Van Amsterdam naar Spanje
Title: Van Amsterdam naar Spanje
Series: None (one-shot)
Rating: G
Characters: Max Verstappen, Carlos Sainz Jr.
Pairing: None
Disclaimer: Lies. Contains some truth, translated/transcribed from the interview mentioned. Mostly lies, though.
Word count: 1323
Notes: I actually wrote this last month, and have been too embarrassed to post it here, even though that makes no sense whatsoever.
Summary: Max is too young to drive a car and Carlos too young to rent one, but they've still got to get from Munich to Salzburg to be presented on television.
Link to AO3
( Fake cut because I know I hate the collapse/expand function... )
‘Here,’ Carlos said, when he got back to the car. He was still standing outside, holding out a parcel wrapped in a white plastic bag. Max took it from him and put it on the dashboard, unsure if he was being given a gift or if he was just supposed to hold it while Carlos got back in. ‘You guys do this, right?’ he continued, when he had climbed back behind the wheel, looking at it lying there. It was probably a gift, then.
The box slid across the dashboard when Carlos pulled away, so Max picked it back up and put it in his lap. Then he changed his mind again and slipped it into the door’s storage compartment.
‘Who?’ he asked. ‘What?’
‘You know,’ Carlos said, as he steered back onto the highway, ‘the Dutch? Belgians? Both? I don’t know…, what’s the difference?’ He paused and grinned to himself, and Max heaved an inward sigh in anticipation. ‘Wait, which one are you again?’
‘Half-Dutch, half-Belgian,’ Max supplied automatically. It was a sticking point to a surprising number of people and the response had become ingrained. He knew Carlos didn’t mean it that way and was just poking fun, but it wasn’t as if it was a particularly original joke. And Carlos’ version was not actually any funnier just because it was at the expense of both countries.
‘Same difference,’ Carlos said, with a dismissive wave of his hand.
Max decided to let it go. Carlos probably didn’t actually have any opinions on the difference between Belgium and the Netherlands or the relative merits of Limburg. It was annoying, but not really worth getting worked up over. ‘And “this”?’
‘“This?”’ he repeated. Max wondered if he’d already forgotten the previous topic of conversation. (Whatever it was.) ‘Presents from Saint Nicholas,’ Carlos clarified.
‘Oh, Sinterklaas.’ He supposed he might have guessed, but he hadn’t thought Carlos would know anything about Sinterklaas. Max certainly didn’t know much about Spanish holidays. They probably did Christmas and New Year’s, but he didn’t think he deserved any points for knowing that.
‘Yeah, him.’
‘It’s not until later this week.’
‘What? No, you do this whole thing, right, from before the day?’
‘No, not the presents,’ Max explained. ‘Just stuff like candy and decoration.’ He picked up the gift again. ‘It’s supposed to have a poem, too,’ he continued, pretending to inspect it for one.
‘Really?’
‘Mm-hmm. And it should be a… a trick gift, I guess? It’s called a surprise.’
‘I just bought this at the gas station,’ Carlos pointed out.
‘You did ask,’ Max said with a shrug. ‘What is it, anyway, a chocolate driving license?’
‘Is that really a thing?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ he admitted.
Max took the box out of the bag, unsurprised to find that it was chocolates.
‘I read about chocolate letters,’ Carlos said, ‘but they don’t have those here, so.’
‘Oh,’ he said. He didn’t know why Carlos had been reading about Sinterklaas traditions, but it was a nice gesture. ‘Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome,’ Carlos said mock-graciously. ‘It was on sale.’
Max laughed, shaking his head. Of course he had to ruin it.
They were both silent for a while, driving on in companionable silence, until Carlos spoke again. ‘Hey, Max. You speak German, right?’
Max shrugged. His German was serviceable, and had already gotten him through a studio interview on Austrian television, but he still wasn’t especially comfortable in it. ‘I guess.’
‘But you did the whole thing in German last time.’
‘Yes?’
‘And this time?’
He’d been planning to. It was polite, and on top of that didn’t hurt image-wise to be seen trying to speak the local language. ‘Probably. Why?’
Carlos’ hands tightened on the steering wheel a moment. ‘I… don’t. I don’t know, I just don’t like being the only one there to speak English.’
Oh. Max thought he might get it now. ‘So do you want me to do it in English, as well?’
‘Maybe. Yes? If you don’t mind, that is.’
‘I don’t mind, it’s just…,’ he paused to get his thoughts in order. ‘I think it’s polite to do it if you can,’ he said. ‘And it went okay last time. But… I could, if you want.’
‘Oh.’ Carlos sounded surprised, he thought. ‘Thank you.’
‘Sure,’ Max said. ‘No problem.’
At the studio, they were approached by a woman on the production crew he remembered from August. She was the one who’d convinced him to try doing the interview in German, when he’d almost been too insecure to expose his German to all of watching Austria. ‘Hi,’ he said. He hoped it wasn’t too obvious he couldn’t actually remember her name.
‘Nina,’ she offered. ‘Max, I’ll get to you in second, okay?’ she told him in English, then introduced herself to Carlos.
He waited for his turn while a technician busied herself with his headset. ‘You’re the one that doesn’t need the translator, right?’ she asked, also in English.
‘No,’ he replied in German. ‘That’s him,’ he added, pointing at Carlos.
‘Good,’ she said. ‘I was hoping I had the right one.’
Carlos shrugged, which earned him a warning glare from his own technician, whose work he’d just dislodged from his neck. Max wasn’t sure if it was in response to him or to something Nina said, but he laughed anyway.
‘Sorry,’ Carlos muttered.
‘Sit still,’ his technician warned.
‘Sorry,’ Max echoed.
After she was done with Carlos, Nina turned back to him. Max explained that he’d agreed with Carlos to speak English this time, if that was alright, and bit back the ridiculous urge to ask if she was disappointed after encouraging him to speak German four months ago.
‘Okay,’ she said.
‘You don’t mind?’
‘No, that’s fine. I like your solidarity,’ she said, winking. Max felt slightly embarrassed, but he wasn’t sure why. ‘I’ll make sure they know.’
On cue, Max and Carlos marched into the studio. Max sat down on the nearest chair, only realizing afterwards, when Carlos had to maneuver between him and the table to get to the other chair, that he probably should have taken that one. He hoped no one noticed, but knew someone probably had. Oh, well. It was too late now.
‘Now,’ the presenter said, after their introductions. ‘I’ve been told you came here directly from Munich. Who was the driver?’ he asked, as if most of the world didn’t know by now Max didn’t have his driving license yet.
‘I was the driver,’ Carlos said, raising his hand.
A little behind, Max mumbled, ‘He was the driver,’ in English, pointing at Carlos. It felt unexpectedly awkward to give the answer in a different language than the question was posed in, when he could speak both, and both he and the presenter were speaking in a foreign language.
‘I think I’m the only one here with a driving license,’ Carlos continued. A second later, when the translator got there, too, the audience laughed.
‘He was my taxi driver,’ Max added, emboldened. And at least they were both too young to rent, he thought, after another spiel about their ages. (Ha ha, Red Bull had to give Max and Carlos a car because they couldn’t get a rental on their own. Hilarious. Red Bull’s Junior Junior team. If there was one thing he’d found out in the past four months, it was that there just weren’t that many age jokes available, and most of them weren’t funny if they were about you.)
‘Was he a good driver?’ the presenter continued.
‘Yeah, yeah, it was all good,’ Max said. He was more comfortable now, talking about something else. He was more in his element talking about driving and racing rather than having yet another discussion about being too young for this or that.
‘Hey,’ Carlos said after the interview. ‘You know, I remember reading Sinterklaas involves singing songs?’
‘No.’
‘And I think something about shoes?’
‘No.’