Ella

"Daniel," Max sighs, in that annoying voice he pulls out when he thinks Daniel is being too silly around the garage, "we don't have time for th..."

Daniel slams the door closed, letting Max's wrist go to cross his arms.

"I don't give a fuck about the debrief, and you won't give a fuck either until we're done talking about this," he tells Max, voice way too level for how incensed he feels.

Max's eyebrows go up in surprise, probably because he couldn't imagine Daniel, happy, jokey, always smiling Daniel, could sound like this.

Still, he doesn't back down. He never backs down, and Daniel is tired.

"Daniel..." he tries again. Daniel cuts him off.

"No, it's my turn to speak. I know you've been the hotshot new engineer since before I came back, and I know you're good, I'm not denying that," Daniel ignores the way Max's eyes widen, mouth dropping open, "but you need to stop talking to me like I'm stupid when I'm in the car."

Max's mouth snaps closed again.

"Just drive, Danyul," Daniel says, voice going high and mocking, unable to stop now that he's started, "I know better than you do, Danyul! You're too stupid for this, Danyul!"

Max frowns, crossing his own arms, even if his stance looks more defensive than furious. "I never said that."

Daniel scoffs, slashing a hand through the air, making Max flinch minutely. "That's clearly what you mean!"

"That's not true," Max protests, "I'm just..."

Daniel doesn't let him finish again, taking one step forward and watching Max go still, breath stopping. His eyes are blue and huge, cheeks red, pink lips parted, and for the first time since he'd been introduced as Daniel's new race engineer he looks taken off guard.

"You think you're smarter than me, and maybe you are," Daniel says, voice low and steely, "but you have no right to treat me like that in front of the whole world."

Max still hasn't taken a breath, standing still in the middle of the room, looking like he's braced for impact.

"I don't think that," he finally says, quiet and strained, "I don't want to give you information you don't need, when you should focus on the car."

"Telling me I'll handle it isn't any better than telling me to shut the fuck up," Daniel snipes back, still furious and still unwilling to back down, despite Max clearly not wanting to fight. He looks younger like this, flushed and contrite, not older than his actual age like he usually does.

It almost makes it harder to stay angry. Almost.

"You either change that or I'm gonna ask to switch engineers."

He wonders if Max has ever been told no before. If he's ever had to adjust his way of doing things to adapt it for others. If he's ever had to question his belief of always being right.

There's something weird in the way Max is still looking at him, wide eyed and shocked, but Daniel ignores it, only waiting for an answer. After what feels like hours, Max nods.

"I'll...figure it out," he says. Not an apology, not a I will do better.

Daniel scoffs again, then turns around to get out of the room before he can do something stupid like starting an actual fight.

--

Daniel spends the next two weeks refusing to think about the way Max had flinched and gone quiet in the driver's room, and finding himself thinking about his red cheeks and pink lips instead, about the blue of his eyes, for once completely unguarded.

If any of it appears in his brain while he's jerking off in the shower then nobody needs to know, and he can just pretend it's leftover frustration from the first few races.

--

Daniel is sitting down in one of the chairs in the debrief room, waiting for the meeting to start and lazily rocking it back and forth, when a folder lands in front of him with a soft thump.

He startles, dropping the front legs of the chair back to the floor with a crash, head snapping up to meet Max's serious eyes.

"What the fuck, mate?"

Max sits down next to him, carefully starting to sort out his papers, pens and pencils.

"I have watched your onboards at McLaren," he says calmly, "and compiled a set of suggestions of changes in the way I tell you things based on how they were speaking to you. Read it, make the changes you want and then approve it."

"Mate," Daniel hesitates, baffled, opening the folder to find several pages inside, filled with sentences and correlated data. "This is insane, yeah?"

Max finally looks at him and his cheeks are red again, even if his eyes stay icy. "You asked me to fix it, I am creating a frame of reference on how you want me to do that. What else do you want me to do?"

Daniel laughs, mocking and incredulous, rifling through the papers.

"I don't know, Max, talk to me? Ask questions like a normal human being? This is absurd."

Max flushes harder, jaw tightening. "I am trying to..."

"I'm not reading this," Daniel interrupts him, sliding the folder back to him. "I'm sure you can figure out how to be a prodigy race engineer and not an ass on your own, but if you need any pointers...."

He pauses, then reaches forward to grab one of Max's pens and one of his post-it notes, the ones Max uses to add tiny, tidy notes in the corners of his printed data.

"Here," he says, starting to write, "point one: don't treat your driver like he's stupid; point two: ask questions like a big boy; point three: take normal human interactions 101."

By the time he looks up, Max's face is red and blotchy, burning shame in his eyes.

"Now who's treating who like he's stupid?" he snipes, snagging his pen out of Daniel's grip. "I know I fucked up, but you don't have the right to treat me like this either."

Someone clears their throat, and Daniel suddenly realizes that the room has slowly filled, the meeting about to start, and he has run out of time to apologize for being a complete asshole to his race engineer.

Shit, well done Daniel.

Max doesn't look at him for the rest of the debrief, his cheeks staying pink for the whole time. His notes aren't as neat as usual. Daniel feels like the worst dickhead in the world.

--

"Listen, Max, can we..."

Daniel reaches for Max's wrist again, but Max pulls it away, taking a half step back, standing straight and solid in front of Daniel. He's collected himself, every stray feeling carefully tucked away under his usual blank expression, and he looks older than he is again.

"I know we haven't been working together for long," he says, sounding like he's been rehearsing the speech in his head, "but I am a professional, even if you don't seem to think so. I am of course young, like you have said, but I know my job, and I know how to do my job. I will try to do it better so it suits you, but of course it won't work if you keep thinking I am trying to sabotage you, or something."

"I don't think you are," Daniel interjects weakly, feeling thoroughly chastised.

"I will of course be professional," Max continues, as if he hadn't spoken at all, "I ask you to do the same, and at the end of the season I can be reassigned."

He doesn't give Daniel the time to reply before he's turning around and walking away, taking his folder with him, clutched tight to his chest.

--

Daniel can't sleep.

He can't stop thinking about Max's red face in the debrief room, feeling like the worst person on earth. The worst part is that he can't even talk about it with anyone, because he's sure everyone would just confirm that yes, he is a horrible human being, and that probably wouldn't help.

First he didn't communicate properly with his race engineer, whose job is quite literally to communicate with him, then he blew up at him with no warning, and finally he made fun of him in a room full of their coworkers, telling him to be a normal human being. He had gotten so caught up on all the shit going on in his head that he had forgotten how to be a decent person.

Daniel groans, burying his face in the pillow. He is horrible. Absolutely despicable. He should go grovel at Max's feet, or maybe throw himself out of a window, or maybe leave the sport and never come back.

At least one of those things is doable without having life-ending consequences though, and that's how he finds himself with his phone in his hand, scrolling through his contacts.

Are u still up? he sends, like an idiot.

The answer comes a moment later, despite the late hour. Yes.

Can I come over?

There's a longer pause this time, dots appearing and disappearing for a minute, then again yes.

Great. Now for the grovelling part.

Max opens the door wearing what Daniel is pretty sure is a football shirt and soft looking gym shorts, and it's weird to see him out of the team kit, but also somehow endearing to notice that he had just swapped out one sport for another. His hair is also softer looking than usual, no trace of gel in it, and once again Daniel is hit by how young he looks when he's not focused on his job.

"Hello Daniel," he says, polite and a bit stilted, moving aside to let him in. "What do you need?"

What Daniel needs is to stop being an asshole. And also to stop looking at Max's exposed legs.

"I need to apologize," he says instead, because despite the recent signs he still has a somewhat working brain.

Max frowns, tilting his head at him, lips slightly parted.

"Apologize?"

Daniel fidgets, wanting to sit down but not really knowing where. Max's room is much smaller than his, doesn't have the couch Daniel got, only his bed and a small chair at a narrow desk, both covered in Max's things. He doesn't want to occupy Max's bed though, not when the sheets are still pulled to the side, mattress showing a slight indentation where Max had been sitting, probably still warm...

He stays standing. It's a better starting position for groveling anyway.

"I have been an ass," he finally says, rubbing a hand on his cheek, feeling the stubble there. "I haven't..." he shakes his head at himself, and Max blinks at him, apparently shocked by the sudden development of his night.

"It's been hard, coming back to the team," Daniel admits, unable to keep all the bitterness out of his voice. "It felt a bit like giving up, and then I came back and things weren't all magically okay. It's been stressing me out, but that doesn't mean I should have taken it out on you."

Max nods, serious and focused as if Daniel had been telling him about a problem with the car instead of bearing his soul at him or some shit.

"I understand. It is of course hard to change teams always, even when it is back to an old team. And I think..." Max hesitates, then carries on, "I think your last year at McLaren was of course not too nice, let's say it like that. It is okay to be stressed, I think."

Daniel snorts, feeling his mouth tug up at the words. Not too nice, yeah understatement of the century.

"I don't mind if you get upset at me, if it helps you. But I would also of course like to win with you, so if I can do my job better, I want to do it."

Daniel's smile disappears as he gapes. Max looks back at him, seemingly unfazed, as if he hadn't just dropped two devastating sentences one after the other.

"You want to win?" he croaks, brain stuttering.

Max shakes his head, smiling a little.

"Of course I want to win, but I want to win with you," he reiterates, like it's nothing.

Not just win. Not with the team. With Daniel.

There's something big and complicated happening in his chest, and Daniel decides the unmade bed is not such a bad choice after all, sitting down heavily. He doesn't know why the room is slightly blurry.

"I think," Max says, crouching down in front of him, because he apparently has never learned when to give a man a break, "that at McLaren they made you forget, a little, who you can be. I want you to remember, because you will win again, and I want to be there."

Daniel swallows, closing his eyes to avoid the intensity of Max's gaze.

"I just came here to apologize," he finally manages to choke out, his voice weak to his own ears, "not to get therapized."

Max laughs, hand heavy on his knee when he uses it to push back to his feet.

"Too bad," he tells him, patting his shoulder. "But I of course accept your apology. Now come here, let's talk about where to improve."