Tightrope-Lestappen

4. The Unexpected

History would go on to repeat itself once more. Verstappen and Leclerc, fighting at the front, battling each other for crucial points in the championship. They were untouchable, a league above any of the other boys they competed against. Even if one or both of them had a poor qualifying, it was certain that they would work their way up to the lead of the pack, and in the end each race resulted in another duel between the two rivals.

It was a gloomy day, the dark clouds piling in over the circuit. The rain would start any second, nature running its course parallel to the race. The fates of the racers would be determined not solely by their own ability, but by the ever changing conditions which they were given to work with. It was not a new paradigm for neither the Dutchman nor the Monegasque, but every race proved to be a slightly different challenge.

What was unchanged, however, was that it was the two of them, everyone else left in the dust and fighting a battle for P3.

And hell if nature didn't decide to bare her teeth that Sunday afternoon. The rain was torrential, turning the circuit into an ice skating rink and the karts into hockey pucks. It was a matter of staying on the track rather than pushing the speed, both Verstappen and Leclerc acknowledging this fact and pushing each other less, providing the necessary space to maintain safety. At the end of the day, they were undoubtedly more competitive than necessary, but they had sufficient respect to race safely and maturely.

And despite that, it still wasn't enough. Verstappen lost control, spinning wildly and taking Leclerc out in the process.

And while Charles wanted to fume, wanted to get in Verstappen's face and demand an explanation, he knew it wasn't his fault. He knew the conditions would leave the outcome of the race in fate's hands, and that Verstappen had wanted to win but more importantly wanted to finish. So he couldn't be angry towards his rival. He had every right to be angry, but the direction of that fury was different in comparison to who it would usually be aimed at.

Nevertheless, it was certainly an upsetting outcome to what had been an epic race from Charles. His overtakes were impressive, his speed better than usual. He had truly believed he would have been able to achieve victory, even Verstappen didn't seem to be on his level before the change in climate. Charles went to debrief with his team and his father, no one showing any signs of disappointment. He had done exactly what he knew he needed to do and the position that he found himself in was entirely out of his control, so how could anyone even be the least bit upset with the boy?

But something had thrown Charles off during that debrief. He had heard crying, quiet crying but certainly someone was distraught since it carried on throughout the majority of the team meeting. And he could only think of one person who it could be.

He had left the adults to make their own conversation, tracking down the sound and realizing it was behind a closed door. He knocked hesitantly, cracking the door open just slightly and realizing that his prediction was completely accurate.

Verstappen, sitting with his back against the far wall, head buried in his hands, choking out sobs. Charles didn't realize Verstappen was an emotional person like this, he had always seen his rival emulate the stoic behavior of his father. But there was no one in this room, maybe this was the side of Verstappen that he didn't let anyone see. And while he hated Verstappen, in that moment he realized that they didn't necessarily need to hate each other to be effective rivals.

The Dutch boy looked up at Charles, a flash of anger in his eyes. But in those very eyes, there was pain, suffering, guilt, trauma.

Charles sat down next to his rival, letting him release the emotion that desperately needed to escape. And Verstappen didn't tell him to leave, in fact there was a small part of Charles that suspected his company was appreciated.

"It's not your fault," he said to Verstappen once his tears had subsided, his breathing relatively normal.

"I know it's not my fault, it's not yours either. The rain was too bad."

"I don't understand why they didn't stop the race," Charles agreed. "It was unsafe, we are lucky we did not get hurt."

Verstappen looked Charles in the eye earnestly. "Really, it was a good race. I lost control, there was nothing I could have done."

"I know. But then, if you know it wasn't your fault, and now you know I agree with you, why are you crying?"

At this question, Max's body trembled. Physically, he shivered, flashes of trauma etched on his face. A plethora of thoughts swirled around in his mind.

"My dad," he whispered. "Even if it wasn't my fault, unless I win, my dad, he-" Max couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"I won't tell anyone," Charles replied. "You can tell me, I know you might hate me but really, I won't tell anyone."

And for whatever ungodly reason, Max believed him. He knew he could trust Charles, he couldn't explain why but he just knew.

He rolled up his sleeve, revealing the marks that lingered from as long as weeks ago. His pale skin bruised, and the visible marks were nothing in comparison to the mental agony that he was living in.

And at that sight, Charles' heart dropped. His own father would never even dream of touching him. This explained so many of Max's behaviors, why he was so happy to be hated across the paddock. The boy wasn't given a choice.

"You have to tell someone about this, this is not normal," Charles said, his eyes wide. "Someone who can do something, I can't do anything about this, Max. Please, tell someone you can trust that has the power to change this."

"No one can change this," Max whispered, not trusting his voice. "I'm stuck."

"Can I tell my dad?" Charles asked, but he wouldn't tell anyone without the other boy's approval. "He won't be mad, trust me. He will want to help you."

"Y-yeah, that's okay," the Dutch boy stuttered. Someone knowing was better than nothing, he trusted his inherent connection, his deep bond with Charles from them pushing each other to their absolute limits for so many months.

Charles got up, knowing people would start to wonder where he had gone. He turned back once more.

"Thank you for trusting me with this. I promise, you can trust me with whatever you need to get off your back, Max."

Max, he called me Max, the boy thought as Charles shut the door behind him, a small smile working its way across his face at the thought.

Charles thought that he was imagining things when he heard his mechanic calling his name, trapped in a daze of confusion, yet love he couldn't respond.

"Charles Leclerc!" His mechanic screams, breaking the odd wave of emotion from his body.