Chapter Text
1. Isack
It was a pleasant day, or at least as pleasant as a Wednesday could manage. Technically they were a day early, technically they didn’t have real responsibilities yet—and technically everyone could’ve taken a breather.
But of course, someone somewhere decided they needed TikTok content.
Max honestly couldn’t remember when PR had gotten this annoying. He knew it had always been part of the job, he wasn’t delusional, but the TikTok era had sent everything into the stratosphere. Suddenly every team had “fun challenges” and “viral audio opportunities,” to try, whatever that meant.
Lip-syncs, dances, reacting dramatically to random sounds… Max could feel a headache just thinking about it.
There was a reason he never went into acting. Well—okay—the ads he did years back weren’t terrible, but that was different.
Luckily he’d managed to talk his way out after only two videos, whining so thoroughly that even Gemma had given up on him. Yuki, bless him, had sacrificed himself instead. Max wasn’t sure Yuki actually enjoyed doing the videos either, but he was infinitely more cooperative. And flexible. And cute about it in a way Max could never be.
So with his obligations done, Max escaped into the paddock, relishing the cool, quick breeze brushing over his skin. Emilia Romagna was warm this time of year—pleasant, sunny, a perfect excuse to be anywhere except indoors. Perfect walking weather.
So that’s what he did. He wandered. No schedule, no pressure, no PR people chasing him with microphones. Just garages buzzing with activity and the occasional mechanic waving hello. Max nodded back at the familiar ones, ignored the overly starstruck looks—for their dignity and his—and kept going.
He rounded the corner past the Haas motorhome, then the Williams hospitality, heading toward a quieter bit of trackside walkway near the fencing. It was a pretty open area, guarded with railings. A popular entrance that remained empty right now due to no events in the paddock. It was peaceful there for now, just the hum of track preparations and a few engineers chatting.
Then he heard a noise. Chaotic noise. The kind that only came from either (1) someone dropping a crucial car part or (2) one of the teams doing something very stupid.
He slowed, squinting ahead.
Liam Lawson and Isack Hadjar—Racing Bulls’ resident chaos gremlins—were standing by a waist-high metal railing while a cluster of media staff held phones and microphones like they were observing some strange zoo exhibit. The boys appeared to be participating in some kind of ridiculous challenge involving rapid-fire trivia and a buzzer shaped like a cartoon cow. Every time someone got an answer wrong, a little alarm moaned sadly, like it too was embarrassed.
He leaned against a nearby wall, folding his arms to watch. Not for long—just a minute or two to enjoy someone else’s PR suffering.
He drifted closer but stayed out of the shot, leaning slightly against a pillar and watching with mild amusement.
They were answering questions. Some kind of trivia game, by the sound of it. The media person—one of the younger ones he didn’t really know—kept shouting out things like “FAST! FIRST ANSWER WINS!” while the boys flailed around dramatically.
Liam was grinning, competitive spark in his eyes, while Isack was halfway between confused and determined—his natural state, really. They were adorable. Infinitely more suited for this circus than he’d ever been.
Max crossed his arms, smiling despite himself. They were just… funny. His The kids looked like they were having fun. He was about to turn away, he didn’t want to look like some stalker after all, when Isack lost a round.
“No, no, incorrect!” the social media manager shouted gleefully as Isack slapped the buzzer with a look of utter betrayal.
“Oh, come on!” Isack cried dramatically. “That was almost the right answer!”
Liam cackled. “Almost doesn’t count, mate.”
The media manager clapped their hands. “Okay! Punishment time! Over the railing!”
Max blinked. What? Over the what?
Before he could process, Isack marched dramatically to the railing,swung a leg over, and jumped.
Max’s heart launched into his throat.
“ISACK!” he shouted, the panic cracking violently through his voice. Before rational thought could form, his legs were already moving, sprinting toward the drop like he expected to find the kid splattered on the concrete.
But when he reached the railing and looked down—
Oh.
…Oh.
There was an inflatable. A massive, ridiculous, neon-blue crash cushion with a cartoon bull smiling up at him. Isack landed with a muffled fwump, limbs splayed out starfish-style, alive and apparently unbroken.
Isack was lying in it on his back, on the comically large bull inflatable, wheezing with laughter.
Max exhaled so sharply his vision went fuzzy for a second.
“Oh my god,” he muttered, half angry, half relieved. “What the hell.”
Isack blinked up at him from the inflatable. “Hi Max.”
Max exhaled through his nose. Hard. “Stay there. Don’t move.”
He jogged—not ran, because dignity was important—down the little access path, reaching the inflatable within seconds.
“You alright?” he asked, voice softer now, hands checking Isack’s arms before the younger driver could wiggle away.
“I’m fine, Max! It’s soft! Look!” Isack bounced once for demonstration. “I’m fine, I’m fine! It was the penalty for losing the quiz.”
Max did not appreciate the bounce. Nor did he appreciate this penalty. These children were being flung off platforms because they got a question wrong?
“That’s not— you can’t just— what if you slipped, or missed, or—” He ran a hand through his hair, forehead creasing. “God, you scared me.”
No. Absolutely not.
“Come on,” he murmured, ushering Isack up with a hand on his back. “We’re going to talk to your PR people.”
They walked up together—Max guiding him by the shoulder the entire way—until they reached the group of staff who were still recording. Liam’s grin faltered as he looked at Max. Perhaps Max was making a very angered expression, it would be fair considering he just had to watch a kid fling himself off a railing as a fucking penalty for getting a question wrong!
Max fixed the social media manager with a stare so stern it could’ve melted carbon fiber. He seemed new, he knows that the usual Racing Bulls PR manager wouldn't pull shit like this, she knew better.
“Okay,” he began, voice dangerously calm, “I am saying this nicely—well, as nicely as I can right now. Please do not make the kids—” he gestured broadly at Liam and Isack, both looking like caught teenagers “—jump off railings onto inflatables as punishment for losing a quiz.”
The manager blinked. “But it’s safe! It’s a professional crash pad.”
“That’s not the point,” Max snapped, then inhaled slowly, dialing it back. “They’re young, they think they’re invincible, they’ll jump off anything you tell them to. Use your brains. If anything went wrong—if one of them landed wrong—no amount of TikTok views would be worth it.”
The media manager nodded vigorously, eyes wide, clearly aware they were being told off by Mad Max. “Yes. Of course. Sorry, Max.”
“Good. Thank you.” Max gave one more pointed look at Liam and Isack. “And you two—no more jumping off things today. Or ever. Preferably ever.”
Isack and Liam exchanged a guilty glance, then nodded like chastised school children.
Max softened, sighing again. “Come on. Let’s get water. And maybe sit down. My heart rate is at like… qualifying levels.”
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
They headed toward the Red Bull hospitality, the two Racing Bulls trailing behind him like baby ducklings—pathetically adorable ones, which made it almost impossible for him to stay annoyed. Honestly, what had they been thinking? Jumping off a railing? What if one of them had landed crooked and clipped their head on the way down? What if the inflatable hadn’t been inflated enough?
They already put their lives on the line every weekend as F1 drivers; did they really need to supplement that with extracurricular stupidity? And sure, skydiving or cliff diving came with certified professionals and safety briefings. But last he checked, a neon blue inflatable bull did not come with on-site medical staff.
The imaginary headlines alone would’ve aged him ten years. And he usually doesn’t even care for the media.
“...Max, are you mad at us?” Isack’s voice came out small, tentative—too small for someone who’d just launched himself off a platform like a cartoon character. Max paused mid-stride, the question stopping him cold.
And, well… that was it. Whatever irritation he’d been nursing simply evaporated.
Max turned around with a soft smile. “Of course not.” Max shook his head. “What you guys did was reckless but honestly…I’ve done worse at your age.”
Two pairs of wide, hopeful calf-eyes blinked up at him like they were waiting for storytime. If Max were any weaker as a man, he’d spill every embarrassing detail of his teenage years on the spot.
“Come on,” he said instead, already veering toward a quieter seating area. “I’m bored. Keep me company.”
And if he wanted to keep them in his little bubble so they could escape the media for a bit, no one has to know but him.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
Naturally, the universe—or really, the people around him with smartphones and zero discretion—refused to let anything stay private.
That evening, a clip appeared on TikTok.
It was grainy, filmed from the side of the inflatable, the audio half-eaten by wind. But the essentials were clear enough: Max sprinting to the railing like the world was ending, yelling Isack’s name with raw panic. His eyes huge, his expression terrified, scanning frantically to make sure the kid hadn’t died on impact.
Then Isack’s tiny, squeaky “Hi Max,” and the way Max visibly deflated—relief crashing through him even as disbelief tugged his brows together.
The shot switched angles, showing him barreling down the stairs, fussing over Isack with frantic hands and rapid-fire questions.
Max stared at the comments under the video now glowing on his screen.
“MAMA MAX IS REAL, YOU GUYS, HE ADOPTED THEM.”
“The way he SPRINTED I’m crying.”
“Isack’s little ‘hi Max’ from the inflatable…NO ONE TALK TO ME.”
“Max: not a mother. Also Max: acts like a mother.”
“Liam in the background looking like he’s grounded 😭😭😭”
“Honestly tho that was rlly dangerous, good thing Max stopped it!”
Max groaned loudly. Fantastic. Gemma was absolutely never letting him wiggle out of PR duties again.
Suddenly a notification caught his eye.
Inchident: Seems like you’ve had quite the day
Max frowned.
You: Just make fun of me
Inchident: How come you’re always so negative when it comes to me?
Inchident: Yk I wouldn’t
You: Right…
You: I saw you repost a Mama Max post on your priv
You: Don’t play dumb
Inchident: Ah but that isn’t making fun of you!
Inchident: Just appreciating your care :)
You: …
Inchident: Oh c’mon Maxx
Inchident: I’m just showing that I love you very much and I ‘m keeping up to date with your life!!
You: Goodnight Charlie
2. Gabi
The initial storm of “Mama Max” fandom had blown over eventually. Especially after Spain, with the press swinging like a pendulum between admiration and mild annoyance, he’d thought he’d finally dodged any further accusations of… maternal instincts.
And yet, here he was again in August, questioning all of life’s choices.
Max had been sleeping. Deep, peaceful sleep—the kind he hadn’t managed since summer break. That is, until the shrill ring of his phone shredded the silence like a misfired starter pistol.
He groaned, rolling onto his side, only to bonk his head against the headboard. Great. Pain and panic at once. Bleary-eyed, he groped for the phone, squinting to see who had the audacity to disturb him at this hour.
Caller ID: Bubbles.
Gabi? At this hour? Max sat up fully, heart rate climbing. There were few reasons anyone would call him in the dead of night, and all of them were either urgent or very, very stupid.
“Gabi?” His voice cracked halfway through—scratchy from sleep and worry both.
Silence.
Max frowned. Maybe a misdial? Then came the sniffles.
“Gabi?” he asked again, more fully awake now, concern sharpening. “Are you okay?”
“I—” Gabi’s voice was small, croaky, too worn-out, like it had been overused all day. “I’m sorry for bothering you—I—”
“Shh. None of that.” Max shoved the phone between his shoulder and ear, grabbing the first sweater and pants he could find. Something was off. Gabi was usually bright, joking, practically radiating chaos like a lightbulb. If he sounded like this…something had gone wrong.
“I…I just don’t know where I am and—” Gabi hiccupped. “No one is near me. And I don’t know how to get back.”
Max blinked. Lost? With a functioning phone? Unheard-of.
“Wait…how do you get lost?” Max asked, eyebrows knitting together. “Are you out?”
“Yeah,” Gabi admitted. “We were celebrating my best finish, and it got loud—too loud. I wanted some fresh air, then food…so I walked, and then I got a shawarma, and now I’m lost and I have a shawarma and I—” He let out a choked sob.
Max’s lips twitched against his will. How dare he smile while his kid was crying like this? And yet…Gabi, lost with a shawarma, was slightly ridiculous.
“It’s okay, Gabi. I’m coming to get you,” Max said, throwing on pants while wrestling his sweater over his head, still on the phone. “Can you share your location with me?”
“I…how do I do that?” Gabi’s voice rose at the end, small and fragile, and somehow heartbreakingly adorable. Max’s chest tightened. The kid was absolutely wasted.
“You know in WhatsApp, the paperclip icon? The one in the chat?” Max guided him, slow and steady. A few minutes of back-and-forth and multiple accidental photo sends later, Gabi finally shared his location.
Max typed it into Google Maps and blinked. Across the city? How the hell had he gotten that far?
“Gabi, stay on the phone with me, alright?” Max said softly. The trip could be long, the streets dark, and Gabi…possibly intoxicated. He refused to think about what could go wrong.
Silence.
Max frowned. Had he hung up already?
“Bubbles?”
“Yeah?” The voice came instantly, and relief made his shoulders drop.
“Can you stay on call with me?” he repeated, gentler this time, as he stepped onto the hotel stairs.
“Okay…”
Max smiled, pulling the phone slightly from his ear. A quick text to GP about his “night out” later, and he was sliding into the car, the city lights outside promising a rescue mission that somehow felt equal parts ridiculous and necessary.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
When Max finally reached Gabi’s live location, he saw Gabi slumped down on the step to an apartment. Head lulled down as he held onto a half eaten shawarma.
“Gabi!” Max called out, jogging towards him. His eyes scanning him for any injuries or any illness. “Oh thank god you’re okay.”
Gabi looked up at him, his eyes still watery. “Max?”
“Yeah, yes. It’s me, zoet.” Max smiled, he crouched down to Gabi’s level. “Let’s get you back, alright?”
Gabi nodded.
“I just need to call the Sauber people, alright?” Max said, taking his phone out. Truth be told he’s not sure who to contact but…if he contacts enough people it should be fine right?
“Nico.” Gabi murmured.
“Huh?” Max blinked.
“Call Nico. He was with me. If he knows it’ll be fine.” Gabi explained. Max stared at him for a moment, was he a mind reader or something?
Max pressed Nico’s contact, watched as the number ringed. He didn’t pick up, Max sighed—frowning. Seriously, he’s going to need to talk to Nico about supervising Gabi better.
He settled on a text. “Alright Gabi, what hotel are you staying at?”
“I…” Gabi tilted his head to the side. “I don’t know.”
Max sighed, he had expected this. Most drunk people don’t have the best memory after all.
“...How about staying with me for tonight?” Max asked. That should be fine right? He’s sure that Gabi won’t have something crazy right after the Grand Prix. Especially since he was partying…well he hopes Gabi didn’t have anything planned.
“That sounds good.” Gabi looked up at him with a small tentative smile that made Max want to wrap him up in a blanket and never let go.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
Max eased the car into traffic, the city lights blurring past like streaks of neon in the night. He glanced at Gabi, who was slumped in the passenger seat, shawarma in hand like a lifeline.
“You really went that far for shawarma?” Max asked, trying not to laugh.
Gabi shrugged, cheeks flushed, hair messy. “It was calling me. I…don’t know. I was hungry.”
Max shook his head, a grin tugging at the corner of his lips despite the tension that hadn’t fully left his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I know,” Gabi admitted, his voice muffled as he buried his face in the shawarma wrapper. “But at least I’m honest about it.”
Max exhaled, leaning back against the seat. “Honest, yeah. And also completely lost and panicking a sleep-deprived, mildly hysterical me in the middle of the night. Thanks for that.”
Gabi’s laugh was small but genuine. “Sorry.”
“Don’t sorry me,” Max said softly, but the edge had gone. He reached over and ruffled Gabi’s hair, which earned a delighted groan. “I’m just… glad you’re okay.”
There was a pause, just the hum of the engine and city sounds. Gabi, in his own sleep-hazed way, looked up at Max with a lopsided grin.
“You’re…like, a parent or something,” Gabi said.
Max blinked. “Parent? Me? I’m not your parent.”
“Close enough,” Gabi said with a shrug. “Mama Max.”
Max groaned, one hand gripping the steering wheel a little tighter, the other suppressing the urge to roll his eyes. “You’re going to make me cry one day, you know that?”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Gabi replied, stuffing another bite of shawarma into his mouth.
By the time Max reached the hotel, the tension had melted into something warmer, softer. He helped Gabi out of the car, steadying him so he didn’t stumble in the dark.
“You’re never wandering off at night again,” Max warned, his tone stern but affectionate.
“Promise,” Gabi said, voice muffled against his sleeve as he leaned briefly on Max for balance.
Max just shook his head, smiling to himself as he guided him inside. “And no more solo shawarma adventures in the middle of the city,” he added.
Gabi laughed, a tiny, happy sound. “Deal.”
Once they were safely back in the hotel room, Gabi collapsed onto the bed with a tired huff, shawarma still clutched to his chest like it might disappear if he let go. Max lingered nearby, sitting on the edge of the mattress, watching him with the kind of quiet attention he usually reserved for pit lane chaos—not for people.
After a moment, Max spoke, voice low and careful. “Hey… you know you don’t have to be tough all the time, right? You don’t have to wander off or figure everything out on your own.”
Gabi turned his head, eyes heavy but attentive.
“You’re doing really well,” Max continued, softer now. “You’re smart. You’re capable. And yeah, you mess up sometimes—but everyone does. If you’re ever unsure, or scared, or just… lost—” He paused, then met Gabi’s gaze. “You can call me. Anytime. I don’t care what hour it is.”
Something in Gabi’s expression shifted. The usual bravado faded, replaced by something small and achingly sincere. “You really mean that?”
Max nodded without hesitation. “Always.”
Gabi swallowed, hugging the shawarma a little closer. “Okay,” he murmured. “Thank you, Max.”
Max stood, reaching out to gently tug the blanket up over Gabi’s shoulders in a half-automatic gesture he didn’t quite register doing. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Finish your food. I'll get you some water so you can sober up. You’re free to use the shower and take any of my clothes. Let’s get you to bed and then we’ll call this a successful rescue mission.”
Gabi smiled, slow and sleepy, nodding slowly.
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
“Never have I ever gotten lost during the season.”
Gabi hesitated for half a second before lifting his I have board, offering the camera a sheepish, almost apologetic smile.
“Gabi?!” one of the media staff laughed. “I definitely did not expect that from you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed but good-natured. “Yeah… that was not one of my smartest moments,” he admitted. “We were celebrating, and it got loud, so I went out. Then I got hungry, so I walked to get food. Turns out I walked really far. And then I was lost.”
The crew chuckled.
“So how did you get back?” someone asked.
“Oh—I called Max.” Gabi’s expression softened immediately, smile turning fond in a way that made the staff exchange looks. “It was, like, three in the morning. I was kind of—losing it. And he wasn’t mad at all. Even though I woke him up. He just told me to stay where I was and came to get me.”
He laughed quietly. “I was so drunk I couldn’t even remember the name of my hotel, so he just took me back with him.”
“Aww,” one of the staff cooed. “That’s actually really sweet.”
Gabi nodded, grin widening. “Yeah. He even gave me hangover medicine after. Made sure I drank water. Very… responsible.”
｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ
“Gabi said ‘I called Max’ like that was the most obvious solution 😭”
“The fact that Max didn’t even hesitate?? Straight into the car??? Sir???”
“Someone make a spreadsheet of all the children Max has adopted this season.”
“Max Verstappen giving hangover meds wasn’t on my bingo card.”
“You can tell Max cares so much and tries to pretend he doesn’t.”
This was getting out of hand. At least before when he got into rumours or got nicknames he didn’t like, he just blocked them. But these people were sharing videos of the rookies! How could he block that?
Yet before he could contemplate more, a notification popped up.
Inchident: If I was stranded at 3AM, would you get me?
You: Depends
Inchident: Depends on what?
You: My mood
Inchident: Maxx :((
You: Alright alright I’d get you
You: Why are you even asking?
You: You’re not planning on getting stranded at 3AM are you?
You: …
You: Charlie?
You: Charles?
Inchident: No comment
You: Charles!!