Aussie Grit

He was still blinking at the screen when Spencer started to bark, sad, confused little whines. He wanted his breakfast, couldn't understand why Mark wasn't paying attention to him, and Mark knew he wasn't being fair. He dropped his phone onto the cushions, ran a soothing hand over the top of Spencer’s head, and made himself get up. 

In the kitchen, the dogs waited patiently as Mark scooped the kibble, sitting obediently in the corner like he trained them when they were still pups. That was what good dogs did: they stayed where they were told. They didn’t crowd, they didn’t push. They didn’t question. When he placed the bowls down on the floor, he waited a second before letting them eat, relishing the way their bodies quivered with excitement, in the way they didn’t take their eyes off him, in the way they trusted him to give them what they needed.

He had to go to his office to put his phone on charge. The window with Grill the Grid was still open on his laptop from the night before, the video paused on Oscar’s face looking serious and determined. Mark could still hear the presenter’s voice saying, for the second week in a row, it’s someone quite close to you. Was Oscar close to Mark? Still? He hadn’t come to Mark when he had broken up with Lily at the beginning of the season, even though he had said after Abu Dhabi that — 

He called DC back first. It was early still, but DC was an hour ahead in Monaco, and Mark would rather hear it from DC.

_______

They end up shipping Mark out to where Oscar is holidaying. It was mortifying, knowing that he wasn't wanted but having to come to heel anyway. It had been mortifying to explain it to Ann, to hear himself repeat what the girl at McLaren had explained to him when he had finally picked up the phone: optics, uncomfortable questions. A strategy to put the story behind them. 

Oscar looked tired when he opened the door to the villa, even though they were already halfway through the break, more than enough time for a young kid like him to bounce back. Mark wasn’t so old that he couldn’t remember what it was like being 25. He remembered it like it was yesterday: the itching under his skin as he hounded Flavio, begging to be allowed in the car, the energy he had then, the drive. 

But perhaps Mark was being unfair. Oscar’s season wasn’t going well, and Mark remembered what that was like too. He remembered what it was like when things slipped, the feeling of being muzzled, of being told to obey.

Oscar didn’t want Mark to be there. He had made that very clear when Mark had offered, after Oscar had finally told him about the break-up, admitted that it was because Lily had found out. He had told Mark that he needed space, he needed quiet. He needed to think. He didn’t need Mark’s help. He had outgrown that. 

As it was, Mark had allowed himself to be photographed on each stage of the journey. At Heathrow, he had loitered at the gate wearing a hat and sunglasses until he felt someone pointing a camera phone at him. He had been recognised at baggage claim on the other side, had signed an autograph for a guy in a McLaren hat. He was ticking off the list he had been given, the plan for damage control.

It was a big villa. Mark dumped his bag in one of the spare rooms and met Oscar in the kitchen. It opened up onto a patio, the sea stretching out ahead of them, endless blue. Oscar wasn’t really looking at him. There was a muscle in his cheek twitching.   

“Sorry, kid,” Mark said, when the silence got too much. “I didn’t mean to ruin your holiday. I wasn’t thinking — I didn’t think anyone would notice. Who’s checking Instagram like that, you know?”

Oscar snorted through his nose, as if to make it clear that he was unimpressed with Mark’s excuses. 

“Who’s scrolling back years and years to delete photos, Mark?” Oscar said, pointed, and Mark didn’t have an answer to that. He couldn’t explain how he had felt watching Oscar on Grill the Grid — the look on Oscar’s face when he talked about Mark, resigned and fond in equal measure. It had been hard to remind himself that it had been filmed before the season started in earnest, that the Oscar on his laptop was Oscar from the start of the year. That things had changed.  

The list from McLaren included suggested activities for him and Oscar, and Mark opened it now. Football at the beach. Swimming. Lunch at one of the restaurants in town. Golf. He didn’t even know that Oscar had taken up golf — he had never wanted to play with Mark before, and now they were supposed to get papped doing it, performing a relationship that was fine, that was unchanged from how it had been before. 

“Golf?” he asked Oscar, and Oscar shrugged. 

“It’s something I’m trying,” Oscar said. “Zak likes it, so I thought I better learn.” He had his arms crossed over his chest, pulling the fabric of his t-shirt over his biceps. He was always very good at not giving anything away, unless you knew him.

“Oscar,” Mark started, without knowing what he was going to say. 

“Let’s just give Charlotte what she wants, okay?” Oscar said, before Mark could find out what was going to come out of his mouth. “And then everyone will see that we’re fine, and you can go home. Everything can get back to normal.”

“Normal?” Mark asked, forgetting that he was supposed to be behaving himself. “What’s normal now, then? What’s normal for you? Golf with Zak?”

“I guess so, yeah,” Oscar spat. “It’s the team, I can’t explain this to you again. It’s my fucking — it’s my career, Mark, just like it was my relationship with Lily. It’s not a —“  

Mark was on his knees before he was conscious of making a decision. The tile hurt his knees, but he wanted Oscar to stop talking and he didn’t know another way. He had only ever learned how to beg. He shuffled forward, pushed his face into the fabric of Oscar’s shorts, and was relieved when Oscar’s hand came to rest in his hair. He had been angry only a second before, but somehow his touch was still gentle, his fingers running against Mark’s scalp. He didn’t say anything when Mark pulled down his flies, when Mark pulled him out of his boxers so that he could take Oscar into his mouth. 

Oscar’s hand curled into a fist as Mark started to work his mouth along Oscar’s length, gripping his hair, guiding him in a steady rhythm. It felt better to be chasing something. It quieted the part of Mark’s brain that had been sick since Oscar had told him to go. It had been a long time.

Determined, Mark took Oscar all the way down, down to the back of his throat, and he was rewarded with Oscar saying his name again. It wasn’t the way he had said it only minutes before, cutting. It was the way he had said it before, when Mark was still someone he listened to, looked up to. When Mark was still someone he liked. 

"Did you really do it?" Charles's voice is a muffled whisper, breaking through the silence between them, his breath a warm tickle against the bare skin he's laying beside.

"Did I really do what?" Mark asks him, one arm draped over Charles's back, unconsciously rubbing circles as he turns to look into those green eyes that have captivated him.

"Delete those pictures from your Instagram." A soft reply as Charles feels Mark's gaze on him and glances up. "Of him."

Oscar.

The name is left unspoken between them but not because they can't bring it up, but rather, they both know it's a topic that they're still trying to navigate carefully. Charles hadn't planned on falling into bed with his teammate's ex-manager, ex-something else? Even though he is quite literally in his own apartment with Mark in his bed after a night of… passion. This was not where he had expected the summer break to go, but when Joris had left his team back in July and Mia had given him a list of names to consider as a replacement, something which Charles was choosing to put off until it was completely inevitable… but instead of looking at a paper, he ended up finding the one person he hadn't even expected. Mark Webber.

"Ah, yes. That." Mark rubs his face with his free hand, knowing that it was going to come up at some point or the other. "My new bosses may have indirectly suggested that perhaps even on social media, I shouldn't have too much of… Oscar around." He said with a slight wince.

"You went back to 2021 to delete a picture though." Charles says, not chidingly, just… confused about the depth of Mark's actions.

"Well, I wanted to be thorough. And contrary to popular belief, I did talk to Oscar about it beforehand." Mark confesses, "He knows that it was probably a bit unusual, but- he understood why I had to do it. Even if it was…" He trails off mid-sentence but Charles takes his hand in his, holding them tight.

"Uncomfortable?"

"Yeah… something like that."

"How does he feel about your new alliance?"

"He's happy for me, and he's happy for us too. Thank you for letting me tell him."

"I wanted you to be the one to talk to him, in case rumors start to spread. We can't control that, but at least he knows."

Charles remembers the day he met Mark; it was just after his race in Monaco, a few days after Joris had told him he would be leaving in the summer. Mark had moved to Monaco earlier in the year, and even though he didn't handle Oscar's day to day life as his manager anymore, he had still been at some of the races. They'd got to talking and after ducking into a café in Moneghetti, neither Charles nor Mark had realized when an hour had turned into the whole afternoon and then early evening; it was close to sunset by the time Charles made his decision to ask Mark to join his entourage. He'd hoped it wouldn't have been a conflict of interest, but Mark had assured him that he was a free agent and left it at that.

"Mark-" In all the weeks that they spent after that first meeting, Charles never asked him the one thing he couldn't stop thinking about.

"Hm?"

"About… Oscar… were you two-" The words die on his tongue; he can't bring himself to finish the question.

He's never felt this way before, but ever since he started spending his days - and then nights - with Mark, Charles found that there was a sense of comfort he felt around the older man; sure they had their driving in common, but it was more than just things they both liked which drew them closer together, it was… a sense of freedom that Charles felt when he talked to Mark… someone who didn't judge him but also gave his unfiltered, honest opinions on the things that Charles wanted honest opinions to. And he enjoyed Mark's company. It also didn't hurt that he was easy on the eyes too.

"Were we ever together?" Mark says what Charles hadn't been able to. "No, we weren't. I care about Oscar deeply, and still do… I've known him for so long now, he's always going to be a part of my life, even with his announcement changing things for us… personally and professionally, but no. There wasn't anything more."

"Did you want there to have been more?" Charles bit his lip but couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Yes, once upon a time, I did." Mark smiled softly and kissed the top of Charles's hair, "But I'm not unhappy with the way things turned out… that first day I spent together with you and every day after that… they have been the best days for me; I know how lucky I am to have you."

"As I am lucky to have you too." Charles said and turned around so that he could kiss Mark.

Were they a bit uncoventional in their relationship? Perhaps, but, in all honesty - even though they were originally supposed to have only worked together, as time went on and Mark settled into a comfortable routine with the others at Ferrari; not just Mia but Nicholas, Andrea and Antoine, Fred and even Arthur - Charles soon realized that he was looking forward to seeing Mark every day. He felt like he was back in school again, but along with the butterflies and flutters that he experienced whenever Mark was around him, Charles also felt… at peace… like Mark was the anchor that grounded him in the midst of a storm. It may have felt a little fast, they were still two days away from the end of summer break, but considering that Mark had only just kissed him on Friday and they'd spent their first night together afterwards, Charles thought once they got back to the rest of the season, everything else was going to speed up faster and their relationship could then be savored.

"Is that all you were thinking about tonight?" Mark asks, shuffling around in Charles's bed so that he could pull him closer, letting Charles rest his head on his chest.

"Well, I was going to ask how you are feeling about tomorrow morning. With the news going to be official." Charles rests his chin on Mark's chest and starts to trace patterns with his fingers.

"Honestly? I'm excited; what about you?"

"I am as well yes, but that I get to keep this… us… to ourselves… that is better."

It was the first thing they had both sat down together and decided on; no matter what happened, until they thought to do otherwise, their private life was going to be kept private. Everyone involved had signed the NDA's and Charles had insisted on letting Oscar break his news first - which he had done so today - before they announced Mark's new job the following morning. Silly season was almost over with and even though they both knew things would be speculated over and scrutinized, Oscar's news was his own, and theirs was their own.

With one last kiss, the two of them soon fell asleep in each other's arms.

PRESS RELEASE FROM SCUDERIA FERRARI:

F1GridGossip: Charles Leclerc signs former F1 driver and ex-manager(?) of McLaren's Oscar Piastri, Mark Webber to his personal team. Prior to Webber's involvement, Joris Trouche was part of Leclerc's entourage as his "personal life assistant", and while it has been reported that Webber is not filling that same role, details on what his new job entails are scarce at the moment.

When the question was put forth to Leclerc, he simply smiled and gave a typical P.R response saying - "I'm looking forward to working with Mark Webber and seeing how he's going to be instrumental in helping my career advance to the next step."

"Ah, I see you've met my..." Sebastian said, "Ex-teammate, Mark Webber. We used to race together back in Red Bull years ago."

"Sebastian." Mark gave the older man a polite greeting before turning his attention to Charles, whom he had caught by the arm in order to stop him from falling.

"Mark, meet the new kid, Charles Leclerc. He's going to be with me at Ferrari now." Sebastian introduced Charles to Mark, noticing the way that the two of them were looking at each other, almost as if he wasn't standing five feet away.

"It's nice to meet you Charles." Mark had loosened his grip on his arm, moving to take the younger man's hand in his.

"Nice to meet you too, Mr. Webber." Charles finally managed to say, "Sorry for the run-in, we are just-"

"Just on our way to meet the press, make this official and everything." Sebastian finished Charles's unspoken words.

"Ah, well don't let me keep you mate." Mark replied, even though he and Charles were still holding hands as they said goodbye, seemingly oblivious to everything around them, "Good luck with Ferrari, Charles."

"Thank you." Of course the Monagesque had not been blushing the whole time, he was just flustered by the accidental stumble into Mark's hold.

And if Charles had turned around after Sebastian had gone on ahead, leaving his teammate to catch up to him, he had most definitely seen Mark turning to glance back his way too. This was just the beginning.

Two.

Several years had passed since Charles and Mark had seen each other, after that first meeting with him; of course he had gotten glimpses during his maiden season at Ferrari, but they rarely ended up having a chance to really talk very much. Mark wasn't driving anymore, so he wasn't as frequent a visitor around the paddock and Charles had briefly heard from Sebastian that he was busy with a kid from Australia that he'd signed on to be manager of; Oscar Piastri, who, in 2023 was going to be making his F1 debut with McLaren.

It was towards the end of 2022 however, just as his season was wrapping up that Charles had the opportunity to meet this newest addition to the grid - having finished in 2nd place behind Max Verstappen who had claimed his second championship win, Charles was back home in Monaco when Mark and Oscar had crossed paths with him.

"Congratulations on your season," Mark said, shaking his hand, "Second to only Max himself is quite a feat. It was a great battle until the end wasn't it?"

Biting the inside of his mouth to keep himself from blurting out that this season would have been his - and certainly had seemed like that for a while there - but in the end, Max had emerged victorious. And he was happy for his old rival, as much as he could be. So instead, he'd simply accepted the compliment from Mark, belatedly realizing that the older man's words suggested that he'd followed through Charles's races the whole time?

"Thanks, I appreciate that, Mr. Webber." Was all he managed to say in the end, before he shook hands with Oscar.

Charles remembered the days when he used to the new kid around, but knowing that Mark was Oscar's manager meant he was in good hands.

"I look forward to seeing you racing in the new year, Oscar."

"You too Charles."

And though the new grid mates were speaking to each other, Charles could feel Mark's gaze on him, as if he had known what Charles had really wanted to say, wanted to talk about.

Three.

Monaco 2024. It was during the parade for Ayrton Senna, caught in the middle of taking a picture with Patrick Dempsey, one of the many celebrities who were there for the Grand Prix later that month, that Charles found himself on the other side of a group picture with none other than Mark himself.

If he thought there was a chance for them to talk, Charles was mistaken - the moment with them ending up taking a group picture happened in the blink of an eye, it was all Charles could do to keep his hand from reaching out to hold Mark's; they were so close to each other, separated only by Patrick, who was blissfully unaware of anything going on around him.

Mark, to his credit, was completely professional too; if he noticed that Charles kept his sunglasses on and didn't look his way as the pictures were taken, he thought nothing of it, save the fact that it was a sunny day in Monaco and there was an entire afternoon dedicated to one of their own, the legend whom he - and Charles - and everyone else there that day, looked up to.

Their conversation would happen a few weeks later, at the weekend of Charles's historic win at the Monaco Grand Prix. The first Monagesque to win in 93 years, one that Mark had also claimed twice in his career at this famous track. It was a moment that would have gotten lost in the blur of that entire weekend, were it anyone else; but to see Mark, in the midst of the crowds and the chaos - Charles found that he felt as if for a moment in time, everything else could have faded away and he'd be none the wiser - Mark had appeared out of nowhere it seemed, and shook his hand.

"Forza Charles!" Mark's free hand reached to grab his shoulder as well and in that minute, Charles could have sworn he felt his heart swooping into stomach.

"Thank you, Mr. Webber." Charles replied as he met Mark's gaze, and smiled back.

Four.

It was in the summer of 2025, Charles was home for his break; everything had been…. a lot. This whole season, he felt like things were much harder than they used to be, and even though his win at the Hungaroring was worth celebrating, it had been such an unexpected pole position and subsequent victory that there were moments when Charles found himself in a bit of disbelief over the whole thing.

He was not just "at home" in Monaco; he had also decided to spend a week with his mother at her home as well. Arthur, Lorenzo and Charlotte were all joining him for more post-wedding celebrations, and between him and his younger brother, there was still a surprise planned for Lorenzo that they needed to discuss - it was time for him to have a chance at racing, just to see what it was like.

Pascale was still running her business in Fontvieille and every once in a while, if the house phone rang with a client who wanted to book an appointment with her salon, Charles was more than happy to answer the calls and help his mother however he could.

"Arthur, do you mind if I can cover your shift tomorrow at the salon, please?" Charles had cornered his brother after dinner one night and asked him to swap days that they were scheduled to go in to work with their Mother.

"Yes, that's fine. I do not mind, it'll give me a chance to meet Pierre for breakfast then."

"Thank you."

"Can I ask why?"

"No special reason, I am busy on Thursday with something else, so it is easier if I go in tomorrow."

"Whatever you say." Arthur was every bit as curious about why Charles was being so secretive, but he said nothing else that night.

If there was a mystery to be uncovered as to where his brother was going to be on Thursday, Arthur knew that the best way to figure it out was to simply ask Pierre. Little did either of them know that it wasn't Thursday that Charles was looking forward to, but the very next day itself.

Over the years, a lot of drivers had come to Pascale for a haircut appointment; friends of Charles, including Oscar- but when he had shown up with his mother the following morning, it wasn't to greet his grid mate, who had snagged the first slot of the day, but someone else, someone familiar.

"Good morning, Mr. Webber, welcome to my mother's salon." Charles was perfectly calm when Mark walked in through the doors, having had the entire night to settle his nerves.

"Hello, Charles." Mark smiled when he saw him standing there at the entrance.

He had called the house last night, apologizing for the lateness and expecting to hear Pascale Leclerc on the other end, but it had been Charles who had answered the phone. And though their conversation had been brief, Charles was able to reassure Mark that his mother's early morning schedule was open and would be more than happy to see Mark as her first client of the day. Most of the time, people would book her from late-morning to early-evening and it meant that for the first few hours, Mark would be the only one around.

And so here they were, face to face once again, both of them simply staying in the moment without really even saying anything. Until Pascale emerged from her office to tend to her client, but not before asking her son to stick around and help translate everything that Mark needed.

Five.

To say that Charles was caught off guard when his Mother showed up with none other than Mark himself one night the following year during break, telling him that she had invited him for dinner, was an understatement. It turned out that Pascale had gotten a flat tire on her way home from work and coincidentally, Mark had been her last appointment of the day and offered to drive her back home.

She had left her son to convince their guest to agree to her invitation, telling them both that she would set about making dinner immediately; no one else was at the house that night - Arthur was away at Lorenzo and Charlotte's house visiting baby Camilla, which meant they had some time to themselves.

"It wasn't a bother at all, your mother is a lovely woman." Mark said when Pascale had explained to Charles what happened, "But I don't want to impose."

"Nonsense, we'd love to have you for dinner, Mr. Webber. It's the least we can do to say thank you. Please, stay." Charles was not going to take no for an answer if he had anything to say about it.

"Charles-" Mark began, and was equally surprised when Charles took his hand, shaking his head as if to say that he wasn't going to let him go so easily.

"Stay. For me." Charles whispered softly.

And that was that. After all these years of circling around each other, years of waiting, wondering, hoping that there would be more than just these stolen moments between them, Charles finally gave in and said what he was always thinking about; trying to find a reason to let Mark stay… even if it was for a little bit longer.

"Oh Charles…" Mark looked at him in wonder, and saw the exact same feeling in his eyes that was reflected back in his own.

He hoped, secretly, that whatever this was between them which had once started off with a simple but meaningful collision, wasn't something that was one-sided. So here he was, baring his truth as gently and carefully as he could, knowing that if he didn't stop Mark from leaving tonight then-

It was like a breath of fresh air that filled within him as he understood what Charles was asking of him, and if they were going to move forward with… this… Mark knew what he had to do now.

"Yes, I'll stay." He said at last.

From somewhere inside the house, Pascale's voice called out to them that dinner was ready, but even though the spell had broken, as they turned to head inside together, Charles couldn't help but let his fingers brush against Mark's ever-so-softly; and when he saw Mark's smile as he interlocked their hands, Charles knew this was the last time he would say "Mr. Webber."

Six.

"Meet me at my place tonight? 9 o'clock?"

"Yes. I'll be there."

Charles couldn't stop thinking about the message that Mark had sent him a week after their dinner; Pascale couldn't stop talking about how lovely and polite and kind Mark was, she definitely seemed to have approved of her son's choice of a friend - and well, if there was something more than that, Charles knew she would support him no matter what. With Lorenzo settled now, Pascale was going to turn her attention to both Charles and Arthur soon enough.

He spent the whole morning and afternoon keeping busy, helping around the house, stopping by to see Camilla for a few hours and even squeezed some time training with Andrea, to help settle his nerves. Dinner at home with his mother was one thing, but to be invited to Mark's house where it would be just the two of them… Charles was… excited, but wanted to take things slow. Even though this had been years in the making, he was determined to do it the right way.

Being punctual was part of his nature, so of course, at exactly 9 pm, Charles found himself standing outside the door to Mark's house, wondering if he should knock or ring the bell? He was saved from the decision when the door opened before he ended up doing both.

"Charles, hi." Mark stood there, looking at him the same way that he always had, as if a part of him couldn't believe he was… here.

"Hi… umm… I bought wine." Charles said, having spent the last hour at home debating whether flowers was too much, too obvious, too soon?

"Thank you, please, come in." Taking the bottle from Charles, Mark waited until he had set foot inside and casually placed a hand on his lower back, guiding him.

Charles had heard from Oscar, that even though Mark was taking a step back in his manager duties to focus on Oscar's commercial side of things, Mark had made the decision to move permanently to Monaco. After living in England for so long, it seemed… convenient to be at the heart of F1; most of the other drivers were also still living here, not only those currently racing.

"It's not much, but it's home." Mark said as he left Charles's side momentarily, just long enough to open the wine and pour a glass each for them.

"It's beautiful, cozy. I like it." Charles was so caught up in taking in his surroundings, of the house feeling lived in, that he didn't sense Mark at his side again, until the glass was offered to him.

"Shall we go outside? The view is one of the reasons I chose this place."

"Yes, I'd love to see it."

"I know it's not like Mareterra- but, I've always had a fondness for this neighborhood."

The fact that Mark's apartment building was in Fontvieille, not too far from where Pascale's salon was, made Charles wonder at the coincidence. Monaco being as small as it was, meant everyone did live relatively near to each other.

"I think it's perfect." Charles said as he looked to the sea that lay glittering under the starry night sky, with the harbor below and all of the docked yachts lined all around.

"I didn't buy it just for the view you know." Mark was staring at Charles when he spoke.

"No?" Charles asked curiously.

Was it silly of him to think that after all these years, maybe there was a reason why Mark had chosen to move to Monaco now. The wine was forgotten as Mark set it aside, taking it from Charles's hands so that he could hold them instead.

"No. I was thinking more about the people here when I decided to move." Mark said, trying not to smile and failing at his own words.

"Of course, it's easier to be closer to Oscar if you're living here." Charles nodded, understanding what Mark was telling him.

"I didn't move here for Oscar." Shaking his head, Mark took a step closer to Charles.

"Well yes, I mean. David is here too isn't he?" Charles said abruptly, referring to Mark's old teammate, David Coulthard.

"I didn't move here for David."

"Then… why…"

"Isn't it obvious, Charles?" The space between them was so close now, Charles could feel Mark's breath caressing his cheek, "I moved here. For you. When you asked me to stay last year, I… I took that to mean that you wanted… this." "Want me." Was left unsaid.

"Oh." Charles couldn't believe that Mark had done that for him, but he knew he wouldn't have it any other way; after all these years, here they were together. "Yes, yes I do. I want this. I want… you."

And since Mark had practically opened the door, Charles took a leap of faith and closed the distance with a kiss.

It was soft at first, gentle even, his arms going around Mark's neck to pull him closer, deepening the kiss as Mark's hands found their way to Charles's waist, grabbing on tight.

"Charles… I'm in love with you. I have been since the first day that I saw you."