Chapter Text
Lewis knew exactly what he was looking for as he scrolled through the several high-end restaurants of Monaco that also offered delivery services. Today, he was not looking for Michelin Stars, though. No, he was looking for something just as exquisite but a bit more underground, if such a thing even existed in Monaco.
It had been a spontaneous thought. Suddenly, his New Year's Horoscope had flashed in front of his eyes, and he had found himself remembering.
"…the student can often teach the master a thing or two about raw passion. Embrace the unconventional."
The "unconventional" part now felt like a cosmic understatement. This situation was beyond unconventional, but still, as Lewis replayed the words in his head, they seemed like the solution to all of his problems. A step-by-step plan, if one might. He felt an unexpected tug of responsibility. However misguided the FIA was in their decision-making, he had agreed to this. Maybe not to Nico, but to Max nonetheless. And right in this moment, his first instinct, forged from years of being the team leader, was to provide stability. His thoughts wandered back to Max, the younger one, who was likely alone and spiralling after that news. Lewis would be too if he were in the other's shoes. Right then and there, the thought that changed Lewis's whole evening had set in.
The boy probably hadn’t eaten.
Of course, Max wouldn’t have eaten yet. He wasn’t great at taking care of himself anyway (according to what Lewis had heard and seen, at least), and after that shock, he would probably forget to eat at all tonight. Lewis shook his head; he couldn’t let that happen. Nico might not be as concerned for Max’s well-being, but Lewis certainly was. And on top of that, he would make sure that Max knew whose side he should be on when things escalated between Nico and Lewis. He smiled to himself, a small private smile. This probably was the best idea he had had all week. Max would be fed, and Lewis would already have an advantage over Nico in this.
And that was how he found himself scrolling through Deliveroo now. Finally, he found what he was searching for.
La Table d’Elise, it read in curved letters.
It was a nice restaurant, Lewis knew that from countless visits over the years. Not too popular, and definitely not as expensive as the top spots in the city, but he honestly preferred that sometimes. Sure, the lavish food was nice from time to time, but Max probably would rather have some simple pasta right now than a dish that took two hours to prepare.
La Table d’Elise, in its core, was built on Mediterranean Cuisine; however, over the years, they had also started offering non-traditional Mediterranean Dishes, which Lewis now found himself looking through. His reading glasses were perched on his nose as he stared at his phone in deep concentration. Nothing with fish, definitely. He didn’t take Max for a big fish lover. Probably more on the contrary.
For the main dish, he eventually settled on Tagliatelle with mushrooms. That seemed innocent enough. For a short moment, Lewis considered the chicken with potatoes, but Max ate that nearly every day during the season if his diet was anything like Lewis’s used to be during his earlier years in the sport.
Scrolling down through the dessert options, Lewis took a while contemplating whether the Mousse au Chocolat or the Churros were the right choice. Not being able to decide, he simply selected both. It was not like he couldn’t afford to spoil Max a bit. At last, Lewis went on a short search for alcohol free drinks, quickly settling on a lemonade. He didn’t even know whether Max had a drinking habit (though he had heard quite some party stories), but he definitely wouldn’t support it by sending him alcohol after a day like this.
A moment later, he typed Max’s name and address into the fields for delivery details before finally clicking “Pay”. The total was modest, if not a bit cheap, for Lewis’ standards. But Max probably did not live as lavishly as he did, and would therefore not care for extravagant details like caviar for seasoning. Lewis did care about things like that, most of the time, at least. However, tonight was not about him; he had had plenty of time to be selfish, but from now on, he would have to look out for Max as well. And looking out for the other meant not going above and beyond right away. For tonight at least, it did. Lewis was sure that he would find plenty of opportunities to spoil the younger in the future.
Just as the order confirmation showed up in Lewis’s long list of notifications (he was a popular man after all), Nico Rosberg sat down on his couch and picked up his phone. Time to finally take a look at the day’s news after he had been busy the whole morning and afternoon. Turns out, getting back into Formula 1 at 40 –39, thank you very much– was not as easy as one might have thought and did actually require quite a lot of work to be done beforehand. Nico had never really been out of shape, but he also hadn’t exactly been training to drive a Formula 1 car for the past few years. Why would he? It wasn’t like he had needed it, after all. Sure, he had always been fit; that had never changed. But not that kind of fit that it took to win a World Championship.
That, however, was exactly what Nico wanted if he was being completely honest with himself. Another world championship, just to prove to Lewis as much as to himself that he was still more than capable of beating the other. He was going to get there, one way or another, no matter how much training and hours in the gym and in the car alike it would take. He would get out there and beat Lewis fair and square, yet another time. As he absentmindedly typed in his passcode, a notification from his email app caught his eye. The pairings were out, how exciting. How exciting, indeed.
Nico leaned back, tipping his head and staring at the ceiling. He had waited for this. He had waited for a full two months, and there had not been a day when he hadn’t thought about it. But now that the email was there, right in front of him and scarily real, he didn’t feel anything of that giddy excitement anymore. It would be Max anyway, wouldn’t it be? He couldn’t imagine that anyone else had chosen the younger. Nico was still staring at the ceiling as he thought about the situation. Had it been the right decision? Two months ago, it had seemed like a smart move to make, a way to assert power, to make it clear that he was back to win, not to get outshone by some rookies. But now he would actually have to deal with Max, and the thought of that was.. Well, daunting, if Nico was being frank.
Sure, when Max had been eighteen, he had been an absolute nightmare. A bratty teenager at best, but there had also always been mumbled stories, reasons for said behaviour that nobody dared to suggest out loud in the paddock. Things about Max’s relationship to his father that Nico would have preferred not to know, as they disturbed his picture of the rebellious teen in front of him.
And then there was the other problem: Max was twenty-seven now. He was no longer the teenager that Nico had known. The small bit of shyness that had still lingered back then, the way he had reluctantly respected them and their opinions, was gone now. Locked in behind the walls that Max had built around himself, and that Nico had no idea how to tear down.
He sighed. Maybe he had been lucky and gotten stuck with Antonelli instead. With a resigned expression, Nico finally opened the email.
He scrolled right past the generic, formal subtext, only actually looking for the list that would reveal the pairings. All the mentors had gotten a list instead of just their personal pairings. Nico did not truly see the sense in only revealing their personal information to each of the mentees when the pairings would soon go public anyway. He scanned it with an unusual intensity that he usually reserved for staring his rivals down in the paddock, looking for his name. Finally, he found it in the middle of the list.
“Rosberg, Nico (Mercedes-AMG PETRONAS F1 Team)”
And next to it… Nico sighed. Of course. “Max Verstappen (Oracle RedBull Racing)” Why had he even bothered hoping for someone better? Nico shook his head, trying to reason with himself. He had chosen Max after all; he had wanted this. Or at least that was what he had told himself at that time.
Then, his eyes finally fell to the line above his name, realising that there was indeed a second name standing right next to Max’s, besides his. His eyes widened as he deciphered what it said there. No, this was really getting better by the minute. Nico laughed to himself, the sound almost cynical. He stared at the name in utter disbelief, almost the same expression that the person the name belonged to had had on their face when they had read Nico’s name next to theirs.
“Lewis Hamilton (Scuderia Ferrari HP Formula 1 Team)”
He took a deep breath. This was okay, it was all fine. Now, at least, he wouldn’t have to deal with Max on his own. That was a positive. Lewis had always been more compassionate and emotionally available than Nico. He had also always had a soft spot for Max, even though he would never admit to that in public. Nico knew it for a fact. In Max’s first two years on the grid, the last two years of Nico and Lewis racing side by side, the last two years of their friendship and everything that went beyond that term, Lewis had more often than not put in a good word for Max, or even gone as far as standing up for the younger when people had criticised his driving behind his back once again.
In the early stages of 2016, when Nico and Lewis had still been hopeless romantics for one another, Max had been the topic of late-night conversations more than once. Lewis had always insisted on Nico not being so hard on Max; he had probably been right, too. However, that did not change how Nico had treated Max during that year.
He sighed. This was good. Lewis could do the actual caretaking part because Nico certainly wouldn’t fight with either of them when it came to what clothes Max should wear. No, Nico imagined himself more in the role of the practical caretaker. If he enforced the rules, then Lewis could be soft, and eventually, Max would warm up to that dynamic, even if he might end up preferring Lewis. Nico couldn't care less about that. He also preferred Lewis out of the two of them (in a way that had nothing to do with mentorship).
And then there was, of course, another positive to all of this. Nico would finally get Lewis back, in a way, at least.
This time, Lewis could not flee from him because, essentially, they would both have to be there to take care of the child. And he was certain that Lewis would rather be forced to spend time with him than to let go of Max entirely; otherwise, he wouldn’t have chosen the younger.
Nico smiled to himself. A perfect trap, really. A parent trap, if one might.
He closed the email and opened WhatsApp instead. Finding his chat with Lewis was easy. It wasn’t like they hadn’t texted since 2016 after all, no matter what kind of stories the media (or Lewis himself) liked to spin. They were still neighbours, neighbours who occasionally accepted packages for one another. Their texting never went anywhere beyond that, though.
Today, however, Nico didn’t have a package to ask about. Instead, he sent a simple question. “Want to talk about it?”
As he hit send, a warmth that he hadn’t felt in a long time spread right from his heart through his entire chest. This was his chance, and he would use it; Lewis and he would get their happy ending, eventually.
What Nico did not know at this point was that he would never get an answer to his question because his neighbour from above was not as keen on receiving a happy end as Nico himself was.
Half an hour later, when there was still no response nor a read receipt, Nico tried again. “We should talk. Coordinate our approach. Don’t want to send the kid mixed signals, do we?”
He waited. One minute. Five. Ten. The message was delivered and read, but there came no reply. Nothing. Nico’s smile tightened. So that’s how it was. Playing hard to get, Mr Hamilton. Nico could deal with that, though; he had won the game once already, after all.
Across the city, a doorbell rang. Two times, with a quiet insistence. Max forced himself up from the comfy spot in his bed that he had retreated to since reading the email. He opened the door, where a cheery delivery driver pressed a paper bag into his hands, already turning around and leaving before Max could even mutter a greeting.
Max stared at the insulated bag from the impossibly chic-looking but familiar restaurant that he was now holding, utterly confused. Slowly, he opened it. The scent that he was met with smelled incredible.
Then, his consciousness set back in. He hadn’t ordered food. So, who was this from? There was no name besides his own to be found anywhere. His first wild thought was Lewis. But then logic kicked in. How would Lewis know his address? How would he know Max liked this dish from that specific place? Then again, he had also gotten the postcard into Max’s mailbox somehow. The idea seemed narcissistic and absurd; Lewis didn’t care about him like that. Forget the stupid hot chocolate. He dismissed the thought almost immediately. How foolish of him to even consider that.
His next guess would be Christian, but Christian would have just called and joked about it. Or at least texted him ahead of ordering.
Charles? Possibly, but Charles would have signed it with a winking emoji or something foolish like that. The mystery gnawed at him.
Briefly, he considered texting Lewis a simple “Did you send me food?” but the risk of being wrong, of looking presumptuous and desperate, felt too mortifying to bear. Eventually, Max got back into bed, taking a plate from the kitchen with him. He ate the meal in confused, solitary silence; the kindness from a nameless source made him feel strangely more alone.
Later, when Max had already fallen asleep, stomach full and weirdly sad and happy at the same time, his doorbell rang again. At that time, he slept right through it, but when he came back from his morning run the next day, already half up the first flight of stairs, the building manager at the front desk, whom Max was more or less familiar with, called him back. Max
could only stare in utter disbelief as he handed him a second, identical bag.
When he finally opened it ten minutes later, he found the exact same food he had had last night. Minus the churros.
What the hell?