Chapter Text
2015
Max can smell the nest before he sees it, lavender, cedar, a faint warmth in the air. Max imagines the pack room is dimly lit, scattered with old hoodies and still-folded blankets, not quite lived-in, not quite neglected either. He wouldn’t know though, he’s never been inside.
He doesn’t go in now.
His hand hovers on the doorknob for too long. His fingers burn with possibilities, that maybe he’d enter and be accepted as part of the pack.
He just wants to feel the warmth, nothing more. See what it looks like, understand what a pack can be, what a home can be. He wouldn’t stay for long, not long enough that someone might see.
“Verstappen.”
He turns. Lewis.
His body goes rigid, fingers shaking at the implication of his stance. He feels like a thief caught red handed, biding his time before they take him away to prison.
Lewis’ tone is clipped, unreadable. It's not the first time this weekend that Lewis has caught him hesitating, caught him outside of something—something the rest of them seem to fall into so easily.
Lewis never wanted Max around, that much was clear. None of the other racers had wanted him around.
“Just scouting it out,” Max says, casually to hide his obvious desire.
Lewis just nods and walks past him without another word, brushing the scent-marked edge of the doorframe with his shoulder as he enters.
Max’s eyes follow the tall figure wantonly. He lingers a moment longer, then walks away.
The pack formed years ago. Informally at first, just the way drivers gravitated to each other when off the track. Mark and Seb had been the heart of it then, magnets to everyone else, and Lewis, like a pillar around which everything orbited.
When Max first appeared on the grid, the other drivers’ eyes watched him with animosity and disbelief. When they spoke about him in their post-race conferences, their words were laced with mistrust and disdain. When they interacted with Max, it was only out of necessity and it was always obvious that he was never welcome in their personal circles.
The pack was finally formed when Charles showed up on the grid, the young alpha sparking kinship and omega instincts in Seb. They formally declared a grid pack with their first pup being Charles.
Max was not invited.
Not then. Not ever.
He was sharper-edged, too fast, too cold.
When other younger drivers on the grid started to be included, Max ached. Carlos had tried bringing him into the pack room, cozying up to him around the paddock and generally integrating the young omega into grid life. But, the other racers had no desire to support Carlos’ obvious attempts at including Max which led to him telling Carlos to stop trying. It was okay though, that’s what he told himself.
By the time the 2025 rookies started arriving, things had shifted. The grid pack was different, rookies were adopted immediately upon their entry into Formula 1.
Max didn't mean to get involved. Truly.
2025
The sun beats down, after qualifying at the Australian Gran Prix. Max is walking outside the Mercedes garage on his way to Red Bull debriefs when Kimi pads up with an awkward smile.
Max had met the young racer before, but their first interaction was a short quip at one of the opening galas.
“You are so fast.” Kimi remarks, gazing at the seasoned professional with awe. If Max didn’t know any better he’d say Kimi has that sort of look used only for idols, but he knows he is not Kimi’s idol.
“Thank you,” Max says, thrusting his bottle of water towards the young rookie concerned for his health in the heat. He doesn’t want any of the new pup’s collapsing.
Kimi’s eyes go wide and he takes the bottle with a questioning look.
“You look like you need it more than me,” Max shrugs. He stands there waiting, watching as Kimi gulps down water hungrily, obviously in need of hydration.
When the bottle is almost completely finished, Kimi pulls away and blushes brightly.
“I’m sor–” the rookie begins but before he can finish Max holds up his hand.
“Don’t apologize.” He smiles, giving Kimi a sweet pat on the cheek. “If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”
Max watches as the kid pads away after their short conversation and he thinks about himself at that age. He was so brash back then, what would his experience have been like if he was more like Kimi.
There was, of course, no world where he could ever be like Kimi. His father had cut that soft sweet part of him out long before he had even stepped into a single seater.
Still, he wonders.
Ollie, Gabi and Fernando are laughing at Max's comments, joy etching its way onto their faces. That’s when a black microphone sneaks its way over their conversation and Max’s eyes are caught onto it immediately. He knows what these monitored conversations can do and he feels weirdly protective of the two rookies (three really) right in front of him.
“Fucking Netflix,” Max calls pushing away a microphone that has been suspended over the conversation. The drivers around him are laughing heartily at his attack on the network, looking over at the camera crew apologetically.
“Mate, I don’t think we can do that.” Ollie exclaims unwrapping his arms from behind his back and pitching forwards in a laugh that results in him leaning on Max. Max wraps his arm around the teenager quickly stabilizing them both.
“It’s fine,” Max smiles at the rookie giving him a soft clap on the back.
“Max is always like this with the press,” Fernando teases, causing Gabi to break out into a knowing laugh.
“I know, speaking with him on redline, he complains always,” the rookie exclaims. Max blows at the young racer playfully.
‘Shut up,” Max huffs, although he smiles satisfied with his ability to bring some comfort to the rookies in their very first season.
Liam races after Max with the other rookies trailing behind. Max notices this gathering and waits up mildly for the new drivers to catch up with him so they can continue their conversations from before the media shoot.
“How can we improve? Just tell us how,” Liam whines giving Max an almost puppy-dog smile, incredibly unbecoming of a newly presenting alpha. Max smiles at Liam cheekily although he knows with anymore prying from the rookies he will give them all of his trade secrets.
“I can’t tell you, then you’ll beat me and you have so much time left but I have very little,” Max jokes, swinging his arm around Liam while pinching Kimi in the side next to him. Kimi shouts slightly at the ticklish gesture, jumping away from the older omega.
“Please Maxie, “ Gabi continues, “You always help me.”
Max sighs thinking about any advice he can give the rookies that will aid in their efforts during races but honestly his driving style is too specific to the way he grew up. Max has no secrets, not when it comes to racing at least.
“Maybe,” Max smiles at them eliciting a groan from all the rookies, even Jack despite his shy and quiet demeanor.
“Ugh, but if we can’t talk to you about racing then what can we do?” Ollie retorts trying to get Max to concede.
Max wonders about the rookies and how this has happened, why they have all flocked to him despite his best efforts to separate from the pack. The rookies don’t belong to him, they belong to Lewis. They belong to the pack. His spending time with them, is pulling them away from relationships that matter way more.
“Why don’t you go to the pack room then?” Max continues, brushing off Ollie’s attempts and redirecting the race conversation away from things he can’t explain. “There’s activities there.”
Ollie and Kimi huff, but Isack lights up at the idea.
“We have a pack room?!” Isack shouts excitedly, causing a bit of fuss with the other rookies as some have the same realization and others laugh at their ignorance.
“We do, it’s really quite nice, let me take you guys!” Liam cries excitedly, dragging along Isack by the hand and forcing the rookies to follow him as the new leader replacing Max.
Max watches the group walk away, and when they notice his absence they turn around slightly, some giving him confused looks.
“Not coming?” Kimi asks, frowning, hope etching into his features in the most obvious way. Max feels bad about letting the young racer down, but he can’t go to the pack room. For well, pretty obvious reasons that the rookies don’t know.
He decides it’s easier though, not to explain things and say “I have some Red Bull responsibilities,” to which the rookies nod knowingly.
They say their goodbyes quickly before running off in excitement to the pack room leaving Max in their wake with the slightest ache in his chest.
It’s easier if he doesn’t explain it, he convinces himself, but he can’t help but feel guilty for keeping things from them. For allowing them to believe he’s a part of the community that they all love.
But Max is not pack.
Max is not good with feelings, he never has been, yet when he sees Jack with red rimmed eyes and smells the sour scent of sadness, he springs into action.
The rookie is crouching in one of the alleys between racing hospitalities in the Paddock Club.
“Are you ok?” Max asks almost too harshly, approaching the rookie with care, he could bolt at any moment. Max remembers moments like these from his first year with Toro Rosso. It gets so hard to prove yourself when it’s a bad car, but you know you have the potential, just no one else can see it. You feel stuck.
Jack whips around to him as soon as he hears his voice, eyes wide with a foreign kind of fear. Max crouches to his level looking at him with the softest eyes he can muster.
“Tell me Jack,” Max urges, although he waits patiently for the other driver to speak on his own terms.
The boy makes no sounds but angles his body towards Max and sits forward slightly pushing his arms outwards. Max quickly rubs the patched scent glands of his wrist gently on Jack’s. Jack shivers slightly as Max rubs over his freshly developed and sensitive beta glands. As the pheromones pour in, Max can see the younger boy instinctively calming.
“I’m sorry…” Jack starts, his eyes still teary and demeanor still down. His scent has improved but it’s still tangy with something hurtful.
“I’m so demoralized.” Jack continues looking up into Max’s eyes.
Max does not know what to say to that, because he wants to tell Jack it’s going to be okay, but it’s not. They both know it’s not going to be okay, and Jack is only going to get less confident and more inconsistent with his driving because he’s in a stupid fucking Alpine.
“Do you want a hug?” Max asks, offering his arms out, and as soon as he does Jack falls into them, leaning all the way into Max, as if he is the only thing tethering him to the earth.
“I’ve got you.” Max whispers, rubbing Jack’s back giving him the space to feel every shitty feeling he was having.
It happens the first time when Max is in his driver's room getting undressed after a Grand Prix. The race was shit and he is pissed about it, but there was nothing he could’ve done and now he is so sick of feeling angry about it.
His dad will be mad.
A knock comes suddenly breaking him out of his thoughts, and the Dutch racer walks over to his door to crack it open. Upon opening it, he sees a collection of people he should have expected to see outside his room.
Isack is up front looking directly at him.
“Can we come in,” Isack asks, smiling sweetly at Max with a pleading look on his face. Max, inclined to say no, takes one good look at Kimi’s soft eyes, Ollie’s dejected face and Gabi’s tensed hands and realizes he has to.
Sadness clings to the mini racers. Max’s instincts are taking over and he rushes to part the door for the rookies. Immediately their faces light up as they pile inside his room.
“It’s really nice in here,” Kimi says immediately, startling Max. Kimi and Ollie plop down onto Max’s couch, snuggling into one of larger cushions together, clearly in a nesting attempt. Max is unfamiliar with nesting habits in general but can tell that the rookies could use a good nest at this moment. He begins gathering up some blankets and clean comfort clothes he has scattered around his closet to maybe, just maybe, attempt a nest.
“Is it not like your driver's room?” Max asks in his pursuit, concerned at the thought that maybe Mercedes was not giving Kimi a proper decompression space for after races.
“I mean it smells nice…” Kimi explains and a meager blush, that he would never admit to, overtakes Max’s face at the thought.
He has never been one to smell good. With years of blockers and suppressants, Max thinks his scent has been dulled although it is nice to hear that the rookies appreciate it.
“Calming,” Jack follows up, using his very few words of the day. Max smiles at Jack, rustling his shoulder comfortingly.
“Yeah, I like it,” Gabi reiterates, grinning at Max before slotting next to Kimi and Ollie on the couch. Max lets the other rookies join them and continue in their banter while he begins assembling a nest around them on the fairly large couch.
He strips off his scent patches, carefully rubbing his scent over the blankets and cushions to give the rookies some comfort. He fusses with the layout of the nest wholly inexperienced in this venture but he continues until he believes it to be sufficient.
There in his room are the rookies cocooned in blankets and pillows that smell just like him and he can’t help but smile.
Soon Gabi pulls him down into the messy nest, nuzzling into his face. Max is tense at first, uncomfortable with this sort of domestic behavior, but as the milky underdeveloped scents of the younger drivers envelop him, he feels a deep sense of contentment.
Charles leans casually against the edge of the hospitality table, crossing his arms, a half-empty bottle of electrolyte water dangling from his fingers. Max feels him intensely observing the way he's wiping off condensation from his own bottle to collect into his hands and pat onto his face for some relief from the heat.
“You know,” Charles starts, voice light but laced with something playful and mischievous, “it’s kind of funny. Watching them, I mean.”
Max does not glance up from where he is wiping water on his face. “Who?”
“The rookies,” Charles prompts, and Max looks up at him immediately. “They trail after you like ducklings.”
Charles’ tone is caught between amusement and something fonder. “Ollie nearly ran into a post trying to catch up to you the other day. And I think Isack pretended to take the wrong exit just so he could ‘bump into’ you outside the simulator room.”
Max smiles at that, thinking about each of the younger boys climbing after him. “I don’t ask them to do that.” He laughs a little.
As Max mulls over Charles’ observations in his head however, he begins to feel a little bit uneasy about it. Is it incredibly noticeable that he is always with the rookies? The last thing he wants is to infringe upon pack territory and if Lewis starts to feel Max pulling pack mates away, he is certain things will get nasty.
Charles continues, “I know. That’s the weird part, they are so naturally drawn to you.”
Charles brings his arm around Max just as he did when they were younger, jostling him playfully. Max relishes in the closeness as he feels Charles’ forested scent overcome him.
Max rolls his eyes at Charles’ words, asserting “they just don’t know better yet.”
Charles tilts his head, studying Max with a little more weight. The thoughtful expression that sometimes graces his feature is present now and Max hates how transparent he feels. “Or... maybe they see something the rest of us took a little too long to notice.”
As soon as Charles says that, Max’s thoughts stop and he's tenses.
Those words hang in the air like condensation on glass and they are soft and uncomfortable. Max doesn’t answer, his fingers have since tightened around the bottle in his hand.
Charles doesn’t press.
Pushing off the table Charles finally says, “Next time you bring them into your nest, I would like an invite. Gabi never stops talking about it.” Max raises a brow at that statement feigning a cool exterior.
“Or you could come into the pack room?” Charles adds hopefully.
Max shoots him a look of disbelief and humour. “You are very funny Charles.” He laughs. He has no intention of ever doing that, they both know it, but it can be nice to pretend.
Still, Max doesn’t know why Charles would say something like that when he knows. He knows Max is not pack, everyone does.
They are in the Red Bull lounge waiting for an unusual VCarb Red Bull joint debrief. The air is heavy with post-race exhaustion but there is a certain glow that all the racers bask in, knowing they have had good races.
Max is sitting in one of the corner chairs, scrolling mindlessly on his phone. There’s something crawling under his skin— not literally, but it feels close enough. A low, thudding vibration. The ache in his spine hasn't left since qualifying, and now the warmth in his chest won’t ebb, even in the cool of the lounge. He’d blamed the adrenaline. The hydration. The physicality of the race.
But now it just feels like something ticking.
He swallows down the dry knot in his throat. His shirt clings too tightly to his back. The light feels too sharp in the corners of his vision.
Max doesn’t want to name it.
Not yet.
He’s good at ignoring warning signs until it’s too late.
Then something small and sharp hits him square in the shin.
“Ow—what the hell?” Max scoffs and glances up sharply, finding a grinning Isack with his arm up and one socked foot raised mid-air.
He is missing a shoe.
“Sorry,” Isack chortles, not sounding sorry at all. “It slipped.” He giggles.
Max stares at the rogue sneaker now resting against his leg on the floor while he rubs his bruised shin with the back of his other leg. “Are you really throwing your shoes at people now? Is that going to be our new strategy?” Max asks with an incredulous look.
“I missed your attention. You’ve been brooding for twenty minutes.” Isack muses cheekily, leaning back, hands behind his head to create a picture of nonchalance.
“I don’t brood,” Max mutters, looking away and tossing the shoe back with a little more force than necessary.
Isack catches it immediately and retaliates by quipping “That’s your whole brand.”
Max narrows his eyes, “My brand is winning races, what’s yours?” Which causes Isack to guffaw in offense at the implication that he does not win.
“This is true,” Isack says dejectedly, suddenly contemplating his season thus far. He wishes, he wishes he was Kimi with a podium finish already, one of the youngest ever to do it and he wishes he had more points so he could be in the top ten of he drivers championship, and he wishes he was better.
Max watches the rookie sink into these thoughts, immediately regretting his words.
“You are a good racer, Isack. If only you could throw how you race,” Max insults, in an attempt to distract Isack, which seems to work because he smiles wide and warm at Max’s compliment.
Isack’s smile morphs in a beaming look and then with a sarcastic tone he responds with. “You say the sweetest things.”
Max huffs, the corner of his mouth twitching upward despite himself. “Whatever.” But he can’t help the grin that graces his face.
The hallway outside the sim room is quiet, the kind of stillness that rings in Max’s ears in the most pleasant way. It should be a painful memory of the hours he spent in his youth training to become a world class racer but those times in a gaming chair with a racing wheel gripped firmly in his hand, were when he felt the most peace.
Max didn’t mean to stop but he sees Ollie sitting cross-legged on the floor staring at a telemetry and he slows his steps.
The teenager is fiddling with the chin strap of his helmet with a look of furious determination, brows furrowed and mouth drawn tight.
Max chuckles and leans a shoulder against the wall attempting a menacing stance but he comes out looking more affectionate than anything.
“It’s not going to untangle itself,” Max laughs.
Ollie looks up from his screen and as soon as he sees Max crinkles into a smile. “Oh. I didn’t see you.” Ollie sighs, continuing to pull on the helmet strap.
Max presses forward, approaching Ollie. “You okay?”
Ollie hesitates. “Just a rough run. Couple of mistakes. Felt like I was dragging the whole car backwards.”
“You weren’t,” Max says simply. “If anyone was dragging something backwards, it was Logan.”
That makes Ollie laugh, small and involuntary.
It feels good.
Max finds himself in another unexpected situation: in the corner of his driver's room, curled up with Liam asleep on his shoulder and Gabi across from him mid-rant about something stupid like socks, or cereal, or tire degradation.
Max laughs a soft, shoulder-shaking kind of laugh that he never gets during media days or ever really because he’s always weighed down by the many miserable facets of his life. Times like this, Max is grateful to have the rookies, they are becoming the companions and the family on the grid that he never had.
It's not always easy though... they have started asking about his role in the pack.
They ask why he doesn’t go into the pack room ever and it’s a hard thing to explain. So he avoids it, but there is an anxiety and ugly envy that curls in his gut every time they mention it.
As Max gets lost in his conversation with Gabi, the clearing of a throat grabs his attention.
In the doorway, with a mop of curly brown hair and tanned skin is little Lando, looking displeased.
Liam stirs and grumbles at the commotion. Gabi looks up mid-sentence, perked like a puppy, and Max, well Max just blinks at Lando like he didn’t expect him at all.
“Look at you,” Lando says with a grin that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “One group of wide-eyed rookies and suddenly you’ve forgotten all your old favorites.
Max raises an eyebrow, unfazed. “You jealous?”
He is relatively used to Lando’s bouts of jealousy and/or rage over a wide array of matters. Max gives the Mclaren driver a genuine smile, knowing that will bring him down from his frustration at least the tiniest bit.
Lando looks at Max with an unimpressed glare. “Should I start sending you calendar invites or just fight Kimi for visitation rights?” Lando jokes.
“What’s happened?” Lando mutters, betraying his true emotions, finally. He is angry. His voice stays light but his eyes flit between the three of them, the way Gabi’s knee is nudged against Max’s, how Liam’s head lolls sleepily on Max’s shoulder like it belongs there. “Used to be all grumpy and guarded. Now you’re all—”
“Warm and stable?” Max supplies with a comforting smile although he realizes this isn’t exactly a comfortable situation. He notices Gabi’s eyes darting between him and Lando as the young pup shrinks in on himself just slightly. Max feels an urge to protect, and his arms curls around the younger driver instinctively.
“Gross,” Lando snorts. “You’re like... a weighted blanket for children.”
Max chuckles. “They need someone.”
“And I don’t?” Lando scrubs a hand through his curls and backpedals with a shrug. “I just mean, like. Don’t forget the rest of us, okay?”
Max studies him, quiet. Then shifts slightly, careful not to wake Liam, and pats the available patch of couch in front of him. Max wants very much for Lando to come join him and the rookies in their dog pile. He has missed his playful relationship with the racer but as pack life has dominated and Max’s responsibilities with the rookies are increasing, things between the two have become painfully distant.
It’s not a grand reconciliation. Max doesn’t say much. Just leans into Lando, resting his head on the betas shoulder and shuffling his legs apart for Lando to lay against him. Lando’s back is lying on his chest in an easy position.
“You could’ve just asked,” Max murmurs but smiles quickly and wickedly at Lando. He also presses an endearing kiss into the younger’s hair, hoping to quell some of his jealousy and sadness. Max can now smell the rejection cloying to Lando ever so slightly and he wants to wipe away that feeling as soon as possible.
Lando rolls his eyes. “Yeah, but this is me, remember? I’d rather sulk first.”
Max’s lips twitch. “You’re still my favorite pain in the ass.”
Lando grins, just a little. “That’s all I ever wanted.”
The next time it happens, Max is coming back from a media meeting at Red Bull. As soon as he enters the hall leading towards his driver's room he can smell the scent of panicked pups.
He pushes off with more intent as soon as it registers and B-lines it to his driver’s room. As he approaches the door, he can hear shuffling inside and some hushed whispers. Without a second thought he slams the door open to expose a room of rookies sulking on his couch, prearranging the bare-bones of one of his nests.
He stares at them, a wild look of bewilderment in his eyes, before he tuts a small chuckle and succumbs to his pups.
“I’ve got you guys,” Max speaks reassuringly, pushing a calming scent out into the room in an attempt to haze the sour smell of upset.
Jack whines as soon as the smell hits his nose, his body immediately relaxing back into the nest. His packmates croon into him, pulling him further into the nest and projecting protection onto him.
Max smiles at his rookies realizing they’ve learned so much from their pack since they've been here.
He remembers the first day when half the rookies couldn’t control their scents, constantly spreading their emotions everywhere and sending the paddock into a frenzy.
“C’n you build your nest,” Kimi mumbles from within the messy blankets as he tries and fails to readjust some things around him. “...‘s not right” he slurs. The other drivers nod along with him in agreement.
Max can feel himself practically purr, overcome with an almost maternal feeling for his drivers. As soon as he can, he’s pulling his scent patches off and enhancing the potency of his scent. He permeates into everything now in a way he’s not used to.
Max is also for the first time picking up what his scent is like wrapped around his rookies as he rarely lets anything through his patches during a normal race weekend. He never wants the pups smelling like him. Lewis might think he is trying to take them for himself. Start his own pack. Which he can never do because he is not a good omega. He doesn’t have the right instincts, can’t build a nest, and can’t deal with emotions well.
Yes, he would not be a good omega.
Not like Oscar who fawns over the rookies more than himself and builds beautiful nests. He hears from Lando and Charles. Even Carlos says so.
As Max continues to rearrange the nest, his thoughts scatter his mind and when he finishes he has no desire to step inside with the pups. Well he does, but he’s already so afraid of the pack smelling him on them, that he’d rather not continue to act selfishly.
Max steps away from them, allowing the younger drivers a space to feel down, but as he continues to back away some of them make disgruntled sounds of displeasure.
“Where are you going?” Ollie asks frantically, eyes wide and almost teary as he sees Max’s careful stance. Max sighs looking at them with sad eyes.
“I can’t stay guys, I–” Max starts but he is unsure of how to explain why he can’t be with them right now. He doesn’t want to say he’s not pack. He knows he isn’t, but he doesn’t want them to know that and he certainly doesn’t want them to pull away from him when they find out.
Max settles on saying “Don’t neglect your pack, okay” as a weak explanation of why he feels this whole situation is wrong. “You all should be in the pack room.”
The pups nod in approval, and start shuffling around to get up. Max’s eyes widen realizing they actually want to leave and it hurts him more than he was expecting. That is until Gabi yanks on his arm, pulling him towards the door as the rookies prepare to leave.
“What? I’m not–” Max mumbles looking at the Brazilian wide-eyed and glassy.
“You’re not coming?” Liam sniffles quietly looking only a little distraught.
“I can’t,” Max sighs, smiling sadly at his pups.
When he says that they all stop and exchange some glances between one another. It is clear his constant avoidance of the pack room has become a topic of discussion amongst them and he isn’t sure if he likes that.
“Why don’t you ever come to the pack room.” Kimi finally says after a long and knowing silence. All the rookies look at him intently, expecting a reasonable answer and Max is not sure when to say.
The omega sighs, brushing his hands through his hair to buy himself time as he scrambles to come up with an excuse that will satisfy his pups.
“I just like being in the comfort of my own space,” Max finally decides on saying. “It’s safe.” He follows up with, adding a layer of credibility. Some of the rookies nod but the older ones like Liam and Isack give him an analyzing look. They narrow their eyes at the older driver before glancing between themselves.
Max feels himself shiver at their calculation.
“If you guys need a nest, mine is always open to you, but sometimes it is better to be in the pack nest, no?” Max explains, hoping that he can sway the rookies into understanding his side of things without revealing the very embarrassing truth he has been hiding for many weeks now. He doesn’t lie, per se, but just doesn’t correct them when they say he’s pack.
The rookies nod at him as if they confirm what he is saying is true but they each look at him with a glance of yearning. They want him in their pack room. They want his scent mingled with everyone else's and his presence in their vicinity. It both fills him with happiness and guilt that he can’t be there for them in the most intimate of their spaces.
The rookies end up deciding to stay because they want to be with Max, which pleases his omega, but he can see their glances of uncertainty.
When Oscar approaches him, Max is already with Gabi, Kimi, and Ollie. They're gathered loosely near the paddock entrance, caught in one of those lazy, post-debrief moments where the air still hums with residual adrenaline and leftover jokes.
But the second Oscar appears, the rookies shift.
It’s subtle, but immediate, like gravity tilting. Kimi’s eyes light up, Ollie practically bounces, and even Gabi straightens with an eager smile. They peel away from Max, orbiting around Oscar like bees to a newer bloom.
Max watches the exchange with quiet amusement, one brow raised.
It doesn’t bother him in the way he thinks he should. He should be territorial over the pups but they aren’t his and he has reasoned that with himself so many times.
“Are you sure you’re not trying to steal my fan club?” he asks dryly but still smiling a genuine grin at Oscar.
The young omega has always been something of an anomaly on the grid, incredibly calm and even and years ahead in maturity for his age. Max is certain Oscar would make an incredible Pack Omega once he gets a couple more years under his belt. Max is also certain that Lewis will make Oscar Pack Omega one day
Oscar grins. “You mean my fan club?”
Ollie makes a noise of mock outrage. “It’s not a fan club, it’s a community support initiative for Max.” Max looks at Ollie and Kimi oddly as they both nod in unison.
Oscar laughs, slipping into the middle of their group with ease. “Clearly very official.”
Max pretends to roll his eyes, but there's no real edge to it. He doesn’t mind the way they flock to Oscar, it’s what they do. He never expects anyone to stick around too long. He is always happy to be a shoulder to cry on, a nest to comfort in and a friendly face to ease tensions but he understands that the kind of pack dynamics these rookies have is something he shouldn’t have.
They chatter for a bit, some half-plan about nest snacks and a horror movie night that Gabi’s already trying to veto, and Max leans back against the wall, letting the noise wash over him.
Sometimes he prefers the quiet but sometimes the noise provides a perfect cover to block out the buzz that rings in his ears. Right now the buzz is loud and demanding, begging for Max’s attention when all he wants is a break.
He knows why the humming sound is there. It acts as a reminder, a dreaded alarm clock for possibly his least favourite thing about himself.
His heat is coming.
Then Oscar turns to him, suddenly quieter and pulls Max out of his own head. “Hey, uh — weird question.” Oscar looks shyly at the ground and pauses for a moment so Max urges him on.
“That’s your specialty,” Max replies, but he’s listening with a smile.
Oscar shifts his weight. His expression is casual, but there’s a faint pink to the tips of his ears. “Would you… ever scent me?”
The words hang in the air. Max blinks once. “What?”
“You know. Scenting,” Oscar says, shrugging like he’s not dying inside. “You always smell kind of… good. The rookies have been carrying it around. I just thought…”
Max’s lips twitch in a smile to relieve some of Oscar’s embarrassment, or his own. “You want to wear me like cologne?”
Oscar flushes deeper. “That’s not what I said.”
“That’s what it sounded like.”
There’s a beat, and then Oscar lets out a soft huff of laughter. “I’m serious.”
Max watches him for a long second. “Why?”
Oscar shrugs again, looking away. “You feel safe,” he says, so quietly that only Max hears. “And I guess I just— I want to feel that too.”
That shuts Max up. Max has to think hard about it for a moment before he can make a decision.
He imagines Oscar folded in his scent walking around the paddock and entering the pack room. Max doesn’t have to imagine Lewis’ face when his scent is on Oscar because in his contemplation he locks eyes with Lewis across the grid. Lewis looks at him intensely, not letting up his gaze.
Max expects a glare or grimace of sorts but instead Lewis’ deep eyes set on him in a thoughtful and contemplative way. As if he is maybe actually seeing Max instead of the character he constructed many years ago.
Max decides he won’t say yes. But he doesn’t say no either.
“Maybe,” he says finally.
Oscar smiles, and that seems to be enough.
A moment later, the rookies start drifting toward the hallway, nudging Oscar with elbows and grins. “We’re heading to the pack room,” Ollie calls over his shoulder. “Movie night, remember?”
Max runs cold and stops for a moment. He wants to go. Badly. But Lewis is across the Paddock and still watching them intently and even if he wasn’t, Max has always known his place.
“You coming, Max?” Gabi asks, pausing mid-step. “We’ve got your blanket there.”
Max shakes his head, soft but firm. “You guys go ahead.”
“Come on,” Oscar says, half-turning. “Just for a bit?” His eyes are laced with sadness as he observes Max. Max thinks Oscar can probably see the meaning behind his eyes, especially when he glances at Lewis and Oscar’s eyes follow.
“Maybe another time,” Max offers to quell the rookies but it’s obvious he has no intention of going anywhere near the pack room.
They don’t push it. They never do. They just give a few hopeful glances and disappear around the corner, laughter echoing off the walls.
Max stays behind, alone in the fading sound of their departure. Things get loud again and suddenly Max thinks he’s going to be sick. His heat is coming and he knows it is. His father does too and he will be there at the next couple races, hovering around Max until it hits and he can work Max through it quickly.
And when he finally exhales, his own scent is the only thing that lingers. Sour and afraid.
Gabi doesn’t knock anymore. He just slips into Max’s driver room like he belongs there — which, at this point, he sort of does.
He drops onto the couch with all the drama of someone twice his size, lets out a long sigh like the whole weight of the grid is on his shoulders. “It’s weird out there,” he says, instead of hello.
Max looks up from where he’s unwrapping a protein bar, and raises a brow. “Weird how?”
Gabi is acting shy, upset almost which is unnerving because he has always been the most calm around Max. Max studies his features and sniffs his scent slightly but there is nothing robust in the air, just a hint of nervousness.
Gabi doesn’t answer right away. He kicks off his shoes and folds his legs beneath him like it’s his own personal nest. Max has half a mind to tell him off for wrinkling the cushions but doesn’t. Max doesn’t make nests anyway. It is not anymore his nest than it is Gabi’s.
“It’s pack stuff,” Gabi mutters. “Not important.”
Max says nothing. Just opens the mini fridge and pulls out a bottle of water, tossing it toward him. Gabi catches it and clutches it dramatically to his chest like Max just handed him a life preserver.
Max wishes he could sense the dynamics that Gabi could, but maybe it saves him from a life of stress when things are going awry in the pack. Max remembers when Seb first left, the pack became disjointed for months without the support of a Pack Omega. He remembers Lando sulking about it and Charles frequently looking tense with bags staining his under-eyes.
“Okay,” Gabi admits. “Maybe it’s a little important. The pack just feels… off. I don’t know. Everyone’s nice, but it feels like something’s missing.”
Max leans back against the wall, arms crossed. “Like what?”
Gabi shrugs. “Like glue. Like there’s no one tying it all together. It’s like a room full of people waiting for someone to say something that never comes.” Max thinks that maybe they never solved the issue of Pack Omega, but it really did seem like Oscar was doing a good job supporting the pack. The best he could anyways with only three seasons in the barrel.
Max doesn’t respond right away. Because he understands. Because maybe that’s how it’s always felt to him, like something was built but never finished. But the more he thinks about it, the more he knows that it always felt hostile, not necessarily unstable though. Max was the instability when he was around the other drivers.
Back then, they had rejected him, to preserve the health and future of the pack. For racers like Charles, and Lando, and now the rookies that he adores.
“You’ve been avoiding the pack room,” Gabi adds quietly interrupting Max’s thoughts. “Does it feel like that to you too?”
Max lets his gaze drift to the closed door. He thinks of the way the others fill the space with noise and scent, how there’s always laughter or movement or tension in the air. But none of it ever sticks to him. Because he doesn’t belong.
“It’s not the room,” Max says finally. “It’s me. I don’t… stick very well.”
Gabi frowns. “You stick to us. And you are still part of the pack.” He cringes internally hearing Gabi say that, knowing it is far from the truth.
“That’s different.” Max settles on responding with, not replying to Gabi’s following comment.
“Why?”
Max hesitates. Then, eyes still fixed on the floor, he says, “It’s just different.” Gabi sits up, water bottle rolling away.
“Maybe.” He muses.
Max pauses for a long moment. Then forces a smile, light and noncommittal. “You should get back to the others. They probably need you more than I do.”
“That’s not how it works, Max,” Gabi says, eyes narrowing. The pup curls deeper into the couch and Max’s side and says, like it’s the simplest thing in the world, “I think I just want you to come with me to the pack room. It’d feel better with you there.”
He stands anyway but Max can see the longing in his eyes.
Before he leaves, he tosses back one more thing. “You’re not glue, sure. But maybe you’re something else, like a fuse. Still part of the fire.”
The door shuts softly behind him.
Max exhales, long and quiet, and doesn’t say what he’s thinking.
That he’s spent his whole life trying not to burn.
Oscar looks up with that bright, easy smile that makes everything in the room feel softer. “I think this one’s yours,” he says, holding out a black hoodie between two careful hands.
Max blinks at it. The Red Bull logo has faded slightly from wear, the cuffs stretched. It’s his favorite one, the one he leaves behind everywhere.
“Thanks,” he says simply, reaching to take it.
Charles doesn’t let go right away. “I washed it for you. It smelled like the garage.” His voice is teasing, but gentle underneath.
Max gives a small nod, avoiding his eyes as he tugs the hoodie free. “You didn’t have to.”
“I know,” Charles says easily, still smiling as he turns back to the pile. “But I wanted to.”
The moment should end there, simple and domestic. But when Max pulls the hoodie over his head, something shifts.
Gabi, curled up on the couch with a snack, wrinkles his nose. “Weird,” he murmurs. “It doesn’t smell like you anymore.”
Kimi tilts his head, curious. “It smells like... nothing.”
Max freezes mid-sleeve. “I used Max's neutral detergent,” Charles explains quickly, sensing the change. “Supposed to be good for sensitive skin.”
Oscar, across the room, glances up from where he’s scrolling through his phone. His tone is light but measured. “Or maybe too good,” he says, eyes flicking to Max’s arm where a faint scent patch peeks from under the cuff. “There’s a softer one, doesn’t strip everything.”
Max’s hands pause mid-fold at the hem of his hoodie. “I like it clean,” he says, a little too fast.
Oscar nods once, unfazed. “Sure. Still, I’ll bring you some of mine next time. It leaves scent. Just enough to smell like you, not like the bottle.”
The room goes quiet for a moment. Not awkward, just still as racers and rookies wait for Max to react, maybe explode at the criticism. The kind of silence that feels like everyone’s thinking but no one’s ready to speak.
Max’s throat works as he swallows. “Yeah,” he says eventually, voice softer. “Maybe.”
Charles looks at him for a long second, the faintest crease forming between his brows, like he’s realizing there’s something Max is constantly scrubbing away that maybe shouldn’t be.
Oscar doesn’t push further. He just smiles, easy and careful. “Good,” he says. “You shouldn’t disappear completely when you do laundry.”
And Max, pulling the hoodie tighter around himself, feels that land somewhere deep, like the detergent’s not the only thing bleaching him clean.