Chapter Text
The talks start when Max is freshly 13 in 2010. He knows they start because Dad comes back from a phone call to dinner with– not quite a smile but a sharp happiness lining his jaw. They have ice cream.
The talks are common, amongst the karting community. Having talks isn’t the end all be all that people tend to think they are, though. Max has seen it: where someone’s knee deep in discussion with a team: Formula Renault, Formula 3, and they brag and swagger about the karting circuit and two weeks later someone else’s name is on the dotted line and their career is over.
Max won’t do that to himself.
So when the talks start, from not just anyone but Formula 1, Max keeps quiet. He relishes in the feeling of true satisfaction. He’s going somewhere, Max will, he just has to keep on this path and he’ll make it.
Dad’s hand clamps down on his shoulder.
“English work done?”
Max isn’t doing… traditional school anymore. (Good riddance. Max skived off every chance he got.) But English is important: he will need to speak it his whole career. He already does a little, casually, but casual English won’t hold up in serious interviews in an International Sport.
Max nods.
He looks up at Dad and smiles.
He has done his English work. They don’t speak it on the road, but they do listen to things in English to help hammer down the pronunciation.
He knows his life is weird, but Max is karting. Soon he’ll be a driver. Max loves nothing more, wants nothing else. When he’s behind the wheel, he’s happiest. Max hopes he’ll make it. He wants to do this forever.
—
The talks evolve and suddenly Max is talking to people. Important people. Some are the same from 2010, others are new. All of them watch his progression through Formula 3 with sharp eyes.
It’s an international sport, and even though Max’s English is very good now, some things transcend a language barrier. They all speak the same tone of racing, and Max races really, really well.
He’s making it: Formula 1. Red Bull are taking a chance on him at 16, even if he won’t drive the car until three days past his 17th birthday and he won’t start on the season until he’s 17 and even if it’s only their junior team. It’s insane. They’ve never done this. He keeps his mouth shut until he puts pen to paper and signs his name on the dotted line and immediately wants to call his mom.
There’s so much fuss because he’s the youngest Formula 1 driver, he has to talk to so many people and pose for cameras and say the same things over and over again and be nice while doing it which isn’t his favorite but he can take it because it’s Formula 1.
Max has made it.
Now he needs to prove himself.
The team is taking such a chance on him—it’s unheard of, it’s crazy, and Max wants to spill everything out to his mom.
Don’t get Max wrong, his dad is great.
Dad is the one who had the connections, who had the skill to take Max up here. Max is very grateful to his dad for letting him pursue driving, passion, and he’s cracking records now and his heart is so warm and full his lips twitch.
His dad is the one here but… Max had always taken after his mom. From birth really. Little Victoria had dad in her: the stern smiles and hardwork. Max was all their mom: fast, passionate, and wholehearted.
Mom never did anything half-hearted.
She crushed on the karting circuits with ruthlessness. People were scared, rightfully so, of Sophie Kumpen in their mirrors.
Some of Max’s favorite memories when he’s driving in the cold are the warmth of bedtime, begging mom to tell Beat Button again, when the man looks all puffed up on the telly but mom’s wheels nicked his mid race and when he puffed up about it after Button’s own dad smacked him up the head for yelling at a girl. He can hear mom’s voice going silly and low to imitate the men, Victoria giggling next to him, telling him that he better be careful with the other boys on the circuit, his favorite blanket squished into his armpit before the lights turned off. They’re happy memories, vivid with mom’s warmth and passion that she gave to Max.
When she fell for Jos, she took the plunge, quitting her burgeoning career for him.
Max grew on her videos, her style, her sharp yells when he fought with his sister and her hugs and smiles as they made up. Max’s mom was everything he wanted to be.
He waited, late at night when he had a flight to be at the factory for a tour and a seat fitting. Dad was asleep, heavy with celebratory whiskey.
Max bit his lip, easing the door open and walking into the dark, shivering as chill bit through his hoodie.
The phone rang once. Twice.
“Max? Shatje?”
“Mom,” he said, and paused as emotion welled sticky through his throat.
“I made it.”
“You signed onto a team?”
“Be ready to buy Scuderia Toro Rosso merch mom. I’m going to be driving in F1.”
Max’s smile threatened to split the skin of his lips as his mother cooed praises over the phone.
He’d made it—and he’d be bringing his mom’s spirit along with him, because she gave up her opportunity to do it herself for him.
It was up to Max to carry his mom’s career out to where it should be.
—
Toro Rosso was cool. Everyone else? Kinda lame.
Max wasn’t immune from hero worship of course, and he’d grown up watching these guys but they were here to race and it felt like no one wanted to race.
Maybe Sebastian. He kind of wished Vettel was back at RedBull because he was a riot then and he was winning championships of course but he was at Ferrari now and wasn’t allowed to be as much of a menace in press conferences because he had to uphold the legacy or whatever.
Mercedes had been dominating of course and they were still dominating except now they threw hissy fits like teenage girls. Vicious, but also weepy. Max had never been a part of that kind of fight: he said what he wanted to say and moved on.
Mark Webber had started calling him Mad Max because he refused to give up position and kept older drivers behind him. Max nipped at everyone’s heels because that’s what racing should be and instead of racing back with him they looked dead eyed into cameras.
He missed Charles. He’d hated it in the moment, but Charles always was the one who pushed him—sometimes literally. Off the track. Then lied about it. (Max made sure Charles was in Formula 3, that someone worthy would get his seat so Charles needed to get up here because Max knew he could and all these old people were tiring.)
Daniel was really fun, and he recorded Max a little video to wish him good luck before he joined, but he was on the top team and so they didn’t actually see each other that much.
Max was always being reminded of his temper. He was of course just being honest. When men were honest and angry they got upset and maybe pushed someone a little or broke something and when they were honest and sorry they’d fix it and if they weren’t sorry they wouldn’t. It was only the liars who acted nice and shook hands and spoke in low tones—liars and pussies. Max wasn’t a pussy and he wasn’t a liar: he was Dutch. Dad taught him that much. (Even if Max himself thought he was just a little bit Belgian too.) What did the press care that he threw his helmet on the ground when his engine broke AGAIN? Max picked it up and looked at the engineers and said sorry it is not their fault except it kind of is please do not send me out with a bad engine again.
The press weren’t involved in it, why did Max have to say sorry to them? The engineers were tense at first but Max never broke anything he couldn’t fix and never shoved someone who wasn’t a driver and he showed up at the factory to look over the data even if he understood nothing and it made him feel like a pancake. The engineers got used to it. Now they rolled their eyes and said stupid jokes when he got upset. Honestly, everyone should learn from the engineers. Being left alone to hiss about his bad race in a stack of tires before being given snacks and the athlete’s special Red Bull with no media or annoying press was the best. The hair ruffling he could do without.
Of course the press did not understand this relationship at all and the mechanics were kind enough to shake their heads and boot the cameramen out when Max hid with the tires so they couldn’t show the world his sulking habits, but the silly little people on the internet didn’t care.
Max could have it worse, though, for sure. His media days could be spent doing more interviews. At least at Red Bull they were funny and he got to drive other things around.
Victoria sent him her favorite screenshots of articles once he bought his own phone with a fancy touch screen that didn’t lag out when he tried to send a photo. He called his mom every Monday, the days post race, because he was often traveling or at the factory doing something normal and meeting filled so he wasn’t too busy. Mom often chided him for his temper and then congratulated him. She’d never lost her touch– she wasn’t afraid to tsk when he kept oversteering or cheer for him finding an optimal racing line even if he was in the lower half of the points.
Victoria was now in secondary and talking about boys. She didn’t want to talk about racing at all unless she said someone was hot (Max never looked at Lewis the same way) and so their phone calls were much shorter and less frequent. She also asked him when he was going to start dating which was ridiculous, why would he be dating if he was just starting his racing career? Yes Victoria understood nothing. She did a little karting but that was nothing to crushing the hopes of old people under the wheels of your racecar.
He turned 18 and the team went a little crazy, and he went and got his regular driving license and then immediately got a speeding ticket. (Max knew where the camera was now. He still sped, but he didn’t get caught anymore.)
Still though, he was getting a little annoyed with his coworkers. Carlos was 20 and did not have these issues, so maybe it was a Max thing, but all the other drivers talking about Max and never saying it to his face was a little annoying.
Max didn’t like touching the hot feeling that rose in his stomach when he overheard people making fun of him. He drove better anyway. Dad said they were just jealous and mom gave him a sad smile that he knew meant he’d have to do something silly like lie to a camera about how much he liked someone in order to fix it. Max didn’t want to do that. Max didn’t want the feeling to keep happening though, either.
Ugh.
At least he was having fun with Carlos. It was just Max's rookie year, too. He joined when he was 17 and that was what was causing all the fuss apparently so when he started the year at 18 it would be fine. He was regularly bringing in points too, so he definitely wasn't treating F1 like a “driving academy” or whatever the old guys were talking about now.
Max had a lovely place at Scuderia Toro Rosso. He was signed on with them for another year, him and Carlos would have a great year, maybe placing top five in constructors even. The engineers and media team were used to his personality even if Fabiana chided him and told stories about how he'd drool over telemetry sheets when he was one.
2016 would be his best year yet
—
They were four races in and Kyvyat still sucked even if Max wasn't supposed to say that and his bosses agreed with him which never happened and there was a new contract in front of him and what the hell Max was driving for Red Bull. Like proper.
Max was so happy he's pretty sure he blanked out everything but his need to prove himself on this first race, despite white hot eyes he could feel tracking his helmet.
He qualified P4.
He won.
What was this????
He ignored the tears that threatened to fall as he screamed. His dad had never gotten this far, never won and Max had smashed Vettell's record by like two years which was insane.
He partied and hugged the team and relished in winning.
He called his mom.
Max never wanted this feeling to end.
—
The pandemic is crap. Max finally feels in tune with the car: he’s going to be the first driver, now that Daniel’s left. He’s only 22, but he’s been on the grid for 5 years now.
Max is hungry for his first win, hungry to fight Mercedes for points, to topple the brand that’s been at the top so long. RedBull is hungry too, but the pandemic has slammed down the start to the season.
Max feels like he’s going stir crazy.
He’d gotten a new sim rig right before winter break, so while he’s been training on that, putting hours in, working a little with a few eRacers that RedBull sponsors, he loves being outside.
He’d taken his vacation in Ibiza with a few friends, then was at the factory for a month, working up to the first few testing dates and now it was all going down the drain.
Doctors were scrambling, they didn’t know how to handle it all, and it was ripping through Italy and Monaco was so tightly packed on the coast that Max was a little anxious but more so upset about how strict it all was. Daniel sent him pictures from the vast wilderness of his own backyard and Max tamped down bitter jealousy that rose in his throat.
Most other drivers had things to work on, side projects, or were vacationing despite “restrictions” because they were all told as important figures that the doctors actually didn’t know squat about what would help. 2m distancing? A random number they thought might work, that they were holding tight to. It was better than nothing, but certainly wasn’t the holy grail some people were making it out to be. But still: public perception. So they all stayed inside until they could get away with it.
Max couldn’t, unfortunately, so he was gearing up to spend another few weeks on his sim rig, maybe join an eRacing team officially to waste the hours away.
Max stretched up from his couch, pacing around the area his mom had helped decorate when he’d bought his very first apartment, away from his family. Maybe he could get a workout in?
His phone rang from where he’d sat it down on the kitchen counter.
Huh.
Max didn’t know who was reaching out now, most people just texted him nowadays. He walked over, and caught the contact during the 5th ring- Vic.
“Victoria?” Max said, confused, as he picked up the phone.
“Hey, Max” Victoria said. It came out wobbly.
Max’s older brother instincts that hadn’t truly come out since he’d met Tom for the first time two years ago sat up. Something was wrong.
“What’s up?” he said, striving for casual and maybe not quite reaching it.
“Just- just checking in,” Victoria murmured. “Saying hello. Stuck at home right now.”
Max hummed.
“Me too. Thinking about picking up a new hobby?”
“I mean– mom’s gotten into some baking again,” Victoria said. “Maybe I could do something like-”
She was cut off by a wail. The boys.
“Oh- hold-” Victoria stuttered, the sound of rustling came over the receiver as she must have been moving. Max listened as the sound of upset children grew louder, Victoria’s own attempts at soothing being drowned out by the noise, and everything started clicking into place.
Victoria had twin boys just four months ago in December. Little Edwin and Markus must not be happy, all cooped up too– Max had met them, of course, but he hadn’t stopped to really think about how Victoria was handling it all.
“Sorry, sorry Max,” Victoria said once the cries had slowed a bit. “They’re supposed to be going down for a nap right about now but I guess they’ve decided to be fussy today.”
“Of course it’s alright Vic,” Max said, taking care that his voice was calm and relaxed. “Where’s Tom?”
Vic hiccuped.
“He’s-he’s essential right now. He has to go into work, and they still don’t quite know if babies get sick more or less or are super vulnerable so he has to quarantine for a few days before he can see them again. He’s here just… only a day or two a week.”
Max’s heart broke.
“I’m handling it, Max,” Victoria said. “Just wanted to chat. Take my mind off it all.”
“Are you sure?” Max said before he could stop himself.
“Of course I’m sure I’m handling it,” Victoria said, a bit of anger rising in her voice. The babies fussed louder, and she hushed them. “They’re alive and energetic, if you can’t hear that.”
“No, no, of course you’re doing a good job with them Vicki, you’re a good mother,” Max murmured. “But you of course need time alone too.”
“That’s a little unrealistic right now, brother,” Victoria said, assuaged. “Not all of us have seven figure salaries to hire nannies with.”
“And not all of us have exactly essential jobs,” Max said.
“What does that mean?”
“It means,” Max said, slowly, careful, “that I have the next few months off. They’ve shut down the start of the season with no clue when we’ll get back up.”
“Max…” Victoria said, voice wobbling a bit.
“If you need me I of course can show up. The boys deserve to know their best uncle,” Max said, quietly, the two of them sitting in near silence as Edwin and Markus gurgled and fussed.
“Are you sure?”
“I could never say no to you, Vicki, you have known this. You made me give you all the unbroken crayons always.”
She laughed, wet with tears, at his poor not-a-joke.
“That would be crazy. Aren’t there… restrictions? Right now?”
“I would need to bring my clothes and my old, smaller sim of course, so I am not totally out of practice, but right now restrictions are mostly for flying. I will rent a truck and take the highways. I’m still a Belgian citizen so they cannot turn away my passport if I am returning home, surely. It will just be your home, instead of mom’s.”
“That’s… that’s crazy. And very sweet. I could clear out the office, and you can sleep in the guest bedroom, too. It’s not as if we shall be entertaining soon. This… this could help.”
“Of course,” Max said, not knowing what else to say.
“Thank you, brother,” Victoria said. “You’re very kind, you know that?”
“I will need to be packing,” Max said.
Victoria laughed.
“Okay, I can take a hint. Manly man who isn’t kind at all. I’ll see you soon.” There was a loud sound. “...and looks like Mark needs a change so I should probably let you go.”
Max wrinkled his nose and made a small sound of disgust.
“Oh, you better get used to this,” Victoria said. “If you’re here to help and I’m taking a bath, you’ll need to change them.”
“I will need to learn first,” Max said, humming. “I will text you more details later. Then go on wikiHow.”
Victoria laughed, and it had lost the wet edge of tears. They said their goodbyes before hanging up and Max’s body was alight with anticipation. He was going somewhere, doing something, no longer stuck. It was relief and adrenaline at the same time.
Brad’s workout wasn’t necessary right now, he’d get his heartrate up taking apart and lugging his sim rig down the stairs.
Time to get to work.
—
“Jeepy” (RedBull)
14:12
How did you learn to change diapers
I’ve been told no Wikihow
Max, please tell me you don’t have a baby right now.
Not right now but soon
Max? If you got someone pregnant you probably need to sit down with Legal to get everything on record.
No not me, Victoria. Will be helping while Tom works
That’s very sweet, Max.
Next time let’s say that instead of giving me a minor heart attack.
Wikihow isn’t bad, but here are some videos that are a little easier to understand.
Of course if you can, practice is going to be the best teacher.
“Jeepy” (RedBull) is typing…
Brad (RedBull)
17:33
Today’s sets are in your tracking app
18:05
What workout equipment will you need for me to have for the next few months
I am moving and do not know if gym will be available
18:24
Is this why I got an ominous text from Gianpiero?
Where are you moving?
Belgium
Living with family
Ah, I see. I can shift your schedule to work better for an at home routine.
Any way you can at least try and stick to the diet plan?
I will be, of course, doing my best
I will maybe be helping cook most of the time
That’s unusual for you, but let me write down the list of bands and weights I’ll want you to find or buy, alright?
Max has reacted “Thumbs Up” to a message.
Christian (RedBull)
19:01
I am moving to live with my sister while the pandemic shuts down everywhere. If you need me at the factory I will come from there.
08:03
Sounds good, Max. Make sure HR has your new secondary address on file.
Vic
Wednesday 06:23
finished packing, ready to go
Cool. ETA?
like 19:00 ish
Vic has reacted “Heart” to a message.
—
Max doesn't have nearly as much stuff as he kind of thought he would. His job, by necessity, has trained him in the art of packing. He's done triple headers with the same few suitcases.
This feels different though. He weighed what he would bring as if he was going on a trip versus what he'd need if he was moving.
Obviously Victoria has her own family's decor and the like so he doesn't have SO much to consider but his paltry few boxes of clothes and toiletries feel… too small, for this venture. Not enough to stay somewhere.
Victoria doesn't look like she minds though, bags under her eyes seeming to lighten as they hug hello.
It takes them less than twenty minutes to shove Max's stuff from the car (?) to the house. In those twenty minutes a twin starts crying then the other one responds and Vic's shoulders crumple like that dude they showed holding up the sky. The art struck Max's heart but he doesn't remember the dude's name.
He squares his shoulders, and places a hand on Vic's lower back.
“Show me how to hold them?”
She straightens a bit, and they grab the babies from the bottom of their playpen. Or, Max sits on the couch terrified as Victoria picks up one of them and approaches. I signed up for this. Come on, Max, be a man. Men aren't defeated by babies.
“This is Eddy, here. He looks a bit calmer, probably sympathy crying,” Victoria says. Max is glad he's already washed his hands.
He DID admittedly look at wikiHow AND watch a few YouTube tutorials, so he's not totally afraid to hold his hands out. People hold babies all the time. This is fine.
Victoria must judge him up to snuff, or isn't awake enough to correct him.
“Support his neck,” is all she says, and then he's holding him.
Max didn't know why he thought it'd be like a magic spell or something, totally sweeping over his mind in a behold, the baby, you are forever weak to the wiles of children or whatever but it isn't.
Edwin's just… red. Puffy. Very loud. Max does hang around race tracks so he's kind of used to loud if not the other stuff.
It's not a big deal. Eddy's little eyes crack open from where he's screwed them shut in his crying to peek out at him, almost accusing.
Max's face is very new. His voice, too, must be pretty odd.
“Hi, I'm Max,” he says, because what the hell else are you supposed to say when meeting someone even if they're a baby.
Edwin looks at him a little closer. God knows the kid hasn't seen many people during this hell period on Earth, but Max once again isn't quite sure what to do.
“It's nice to meet you,” he offers. The crying slows. “You and your brother are of course being very loud. Not very polite but I have learned that you can't talk and will not talk for a while yet so I do not think you have many other options.”
He feels ambitious, and bounces Eddy in his arms a bit. The crying has turned to hiccoughs, and his brother Markus is soothed by Vicki somewhere else. Eddy's hands migrate to his mouth, big eyes looking at Max intently.
“I brought my suitcases here, but you and your brother got upset so we haven't brought in my sim yet. It is a simulation rig because I drive cars for my job. I go very fast, and I'm very good so I try to win most of the time and often do not but they are good fights,” Max says. He feels a bit silly.
He's almost like he's 18 again, trying to stand up straight and be good at everything, even the media because he was new and fresh and wanted everyone to be happy. He wants to be good at this, as stupid as his father found it. Men aren't truly in charge of raising the babies, they play and roughhoused when the children are toddlers, older, until they can model the right behavior and grow into adults. Men were supposed to lead, be strong. Women nurtured. Max didn't feel like he was doing a very good job at either, and he didn't know what that made him.
He hears Victoria's feet pad against the floor. He looked up, and saw an incredibly soft expression on her face as her eyes welled with tears.
“Am I doing it wrong?” He asks.
“No, no,” she says. “You're doing perfect.”
Max finds that hard to believe, but he wants his sister happy, so he doesn't say anything.
He thinks later, that perhaps this is when it all starts.
—
It turns out that the guest bedroom is slightly bigger than the office, and Max forgot he upgraded his sim to be bigger so it fits better in there. It’s a step up from the suitcase he carried around when he was 18, 19, and the cars are getting bigger so so do the sims.
Max uses all his handyman skills that he totally has, who cares what the other grid members think and breaks down the bedframe enough to move it into the office. He anticipates sleeping being the only activity he does there, so it's fine if it's a little cramped.
Victoria wasn't able to move out the old maple wood technology center they had in there anyway, so it all works out well.
The office is directly next to where the twins are supposed to be sleeping.
Victoria looks a bit shameful, talking about how they sometimes don't sleep through the night and stay in the crib in her room even if there's a suffocation risk of both of them in there or on her chest. She's one person, and she's doing her best. He hates how much she apologizes for how he might be woken up before her if the twins fuss.
Max quickly resolves to handle it on his own as soon as he is comfortable. She needs the sleep.
It doesn't take more than an hour of catching up and learning the twins' schedule before Max is introduced to a diaper change.
They're boys, so he doesn't have to worry about disease and infection and the incredibly scary consequences that come from wiping girls the wrong direction (he'd only been a little scared reading THOSE articles. Just remembering the diagrams…)
It's not as difficult as he'd worried it'd be. He always remembered uncles begging the task off, so he'd assumed it was more complicated than just taking the old one off, cleaning it up, and putting a new one on.
Victoria told him it would get more complicated if one of them had a rash or an infection, but they didn't so it was fine. His hands got gross so he washed them in the sink, and it was much easier to clean than motor oil.
If anything, Max felt like he'd accomplished something. Maybe some men wanted to protect and didn't care for the finicky bits but Max was a details kind of guy. Had to be, when every thousandth of a second counted.
Max also liked winning, though. Liked beating other people. So maybe he would just not tell other men that changing diapers was really easy and all the women would think Max was amazing for doing it. That seemed like a good plan– if he ever had kids.
Max wasn't quite ready for that though. Hard to be without even a long term girlfriend.
Victoria, admittedly, was “beating” him there, married already when she was a few years younger, but like. He couldn't imagine having someone in his space all the time. What if they didn't like RedBull? What if they hated his busy schedule? Max's experience with girlfriends told him these things were very important to most of them, and Max simply wouldn't have anyone long term unless they agreed, which was looking less and less likely by the day.
Max would just enjoy his unclehood in the meantime.
Unclehood is pretty easy, once he gets settled in.
“Stop that,” Max says, shoulder checking Victoria out of the kitchen. It’s a little harder to do when he’s got a pan in his hands but he doesn’t work out for nothing.
“It doesn’t look like you’re going to finish cutting all those onions in time, Max, I’m just trying to help.”
“You can help,” Max says, using his mass to further lean her out of the kitchen zone, “by enjoying your coffee and telling me about your show. The one with the guys and the demons.”
“Very descriptive,” Victoria says. “I can tell you’ve been paying attention.”
“It is hard when they all look and sound the same.”
“I suppose so,” Victoria sighs. “The show is called Supernatural for your reference, it’s American. The “guys” hunt down demons, yes, but they help an angel prevent the end of the world. I really like their depictions of various mythos-”
Max nods, continuing to cook their dinner. Victoria was wrong, he would have enough time to get these onions cooked before the meat finished browning. It would be going in the oven while the onions sweat, and the fond would be fantastic for cooking it down.
Victoria was used to cooking fast ready meals because she was busy juggling children around. Max was used to his diet plan needing to keep his weight in check: he did live alone, and takeout was sometimes necessary, but Brad had him making food that was simple and filling. It was an adjustment to get their styles to mesh, but it was necessary. Sure, Vic would have chopped the onions faster, but Max was more precise, meaning they’d cook evenly and have the same calorie allotment.
Dinner could afford to take 10 minutes longer anyway, there were two of them now.
“I wouldn’t talk about it with anyone who’s really into it because they just got in a lot of trouble with the characters being gay and going to hell, people online are very upset and feel cheated and some countries had to ban it because it’s illegal in so many places around the world, very poor decision making-”
Victoria prattles on. Max wants to stop smiling, but the tension releasing from her shoulders as she talked about how stupid all these people were in her silly show made him happier than he’d admit to anyone else.
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes. You were discussing how I will get cancelled now for talking about this show because of the new gay bits.”
“Ugh. You’ve got the gist, but you’re leaving out all the characterization stuff I was talking about. You’d like Dean, I think–he’s a jerk, but he’s also kind of my favorite.”
Markus squeals a bit, making what Max now knew was happy noise.
“Yes? Yes, Baby Mark agrees with mother? Dean is the best man on the show?” Mark made a noise that said yes, probably, if babies knew what they were being told. Max hasn’t reached the speech part in the development book yet. Diapers and rashes took priority. Given that it wasn’t brought up super frequently in the first few chapters, he assumes it happens later anyway.
Eddy, not one to be left out of the conversation, manages to thump his legs and knock away a rattling toy. Victoria sets down her coffee and balances paying attention to them both, and Max finishes cooking.
It’s nothing elaborate- carbonnade flamande he remembers his mom making when they were young. It’s a simple beef and onion stew, one that he was able to let sit in the oven for a long while. The meat took a while to tenderize at low heat, and Max and his sister liked the onions more crunchy, so it was fine if they were added later. Max knew it was controversial to brown the meat after letting it roast, but if it worked for him then it worked.
He leaves the pot to thicken for a few more minutes, grabbing drinks from the refrigerator in the basement.
He gets back and Victoria is poking into the pot with a spoon, tasting it. She bounces… Mark? Probably, on her hip.
“Needs a bit more salt, maybe, but it’s pretty good. Did you use a different kind of mustard? It tastes different to Mum’s,” Victoria says, a wrinkle forming on her brow.
“I used the mustard you have in there,” Max says. “I didn’t actually let it stew for very long though, because we started cooking so late, so I didn’t know if the ale would cook off so I didn’t put it in. I used apple juice to make up for it. Google says you need nutritional yeast flakes for the flavor, but you don’t have those.”
“No, I don’t,” Victoria says. “That’s pretty rich stuff. Too used to buying groceries in Monaco?”
“Ew,” Max says. “I don’t have those either. For your reference, I eat food kinda like this, but with more salad and protein shakes and RedBull. Brad helps me a lot.”
Vic’s eyes crinkle into a smile.
“Thanks for thinking about the beer. I honestly don’t worry about it too much, it’s a moderation thing—the doctors say it’s bad for them, the midwife says a bit will knock out the chill, and Mom says anything that keeps me from strangling them from the stress can’t hurt them too much in the long term.”
Max is a little torn. He’s gotten attached to the two little buggers he’s known for a few days, and of course he doesn’t want to see them sick or anything but this is his sister. To tell her no, for their health makes his gut twist because he can already see that she’s done that. The purple under her eyes says her health has already been given up for these babies and- and maybe Victoria needs a break.
He stirs the stew. It’s thick enough, and the meat is tender enough that it splits when he jabs it with the spatula. Good enough. He plates for them both, carrying them over to the table.
Victoria walks over and sits down, leaning to make sure the baby can’t grab at the spoon. It’s very helpful, because it means she’s distracted and not at all prepared for Max to lean over and grab the baby.
“Max!” Victoria says, worried, but Max is fine. He has calculated well, like a good overtake, and cleanly snatched what looks like Marcus from Vic. Baby’s head supported, back held, no puke or anything.
“It’s okay,” Max says. “Where’s the other one?”
“Mark is out on the carpet? I removed all his toys so he’s not at risk of choking or anything. He can’t do much other than wriggle but he likes the mobile.”
Ah. He stole Eddy, then.
“Okay,” Max says, and then he walks right over into the living room and sits down.
“Max, what are you doing?” Victoria says. “Your food will get cold! Just come eat.”
“No,” Max says. “I am spending time with the babies. You said they are still not understanding when things are leaving and they will forget who I am if I leave them alone all the time. You are eating now.”
“Max, they know who virtually no one is. It’s fine.”
“It is not fine, I think,” Max says softly. “You should eat. When you are done you can come and stay with the babies and I will eat. When do they need to eat anyway?”
Victoria pauses. He can hear the scrape of her spoon against the bowl slow.
“They had their afternoon feed after their nap. It’ll likely be in an hour or two.”
Max hums.
Victoria keeps eating, protests dying. Max stares down at his nephews, watching their pudgy little faces and squirmy limbs. He and Victoria have lots of half-siblings from their dad, but Max never got to see them at this age. He knows they’re young, that he might’ve gotten to see them as babies if he wasn’t so focused on starting his single-seater career, but dad never made it a priority. They stayed with Kelly or Sandy. Gosh, Sandy–wasn’t she also pregnant? There was something funny in Max’s head about how Victoria and their dad’s new wife were pregnant at the same time. He’d never gotten to know her, she hadn’t been the most interested in coming to his races, and Max didn’t fault her for that.
Maybe he’d check in on Facebook, see how she was doing. That’d be the good stepson thing to do, right? Surely? Even if the thought of reaching out awkwardly online made him want to shiver and shy away.
He uses his hand to trace Eddy’s little feet. He kept kicking his socks off, and every time Max ran his hand down his little sole it flexed. It was adorable. Markus made a little whine as the mobile stopped spinning. Max leaned over with a little plush thing that was made to stand up to baby slobber. Mark did slobber over it, wiggling his little torso and bopping his feet.
Eddy starts to flex, and Max focused his attention on not dropping him before he settled down, grabbing at Max’s shirt. They were easily entertained.
Max keeps playing lightly with them, thinking about his five year anniversary with Team Redline. He’d meant to do something special for the stream, maybe release merch?
Distantly, Victoria had finished eating and Max could hear her rinsing her bowl in the sink. She walks over and takes Eddy from Max’s hands gently, grabbing a soother to give to him.
Max gets up without protest, walking over to finish his food. It’s a little chilled, but Max doesn’t mind. It’s for a good cause. He finishes eating quickly, before starting to do some of the dishes. There aren’t too many, but he can’t bother to finish the large pot. He puts away the rest of the stew into a big glass storage container and lets it soak in the sink. It’ll get done later.
He pops his head over and Victoria has covered herself, one of the twins nursing quietly.
They hadn’t talked too much about it, but he knows that Vic is doing both natural and formula. She had twins, and sometimes her body just can’t quite keep up. Max will have to look up the details on the internet or in one of her books– he doesn’t want to ask her about it.
Max jumps into the shower, washing away the result of a long day spent moving stuff around. Victoria is playing with the twins when he gets out, so he takes another half hour to finish setting up his sim rig. He’d gotten the bare bones laid out earlier, but it helps that he didn’t fully disassemble it to move it, and that he knew exactly where everything went.
When that’s all set up, he leaves testing the computer for later.
He joins Vic, who’s turned on one of her shows, and sits next to her. They each get a twin, and Max still can’t tell who he’s got yet and he resolves that to be this week’s goal. Vic’s sleep and who the heck he’s holding.
The episode ends, and Max nudges her foot with his own. Victoria looks at him. He nods to her room. She doesn’t move. Max starts trapping her legs under his own, and Victoria starts scootching away.
“Fine, fine,” she says. “You don’t have to tell me I stink.”
“You are fine,” Max asserts. “I work in a garage around sweaty athletes. You smell much nicer than them.”
“I’m sure,” she says, setting her baby down. Max thinks it’s Eddy, because he’s kicked his socks off again. Max sets Probably-Mark next to his brother and lets them warble and giggle at each other. So easily entertained, except for when they’re fussy.
Victoria returns later, skin pink and much more relaxed. She’s still obviously tired, but he lets her watch the babies while his YouTube video finishes playing on the TV that he’d put on for background noise. When the random guy starts shelling out a product, he turns it off.
He stands. Turns off a lamp.
Victoria looks back at him, and doesn’t move. He turns off another.
The living room is now lit from the hallway.
Max darts in, going for one of her feet from where it’s shoved away from her body. She jolts, but isn’t quick enough to stop him from tickling her foot–it jerks, slamming into his gut, but Max is used to play wrestling with Daniel now. He takes it on the chin and starts tugging.
“Alright, alright, stop, stop!” Victoria squeals. The twins, picking up on the shift in energy fuss a bit. Max lets up, because he’s a nice older brother like that. “You don’t have to be so commanding,” Victoria says, reaching down and grabbing Probably-Mark. Max snags Probably-Eddy (and the discarded socks) to follow them down the hall.
Victoria leads the nighttime routine, and Max is pretty sure he’s got a good grip on where everything is.
The cribs are clear of stuffed animals or blankets, which was slightly confusing, until Max was reminded that babies do suffocate.
He nods solemnly as Vic tucks them both into sleepers before putting them in separate cribs.
“They stayed in our room for a few months,” she says “but they need to start a bit of separation now.”
Max doesn’t really understand that, but he understands people liking their own space.
They both retreat to their own rooms. Max plugs his phone in, sending a belated message through WhatsApp to Gianni.
He turns his phone off and starts slowing down his breathing. He falls asleep relatively quickly, and is awake a few hours later. He hears fussing through the wall, though it’s not quite screaming yet.
Max stands, quietly getting up and walking to the other room. The twins feed off each other's energy, but only one is awake right now. His little crib says Edwin, so it’s probably Edwin. Markus looks like he’s going to start waking up soon, face twisting, but he’s still asleep.
Edwin, little baby Eddy, quiets a bit on seeing Max. He’s still wiggling valiantly in his sleeper, though. Max picks him up, and yep. Diaper change.
He walks over to the changing table, barely avoiding stubbing his toe.
It takes some fumbling for the supplies, but he manages to get the diaper and wipes out. He does, admittedly, prop up his phone flashlight to see and make sure everything’s clean.
He uses a little powder because he doesn’t know how long Eddie was sitting in it, but with a little wrestling manages to squish all the little man’s limbs into his sleeper again.
Edwin looks up at him with big eyes, less fussy but decidedly less sleepy.
“You won’t let me put you down, will you,” Max says.
Edwin blinks.
Max leans over, starting to put the baby back in his crib and yep–wiggle, fussy noise. Max straightens back up, holding Eddy close? Settles down.
“Okay then. I see why this is a trap for your mum,” Max says. He bounces the baby a few times. He checks his phone again– 02:13.
He sighs. What do you do with babies?
Hang out?
Well. Max doesn’t have any other plans.
Carefully, so carefully, Max walks with Eddy into the guest room he was supposed to sleep in. He boots up the computer with one hand, and starts running tests for the internet, getting everything set up.
Luckily he doesn’t have to crawl to fix any wires. After 10 or so minutes he grabbed a soother and a soft floppy toy before remembering Edwin couldn’t use his hands in his sleeper.
Max made sure the light from the computer was as low as it could get, syncing his monitors to the right position and testing the internet speed. He bounced his knee and whisper narrated what he was doing, and that seemed to be fine.
Sure enough, the baby started to go back to sleep. Max kept up the bouncing for a while until he would either have to hop into the sim or boot up something else– which he didn’t really want to do. He kept his motions stable, standing up and walking back over to the door.
He manages to set the baby down in his crib. It’s a narrow thing, and Eddy nearly wakes up when Max does stub his toe and hisses in pain. He manages, though.
Max too creeps back to bed. He manages a few more hours before being woken up again, the other twin fussing.
Max lifts Markus, who also needs a diaper change but for number two. It takes Max considerably longer and he leaves Markus strapped down on the mat for a bit to wash his hands. Thoroughly.
When all is said and done, Mark is wide awake and smiling. Max knows he’s not going back to sleep. He plops down into the rocking chair and after struggling to think for a bit, starts talking about what he can talk about half asleep. Tire degradation.
He keeps it low and constant, sometimes wiggling Mark a bit or making a funny noise to emphasise his point. It’s great for thinking aloud about the new compounds, and this person can’t tell him to shut up when he’s talked too long.
The sun is cresting the horizon when a sleepy and suspicious Victoria nudges the door open less than an hour later.
She sees him sitting there, and her shoulders slump.
“Here I thought they’d slept through a night together,” Victoria mutters. “I need to log those milestones you know.”
Max smiles.
“You could have asked when you got up, like you just did.”
Victoria grumbles more, stealing the baby from him. Mark does not mind being stolen, promptly shoving his face into Victoria’s skin. She relaxes a bit, even as she’s talking about how traitorous and rude he is.
All Max really cares about are that the babies are fine, and the purple under Victoria’s eyes has faded a bit.
Mission accomplished.