Chapter Text
It’s not his fault, thinks Yuki. It’s no one’s fault.
Isack is an irrefutable presence beside him. He still has his flight pack, resting against his knee, a reminder of what Yuki was denied.
“I just want to say goodbye,” mumbles Isack. “Not — not for long,” he adds quickly. “But. Master Hamilton wants to begin as soon as possible. I don’t know how long it’ll take.”
Yuki nods. One of the most illustrious fighter pilots in the world has just handpicked yet another apprentice. This time, he chose Isack.
With an apologetic smile, Isack touches his shoulder, gives him a squeeze. He shifts like he wants more, but thinks better of it.
Merciful, Yuki gives it to him. “I am happy for you, you know,” he says, trying to bite back to the petulance that threatens to spill.
“I know,” whispers Isack, dark eyes glimmering. “But I’ll miss you.” He lets that linger, gaze searching Yuki’s. “And I’ll think about you, being all sad and depressed — ”
“I won’t be,” snips Yuki. “I’ll finally get some peace and quiet around here.”
“You’ll be bored without me,” Isack smirks. “I bring all the fun.”
Yuki hugs him, so he doesn’t have to respond to that, because it’s true and he doesn’t want to admit it. Not out loud, at least.
He’ll miss him. A lot.
He feels Isack lean into him, his broad hands sweeping across his back. Feels the way Isack tugs his waist close, like he’s —
“At least a year?” surmises Yuki.
Isack hums. “Maybe.” So yes.
That makes sense. It’s not every day a master pilot takes on apprentices. Apprentices differ from cadets, in the way that they shadow every footstep of their masters, being trained to become one themselves, and to, one day, pass their Trials and command a fleet of their own.
When the apprentice becomes the master, they take on a worthy apprentice. It takes years to get to the rank, if the war doesn’t kill them first.
“You’ll get your turn, Yuki,” Isack tells him, gently. “Soon.”
Yuki is older than Isack, yet Isack was chosen first. He tries not to dwell on that. “I’ll come to the hangar,” he promises, even as it digs at him. “I’ll be there to say goodbye in person, okay?”
Sometimes cadets never get chosen. They age out and get sent to the Flight Yard, manning spacecrafts with other cadets that were never chosen.
Or worse, they get sent to the Hangars, where maintenance is upheld, only ever leaving ground to shuttle crafts from hangar bay to hangar bay.
“Yeah,” murmurs Yuki. Closes his eyes, tries to memorize what Isack smells like and feels like with his arms around him.
—
Yuki attends his classes, does the chores, and eats his meals in the mess hall with the rest of the cadets. In his free time, he goes to the gardens, walks amongst the trees in the courtyards, and sits.
He sits and he thinks about not thinking. Sometimes Liam joins him and while he’s fine company and all, it just makes Yuki realize how different life was going to be without Isack.
“Lucky bloke,” says Liam. “Reckon he’d see the entire universe before we get outta here? Lewis Hamilton. Lewis fuckin’ Hamilton. Wow.”
Beside Yuki on the grass, Liam lays on his back, arms behind his head, squinting at the sunlight through the glass orangerie.
“Best pilot there ever was. You think Isack would get to fly his Forty-four?”
“They’re taking a standard issue,” replies Yuki, rolling his eyes. “I don’t think he’s ever taken an apprentice onto the Forty-four.”
Liam hums thoughtfully, kicking a leg onto a bent knee. “Still. Training in this airspace is one thing. Off-worlding,” he whistles emphatically, “Someday, huh?”
“Someday,” says Yuki, looking at the grass in his hands.
—
After the last class of the evening, Yuki returns to his dorm to find Liam already asleep on his bed. He hadn’t even changed out of his coveralls, yet. Yuki strides over to his side of the room and tucks the blanket over him.
It’s late, but Yuki doesn’t feel like going to bed. Time moves quick when he’s awake and faster still when he’s asleep. Tomorrow, Lewis Hamilton’s ship departs the planet. And he’s taking Isack with him.
Strangely, Yuki can’t imagine a day without Isack. Yet a week has passed since he last saw him in person. Isack had been busy preparing for the mission, spending all his time with the decorated pilot.
Yuki supposes he should get used to it.
It is proven fruitless to care so much, to build friendships with other pilots. It gets in the way of service, of the mission. To be the eye of the storm.
He finds himself on the observation deck. Sees the faint glow from the orangerie and watches it for some time. Wonders if that is what Isack is going to see, to feel, when he is up in the stars looking down on Earth.
“Yuki? Yuki Tsunoda?”
The soft timbre of his voice is unmistakable. Yuki hops back from the railing and straightens in attention. “Master Hamilton,” he squeaks.
“Hello,” he replies, head tilted. His jewelry glints in the starlight as he draws nearer.
Cheeks warming, Yuki tries not to — he blinks. Blinks again. Lewis Hamilton has always shone as a dazzling presence, but up close, Yuki can see him for the human he is, yet the effervescent energy which radiates from him is blinding.
“I didn’t…I’m so sorry,” Yuki rambles. “I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with anything?”
“Isack is looking for you,” Master Hamilton tells him, eyes soft. “You two are close?”
It’s forbidden to be, but Yuki can’t lie, not to Lewis.
“He’s a friend,” answers Yuki. “A good friend.”
“I see,” says Master Hamilton. “I apologize for taking him away from here. He’s a good pilot and his skills are much needed at the front. I’ve just gotten to know him better, and…well. I also got to know you better, in a way.”
Oh.
Yuki flushes. Isack and his big mouth. And his big heart on his sleeve.
“He’s the best. I wasn’t really surprised when you picked him to be your next apprentice,” admits Yuki.
The master pilot looks out to the entire compound, on this quiet night. His hair sways in the breeze, glittering with the precious metal coils. “I would take another, if I could,” he says, gently. “There are only so many masters left. And so few seats. I hope you know it has nothing to do with you.”
“And everything to do with Isack,” finished Yuki. “I understand. Thank you, Master Hamilton.”
He smiles at him and the radiance could feed Yuki for the rest of his life.
“Could I ask for a favour?” says Yuki, feeling a suddenness as strong as the urge.
He nods once, understanding. “I promise I will do everything in my power to bring him home. Or die trying. He is my apprentice, my responsibility, and his life is mine, as mine is his.”
Yuki startles. It sounds so much like… “He is to become your co-pilot?”
“As is the will of the universe,” says Master Hamilton, softly.
—
When Isack reveals it to him, later, in the gardens, Yuki manages to scrounge up the energy to appear surprised, meeting Isack in a hug. In his excitement, he must not have noticed Yuki’s poor acting.
To become a co-pilot was to become a master pilot, trusted to dually operate the top-of-the-line fighter spacecrafts by another. Not many cadets become apprentices, and fewer still to reach the top rank of master, and far rarer for two to bond.
It had fallen out of fashion as the waging war had become a battle of attrition, that a band of solo craft had become just as worthy as a dual craft.
It wasn’t only the engineering, mechanisms, and materials needed to produce and upkeep a fleet of these such vehicles. It was the work of two pilots who must work in tandem, must share a heartbeat, and instinct; matching every twitch and touch of each other in the tender sinew of shared control.
It was one thing for a master to teach the ways of flying, another to become one. And for it to be so certain, so soon…
“I’m proud of you,” says Yuki, squeezing him hard. “Isack Hadjar, co-pilot to Master Lewis Hamilton.”
“Not yet,” exhales Isack. “I still have to be trained and I have to pass my Trials. Only an apprentice until then.”
“Still,” sighs Yuki. “One day, you’ll fly the legendary Forty-four.”
“Maybe. It hasn’t seen the skies since…”
He trails off. Knows not to say the name aloud.
“Yeah,” replies Yuki, letting go of him. He takes a step back and waits a beat before he can meet Isack’s gaze again, as if time can dispel the fall of Master Nico Rosberg and the cloud of despair over their heads. “Master Hamilton said you talked about me.”
“Yes, well,” Isack flushes. “I’m not going to lie to him.”
“Me, neither,” agrees Yuki. “He’s beautiful, isn’t he?”
“Hard to believe he is only human like us.”
“Yeah.”
In front of him, in the dim glow of the orangerie lamps, he sees Isack now, laden with the burden of apprenticeship. Sees the boy now a young man, jaw set for the battle he is to take part in, the war he is to serve.
“Wanna come for tea? Like old times?”
Isack gives him a pained expression, full of want. “It’s late.”
“I’m sure Liam won’t mind.”
—
Liam doesn’t mind. In their room, Yuki takes out the teapots and teacups and boils water at the little kitchenette. When the water whistles, he wakes with a start, before joining them at the little table and bench. They sit and sip, chatting about anything and everything, but Isack’s inevitable departure. They laugh and they sing and it’s like all three are just new recruits again, dreaming about the future.
Overnight, Isack stays at their dorm, curled up behind Yuki, with the same excuse as the last, that Yuki is smaller, so he has to share his bunk. If Isack sleeps pressed closer than the last time, then that is between them.
—
In the morning, Isack leaves to make his final preparations.
In the evening, Yuki ignores the lump in his throat as he watches his friend, dressed in his flight suit, stand beside Master Hamilton at the Flight Deck. Most of the cadets make their way down to watch as their fellow classmate makes his inaugural walk to his ship.
Isack, head held high, gives a small smile and a slight wave. The stairs slide up, the hatches shut. Cylinders fire.
And then they’re gone.
Yuki stays behind as the crowd recedes, Liam standing dutifully beside him. When it becomes near empty, Liam gives him a pat on the back, the only show of emotion they can spare.
Together, they walk back to their quarters. A few cadets come running by and they thought nothing of it, until more come cascading down the halls.
“What’s happening?” shouts Liam, jostled by the masses.
“He’s back!” shouts Kimi, looking over his shoulder.
“Why? Are they alright?” asks Liam after him.
“No, not Master Hamilton!” shouts Ollie, barreling past.
Liam pulls Yuki out of the way, head swivelling.
“It’s Master Verstappen!” Gabi supplies helpfully as he zips by.
—
The elation for his return is as rapidly dashed when his ship — the Thirty-three — not so much as lands, but falls into the flight deck, leaving a violently gouged trail. The blue paint has been scratched and scored, the exposed metal pockmarked with blaster burns.
His comms had been damaged, the Towers only receiving notice of his return into the atmosphere when patrol ships went to investigate an undeclared entry.
The small patrol ships tried to soften his landing, but the Thirty-three, like many of its kind, is unwieldy.
It smokes and smokes and smokes.
Master Alonso arrives and shoos all the cadets back, his apprentice trailing after him in support, as medics rush forwards. Mechanized arms tear at the entry hatch, crumpling the doors, and even more smoke spills out. Emergency bots roll out hoses, spraying the damaged ship with extinguishing gel.
It is then Master Marko who arrives and with finality, orders all, but the emergency crew, masters and their apprentices, out of the Deck.
—
Gossip and rumours emerge surrounding Master Max Verstappen and his co-pilot Sergio “Checo” Pérez’s crash back to Earth. It eclipses Master Hamilton and Isack’s apprenticeship and departure, like it had never happened at all.
While it makes Yuki’s stomach turn that the two could be so easily pushed aside for falsehoods and speculations, it also gnaws on him that another master pilot could so easily be cut down.
Though, too soon to say, really. The medical bay was shrouded in secrecy and remains so.
It wasn’t until days later that it was made known to everyone that only one pilot was found in the Thirty-three.
Master Verstappen had returned without Checo.
—
A funeral, of sorts, is held. There was nothing to bury, nothing to cremate.
Star pilots do not grieve, for they do not love. They do their duties and pay their respects. Uphold recognition for the sacrifices made in service, but they do not lament, they do not regret, because the mission is just. They move forwards and onwards.
Bandaged and limping, Master Max Verstappen stands with the aid of crutches. Master Fernando Alonso stands beside him. Master Helmut Marko flanking his other side.
Master Alonso’s apprentice has his head down as he stands in the apprentice line behind the masters, shoulders shaking. Lance Stroll, son of a planet baron, heir of great galactic wealth, had relinquished his right to a life of comfort, joining the academy after running away from home, unwilling to turn his back on a cause he believed in.
Of a different upbringing, Yuki can see the way he tries to resist weeping. But he is not like the rest of them, hardened by the horrors of war, or poverty, or desperation. He was once allowed to care, openly. Now he must hide it.
Yuki, in truth, feels the same. But instead, it manifests as anger, which is as forbidden as love. He watches, seething, as no more than a few words are given about Checo and his warmth, his humour, and his patience. His kindness and commitment, even as Master Marko refused to ever grant him the rank of Master, despite Master Verstappen’s protests, despite all that Checo achieved in his career.
And now Yuki watches as Checo is denied a funeral as grand as he was. A ceremonial urn is released into the atmosphere, burning into a pinprick, and disappearing from view.
As if Checo wasn’t bigger than a line of smoke in the sky.
—-
Liam can tell Yuki is angry. He does his best to coax him back to the privacy of their quarters, boils water and makes tea, anything to distract and soothe from the tragedy.
The cup of tea has long since stopped steaming, tepid now as Yuki finally stops shaking enough to pick it up. “It’s not fair,” he spits out.
Liam sighs, shakes his head. “Yeah.”
—
Activities at the complex resume as normal. Studies, practice, training, flights, everything. It’s Yuki and Liam’s turn in the flight simulator, being rigorously tested in scenario after scenario. They make a good pair, each flying their own agile simulated jet, working together to tackle challenges, solving problems, adapting to the changing environments.
Someday, if neither should ever apprentice or become co-pilots, never to command their own fleets, then joining the fleet would be the next best recompense. That would be, Yuki thinks privately, amenable.
When Yuki and Liam leave the simulator, tugging off their helmets and balaclavas, they realize Master Verstappen had been on the other side of the glass. He stands, stoic, behind the trainers at the console, hands clasped behind him. There was no indication of how long he had been present, other than he must have arrived after they had been calibrated and sat.
Yuki tries to maintain composure, nodding as walks past the window to the exit. He doesn’t dare try to see if Master Verstappen is looking at him at all.
Master Verstappen had largely been absent in his role as a master pilot on the base, though mostly it was attributed to his injuries and following recovery. But months had passed and he was hardly seen anywhere. Out of respect, cadets kept their thoughts to themselves about it. Mostly.
Most masters commanded their own squadrons out in space. The few that remain behind train the cadets, preparing the next generation of star pilots, the next line of apprentices to face their Trials and to persevere.
They also have a hand in decisions about anything and everything the star pilots do. Whether missions are taken, how they are executed, and the way the academy is run. While allied with the sovereignty of space, they do not represent them, nor are they beholden to them. They have their own values, their own reasons for their role in the war. Mercenaries in everything, but name.
It is known that Master Verstappen cared little for the war, flying only because he liked to. One of the youngest to be ever granted the highest rank, he is an anomaly of star pilots.
No one has done it like him.
Yuki and Liam make their way out of the training grounds.
“He’s intense, isn’t he?” Liam huffs. “Just staring at us like that. Wonder what he’s doing.”
Yuki wonders, too.
—
Yuki debates sending a hologram to Isack, but he wouldn’t even know if it would be received. Or whether Isack would even be allowed to check his messages while training. Probably not.
He walks through the library, the tomes little more than blurs to him. He was never the studious sort, reading falling wayside to the physical demands of being a pilot. Isack, however, was a reader, poring over the books and scrolls collected at the compound. He’d often be found here.
“Can I help you, Yuki?”
Turning, he meets the warmth of Carlos Sainz, son of Master Carlos Sainz Sr. The elder is out off-worlding, leading fleets along the outer belt, patrolling allied planets nearest to the edge of conflict.
“Not reminiscing, are you?” Carlos asks with a wink.
“Just looking,” replies Yuki, sullen.
Understanding flits into the older cadet’s expression, his face softening. “The universe needed him out there,” he says, hushed. “But some days, it feels like we need them here more, no?”
Of all cadets, Carlos would know. They may be pilots, but that’s his father in the stars. Yuki nods.
He journeys on, makes his greetings to the others there, seeing familiar faces pass, wondering if he would remember them as clearly as he does now when circumstances change, when they join the fleet or the engineers.
Franco Colapinto bumbles pass, saying a polite hello as he does. In his arms, a precarious pile of tomes that he brings to Carlos.
By the long tables, Master Toto Wolff sits with his apprentice George Russell, the two engrossed in the data charts and flight maps of the skies. In passing, Master James Vowles walks with his apprentice Alex Albon, the latter giving Yuki a toothy grin.
The halls are no louder nor quieter than it had been when Isack was here. One leaves ground, another lands.
A formation of senior cadets parade into the halls, two by two, all in service dress. The most recent class to spend time in an orbital shuttle, training to live off-world, and all have just returned. Pierre Gasly is third in the line, making eye contact with Yuki, but otherwise keeping form.
Later, after the class of seniors debriefed and had their fist meal back on land, Pierre finds Yuki in the stairs outside of the Council Hall. He ruffles his hair and when Yuki goes to hug him, he sees a new twitch of his scruffy jaw, and stops.
Pierre is, at least, apologetic. “Attachment,” he explains, softly. Admonishes Yuki with a finger tap to the nose. “Come on, I want to show you something.”
Yuki follows Pierre through the halls, trying not to feel dejected. He’s right. Camaraderie between pilots is one thing, friendliness another. But favouritism or fondness for one another is attachment and that is forbidden.
They enter the Flight Yard, their cadet passes taking them so far along the upper floors connected via bridges. Below, robots and humans alike work together in maintaining the line of spacecrafts.
In the middle of the suspended corridor, Pierre stops. They’re alone in the dark of the hangar ceiling, high above the hive of activity. “They are going to announce something tomorrow,” he tells Yuki. “At the Assembly. I want to tell you first.”
Yuki stares at him, throat suddenly tight. A familiar feeling grips him and he nods once.
Pierre looks relieved even before he says it. “I’ve been selected to be an apprentice. Master Briatore. He’ll be leading a fleet out into another system.”
Yuki can’t bring himself to say anything in return. He feels elated that Pierre would divulge this to him. He feels proud of him for being chosen. He also feels the crushing weight of the future before him, the path that seems to narrow and darken at every step. Then, he feels ashamed that he has lost sight of the mission, blinded by his own emotions.
“Attachment,” Yuki manages to croak, teasing him about telling him first. Pierre cracks a smile at that.
Yuki, shamefully, wants to hug him one last time, before he gets sent to the stars. But Pierre’s not like Isack, he’s not so brazen enough to shed the rules and expectations of becoming a master. He’s older and time has been ticking.
In lieu of an official mentor, Pierre was the man who raised him, showing him the way all those years ago when Yuki had first joined. He’s forever grateful for that.
“It took me a long time, too,” Pierre admits, hushed. “So don’t worry, okay? You’ll get your chance. Look how long it took me.”
Yuki nods, again.
—
At the Assembly, cadets come streaming in ceremonial dress; the auditorium is packed, everyone eager to hear the new updates and missions that the Council had accepted. Classes of senior cadets will be graduating on to joining the fleet, new apprenticeships will be announced, and a line of starfighters that had been not-so-surreptitiously prepared and lined up at the Hangar Bay, waiting to be revealed.
Liam had gotten up earlier than Yuki and was gone by the time he woke up, so Yuki finds himself a seat with an empty one beside, in case he comes running late. By the podium, the line of Earth-bound Masters sit, their apprentices close behind. All are present, except for Master Verstappen, who has still yet to lead a lecture or teach a class since returning. No one is even sure he has taken part in the Council at all, but it is supposed that it all would be made evident today.
Yuki feels touch to his shoulder and he cranes his neck back to see Oscar Piastri’s calm face looking at him. “Where’s your roommate?” he ask. “I had to wake and drag mine out.”
“Um, I was already awake,” grumbles Lando, rubbing at his eyes.
“It’s a bit early,” replies Yuki. “I don’t know. Liam was up earlier than I was.”
“Ah,” says Oscar. He sits back, thoughtful.
“Well, maybe he never slept,” yawns Lando. “I’m much more of a night owl, you know. Maybe he’s just been up and will join us later, or something…”
He closes his eyes and shifts in his seat, getting comfortable against Oscar’s shoulder.
“Hey, you have to pay attention to this,” hisses Oscar.
“Hasn’t even started,” mumbles Lando.
Oscar shrugs the shoulder that isn’t being used as a pillow. “Well, I’ll help keep an eye out for Liam, then. Shouldn’t be long.”
But then the lights dim and the Assembly begins and Liam is nowhere to be seen at all.
Not until they make official the new masters who have passed their Trials and the new apprenticeships who have been chosen, and after Pierre has walked across to join Master Briatore, it is Liam who appears next.
Yuki freezes in his seat, taken aback. From behind, he hears Lando gasp and whisper something as Oscar shushes him. Liam is going to serve as Master Verstappen’s new apprentice, after the fall of the predecessor.
He looks nervous up there, striding across the stage, stiff and solemn, before coming to a stop beside his new master, who looks sternly out into the crowd. There’s polite applause and then the next announcement is made, then the next, then the next…
—
Oscar and Lando walk with Yuki back to the dormitories.
“Didn’t expect that,” says Lando as Oscar sighs.
“You’ll be alright, then, Yuki?” he asks, as all three stop by Yuki’s door.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” asks Yuki, automatically.
“Right,” replies Oscar, unconvinced. “Well. See you later at Master Webber’s lecture, then.”
“See you,” replies Yuki. He stands, watches the two go on together without him. Then he enters the room and sees Liam sat on the bed, head in his hands.
At the click of the door, his head snaps up, blond hairs flying. “Yuki — ”
The door shuts behind him, sealing out the world. “Why didn’t you tell me,” Yuki blurts out.
“I just found out last night,” Liam splutters, “I wanted to — believe me, I wanted to tell you. But the meeting went long and — and it was weird.”
Too many emotions cycle through. “What?” demands Yuki.
“Look.” Liam stands, crosses the room. “I’m sorry. Alright?”
“Okay.” He shakes him off, shucks his ceremonial robes and begins folding the long fabric.
“Okay?” he hears Liam repeat.
“Yes, okay.” He steps out of his tunic and his trousers, puts it all away, neat and tidy, as he was taught.
“Yuki, I know you’re mad at me,” Liam accuses, coming close, too close, again.
“Doesn’t matter,” Yuki mutters.
“Doesn’t matter?”
Yuki looks over his shoulder. “You’re leaving, anyway. You’ll be with your new master and you’re going to pass your Trials, and then you’ll become a master yourself, and — ”
Liam makes a frustrated noise, fingers threading through his own hair. “This — Yuki! This isn’t how I wanted to say goodbye!”
“Well, I can’t read your mind!” he shouts back.
Liam opens his mouth to say something else, something that Yuki hopes would be loud and cathartic and mean, so he could be angry, instead of sad and…and confused.
But Liam doesn’t say anything. He stops, exhales, his shoulders loosening, posture straightening and then he is standing like the perfect, unemotional cadet that they were all supposed to be.
“Goodbye, Yuki. Don’t think the worst of me, alright?”
He picks up his bags, both already packed and tucked by the foot of his bed. Yuki hadn’t even noticed them. Yuki hadn’t noticed much. He doesn’t respond as Liam leaves their dorm for the very last time.