Chapter Text
The paddock at Monza was buzzing, but not with celebration. Not for Ferrari. Charles Leclerc had dragged his scarlet car across the line in a miserable P18, a cruel punishment after a weekend where nothing seemed to go right. Strategy calls went sideways, pit stops felt endless, and the tifosi’s groans still rang in his ears.
The Ferrari garage was tense. Engineers avoided eye contact, strategists buried themselves in laptops. Carlos Sainz tried to cheer things up, clapping Charles on the back with a sympathetic grin.
“Hey, hermano… bad days happen. Tomorrow we fight again, eh?”
Charles didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, his eyes sharp with that haunted look he got when Ferrari failed him again. Without a word, he slipped past everyone and marched straight to his driver’s room.
---
Two hours later, Lewis Hamilton, dressed casually in Ferrari red, was wandering the hospitality area, glancing around.
“Has anyone seen Charles?” he asked a mechanic. “Haven’t heard from him since the race.”
The mechanic shrugged. “He went to his room. Hasn’t come out.”
Lewis frowned. Charles usually reappeared after sulking—either with Carlos dragging him out for dinner, or George Russell poking fun until Charles cracked a smile. But now? Silence.
Something felt wrong.
He walked to the driver’s room and knocked. “Charles? It’s Lewis. You in there?”
No answer.
Lewis knocked again, then cautiously pushed the door open.
---
What he saw made him freeze.
There, sitting on the carpet, surrounded by a pile of discarded Ferrari overalls far too big for him… was a baby.
Not just any baby. A tiny, one-year-old child with messy brown hair, big green eyes, and an unmistakable scowl.
Lewis blinked. “Oh, hell no…”
The baby blinked back. Then—hilariously—tried to fold its arms like Charles usually did when sulking, but only succeeded in toppling over onto the carpet.
Lewis rubbed his temples. “Okay. Okay. Either I’ve lost my damn mind, or Charles Leclerc just turned into a toddler.”
---
The baby squealed in protest, kicking at the giant Ferrari overalls. Lewis picked him up, awkwardly holding him at arm’s length.
“Mate, what the—? Charles, is that you?”
The baby responded by grabbing Lewis’ chain necklace and tugging on it with surprising strength.
“Yup. Definitely Charles.”
---
News spread fast. Within minutes, the Ferrari driver’s room was packed with half the grid.
Carlos arrived first, wide-eyed. “No. No, no, no, this can’t be real.” He looked at Lewis holding the squirming baby. “What did you do to him?”
Lewis glared. “Why does everyone assume this is my fault?”
Next came George Russell, filming everything on his phone. “Oh my god, this is the best day of my life. Baby Charles! Look at him!”
“George, stop filming him!” Lewis barked.
“Too late, mate. This is going viral.”
---
Soon, drivers from all teams crowded in. Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri nearly fell over laughing. Pierre Gasly dramatically declared, “Mon dieu, he is even cuter as a baby!” while Esteban Ocon rolled his eyes.
Ollie Bearman and Kimi Antonelli stood in the back, whispering nervously. “Are we supposed to… babysit him now?” Ollie asked.
“I think so,” Kimi muttered, pale.
“Why is this happening?” Yuki Tsunoda asked, staring at Baby Charles like he might explode at any second.
Lewis sighed. “I don’t know. But one thing’s for sure—we can’t exactly… leave him like this.”
---
Then, the chaos really began.
Baby Charles, seemingly determined to assert dominance, wriggled free from Lewis’ arms, crawled across the floor, and made a beeline straight for—of all people—Max Verstappen, who had just arrived with his Red Bull cap still on.
The room went silent.
Max froze as Baby Charles tugged at his leg, staring up at him with wide green eyes. Then, to everyone’s shock, Baby Charles let out the happiest squeal they’d heard all day—and raised his tiny arms, clearly demanding that Max pick him up.
The World Champion blinked. “Oh. Uh…”
George nearly dropped his phone from laughing. “No way. He likes you?”
Lewis muttered under his breath. “Of course he does. Bloody typical.”
---
Max, still looking baffled, carefully bent down and scooped up the baby. And just like that, Charles went from sulky gremlin to content angel, resting his head against Max’s chest and giggling.
“Unbelievable,” Carlos groaned. “I spend years as his teammate and he never looks this happy with me.”
Max raised an eyebrow. “Well… I guess he has good taste.”
The room erupted with laughter and groans.
---
Lewis pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, alright, let’s get serious. We need to figure out what happened here. Drivers don’t just—” he gestured at the baby—“turn into infants after a bad race.”
Pierre, half-serious, half-dramatic, said, “Maybe it is the curse of Ferrari strategy. It finally broke him.”
Yuki snorted. “Then half of us would’ve turned into babies already.”
---
Meanwhile, Baby Charles reached up and pulled at Max’s cap until it fell off. He clapped his hands, delighted.
Max just sighed, oddly patient. “Guess I’m stuck with him for now.”
“Wait,” Oscar interrupted. “Are you actually volunteering to babysit Charles Leclerc?”
Max shrugged, adjusting the baby in his arms like he’d done it before. “He seems to want me. Besides… how hard can it be?”
“Famous last words,” Lando muttered.
---
The room buzzed with speculation, laughter, and concern. But one thing was already clear:
Baby Charles adored Max Verstappen.
And Max Verstappen… didn’t seem to mind.
---
(To be continued...)