Chapter Text
Logan grew up Deaf so it was really wasn’t much of an adjustment when he got his hearing blown out at Daytona.
It had been a whole family trip, a very late 6th birthday present for Logan. They’d been super close to the track, three of the five of them wearing some deeply uncomfortable headphones. His momma and Ella Grace, his older sister, however, weren’t wearing any sort of ear protection.
I’m already deaf! Ella Grace had complained when Dad had tried to slip them over her head. What are they going to do - double deafen me?! Momma had agreed with her but forced everyone else (including Logan) to wear them, despite his pleas.
But I won’t be able to hear the cars! Logan had cried, trying to push as much desperation into his signs as possible. Please?
There are worse things than not hearing, Momma had replied curtly and Dalton had laughed at him the whole drive there.
It was within this context that, upon one of the final laps on the race, Logan had very sneakily slipped off his headphones in order to hear the cars as God intended. God, however, had also intended for that corner to have an ear-blasting crash occurring at it. Logan remembers being almost blown off his feet by the pain in his ears, ringing growing in pitch and intensity until
Logan wakes up in a hospital room, around an hour later to some horrifically scratchy sheets and his stuffed otter Squeaky tucked firmly under his arm.
He’d tried to ask his parents what had happened before he realized he couldn’t hear himself speak nor the beeping of the machines nor the television nor even the words his dad was saying while he was speaking, just a fluctuating hum of his timbre. There was a ringing in his ears, just under everything, like the highest tone of the school’s fire alarm.
Logan knew without needing confirmation what had happened - and he was right.
Logan was, to quote the doctor’s, very lucky to have any of his hearing left. He was now medically deaf, though there are enough nerves left where he could be classified as hard of hearing. Cochlar implants were out of the books, but with hearing aids, Logan could almost hear as good as before.
His parents were deeply concerned and mad, both at him and the situation. Ella Grace meanwhile was delighted to having another deaf sibling.
But while his parents were mad, funnily enough, it was Dalton who was the angriest.
“You were my hearing buddy!” He communicates, signs getting messy in his frustration. “Me and you and Dad! We’re the hearing gang!” Ella Grace sticks her tongue out at Dalton and covers Logan’s ears, like that would do anything, especially considering she then immediately removes them to sign.
You’re just jealous, Ella Grace mocks. Now the deaf outnumber the hearing. She pretends to wipe away happy tears as Dalton scowls at her.
“Idiot,” Dalton says, not signing just to taunt.
Asshole, Ella Grace signs back, somehow knowing her middle brother was insulting her. It’s a particularly vulgar sign, especially for a ten year old to sign, and one that gets Ella Grace’s hands lightly hit by their mother.
Ella Grace Thatcher Sargeant, and Daniel Dalton Sargeant! His mother signs furiously, making both his sibling sit up straight. Logan is six! And this isn’t funny, your brother is in pain! Are you forgetting where we are?!
Sorry Mom, Ella Grace signs dejected.
“Yeah, sorry.” Dalton mutters. “And sorry Logie - you’re only hard of hearing now anyways, we can still include you.” Logan, who wasn’t aware there was much of secret club within his family smiles watery up at him.
Momma? Logan says, attempting to sign despite the numerous wires and things running his arms. Can I still do racing? His mother’s expressions softens.
Well, I don’t see why not. she signs gently, moving to sit by his side and pausing to run a hand through Logan’s hair. You are, as Dalton said, hard of hearing so maybe with some hearing aids or an implant.
”He won’t be able to hear the spotters though,” Dalton notes, with a frown. Momma frowns up at him but it’s their father, who at that point had been silent on his cellphone, who speaks up.
“Well…they don’t have spotters in the Formula track, or Indy.” He barely signs it, clearly speaking to himself with his hands signing idly, but Logan is able to just catch the word Formula in his father’s hands.
New paths begin to form in Logan’s mind. He'd never seriously considered Formula racing, but now...if Logan had to aim big, why not aim for the stars?
— — —- —-
Oscar - what’s your name?
Logan is petrified.
It’s the third race of the WSK Super Master Karting Series in La Conca, in the pre final A qualifying and somehow there is quite literally no one Logan recognizes. None of the karters whom Logan knows which is to say those who know he’s Deaf or how to treat him, are there, and all these new drivers are giving Logan quite a wide breath, barely stopping themselves from ogling whenever Logan signs.
I’m scared, Logan signs for the nth time to his interpreter Jason, who has been told this so many times, he’s now past the point of being helpful. Jason is great though. It’d taken the Sargeants a while to find a proper interpreter for Logan, due in the most part to the date that everyone here across the pond speaks BSL not ASL.
It’s a totally different language, Logan had complained to Ella Grace over FaceTime. They even spell the letters wrong - they use two hands!
Ella Grace thankfully was just as horrified about this revelation as Logan was.
What if it’s someone who’s deaf and an amputee? Ella Grace had signed, amusement glittering in her eyes. Awfully ableist i-n-n-i-t? Ella Grace hadn’t moved with them to the UK, choosing to stay back in the states and live with their grandparents due to being in her final year of high school. She’s had a ball however fingerspelling as many British expressions as one could learn.
Now years later, Logan’s learned a significant amount of BSL but Ella Grace still finds it more fun to fingerspell it all and make him struggle.
Like a true sibling, or so she claims.
“Go and make more friends,” Jason encourages, trying to pry the fourteen-year-old off his side to no avail. “You’ve got wasabi and sriracha in anyways, you don’t need to rely on writing.” Wasabi and sriracha the names of Logan’s hearing aids - he’d named them that when he was seven.
(“They’re small but powerful!” He’d told Dalton excitedly, pouting and kicking him when Dalton had laughed so hard his nose had started running.)
Logan’s raced in the WSK Super Master Series several times - he knows the circuits and the structure of the heats, but it doesn’t help. What would help would be having someone he knows in his heat, but apparently life doesn’t like him.
He ends up wandering around, eventually taking refugee in one of quiet places between rvs. Desperate to do something, Logan decides he needs to switch out his hearing aids for his racing ones - Frank and Chili. Once he'd decided to name his hearing aids after spicy things, he couldn’t not name his new, waterproof, sturdier hearing aids something different and normal.
He’s digging eye wax out from the microphone when a shadow falls over. When he looks up, he sees a boy around his age. He’s got close cut brown hair and deep brown eyes and is a karter which Logan deduces based on the fact he's wearing karting gear, which is to say this boy is automatically very handsome by Logan’s standards. He’s also speaking.
“ajksdfnghsladj…you…dghlashga…help?” Logan peers up at him and awkwardly waves his hearing aid. The boy’s eyes widen and he nods, taking a step back respectfully but to Logan’s pleasant surprise, he doesn’t leave. As Logan puts in his racing aids, he notes that the boy’s last name is Piastri. It’s not a name he knows, meaning he didn’t race in Adria or Castelletto.
“Sorry,” An apologetic Australian accent greets Logan’s ears as he looks back up at the boy. “I was just trying to escape the crowd.”
“It’s okay,” Logan says quickly, brushing himself up. Before he can stand though, ‘Piastri’ squats then sits next to him. He’s around the same height as Logan. “I’m Logan by the way,” Logan quickly adds when it becomes clear that the boy’s not leaving.
“I’m Oscar,” Oscar says. “I’m from Australia. I can’t tell if you can...hear that.” Oscar looks horrifically embarrassed and Logan can’t stop a stream of giggles from escaping.
“Nah, once I have these puppies in,” Logan shakes his head to show them off quickly. He’s chosen cool neon colors - they match his helmet. “I can hear basically everything. Though, if need be,” Logan signs and speaks. “I can sign which is cool.” Oscar looks mesmerized.
“So, you’re…deaf deaf?” Oscar asks. “I initially thought you were shy, like me. That’s why I came over; my mom always said if I didn't want to talk, I should sit with other shy people because they'd never force me to talk so we could sit in silence.” Logan snorts.
“No, I like talking. I just don’t like my voice and it gets really tiring to have to speak after a race so I often don’t.” Oscar nods in understanding.
“Makes sense." They sit in moderate comfort for a bit, before Oscar of all people decides to break it.
"Hey do you know any like basic signs you could teach me? While I’m here?” Logan is immediately about to nod, then pauses. 'While I’m here' seems to imply Oscar wants it for England, which would be BSL, not ASL. He says that to him, but Oscar just shrugs.
“I don’t care mate, I just want to learn something. It’ll make it easier for you too, right?” Logan smiles.
“Yeah, well, what do you want to know?” Logan asks. Oscar blinks, clearly not having through this part through.
“Uhh,” He says. “What about, what’s your name?” Logan perks up - a nice easy sign to teach.
“Alright, so this has three parts: what, you, and name.” Logan starts. “You is easy; you just point but with a flat hand.” He extends a flat hand at Oscar to show.
“You.” He says and signs. Oscar nods, then repeats the action.
“You.”
“Yep, some people do it with a point, but I’ve seen the palm more commonly. At least in the South, because pointing’s rude.” Oscar giggles and Logan’s smile grows. “Anyway, so next is name which is just…” Logan puts his index and ring fingers together on both hands and taps them together.
“Name. It’s like you’re building something.” Oscar shifts closer, looking more closely.
“Name.” Oscar replicates, tone a little questioning.
“Yep!” Logan reassures him. “The next part is even easier, you just,” Logan throws his hands out. “Hold your hands kinda like a shrug, it’s really simple. Some people shake, but in this expression it’s not needed. And make sure you look questioning! Like confused - you’re asking a question.”
“What.” Oscar says, face screwed up.
“Now put it all together.” Logan encourages. “You, name, what,” He signs each word as he spokes. “…but it means what’s your name?” Oscar gulps then nods.
“You…name…what;” Oscar repeats, before brushing off his hands on his racing gear. “So.” what’s your name? “Is that right?” Logan nods enthusiastically before they hear an announcement over the loudspeaker. Logan notes how they both get up - they’re both in the Pre A Final heat it seems.
“I’ll see you after this?” Oscar says, with a hopeful little smile. Logan repays it. He could never turn down a pretty boy anyways.
"See you!”
Logan makes it through the heat, but Oscar doesn’t. Nevertheless, they exchange contact information all the same. Logan leaves happy, a certain Aussie number in his phone. When he runs into Oscar again at Sarno later in the year, Oscar greets him by asking for his name then signing it’s good to see him.
Logan didn’t teach him that; rather, Oscar learned it for him.
Logan finishes p2 in the race and in the series - his personal best. He then gets even better news when he finds out Oscar’s going to be one of his teammates next year at RFM.
See you later! Oscar signs to him as he’s leaving and exuberant, Logan signs him back, not realizing he's signing to his future boyfriend.
— — —- —-
Alex - friend
Logan knew everyone at Williams knew that he was deaf and used ASL, but it was still a surprise when Alex, at their first meeting, greets him with the official ASL hello, a sign so formal and proper that Logan hadn’t learned until he was twelve.
“Hey mate,” Logan greets him back, smile beaming on his face. “Look at you, signing.” Alex grinned slightly.
“I did some studying before you got here,” He confesses, something akin to embarrassed pride in his tone. “I wanted to make sure you’re comfortable.” A pit, one deep lodged and permanent in Logan’s stomach, dislodges slightly; he’s far too considerate, Alex is.
Alex did indeed know basic signs: yes, no, thank you, good, sorry, and what’s your name? to Logan’s delight. He sometimes uses the wrong hand, or has the wrong location like signing yes at his hip, or struggles with expressions but it’s so nice simply to have someone to sign to that Logan often forgets to correct him.
He also taught Alex how to sign his name, properly. He’d been signing it a-l-b-x.
He is really nice, Logan signs to Dalton over FaceTime. They’d gotten in the habit of doing that, using both languages and switching at seemingly random places in order to accommodate both of them all the time. Sometimes Logan doesn’t want to talk and Dalton doesn’t want to sign - such is reality with one deaf, one hard of hearing, and one hearing sibling. If I’m still on the team next year, I may give him a sign name with that, that or white teeth they’re practically blinding.
“Not using animal in there?” Dalton says with a laugh. He’s digging into a burger with his hands so he’s not signing, but that’s fine with Logan for now. “I looked him up, he’s got what like thirteen pets?”
Twelve. I think. Logan communicates back. “And nah, he has all those pets but they’re not what I think of when I think of him.” He hears a door open and close but doesn’t bother checking. 99% of the time it’s Jason, Logan’s permanent interpreter, so he doesn’t look up to verify.
“But you’re like,” good? Dalton asks, before switching to sign mid sentence when he takes a bite. Grammatically, ASL does not hold up well to switches like that, but Logan’s grown up with Dalton and his mix of the languages. He can’t be bothered.
Yeah, Logan signs. Alex and I are friends. He moves to grab his bag and check the schedule, and like Dalton switches to speaking. “At least, I’d say we are. Don’t know what Alex would say,”
The door slams again, and Logan goes to look but he turns too late to catch anything. He grabs the schedule, then swears upon seeing that he was supposed to be in a logistics meeting five minutes ago.
“Shit, Dalton, I’ve got to go. I’m late.”
Dalton laughs at him, and Logan flips him off before hanging up. The middle finger isn’t ASL, but when it comes to cursing someone out, it arguably does the job better.
The meeting is a quick thing, barely five minutes long, just a debrief on the logistics of traveling from Bahrain to Saudi Arabia. Logan frankly is dozing off the whole meeting, so he doesn’t catch the numerous glances Alex throws his way.
It’s no surprise then, that Logan is blind-sided when Alex follows him back to his driver’s room, then proceeds to standing in the doorway like a guilty child.
”Alex?” Logan asks. “All good?”
“Logan,” Alex says hesitantly. “I, urgh this is hard.” He cuts himself off and Logan stares at him in confusion. Had something happened to the car? Had he failed some kind of first year F1 driver test?
“I accidentally eavesdropped on you before the meeting.” Alex rushes out, hands twisted together in fret. “James sent me to get you and I accidentally overheard, well over-saw,” Logan loves it when hearing people attempt to modify their language in ways that are completely un-needed. “you signing to Dalton.”
“Oh, that was you?” Logan says, trying to figure out what on earth Alex is so embarrassed about. That’s hardly an invasion of privacy.
“Yeah, that was me.” Alex confirms. “But the question I had was…you did some kind of,” Alex links his middle fingers together, twists. “Sign to describe our relationship. I don’t! I don’t need to translation or anything I just wanted to make sure we’re good?”
Logan blinks. Then blinks again, trying to process what Alex just said.
You mean this?” Logan asks, curving his index fingers and twisting them around each other twice, once with his right hand on top then his left. The sign for friend. Alex nods, looking incredibly guilty.
“Alex, this…” Logan demonstrates it again, and Alex makes a clumsy attempt to follow. …is the sign for friend. I was just saying we are friends.” Logan says with a smile, which then falters. “Unless, you would rather be known as my teamma—”
“—No! No, uh, friend…” Alex tries to sign it, and abandons halfway, finger spelling it. “…is perfect. That’s how I was describing you, in my head, I just didn’t want to overstep.” Logan’s heart swells.
“You’re weren’t overstepping at all!” He replies, then pauses. “Want to learn the sign for friend?” He’s starting signing to Alex more and more, forcing him to learn more vocabulary - so far Alex has picked up understand, again, learn, forget, and want.
Alex makes a fist, wrapping his thumb around the front, then nods it twice as he nods his head. Yes.
”Great!” Logan says, before walking to stand next to him. Alex, Logan has realized, finds it easier to learn when he’s parallel with the signer instead of right in front. “This one is easier than some of the others you’ve learned.”
Good, Alex signs. Logan’s heart sings louder.
“Okay,” Logan says, settling into more of a teaching voice - confident and calm. Collected. “so take your index fingers and crook them slightly. Now just cross them, you’re making little links, little ‘x’s that wrap around each other.” Logan does it and watches Alex follow. Alex doesn’t have the best finger dexterity, but he tries. “And now do it on the other side. Friend.”
“Friend.” Alex repeats. Logan nods.
“You’ve got it.” He says. “See? Practically born signing.” Alex’s cheeks flush with pride.
“I’m pretty good as this!” Alex agrees.
“Not as good as me though.” Logan argues, laughing when Alex kicks him gently in the knees.
“Of course I’m not as good as you, you’re literally Deaf.”
“Well then you’re not as good as Oscar,” Logan amends and he gets a stronger kick in the legs.
“I’m not DATING YOU—”
— — —- —-
Max - Can you help me?
Logan is such a dumbass.
He's stranded without his hearing aids or his phone—and he's got only himself to blame.
When his hearing aids had died, it shouldn't have been an issue. Typically, Logan keeps at least four or five packets of lithium batteries on him for wasabi and sriracha. Life was against him though because he'd just come from the airport and stupid airports always make Logan put his batteries in a special container so he doesn’t have his extras. Not only that, but the weather is not his friend - it's raining, but the kind of soaking rain that leaves white fabric sheer in seconds. Wasabi and sriracha are both water-resistant, but not water-proof as his doctors always said, okay in sprinkles of rain, but not in the shower.
And all of those things shouldn't have been an issue if Logan knew where he was going or had his phone charged. But he didn't have his phone charged and the rain had caught him by surprise, changing the world from earth to just sheets of gray rain before he could blink.
So there Logan is, in Zandwoort, soaked from head to toe in rain so thick Logan can barely see in front of him, with a dead phone, dead hearings aids, and no idea where the William's garage is.
He’s having a lovely time, if one couldn’t guess.
One of the things they don’t tell you about hearing loss is it can affect your balance (something about how the brain processes balance or something, Logan wasn’t paying attention when the doctor was talking about it) so it’s not just that Logan can’t hear, but he’s also jet lagged from taking a small trip home and wobbling like a newborn deer.
Okay Logan, he thinks to himself. One foot in front of the other. You’ll run into a building or a person, and either way, we can figure out something from then.
He stumbles, then suddenly enters a pocket of air by slamming straight into a body.
His balance betrays him, and he hits the ground hard. Wincing, he looks up and pauses when he sees who is above him.
“Logan?” Max Verstappen asks before more words come out of his mouth that Logan can’t for the life of him decode. People always talk about the power of lip reading until they’re actually Deaf and realize it's not fucking magic that allows you to understand just as well as any hearing person.
Max Verstappen is quite literally the worst person for Logan to ruin in to in these settings, as sad as it is. Max tends to have a very deadpan expressions, Logan’s certain Max doesn’t know Logan’s Deaf, and they’re like very rarely talked in the first place so he has no idea how this interaction is going to go.
He runs his finger from his ear to his jaw, a quick shift movement. Deaf, Deaf, I'm deaf. Max looks at him, with an expression Logan thinks has to be confusion. Dutch confusion looks very different from American confusion, Logan privately bemoans.
Max is still trying to talk to him, and every attempt Logan is making to show he can't hear - waving his hand by his ear, making an x with his hands, even fingerspelling (typically people find it mesmerizing, staring at his hands and stopping their mouths) - are fruitless until Logan finally mimes calling on a cellphone.
"Ah," Logan thinks Max says, and then there's a phone in Logan's hands. He goes immediately to the notifications app - as odd as it is, it's one of the least obtrusive ways to do it as people usually freak out if you give your phone to someone and they open the notes app or messages.
hi max im deaf can you help me get bakc to mclaren or willliams plz its hard to see in the rain, Logan quickly types before turning the screen around and showing Max. Max reads it, looks at Logan, reads it again as if not comprehending, then nods in an overly exaggerated fashion that makes Logan want to cry in mild humiliation. Max meanwhile takes Logan by the arm, checking with a thumbs up, before basically dragging him over.
Logan has no idea where on earth he's going until he sees Papaya Orange and a furious boyfriend charging towards him.
LOGAN, Oscar signs, hands moving furiously as he practically runs through the rain. You dumbass! He slams his fist into his other palm, not his head and Logan winces. Jesus, he's really mad if he's taking the shortcuts. What have I told you about going anywhere without your phone? Jason and Williams have been calling me like crazy, accusing me of stealing you anyway or something.
Sorry! Logan replies, fingerspelling it to drag out the y, to emphasize just how sorry he is. My hearing aids died and I got lost, baby, you can’t blame me. Oscar rolls his eyes and Logan pouts at him. Max helped me.
Oscar turns to Max, then starts talking, thankfully signing along so Logan can keep up.
"Thank you Max. Could you help me get him back to Williams?” Max nods, and then without any more conversation, Oscar grabs Logan by the scruff of his jacket and begins pulling him towards Williams.
I forget to change the batteries after the airport, Logan signs as Oscar drags him, walking backwards in his haste. Max is awkwardly trailing behind them, watching their hands intently like the words will decode themselves. Oscar sighs, drops his jacket.
This is why you fly with me, baby. What if it had been some asshole who had found you? Oscar signs, before running a hand through his already soaked hair. “Sorry Max,” Oscar says, turning to Max, “You can go, we’re almost there.” He roughly signs after he talks, keeping Logan in the loop.
Max shakes his head, says something Logan can’t bother to try and translate, and keeps following them.
Eventually, all three soaked individuals reach the Williams paddock, which somehow already has towels ready. Jason's standing there, hips on his hips and smirk in his smile.
You're an idiot. Jason signs and Logan does the incredibly mature move of sticking out his tongue at him. He can feel Oscar laughing at him, his chest shaking as he settles at Logan's side. Jaosn then turns to Max.
"My name is Jason. I'm Logan's interpreter." Jason says then signs. Max nods as Jason passes Logan his phone, live transcribing already on. God bless him. Oscar looks remarkably put out at the reminder he hadn’t thought of that and Logan feels a laugh shoot through himself. Only Oscar would be bothered by that.
"It's no problem," Max says and Logan reads. "I did not know Logan is deaf." Jason quickly turns to Logan.
Are you okay with me talking or do you want me to keep signing to you? He asks quickly and Logan shrugs.
You can use english. Logan replies. Can I get a pack of batteries for wasabi and sriracha? Before Jason can say anything, Oscar nods and disappears into the garage. Jason keeps talking to Max.
"Sorry, just making sure Logan is aware I'm speaking. Yes, Logan is hard of hearing. He uses hearing aids, but the batteries died, he just told me." Max nods, understanding.
"Huh, interesting." Oscar taps Logan on the arm, signs towel and batteries to him, so Logan nods and after signing bye to Jason and Max, follows her deeper into the Williams garage, already leaving the conversation behind and trying to get back into a positive non-soaked mindset.
— — —- —-
Max doesn't share Logan's ideas. He ends up reappearing at Williams a couple of hours later after FP 1, talking with the mechanics and shockingly comfortable until Logan emerges from his driver's room.
"Logan." Max states. "Can I talk to you somewhere more private." It's not a question. They end up going back into Logan's driver room, and the second Logan shuts the door, Max faces him and instantly starts talking.
"I didn't like that I didn't have a way to communicate with you when you couldn't hear. There are big safety concerns there. Is there a sign or something I can do to check in on you?" Max asks, eyes boring into him. Logan's heart leaps.
"Yeah mate, there’s. There's several actually," Logan says, mind running through his catalogue of signs that are easy to teach, can't be misinterpreted as something vulgar (see: gasoline) and easy for Logan to understand when they're signed by a clumsy signer. He eventually settles on the most obvious one.
"Take your dominant hand and make a thumbs up, now place it on your other hand's palm - palm up, towards the sky." Logan instructs, watching as Max does so. He spends too long making sure his fist is centered to Logan’s amusement.
“Like this?” Max asks, looking between Logan’s hand and his own like a hawk. Logan laughs slightly - Max never did dial down the intensity but it’s nice, seeing how much he cares about getting this right.
“Yeah that’s the starting position,” Logan says. “Now lift,” he lifts his flat hand, pushing his thumb up with it. Max follow, lifting it a little too high, from his stomach to his neck as opposed to the bottom of his shoulders, but Logan will correct that later.
“Great, now keep that structure, lift, then go towards me.” Logan says. “Moving towards a person can often signify you. So like what we’re spelling right now is help, then you, which in English would roughly translate to can I help you, or do you need help.” Logan watches as Max move his hands up and out in a neat right angle. He looks to Logan for approval.
“Close,” Logan offers. “Treat it a little like…” Logan pauses, looking for the right words. “…racing a corner. To maximize speed, you’d take it at a curved angle not straight up and out.” Max nods, then does it again.
“Perfect!” Logan says. “Now the last thing to change is facial expressions.” He laughs again at the slight panic in Max’s eyes, the stone cold Dutchman never being someone anyone would call overly expressive.
“It’s not that bad,” Logan offers. “Think about tones in English. You can read, versus you can read?!” He pitches his voice almost dramatically high to show it off. “All you need to do is look, questioning, concerned. Eyebrows up, mouth set not smiling, unless you’re mocking me.”
“Okay,” Max replies, before trying again. He’s got the movement down, though he looks slightly constipated over considerate and questioning. Realistically though, that’s all Logan will be able to get out of him, Logan knows.
“Do you need help?” Logan says as he signs. “Your turn.”
“Do you need…help?” Max repeats, watching his hands as he’s doing it. If this were an actual lesson, Logan would tell Max to look at him, but as with the location of help, these things often sort themselves out over time.
"Yep! And that's that." Logan says, and Max nods, signing it to himself over and over as if to commit it into muscle memory.
"Thank you for teaching me." Max says, before he checks his watch. "I have to go now. Have a good free practice, yeah?"
And with that, Max walks right back out into the rain like it's not raining and he's just on his way to a stroll.
What a strange man, Oscar signs at Logan's shoulder and Logan can only nod in agreement.
— — —- —-
Charles- I am proud of you
The inaugural Las Vegas Grand Prix was a success, Logan declares. He’d made it into q3 (the third lap of qualifying!! And he’d even been p7, not p10!) and though he was finished the race in p16, it was due to a race error and nothing that he had done.
Despite the result, it was one of the better races Logan’s ever raced and for that, he will be proud, pretending that the fireworks exploding for Max are actually for him.
He’s finally been released by Williams - truthfully there wasn’t much to say - and was signing final autographs for fans when out of the corner of his eyes, he sees hands moving, or rather signing.
L-o-g-a-n! Congratulations! You raced well tonight! A fan wearing Zhou’s merch over a massive puffer signs at him, and Logan can feel his heart lift. It’s been months since Logan has had someone else to sign with outside of Jason and Oscar.
Thank you! Logan signs back happily. Did you enjoy the race? Too cold? Logan can feel his fingers becoming tacky and blue in the cold, and for a vast majority of the evening, he’d been in the heated indoors or in the cockpit of a boiling racecar.
It was good! Z-h-o-u and you did well which is all I want. They sign back. Just then Logan feels a hand clap down on his shoulder. Logan, expecting Jason or Alex or Oscar spins on his heels to see
C-h-a-r-l-e-s! Good race! Logan signs, upon seeing the man in red and hearing the frantic cheers of the tifosi. I am proud of you. That overtake was crazy.
There’s quite a pause where Logan waits for an answer and Charles continues to stand politely, hand outreached for his denied handshake, face set in dazed tired confusion.
“Oh, sorry.” Logan (verbally) says, shaking his hands. “I was…yeah.” He claps Charles in that handshake, hands feeling electric, wanting to move, jittery in the grasp. Charles’s hands are calloused, almost shaking in exhaustion but still strong to the veins.
“I will see you later.” Charles says and despite the fact Logan has absolutely no plans with Charles later, he nods. Charles then disappears, and with a shrug of confusion—Logan has genuinely exchanged maybe five words with Charles over the course of his life; why Charles sought him out, Logan has no idea—Logan gets back to signing autographs, slightly beaming at the amount of people who actually want his autograph.
It’s always a bit of an ego boost and a relief, racing in the Americas and seeing that he actually does have fans.
— — —- —-
Oscar and Logan go out that evening, celebrating Oscar’s one point or perhaps just to party—Oscar’s been insistent on the idea of celebrating to celebrate. Halfway through the night, Logan lets himself take out his hearing aids, just feeling the music through the speakers and the floors. Oscar drags into back to the hotel and as they lie there together, a sweaty aching tangle of limbs, Logan truly feels content.
Hours later, Logan and Oscar are beginning to slowly wake, too asleep still to feel the hell of a hangover coming their way, when Oscar sits up suddenly, dislodging an arm, leg, and some of Logan’s torso from his chest.
What is it, Logan signs groggily, pushing himself up too and fumbling for his hearing aids as Oscar gets up and heads to the door. He’s probably mumbling something — it’s a bad trait or so Oscar says, that he talks to himself a lot. Logan gets it though as Dalton does the same thing; when you’re suddenly by people who can’t help and don’t speak, it’s often nice to speak to yourself. Even Logan’s done it time to time.
Logan’s stumbling around the hotel (he’d tried to turn on his hearing aids and realized he needs to change the batteries) when the lights flicker and a robe hits him over the head.
Someone’s here for you, Oscar signs quickly. He’s got on pants and no shirt, but he’s managed to cover himself in half a towel, a clear sign something’s off. Whenever Oscar’s hungover, he likes to wear as few clothes as possible unless there’s additional company. He can also tell Oscar’s stressed, though he’s trying to stay calm. The sign for ‘here’ is small relaxed circles, but Oscar’s hands move with intensity, the supposed relax curve more like a rigid well in his hands.
Logan shrugs on the robe, and switches the batteries quickly, wincing when he inserts the microphone into his ear and hundreds of small white noises re-enter his life: the hum of the AC with its metal gate clanking, the whispers of the curtains against the wall, the muted shuffle of the carpet, the gentle cracking of ice in their ice bucket.
He stumbles over to the door and then pauses.
There’s a man standing there, dressed primly in a red button down and black slacks. He’s got a pitiful amount of hair and Logan feels even more underdressed than ever. Oscar reappears at his side, hair brushed down, Logan’s shirt from last night on, and eyes sharp as an eagle.
Logan’s definitely missing something here.
“Hey?” Logan greets him and the man in red just nods politely. Outside of the bleeriness, Logan’s more than a bit bemused. When Charles had said they would meet up later, Logan had, with all his soul, just thought Charles was keeping up appearances for fans, something or another. What he hadn’t expected was for Ferrari (because Logan knows that shade of red, trust him does he know that shade) to show up to plan an actual meeting or something at 7:30 in the morning.
“Mr. Sargeant,” the man says, except he's got a thick Italian accent so it's more like soar-ge-ant. How on earth Sargeant became three syllables is beyond Logan, especially a tired, hungover Logan. "You are invited to a lunch with Mr. Leclerc in five hours at the Sinatra. Please be there, and dressed appropriately." He looks Logan up and down with literal disgust in his eyes and Logan would shrink back if he were not out of his mind. He then turns on his heel and scuttles down the carpeted corridor.
"What an ass," Oscar mutters into Logan's shoulder. "What did you do?"
Logan has no idea.
— — —- —-
Despite Charles Leclerc being Charles Leclerc, Charles looks no better than Logan in front of the cameras today so at least that’s a relief. Ferrari had, somehow, managed to rent out the private room in Sinatra with less than a days notice. Logan's wearing his best pair of pants and Oscar's nicest shirt and yet still feels underdressed compared to Charles, whose dressed in a white tee and navy jeans.
There's an obscene amount of food on the table that Charles hasn't taken a bite off but Logan certainly will. He's only able to wave at Charles before some's Ferrari top press people pull him aside to brief him on what's happening.
"So, Mister Sargeant." The woman, Silvia Logan thinks her name is, says with a smile. "You and Charles have gone viral for your signing." There's a tablet presented to him, where a shaky video is playing. It starts with Logan signing to the fan before Charles awkwardly appears behind him. Logan watches himself turn, sign to Charles, talk to him, then turn back to the fan. It's mortifying watching himself especially in front of Silvia while Charles is sitting waiting for him.
"So you want me to...?" Logan asks, confusion in his eyes. His hangover is killing him.
"Teach Charles what you signed and how you signed it." Silvia says, taking back the tablet and moving onto god knows what. "Cultural exchange, the American way." Logan thinks it's slightly ridiculous how much people think he'll break his back to do anything someone labels as American but then again, he's not going to leave now. The food's too good and there's too much of it so Logan can bring some back for Oscar. Oscar, who had immediately gone back to bed the second the man had left, snuggling himself up and laughing as Logan had had to dig through their bags to find something that he felt was Ferrari-adequate.
"Alright then," Logan says. "Let's get started."
He sits in one of the incredibly comfortable chairs and smiles as much as he's able at Charles, who mouths something at him, probably something about being sorry.
"So Logan, start when you're ready." Logan still isn't entirely sure what he needs to do but he treats it like a normal time teaching ASL. It should work, as long as he ignores all the cameras and lights and media teams. There's literally no one wearing Williams blue. Logan wonders with the little time he has if Williams even got briefed that Ferrari was doing this.
"Alright, so I signed a few things to you but we'll do the first bit first." Logan says, settling into his teaching mood. "The first bit I signed to you was basically I'm proud of you, which starts with you pointing to yourself, then you make a thumbs up, then tilt it like ninety degrees, and run that from just under the belly button to around your heart." He quickly signs it, and Charles copies it.
"Yeah just like that!" Logan says. "It's kinda like you're zipping a jacket with your thumb. Then, you just point to the person you're talking to so." He signs it again.
"I'm proud of you." Logan says and signs and Charles nods before copying.
"I'm proud of you." Charles repeats, pointing to Logan. Charles has quite literally no reason to be proud of him but thanks, Logan thinks. He'll take the praise.
"Cut!" A director yells. "Already that's great. Let's run that again." It just then hits Logan exactly what he signed up for.
— — —- —-
Three hours later, Logan gets unceremoniously dropped back off at his hotel to the site of Oscar still bundled up, a room service platter politely set to the side.
How was it?, Oscar signs and Logan shakes his head, pulling out his hearing aids and chucking the extra food in the fridge before cuddling back up to Oscar.
Let's just say I'm so fucking glad I don't drive for Ferrari if that's the PR that comes with it. Logan signs. Oscar laughs, then pauses.
I'm sorry. He signs and Logan's brown furrows.
Sorry for what? Logan asks and Oscar sighs, shifts so he's sitting up straighter.
Sorry for the way they treat you like a zoo animal. Oscar elaborates. The way they want you to sign when you speak despite it being two different languages with different grammatical structures. The way no one bothered learning for you.
Logan snaps in front of Oscar's eyes to bring the attention back to him. I don't mind. He offers. I like teaching ASL.
Oscar runs a hand through his hair. I know you do. I just...I wish the world didn't always force you to be the teacher.
And to that Logan has no response, outside of spooning Oscar tighter.