Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

A blaring alarm dragged Max out of the dark murkiness of sleep. His body ached. Cracking open a reluctant eye, Max took in the room that seemed to glow in the late morning sun; the warm air shimmered like the dream he had just been ripped from. Discarded clothes and loose bottles scattered around the living room began to bring the night's activities back to his mind, and Max groaned at being awoken. His head was pounding.

Their wrap party for the latest movie had been small, more of a gathering filled only with the closest of their friends and the rest of his stunt team, talking and playing half-hearted video games. They had escaped the official wrap party filled with the big stars and scouting agents to their small, overstuffed flat, but it had felt great to finally be finished.

They’d put on music so loud there would probably be neighbour complaints in the next few days and danced around their apartment, singing and shouting and laughing until they’d sent the others home and practically collapsed. Max had never felt as carefree as he did with his team - not even going at 300 kmph around a track - and kicking back for an evening of celebration had instantly wiped away the months of stress, divas, and deadlines.

The movie had been a fantastic opportunity to add to their resumes; the creative freedom their reputation had earned them led to a completed film that was well on track to breaking box office records, even if Max did say so himself. They’d even managed to break a stunting record of their own, sweeping the previous record holder out of the competition by several seconds. The G-force, the spins, and the near misses were what made the experience.

Stunt driving wasn’t Max’s first love, but it had given him something even more valuable: an escape - freedom from his father, his family legacy, and his bigger and ‘better’ brother. Max had loved racing, but he could live without it, and he did, mostly. It didn’t hurt that Red Bull often bent over backwards to get him as a test driver for his twin; it was easier for them to tailor the car to the Red Bull golden boy when they had an exact copy to test it with. It eased the pain of walking away, and Max found he enjoyed the unburdened test drives, where he could be part of the process and not just the end result, more than the competitive racing he’d done in Formula Three and Formula Two anyway.

Having built up his small company with Pete, Mario, and Hannah since they were lost and untethered teenagers, finally being recognised as one of the most sought-after stunt and engineering teams in the business was a heady feeling. At least Max’s expensive Superlicence and years on the tracks with his parents and siblings had been useful for something other than the voice in the back of his head telling him he wasn't good enough, never good enough.

The alarm had stopped and restarted again as Max gazed blurrily around the tranquil room. Pete, his engineer, was sprawled out on a mountain of blankets and pillows at the bottom of the sofa Max was lying on. Their ratty little dog, Poca, was resting in the crook of Pete’s arm - snoring. Max dropped a leg over the edge to nudge at Pete's hip, grunting dramatically to make himself feel better at being jerked back to the land of consciousness too soon.

“What?” Pete rumbled, not moving a muscle other than to reply. 

“Dude, what is that fucking alarm?”

Pete tutted but began to rummage around mindlessly at his side until his hand reappeared with Max’s discarded jeans. The ringing grew louder now that it wasn’t muffled by fluffy bedding.

“I don’t care. Just make it stop.”

Max was cut off from replying when his jeans smacked him in the face. Shock kept Max still for the first moment, the residual sleepiness for the next, and by the third moment, Pete was seemingly back asleep, and Max just wanted to join him, not start shit.

Huffing at himself, Max dug out his phone from a pocket and finally looked at the screen. A call from an unknown number lit up the device, and Max squinted as he saw that he’d missed more than just the first call that had woken him. As he watched, the screen turned dark, and the ringing stopped; it would probably start up again soon. Weighing his options, Max decided to be an amazing mate and head out of the room before the next call arrived, and he gave the mysterious caller a piece of his mind, waking up his roommates in the process. Standing up, Max swayed a little as the movement made his head spin.

Pete’s earlier movement had dislodged Poca, and when Max stood, the chihuahua shook herself down and trotted after him. The tiny dog’s need for breakfast and a toilet trip had no respect for the post-party lie-in any more than Max’s mystery caller did.

Max stretched out the unease and his final dregs of sleep so he could steadily pick his way between Pete, Mario, and Hannah’s sleeping forms and out of the room. Poca lagged behind him, probably to give Mario's dark-haired leg a lick where it was sticking out of the blanket if the disgruntled groan was any indication. Max had made it to the small kitchen of their shared flat, intending to make a cup of coffee for himself and food for Poca, when his phone sprung back to life.

“You’ve reached Max Verstappen,” Max answered the phone, cringing at how busted his voice sounded.

As much as he would bitch about an early morning call to himself or the others, it could be a work call, and you couldn’t get complacent in their business. Work was work.

“Shit, you sound awful,” At first, the Dutch didn’t even register for Max. The voice on the line was just the wrong side of judgmental for it to be genuinely light-hearted teasing; it felt like cold water had been dumped on his head.

“Jan?”

Max was suddenly wide awake and standing ramrod straight. Of all the people in the world, his twin brother would have been the last -  okay, second to last - person he would ever expect to be on the other end of this call. Pulling the phone away from his face, Max checked he hadn't forgotten a birthday or anniversary, but nothing jumped out from his memory. Max stood frozen for a few moments longer; maybe if he didn’t acknowledge it, the call would end, and everything would return to normal.

“Max? Are you listening?” Jan's annoyed voice was still coming through the speaker, and Max shook himself out of the shock to finally pay attention.

“Yeah, I'm here.”

“Finally. Be glad it's me that you answered and not Dad. He’s about to blow a gasket or something.”

That explained the unknown number, Max thought. The last time he’d had willing contact with his father, outside of birthdays and holidays, was at sixteen when a pissed-off Jos had left Max’s body aching from angry blows and his heart hurting from even angrier words. Max had gone to see his mum and never returned. Jan, meanwhile, had. They had been much closer growing up than in the last decade.

Feeling the familiar twinge of guilt and loss in his chest, Max rubbed at the spot in the centre of his chest. Just below his shirt, as it always was, the child-sized karting medal dug into his skin - a good luck charm, a reminder, and a meditation aid all at once. Max took a deep breath and let the past fade.

“What’s that got to do with me?” Max queried.

Poca chose that moment to patter into the kitchen at last. Max reached down to give his little girl a head scratch. Poca whined, realising she wasn't the centre of attention, and hopped up at Max’s legs, her tail picking up speed as she woke up properly. Max cooed at her and picked up the chihuahua, cradling her warm belly into his chest as she let her chin rest on his shoulder.

Now settled, the silence over the phone finally caught his attention. Jan was still there, Max could hear him breathing, but no words came.

“Well?”

“Is that a dog?” Jan asked, the question seemingly ripped out of him in his reluctance to say what he’d called to say.

“Yeah,” Max refused to fill the silence.

“You never told me you had a dog.”

When would I have ever had the chance? We never talk, Max thought bitterly, but he bit his lip and took a breath before replying.

“Why did you call, Jan?”

“That’s…” Jan hesitated and trailed off, seemingly nervous. “Not over the phone. Just… how soon can you get to England? To Milton Keynes?”

“England?” Max repeated blankly.

He was feeling even more off-kilter. Jan was never nervous. Awkward or erratic? Sure, but never anything other than a hundred per cent confident. It had been beaten into him, into them, too much as children ever to let that particular lesson slip.

“What’s going on?” Max was alarmed now. Something had happened. Something major if even their father was trying to reach him.

“Family emergency,” Jan was still evasive and cagey. “Just get here, and I’ll explain everything. I’ll tell Dad I got a hold of you. Call me when you arrive.”

“Hey, wait-”

“I’ve got to go. Call me.”

Then the line went dead.

“Hello? Hel-?” Max felt his mouth fall open. What the hell had just happened? “Sure, not like I have my own life here; of course, I can just drop everything and go to fucking England with no explanation. Bet you don't even know where I'm living, prick.”

Max was still muttering to himself in irritation when Pete, having roused himself in Max’s absence, wandered into the kitchen and took Poca from his arms to shower the small dog with kisses.

"Man, I never learn," Pete grumped, checking his reflection in the glass of a cabinet door. "Never sleep without a durag. Look at my waves."

"Do you want coffee?" Max sidestepped Pete's attempt to start a conversation.

Max ignored Pete's raised eyebrow and turned to pour his coffee without waiting for an answer, just to avoid his friend's gaze that little bit longer.

“Who was on the phone?” Pete asked when they had both taken their first few sips and Max still hadn't spoken.

“My brother."

“Shit,” Pete stated, and Max nodded.

They both went back to their coffees in silence. After a few moments, Pete placed Poca gently on the ground and restarted making her food that Max had left abandoned on the counter at the sound of his twin's voice. Max couldn't see Pete's face with his back turned, but the sudden set of his friend's shoulders told him enough.

"What did he want?"

The question was oh so carefully asked. Cautious, quiet, resigned. Pete had been around a long time. He'd seen the uncontrolled anger that was quick to attack, followed by even faster and more desperate apologies. Pete had been the one who taught Max to breathe again when the panic made him forget how to do so over and over and over again. Pete had seen Max's childhood and how it had left him. Pete also knew the death grip the past had on both Verstappen boys; if Jan was calling out of the blue, there was someone else behind it.

"I'm not sure," Max was still confused, still shocked. "He wouldn’t… couldn’t say it over the phone. He wants me to go to England."

"England?" Pete's voice was carefully neutral, and he kept his back turned. "When? Why?"

Max found his hand travelling to where his medal rested again, fingers tracing the skin-warmed edge absentmindedly. "Today? Now? I'm not sure. He said something about a family emergency, I think-"

"Is he fu-?!" Pete suddenly spun around, and the carefully concealed anger erupted. "Does he seriously think you're doing that? Really?"

"I…" Max was at a loss for words. His roommate's incredulity reignited his own ire at the situation. It felt good to have someone unquestioningly, unconditionally on his side. "I guess so."

"Well, you're not going… right?"

Max’s grip on the spoken word seemed to be still missing, and instead, he shrugged, not sure what he wanted the gesture to say anyway. Would he go? He was thinking about it. Sure, Jan was still his brother, but it felt ridiculous.

“I…”

The rest of Max’s reply was lost as Hannah barrelled into the kitchen, still rubbing the sleep from her eyes. An overexcited squeal and flapping hands alerted both men to their roommate’s agitation, her brusk German accent thickening in her eagerness to share.

“Look! Look at zhis!” Hannah waved her phone in Max’s face, the blurry screen leaving him no more enlightened when Hannah pulled it back away to continue scrolling. “It looks so schlecht; I can feel the whiplash just on watching it. He vas DNF, too, after doing so vell. Did you hear anyzhing from him? Is he gesund? I know you do not really talk, but-”

“Hannah, babe. HANNAH!” Pete finally managed to get his girlfriend to stop and pause for breath. “What are you talking about?”

“Jan!” Hannah nudged her huge, square-framed glasses back up her nose in agitation and urgently turned her phone back around. “He vas run into ze barrier by his teammate. Zhere is no official statement, but Twitter reports he vent to the hospital.”

“He… what?” The words barely squeezed out of Max’s throat, leaving his already cracking voice faint and strangled.

Pete squeezed his arm as they crowded around Hannah’s phone to watch the replay. Max’s throat felt tight, but he couldn’t look away. He needed to know how bad it was, to understand how close he’d come to such a loss and not even know it. Why hadn’t Jan said anything?!

Hannah was right. The crash looked bad indeed. The car had gone airborne; the speed had been high and the angle wrong, but Jan had climbed out of the cockpit within seconds. Max finally felt himself breathe again as he watched his brother stumble into the waiting arms of the marshals before waving at the crowd. Jan looked stiff and wobbly, but he was walking around. It was even more of a relief when Jan had angrily rounded on Checo, who had also escaped his wrecked car, and began waving his hands around.

“Didn’t he say anything at all to you?” Pete asked when the video moved from replays and slow-motion angles to general race commentary and statistics.

“No… maybe he-” Max paused to clear his throat, guilt beginning to clog his windpipe. “Maybe he thought I would already know. Oh god, how could I not know?”

“Hey,” Hannah cut off Max’s spiralling thoughts. “Ve vere busy yesterday, for good reason, or not? You cannot vatch every race. Does Jan vatch every movie or TV show you make?”

“He doesn’t watch movies,” Max replied, hearing the lack of conviction in his own words.

“Ach du lieber Gott! How are you twins?” Hannah shook her head. “Nozhing alike. Nozhing.”

Poca barked in what seemed to be agreement and began circling their feet, a reminder her food was still on the counter and not where it should be: in front of her.

“Sorry, little one,” Pete tutted. He placed the bowl on her mat and refilled her water bowl for good measure. Pete turned back to Max and Hannah, who were still poring over the news on her phone. “I guess that means you’re going then?”

“Going?” Hannah queried, looking between the two of them.

“Jan just called,” Max explained, his mind already running through all the preparations he would need to make for his trip. “He asked me to come to England.”

“Ah, so of course you must go,” Hannah nodded sagely. “You go and pack; I vill book you a flight.”

Max watched Hannah disappear around the corner with gratefulness. He would never again mock his roommate’s German efficiency, and it felt nice to be cared for. Pete’s chuckle drew his attention, and Max shared a knowing look with him.

“Germans,” Pete laughed.

“You were the one that thought it would be a good idea to ask one out,” Max teased. “Now look at us.”

“So it was,” Pete shrugged, the mirth turning into deeply fond affection as his thoughts, no doubt, turned to his long-term girlfriend. “Yet another reason I’m the smartest of all of us.”

“Whatever you say.”

Max didn’t stick around to hear Pete’s reply. Instead, he strode to his room and quickly packed a carry-on. Luckily, there wasn’t much Max needed to take that he couldn’t just buy on arrival if required; he couldn’t really focus anyway, his mind constantly running back through the conversation with Jan.

Within the hour, Hannah had found and booked a flight. Mario had been woken up and made breakfast, as was their routine, so they could all eat together. Pete slipped a few things Max had missed into his bag at the last minute, and Max was in a taxi on his way to the airport in no time at all. He’d half-heartedly tried calling Jan again but gotten no reply.

After the stress of the morning and the shock of the news, Max passed out in his seat before the plane had even taken off.

Stepping out of the arrivals terminal at London Luton airport, Max had to shield his eyes against the uncharacteristically bright British sun. The waiting area was bustling with people, but the Sunday afternoon meant it was still relatively quiet. Max was grateful Luton was close enough to Milton Keynes that most people around here had at least an idea of who ‘Jan Verstappen’ was and would give him space, but not enough of one that they stopped Max for a photo.

Max wrapped his jacket tighter around his torso, feeling exposed and vulnerable. Where was Jan? He’d said he was outside when Max had called from baggage claim. Scanning the steady stream of cars, Max couldn’t spot the usual Ferrari or Mercedes anywhere. He was just about to call his brother again when a heavy presence appeared at his side.

“It’s been a while, huh?”

Max spun, nearly losing his footing from the uneven weight of his bags. Jan raised an eyebrow at him but otherwise didn’t comment. Feeling his breath catch at the unexpected sight, Max knew he was staring, but he couldn’t help it. Jan looked the same as he always did, how he had looked on TV just that morning, but he had also hugely changed since Max had last seen him. He seemed calmer, more mature. Settled.

“It sure has,” Max tried not to sound bitter, but he didn’t care if he covered it well or not. “You look good.”

Jan shrugged, the movement sending a shot of pain over his face, which Max zeroed in on. “I’ve been better.”

Max didn’t know what to say, so he just nodded, the crash replaying in his mind's eye unbidden. A large pack of tourists suddenly swarmed around them and down the road to a waiting coach, bringing Max back to the present. The uncertainty of what he was doing there settled back in. Were people staring? It felt like everyone in the world was staring at them: the real Verstappen and the fake one.

Max hoped the small boy who’d got his “hero’s” autograph on the plane didn’t get wind of their double act. Maybe he could get Jan to send him something authentic or invite him to a race experience.

“Where’s your car?” Max tried to shake off his uncomfortable mood and made a show of looking around.

“I parked up there,” Jan nodded in the direction of the car park.

“Parked? I thought this was some kind of stealth operation. Quick in and out.”

Jan frowned at Max’s words but shrugged again, seemingly not having learned his lesson earlier. “Seb says we should park and turn off the engine if we stay longer than a minute. Save the planet.”

“Right,” Max swallowed, Seb. As in The Sebastian Vettel, whom Jan knew, spoke to, and hung out with.

“Anyway, let’s get going,” Jan twisted and was already a few metres ahead before Max registered him moving.

Hustling to catch up, Max adjusted the bags on his shoulders and scanned Jan’s body, looking for any more signs of pain and injury. There was a definite stiffness to his gait, and with his back turned, Max could see the tell-tale darkening of a killer bruise peeking out from the collar of Jan’s shirt. A continued search revealed no other apparent problems, but Max knew Jan was very good at covering for illness or injury. History has shown that.

Appeased for the moment that Jan was actually - mostly - okay, Max looked his brother over for another reason. It was a habit and not a healthy one, as Pete had told him often, but Max couldn’t help comparing himself to Jan. Not being confronted with their identical faces, the dissimilarities showed themselves.

Max was taller, only by the smallest of margins, but he was. However, Jan was heavier. Naturally, broad-set shoulders and the rigorous training in Formula One had left Jan thick and muscled in a way that Max’s slimmer frame and slower-paced job couldn’t emulate - despite how much he trained to keep up with testing driver standards.

Max had lighter hair, but Jan’s highlights gave them the same overall tone. Jan always had close-cropped and professional hair, whereas Max’s was curled and shaggy so that he could body double in the movie.

Max had opted for a baggy and comfortable tracksuit set while Jan was dressed smartly in jeans, a nice jumper, and a bomber jacket - probably Kelly’s doing rather than Jan learning how to style himself beyond team kit. Jan walked with confidence, shoulders back and head forward.

Max tripped.

The scrabble of feet and a bag falling to the ground got Jan's attention, and he turned. Max was sure he looked just as embarrassed as he felt, but Jan simply retraced his steps and reached out to grab Max’s dropped bag.

“Be careful,” Jan tutted. “Don’t want you to get hurt too.”

Max knew he should thank his brother for the help, but he felt affronted by Jan's blasé attitude instead. Grabbing the bag before Jan could, Max scowled and internally berated his brother for coming to help him despite his obvious injury.

“So, you’re admitting it now?”

“Max…” Jan's shoulders slumped, and he rubbed a hand down his face in exasperation. “Do we have to do this here?”

Max followed Jan's lead and looked around the parking structure. It was mostly empty, and they were speaking in Dutch, but Max could understand Jan's desire to get out of the public place - such is the life of a celebrity sportsman. Jerking his bags back onto his shoulder, Max followed Jan to his car and remained silent until they were both seated; the doors closed against the rest of the world.

“So?”

Jan had his hands on the wheel and kept facing forward but didn’t make a move to drive off. Max impatiently waited, crossing his arms but remaining stubbornly silent.

“I thought you’d know, but when it was clear you didn’t… I didn’t want you to worry when there was nothing you could do.”

“I was more worried about having to see the crash on TV and not knowing how you were,” Max scoffed. “Not knowing why you hadn’t just told me what was happening.”

Jan nodded in acquiescence, as close to an apology as Max would get.

“I’m alright but… but I can’t drive.”

“Jan, I-” Max rushed to give his brother a platitude, but they both knew it would be empty; it wouldn’t get Jan back to racing any faster.

“Not for at least a few weeks, probably months.”

“Shit, it looked bad, but what actually happened? Hannah couldn't find out anything online.”

“Hannah?” Jan frowned, and Max had to remind himself again that Jan knew nothing about his life these days.

“Ah, my roommate. Never mind."

“It doesn’t matter. Why talk about it more? You saw it happen: Perez didn’t give enough space, we both crashed, and he’s still in the hospital. It was his fault, but I don’t see the point in blaming a man still in medical treatment.”

It was Max’s turn to nod at that explanation. That explained the crash, Jan's refusal to talk, and lack of interviews, but it still gave Max no clue as to why he was currently in Milton Keynes and not at home.

“Jan? Why am I here?”

“You’re a test driver, aren’t you?”

Max sighed. That answered exactly nothing. “And?”

“And that’s why you’re here.”

Max’s thoughts scattered. Nothing made sense. Jan didn’t elaborate further; instead, he started the car and set off. The beat and electronic melody of the House music Jan preferred filled the car, and Max let the songs wash over him. If he pushed any more, Jan would probably just get angry, not more helpful, and Max would get nothing. Deciding he wasn’t going to risk getting kicked out of the car over trying to get a satisfactory answer, Max would wait until they reached the factory. Max huffed and shifted so he could watch the scenery zip by.

Not much had changed in the short time since Max had made the very same trip on his way to the car’s shakedown tests. There was less frost on the ground, and the sun bathed the world in a watery yellow, but everything else gave Max a sense of deja vu. Of course, Jan had also never been with him before.

Rolling his head away from the window and back around to face the driver, Max let himself watch Jan as he thought. Jan had obviously relaxed as he drove, attentive gaze on the road ahead while restless fingers tapped against the steering wheel. The sight startled a laugh out of Max, and Jan looked at him in question.

“Sorry,” Max grunted, turning to look out of the windshield. “It’s just that you’ve never driven me anywhere before. You didn’t even have a licence before.”

“Neither did you,” Jan sounded defensive, but Max could see his brother’s grin out of the corner of his eye.

“But I’m younger,” Max replied smugly. “So it's okay if I’m a bit behind.”

“You always were, Maxie, you always were.”

Suddenly, Max felt stupid. He’d been the one to bring it up, to say the words, but it didn’t stop it from hurting. Max couldn’t blame Jan; he’d never told Jan what exactly had driven him to move in with their Mum after all, but he was so tired of blaming himself. Jan didn’t know, like he didn’t know so much about Max, and Max wasn’t going to tell him now.

Feeling newly vulnerable, Max didn’t have the energy to keep teasing Jan. Instead, he forced out a quiet hum of agreement, of concession and turned back to the passenger window.

As wrapped up in his thoughts as he was, the drive seemed to speed by after that. Max didn’t rouse himself when they passed through security, and Jan even had to nudge him to get moving when they parked near the entrance.

Max watched as Jan gathered up his keys and phone before climbing out of the car and slamming the door. The car rocked from the strength of it, and Max sighed; he’d enjoyed the pleasant time with his brother while it had lasted.

Heaving himself out of the car, Max stretched as he looked around the parking lot. There was a sea of cars around them but no signs of life. Like the drive over, everything looked pretty much the same as the last time Max had been there, but the feeling was different.

“Stop gawking,” Jan called over to him. “You look like one of the kids on Christian’s tours.”

“Shut up, I'm just stretching.”

“Whatever you say,” Jan checked his watch. “Come on, we’re just about on time.”

“And whose fault is that, Mr Taxi Driver?”

“See if I pick your ass up next time, then. Oh, and put these on.”

Max stumbled back a few steps as Jan slapped something against his chest. With a small clack, it dropped to his feet.

“What is it?” Max asked as he cautiously picked the thing up, and a pair of sunglasses dropped out again.

Looking back up when an answer didn’t come, Max spotted Jan way ahead of him, already entering the building lobby. Max's frustration sparked, and it doubled when he saw the large 33 on the trucker cap. Trust Jan to give Max some of his own merchandise to wear.

“Fuck this,” Max spat at Jan’s rapidly disappearing back, shoving the cap on his head and the glasses in his hoodie’s kangaroo pocket. “And fuck you.”

Max raced to catch Jan and demand answers. He quickly caught up with him as Jan was waiting just inside the doors, and they nearly collided. Max was finished letting Jan run away from him or squirm out of giving him an explanation.

“Oi,” Max stopped Jan with a hand on his arm. “What am I walking into here?” 

“I can’t tell you yet. You’ll know soon enough.”

Max blinked. “What? But-”

“Look,” Jan seemed to give into his rising frustration. “You won’t like it, okay? But I need you to do this for me. Christian will be there and… and so will Dad.”

“Why didn’t you tell me he would be-?” The flash of anger got caught in Max’s throat and choked off his protests.

He had been kept in the dark, dragged to a different country, and now he was ambushed by the one person he never wanted to see. Max felt his outrage swell the more he thought about what had happened since that morning when, suddenly, the tension popped. Max was going to be sick.

The weight of his rage plummeted like a rock. Hot anger gave way to feverish flushes and prickling sweat as his gut began to roil. Max hated his temper. It always left him feeling guilty and shaken, and all he wanted to do was curl up alone in the dark for a few days. He’d seen what anger could do, what it had done to his family: it was scary, violent, and dangerous. Max hated being angry.

The air suddenly felt too thick, and Max began to panic, the strange behaviour and mention of Jos finally becoming too much. Max tried desperately to get himself under control; this was the last place Max ever wanted to lose it. Not here and not in front of Jan.

“Max?” Jan’s hand was tentative as he reached out to grab Max’s shoulder, trying to get their eyes to meet. “Maxie?”

Max ignored his brother, pulling out of his hold, and focused on the breathing exercises Pete would always run through with him when things got too much. When the air flowed freely once again, and the pins and needles receded, Max looked back up at Jan and bit back the urge to apologise. Instead, Max fixed the crooked beak of his new hat.

“Let’s just get this over with.”

Jan didn’t move, watching Max carefully instead. “Are you okay?”

“I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go.”

There was an awkward pause during which Max thought Jan might ask more. He couldn’t walk away because he didn’t know where they were going. After a moment's thought, Jan nodded and took off towards the lifts. They made the rest of the trip to the meeting room in silence.

The corridor they walked down was clean and white like the rest of the building, but most of the rooms lining it were dark and silent, making their destination obvious. Max dragged his feet as they reached the single open door.

Jan entered first, and Max heard boisterous greetings being exchanged, but he still couldn’t make himself follow his brother in.

“I’ve been waiting long enough,” The voice of Jos Verstappen reached Max, and he had to stop.

Closing his eyes for a moment, Max took a breath. Jan and their Father continued talking, but Max filtered it out. This was the first time Max had seen Jos since Christmas when he had shared maybe two words with the man the whole time. It was hard to maintain a relationship only on the words: “Hello” and “Goodbye”. It was harder still with a lifetime of apathy between them.

“Is your brother coming in?” Jos’s question drew Max back to the empty hallway he was standing in, and he finally stepped forward.

“I’m here.”

“Close the door then.”

Max wasn’t surprised at the lack of a greeting. He simply did as he was told and moved into the room to pick a chair across the desk. Jan had taken the seat next to their father, creating a clear divide between the occupants in the room. Max got the distinct impression he was trapped.

After a while, no one broke the silence, and Max took the time to look around the barren room instead of meeting Jos’s challenging stare; he wasn’t going to play the man’s mind games.

The walls were the same stark white, but the polished floors had given way to industrial carpet under Max’s feet. The wooden conference table took up most of the centre of the room, but a few tables and cabinets lined the walls as well. There was nothing special about the room, but it seemed to hold a heavy potential like the whole building.

Max imagined, like he always did when he entered The Factory, that he could hear the sound of employee chatter and engineers making their latest upgrade to the car. Max imagined the break-throughs and euphoria of knowing the cars they worked on were real contenders for the championship. He imagined making a real difference for Red Bull or any team.

As always, Jos soured Max’s dream of F1 without even trying.

“I suggest we get started. You’ve already caused enough delays.”

“I wasn’t even aware there was something to delay. Jan hasn’t told me anything.”

“Of course, he hasn’t,” Jos tutted, and Max’s momentary courage to not let Jos bulldoze the conversation was gone. “That would be stupid.”

“Sure,” Max shrugged. “So, what’s this about?”

“You must have seen Jan crash last night,” Jos’s voice was a matter of fact, but Max knew, from experience, that Jos didn’t want any input, so he remained silent. “Jan has hurt his shoulder, and he can’t drive. There is, of course, a simple solution to all this.”

Jos sat back, looking proud. Max glanced at Jan, who was intently focused on the table's wood grain. Seeming to feel Max’s gaze on the top of his head, Jan coughed and stood up to wander over to a side table with an array of snacks. So, no help there, then.

“Look, I’m sorry Jan crashed out, but why does that need a solution? I’m not a physio or a reserve driver, so why am I here?”

“Because ‘Jan Verstappen’ will drive. He’ll just be you.”

"What?" The word came out breathless.

Max felt like he'd taken a steering wheel to the chest at Mac one. Jos’ expectant face morphed into surprise because, of course, he'd just expected Max to agree, to fall to his knees and thank them for the opportunity. It wasn't even 24 hours after the crash, not even an hour since Max had landed in England and been told officially about the crash, and he was already in Red Bull Racing Headquarters being traded in for his damaged brother. 

“You take Jan’s seat,” Jos explained slowly, like Max was an idiot for not understanding, jabbing a finger into the desk to emphasise his point as he talked. “Just for a little while. Take over for the next Grand Prix, keep up the points, and help your brother get another Championship. Maybe another record.”

“But that's…” Max found himself unable to believe what was happening fully and trailed off.

“What don’t you understand?” Jos was getting angry, and Max dropped his gaze to his fiddling fingers hiding under the desk.

Being in the same room as his father and sitting at the same desk was messing with Max’s head. He felt like a scared little kid again: not good enough and with no choice but to say yes. He felt pathetic, and he was certainly acting like it. He felt so goddamn small.

The shifting of another body drew Max’s attention. Jan leaned against the table containing drinks and snacks, slightly away from the main desk. His arms crossed and a small frown as he watched the conversation.

Ignoring Jos, Max turned to Jan instead. “Don’t the team have reserve drivers for this? Riccardo or Lawson or-”

“Riccardo has already been called up from R.B. to take over for Perez,” Jan shrugged. “He’s out with a-”

“We want the best,” Jos said, cutting over Jan's words. "And since we can’t have that, we can have you. Besides, you have something the others don’t.”

“I don’t- What’s happening here? What do you want from me?”

“Stop asking so many questions and just do as you’re told, for once,” Jos exploded up from the table, and Max knew he was immediately on the edge of tears, just like when he was a child. “Pretend to be Jan until he can drive. You’re not good for anything else.”

Max felt his breath rush out of his chest at the realisation, and he was suddenly exhausted. Jos’s intensity hadn’t battered him for too long, and any resilience, if he’d ever developed any, was long gone. The meeting wasn't a spur-of-the-moment idea or a desperate attempt to maintain Jan's season; this was a well-crafted and polished plan to have Max act as a proxy. It probably always had been.

Any thought of a reply was stolen from Max’s mind as the door opened and closed, admitting a calm and very welcome presence.

“Sorry, I’m late, gentlemen.”

Mr Horner strode into the room and placed his things in a neat pile on the desk. Max watched as Mr Horner settled himself at the desk and looked around at them expectantly. The older man looked at ease and completely confident, a direct opposite to how Max himself felt and how he thought anyone else looking to undertake major corruption should be feeling.

Max frowned. The team principal had always been reasonable when Max came across him on testing days; with easy words of thanks and genuine appreciation of Max’s contributions, he would set his family straight on their crazy idea. Surely, he didn't know that’s what this meeting was about. It was probably why Jos had been so desperate to get started, to get Max on his side.

“I must admit, Max, when your father suggested you might want to join us for the season, I was surprised - happy, of course - but surprised. I didn’t know you still had any interest in racing.”

“Sorry, I-”

“Oh, ignore me. I'm just making small talk. It’s exciting to know our team still has the monopoly on Verstappens these days.”

Mr Horner was still happily smiling as he began to hunt through an official-looking folder, but the other two men in the room were practically vibrating from the tension. Max stayed silent in his indecision. What could he do anyway? Max wasn’t about to accuse Mr Horner of corruption - he still wasn’t entirely sure all of this wasn’t an elaborate joke or Netflix prank - or, on the flip side, actively criticise a man that controlled his very presence in the sport he loved. It seemed so impossible any of this was happening, but everything seemed to confirm that, in fact, it was.

“So,” Mr Horner finally began, sliding a couple of neat stacks of paper across the table to Max. “We’ve got all your normal NDAs, Health and Safety waivers, and security questions here. This pile is your amended contract; just sign the bottom of each page. Then, these are the cafeteria options: tick the options you like or any allergies. Okay?”

“Contract? NDA?” Max gulped as he reached out with shaking hands to pull the nearest papers towards himself. “Right… okay.”

“Surprised?” Mr Horner leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands over his stomach. “We move very efficiently when we need to. You’ll get used to it quick enough; testing days aren’t too different, but they do somehow manage to be both chaotic and slow simultaneously.”

Max laughed a little hysterically, his gaze drifting to Jan and Jos across the table. “Oh, it’s definitely different.”

“Well, it will be nice anyway,” Mr Horner straightened up, clearly picking up on Max’s tone. "It's always good to have support and extra knowledge in the garage, and I’m sure Jan will enjoy having his brother to cheer him on.”

“Cheer him on..?”

“What aren’t you getting about this?” Jos interrupted harshly in Dutch, making everyone turn to face him. “You are becoming Jan; your brother has to become you. We need a reason for 'you' to be hanging around here. That way, I can keep an eye on you and ensure you don’t mess this up.”

“But this is cheating!” Max couldn’t keep quiet any longer, not with Mr Horner sitting in the same room as them, watching them pleasantly and trusting that what they were saying in Dutch - that he couldn’t understand - was innocent.

“It’s only cheating if you get caught,” Jos growled. "This is Formula One; every team is doing what they can to gain an advantage. That’s all we’re doing.”

“I can’t.”

“Yes, you can, Max,” Jan finally chimed in. “You have to. We’ve already told people you’re injured and want to come to race weekends. I’ve already told the media I’m okay to drive in Australia. You just have to do this.”

“I'm injured?” Max repeated. "What are you talking about? How long has this been planned?"

Jos was nearly out of his seat again when Jan reached out to stop him. “Please, Max. I know it’s a lot to ask, but I need you to do this. Just once, just in Australia; then we’re done.”

“What will you do after?”

“After?”

“You said it could take months for you to be able to drive? You can't drive and then suddenly be injured afterwards.”

Jan shrugged. “You know I exaggerate when upset; at least, you always say I do. I can miss one race.”

“Then miss Australia,” Max folded his arms and stood firm. He couldn’t understand why Jan was even asking him to do this, asking him to cheat. It wasn’t like him at all.

“You just don’t get it! I’ll explain later-” Jan nodded towards Mr Horner. “When we’re alone. Please.”

“Sorry to interrupt, guys,” Mr Horner frowned now. “I thought this was something you wanted to do, Max. Am I missing something?”

Max opened his mouth to reply, to complain, and to yell at how unfair this was, but nothing came out. He wanted to believe in his brother and trust that there was a reason for all of this, but he didn’t know Jan well enough to tell either way anymore. However, more than his desire to trust in his family, Max didn’t want to throw Jan under the bus when he technically hadn’t done anything yet. There was still time before the Australia race weekend, still time to convince Jan to come clean.

“No, Mr. Horner,” Max took a deep breath to steady himself. "I’m just… it’s weird to be back at this type of thing after choosing a different career. I don’t want to be a nuisance.”

“Max, call me Christian, please,” Mr Horner- No, Christian smiled warmly at Max. “You're not a ‘nuisance’, whatever that means. Plus, we allow Jos in the garage, and he’s cost us enough in spilt drinks and broken tables to cover anything you might do.”

“Right,” Max tried to laugh, but the false brevity in Christian’s voice and Jos’s radiating anger told him to steer clear of whatever issue was between the two older men.

“If you’re sure then,” Christian gestured at the stacks of paper. “Just take your time and look everything over. I’ve made time so I can stay and answer any questions.”

“Oh, ummm… right.”

Max gulped and focused down on the swirling words in front of him. Christian was going out of his way to be so helpful and genuinely kind that the guilt of his true reason for being there was looming over Max heavily. Unable to get his thoughts calmed enough to read, he was too busy berating and cursing Jan; Max paused on each page for an appropriate length of time before signing his name.

Once he was done, Max moved on to the next set of documents and then the next. The repetitive motion and quiet of the room helped soothe the frayed edges of Max’s mind. Christian started tapping away at his laptop while Jan and Jos spoke quietly to each other. The latter annoyed Max far less than he would have thought and less than it had in the past; there was a familiarity to being outside their discussions.

Finally finished, Max took a deep breath and clicked the pen button loudly. Christian peered over his screen in question but kept typing, leaving Max leaning awkwardly over and sliding the newly signed papers across the over-large desk.

“All done?” Christian asked with one final flourish on the keyboard.

“I think so,” Max shrugged, resettling on his chair.

“So, any questions or other concerns?” Christian asked distractedly as he hungrily pulled Max’s new contract towards himself the rest of the way. “Or do you want to let me know what Jan said to get you back here? Anything I can do to tempt you back on a permanent basis?”

The meeting room door swung open again, saving Max from having to respond. A familiar dimpled smile entered.

"Knock, knock. Hey, Christian, I was thinking-"

"Daniel? What are you doing here?” Christian paused where he had been reviewing the documents.

“Your assistant said I would find you down here. I didn’t realise it was something private,” Daniel seemed to withdraw at the sight of a group of people in the room, taking a minute step back out of the room pre-emptively,

“Now isn’t really a good time. Perhaps I can meet you in my office in-," Christian checked his watch. “Thirty minutes, maybe?”

“Yeah, that’s great. Sorry again. I- Oh my god! ” It wasn’t hard to spot the exact moment Daniel registered Max and his brother sitting at the table. The surprise was almost funny, almost. “You’re Max, right?”

Daniel was across the room before Max could even blink, hand extended. By habit, Max looked over to his father and Jan, who were glaring meaningfully at him, before taking the offered hand. Daniel’s hand was warm and soft, his grip friendly and firm, as he shook their hands enthusiastically.

“Careful, please, Daniel. Shoulder injury,” Christian chuckled, turning back to his papers again. “We only have him on loan for right now, don’t break him any more than he already is.”

Daniel’s eyes lit up, and he squeezed Max’s hands again. “You’re staying with us?”

“Ummm… yes?”

“Amazing, I’m a huge fan of your movies.”

Max blinked up at Daniel, who stood above him, still clutching their joined hands. He could swear that the heat of Daniel’s touch was travelling up Max’s arms, making a relentless beeline for his cheeks.

Abstractly, Max knew he was famous, famous-ish, famous adjacent. He’d worked on a few blockbusters with his team and been a part of a few stunt-driving showcases when money was especially tight, but his fanbase was niche and specific, nothing on what a Formula One driver had. Yet, here was Daniel, excited and happy that he had met Max!

“Thank you, but I don’t really do that much in the grand scheme of-”

“Being humble, ay? - You could learn a thing from him, Jan,” Daniel grinned over at Jan but didn’t even pause for a reply. “I’ve seen the behind-the-scenes cuts; that’s some impressive skill. I also read - when was that again? Doesn’t matter - I read an interview with one of your directors; I can’t recall the name now, about how you saved them a bunch of money with the CGI people - made the movie about a thousand times better if you ask me. Who goes to see car movies for all the cars to be CGI? Doesn’t make sense.”

“Well, yes… I guess so. Thanks.”

“Absolutely.”

Then Daniel winked.

Max felt like the room fell into slow motion. He knew he was probably staring, slack-jawed and eyes bugged out, back at Daniel, but he couldn’t stop. It wasn’t every day you were in the same room with a celebrity you had followed and admired for years; it was another thing for them to wink at you when you did meet. Daniel seemed to be even better looking in real life, something Max had not imagined would be the biggest problem in the way of his return to professional motor racing.

More than anything else that had just happened, that realisation made Max suddenly desperate to escape the room. He stood sharply, startling everyone around the table.

“You can stay,” Max said to Daniel before turning to Christian. "We were just finishing anyway, right? Everything’s signed.”

“Sure,” Christian nodded slowly. “You didn’t have any questions?”

Max shook his head in the negative and continued his getaway, tucking in his chair and walking slowly backwards towards the door. Despite trying to keep his gaze straight ahead, Max could just catch Daniel watching him out of the corner of his eye. The other man was trying to be subtle, but the wide grin on his face gave him away; Max picked up his pace.

“Actually, since I’m here, I need to talk with you,” Jos finally dragged the last bit of Max’s attention away from Daniel. “It wouldn’t take long, but it would be better for me to do it now.”

“I don’t see why not. I’ve still got time,” Christian seemed to agree, looking at his watch again reluctantly. “If it’s alright with you, Daniel, you can wait outside?”

“I’ll wait outside, too,” Max blurted out before he realised everyone had probably expected him to stay. “I mean… this sounds like important team stuff, right? But Jan is my ride to the hotel.”

Max knew he was acting strange, but, luckily, Christian knew enough about their family situation not to push it; he just quietly considered the chasm of space between Max and his family before giving him an understanding nod. Max didn’t stick around after that.

Setting off down the hallway at a pace too fast to be anything but running away, Max made a beeline for a small alcove of comfortable-looking chairs he’d spotted on the way in. The echoing corridor was still deserted, which Max was very grateful for, and he took the opportunity to close his eyes and take deep, calming breaths.

Max tugged at the chain around his neck, and the medal slipped from beneath his clothes. Grabbing the small metal disc, Max didn’t look down -  he’d probably spent enough hours studying the medal over the years - and squeezed his hand around it so the smooth edges dug into his palm. The metal was a patchwork of blazing hotspots and cooler areas, and Max let his fingers trail over it as he calmed down.

After a little while, the rapid steps of someone coming down the corridor made Max blink his eyes back open, squinting against the bright whiteness around him. A Red Bull employee scurried past him with a quiet greeting, and Max nodded his head in reply.

Only once he was alone again did Max move, tucking away his medal. At first, he paced up and down the line of chairs, releasing his nervous energy, but he quickly felt ridiculous. Finally picking a seat from the ten or so available, Max slumped down into the deep, low-lying chair. The sunglasses in his pocket reminded Max of their presence by digging into his stomach as he shifted to get comfortable. Max quickly tugged them out and chucked them onto the coffee table before him; the stupid 33 cap followed suit within seconds.

With that small victory achieved, Max felt more like himself again - lounging in a squidgy chair and enjoying the quiet of a familiar space. Max let his head fall backwards so his neck was braced on the back of the chair, and he could look up at the ceiling. It was just as bland and white as the rest of the place.

"Quite a family reunion in there, huh?" Daniel chuckled, coming to a stop at the small circle of chairs Max had claimed. “You look exactly like Jan.”

“Or Jan looks exactly like me,” Max bristled, glaring at the roof, not moving from his position.

“Sorry,” Dan backed up, his smile dropping at the unexpected animosity. “Sorry, I just… You probably get that all the time.”

“You don’t say,” Max bit back the rest of his sarcastic retort.

Max was angry, but he wasn’t angry at Daniel. He didn’t know this man. Max may feel like he knew Daniel Riccardo, having watched him on TV and even met him a few times when Max was still racing, but they weren’t friends. Daniel didn’t deserve the infamous Verstappen temper tantrum, not when he was just trying to be friendly.

“Sorry, I- Never mind.” Max scrambled to think of an explanation for his behaviour that didn’t just come right out with the audacity of what his brother and father had just suggested to him.

“No, it’s fine,” Daniel bounced back, taking the olive branch Max offered - no matter how flimsy it was. Max idly wondered how often Daniel had done the same thing with Jan to keep the peace when they were teammates. It certainly seemed well practised. “I get cranky when I travel, too, and it's even less fun when injured.”

“Huh?”

“Your shoulder,” Daniel pointed to Max’s torso, and Max followed the movement. Daniel grimaced in sympathy and wiggled his left hand at Max, regaining his attention. "Broke my hand a while back. The metacarpal, to be exact. Shit sucks major balls."

Max blinked.

Oh, yeah.

His cover story, he’d already forgotten. Max reached out and rubbed over his shoulder joint in thought.

“It’s not that bad.”

Daniel chuckled as if Max had just cracked the best joke in history. “I doubt that if you’re anything like Jan.”

Max raised a questioning eyebrow. He was loath to be compared to his brother; he’d had more than enough of that during his childhood, but he was also curious about what this man thought of his brother or Max himself. Mostly, he was just curious about Daniel and wanted him to keep talking.

“Jan would have to be actively dying to take a break from driving,” Daniel explained.

Ha, if only you knew, Max thought viciously.

“Well, I guess we have one thing in common then.”

“More than just one thing! It’s got to be some kind of weird twin ESPN that you crashed at the same time, right?” Daniel shot back, teasing, before immediately sobering. “I mean… sorry. I’m sure you get that a lot, though. Not original or funny or cool.”

Max considered Daniel for a moment. Daniel was still not sure of his welcome, with a smile that was more polite than genuine. He’s just trying to be friendly, Max scolded himself. With the decision made, Max kicked out one of the chairs and gestured for Daniel to join him.

“I’ve been a twin - an identical twin - my whole life,” Max considered his words carefully as he watched Daniel settle into his seat with his usual carefree sprawl. “I forget it’s odd for people to see double. To see someone they know well but, at the same time, know they’re looking at a stranger. Most people find it weird, cool, but weird. I’ve heard much worse.”

“Thank fuck,” Daniel threw his head back and laughed. “It really wigged me out to walk in that room and see the two of you. Glad I’m not… twin-ist, or whatever.”

"Yeah," Max shrugged. “You know, back in karting, Charles didn’t even believe Jan had a twin for ages; he just thought he was being messed with for an advantage on the track. I swear that rivalry made them both even bigger idiots than they already were.”

“No way,” Daniel laughed, properly settling in. Max was struck by the realisation that Daniel had had his media face on this whole time only once it had dropped. “I forgot you were also racing with all the rugrats back then. Racing twins… awesome.”

“Yeah… awesome.”

The conversation lulled, and Max found himself fidgeting with the cap and sunglasses still resting on the coffee table. It was nice to be distracted by an idle conversation with Daniel - it was nice to talk with Daniel, full stop. However, it was just delaying Max’s decision of what to do next. His mind was drawn back to Jos and his brother, still hauled up in the meeting room with Christian, deciding his fate without him- just like old times.

“I technically could still drive,” Max shifted around to fully face Daniel in his chair, feeling petty and wanting to mess up his father’s plan even just a little.

“In F1?” Daniel questioned, excitement blooming on his face.

“What? No- well, yes, but that’s not what I meant,” Max chuckled at the misunderstanding as Daniel started pouting. “I wrapped up with my latest movie two days ago, so I’m on a break anyway. I can still drive perfectly fine.”

“Really? But Christian said…”

“He probably only knows as much as Jan or Jos told him, and neither of them has made a point of being up to date in my life.”

Max hadn’t meant to share something so personal when he opened his mouth. He’d only just met Daniel, and this was not his idea of small talk, but now it was out; Max felt infinitely better for having shared, even just a little bit.

“Still treating you like a little kid?” Daniel agreed, sympathy clear in his voice.

“I guess that’s what happens when you leave home as a teenager.”

“You went to live with your mum and sister, right?” Daniel questioned, leaning forward and getting intense. “But not your brother?”

Max squirmed under the focus Daniel suddenly had trained on him. Unlike Jan, who had been through PR and interview training with Red Bull, Max was still unsettled by being the centre of attention. He’d grown up in Jan's shadow, had wished to be Jan for a large portion of his childhood, and had practised how not to be himself.

Even his job as a stunt driver meant he was paid to be good at being someone else. Max’s uncharacteristically long hair, still styled in a wave perm to imitate the movie’s lead actor, suddenly itched his neck as sweat pricked over his skin. Max’s chameleon-like personality was probably one of the reasons his brother and Jos even thought their hair-brained scheme could work.

Max felt his earlier anger building up again, quickly chased by the nausea; he needed to calm down. Tapping the spot just below his pecs where his lucky charm hung, Max took a deep breath and forced his shoulders to relax.

“I could walk away from the dream of Formula One; Jan couldn’t, so he thought he needed Jos. It was that simple.”

"I don't think anything is simple in your family," Daniel muttered darkly before seeming to realise what he'd said and to whom. Half-heartedly tracking on a quiet: "No offence."

Max laughed- honest to God laughed. That was the understatement of the year, especially because Max knew Daniel had to know a little of what he was talking about. The details and stories Jan let slip so casually about their upbringing, even on broadcast television, told Max even more trauma dumping was likely done in private.

The face Daniel made when Jan mentioned the 'fork and mechanic' story was seared in Max's memory, and the clip replayed in his mind for weeks afterwards.

Daniel, like Max’s roommates, had seen the aftermath of Jos Verstappen. At different times and from different angles, but the similarities were unavoidable.

"I think you might be right," Max huffed.

The sound of chatter reached them over the stillness of the hallway as a door opened and a set of footsteps headed towards them. Christian rounded the corner and smiled when he spotted them sitting together.

“Were these a good addition, then?” Christian gestured around at the chairs, resting his hands on the back of one to lean over and speak with them.

“We should get some in the green room instead of those folding monstrosities,” Daniel smiled back, patting the arm of his chair.

“Would that be the incentive you need to podium, Dan?”

“You’ll regret saying that,” Daniel put on some false bravado. “I’ll be placing so often you’ll run out of champagne and beg to give me one of these bad boys as a consolation.”

“I look forward to it,” Christian smiled gently and reached over to clap Daniel on the shoulder before turning to Max. “Jan is waiting for you in the meeting room, Max.”

“Ah, thanks,” All of Max’s hard-won calm evaporated.

“But," Christian’s call stopped Max from hauling himself to his feet. "If you’re still… jet-lagged from your flight and just want to head to your hotel - alone, I have the keys to your rental car at reception. On us, of course.”

“Thank you, Christian, I-”

“It’s alright, Max,” Christian waved away his words.

Max wanted to insist that it was more than alright. It was everything - more than anyone in racing had done for him in a long time. Max wasn’t a child anymore; he didn’t need people to hold his hand during testing days or check in on him during the day-to-day of his life, but it still felt nice. He’d learned how to take care of himself alone from such a young age before he’d gone to live with his Mum and then with Pete, Hannah, and Mario, and he had never gotten out of the habit of expecting people to ignore him until he was needed.

“Still, thank you.”

Christian nodded in reply and straightened up. “You ready to go, Daniel? We can head to my office.”

“Sure,” Daniel was up and bouncing on his feet in an instant. “It was nice to meet you, Max. I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, you too.”

Max watched the two men head back down the corridor, letting himself sit in the moment of happiness for a while. When they had disappeared, Max sprang into action. Max hustled down the hallway towards the reception before anyone could come and stop his escape. The cap and sunglasses lay abandoned on the table.