Chapter Text
It was the kind of strange equilibrium no one had predicted, not even Lewis and Charles themselves.
They had worried, at the start of their relationship—about rivalry, about loyalty, about what it would mean to be married to a man who wore the rival colors every single race weekend. They had braced themselves for whispers, suspicion, maybe even resentment from their teams.
But what they got instead was… chaos.
Because Mercedes loved Charles. And Ferrari loved Lewis.
The first time Charles showed up at the Mercedes garage with a silver lanyard swinging around his neck, he’d been cautious. Careful. He was Ferrari’s golden boy, and here he was stepping into enemy territory. He half-expected frosty silence or polite nods at best.
Instead, the second he walked in, Riccardo yelled, “There he is!” and Hannah shoved a mug of tea into his hands like he’d been part of the team for years.
“Charles, you look exhausted,” one of the mechanics said, clapping him on the shoulder. “Sit down. Eat something. When’s the last time you had a proper meal?”
Charles blinked, caught off guard. “Uh… this morning?”
“Not enough,” Hannah tutted. “You’re skin and bone. Lewis, feed your husband properly, for God’s sake.”
Lewis, leaning against the wall, hid his laugh in his hand. “See? They don’t even like me half as much as they like you.”
It was true. The crew had adopted Charles almost instantly. He was “our Charles” now, even if he raced in scarlet red. They asked about his races, teased him when Ferrari’s strategy inevitably went wrong, and celebrated his podiums like they were their own.
“Charles, mate,” Riccardo would call across the garage, “if Ferrari forgets what a tire is again, just give us a call. We’ll sort you out.”
Charles would laugh, cheeks pink, secretly warmed by the way they cared for him.
On the flip side, Lewis had been nervous the first time he stepped into the Ferrari garage after marrying Charles. It wasn’t just a Ferrari thing—it was Ferrari. The Scuderia. The holy ground. He expected polite indifference at best, outright hostility at worst.
He got neither.
The second he walked in, Matteo, one of the Ferrari engineers, grinned wide. “Hamilton! Finally. Welcome to the family.”
“Family?” Lewis repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“You married Charles. That makes you ours.” Matteo shrugged, as if it were the simplest math in the world. “Don’t fight it.”
And that was it. Lewis was Ferrari’s son-in-law now.
They asked him for selfies. They pressed him for advice on car setup. They joked about lending him red overalls. Charles rolled his eyes, half jealous and half amused, every time he saw Lewis deep in conversation with the Ferrari mechanics.
“You know they love you more than me, right?” Charles muttered one evening after qualifying, watching Lewis laugh with his race engineer.
Lewis kissed his cheek. “They just recognize talent when they see it.”
“Traitor,” Charles grumbled, but the corners of his mouth betrayed his smile.
It became a paddock joke, really.
Mercedes cheered louder for Charles than they sometimes did for Lewis. Ferrari went wild whenever Lewis walked past, calling out “Forza Lewis!” like he was one of their own.
The press even caught on.
After one chaotic weekend, a journalist asked, “Lewis, how does it feel knowing Ferrari seems to love you as much as Mercedes?”
Lewis smirked, arm around Charles’s waist. “It feels like I married well.”
Charles buried his face in his hands, groaning, while both garages exploded in laughter.
The truth was simple: Charles and Lewis were happy, and both Mercedes and Ferrari could see it. The teams might be rivals on track, but off it, they had chosen their priorities.
Mercedes would protect Charles with their lives. Ferrari would do the same for Lewis.
And if it meant the occasional good-natured shouting match—Mercedes declaring Charles “theirs” and Ferrari countering that Lewis was “theirs”—well, that was just part of the circus.
Because at the end of the day, when the helmets came off and the engines cooled, everyone in both garages agreed on one thing.
Together, Lewis and Charles were unstoppable.