#daemon verse

But Max is his driver, now, and GP hears it again from Christian in a formal, if quick, meeting instead of from mechanics chatting over blaring music, and GP really has to pay attention to it now.

Still, he finds it hard to believe. And anyway, Christian may be the team principal, but he's fairly hands-off of Toro Rosso, and so how would he know for sure? Has he watched Max get into the car without his dæmon? Is he sure that Max's dæmon isn't just small enough that she hides tucked into his race suit?

Certainly, that's what GP assumes when he meets Max in the simulator room and there is no dæmon trailing behind. It's not out of the question for dæmons to be small and tucked away—GP rarely ever sees Hannah's doormouse dæmon, Ed, despite how closely they work together, for sheer reason that he spends the majority of his time in her pocket.

It's much believable that somehow Max has tricked people into thinking he drives without his dæmon while she's hidden somewhere on his person than it is that he actually does drive without her. GP can't quite find a good reason why Max would fabricate such a thing, but... People can't stand to be more than a few feet away from their dæmons. So how could there possibly be a setup that works for the kilometer-plus distances that drivers achieve from the pit wall every race? Unless Max's dæmon is a damn cheetah who sprints alongside him around the inside of the track, but GP thinks he would have noticed something like that.

And when Max walks into the sim room all bright eyes, not clutching at his chest in agony, and with no cheetah at his side, GP is confident in his hypothesis that Max's dæmon must just be really small.

But couple of hours into their work together on the simulator (which Max has been performing scarily good at, acclimating to the car within a lap and asking serious questions about the set up with intense blue eyes), a cat wanders into the room.

GP watches, baffled, as it pads over to the sim rig and sits down on the opposite side of Max than GP and Petunia are sitting. What the hell?Quickly, he glances around to see if it's the dæmon of some member of staff he doesn't know slipping into the room with some message to deliver, but there's nobody.

GP tries to ignore the cat as Max continues on his run—no matter how well Max is performing on the simulator, they're still running on an insanely truncated schedule, Max getting into the real car in just about a week for the Barcelona Grand Prix, and GP needs to stay focused.

It's only after Max finishes his run and talks with GP at length about their mutual notes that he turns to his other side and peers down at the cat with a smile.

He looks back to GP. "Can she sit in my lap for just one lap? Of course, it is not neccessary, but she likes to drive on the simulator with me."

GP doesn't answer for a few beats. A slight furrow forms between Max's brow before he can find his voice. "Yes. Of course. Go ahead."

The cat jumps into Max's lap and they both settle comfortably.

The lap Max runs is no better or worse than any other. GP spends most of it watching the cat's eyes dart around, greedily following every detail on screen. As soon as the lap ends, she jumps back onto the ground.

"Thank you," Max says, his lisp catching on the th, a smile crinkling in the corners of his eyes.

GP can't focus quite right for the rest of the day. He spends the whole time trying to convince himself that somehow, Max's dæmon was in the room before, and he just didn't see her. That the cat was not his dæmon at all, but some well-behaved pet. That this whole thing about Max not driving with a dæmon is borne from anything other than the truth.

--

At the Barcelona Grand Prix, GP watches Max get into the car every practice session and qualifying with no cat in sight, and he has half the mind to brush the memory of she and Max settling comfortably together to drive a lap out of his mind.

But he's smarter than that, really. And the conclusion of Occam's razor has shifted.

On Sunday, when GP walks to the pit wall after speaking to Max on the grid, before the formation lap, he sees her just for a moment at the garage entrance, standing still, staring out at the track. But as soon as everyone starts flooding back to the pit lane, she turns around and streaks away.

And GP thinks to himself, as he settles down into his chair and does his final radio checks before race start, that a driver racing without their dæmon is the most insane thing that he'll ever see. But it turns out it's only the second, because that driver racing without his dæmon—who jumped into the simulator for his car only a week ago, and drove the car itself for the first time only a couple of days ago—wins the race.

Max's voice is jubilant and shaky on the radio. Every Red Bull team member floods into the pit lane to celebrate. Max's father's nose is bleeding. GP looks around, but Max's dæmon, whom he doesn't even know the name of—has only seen twice—is still nowhere to be seen. And GP might not know where she is, but he's sure, now, that it's not hidden within Max's race suit.

He thinks again about the distance between the furthest reaches of the circuit and the garage he saw her disappearing into earlier. About how the whole world narrows down to panic and pain when he's mere feet away from Petunia. Thinks about Max's shaky voice as he thanked the team for helping him get to the win today, and how it hadn't shaken at any other point during the race.

Maybe the win wasn't the craziest part after all. Maybe all of it is insane.

GP arches an eyebrow. "Why are you going to the hardware store? What could you possibly need that we don't have? And why wouldn't you just send an intern?"

Calum shakes his head with a grin while Greg shoves GP in the shoulder and yells again, "Boys' trip out!"

"Yeah, we've got nothing better to do until FP2, so we thought we'd make an occasion out of it," Calum explains, somewhat more helpfully. "It's not actually anything important, Ole was just complaining that we're running low on reflector tape. So, you wanna join?"

GP looks between their eager faces and glances back at the setup sheet that he already knows inside-out.

He pinches his nose with a sigh. "Alright. Why not."

"Yes!" Greg pumps an arm and then slaps GP's back heartily. "Come on. Calum's driving."

GP raises an eyebrow. "When did we decide that?"

"Well, it was my masterful idea to go on this trip, so I get to choose who drives. And I choose me."

"Naturally."

Greg is practically bouncing in place as he waits for GP to remove his headset and order his papers in his folder. Petunia comes out from beneath the table, and she and Calum's dæmon, Mara, sniff each other in greeting.

As GP tucks away his folder, Max sidles up to them. "Hey," he greets, leaning a hip against the table and nodding to them.

"Max! You're coming with us," Greg says. Jen bobs her head in agreement.

"Oh, yeah, you should definitely come! But I already called dibs on driving."

Max blinks, eyes wide, and looks to GP for an explanation.

GP sighs. "'Boys' trip' to the hardware store. Guess you're invited."

Max's brows furrow. "Why are we going to the hardware store? What possibly could we need that we do not have?"

"Glad to see we're bringing someone else reasonable," GP mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear. Petunia, apparently done with Mara, sits at Max's feet. She stares up at him and wags her tail patiently.

Max bends down to scratch behind her ears. GP can't help the way his mouth ticks up at the familiar sensation.

"It's not about what we need. It's about the journey," Calum says.

"Translation: We're all bored and have nothing better to do."

Calum shrugs. "Yeah, pretty much."

"So, you in?" Greg asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Max straightens up from where he'd been petting Petunia. "Absolutely. I am, of course, also very bored. Why do you think I am here talking with you?"

"Atta boy," Greg says, shoving Max's arm. GP rolls his eyes fondly at them.

"How far is the store?" Max asks as they start to make their way out of the garage.

"Eh, couple of kilometers. Nice thing about street circuits, huh?"

"The only nice thing," Max snarks.

They all chuckle.

"Hey, come on, I thought that you liked driving so on the limit during qualifying here."

Max shrugs. "That is fair enough."

They walk to the parking lot, and Calum navigates them to his rental car for the week. Greg calls shotgun, so GP and Max sit in the back, which Max immediately makes everyone else's problem by complaining about how much leg room he has until Greg moves his seat up.

"I still do not even know what we are getting," Max says once Calum has hooked up his phone and they're pulling out of the perfectly packed-in parking lot.

"Tape, Maxy boy!" Greg answers.

"Ole was complaining about running low on tape."

Greg twists fully around in his seat to look back at Max. "Exactly," he says through the gap in the headrest, tapping his nose with a finger.

GP shakes his head. "You all are fools."

"You're here, too!" Calum reminds helpfully.

Petunia huffs from where her head is resting in GP's lap.

Since it's the middle of the day on Friday, it's not actually a nightmare to get out of the circuit grounds. They listen to Calum's music, and then listen to Calum and Greg argue about Calum's music. GP rolls his window down to let Petunia hang her head out, and he watches the city pass by.

"How much further is it?" Max asks after a few minutes. Normally, GP probably wouldn't pay any attention to such a question, assuming that Max is simply bored and trying to rile up Calum. But there's something about the tone of Max's voice that has GP turning around to look at him.

At once, he's glad he did. Max is sitting ramrod straight, hands clenching tight on his thighs. His face is eerily pale, mouth twisted in a grimace.

"Uhh, end of this street, I think," Calum replies, glancing between his phone and the road.

"Pull over," GP says, watching as Max screws his eyes tightly shut. GP can hear how he's regulating his breathing. Or at least trying to—exhales coming out in shallow puffs.

When a beat passes only to find them still trundling silently down the road, GP raises his voice. "Pull over. NOW."

Calum jerks the wheel to the right and pulls off into a parking lot entrance a few meters away. GP's attention flits briefly to the front of the car, and he sees Greg unclick his seatbelt to turn fully around to see what's going on. Jen is perched on the center console with her feathers puffed up.

The car stops. Calum twists around himself, and Mara's head pops up beside the headrest as she scales his body to perch on his shoulder and peer into the back of the car as well.

Everybody's eyes are on Max. Petunia takes a tentative step forward and licks his hand, which is still clenched tightly around the fabric of his jeans.

His fingers spasm.

"Max?" Petunia asks. "What's wrong?"

Max's hand slowly unclenches, and he reaches blindly to pet Petunia. She tilts her head forward to meet him. GP feels the tingles when they make contact, and though he's used to them by now, with Max, he can feel the flutters of Max's discomfort through their connection, and it makes his gut twist.

"Are you okay, mate?" Greg asks.

Max is still breathing purposefully even. He nods robotically. "Sorry. I'm fine. Just... Give me a second. We were almost there, yes? We can continue next. Just-"

He takes another breath. GP watches his other hand twitch, fingers flexing, like Max is trying to will himself to loosen his grip on the fabric of his jeans.

As GP feels a phantom scratch behind his ears, it occurs to him to check on Leonie. He's used to looking to her for cues on how Max is doing. With all the time they spend together on the pit wall with Max in the car, GP can read her better than he can Max—at least visually—and she's much more open with how she and Max are feeling than Max is, anyway.

Only... as he glances around the back of the car, he doesn't see her anywhere.

GP's heart drops into his stomach. "Max," he says, trying to keep his voice level. Petunia lets out a small whine. "Where's Leonie?"

From the front of the car, Calum swears. He turns back around in his seat and restarts the engine. "Greg, find me the fastest route back," he says, peeling out of the parking lot at breakneck speeds. "I don't fucking care how illegal it is."

"On it, boss."

"I'm fine," Max tries to argue. He cracks open his eyelids. Petunia whines again and pulls herself onto his lap, nudging her nose underneath his hand, still gripping tight onto his leg.

He obediently picks it up and rests it on her head, caressing a thumb over her short fur, gentle.

"You are not fine, and we are not going to continue on just to go get some stupid tape we don't really need," GP says, firm. He doesn't say that they wouldn't continue on even if they were doing something important. He has the feeling it would only upset Max further.

The silence stretches between them for the next few blocks as Greg calls out directions and Calum runs red lights.

"Calum, I'm okay," Max says, leaning forward in his seat. "You do not need to drive so fast."

"I'm ignoring you!" Calum calls back.

Max huffs and opens his mouth to say something else, but GP reaches out and puts a hand on his knee.

"Max. We're just concerned about you, mate. You were— We were much too far away from the circuit for you to be without Leonie. Why didn't you bring her?"

Max has the good sense to at least look sheepish. "You said it was only a couple of kilometers. It is, of course, easy for me to be so far from her, and she, anyway, was enjoying her nap."

GP has to force himself to take a deep breath. Being snippy or yelling isn't going to help the situation.

Max's eyes dart down to Petunia, and then back up to GP again. "I am sorry," he says to the whole car. "I should have paid more attention to how far it was going to be. I did not mean to ruin the boys' trip or to scare you all. Really, I am fine."

"We're not going to believe you're fine until you're back with Leonie," Greg says. Now that they're back within the circuit grounds, he's put away Calum's phone and twisted back around to look at Max. "And we don't give a shit about the boys' trip, mate. We just want to make sure you're alright."

Max certainly doesn't look alright. Despite the fact that they're pulling into the parking lot, which is closer to the garages than half of the circuit is, the tension hasn't bled out of Max's body as much as GP had expected.

He may not be pinched and pale, nails digging craters into his legs through his jeans, but GP sees the way he's pushing his heels back into his seat, sees the way his lips are pursed tight.

Sees how he's not quite as okay as he'd like them all to believe.

GP knows that, despite the frequency with which Max and Leonie are separated, it can't exactly be comfortable for them. People are meant to stick with their dæmons—are supposed to be one unit, side by side.

Max and Leonie are an extreme anomaly, really. The furthest GP has ever been from Petunia is only a few meters, back when they were children, playing chicken with the other kids after school, seeing how long human and dæmon could bear to be apart before they ran back into each other's arms.

It's not something GP has done in many years, testing those limits. It's not a sensation he's forgotten from his youth—the painful tugging in his chest, the needles racing underneath his skin. The overwhelming feeling of wrong, wrong, wrong that only worsened with every step further apart.

It's not a sensation easily forgotten, and it's not one he's eager to experience again.

The one to two kilometers of distance that Max sustains with Leonie every weekend while on track—while still maintaining the ability to drive with such skill—is an outstanding feat, and exceedingly unusual.

GP still isn't quite sure how it doesn't tear them apart from the inside out.

He had wondered before, in his early days of working with them, if Max and Leonie are bonded quite like everybody else. Perhaps the physical distance between them is indicative of the spiritual; perhaps they aren't truly entwined with one another's souls, like dæmons and humans are supposed to be.

He's since learned better. He's seen them in the fleeting moments when they are side-by-side—has seen the way Leonie winds her way between Max's legs; the way Max traces along the bridge of her nose with a soft smile. Has seen how they can communicate with one another long-distance, through thought alone, head cocked to the side for just a momentary message. Has seen the way Leonie twitches on the pit wall when Max is in the heat of battle, has seen her flinch with the pain of Max's crashes.

Has felt her fur underneath his hand and felt the flickers of Max he knows so well—voice in his ear come to life.

He's also learned, piece by piece, about the way Max and Leonie had grown up. About how their father had trained them. About what it had taken for them to be able to be so far apart and to still function; how it hadn't happened overnight. How it hadn't happened painlessly.

GP had thought, though—maybe foolishly—that after all the years they've endured of spending so much time apart, it was relatively painless for them now. That when Max looped around lap after lap, driving away from Leonie on repeat, they couldn't feel the painful tug on their hearts.

Or that, if they could, the ache was a dull one.

Maybe they are used to it. Maybe the pain is dulled. But a dull ache is still an ache, and here, in the parking lot, Max and Leonie are closer together than they will be for half of the lap today, tomorrow, the next day. And Max's face is still creased with pain.

Briefly, GP wonders if the corners of Max's mouth pull down into a wince every time he drives the farthest reaches of the circuit—Turn 15, Turn 15, Turn 15. Tugging in his chest never-ending.

GP wonders if, in the heat of the race, Max doesn't feel it at all.

The quick walk back to the Red Bull hospitality is silent, all eyes on Max but no words that wouldn't feel useless and hollow.

They don't make it halfway to the paddock before GP spots a small figure dashing towards them. Max himself breaks into a run, and within moments, Leonie is leaping into his arms.

They're both shaking like leaves. Max is pressing kisses into Leonie's fur, not lifting his head, and Leonie speaks to him in Dutch between desperate purrs.

GP can hear Max's own muttered Dutch as he nears them—a constant stream of,"Het spijt me, het spijt me, het spijt me."

Leonie's purrs only grow louder.

Greg and Calum hover awkwardly behind GP, unsure. GP shakes off his own emotions still churning in his gut. Lets Petunia hold onto them, keening quietly at his feet.

"Get back to the garage," GP instructs them. "Make sure we're all ready for FP2. I don't want to have to do anything other than get there and drive."

Calum straightens his back. He grabs onto Greg, who is still staring at Max and Leonie, horror painted clearly on his face.

"Greg. We need to help Max."

Greg blinks, tearing his gaze away from Max and Leonie to look to Calum and GP. "Help Max." He shakes his head, fog clearing. "Of course. Yeah, we'll make sure everything is set up. You can count on us."

GP nods.

Calum and Greg trot off, their dæmons on their shoulders keeping their eyes locked onto Max until they're out of sight.

GP and Petunia look in tandem towards Max and Leonie, still gripping each other tight, and then to each other.

Petunia is the one to move forward, towards them, her smaller frame less likely to startle. She nudges against Max's leg in a movement that's atypical of her, but mirrors the way Leonie will often entertain herself by Max's feet on the rare occasion she's around when Max is standing idle during chats with the team.

Sure enough, Max doesn't jump at the touch. Just moves his leg gently to rub against Petunia, like he's trying to pet her with his calf alone.

GP, through even the muted traces he feels of it, is oddly calmed.

Not for the first time, GP thinks about bringing up the possibility of Max driving with Leonie. She's bigger than the average driver's dæmon, and she's technically untrained for it. But they could make it work. Especially if it means GP never again has to see Max shaking, breathing uneven, face pinched with pain.

It's... Maybe it was irresponsible of them. To take Max in so young. To hear him say, I don't drive with my dæmon, and to let it continue.

It was so easy to do nothing. To say, the FIA would step in and make a rule about it if it were a real concern. To say, it's what Max wants.

It's too late now, though. Max is shaping up to have a real shot in the championship this year, and there's no way GP would be able to convince him to prioritize his own well-being and comfort—not when it would interfere with his ability to win.

GP does all he can for Max. But it hardly ever feels like enough.

Leonie turns her head to lick at Max's cheek, gentle, and GP can do nothing but watch as Max tenses slightly and looks up, face no longer tucked safe into Leonie's soft fur. "We should be getting back to the garage. We do not want to be late for FP2."

GP doesn't want to go; doesn't want to watch Max and Leonie force themselves apart from each other again (and again and again). Doesn't want to see a twitch in Max's lip and wonder if he's biting back a wince at the ache of the distance between them.

But Leonie jumps out of Max's arms, and it's not GP's decision to make. Not when Max and Leonie are already walking away, just a meter too far apart to be normal. To be comfortable.

GP wouldn't have questioned it before, far too used to the vacant hole at Max's side; at Leonie's. But Petunia trots to him with a whimper, nose cold against his leg where she presses in close, and he knows that he's not going to be able to erase the memory of Max pale in the backseat, hands gripping tight on his thighs, voice teetering on the edge of wavery as he tries to breathe even.

Won't be able to erase the feeling of his shaky hands in Petunia's fur.

Petunia whines, and GP feels it in the back of his own throat.

"Yeah, girl. I know."

It's useless, really. It never gets cold enough in the van for her to need it, and Max certainly can't be comforted by it, so far away. And she still ends up shivering, anyway, when the chill seeps into Max's bones, race suit no match for the biting breeze and the rain and the sun sinking low as he completes lap after lap after lap.

When Max gets to the van, far after sunset, he's shaking. (Every time. He's always shaking.) And all Leonie wants to do is to shift into a great big polar bear and lie herself across his body and trap in every bit of warmth. Feel his tremors cease as his arms come up around to hug her.

But Papa doesn't like it when Leonie tries to help. And as painful as it is to do nothing but quietly shift into a mouse and hide under Max's palm where she can't be seen on the ride home, it's better than the alternative.

(Leonie hates the feeling of Papa's hands on her, but more than that, she hates how Max pales like the dead. Hates how he begs Papa to hurt him instead.

It's the same pain they share, but it always hurts Leonie more when it's Max's body they feel it through. (She hates that he never lets her be the one to take it.))

When Leonie is confined to the van, she always finds herself shifting to every animal she can think of that lives in the Arctic, but it's all useless, because she still can't keep out the chill when she and Max are apart, and even when they're together, there's a distance between them, built by Papa's icy eyes.

And when they finally get home, and Leonie coaxes Max into a warm shower and underneath the covers, it's not a lonesome wolf that makes him stop shivering, and it's not a tiny mouse trapped beneath his palm.

Leonie shifts into a cat, easy as breathing, and curls up on Max's chest where she belongs, purring along to the rythm of his heart. Only then does Max breathe easy. Only then does the ache of distance sitting heavy in their chest ease.

GP pushes open the door to find Max curled into a ball on the examination table, thin strip of paper bunched and crinkled beneath him. Leonie is nowhere in sight when GP casts his gaze around the room, searching, but based on the loose curve of Max's body, GP has some idea of where she might be.

He grabs a chair and drags it over to Max. Sits down. Petunia lies at his feet, resting her chin on his shoe.

"How is she?" GP murmurs, clear but quiet. He doesn't ask how Max is. He wouldn't answer that.

Max curls a bit tighter. He shakes his head.

From between his arms, Leonie's voice sounds, soft. "I'm okay. Really, Max—I'm fine."

Max shakes his head again.

"Okay, mate," GP accepts. "Take your time."

He sits back in the chair and focuses on keeping his breathing steady. His steady exhales match Petunia's soft huffs.

GP can hear Leonie purring. It's not as steady as usual.

Eventually, Max loosens a bit. GP watches as he keeps his hands close, Leonie clutched in his arms, hold gentle, pressing her to his chest. Awkwardly, he maneuvers himself into a seated position, legs tucked up onto the table still, not scooting to the edge to let them dangle.

His eyes are red. Leonie looks tired.

"They— She—"

Max cuts himself off, swallowing down the words with a look on his face like he'll be sick if he says anymore. Lips pressed together tight, eyes wide and wet.

GP only knows the barest outline of what happened. Hadn't been in the post-race interview room, but had watched the cut-short replay; had seen as the cameras cut from Charles, in the middle of his answer, to Max, jumping up, a wild look on his face, eyebrows pinched in pain and alarm. His microphone was left abandoned on the couch, but GP knows the shape of Leonie's name well enough to read it on Max's lips before he raced out.

GP had only seen the clip once Max was already in the medical center. And they had only known that Max was in the medical center because Christian had gotten a call from Alex Albon, of all people, asking if Max was okay.

They hadn't had an answer. GP still doesn't.

Leonie licks the underside of Max's chin and then looks at GP. "I went for my post-race snooze. Some people recognized me. They... were not fans of Max."

GP closes his eyes. Takes a deep breath. Pentunia whimpers.

When he opens his eyes again, Max is looking down at Leonie, face painted with anguish. Eyes cracked open, mouth twisted tight. When he speaks, it's down to her, but it's to GP too, he thinks, Max's accent heavy, tripping over the English words.

"It was like back in karting again. We were too far apart, and then there was the pain I could not stop."

He squeezes his eyes shut tight. "I promised that you would not again be hurt without me. I... I never could stop it back then. But I am not a stupid kid anymore. I promised you would not be hurt more times."

Leonie lets out a mewl so pitiful it breaks GP's heart. She shifts in Max's hold slightly, like she wants to clamber up and lick his face, the way GP has seen her comfort Max many a time over, after bad shunts, bad sessions, bad debriefs with his father. But they wince at the same time, and she stops moving, breathing heavy.

"Max. Max. I still am hurt every time you are."

Max makes a noise in the back of his throat. A tear rolls down his cheek.

"It is impossible for there to never be pain. But you stopped it. Yes? And we are not hurting alone again. We are together. Okay? It is not like it was back then. We are together."

Petunia buts her head against GP's shin. He bends down to pull her into his lap, suddenly feeling terribly far from her. He scratches behind her ears.

"Het spijt me," Max whispers, ducking his face into her fur. GP wishes he didn't know what those words meant. Wishes he hasn't heard Max apologize so much.

Leonie's purr is rattling, but still loud. "It's okay, Max. We zijn samen. Ik hou van je. We zijn samen."

Max's breaths are shaky. Leonie's purrs don't falter.

Eventually, Max looks back up. His eyes are still stained red.

Leonie still looks tired. She blinks slow.

"Alright, mate," GP says. "Ready to go?"