MV3 🦁 CL16 Formula 1 & NH🎶

And he tried not to dwell on it. Tried not to think on it. But sometimes late at night all he could wonder was which he preferred. He decided his father didn't belong in the equation. The real comparison was Jules and Antoine. And the questions was if, God forbid, it happened again, which was better? 

Months of hoping, of saying goodbye, but watching as the body waste away to nothing? That glimmer of hope still gleaming somewhere in the background, only to be disappointed and devastated, even if it was somewhat expected? 

Or, the heartbreak in a second? No time to prepare. No time to grieve. There one moment gone the next. They probably didn't even feel pain. 

Which was better? 

Instant he finally decides. Anthoine's death had hit hard, but those weeks of waiting for something, anything, with Jules had been worse. 

And yet somehow, somehow, this was even more worse. 

He doesn't visit Max in the hospital. 

Not in Japan, though maybe he should have. No one from the grid did as far as he knew. That wasn't really - there wasn't much protocol on things like this. And Red Bull was there for him. That was all Max needed before. He wouldn't want drivers hanging around and judging him when he woke up. 

Of course that point is null because- 

Charles doesn't visit Max in Japan. 

There's the podium (they play the Dutch anthem to an empty step. There's not a single Red Bull member in the crowd. Charles doesn't cry, but only because he's too numb.) and then the team brief (it's not a debrief. They sit in the room, no one saying anything. Lewis stares at his hands. Charles blinks rapidly until the room is no longer blurry). 

And then Charles is on his way. He probably didn't have to rush off. They have a week before the next race weekend. But he can't stand to be there. Not anymore he doesn't know if he'll ever be able to race there again. He can't look at Lando. 

Bahrain feels wrong. It's quiet. No one really talks. The FIA briefing is awkward. They have to be careful with what they say anyway. The general public doesn't know much. Just that Max is alive but unconscious. There's a debate online on whether it's medically induced or organic. Charles knows enough to know with those kinds of injuries, it really doesn't matter. 

Lando won't get in the car. Charles obviously doesn't see it happen. Doesn't see Lando stare at the painted 1 on his car before bolting out of the room. But he hears of it. News such as that travels fast in the paddock. 

The Grid is all different. Leonardo in the McLaren. Yuki in the Red Bull. 

But Charles is in the Ferrari like always. 

Jeddah is much of the same. There’s no news on Lando. Even less on Max. 

But the air is different. Like everyone else has forgotten. Was that all it took to forget? Three weeks? Two races? 

It’s not until Oscar stands on the podium, Charles to his right does a calmness fall across the room. Not until they’re reminded that Oscar has just taken lead of the championship. And that Max will not be taking it back. That Charles is now on equal points. If he’s even P10 in Miami, Max will be delegated to P3. Then George will catch up and send Max out of the top three. Max Verstappen forever stopped at 82 points. 

Charles flies to Belgium. 

In 2014 Jules Bianchi crashed. He never woke up. 

He’s trying to remember when he had lost hope that time around. If it had been instant. He doesn’t think so. It had taken six weeks, he thinks. Somewhere between the six week and two month mark Charles had known it was over. Mostly at least. 

And yet it wasn’t until the day it was officially declared that Charles completely believed it. Because hope is afraid to die. 

Then Anthoine had been gone in a moment. Here one, gone the next. 

And if he had to choose again- to watch it happen again- he thinks- he thinks he would choose the instant. Because that ends. That happens. Then you grieve. Move on. Things are never the same and yet- it’s over. You can move on. 

But you can’t choose. And he hadn’t been able to choose. And fate had elected to not let it be quick. 

He was determined to make this time different. This time he knew it was over. There was no reason to hope. There was no reason to beg and plead and pray. Max was gone. It was time he accepted it. 

And when he steps into the hospital room, he knows it’s true. Max is dead. Has been from the  beginning. You can’t compare someone to Senna as often as Max had and expect him to live a long life. You can’t expect Charles to care about someone and for them to live long. It was just the way things were. 

GP is there. That surprises him, though maybe it shouldn’t. He expects Sophie, maybe Victoria, but not GP. 

“Hello Charles,” He says quietly, rising from the chair beside the bed, closing the book he had been reading. “I didn’t know you were stopping by.”

“Oh- uhm- I am sorry I did not think-”

“No, no it’s fine. I’m sure he’s glad you’re here.” 

Charles looks at the “he” in question, lying pale in the hospital bed. Well what can be seen of him. He doesn’t look like Max. Not really. And maybe that makes it easier. If it’s not Max. If it’s someone else with a tube shoved down his throat, machines breathing for him, bruised eyes not even fluttering behind closed lids. His right arm is in a cast, his right leg still in some form of traction. Charles wonders why they’re even trying. Max was dead before it started. 

 “How is he?” He cringes even as the words leave his mouth. He can see how he is. 

“Not much change.” GP says quietly, his eyes are on Max’s face instead of Charles, his hand reaching out to hold the one on the bed. “The doctor says his best chance is keeping him in the coma for now. They are waiting to see what the swelling does on its own.” 

Of course that is the important part. Of course that is what he really wanted to know. And yet- “And what of the rest of it? They never did tell us what happened.” 

GP’s voice is haunted when he says, “The survival cell didn’t hold. We don’t- they’re still reviewing the wreckage. I don’t know if they will find an answer.” 

That does explain things to a degree. It explains the cast and the traction. He’s afraid of what he would see if he pulled the light blanket back. Did the arm take the brunt of it? Or did it crush the ribs too? Was there internal bleeding or is it really just the head injury they are worried about? Does it matter? 

No. No it doesn’t matter. Because Charles has seen this before. He knows this story. And he knows what will be the outcome. 

“How are you?” Charles finally asks awkwardly, trying to pull himself away from the thoughts swirling in his head. He should not have come here. 

“I’m okay, Charles. But thank you for asking.” It’s a lie. One of the boldest he’s seen from the engineer. But he supposes he has to accept it. What else is there to do?  

“Will you- will you let me know if- if there is anything.” He doesn't want to say. Doesn't want to ask. But he doesn't want to find out through the media.

“Of course.” It's quiet and simple but he believes him. He accepts it. 

“Would you like to sit with him?” GP offers. 

Charles almost says no. But then he wonders how long GP had been standing vigil. “I will stay.” He decided, “You should find something to eat.” 

“I don't need-” 

“No, no he would want you to eat. Go.” He waves him away. 

GP hesitates, but eventually he leaves. Charles is left alone. He hates it. Because he is alone. Max isn’t here. Not really. 

He’d sat with Jules some. Not a lot. His dad had discouraged it. Thought it would scare him away from racing. But it hadn’t. Maybe it should have. Maybe things would be different now.

So Charles sits there. With Max. Well, what’s left of him. He won’t wake up. Charles knows this. He must know this because thinking anything else would be foolish.

Max was dead the moment impact was made. Charles must remember this. Nothing good will come from hoping. This has been proven time and time again. 

“You are stupid, you know this?” Is it a bad thing to say? Don’t speak ill of the dead and all that. “You always knew this would happen. How often did you say you could die at any minute, hm? Did you know or did you just talk?” Does it even matter? Not really. “And yet you still got in the car. I think I hate you for that.”

They weren’t close. Not really. Never had been, despite all of the fan theories and speculations. They’d nearly hated each other at times. Well, Charles had hated Max. Max never really seemed to care about him either way. And maybe that’s what had hurt the most. Max’s indifference. His friendly smile that was never meant to be something more. But no extra attention. Not if Charles was nice. Not if he was mean. Max was just Max. And Charles would always be nothing more than Charles.  And now- well he would never be anything more to Max. Because Max was gone. The beeping machines and woosh of air pumping his lungs were sounds of things ending. They mocked Charles. Tried to give him false hope when he knew, he knew what hospitals meant. And he knew that they could keep a rotting corpse hostage forever and it would still mean nothing. 

Charles should leave. No one needed to sit with Max. It had been weeks already. He wasn’t going to just wake up. But he told GP he would stay and it would be wrong to walk away now. 

So he sits for an hour. And he tries not to think. And then GP is back sooner than he really should be. And Charles gives him a weak smile and walks out the door and resolves to never enter that room again. 

But that’s a lie. 

Because even dying (dead- Max is already dead) there’s something magnetic to him. Something that Charles could never draw himself away from. 

So he goes back. 

Again. 

And again. 

Never for long. 

Long enough to let GP or Sophie or Victoria (never Jos. It’s never Jos) grab a meal or a nap or a shower. He sits and he reads or he scrolls or stares at the wall. 

It is what it is. 

The season heats up. Visiting becomes less possible. The championship becomes more competitive. 

With Lando out he's mostly fighting with Oscar. He's always liked Oscar. But he has the misfortune right now to be wearing papaya orange. 

Charles is three points away from taking the lead in the championship. He knows this weekend could be the moment. 

He stops in Belgium after Spain, before heading to some meetings in Italy. He can’t stay long. He knows that when he gets there. And yet, this time, more than usual. He doesn't want to leave. 

Max doesn’t look any different than last time. He’s still pale, his hair is maybe a bit longer than normal, the whooshing of the ventilator and steady beat of the heart monitor the only real sounds of the room. 

GP’s exhaustion seems only to be growing by the day. “I can take over for a little while.” Charles offers softly, moving to sit in the chair he has come to think of as his own. 

“No, I think I’ll stay for now.” And there’s something different in his voice this time. Something more resigned. 

It’s coming to an end. That’s what GP’s voice is saying. But Charles can’t admit to that right now. He doesn’t want to. So instead he asks, “I see his leg is out of traction. And the sling is gone as well.” 

GP sighs, a heaviness to it that Charles had not yet heard. “Yes, the bones are still weaker than they would like but-” he shakes his head, pressing his lips together. 

But it doesn't matter. That's what he was going to say. But it doesn't matter. Because he's not going to wake up. It's all cosmetics for the sake of the casket at this point. 

They sit in silence. Charles, unable to say any of the thoughts circling in his mind. Not wanting to. If he asked- if he received any form of confirmation- it became real. 

The sun has set and Charles needs to begin his trip to the airport. He’s spent the last several hours at the edge of the bed, hand resting in the slightly curled fingers of Max’s good hand. His thumb rubs gently over the back of it before he brings it up to his mouth. He’s not sure why he does it. Why he lets his lips brush across the hand ever so slightly. He does it and maybe that is enough. 

“I will be back, Max.” He promises, like it will make a difference. “I will try to stop by after Austria if I can. After Silverstone for certain, okay?” There's no response. He is not expecting one. He has known from the beginning that he should not expect anything. And yet a part of him hopes that this will be different. That Max’s hand will twitch in his, that his eyes will fly open and this long nightmare will stop. 

Instead there is nothing. When he finally looks up, he sees GP watching him. GP, jaw tight, eyes wet. 

It is just finally getting to him. That’s what Charles has to believe. The weeks have stretched and stretched and GP can no longer hold onto hope. 

This is of course why Charles never had any. You can not lose hope if you never have any to begin with. 

It is contradictory. He knows this. And yet he can not stop himself. 

He clears his throat, “I will be back. You will call me, yes? If something changes?” 

GP nods once. “Of course.” Voice strained, barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Charles.”

When the door closes behind him, Charles has the feeling that things will never be the same. He pushes the feeling down. It is not like he can lose hope if he never had it to begin with.