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“What do you mean you're pregnant?” Max asked incredulously. “I saw you, noticed that you're sick. I asked you politely, and then you gave me this. Mate, I'm being nice despite you sending my car into the barriers.”
“I am,” Charles blabbered. Tears drenched his cheeks, even his lips were wet with it. “I am pregnant. I don't know what happened! I'm a man, obviously, and men can't get pregnant. And I haven't— I didn't have that for months now. I don't know what happened, it's making me so sick and I can't even race properly. I'm sorry too, for earlier. I was busy holding my puke so I didn't see you in the mirror—”
“Gross,” Max said. He drew Charles into the alleyways between Red Bull and Ferrari, secluded enough for this kind of conversation. Charles was shaking, and he had a hand on his forehead. “Maybe you're just sick, like normal sick. What are the symptoms again?”
Charles swallowed before answering. It looked like he had a hard time with it. “Morning sickness,” he said. “I pee a lot, and I crave weird and disgusting foods. Last night, I craved pizza with pineapples. I don't like it at all, I think it's disgusting, but I ordered it and I found it delicious. I'm still craving it and I don't know what's happening to me anymore.”
“That's all?”
He shook his head and lowered his voice. “I can't tell you the others. It's far too weird.”
Max wondered why he was the one who decided to step in, knowing this kind of information. They weren't even friends, he just decided to check on him because that was what you'd do, right? When people are sick, regardless of being friends or not, you check on them. He just didn't expect this kind of sickness of all things. Charles was resting his whole weight on the wall of Red Bull hospitality, breathing heavily.
“Did you have a check-up, confirm that you're really…” Max gestured to his stomach, who he was clutching. “you know?”
“No,” Charles said. “I'm scared. I think they'll laugh at me.”
“It is funny,” Max agreed. “But also strange. Stranger than funny, though.”
Charles smiled tightly. He looked up at the sky, then back to Max. “Can you drive me?”
“What?”
“To a clinic. OBGYN?” Charles clarified, “I think that's what it's called. I've been wanting to go but I'm scared of Andrea's reaction. I don't want to tell Pierre either but now that you know, I'm just suggesting that you drive me. I can't drive very well, I get so dizzy and I don't want to endanger myself and the—” he cringed. “Well.”
“I don't even know what to say,” Max said, blinking dumbly. “I mean, I wanna know if you're really pregnant or just some weird scare, since what the hell do you mean you're pregnant as a guy? What did you even do? But I'm curious now, so.”
Charles’ voice was hopeful. “You'll drive me?”
“Yeah, but I think someone cursed you.”
Fear was the only thing in Charles' face now. “Let's just go to your car. I don't want to think about it.”
Max drove them to an OBGYN, masks on with sunglasses, but judging by the eyes on them, they were recognized anyway. The interior was whites and blues, soft lighting and the scent of antiseptic. Charles didn't have an appointment beforehand so he left Max on the waiting bench to file in the front desk. He sat there awkwardly, staunchly not looking at the pregnant woman breastfeeding in front of him and the baby who had fixed his eyes on him. Geez. Sure, Charles' thing was odd, but putting himself in this kind of situation willingly was too much, even for him. He couldn't wait for Gemma’s reprimands once his photos reached her.
Charles returned to his side after a moment, sighing. “This is so embarrassing.”
“You don't say,” Max snorted. “What did they say?”
“We're number 33 but we're fourth in line,” Charles showed him the card. Then he arched his back, and Max thought he heard a faint crack. “Oh my god.”
A nurse went out of the door when it was their time, ushering them inside with confusion. She tried to hide it to her credit, but Max saw through her anyway. Charles sat down on the bed as instructed by the doctor who, to her credit, didn't show any ounce of emotion. She guided Charles carefully, spreading some gel on his stomach and running the probe around it. Max leaned over, watching curiously.
Charles' eyes were shut. “Am I pregnant?” He asked the doctor quietly.
“We're looking,” the doctor said, eyes on the monitor. “There's movement, wait a moment, the sensor is processing.”
Max’s mom showed him her ultrasound pictures when she was having him. She pointed out, fondly, how he was a big fetus and always kicking and tiring her out like he was already in the cockpit with the brakes. The baby on the monitor wasn't unlike her story, feet moving incessantly.
The doctor stood straight, drawing the probe away from his stomach. “You’re pregnant, Mr. Leclerc,” she said, blinking. “This is— wow, this is unheard of, but I think congratulations are in order. And— wait a moment, your baby, it's growing rapidly.” And to Max’s surprise, she turned to him, pointing to the monitor. “Look closely, here, it's better to look at the limbs for comparison but as you can see, it's being stretched and the skull is also growing. Magic has no place in science, but there's no other way to explain this, Mr. Leclerc, Mr. Verstappen. At this rate, you might even give birth tomorrow night.”
“What?” Charles said, sitting upright. “But how did this happen? I've never had sex this year at all, and I'm biologically male. I don't even have the organs for it. How is this even possible? And— and I just experienced the symptoms last week, how am I giving birth already?”
The doctor shook her head. “I've no idea as well, Mr. Leclerc. Even I, as a professional, have no information regarding your situation. But this is delightful news indeed, for us to be given the opportunity to study this phenomenon and how it came to being. I suggest that we involve more professionals for us to learn more about this, and therefore be able to provide you care that is suitable to your needs. Male pregnancy is unheard of and the male reproduction system doesn't suit pregnancy, so there might be risks and repercussions. I have contacts, Mr. Leclerc. Doctors and professors that might help. If you want to consider my suggestion, I have them here.”
Max saw Charles pale, the color fading from his skin. He answered for him, placing a comforting hand on his back. “Okay. Alright, we— we accept.”
After the doctor disappeared on a doorway, Max turned to Charles, who had his fingers buried in his scalp. “Charles, Charles. Breathe. It'll be fine,” He wasn't too sure about that, but— “Inhale, exhale. Come on, follow me. Like before we go racing.”
“Max, I don't think I can do this,” Charles told him, teary-eyed. “What is going on? I don't know anymore. I don't think anymore. Maybe you're right, maybe I'm cursed. I know a lot of people hate me, so maybe someone cursing me isn't too—”
“People will always hate us, mate,” Max said. “We're athletes. There's no such thing as an athlete with no haters so take a deep breath. You're fine, you're cool. Follow my breathing—” he waited until Charles looked at him, and he began counting. “We inhale when it's 5, and exhale when it's 1. Come on, 1-2-3-4-5, inhale,” Max inhaled, and watched Charles follow after him. “Good. 5-4-3-2-1, exhale,” Charles exhaled on his own. “Good. You're okay.”
“I'm scared,” Charles confessed, sniffing. “This is so stupid. Why, of all curses, did they make me pregnant? Anything else is better.”
“Even dying?”
“Of course not, but—”
“And your baby’s growing quickly, so you won't be pregnant any longer.” Max pointed out, and that didn't have the intended effect. Charles' face crumpled. “What?”
“Then I have a child now, someone to take care of in my prime. I planned to have kids after I win a title, but I guess that's not gonna happen,” he said, looking over at the side. “I still don't have one, unlike some people.”
Max stiffened. Before he could dwell on it, the doctor returned, carrying with her a list of names on a notebook. She tore the page and gave it to Charles, then noticed the bump on his stomach that wasn't there earlier. “Your baby really is hurrying to grow up. Racing to grow up, if you would.”
Charles stared at the page blankly, while Max merely gave her a tight smile. “Thank you. We'll contact them immediately.”
The doctor nodded, and sent them on their way. Max folded the page and pocketed it inside his jeans, guiding Charles into the car. He had some difficulty walking now, intentionally arching his back. Max had to put a hand above his head since he was having a hard time even sitting inside.
“I wonder if it's going to be a girl or a boy,” Charles said suddenly.
“What do you want it to be?”
Charles shrugged, resting his whole weight on his seat. Max adjusted his seat so it’d be more inclined. “I don't know. They're my child regardless.”
“You can…” Max began hesitantly. “You can choose not to have it.”
Sniffing, Charles placed a hand on his stomach. “I considered that. But I— I thought about what you said, about seeing it through. I'm curious too.”
Max found the contacts the doctor gave him and held it out to Charles. “The doctor gave this to me. They're the professionals, I heard. They also know nothing, but I'm sure they know more than us. You can talk to them.”
“Okay,” Charles murmured, holding it in his hands. “My god. What is happening? How do I even break this to Maman, to Pierre, to Andrea and— Ferrari. Will they even accept me?”
“It's not like you get laid and purposefully got yourself—” Max said, “you know, so just explain it to them? I mean, look at me— at first I was freaked out, but you explained and the doctor explained too, so I'm sure they'll understand.”
“You're sure?”
“I'm sure.”
Charles looked at him for a moment before nodding decisively. “Okay. I'll tell them. Now drive me to the hotel.”
“This doesn't mean I'm your driver now, mate,” Max reminded him, but Charles only laughed. At least he was laughing now. He looked— dejected earlier, almost empty. It was uncharacteristic of him, making the pit on Max’s gut wider. He smiled back. “Whatever. Put on your seatbelt.”
Charles was pouting when he put it on, and Max started the car.