useless once Kimi distracted him by reciting lap times.

Sebastian Vettel

Lap times?

Lewis Hamilton

Yeah, apparently the kid remembers the lap times of all the sessions he’s ever done.

Max had him reciting times from 2021.

Jenson Button

Mate, that’s not possible.

Lewis Hamilton

It’s a superpower.

Sebastian Vettel

When do I get to meet him?

Chapter Text

"His career was finished without the intervention of the late Jules Bianchi who said to Ferrari “you’ve got to take this guy; you’ve got to make sure he gets to Formula 1”. And what a gift that was to give. In 2017, Charles Leclerc lost his father and in his final days, he told his father a white lie. That he’d made it to Formula 1; that he’d signed the contract. It wasn’t true then but his driving has made it true now, and look what he’s done with the opportunity. The grandstands he saw built as a kid growing up now rise for him and for the first time in 93 years this fabled race is won by one of their own. Charles Leclerc wins the Monaco Grand Prix to achieve his dream!"

- Alex Jacques, Monaco 2024 Race Commentary

―――

If there had ever been any doubt about where Charles planned to celebrate his first-ever home race victory in Monaco, hearing him jubilantly declare “I hope Jimmy'z is ready” on the team radio had pretty much sealed the deal.

Not that Lewis had ever doubted.

Even if Charles himself very much had.

As with Lando’s first race win only a few weeks earlier, nearly the entire grid had made their way to the exclusive night club to celebrate alongside Charles – who hadn’t quite arrived yet.

Checo was noticeably absent, having rushed off to fly back to Mexico as soon as he was able, desperate to see his children and reassure them that he was okay. By comparison, Magnussen and Hulkenberg were drinking away their sorrows at the bar.

Surprisingly, both Pierre and Esteban arrived – albeit separately. The Alpine drivers were staying well away from one another, Esteban sticking close to Lance (much to Fernando’s very obvious chagrin), while Pierre was glowering at his teammate from the safety of Yuki’s side.

“Arthur said they’re on their way,” Max announced to the drivers gathered around the VIP area – though mostly Lewis and Daniel, since nearly everyone else seemed to be distracted by something or other.

As was tradition for race winners in Monaco, Charles and Fred Vasseur had attended the gala dinner of the F1 Grand Prix of Monaco 2024 at the Monte-Carlo Sporting in Monaco. Both of Charles’ brothers had assured the Grid that they would wait to make their way to the club with Charles, leaving the drivers free to filter in as they wrapped up team obligations – and in some cases, celebrations.

As expected, Max had been checking his phone ever 5 minutes since he’d arrived.

It was obvious when Charles finally did arrive, cheers erupting from around the club as Monaco’s newest race winner finally made his entrance, dimples flashing as he grinned uncontrollably. He was flanked by both of his brothers, Arthur looking nearly as delighted as Charles, while Lorenzo’s joy was more subtle, though nonetheless present.

“Charlie!” Max crowed, clearly delighted, and it wasn’t long before he had an armful of giddy Monegasque, Arthur and Lorenzo following at a much more sedate pace. “You did it!”

Charles laughed jubilantly before pulling back from Max to greet the gathered drivers and friends alike, doling out hugs without reservation. He spent quite a while clinging to Pierre, heads tipped together as they whispered in French, before inevitably pulling himself away to accept more congratulations.

Eventually, he was wrapping himself around Lewis, who didn’t hesitate to pull him close, relieved to finally be able to congratulate Charles in-person – something he hadn’t been able to do in the chaos after the race.

“Congrats, kid,” Lewis murmured gently into his ear. “How d’you feel?”

“I cannot explain it,” Charles answered. “It still does not feel real – but, I think the fact that twice I have been starting on pole position and we could not quite win it makes it even better in a way.”

“I can understand that,” Lewis agreed.

“It means a lot, obviously,” Charles continued. “It is the race which made me dream of becoming a Formula 1 driver one day.”

“And now you’ve won it,” Lewis confirmed with a grin.

“And now I have won it,” Charles grinned back. “I won in Monaco!”

He seemed almost in a daze, as if saying the words aloud – repeating them – was finally starting to help the win sink in, despite the fact that he’d been celebrating it for hours. Impossible, his smile was growing even more radiant, and Lewis wasn’t surprised when he whirled away, yelling for shots to the raucous celebration of those gathered around them.

Arthur trailed after his older brother, but Lorenzo seemed content to lounge against the table alongside Lewis and Valtteri, a soft smile on his face as he watched his brothers celebrate.

“You don’t fancy doing shots with them?” Lewis asked lightly.

“They’ll probably convince me to do some eventually,” Lorenzo admitted sheepishly. “But somebody has to make sure that Arthur’s makes it home in one piece tonight.”

Indeed, the younger Leclerc was already throwing back a second shot, much to the delight of the Formula 1 drivers gathered around the duo. Oscar and Logan, in particular, seemed thrilled to have roped the youngest Leclerc into their shenanigans.

“Not Charles?”

Lorenzo snorted.

“Assuming he even goes home tonight, I do not have to worry about making sure he gets there,” Lorenzo pointed out, as if it should have been obvious.

And perhaps it was – the drivers were used to taking care of one another when they were away from home, and while this might be Charles’ home, Lewis knew the other drivers would be reluctant to leave their own behind at the best of times. Indeed, Carlos was already shadowing an increasingly tipsy (and hyper) Lando, while Valtteri’s gaze hadn’t left Guanyu since the younger man had wandered away to join the festivities, and Fernando was still firmly affixed to Lance’s side despite Esteban’s continued presence.

“We’ll get him home in one piece,” Lewis confirmed.

Lorenzo smiled softly at Lewis before he turned back towards his brothers, eventually being cajoled into the festivities. Valtteri wasn’t far behind, needing very little convincing from Zhou before he abandoned his mostly finished drink to join his teammate on the dancefloor.

“You are not going to just stand over here all night again, are you?” Charles pouted as he appeared and Lewis’ side. “Come, you have to dance!”

Between Max, Charles, and a very persistent Lando, they got Lewis onto the dancefloor, and for a time, he let himself get lost in the revelry of it all, laughing and celebrating alongside his fellow drivers and friends, letting the stress of the season melt away for a few hours.

Eventually, though, it was clear that it was time to go.

Most of the Grid had already cleared out, leaving in pairs and small groups as night became morning and the exhaustion of yet another race weekend made itself known. Even Arthur had said his goodbyes from Lorenzo’s side, the trio of Leclercs embracing passionately before going their separate ways.

Charles, of course, was still going strong.

However, he was also wearing sunglasses inside and had draped the flag of Monaco over his head, much to the delight of a very wobbly Max next to him, so there was that.

“C’mon you two, let’s get you home,” Lewis suggested after watching the pair stumble and essentially collapse onto a low-lying couch, giggling uncontrollably.

“Non!” Charles whined. “We are – how are you saying “on s’amuse”?”

Lewis resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

If Charles was losing his grip on English, it was definitely time to go.

“Charles, you of course know this one,” Max pointed. “And we can have fun at home as well, yes?”

Charles lit up at the suggestion, nodding vigorously before practically launching himself off the couch. Thankfully, he was still unsteady on his feet, so Lewis was able to wrap an arm around his waist, stopping him from getting too far. With his other hand, he hauled Max up behind them, practically dragging the Dutchman behind him as Charles insisted on saying good-bye to every single person they passed.

Eventually, they tumbled into a waiting taxi, which saw Lewis piling a giggling Charles and an uncoordinated Max into the backseat before climbing into the passenger seat himself, quickly rattling off Max’s address as their first stop. Then, he stayed resolutely focused on his phone, ignoring the pair whispering and giggling in the back seat until they’d arrived.

“Alright Max, this is your stop, kid,” Lewis reminded the Dutchman. “Do you need help getting inside?”

“Of course not,” Max crowed, “I have the Monaco Grand Prix winner to help me!”

As if Charles was going to be any help getting him inside.

In fact, the Monegasque seemed to be… crying?

“Charles?” Lewis yelped, scrambling at the door to get out and around to the younger man’s side.

“I won the Monaco Grand Prix,” Charles sobbed. “I did it.”

With a sigh, Lewis helped the pair get out, quickly paying the taxi before turning back to a still emotional Charles clinging to a suddenly much more sober Max.

“You did so well, Charlie,” Max reassured the sobbing Monegasque.

“We always dreamed for me to race here and to win,” Charles continued, tears still streaming down his face. “Do you think he is proud of me?”

When Max wordlessly wrapped Charles up in a tight hug Lewis finally dared approach the pair, noting how Charles clung to Max like a lifeline, the Dutchman not hesitating to hold his would-be-rival together.

“Your friends and family are so proud of you, Charles,” Lewis promised from next to the Monegasque, voice soft and gentle as he offered what support he could.

“You papa too, Charlie,” Max assured him.

After a few moments of silence, punctuated only by Charles’ continued sniffles

“We should get you inside,” Lewis suggested. “Then I’ll call another taxi for Charles and I to get home, yeah?”

“We can get inside ourselves,” Max responded nonchalantly. “I’ve got him.”

Lewis opened and closed his mouth a couple of times before settling on –

“You’re sure?”

Max smiled so fondly at Charles before responding –

“Of course,” Max answered as he continued to stare at Charles. “I’ve always got him.”

With that, Max reached out an arm to pull Lewis into their hug before the pair stepped away, turning towards Max’s apartment building, leaving Lewis to watch the winner of the Monaco Grand Prix and the reigning Formula 1 World Champion head inside the latter’s building, the former tucked comfortably into his side.

He couldn’t help but smile.

Even a few years ago, he would have said it was impossible for rivals in their sport to be friends off the track. Would have warned them off the stress it would put on their relationship, of the way the pressure would slowly tear them apart, of how it would erode their friendship.

Now though…

These kids kept proving him wrong.

―――

Grid Dads

Mon, May 27, 2024 at 4:33 am

Lewis Hamilton

So, I just dropped Max and Charles off at home.

Sebastian Vettel

As in… the same home?

Nico Rosberg

Jenson you owe me 50€.

Jenson Button

This doesn’t mean that they’re dating.

Nico Rosberg

No, you’re right, they’re probably just roommates.

Fernando Alonso

Or married.

Lewis Hamilton

Do not say that.

My sanity cannot take that.

Mark Webber

This is what you get for adopting Seb’s Ferrari progeny.

Sebastian Vettel

Max is half of this relationship too.

This is what you get for adopting Mark’s Red Bull progeny.

Mark Webber

You drove for Red Bull too?

Lewis Hamilton

As fun as this is.

Nico Rosberg

It’s really not.

Lewis Hamilton

Does this mean I have to acknowledge their relationship now?

Or can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Nico Rosberg

They could just be having a sleepover, according to Jenson.

Lewis Hamilton

For my sanity, I choose to believe Jenson.

Chapter Text

Lewis was warily eying the steadily greying skies over the Paddock, George walking leisurely at his side, when sounds that could only be described as angry and French reverberated between motorhomes. After a quick glance at George – and a long-suffering sigh – Lewis abandoned any thoughts of tea before their first Free Practice, opting instead to follow the increasingly concerning sounds that could only belong to – at most – a handful of his fellow drivers.

However, given the events that had transpired in Monaco, Lewis had a pretty good suspicion about who was currently arguing in the middle of the Montreal Paddock.

George was hot on his heels as they followed the sounds of the argument.

He almost wanted to laugh when Pierre and Esteban finally came into sight.

The pair were quarrelling in rapid, frustrated French with Charles firmly planted between them. Meanwhile, Lance was hovering worriedly at Esteban’s shoulder, Yuki mirroring his position at Pierre’s side.

Admittedly, the Japanese man looked far more prepared to join the fray than a frazzled Lance, despite being the only man present without a functional understanding of the French language.

At least Lewis didn’t have to understand French to guess at what they were arguing about.

Esteban had collided with Pierre on the opening lap in Monaco while attempting a bold move down the inside of the Portier corner. The pair of Alpine drivers had banged wheels, resulting in Esteban’s car launching over the top of Pierre’s car – leaving both with damage.

In the intervening weeks, as though to add salt to the wound, the Alpine team principal Bruno Famin had warned there would be consequences – and on Monday Esteban appeared to pay for the lapse of judgement when it had been announced his contract would not be renewed.

Then, as if all of that was not enough, it had been announced that Esteban would continue to pay for his error at this weekend's Canadian Grand Prix with a five-place grid drop after stewards ruled that he had caused the collision that pitched his car high into the air and out of the race.

Understandably, Esteban was not in the best of moods.

“Tu n'as pas été harcelé sans cesse depuis Monaco!” Esteban spat furiously. “Tu aurais pu dire quelque chose au lieu de me laisser aux vautours!”

“Pourquoi devrais-je?” Pierre snarled back. “C'est toi qui m'as écrasé!”

Lewis really wasn’t sure exactly what was being said – his grasp of French was rudimentary at best, and the Alpine duo was hardly speaking slowly and taking the time to enunciate particularly clearly – but he’d seen enough to assume that whatever was being said wasn’t exactly productive.

“That’s enough of that, yeah?” Lewis interjected, stepping up to put himself between the pair, to Charles’ visible relief.

“Va te faire foutre!” Pierre responded sharply.

“Enough!” Charles snapped. “You can yell at each other all you want, but you do not speak to Lewis like that!”

As much as Lewis appreciated the support, he didn’t really want to put Charles in a position of choosing between the two Frenchmen. Undoubtedly, he’d choose Pierre – as he always did when they got like this – but it wasn’t fair to constantly put him between two men he considered childhood friends.

Even if the pair seemed to be at odds more and more often of late.

“Does anyone want to explain what you’re arguing about – in the middle of the Paddock, I might add – or am I going to have to start guessing?” Lewis asked blandly.

Pierre chuckled cynically, earning a raised brow from Lewis – but it was Esteban who answered, voice sadder than it was angry.

“I took responsibility and apologized for the incident in Monaco,” the Frenchman explained. “The gap was too small in the end and I apologized to the team – and to Pierre.”

“You should not have had to apologize, because it should not have happened in the first place,” Pierre sneered cruelly. “We had clear instructions from the team on what to do, what we were supposed to do, and you did not respect that!”

“Pierre, that’s not –”

“I don’t know how to fix this,” Esteban offered miserably. “I have tried, but Pierre, you do not listen! What more do I need to give? I’ve already lost my seat, and I have a penalty this weekend.”

“Just stay away from me on track,” Pierre snapped back. “I was lucky to get out of the last collision with only some front wing damage – who knows what you will do this time.”

“Pierre, enough,” Lewis interjected firmly. “I know that you and Esteban have a long history, but you’re hardly being fair – or reasonable – right now.”

“He crashed into me!”

“And don’t you think he’s suffered enough for his mistake?” Lewis volleyed back. “Or have you been stuck so far up you own ass that you haven’t seen the hate and threats he’s been subjected to all over the internet?”

“I –”

“I know it hasn’t always been easy between the two of you – especially given the fact you’re both very competitive drivers – but surely you’re not so self-absorbed to have failed to notice that?” Lewis demanded.

In his peripheral vision, Esteban let out a choked sound before burying his neck in the crook of Lance’s neck, the Canadian not hesitating to wrap his friend up in a tight hug – all while glowering rather furiously at a gaping Pierre.

“He – I – that is – I did not –” Pierre floundered helplessly.

“Oh, Pierrot,” Charles sighed. “Parfois, tu es vraiment stupide, hein?”

“Just because you called him stupid in French doesn’t mean I didn’t understand what you said,” Lewis observed drily. “It’s the same word, Charles.”

“He deserves it,” Charles muttered petulantly.

“Estie,” Pierre tried softly, earning an angry huff from Lance.

“Don’t Estie him right now,” Lance snapped. “Connard.”

“I don’t even know what that one means –”

“Asshole,” Yuki interjected helpfully.

Which –

“You don’t even speak French,” Lewis sighed tiredly.

“Pierre thought me all the good French swear words,” Yuki shared proudly.

Wonderful.

“Esteban,” Pierre tried again. “I am sorry – I did not know. Je ne savais pas.”

Esteban pulled away from Lance, eyes red-rimmed and cheeks wet, to glower at his teammate.

“Because you did not listen,” Esteban pointed out harshly. “I would never crash on purpose – I would never put you or anyone else in danger like that. That people say this, that you might think that, after everything –”

Esteban trailed off with a garbled sob, and this time Charles joined Lance in hugging the taller Frenchman, while Pierre’s entire face softened, devastation lining his features.

“Go on,” Lewis prompted gently, tilting his head towards the embracing trio.

Pierre stepped forward, freezing when Esteban shifted to look at him – only to find himself pulled into the embrace a moment later.

“I would never believe that of you,” Pierre promised vehemently. “I am so sorry that others did, and that I made it seem like I did too. I – I was upset, but I never meant for…”

Pierre trailed off, but Esteban seemed to understand, hugging his teammate back in wordless acceptance of his apology. It seemed so simple, but Lewis knew all too well how impossible it was to stay angry at someone you’d considered a pivotal figure in your life since childhood.

Their reconciliation came not a moment too early, it seemed, as thunder suddenly boomed overhead – followed moments later by a torrent of frigid rain.

“What the hell!” Yuki yelped.

“Is that hail?”

“Run!”

―――

Grid Dads

Sat, June 8, 2024 at 3:10 pm

Lewis Hamilton

So, Yuki apparently knows how to swear in French now too.

Jenson Button

Were Japanese, English, and Italian not enough?

Lewis Hamilton

Apparently not.

Sebastian Vettel

I could teach him some German ones.

Nico Rosberg

Not if I do it first.

Lewis Hamilton

No, that’s not –

Please don’t do that.

Mark Webber

I’m sure there’s some Aussie slang he hasn’t picked up from Daniel yet.

Fernando Alonso

I will teach him the best Spanish curse words.

Lewis Hamilton

You lot are supposed to be helping, not making it worse!

Valtteri Bottas

I can teach him some good Finnish cuss words.

Kimi Räikkönen

I will help.

Lewis Hamilton

I don’t know why I ever thought any of you would be helpful.

Jenson Button

That’s really on you, mate.

Chapter Text

A fire has broken out in McLaren's hospitality motorhome in Barcelona this morning. Firefighters and paramedics are currently at the scene.

EPSN F1, Instagram

―――

Usually, prior to FP3, the Paddock was as peaceful as it was like to be all weekend.

Sure, there were always fans and media members everywhere, but teams were likely to be heavily embroiled in strategy meetings, making final changes to the cars, and otherwise barricaded within their respective motorhomes and garages, leaving the prior to entertain themselves as the teams scrambled to prepare for the day – and race – ahead.

That was decidedly not the case today.

Instead, Lewis found his brow furrowing as he watched various fire martials rushing through the Paddock – followed by more than a few engineers and mechanics wielding fire extinguishers – the morning before the third practice session of the weekend was set to begin.

A quick glance upwards revealed quite a lot of smoke, and Lewis followed the haze downwards towards its glaringly papaya origin. Indeed, smoke was pouring out of the McLaren motorhome and into the Formula 1 paddock, which was growing increasingly chaotic as emergency personnel and various F1 team members flooded towards the site.

Lewis resisted to the urge to break into a run as he followed the crowd, eyes frantically searching the crowd for two specific members of the papaya clad team.

When he couldn’t immediately spot them, Lewis began to spiral, panic settling in his chest.

What if they’d been sleeping? They were both apt to nap at any given time, and Lando in particular was notorious for sleeping through pretty much anything. What if they hadn’t heard the alarms? Surely someone – Jon, or Kim, or maybe even Andrea Stella himself – would have thought to make sure their drivers had safely evacuated… Right?

“Lewis!”

A distressed shout of his name was all the warning that he received before Lando was launching himself into Lewis’ arms, Oscar hot on his heels. Uncharacteristically, the Aussie let himself be pulled into the hug without much complaint, tucking himself against Lewis’ side.

Both McLaren drivers were quivering, and as Lewis pulled back to survey them, Lando was notably in only his socks.

“Are you two okay?”

He was met with identical nods, despite the tension clearly lining every facet of Oscar’s normally stoic expression and the tears gathering in the corners of Lando’s too bright eyes.

“I forgot my shoes,” Lando admitted miserably. “And my water bottle.”

Not only did Lando sound miserable, he looked downright despondent, the tears Lewis had noted earlier threatening to spill over as his lip quivered ominously. Lewis couldn’t help but coo – actually coo, as though Lando was a child and not an adult man – at the sight, before reeling the younger Brit in for a tight hug.

In his arms, Lando immediately tucked his face into the crook of Lewis’ neck – as he was likely to do with anyone he felt safe with – and his shaking, which was previously controlled, quickly spiraled into full-on tremors as a tell-tale dampness made itself known against Lewis’ neck.

Instinctually, Lewis cupped the back of Lando’s neck, pressing him more firmly into his hold as Lando sobbed without restraint.

“Oh, Lando,” Lewis soothed gently. “You’re okay, I’ve got you. We’ll get everything sorted, yeah?”

“He was asleep when the alarms went off,” Oscar explained quietly, from where he had quietly migrated back to Lando and Lewis’ side. “Jon had to wake him up and they were in a rush to get out, and they forgot his things.”

“Have they said what happened?”

“Electrical fire near the kitchens,” Jon interjected, having wandered over from where he’d been talking with a small cluster of team members, gaze now fixed on his driver. “Sounds like the damage is pretty extensive – I doubt we’ll be able to get back in before FP3, if at all this weekend.”

“But my water bottle,” Lando cried mournfully.

Lewis looked back towards Jon with what he was sure was a slightly alarmed expression. Sure, Lando could be dramatic on even on a good day, but this… It was obvious that Lando was overwhelmed, and probably more than a little overstimulated. Usually, he’d retreat to the safety of his Driver’s Room when it all go to be a little much, but evidently that wasn’t an option at the moment, and so Lando was struggling.

“He’s sick,” Jon explained, the fondness in his voice mingling with definite exasperation. “I don’t think this whole ordeal is mixing all that well with him already not feeling his best.”

“Is he okay?” Oscar fretted worriedly. “I heard you threatening him with an IV earlier – maybe we should take him to Medical? Just for a check-up?”

“I don’t want to go to Medical!” Lando yelped, somehow managing to continue clinging to Lewis while also pulling back to glower at Oscar. “I’m fine.”

Choosing to ignore Oscar’s somewhat wounded expression and Jon’s exasperated huff for the time being, Lewis instead focused on Lando, gently jostling the younger man to get his attention back on Lewis.

“Oscar and Jon are allowed to be worried about you, kid,” Lewis reminded him gently. “And it’s okay to not be fine right now, this is a scary thing, yeah?”

Lando dropped his gaze, mumbling incoherently at Lewis’ feet.

“Want to repeat that?”

“It’s just… I’m not even hurt,” Lando admitted. “I’m scared and I’m stressed, but the worst thing that’s happened to me is forgetting my shoes, which shouldn’t be such a big deal, but it is and I just –”  

Lando choked on a sob before burying his face back in Lewis’ shoulder, hands clinging tightly to Lewis’ team shirt as he tried to hide away from the throngs of people around them. Thankfully most everyone seemed more focused on McLaren’s still smoking motorhome than their little huddle, but a quick glance revealed Jon carefully regarding the crowd, eyes scanning for signs of trouble.

Or, more likely, a camera pointed in their direction.

“I can’t solve the shoe problem at the moment,” Lewis admitted. “But I’m positive I’ve got an extra Monster bottle kicking around my Driver’s Room somewhere.”

Jon, gaze still focused on the amassing rabble around them, nodded absently.

“You should go with Lewis,” Jon agreed. “I’ll see if I can pop back to the hotel to grab one of your other pairs of shoes – or else get someone to bring them here – so we can start getting you prepped for FP3, okay?”

Lando sniffled but nodded, hand snaking out to grab onto Oscar before Lewis could maneuver them too far from his teammate.

“I’m coming too, mate,” Oscar promised gently as he carefully pried Lando’s hand off his wrist, opting to instead insert himself on Lando’s other side, so that the Brit was firmly wedged between Lewis and Oscar.

“I’ll let Kim know where to find you,” Jon called after them, earning a mumbled thanks from Oscar.

With all the attention focused on the rather sudden demise of McLaren’s motorhome, no one paid their little trio much mind as they slipped back down the Paddock and into Mercedes’ significantly calmer Hospitality Suite.

Toto, however, raised a brow at the sight of Lewis gently hustling the papaya-clad duo through the space, expression unamused.

“Lewis –”

“McLaren’s Hospitality Suite in on fire,” Lewis explained hurriedly.

Perhaps it was the sight of Lando sans-shoes (or his tear-stained face), or Oscar’s wide-eyed innocence, or even Lewis’ own stressed expression, but Toto softened almost immediately.

“Are these two okay?” Toto asked gently, trailing behind Lewis as he continued to usher the pair of McLaren drivers towards his Driver’s Room – and away from prying eyes.

“Their trainers will be by shortly with whatever they need for FP3,” Lewis responded. “Probably wouldn’t hurt to give Andrea a call though – I imagine their Hospitality Suite is out of commission for the weekend, so they might need help with the logistics of whatever that entails.”

Toto nodded firmly, reaching out to squeeze Lewis’ should firmly before turning away, other hand already pulling his phone out of his pocket.

Lewis couldn’t help but smile.

Things had been… tense between him and Toto of late – since the whole Ferrari debacle – but he knew that if (and when) it came down to it, Toto still had his back. They’d been in each other’s pockets for far too long – as coworkers, and friends – for something like this to stay between them indefinitely.

“C’mon you two, let’s get you sorted,” Lewis murmured gently once Toto had vanished around the corner, shuffling the duo into his Driver’s Room and onto the waiting couch.

In quick order he had a new, freshly-filled Monster-branded water bottle in Lando’s hands and Oscar was munching happily on a couple of Tim Tams. He tossed a blanket over their laps for good measure too, smiling softly when Oscar immediately set about tucking it around them properly, before pressing against Lando’s side. Lando immediately leaned into the touch, eyes already starting to droop.

“Thanks, Lewis,” Oscar murmured softly.

Lando merely yawned and clutched his newly acquired water bottle closer as he snuggled into Oscar’s side, head dropping to rest on his teammate’s shoulder, drawing a small, soft smile out of the Aussie.

Lewis, of course, couldn’t resist the opportunity to snap a quick photo (or two).

―――

Grid Dads

Sat, June 22, 2024 at 8:14 pm

Lewis Hamilton

[Photo Attached]

Jenson Button

It’s all too much for little Lando Norris.

Sebastian Vettel

This is not the moment to make jokes, Jenson!

They could have been hurt!

Mark Webber

I know you did not give Oscar Tim Tams right before Free Practice.

Again.

Nico Rosberg

In his defense, their Hospitality Suite was on fire?

Mark Webber

Since when are you defending Lewis?

Lewis Hamilton

They kept saying they were fine.

But Lando had no shoes and was crying over his water bottle.

Mark Webber

So, give Lando the Tim Tams.

Sebastian Vettel

Stop being a heartless bastard, Mark.

Jenson Button

Yeah, Mark.

Lando clearly prefers stroopwafels.

Sebastian Vettel

That’s not what I meant?

Lewis Hamilton

Oscar wouldn’t stop shaking either.

And he’s not been very agreeable to letting Lando out of arm’s reach unless they’re driving.

Apparently, Kim had to drag him out of the building because he was refusing to leave without Lando.

Despite the fire alarm going off and there being visible smoke.

Mark Webber

Fuck.

Nico Rosberg

Tell me you would not have given Oscar whatever he wanted.

Fernando Alonso

Think very carefully about your answer, Mark.

Mark Webber

Obviously, I would have given him whatever he damn well wanted.

Lewis Hamilton

Knew it.

Chapter Text

As he made his way back into a jubilant Mercedes garage, a laughing, champagne-soaked George in tow, the last thing Lewis expected to see was a clearly distressed Bono waiting for them, headphones still slung around his neck.

“Bono?” Lewis asked hesitantly, coming to a stop just in front of his trusted Race Engineer – a move that had a distracted George careening into his back.

“They’re in your Driver’s Room,” Bono responded. “Charles and Oscar are doing their best to keep them… calm.”

Behind him, Lewis felt George tense, summarily mimicking Lewis’ own emotions.

“Fuck.”

Lewis hurried away without another word, George hot on his heels, barreling towards whatever chaos was surely waiting within Lewis’ Driver’s Room.

Within, Charles was physically restraining Max, hands wrapped tightly around the Dutchman’s waist as he murmured rapidly into his ear, expression strained. Across from the, Oscar was hovering nervously at Lando’s shoulder as his teammate yelled at Max, an unfamiliar rage lining the Brit’s face.

“You moved under braking!” Lando was yelling. “You saw me move and then you moved!”

“You were driving like a child,” Max snarled back. “Dive-bombing the corners and going outside of track limits!”

“That’s bold, coming from you,” Lando laughed sardonically. “Driving like ‘Mad Max’ all over again –”

“That’s enough,” Lewis snapped, stepping between the two just as Lando stepped forward, Oscar belated reaching up to wrap a hand around his teammate’s wrist.

“No, Lewis, let him finish,” Max interjected, twisting as best as he could in Charles’ grasp to make eye contact with a still-furious Lando. “I want to hear about how he thinks my driving ruined our races.”

“Our races?!” Lando shrieked. “At least you were able to finish the race – I had to retire my fucking car because of you!”

“I was leading the race, and ended up with a 10-second penalty in P5 because of you!” Max thundered.

Lewis sighed.

Clearly, they weren’t going to make any progress between these two until cooler heads prevailed – something that wasn’t going to happen if they both remained within this room.

“George –”

“I’ll take Lando and Oscar to my room,” George interjected immediately, much to Lewis’ relief.

“Oh, of course, I have to be the one to leave,” Lando snapped sarcastically. “It’s like it was 2021 all over again, but you don’t care so long as it’s not your head he’s driving on!”

Lewis turned then, gently cupping Lando’s furious face in his hands, willing his own expression to hide the hurt and frustration he was feeling. Lando was angry, Lando was lashing out, Lando was trying to upset him, but Lewis couldn’t take it personally – he’d been in Lando’s shoes, and he knew what it was to want to hurt those around him to soothe the own ache in his heart.

He and Nico had done enough of that, once upon a time.

“Lando, I understand that you’re upset right now, and I don’t begrudge you that,” Lewis spoke softly, calmly. “But you two need space from one another, and we both know that it’s best if it’s you who goes with George.”

Because Max and George were just as likely to descend into a screaming match as Lando and Max currently were.

Lando huffed, clearly not appeased as he pushed past Lewis, Oscar grimacing his apology as he quickly followed George and Lando out of the room, closing the door softly behind him.

Lewis sighed.

“He cannot say these things!” Max seethed, pacing irately now that Charles had finally relinquished his hold.

“You know as well as I do that he didn’t mean what he said,” Lewis sighed. “He’s just upset, and stressed, and angry. Probably hungry as well.”

“Does it matter?” Max snapped. “He is mad at me – there is of course no reason for him to be a dick to you!”

“Let me sort that bit out with him, yeah?” Lewis suggested. “I put myself in the middle there, knowing full well you were both proper mad – I’m honestly just relieved nobody hit me.”

“I would not – of course no one – how can you say that?!”

Lewis snorted, but managed to bite back the slightly hysterical laugh that was bubbling in his throat. At Max’s shoulder, Charles was not quite so successful, a giggle slipping past his lips.

“It is not funny!”

“You are very mad,” Charles observed blandly. “Are you also hungry?”

“I am not – that is – I did not do anything wrong!” Max floundered, gaze snapping from Charles, to Lewis, and then back again. Lewis could see that he was trying to hold onto his anger, but without someone to yell at – and more specifically Charles giggling at him – he was obviously fighting a losing battle. “Lando is being a dick, he is the one who is mad at me, saying these things that are not true and being a dick –”

“Lando is allowed to be upset, Max,” Lewis reminded him gently. “Crashing out is always frustrating, but scary too, yeah? He’s probably not thinking straight; you know what it’s like when the adrenaline gets the best of you.”

“But –”

“Do you remember what I said to you, in 2021?” Lewis prompted. “After you – how did Lando put it?”

“Drove on your head,” Charles interjected helpfully.

“Yeah, that.”

In the ensuring silence, Lewis raised a brow at a pouting Max, pointedly ignoring a silently giggling Charles at his shoulder. Utterly unhelpful, that was what the Monegasque was.

Max grumbled, then –

“That you were not mad at me, but at the circumstances,” Max mumbled petulantly.

“That, but also – I’ve let a championship fight ruin a friendship before, Max,” Lewis reminded the younger man gently. “I regret it – even now, I regret the time I lost with Nico, because we let a championship battle come between us.”

“If Lando wants to let this ruin our friendship, I cannot stop him,” Max argued, stubborn as ever.

“I’ve said it before, but do not forget, Max - it takes two people to destroy a friendship,” Lewis cautioned. “I know it is hard – trust me, I know – but you will regret it, if you turn your hurt into something to harm Lando, as well.”

Because, as difficult as it was, Max was the older, more experienced driver in this situation. He’d been in a championship battle before, he’d been driving in Formula 1 for longer, and somewhere along the way he’d become somewhat emotionally mature (compared to the young man Lewis had first met in 2015).

“He is the one who said he did not want to be my friend,” Max pointed out – and now that his anger had mostly abated, Lewis could hear the hurt there. Evidently, so could Charles.

“He did not say that, Max,” Charles interjected softly.

“Of course, he did!” Max snapped. “He said to the reporter that I was not being fair and that we could not still be friends.”

“Max,” Charles comforted, reaching forward to cradle Max’s face gently as he spoke. “That reporter was trying to cause drama, you know they do this. Lando was upset, but he never said he did not want to be your friend. He simply said that your reaction could impact your friendship, yes?”

Max took a deep, shuddering breath.

“Have I ruined it?” Max asked, sounding heartbroken and distressed, not a sign of anger remaining.

“No, Max, you have not ruined it,” Charles promised gently – but Max was looking towards Lewis, clearly searching for reassurances from the older man, unwilling to trust Charles – knowing, perhaps, that Charles was likely to just tell him what he wanted to hear, rather than the truth.

But Lewis knew Lando, and he knew Max, so –

“If you and I can reconcile after 2021, I don’t see why you and Lando can’t figure something out,” Lewis pointed out. “After all, it’s not as though you drove on his head.”

“That was an accident!”

“And today wasn’t?” Lewis prodded.

A pause, and then –

“We are supposed to fly home – to Monaco – together,” Max admitted. “I am not sure – what if we are still too angry? To talk? Should I – we can’t leave him behind, how will he get home –”

“Why don’t I go check on Lando, and then we can make a decision?” Lewis interjected. “You two stay here, relax, maybe grab a snack, and if I truly think Lando is still too riled up, he can fly with Mercedes, yeah? We won’t abandon him in Austria.”

Max deflated at the suggestion, practically collapsing into the couch when Charles subsequently pushed him in that direction, leaving Lewis to slip out of the room while Charles fawned over the Dutchman.

George’s Driver’s Room was almost suspiciously quiet from outside, and a quick peak revealed the reason – Lando was passed out on the couch, head carefully cradled in Oscar’s lap while the Australian gently ran his fingers through Lando’s absolutely unruly curls. George was sat on the other end of the couch, Lando’s feet propped up on his lap as he scrolled through his phone.

“How is he?”

George’s gaze flicked first towards Lewis, then back towards Lando’s tear-stained cheeks, before he shrugged.

“Worked himself up into a proper strop, but when we wouldn’t yell back at him, he just… fell asleep?” George explained. “I think the adrenaline finally worked it’s way through is system and he just crashed.”

Lewis nodded before padding forward to crouch quietly in front of Lando’s sleeping form. He didn’t want to wake him up, but he also didn’t want to just leave Lando thinking that Lewis was upset with him, or worse – that he preferred Max over him.

Something about not having favourites and all that.

“Lando,” Lewis prompted softly as he carefully brushed a few errant curls out of his face.

Lando stirred, slowly blinking awake with red-rimmed eyes.

“Lewis,” Lando choked out, nearly falling off the couch in his haste to hug to older Brit. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it, I shouldn’t have –”

“Shhh, Lando, it’s okay, we’re okay, I’m not mad,” Lewis hurried to assure the younger man. “I know, I promise you, I know.”

Lando sobbed anew into his shoulder as Lewis rubbed at his back and Oscar reached forward to continue playing with his curls, wordlessly offering the comfort of his steady and calm presence.

“Does Max hate me?” Lando asked eventually.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Lewis reassured immediately. “He was upset too, but he’s mostly been worried about ruining your friendship off-track.”

“He couldn’t – I didn’t mean that – I was just so upset – Lewis,” Lando floundered, finishing with a desperate plea as he pulled back to look around the room wildly, settling on Lewis for reassurance when neither George or Oscar immediately offered any.

“Do you think you can talk to him without getting upset again now?” Lewis offered. He was pretty sure Max wouldn’t lash out – especially if Charles had managed to convince him to have a snack in the interim. When Lando hesitated, Lewis added, “He’s worried about you too, kid.”

At that, Lando nodded hesitantly, his nerves evident in the way he clung to Oscar and stayed silent as they made their way back to Lewis’ Driver’s Room.

As soon as they entered the space, Max was launching himself at Lando, uncaring about essentially shoving Oscar and George out of the way to pull him into a tight hug.

“I am so sorry –”

“No, I’m sorry –”

“Lando, I should not have –”

“I was just so mad, I didn’t mean –”

“Deep breaths, boys,” Lewis advised sagely, as if the sight before him didn’t practically have him on the verge of tears himself. If only he and Nico had had someone to help them with this, to push them to give each other space to cool off, to talk it out, to –

“Lewis, are you okay?” George asked tentatively.

“Yeah, kid, I’m alright,” Lewis responded around the tightness in his throat.

He was alright, but he was going to hug the shit out of Nico when they got back to Monaco. Vivian would be so happy, probably. But this wasn’t about him, or Nico, it was about Max and Lando, and –

“The only thing that is very important coming out of this weekend is my relationship with you,” Max said firmly from where he was holding Lando’s face in his hands, ensuring that the Brit couldn’t dodge his stare. “We are going to be fighting for wins this year and I of course do not want that to ruin the friendship off track, yes?”

“Yeah – I mean – no, I don’t want that to ruin the friendship off track, Max,” Lando choked out. “But I want to race you tough, on the limit – I want to fight you for it. That’s what I love, you know that.”

“Then that is what we do,” Max agreed. “We go at it flat out, because that’s what we like to do! And that’s what is good for Formula 1 as well.”

Shit, these kids were so fucking well-adjusted and healthy.

Lando was nodding vigorously, and Max, apparently satisfied, pulled him back in for another tight hug.

“We will talk about the rest tomorrow, once we have been home and slept,” Max announced when they finally pulled apart.

“Okay,” Lando agreed tearfully before burying his face back into Max’s shoulder.

So fucking well-adjusted.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, June 30, 2024 at 4:33 pm

Lewis Hamilton

Should we have gone to therapy?

Nico Rosberg

Why do you think I retired?

Jenson Button

Undoubtedly.

Mark Webber

Like… mental? Or physical?

Sebastian Vettel

The fact that you have to ask answers that question.

Valtteri Bottas

I can recommend a therapist?

Fernando Alonso

You definitely should have.

Lewis Hamilton

These kids are just… so well-adjusted?

Like, Lando and Max actually talked about their problems?

Jenson Button

Let me guess.

You wanted to hug Nico about it.

Nico Rosberg

Is that why you asked if you could come over for breakfast tomorrow?

Lewis Hamilton

Make fun of us all you want.

At least Nico and I acknowledged our problems.

Sebastian Vettel

I was there.

I can confirm no problems were acknowledged.

Fernando Alonso

The trauma I experienced from having to witness that was enough to push me into retirement. 

Jenson Button

Please, tell us more about healthy ways to acknowledge conflict with your teammate.

Lewis Hamilton

Yes, please, I’m so excited to hear all about healthy ways to resolve conflict between teammates.

Mark Webber

You can’t resolve conflict between teammates when one of them is a menace.

Sebastian Vettel

Who refuses to listen to anything except his own opinions.

Mark Webber

And ignores team orders for his own benefit.

Valtteri Bottas

I’m emailing all of you a list of recommendations for therapists.

Chapter Text

Dog Dads

lewishamilton and charles_leclerc (Instagram)

―――

Charles wouldn’t say he was nervous, but he was clutching a wriggling Leo rather tightly to his chest, which Lewis figured was a pretty good indicator that his future teammate wasn’t entirely at ease with introducing the puppy to a – by comparison – very relaxed Roscoe.

The British Bulldog in question was regarding the entire scene with his usual calm demeanor, though his attention was evidently focused on the energetic puppy still trying to escape Charles’ hold.

“If you’re not ready for them to meet, yet, that’s okay, Charles,” Lewis offered gently. “They’ll have plenty of time to hang out next season, yeah?”

Lewis knew that part of the nervousness Charles insisted he wasn’t feeling could be attributed to the fact that Leo hadn’t been introduced to many other dogs in the time since Doni Nahmias had gifted the tiny pup to the Monegasque, Charles insisting that Leo needed all of his vaccinations first.

It was a very responsible thing for him to have done – and also a far cry from the panicked, overwhelmed man who had called Lewis just hours before the GQ Global Creativity Awards, with a single handful of tiny puppy and no idea what to do next.

“No, I mean yes, I am ready, it is just...” Charles trailed off, glancing worriedly at Roscoe. “He is just so big.”

Admittedly, Roscoe was a fair bit bigger than Leo – not that that was hard, even though he’d practically doubled in size, the puppy was still objectively tiny – but Lewis also knew and trusted his dog.

“He won’t squish him,” Lewis promised. “He’s played with plenty of dogs that were smaller than him.”

When Charles still hesitated, Lewis took a different approach, carefully shifting to hold Roscoe a bit more firmly before voicing his suggestion.

“Why don’t you crouch down and you can hang on to Leo while they give each other a sniff?” Lewis offered. “See how they react to one another, yeah?”

Charles nodded fervently at that before carefully crouching down and shifting his hold on Leo so that he could hold him out to sniff Roscoe. Predictably, Roscoe tilted his head up to investigate Leo, but he remained pretty calm about the whole thing. Leo, however, was a wiggly mess of energy, stretching as far as he could manage to better sniff at Roscoe’s face.

“See?” Lewis said. “They’re okay. Why don’t you try putting him down next – you can keep him on his lead too, just in case.”

Charles nodded before finally – if still hesitantly – placing an ecstatic Leo on the grass between where their two motorhomes were wedged next to each other within the Silverstone paddock.

Roscoe’s presence aside, even that was a huge improvement – Lewis remembered a frantic Charles stressing about germs and dirt on the ground, refusing to put Leo down. Still, Lewis knew that the Monegasque had been looking forward to having a pet playdate with Roscoe, even if he was nervous.

Thankfully, Roscoe seemed up to the task.

The British Bulldog was calmly waiting between Lewis’ knees, attention fixed on a still-wiggling Leo. As Lewis watched, the Miniature Longhaired Dachshund darted forward to sniff at Roscoe before quickly retreating between Charles’ knees.

“He feels safe with you, Lewis observed, earning himself a blinding smile from the Monegasque.

“You think so?”

“Yeah, mate – see how he keeps coming back to you after sniffing Roscoe?” Lewis gestured. “He trusts you to keep him safe, so he feels comfortable taking some risks – like approaching a big, strange dog – with you nearby.”

Charles’ smile turned painfully fond as he regarded his energetic puppy, who was now letting out little yips as he play-bowed to Roscoe, clearly trying to bait the larger dog into playing.  

“He does not seem so scared,” Charles admitted. “I think I was more scared than he is.”

“Probably – it can definitely be nerve-wracking, especially when it’s your first go at it,” Lewis acknowledged. As he spoke, he dug out a ball for the dogs to play with – a well-loved rope thing. Usually, Roscoe would be all over it, but instead Lewis found himself watching fondly as Roscoe dropped the ball and nosed it towards an increasingly hyper Leo.

“I just – I worry that I am doing things wrong,” Charles admitted – as if his anxiety wasn’t obvious in the tension with which he held himself, or the way he was gnawing on his lip, eyes fixed on where Leo was now darting around Roscoe, tag wagging vigorously.

“I know the feeling.”

Charles scoffed, and Lewis raised a brow.

“You think I knew what I was doing when I brought Roscoe home?” Lewis asked. “Or – hell – when Max first started following me around like a lost puppy?”

Charles giggled at that, but Lewis pushed forward, determined to make his point.

“I had no idea what I was doing when I first started supporting Max – or even you, really,” Lewis admitted. “I was scared I’d fuck it up, or else make one of you hate me, but I couldn’t just not try, y’know?”

“Oh yes, I know,” Charles agreed readily. “Doni handed him to me, and I could not imagine giving him up, even though keeping him was very scary.”

“You figure it out, over time,” Lewis said with a shrug. “Trial and error, mostly, but by asking for help, too.”

“I called you right away!”

“And now you’ve got a vet,” Lewis pointed out. “And a trainer, right?”

Admittedly, Leo didn’t look as though he’d been doing much training – finally off his lead (curtesy of a beleaguered Joris), he was fully zoomie-ing around the grassy patch they’d claimed for this meet-up, Charles’ friend Anthoine enthusiastically snapping photos while everyone else cooed and laughed at the two dogs.

“I have a trainer for him,” Charles reassured Lewis. “Not that it is helping much – he is a menace, Lewis.”

Lewis snorted.

They said that dogs took after their owners, or something like that, and Lewis wasn’t saying that Charles was a menace, except… he absolutely was.

Leo was just matching his energy.

“Training not going well, then?”

Charles groaned.

“Always, he is peeing everywhere,” Charles bemoaned. “He will pee, and then go sit on his pee pad after he has peed on the floor.”

Lewis snorted, but politely didn’t mention that Charles had definitely accidentally trained his puppy to pee on the floor.

Unbelievable.

“You’ll get there,” Lewis offered instead. “And if you can’t – we’re here to help, yeah? Lots of drivers on and off the grid have or have had dogs.”

Silence – punctuated by Leo’s energetic yips and Roscoe’s happy chuffs – and then –

“I wanted to be able to do this by myself,” Charles admitted sheepishly.

In response, Lewis bumped their shoulders together before grinning cheekily at his future teammate.

“None of us do any of this by ourselves, mate,” Lewis advised. “Now, do you want to go see if we can get Leo to ride Roscoe like a horse?”

Charles answering grin was damn near blinding.

―――

Grid Dads

Sat, July 6, 2024 at 7:16 pm

Jenson Button

Where was my invitation to the puppy playdate?

Lewis, I am literally at the track!

Lewis Hamilton

We wanted to give the dogs some time to get to know one another without too much fanfare.

Charles is still quite nervous.

Mark Webber

Come on, mate.

I want to see the dogs too!

Fernando Alonso

They did not invite anyone.

Very rude.

Lewis Hamilton

If you want to see Roscoe that badly, you can just come by Mercedes.

Fernando Alonso

I am not doing that.

Jenson Button

I see Roscoe all the time.

I want to see Leo.

Lewis Hamilton

Now you’ve gone and upset Roscoe.

I’m telling Toto to ban you from Hospitality for the weekend.

Nico Rosberg

Not me though, right?

I will be there tomorrow.

I want to see Roscoe.

Lewis Hamilton

You’re coming for the race?

Nico Rosberg

I would not miss it.

Sebastian Vettel

But I thought you were not working this weekend?

Jenson Button

Mate…

Lewis Hamilton

I’ll get Rosa to leave a Paddock Pass at Hospitality for you.

Mark Webber

Back to the dogs.

Are you and Leclerc splitting dog-walking duties next year?

Chapter Text

Lewis wasn’t alone in the way he was hesitantly observing the way McLaren’s driver duo was orbiting one another, both unwilling to be the first person to make a move after the team orders debacle at the end of the race.

Lewis knew that Lando regretted that he hadn’t allowed Oscar to pass when he’d first been told to do so by the team – he’d said as much when he’d stormed into Lewis’ Driver’s Room after mouthing off to the press, the adrenaline crash pairing quite nicely with some post-race clarity. Of course, he’d also said that he would have attempted to overtake the Australian again afterwards, because Lando was nothing if not competitive and stubborn.

Unfortunately, Oscar appeared to be much of the same.

Which was why what felt like half the Grid – notably Alex Albon, Logan Sargeant, George Russell, Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Daniel Ricciardo, and (inexplicably) Jack Doohan – were watching the duo take turns glancing nervously at one another from across the VIP lounge they’d overrun while they waited for their significantly delayed flight.

Because even private jets couldn’t avoid the all-consuming power of air traffic control – especially when the airspace they were meant to fly through enroute to Monaco was too crowded with other aircraft at the moment.

Apparently.

So, probably, a large part of the problem could be attributed not only to the duo refusing to actually speak to one another, but also the fact that they were tired and hungry.

Tired, Lewis couldn’t solve, but hungry –

“Right, if we’re going to be here for a bit longer, shall we grab some food?” Lewis suggested aloud, biting his lip to avoid laughing aloud at the way several drivers practically tripped over themselves in their rush to get up and volunteer for the food run.

“What should we grab?”

For a moment, there was an indecipherable cacophony of noise as everyone made different suggestions, and then –

“Let the Race Winner decide,” Lando scoffed cynically, not even bothering to look up from his phone.

It was impossible to miss the hurt on Oscar’s face, or the way Logan looked ready to launch himself at Lando – despite Alex and George laying calming hands on the American’s shoulders. Even Carlos looked unimpressed with the Brit, and the Spaniard consistently proved that he thought Lando could do no wrong, even on the worst of days.

One problem at a time, though.

First, food.

“Great idea, Lando,” Lewis forced out between gritted teeth. “Oscar, what do you want to celebrate?”

For a moment, Lewis thought Oscar might just ignore him, and then –

“Can we get Macca’s?” his voice was small, and uncertain, as if he thought Lewis was seriously going to tell him no. “I – I would really like a Big Mac and chips.”

Lewis certainly wouldn’t be eating McDonald’s, but judging by the excited noises from nearly every one of the gathered drivers, no one else had any pressing complaints. Plus, it was an easy request, and one that might finally help brighten up their newest race winner, so Lewis was hardly going to complain.

“Excellent idea,” Lewis agreed. “Text your requests to Lando, and we’ll go get that sorted. Daniel, do you want to come help us carry everything back?”

Probably, they could have just mobile ordered and had the food delivered to the lounge, but Lewis wasn’t about to try talking to Lando in front of Oscar. Judging by the knowing look on Daniel’s face as he agreed – and subsequently dragged a still pouting and whining Lando to his feet – the older Australian had a good idea of Lewis’ intentions.

Still, Lewis waited until they’d actually recited their absurdly large order to an obviously overwhelmed cashier before broaching the subject with Lando, Daniel hovering silently in his periphery.

“You need to tell Oscar what you told me,” Lewis pointed out blandly.

As expected, Lando immediately had his hackles up.

“Why should I be the one to apologize to him,” Lando snapped. “Maybe I fucked up, but he got the race win in the end, didn’t he?”

“I didn’t say apologize Lando,” Lewis chided, even though he felt Lando could probably do with some of that too. “I said to talk to him – tell him that you know that you did not handle the team orders situation well, and that you would behave differently if the situation arose again.”

“But –”

“You’re in the wrong on this one, mate,” Daniel interjected gently. “I know you were trying to prove a point to the team, but you hurt Oscar in the process, and he didn’t deserve that. The team made a mistake, not Oscar.”

“I already said that I should have just let him past straight away,” Lando muttered petulantly.

“Yes, you told me that,” Lewis agreed sagely. “But I’m not Oscar, mate, am I?”

Lando grumbled incoherently in response, pouting and fiddling with his phone instead of gracing the pair of older drivers with an actual response. Lewis was okay to wait him out – he’d had enough experience with Lando’s moods by now to know that he’d come around eventually – but Daniel seemed to have other ideas.

“You’re not the younger driver anymore, kid,” Daniel pointed out. “I know when it was me, or Carlos, you could wait for us to come to you, but it’s not like that with Oscar. You’re the more experienced teammate here – he looks up to you – so you have to be the one to make the first move.”

A pause, then –

“But what if he doesn’t want to hear my excuses?” Lando asked quietly – nervously, really, given the shift in his expression from petulant to worried. “What if I’ve fucked it all up, again, because I’m actually a horrible teammate and – and –”

“You’re not a horrible teammate,” Lewis was quick to reassure as he pulled Lando into a hug, relieved when the younger man folded into the embrace willingly.

“As one of your former teammates, I think I can confirm that,” Daniel added gently.

“But –”

“You don’t always have to agree with your teammate to be a good one, yeah?” Daniel interjected before Lando could work himself up. “We had our ups and downs, kid, but you were never the problem.”

Lando sagged as Daniel’s words washed over him – just in time for their order to finally be called.

Lewis pretended to ignore the way Lando jumped to sort out the bags, clearly making sure that he had Oscar’s requested Big Mac before doling out the rest of the order into Daniel and Lewis’ waiting arms.

Lewis felt his heart swell with pride as Lando marched right up to Oscar upon their return, a familiar look of determination lining his face as he stomped over the where the Australian was fiddling with his phone.

“I should have given the place back right away,” Lando announced. “It was such a stupid thing that I didn’t, because the team had already said that we were free to race. I could have just let you past and still tried to overtake and to race you after.”

Oscar – and everyone else, really – paused what they were doing to stare at a still rambling Lando.

“It sounds so simple now, but it’s not something that went through my head at the time. Such a simple thing like that, I should have done,” Lando pressed on. “I knew from as soon as they boxed me ahead of you that I was going to have to let you go by, so it was a bit silly that I didn’t let you go earlier.”

“Lando –”

“But I didn’t – obviously, and I clouded over your first race win in Formula 1, which is something I’m not feeling too proud about,” Lando rambled.

“Lando –”

“The fact we had a 1-2 but that was barely spoken about after the race… I feel terrible about that too,” Lando admitted, unaware or unheeding of Oscar’s continued attempts to interrupt him. “Like, I really just made the whole thing about me, and that wasn’t right, because you did nothing wrong, it was the team, and –”

“Lando!”

It was Daniel who interjected this time, albeit a bit more forcefully, drawing the younger Brit out of his spiral.

“You’ve said your bit – maybe try listening now, yeah?” Daniel suggested, albeit a bit more gently.

“I – yeah – just – Oscar?”

Lando turned wide eyes and a hopeful expression back towards his teammate, only for the Australian to gesture towards the McDonalds bag still clutched in Lando’s death grip.

“Is that my Macca’s?”

“I – yeah?”

“Okay.”

For a moment, Lewis genuinely thought that Oscar was going to leave it at that – and honestly, if Oscar insisted on being upset with Lando – or worse, just ignoring him entirely – Lewis wasn’t really sure how they were going to handle this.

It’s not like Mark would be any help.

“Okay?”

“Yeah, Lando, okay,” Oscar said with a small smile. “We’re okay.”

“Just – that’s it?” Lando seemed flabbergasted, and honestly, Lewis was a bit, too.

He knew – they all knew – that Oscar was as level-headed as they came, but even this was a bit unexpected. He hadn’t expected the pair devolve into a screaming match like Lando and Oscar had done after Austri, but this… Lewis wasn’t really sure what to make of it, but then –

“The team should have done things a bit better and a little bit differently,” Oscar said with a shrug. “That’s not on you – or me – so we’ll have to discuss it and figure out what to do next time.”

“Next time?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m not planning on this being out last 1-2 this season,” Oscar pointed out flatly – to a general complaint from all the other gathered drivers, which he pointedly ignored. “Now – can I have my Macca’s?”

Lando nodded enthusiastically before dropping down onto the arm of the chair next to his teammate, apparently uncaring about personal space, already focused on doling out their food while the pair – from what Lewis could hear – began quietly plotting how to ambush the team at their next debrief.

Better Andrea Stella – or Zak Brown – than him, honestly.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, July 21, 2024 at 8:14 pm

Lewis Hamilton added Daniel Ricciardo to the conversation.

Daniel Ricciardo

I really don’t think I’m old enough for this.

Lewis Hamilton

Daniel, you’re 35 years old.

Daniel Ricciardo

I’m not responsible enough, then.

Sebastian Vettel

No, Daniel is right, he is not old enough for this.

Lewis Hamilton

Seb, he’s 2 years younger than you.

And he did a great job helping me convince Lando to sort things out with Oscar.

Mark Webber

Shame.

I was kind of hoping Oscar would let Lando have it.

Jenson Button

Excuse me?

That whole shitshow was hardly Lando’s fault!

Mark Webber

He had team orders, and he chose to ignore them.

Seems like his problem to me, mate.

Lewis Hamilton

Oh no.

Sebastian Vettel

Well, maybe he felt the team orders were wrong.

He’s the one closest to Max in the standings, the team should have prioritized him.

Mark Webber

They’re a team.

He should have listened to team orders.

Even if he didn’t agree with them.

Sebastian Vettel

Oh yes, like you did, in Brazil 2012?

Mark Webber

No, like you did in Malaysia 2013.

Lewis Hamilton

For the love of God, would you two knock it off?

Jenson Button

It’s been over a decade.

Nico Rosberg

Even Lewis and I have not managed to hold a grudge this long.

And he ignored team orders so many times.

Lewis Hamilton

You parked your car in the middle of Qualifying so I couldn’t set a faster lap.

Nico Rosberg

You used a banned engine mode to beat me.

Lewis Hamilton

You did that one first.

And you hit me on purpose at Spa.

Nico Rosberg

You forced me wide in Texas.

Lewis Hamilton

You threw your cap at me!

Daniel Ricciardo

You know what?

I like the vibes here.

I think I’ll stay.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, George has been disqualified for his car being below the minimum required weight. Here’s Toto’s reaction.

Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team (Instagram Post)

Heartbreaking… We came in 1.5kg underweight and have been disqualified from the race. We left it all on the track today and I take pride in crossing the line first. There will be more to come. 🏆💙

George Russell (Instagram post)

The updated race result moves Lewis up to P1 - his 105th win in F1 🏆

Mercedes-AMG Petronas Formula 1 Team (Instagram Post)

―――

Lewis hesitated – for perhaps the first time ever – before knocking on the door to George’s Driver’s Room.

He’d tried to catch him earlier – before the FIA had made things official – but a reporter had caught Lewis’ attention and by the time he’d looked back towards his teammate’s side of the garage, the younger man had vanished.

Lewis knew exactly how gut-wrenching a disqualification like this could be, especially after such a hard-fought win – and ever moreso when the team didn’t seem to have any answers as to why George’s car was 1.5 kg underweight when Lewis’ wasn’t.

Which was particularly peculiar considering that his and Lewis’ car had been nearly identical - within 500 grammes – when weighed after qualifying.

So here Lewis was, tapping gently at George’s door, fiercely hoping his teammate hadn’t already fled towards a well-deserved Summer Break, with a pouch of those Maoam Stripes candies he’d overheard George say were his favourite while filming a TikTok for the media team.

Thankfully, the younger Brit appeared at the door before Lewis could spiral too severely.

“Hey, Lewis,” George greeted tiredly, the forced smile on his face not even nearing his red-rimmed eyes.

“Hey, kid,” Lewis responded gently. “Mind if I come in?”

If George said no, Lewis would have to respect that. He’d pass of the candies, wish George a good summer break, and give him space to process today’s events without Lewis hovering. He wouldn’t like it, but he would respect it, because George had every reason to be frustrated with Lewis right now, and –

“Yeah, mate, c’mon in,” George sighed, stepping aside to let Lewis slip into the small room. “Are those Stripes?”

“Ah – yeah?” Lewis agreed, fully aware of how awkward he probably looked holding the pouch of candies up between them. “Thought you might need a pick-me-up?”

George’s next smile was a bit more genuine as he snatched the candies, the package already torn open by the time he dropped down on his massage table with a beleaguered groan.

Not beleaguered enough, apparently, to forget his proper British manners though.

Probably, his mum would’ve been proud.

“Would you like some?” George offered.

“Naw – they’re not vegan,” Lewis pointed out sheepishly. “Animal gelatin, y’know? Besides, they’re for you. Reckon I don’t have much to complain about.”

Because George might have been disqualified, but it was Lewis who had inherited the win. His 105^th win, inherited because his teammate had been disqualified for a car that was inexplicably 1.5 kg overweight.

Nico would have been furious, somehow blaming the entire situation on Lewis.

Valtteri would have shrugged it off or made some kind of self-deprecating joke.

George though?

Lewis wasn’t entirely sure, and to be honest, he despised that the team had put them in this position when they’d only just begun to feel normal again after the whole Ferrari announcement debacle at the start of the season.

True to character, George opted for avoidance, expression slipping into something more PR-worthy as he fiddled with the edge of the Stripes package.

“They’re saying that it may be because I made the decision to run an unexpected one-stop race,” George explained, voice carefully neutral. “Which caused my tyres to be a lot more worn than yours.”

Still, Lewis could hear the disbelief there, hidden beneath George’s carefully manufactured persona he insisted on hiding behind when he didn’t trust himself to keep his emotions in check.

“And what do you think?”

For several long minutes, there was no response, and Lewis had actually begun to think that George simply wouldn’t answer, but then –

“I think it was my fault,” George admitted, voice so quiet that Lewis wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t listening so carefully.

“The tyres and the plank –” Lewis tried, only for a suddenly vehement George to cut him off.

“No, Lewis, not the car,” George snapped. “Me. My weight is part of the car’s weight – my weight loss. Shov said – he said that I lost quite a bit of weight. That – my weight could be the problem.”

For a moment, Lewis had to fight back the suddenly overwhelming urge to go find Mercedes trackside engineering director Andrew Shovlin and put his fist through his face – despite generally liking the man – because imagining the man saying something so callous was simply infuriating.

Shov had to know – everyone knew – that Formula 1 drivers had complicated relationships with food – and by consequence, weight and body image – as a result of the weight-related targets in Formula 1.

Too tall or too big, and you simply won't fit in the undersized cockpits. Too heavy, and you slow the car down. Too light, and the team has to add weight to the cockpit to make the minimum, and you might not be strong enough to endure the grueling nature of 90 minutes in an overheated car while experiencing extreme G-forces.

For taller drivers, like George or Alex Albon, the challenges they faced to keep their weight at the optimum level for going fast could be… overwhelming.

At 1.85 m – or just over 6 feet – George was quite familiar with this struggle. Lewis had watched as he worked with Aleix to develop a nutrition plan that wasn’t just smoothies, despite George’s insistence that he loved them.

He’d watched Aleix worry, weekend after weekend, about George’s weight, while the younger Brit insisted that he was eating enough.

So for Shov to say –

“What exactly did Shov said, George,” Lewis asked carefully, once he was sure that he could trust his voice again.

“He said that the car can lose quite a lot of weight during the race, from tyre wear, to plank wear, to brake wear, or even oil consumption, but that the drivers themselves can lose a lot too,” George explained monotonously. “I saw my weight – I lost quite a bit of weight this race.”

Again, Lewis fought back the urge to find Shov, instead moving to sit next to George.

“But he also said that it could be from tyre wear, to plank wear, to brake wear, or even oil consumption,” Lewis pointed out. “Probably, it’s a combination of all of those things wearing down more than expected, especially during a one-stop run like you did.”

“I’m the one who suggested the idea of a one-stop,” George pointed out, seemingly dead-set on blaming himself for the disqualification. “No matter how you spin this, it’s my fault Lewis. My weight, my strategy, my decisions.”

Despite wanting to scream and shout and prove George wrong, Lewis knew none of that would help right now. And, if he was being honest, he suspected that George wanted him to scream and shout – wanted to be made to feel responsible, because the team had failed to find him guilty of a flaw he had identified.

He was looking for someone to punish him for a non-existent error, and since the team wouldn’t do it, he was trying to goad Lewis into being to one to scold him.

“None of this is your fault, George,” Lewis began, holding up a hand when the younger man opened his mouth to interrupt him. “At least, not entirely. Sure, you made the decision to go with a one-stop strategy, but the team approved it. They’re the ones who set-up the cars – extra plank wear or break-wear or even oil consumption would be the team’s fault. Even your weight – they know how many kilos you typically drop in a race, especially a hot one, and that should have been accounted for. At very least, it shouldn’t be what makes or breaks the post-race weigh-in, okay?”

“But –”

“No, George,” Lewis interrupted adamantly. “If you’re truly worried your weight was the tipping point, we can talk to Aleix about adjusting your meal plan for the second half of the season, okay?”

For a moment, George was silent again, and when he spoke, his voice was impossibly sad.

“Does it get easier?” George asked.

“Losing?” Lewis asked wryly. “Not really – and I reckon if it did, that would be my sign to retire.”

“That’s not what I mean, and you know it,” George grumbled petulantly – but he finally popped another Stripes in his mouth, which Lewis saw as a win.

“The rest of it?” Lewis asked. “Sometimes yes, sometimes no – but that’s why we have each other, and our teams. You’re not alone in this George – you never have been, and you never will be, yeah?”

“Next year –”

“Next year, we might not be teammates, but I’ll still be there for you,” Lewis interrupted firmly. “Just like I support Max, or Charles, or Lando. They’re not my teammates – not yet, at least – but that’s never stopped me. And it won’t stop me, okay?”

At this point, Lewis reckoned there wasn’t much that could stop him from supporting his fellow drivers.

Still, it seemed that the fact bears repeating now and again.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, July 28, 2024 at 6:31 pm

Lewis Hamilton

Valtteri, did any of the therapists you recommended specialise in eating disorders?

Or just… positive relationships with food in general?

Valtteri Bottas

Which one of them is not eating?

Lewis Hamilton

I’m not sure I should say.

I just… He won’t admit it, but I think if the option was there, he might reach out.

You know?

Sebastia Vettel

He is not alone in this, he knows that, yes?

Mark Webber

I reckon most of us have struggled with the whole weight thing at some point.

Hell, I felt like I hadn't eaten properly in years by the time I retired.

Jenson Button

I struggled to meet the weight limit for years.

It was… well, I certainly don’t miss it.

Valtteri Bottas

And you know that I struggled with an eating disorder for years.

Exercise and eating became an addiction for me.

I will talk to Toto myself if I have to, Lewis, I am very serious.

Lewis Hamilton

Valtteri.

Valtteri Bottas

He is not my boss anymore.

But, yes, I will send you a couple of contacts.

Mark Webber

You could try reaching out to DC too.

In his autobiography, he talked about his obsession with controlling his diet and working out.

He could help too, probably.

Daniel Ricciardo

I’ll send over some recommendations too.

Fernando Alonso

I do not think I have a therapist that could help.

But I will send you the contact information for my new nutritionist – it has been much better this year, this new diet.

Maybe they can help also, yes?

Lewis Hamilton

Thanks, guys.

I just… Thank-you.

Chapter Text

“He’s on fire, he needs to jump out,” George insisted over the radio, even as he gestured towards Logan – who was inexplicably still in his smouldering car – trying to communicate to the younger man that he needed to get out now.

“There’s also a tyre moving down – rolling down the middle of the circuit,” his Race Engineer, Marcus Dudley, responded nonsensically.

George bit back what he wanted to say – that he didn’t care about the damn tyre, only about Logan.

Why wasn’t Williams telling him to get out of the car?

Was he stuck – or worse, injured and unable to get himself out?

“He needs to get out of his car,” George insisted. “Why isn’t he getting out of the car?”

“The driver is okay,” Marcus insisted.

Then why wasn’t he getting out of the damn car?

―――

Lewis had tried – really, truly tried – to calm George down, but he’d been a holy terror from the moment he’d clambered out of his own car, demanding to see replays of Logan’s crash, insisting on listening to Williams’ radio messages.

Obviously, those things had not helped.

Lewis had thought that perhaps – just maybe – knowing that Logan was safely back in the garage would have soothed George’s rage enough to keep him contained within Mercedes until at least after FP3, but then he’d caught wind of a post-collision replay of James Vowles speaking to SkySports.

“When you have an extensive development package on the car like we do here, that is the worst possible time to put a racing car into the guardrails,” James said. “100 people worked their fingers to the bone for weeks on our major upgrade so we could have two cars with the new parts – and then everything is unnecessarily in ruins within a second.”

Lewis was growing gradually more concerned that George was actually contemplating homicide, the unreadable expression on his teammate’s face doing nothing to assuage his growing worry.

Unfortunately, James chose the next moment to make his unannounced appearance in Mercedes’ garage.

Even Toto didn’t try to stop George as he stormed towards the Williams Team Principal, expression slipping back into the picture of rage Lewis had witnessed earlier, when George had first climbed from his car.

“Where is he?” George demanded, far too close to James for comfort.

Lewis shifted surreptitiously, putting himself just a bit closer to George. In his peripheral vision, he saw Toto doing something similar, while Mick simply watched on in abject horror.  

George probably wouldn’t kill James, but still –

Usually, relations between Williams and Mercedes were quite amicable, and not only because the team was powered by Mercedes engines. There was a history here, between drivers and team members, that went beyond simple on-track rivalries. Usually, the Williams team would welcome their former driver with open arms, always happy to see him, even amidst a race weekend, and vice-versa.

Now, no one seemed to know how to react.

“Back in his Driver’s Room, I imagine,” James responded dismissively, and yep –

Lewis darted forward to wrap an arm around George’s waist, straining as he tugged his taller – and righteously furious – teammate away from Vowles.

“Did you even bother to check on him?” George demanded as Lewis wrangled his noticeably taller frame away from the Williams Team Principal with considerable difficulty.

“Really, James?” Toto sounded exasperated.

“You didn’t tell him to get out of the car,” George snarled, still struggling against Lewis’ hold. “It was on fire and you didn’t tell him!”

“The track was still active; we were waiting for confirmation that it was safe to exit the vehicle,” James said, voice still painfully indifferent.

Which even Lewis knew was bullshit, because –

“If the car is on fire you don’t need to wait for FIA authorization,” George snapped. “You were too damn busy worrying about the car and not your fucking driver!”

“George,” Toto warned, despite the fact he very obviously did not have control of the situation.

“Lewis, let me go,” George murmured darkly, murderous expression fixed on the two Team Principals.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

“It is not my problem right now,” James still sounded apathetic, which was doing absolutely nothing to calm George. “You don't take full risk in the third practice session in the rain; if he can’t be bothered to think about the team, I don’t know why we’d be bothered to worry about him.”

For a brief moment, Lewis debated just letting George have at it, but then Mick was at his side, helping usher George out of the garage while Toto all but dragged James towards his office.

“Get him out of here,” Mick suggested tersely.

“C’mon George,” Lewis encouraged. “Let’s go check on Logan, yeah?”

With a final thunderous glare towards where Toto and James had vanished into the depths of Mercedes’ garage, George allowed himself to be led down the Pitlane towards Williams’ garage. As they walked, Lewis pointedly ignoring George’s muttering, figuring he could at least claim plausible deniability later if he didn’t pay much attention to George’s homicidal rantings.

Thankfully, Alex appeared from his side of the garage almost as soon as they arrived, quickly landing two hands on George’s waist to direct his friend’s attention towards himself and away from the flummoxed mechanics and crew.

“Hey, Georgie,” Alex’s voice was gentle. “He’s okay, yeah? Just back in his Driver’s Room, taking a moment.”

George seemed to deflate at that, and for a moment, Lewis thought that might be it. Alex had always had a way with George, their shared childhood and long-term friendship going a long way towards soothing George’s more emotional reactions.

“Can we go see him?” George asked tersely.

Lewis understood the need to put eyes on Logan after a crash like that – watching him leap from his flaming vehicle on television replays simply wasn’t enough to assuage the lingering worry. Like George, Lewis would truly only feel at ease once he’d seen – and preferably hugged – Logan for himself.

“Sure,” Alex agreed immediately. “Oscar’s already in there with him – it’ll be a tight squeeze, but I doubt he’ll mind.”

Unsaid was that Logan was clearly shaken up.

Lewis followed the taller driver duo silently, smiling slightly at the way they almost subconsciously leaned into one another as they walked, their shoulders brushing with increasing frequency as they fell into step.

It wasn’t long before Alex was gently tapping on Logan’s door before wordless pushing it open, shifting so that George, and then Lewis, could crowd into the admittedly cramped space.

Logan was curled up on his massage table, head cradled in Oscar’s lap. The Australian was still in his race suit – not unlike everyone else in the room – but he’d managed to arrange his sleeves into something of a pillow for Logan.

Even from a distance, Lewis could see Logan’s red-rimmed eyes and the still-wet tear tracks on his cheeks. Judging by the pained sound George made at the sight, his teammate could see just how much Logan was hurting too.

“Logan,” George breathed stepping forward to gently place a hand on the younger man’s shoulder as he shifted to crouch, bringing the pair to eye-level. Oscar watched the Brit carefully, the hand he’d been running through Logan’s hair stilling as he assessed George’s approach. “I – are you okay?”

Logan blinked slowly, and then, instead of answering, shifted to hide his face in his race suit sleeve pillow.

Lewis bit back a sigh.

The thing was, this was typical for Logan – the avoidance, pushing people away, trying to hide how he was truly feeling. He’d done it for so long that they’d all missed how much he was hurting, thinking his behaviour was normal… and then in Australia, shutting both Oscar and Alex out so effectively that it had taken Lewis threatening to make a scene to even be allowed into his Driver’s Room. He’d thought they were making progress after Logan had sought him out in Miami, but…

Perhaps a different tactic, then.

Lewis cleared his throat.

“How about you, Oscar?”

Because the Australian’s eyes were noticeably watery and red-rimmed too – even if he seemed to be holding back his own tears for Logan’s sake.

“That’s not –”

Lewis raised a silent brow, and Oscar’s voice trailed off, gaze dropping to where Logan was still hiding in his lap.

“I just… I couldn’t do anything,” Oscar’s voice was slightly shaky. “I just had to watch him spin out of control after he clipped the grass, then slam into the barrier. It – shit, I barely had time to react before there was just debris and a fucking tyre and –”

Oscar’s tirade trailed off with a strangled sound, and Logan finally popped up from his hiding spot, shaking off George’s lingering hand and wriggling so that he could sit back up to look at Oscar.

“Osc,” Logan breathed worriedly.

“Lo, your car was destroyed,” Oscar choked out. “I couldn’t tell if you were okay, I couldn’t stop, and then I could see the smoke in my rear views and I couldn’t do anything.”

“I’m okay,” Logan sounded equally emotional as his tipped his forehead forward to rest against Oscar’s. “I got out, I promise I’m okay.”

“You know that it’s okay to not be okay right now, right?” Lewis interjected gently, drawing both of the 2023 rookies’ gazes towards him.

“It was a big crash,” Alex added softly.

“And the car was on fire – that’s always frightening,” George added in a low voice.

For a moment, Lewis thought that his roundabout strategy to get Logan out of his shell was going to go to waste because Alex and George were simply being too overbearing, but then Oscar nudged Logan, and the American shrugged, looking down at his lap before responding.

The words that came out of his mouth absolutely shattered Lewis.

“The crash wasn’t – I mean, I’ve had worse,” Logan stumbled over his words, unsteady and unsure. “But getting out, I just – I thought – it might have been easier if I didn’t get out of the car.”

The sound Oscar made was akin to something dying, the Australian not hesitating to drag Logan into a crushing hold before looking over his shoulder towards Lewis, terror and heartbreak lining his now tearstained expression.

“George, Alex – can you give us some space?” Lewis asked tightly.

George opened his mouth to argue, but Alex seemed to see – or hear – something in Lewis’ voice that had him dragging George out of the room, the door clicking shut behind them.

Lewis trusted them to have each other, for the moment.

Oscar and Logan, though…

“Lewis.” Oscar begged.

“I need you to let Logan go – just for a few moments, Oscar – so I can talk to him, yeah?” Lewis pushed when the younger man tightened his grip instead of letting go – before reluctantly releasing Logan into Lewis’ waiting arms.

“Logan, what did you mean by that?”

Instead of answering, the American hid his face in Lewis’ shoulder – which simply wouldn’t do right now. It wasn’t – Lewis hated to push him like this, but –

“Logan,” Lewis insisted.

“It’s too hard,” the American mumbled against Lewis’ race suit. “It’s always so damn hard, and I’m tired of fucking trying when no one cares.”

Logan pulled back to look up at Lewis with tear-stained cheeks and red-rimmed eyes, expression the picture of heartbreak.

“I’m so, so tired, Lewis,” Logan admitted.

Oscar didn’t hesitate to invade their space once the American had finished speaking, pressing into Logan’s side as he joined their cuddle, clinging desperately to Logan even as he maneuvered himself to be plastered against Lewis’ side.

And Lewis… he didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make this better, when Logan was clearly hurting so deeply, but he had to say something, had the make sure that Logan knew he wasn’t alone – knew that he didn’t have to shoulder this pain by himself.

“Logan, I can’t – I can only imagine how you feel,” Lewis admitted gently. “Even these past few years – they were incredibly mentally challenging, thinking that I couldn’t – but… Logan, we’re here for you, okay? I’m not going to leave you alone, you’re not alone with this, okay?”

Logan sniffled and nodded against Lewis’ chest.

“I don’t want to die,” Logan clarified quietly. “That’s not – I just – I can’t keep doing this, and – just for a second, y’know? It seemed like it would maybe be easier if I just – just…”

“Logan, no,” Oscar breathed.

“You don’t have to,” Lewis offered softly. “If you don’t think it’s safe, you don’t have to go out for Qualifying or – or again this weekend. We’ll – George will know what to say or do, who we need to talk to, if – if that’s what you want, yeah?”

For several long moments, it was silent, and Lewis mentally prepared himself to go to war for Logan – against the god damn FIA itself if he had to, never mind James-fucking-Vowles – but then the American was shaking his head.

“No – I can drive,” Logan’s voice was surer than it had been since Lewis had entered the room. “I want to race – especially if – if it’s going to be the last time. I can do this.”

Whatever Lewis wanted to say – to ask, because what the fuck – was cut off by a knock at the door, and the heads of all three 2019 rookies suddenly peeking – albeit sheepishly – through the door.

“FP3 is going to be resuming soon,” George explained. “Toto texted saying we’re needed back in the garage.”

“Us too,” Lando sounded reluctant to add, gaze fixed on his teammate.

Admittedly, Lewis was pretty sure that all 3 of them looked a mess, but Oscar was already nodding, putting on a determined expression as he forced himself to pull back and wiggle back into his race suit.

“Do you want to come with me to McLaren?” Oscar offered Logan. “You can hide out in my Driver’s Room.”

“Mercedes is open to you as well,” Lewis offered, before adding with a scowl, “Although, I can’t promise that you won’t run into James – unless Toto’s already kicked him to the curb.”

“I’ll kick him to the curb myself,” George grumbled darkly.

But Logan shook his head again.

“No – I should – I’ll stay here,” Logan whispered. As if sensing Lewis’ hesitation, he added, “I’ll be okay.”

“I can stay with him until I have to get back in the car,” Alex added. “There’s not much time left in FP3 anyways – he won’t be alone long, and I’ll stay with him through debriefs and whatnot. Then we can all meet up for lunch or something before Quali?”

Everyone else was nodding and agreeing enthusiastically, but Lewis’ gaze was fixed on Logan, who seemed apprehensive at best.

“Is that what you want?”

Logan looked around, then back down at his fidgeting hands, before answering, voice still small and shaky.

“It’s okay if Alex stays, but I – I’m not sure about after?” Logan sort of asked. “I just – I think I just want to sleep?”

“You can do that,” Lewis agreed gently. “We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, August 24, 2024 at 8:12 pm

Mark Webber

Jenson, does your role as a Senior Advisor with Williams give you access to the team’s hotel information?

Jenson Button

Did you lose Oscar?

Mark Webber

Sure, we can go with that.

Sebastian Vettel

That does not inspire confidence.

Jenson Button

I would assume that they’re at Hotel NH Collection, as usual.

Give me a few minutes, and I’ll send you Logan’s room number privately.

Mark Webber

The thing is, I actually need James Vowles’ room number.

Sebastian Vettel

Jenson, no.

I do not know why, but do not give him that.

Lewis Hamilton

You can give it to me instead.

Jenson Button

Unless half the grid is having a sleepover with James Vowles, I cannot think of a single legal reason why either of you need to know what his room number is.

Lewis Hamilton

Don’t ask questions.

Mark Webber

Just give it to us.

Lewis Hamilton

Then you can claim plausible deniability or whatever.

Jenson Button

As fun as that sounds.

No.

Valtteri Bottas

Can I have it?

Jenson Button

Why?

You know what?

No.

Lewis Hamilton

What if I promise that we just want to talk?

Mark Webber

I can also promise that Lewis just wants to talk.

Sebastian Vettel

But not you?

Mark Webber

Logan is sad.

So, Oscar is sad.

Fernando Alonso

Absolutely not.

Jenson, give me the information.

I am going also.

Jenson Button

See, now I want to give you the information even less.

I refuse to be responsible for a homicide.

Daniel Ricciardo

At least if Fernando is involved, they’ll never find the body.

Lewis Hamilton

See, Daniel understands the plan.

Jenson Button

I don’t believe that there’s a plan.

Unless the plan is to commit a crime.

Mark Webber

That’s rude.

We have the concept of a plan.

Lewis Hamilton

Mark, if Jenson isn’t going to help us, I’m sure we can sweet-talk reception into cooperating.

Mark Webber

See?

Fernando Alonso

I am coming also.

Sebastian Vettel

I would like to make it known that I will not be bailing anyone out of jail.

Chapter Text

Mercedes’ protege Kimi Antonelli was left to reflect on an unfortunate maiden Free Practice 1 outing with the Silver Arrows at the Italian Grand Prix, after putting his borrowed car into the Monza wall just minutes into his debut.

F2 racer Antonelli – believed to be in contention to replace Lewis Hamilton at the team for 2025 – had completed just 10 minutes of running in FP1 when he lost control of the W15 heading into the Parabolica corner.

The 18-year-old Italian rotated the car into the wall, damaging a new floor that Mercedes had been looking to test, and eating into George Russell’s FP2 time as mechanics raced to get the car repaired.

• Formula 1 (August 20, 2024)

―――

Lewis had only one thing on his mind as he clambered out of his car under red flag conditions, despite Bono’s reassurances over the radio that Kimi was fine when Lewis had nearly slowed to a complete stop after coming upon the scene.

Usually, he wouldn’t even bother getting out of the car in a situation like this, but –

“Where is he?” Lewis demanded of the garage as a whole.

Thankfully, Bono appeared at his side within seconds, gently directing him away from what even Lewis could recognize were vaguely terrified mechanics and flustered engineers.

“He’s okay, Lewis – he got out of the car without any issue,” Bono promised gently. “He’s just still down at the medical centre just being checked out, you know how it is.”

“They made him go to the medical centre?” Lewis asked with a frown.

“It was quite a big impact, around 52g,” Bono admitted hesitantly.

“Bono, what the fuck,” Lewis snapped, already wheeling around wildly to point himself towards the nearest exit. “52gs?”

“Hey, hey, relax there, okay?” Bono insisted, moving to block Lewis’ escape. “Toto’s already on his way down there to make sure he gets the attention he needs, and we really don’t have time for you to be running off – they’re saying clean-up won’t take long, so the red flag shouldn’t last more than 10 – 15 minutes at most.”

“But –”

“I’ve got the footage of his crash, if you want to watch it?” George’s Race Engineer – Marcus Dudley – interjected.

Over his shoulder, Lewis could see George hovering awkwardly, Lewis’ headset in hand, as though they’d predicted this exact scenario and gathered the necessary resources in the mere minutes they’d had before Lewis’ arrival.

Was he really that predictable?

“Sure,” Lewis sighed, visibly deflating as he accepted the headset.

The video footage didn’t reveal anything he hadn’t already seen with his own eyes – Kimi careening out-of-control and into the tyre wall alongside the Parabolica corner.

The radio messages, however, were a different story.

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Kimi apologized immediately, despite the way he was breathing heavily.

“Kimi, all good,” Toto was quick to reassure the young Italian. “All good, Kimi.”

“Fuck, he sounds…”

“Winded,” George agreed worriedly as they watched Kimi slowly climb out of the car and trudge away from the track, every line of the 18-year-old’s body screaming dejection.

A pause, and then –

“Is it bad that I was more worried about the car – just for a second – than I was about Kimi?” George’s voice is small, and Lewis can hear the guilt and shame there.

Gently – subtly – Lewis pressed reassuringly against his teammate’s side, offering him a small smile when George finally looked down and made eye contact.

“Maybe not the best thing to admit, mate, but I get it – you’ve got the new floor and power unit this weekend,” Lewis offered. “And as long as it was only for a second…”

“It was!” George yelped, clearly missing the teasing lilt Lewis’ voice had taken on.

“Time to go, Lewis,” Bono interjected.

“If he gets back before I’m out of the car, make sure he knows that too, yeah?” Lewis suggested gently as he allowed himself to be led back towards his car, leaving a worried George lingering in his wake.

If he had it his way, he’d stay by George’s side and fret alongside him – or better yet, head to the medical centre to fret (but with Kimi within eyesight, at least). Instead, he forced himself to focus as the car roared to life beneath him.

Still, Lewis was glad that FP1 was already nearly half over, because he may have gone insane if he had to drive a full session after hearing just how heavily Kimi was breathing after an apparent 52g crash. Even Max’s Silverstone crash at Copse had only been reported as 51 gs…

Thankfully, Lewis had only just pulled himself out of the car when a frazzled looking Toto Wolff entered the garage, herding Kimi and – surprisingly – a distressed Ollie Bearman in front of him. Upon spotting Lewis, Kimi practically fell into the older driver’s arms, Lewis quick to steady the young Italian against himself. He was vaguely aware of Ollie hovering, Kimi’s PREMA teammate clearly unwilling to let him out of arm’s reach, even as Toto moved back towards his usual place among the lingering engineers and staff.

“I’ve got you, kid,” Lewis gently reassured a quivering Kimi Antonelli. “You’re okay, yeah?”

“I am not feeling super well at the moment,” Kimi admitted, voice small and quivering, just like the rest of him, which had Ollie pressing closer, big eyes wide and worried as his gaze darted between where Kimi was resting against Lewis’ shoulder and the older Brit himself.

“Why don’t we go to my Driver’s Room so you can rest a bit before F2 Qualifying?” Lewis suggested, pushing past the tightness in his chest to sound calm and collected in the face of two clearly stressed teens looking to him for support.

How had he ever done this with Max? Or Charles? Even Lando…

Against him, Kimi was shaking his head and pulling back, expression determined despite the way he was still shaking like a leaf.

“No, I have to talk to the team first,” Kimi insisted.

“Kimi –” Ollie tried weakly, but his teammate was already squaring his shoulders and steadying himself as he turned to face the team, strides steady as he approached Toto, George, and Marcus.

“I – I am really sorry to the team and George,” Kimi began. “I – the crash – for making them extra work for afterwards.”

“Kimi –” George tried to interrupt.

“It was a mistake by my side, just pushing a bit too much for the conditions,” Kimi pushed onwards, ignoring George’s attempt to interrupt his tirade. “I should have built the run a bit more progressively.”

“Kimi,” Toto’s voice was more decisive, firmer, finally stopping the young Italian in his tracks.

At Lewis’ side, Ollie made an aborted movement towards Kimi, as if to… what? Protect his teammate from Toto’s potential wrath? Bundle him up and hide him from the world? Whatever his intention, Lewis gently reeled him in, tucking the gangly teen against his side.

“Give them a moment,” Lewis advised quietly, even as his own attention never wavered from his Team Principal and the young man doing his best not to tremble before him.

“Kimi,” Toto repeated, albeit a bit more gently. “You are a rookie, yes? We know this – that you are very young, and we are prepared to invest into your future.”

“But –”

“This crash has zero effect on our opinion of you,” Wolff added, surprisingly gentle. “You know this. We have talked about how the most important is to hire based on ability, and an FP1 that has gone wrong is not the reason why we decide for or against a driver.”

So focused was Lewis on the way Kimi deflated at Toto’s words – the tension finally leaving his body as he let the Team Principal gently pull him against his side to show him something on the computer screens – that he didn’t notice a new presence at his side until a familiar voice spoke.

“He is okay?” Kimi Räikkönen asked.

On Lewis’ other side, Ollie startled, but stayed put – even if he was now quite noticeably craning his neck to get a better look at the retired World Driver’s Champion.

“He admitted to feeling unwell, but he was insistent on talking to Toto and the team,” Lewis sighed, daring a quick glance at the Finn before biting back a grin at the way he too was singularly focused on watching the younger Kimi.

“He set the fastest lap before he spun,” the older Kimi pointed out.

“He’s fast,” Lewis agreed easily.

“It was maybe too much, for him to make his debut here,” Ollie added quietly, nervously, as though worried about contributing to the conversation between two world champions. “He has been so nervous, you know? Italian kid, making his F1 debut in Monza in a Mercedes.”

“If he wants to be a champion one day he needs to cope with that,” the older Kimi pointed out drily.

“Kimi, he’s only just turned eighteen,” Lewis tried to point out – but on his other side, Ollie was puffing up, nervousness forgotten in the face of righteous indignation.

“He can and he will,” Ollie defended resolutely. “He’s a strong driver – he can cope with the pressure, and he will recover from this!”

“Of course he will, kid,” Lewis soothed, ignoring the snort the Finnish driver on his other side let out at the interaction. “He’s already doing so well – 52gs isn’t a small crash, and he’s admitted he’s feeling unwell, but he’s still here putting in the work.”

A pause and then –

“52gs?” the older Kimi asked, voice as inscrutable as ever.

“Yeah, mate, he should really be resting, but apparently he’s just as stubborn as the rest of us,” Lewis huffed out, exasperated.

“Huh,” was all the older Kimi said before he was striding towards Toto – who still had an arm loosely wrapped around the younger Kimi’s waist. Toto barely registered the older Kimi’s presence before the Finn was tilting down to murmur something at him, and then the younger Kimi was making his way back towards Lewis and Ollie, his exhaustion written all over his face and in the lines of his slumped shoulders.

Lewis doesn’t hesitate before wrapping him up in another hug, only swaying slightly when Kimi all but went limp in his hold, leaving the older driver to support a not-insignificant amount of his weight rather unexpectedly.

“Let’s get you back to my Driver’s Room so you can rest a bit, yeah?” Lewis suggested again – and this time instead of protesting, Kimi just nodded silently against his neck.

When Ollie didn’t immediately follow them, Lewis paused, glancing back towards the younger Brit.

“I’ll let PREMA know that he’s resting here for now,” Ollie offered.

Which – Lewis hadn’t forgotten that Kimi still had Formula 2 commitments this weekend, but… Well, he kind of had.

“Thanks, kid,” Lewis responded. “I’ll get him back to you before Quali – you just try to focus on the rest of your weekend, yeah?”

“Of course!” Ollie nodded vigorously. “We're obviously going to still try and get a good result!”

“We’re not going to try,” a half-asleep Kimi argued against Lewis’ shoulder. “We’re going to win.”

“Of course you are, kid,” Lewis answered, immeasurably fond.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, August 30, 2024 at 7:44 pm

Daniel Ricciardo

Does anyone know if Kimi okay?

He wasn’t in the F2 Press Conferences.

Lewis Hamilton

I took him back to the hotel after FP2.

He wasn’t feeling super well, so we thought it best if he took some extra time to rest.

He’s sleeping now.

Valtteri Bottas

I am not surprised.

That was a big impact.

Fernando Alonso

Not his fault.

We were all struggling with that corner.

Nico Rosberg

It was impressive to see him qualify P6 in Formula 2 after that.

Kimi Räikkönen

I like him.

He is fast.

Lewis Hamilton

I’ll let him know you said that when he wakes up.

Kimi Räikkönen

I like the tall British one too.

Speaks his mind.

Jenson Button

When on earth did you even meet Ollie?

Lewis Hamilton

When he invaded the Mercedes Motorhome earlier.

Ollie told him off for implying that Kimi doesn’t have what it takes to make it in F1.

Nico Rosberg

One race under his belt and already telling off world champions.

I like it.

Daniel Ricciardo

He called Buxton and Hinchcliffe old earlier too.

He’s a proper comedian!

Mark Webber

Excuse me?

Jenson Button

Will is a year younger than me!

Fernando Alonso

They are not old.

Sebastian Vettel

James is the same age as me.

That is not old.

Lewis Hamilton

Maybe Buxton is getting up there, but…

Nico and I are practically the same age as Hinchcliffe.

And we’re not old!

Daniel Ricciardo

Mate, I think it’s time to admit that you’re all old.

Valtteri Bottas

So old.

Daniel Ricciardo

Grandpas, really.

Chapter Text

The weekend started with a lot of positives but by the end it was a tough one for all of us. Still, we recognize what went well and will learn from what didn’t. It wasn’t easy, but I’m proud of every member of this team for the hard work that got us to the end. Congrats to George on the podium, and to @francolapinto and @olliebearman as well. It was a great fight, and it’s amazing to see so much new talent coming in. Singapore soon, send good vibes.

Lewis Hamilton (Instagram)

―――

If Lewis dared to bring this up to the other so-called “Grid Dads”, he was pretty sure more than a couple of them would simply say something along the lines of “I told you so” or “Am I supposed to be surprised?”.

Because, really, Lewis probably should have seen this coming.

Still, just as the drivers before him had been, Franco Colapinto proved to be a surprise.

It wasn’t that Lewis wanted to dislike the kid – it wasn’t his fault that Williams – or, more accurately, James Vowles – had decided to unceremoniously dump Logan mid-season. Franco had merely jumped at the presented opportunity, as any racing driver would have done in his position, and run with it.

The media loved him.

The fans were quickly warming up to him.

Hell, even the other drivers were enamoured by the 21-year-old Argentinian.

Lewis just hadn’t expected him to essentially adopt himself into their little Grid family with the unbridled enthusiasm of a barely weaned Golden Retriever puppy.

Never mind the fact that over half the Grid seemed to be attempting to “adopt” the newest rookie, he just kept turning about next to Lewis, big brown eyes wide and hopeful. Which was – well – Lewis couldn’t just say no to him.

Even more delightfully, Ollie was filling in for Kevin this weekend, which meant that – more often than not – when Lewis turned around it wasn’t just Franco’s brown puppy eyes staring at him beseechingly, but also Ollie’s matching gaze alongside him.

Like they were right now.

Helmets off and brown hair flopping everywhere, the rookie duo looked delighted to see him – enough that Lewis popped his own visor up, hoping they could see the way his eyes crinkled as he smiled softly at them.

“Mega drive today, you two,” Lewis congratulated. To see not one, but both of them in the points was impressive, especially given the cars they’d been wrangling all weekend.

“Thank-you, Lewis,” Ollie responded giddily, broad smile lighting up his whole face as he accepted Lewis’ handshake.

“It was a great fight,” Lewis added to Ollie, before turning his attention to Franco. “And it’s amazing to see so much new talent coming in.”

For a moment, Franco looked dumbfounded at the words of praise, before his own face broke into a radiant grin.

“Lewis, to race with you was one of the most special moments I’ve had in my life,” Franco exclaimed. “I cannot wait to be meeting you back on track soon!”

Lewis opened his mouth to respond – even though he had absolutely no idea what to say to Franco’s blatant flattery and – honestly, hero worship – but then suddenly Fernando was there, inserting himself into Franco’s space.

“No pierdas el tiempo con Lewis,” the Spaniard chided gently. “Acompáñame!”

Fernando had made it no more than perhaps five steps when – from seemingly nowhere – Lando was shrieking.

“Fernando, stop trying to steal him,” the younger Brit exclaimed. “Carlos, tell Fernando to leave Franco alone!”

Lewis was suddenly, viscerally, glad that he was still wearing his helmet – if only so that no one could really see the way he was cackling at the sight of not only Fernando, but also Lando, Carlos, and (inexplicably) Checo fighting over Franco’s attention in a chaotic mix of Spanish and English.

Poor Franco looked a bit frightened, if Lewis was being honest.

“Ollie!”

Moreover, it was Lewis’ mistake, assuming that just because Charles was busy with post-race obligations, that no one would be fawning over Ollie. True, Esteban wouldn’t have been his first guess, but… well, they were going to be teammates next year, after all.

“Fantastic race, kid,” Esteban praised, earning himself another brilliant smile from Ollie.

“Don’t you dare, Esteban,” Charles snarled, apparently done with his post-race interview – leaving a jubilant Oscar in his place as he stormed towards where Lewis, Esteban, and one very confused Oliver Bearman were standing.

This was going to be a problem.

“C'est mon rookie!” Charles was ranting.

“Il sera mon coéquipier,” Esteban responded snappily.

“Je ne vois pas en quoi cela est important,” Charles sniffed. “Come on, Ollie!”

Bewildered, Ollie simply followed Charles, Esteban trailing behind them. Vaguely, Lewis wondered what Charles planned to do with Ollie once he got to the Cool Down Room, but then…

“Is he already gone?” came a familiar voice at Lewis’ shoulder – which had him glancing sideways to smile softly at Kimi Antonelli.

“Charles just dragged him off, but I reckon he’ll be back in a minute,” Lewis explained, gesturing for Kimi to follow him as he finally moved off to weigh in, much to the relief of the Official who had been not-so-subtly trying to wave him over for the past several minutes.

As he followed him, Kimi sighed audibly, earning him a raised eyebrow from Lewis once he’d weighed in and wrangled his helmet off his head.

“It is silly to say that I am missing him?” Kimi asked quietly, gaze firmly fixed on Lewis’ boots.

“I don’t think so, kid,” Lewis quietly reassured the younger man, gently reeling him in by the waist as they slowly made their way back to Mercedes’ jubilant motorhome, mechanics and engineers alike still celebrating George’s unexpected podium.

Lewis would congratulate George later, but for now…

“All weekend, he has been too busy, and when he is not busy, he is with Charles, or Nico, or Franco, and it is like I do not exist,” Kimi rambled worriedly. “I thought – but now – I wonder –”

Kimi trailed off helplessly, and Lewis felt his heart ache at the sadness in the young man’s voice. In this moment, he was truly just a boy missing his – perhaps best – friend, confused and unsure as the why Ollie hadn’t made time for him this weekend.

“He’ll still be your friend when you’re both in Formula 1,” Lewis reassured him gently. “It’s harder, on a weekend like this, when everyone wants a piece of him – but once you settle in, and the media backs off a bit, it will be easier to be friends again.”

Easier, not easy, because friendships in Formula 1 were never easy. Lewis knew that better than most – better than anyone except perhaps Nico Rosberg himself – but he had also seen that it wasn’t impossible.

Every day, this younger generation of drivers proved his previous conceptions wrong – and not just with whatever Charles and Max had going on.

It was in the way Lando, George, and Alex steadfastly clung to their childhood camaraderie. It was in the way Lance, Esteban, and Mick were always each other’s strongest supporters. It was in the way Pierre and Esteban always held each other up, even when they were at each other’s throats more often than not. In the way Oscar had been ready to fight for Logan – was still ready to fight for his friend.

It was possible, but it certainly wasn’t easy.

“But what if he does not want to be friends?” Kimi pouted, reminding Lewis that he was barely an adult – if being 18 truly determined that one was an adult, really. “What if – if he is just wanting to be friends with Charles or Esteban?”

“Then we will put frogs in his bed,” Max interjected, having somehow snuck up behind the duo unnoticed – and uninhibited, despite the fact they were in a distinctly Mercedes space now. Maybe Toto was hoping that if Max spent enough time here, he’d be easier to convince when it came to defecting from Redbull.

“Max,” Lewis grumbled.

He couldn’t have him corrupting the incoming rookies before they have even begun their first official season – never mind the fact that Max absolutely would put frogs in Ollie’s bed as a prank, repercussions be damned.

Still, the idea had brought a small smile to Kimi’s face, almost instantaneously wiping away his pout, so Lewis couldn’t be properly mad about it, really.

“But we will not have to, of course,” Max amended amicably. “Because he would be stupid to not want to be your friend – and especially stupid if he chooses Esteban over you.”

Lewis bit back his snort at the subtle dig at Esteban, but didn’t hold himself back from rolling his eyes – which he made sure Max saw. In response, Max promptly ignored him and focused his entire attention on Kimi.

“Now, I was watching your onboards, and I think there are some areas you can improve before the feature race,” Max began.

Kimi answering smile was blinding.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Sept 15, 2024 at 4:33 pm

Lewis Hamilton

I fear we have greatly underestimated just how much chaos this many rookies can cause.

Sebastian Vettel

But they seem to be very well-mannered and polite?

Daniel Ricciardo

Very mindful.

Very demure.

Lewis Hamilton

Daniel, I will take your phone away.

Daniel Ricciardo

I’m an adult.

You can’t do that.

Lewis Hamilton

Would you like to test that theory?

Mark Webber

Daniel, stop antagonizing Lewis.

I want to hear what the kids did.

Lewis Hamilton

It’s not even them.

Seb is right – the rookies are all very polite and respectful.

Jenson Button

I have quite literally watched Colapinto flirt with every reporter who interviews him.

Fernando Alonso

Respectfully.

Mark Webber

And Ollie keeps calling anyone over 20 old.

Sebastian Vettel

Politely.

Lewis Hamilton

It’s the rest of them.

I fear they may actually fight over adoption rights.

Fernando Alonso

And I will win.

Franco is mine.

Lewis Hamilton

You are not supposed to be part of the problem.

Daniel Ricciardo

Doohan is mine.

I called it.

Dibs.

Mark Webber

He’s not even on the grid yet.

You can’t do that.

Lewis Hamilton

How is this possibly helping?

Valtteri Bottas

There are rules now?

Lewis Hamilton

No, that’s not what I meant.

Kimi Räikkönen

Little Kimi is mine.

Sebastian Vettel

No, I wanted to adopt little Kimi!

Lewis Hamilton

You know what?

Max might bite you if you try to steal Kimi.

Mark Webber

Oscar would never bite someone.

Daniel Ricciardo

Very polite.

Chapter Text

As Lewis pulled into Parc Ferme after the Singapore Grand Prix, he gave himself a few extra moments to just… breathe.

Despite being a night race, the Singapore Grand Prix was always one of the most brutal races on the Formula 1 calendar, leaving the drivers to contend with high temperatures and energy-sapping humidity levels.

Usually, this far into his career, such things didn’t bother Lewis overmuch, but today…

With a deep breath, Lewis blinked through the haziness in his vision and began the process of exiting the car, albeit much more slowly than he usually might have done. He could hear the way his breath rattled unevenly under his helmet, and was silently thankful that he had his helmet to hide his face from the media at the moment.

The media, who had no doubt noticed that he was a bit unsteady on his feet, sliding awkwardly from the car rather than hopping out as he usually did, before pausing again to steady himself with a hand on the halo.

He stayed like that until he saw George, just ahead of him in P4, noticeably wavering as he clung to his own car.

Shit.

Lewis steeled himself as he stepped forward unaided and made his way towards George, blinking back sudden black spots as he moved more quickly than his overheated – and likely dehydrated – body would have liked.

“George,” Lewis rasped, unsure if the younger man could even hear him, but still wanting to offer some sort of forewarning.

Instead, he found himself dashing across the final couple of steps to steady his teammate when George noticeably swayed, swearing under his breath as he struggled to steady George’s notably larger form. Their helmets clinked together as George leaned into Lewis, an arm coming up to wrap around Lewis shoulders as he shifted from clinging to the car to clinging to his teammate, seemingly unaware that Lewis was fighting a similar battle against fatigue.

Lewis popped George’s visor with the hand he didn’t have wrapped around the younger Brit’s waist before popping up his own, carefully shifting them to hide what little of their faces could be seen from the lingering media.

“Do you need medical?” Lewis asked, voice pitched a bit louder this time.

Thankfully, George seemed to hear him, moving to shake his head before wincing at the sudden movement.

“No, just… need to weigh in,” George rasped back.

Fuck, right.

Lewis looked towards where a line was already forming to weigh in, and sighed. While everyone was certainly a bit worse for wear – Valtteri notably crouching down with Zhou hovering close behind, while a wobbly Colapinto seemed to be leaning against Checo. It wouldn’t be a long wait, but Lewis couldn’t help but question his own ability to hold George upright until they made it to the front of the line.

“I will help, yes?” came a familiar Spanish accent, and then suddenly Fernando was on George’s other side, looking around the taller driver to make eye contact with Lewis.

Usually, Lewis would push back more – especially with Fernando – but…

“Let’s go,” Lewis agreed tiredly, unable to find it within himself to do much more than hobble along with George propped unsteadily between them as they made their way first into line, and then slowly up the order until first Lewis, then George, and finally Fernando weighed in.

Thankfully, George’s trainer, Aleix Casanovas, was hovering anxiously by the time they’d wrapped up their usual weigh-in routine.

“You will be okay?” Fernando asked, glancing between the Mercedes duo and George’s trainer.

“I’ve got them,” Aleix interjected pointedly, but Fernando paid him no mind, gaze still fixed on where George was sagged despondently against Lewis’ side.

“Yeah, Nando, we’ll be alright,” Lewis responded tiredly.

“That is not my name,” Fernando jibed back, the argument well-worn between the pair by now, before glowering at Aleix. “If you had them, you would have been helping them out of the cars, not letting them stumble about.”

With that, the Spaniard stormed away to where a tired Lance was leaning against Esteban’s side, the prior clearly lingering in wait for Fernando given how smoothly Esteban shifted his friend over to his teammate.

“I didn’t know,” Aleix fretted as he slotted into the space Fernando had vacated, helping the duo slowly make their way back towards – well, not Mercedes motorhome, but…

“I said I don’t need a doctor,” George slurred irritably, when it became clear that Aleix was not-so-subtly directing the driver duo towards the Medical Centre, rather than their motorhome.

“I think we might, mate,” Lewis admitted lowly. Leaning into George was helping, but his vision was still hazy at best, and without his hold on George’s waist, the older driver was quite convinced he would have stumbled by now.

Once they arrived in the Medical Centre, they were surrounded by a flurry of activity, doctors and nurses alike working to get them out of their helmets and sweat-drenched racing gear before dumping their overheated bodies into waiting ice baths. Lewis barely noticed the IV going in until it was in his way as he reached to grab his offered bag of personal items from Aleix, frowning at the line.

“You’re both dehydrated and overheated,” Aleix explained shortly. “But not overly so – the doctor said borderline heatstroke.”

But Lewis wasn’t really listening – again – because he hadn’t realized how much time had passed – how much time he had lost in the post-race haze – until he saw that his phone was overflowing with messages, the most recent a string of concerned texts in their “Grid Dads” group chat.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Sept 22, 2024 at 10:03 pm

Daniel Ricciardo left the conversation.

Sebastian Vettel

Does anyone see Daniel right now?

Jenson Button

I’ll ask the SkySports crew.

Nico Rosberg

I am down here and I do not see him.

Mark Webber

He took his time getting out of the car.

But I haven’t seen him since they swept him off for media.

Lewis Hamilton

I’m still down in medical with George, he’s not over here.

Nico Rosberg

Medical?

Are you okay?

Sebastian Vettel

He’s fine.

Focus.

Lewis Hamilton

Thanks, Seb.

Really appreciate the concern.

Sebastian Vettel

I am concerned.

FOR DANIEL.

Valtteri Bottas

He left the Media Pen not long ago.

Jenson Button

No one from Sky has seen him since he left the Media Pen either.

Fernando Alonso

I do not see him either.

Sebastian Vettel

If someone does not have eyes on Daniel within the next 5 minutes I am calling Horner.

I do not care.

Lewis Hamilton

Hold on – I’ll see if any of the kids have seen him.

―――

Glancing towards George – who was also fiddling on his phone now that Aleix had left them to cool off in peace – Lewis sighed before opening up a different group chat, knowing this could only end in chaos.

―――

Grid Kids

Sun, Sept 22, 2024 at 10:33 pm

Lewis Hamilton

Has anyone seen Daniel since he left the Media Pen?

Charles Leclerc

No.

He was behind me in the Media Pen, but I have not seen him since.

Pierre Gasly

They were making quite a commotion when he got back to the Team Hospitality.

Yuki Tsunoda

I will check his Driver’s Room.

Lando Norris

Max, Oscar, and I are still stuck waiting for the Press Conference.

We haven’t seen him.

Oscar Piastri

Does this have something to do with why Mark disappeared?

Max Verstappen

Lewis, what is going on?

Do I need to go find Daniel?

Lewis Hamilton

Max, don’t you dare walk out of that Press Conference.

You’re already on thin ice, don’t give them more reason to make trouble.

Yuki Tsunoda

He is not here.

Pyry does not know where he went.

Lewis Hamilton

Okay.

Okay.

Keep an eye out for him, and let me know if you see him.

―――

“Lewis, we have to go help them look,” George breathed worriedly, eyes wide and scared as he looked towards his teammate from his own ice bath. “You heard what he was saying yesterday, he’s not – he shouldn’t be –”

“Let me just see if anyone else has already found him before we head out,” Lewis placated, already switching back to the other chat to see what had transpired while his attention was elsewhere.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Sept 22, 2024 at 10:44 pm

Lewis Hamilton

None of the kids have seen him.

And he’s not in his Driver’s Room.

Sebastian Vettel

I am calling Horner.

Jenson Button

Give it some time, Seb.

I’m sure he’s fine.

Sebastian Vettel

Did you not hear him yesterday?

He was talking about drowning in his ice bath!

Lewis Hamilton

Seb, breathe.

We’ll find him.

Fernando Alonso

He cannot have gone far.

―――

“Well?” George asked worriedly when Lewis didn’t immediately answer.

“Nothing,” Lewis admitted.

He knew they shouldn’t go – they weren’t well, and Lewis could still feel his head spinning even as he sat in his ice bath, but if they could help find Daniel, it would be worth it –

“If you get out of that ice bath I will personally sedate you,” came a familiar German accent, followed by a firm hand on his shoulder. “The same goes for you, kid.”

“Nico,” Lewis immediately argued, shifting to try and stand despite the hand Nico still had clamped on his shoulder. “Daniel –”

“Has a small army looking for him right now,” Nico Rosberg interrupted pointedly. “How will you help? By passing out and distracting everyone? Sit the fuck down, Lewis.”

Lewis sighed, glowering up at Nico’s familiar stubborn blue gaze. To his credit, the retired driver didn’t so much as blink in the face of Lewis’ stubbornness – instead, he merely clamped down on Lewis’ shoulder more tightly for a moment before releasing his hold, letting Lewis sag back into the frigid water in defeat.

“Look,” Nico said, waving his phone in Lewis’ face as if he could somehow read it while the blonde was shaking it all over the place. “Mark has already found him.”

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Sept 22, 2024 at 10:48 pm

Mark Webber

Relax, Seb.

I’ve got him.

―――

“You didn’t have to be such an asshole about it,” Lewis grumbled petulantly, refusing to make eye contact now that he had lost their battle of wills.

Thankfully, Nico didn’t seem to mind – indeed, a moment later, his hand found it’s way to the nape of Lewis’ neck, scratching gently at the base of his hairline in a way that had Lewis subconsciously relaxing into the touch, eyes slipping closed as he finally relaxed.

“You looked ready to rip out your IV and make a run for it,” Nico pointed out gently. “I will always be an asshole when it comes to your health, since you seem to not care much about it.”

“That’s not true,” Lewis argued, just for the sake of arguing – but there was no heat in his voice, and he heard the soft laugh Nico gave when Lewis shifted his head slightly to encourage him to scratch at a different spot.

Vaguely, Lewis wondered what George was making of all of this.

More importantly, he didn’t really care, as long as Nico kept gently scratching at his scalp like that, fingers gentle and uncannily knowledgeable about where Lewis was most receptive to touch.

They stayed like that, George silently tapping away at his phone, Lewis happily leaning into Nico’s touch, until Aleix and the nurse re-entered the space, thankfully not commenting on Nico Rosberg’s sudden presence as she took their temperatures.

“You’ve been excused from Media Duties,” Aleix explained explained as the nurse quietly the unhooked their IVs – first George’s, then Lewis’.

“Which means that I trust that you’ll head directly back to your motorhomes to gather what you need before getting something to eat and turning in for the night,” the nurse added when Aleix didn’t seem inclined to elaborate.

“They will,” Nico assured the nurse amicably – earning scandalized sounds from both halves of the Mercedes Driver Duo.  

After that, Lewis let himself lose track of time again as they shuffled into the comfy clothes that Aleix had retrieved from the motorhome for them – explaining his absence, at least – and then were led back to Mercedes’ motorhome, Nico carefully guiding them through the Paddock to avoid media attention.

It was only once they were back within the safety – and relative privacy – of the motorhome that Lewis truly let himself relax.

Until he saw the way the Nico’s attention has snagged on Toto.

“Nico –” Lewis tried, knowing the attempt was pointless before he even opened his mouth.

If Nico was anything, he was a stubborn bastard, and no one knew that better than Lewis himself.

“I am just going to go talk to Toto for a moment,” Nico responded, gaze never leaving the Mercedes Team Principal. “You should go start packing up, yes?”

Lewis sighed, but acquiesced with a small nod, knowing better by now than to try arguing with Nico. Plus, he was fucking tired and George still looked more than a little wobbly on his feet, which was Lewis’ first priority. Satisfied, Nico strode across the Hospitality space towards an unsuspecting Nico, leaving the teammate duo with Aleix.

“Right, so, yes – I’ll go get your dinners?” Aleix half asked – half said, expression a strange mix of confused and anxious all balled together.

George nodded and let Lewis lead him back towards their Driver’s Rooms as Aleix slipped away. Thankfully, he waited until they were out of sight before speaking.

“Is that what it used to be like?” George asked quietly. “Between you and Nico? When you were friends?”

He’d definitely been watching, then, when Lewis as letting Nico essentially pet him during the ice bath. Not just that though – Lewis wouldn’t put it past George to have noted the way the pair of them silently moved around one another, not really needing to speak to communicate.

Getting back to this – the way they’d been before – had been… no, was still, a hard-fought battle, but they were slowly rebuilding what they’d had. It would never be the same – they had both changed too much for that, as individuals were meant to do (regardless of rivalries and feuds), but…

“We were always friends,” Lewis responded, knowing George wouldn’t be satisfied by the non-answer. “Even when we were… We were still friends.”

Because Nico had always been Lewis’ best friend – whether they were talking or not, whether they were screaming insults or singing each other’s praises, destroying hotel rooms or throwing hats… They’d always been friends.

“You two certainly have a weird way of being friends,” George muttered before stepping ahead of Lewis to push into the older man’s Driver’s Room, leaving Lewis to trail behind.

Maybe they did – Lewis wasn’t unaware that most people seemed to think that. They’d certainly made quite the spectacle of their falling out, even Lewis couldn’t deny that, but… He knew how he felt, and he knew how Nico felt.

He's still my best friend in my heart.

They would always be friends.

―――

Grid Dads

Mon, Sept 23, 2024 at 6:44 am

Lewis Hamilton

Somebody take Nico back.

Nico Rosberg

Stop whining.

Lewis Hamilton

The sun is barely up.

I have heatstroke.

Leave me alone.

Nico Rosberg

The doctor said it was almost heatstroke.

And you told me to wake you up so you wouldn’t miss your flight.

Lewis Hamilton

No one wants this.

Nico Rosberg

Arschloch.

Jenson Button

Did you… sleep in his hotel room?

Sebastian Vettel

Do not sound so surprised, Jenson.

They have been like this forever.

Lewis Hamilton

What the fuck does that mean?

Mark Webber

Minus that bit where they were trying to kill each other.

Nico Rosberg

We never tried to kill each other.

Sebastian Vettel

I was there.

Fernando Alonso

You definitely thought about killing each other.

Jenson Button

Hats were thrown.

Daniel Ricciardo

It was traumatizing.

I was traumatized.

Lewis Hamilton

The hat thing happened one time!

Jenson Button

Ah, yes.

You argued one time, and then behaved like mature, emotionally stable adults.

Mark Webber

Toto definitely didn’t make you both sign a contract stating that if you crashed, no matter whose fault it was, you had to pay for the damages.

Lewis Hamilton

You know what?

This is why Nico is my favourite.

Valtteri Bottas

What about me?  

Chapter Text

This stupid, stupid weekend had been a disaster from the moment Lewis had first taken their supposedly upgrade car out on track for their first – and only – practices session of the weekend.

Immediately, he knew something was wrong – knew that the upgrades were shit, just like they’d more commonly become over the past few years, the team repeatedly failing to understand the new regulations and the car, despite the fact that they were the ones who had built the god damn beast.

Or shopping trolley, as George had somewhat lovelessly referred to it.

Sprint Qualifying wasn’t terrible – George managed to drag the car into P2, while Lewis managed P7 (despite a late Yellow Flag forcing him to abandon his fast lap), but Lewis still felt like he was wrestling the car at every opportunity, no matter what the data showed.

It was borderline dangerous, but there was nothing they could do mid-weekend.

The Sprint itself was much of the same, seeing George drop to P5 while Lewis only managed to make up one place, earning the team a measly 7 points for their efforts.

Then it was Qualifying, and suddenly Lewis was out in Q1, starting a seemingly impossible nineteenth.

He wanted to rage – to scream, or maybe cry – but then George was flying across their screens and into the wall and Lewis couldn’t because he had to be “Grid Dad Lewis”. Had to stuff his own feelings and emotions into a box and comfort George. Because George was crying hot, frustrated tears under his helmet when he crashed into Lewis’ arms, desperate for comfort and reassurance.

Reassurances that Lewis was quick to provide, even while his own heart screamed for comfort.

He thought it would help, offering George his upgraded parts so that the younger Brit wouldn’t have to start in the Pit Lane – but that just set George off again, the mixture of anger and disappointment bleeding into a tearful yelling match that had Toto stepping in to say – quite definitively – that they would not be doing that.

They weren’t Williams, after all.

Lewis wanted to scoff and say they weren’t far off, but he didn’t.

Instead, he put on a brace face and put his head down, determined to make the most of an objectively terrible situation.

In the end, it didn’t matter much where Lewis started the race, because by Lap 5 he was in the gravel and out of the race.

After all that, he couldn’t quite handle it when Jenson cornered him just inside Mercedes’ garage.

“Didn’t feel much like driving today, mate?” Jenson joked lightly.

Objectively, Lewis knew that Jense was just trying to cheer him up – probably thought that a little humour was what Lewis needed right now after an absolutely shit weekend. Unfortunately for his former teammate, Lewis had finally found the end of his rope.

“Jenson, fuck off,” Lewis choked out, hating himself for not being able to do everything, to be all things, to take care of everyone else, to make sure –

“Hey, hey,” Jenson soothed immediately, gently reaching out to pull Lewis against him as his former teammate fought back tears. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, yeah?”

“I just – I can’t right now,” Lewis forced past a tight throat, hoping Jenson wouldn’t hear the way his voice wobbled, or see the tears he knew were gathering in the corners of his eyes.

“That’s – you don’t have to, mate,” Jenson tried, clearly flummoxed. “Just take a minute, yeah?”

“But, I’ve got to watch, in case they need something, and the media, and –”

“Take a deep breath for me, mate,” Jenson interrupted, seemingly getting with the program before miming his request through exaggerated breathing. “Just breathe, okay?”

Lewis tried – he did – but he couldn’t seem to calm to raging tempest within his mind, or loosen the bars clamped around his chest, or –

“Jenson, is he okay?”

Fuck.

It was one thing for Jenson to witness a panic attack – he’d seen Lewis have them before, had helped him through at least a couple over the years, but Lewis could hear how worried Kimi sounded. The younger man shouldn’t sound like that, not about Lewis, he should be enjoying his weekend at the track, not dealing with Lewis’ shit, and –

“He’s okay, kid,” Jenson promised gently, since Lewis couldn’t at the moment.

“Oh,” Kimi offered, and then, hesitantly, “Would it help if I gave him a hug too?”

Lewis tried to hide his sob in the crook of Jenson’s neck, thankful that Jense just let him, even going so far as to reach up and gently cup Lewis’ head. From his hiding spot he couldn’t see Kimi approach, but he did feel when the younger man joined their hug, earning a watery snort as he wriggled his way into their embrace, fluffy curls tickling Lewis’ nose.

“Toto said it was not you fault; do you know this?” Kimi asked, voice slightly muffled. “He said it was 100% car.”

“There’s no way Toto said that,” Jenson scoffed, disbelief practically dripping from his tongue.

“It is true!” Kimi insisted. “He said “Lewis Hamilton does not lose a car on lap 5 like this” – I promise!”

Whatever Jenson thought, Lewis knew Kimi wouldn’t lie to them – the kid was simply too genuine for that. Which, of course, only had Lewis crying harder, because he didn’t deserve Toto’s loyalty. Not after the season they were having, not with how tense their relationship was, not with his abandoning Mercedes for Ferrari, and –

“Lewis, mate, you need to breathe,” Jenson worried, the hands previously on Lewis’ nap drifting down to rub soothingly at the Brit’s back. “It’s not your fault, even Toto understands that, the important this is that you’re okay.”

But the guilt and frustration and anxiety were eating Lewis alive, and he couldn’t just calm down, he was failing everyone, and the others needed him to hold it together, to be there for them, and instead he was crying like a baby in the garage.

“Jenson,” a familiar, accented, voice cut through the haze. “They are looking for you.”

“But, Lewis –”

“I will stay with him,” Kimi piped up. “We can go to his Drivers Room. I will not leave him alone.”

“Kimi –”

“I can do this,” the young Italian asserted, and even through the haze of anxiety Lewis couldn’t help but notice how assertive the younger man sounded. “I will take care of him.”

“I don’t need anyone to take care of me,” Lewis grumbled into the crook of Jenson’s neck, fully aware that he was being a bit petulant – and also still clinging to his former teammate for dear life. Even when Jenson tried to jostle him – clearly trying to get Lewis to look at him – Lewis stubbornly stayed put.

“Lewis, mate, can you look at me for a moment?” Jenson pushed.

Blinking away tears, Lewis finally emerged from the safety of Jenson’s shoulder.

“There you are,” Jenson soothed. “Now, Toto’s right – I have to go, but that doesn’t mean I’m happy about it, alright? You know I’d stay if I could.”

“Only to avoid Danica,” Lewis grumbled pettily.

“I’ll keep an eye out for the boys though, okay?” Jenson reasoned, pointedly ignoring Lewis’ snide remark. “You just go relax with Kimi and take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will see if I can get your media duties cancelled,” Toto added from somewhere beyond their little trio.

With a sigh, Lewis nodded, chin bumping into Kimi’s unruly curls as he did so.

“We will go now,” Kimi announced, squirming out from between Jenson and Lewis before gently taking Lewis’ hand to guide him away from the main garage, leaving a softly smiling Jenson and perpetually stoic Toto behind without so much as a goodbye.

Later, as Lewis watched Jenson ruthlessly defend Lando – even going so far as to call out Christian Horner to his face – Lewis finally felt himself relax.

He still had Kimi tucked against him on one side, the younger man – just a boy, really – clearly happy to just exist in his space, asking nothing of him while offering the simple comfort of his company.

It was all Lewis had needed, he realized – the silent comfort of those closest to him.

He just had to remember to ask for it, on occasion.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Oct 20, 2024 at 7:22 pm

Lewis Hamilton

Thanks for earlier, Jense.

I really appreciate it.

Jenson Button

Listen, I know we take the piss a lot, but we need to start pulling our weight here.

Lewis needs help with the kids.

Lewis Hamilton

Jenson Alexander Lyons Button.

I told you, I’m fine.

Daniel Ricciardo

Oooooh, the full name.

I don’t know what you did Jense, but you fucked up.

Jenson Button

You were literally crying in my arms.

Kimi was worried.

Kimi Räikkönen

I was not.

Sebastian Vettel

He is obviously talking about little Kimi.

Lewis Hamilton

I wasn’t crying.

I had everything under control.

Jenson Button

Liar.

Lewis Hamilton

Rude.

Jenson Button

Did you or did you not have a cuddle with Kimi?

Kimi Räikkönen

He did not.

Sebastian Vettel

He is obviously talking about little Kimi again.

Lewis Hamilton

I fail to see how that’s relevant.

Nico Rosberg

Maybe it is irrelevant, but it is definitely cute.

Jenson, did you get pictures?

Fernando Alonso

Please tell us you got pictures.

Nico Rosberg

Why would you want pictures of Lewis cuddling with Kimi and Ollie?

Fernando Alonso

For blackmail, obviously.

Mark Webber

Obviously.

Jenson Button

I didn’t get pictures.

It was sweet but it was a private moment!

Mark Webber

Plus, you were too busy defending Lando to the media every 5 seconds.

Jenson Button

Someone has to do it.

It’s brutal out here.

Lewis Hamilton

I appreciate it, Jenson.

Chapter Text

It wasn’t a surprise – to anyone, really – that their Driver’s Briefing had dissolved into this.

This being a heated debate about what had happened in Texas – or, more specifically, the rules related to determining who was ahead in a corner.

It was surprising that Oscar had gotten involved. Usually, the younger McLaren driver opted to stay relatively silent in these meetings, but when it had become clear that Lando wouldn’t advocate for himself, it seemed as though Oscar had decided to speak up on behalf of the curly-haired Brit.

“You can’t – well, either you need to give a penalty to both drivers, or a penalty to neither of them,” Oscar was arguing – albeit, calmly.

Max, however, was decidedly not calm.

“What does that mean?”

“It’s just that you clearly gained an advantage by releasing the brakes so you can stay ahead at the apex,” Oscar pointed out, still calm and cool and collected in a way that Lewis knew would only be serving to further infuriate the Dutchman. “Then, you didn’t make the corner.”

“Well, neither did Lando,” Max sneered.

“Max –” Lewis tried.

“Would Lando have made the overtake anyway though, or not?” Oscar countered immediately, just a hint of frustration finally slipping into his voice. “We’ll never know, because you made sure that both cars went off track!”

“Of course this is what you think!”

“What’s your point, Oscar?” George prompted, clearly trying to keep things on track.

“It just seems very, very harsh to give one driver a penalty and one not,” Oscar concluded with a shrug.

“So, you support the proposed rule change,” the FIA Official finally interjected, earning a tight nod from the younger McLaren driver.

“Well, of course he does,” Max snapped. “It is obvious that he will support this, because it benefits his teammate, yes?”

“And you feel differently?”

The thing was, what Max had done – the way he’d driven – was technically within the letter of the regulations, no matter how infuriating for his rivals. He’d shown time and time again that he could – and would – make the most of the FIA’s laborious and clunky rulebook. They all did it – toed the line when it could benefit their driving – but Lewis knew all too well that Max Verstappen was particularly clever when it came to how to exploit these rules.

“Obviously,” Max drawled back sarcastically. “It is clear, is it not? Lando was overtaking on the outside, and was not level with me at the apex, so when he left the track and returned in front of me, it is of course a case of leaving the track and gaining a lasting advantage.”

“Because you let off the brake and left me no choice!” Lando finally dove into the fray, anger flashing in his eyes as he practically shouted at the reigning World Champion.

“These are the rules,” Max said with a nonchalant shrug.

“No one is arguing that those are not the current rules,” George pointed out, clearly exasperated. “We’re debating whether or not the rules should be adjusted going forward. Lewis, Fernando – you’ve been racing longer than any of us –”

“Thanks, mate,” Fernando intoned drily.

“Do you have any thought on the proposed rule changes?”

When Fernando showed no indication of speaking up, Lewis sighed, adding yet another thing to the seemingly never-ending list of shit he was somehow responsible for nowadays. He missed Seb – hell, he missed Kimi-fucking-Räikkönen and his stupid non-verbal answers to all of this shit.

Mostly, he just missed when this wasn’t his problem.

“You know my opinion on this,” Lewis began slowly, still wishing George hadn’t pulled him into this mess. There was no way to remain impartial, not really, and everyone did know his opinion – he’d been saying the same damn thing since 2021, after all. “I’ve said for a long time that this particular rule needs some tweaking, because what happened at COTA is happening a lot more often nowadays.”

“Seems to happen most often around Max,” Lando muttered darkly, earning himself a deserved glower from the Dutchman.

“I do not mind,” Charles interjected, and for a brief moment Lewis felt hope stir in his chest. “I welcome Max being as aggressive to Lando as possible because it helps me to be closer in the Driver’s Championship!”

Fuck.

“Well, of course, if it benefits you,” Lando sneered.

“Well, yes, of course, but that is also why you are wanting the rule changed too, yes?” Charles prodded sassily. “Because it would benefit you, non?”

“That’s not – I mean, uh, I wasn’t saying –” Lewis floundered for an explanation that would prevent Lando and Charles – and probably Max and Oscar as well – from strangling each other in the middle of the Driver’s Briefing. In the end, he landed on probably the worst thing he could say. “It’s just interesting that we’re finally talking about it now, given that no one particularly cared when I brought it up in 2021.”

When it had been him fighting Max for the Championship, instead of Lando.

“As if you did not do these same things to Nico in 2015,” Max snarled, and Lewis physically felt his own temper snap.

Fucking Max and his uncanny ability to always – always – hit Lewis where it hurt.

“Maybe I did, but it was stupid and reckless, and I know better now,” Lewis snapped back. “It’s dangerous when the inside car comes off the brakes and doesn’t make the corner, forcing the outside car wide! Everyone knows that!”

“Yes, because of course we all know I am such a dangerous driver!”

“Max, that’s not – just think about it!” Lewis pushed, unable to stop this argument now, far too deep into his own emotions to recognize how far beyond his control this had all gotten. “Let’s say both cars went wide, right? But as the outside car, you have no choice because you have to avoid a collision – and yet you are still penalized. The inside car simply shouldn’t be able to come off the brakes and run more speed, only to go off track and hold its place. That’s not how proper wheel to wheel racing is done!”

Deafening silence, and then –

“I see,” Max’s voice was deadly quite now, gaze unblinking and terrifyingly emotionless.

“Max –”

“I think we’d best wrap it up there for today,” George interjected awkwardly. “I’ll just ask everyone to send me their vote – either for or against – the proposed rule changes privately, so I can share our preferences with the FIA.”

After the show they’d put on, the FIA Official seemed relieved to rush through the end-of-debrief pleasantries and release the silently seething drivers from the room, leaving Lewis to scramble to try and catch Max before he escaped the space. After all, Lewis was man enough to admit he’d fucked up – he knew that – but he wasn’t entirely sure that Max did.

“Max, please, wait – let me explain –” Lewis tried, fully aware that he was flailing in front of everyone.

“I do not want to talk about this anymore,” Max snapped.

“Max –” Lewis tried.

“No, Lewis,” Max interrupted. “Leave me alone.”

And then the Dutchman was gone, disappearing through the door and into the throngs of waiting media and fans without so much as a backwards glance. Lewis couldn’t very well follow him without attracting attention – if not causing a scene – leaving him to just watch Max’s retreating form.

Fuck.

The other drivers flowed past and around him, occasionally offering a pat on the shoulder or a sympathetic smile before they too slipped out of the room and into the Paddock beyond.

“He will come around,” Charles consoled. “He always does, yes?”

“Yeah, I just… yeah,” Lewis agreed miserably.

Once upon a time, Max freezing him out had been commonplace, but as the years had progressed the Dutchman had opened up more and more, until incidents like this were few and far between. Which only reinforced that Lewis had really fucked up this time.

He’d called Max dangerous; he’d implied that he didn’t know how to drive…

Lewis couldn’t really blame Max for being furious with his at the moment.

Charles smiled consolingly before following his fellow drivers – and probably more specifically a fuming Dutchman – leaving Lewis no choice but to finally trail behind his coworkers into the Paddock.

By the time he had made it back to his Driver’s Room, Lewis had resolved to sort things out with Max – or at very least, to let Max know that there were no hard feelings on his end, so that the Red Bull driver knew he could reach out to Lewis when he was ready.

Max had always done best when given space and time, but Lewis couldn’t simply leave things between them like this.

So, after shoving some Red Bull – along with Max’s favourite snacks – into his bag, Lewis made his way out of the Paddock and into his waiting car.

Usually, it was even odds if Lewis could find Max lounging in Charles’ hotel room, or Charles napping in Max’s hotel room. However, with the entire Sainz family having descended upon Mexico City, Lewis figured it was a safe bet that the pair of them had gone back to Max’s hotel room.

Thankfully, he was still in the habit of gathering information about hotel accommodations and room numbers at the beginning of the weekend, which meant he knew exactly where Max was staying, making his current mission a lot easier.

Not that he was above bribing Checo for the information, but he’d honestly prefer not to.

Which was how Lewis found himself lingering awkwardly outside of Max’s hotel room door. With a deep, fortifying breath, Lewis raised a hand to knock at the door.

Maybe Max wouldn’t even answer, and then Lewis could just send him a text – which was probably what he should have done in the first place – except –

“What do you want?” Max practically snarled as he wrenched the door open.

Caught off-guard, Lewis couldn’t help but glance past the Dutchman, hoping to catch sight of Charles within. It usually helped, having the Monegasque present. He tended to be able to find a way to mellow Max out when he was in a mood.

“No Charles?”

“Not that it is your business, but I told him to go,” Max snapped. “Which I thought I told you too.”

“Max, don’t do this,” Lewis practically begged.

He’d thought they were past this – past Max pushing everyone away and leaving himself to hurt alone – but apparently, they weren’t. First Lando, and then Lewis, and now even Charles…

“Do what?”

“You don’t want to win like this,” Lewis tried.

“Like what?”

“By pushing everyone away,” Lewis explained gently. “I’ve been there, Max – hell, we’ve been there – and it’s not worth it.”

2021 had nearly destroyed their relationship – without Charles to forcibly bridge the gap, it might have done. Lewis couldn’t watch Max put himself through that – not again.

“Do not tell me what to do, Lewis,” Max growled. “Not when you are taking his side, always.”

“Max, that’s not –”

“Just go, Lewis,” Max interrupted. “Please.”

With a sigh, Lewis relented – but not before holding out the bag he was still clutching in his left hand as a peace offering.

“I – I’ll go, but this is for you,” Lewis offered, half expecting Max to refuse the bag. “And, when you’re ready to talk, I’ll be ready to talk, okay? I know – I shouldn’t have said what I said, and I get that.”

With a wordless scowl, Max snatched the bag before practically slamming the door in Lewis’ face, leaving the 7-time World Champion standing awkwardly in the empty hotel hallway.

―――

Lewis could see a group of cars ahead of him surrounded by a plume of dust – or maybe smoke – and his heart clenched. He knew – he just knew – that at least one of the cars involved was Max.

“Bono?”

“Verstappen forced Norris off the track, the stewards are investigating,” Bono confirmed almost immediately.

“Is everyone okay?”

Lewis knew it was silly to ask – knew that he risked having his question broadcast to the whole god damn world, if not just on Mercedes’ channels. Fans loved to create drama out of nothing – even something as simple as him inquiring after his fellow racers would be twisted and spun into fiction and drama.

But he had to know.

“All clear,” Bono confirmed. “Head down and focus.”

With a grunt of ascent, Lewis did as his faithful Race Engineer instructed, pushing thoughts of Max and Lando and everything else aside as he simply focused on the feeling of the car beneath him.

Throughout the race, Bono kept him updated without prompting.

Max had been given two 10-second penalties for the incident, which he served at his one and only pit-stop, dropping him right down the order in the process.

Carlos stubbornly clung to first, but Lando managed to make it around Charles to finish second, leaving the Monegasque to run over the finish line in third.

Max managed to climb back up to sixth by the finish, never quite catching Lewis and George, despite their late-race scuffle for fourth and fifth.

The Dutchman was there, just behind Lewis, as they parked their cars up, and Lewis found himself scrambling to get out of the car.

He knew, objectively, that Max was fine, but he still couldn’t quite suppress the need to reaffirm it with own eyes.

Unfortunately, Max was still freezing him out.

“Max,” Lewis tried. “Hey, man, wait up!”

Lewis was vaguely aware of George trailing behind him as he followed Max towards the weigh-in station. There was already several drivers gathering, but Max was apparently just as fast off-track as he was on it, leaving Lewis to fidget nervously as he weighed in.

Behind him, he could hear raised voices, but for once in his life Lewis left whatever chaos was erupting for someone else to deal with – Fernando, maybe, if he wasn’t already puking his guts out – and followed Max.

“Max!”

When the reigning World Champion finally whirled to look at him, his blue eyes were blazing furiously, and Lewis froze, finally realizing that perhaps pursuing an enraged Max Verstappen hadn’t been his best idea.

“What the fuck do you want, Lewis,” Max demanded.

“I just wanted to check on you,” Lewis admitted quietly. “You were avoiding me before the race, and then you and Lando –”

“Ah, yes, Lando,” Max sneered. “Should you not be celebrating his podium?”

“Max –”

“No, Lewis, fuck off,” Max interrupted.

“Max –”

“Flikker op!” Max snarled before whirling around to storm away, leaving Lewis lingering awkwardly behind him. He didn’t know much Dutch, but he did know Max, and the Dutchman wasn’t just mad – he was furious, and he was hurting, and Lewis had pushed him too damn far.

“Fuck.”

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Oct 27, 2024 at 4:33 pm

Lewis Hamilton

I fucked up.

Fernando Alonso

Not surprising.

Nico Rosberg

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

Valtteri Bottas

Ignore him, he is sick and being rude to everyone.

Mark Webber

Are you okay, Nando?

Fernando Alonso

I am going back to Europe for treatment tonight.

Hopefully I will be well enough to race in Brazil.

But I have to miss Lance’s birthday.

Lewis Hamilton

So, Mark can call you Nando, but I can’t?

Mark Webber

Yes, because he likes me better.

Keep up, Hamilton.

Sebastian Vettel

Shut up, Webber.

Lewis, what happened?

Is Charles okay?

Lewis Hamilton

I upset Max.

And then I made it worse by not giving him space.

Daniel Ricciardo

Damn, Lewis, that’s like Rule #1.

Don’t approach an angry Max Verstappen - give him space and let him calm down.

Nico Rosberg

Daniel is being ridiculous.

He will come around - he always does.

Lewis Hamilton

I haven’t seen him this mad at me in years.

Fernando Alonso

Since 2021, probably.

Lewis Hamilton

Still not helpful, Fernando.

But yeah, since probably 2021.

He told me to “flicker hop”?

Nico Rosberg

Flikker op.

He told you to fuck off in Dutch.

Lewis Hamilton

He’s shutting Charles out too.

Lando, I understand, but he’s never pushed Charles away like this.

Daniel Ricciardo

May 5, 2012.

Val d'Argenton.

Jenson Button

You did not seriously just compare this to the “inchident”.

Lewis Hamilton

None of this is helpful.

I don’t know what to do.

He’s shutting everyone out.

Sebastian Vettel

I will be in Brazil next week.

Maybe he will talk to me?

Lewis Hamilton

It’s worth a try, Seb.

I doubt it though.

Chapter Text

P16.

P-fucking-16.

It hurt worse than it probably should have, this far into a decidedly underwhelming season. But still, Lewis had wanted to do well here, in Brazil, for these fans who had always – always – supported him in a way few other crowds did.

Instead, all he had to offer them was P16.

He hadn’t even bothered to put on a brave face for the media, instead opting to speak his mind, knowing full well that he’d probably get an earful from PR later about some of his comments.

On the bright side, no one seemed inclined to bother him now that he’d very clearly established that he wasn’t in the mood for any more bullshit today, so he’d been allowed to return to his Driver’s Room to hide out in peace.

Or relative peace, anyways.

A sharp knock on his Driver’s Room door drew Lewis out of his reverie – he decidedly wasn’t sulking – and without much thought Lewis moved to open it, expecting Bono and instead finding –

“Max?” Lewis questioned, bewildered.

There was no way Qualifying had ended yet, which could only mean –

“I am starting P17,” Max snarled as he stormed into Lewis’ Driver’s Room, leaving the Mercedes driver to close the door behind him as he practically vibrated in the middle of the space, his barely constrained energy evident even from a few paces away.

Lewis remained silent, unsure how to proceed.

Seb had tried, on Thursday, to talk to Max, only to be shut down and pushed away – Max even going so far as to refuse to join them during the Senna Tribute in a bid to avoid the retired driver’s continued attempts to connect.

Instead, Max had surrounded himself with not only his team, but also Christian Horner, Helmut Marko, and even his father – something Lewis had noted that he was apt to do when he wanted to punish himself for his perceived failures.

Stripping away any and all comfort, accepting only harsh words and criticisms.

Something Jos always seemed willing to offer – in abundance – when it came to his son.

“That’s definitely not ideal,” Lewis offered hesitantly. “I – I’ve been back here, and I didn’t see –”

“It’s just… the car hits the wall, it needs to be straight red,” Max interrupted, rant in full swing and hands flailing. “I don’t understand why it needs to take 30-40 seconds for a red flag to come out, it’s just…”

Vaguely, Lewis wondered who else had crashed while he’d been hiding away in his Driver’s Room – probably not Charles, since Max as here and not breaking into Ferrari – but Max was still ranting, fury bleeding from every word.

“You know just as well as I do that the Stewards don’t always make the best choice,” Lewis tried to reason gently. “Sometimes is just comes down to luck, yeah?”

“Seems like all I have lately is shit luck, then,” Max snapped – but Lewis could see the hurt now, despite how desperately the Dutchman was trying to hide it beneath rage and fury.

Lewis longed to pull Max into a hug, to calm his raging energy with a gentle hold, but after their falling out in Mexico, Lewis really wasn’t sure if his touch would be welcome – even if Max was the one who had sought him out.

Though, if Max was here, Lewis supposed was an answer in and of itself.

“I said I could let it go because it is so stupid, but I just can’t,” Max raged as he paced around the small space irritably. “It’s ridiculous!”

“You’re right, it is,” Lewis soothed, finally giving in to his instincts and pulling Max tightly against him, pointedly ignoring the way the Dutchman tensed in favour of wrapping him up more firmly. “This sport isn’t fair, and it isn’t kind, and you all deserve better than that.”

Somewhere amidst Lewis’ words of comfort, Max went limp in his hold, a choked sob muffled in his neck as the reigning World Champion finally let himself break.

Weeks of stress, and self-doubt, and hurt bleeding out of him as he keened, shaking apart in Lewis’ arm amidst shuddering sobs and uncontrolled tears, finally – finally – accepting comfort instead of seeking out more hurt.

“I am sorry,” Max sobbed. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s okay, Max, I’ve got you,” Lewis promised gently. “I’ve always got you.”

Somehow, Lewis managed to maneuver them onto the small couch in his Driver’s Room, despite Max being utterly unwilling to let him go.

“I should not have – I just could not –” Max was still ranting.

“Max, it’s okay, I understand,” Lewis soothed. “I understand and I’m not upset, it’s okay.”

His platitude only seemed to make Max cry even harder, the Dutchman utterly inconsolable as he clung to the Brit. They stayed like that until it seemed as though Max had cried himself out, sobs turning into gentle shudders, until finally Max’s breathing evened out, his body going lax in a way it only did when he was asleep.

“Oh, kid,” Lewis murmured softly. “Why do you do this to yourself?”

Thankfully, the next visitor to Lewis’ Driver’s Room didn’t bother knocking – instead, Ferrari’s favourite son slipped into the space quietly, as though he’d been expecting the scene awaiting him.

“Is he okay?” Charles asked gently, gaze firmly fixed on the Dutchman sleeping with his head pillowed on Lewis’ lap.

He probably looked a mess, and Lewis couldn’t help but look down towards the sleeping man before responding, gently brushing a few stray locks of hair away from Max’s forehead as he spoke.

“I think he’s doing better now than he has been in a few weeks, actually,” Lewis admitted, voice soft but immeasurably fond nonetheless.

Because an emotionless Max was a Max who was struggling, even if he’d carefully and methodically hidden his emotions away from the world. This Max – the one who’d cried himself to sleep in Lewis’ lap – was closer to the man the Dutchman truly was.

“He has never been good at asking for help,” Charles observed as he quietly snuck forward, racing boots quiet against the hard floor. “Always, he is wanting to do everything by himself.”

At the sound of Charles’ voice, Max stirred, but thankfully settled without waking, face slipping back into the same peaceful contentment he’d found before the Monegasque’s arrival.

Lewis hummed his agreement, hesitant to speak overmuch for fear of waking the sleeping Dutchman. Charles, of course, was quite right – as much as Max had grown and matured, he was still Max Verstappen. Stubborn, quick-tempered, precocious Max Verstappen, who perpetually thought he could do everything himself and that he didn’t deserve kindness from others.

It was infuriating and endearing in equal parts, really.

“How did the rest of Qualifying go?” Lewis asked eventually, once the silence between them had stretched long enough for Max to have settled fully.

Charles shrugged.

“There were lots of crashes – both Aston Martins, both Williams, and Carlos,” Charles explained. “But still, Lando will start on Pole, and George P2.”

“And you?”

“Only P6,” Charles admitted with a frustrated sigh, before adding – “I guess I should be thankful though – the conditions were terrible.”

Lewis knew better than how much Charles hated racing in wet conditions, especially when visibility was limited. Seeing not one but several of his fellow racers crash could not have done much to assuage his fears, even if he was doing an admirable job of seeing calm about the whole thing.

“Do you want to join us?” Lewis suggested gently, softly patting the couch opposite the side Max had claimed.

“I do not want to disturb him,” Charles admitted hesitantly, even as he eyed the offered spot.

“Do not be stupid, Charlie,” Max mumbled sleepily, startling both Lewis and Charles. “Want you here.”

And that seemed to be more than enough to make up Charles’ mind, the Monegasque not wasting another moment before plopping down on Lewis’ other side and snuggling close, head coming to rest on Lewis’ shoulder. Once he’d settled, Max reached out blindly, catching Charles’ hand and pulling it towards himself.

Lewis watched the scene in silent reverence, the immeasurable fondness he felt for these boys swelling in his chest until he found himself blinking back tears.

Just a week ago, he’d been so damn scared that he’d finally managed to irreparably break things with Max, and now here they were, the two boys he’d had under his wing the longest dozing against his sides without a care in the world.

It certainly hadn’t been the first time they fought, and it definitely wouldn’t be the last time, but something settled within Lewis as he realized that they’d always find a way back to one another – back to their Grid Family.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Nov 3, 2024 at 2:44 pm

Jenson Button

Are the conditions at the track as terrible as they look on the broadcast.

Mark Webber

Absolutely dismal, mate.

Not convinced they can see much of anything at the moment.

Even Oscar is struggling, and it takes quite a bit to stress the kid out.

Sebastian Vettel

These are red flag conditions.

Why is there not a red flag?

Someone is going to get hurt.

Jenson Button

Qualifying was bad enough.

Mark Webber

There’s your red flag, Seb.

Sebastian Vettel

Well? What the fuck did I say?

Red flag!

Sending them out was unnecessary.

Jenson Button

Is Franco okay?

Mark Webber

Looks like he’s getting out of the car now, but that was a big shunt.

Sebastian Vettel

George fucking said it was too damn wet.

He called for a fucking red flag.

But still, they put all of them in danger when the session shouldn’t have fucking started in the first place!

Jenson Button

Breathe, mate.

Mark Webber

They’re all okay, Seb.

They’re pulling into the pits now.

Lewis Hamilton

This is fucking bullshit.

Fernando Alonso

Where is Franco?

Is he okay?

Valtteri Bottas

This is not even good weather for a duck.

Sebastian Vettel

Please be safe.

Mark Webber

May as well tell them to avoid unnecessary journeys and to not take risks on treacherous roads while you’re at it, mate.

Jenson Button

And don't swim in the sea! 

Lewis Hamilton

You all think you’re proper comedians now, don’t you?

Fernando Alonso

Is not funny.

Mark Webber

You could retire too.

Then you could enjoy proper lie ins and nice dry garages.

Lewis Hamilton

Yeah, Fernando, you could retire.

Fernando Alonso

You first.

Kimi Räikkönen

Do you not have a race to drive?

Lewis Hamilton

Unfortunately.

Fernando Alonso

Unless he retires.

Chapter Text

Lewis had only just made it back to his Driver’s Room, drenched in champagne, when a morose Charles Leclerc stumbled in behind him.

Unlike his teammate, Charles hadn’t managed to make his way on to the podium, despite a strong start. From what Lewis had seen post-race, when the lights went out Charles had managed to jump past both Pierre and Carlos into Turn 1, before he launched an attack on George.

Something must have gone wrong from there on in, because the next thing Lewis knew, Charles had dropped back and was soon overtaken by the cars he had passed, until he was forced to pit far too early, ultimately achieving no more than P4.

“Hey, Charlie,” Lewis greeted gently – only for Charles to launch himself at his future teammate for a hug, uncaring of the fact that Lewis was covered in sweat and champagne and God knows what else. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“What is there to talk about?” Charles grumbled petulantly into Lewis’ shoulder.

“Charles.”

“I pushed too hard, I made a mistake, and I ruined my own race,” Charles snapped back, earning himself a set of raised brows from the older man.

“Care to explain that again, but without the self-deprecating bit?”

“The what?”

“Without being unkind to yourself, Charles,” Lewis sighed.

“I mean, I was very excited at the start in P2, but then unfortunately everything started to go very quickly wrong, because I pushed too much on the tyres,” Charles explained sadly, clearly trying to do as Lewis had asked, even if the answer sounded scripted and media-ready. “On the two other sets of hard we were very strong, but I lost too much on the first set.”

“I heard your radio messages after the race,” Lewis prompted gently.

Charles had been… less than kind, to the team, but more specifically to Carlos. Lewis hadn’t heard him so fired up – at least publicly – in quite some time, usually hiding his true emotions behind his extensive media training.

At least in public.

Behind closed doors… Lewis knew that the younger man felt, that he hurt, that he wanted to desperately sometimes he could barely contain it.

It wasn’t surprising, really, that something had finally bubbled over.

“I thought the radio was off,” Charles was still petulant, but Lewis could hear a bit of his usual fire in there now too. “I mean, every time there are these kinds of frustrations, and now… there is just no need for me to go into details of everything.”

“Do you feel like Carlos was favoured by the team?” Lewis asked, genuinely curious. Not only because the team in question would soon be his team, too, but also because he couldn’t quite understand why Charles was so frustrated by all of this.

“No, no, no, it is not about favouring one or the other,” Charles responded quickly, finally pulling away from Lewis just to make a point of aggressively shaking his head. “It is about things that we have been told, things that we decided as a team, that were not honoured.”

But still, Charles wouldn’t say anything, because he was loyal to Ferrari to a fault in a way Lewis truly couldn’t understand – and also because as Carlos’ time with Ferrari slowly drew to a close, Charles was unwilling to spend even a moment upset with his beloved teammate.

Which left him to sulk alone, pushing his own feelings down in favour of savouring the time he had left with Carlos as his teammate.

“You’re allowed to be frustrated, Charles,” Lewis reminded him softly. “You can love Ferrari, you can be friends Carlos, and still be frustrated.”

“I do not know how,” Charles admitted, voice small and sad.

With a sigh, Lewis simply pulled him into another hug, knowing that Charles would move forward from this small hurt just as he always did, even if in this moment the pain felt insurmountable. He was resilient like that – even if sometimes, Lewis wished he’d bite back instead of rolling over.

Off the track, at least.

On track, he was still a veritable menace.

He was just about to offer Charles some conciliatory ice cream – unfortunately, not of the LEC variety, given that it still wasn’t available on this side of the pond – when the whirlwind that was Max Verstappen burst into the small space, a navy-blue YETI mug clenched firmly in one hand, and open bottle of champagne in the other.

“Lewis,” Max shrieked, completely missing the vibe of the room. “I am a four-time world champion!”

The drunk Dutchman – because Lewis had no doubt that Max was already drunk – crashed into their hug, arms wrapping around the pair as he snuggled in close in a way he never normally would.

“Yeah, you are, kid,” Lewis agreed as he shifted his hold to include an insistent Max in their hug. Across from him, Charles was doing the same without a moment’s hesitation. Which was good, because Max seemed to have finally realized who the third member of their impromptu cuddle was.

“Charlie!” Max crowed, clearly delighted. “Did you see? I did it!”

“Yeah, Max, I saw,” Charles responded softly, tipping his head forward to meet Max’s as he spoke. “I knew you could do it.”

For a moment, Lewis considered extricating himself from the situation to let the duo simply be, but he could still hear the sadness in Charles voice, and couldn’t quite convince himself to give up the hold he had on the Monegasque’s waist.

“Why do you sound sad, Charlie?” Max asked, suddenly serious. “Is it Ferrari? I will fight them. Or Carlos? I can fight him too! Or –”

“No one is fighting anyone,” Lewis interjected firmly, earning himself a scandalized glower from Max.

“But Charles is sad,” Max pointed out. “He should never be sad.”

“I am okay, Max,” Charles tried. “I am disappointed, but I am also happy for you, yes? We should celebrate!”

“Are you sure?” Max had sobered up impossibly quickly, turning his intense blue gaze back towards the Ferrari driver. “We do not have to, of course. We can just go back to the hotel room and –”

“For my sanity, please do not finish that sentence,” Lewis groaned, finally pulling himself away from the others to flop dramatically on the nearby couch.

“I was of course not suggesting that we –”

“No.”

“But I was not going to say –”

“Please stop talking.”

“Max!” Charles interjected rather forcibly. “I would like to celebrate with you, yes?”

Max opened his mouth, a dangerously cheeky expression on his face –

“Do not say whatever it is you are about to say,” Lewis sighed.

Max huffed before dropping down next to Lewis and taking a rather generous swig of his champagne – which Charles promptly snatched and began to chug without inhibition.

“Starting the celebrations without us?” George asked from the one-again-open door, Lando and Oscar peering around his towering frame with matching grins that promised trouble.

Briefly, Lewis wondered if this could be somebody else’s problem.

Just for the night.

Maybe Jenson would be willing to run interference for the night.

“Shouldn’t you be mourning the championship or something?” Lewis asked drily instead, mostly expecting to be ignored.

Instead, Lando just cackled maniacally as he ducked around George to snatch the champagne Charles was still trying to polish off. Probably for the best – he hadn’t taken a pause to breathe yet, and it would probably put a damper on things if Charles passed out before they truly got started.

“That’s the whole point, Lewis,” Lando explained, as if to a very simple toddler, before taking a generous swig himself. “Since we can’t be happy, we can at least be drunk!”

“That’s – no – stop – Lando,” Lewis tried, but the younger drivers were already crowding out of his driver’s room, completely unaware – or intentionally ignoring – his frantic attempts to reign in their manic energy.

This could not end well.

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Nov 23, 2024 at 4:33 am

Lewis Hamilton

Jenson, you’re in charge of keeping an eye on Lando.

Jenson Button

On it, mate.

Daniel Ricciardo

This should be good.

Jenson Button

Why is he so determined to run away?

Where is he going?

Daniel Ricciardo

No one knows.

Lewis Hamilton

Usually a nice, tight hug will keep him in place.

Nico Rosberg

Dare I ask why Lewis cannot watch Lando?

Fernando Alonso

He is too busy trying to make sure that Verstappen and Leclerc do not get married.

Sebastian Vettel

That is a funny joke.

Lewis Hamilton

I wish it was a joke.

They apparently think it would be very funny to elope in Las Vegas.

Jenson Button

Lando is not helping.

He keeps saying how “iconic” it would be.

Mark Webber

Oscar would never cause problems like this.

Fernando Alonso

Yes, yes.

We get it.

Your child is perfect.

Does anyone see Franco?

Lewis Hamilton

Little bit busy right now, mate.

Jenson Button

Putting a chapel in the Paddock was an objectively terrible idea.

Lewis Hamilton

Giving Max gin and tonics during his post-race interviews was also a terrible idea.

Yet here we are.

Jenson Button

At one point, I saw him pouring vodka-Red Bulls during an interview.

Kimi Räikkönen

I am so proud.

Fernando Alonso

DOES ANYONE KNOW WHERE FRANCO IS?

Jenson Button

Maybe George and Alex know?

Valtteri Bottas

The last time I saw George he was chugging champagne he found straight out of the bottle.

Probably, he will not be helpful.

Lewis Hamilton

What do you mean “found”?

Sebastian Vettel

They are all going to die.

Mark Webber

Or get arrested.

Kimi Räikkönen

Or get married.

Daniel Ricciardo

Ah yes, can’t forget the impending threat of a Vegas marriage!

Nico Rosberg

You know what?

At this point, getting arrested might be the preferable option.

Jenson Button

At least a jail cell would keep Lando in place.

Lewis Hamilton

I think you underestimate Lando.

Chapter Text

Oscar Piastri has claimed victory in the Sprint at the Qatar Grand Prix after team mate Lando Norris – who had led the event throughout – pulled over to let his fellow McLaren driver through at the very last moment, seemingly paying the Australian back for their previous switch during the Sprint event in Sao Paulo.

Formula 1 (Report )

―――

Lewis wasn’t unfamiliar with Lando Norris’ many moods – both the highs and lows – so he should have known better. He should have seen the signs before Max Fewtrell of all people was ringing his phone on a Sunday night in Qatar.

It hardly mattered that he was still reeling from his own abysmal race results in what had been his second-to-last race with Mercedes.

He knew these boys well enough by now to know that Lando would be struggling after today’s race.

“Hamilton, here,” Lewis answered tiredly, pretty sure he already knew how this conversation was going to go.

Yesterday, the McLaren duo had done a good job of seeming happy and cohesive for the cameras, but behind closed doors, Oscar had been irritated with Lando for “handing” him a win, while Lando had been confused – and then frustrated – about why Oscar wasn’t thankful for his grand gesture of “team camaraderie”.

Unsaid was how Lando felt like Oscar was rejecting his friendship.

Then, today, Lando had watched what looked to be a certain podium result slip between his fingers after being handed a 10-second stop and go penalty for failing to slow under yellow flags, dropping him down the field and leaving him with a battle on his hands to claim points.

He had still finished ahead of Lewis, but…

“He’s not eating,” Fewtrell didn’t waste time – in fact, the young Brit sounded exhausted and downright concerned, if not on the brink of tears himself. “He’s said he’s going to order room service but I don’t reckon he actually will, and I’m too damn far to do anything about it, and –”

“Breathe, Max,” Lewis interrupts gently.

Instead of calming, the younger man huffed irritably before continuing his rant, apparently undeterred.

“He does this when he’s stressed – he doesn’t eat, and then he makes himself ill, and he can’t afford to be ill in the middle of a triple-header where McLaren are fighting for the Constructor’s and he’s already down on himself for losing the WDC and –”

“Max!”

A pause, and then –

“I just need to know that he’s okay, Lewis,” Max Fewtrell admitted, voice suddenly small and worried. “He – sometimes – especially lately – Lewis, it’s not been good.”

The thing was, Lewis knew.

He knew that Oscar knew too, and that the younger half of the McLaren line-up regretted lashing out yesterday (albeit rather calmly). His friends on the Grid knew too – saw through the suddenly bubbly façade Lando has constructed after Las Vegas – even if Lando refused to let anyone too close at the moment.

They’d all thought he just needed space – and time – but it was increasingly seeming like they’d been wrong.

“I’ve got him, okay?” Lewis promised, voice gentling now that Max had seemingly settled somewhat. “I’ve got to get a few things sorted with the team before I head out, but I’ve got his hotel information and I’ll get him sorted, yeah?”

“Please,” came Fewtrell’s worried response. “I – I can move some things around, be in Abu Dhabi –”

“Max, I’ve got him, I promise,” Lewis reassured gently. 

A few gentle reassurances later saw Lewis finally ending the call – along with a promise to text Max with updates once he’d arrived at Lando’s hotel – before he went through the necessary post-race routines and obligations he hadn’t yet managed to wrap up for Mercedes, slapping a half-hearted smile onto his face as he chatted with mechanics and engineers alike.

He knew he needed to go check on Lando, but…

He couldn’t help himself.

He only had one more weekend of this – of Mercedes – and it was finally starting to feel real.

He didn’t want to miss a moment of it.

Eventually, Bono shooed Lewis out of the garage and sent him on his way with a sad smile, promising that there was nothing more for him to do here, besides get himself ready for their flight the next day.

Of course, instead of doing that, Lewis placed a quick foods order while enroute to the hotel in Doha that McLaren is inhabiting for the weekend, double-checking the name and hotel information for delivery before closing the app and opening his messages.

―――

Oscar Piastri

Sun, Dec 1, 2024 at 11:48 pm

Lewis Hamilton

Did you make it back to the hotel alright?

Oscar Piastri

Of course, mate.

―――

Satisfied that one half of the papaya pair was well and accounted for, Lewis focused on getting to the other half of the duo as expeditiously as he could manage, given the lingering traffic and relative distance between the track and the hotel.

Despite all that, it wasn’t really long at all before Lewis was gently knocking at Lando Norris’ door, fighting back the urge to shuffle nervously from foot to foot.

Thankfully, Lano didn’t leave him waiting for long, the younger Brit yanking open the door without warning surprisingly quickly, all things considered.

“Lewis?”

“Hey, kid,” Lewis greeted as he slipped into the space, figuring it was better to get inside before Lando’s brain caught up with his mouth. 

Almost immediately, Lando’s expression morphed from abject confusion to stormy anger, brow furrowing.

“Who fucking ratted on me?”

“Lando, mate,” Lewis tried, only to be cut off by Lando slamming the hotel door and stomping back to his laptop – from which Max Fewtrell’s voice was still wafting. Hopefully, one of them had had the good sense to mute Lando before he’d opened the hotel door.

“I was going to order food, you fucking muppet,” Lando said to the computer. “Didn’t need to tattle on me, did you?”

Whatever Fewtrell began to say in response was cut off by Lando slamming his laptop shut before glowering at Lewis.

Lewis sighed.

“He was just worried about you,” Lewis said gently. “Proper worried about you, yeah? He’s a good friend.”

“I can take care of myself,” Lando sulked. “Max knows that.”

“Sure,” Lewis agreed aloud, even if privately he thought that Lando needed someone to take care of him right now. His hotel room looking as though a tornado had hit it was nothing new, but Lano himself… He looked a proper mess, curls in disarray, dark shadows under his eyes, skin pale despite the flush on his cheeks. “That doesn’t mean that you can’t let others help you out now and again, Lando. You know that.”

When Lando didn’t answer – instead choosing to continue pouting rather resolutely – Lewis switched tactics.

“It’s what mates do, Lando,” Lewis tried again. “You would do – actually, you have done – the same for him, haven’t you? Gave him a safe place to land and helped him get back on his feet after… well, after everything.”

“So, that’s all this is?” Lando sneered. “Tit for tat?”

“Lando – no – you know that’s not what I meant,” Lewis snapped, patient demeanour slipping for a moment. Before he spoke again, he took a deep breath, calming his own frustrations before he spoke. “That’s just what friends do – they take care of one another, no matter what.”

Before Lando could respond – likely with another barbed quip – there was another knock on the door, briefly distracting the pair from what was quickly dissolving into a circular argument.

“That’ll be the food, I imagine,” Lewis explained. “Do you want me to get it, or?”

Lando was already pushing himself back into a standing position and stomping over to the door.

“It’s my room, I’ll get it,” the younger Brit huffed.

Which was just as well, because while the person at the door was holding their foods order – which was actually enough for three – it absolutely wasn’t an unfamiliar face.

“Osc?”

“You had your food delivered to my room,” the Australian deadpanned, holding up the takeaway bags by way of explanation.

“That was Lewis,” Lando grumbled as he stepped aside and waved Oscar in. “He’s being part – particle – part –”

“Particularly.”

“That,” Lando waved. “Par-ti-cu-lar-ly broody.”

“I am not!”

Fixed under the matching, disbelieving stares of both halves of the McLaren line-up, Lewis couldn’t help but wonder if he’d somehow ended up in over his head here. In theory, it had seemed like a good idea to lure Oscar over – he had a way of bringing Lando out of even his darkest moods, and the pair of them still needed to sort out yesterday’s spat – but now, faced with their combined skepticism, Lewis wasn’t entirely sure.

Eventually, Lando shrugged, choosing instead to wordlessly snatch the food from Oscaar and carry it over to the table so that he could root through the contents. Oscar followed him, quietly peering er his teammate’s shoulder to inspect what Lewis had ordered for them.

“Why have you ordered that many spring rolls?” Oscar inquired incredulously as Lando pulled out the admittedly huge box of spring rolls with a delighted sound.

“Lando likes them,” Lewis explained, finally daring to approach the duo now that Lando was happily munching on his spring rolls. “This place also has some great vegan options.”

As he spoke, Lewis rifled around in the bag to pull out the clearly labelled vegan Dan Dan Noodles, complete with tofu, broccoli, and bok choy, amidst other toppings.

He left the rest to Oscar and Lando, knowing that Oscar would happily eat anything Lando turned his nose up at – the Australian was a fan of most Asian cuisine, but especially Chinese food. Indeed, the younger half of the McLaren duo was already digging into what looked to be the fried rice, the dim sum open in front of him as well.

Meanwhile, Lando was still happily munching on his spring rolls.

“Can I have one?” Oscar asked casually, gesturing towards the box of spring rolls still clutched in Lando’s grip.

Lewis paused, his next bite halfway between his own take-away container and his mouth, gaze darting between the duo.

“No,” Lando mumbled around the entire spring roll he’d shoved into his mouth in response.

“So, what?” Oscar demanded drily. “You’ll give me a race win but not a spring roll?”

“Not like you appreciated the last thing I gave you,” Lando snarked back, but there was no real heat behind his words. “Not even a “thank-you” or so much as a –”

Lewis watched silently as Oscar set aside his own food to engulf his teammate in a tight hug, pulling a tense Lando against him as he wrapped him up in his arms. Lewis saw the moment Lando melted into the embrace, finally setting aside the spring rolls in favour of returning his teammate’s hug.

When they finally pulled apart, the pair were both smiling tentatively, but it was Oscar who spoke, voice soft and kind.

“Thank-you, Lando – and not just for the win,” Oscar said. “Keeping me within DRS range all race… Without that help it would have been a much more difficult Sprint.”

“But yesterday –”

“I was upset, but not with you,” Oscar explained. “I wanted to win – I always want to win – but I never want those wins just handed to me, you know? And I couldn’t let go of the fact that you deserved to win that race, not me.”

“But –”

“No, Lando, I’m thankful, but you deserved to win the Sprint,” Oscar interrupted firmly. “I killed the front a little bit early on and then I was struggling for the rest of the Sprint – that’s on me.”

“You did the same thing for me, in the Sao Paulo Sprint,” Lando pointed out.

“Is that what this is about?” Oscar scoffed. “Us being even?”

“No, it’s not, it’s…” Lando paused, gaze darting towards a still silently observing Lewis before continuing. “That’s just what friends do – they take care of one another, no matter what.”

Lewis bit back a snort of laughter at hearing his own words on Lando’s lips before finally deciding to go back to eating his own food, leaving the duo to wrap up their reconciliation now that he felt quite certain they weren’t about to start throwing food – or punches.

“We’re friends?” Oscar asked inquisitively.

Passively, Lewis debated choking on the most recent bit of tofu he’d taken and simply dying, because what the actual fuck?

“Of course?” Lando responded, clearly bewildered. “Mate – we – what did you think this was?”

This was worse than Max and Charles, is what it was, but –

“I mean, I knew we were teammates, but I wasn’t sure – y’know,” Oscar mumbled nervously, cheeks staining an adorable pink as he ducked his head.

“Course we’re friends, you muppet,” Lando smiled as he jostled their shoulders together before holding out a spring roll. “Reckon you can have one of these.”

Oscar’s answering smile was just as brilliant as he reached out to snatch the offered spring roll.

“Thanks, Lando.”

―――

Grid Dads

Sun, Dec 1, 2024 at 8:14 pm

Lewis Hamilton

Mark.

Mark Webber

Lewis.

Sebastian Vettel

Oh, this should be good.

Nico Rosberg

Did Oscar finally do something?

Mark Webber

Oscar has never caused a single problem in his whole life.

Lewis Hamilton

Explain to me how Oscar failed to notice that Lando is his friend?

Mark Webber

As I’ve told him, it's difficult for Formula 1 drivers to form friendships. 

He needs to focus on himself and his goals.

Daniel Ricciardo

Mate.

Lewis Hamilton

Too bad.

He’s Lando’s friend now, you’re going to have to deal with that.

Jenson Button

Probably should have seen this one coming, Mark.

Lando has never met a teammate he can’t befriend.

Daniel Ricciardo

I am very likeable.

Mark Webber

Is this about the Sprint Race?

Lewis Hamilton

It’s about Lando sharing his spring rolls with Oscar.

Nico Rosberg

Oh my god.

Daniel Ricciardo

Have they set a date for the wedding yet?

Valtteri Bottas

They can just elope in Vegas next year!

Mark Webber

Spring rolls aren’t on his diet plan.

Lewis, stop feeding him foods that aren’t on his diet plan.

Lewis Hamilton

Stop telling him he can’t have friends.

Sebastian Vettel

He has got you there, Webber.

Mark Webber

No one asked for your opinion, Vettel.

Daniel Ricciardo

Has it ever occurred to any of you that you may not be the best people to offer relationship advice?

Lewis Hamilton

No.

Nico Rosberg

No.

Mark Webber

No.

Sebastian Vettel

No.

Chapter Text

As he prepared to step into the Paddock and into the harsh glare of the media, Lewis debated simply… not.

He’d thought he was ready for this – ready to say goodbye to Mercedes.

But now, faced with the end, no longer a far-off date but mere days away… Suddenly, Lewis wasn’t sure he was as ready for this change as he’d been insisting he was.

Then, as if he’d known Lewis would need the extra motivation to take these first few last steps into the Paddock, Nico appeared at his side, eyebrows raised in a silent challenge.

Lewis never had been able to turn down a challenge from Nico.

“I didn’t realize you were working with Sky this weekend,” Lewis admitted sheepishly as he let Nico pull him into a tight hug. He couldn’t help the way he practically melted into his friend’s hold, just a little bit of the stress melting out of his muscles at Nico’s familiar touch.

“Of course I am,” Nico scoffed once they’d pulled apart, finally turning to walk into the Paddock proper, shoulder to shoulder. “I would not miss your last weekend with Mercedes.”

“You might’ve,” Lewis shrugged, trying for casual even though his heart was clenching painfully at the sentiment. “It’s not like I’m retiring – people switch teams all the time – it’s not that big of a deal.”

Even he could hear the lie in his voice.

Nico snorted.

“Still, someone has to be here to have your back,” Nico pointed out.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It is just… I know you want to think well of them, but Toto and the team...” Nico trailed off, grimacing before he continued. “They have not been the best to you this season.”

“They’ve been pretty thorough with all the tributes and memories lately,” Lewis pointed out, even though he knew it was pointless to defend the team to Nico. Once the other man had made his mind up about something, he was nearly impossible to shake.

“That whole ‘every dream needs a team’ nonsense?” Nico scoffed. “I would rather have ‘every team needs a hero’ – they are meant to be celebrating a racing driver – celebrating you – not the team!”

“They’re trying, Nico,” Lewis soothed.

Thankfully, the retired driver merely huffed irritably, but let the argument drop. Unfortunately, judging by the mulish expression still engrained on Nico’s face, this wouldn’t be the last Lewis heard of Mercedes’ faults this weekend, especially if Qualifying or the race itself didn’t go to plan.

Which, of course, it didn’t.

Instead, Lewis was left lamenting what might have been as he qualified a disappointing 18th for the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix after picking up a bollard that had been dislodged by the Haas of Kevin Magnussen.

Toto was waiting as Lewis climbed out of the car, his face as inscrutable as ever.

“I am so sorry, Lewis,” Toto began. “You were quick out there, and we totally let you down.”

“It’s fine, Toto,” Lewis dismissed tiredly.

He didn’t want to get into it with Toto right now – he just wanted to use the time he had left to be really present. To just try to enjoy every moment with the team – even though this hadn’t been a great session for them.

Undeterred, Toto continued.

“We made an idiotic mistake not going out earlier – it’s inexcusable,” Toto rambled. “I know… Maybe it summarises the last races we have had, I know, but this is the worst part of it because it was just idiotic.”

“Toto,” Lewis interrupted, firmer this time. “Sure, there are things we could have done differently, but you couldn’t have timed it more perfectly – that bollard. It happened just… maybe it was meant to be?”

Toto scoffed.

“You do not believe that,” the Team Principal pointed out.

“Maybe not, but I know I did everything right and I’m confident that I’ve taken the right steps this weekend,” Lewis pointed out. “We’ll try and fight from there – though I’d love to inherit some positions from grid penalties if I can!”

Toto laughed and clapped him on the shoulder, and for a moment, it was like nothing had changed – like nothing would change -

But then he was dragged off to media commitments and team meetings, and every step of the way he could feel that the end was drawing nearer and nearer, the pressure building until he felt like he might crack, might break apart at the seams, might simply sit down and cry because he wasn’t ready.

“I may have accidentally told Sky Italia that we are friends,” Nico appeared as if once-again summoned by Lewis’ growing panic, a blonde German spectre haunting not only the Paddock but also Mercedes’ Hospitality Suite, apparently.

“Why – just – how would that even come up in conversation?” Lewis sputtered, earlier panic melting away as he watched the lines around Nico’s eyes crinkled with laughter, so much more pronounced now than they’d been years ago.

“I was ranking my top Formula 1 drivers, and of course I ranked you first,” Nico explained simply. “Then, everyone was complaining, so I said that we are friends?”

“You couldn’t have said that it’s just because I’ve won 7 WDC’s?” Lewis ribbed gently, even though his heart warmed at the thought of Nico publicly declaring them friends – again – after so many years of estrangement.

“Michael has done that also,” Nico pointed out snarkily. “But you rank above him because you are my friend, Lewis.”

“Sure Nico, whatever you say,” Lewis agreed softly before acquiescing to his silent request to lean into a side-hug, letting himself be pulled away from the chaos of the garage – if only for the evening.

The next day was yet another last, but this time, all Lewis felt was a sense of detachment as he climbed in the car. Objectively, he knew that it would hit him eventually – that this was his last time driving in a Grand Prix as a Mercedes driver – but for now, the calm that always wrapped around his mind as he drove won out.

Then there were five lights, and the roar of engines wrapping around him, and then it was just quiet.

Just him and the car.

This was racing.

And then –

“Okay, Lewis, we’ll go to strat mode 5,” Bono was saying. “It’s hammertime.”

And suddenly, it hit Lewis harder than any crash ever had – this was the last time he would ever hear Bono say those words to him.

And suddenly, it all clicked.

For the rest of the race, Lewis couldn’t lose himself in the haze – too dialed in to simply living this experience, to feeling the car around him, hearing Bono’s quiet encouragement, until he was pulling past George, fireworks lighting up his peripheral vision, and Bono was in his ear again.

“And that’s the end of an era,” Bono’s voice crackled through the radio, but Lewis heard every word as clearly as if his trusted Race Engineer was in the cockpit alongside him. He heard the slight waver in Bono’s voice too, and knew that he wasn’t the only one holding back tears. “Gotta say, mate, it’s been epic working with you.”

Before Lewis could unclog his throat to choke out a halfway sensible answer, Toto’s familiar voice was in his ear, nearly as familiar as Bono’s by now.

“Lewis, that was the drive of a World Champion,” his Team Principal congratulated steadily. No trace of the tears that Lewis could hear in Bono’s voice, but he also knew that that wasn’t Toto’s way. “That was the drive of a World Champion. Amazing.”

“Thanks Toto,” Lewis managed. “That was hard.”

He knew his voice was shaking, knew that everyone could probably hear the quaver in his words

“Stellar job today, man,” came Bono’s voice again, steadier now than it had been, but still riddled with emotion. “It’s been a pleasure all the way – the tough times and –”

“No, the pleasure’s been mine,” Lewis interjected, voice still unsteady but firm. “Bono, I dreamed alone, but together we believed, and as a team we achieved things that only…”

Lewis trailed off, words escaping him as his throat tightened. There was so much he wanted to say – needed to say, but in this moment, he just couldn’t find a way to get the words past his lips.

“Thank-you for all the courage, and the determination, and the passion,” he said instead, once he was sure he wouldn’t simply break down into tears. “And thank-you, for seeing me and supporting me.”

“Lewis –”

“What started off as a leap of faith turned into a journey into the history books, and we did everything together,” Lewis pressed onwards, certain that if he stopped now he’d never manage to get the words out. “I’m so, so grateful to everyone. From the bottom of my heart, thank-you – and all the best.”

“Thank-you Lewis,” came Bono’s steady response, just as it had for so many years. “It’s been an amazing journey, and I’m so grateful to be part of this chapter in your life.”

And then Toto was speaking again, but Lewis was too busy trying not to drown in his own tears as he thought about racing without Bono in his ear next year, until –

 “If we can’t win, you should win,” Toto said.

And then, as quickly as it had gone, suddenly Lewis was pulling up to the space designated for donuts – for him, specifically – and the radio went silent as he spun the car – the Mercedes – for the last time, one hand on the wheel while he reached the other up towards a sky full of fireworks to wave to the fans, to his team, but also… to the end of this era.

As he finally pulled the car forward and to a stop, Lewis took a moment to just breathe.

To be alone, in these final moments in a Mercedes F1 car.

To say goodbye to this next last thing.

Just him and the car.

Alone.

This entire weekend, he’d not felt alone – not even for a moment – because he’d had the family that he’d found by his side. The family that he’d built without really meaning to, supporting him in their own ways as he walked through these final days with Mercedes.

He’d had George singing his praises and reminding him of just who he was on the fan stage, fans looking on as George reminded the whole world how deeply he’d idolised Lewis, as they reveled in this first last thing as teammates together.

He’d had Max finding him before his last First Practice Session with Mercedes, to just exist in each other’s spaces, taking away from the anxiety tightening in his chest at the thought of this next last thing by simply being there.

He’d had Oscar’s quiet presence at his back during their yearly Grid photo, a warm hand resting against his back as if he knew how difficult this particular last thing would be for Lewis.

He’d had Valtteri, sidling up next to him during the Driver’s Parade, his former teammate’s quiet presence a balm to his unruly mind as he wrestled with this next last thing, unable to even draw up a laugh at Max’s antics or a smile for Franco’s quiet reverence.

And then, as he climbed out of the car and said one more goodbye to this chapter in his life –

He had Lando in the moments after the race, the younger Brit snuggling close despite the cameras swarming around them, giving up a few moments of his own celebrations to hold Lewis together during this last time.

He had Charles’ quiet presence as they both caught their breath, the Monegasque taking a moment to press fully against his side before Nico waved him over for his interview, as if knowing that Lewis was struggling to find the courage to face the next last thing.

And then, as he made his way back to the Mercedes garage –

He had Bono’s eyes glistening with tears as his trusted Race Engineer drew him into a hug the moment he stepped back into the arms of his jubilant team, giving Lewis a moment to hide his own suddenly teary eyes as it finally all came crashing down around him.

That this was, truly, the end.

And at the end, he had Nico waiting, a quiet presence in the back of the garage, as if he’d known Lewis would find him without so much as a word. Trusting that he would, because they’d always found their way back to each other.

Eventually.

“I’m okay, you know,” Lewis murmured as he let Nico drag him into a hug of his own.

Because he was.

“It was insane, the way you lined George up for that overtake,” Nico gushed, comforting Lewis in the best way he knew how – by falling into old habits, his hands moving in a way that was not dissimilar to Max. “It was perfection, through that whole section –”

As the sound of celebrations continued all around him, Lewis simply let the familiar sound of Nico’s voice roll over him, a comforting sound amidst the revelry surrounding them and the turmoil still within his heart.

He hadn’t lied though.

He was okay.

This may be the end of a big part of his life – the end of the era of Mercedes – but it wasn’t the end. He had so many things – so many people – in his life now. Racing was still his passion, but along the way, he’d accidentally found himself a family.