Chapter Text
“Here you go, love,” the alpha murmurs on the screen as he washes his omega’s hair, fingers massaging her scalp as she purrs lightly, eyes shut and body stress-free. “You don’t need to worry about anything, alright? Matthew and the others have it all covered. You have a pack now, you’re not on your own anymore.”
Max stares at the TV as the lights flicker across his eyes, but it’s like his brain thinks it’s really happening to him. That the smell of the alpha’s thick, curling scent covering his brain in warmth and safety is really there, right next to him. That his fingers are running through Max’s hair and not hers.
“We got you another dress,” he says, a passing thought, like it doesn’t bother their pack at all to buy her more dresses. Why would it? She’s an omega, that’s what she deserves. Shouldn’t Max deserve that too? “Yellow. Summery. Wear it for us tomorrow?”
“Of course,” she agrees, voice light and smile wide.
Max has to turn the TV off. It burns into his memory, the softness of their words, reminding him of all of the things he doesn’t have. A pack. A choker around his neck worth tens of thousands reminding the world he is loved and adored by more than just himself. Even that, at times, is flimsy.
She looks happy to be taken care of, is the thing. He knows if he let himself open up to someone, anyone, even just his sister or mother, he’d be happy to be taken care of too. Any omega would. It’s a want (maybe a need if Max looks at it too closely) that sits in his chest all the time, taking up space when it shouldn’t, yearning for any alpha he can smell. Calling for something Max can not allow it to have.
One in a fifty thousand odds.
It should make him feel special. Rare. But Max only felt alone. Because omegas are so hard to come by that they are kept safe from any dangers at all costs. An omega in a pack is kept spoiled and happy for as long as they live, and that is just a fact of the world.
Max wants that. He does. Sitting in his Monaco apartment, waiting for tomorrow to come to start another race weekend, he aches not to be alone. It’s dark now since the flickering of the TV is gone, the room is warm in the spring air but not warm with the shifting of a pack around him. A pack that would not let him face any danger, be in any situation where he could be harmed.
A pack that would not let him race.
And as much as he wants to be loved properly in the way his instincts, his bones demand, it’s racing that breathes the fire into his veins. Being behind the wheel, fighting tooth and nail for trophy after trophy, series after series, championship after championship, is what lets him breathe. Live. Flourish.
But the omega in the movie looks happier than he’d felt in months.
Maybe it’s just his instincts playing up, trying to finally get what they want in exchange for his sacrifice, but his couch can fit more than one person.
Max looks down at his feet, then at the coffee table. If he moves it aside, there’d be enough space for a nest. A large nest made with soft blankets and pillows, clothing items smelling like the alphas closest to him. His hand twitches. He wants to just grab the nearest pillow and start. Let instincts carry him away. But the only thing he can smell is his own scent. Sweet and warm, yes, but not what Max wants. Not what he needs.
Where are they? He needs a pack. He needs alphas around him to protect him, to love him, to care about him—
Max can’t smell an alpha anywhere. He’s alone, and that makes him whine quietly into the silence of his apartment. A broken sound, a sound meant to draw alphas to him but no one is there to hear it. It only serves as a reminder of what he doesn’t have. Of what he chose not to have.
But Max still wants.
He slept fitfully that night, crying into his pillow and imagining it was the warm body of someone he knows instead. In the morning when he heads into city of Monaco for its fabled grand prix, Max doesn’t stop to talk to anyone, let alone the press. He goes to the team meeting before having a sip of coffee, a decision he regrets once he realises how much they are planning to talk about. Tire strategies, how hard he should push in practice, concerns of the car they’d fixed…
Once it's finally over, Max is yawning every other minute. The scent blockers on his neck itch a little. He drums his fingers on the table, trying to work out what can give him the most energy for dealing with the press when Yuki suddenly stood from his seat. “I’m heading to the pack room before media starts,” he announces, tossing his empty Red Bull can into the bin and leaving just as abruptly.
Max follows him out with his gaze as the meeting tapers off around him, people getting up from their own chairs and gathering their things to head off to work. Their low mumblings fill his ears. Part of him wants to listen, but the other, stronger part wants to head after Yuki and into the pack room.
He’d only ever been once. When he was seventeen, naively thinking that since he’d finally gotten to the pinnacle of motorsport, he could finally tell the grid he was an omega and they couldn’t have an issue, Max went to the pack room after a race. It was the first time he’d let himself into any kind of designation-bass environment, but with the lack of care and from the other drivers he received when entering, as well as downright hostility from a few of them, he never did it again. And he never told anyone what he truly was.
But Yuki… Yuki had gotten up to go to the pack room without even thinking about it. Without wondering if he would be welcomed there or ignored completely, without worrying if someone would snarl at him for getting too close.
“Maybe you could join him,” Christian says, startling Max out of his staring. Yuki is long gone.
Max glances up at his team principal and sighs. “Do we really need to do this every time? You know I don’t like going in there. Never have, never will.” He and Christian had done this song and dance before. Many, many times. His teammate would head to the pack room and Max would stay behind. After a rough race, the grid would head to the pack room and Max would slip out of the paddock at the first chance he got. Christian noticed it all.
“You went there once, Max.” The alpha leans against the table, handing him a can of Red Bull which Max takes gratefully. “Surely in ten years you don’t think that they can’t want you there still. Half the bloody grid has changed, and you’re a four-time world champion. Have you really never thought of giving it another chance?”
“No.” Yes. Many times, alone at night in the darkness of his room where only the walls bore witness to his tears.
“You need a pack, Max. A family.” Christian pauses. “Your ruts can’t be that pleasant, can they?”
“I take general suppressants,” Max shrugs. “I time my ruts right and they’re not usually long anyway.”
“General suppressants.” Christian doesn’t look entirely convinced. His scent sours slightly, but it’s still familiar to Max. He is certain he can pick it out in a field of flowers no matter how far it stretches and how strong they smell, because he knew Christian’s scent like his own. “General suppressants are enough to get you through your ruts.”
General suppressants allow heat and rut cycles to be controlled, but that’s it. No stopping the instincts or needs or birth control in Max’s case— that would require a prescription for his designation, meaning a doctor would find out he is an omega. He already had a hard enough time of hiding his status from the FIA’s doctors, and the general suppressants work well enough.
“Yeah. If you don’t mind, I think I’m supposed to be doing some media stuff. So. I’ll head out now,” Max says, and when he pushes past Christian while finishing off his drink, he tries to ignore the urge to take a large breath of his scent. It’s hard just to imagine it curling around him protectively when he knows he can have the real thing. If only.
The paddock is the paddock, and no amount of Monaco’s grandeur can change that. Bustling members of all teams head in and out of buildings, cameras and interviewers following every driver they can find— all while a heavy, thick mix of alpha scents hover over them. The grid has a stronger scent compared to everyone else, their instincts ripe with competition and the need to prove themselves. It makes for good drivers, which is why all of the grid are alphas, save for Max, who hides his true designation behind scent blockers and the illusion of composure.
“Max, Max! A word? How are you feeling about the race today— any new upgrades we should know about?” A microphone is in his face before he knows it, but Max is so used to it, he hardly flinches anymore. He gives Martin Brundle a smile.
“Nothing new, unfortunately, though I’m working alongside the team on some upgrades in Barcelona— I think Christian might have mentioned that?”
“He does. Do you have any plans on dealing with the McLarens? Any words of wisdom for yourself in this championship fight?”
Out of the corner of his eye, Max spots Lewis. The grid’s pack alpha, a man bigger than the sport itself. His authority is present in the way he moves, in the confidence of his steps, and all Max can think for a moment is how he would be treated if he just—
“I think it’s only the eighth round of the season, and yes, while the McLarens are very fast and Oscar in particular has been a pain to deal with, especially in the first few laps, I don’t see why this season has to be any different from my last four championships. I’m happily in the lead and I’m sure I can make it stay that way.” Snap out of it. The last thing he needs to be doing is longingly staring after Lewis in the middle of an interview.
“Wise words, Max. Alright, I think we’ll leave you to it. I think we spotted Lando just before…” with that, Martin and the Sky Sports team heads off to find the McLaren driver, and Max is left standing alone in the paddock again.
He heads off to the small café set up, hoping to get some food in his stomach. Max passes by the Williams team as Carlos lightly scruffs Alex in the friendly way alphas do. Alex laughs and shoves him away, and as Max passes by, he catches a whiff of their scents and squashes down the urge in his chest to get a better smell. Further down, Esteban has his arm around Ollie’s shoulder, half-harshly ruffling his hair. Ollie has a wide smile on his face, hardly caring that his hair is being messed up or that his head is being pushed around by the force of it.
They look happy. They are a pack, together, and… And maybe Christian is right. Maybe he does need a pack. But the thought of the grid finding out his true designation…
“There you are, Max. I’ve been looking for you all morning. You’ve got press in about ten minutes, so let’s go,” his manager says, placing a hand on his shoulder. Max jumps, blinking the thoughts out of his head, and grins back, rationalising that they are just lingering thoughts from the night before. “Don’t want to be late, do you?”
The group Max has for the driver’s press conference in the afternoon is fine. Gabi on his left, then on the other side is Alex. The faces of a dozen reporters stare back at him as he sits on the couch, lights shining uncomfortably in his eyes and cameras he tries hard not to look at despite them being right in his face. Scents of the alphas beside him settles the nerves, though, and a sense of calm washes over him. Before he knows it, his shoulders lose tension and he sits back in the couch, letting himself get comfortable.
Christian’s words Max hears so often rings in his ears. A pack would be good for you, and he is rolling his eyes to himself. But he stays where he is. Protected by the alphas’ scents around him even if the cameras are fixed on his face.
The reporters begin to ask the common questions, and Max filters them out quicker than he can blink, giving the usual short response whenever he is asked something. He can’t find it in him to be bothered by their repetitiveness for some reason, not when the scent of wood and spices soothes his mind. Usually he isn’t as affected. Maybe it’s just the stupid movie he watched last night and the lack of adequate sleep making him susceptible.
“Max. It’s hard not to notice the closeness that the grid has with the rookies compared to you, sparking a larger conversation about how involved you are within the pack and your relationships with the other drivers. What are your thoughts on this?”
It snaps out of the calm haze before he can blink. The lights seem much brighter and the cameras much closer now that he isn’t lost in his head. It takes a few seconds for him to process the question, but the longer he thinks about it, the more he realises there isn’t an easy way out of it. “I… don’t particularly feel the need to be close to the other drivers on the grid. It affects how I see them as rivals in the championship, and to be honest, I hadn’t really been a part of the pack when I was a rookie myself. I guess that hasn’t really changed in ten years, so, yeah.” Max can smell the slight souring and tension thickening in the scents closest to him, but he forces himself to keep his eyes ahead instead of looking into the eyes of his fellow drivers, knowing their expressions would just make him feel more guilty. Even now, Max feels like turning and apologising. The urge to right the situation sits unacted upon in his gut. “But it’s not like I don’t like the rookies or anything— if they ever need advice or someone to talk to, I’m here, obviously. I just don’t have any interest in being a part of the pack.”
Max swallows after finishing his response, getting a large breath in of the upset scent coming from Gabi next to him. His jaw ticks, but he doesn’t even look. He can’t. This is what he has been doing for ten years, and this is what he needs to keep doing if he wants to keep racing.
“It’s a shame that Max has never really been keen on being a part of the grid’s pack, but it’s obviously his choice, and we respect that and try not to impose pack life on him, I guess,” Alex says, but he glances at Max out of the corner of his eye and Max swears he looks hurt. His scent suggests as much, sharp and pungent with upset. “We’re still friends, the grid and Max. Maybe not as close, you could say, as we would be if he was involved in the pack, but it’s not like he’s a stranger or anything. And if he thinks he drives better because of it, then more power to him.”
Alex is talking like Max isn’t sitting right next to him, and he tries not to let it sting too much. Him not being in the pack or leaning into to his dynamic behaviours (which everyone assumes is the light aggressiveness of an alpha, because why wouldn’t they?) has always been a bit of a sore topic with other drivers on the grid, especially in recent years.
“Gabriel, any thoughts? Especially being new on the grid this year?”
“I don’t see why me not being in the pack is such a big deal,” Max interrupts before Gabi can even open his mouth. Sorry, he thinks, but continues on before this gets out of hand. “It’s been going on for a decade now, so I don’t see why it suddenly matters so much.”
The interview continues without much trouble from the press, but Max can feel Gabi and Alex glance at him occasionally even though his eyes stay fixed on the interviewers. Their scents curl around him, still tang with upset, causing guilt to churn in his gut no matter how much he tries to think about anything else. He doesn’t need their approval. Max doesn’t want to care how they think, especially about him not being in the grid pack. So why does it hurt so much to know they’re upset by his choice to hide himself away?
Finally, the interview is over, and Max can’t stand up quick enough. He picks up the empty can of Red Bull he’s been carrying around all day like a lifeline and tries to head out before he can get a glimpse of Alex and Gabi’s faces, knowing they’re probably staring after him and wondering why he’s being so difficult about this.
The hallway is too narrow for his liking. Max can hear their footsteps behind him, the weight of their disappointment heavy in their footfalls. Don’t say anything. Just move on, let me get out of here without having to—
“Max. Max, can we talk, maybe?” And fuck, because Gabi’s just a kid. He hasn’t been on the grid long enough to know what’s really happened behind closed doors, why Max wouldn’t be a part of the pack even if he was an alpha anyway. For all he knows, this is Max shutting himself off from something wonderful.
And for a fleeting moment, Max thinks a pack would be wonderful.
“About what, Gabi?”
“Alex and I were heading to the pack room. I know you said that you weren’t interested, but… it’s nice there, and I’m sure everyone would be happy to see you. You don’t have to do pack cuddles or anything, just…”
“Gabi…” Max doesn’t know what to say. His offer sounds nice. Really nice— great, actually, and Max has to hold himself back from giving in. But when he glances at Alex, who stands just behind Gabi with a reluctant understanding on his face, Max remembers why he’s doing all of this in the first place. “I appreciate the offer, I really do, but unfortunately it’s just not that simple for me, okay?”
Gabi’s face sinks. The young alpha’s scent goes muddy with the let down, but he nods without saying anything and walks past Max like he’s not even there. Doesn’t look him in the eyes or anything. He really does try not to feel guilty, and doesn’t call out a sharp ‘wait’ to try and fix things. Max found out years ago it was best not to try.
He lifts his head to meet Alex’s gaze. “You could go, you know. Lewis wants you there. We all want you there.” And then Alex is gone too, and the hallway is empty save for the regret Max forced himself to carry.
‘Simply not interested’: Max Verstappen Shuns Grid Pack Life in the Name of Rivalry
On Thursday’s press conference at the Monaco Grand Prix, Max Verstappen was asked a question regarding his place within the grid’s pack and how it affects his relationships with the other drivers, particularly with the rookies. Verstappen claimed that pack life interferes with how he views the championship and his rivals, which has been his position on the matter for a decade.
His response has sparked a large variety of discussions online. “Having a pack is important to function. Is he really willing to sacrifice that for some trophies?” One user writes, while another claims “The closeness of the grid makes for underwhelming track battles, and how can a pack of all alphas be a healthy dynamic anyway?”
But is Verstappen’s view on staying separate from the grid pack helping him or harming him? Is it the reason why he has become a four-time world champion, or will it soon be the reason for his downfall?
The driver’s parade is always a bit awkward for Max. The whole grid is in one small place, acting like a pack right in front of his eyes, and while they still talk to him and act like he’s actually there rather than ignoring him, he just feels separate to them every time. Lewis is standing in front of Max next to Charles, Oscar listening intently to their conversation and Isack leaning against the railing next to Max. The wind is light, the crowd loud as they roar in anticipation for the main event. Hundreds of them are lined up on balconies of the buildings surrounding the track, while those who can afford it attend the race from their yachts in the harbour, drinking champagne and enjoying the view.
No one on the grid has talked to Max about the press conference on Thursday. Maybe they’ve glanced his way a little more than usual, but that’s it. He can live with that.
Their scents are stronger all in one place, and Max is finding it hard not to be affected. It curls around him, warm and thick like honey, willing him to relax. Lewis’s scent is strongest as pack alpha and right next to him, a wood and smoke mix that makes him want to burrow into the crook of his neck.
The stupid movie is still affecting him.
“Did you guys hear? Apparently, there’s an omega in attendance today.”
Max nearly jumps out of his own skin before realising Oscar isn’t talking about him. He sighs quietly in relief as Lewis nods grimly and Charles’s brows raise in surprise.
“Really?” Isack asks. “There’s an omega here?”
“Yes, there is,” Lewis confirms, just as the scent of said omega fills Max’s nose. Sweet and sugary with undertones of berries and laced with the claim of spices between it. He nearly purrs at the smell, at knowing someone like him is here in the audience.
Max can tell the moment it hits the other’s noses. Their pupils dilate, a low rumbling filling the air as their instincts respond to the thing they crave most. Woody scents drown out everything else for Max and he almost starts leaning on Isack for support before stopping himself.
He spots her quickly, seated in one of the VIP areas. She’s wearing a white dress flowing gracefully in the breeze. Long, blonde hair so shiny and healthy Max feels inadequate and ashamed of his own. But around her neck is the glint of a choker. Telling the world she has a pack that looks after her and that loves her, while telling Max she has everything he doesn’t.
Of course there’d be an omega in Monaco. There’s likely many more, if Max is being honest. Monaco is the perfect place for an omega to find a pack that treats them properly and spoils them like their instincts deserve. Like Max’s instincts crave.
He tightens his grip on the railing until it hurts.
“Wouldn’t it be nice to have an omega with us? Making nests in pack rooms every race?” Lando’s words are met with a chorus of murmured agreements. Lewis doesn’t say anything yet, still lost with staring at the omega as the parade passes by. For a moment, Max wonders what it would be like to make a nest in the pack room. He’d use lots of blankets, using pillows for the edges of the nest, and ensure that they are scented by every driver on the grid. He imagines burrowing into one of the pillows, getting lungfuls of pine and cinnamon every time he breathes in while someone’s fingers card through his hair, a warm body pressed beside him.
Max swallows down the whine building in his throat and finds tears burning at the corners of his eyes. The scent blockers on his neck burn and he stops his hands from reaching up to peel them off, to let his scent sour the air in order to be comforted. He grits his teeth instead, shifting away from Isack. Isack blinks at him, but he doesn’t say anything, turning back to Lewis again.
“I know,” Lewis says, “But it would be too much to ask for one omega, travelling around the world all the time. Too much stress, especially watching us race— do you really want them to see us crash and worry every time?”
Lando sighs. “That’s true, I guess. But it still would be nice.”
“I’ve always wanted to hear one purr,” Charles admits. “Not just on the TV in those films, but actually in real life. On my chest so I can feel the vibrations, you know?”
Max wants to squeeze his eyes shut and be somewhere far, far away from here. He can’t even smell the omega anymore, but the others are still talking about it and he can feel his cheeks warm and oh God that better not be noticeable—
“It would be nice,” George agrees, and suddenly Max’s small group he was conversing with has turned into the whole grid, and they’re talking about omegas and how’ they’re perfect and soft and deserving of everything Max can’t have—
Max is the first off at the end of the parade. And if it wasn’t for the race in an hour or so, he’d be running back to his apartment and locking himself in there for the rest of the day. Because the entire time the grid was talking about omegas, not once did it sound like they wanted them near the track at all. Let alone on it.
Maybe he just needs to race and get this all out of his system.