Chapter Text
The helicopter touched down with a jolt, and within seconds, Max was being rushed out on the stretcher. Charles followed closely, refusing to let the medics out of his sight as they pushed Max through the hospital’s emergency entrance. The chaos of the paddock was far behind them now, replaced by the sterile urgency of fluorescent lights and hurried footsteps.
“Sir, you can’t come any further,” one of the doctors said firmly, stepping in front of Charles as they wheeled Max into the trauma unit.
“I’m not leaving him,” Charles insisted, his voice raw with determination.
“You have to wait here,” the doctor said, her tone softening but leaving no room for argument. “We’ll do everything we can. Please, let us work.”
Charles stared at her, chest heaving, but eventually stepped back. The doors swung shut, and he was left standing alone in the corridor. The stark quiet of the hospital was jarring after the noise and chaos of the track.
He let out a shuddering breath and leaned against the wall. His hands were trembling, still covered in soot and grime. His helmet, which he hadn’t realized he was still carrying, slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor. He didn’t pick it up.
An older nurse approached him cautiously. “Sir, you’re injured,” she said, pointing to the blood streaking down the back of his neck.
Charles touched the spot absentmindedly and winced at the sting. “It’s nothing,” he muttered.
The nurse gave him a look. “Sit down. Let me at least take care of it.”
Reluctantly, Charles lowered himself onto a plastic chair. The nurse cleaned the wound, her touch surprisingly gentle.
“You’re lucky,” she said after a moment. “It’s just a cut. Your suit did its job. I’ve seen burns far worse.”
Charles didn’t respond. He sat stiffly, his thoughts miles away. The nurse placed a small bandage over the cut and stepped back. “There,” she said. “That should hold for now. But you should change and get checked out properly—”
“I’m fine,” Charles interrupted, pulling his suit back up over his shoulders. He stood, still restless, and began pacing the corridor.
The nurse sighed but didn’t press further, watching as he moved back and forth like a caged lion. His tattered suit bore the marks of everything he’d been through: streaks of black soot, rips along the arms, and a faint scent of burnt rubber and fuel.
Charles barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed by the image of Max—his pale face, his motionless body. He’d pulled him out of that wreck, but was it enough? Could it have been too late?
Time stretched unbearably. He glanced at the clock on the wall, but the hands seemed frozen. His boots scuffed against the sterile tile floor as he turned sharply, pacing back the other way.
The helmet lay abandoned in the corner, a stark reminder of where he’d been just minutes ago. Every now and then, he glanced toward the closed doors of the trauma unit, willing someone to come through them with good news.
The adrenaline was wearing off now, leaving a raw, gnawing ache in his chest. He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing soot across his cheek, and exhaled heavily.
“Come on, Max,” he muttered under his breath, his voice breaking. “You have to be okay. You have to. ”
The harsh fluorescent lights outside the emergency ward flickered faintly, casting cold shadows against the linoleum floor. Charles paced the narrow hallway like a caged lion, his movements sharp and restless. His race suit hung open at the waist, the fireproof underneath torn and stained with soot, blood, and ash. A thick bandage covered part of his neck, a stark reminder of the explosion he’d walked through to save Max.
His hands were trembling, though whether from exhaustion or adrenaline, he couldn’t tell. He hadn’t eaten. He hadn’t drunk anything. His lips were dry, his throat raw from yelling orders at the paramedics earlier. But none of that mattered. Not until he knew Max was okay.
The sharp click of shoes on the floor broke through his haze. Charles looked up to see Fred, Christian and Silvia walking toward him. Their faces were grim but calm—professional masks honed from years of dealing with crises.
Fred stopped a few paces away, taking in the sight of his driver with quiet pride. Charles was battered, burned, and utterly exhausted, but there was a determination in his stance that was unshakable.
Christian, however, didn’t stop. He crossed the distance between them quickly, his composure breaking as he pulled Charles into a tight embrace.
"Thank you," Christian said, his voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Charles. I—" He broke off, his arms tightening around the younger man. "I can’t... I don’t have the words."
Charles stiffened for a moment, caught off guard by the gesture, but then he sagged against Christian, his trembling worsening.
"Thank you," Christian whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "You saved him. You saved him. I don’t even know how to—" He pulled back, his hands gripping Charles’s arms as if to steady him. His eyes scanned the younger man’s face. "I can’t thank you enough, Charles. Truly."
Charles swallowed hard, his lips dry and cracked, and shook his head. His voice, when it came, was rough and unsteady. "I couldn’t lose him. I—I just couldn’t. Not Max." His hands, covered in cuts and burns, clenched tightly at his sides. "I saw the fire—I knew I had to get him out. There wasn’t time to think, to wait for anyone else. He—" His voice broke, and he looked away, blinking rapidly.
Silvia moved closer, her voice calm but tinged with concern. "Charles, you’ve been through so much tonight. You need to rest, eat something—at least drink some water. Let us help you."
Charles shook his head sharply, his expression unyielding. "I’m not leaving. Not until they tell me he’s okay."
Fred gave a quiet sigh, stepping back slightly. "Stubborn as ever," he muttered, though there was no anger in his voice—only a quiet admiration.
Then, the sound of the doors to the trauma unit opening. Every head turned toward them. A doctor in scrubs stepped into the hallway, looking at them with a grave expression, but there was something in his posture that gave a glimmer of hope.
“Mr. Leclerc?” The doctor’s voice cut through the silence.
Charles was instantly in front of him, his body coiled like a spring. “How is he? Is he…?” His voice cracked before he could finish.
Taking a deep breath, the doctor began, his tone calm but measured. “Max is stable. He’s out of immediate danger, which is a very good sign. There’s no evidence of major internal bleeding on the initial scans, and we haven’t found anything critical so far. However...”
Charles’s stomach dropped at the word, and his heart started pounding again.
“We have identified a couple of cracked ribs,” the doctor continued, glancing briefly at Charles as if to assess whether he could handle the details. “But no other fractures have shown up yet. That said, we’re still conducting further tests to rule out any potential complications—organ damage, hidden fractures, anything that may not have been immediately apparent. It’s too early to say for certain that there are no other injuries.He’s groggy and disoriented, which is to be expected given the trauma and the sedatives we’ve administered. We’re keeping him under close observation to ensure there are no developments that we might have missed. For now, though...” He hesitated, his gaze sweeping across the group. “For now, he appears to be out of life-threatening danger. That’s the most important thing. We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have more information.”
With that, he walked back through the doors, leaving the small group in the oppressive silence of the hallway.
For a moment, time stood still. The words were still sinking in, but the relief was overwhelming. The tight knot in Charles’s chest, the suffocating anxiety that had clung to him like a second skin, began to loosen. He felt his body relax, almost too suddenly, as though the tension had been holding him together and now it was all too much.
Charles leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he was seated on the cold floor. He buried his face in his hands, his shoulders shaking with suppressed emotion. Fred and Christian exchanged a glance, both looking as if they wanted to say something but unable to find the words.
Fred crouched next to Charles, placing a hand on his shoulder. “He’s going to be fine, Charles. You’ve done everything you could. Now it’s up to him.”
Charles didn’t lift his head. “I can’t lose him,” he murmured, his voice cracking. “I couldn’t lose him out there. I can’t—”
“You’re not going to lose him,” Christian said firmly, though his voice wavered. “He’s stubborn. Just like you.”
Charles didn’t answer, his hands clenching tightly in his lap. And then, as if the weight of everything finally hit him, Charles crumpled.
It wasn’t a collapse, not in the usual sense. It was more like a floodgate that opened too quickly to be contained. Tears, silent but undeniable, began streaming down Charles’s face. Christian hadn’t expected it. Not like this. He’d seen Charles handle stress before—calm, collected, even when the stakes were high. But now? He was different. There was no hiding it, no walls to keep the emotions in check.
Christian’s eyes softened, his jaw tightening as he saw how Charles was trembling. He felt a surge of empathy. He knew what that kind of fear was like, the kind that had gripped Charles in those agonizing moments after the crash. But Christian also understood something else, something deeper. The connection between Charles and Max—it was undeniable. The way Charles had gone to him, the way he’d risked his own safety without a second thought.
Christian had seen it in the small moments, the way their eyes locked in the heat of battle, the way Charles had reached for Max when no one else could. The bond between them was forged in something more than just competition. It was real. It was love, in its purest form. A love that only those who had been through the fire could understand.
Fred’s hand squeezed Charles’s shoulder, his voice soft but firm, trying to ground him. “You did it, Charles. You saved him. You saved his life.”
Christian didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. The words were there, but they felt insufficient. What could anyone say in a moment like this? Instead, he placed his hand on Charles’s other shoulder, a gesture that was simple but heavy with meaning. “You did something no one else would have thought to do. You acted when it mattered the most. You went to him. You pulled him out.”
Christian’s throat tightened. His voice felt rough, like the words were fighting to get out. “Thank you. We all owe you everything.”
Charles didn’t look up, too lost in the flood of emotions to respond. Christian didn’t expect anything more. There was nothing more to say. No matter how long it took, he wasn’t moving until he knew Max was safe.
The world outside of that thought felt distant and unreal, and Charles didn’t care to focus on anything else. He barely registered the soft, hurried footsteps approaching, not until Sophie and Victoria Verstappen appeared in his line of sight.
They were both pale, their faces drawn with the same concern that had been etched into everyone’s expressions since the crash. Kelly Piquet and Hannah, Red Bull’s PR lead, followed behind them, their faces also tight with worry.
Christian, pacing the corridor with his phone clutched in one hand, spotted them first. He quickly ended the call, his face pale but calm as he tried to manage their expectations. “Max is stable,” he said, his voice even but tinged with emotion. “The doctors are running more tests to make sure there’s nothing we’ve missed. So far, they’ve found a couple of cracked ribs but no major internal bleeding. He’s semi-conscious, but we can’t see him yet.”
Sophie pressed a hand to her chest, tears pooling in her eyes. “So... he’s going to be okay?”
Christian hesitated, glancing toward the emergency doors. “It seems that way. They don’t think his life is in danger, but they’re being thorough. We’ll know more soon.”
Victoria clung to her mother’s arm, her grip tight. She didn’t speak, just nodded shakily as she processed the news.
As Christian guided them toward the waiting area, Sophie’s gaze fell on Charles. She stopped mid-step, her heart breaking at the sight of him.
He was slumped on one of the plastic chairs, his shoulders hunched and his head resting against the wall. His race suit was still half on, the fireproofs underneath stained, burned, and torn. The bandage on his neck was stark against his soot-streaked skin, and his hands, resting limply in his lap, trembled faintly.
Sophie let out a small, pained breath and moved to him. Victoria followed close behind, her brow furrowed with concern.
“Charles,” Sophie said softly, kneeling in front of him.
At the sound of her voice, Charles slowly lifted his head. His eyes, red-rimmed and exhausted, met hers, and for a moment, they just looked at each other. No words were necessary.
Then Sophie leaned forward and wrapped him in a firm, comforting embrace. Charles stiffened at first, his body too tense and worn to react, but then he exhaled shakily and leaned into her, his face pressing into her shoulder.
“You saved him,” Sophie whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. “Thank you.”
Victoria knelt beside them, sliding her arms around Charles as well. “We’re so glad you were there,” she murmured, her own voice cracking.
Charles’s arms came up hesitantly, his hands gripping the back of Sophie’s jacket as though anchoring himself. For a moment, the weight he had been carrying seemed to ease, if only slightly.
“I couldn’t lose him,” he said quietly, his voice raw. “Not Max.”
Sophie pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “You didn’t. And he’s fighting, Charles. He’s going to come through this.”
Charles nodded faintly, though the tension in his jaw didn’t ease.
Standing a short distance away, Kelly watched the scene unfold, her expression carefully neutral. She shifted uncomfortably, her arms tightening around herself. She knew she didn’t belong here in the same way Sophie and Victoria did—she wasn’t family, not anymore—but she had wanted to come. For Max. Even if it hurt to see this dynamic play out, even if her presence felt awkward and misplaced.
Hannah placed a hand on Kelly’s shoulder, drawing her out of her thoughts. “It’s okay,” Hannah said softly.
Kelly nodded but didn’t reply, keeping her distance as the others surrounded Charles.
Christian exchanged a glance with Fred, who had paused his call to watch. They said nothing, giving the moment the space it needed. Silvia, too, stayed back, her phone still in hand as she kept a watchful eye on the corridor.
Charles finally pulled away, though his posture remained tense and weary. He glanced toward Sophie and Victoria, his throat working as he tried to find the words. “Thank you,” he managed, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Sophie reached out and brushed a strand of hair from his face. “We’re here, Charles. For you. For him.”
Victoria nodded in quiet agreement, her hand briefly squeezing his.
Charles’s gaze drifted back to the emergency doors, his expression tight with unspoken fear. No one pressured him to sit, to rest, or to leave. It was clear to all of them that he wouldn’t move until he knew, with absolute certainty, that Max was safe.
Hours had passed, but Charles remained almost entirely still, as if rooted to the uncomfortable plastic chair. His body barely moved except for the occasional tremor in his hands. His focus stayed fixed on the doors to the emergency ward, his exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
Silvia approached him quietly, holding out her phone. “Charles, it’s your mother. She wants to talk to you.”
Charles blinked slowly, as though the words needed a moment to sink in. He hesitated, then took the phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he lifted it to his ear.
“Maman,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely audible.
Pascale’s voice came through the line, warm and steady, though laced with concern. “Mon cœur, enfin. Silvia told me you’re okay, but I needed to hear it from you. Tell me you’re all right.”
“I’m fine,” Charles replied quickly, his voice almost mechanical. “Just... tired.”
“Charles,” Pascale said gently, but firmly, “don’t lie to me. I know you’re not fine. Silvia told me everything. I can only imagine how you must feel.”
His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about it,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “What if I hadn’t been fast enough? If I hadn’t—”
“Stop,” Pascale interrupted softly but with authority. “You can’t think like that. You were fast enough. You did save him. Max is alive because of you. Hold onto that.”
Charles exhaled shakily, his free hand clenching into a fist. “But what if something’s still wrong? They haven’t finished the tests yet, and they won’t let me see him. What if—”
“Listen to me,” Pascale said, her voice grounding him. “I know you’re terrified. I know you love him, and waiting is the hardest thing in the world right now. But the doctors are doing everything they can. Max is alive, Charles. You gave him that chance. Now you have to trust the people who are taking care of him.”
Charles closed his eyes, his grip tightening on the phone. “I don’t know if I can,” he whispered.
“You can ,” Pascale insisted gently. “Because you’ve already done the hardest part. You were there for him when he needed you most. And now you need to take care of yourself, just a little. Eat something. Drink some water. Please, mon cœur. You can’t help Max if you’re not strong enough to keep going.”
“I can’t leave,” Charles muttered. “Not until I know he’s okay.”
“I’m not asking you to leave,” Pascale replied softly. “Just promise me you’ll take a moment for yourself. Even if it’s small. For Max. For me.”
Charles hesitated, then nodded faintly, as if she could see him through the phone. “Okay,” he murmured. “I’ll try.”
Pascale’s voice softened further. “And Charles... I’m so proud of you. For your bravery, for your heart. Max is so lucky to have you. And so am I.”
Charles’s breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to fall. “Merci, Maman,” he whispered finally. “I’ll call you when I know more.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Pascale said tenderly. “Je t’aime.”
“Je t’aime aussi,” Charles replied, his voice barely above a whisper.
When he handed the phone back to Silvia, his hands dropped into his lap. The conversation hadn’t eased the tension gripping his body, but Pascale’s words echoed softly in his mind, giving him the faintest thread of something to hold onto in the silence.
Hours and hours had passed, the oppressive weight of waiting stretching endlessly. The faint light of dawn now seeped through the hospital’s windows, casting a pale glow over the tired faces in the corridor. Charles remained rooted in place, his body stiff, exhaustion etched into every line of his posture.
Finally, the doors to the trauma unit creaked open. The sound shattered the fragile silence, and all eyes snapped to the doctor stepping into the hallway. His expression was calm, but this time, there was a glimmer of something warmer—relief.
Charles was on his feet immediately, his movements sharp and instinctive. Everyone else followed suit, a small wave of tension rippling down the corridor.
The doctor spoke, his voice steady and clear. “Max is remarkably well, given the circumstances. Beyond a couple of cracked ribs and some bruising, he’s uninjured. There’s no internal bleeding, no brain trauma, no additional fractures. Truly, it’s extraordinary.”
Charles’s chest rose with a sharp, shallow breath, his hands clenching at his sides as he waited.
“And,” the doctor added, with a small smile, “he’s awake. Tired, but awake. You can see him—just for a few minutes.”
Relief surged through the group like a wave, but before anyone could move, Charles took a step forward, the instinct to go to Max written all over his face. Then he stopped. His expression shifted, his jaw tightening as he held himself back. His gaze darted to Sophie and Victoria, then lingered briefly on Kelly, who stood slightly apart from the group.
“You should go,” Charles said quietly, his voice tight but composed as he addressed Sophie. “You and Victoria—and Kelly, too. He’ll want to see you.”
Sophie’s eyes softened as she looked at Charles, seeing the struggle in his face, the way he held himself together through sheer force of will. She reached out, placing a hand on his arm.
“No, Charles,” she said firmly but gently. “You’re the one he needs to see first.”
Charles opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Kelly stepped forward. Her face was pale, her eyes red-rimmed, but there was no mistaking the emotion there—pain, regret, and something deeper, almost like relief. She met Charles’s gaze for a long, silent moment.
“Go,” Kelly said softly, her voice barely audible but resolute. “He needs you. And you need him.”
Charles froze, caught in the intensity of the exchange. For a moment, it felt like the entire hallway held its breath. Then Kelly offered him the faintest of nods—a quiet acknowledgment, a wordless understanding.
Her expression was raw, but clear: she knew, she accepted, and she was stepping aside.
Charles’s throat tightened as he nodded back, his own silent gratitude in his eyes. He didn’t speak, but the look they shared carried everything he couldn’t put into words.
“Thank you,” Kelly murmured, the words just for him, though they were almost unnecessary.
Charles swallowed hard, glancing back to Sophie and Victoria. They both smiled gently at him, their faces full of quiet encouragement.
He didn’t hesitate anymore. Without another word, Charles turned and followed the doctor through the doors, the weight of the last hours slowly giving way to something else—relief, hope, and the overwhelming need to see Max again.