Archive of Our Own

Max loved coming to the races with his papa. His mama didn’t always let him join, but when he could go, the little boy was beyond thrilled to get to see the cars up close and watch his papa work. The young Verstappen was only three, but he knew that one day he wanted to be just like his papa and race the big cars too.

Going to races also meant he got to see Uncle Michael, the German a good friend of his papa’s. Max didn’t know if Mick was going to be at this race or not, sometimes accompanying his own papa, but if he could at least see his uncle, well, that was good enough for him. Maybe next time he could play with the young Schumacher.

Currently, Max was perched on his papa’s shoulders, the two wading their way through the crowded paddock. The little Dutchman held tightly to the older man’s head, big blue eyes shining bright as his head swiveled back and forth to try and see everything that was going on. Occasionally someone would wave at him, the little boy shyly smiling and wiggling his fingers back before grasping tight onto his papa again. They were in Malaysia, only the second race of the 2001 season, and the track was brimming with excitement.

“Jos!” Max’s ears perked up when he heard his papa’s name called, immediately recognizing the German lilt to the words.

Craning his little body around, the boy searched endlessly for his uncle in the crowd. He grabbed tight onto his papa’s neck when they suddenly stopped, fingers holding on for dear life as he rocked precariously on his perch. Max squealed with delight when hands suddenly tickled his sides, giggles spilling from his mouth as he fell from his spot and into warm arms.

“Uncle Michael!” The little Dutchman laughed, writhing in his uncle’s arms as he was relentlessly assaulted by evil, tickling fingers.

“Do you yield, Maxie?” The chest behind him rumbled, chuckles escaping his uncle as he briefly paused in his attack on Max.

“Never!” The boy screamed in joy as he was tickled again, limbs flailing about as he tried to escape the German’s hold.

His papa’s laughter caught the boy’s attention, blue eyes searching for the older man as he twisted away from dancing fingers. Papa was watching with faint amusement in his own blue eyes, shaking his head at the display. Max reached out his little arms to his papa, crying out for his savior.

“Papa! Save me from Uncle Michael! Save me, save me!”

But papa just stood there, glancing around as his chuckles died off. The little boy felt his heart twinge a bit, his giggles slowing as the German who held him began to stop his tickle assault. When he was perched on his uncle’s hip, Max gave one last look at his papa before turning to face the one who held him. Blue eyes the color of the sky above met his own, a glistening smile plastered across the man’s face.

“Hello, little one,” Uncle Michael spoke, rocking the boy back and forth slowly. “How are you today?”

“Good, Uncle Michael.” Max replied with a grin, moving to hug the German tight. Smushing his ear against his uncle’s heart, little fingers tapped along with the steady beat beneath. “Excited to see the cars go fast today.”

“Are you now? Who will win? Your papa, or your Uncle Michael?”

“Papa, ‘cause he’s the best.”

The chest under his head rumbled with a hum, the German brushing the blonde strands from his face with a gentle hand. Max melted a bit further into the hold, feeling content and at peace despite the chaos moving about around them.

As his eyelids fluttered closed, he heard his papa move closer to his uncle, the two falling into discussion in English, the words making little sense in his head. All the boy could pick up was the occasional word or two, but with his uncle holding him close and rocking him like a boat, the little Dutchman fell into a deep sleep.

Eventually Max awoke back in the Arrows garage, held in his papa’s arms as the man talked with his engineer before the race began. With a big stretch, the boy sleepily opened his eyes, leaning close to his papa’s chest.

“Hallo, papa,” Max murmured, little fists moving to rub his eyes.

“It is time for me to race, son,” his papa spoke, the words stern and cool.

Looking up into his papa’s face, Max offered a small smile, patting his papa’s cheek with his hand.

“Good luck, papa. You’re the best!”

Papa nodded at him, gently placing him on the ground. The little Dutchman watched a little dazed as his papa grabbed his helmet and put it on, sliding with grace into his car. His view was soon blocked as Arrows engineers and mechanics began swarming about, final preparations being done as the race was soon to begin.

Left to his own devices, the boy wandered away in the garage, doing his best to find a television to watch the race on. No one paid much attention as Max left the area, the boy unintentionally escaping anyone’s gaze as he slinked through legs and small spots. The sound of engines revving to life began to fill the background, the cars making their way to the track to begin the warm-up before the race.

After some time had passed, Max ended up in a part of the pit lane that was bright royal blue. There was a television in the corner playing the race, and the little Dutchman scurried over, plopping himself onto the ground before it. Sitting with his feet before him, the boy wiggled in place, watching as the cars lined up on the track. Spotting his father’s 14 car, Max giggled, clapping his hands excitedly before him.

The boy watched wide-eyed as the race began, cars going fast around the track, taking turns with skill that left him marveling in awe. When a car numbered 17 had to retire after only the start, the Dutchman frowned, hoping that didn’t happen to his papa. The following two laps found numerous cars spinning off, Max gasping every time one went flying from the track. He clutched his little hands together, pulling his knees to his chest, unable to look away.

So intensely focused on the television the boy was that he didn’t notice the person behind him until the man dropped himself unceremoniously next to Max. The little boy screamed in fear, scooching away from the man in royal blue.

As his chest heaved and body trembled, Max took in the man that had joined him before the television, taking in the blonde hair and icy blue eyes. The man’s face held no emotion, looking completely unfazed by scaring the life out of the little Dutchman. This brewed anger in the boy’s gut, hands clenched into fists as he shot to his feet and stomped over to the man.

“That wasn’t very nice!” Max shouted, face scrunched up in displeasure. “You scared me!”

The man in royal blue only looked at the boy blankly, clearly not understanding a lick of the Dutch that Max was spewing. This only caused the little boy to grow more angry, crossing his arms as he stomped his foot loudly on the ground, huffing out with a big breath.

“Not nice,” Max pouted, voice slightly whiny as he glared at the man.

The English seemed to do the trick, the icy man arching a brow at the boy. The Dutchman waited for the other to speak, but when nothing was forthcoming, he huffed again and moved to push the man with his arms.

“Speak!” He cried, arms barely moving the larger man at all as he pushed and pushed and pushed.

The man huffed out a laugh, big hands reaching for Max’s arms. The Dutchman froze when they were grabbed, but at the soft touch he relaxed, his frown slipping for a moment before he resumed his anger.

“Much like your father, I see.” The man spoke, words short and to the point, voice quiet but firm. “I did not mean to startle you.”

Max only gleaned about half of what was said, kicking his little foot out in frustration. As if sensing the boy’s displeasure, the man patted the ground next to him, hands letting go of him to instead mime out his words.

“Sorry,” the man started, Max watching intently as he continued. “Watch the race together?”

When the man pointed to the television, the boy nodded eagerly, plopping himself right into the man’s lap. Max felt the body under him stiffen, all anger dissipating as he happily rocked back and forth, eyes glued to the screen. A poke to his side gained the little Dutchman’s attention, blue eyes glaring up at the older man’s face.

“Kimi,” the man spoke, patting himself on the chest.

It took a second for this to register in Max, the boy’s face lighting up when he realized the other was sharing his name. With a toothy grin he patted his own chest, saying his own name with pride.

“Max.”

“Nice to meet you, Max.” Kimi spoke, but the words sounded funny and the boy had no idea what was spoken.

Instead he turned back to the television, watching in renewed awe as the cars made their way round and round the track. The little boy grew upset, though, as he realized he had no idea where his papa was in the standings. A whine escaped his lips as he threw himself back into Kimi’s chest, arms crossing his chest as he felt tears threaten to spill.

“Okay?” Kimi asked him, his chest rumbling underneath Max’s body.

The young boy shook his head, pointing a chubby finger at the screen.

“Where is papa? I don’t see him!” Max cried out, tears inching closer and closer to the edge of his eyes.

There was no response for a few moments and the Dutchman grew more distressed, kicking his feet back and forth as his emotions threatened to swallow him whole. A tap on his head had him looking up, seeing as Kimi held fingers out above. Slowly Max counted each one until he reached seven, and his sadness retreated as a smile brightened his face. Snuggling further into Kimi’s chest, the young boy continued to watch the race, occasionally asking Kimi about his papa and counting the fingers offered every time.

An hour passed in this manner before Max grew bored, his papa having remained in the same place for the past while now. Growing restless, the boy stood from Kimi’s lap, instead moving to tug the older man up.

“Play?” Max asked, giving his best puppy-dog look.

Kimi sighed dramatically, flopping back onto the ground. The little Dutchman took this as his opportunity to pounce, landing with a solid thump on the older man’s chest and feeling the breath go whooshing out of Kimi’s body. He laughed gleefully, clapping his hands as he awaited what the older man would do.

Max was unprepared for the attack that Kimi launched, being grabbed and tossed up as the man moved to stand, giggles escaping his body as he soared in the air. When he was caught it was sideways and the boy wiggled with delight.

“Again! Again!” Max cried, screaming when he was thrown once more into the air and then caught upside down.

Kimi placed him gently onto his feet and the boy stumbled a bit, gaining his bearings as his body continued to be wracked with laughter. Gaining his breath, the little boy reached out a hand to poke Kimi, grinning evilly before dashing away.

“You can’t catch me!” Max called out in Dutch, and even though Kimi knew none of it, the older man was easily able to understand what the intention was.

The rest of the race passed in this manner, the young boy playing with his newfound friend. Crew members in the garages watched on with smiles and cheers of encouragement, taking turns hyping up both Max and Kimi. Some stopped and stared to see the new Finnish rookie acting in such a way, having already in such a short time gotten to know him as aloof and cold. But even they couldn’t keep a grin from their faces as the two made their way by.

The duo passed through nearly every stall, unintentionally working their way back to the Arrows garage. By the time they had reached it, Jos had returned to his stall after a decent finish to the race.

Spotting his papa, Max bounded towards him, latching on to the older man’s legs. A large hand settled on top of his head, ruffling his blonde locks. The little boy giggled, blue eyes searching for his playmate. Seeing Kimi in the distance, the young Dutchman waved goodbye with a smile on his face. The man faltered for a moment before waving back, finally moving to disappear from view.

“Did you behave, son?” His papa’s voice drew his attention, Max craning his head back to gaze up at his papa.

“Yes, papa,” Max answered. “I made a new friend today.”

His papa narrowed his eyes at that but said nothing instead, prying the boy off of his legs. As he moved to walk away, Max asked a question, rocking back on his heels while he stared at his father with adoring eyes.

“Did you do the best, papa?”

Papa stopped walking, instead slowly turning to face the young boy. A cold, harsh look passed over his face, and Max shivered at the sight. The man only answered as he began to head off once more and the Dutchman didn’t know what to make of the response, an unknown fear slowly sprouting in his gut.

“No, Michael did.”

It was Brazil 2003, and Kimi had never wanted anything more than to not exist. The heat was blazing, the Finn sweaty and uncomfortable in his race suit. It was times like these that he desperately wished to not be a Formula 1 driver and instead just drive trucks for a living. At least then he would have air conditioning.

But alas, he had made his choice in joining the grid, the only difference from when he started was now that he drove for McLaren instead of Sauber. There was also a familiar face back in the line-up of drivers too, that being the infamous Jos Verstappen. The Dutchman had taken a year break when he was offered no contracts, but Minardi had offered him a spot this year, and whether that was a good thing or not was yet to be seen.

Kimi hated to admit it, but the man was interesting, and not because of his world famous temper. No, it was because of his young son, Max.

That boy was beloved on the grid, bringing smiles to people’s faces in the past years that he had been attending races with his father, always close to Jos or Michael Schumacher who was apparently his uncle in all but blood. The Finn questioned often how the German could withstand being friends with the volatile Dutchman, but it wasn’t worth the effort of thinking too hard about it.

If asked at gunpoint, Kimi would deny it, but ever since that day over two years ago that he had entertained little Max, he had enjoyed seeing his lively spirit frolicking among the tracks whenever he appeared. The Finn hadn’t been able to interact much more with the young boy, only catching him briefly here and there, usually when he DNF’d. But the kid had struck something inside of him that he couldn’t figure out.

Now that Jos was back, Kimi was hoping that meant young Max returned with him.

The first two races so far of the season had not proven fruitful, but the Finn prayed that the younger Verstappen would show here at Brazil. Why he was optimistic he would, the man wasn’t sure, but he had a sneaking suspicion that the boy would be found making his rounds through the garages once more.

Kimi was currently making his way through the paddock in Brazil, the path not as crowded due to the heavy rain that was falling. There was still plenty of time before the race, especially as it was likely to be delayed. Sighing to himself, the Finn continued on his way, his umbrella doing little to keep him dry.

As he passed by the Minardi hospitality there was a noise from the side that caught his attention. Pausing, Kimi strained to listen close, picking up the sound of sniffles. Alarmed at the noise, the Finn marched towards the building, eyes narrowed as he scanned for the source. He was ready to deal with whatever was going on, prepared for cussing someone out if need be for causing these sniffles. Kimi stumbled, however, when he missed the legs that stuck out in the path.

Legs?

Looking at the ground, the Finn’s eyes widened at the sight of none other than Max Verstappen. The young boy was sitting against the hospitality, rain and tears running down his ruddy cheeks. When Kimi had tripped over his legs that had been sticking out, the Dutchman had hastily drawn them in, big, sorrowful eyes gazing up at him.

His heart panged with worry as he knelt to the ground, sticking his umbrella out over to cover the little boy as well. Kimi searched him for any signs of injuries, but there were none to be found. Frowning, he reached a hand out to rest upon the boy’s knee, hating the flinch that wracked his body.

“Are you alright?” He asked in English, remembering the language problem two years ago.

Max looked up at him with a mixture of suspicion and relief, stormy eyes narrowed as now only tears ran down his face. The young boy’s hands tightened around his legs, body trembling from what, Kimi didn’t know.

“Yes,” was whispered out from the little Dutchman.

Kimi didn’t blink as he responded. “Okay, if you say so.”

At that the boy froze, clearly taken aback by the Finn’s response and having expected further questioning. But what he did not know about the racer before him is that he would never press unless given a reason, and here Kimi only felt it would do more harm than good.

The Finn seated himself on the wet tarmac beneath him, trapping the umbrella handle between his legs so he could have the one not on Max’s knee free. He ran the hand through his hair, still holding the small boy’s gaze. The sound of rain became soothing as the Dutchman slowly relaxed, the suspicion fading from his face.

“Why are you here?” Max finally asked, little hands raising to rub at his wet eyes.

Kimi shrugged, letting out a puff of air as he responded, trying to keep the words simple.

“Bwoah. I heard a noise and so I came.”

“But you stay.”

“Yes.”

Kimi watched as Max scrunched up his face, leaning forward to enter the man’s space. His hands slipped off from the younger’s knees as the other moved, getting closer and closer with curious eyes. The Finn let Max move into his space, his own face stony but internally amused at the boy’s actions. Finally the young Dutchman spoke more, tapping his hands on Kimi’s own knees.

“I race now,” Max said.

“Do you?” Kimi arched a brow, wondering where this was coming from.

The Dutchman nodded vigorously, beginning to thrum with excitement.

“Papa got me a kart. I race now. Or will soon.”

The little boy grinned, blue eyes sparkling as he looked up to Kimi. The Finn offered a small smile, ruffling the blonde locks of the little one’s head.

“Ah. Good. And how old are you?”

“Five!”

Kimi nodded to himself, finding that to be a reasonable age. He still burned with worry about why the boy was out here alone crying in the rain, but he figured continuing to entertain the kid was the better option in case the boy clammed up or fled.

As the Finn went to open his mouth, a shout of Max’s name from the entry of the side path caught both of their attention. Kimi turned to watch as the young Dutchman froze before calling back out something in German. Not wanting to move, the driver waited in his spot, keeping him and Max dry as they waited for the mystery person to arrive.

Michael Schumacher appeared then, concern plastered across the German’s face as he hurried over to the duo. Kimi gave the man a flat look when a bewildered gaze was thrown his way, but the German wormed his way down to the ground, joining the two under the umbrella. Michael fretted with the boy as German spilled rapidly from both him and the boy, the Finn completely unaware of what was being said.

“Are you okay, Maxie?” Michael spoke, cradling Max’s face between his hands.

“Yes, Kimi found me and we have been talking. He is very nice.” Max replied.

“I am glad Kimi is here with you. I was worried when I heard while passing by some Minardi crew members that Jos was upset and said some things to you and that you ran off. What did he say, love?”

“Nothing, Uncle Michael.”

“Max Emilian Verstappen. You must tell me.”

“Not now, please. I was having a nice conversation with Kimi. He doesn’t know anything.”

Michael sighed heavily, and Kimi wondered what was being said. To the Finn’s surprise, the conversation switched to English. He arched a brow at the German.

“We will chat later, Max,” Michael gave the little boy a stern look before facing the impassive Finn. He offered a warm smile. “Thank you for sitting with Max. I appreciate it. Although I am surprised that our resident Iceman would do so.” The German chuckled.

Kimi, unfazed by the remark and knowing Michael meant no harm, only shrugged.

“Of course. I am not that heartless. I heard sniffles and so I came. I know Max anyways.”

“Ah yes, you do, don’t you?” Michael grinned while the Finn squirmed.

“Bwoah, he is entertaining. Better than all you on the grid.”

Kimi growled when the German busted out into laughter, instead turning to face the little Dutchman who was watching the two with wide eyes. Scruffing Max’s hair up once more so the blonde locks stuck up every which way, the McLaren driver made to get up, pausing when small hands grabbed his race suit. He stared into deep pools of blue, heart twisting at what he found inside.

“Bedankt,” the little boy softly said.

Kimi gave a genuine smile in return, warmth radiating from where the fingers grasped his suit.

“Ole hyvä,” was the Finn’s reply.