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In a way, the crash was the same as every other. Max's Red Bull spinning, then hitting the barriers. Sure, 51g was nothing to laugh about, but it shouldn't have done what it did. The Red and Navy Blue exploded against the barriers, the halo holding as best it could. Max's shoulder slammed forward against his harness. The rough straps left bruises. His vision went black for a second
Charles didn't see the crash, and he was glad he didn't. He wasn't sure what he would've done. His race engineer simply told him, "Verstappen's in the wall," Charles felt his heart stop mid-beat. Max had crashed. Max had crashed.
"Is he okay?" Charles heard himself whisper.
Static, then, "I don't know, we're checking," It wasn't good enough. Ferrari was always "checking". Did they ever find anything? No. Charles couldn't help the groan of frustration that escaped him. The love of his life had hit the wall, and no one could be bothered to say anything other than "We are checking". Fuck checking, Charles wanted answers.
It took everything in him not to pull over the second he drove by Max. The Red Bull was crumpled against the wall, the entire frame twisted. He couldn't tell if Max had gotten out. "Please say he's okay," Charles murmured to himself. "Please don't make me lose him too,"
If you asked Max what had happened, he would tell you every detail about the crash. But he couldn't tell you before and after. When he thought about the rest of the Silverstone race, all he could see was black. He didn't know how he got out of the car, didn't remember going to get checked. He didn't really remember anything.
Charles finished the race in P2. He wanted to kill Lewis. He probably would've if not for the fact that someone told him he could go and see Max.
The medical bay was perhaps the only empty space in the paddock. No crowding fans, no flashing camera lights. Though, admittedly, those fluorescent hospital lights weren't much better. Charles walked inside, immediately flinching at the sight of Max. Max was sitting on the edge of a cushioned seat, face red, cheeks gleaming where tears had carved their way through. "Max?" Charles rushed forward, kneeling down beside him. Max looked down at him, eyes misty and slightly confused.
"What are you doing here?" Max asked, his voice shaking.
Charles flinched slightly. "What do you mean? I almost pulled over right there and then."
"What are you doing here?" Max asked again.
"Baby, I'm here for you," Charles said. Worry was brewing in his mind, but he pushed it down. Max was probably just a little dazed. "I'm here because I love you and I needed to know that you were okay,"
"Don't call me baby," Max bit out. Then, he paused. "Charles, why are you here?"
"I told you, I'm here for you," Charles told him once again. "I don't know it's so hard for you to understand that. I love you, I have your ring on my finger. Where else would I be?"
Max looked confused, his eyes innocently filling with concern in that way that always had Charles falling for him. "We're friends, Charles. We fly together occasionally. I never gave you a ring,"
Charles hesitated. Then he hesitated some more. Finally, with a shaky breath, he asked a question he didn't really want the answer to. "Max, what day is it?"
"October 13th, 2019," Max answered smoothly.
"Right, and where are we?" Charles asked. It was killing him not to burst into tears right there and then. Did Max not remember the past 2 years? In his mind, who were they? Was Charles still the Ferrari drive no one quite saw? Did Max remember anything?
Max answered all of that with 4 words. "Suzuka, Japanese Grand Prix,"
Charles turned away for a second, allowing a few stray tears to slip from his eyes. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK," Max was in the past. Charles felt his breath hitch, his legs almost give out. Max didn't remember their relationship, he didn't know Charles. Not anymore.
"Charles?" Max's hand was on his shoulder. His tentative touch was nothing close to the warm embrace Charles was used to. This wasn't the Max he was used to.
"Max, it's 2021," Charles whispered. "We're in Silverstone,"
Max immediately jolted away. "What?"
"It's 2021, we're in Silverstone," Charles repeated, voice hollow. He turned to look at Max. The Dutchman was shaking, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and disbelief.
"That's not true," Max hesitated, "is it?"
Charles stood up pulling Max against him. "Max, mon amour, do you remember anything?"
"You crashed into me at turn 2,"
"Max, that was 2 years ago,"
Max stood up, tearing himself away from Charles. "This is fucked up," he muttered, pacing quickly in a circle. "There is no fucking way I don't remember the past 2 years of my life. There is just no fucking way. I don't remember anything. Fuck, Charles, I don't remember anything!" Max threw himself back into Charles, who was more than happy to catch him. Max looked up at him, eyes desperate for something to cling to. "Why don't I remember anything?" Max's breathing was heavy, labored, as if everything inhale was something that had to be earned.
"Chéri, I don't know," Charles admitted, "I wish I knew,"
"Why do you keep calling me that?" Max questioned. "Who are we?"
"Max, you proposed to me a month ago. We were going to get married after Abu Dhabi," Charles was crying now, tears spilling openly down his cheeks. He shouldn't blame Max. It wasn't his fault. But why the fuck did it feel like it?
"I barely know you," Max said quietly, "why would I propose?"
Charles swallowed. How? How could he answer? How could he put into words everything he and Max had become? In the end, he forced his mouth to move. "After Suzuka, you came into my driver room. You were so mad. And then you looked so hot," he paused, embarrassed. "And then I kissed you,"
"It's 2021?" Max asked. Charles nodded. A tear spilled from Max's eyes. Charles wanted nothing more than to kiss him, hug him, hold him closer. "If I loved you so much, why don't I remember? Charles, why can't I remember?" Max's voice was rising, his heartbeat quickening against Charles' hold. "Why don't I remember loving you?"
There was a long moment of silence. The roar of the crowd outside was deafening, but inside that tent, none of it mattered. Max opened his mouth, then closed it, the spoke. "Was I a good boyfriend? Did I love you like you deserved?"
"Fiancé, love," Charles corrected, "and of course you did, you were perfect. Still are. Even if you can't see it,"
"You deserve more than this, Charles," Max stated it like it was a fact. "You deserve someone who remembers loving you, someone who remembers the moment you said yes. I don't . Fuck, Charles. Make me remember !"
"Max, calm down," Charles soothed. "It's okay, we'll figure this out,"
But Max wasn't listening. He was staring up at Charles with those eyes again, those perfect, icy blue eyes. "Why does my body know this? Why does it know you if my mind doesn't? Why the fuck can't I remember?" Charles opened his mouth to reply, but Max cut him off. "I can't handle this. I can't handle knowing so much of you and nothing about you,"
The air felt heavy, each breath to shallow. Charles still held Max in his arms, one hand on his shoulder, the other by his waist because he knew Max hated the feeling of being encompassed. He wondered for a moment what it would be like if he suddenly didn't know that anymore. If he no longer knew the infinitely long list of reasons he loved Max. If he forgot Max's coffee order, if he forgot how his boyfriend liked his eggs. What would he do without that?
Max's hand instinctively snuck it's way up to grip Charles' shoulder. Just like he always did when he needed a reality to cling to. Max probably didn't even realize, but Charles did. His eyes teared up again, he shouldn't be falling apart like this. Not when Max was the one who was truly suffering. He forced himself to smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. His hands shook as he held Max even tighter.
"Max," Charles cooed gently, "I'll remind you. We can do this all again if we have to. I'll give you the last 2 years back, every little detail. Please, just give me the chance. Give yourself a chance."
"I can't do this," Max rasped, his voice barely audible. "Go, please. Maybe we can do this again. Maybe one day. But right now I need to figure things out alone,"
"Max-"
"No, Charles. I don't know what we had. But I'm not the man you loved anymore. I don't remember who you loved. I don't know how to be him. And I don't know how to love you. So please, go. Don't make this harder than it needs to be." Max sounded so cold. He almost sounded like he didn't care. But Charles knew better than that. He knew because he knew Max.
"Mon cœur, this is already harder than it has to be," As he said that, Charles' eyes caught on Max's ring. The simple bronze band caught the light, the shine winking, almost mocking. That ring used to mean everything to Max. He used to worry so much every time he took it off, because what if he lost it? And now, it was just a piece of metal Max no longer remembered choosing.
"Go," Max growled coldly. Then, softer, "Just go," So Charles left. He left without looking back. And he felt his heart shatter the second he walked away. Charles slid down the first wall he could find, which conveniently was located in a pretty hidden location. He cried. He just cried. He no longer gave a shit about the people staring at him. They could go fuck themselves.
And no, Charles wasn't okay. How could he be? How could he be okay after he and Max went from stolen kisses under the moonlight to whatever this was? It used to be so perfect. Barely an hour ago is still had been. Charles had woken up that morning, ordered room service, and sat with Max in bed for hours. Maybe he'd taken it all for granted, maybe he'd let himself trust it too much.
"Charles?"
Charles whipped around, looking up to see George Russell standing in front of him. "What the fuck do you want?"
George knelt down. Even lowered all the way to the ground, he was still a good foot taller than Charles. "What's wrong?"
"You wanna know what's wrong? I'll fucking tell you. The love of my life doesn't remember me. He doesn't remember the past 2 years, he doesn't remember anything. So what's wrong? Every goddamn thing is wrong!" Charles stood up, pacing around similar to how Max was earlier.
"Charles, slow down. Details? What's going on with him?" George put a hand on Charles' shoulder and it reminded him far too much of what Max had done. He pulled away, turning to look at George.
He must've been a sorry sight. Eyes red, face wet, his entire frame shaking. "I don't have details," he snapped, "I don't have any-fucking-thing." George just hugged him. Charles didn't pull away this time.
Max was still sitting in the medical tent, his face buried in his hands. He was muttering little questions to himself, "Why? When? How?" He got no answers.
Carlos walked in. "Max! Hey, you okay?" Max looked up.
"Eyes, look, make an assumption," Max huffed.
"You know, your Charlie is out there crying. Why aren't you with him?" Charlie . Then there were colors. So many colors. Then words, then ghosts of moonlight. Sunsets, champagne, dinners, it all came flooding back.
"Charlie?" Max whispered. "Oh my god, of my fucking god," Max blinked several times. He could see it all now. The tiny shop where he'd first seen the ring. The beach in Monaco where he got down on one knee. And oh, fuck. He could remember that moment in the driver room after Suzuka. "Shit, fuck, Carlos,"
"What?" Carlos looked so confused, like a fish just now learning it could swim.
"I can remember it! I remember him, I remember us !"
"What?" Carlos asked again. Max ignored him. He stood up, ignoring the wave of nausea that hit him as the blood rushed away from his head. His vision swam, he didn't care. Max ran out of the tent, nearly tripping over his own feet several times before finding Charles. The Monegasque was leaning heavily against George, crying. Guilt washed over Max at the sight.
"Charlie?" Max called so quietly Charles almost didn't hear him.
“Don’t,” Charles muttered, wiping at his cheeks with the back of his hand. “You said to go. No need to apologize.”
"Charlie-" Max flinched at the word leaving his mouth. After what he'd just done, did he still have the right to say that?
Charles flinched too, whether towards or away from Max he couldn't quite tell. "Don't-don't call me that. Not if you don't mean it,"
"I don't know what I'm allowed to mean!" Max yelled, not at Charles, at himself. "I don't know what I'm allowed to mean, I don't know what I'm allowed to say, I DON'T KNOW!"
Charles shook his head. "Don't do that, Max. Don't scream at me like I still mean something to you. I can't do this, you either love me or you don't. And I can't take this in between,"
"I remembered," Max whispered, "I remembered everything. Everything goddamn thing. But if I could forget it once, what's stopping me from forgetting it again? From forgetting you again? I don't trust myself with you,"
"Don't say that," Charles nearly demanded, "don't you dare say that,"
Max laughed coldly, "Tell me, liefje, do you still love me? Could you still love me? I pushed you out of a life that was ours, I forgot you. I forgot us. I don't deserve you,"
"Tell me something," Charles let go of George to grab Max's hand. The Dutchman didn't flinch. "If you had the chance to choose, would you ever choose a world without us?"
"No," Max swore immediately, "never in a million years,"
"And do you love me now?"
"Yes, Charlie, I love you now. I loved you before. And given the chance, I would fall in love with you in the next lifetime and every lifetime after that." It was a promise Max owed to himself to keep.
"Then, Max, I love you too. And to be completely honest with you, all I care about right now is that you remembered. Which, I would love to know, why now? It's been hours since I walked out of there. And when I did, you still had no clue about any of this. So how?"
Max sighed. "Carlos called you Charlie," Charles was crying again. Tears of relief now, instead of grief. Max caught him when his knees fell out from under him, pulling him closer like nothing had changed. In a way, it hadn't. In a way, it never would.
In the background, Carlos and George exchanged a look that said, "I knew it would turn out like this,"