Chapter Text
Charles Leclerc had come to three universal conclusions about parenting.
The first was that toddlers were tiny engines of commotion disguised as people.
The second was that gravity was an enemy.
And the third was that the town council had clearly never watched a four-year-old climb anything in their entire lives.
He was currently staring at a playground structure with the deep suspicion of a man assessing a war crime.
"Charles," Max said patiently from the park bench, "if you glare at the playground any harder, it's going to file a restraining order."
Charles didn't look away from the jungle gym.
"It is too tall."
Max squinted at the structure. It was, objectively speaking, a very normal wooden climbing frame with a slide attached. Several children were using it without dying, which Max considered sufficient proof of safety.
"For a giraffe?" Max asked.
"No," Charles said, offended. "For our son."
"It is six feet."
"That," Charles said firmly, "is too tall for him."
Their aforementioned son was currently standing at the very top of it.
Four-year-old Oscar stood on the highest platform of the wooden climbing structure like a tiny, extremely calm emperor surveying his kingdom. His kingdom consisted of a sandpit, a slide, two other children attempting to eat rocks, and a suspicious number of sharp metal edges.
"Papa!" Oscar called.
Charles' spine straightened instantly.
"Yes?"
Oscar pointed toward a nearby tree with grave importance.
"There's a bird."
Charles followed the direction of the finger.
There was, in fact, a bird.
Max leaned back on the bench like a man who had absolutely no concerns whatsoever about their child being at a height Charles considered illegal.
"Congratulations," Max said. "We have confirmed the existence of birds."
Charles ignored him.
"Oscar, mon cœur," he called carefully, "maybe come down now."
Oscar tilted his head.
"Why?"
"Because - "
Charles gestured vaguely at the concept of physics.
"Because."
Max snorted.
"Great argument. Very convincing."
Charles shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. "You are not helping."
"I am helping," Max said calmly, "by not panicking over a structure designed specifically for children."
"It has bolts."
"Most things do."
Oscar crouched down to examine the bird situation more closely.
Charles' soul left his body.
"Oscar - "
"He's fine," Max said.
Charles whirled toward him. "How do you know that?"
Max shrugged. "Because he hasn't fallen yet."
"That is not comforting."
Max's mouth twitched.
He was enjoying this.
Charles could tell.
This was betrayal.
⏳⏳⏳
The park itself was small and aggressively normal.
A few parents sat nearby on benches, scrolling through their phones or pretending not to watch their children do increasingly questionable things. The trees swayed lazily in the warm breeze. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked.
As they'd stepped in through the gate earlier, Max's posture had shifted almost imperceptibly.
His eyes flicked across the space in a quick, practiced sweep – exits, sightlines, the tall oak, tree near the fence, the man with the stroller, the teenager by the swings, distance to the gate...
Charles watched him do it.
"Subtle," Charles murmured.
Max didn't even look at him.
"Old habits."
Currently across the park, someone had a portable radio playing the afternoon news.
"…in other headlines, rising hero successfully intercepted a high-speed drone attack over Manchester earlier today…"
Max glanced briefly toward the sound.
Charles very deliberately did not.
"…analysts say Norris' aerial maneuvering is reminiscent of several historic combat styles…"
The reporter paused dramatically.
"…including that of the legendary Crimson Comet."
Charles suddenly found the jungle gym extremely fascinating.
Max watched him for a moment before speaking.
"You know you look guilty when you do that."
"I am not doing anything."
"You are pretending you cannot hear."
"I cannot hear."
"Charles."
"What?"
"You can bend gravity."
"That is not relevant."
Max laughed quietly under his breath.
The radio continued.
"…how can we end this report without referencing the disappearance of the beloved superhero Crimson Comet and the infamous supervillain Apex Predator - "
Charles studied the sand like it had personally offended him.
"…a disappearance that has now inspired more than three thousand conspiracy theories - "
"That seems low," Max murmured.
Charles elbowed him sharply.
"…with analysts still debating whether that day marked the end of an era in superhuman combat…"
Max tilted his head slightly. "They debate because half the data vanished."
Charles stared even harder at the playground.
"…or the beginning of something else entirely."
Oscar's voice cut through the broadcast suddenly. "Papa!"
Charles was instantly upright. "Yes, mon chou?"
"I'm gonna jump!"
"No."
Oscar considered this.
Then he nodded.
"Okay."
Charles exhaled in relief.
Max grinned. "See?" he said. "Easy."
Oscar immediately climbed onto the railing.
Charles' soul ascended directly to heaven.
"MAX."
"Relax."
"MAX!"
"He's four," Max said. "Not made of glass."
"He is very much made of bones!"
Max waved a lazy hand toward the structure.
"Oscar," he called up, "your father is having a crisis. Please descend."
Oscar looked down at them both.
"Why?"
Charles pressed his hands to his face.
Max answered thoughtfully, mostly to himself. "Because if you fall, he will try to arrest gravity."
"I can arrest gravity," Charles muttered.
"Yes," Max said calmly. "That's the problem."
⏳⏳⏳
Oscar finally began climbing down.
Charles watched every movement like a hawk.
One hand.
Then another.
Then -
His foot slipped.
It happened in half a second.
Oscar tipped forward.
Charles moved.
Instinct.
The world slowed.
Distance. Angle. Momentum.
Gravity bent around him like a suggestion rather than a law. Charles launched forward in a blur of motion -
- and caught Oscar mid-fall.
Sand scattered beneath Charles' shoes as he landed hard in the sandpit, clutching his son against his chest.
Charles held him very tightly. "Are you hurt?"
Oscar looked up at him, brown eyes wide with confusion. "No."
Charles checked anyway.
Arms.
Legs.
Head.
Still intact.
Max strolled over like a man arriving late to a perfectly normal conversation.
"You see? Everything's - "
He stopped.
Because Oscar was looking at Charles very thoughtfully and said, "Papa."
"Yes?"
"You were slow."
Charles blinked. "What?"
Oscar pointed upward toward the structure.
"If you jumped that way," he explained, gesturing slightly to the left, "you would've reached me faster."
Max went very still.
Charles laughed nervously.
"What do you mean?"
Oscar shrugged. "That way was shorter."
Charles glanced up at the structure. Then back at Oscar.
"Well," he said weakly, "maybe."
Max crouched down beside them.
"Oscar."
Oscar looked at him.
"Why do you say that?"
Oscar thought about it for a moment.
Then he shrugged again.
"It was obvious."
Max stared at him for a long second before ruffling his hair.
"Right," he said lightly. "Of course it was."
⏳⏳⏳
They walked home a little later.
Oscar sat on Charles' shoulders, humming happily while holding a melting ice cream that was slowly dripping into Charles' hair.
Charles held tightly onto his ankles like a man personally responsible for defeating gravity.
Which, to be fair, he had been.
Max walked beside them with his hands in his pockets.
The street was quiet. Small houses, trimmed hedges, bicycles leaning against fences. The kind of place where absolutely nothing interesting ever happens.
Exactly the kind of place they had chosen.
"You are not allowed to jump from tall things anymore," Charles said firmly.
"It wasn't tall," Oscar replied.
"It was extremely tall."
"It was medium."
"It was six feet," Max added helpfully.
Charles glared at him. "Whose side are you on?"
"Oscar's."
Oscar leaned forward from his perch to fist-bump his dad.
"Dad."
"Yes?"
"Papa runs funny."
Charles gasped in horror.
"I do not run funny!"
"You run like - "
Oscar paused, thinking very hard.
"…like a rocket."
Max nearly choked laughing. Charles sighed deeply.
⏳⏳⏳
That night, after dinner, Oscar fell asleep on the couch halfway through a cartoon. The television glowed softly in the darkened living room.
Max stood in the kitchen drying dishes.
The house was quiet. Comfortably quiet.
Max picked up a spoon, which slipped from his fingers.
The metal clinked against the counter and began to fall toward the floor -
- and Oscar caught it.
Without opening his eyes.
Perfectly.
Still half asleep.
He curled deeper into the blanket.
Charles called from the hallway.
"Did you drop something?"
Max looked at the spoon in Oscar's hand.
Then at his sleeping son.
"…no," Max said slowly. "Nothing important."
⏳⏳⏳
Later that night, Max lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Numbers flickered through his mind automatically. Angles. Timing. Probability.
He replayed the afternoon.
The fall. Oscar's correction. The trajectory. The reaction time.
The math was… uncomfortable.
Max turned his head slightly toward the hallway where Oscar was sleeping.
Seb had once told Charles something Max never forgot.
"If you ever have a child," Seb had said, watching Charles tear across the sky like a meteor, "pray they inherit your heart and not your power."
Max suspected the universe had chosen poorly.
Seven years.
Seven years since they walked away from everything.
Seven years of normality.
Seven years of quiet statistical stability.
And for the first time in years -
Max Verstappen felt something dangerously close to uncertainty.
He exhaled softly into the darkness.
"…well."
A pause.
"That's new."