Chapter Text
The thing about having a three-year-old no one knew about—aside from your closest circle—was that Max had to be careful. Very careful.
It wasn’t like he didn’t trust the world with Brandon. He just didn’t trust the world for Brandon.
The kid deserved more than flashing cameras and tabloids wondering if Max Verstappen had finally “settled down.” He wasn’t a scandal, wasn’t an accident. He was just a wrinkly, wide-eyed surprise dropped on Max’s doorstep on a rainy Tuesday with a note that said “He’s yours. I can’t do this.”
Max hadn’t blinked. Not once.
Now, Brandon was three and sharp like a knife—clever, stubborn, with his father’s frown and his own kind of sunshine tucked behind baby curls and blue eyes. He was the reason Max woke up smiling and passed out exhausted every single day.
But Max's sister—his rock through the early months of diapers and midnight crying—was expecting her second baby now, and her hands were full. She’d offered to keep helping, eyes full of guilt, but Max had shaken his head and told her gently, “I’ve got it.”
He didn’t, though. Not entirely.
So, now, he was pacing around his Monaco apartment, floor spotless, toys half-hidden behind the couch, and Brandon currently napping with a stuffed lion tucked under his chin. And Max? He was waiting.
Because Lando—fucking Lando—had said, “I’ve got a friend who’s good with kids. You know him, actually. He’s in town. I’ll send him your way.”
Max hadn’t asked questions. He should’ve.
Because now it was nearly four o'clock, and the doorbell rang, and Max wasn’t prepared for the way his stomach dropped.
He opened the door.
And standing there in faded jeans, sunglasses in his curls, a grin that hadn’t aged a day since the last time they’d shared a garage, was Daniel fucking Ricciardo.
“Hey, Maxi,” Daniel said, bright as ever. “Heard you’re looking for a babysitter.”
…..
Daniel – A few hours earlier
He hadn’t expected much from his Tuesday. The weather in Monaco was too hot, the espresso too bitter, and the silence in his apartment? Way too loud.
Retirement—or whatever this limbo phase was—had its perks, sure. He didn’t miss the interviews, the pressure, the back-to-back flights. But the buzz, the people, him—yeah, he missed that.
So when his phone rang and Lando’s name popped up, Daniel answered without thinking twice.
“Please tell me you’re calling to say we’re getting matching tattoos.”
Lando snorted. “Better. I’ve got a job for you.”
Daniel blinked. “What, like... a real one? Because I’ve gotta tell you, mate, my résumé’s mostly just me being hot and yelling at engineers.”
“Babysitting.”
That got a pause.
“You want me to babysit you?”
Lando groaned. “Not me, you idiot. Max.”
Daniel sat up straighter. “Max?”
“Yeah. He needs someone to watch his kid. Don’t ask too many questions. Just—he trusts me, I trust you, and you’ve been doing literally nothing lately, so…”
Daniel leaned back into his couch, suddenly very, very awake.
Max had a kid?
“I—wait, what? Since when does Max have a kid?”
Lando hesitated just long enough for Daniel to know he wasn’t getting the full story. “It’s… complicated. Just go, yeah? I told him I’d send someone and he said he’s cool with it.”
Daniel twirled his keys in his hand, staring at the ceiling.
Max had a kid. And Lando thought he of all people should watch him.
Part of him wanted to laugh. Another part—deeper, quieter, older—felt something clench in his chest. It had been a while since he’d seen Max. Too long.
“…Alright,” Daniel said softly. “Send me the address.”
Because maybe this wasn’t just about babysitting. Maybe it was about seeing an old friend.
One he’d never really stopped missing.
…
Max’s apartment hadn’t changed much. Sleek, minimal, expensive taste. Same cold grey walls, same view of the harbor. But there were little things now—tiny shoes by the door, a toy firetruck half-tucked under the coffee table, a sippy cup forgotten on the kitchen counter.
And standing dead center in all that soft domestic chaos?
Max Verstappen.
Arms crossed. Eyebrows doing that thing. Glare sharp enough to cut granite.
Daniel smiled anyway, because that’s what he did.
“Hey, Maxi.”
Max didn’t blink. “What are you doing here?”
Daniel raised both hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I come in peace. Lando sent me.”
“For what?” Max deadpanned.
“Uh…” Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “The babysitter interview?”
Max looked him up and down like he was inspecting a car crash in real time.
“You steal candy from children.”
Daniel gasped. “Once! And that kid was being a little gremlin—he bit me first!”
“You’re proud of that story.”
“I’m just saying, it built character—for both of us.”
Max didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just stared at him like Daniel was some kind of poorly wrapped Amazon package he didn’t remember ordering.
“I need someone responsible,” Max said flatly.
“And I’ve kept myself alive for thirty-four years. That counts for something.”
“You once tripped over your own shoelaces and fell into a pool.”
“I was testing gravity!”
Max's mouth twitched. Barely. A flicker of something dangerously close to amusement.
Daniel pointed at him. “There. That’s the beginning of a smile. Admit it, you missed me.”
Max turned around. “I’m going to check if Brandon’s still asleep.”
Daniel grinned as Max walked away, muttering something in Dutch under his breath.
“Admit it, Verstappen!” Daniel called after him. “I’m the best candidate you’ve got!”
“You’re the only candidate I’ve got,” Max muttered from the hallway.
Daniel just plopped onto the couch, pleased as hell.
This was going to be fun.
.......