Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Here you go, love,” the alpha murmurs on the screen as he washes his omega’s hair, fingers massaging her scalp as she purrs lightly, eyes shut and body stress-free. “You don’t need to worry about anything, alright? Matthew and the others have it all covered. You have a pack now, you’re not on your own anymore.”

Max stares at the TV as the lights flicker across his eyes, but it’s like his brain thinks it’s really happening to him. That the smell of the alpha’s thick, curling scent covering his brain in warmth and safety is really there, right next to him. That his fingers are running through Max’s hair and not hers.

“We got you another dress,” he says, a passing thought, like it doesn’t bother their pack at all to buy her more dresses. Why would it? She’s an omega, that’s what she deserves. Shouldn’t Max deserve that too? “Yellow. Summery. Wear it for us tomorrow?”

“Of course,” she agrees, voice light and smile wide.

Max has to turn the TV off. It burns into his memory, the softness of their words, reminding him of all of the things he doesn’t have. A pack. A choker around his neck worth tens of thousands reminding the world he is loved and adored by more than just himself. Even that, at times, is flimsy.

She looks happy to be taken care of, is the thing. He knows if he let himself open up to someone, anyone, even just his sister or mother, he’d be happy to be taken care of too. Any omega would. It’s a want (maybe a need if Max looks at it too closely) that sits in his chest all the time, taking up space when it shouldn’t, yearning for any alpha he can smell. Calling for something Max can not allow it to have.

One in a fifty thousand odds.

It should make him feel special. Rare. But Max only felt alone. Because omegas are so hard to come by that they are kept safe from any dangers at all costs. An omega in a pack is kept spoiled and happy for as long as they live, and that is just a fact of the world.

Max wants that. He does. Sitting in his Monaco apartment, waiting for tomorrow to come to start another race weekend, he aches not to be alone. It’s dark now since the flickering of the TV is gone, the room is warm in the spring air but not warm with the shifting of a pack around him. A pack that would not let him face any danger, be in any situation where he could be harmed.

A pack that would not let him race.

And as much as he wants to be loved properly in the way his instincts, his bones demand, it’s racing that breathes the fire into his veins. Being behind the wheel, fighting tooth and nail for trophy after trophy, series after series, championship after championship, is what lets him breathe. Live. Flourish.

But the omega in the movie looks happier than he’d felt in months.

Maybe it’s just his instincts playing up, trying to finally get what they want in exchange for his sacrifice, but his couch can fit more than one person.

Max looks down at his feet, then at the coffee table. If he moves it aside, there’d be enough space for a nest. A large nest made with soft blankets and pillows, clothing items smelling like the alphas closest to him. His hand twitches. He wants to just grab the nearest pillow and start. Let instincts carry him away. But the only thing he can smell is his own scent. Sweet and warm, yes, but not what Max wants. Not what he needs.

Where are they? He needs a pack. He needs alphas around him to protect him, to love him, to care about him—

Max can’t smell an alpha anywhere. He’s alone, and that makes him whine quietly into the silence of his apartment. A broken sound, a sound meant to draw alphas to him but no one is there to hear it. It only serves as a reminder of what he doesn’t have. Of what he chose not to have.

But Max still wants.

He slept fitfully that night, crying into his pillow and imagining it was the warm body of someone he knows instead. In the morning when he heads into city of Monaco for its fabled grand prix, Max doesn’t stop to talk to anyone, let alone the press. He goes to the team meeting before having a sip of coffee, a decision he regrets once he realises how much they are planning to talk about. Tire strategies, how hard he should push in practice, concerns of the car they’d fixed…

Once it's finally over, Max is yawning every other minute. The scent blockers on his neck itch a little. He drums his fingers on the table, trying to work out what can give him the most energy for dealing with the press when Yuki suddenly stood from his seat. “I’m heading to the pack room before media starts,” he announces, tossing his empty Red Bull can into the bin and leaving just as abruptly.

Max follows him out with his gaze as the meeting tapers off around him, people getting up from their own chairs and gathering their things to head off to work. Their low mumblings fill his ears. Part of him wants to listen, but the other, stronger part wants to head after Yuki and into the pack room.

He’d only ever been once. When he was seventeen, naively thinking that since he’d finally gotten to the pinnacle of motorsport, he could finally tell the grid he was an omega and they couldn’t have an issue, Max went to the pack room after a race. It was the first time he’d let himself into any kind of designation-bass environment, but with the lack of care and from the other drivers he received when entering, as well as downright hostility from a few of them, he never did it again. And he never told anyone what he truly was.

But Yuki… Yuki had gotten up to go to the pack room without even thinking about it. Without wondering if he would be welcomed there or ignored completely, without worrying if someone would snarl at him for getting too close.

“Maybe you could join him,” Christian says, startling Max out of his staring. Yuki is long gone.

Max glances up at his team principal and sighs. “Do we really need to do this every time? You know I don’t like going in there. Never have, never will.” He and Christian had done this song and dance before. Many, many times. His teammate would head to the pack room and Max would stay behind. After a rough race, the grid would head to the pack room and Max would slip out of the paddock at the first chance he got. Christian noticed it all.

“You went there once, Max.” The alpha leans against the table, handing him a can of Red Bull which Max takes gratefully. “Surely in ten years you don’t think that they can’t want you there still. Half the bloody grid has changed, and you’re a four-time world champion. Have you really never thought of giving it another chance?”

“No.” Yes. Many times, alone at night in the darkness of his room where only the walls bore witness to his tears.

“You need a pack, Max. A family.” Christian pauses. “Your ruts can’t be that pleasant, can they?”

“I take general suppressants,” Max shrugs. “I time my ruts right and they’re not usually long anyway.”

“General suppressants.” Christian doesn’t look entirely convinced. His scent sours slightly, but it’s still familiar to Max. He is certain he can pick it out in a field of flowers no matter how far it stretches and how strong they smell, because he knew Christian’s scent like his own. “General suppressants are enough to get you through your ruts.”

General suppressants allow heat and rut cycles to be controlled, but that’s it. No stopping the instincts or needs or birth control in Max’s case— that would require a prescription for his designation, meaning a doctor would find out he is an omega. He already had a hard enough time of hiding his status from the FIA’s doctors, and the general suppressants work well enough.

“Yeah. If you don’t mind, I think I’m supposed to be doing some media stuff. So. I’ll head out now,” Max says, and when he pushes past Christian while finishing off his drink, he tries to ignore the urge to take a large breath of his scent. It’s hard just to imagine it curling around him protectively when he knows he can have the real thing. If only.

The paddock is the paddock, and no amount of Monaco’s grandeur can change that. Bustling members of all teams head in and out of buildings, cameras and interviewers following every driver they can find— all while a heavy, thick mix of alpha scents hover over them. The grid has a stronger scent compared to everyone else, their instincts ripe with competition and the need to prove themselves. It makes for good drivers, which is why all of the grid are alphas, save for Max, who hides his true designation behind scent blockers and the illusion of composure.

“Max, Max! A word? How are you feeling about the race today— any new upgrades we should know about?” A microphone is in his face before he knows it, but Max is so used to it, he hardly flinches anymore. He gives Martin Brundle a smile.

“Nothing new, unfortunately, though I’m working alongside the team on some upgrades in Barcelona— I think Christian might have mentioned that?”

“He does. Do you have any plans on dealing with the McLarens? Any words of wisdom for yourself in this championship fight?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Max spots Lewis. The grid’s pack alpha, a man bigger than the sport itself. His authority is present in the way he moves, in the confidence of his steps, and all Max can think for a moment is how he would be treated if he just—

“I think it’s only the eighth round of the season, and yes, while the McLarens are very fast and Oscar in particular has been a pain to deal with, especially in the first few laps, I don’t see why this season has to be any different from my last four championships. I’m happily in the lead and I’m sure I can make it stay that way.” Snap out of it. The last thing he needs to be doing is longingly staring after Lewis in the middle of an interview.

“Wise words, Max. Alright, I think we’ll leave you to it. I think we spotted Lando just before…” with that, Martin and the Sky Sports team heads off to find the McLaren driver, and Max is left standing alone in the paddock again.

He heads off to the small café set up, hoping to get some food in his stomach. Max passes by the Williams team as Carlos lightly scruffs Alex in the friendly way alphas do. Alex laughs and shoves him away, and as Max passes by, he catches a whiff of their scents and squashes down the urge in his chest to get a better smell. Further down, Esteban has his arm around Ollie’s shoulder, half-harshly ruffling his hair. Ollie has a wide smile on his face, hardly caring that his hair is being messed up or that his head is being pushed around by the force of it.

They look happy. They are a pack, together, and… And maybe Christian is right. Maybe he does need a pack. But the thought of the grid finding out his true designation…

“There you are, Max. I’ve been looking for you all morning. You’ve got press in about ten minutes, so let’s go,” his manager says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Max jumps, blinking the thoughts out of his head, and grins back, rationalising that they are just lingering thoughts from the night before. “Don’t want to be late, do you?”

The group Max has for the driver’s press conference in the afternoon is fine. Gabi on his left, then on the other side is Alex. The faces of a dozen reporters stare back at him as he sits on the couch, lights shining uncomfortably in his eyes and cameras he tries hard not to look at despite them being right in his face. Scents of the alphas beside him settles the nerves, though, and a sense of calm washes over him. Before he knows it, his shoulders lose tension and he sits back in the couch, letting himself get comfortable.

Christian’s words Max hears so often rings in his ears. A pack would be good for you, and he is rolling his eyes to himself. But he stays where he is. Protected by the alphas’ scents around him even if the cameras are fixed on his face.

The reporters begin to ask the common questions, and Max filters them out quicker than he can blink, giving the usual short response whenever he is asked something. He can’t find it in him to be bothered by their repetitiveness for some reason, not when the scent of wood and spices soothes his mind. Usually he isn’t as affected. Maybe it’s just the stupid movie he watched last night and the lack of adequate sleep making him susceptible.

“Max. It’s hard not to notice the closeness that the grid has with the rookies compared to you, sparking a larger conversation about how involved you are within the pack and your relationships with the other drivers. What are your thoughts on this?”

It snaps out of the calm haze before he can blink. The lights seem much brighter and the cameras much closer now that he isn’t lost in his head. It takes a few seconds for him to process the question, but the longer he thinks about it, the more he realises there isn’t an easy way out of it. “I… don’t particularly feel the need to be close to the other drivers on the grid. It affects how I see them as rivals in the championship, and to be honest, I hadn’t really been a part of the pack when I was a rookie myself. I guess that hasn’t really changed in ten years, so, yeah.” Max can smell the slight souring and tension thickening in the scents closest to him, but he forces himself to keep his eyes ahead instead of looking into the eyes of his fellow drivers, knowing their expressions would just make him feel more guilty. Even now, Max feels like turning and apologising. The urge to right the situation sits unacted upon in his gut. “But it’s not like I don’t like the rookies or anything— if they ever need advice or someone to talk to, I’m here, obviously. I just don’t have any interest in being a part of the pack.”

Max swallows after finishing his response, getting a large breath in of the upset scent coming from Gabi next to him. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t even look. He can’t. This is what he has been doing for ten years, and this is what he needs to keep doing if he wants to keep racing.

“It’s a shame that Max has never really been keen on being a part of the grid’s pack, but it’s obviously his choice, and we respect that and try not to impose pack life on him, I guess,” Alex says, but he glances at Max out of the corner of his eye and Max swears he looks hurt. His scent suggests as much, sharp and pungent with upset. “We’re still friends, the grid and Max. Maybe not as close, you could say, as we would be if he was involved in the pack, but it’s not like he’s a stranger or anything. And if he thinks he drives better because of it, then more power to him.”

Alex is talking like Max isn’t sitting right next to him, and he tries not to let it sting too much. Him not being in the pack or leaning into to his dynamic behaviours (which everyone assumes is the light aggressiveness of an alpha, because why wouldn’t they?) has always been a bit of a sore topic with other drivers on the grid, especially in recent years.

“Gabriel, any thoughts? Especially being new on the grid this year?”

“I don’t see why me not being in the pack is such a big deal,” Max interrupts before Gabi can even open his mouth. Sorry, he thinks, but continues on before this gets out of hand. “It’s been going on for a decade now, so I don’t see why it suddenly matters so much.”

The interview continues without much trouble from the press, but Max can feel Gabi and Alex glance at him occasionally even though his eyes stay fixed on the interviewers. Their scents curl around him, still tang with upset, causing guilt to churn in his gut no matter how much he tries to think about anything else. He doesn’t need their approval. Max doesn’t want to care how they think, especially about him not being in the grid pack. So why does it hurt so much to know they’re upset by his choice to hide himself away?

Finally, the interview is over, and Max can’t stand up quick enough. He picks up the empty can of Red Bull he’s been carrying around all day like a lifeline and tries to head out before he can get a glimpse of Alex and Gabi’s faces, knowing they’re probably staring after him and wondering why he’s being so difficult about this.

The hallway is too narrow for his liking. Max can hear their footsteps behind him, the weight of their disappointment heavy in their footfalls. Don’t say anything. Just move on, let me get out of here without having to—

“Max. Max, can we talk, maybe?” And fuck, because Gabi’s just a kid. He hasn’t been on the grid long enough to know what’s really happened behind closed doors, why Max wouldn’t be a part of the pack even if he was an alpha anyway. For all he knows, this is Max shutting himself off from something wonderful.

And for a fleeting moment, Max thinks a pack would be wonderful.

“About what, Gabi?”

“Alex and I were heading to the pack room. I know you said that you weren’t interested, but… it’s nice there, and I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you. You don’t have to do pack cuddles or anything, just…”

“Gabi…” Max doesn’t know what to say. His offer sounds nice. Really nice— great, actually, and Max has to hold himself back from giving in. But when he glances at Alex, who stands just behind Gabi with a reluctant understanding on his face, Max remembers why he’s doing all of this in the first place. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, but unfortunately it’s just not that simple for me, okay?”

Gabi’s face sinks. The young alpha’s scent goes muddy with the let down, but he nods without saying anything and walks past Max like he’s not even there. Doesn’t look him in the eyes or anything. He really does try not to feel guilty, and doesn’t call out a sharp ‘wait’ to try and fix things. Max found out years ago it was best not to try.

He lifts his head to meet Alex’s gaze. “You could go, you know. Lewis wants you there. We all want you there.” And then Alex is gone too, and the hallway is empty save for the regret Max forced himself to carry.

‘Simply not interested’: Max Verstappen Shuns Grid Pack Life in the Name of Rivalry

On Thursday’s press conference at the Monaco Grand Prix, Max Verstappen was asked a question regarding his place within the grid’s pack and how it affects his relationships with the other drivers, particularly with the rookies. Verstappen claimed that pack life interferes with how he views the championship and his rivals, which has been his position on the matter for a decade.

His response has sparked a large variety of discussions online. “Having a pack is important to function. Is he really willing to sacrifice that for some trophies?” One user writes, while another claims “The closeness of the grid makes for underwhelming track battles, and how can a pack of all alphas be a healthy dynamic anyway?”

But is Verstappen’s view on staying separate from the grid pack helping him or harming him? Is it the reason why he has become a four-time world champion, or will it soon be the reason for his downfall?

The driver’s parade is always a bit awkward for Max. The whole grid is in one small place, acting like a pack right in front of his eyes, and while they still talk to him and act like he’s actually there rather than ignoring him, he just feels separate to them every time. Lewis is standing in front of Max next to Charles, Oscar listening intently to their conversation and Isack leaning against the railing next to Max. The wind is light, the crowd loud as they roar in anticipation for the main event. Hundreds of them are lined up on balconies of the buildings surrounding the track, while those who can afford it attend the race from their yachts in the harbour, drinking champagne and enjoying the view.

No one on the grid has talked to Max about the press conference on Thursday. Maybe they’ve glanced his way a little more than usual, but that’s it. He can live with that.

Their scents are stronger all in one place, and Max is finding it hard not to be affected. It curls around him, warm and thick like honey, willing him to relax. Lewis’s scent is strongest as pack alpha and right next to him, a wood and smoke mix that makes him want to burrow into the crook of his neck.

The stupid movie is still affecting him.

“Did you guys hear? Apparently, there’s an omega in attendance today.”

Max nearly jumps out of his own skin before realising Oscar isn’t talking about him. He sighs quietly in relief as Lewis nods grimly and Charles’s brows raise in surprise.

“Really?” Isack asks. “There’s an omega here?”

“Yes, there is,” Lewis confirms, just as the scent of said omega fills Max’s nose. Sweet and sugary with undertones of berries and laced with the claim of spices between it. He nearly purrs at the smell, at knowing someone like him is here in the audience.

Max can tell the moment it hits the other’s noses. Their pupils dilate, a low rumbling filling the air as their instincts respond to the thing they crave most. Woody scents drown out everything else for Max and he almost starts leaning on Isack for support before stopping himself.

He spots her quickly, seated in one of the VIP areas. She’s wearing a white dress flowing gracefully in the breeze. Long, blonde hair so shiny and healthy Max feels inadequate and ashamed of his own. But around her neck is the glint of a choker. Telling the world she has a pack that looks after her and that loves her, while telling Max she has everything he doesn’t.

Of course there’d be an omega in Monaco. There’s likely many more, if Max is being honest. Monaco is the perfect place for an omega to find a pack that treats them properly and spoils them like their instincts deserve. Like Max’s instincts crave.

He tightens his grip on the railing until it hurts.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have an omega with us? Making nests in pack rooms every race?” Lando’s words are met with a chorus of murmured agreements. Lewis doesn’t say anything yet, still lost with staring at the omega as the parade passes by. For a moment, Max wonders what it would be like to make a nest in the pack room. He’d use lots of blankets, using pillows for the edges of the nest, and ensure that they are scented by every driver on the grid. He imagines burrowing into one of the pillows, getting lungfuls of pine and cinnamon every time he breathes in while someone’s fingers card through his hair, a warm body pressed beside him.

Max swallows down the whine building in his throat and finds tears burning at the corners of his eyes. The scent blockers on his neck burn and he stops his hands from reaching up to peel them off, to let his scent sour the air in order to be comforted. He grits his teeth instead, shifting away from Isack. Isack blinks at him, but he doesn’t say anything, turning back to Lewis again.

“I know,” Lewis says, “But it would be too much to ask for one omega, travelling around the world all the time. Too much stress, especially watching us race— do you really want them to see us crash and worry every time?”

Lando sighs. “That’s true, I guess. But it still would be nice.”

“I’ve always wanted to hear one purr,” Charles admits. “Not just on the TV in those films, but actually in real life. On my chest so I can feel the vibrations, you know?”

Max wants to squeeze his eyes shut and be somewhere far, far away from here. He can’t even smell the omega anymore, but the others are still talking about it and he can feel his cheeks warm and oh God that better not be noticeable—

“It would be nice,” George agrees, and suddenly Max’s small group he was conversing with has turned into the whole grid, and they’re talking about omegas and how’ they’re perfect and soft and deserving of everything Max can’t have—

Max is the first off at the end of the parade. And if it wasn’t for the race in an hour or so, he’d be running back to his apartment and locking himself in there for the rest of the day. Because the entire time the grid was talking about omegas, not once did it sound like they wanted them near the track at all. Let alone on it.

Maybe he just needs to race and get this all out of his system.

Chapter Text

P4.

Lewis lines up in his spot after the formation lap, nerves alight with anticipation now that the tyres are warmed up and he’s almost shooting off. No matter how many races he does, it will never get old— seeing his new team’s red in the stands, on the balconies, everywhere he looks. Lewis readies himself for another race. Starting one position behind Max, staring at the back of the Red Bull car.

Lewis takes in a deep breath. Lets it settle over him with the smell of rubber and car fuel, calming and familiar as the first red light goes on.

They’re all out before he can blink. Lewis shoots forward alongside the grid, trying to get ahead of Max before Turn 1. But he can’t, and Max is safely ahead in the narrow streets of Monaco. Lewis weaves through the track, ignoring the threat of Pierre behind him as he follows the Red Bull in front, hot on Max’s tail.

All he needs is to get in front of Max. He’d finally be on the podium again, racing and winning like he always had been. But Max is stubborn, and with this being Monaco and not any other track, Lewis could spend the whole race just trying to get past him. It doesn’t deter him. He only pushes harder, brakes later, feeling the car heat up around him as the engine works to its limits. Lewis knows what he can do, and what he can’t do is lose.

“You’re gaining on Verstappen,” comes over the radio like music to his ears, but it’s hard to accept the words when Max looks like he’s impossible to catch.

“By how much?” They’d done three laps by now, and Lewis was at least keeping Max in his sights, Pierre safely behind him and out of the way.

“Three hundredths of a second.”

Good. Not great, but good.

Lewis keeps going, keeps pushing, and can feel himself getting closer and closer to the back of the Red Bull car, closer and closer to a podium finish. This is what he needs. Down the tunnel, through the chicane, Lewis knows that he’s getting within reach of Max. All he needs is an opportunity, a chance to get past him and pull away into victory.

“Box now to get ahead of Verstappen.”

Lewis heads into the pit lane, sending prayers above to make sure the stop goes well. The mechanics surround the car, red blurs filling his vision and then he’s off again, barely stopping. Barely losing time.

He’s on hard tires as he returns to the track, determined to warm them up as he emerges P7, one of the first to pit in the race. Hopefully he can last on these tires, just enough to get ahead of Max and finally get the podium he needs to return to what he once was. A champion.

“Push now. Verstappen has headed into the pits,” Adami says, and for once he’s being somewhat competent.

Lewis doesn’t have time to reminisce about Bono. He goes through the final corner without trouble and pushes the car as fast as it goes down the straight, doing everything he can in the hopes of emerging ahead of Verstappen.

He needs this. P3. A podium finish, back where he belongs. A championship can come later, but now, all he wants is finally hold the weight of a trophy again. To finally confirm that he still has what it takes to win.

Lewis catches a glimpse of the Red Bull car in his peripherals, emerging from the pit lane ahead of a papaya-coloured McLaren. He just needs to stay ahead of Max. Get into P3, finally feel the freedom of a victory once again. P3. It’s all Lewis needs, and as he’s speeding down the straight, his only focus is getting ahead of Max.

The Red Bull speeds up, trying to match his pace and stay ahead, but Lewis is the one with the racing line into Turn 1, Lewis is the one who gets the apex, perfectly executing the turn so that Max can’t take back the position—

A flash of navy blue and his world spins around him. Lewis’s car smashes into the barrier, body thrown around in the cockpit like a rag doll until suddenly, everything is still. He breathes for a moment, confirming that he’s still alive, that the feeling in his hands are real and that he can’t feel pain anywhere in else his body.

Fuck.

That was his first proper chance at a podium in months, and Max took that away from him quicker than he could blink.

Lewis slams his hands on the wheel in anger, grunting under the helmet as tears prick at the corners of his eyes, but they don’t fall. He’s frustrated, but instead of shouting over the radio when Adami asks “Are you okay?” Lewis simply replies, “Yeah, I’m okay.”

He climbs out the car. His body almost doesn’t feel real, like his— it never does after a crash, even when anger burns in his gut, because that could’ve been it. It always could be.

His car is smashed on the side that hit the barrier, wheels snapped off and front wing shattered. Lewis has to be mindful of where the Red Bull is when returning to solid ground, the other car’s front wing slammed into the side of his.

Red flags wave around him, but all Lewis can think about is that Max isn’t moving. Yeah, he’s mad, half a mind in him to yell at Max for screwing him over, for ruining his one chance, but Lewis isn’t a monster. He never will be.

Cars drive past the crash at slow speeds, engines rumbling rather than roaring as Lewis walks over to Max, relief washing over him when the driver turns his head.

“You alright?”

Lewis’s nose is filled with the scents of rubber and smoke and fuel, burning his lungs when he breathes in. But there’s something underneath it; something sweet and thick. Maybe it’s the omega from the parade, but it can’t be. She was a few turns down, nowhere near close to the wreckage.

But Lewis can smell an omega. A distressed omega, scent sour, calling out to him for protection.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Max replies, but Lewis can barely hear him as he gets out of his own car. A low rumble erupts from Lewis’s chest, an answer to the scent he can’t quite pinpoint no matter how hard he tries.

Where is the omega? They need his help. They need him to protect.

Marshals flood the area, helping Max to the medical car with hands on his shoulders, hands on his back—

Lewis’s soft, inviting rumbles sharpen in growls. Proper, bone-deep growls that cause the marshals to freeze in response. His packmate. Why are they putting their hands on his packmate? Why are they taking him away from Lewis?

“Sir, you need to calm down. We just need to make sure you’re both okay—”

Lewis cannot see Max. He searches desperately for his scent, but he can only smell the sweet, terrified omega that needs his help too.

“Where’s Max,” Lewis snarls at the marshal in front of him. “Why have you taken him?”

“He’s getting checked out,” the man calmly explains, but can’t he see that Lewis needs to protect? Find Max and his omega and protect them? “And you need to as well. If you come over here, we can—”

Lewis pushes past the beta, eyes fixed on the medical car where he knows Max is. The omega scent is getting stronger, and when he finds them both, when he gets them safe, everything will be fine.

Max. Omega. Max. Omega. Where are they? Why can’t he find them?

People are holding him back. Keeping him away by not letting him get to them, to protect them. Lewis growls in warning, clawing at the hands pulling him back as he tries to get to Max. The omega’s scent is still sharp in his nose, their panic like adrenaline in his veins.

“I think he’s in a rut,” one of the marshals realise, and Lewis snaps out of his trance just a little. He calms down enough to stay still, even though the urge to find Max and the omega are raging within him. Rut makes sense. Ruts without an omega in the alpha’s pack are all about finding an omega rather than being sexual, but his rut probably got triggered by the—

“Sorry,” Lewis rasps after a few moments. “Omega. I can smell an omega.”

Omega. He has to find them. Max is gone, the medical car driving him away, but the omega’s scent if fading too. Lewis is failing as a pack alpha.

A medic checks him over quickly. “He’s fine. But we need to get him to his pack for support.”

Lewis isn’t protecting Max and the omega. But he can protect his pack, and the thought of them is enough to calm his instincts down to be brought to a medical car and driven to the pack room.

Max can feel heat burning across his skin. Lewis’s scent, sharp and protective, smoky with rut and the need to provide, is carved into Max brain like a memory, playing over and over again as if to torment him. He knows he’s gone into heat, triggered by the stress of the crash and Lewis’s rut that followed, and Max couldn’t be more annoyed.

Because Lewis had smelled him. Sitting in the car as they drove towards medical to get to the doctors, Max knows that Lewis had smelled him. As an omega, not the sterile neutrality of the scent blockers that imitated a beta, because Lewis had gone into rut as a response. Only an omega’s scent did that. Only an omega’s scent could trigger an alpha’s rut outside their usual cycle.

Now he is sweaty and uncomfortable and longing for the alpha, wanting to stop the car and find his way back to Lewis no matter how much Max tells himself it is a terrible idea. To make matters worse, he has to hide his heat from the doctors long enough to convince them that he is fine and could be sent home.

They usher him into a white, bland room and onto a bed. The mattress is uncomfortable and lumpy— not suitable for a nest, Max thinks before forcing the idea out of his head— but he settles down anyway. Checking over his scent blockers quickly, he smooths and presses them down, confirming that they’d unpeeled from his neck during the crash. Soon, the omega scent fades from the room and his false beta scent replaces it, finally letting Max relax with the knowledge that his secret is somewhat safe.

The doctor walks in. Checks him over, touching him gently. The touches don’t feel right— they aren’t pack. He needs pack. Not a beta doctor, pack. Max swallows thickly and tries to ignore the yearning in his chest, answering the doctor’s questions with clipped answers instead of longing whines.

“You’re fine. Just get some adequate rest, alright? You’ve had a big adrenaline rush and you’re going to crash any minute now. Drive home when you feel like you can.”

Max nods. He wants to go to the pack room, bury himself into the scents of the grid, of Lewis’s scent that is stuck in his mind. Build a nest big enough for all of them so that he can be held and properly taken care of like an omega should be, but he can’t. His heat hasn’t snagged his common sense just yet, and he knows he has to go back to his apartment and spend his heat alone, but he doesn’t remember why.

He almost whines, but the doctor is gently guiding him out of the room and telling him to go home. Home, not the pack room, and Max is suddenly on the verge of tears.

At home, his apartment does not greet him. Coldness and sterile scent echo back at Max when he locks the door behind him, gut churning at the lack of comfort he can find. He heads to his bedroom, slipping his bag off his shoulder and dropping it on the floor.

Max climbs into bed, pushing around the blankets and pillows to make a nest on the mattress, but he can’t get the shape right. The edges aren’t high enough, the pillows aren’t soft enough. He whines into the silence of his apartment, high and longing, when he realises that the nest has no scent. No alphas. No Lewis. His pack alpha must be mad at him for ruining the race, and the thought causes Max to burrow into his nest like he’s trying to hide. But no matter how hard he tries to look for it, the nest only smells like him.

Because Max is a bad omega, undeserving of a pack to protect him and love him. He crashed into his pack alpha. He hides himself away, lies to his friends— why would they want him in their pack? He’s not pretty like the omega he saw at the parade. His hair isn’t shiny or long, and why would he ever have a choker to show that he was loved?

He is Max Verstappen. And Max Verstappen cannot be loved.

Kimi is stuck.

Lewis has his arm curled around him like a band, holding him against his side as he does the same to Ollie opposite him. His fingers card through Kimi’s hair though, sending small shivers down his spine when they get to the nape of his neck, so it’s not unpleasant. Lewis’s rumbles vibrate through his chest, and Kimi can hear it underneath him. His pack alpha’s scent is strong, curling around him and reminding him that he is home and safe.

“So you went into a rut,” George begins. It’s why Kimi and Ollie are forcefully curled into Lewis’s side— pups (though Ollie isn’t one) help calm an alpha’s rut instincts to protect. “Because you smelt an omega at the crash.”

Lewis nods, nosing at Kimi’s hair. “Sweet. Had to be an omega. I need to go back out there and find them, they could be in danger, they—”

“No,” Charles interrupts, wincing at the growl he receives in return. Kimi freezes beside Lewis, the warning sending fear down his spine, a small whine slipping from his throat before he can stop it. Lewis pauses. He rumbles at Kimi, brown eyes softening as he searches for the reason of the whine.

“I’m okay.” Lewis ignores him, sniffing at his scent gland with concern. Ollie smothers a laugh in his hand as Kimi shoots him a glare over Lewis’s chest. “Sorry, Charles, continue.”

“You need to stay here, Lewis. The omega’s probably long gone by now.”

“That’s why I need to go out. I need to find them.”

“No,” Fernando grumbles, “You need to stay and protect the rookies, no? Make sure they are okay?”

Lewis pauses. He considers it for a moment, and Kimi gives an encouraging nuzzle to his neck. That’s when he stiffens. Kimi sniffs again, trying to find the trace of the scent he’d caught—

“I smell it,” he announces. In all honesty, he hadn’t really believed Lewis’s rut-brained self, but now that Kimi can clearly smell the sweet, summery scent on Lewis’s neck, he believes it. There really was an omega at that crash— but who? “But who would it be?”

“A marshal?” Nico asks. He has Gabi curled up on his chest not too far away, asleep and tucked under his chin. They’re all in casual clothes— hoodies, shirts, sweatpants— so at least Gabi won’t wake up in his race suit. Kimi remembered him complaining about it a lot when they raced in F2.

“Couldn’t be,” Ollie scoffs immediately in reply. “Why would an omega be working as a marshal?” Lewis growls at the thought, and Ollie rolls his eyes, trying to sit up. Lewis doesn’t even humour him. Kimi would be laughing at Ollie if he hadn’t already tried to get up three times himself.

“Someone watching nearby, then?” Lando suggests, but Lewis shakes his head.

“They weren’t claimed, I could smell it. And no unclaimed omega would be in such a public place without scent blockers on.”

Kimi sniffs Lewis’s neck to catch a whiff of the scent again, but can’t smell a claim interlaced with it, confirming Lewis’s words. It only causes more confusion as Kimi’s mind works in overdrive to come up with a theory as to who the omega could be.

All of Kimi’s shifting causes Lewis to adjust his hold on him, trapping him closer to his chest. Kimi’s arm is bent at an awkward angle and he whines in discomfort, tying to get his arm out from under Lewis, but the pack alpha won’t budge. Lewis realises with a jolt that Kimi’s whine is one of pain, bundling him up in his arms to comfort him. At least my arm isn’t trapped anymore, Kimi thinks, but now he’s held tightly to Lewis’s chest like he never wants to let go.

“Finally!” Ollie cheers, scrambling away from Lewis the moment he switches all focus to Kimi. Kimi growls. It’s not fair that Ollie gets to be free while he has to deal with a protective rut-driven pack alpha all by himself. Ollie just laughs, leaning against Esteban’s side while he watches Kimi struggling.

“Get back here!” Kimi shouts. “I can’t handle him on my own.”

“That’s your problem,” Ollie says with a grin as Esteban huffs into his hair. “At least he’s cuddly.”

Kimi snarls, shoving Lewis’s arms away in an effort to get to Ollie, anger flaring at his smugness. He gets close, almost able to lunge at the other rookie before Lewis drags him back with a firm grip, forcing Kimi to lay down on his chest, face buried into his neck as strong arms keep him there.

“No fighting,” Lewis commands sternly. “And you need to stay, pup.”

“I’m not a pup,” Kimi snaps as he looks over his shoulder to see Ollie laughing at him. The pack is laughing too, trying to muffle it but failing miserably. Lewis ignores his declaration and continues calmly massaging Kimi’s scalp with a soothing rumble in his chest. Shame burns across Kimi’s face where he’s hidden it, the laughter never quite dying down, reminding him of the fact that he still hasn’t presented at eighteen.

“Alright,” Carlos says, clearing his throat with a hint of laughter. Kimi can’t even lift his head to glare because of Lewis’s hand holding him close, scent trying to get him to relax. “What were we talking about? The omega?”

Right. Kimi shifts around so that he can see something other than Lewis’s neck, trying to be involved in the conversation even though Lewis is very good at running his fingers through Kimi’s hair. His scent curls around Kimi, enveloping him in the smell of pack and home.

“I just don’t know who it could be,” Isack says. “It’s not a marshal. It’s no one from the audience…”

“And they’re unclaimed,” Lewis adds with a low growl in his voice. “They don’t have anyone to protect them. I need to—”

“Lewis, relax—” George’s words are cut off by a snarl.

“I can’t leave an omega alone, George, they could be in danger.”

Kimi sighs when he catches Fernando’s prompting look. While the eldest driver isn’t pack alpha per se, sometimes his word can carry more weight than Lewis’s. Like right now as he silently nods at Kimi, telling him to help calm Lewis’s rut instincts down as a pup.

Not a pup, he thinks bitterly, but whimpers into Lewis’s neck anyway to draw his attention. The alpha coos at him immediately, forgetting his attempts to leave the pack room and find the omega as Lewis begins nuzzling Kimi to comfort him. Kimi accepts the nuzzling, nosing at Lewis’s scent gland while shooting a glare over his shoulder to Fernando, who looks awfully pleased with himself.

“You okay?”

Kimi doesn’t know how to reply without tipping Lewis off into another protective frenzy, so he nods instead, settling on top of his chest with a sigh.

“I say we keep an eye out for the omega’s scent,” George says. “In case we do catch it, we’ll let you know, Lewis. Everyone in agreement?”

Murmurs rise up in the pack room as they all begin to settle down, Lewis still fussing over Kimi like the pup he isn’t. George lies beside Lewis to hold Kimi too, fingers carding through his hair as they both wrap their arms around him. He breathes in the scents of the two alphas, letting the familiar smells lull his eyes shut and warm his chest, a small hum slipping out of his throat in contentment.

“Good pup,” Lewis mumbles into Kimi’s temple. The word grates at his nerves no matter how kindly it’s spoken. “I’ll keep you safe.”

“I’m not a pup,” Kimi snaps, frowning at the name and pulling away from them both, enough to sit up and stare down at them with a glare. “Would you stop calling me that? I know I haven’t fucking presented, okay? You don’t need to be reminding me all the time.”

Silence. Guilt prickles at the back of Kimi’s neck immediately when Lewis narrows his eyes, studying him intently. George reaches his hand out like he wants to pull Kimi back, but drops it instead, eyes wavering. The pack room goes quiet.

“Kimi?” Lewis murmurs, sitting up, hand held out in front of him like he’s trying to calm Kimi down. But Kimi can smell his scent souring. Instead of waiting around to see Lewis get mad, he scrambles away and hides in Ollie’s chest.

His pack alpha is upset with him. Kimi shouldn’t have snapped like that at him, and now Lewis’s scent sharpens with hurt from across the room. Ollie wraps his arms around Kimi without hesitation, pulling him close. At least he isn’t upset.

Kimi can hear shifting behind him as Lewis’s scent gets stronger. But Ollie growls, low and warning in his throat as holds the back of Kimi’s head with a firm hand, keeping him safe. Still. “Leave him alone,” Ollie snarls, and suddenly it’s an alpha in rut trying to get to a pup versus a younger alpha the pup trusts more.

After a moment, Lewis backs off, but Kimi feels no relief.

Max is in tears the moment he gets settled into his nest, because he just can’t. It’s too lumpy, then too soft so that it swallows him whole— all the while the neutral scents of the fabrics only hold his scent no matter how hard he tries to find an alpha’s scent amongst it.

He whines. Cries. Claws at the pillows in a fruitless attempt to make the nest comfortable, but Max is a bad omega and he can’t get it quite right. Maybe he should’ve told Lewis after the crash, the moment he could feel himself going into heat, instincts screaming for the pack alpha’s protection. But Max didn’t, and now he’s forced to wait this out alone.

But it hurts.

Max grabs a pillow, holding it to his chest. When he sniffs it, he knows he shouldn’t be surprised by the lack of a comforting scent, but Max sobs into the cotton anyway. Even his comfiest hoodie isn’t enough to warm him; it just feels artificial. An alpha’s body heat would be so much better.

But the apartment is silent, the bedroom only smells like him, and Max really has no one to blame but himself. Tears wet the pillow he’s burying his head into. He can’t be bothered to move, can’t be bothered to care.

A knock startles Max, lifting his head from the pillow, eyes wide and darting around the room. Tears have dried on his face. He shouldn’t let anyone see him like this, sobbing with his scent blockers thrown into the corner, but Max wants someone to find him like this so they can help him. His instincts purr at the thought even as something in him, quiet and far away, wants otherwise.

“Max? Max. It’s GP.” The beta’s familiar voice has him shifting forward before he can stop himself, desperation building when he realises how close his race engineer is. Just on the other side of his front door.

Max hesitates before heading out of his nest, leaving the empty space behind. He unlocks the front door with a slow click, letting it swing open to reveal GP, standing there with concern etched into his features.

“Yes?” Max stops himself from pressing his face into the beta’s chest in order to get a lungful of his scent.

“I was worried after you left the paddock immediately, I just wanted to—” GP pauses, staring down at Max, nose twitching as he smells the air. The attention isn’t the tender look that Max is hoping for, and he whines before he can stop himself. “Oh. You’re in heat. You’re… an omega. Max. Max, why didn’t you tell anyone? Have you told anyone? Does Christian—”

Max whimpers again, leaning into GP as if he’s going to fall over any moment. Maybe he will. The beta’s scent fills his nostrils and Max nuzzles closer, trying to get as much as he can after starving himself for so long. Finally having a scent familiar to him other than his own so close to Max is like catnip, something he never wants to let go of. It curls around his mind in the way he always imagined a scent would, but only better, because it is the real thing and GP is really here.

“Okay. Uh… Let me get you inside, Max.” GP’s voice turns calm and soft as he shuts the door behind him, guiding Max back to his bedroom. Max doesn’t care enough to look up from his race engineer’s chest because he knows that GP will look after him. Keep him safe. GP’s hands shift from their place on his back to support Max in getting into his nest. He settles into the pillows and blankets, finally ready to have someone next to him, another scent in his nest. But after a few seconds of silence, Max opens his eyes to find GP hovering by the doorway.

Of course. He’s not good enough for a pack, for someone to care about him and be willing to comfort him. After spending so long hiding his true designation, Max isn’t surprised that GP doesn’t want to be anywhere near him, but that doesn’t stop him from whimpering into the blankets of his nest.

“No, no… Max, I can’t enter your nest,” GP says. Max frowns, hurt blooming the longer he’s left cold and alone. “That wouldn’t be right.”

“Why?” He sounds petulant, like a child. As if that would convince GP to cuddle with him at all instead of getting annoyed and leaving Max alone.

“You haven’t invited me. I’m not entering an omega’s nest uninvited,” GP replies, smiling quietly, which does nothing to comfort Max.

“What if I invite you? Will you cuddle with me then?” Max asks, bracing himself for more hurt and disappointment. Instead of replying, GP climbs into his nest and settles beside Max, the movement startling him. His purrs fill the room, and Max wastes no time in curling against his engineer. Breathing in his calming beta scent. Because he has a pack now. Just one beta, but it’s a pack, and it’s someone who cares about him.

Max is happy like this. Settled against GP’s chest, ready to be lulled into sleep as his heat instincts turn into happy murmurs at the back of his mind. All he cares about now is keeping the beta close.

GP’s scent starts to sour, filling the air with a tang of stress. Max lifts his head. “What is it? Did I do something?”

“No, Max,” GP assures quickly, a hand finding its way to Max’s hair. “I just… I think I need to call Christian and tell him about this, all of this. Is that okay? Maybe I should ask him to come here too?”

One part of Max wants to run far away from here. The other, much stronger and instinctual part of him coos at the idea of a familiar alpha, and Max buries his head back into GP’s chest with a purr.

“Okay,” he says easily. Things will be so much better once Christian gets here. Max will be so safe, so protected, and so, so happy. All he has to do is ignore the voice in the corner of his mind telling him that this is a terrible idea.

Chapter Text

Christian doesn’t know what to expect when GP opens Max’s apartment door, but it’s definitely not the driver wrapped around his engineer, stubbornly refusing to let him go as GP just sighs like he’s been doing this for a while. “You finally made it. Everything all good back at—”

Max whines promptly, drawing Christian’s attention to the matter at hand; his driver smells like an omega. Strawberry sweet, thick with warmth and Max’s heat. He reaches out, untangling himself from GP before launching onto Christian, burrowing his nose into the alpha’s neck. Rumbling purrs rise from Max’s chest. Christian doesn’t know how to respond, caught off guard until he slowly wraps his arms around Max, patting his head gently.

“Let’s get you back to your nest, yeah?”

Christian was surprised when GP called him to give a brief summary of the situation, but now that he’s really seeing it with his own eyes, he doesn’t know what to think of it. His star driver suddenly revealed to be an omega? It doesn’t feel real.

Max happily settles into his nest, though he’s clingy and won’t let go of Christian for anything, pulling him into the nest before he can ask for permission to enter. It feels almost wrong. GP climbs in and lies down on Max’s other side, both of them providing the omega with a bracket of warmth and familiar smells. Max purrs loudly, heat scent thick. Christian’s never seen him so relaxed and open with his designation behaviours before, though he supposes Max was never an alpha to begin with.

“Go to sleep, Max. You’re okay now,” GP assures, and Christian watches with fascination as he relaxes almost immediately, settling into sleep without protest.

Christian doesn’t say anything for a while. He just combs through Max’s hair, watching his chest rise and fall as it produces a steady rumble of purrs. His omega scent is sweet, enough to make Christian nose at his neck for a better smell before he can stop himself, instincts thrumming just under his skin to protect.

“You found him like this?” Christian asks GP after a few minutes to make sure that their conversation won’t wake Max. “You didn’t know he was an omega before today?”

“No. Did you?”

“No,” Christian admits. “How could he have gotten past all the doctors, all the testing… do you think his family even knows?”

“I doubt it,” GP says, but he has to force it out of himself like he didn’t want to say it. “He was so clingy when I found him, it’s like he’s never had affection in his life.”

Christian looks down at Max’s sleeping form. His lips are curled up in a light smile as he nuzzles GP in his sleep, leaning into Christian’s hand that strokes his cheek with a gentle thumb. He looks… happy. And being in the softest nest that Christian has ever been in, he can’t deny that he’s happy too. Not when he’s wrapped up in the sweetest scent he’s ever had the pleasure of smelling.

“Do you think Jos had anything to with it? Maybe encouraged him to keep it hidden, or… I don’t know. It seems likely with how traditional he is, don’t you think?”

GP thinks about it for a moment, sighing quietly when he can’t come up with a good answer. “Maybe. I say we wait Max’s heat out and talk to him about it before making any decisions.”

“Of course,” Christian agrees easily, and his eyes slip closed before he knows it.

When Max wakes up a couple of days later, he’s surprised to only be feeling the lingering haziness of a heat-raddled mind rather than the full force of it. His heats usually last a lot longer.

The scent of an alpha, distantly familiar, calls to him close by. He purrs, nuzzling into a warm body beside him before he can comprehend what really going on. Max just wants to do this forever. Smell the scent that curls around him like protection, nuzzle into the alpha while someone else cards their fingers through his hair.

“You finally over your heat, Maxie?” Christian’s voice murmurs loud enough so that Max can hear. Suddenly it hits him all at once. The crash, the heat, Lewis’s rut, GP finding him in his apartment—

Max sits up quickly, scrambling away from Christian. His hands snag on the blankets of his nest, a nest that doesn’t just smell like him for once, a nest he vaguely remembers having to widen when— “What the fuck? Christian. GP…?”

GP lifts his head, eyes blinking away sleep as he sighs. “Just relax, mate. You’re alright.”

No. No, no, no, no, no. How did they find out? Why did Max let them into his apartment? Into his nest? Of all the things that could’ve happened during his heat, the last thing he needed was for someone to find him. And now both his team principal and race engineer are here, in his nest, staring at him like they’ve just found a stray kitten on the side of the road.

“Max. Max, it’s just us. You’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

But Max has everything to be afraid of. His team principal and his race engineer know that he is an omega, one out of about two hundred thousand in the entire world. They are the exact people who could cause the end of his racing career, all because of something he couldn’t control and because they believed he shouldn’t be in any danger just because he’s an omega.

This is it. He can forget about racing, forget about being Max the World Champion or Max the Red Bull driver because now all he ever will be to the world is Max the omega. “You need to go,” he says after a moment, trying to calm down his breathing but he just can’t. “You need to— go, just go, get out of here, don’t—”

“Max, it’s okay,” Christian murmurs soothingly, projecting his scent so that it is all Max can smell. He finds his shoulder relaxing into it before he can stop himself. “We’re not upset, we just want to help. Okay?”

GP stays back, watching silently as Christian slowly creeps closer. Max is frozen. His body can’t move no matter how much his brain tells it to, and Christian just keeps coming closer. And closer.

Until he gently wipes the tears off of Max’s face that he didn’t realise were there, slowly pulling Max forward by the back of the head so his nose is buried into Christian’s scent glands. He takes in a few calm breaths. Christian carefully guides him back between him and GP, back into the comfortable corner of the nest.

“See? Isn’t that a bit better?”

… It is.

“What’s going on Max? Why’d you freak out when you woke up?” GP asks quietly. Max hesitates to answer, but the last thing he wants is for either of them to get upset with him.

“Because you know that I’m…”

“An omega?” Christian finishes for him. Max whines and nods, hiding his face in GP’s neck. “That’s not a problem, Max. Why would that be a problem?”

“Because… Would you seriously keep letting me race? Even now that you know I’m an omega?”

Christian hesitates, turning to GP as if for support, but Max can’t bear to see the look on their faces as they finally confirm his worse fears. What will he do without racing, without Formula One? He never expected to retire this early, he never—

“That… is something of concern, I guess,” GP starts, but quickly adds on, “But I trust that you can be safe while driving. And I know racing makes you happier than anything else.”

Something in Max untangles, a relief after many years of tension. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Christian confirms, but now with the full enthusiasm that Max would’ve hoped for. “It makes sense why you’d want to hide this though, and I can agree that maybe… others won’t be so allowing.”

“The FIA, you mean?” Max doesn’t need an answer. Not really. He’s waken up from enough nightmares of the FIA taking away his passion to know all the possible ways that it would go.

Christian nods solemnly, continuing to run his fingers through Max’s hair like it comforts him more than it does Max. “I’ll respect whatever you want us to do with this information, Max. But if you want to keep racing…”

“The FIA is traditional,” GP finishes. “We’ll understand if you don’t want anyone else to know. Maybe a few trusted Red Bull members? Would you be okay with that?”

Max thinks about it. He’s gotten lucky with GP and Christian, he knows. If it was his father who had walked into Max’s room during his first ‘rut’, he probably wouldn’t be racing today at all. But a few Red Bull members… a few Red Bull members could make up a proper pack.

“I don’t… I don’t think I’m ready for that just yet.”

Christian doesn’t argue. Doesn’t object. He just smiles as Max nuzzles into his shoulder, a loud purr rising in his throat. For now, Christian and GP will be enough.

George is leaning over Toto’s shoulder, eyes dragging up and down the telemetry data on the screen in front of them. A few other Mercedes engineers and mechanics crowd around them, pointing to certain things and exchanging ideas. In all honesty, George is just tired. After the first free practice of Barcelona, he wants to be in the pack room, laying comfortably against Kimi or Alex or anyone, really. Not going over data. But he knows it’s necessary, so he does it without complaints.

“The tire pressure we have on Turn 6 isn’t great, we should try and fix that.”

George nods, running a hand through his hair. “I could feel that it was a bit low. What tire pressure is Kimi’s car on?”

“Same as yours,” Toto interjects quietly, but George never struggles to hear the older alpha’s voice. It’s like he’s always giving a command, always demanding authority. “But he might be bothered by it too.”

“Let me ask him if he struggles with the pressure on that turn too,” George says, leaving the small group to head through the garage, looking for a familiar tuft of brown, curly hair. He passes many people in Mercedes-branded clothing, but can’t find Kimi among it all. George frowns, sniffing the air. The pup’s scent is nowhere to be found.

Pup. Remembering Kimi’s outburst to Lewis a week ago, George winces. Kimi had avoided Lewis after that, refusing to talk to him no matter how much George pressed him to. Eventually he decided to leave it alone, let them figure it out on their own time.

“Have you seen Kimi?”

The engineer shakes her head, shrugging apologetically. “I think Tony was talking to him maybe half an hour ago? That’s when I last saw him.” She nods to a man leaning over Kimi’s car, checking the brake ducts methodically.

“Tony?” George asks, walking over. Being on Kimi’s side of the garage is odd, but he ignores it for the churning feeling of worry in his gut. “Have you seen Kimi?”

Tony lifts his head, blinking slowly before finally replying, “Yeah. I think he said he was going over to hospitality? It was a while ago, I’m not sure if he’s still there.”

George sighs, thanking Tony and heading out towards hospitality. He passes many scents. None are the milky pup scent of Kimi, though, just neutral beta scents and some smokier alpha ones. No omega, either. It’s hard not to be slightly disappointed.

George turns a corner and immediately spots Kimi talking in a small group, leaning against one of the buildings casually. Max is there, holding his signature can of Red Bull, while Ollie takes quick sips of his own like he’ll get in trouble if he’s caught drinking it. Gabi is there too, leaning on Max a bit— George always noticed how close the two seemed. That was until the subject of a pack got brought up around Max’s general vicinity, of course.

“Kimi! There you are. Toto wanted to talk to you about some telemetry data.”

Kimi turns around, smiling when he sees George. Max ignores him. Instead of letting his scent sour, George beckons for Kimi to come back to the garage with him. But Kimi hesitates.

He looks back at Max, as if asking for permission, and only follows when Max nods.

The driver’s debrief after FP2 is a quiet, mostly relaxed affair that Esteban can sit back and relax in without having to worry too much about anything. He’s not big on getting involved during these types of things anyway, and it’s fun to watch the drama unfold with if he doesn’t have to be involved in any of it.

Esteban takes his usual seat next to Lance, half of the drivers already there. Max is sitting on one end, more or less by himself, while the rest of the grid occupies the other side of the room full of chairs. They’d been giving him a wide berth since that press conference in Monaco, Max’s words echoing in Esteban’s mind ever since Ollie had shown him the video, asking him what he thought of it.

“It’s always been like that,” Esteban remembers saying. “Even before I got a proper place on the grid. I never asked. It was just wisest not to, and so I let it be.”

The rookies, a little late compared to the others but still on time, enter the room and instead of noticing the gap between Max and the others, they head right to him and settle around him. All five of them, Liam tagging along to sit beside Isack. Kimi doesn’t hesitate to go into the seat directly next to Max, and Esteban watches in fascination as he starts talking immediately with the older driver, eyes bright and smile wide as Ollie joins in.

“Are you seeing this?” Esteban asks Lance, who looks up from his phone to stare and shrug.

“They seem to like him.”

The rookies do seem to like Max a lot.

Max is very, very confused. The rookies had been following him around all weekend, talking and chatting even if Max avoided their teammates like the plague. Max settles into his hotel bed for the night, preparing himself for the race tomorrow, and realises that he doesn’t quite hate it. It’s nice to have someone that looks up to him.

But it’s all so new, and that’s why it bothers him so much. Why now, even after all the things he said about not wanting a pack and being happier without one affecting his championship, do the rookies want to be around him so often?

Whatever. Max is tired and he needs to shut his eyes if he wants to get in a good race tomorrow while also making it to the early morning team meeting. But as he tries to get settled into the bed (not making a nest or taking off his itchy scent blockers, because that would alert the hotel staff as to who was really occupying the room), he just can’t. His thoughts are racing, and something doesn’t seem right about the whole ordeal, especially not with how…

Are scent blockers supposed to be this itchy?

Max thinks about it. He’s not sure, in all honesty— he picked up the ones at the chemist that had the most in the pack, but didn’t read anything about them for omegas, and has kept using the same ones for a decade now.

He stares up at the ceiling and sighs, giving up any hope of sleep until he answers the thoughts running through his head. His phone is far too bright when Max turns it on, groaning at the glare before finally adjusting to it and looking up the scent blockers he uses, adding ‘for omegas’ onto the search.

Unclaimed omegas will not benefit from the long term use of scent blockers no matter the brand, as after a certain period of time, typically a few years, their scent strengthens to compensate for the scent blockers in an attempt to draw the attention of a pack.

That, plus Max’s knowledge that pups and younger alphas had slightly better senses of smell than adult alphas, especially when it came to smelling omegas, and he very quickly knew his answer as to why the rookies were suddenly clinging to him like oysters on a rock. They could smell him. Not Max, not a Formula One driver, but an omega.

And it wouldn’t be long until the whole grid, and then the paddock, could smell him as well. He’s going to need to buy much stronger scent blockers when he gets back to Monaco.

Max’s phone buzzes. Christian sent him a message saying; I know you’re not as open to the idea of me and GP knowing your true designation now that your heat is properly gone, but I just want you to know that a pack would be good for you. If you want to talk, we’re both happy to sort something out.

A pang of guilt tugs at Max’s chest, and he whines pathetically into the silence of his hotel room before he can stop himself. He does want to be around Christian and GP, he does— the fact that his heat is days past doesn’t change that at all, not when Max hasn’t properly belonged anywhere since he was a pup, curled up against his mother’s side. But he can’t let himself belong either. Because Max knows that once he’s gotten a taste of a pack, allowed to be around GP and Christian while being encouraged to act the way his instincts demand, he’ll get addicted and won’t be able to hold himself back.

Then he’ll start scenting Christian in the paddock. Lean against GP when going over telemetry data. Act like an omega where he shouldn’t, and from there it’d only be a matter of time until he’s found out.

Max has been doing just fine on his own for a decade anyway. A cold, lonely decade.

Lewis leans on the railing beside Charles, sighing to himself as he overlooks the driver’s parade while they pass by the crowd in Barcelona. He ignores the race nerves that tell him he’s going to crash again, he ignores the way his instincts are still reeling from the scent of the omega, but most importantly, he ignores how much Max is ignoring him.

It shouldn’t bother him this much. But it bugs Lewis like a paper cut, sharp and insistent whenever he catches a glimpse of the reigning champion, the man who ruined his chance at a podium with no explanation given to the press, let alone to Lewis himself.

The rookies are swarmed around Max as they have been all weekend, chatting with him happily along with Oscar and Fernando. Should it bother Lewis? Probably not, but seeing his pack mates so close to someone that isn’t in the pack irritates him just a little.

“You should talk to Kimi,” Charles murmurs, and Lewis realises with a flush of embarrassment that he’d been staring for a little while now. “Get it all sorted out— he stopped coming to the pack room, I can’t even smell him there.”

“I…” Lewis doesn’t know what to say, but eventually he sighs and lets his shoulders drop. “I get that he didn’t want to be seen as a pup, and I know that it bothers him that he hasn’t presented at eighteen, but it’s hard not to see him as a pup. I’m trying, I am. But all I can smell on him his a pup scent and my instincts see him as exactly that.”

Charles runs a hand through his hair. “It isn’t the easiest thing, I can agree, but… maybe you should try.”

“What, am I supposed to go up to him and just… say that I’m trying?” Lewis asks. “It’s not nearly enough, not—”

Charles clears his throat loudly, forcing Lewis to relent his argument. With a quiet groan to himself, Lewis calls out; “Hey, Kimi, can I talk to you just for a moment?” While nodding his head to an empty corner on the parade.

Kimi hesitates, glancing at Max, an action that Lewis catches quicker than breathing. Max nods, patting the pup’s shoulder encouragingly. Kimi sighs and walks over. “Yeah? You wanted to talk about something?”

“I wanted to apologise for what happened during my rut, Kimi.” Lewis ignores the bloom of anxiety in his gut.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kimi brushes off easily, too clipped for his usual tone of voice. “It was a rut. I get it.”

Lewis winces, an ache in his chest telling him to just hold Kimi and make it alright. “But it’s not. I clearly upset you— you haven’t even been going to the pack room.”

Kimi’s breath quickens, his milky scent souring. No, no, that’s not what Lewis wants at all. The whole situation starts to slip out of his hands like smoke. “Sorry.”

“No, you don’t need to apologise, I was just making a point. Obviously, if you don’t feel comfortable in the pack room, I won’t force you to go, but I want you to feel comfortable.”

“Just forget about it, Lewis. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” Kimi snaps, scent souring further. But underneath it, there’s a trace of something sweeter. Strawberries, it reminds him of, and he leans closer to get a better smell.

But Kimi is already gone, back to the group of rookies and tucked under Max’s arm.

“I can see that didn’t go so well,” Charles comments behind him. Lewis can’t seem to tear his eyes away from the sight, watching as Kimi leans into Max for a moment before tensing up and pulling away slightly.

“I followed your advice,” Lewis mutters to himself, but he’s not placing any blame on Charles. Not when he messed up to start with. “I’ll just have to work on it, I think.”

“You should just let him come to you,” Nico says, joining the conversation alongside Pierre. Charles ruffles the hair of his childhood friend, getting a playful growl in return. “Don’t pressure him into to talking with you about it until he’s ready.”

“Okay.” Kimi slowly relaxes back into Max’s side, forgetting his aversion to it earlier. Max smiles to himself. Lewis’s jaw ticks before he knows it. “I… I smelt the omega on Kimi, just then.”

Charles stiffens beside him, eyes wide. Pierre and Nico have a similar response, scents spiking with interest, leaning forward like they’re trying to hear him better. “Do you think so?”

“Yeah,” Lewis nods, excitement building in his chest as his mind starts to process what it really meant. “Yeah, I did— same strawberry undertones, I remember it like yesterday. And there’s no way that it could’ve stayed on him from Monaco, either.”

The scents around him spike with excitement, a few drivers standing nearby lifting their heads at the change. Pierre grins widely like a kid on Christmas as he says, “So you think the omega you smelled is here too? And they’ve interacted with Kimi?”

“But who would be both at the Monaco Grand Prix and here?” Charles asks, looking at the audience in the stands as they slowly pass by, a sea of orange, red, and so many more colours that it’s starting to hurt Lewis’s eyes. Maybe it’s one of them. “Someone who works closely with the sport, someone who only recently joined since we’ve never smelled them until now?”

Lewis racks his brain for anyone new in the Ferrari garage that didn’t seem familiar to him in the past two race weekends, but no one properly stands out to him. And why was he able to smell their scent at the crash when it was so far from the garage in the first place? The thought of an omega so close yet so far rouses Lewis’s instincts, a physical force that tries to pull him into the search nose-first, clawing at a chance to have its way. To find and protect and provide like a pack alpha should.

“We’ll keep an eye out. Tell everyone that the omega is here, maybe in their own garage,” Lewis manages to say eventually. The omega can’t be that hard to find.

It might even be so obvious that it’s standing right in front of him.

Chapter Text

Charles is in pre-rut. It’s fine, nothing to worry about— the weekend’s practically over already, and then he can comfortably ride out his rut before Canada and things will be fine. He just has to get through some media stuff first with Max and Lando.

Including the press conference, where the last one that involved Max still has bitter thoughts and hurt feelings lingering a week later. Charles could smell it in the pack, potent from Alex and Gabi first before the video started spreading around, and from there it only spiralled. 

Charles scruffs Lando as they sit in the cool down room, getting a burst of laughter in return. “Congrats on the win,” he says honestly, if not a little bitterly that Lando finished in front of him. A tale as old as time. 

“Yeah, it was a tough race.”

Max sits on the chair silently. His gaze is fixed on the highlights as they play, and it’s hard for Charles not to notice the awkwardness while he talks with Lando. Max’s knee bounces up and down. Occasionally, his gaze flicks to the door, waiting impatiently for an official to tell them the podium’s ready.

“What do you think, Max? About the race?” Charles winces internally at the lack of awareness that Lando always has after a win, praying to the heavens above that he realises quick enough to shut his mouth.

“I finished third. I’m not super happy with that.”

Lando’s scent sours, but Max doesn’t even blink. Charles runs a hand through his hair, highlights forgotten, and scours his mind for a way to make the atmosphere a little less tense. But all he can think about is finding that omega’s sweet scent and burying his nose in it. 

Maybe he won’t get through the media stuff after all.

“... yeah,” Lando mumbles. His saving grace is the FIA official who instructs them to head towards the podium, a relief Charles was desperately hoping for. Charles doesn’t wait to leave. He can almost imagine how pungent Max’s scent would be if he wasn’t wearing those blockers, and it only drives Charles quicker towards the podium as he ignores the odd sense of wrongness that tightens in his chest.

No. He doesn’t need to go and soothe Max, he doesn’t need to help him. Charles knows it’s just his rut making him feel this way…

But next to him, Lando is talking his ear off and Max is dead silent.

Charles is expecting the podium celebration to be the normal affair as he climbs up the steps, finding his place easily on the stage. Someone hands him a trophy. He doesn’t even register it or its cold weight, because something else has his full attention. 

A sweet scent with undertones of strawberry fills his nose, his lungs, his mind— it grabs hold of Charles’s attention, screaming at him to protect, protect, protect as he sprays champagne over Max and Lando in a haze. His mouth is watering. The scent is intoxicating, but neither Max nor Lando seem to notice it.

The podium celebration is over. Charles moves his feet without thinking, following Max as the scent only grows stronger, only amplifies further. Someone grabs his arm and he snarls, but it’s just Lando. Concerned.

“You don’t look too good, mate.”

The scent is fading. Charles keeps following it, desperate not to let it go now that he’s finally caught it. He finds himself in the media pen, reporters pressing in on the three of them, other drivers slowly emerging, but that scent is still there, still in the air and taunting Charles like it’s begging to be found, but only if he dares.

“Charles? Charles!” Lewis’s smoke and redwood scent seeps into his nose, sharp and warning Charles not to do anything drastic. Normally he would listen— Lewis is his pack alpha, after all. But the omega’s scent is so close, and as he pushes through the drivers as they talk to the media, he spots Max again.

And everything snaps.

He’s surrounded by reporters, fidgeting and nervous as they bombard him with questions, and Charles is having none of it. Max is scared. Max is scared, and Charles needs to protect him .

Charles grabs Max’s arm as gently as he can without it being too loose and quickly pulls him away. He ignores the growl that make his instincts scream sorry sorry sorry , guiding Max to a place that he knows is safe. The pack room. His pack alpha will be there and Lewis would love to see the omega that Charles has found for the pack, an omega to care for, an omega to protect—

“Charles, what the fuck? Let go of me!” Max shoves him away, eyes wide with fear. The strawberry scent is so strong, so close. “Are you— rut? Seriously?”

“Max, over here, can you tell us about—”

“Max, what are your thoughts on—”

“Max, do you—”

“Max—”

Max.

Charles snarls a warning to the reporters before firmly guiding Max to the pack room by the waist, ignoring the protests and the people behind him calling his name. Because he has an omega now, and he needs to protect.

The pack room is a place that Max hasn’t been in for many, many years. As he enters entirely against his own will, he remembers the low growls of Sebastian warning him to stay out of his way. Lewis snarling deep in his throat when Max stared too long, wanting to nest but not knowing how to ask. Carlos ignoring him in favour of snuggling up with Fernando.

Mac whines, desperately trying to stop Charles from taking him in any further, forcing him to relive the abandonment all over again, but the alpha is far too deep in his rut to know what’s happening. Instead, Charles coos, nuzzling Max and pulling him into a nest, the pillows and blankets smelling just like the pack. A pack that had no intentions of ever loving Max, omega or not. He knew that.

“Charles, no. I have to get out of here, I don’t want to be here,” Max tries, sitting up as the feeling of tears prick in the corner of his eyes. He can’t do this. Charles will remember who he is and then he will be shoved away again. You are not a proper omega, Max can hear him saying, if the pack wanted one, we wouldn’t pick you. They never picked him.

Charles rumbles soothingly, sitting up with him. He proudly pushes different nest materials into Max’s hands. Soft, silky, and covered in deep, rich scents that make him want to burrow his nose into them rather than leave. But if Max doesn’t go, the rest of the grid will find him here and they won’t be happy with him invading their space. 

“Nest, omega.” Charles knows now. Max realises it with a start, a choked noise pulling from his throat before he can stop it. The alpha frowns, wrapping Max up in his arms and tugging him to lay down. “Relax,” Charles murmurs, shifting the blankets around them while still keeping Max in his arms. 

It’s nice. Charles’s rosewood and sea salt scent fills his nose, prompting his body to relax. A purr starts up in Max’s chest, broken and unused, a sound that brings so much shame to him that he stops it immediately. Charles nudges him gently. “Purr.”

“No,” Max snaps.

“It is okay.” But it isn’t. Max tries to push Charles away, knowing that he doesn’t have much time until he relives the memories from ten years ago and the humiliation they bring him. But Charles doesn’t budge. He doesn’t stop holding Max like he is the most precious thing in the world, and Max almost lets it happen. Because it feels warm. Safe. Everything he’s ever wanted since he presented as an omega.

“I keep watch. Sleep.” 

Max can’t sleep. He’s freaking out, trying to brace himself for the inevitable. He’s still in his race suit, sweaty and uncomfortable, fireproofs sticking to his skin like glue. “Please, Charles, I have to get out of here. When the grid sees me, they’ll—”

“Pack is good. Pack can protect my omega,” Charles says. A hand buries itself in Max’s hair, fingers carding through it like it isn’t sweat-drenched.

“I’m not your omega.” He wants to be. He wonders what it would be like to let Charles look after him, to let himself be loved. But it’s overridden by the need to run.

“I found you. You are mine. Ours.” Charles nuzzles him with a happy chuff. Max’s heart hurts with yearning, a desperate whine for attention blocked in his throat by his own determination.

The door opens and the whine slips out anyway.

Lando enters the pack room, followed by Fernando and Carlos. They stare at him, gazes piercing Max’s skin as he tries to get out of Charles’s grip, but the alpha won’t budge. He coos softly instead. It doesn’t help Max’s panic at all, not when he can practically feel their disgust for him crawling up his spine.

“Pack is here,” Charles murmurs, voice gentle and loving and not meant for Max as he nuzzles closer.

“Yes,” Fernando says, slow and confused. “Pack is here.” He settles into a pile of cushions, dragging Carlos with him as Lando quickly follows. It reminds Max of the first time he came to the pack room, ignored by his own teammate, which does nothing to help relax him.

“Pack is good,” Charles tells him.

“No. No, Charles, fucking let me go!”

The alpha growls at the thought, arms tightening around him stubbornly. “Omega won’t be safe.”

“ Omega? ” Lando asks, and Max can see the realisation hit him. No, no, no, no— “Max, are you…?”

There is no peaceful way out. His heart is pounding, the world is falling apart, and the only thing that Max can think of doing to escape from this hell is bite. His teeth sink into Charles’s hand, forcing the alpha to weaken his grip. It’s just enough to scramble away, tripping over a blanket on the ground as chaos erupts around him; drivers trying to follow him, Charles snarling, Max’s own heart racing like it’s trying to win a championship all on its own.

He sprints to the door, a plan forming in his mind to find Christian as quickly as he can. Until he slams into Lewis just before the doorway.

“Fucking move ,” Max snaps, desperate to get out and forget this ever happened. But Lewis doesn’t budge. He blinks slowly, gaze flicking between the others as he begins to piece together what’s going on. “Lewis, I said—”

Charles is on Max in a second, arms wrapping around him tightly now that he’s already tried to run. Charles nuzzles his neck, whining at the sour and fearful scent that fills the pack room, one that Max knows is coming from him, driving all the alphas in his vicinity mad.

“Found the omega,” Charles announces proudly to his pack alpha. He sounds so happy to say it. Max nearly melts, but then Lewis still staring at him snaps him out of it. “Our omega.”

“I can see that,” Lewis agrees softly. “He needs a nest, don’t you think?”

Charles hums in agreement, guiding Max back to the blankets and pillow, grip on his wrist still tight. “Nest, pretty omega. It is safe here.”

And oh. No one’s ever called Max pretty before.

“I need to go.”

“I think we need to talk about this, hermano,” Carlos corrects, settling back against Fernando’s side. “You’ve been hiding this for ten years? Is that why you never came to the pack room?”

“I—” Charles pulls Max into his side, shifting some of the blankets to make him more comfortable. Max is comfortable. It’s really not helping, though, because he just wants to stay there and purr happily forever.

“Omega is pack now,” Charles huffs into Max’s neck. His rut scent is so thick it’s intoxicating, covering Max in the warmth of a blanket all on its own. “Pack makes omega happy.”

“Yes we do,” Fernando agrees. Lando stares at Max like he doesn’t know who he’s looking at anymore. “So why didn’t you tell anyone, Max?”

More people enter. Oscar, Esteban, Ollie and Kimi— Max can’t even meet their eyes. He can hear a soft gasp from the doorway, though, as they all start to realise what’s going on. This can’t be happening. Not to him, not right now. The pack room is slowly filling up and soon everyone will know that Max is an omega, and everything he’s ever worked towards will be gone.

Lewis is standing in the centre of the pack room. Everyone is staring at Max, eyes wide and scents thickening in response to his. His skin crawls with anxiety, silent prayers whispered in the back of his mind for Christian to notice his absence and save Max from his personal hell. Lewis shifts, arms crossed. His cap covers his eyes, and Max can’t see the emotions swirling behind them as the rest of the pack tries to process what’s going on.

Stupid scent blockers. Stupid Max. He’d really thought they’d last until he got back to Monaco, and look where that’s gotten him. Now Max feels like he’s going to cry. Charles is holding him too tightly, no one’s saying anything, and Lewis looks a few seconds away from snapping. 

He whimpers. Max whimpers into Charles’s neck, instincts taking over him before he can stop himself. The sound pierces the silent room like a bullet. Scents around Max thicken and sharpen with protect protect protect but Max is fucking terrified.

Charles rumbles soothingly in response to his whimper. It doesn’t help the fact that Max is burning with shame, but the arms holding him close do feel nice. “You are safe. Pack can keep you safe.” He tucks Max under a blanket, eyes never leaving his for a second.

Lewis sighs heavily. Disappointment and frustration lingers in his tone, Max knows it’s there. It always had been when it came to him. “Look…”

His scent sours stronger than Charles’s rut scent, so pungent he wrinkles his own nose at it. Not even Alex, who is sitting the closest to them, can resist its call as he reaches out to calm Max with the palm of his hand. “It’s okay, you’re—”

Max growls. Snarls, really, letting the sound rip through the air like it’s punching Alex in the face. “Don’t fucking touch me,” he snaps. Charles tightens his grip, and suddenly Max realises that he’s not being held anymore but restrained. He’s being watched by Lewis, by the entire grid, but it’s not to protect him anymore; it’s to trap him.

And Max can’t do anything to get himself free.

“Relax. Alex is trying to protect. I protect. We all protect, pretty omega. No more fear.” Charles’s voice is laced with a desperation to calm him down, but Max is just reminded that now, everything is over.

He feels so hollow. Hollow now that everything he loves is gone, hollow now that everyone knows he is no longer an alpha or competition but something to pamper and protect instead. They’re not looking at him like he’s Max Verstappen, a four-time World Champion that shook up the sport at just seventeen because they’re looking at him like he’s vulnerable. Defenceless. Weak .

It feels that way.

“Max. Look at me.” Lewis’s voice is gentler than Max expected it to be. It’s not sharp, and its edges don’t cut him. He slowly lifts his gaze to look at Lewis, crouching in front of him and Charles. Too close. “No one’s going to hurt you, alright? We just want to look after you.”

“I don’t need to be looked after.” He wants Christian and GP, though, and to be back in Monaco with them in his nest. Because this is not Max’s nest. “I’m not your omega, you can’t keep me here because you ‘found me first’ or some bullshit.”

Charles growls. “Omega—”

“Shut up, you caveman.” Charles quietens, nuzzling him gently with wide, hurt eyes. Like he can’t quite understand what he’s doing wrong. Everything. Everything is wrong.

“I’m not staking a claim on you, as much as Charles wants me to,” Lewis begins as the room begins to settle into its chaotic shell. “But you can’t be out there without one, or things are going to be much more overwhelming than Charles in rut. Everyone will be pushing each other over to get their hands on an omega, let alone an omega that drives in Formula One.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I’ve been hiding my designation from the world just for fun ?” Max asks. The grid fades around him, blending into the wall. “Of course I know that people will do everything to get me, Lewis, but don’t act like you’re any different.”

“Max, what are you—”

“Do want me here because I’m Max or because I’m an omega, Lewis? Huh? Which one is it? Do you care about me or what I smell like? I’ll answer it for you, Lewis; you don’t care about who I am at all. Because you never did for the past ten years. You never acted like you cared, you never treated me gently or carefully, and you fucking growled at me when I walked into the pack room on my first ever race. I was seventeen, Lewis, practically a pup, and you didn’t bat an eye once at how you or the rest of the grid treated me.”

Well, shit. It felt good to finally get all of that off of his chest and out into the open air. Even if it ruins things further, impossibly so, it felt damn good.

“Max,” Lewis tries desperately like a man yearning. “Max, just—”

“Get Christian.”

Charles tenses around him. The room goes silent as Lewis stares at him blankly, swallowing thickly to get rid of what he was going to say. “Christian. Does he know? About you?”

“Tell him to meet me here. With a scented hoodie, I’m going to need it when walking through the paddock.” 

Charles growls, holding Max tightly, but he knows that Charles will have to let go once Christian gets here and Lewis tells him to. Lewis slumps minutely, shoulders dropping in defeat. “Fine. I’ll call him here. But Max… you’re always welcome here, you know that?”

Max doesn’t reply. “And don’t tell anyone about this. The last thing I want is for this to get out to the media.”

Lewis swallows thickly and nods.

When Christian arrives, it takes one sharp command from Lewis for Charles let Max go. Finally feeling free instead of like a trapped and scared animal, Max doesn’t wait a second to approach Christian, burrowing in his Red Bull jacket that smells just like him; woody and thick and warm. He frowns at Max, who can feel the lingering gazes of the grid, confused and upset as to why the omega they had found was leaving them, but Christian closes the door to the pack room with an echo of finality, letting Max relax.

“My office? You don’t look too good, mate.” 

Max doesn’t protest as he follows Christian to his office, letting himself be shielded from the cameras by the jacket draped over his shoulders. “Do you think they’ll tell anyone?” Max’s voice wavers, unsure, but at least he doesn’t feel like the world is falling apart anymore.

“No,” Christian says after a moment, ushering Max into his office gently while holding the door open. He never used to do it before, but Max decides to let it slide, knowing Christian’s just trying to comfort him. Even if it doesn’t comfort him. “Not on purpose, anyway.”

Something at the bottom of Max’s stomach prickles with unease. A simple mistake could cost him everything, and he wouldn’t even be able to blame himself for it. “What do we do about the scent blockers? Mine don’t work anymore.”

Christian shrugs. “I’ll get you stronger ones. I’ll find a way. Do you want to make a little nest or something? Or should I take you back to your hotel?”

Max opens his mouth to protest that he can take himself back perfectly fine on his own, but his fingers feel numb and he feels like he might throw up if he sees a camera pointed in his direction. “Can you get some clothes with your and GP’s scent on it before you take me back to my hotel room?”

Christian nods, staring at Max as he stands awkwardly in the middle of his office. “GP and I can nest with you too, Max. That’s always an option.”

He wants to say yes. He wants to cuddle with people who he knows actually care about him as Max, but then he remembers that he can’t let himself get used to it or the behaviours might slip at the wrong time. Scented clothes are already a risk. Without them, though, Max feels like something’s crawling under his skin. “No. Just the clothes. Please.”

When Christian leaves to do as asked, Max has to fight back a whimper. Fuck.

Charles is maybe ten seconds away from completely losing his mind. Lewis can see it in the way he’s twitching, breathing raggedly as he searches fruitlessly for Max. Max, who is an omega. It didn’t make sense— Max, the seventeen year old who came into the sport fangs bared and eyes blazing, Max, the driver fought Lewis tooth and nail for the championship in 2021, is an omega. Someone that Lewis’s own instincts crave to protect, love, adore, is the one who became a four-time world champion without anyone batting an eye.

“Omega isn’t safe. Where? Where is he?” Charles snarls, thrashing in Lewis’s grip. He’d thought about letting Kimi’s pup scent calm his rut, but the rookie had slipped out shortly after Max, mumbling something about a post-race meeting for the Mercedes team that George knew nothing about. Another thing Lewis has to deal with.

“Calm down, Charles. He’s safe. I know you want him here, but I promise he’s safe.”

Charles slowly curls into Lewis as the smoky scent recedes. The other drivers have either left or are watching from a distance, not wanting to upset the rut-crazed alpha further. Lewis runs his fingers through Charles’s hair. It’s a ridiculous attempt to calm him down, but it seems to work after a few moments.

And then Lewis is drifting again. It makes sense now that he thinks about it— the omega scent at the crash being Max’s, the rookies all flocking to him in the paddock— but it’s hard for Lewis to associate that Max with rival Max.

“How are we going to convince Max to come to the pack room?” Carlos asks after a moment, Lando and Oscar safely in a pile of cushions and blankets beside him. “Assuming we’re going to even try.”

“Of course we are,” Lewis says. Charles huffs in agreement.

“I can’t believe he was an omega all this time,” George murmurs to himself. “I can’t believe I’ve been standing next to an omega for years and never even realised he was an…”

George’s voice fades into silence, followed by a soft, longing coo from Charles against Lewis’s chest that only makes his heart squeeze. If he had known, he would’ve treated Max differently in the pack room. The whole grid would’ve. But now it’s far, far too late to mend those mistakes, because Max doesn’t want anything to do with him, let alone the other eighteen alphas hoping they were finally going to get a pretty omega in their pack.

“We can try to convince him. Gift him things, do things for him.” It might work. It might not, and Lewis will just be leading the others to false dreams. “Show Max that we care about him without telling anyone he’s an omega.”

“Our omega,” Charles whispers quietly, nuzzling into Lewis’s side. Lewis smiles tightly in response.

Max is so, so alone. 

His nest is empty. The scents of GP and Christian’s clothes aren’t enough to settle his nerves completely— nerves that eat away at him, telling him that he’ll never race again the moment someone lets it slip. Max remembers how many smells there were in the pack room, particularly Charles’s smoky rut scent, and suddenly the feeble Red Bull gear with two scents on them do nothing for him. Exactly what he’d feared.

But Max can’t call Christian or one of the drivers to get clothes from all the pack, and he’s definitely not asking anyone to join his nest. No. That’s the last thing Max needs.

He tries to close his eyes, hoping for a peaceful sleep, but there is no one to hold him through the night. Just silence.

Chapter Text

Max stretches his arms over his head with a long, suffering sigh. Canada was a long flight from Monaco, and he was never quite used to the jet lag, but at least he got an extra weekend of peace until the meetings and bustling of another race weekend started up again.

The team meeting goes on around him quietly. Christian’s there, talking like nothing’s wrong, and GP sits beside Max, going over the data and chiming in with Christian occasionally. It would be fine if it was just those two in the meeting, plus the additional strategists and whatnot, but Yuki’s there too. And he won’t. Stop. Staring .

Max hasn’t made eye contact with him once, choosing to stare at the telemetry data in front of him or Christian when he’s talking, but never engaging with Yuki. He doesn’t want to hear about how happy the pack would make him or how many gifts he’d get or how nice the nest would smell, because Max just wants to race.

“The weather’s going to be mostly clear this weekend, so we don’t need to take that into account,” someone pipes up, jolting Max out of his thoughts as he glances around to see who spoke. A strategist, sitting right next to Yuki. Max’s gaze drifts before he can stop it.

Yuki’s eyes are unblinking and unmoving, but it’s not sharp or accusatory. He’s just… observing, softly and quietly, like he’s waiting to see if Max will talk to him. When Max finally meets his eyes, they light up as Yuki leans in closer from his seat across the table.

Max looks away quickly, rubbing awkwardly at his neck where the new scent blockers are— stronger, stickier scent blockers that he hasn’t yet gotten used to. He can practically feel Yuki’s gaze burning into them. Hating them for blocking the sweet omega scent that an alpha craves.

Christian says a few more words which Max doesn’t bother trying to hear before dismissing the meeting and advising the two drivers to head off to their media duties. Max gets up quickly, nearly knocking his chair over in the process. He can’t be near Yuki for much longer. Not when his skin crawls with discomfort and his nerves go tight with anxiety just by knowing that Yuki knows.

“Max. Max, wait.” He’s not quick enough out the door, and Yuki’s caught up to him before he can prepare himself for the conversation. Max bites down the urge to shout at him. “I know you’re not very happy, but I have something for you. Here.”

Max turns and stares down at the box of chocolates in Yuki’s hands. Some fancy brand he doesn’t recognise, silver accenting a black box wrapped in a white ribbon. Fairly big. Nothing on the box apart from the brand name. “What’s this for?” 

Yuki blinks at him, eyes widening in surprise. “It’s a gift. For you.”

“For me.” It’s not much of a question, just a quiet, disbelieving statement ground out under Max’s breath. “You got a box of fancy chocolates for me. ”

“Yeah. Because you’re an omega— I mean, you… you deserve chocolates, no?”

Max catches the slip up easily and his lip curls in disgust when his brain supplies to him that the box of chocolates are nothing but a pack courting gift, a weak attempt at forgiveness. An idea thrown together with little effort and a credit card. “No.”

“What?”

“No, Yuki, I don’t want your chocolates, okay?”

Yuki frowns, staring down at the box of chocolates like he really thought they’d do the trick. For him, they would, Max realises when he remembers his teammate’s love of food— for Yuki, a box of rare chocolates would be enough for him to fold in seconds. But Max wasn’t Yuki.

“But I got them for you, Max. They’re very nice. Are you sure you don’t even want to try just one ?”

He did want to try one, in all honesty. Just imagining how it would melt on his tongue made Max’s mouth water, but he didn’t want Yuki to get his hopes up and think that it meant anything. “No. I need to race soon. I can’t be having a box of chocolates, and I don’t want a box of chocolates. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I have a pre-race conference to attend to.”

Max pushes past Yuki and ignores the souring, hurt scent of blood oranges and saffron.

Tensions Continue to Rise Within the F1 Grid

It has come to the attention of many in the sport of Formula 1 that something more is going on behind the scenes. In Monaco’s pre-race press conference featuring Max Verstappen, Alex Albon, and Gabriel Borteleto, Verstappen stated he has ‘no intentions’ of becoming part of the grid pack. 

Now, in Canada’s pre-race press conference, featuring Max Verstappen, Lewis Hamilton— pack alpha on the grid— and Kimi Antonelli, the group seemed to be more adrift from each other than ever.

When Verstappen was asked on the incident in Barcelona regarding Charles Leclerc dragging him away from the cameras, he stated that “Charles had simply gone into a rut and must have mistaken me for one of the other alphas on the grid. That’s all. I left the pack room shortly after everyone else had arrived and calmed the situation.”

Hamilton appeared to be slightly upset by his response and stated, “I think a further conversation needs to be had between the three of us about ruts and whatnot, but we’re hoping to sort it out.”

Verstappen quickly disagreed, saying he “felt they had sorted it out already.” But that wasn’t the last of the drama within this press group— later, Antonelli was asked a question regarding how he was the only pup on the grid and if he felt that it caused issues being unpresented. The young Italian driver stated firmly that it didn’t matter to him or the rest of the grid and any further questions regarding this topic would not be answered. 

Oddly, a few reporters within the room noted that Hamilton’s scent by the end of the conference was more sour than spoilt milk. Is this foreshadowing to a much bigger problem on the grid that not even a seven-time world champion will be able to control, or is it simply another on-track rivalry that has gotten too personal?

Kimi knows George has seen the pre-race conference the moment he returns to the Mercedes garage. George is staring at him, eyes narrowed like he’s already made a PowerPoint presentation and is waiting for the right moment to show it to him. But Kimi doesn’t even want to bother right now.

“Kimi, hey, I just wanted to ask you if—” he thinks about interrupting, about walking away or telling George to shut it. But then he realises how much Mercedes staff is around. They’re everywhere, walking past, getting coffee, looking over numbers, and they’re all in earshot. And the last thing Kimi wants is for Toto to find out that his drivers aren’t getting along. “— you’re okay? You seemed kind of upset in the pre-race conference when you were asked about still being… about not having presented yet.”

Kimi almost wants him to say it. Pup. But he isn’t that kind of person, and Kimi respects him for that. “I’m feeling okay now, yeah. It was just a bit of a surprise to be asked that in an interview amongst everything that’s going on.”

The topic of Max drifts over their heads like a cloud, weighing down on them before blowing away. George takes a moment before smiling and heading over to the little kitchen set up in the corner of the garage. He waves Kimi over casually. “Want a cup of tea, mate?”

Kimi hesitates, wanting to say no. But he sees Toto standing in the doorway of his office down the hall, talking to one of the race engineers, and decides to accept the offer. “Sure.”

George smiles and pours some hot water. Kimi rubs the back of his neck awkwardly, moving to the side— and reminds himself of something. Max wears scent blockers. They work well for covering his omega scent for a decade, and now he had even stronger ones. Maybe Kimi should wear some. Then people wouldn’t keep remembering that he’s a pup driving in Formula 1.

He’ll think about it. George won’t be too happy, though, and he doesn’t want to answer the questions he knows he’ll get.

A tea cup is pressed into his hand, paper and flimsy and hot. Kimi hardly registers it as George sips his own tea. “I talked to Yuki in the pack room.” He pauses like he’s expecting Kimi to answer, but the rookie’s already turning to wave at one of the mechanics before he glances back to George. “He said that he got Max a gift, but he didn’t want it. He seemed upset.”

“Right. Um… what did he get Max?”

“A box of fancy chocolates, he said. I feel like if I was an omega and someone gave me something like that, I’d at least take them.”

Kimi stares at the steam rising from his tea. “Well, you’re not an omega.”

“What?”

“Maybe Max doesn’t want a box of chocolates like you would.”

“I’d expect he at least be happy to receive a gift. All omegas are— it tells them that someone cares about them, so I don’t see why Max wouldn’t want that.”

Kimi hums. It’s true that a gift would make an omega feel loved, but he can’t help but think that there’s more to it than that. He wouldn’t like it if someone on the grid held him and cooed at him like anyone would to a pup, covering them in their scent, so maybe it’s the same kind of thing with Max. But before he can even try and explain that to George, he’s already moving on to the next topic.

“Pack room’s really nice here in Canada, Kimi. Have you been yet?”

“I’ll… I’ll go later, probably.” Knowing that Lewis likes to be in there when he’s not doing other things around the track, it isn’t likely that Kimi will. George frowns into his tea.

“Well… suit yourself, I guess.” There’s an awkward silence that follows, filled with the clinks of metal on metal and voices mumbling over computer screens. “But maybe you should try talk to Lewis again, Kimi. You shouldn’t feel ostracised from the pack just because you’re…”

“Still a pup? I know that, George. But I don’t want to talk to Lewis, okay?” Kimi can hear his accent slipping as he loses his grip on his anger. Why can’t people just shut up about it? What more does he need to say after we’ve already had this conversation ten fucking times?

“Well I don’t want to see you distancing yourself from the pack like…” like Max. “Like you’re not welcome. Because you are welcome, you just need to talk it out with Lewis and get him to understand where you’re coming from.” George, to his credit, doesn’t raise his voice, but Kimi just get angrier at him for acting so calm. So much more mature .

“George, if I say I don’t want to talk to Lewis, then I’m not going to talk to Lewis. Got it?” Kimi snaps out the last sentence, a growl in the back of his voice like a bitter aftertaste. His scent, milky and honey-thick and so pup-like it makes him sick, sours and fills the garage. He can see people lifting their heads from the corner of his eyes. He doesn’t care.

“Kimi, I’m not letting you just throw away Lewis and the pack because he called you a pup in his rut. I get that you’re upset, but you need to move on understand that he didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, alright? I seriously don’t get why you’re still going on about this instead of talking with him. I thought you knew better.”

“Stop treating me like you’re my fucking dam , George!”

It hits Kimi like a brick that he’d just yelled at his teammate in the middle of the garage. The entire building stops moving, stops breathing, and George is staring at him like he doesn’t know who he’s looking at anymore. Fuck. Fuck. He can smell the sharp, woody scent of Toto growing stronger, his slow footsteps getting closer as George tries and fails to come up with something to say.

“Kimi, George, let’s just talk in my office—” Toto sounds mad. Upset. Disappointed . Kimi can’t even look at his face or he thinks he’ll throw up. George is reaching out. Trying to touch him, to calm him, and Kimi—

Kimi runs.

“Right. If you think Yuki being your teammate might cause some issues now that the grid has found out, I’ll try and minimise your interactions throughout the weekend. Obviously for media, I can’t split you apart, but for everything else I can find a way.”

Max nods, settling into the soft chair opposite Christian’s desk. “Okay. Thank you, mate. I mean, I knew they’d probably try something, but I didn’t expect Yuki to do it here, and so soon, too.”

“Understandable. I’ll give him a warning not to do that again as well in the garage and hospitality, and hopefully the others on the grid will hear and take the hint.” Christian smiles, a slightly wrinkly yet kind and warm smile. His scent fills his office. It’s nice, so much nicer than the pathetic, scentless nest Max has back in his hotel room.

He takes in a breath. A deep one. He can’t be thinking that now, not with everything going on. “Thanks.”

“Max…” Christian shifts forward, leaning just enough to make him slightly uncomfortable. “You really should think about nesting with scents of mine and GP’s more often. Not just when you need it so much you can’t go without it, but whenever you want it, Max. This isn’t me trying to push a pack on you,” Christian adds quickly, calming Max’s thoughts the moment they rise. He huffs under his breath. Of course Christian knows him that well. “This is me making sure you don’t collapse on yourself mid-race or mid-interview. Got it?”

“Yeah. But I don’t want to be dependent on your scents, okay? I can manage fine on my own without them— if it gets bad, I can find some scented clothes in those emergency pack clinics or something.”

Christian frowns, and Max knows he’s going to press, but he can’t do anything about that. So he sits back in the chair (that doesn’t smell good, that doesn’t smell like a pack that he doesn’t have) and lets the light warm his skin through the window overlooking the circuit. “That’s not healthy.”

“It works.”

“For how long will it work? How long until it’s too much for you to—”

The door slams open behind Max. It hits the wall as he whips his head around, face to face with Kimi. The rookie sobs, clutching the sleeves of his jacket, and Max is out of his seat before he even realises, pulling Kimi into his chest gently but quickly. 

“Hey, it’s okay, mate. Just breathe, just calm down.”

Christian gets up. Max meets his eyes and shrugs helplessly, holding Kimi tighter. It’s all he can do for now. The boy keeps crying into his shirt, hands trembling as they grasp the fabric with white-knuckled hands. “Please, please, I’m sorry, I don’t— I didn’t— I’m sorry—”

Max purrs softly, stroking his fingers through Kimi’s hair. The instinct takes over him before he can fight it, but when the boy relaxes and stops sobbing into his shirt, he doesn’t bother. “I’m not upset with you. It’s okay.”

Christian’s hand gently warms his shoulder. “Max. I think he needs a nest, yeah? You can use your driver’s room, I’ll get some scented clothes. Is that okay?”

Max wants to ask if this is Christian trying to get him to accept him and GP, but he cares more about Kimi right now. “More pillows and blankets, too.”

With that, he guides Kimi out of Christian’s office and into his driver’s room, shifting the blanket on the floor next to the couch until he’s happy. “Hey, Kimi. Settle into the nest, okay? I’ll find some stuff.”

Kimi hums, looking up at him blankly, eyes red from crying. Max coos softly, nuzzling his head before helping him onto the floor. He doesn’t want to explore the happy feeling he gets when Kimi bundles himself up in Max’s blanket, so he starts looking for some of his clothes instead. A few shirts, a hoodie— good enough. He puts them around Kimi and slides into the nest with him.

“You want to talk about what happened?” Max asks after a quiet moment. Kimi, from where he’s laying against Max and clinging onto him tightly, shakes his head and buries his face into Max’s neck with a whine. “Okay. That’s fine— you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He has his suspicions, of course, but chooses not to voice them as Kimi nuzzles his face closer. He whines again, reaching up to hold Max’s neck still when he continues nuzzling. Searching. Searching for Max’s scent.

“You— you want my scent, Kimi?” A quiet, almost shameful whimper. Max hesitates peeling the scent blockers off, even though he knows how much Kimi needs it. It’s supposed to be a secret. It’s not supposed to be public, but he guesses that it’s out of his control now. Has been for a while.

And maybe that makes him want to cry, because he doesn’t want to, but Max peels the blockers off anyway. Kimi melts into him immediately, breathing in deep lungfuls of it like he can’t get enough of it. Max’s scent fills the room in a cloud of strawberry, summery sweetness. He nearly chokes on it. “Everything’s alright now, yeah?”

Christian enters the room, scent bright with surprise at smelling Max’s. Max can’t bear to look him in the eyes. He holds Kimi close instead, wanting to purr to comfort him, but no sounds come out of his throat.

“Here. I got some blankets and pillows with my scent and GP’s, plus a few mechanics and things like that.” Christian places them down around him. Kimi lifts his head to watch, eyes wide and scent sour with fear, but Max’s tongue feels too thick to say it’s alright, Kimi. So he doesn’t say anything.

Christian leaves quietly, letting a silence fall over Max and Kimi as the muffled sobs start up again. Max can feel the tears as they find his neck. “Are you ready to talk now, or do you want to wait a little longer?” His scent is so sweet it sickens him, but Kimi only presses closer to it.

“I… I was talking with George. About you.”

Max, regrettably, isn’t surprised. He knows that the grid would be talking about him now that they knew, but it sours in his gut anyway.

“Then he wanted me to talk to Lewis and fix the right we had when he went into rut.” Kimi pauses for a moment. Max doesn’t remember hearing about any fight, but it makes sense with how much he saw Kimi last race weekend. Usually he barely gets a glimpse of the other drivers outside of racing. “He… called me a pup. Acted like I was a pup. And I know that I haven’t presented yet, so I technically still am a pup… but I don’t want to be a pup. I want people to take me seriously instead of treating me like just a pup.”

“I take you seriously,” Max murmurs, chuffing instinctually when Kimi’s scent sweetens. It’s not bad having someone in his nest, even if he knows he really, really, shouldn’t. “But I can understand why it bothers you. So is that why you came here?”

“Ah… not entirely. Toto heard me yelling and came over… I think I just got scared. I don’t know if he was going to yell at me, or threaten my career, or… I don’t know. I got scared and I ran.”

Max purrs lowly in his throat, surprised that he’s even to make the sound with how much his scent fills the room. Kimi melts further against him. Is this what a pack is like? He decides to tell himself that this isn’t anything like a pack at all. It stings a little less. Maybe.

“I’m sorry to bother you and Christian. I don’t even know why I came to Red Bull instead of Haas where Ollie is or something.”

“I think I know why you came here.” Because Max is an omega. He doesn’t need to say it, and neither does Kimi, but it just serves as a reminder that Max isn’t anything more than his designation to anyone right now. 

And that’s fine.

“Maybe I came here because you were always so nice to us rookies. Even when you didn’t have to be, you gave us advice. You aren’t in the pack, but you… care.”

The answer’s unexpected. But Max smiles softly, purring quietly, and he realises that his scent doesn’t seem so bad anymore.

Christian heads into the Mercedes garage. It’s a sight to behold, he’s sure, and he won’t be surprised if it ends up sparking a flurry of articles and questions. But it doesn’t bother him right now.

“I need to speak to Toto.”

The mechanic blinks at him for a moment before shrugging and mumbling something under his breath. Then, louder, he says; “Not a good idea.”

“Well, I need to speak to him. I don’t care if that’s a good idea or not.”

The mechanic sighs and nods to the other side of the garage. “He’s somewhere over there, talking to George.”

Christian heads over, pushing through more and more Mercedes staff. The scent of tire rubber fills the air, stacks of them rising to the ceiling, and he knows that smell. Just like he knows the smell of a certain Austrian alpha— particularly when he’s mad .

“Toto!” Christian calls, forgoing the usual smug grin. Toto lifts his head to stare at him, and George, flustered red, takes the opportunity and slips away quietly. “I need to talk to you about your rookie driver.”

Toto’s eyes narrow. It doesn’t scare Christian, never did; he always sees it as a confirmation that he’s doing his job of riling Toto up properly. “What are you doing in my garage, Christian?”

It’s not lost on him that the Mercedes staff are giving the two a wide berth, mechanics forgetting the tools on the wall next to Toto in favour of keeping their distance. Something thrums in the air. Impatient. Persistent.

“I told you. I’m here to talk to you about Antonelli.”

“What about him?”

“I can’t help but notice he’s not here. Is that right?” Christian’s attempts at keeping his snark at bay fail miserably. They always do when Toto’s involved, like it’s instinct.

“He’s doing media.”

“You’re lying.”

Toto’s eye twitches, but he doesn’t reply.

“And I know that because he’s currently in my hospitality getting comforted by Max, who told me a little bit about why your rookie’s so upset. So. If you want me to keep this quiet, you’re going to promise me that you’re not going to snap at Kimi and keep George in check. Because we wouldn’t want it getting out that your drivers aren’t getting along.”

“I’ve talked to George about Kimi and his… lack of presentation. We’ve agreed not to bring it up. But I still need to remind Kimi not to shout at his teammate and insult him—”

“I think it was fair enough for him to do that, especially when he felt like he was being mothered by George.”

Toto’s scent sharpens, and it’s like music to Christian’s ears, sweet and rewarding. “What I think is that you’ve gotten yourself too concerned in my team’s business, Christian, and I’m going to ask you once to tell Kimi to come back to Mercedes and then forget this ever happened.”

“No.”

“No?”

“ No . He’s panicking and can’t do anything more than cling to Max because you and George have made him feel unsafe in his own fucking team. So I’m going back to my hospitality and I’m going to tell Kimi to stay with Max for as long as he wants. Got it?”

“Oh, so he’s nesting with your omega now, is that—”

“You don’t call him a fucking omega.” It’s whispered, but it’s enough. Silence falls across the garage. Heads turn to look at the fallout, to watch as Toto reaches the verge of implosion. Christian points a finger at his chest accusingly, pressing into the muscle just enough to be uncomfortable. “Understood?”

Toto huffs under his breath, but flicks his gaze away from Christian’s, silently admitting he’d made a mistake. A quiet victory.

“And for you, George?” He calls out, whipping his head around to glare at the alpha who’s standing by his car, “you should learn to keep your mouth shut instead of spilling secrets left and right like it’s candy on goddamn Halloween.”

He turns on his heel and walks out of the Mercedes garage, blood boiling. Christian knows his scent is pungent with fury, but he doesn’t bother getting a grip on it. He lets it seep into their space like a threat. Lets it linger. Stay.

But once he’s back into Red Bull territory, Christian calms it down and slowly opens the door to Max’s room. The strawberry-thick scent hits his nose. He almost coos on instinct, but holds it back while closing the door behind him. Max doesn’t need that. Because he’s asleep, holding Kimi’s slumbering form tightly in his nest while GP runs his fingers through Max’s hair.

Toto, for once, is forgotten.

Chapter Text

Max notices the warmth and strong scents around him the moment he opens his eyes. Kimi nuzzles closer into his chest as if trying to bury himself there, GP curls around him like a protective shield and Christian rumbles quietly behind him, the vibrations echoing through Max’s chest. 

Pack. A small one, but one that he feels safe around. 

“Morning,” Christian murmurs into his ear with a huff.

“Morning?”

“Mmm. We stayed here all night. Told Toto not to worry about Kimi and that we’d give him back today.”

Max tightens his arms around Kimi’s form. The sweet, milky pup scent fills his nose as it grows stronger with contentment. His driver’s room— though crowded with the nest that he probably should expand— smells strongly of all of them, and he finds himself purring softly. “I don’t want to give Kimi back.”

Christian chuckles as GP begins to shift beside Max, yawning and holding him closer. “He has to. Kimi’s got to get in the car for free practice, remember?”

Max frowns, but instead of arguing with something he knows is true, he continues to run his hands through Kimi’s hair, leaning back on the couch. The floor isn’t too cold, not with all the clothes making the nest. But it’s not Max’s best work either.

“I know. But I don’t want Toto to scare him when he goes back to his garage.”

“I’ll make sure he won’t.”

Toto has his arms crossed the moment he walks into the paddock. George walks behind him, silent and wary, but it doesn’t bother him nearly as much as the sight of Christian does. Toto only just manages to muffle the growl building in his chest when he sees that smug grin standing outside his garage.

“Christian.”

“Toto. I’m here to give you your rookie back.”

Kimi stands beside Christian, smelling sterile and clean. To Toto’s nose, it smells wrong— until he notices the sweet undertones that he hadn’t been able to wash off. Omega. His instincts perk up at the scent. More notably, Kimi isn’t looking up at him. Just staring at the floor like he’s hoping it’ll swallow him whole. He clings to Christian’s side, too, a hand grasping the hem of his shirt until it bunches.

“Is there a reason why it took you all night to do that?”

Christian shrugs with another infuriating grin. Toto wants to grab his shoulders and shake him until he cooperates nicely. “No. But the nest was great— maybe that has something to do with it.”

“Right. Come on, Kimi, we’ve got a meeting now.”

Kimi shifts uncomfortably before deciding to let go of Christian’s shirt and starts to head into the Mercedes garage, George following behind. But the Red Bull team principal frowns. “If I hear you got mad at him, yelled at him, or did anything like that, Toto, I—”

“You don’t need to threaten me, Christian, I know how to manage my drivers properly. But fine. I’ll leave him and George to figure out their issues on their own. Is that alright with you?”

“More than alright. It’s wonderful, actually. Just remember not to spread the word of Max being an omega to everyone you see.”

Toto glances around, eyeing a few of the media crew that are wandering around in the early morning with slight disdain. Scents carry across the air, but none as strong as his own— or the drivers’, for that matter. The usual bustle of the paddock hasn’t nearly reached its peak yet, so Toto dares to step closer to Christian. Not enough to threaten. Just enough to remind him that this is Mercedes’s space. Toto’s space.

“I’m not going to spread the word, but you should know better than anyone that it’ll make it out eventually.”

“We’ll see about that.” Toto takes another step forward. Christian takes a step back, raising a brow. Their scents collide like oil and water, clashing for space and trying to assert their dominance over the other, creating an echo chamber of growing wood and smoke notes in the air. If they keep going like this, someone is bound to notice. “Getting possessive over your garage are you now, Toto?”

“Don’t act like you don’t do the same.”

Christian shrugs. “At least I don’t make it so obvious.”

“As if—”

“Don’t you have a meeting, Toto?”

He does. Glancing at his staff inside the garage, they know it too, just no one is willing to interrupt them to remind him. “Stay away from my garage, Christian. It’d do you well.”

Christian only grins as Toto walks past and into his garage. He can ignore Christian’s taunts just fine, but maybe, just maybe, it bothers him that Christian has an omega to look after and Toto doesn’t.

George and Kimi aren’t talking. That’s the first thing Toto notices when he walks into his office, seeing the two drivers sitting on the chairs opposite his own. Taking a seat, he watches. George tries to subtly sniff the air but fails, getting a glare from Kimi who quickly returns to staring at the floor.

“You were with Max.”

“Yeah. I nested with him and Christian and GP.”

Toto raises a brow. “Do you think anyone else in their team knows?”

Kimi hesitates before nodding slowly. George huffs.

“Why does he want you in his nest, but not anyone else?”

Kimi’s scent, though covered in scent blocker spray, sours. Toto shifts forward with a grumble in the back of his throat, silencing them both quickly. “It doesn’t matter why. I just need you both to promise that you won’t fight again. And you won’t go running off to Red Bull either.”

“He was treating me like I was his pup!”

“I know, Kimi, and I’ve talked to him about that. So can we please try and keep ourselves civil for now? Hmm? The last thing I want is the media to hear that you two fought.”

“Fine,” Kimi spits, getting a raised brow from George. “But I want to be able to go to Red Bull and nest with Max when I want to.”

Toto sighs deeply. Pups are drawn to omegas— everyone is— and Kimi is simply following his instincts. Instincts that yearn to nest with the one he considers his dam, and that, apparently, is a title held by Max. Toto should say no. It’s a rival team that Kimi wants to find solace in rather than his own, but seeing how afraid he looked when Toto approached after hearing the fight, Toto’s own instincts soften. 

“Fine,” he relents. “But not when it interferes with your schedule, alright?” Kimi beams, and Toto chuffs to himself. George looks surprised and slightly bitter that Kimi seems steadfast in avoiding the pack nest, but wisely keeps his mouth shut. “You’re both dismissed.”

The drivers’ parade is the last thing Max wants to attend. It’s tension wrapped up in stares and glances, scents projecting over each other and trying to find their footing above the rest as they fight for Max’s attention. They certainly have it— all Max can smell is wood and smoke, filling his lungs and nearly overriding his senses until it’s all he can process.

Kimi stands next to him, pressing into his side like he’s trying to merge with Max’s scent. Ollie and Gabi try to pretend like they don’t notice, talking with the two of them quietly, but Max doesn’t mind their awkwardness. It’s friendly, not hostile. The rest of the grid, on the other hand, can’t seem to look away from him.

George is staring at the lack of space between Max and Kimi. Yuki looks upset and longing while Charles’s nostrils twitch, his frustration building in his eyes the harder he fails to catch Max’s strawberry sweetness under the blockers. No one bothers to wave at the crowds when they pass by anymore. Their eyes are too busy carving into him. Max is halfway from snapping at them and telling them to fuck off, but something stops him dead in his tracks. 

Their scents are still fighting to be more potent than the rest, but none of the alphas on the parade manage to beat the smoky redwood emanating from none other than Lewis Hamilton. He stands poised and immaculate, two braids framing his face that glows under the Canadian sun. His eyes, dark brown and deep with a calculating kind of confidence, are soft. Studying. Not ready to approach, not trying to threaten— just observing. Watching over.

Max may not be part of his pack, but Lewis’s instincts still demand that he protect. He sees the same instincts warring for control in Christian’s eyes whenever they talk.

Kimi growls beside him. Gabi and Ollie blink but continue telling their cycling story like they haven’t heard it. But Max does. He notices how Kimi doesn’t just direct it at one person, but lets it warn all the drivers to back off. The milky scent of a pup sours and spikes in anger.

No, Max realises. There’s something under Kimi’s scent that draws him closer to the pup like a moth to a flame. A sweetness. Like strawberries and summer breezes.

A pack claim. Max’s pack claim.

The drivers notice— it’s hard not to when they’re all watching like hawks, eyes fixed on Max and Kimi. How close they are. How comfortable they look together. As their eyes widen in surprise, Max panics.

He didn’t know he could accidentally claim a pup as his own. But apparently he has, and it won’t be long until the press notices either. 

“Kimi, stop,” Ollie hisses, elbowing the pup half-gently. The growls stop vibrating through Max’s jacket, which, like his blockers, is becoming uncomfortably itchy.

“What? They’re making Max unhappy!”

Max chuffs into his hair, wrapping an arm around Kimi’s shoulder. The fierce protectiveness warms him. “I know, and thanks for that, kleintje.” Kleintje. Since when did Max call anyone that? “But… I think… I think I’ve claimed you as pack, and they can smell that on you.”

Kimi blinks, eyes wide and curls soft. “Hmm? Good.”

Gabi laughs. Max expects it to calm his nerves and soften his tense edges, but Lewis’s knowing gaze doesn’t leave him. And as much as Max wants to stay as far away from the pack as possible, part of himself loves having Lewis’s scent wrapping around him.

It’s not trying to claim him. Not yet, at least. But it’s protecting him. And maybe that is a balance he can work with.

The driver’s parade ends soon enough. Max and Kimi wait for the others to step off before doing so themselves— the last thing Max wants is to feel cornered. Again. 

The race nerves boiling under his skin are familiar. A reprieve from everything around him, reminding him of why he’s doing all of this in the first place. To race. To win. To show everyone that he can.

“Take it easy in the race, Max,” Nico murmurs as he passes, and something snaps.

 Max shoves him with a snarl, pushing him into Lewis. The drivers freeze, scents spiking in response. Kimi growls again. Nico stares at Max like he doesn’t understand what just happened. 

“Don’t fucking tell me to ‘take it easy’, mate, I know how to race, I know what my limits are, got it?” Max shoves him again, rage bubbling up inside him before he can get a grip on it. He knows there are cameras. He knows that everyone is watching. But the reminder that people think he is too precious and rare and valuable to be in danger pisses him off.

“Max. Max! Nico just meant well,” Lewis snaps. God. Max really was getting used to the idea that he could have a balance with the pack alpha. How stupid he was to think that.

“He doesn’t have to act like I’m weak. He doesn’t have to say it to my fucking face, Lewis.”

Max tries to shove him aside. Lewis growls and grabs his wrists instead, ignoring the shouts of the drivers around them. Wood and smoke blur Max’s senses.

“I know, just calm down—”

“I can deal with this myself, I don’t need you to fix my problems for me.” Max tries to tug his hands away. Trapped. He realises that he is trapped by Lewis’s firm hands as they tighten around his wrists, stopping him from pulling away.

His mind flashes back to when the grid found out about his designation. Nineteen eyes fixed on him, Charles’s arms holding him in place.

Kimi snarls. “Let him go.”

Lewis pauses. “Max. Promise me you won’t attack Nico again.”

“I want him to fucking apologise first.”

Max takes in a ragged breath. Lewis’s jaw ticks, his hands softening their grip, but Max isn’t trying to get out of them anymore. Redwood and smoke fills his nose, slowly waning. Softening.

“Nico, apologise.”

“Sorry, Max. I just wanted to—”

“I don’t care,” Max spits honestly, ripping his arms from Lewis’s grip and dragging Kimi through the crowd of drivers. The rookie stumbles behind him, still snarling, still growling. Finally, once Max is away from all of the alphas’ scents, he can breathe again.

“Are you okay, Max?”

“Yeah,” he sighs, resting his arm over Kimi’s shoulders. The rookie happily leans into his side as they walk toward their respective garages. “Fuck. Maybe I shouldn’t have snapped like that.”

“Nico shouldn’t have said that either. You don’t need to be coddled.”

Max chuffs. He never used to do it before, but around Kimi, the sound seems to come naturally.

Starting P5 on the grid is good. It’s what Max needs. A challenge to claw past everyone in front and take the win. He’s done it before from much further down the grid after all, just with a little more rain in his favour. But he’s angry, too. That tends to help.

The lights go out. Max dives between Lewis and George and then past Charles, P2 by the first corner. Ahead of him sits Oscar, but the buzz of getting past three drivers in one go sizzles through him like a stubborn match. On the straight, he tries to go for the slipstream, but he’s too far for the DRS and lets Oscar continue in the lead.

Charles is behind him. Gaining on him. Max wants to fight him, wants to defend and take back the position over and over until he comes back out on top. He only wishes it was Nico. Just to show him that not only could he race cars but thrive in them too.

The red Ferrari gets closer and closer in his mirrors. It brings Max back to his carting days, back when he hated Charles with every fibre of his being. 

Shit.

He’s quick to notice the gaping hole he left, a perfect opportunity for Charles to slip right past him—

Charles doesn’t. Max closes the opportunity by the next turn, pulling away from Charles as a frown forms on his face. Rubber burns in his nose, the engine roaring behind him, but all he can think about is the fact that Charles didn’t overtake him when he easily could have.

“Alright, Max, good job on keeping Leclerc behind us.”

“Yeah. I don’t know why he didn’t go for that lunge though…”

“It’s good for us that he didn’t. Just keep doing well, Max, we’ll catch up to Oscar soon if you push the pace a little bit.”

Right. Oscar. Max pushes Charles out of his mind, but it’s hard to when the Ferrari is still tailing him. Never making a move, but always there, always ready. Just never acting. And it’s really starting to get on his nerves.

Max keeps pushing. Keeps inching closer and closer to Oscar while Charles maintains the gap behind. Or maybe he’s closer. Maybe he’s about to make the lunge for second place.

“Doing really well, Max. Box now?”

The praise doesn’t go over Max’s head this time, but he’s too busy trying to get the slipstream from Oscar down the strait to comment. He can practically feel the tire degradation, though, slowing him down gradually. “Yeah, okay. Box now.”

It’s a quick stop before he’s out again, emerging P5. But he’s the first to box— he should be fine. Still, he makes quick work of overtaking George, returning his focus to retaking his position. 

Things are going well. Finally. There are no designations when Max races— no scents to cloud his mind, no alpha posturing and comments from Nico to bother him. Just the exhaustion he knows how to push past like muscle memory and the sound of the engine roaring in his ears. It’s his happy place. Racing has always been his escape from life— from his father, from the media, from everyone.

It only makes Max push harder.

“Lando and Lewis have boxed. How are you doing, Max? Think you can keep up the good pace?”

“Yeah, I can keep the pace up fine,” Max snaps. Why is GP being so attentive?

“Good. Just wanted to check, you’ve done well so far.”

GP never talked to him like this before. He was always a professional, curt person who didn’t fear reminding Max that he’s just a man. The praise and concern that Max’s getting over the radio is… unprecedented. Odd. 

Max’s going through Turn 3 when it hits him like a flying brick. He bristles under his helmet, lips curling in disgust as he passes a blur of a grandstand. Charles is just ahead of him, and like a bull to the red, Max dives for it and overtakes cleanly, hands gripping the steering wheel like a madman. “And I’d appreciate it if you talked to me like I’m a fucking pilot, not a little kid, yeah? So unprofessional.”

There’s silence over the radio, but Max is still furious. He’s second in the race now, but the only thing he can think about is how GP isn’t treating him like a driver, he’s treating him like an omega. No one seems to be able to nod their head in respect to Max and congratulate him for a good performance anymore and it makes him sick to the stomach.

“Understood.”

Oscar is in front. Oscar is all that matters now. If Max can win, it might not make him happy, but at least he’d prove to everyone that he’s still a world champion. The orange McLaren is right in front of him, right there. They’re about to head into a good series of turns, and Max feels that familiar itch of a fight under his skin, ready to attack Oscar with everything his has. Ready for Oscar to defend tirelessly until he can’t.

Max goes around the outside of Oscar without a struggle and takes the lead of the race. It should be triumphant, with so few laps to go and already pulling away from his championship rival, but it was too easy. Effortless. Simple.

Child’s play.

“Good job on the overtake, Max. Just three laps to go.”

Max’s patience snaps.

“So, uh, Max. It seems that you had a little bit of an argument with your race engineer? Can you tell us a little bit about that?”

Max sits on the press conference couch. It is comfortable, but the media never is, sniffing around for the next story, the next headline. Charles and Oscar are sitting beside him, champagne sticking onto their scents like velcro. He refuses to look at them.

“Yeah. I don’t really understand why, but GP was just acting very unprofessionally over the radio. Never in all my years of racing I’ve ever been talked to or heard of someone getting talked to like that. I think it’s important for engineers to keep their drivers in check, but it’s also important that us drivers keep our engineers in check. So it’s just a bit of that, I think. I’m sure we’ll smooth it over in the team meeting later.”

A team meeting that Max is already trying to find a way out of. The last thing he needs after a win (as bland and boring as it was) is to deal with team drama. Yeah, he does just want to party and forget about how everything’s falling apart— he deserves to. Maybe.

Another reporter, just another eager face in the sea of them, pipes up to add; “Don’t you think you could’ve waited until after the race? There’s going to be lots of speculation now that you and GP are no longer a good fit together.”

“I think I had to handle it quickly, so I did. But we’ll talk about it later, like I said. And no, I don’t think I need to change race engineers or anything— GP is perfectly fine as he is.”

“Charles, Oscar, any thoughts on the matter?”

Charles laughs into his microphone. He has a kind of disarming laugh that almost makes Max forget about everything that’s happening. But he stays strong, cursing his instincts for acting up again and decides to take a sip of his Red Bull again.

Fuck. It’s empty.

“I’m not really a stranger to having fights with my engineers, so I get Max’s reaction. As long as they clear the air and talk about it, I’m sure they’ll be fine.”

Charles glances at Max like he’s searching for approval. Max stares ahead and waits for the press conference to be over, drowning out the sounds of the reporters and answering the questions in his usual clipped fashion.

He needs a proper drink.

Championship Leader Max Verstappen Continues to Cause Issues Amongst the Paddock

The Canadian Grand Prix has been a weekend to remember for Max Verstappen especially, starting with the already infamous footage of his altercation with Hulkenberg before Hamilton stepped in. It has been reportedly forgiven as ‘a misunderstanding’ by all parties involved, but that’s not the only drama Verstappen has found himself caught up in.

In Sunday’s post-race press conference, Verstappen brushed over the incident regarding his race engineer’s behaviour towards him during the race, stating they’d talk about it in a ‘later meeting’, but upon talks with Horner himself, no such meetings had occurred. 

Reporters later asked Piastri about the lack of defence which ended up costing him victory in Canada. The championship contender shrugged the question off as well, congratulating Max on his win in the process. However, the Dutchman didn’t appear to be pleased with the short response and stated he felt ‘robbed’ of a proper fight.

But rather than smoothing it out with Oscar, GP, or Nico, Verstappen quickly left the Montreal paddock and headed to one of the clubs in the area.

[Image: A blurry photo taken in a club with blue lighting. Beside the DJ stands a clearly identifiable Verstappen, enjoying his win and a drink while partying.]

While this isn’t an unusual event for an F1 driver, what was unusual was the altercation that followed shortly after the above image was taken.

[Video: Blurry footage of the same club interior. Pushing through the crowd is Charles Leclerc, approaching the stage where Verstappen is celebrating. Leclerc gestures something unidentifiable. Verstappen walks up to him and punches Leclerc in the face, shouting, though the music is too loud to hear the words being spoken. Video ends shakily with audible surprise from the crowd.]

Eyewitness reports of the club incident state that Verstappen had punched Leclerc in the face. Others suggest he threw his drink, and the accounts seem to vary from there. However most conclude with the information that Verstappen left shortly after and Leclerc attempted to follow. 

Neither of the drivers or their teams have commented on the incident, and Red Bull has yet to report a meeting with Verstappen to discuss the over-the-radio disagreement. It seems that as the season continues, Max Verstappen becomes an increasingly prevalent figure in the on-track and off-track drama that occurs. Only time will tell if this worrying cycle for the championship leader will go on.

Max returns to his hotel room shaking with anger. He is not even drunk. He is not even tipsy— a celebration ruined before it even began. 

But as exhaustion begins to weigh him down, Max moves through the dimly lit and overly large living room towards the bedroom. There is no nest to greet him, and something yearns in his chest for one despite knowing how bad of an idea it would be. But he could just bury himself amongst all of the blankets, shift them around and add in the…

He storms over to the closet. A large, walk-in one that he never manages to unpack his stuff into. But there are a few items of clothing to note— all Red Bull themed and branded. 

They smell like GP and Christian.

Max wants to bring them up to his nose, whine into the cotton like it will summon them. He wishes he had Kimi there, the pup’s scent wrapped all over him, protected by a pack he doesn’t have. He wants to purr. Loudly. Rumbling in his chest with the contentment of a loved omega. 

But being an omega has caused him more problems than not his entire life.

Max grabs their clothes and shoves them into the washing machine, selecting the ‘scent-clearing’ setting with a mournful press of a button. Then he lets it run, washing the scents away for the better.

He knows Christian’s messages are sitting, waiting in the notifications of his phone. GP’s apologies would be right next to them, but Max doesn’t bother pulling it out of his pocket. Instead, he goes to sleep cold and lonely, surrounded by strawberries and summer. Hardly enough.

Max forgets what the trophy even looked like in his hands by the time his world goes dark.

Chapter Text

Earlier.

Charles isn’t surprised to see Max on the stage beside the DJ when he walks into the club he’d picked out for tonight’s celebration. Max doesn’t seem to notice him either, which is even less of a surprise. He doesn’t want to ruin the omega’s celebrations, though, so he blends himself into the crowd and gets a drink from the bar. 

The music pounds in his ears like his heartbeat in a race. Charles tries not to look up at Max as he sips his drink, he really does, but Max just looks so happy. So carefree, so much more relaxed than he did in the press conference. Charles can imagine his scent mournfully, its wistful strawberry-summery notes dancing in the back of his mind since his rut. He knows now why it had sent Lewis into a rut himself— it was the sweetest thing he’d ever smelt, and he’d do anything to have that again.

Charles orders himself another drink and turns away from Max before he gets a bad idea.

One of his mechanics slings an arm around his shoulder, grinning wide. “Congrats on the podium today, mate,” he cheers loudly, a chorus of agreement rising from his coworkers around him. Charles smiles softly, patting the mechanic’s back. It’d been good to get back on the podium again— not just for him, but for the team, too.

Lewis… Lewis still needs time.

“I know, pretty good, eh? P3. Wish it was a win, but…”

“Ah, P3 today, a win tomorrow, no?”

Charles laughs. Throws his head back and lets the joy of the Ferrari team members carry him out of his thoughts. He takes the congratulations he receives with a brightness in his smile he hasn’t remembered for a few weeks now. But no matter how hard he tries, his mind keeps slipping back to Max.

His rut had been hell once the omega had left. Lewis tried to console him, but he was more eager in ripping himself apart for not keeping the omega close. Safe. He kept trying to find strawberries in everything he smelled, nearly attacking Lewis when he couldn’t find anything. Kimi was gone, and then he couldn’t even protect a pup, so Charles…

Max looks happy. Much happier than he had during that interview, especially considering the fight he’d had with GP. Charles can sympathise. But Max doesn’t seem to be harbouring any of that anger anymore— dancing to the music, glass in hand, laughing with someone that looks vaguely familiar. 

He doesn’t look like he’s upset that Oscar didn’t fight to keep first place. And that Charles didn’t fight him either; sure, the ‘robbed’ statement that has gone viral among many things regarding Max’s race was towards Oscar, but Charles remembers feeling guilt as Max glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

I should apologise.

Charles stumbles through the crowd, gaze fixed on Max like he’s the only thing in the world. Maybe he is. He’s the first omega Charles has ever smelt, ever seen, and he can’t fathom any other omega— no matter how rare they might be— being as important to him.

Charles pushes through the crowd in front of him, mind blurring with the heavy smell of alcohol and sweat that fills his nose. But he can’t look away from Max. Eventually, he reaches the stage. Max looks angelic. Free. Charles just wants to give him everything if he’d allow it. A single word and Charles would do anything to make him happy.

“Max? Max, can we talk, please?”

Max blinks down at him, smile fading and bottle in his hand lowering with disappointment. Charles frowns. Max doesn’t move as he shouts over the music, keeping his distance from Charles cautiously. “What do you want?”

“I’m sorry for not giving you a proper race. I know you felt like it wasn’t fair… I just… I just didn’t want to—” Max’s face twists into poison as Charles trails off, realising what he was about to say. I didn’t want to upset you because you don’t deserve that. Because you’re an omega.

Max seems to know exactly what he was going to say anyway. The man charges into the crowd like a bull, heading straight for Charles and leaving fire in his wake. Charles, stupidly, doesn’t bother to move. Blue light falls over Max’s face, and it’s almost poetic— Charles’s last thought before he gets punched in the face.

He hears something crack. People around them gasp, the music falling dead as Charles’s heartbeat keeps pounding in his ears. It’s like a bucket of ice got dropped on his head and now he is much, much more sober than he was two seconds ago. He moves his jaw and winces at the ache Max’s fist left behind.

“Are you fucking serious, Charles? Fuck, you really do ruin everything.”

No, no… that’s not what he wanted to do. He swallows down a heavy lump in his throat as Max pushes past him, heading for the exit, muttering under his breath as his shoulders stay bristling.

“Max… Max, wait— I’m sorry—”

Charles tries to follow him, tries to apologise, but the crowd of the club feels like it’s swallowing him whole. Limbs block his path, bodies and faces blurring around him until he can’t even see Max anymore. Desperately, Charles tries to force his way through, but no one yields. This is not a track with rules and regulations, it is just Charles realising he only made things worse as the rest of the world watches. Judges.

Utterly defeated, he lets Max go.

Max heads into the team building on Monday morning, already having drunk a can of Red Bull. Exhaustion ways at his limbs while he walks, and not even the kind that promised his enjoyment of last night. There was no hangover to be annoyed at when he woke up, only the lack of smells in his nest and a long-since-done washing of clothes that he’d left to sit in the dryer and be forgotten. The last thing he wants to think about right now is Charles.

“Morning, Max,” GP says like hasn’t heard what happened at the post-race press conference, like he hasn’t read the articles detailing how ungrateful and difficult to work with Max is becoming. “Sleep well?”

Max doesn’t answer because he is petty and tired and really fucking sick of other people’s shit. He slides into his seat instead, does not think about its lack of cushioning because that does not matter, and waits for everyone else to arrive.

Yuki and Christian arrive last together, both nursing cups of coffee and talking quietly as they take their seats. Max knows by now not to meet Yuki’s eyes, choosing to stare at the table in front of him instead, willing for this to be over.

“Alright, everyone. First of all, congrats to Max for the win.”

Max feels the praise and applause like it’s numb, barely there, barely warming him. Usually the buzz of victory and the weight of a trophy in his hands lasts for a few days after, but it’s already faded into the background of yesterday’s ordeals, forgotten and tossed aside. The pats on his back and shoulders hardly register. All he can hear is Charles’s head snapping to the side under the weight of his fist.

They talk about Yuki for a bit. Max is relieved to be ignored for a while, rubbing his temples tiredly. He’s memorised the wood grain pattern of the table completely by now.

“Okay,” Christian finalises, and Max makes the rookie error of lifting his head, thinking they’re dismissed. Christian’s gazes locks onto him. It is sharp, cold, promising anger if pushed. Max feels a buzz in his veins, in the back of his mind; this is a fight being presented in wrapping paper to someone who’s been robbed of one all weekend long. Max wants to push. Let Christian’s fury bubble until it goes over the edge and snaps. “PR woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me that you, Max, punched Charles Leclerc dead in the jaw last night. Am I getting that right?”

Christian’s tone sharpens at the end like a glinting blade. “Yeah,” Max says with a light shrug.

“And why would you do that?” The room seems to freeze, icy gazes locked on Max as everyone in the room holds their breath. “Because everyone seems to know about it with video evidence to back it up.”

“It’s complicated.” Max lives for the twitching in Christian’s eye as he continues, whipping his head around to face GP. “But not as complicated as how you were treating me over the radio, huh? No. I got that message loud and clear.” I’m not to be treated as serious. As a professional. Like I haven’t been clawing my way to the top of the rankings my whole life.

“Max, I thought… I thought we’d been over this, you know? Gotten it out of our systems and everything?” GP says exasperatedly, filling Max with a bitter anger. Of course he brushed it off. Of course he figured it wasn’t that big of a deal— just a driver and his engineer squabbling. Happens all the time.

“Yeah, but it’s not simple like other times we fought over the radio, isn’t it, GP? Because you’re treating me like—” Max cuts himself off before he can say it, but his glare— sharp, hateful, piercing into GP like a bullet— says it for him.

“… Maybe you three should go into Christian’s office and talk it out,” Yuki says, surprising Max more than anyone else. He stares at his alpha teammate, who sits with squared shoulders as he gives an encouraging nod to Max, “because it’s clear that Max feels a little different about it than you do.”

Max wants to smile brightly at the support, but he settles back into his seat instead and calms down. At least Yuki somewhat understood.

Christian taps his pen on the table in thought, glancing between Max and GP before sighing with a finality that only an alpha could manage. “Alright. GP, Max, come to my office. Everyone else is dismissed.”

The walk to Christian’s office is short. Max finds himself seated in a much comfier chair, a thought he brushes aside almost immediately. He doesn’t look at GP or Christian when they take their own seats, glaring at the floor rather than making it worse. Max isn’t even satisfied by the fight with Christian. It just left a dull ache in him, a reminder of how downhill things were going. No comfort that he was still himself.

“Alright, Max, spit it out. It’s just us three, you can say whatever you like.” But Christian’s gaze holds a firm warning not to take it too far. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed.

“Why did you treat me like an omega over the radio? It’s bad enough that none of the drivers want to race me properly, but now you’re going around and coddling me while I’m racing. What the fuck is that about, huh?”

“I… Look. I don’t know why I did it, it just felt right, I guess? My instincts must’ve told me to treat you like that. But Max… there’s nothing wrong with people treating you nicely and being a bit more attentive.”

“You never treated me like that before you found out I was an omega, though.” Max spits it out like a sharpened barb. “And I figured it was probably common knowledge that it’s unprofessional to treat a driver the way you treated me.”

“Max,” Christian interrupts like a dousing of cold water. Max suddenly notices GP’s hurt, sour scent, curling in on itself like an injured animal. Guilt churns in his stomach. A proper omega wouldn’t do that, would they, Max? Good one. “We just want to look after you. Make sure you’re okay. There’s no malice or anything involved, mate. Promise.”

The guilt churning in his stomach turns to boiling anger again, mood swinging like a pendulum. “Treat me like any other driver, alright? It can’t be that hard to be so attentive and comforting like I’m a fucking pup or something. I don’t need that. I’ve never needed shit like that, okay? And you know what— Just to make it easier for you two, I won’t take any of your scented clothes or let you in my nests again. Is that simple enough for you? Would that help you two treat me like I’m an alpha again?”

Christian’s face falls. GP’s scent plummets into a wounded mix of quiet suffering and acceptance. He swallows thickly, letting Max’s anger cool down a little without trying to console or help it in any way. “If… If that’s what you would like, we can do that.”

“Good to know we’re all on the same fucking page again, eh?” Max slams his hands down on the desk, causing both to jump, before storming out the door.

He doesn’t feel satisfied. Content. Triumphant.

Just alone.

His hotel room is packed up, ready to be left tomorrow morning, but as Max settles into bed, he can’t help but notice the lack of… anything. No Christian, no GP, not even their scents. He glances at the bathroom door, the cold white light shining back at him through the crack, reminding him that he’s yet to take their things out of the dryer. They’d be in there all day. Scentless.

He honestly doesn’t want to give them back anymore.

And maybe the coldness in his, not nest, but bed is deserved. Because they both shouldn’t be in his space, not after their argument, but Max can’t help but want them there. Or maybe Kimi, with his soft brown curls and bright eyes as he buries his face into Max’s neck. Not smelling his scent because it’s an omega’s scent, but because it reminds Kimi that he’s pack.

The sheets are cold and crisp though. Max rolls onto his other side, facing the drawn-tight curtains and wills himself to go to sleep with a stubbornness that’s so familiar it aches. It’s what got him here in the first place.

His phone rings. The sound blares through the silent hotel room, lighting up the bedside table. Max considers ignoring it and rolling back over, but lazily reaches a hand out to grab it anyway, checking the caller with bleary eyes.

Dad.

A lump grows in his throat. They haven’t talked for a while now, which begs the question of why he was calling in the first place. Max’s heart seizes in his chest. Could he have found out Max was an omega? Is that why he’s calling after all this time of silence— to tell Max that he can’t race, that it isn’t safe, that he’s too weak and fragile to handle Formula 1?

He takes a deep breath in. The phone stops ringing, the screen switching back to his lock screen of Jimmy and Sassy curled up together in his bed. They can’t warm him, not this time. He wishes.

Max calls back after a moment of silence. It’s impossible that his father knows; no one could have told him and the media don’t know the truth about his designation yet.

“Hello. It’s late here, I was trying to sleep.” An excuse, maybe. If it’s not important, he can say he’ll deal with it tomorrow and go back to wallowing in his cold, lonely, scentless misery. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? Huh? Is that what you tell me, Max? What’s up! I can’t fucking believe it.”

Max tries not to let it sting. It stings anyway, because Jos always knows exactly what to say to make it hurt.

“You’ve fucked up everything, going and punching Charles Leclerc in the fucking face. Ridiculous. I thought I raised you to have a little bit of a brain in your head, didn’t I?”

Embarrassment flares in his gut. The last thing he wants to do is look stupid in front of his father— the man who raised him, who taught him how to be behind the wheel. “No— no, I just…”

“Make sure you never do that again, yeah? The last thing I need is you missing out on a championship because you can’t keep your mouth shut.”

The phone hangs up with a beep, leaving him sitting cold and alone in his hotel room. God. He really does fuck things up.

Charles has been scouring the crowds for Max ever since he got to the paddock that morning— at seven, might he add— but a familiar blonde tuft of hair is nowhere to be found. Absolutely nowhere. He’s not scheduled for media at the moment, so he’s likely hanging around his garage. Which means Charles can’t exactly talk to him right now.

“You alright, mate?”

Lewis shocks him out of his fevered searching. A hand weighs down his shoulder, the comforting scent of his pack alpha filling his nose and telling him gently to settle. Charles turns to look at him. “Yeah. Have you seen Max?”

Lewis laughs in that way he does that eases a smile onto Charles’s face no matter what. But this time, he’s too worried to give into it. “Why, getting punched in the face once wasn’t enough?”

“Ah, no. I wanted to apologise for what I said.”

“What you said that caused you to get punched in the face?”

“… Yeah.” The middle of the bustling paddock with reporters and photographers everywhere probably isn’t the best place to talk about this, Charles realises. He rubs the back of his neck like a comfort.

Lewis shrugs. “Good luck, I guess.” He quickly scents Charles’s neck, swiping his wrist across the gland and earning a rumble in return. Then he’s off, presumably towards the pack room, leaving Charles with the job of figuring out how to find Max again.

And give him the lion stuffie drenched in his scent.

It’s an apology, okay? He’s not very good at those. He hopes, like crossing his fingers when he was a child, that Max likes it. Charles would do anything to get a picture from Max of him curled up in a nest with the little lion nearby.

It’s in his bag, waiting, hoping just as much as Charles that it won’t get rejected.

“Have you seen Max?” He asks quickly to the nth Red Bull staff that passes him, and as it had been the last few times, the answer is a confused ‘no’.

Shoulders dropping in defeat, he decides to move on. Charles heads to the stage area, readying himself to greet the fans as he shakes hands with the McLaren drivers backstage. Lando grins widely while Oscar leans against the wall, a coffee cup in his hand.

“Didn’t know you were the type to get into bar fights,” Lando jokes as Charles groans inwardly. Lando’s scent is sprinkled with playfulness, while Oscar’s echoes it. 

“I’m not. Just had a bit of a disagreement with Max,” Charles protests, but even he can feel the warmth rushing to his cheeks. Lando laughs and George, just stepping off the stage with an awkward-smelling Kimi in tow. Kimi’s scent has been mixed with Max’s since the last weekend, but Charles never realised how interlocked it was with the milky pup smell.

“Good luck. I think you’re on with Red Bull, mate,” George says, tapping Charles on the shoulder before walking off. Charles catches up to Lewis, walking up onto the stage, waving to the mass of a crowd gathered below. Sure enough, not too far behind them, Max steps on stage and Yuki shortly after.

Charles doesn’t bother reading any of the signs like he usually does; his focus is fixed on Max, who quietly shuffles as far away from the others on stage without making it obvious. The interviewer doesn’t seem to notice.

Lewis elbows him. Charles locks his eyes on the microphone presented in front of him, taking it after a moment of hesitation. Lewis is brushed up close to him, red Ferrari-branded jackets barely touching at the shoulders, as he whispers into his ear; “Forget about Max, mate. You’re acting up.”

Charles swallows, breathing in a lungful of smoke and redwood before nodding in agreement. He waves to the crowd. Smiles big. He knows how to be on a stage and interact with an audience.

The interview starts off normal. Some talking about the race last weekend, some jokes here and there, but Charles notices an itch in the back of his mind— Max is barely speaking, even when Yuki does his absolute best to drag him into the conversation. Charles just stares. Lewis attempts to keep the interviewer happy all by himself, and it’s a commendable effort, really.

But Lewis can only do so much.

“But it is fascinating that Red Bull and Ferrari were put on stage together, don’t you think? Because didn’t you and Max have a little fight after last race, Charles?” The lady’s voice is bright, cheery, and Charles wants to bury himself in a pack nest. Made by Max, if ever possible.

“Uh… I think we were both just a bit drunk. We talked about it over the phone and smoothed it over— we’re all good now,” Charles laughs awkwardly while beaming, scraping together his usual personality while ignoring Max’s glare as best as he can. But it burns into him, more than the now-warning of Lewis’s scent burns in his nose.

The crowd seems to like the answer, at least, laughter and cheers rising at the added drama to the stage. Lewis laughs into his own microphone. Curtly. Sharply. Not quite him.

“Max, is that true?”

“Yeah. Everything’s all good now.”

Charles fails to meet Max’s eyes the entire interview. All the while, his instincts claw away at him, demanding he provide and comfort and make this right.

Charles misses Max, who slips right off the stage like a quiet defeat, but grabs his bag with the lion stuffie and chases him down anyway. He needs to say sorry. He needs to say something honest while no one else is watching.

“Max! Max, wait up, I want to talk to you,” Charles is on the brink of begging as he jogs between motorhomes, trying to catch up. He would beg. Wouldn’t even hesitate, if that is what he had to do.

But blessedly, Max pauses to turn around. Glaring like he wants to shove Charles into the wall, but he turns regardless. “Will you just fucking leave me alone? I don’t want to talk to you.”

Charles doesn’t let it sting, slipping the bag off his shoulders. Suddenly, guilt and anxiety churns in his gut, making him regret ever thinking of this in the first place. “I, uh. Yeah, I know. I wanted to apologise. I’m really sorry for making your race boring. I didn’t know that you… well, I mean I do know you’re competitive, but I didn’t… Look. If you want me to shunt you into the wall every time I get the chance, I will.”

Max’s lips twitch. Charles beams like he’s been told he’s signing for Ferrari again, and the nerves wash out of him instantly. “I… also want to give you this. To say sorry.”

He pulls the little lion out, drenched in his scent, and holds it out for Max. Max stares at it like it’s haunted. “It’s… for me?”

“It’s got my scent in it. You could use it for your nests, if you want, or… your cats can have it. It can be for cats, too.”

Max nods, never taking his eyes off the lion. Slowly, he reaches out, gently taking it from Charles. “Yeah. Jimmy and Sassy will love it.”

Charles tries not to be disappointed, but his instincts cheer anyway. Max accepted his gift. Accepted his scent-drenched gift as an apology. A rumble echoes in Charles’s chest soon enough, elated with his achievement. He has to tell Lewis.

“… you can try to shunt me into the wall,” Max says after a beat of silence. “If you get the chance, that is.”

Charles rolls his eyes. “Just you wait.”

If Max puts the lion stuffie into the centre of his hotel room nest while worrying about how long Charles’s sea salt scent will last… no he doesn’t.