Chapter Text
"Right, I just need you to come to medical with me please Charles," Joris tried gently motioning him towards the direction of the centre.
"I'm fine." He sighed slightly, reluctant to follow his friend.
Joris's expression softened as he watched Charles stand there, his body language screaming reluctance. He knew Charles well enough to see the way the weight of everything was wearing him down. The past few weeks of racing had taken their toll, and no amount of stubbornness was going to change that. But Joris wasn't about to give up on him, not when he could see the cracks in his friend's facade.
"Charles, please," Joris said again, his voice quieter now, not demanding but full of quiet urgency. "You have to be checked by medical due to the Gs you endured from your crash, you know this mate, what's going on? Do you fancy dealing with the stewards again?"
Charles whipped around to face Joris, hissing "I'm fine."
Joris took a step back, he saw the anger and frustration flash in Charles’s eyes. He knew that tone—that defensive, guarded tone all too well. It was the sound of someone trying desperately to protect themselves from something they didn’t want to face, and right now, Charles didn’t want to face any of it. He was putting his shutters up.
“You’re not fine, Charles,” Joris said gently, his voice unwavering but calm, trying to break through the tension in the air. “You’ve been through a hell of a crash, and I know you’re hurting. Just… let’s go get checked out, yeah? It’s not about being tough, it’s about being smart.”
Charles clenched his jaw, clearly struggling to contain his emotions. He wanted to push Joris away, to just be left alone, to keep up the facade that everything was okay, but deep down he knew it wasn’t. The physical pain from the crash was nothing compared to what he’d been battling mentally. The weight of the loss, the strain of the season, the pressure—it was all building up inside of him.
“Merde! Joris, just leave it, okay?” Charles muttered, his voice tight. “I don’t need to be coddled right now. I’m fine.”
What he hadn't told him was that the crash, a near impossible crash to cause, wasn't a mistake, he'd stopped up all night trying to calculate the exact angle and speed he needed to make it happen. The voices in his head—his doubts, his frustrations, his anger—had finally reached a breaking point, and in a moment of reckless thought, he'd pushed himself to the edge. But that wasn’t something he was about to admit. Not now. Not ever.
Joris studied Charles carefully, his eyes narrowing slightly, seeing the tension in his friend's posture. He could tell there was more beneath the surface, something deeper than just the physical injuries from the crash. It wasn’t like Charles to act this way, not to shut himself off so completely. Joris had known him long enough to see when something was wrong, but this—this was something else.
“Charles,” Joris said quietly, his voice a little softer this time, laced with concern, “I don’t think you’re fine. I know you want to be. But the crash… you’re not the only one feeling the weight of it, mate. You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”
Charles clenched his fists, the anger bubbling up again, “Joris, please,” Charles muttered, his voice cracking slightly as he swallowed hard. “Let's just go to the doctor, ok? Then I can go and forget about that complete disaster, okay?"
Joris nodded in agreement slowly, allowing Charles to lead the short walk to the medical centre. He wondered whether he should message Max or not, see if Charles is being a bit off with him too or maybe Pierre even.
"Hi Charles, we've been expecting you!" One of the nurses smiled at them ushering them into a cubicle, "the doctor will be with you shortly," she stated before exiting the room.
Charles sat down on the examination table, his back stiff and his hands clasped tightly in his lap. Joris pulled up a chair beside him, his gaze soft but attentive. The silence in the room felt heavy, like it was pressing in on both of them, but neither of them knew what to say.
Charles kept his eyes fixed on the floor, unwilling to meet Joris’s gaze. His mind was still reeling from the crash—the crash that had been his own doing, a reckless decision born from frustration and too many sleepless nights. But admitting that out loud? That was a line he wasn’t ready to cross. Not yet.
Joris could sense the tension in Charles’s posture, the way his friend was trying so hard to hold everything in. He wanted to reach out, to say something more, but the words felt stuck in his throat. What could he say that would make a difference now?
A few moments later, the door opened, and the doctor walked in, a woman in her early forties with a calm and professional demeanour. She gave Charles a friendly smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. She had seen enough athletes in her career to recognize when someone was hiding something, and she could tell Charles was one of those people.
“Hello, Charles,” she said, her voice warm yet matter of fact. “How are you feeling today?”
Charles gave a tight smile, shaking his head slightly. “Fine,” he muttered, though the word felt hollow even to his own ears.
The doctor didn’t press, instead nodding and motioning for him to sit up on the table. “I’ll just do a quick check-up, make sure everything’s alright after that crash. We’ll keep it brief, I promise.”
As she began her examination, Charles kept his gaze trained on the floor, his arms crossed over his chest as if he could block out the entire world. But Joris could see the subtle signs—the way Charles’s hands clenched whenever the doctor touched a sore spot, the way he winced but quickly masked it with a forced casualness.
The doctor finished up and gave her notes to the nurse outside, nodding to Charles. “Everything seems to be in order, but I’d like to keep an eye on your head and neck for a while. Any dizziness, nausea, or headaches? You’ll need to let us know.”
Charles gave a small, dismissive nod. “No, I’m fine. Just… tired.”
The doctor gave him a knowing look, but didn’t press further. Instead, she turned to Joris. “I’ll need you to make sure Charles follows up with us after the next race. It’s important we monitor these things, especially with the forces you endured in that crash. He’s been through a lot, physically and mentally.”
Joris nodded, his concern for Charles growing by the minute. “Of course. We’ll make sure.”
The doctor gave Charles a final, sympathetic glance before leaving the room. As soon as the door clicked shut behind her, Joris turned to face his friend.
“You don’t have to keep pretending, you know,” Joris said quietly, his voice low, just between the two of them. “I can see you’re not fine. She can see you’re not fine. And I’m not going to let you go through this alone, Charles.”
Charles shifted uncomfortably on the table, but his gaze remained fixed on the wall, refusing to meet Joris’s eyes. “I don’t know what you are talking about Joris,” he muttered, the words coming out sharper than he intended. “Now are we done, I'd quite like to go back to my room now.”
Joris’s heart ached at the rawness in Charles’s voice. He could hear the exhaustion, the frustration, and the sense of defeat in every word. "Yes, we're done."
"Simply Lovely" Charles winked at his friend, "I'll see you later mate." Practically skipping out of the door before Joris could stop him.
Charles smiled at himself, finally able to go back to his room for some peace, especially since Max still had another 2 hours of press time minimum before returning to his room and by that point he would be done. All this silly little game would be through with and finished.
Joris stood still for a moment, his eyes following Charles as he exited the medical room with that forced, almost too bright, smile. It felt like Charles was slipping away again, closing off and putting on a mask he didn’t truly believe in just like he’d seen him done times before, only this time he seemed worse.
With a soft sigh, Joris ran a hand through his hair. He wanted to go after him, to keep pushing, but he knew Charles would shut him out even more if he kept on pressing. He had to respect his space, even if it felt like the last thing he wanted to do.
Charles’s words, though dismissive, stung more than Joris was willing to admit. Simply lovely. The sarcasm was thick, a mask hiding something much deeper, something much more fragile than Charles let anyone see.
Joris glanced at the door Charles had disappeared through, feeling a heavy weight settle in his chest. He’d known Charles for too long to believe everything was fine. He could feel it in the air—the heaviness that wasn’t just from the crash, but from the mental weight Charles was carrying. But how could he help when Charles didn’t want help?
Instead of chasing after him, Joris took a deep breath and pulled out his phone. He hesitated for a moment, then typed a quick message to Max.
Hey, when you finish press could you go and check on Cha before you go out? He just… seemed a bit distant, and I’m worried he’s pushing people away.
He didn’t expect an immediate reply, but he hoped he’d noticed something too.
Once the message was sent, Joris ran a hand over his face. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was breaking inside of Charles, something Joris couldn't reach no matter how much he tried. He stood there for a few more minutes, lost in thought, before he finally left the medical centre and made his way back to the paddock.
As he walked, he kept replaying the look on Charles’s face when he tried to reach him. There was a certain kind of defeat there that couldn’t be ignored. The kind that wasn’t just about racing, or even the crash—it was something deeper. Something he wasn’t ready to confront.
Meanwhile, Charles made his way back to his room with a mix of relief and frustration bubbling up inside him. He was glad to be away from Joris for now, away from the constant pressure of having to explain himself or deal with what he was feeling. At least in his room, he could be alone, even if that loneliness gnawed at him more than it used to.
He pushed the door open, dropped his bag by the bedside, and threw himself onto the couch. The silence was comforting, a brief respite from everything that had been weighing on him. But even in the silence, the thoughts wouldn’t stop. The crash. The pressure. His own gremlins, all those things that made him feel like he was sinking deeper with every passing day.
He reached for his phone and pulled up his messages. One from Joris, but he ignored it. Another from Max, asking if he was doing okay after the crash. Charles couldn't bring himself to respond. Not today.
Instead, he wandered into the bathroom and couldn’t help but stare at himself in the mirror. Charles leaned against the bathroom sink, staring at his reflection as if it might somehow provide him with the answers he desperately needed. His face was tired, worn, the exhaustion not just from the crash but from everything else that had been building up over time. The weight of his own thoughts, of his own decisions, pressed on him like a vice.
He was so tired, so damn tired.
He looked at his eyes—red, bloodshot, with dark circles beneath them. The intensity of the pain he'd been trying to push down for weeks, months even, was now visible in the mirror, and he couldn’t escape it. He had been hiding it for so long, bottling it up, pretending it wasn’t there. But it was. It always had been. And now, it was starting to break through the cracks to the surface.
What am I doing? he thought bitterly. Why did I do this to myself?
He had pushed too hard. The crash wasn’t an accident—it was a decision, a desperate one, born from all the frustrations and pressures that had been weighing him down. He had thought that maybe, just maybe, if he could force something to happen, if he could control something, it would give him a sense of relief, a way out of the suffocating feelings of doubt and inadequacy.
But now, as he stared at himself, all he felt was emptiness. He wasn’t even sure what he was trying to prove anymore.
He ran a hand through his hair and let out a shaky breath, feeling the weight of the past few weeks pulling at him. The losses, the mistakes, the expectations—it was all too much.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, interrupting his thoughts. He pulled it out, hoping it was just a notification or a random text, something that wouldn’t make him confront the overwhelming feelings inside. But it was a message from Max. He opened it, the words lighting up the screen:
Hey, liebling, just wanted to check in, I hope you’re ok after the shunt, looked a bad one, nearly done with press can’t wait for a movie night with you later xx
Charles’s heart clenched. The sincerity in Max’s message, the way it cut through the layers of his defences, hit him harder than he expected. He stared at the words, the silent question hanging in the air: Why can’t I just talk to someone about this?
He could hear Joris’s voice in his mind now, the quiet but persistent concern. He could see the look on Joris’s face, the way he kept trying to break through, to reach him. But Charles had shut him out. Shut everyone out. Because how could he explain it? How could he tell anyone that he had done it to himself, that the crash wasn’t an accident? That the person he was fighting against was himself?
He wanted to respond to Max. He wanted to let someone in. But the fear of being weak, of admitting that he was broken—that was stronger than anything else. So instead, he typed a brief reply:
Thanks, I’m fine. Can we skip movie night? Just need some space. Go celebrate your win! X
He hit send before he could second-guess himself. His phone buzzed again, but he ignored it. He wasn’t ready for another message. He wasn’t ready to face what he was feeling.
He stared up at the ceiling, letting the silence drown him. He didn’t know what he wanted anymore—maybe just a break from it all. A way to escape, even if only for a moment. But deep down, he knew that the silence wasn’t the answer. It never had been.
Charles closed his eyes, wishing for a way to make the pain stop, wishing he could just forget everything for a little while. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t run from the reality of it. He had pushed himself to the limit, and now he was paying the price.
His phone buzzed again, and this time, he didn’t even look at it. Instead, he let his hand fall to his side, feeling the weight of the room, of everything, pressing down on him. And for the first time in a long time, he allowed himself to feel the rawness of it all—the fear, the pain, the guilt, the loneliness.
He didn't know how much longer he could keep up the act. But for now, all he could do was breathe and try to hold it together. The rest would have to wait.
Back in the paddock Joris stared at his phone as he read Charles’s reply, his worry deepening. He had hoped that sending Max to check on Charles would help, but now it seemed like Charles had retreated even further into himself.
With a sigh, Joris turned and walked back to the paddock. He couldn’t just sit around and wait. He had to do something. He couldn't stand by and watch his friend fall apart, especially when he knew Charles wasn’t ready to admit that he needed help.
He sent one last text to Max:
I don’t think he’s okay. I’m worried, Max.
As he slipped his phone back into his pocket, Joris couldn’t shake the feeling that the battle wasn’t just on the track. It was within Charles, and Joris wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep pretending that everything was fine.
Max’s reply came quicker than Joris had expected, his response sharp and concerned.
Max: I’ll be there as soon as I can, Joris. Don’t worry, I’m on it. We’ll figure this out.
Joris stared at the message, feeling a slight relief that Max would be checking on Charles. But that relief was short-lived, replaced by an overwhelming sense of helplessness. It was clear that something was deeply wrong with Charles, but Joris couldn’t force him to open up, couldn’t pull him out of the shell he had burrowed himself into.
Joris had always been the one to stand by, the one who understood, who tried to be there for the people who needed him. But with Charles, it was different. He was always so good at hiding, at burying whatever hurt he felt beneath a mask of sarcasm and deflective humour. He wasn’t sure what more he could do, and the thought of losing his best friend to something like this gnawed at him.
As he made his way back to the paddock, Joris found himself asking the same question again and again: How long could Charles keep going like this?
Charles, meanwhile, sat in his room, his thoughts swirling around him. The silence he had initially welcomed was now a prison, trapping him with his own mind. He had tried to distance himself, to shut everyone out, but it was getting harder. The walls he had built around himself were starting to crack, and he could feel the pressure mounting.
His phone buzzed again, a message from Max.
Max: Hey, don’t shut me out, okay? I’m here for you, you know that. You don’t have to go through this alone.
Charles let the message linger in the air for a few moments, his thumb hovering over the screen as if he were about to reply. But the words didn’t come. He wanted to reach out, wanted to tell Max everything, but the fear of vulnerability, of breaking down, kept him from doing so. It felt safer to hide, to pretend like everything was fine, even when it clearly wasn’t.
He locked his phone and tossed it on the bed, standing up and pacing the room. He couldn’t stand the stillness, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him like a vice. Everything felt so out of control, so chaotic. It was as if he were drowning, unable to catch a breath, and yet, all he could do was keep treading water, hoping to stay afloat.
Walking to his suitcase in the corner of his room he pulled out his toiletries bag. He had a headache, so taking two aspirins wouldn’t hurt and maybe two paracetamols as well just to be on the safe side. Maybe a few ibuprofens and codeine as well, Charles kept popping pills into his hands and swallowing a small number of them with a glug of water at a time.
“Charles what on earth are you doing?”
Max’s voice broke through the haze of Charles's thoughts, and he froze mid-motion, the bottle of pills still in his hand. Max's voice was filled with disbelief and concern, a stark contrast to the numbness Charles had been feeling inside.
Charles quickly dropped the bottle and stood up straight, wiping his mouth, but the damage was already done. Max had seen him, and there was no pretending now. The walls Charles had so carefully constructed came crashing down in that instant, and he felt exposed, vulnerable, more fragile than ever.
Max stepped into the room, his eyes searching Charles’s face. The sight of him was a punch to the gut, the person he cared about most, was breaking. He could see it now, clear as day: the exhaustion, the weight of everything piling up. But there was something else there, something darker—an emptiness that no one should have to carry alone.
“What the hell is this, Charles?” Max's voice was softer now, but still firm, his concern turning to frustration. "You can't just... do this to yourself. “
Charles opened his mouth to reply, but no words came. His throat felt tight, like he was choking on his own emotions. He tried to hide his shaking hands by stuffing them into his pockets, but it didn’t help.
“I just... I just need to feel better, Max.” he finally managed to say, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything hurts. Taking them will help. I’m tired of feeling like this. It’s the only way I know how to escape it finally.”
“No Charlie, that’s not going to help in the long run its going to make you so poorly liebling, how many did you take? Can you tell Maxy please?”
“Erm two of each to start with,” Charles hiccupped gently, his body slowly slumping and sliding down the wall.
“Oh liebling” Max sighed, “Come here let’s get you tucked up in bed”
Max moved quickly to Charles, his heart aching as he took in the sight of his friend slumped against the wall, clearly struggling. He crouched down beside him, his hand gently touching Charles’s shoulder, trying to offer some comfort, even as his mind raced with concern.
“Come on, Charlie,” Max said softly, his voice gentle but firm. “We’re going to get you through this. Let’s get you to bed, okay?”
Charles didn't respond at first, his body feeling like lead, the exhaustion weighing him down further with each passing second. His thoughts were swirling, incoherent, as the mix of pills started to blur his senses. It was as if everything had become muffled, the world a distant hum, and Max’s voice was the only thing that anchored him, however faintly.
Max helped him up slowly, guiding him to the bed. Charles barely had the strength to stand, but somehow, he allowed Max to lead him without resistance. When they reached the bed, Max made sure Charles sat down carefully before pulling the covers over him and tucking him in. Charles let out a small, defeated sigh as he lay there, feeling the weight of his actions, the heaviness of his mind, and the concern in Max's eyes.
Max sat at the edge of the bed, watching Charles with a mixture of frustration and sadness. He knew he was hurting, but seeing him like this, on the brink of breaking down, made the reality hit hard. Max had always been the one to take care of others, but this—this was different.
Charles had always been the strong one, the one who seemed to carry everything without breaking, but now, Max was seeing the cracks in his friend’s facade, the desperation Charles had hidden so well.
"Charlie," Max said softly, his voice full of empathy, "I know things have been tough. You don't have to go through this on your own. You don't have to push everyone away."
Charles turned his head, his eyes red and glossy, his voice barely audible. "I don't know how to ask for help, Max. I don't know how to let anyone in anymore. I just... I just want it all to stop."
Max reached out, gently placing his hand on Charles's. "I know you're hurting, but this—taking these pills—it's not the way to fix it. You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m here for you, and I’ll always be here for you."
Charles’s breath hitched as he turned his face into the pillow, trying to stifle the sob that wanted to break free. The tears came anyway, hot and fast, as the floodgates finally opened. All the tension, all the pain he had been holding inside, poured out in a rush. Max’s heart clenched as he watched Charles fall apart, but he knew this was something Charles needed to do, something he had been holding in for far too long.
Max didn’t speak, just gently rubbed Charles’s back, letting him cry it out. There was nothing else to say. Sometimes, silence was the best thing you could offer someone when they were broken like this.
After a long while, Charles’s sobs quieted, and his body stopped shaking. He still felt empty, but there was a strange kind of relief in knowing someone was there, that he didn’t have to carry everything on his own.
Max leaned down and kissed the top of Charles’s head softly. "Get some sleep, Charlie. We’ll take it one step at a time, okay? And when you're ready, we’ll figure this out together."
Charles nodded weakly, his eyelids heavy as the exhaustion from the emotional and physical toll of the day settled in. Max stayed by his side for a while longer, watching over him as he drifted off into a restless sleep.
Max’s thoughts lingered on Charles, and he felt a deep sense of protectiveness rise in him. He knew that getting through to Charles, helping him face his gremlins, wasn’t going to be easy. But he wasn’t going to let his friend go through this alone. Not again.