Chapter Text
"I'm very proud of you, Kimi," Bono said happily, misty-eyed. He shook Kimi's shoulders. "Six wins in a row, good job."
Almost like…well, not quite.
The boy smiled back widely, covered in sweat and champagne. Then he looked down, "I wish Lewis was here."
Bono lost his smile. He hugged Kimi. "It'll be okay," he comforted.
"He's not dead, is he, Bono?" Kimi whispered, hugging him back. "The tabloids are already—"
"Kimi," Bono drew back and looked at him. "Every authority in the world is out there looking for Lewis. Whatever happened…it'll be okay. Please, put it put of your mind. You just won a race, son."
Kimi nodded and Bono let him go into the throng of excited Mercedes personnel. He walked into the shadows of the garage, into an empty corner. He stared as Kimi was lifted up into the mechanics' arms and then took turned around, taking out a phone from his pocket. Not his personal phone, this one had just one purpose.
He opened the file he wanted and, after one final look around, clicked on the item labelled 'LIVE.'
The feed was high quality and he could scroll through various angles.
"Where are you?" He whispered, scrolling. "Where are you hiding?"
He stopped on an angle of the attic's far window, where a figure was curled up and pressed against the glass.
Bono smiled. Lewis was probably looking at the lake. He had chosen a good spot for their home.
He clicked on a panel and selected a green icon. The phone rang and he saw Lewis tense as he heard it. "Pick up," he whispered wistfully. "Come on."
He called every day since he had left and Lewis never answered. But this was Sunday.
Sure enough, Lewis stood up. Bono smiled, breathing in an anticipation.
A click, then a shaky breath.
"Bono?"
Peter smiled wider, looking around again. "Lewis, you answered," he said.
"Bono…please, the joke is over. I'm not laughing, you've got to let me—"
"Lewis, stop," Bono lost his smile. "Stop it. Don't make me hang up."
He watched Lewis rub his face through the screen and sighed. "Don't you want to hear about the race?" He asked.
"…sure."
"Kimi won again," Bono said proudly. "He's a great boy. Max ended up second, Charles third. He had some issues."
"Third," Lewis echoed dully. "I could have been there," he hissed then, "I should have been there! You've robbed me of my chances for—"
Peter hung up. He watched as Lewis threw the phone away and ran to the door. The feed switched and Peter saw as he kicked and banged at it, trying once more to knock it down. When that failed, Lewis ran to his window again, opening it and grasping at the bars Bono had installed.
Peter felt a pang in his chest as Lewis fell to his knees on the floor, arms on the windowsill he had been sitting on earlier, and cried. He watched his shoulders shake and silently promised to take the first flight out.
Maybe he could bring Lewis a souvenir.
Four Weeks Earlier
Lewis woke up abruptly as a hand covered his mouth. He panicked until he found Bono crouched next to his bed.
His bed in his London house. Why was Bono in his house in the middle of the night?
Slowly, Bono removed his hand. Lewis stared at him, freaked out.
"Man, what the hell are you doing here?" Lewis chuckled slightly. "What ha—?" He froze as he heard a click. "B-Bono?"
The cold nuzzle of a gun pressed against his side beneath the covers.
"Breathe," Peter said, looking as calm as he did during a race.
"Breathe?" Lewis scoffed, eyes wide. "Bono, what the fuck is going on here? How did you get in? Why do you have— is that a real gun?"
"Yes, it is," Bono said, still calm. "And you gave me your security codes, don't you remember?"
"No!"
Peter chuckled. "So forgetful," he said fondly. But then his gaze grew cold, "like you forgot our promise." He reached into his pocket and took out some leather cuffs. "Give me your wrists."
Lewis held them to his chest. "Is this a prank?" He asked, "a joke from Mercedes? Did Toto put you up to this?"
Peter pressed the nuzzle deeper, making Lewis cry out. "Don't mention him," he said. "Now, give!"
Lewis did, afraid at seeing Bono lose his composure. "Peter," he said, trying to keep his voice from shaking, "did you take something? I…this isn't like you. If you took something, it's okay. Let's go to the hospital, okay?"
Peter cuffed Lewis' wrists tightly together, the bands connected by a short metal chain. He stood up and pointed the gun straight at Lewis. "We're not going to a hospital," he said. "Stand up."
"You're not going to shoot me, Bono," Lewis said, staying still. "I don't know what's going on, but I know you'd never hurt me." He knew it.
"I thought the same of you once, Lewis," Peter said. "Before you left. Before you betrayed us. Before you abandoned me."
Lewis squinted. "Is this about Ferrari?" He asked, almost angry. "A big joke to get back at me? Bono, I asked you to come with me and you said no!"
"Which should have made you stay!" Peter said, then shifted the gun.
Lewis screamed as the glass frame he had hanging over his bed shattered, covering his head as best he could. He heaved in stuttering breaths in disbelief.
"Someone'll have heard that," Peter said, pointing the gun at Lewis again. "Stand up."
Lewis did, cringing at his near nakedness. He slept only in his boxers, this time some loose silk baby blue ones. Bono was fully dressed in cargo pants and a black hoodie that covered his head, with black gloves and thick boots. The difference was frightening. Lewis held his hands to his chest, shivering in the cold.
Thank God Roscoe's not here, he thought. He couldn't imagine what Bono would have done to the dog in his altered state.
Bono approached him, gun held firm. "Turn around," he said.
"Bono, please," Lewis said. "Put the gun down, talk to me. What's going on?"
Peter's eyes narrowed. "Don't you get it, Lewis?" He said, grabbing Lewis by the shoulder and forcing him to turn around.
Lewis closed his eyes as the gun caressed his naked back. He had self-defence training, but he had no idea how it would go down if he tried to take the gun. He could end up dead, or Bono could. And neither was acceptable. His only option was to try and delay Peter while someone reported the gunshot and deescalate the situation.
"I had to go to Ferrari, Bono," he explained himself. "I had to try. Mercedes didn't want me anymore. And I need my championship."
"I've heard you," Peter hissed. "With them, with Santi. You love them."
"Bono…" Lewis shook his head, "they're my team. We've worked so hard—"
"We swore we would win that eight together, Lewis," Bono hissed.
The weight of the gun disappeared.
"And if you won't win it with me, then you won't win it at all."
Lewis panicked. "Peter, Peter, please. Whatever you're thinking, I wanted to win with you, I promise," he begged, "we can't still—"
He got cut off as a roll of tape unfurled and Bono reached over to press it over his mouth, rolling it around his head a few times.
"We can't have the neighbours hearing you," Peter muttered. "And I've had enough of your lies."
Lewis choked as his cheeks were squished and the smell of the tape dug into his nostrils. He reached up to try and pry it off, but Bono walked around him to grab his wrists. With a glare at Lewis, he rolled the tape over his hands too, leaving them useless.
Lewis met his gaze with teary eyes, gasping as Bono pressed the gun against his chin.
"I won't let them have you," Peter declared. "They don't deserve you, Lewis. But I can make you happy. I know it. I can give you anything you need. I could have given you your championship, if you had just been patient."
Peter led Lewis through the house, still half naked, until they reached the open garage. A black Mercedes was waiting on the driveway, its plates obscured. Lewis shivered as the cold night air hit him, fighting for the first time. He refused to follow Bono outside, making his body heavy.
"Get in the car, Lewis," Bono said, rolling a mask over his jaw. "Now."
Lewis shook his head, trying to ignore the gun.
Peter grabbed his arm and dragged him forwards, kicking Lewis' shin to make him trip.
Lewis yelped, his feet dragging on the ground.
Peter got the boot of the car open, which wasn't very big. "I got you a blanket," he said, like it meant anything. "I knew you didn't wear much to bed. Get in."
Bono, please, Lewis tried to say behind the tape. His face scrunched up. If it was all real, he was in incredible danger. If it was somehow a terrible prank, he was humiliated and betrayed by people he cared about.
Bono pressed the gun against his head. "Into the car," he growled.
Lewis got in clumsily, looking around and cursing the tall walls and trees that hid his driveway from view. He had to curl up on his side to fit properly and he looked up at Bono, tears welling up in his eyes.
Peter showed no pity, grabbing Lewis' wrists and locking the chain to a notch screwed into the side of the car. Then he put his gun away and grabbed Lewis' bare feet.
Lewis tried to kick, protesting, but one look at Bono's angry face stopped him. Peter taped his ankles and knees together before finally stepping back.
Lewis flinched as Bono touched his cheek, then tugged at one of his braids.
"I'm going to take care of everything," Peter whispered. "Sorry if I frightened you."
And then he slammed the trunk shut.
They had been on the road only for a short time before Lewis started crying properly, stuck in the dark as he was. He sobbed around the tape as he felt the vibrations of the car and cursed at himself for staying in London for the night instead of flying back to Colorado.
He was exhausted, confused, cold, and frightened. What was Bono's plan? Was be working alone? Lewis curled up as best he could on the blanket and closed his eyes, hoping to wake up and find it had all been a nightmare.
But when he woke up, he was still in the dark and the car was still bumping along the road. Lewis whined, pulling at the chain helplessly. He kicked as best he could, trying to make enough of a ruckus that Bono would stop and have a moment of clarity.
But the car never stopped. Eventually Lewis fell asleep again and have vivid dreams that made him wake up over and over.
He had no idea how much time had passed when the car eventually came to a stop, but he was aching all over and had to go to the bathroom. When the boot opened and Bono appeared, he was almost relieved.
"We're here," Peter said with a smile. "It's all going to be okay now. Now breathe in."
Lewis flailed as a wet, foul smelling cloth was shoved against his nose. He struggled until everything turned to black and he knew no more.
He's insane, Lewis thought as Bono paced in front of him. Totally insane.
He had woken up with his hands handcuffed to a bedframe, the tape over his mouth replaced by a ball gag that made his jaw hurt. The cuffs were made of soft leather, as were the ones around his ankles. Had Bono raided a sex shop? The thought of it frightened him.
It was still dark outside, but if Lewis twisted his head to peer upwards, he could see the sun filtering through the trees around outside the only window in the room. Tall pines and rich, green grass surrounded them. It was probably beautiful outside.
It definitely wasn't Bono's house, which was not in any woods. Lewis was clearly in an attic, albeit modern and well-kept. The roof was angled and there were some doors on the other side of the room from the window. When Lewis peered past Bono, he could see a heavy metal door in the far corner. Where were they? What else was Bono hiding?
"I prepared you a room," Bono had said when Lewis had woken up. "You'll be very happy, I know it."
Lewis would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't so scared by the implications.
"Automatic lock," Peter had said, looking down at him. "A precaution. I'll show you the rest of the house one day, maybe we could even go outside by the lake. I know you like to swim. One day."
Now, Lewis glared as Bono sat down beside him, but he knew he couldn't take off if he was untied. Not only was the door locked, but he really needed to use the bathroom. And he didn't exactly want to run half naked through the woods.
He still wanted to believe that Bono was just having some breakdown and that he would set Lewis free. Maybe it was all really a prank from Mercedes. Maybe it was all actually a very long, very realistic dream.
Or a nightmare.
"I'm going to take the binds off now," Bono said, reaching for a small knife on his belt.
Since when was Bono the type of guy to have a knife?
"And you can scream," Peter said, "or try to run away. But you can't. And one day, you'll realise you don't need to." He took off the cuffs around the legs, cooing as Lewis winced. "Sorry," he said, reaching for the gag around Lewis' head. He had been careless, catching his braids under it.
Lewis whimpered as Bono's cold fingers touched his skin, staying still while Bono undid the buckle. He squeezed his eyes as the clasp pulled at his hair and gasped as the rubber ball was ripped off his mouth. He took two gulping breaths, leaning against Bono despite himself.
"Lewis—"
"I need the loo," Lewis said, pulling at the cuffs still around his wrists.
"What?"
"Where's the fucking bathroom, Bono?" Lewis hissed.
"That door," Bono pointed to the right of them. It had a door and a doorway into another room. "Here," he undid the cuffs quickly.
Lewis got up quickly on shaky legs, sprinting to the door without bothering to look inside the other doorway.
He slammed it shut behind him, but when he grabbed the handle he found no lock. "What the…?" He hit the door, "creep!"
He groaned and gave up, finding nothing that he could put against the door. Ignoring how horrible it felt to distrust Bono like that, he finally relieved himself. Once that was taken care of, he took in the bathroom properly.
It was nice and big, with a wide tub just like the one he had at home. His LA home. A place Bono had never been in, had never even seen a photo of. A coincidence?
Lewis washed his hands and grabbed a fluffy white robe that was hanging next to the shower, putting it on. It went down to his ankles and he closed his eyes in relief, glad to no longer be completely naked.
Then he froze.
Holding his breath, Lewis peered into the shower. "Oh my god," he choked out, reaching out.
He found his favourite shampoo, his hair mask, his body wash and bar of soap. Hanging from the wall was a wash rag identical to the one he always ordered and a brush just like his.
He ran to the sink and opened the cabinets, finding it full of every brand of product he liked to use, from fucking hair ties to toilet paper. He stood up and opened the mirror, covering his mouth as he found bottles of his prescription medications as well as all his skin care products.
The door cracked open and Lewis met Bono's gaze through the mirror.
"Peter…" Lewis whispered, "what is this?"
Bono smiled, eyes kind behind his glasses. "I think I better give you a tour," he said.
Dazed, Lewis followed him out of the bathroom. He let Bono grab his arm and steer him, sparing one look at the front door.
"I should start with this, I think," Bono said, walking into the doorway next to the bathroom.
It was a massive closet, with white drawers all around, a plush black carpet, and a floor to ceiling mirror at the far end. Clothes hung from the walls and the table at the centre was packed with jewellery boxes and the sides lined up with shoes.
Lewis walked in slowly, heart sinking. "This is all mine," he breathed out, running a hand over a brown jacket. He looked at the shoes, feeling bile rise in his throat. "All of this is mine. It's all the stuff I've donated in the past…how long have you been planning this?"
"Ever since you told me Toto was going to replace you with Kimi," Peter said, putting a hand on the low of his back. "This wasn't how I planned to go about bringing you to this house. I couldn't have known you'd go to Ferrari, that you'd leave like that."
Lewis covered his mouth, tearing up. Bono wasn't having a breakdown, he bad been planning this for years. Every race together, every hug, every laugh, every hello since Lewis donned the red…his friend had been collecting his things, spying on him, building him a prison.
Peter cried out as Lewis turned, jewellery box in hand, and smacked him in the face. He fell backwards and Lewis jumped over him, running towards the metal door.
"LEWIS!"
Lewis banged on the door, tugging desperately at the handle. But it wouldn't turn. He turned to the alarm panel, discreet besides the door, and clicked on things at random. When that did nothing except beep at him, he tried to disconnect it.
Strong arms wrapped around him, holding him back.
"Yes, this is more what I was expecting," Peter said sadly. "Hold still," he said, putting his forearm against his neck, blocking his windpipe.
Lewis struggled desperately, trying to elbow him. He heaved and choked as Bono dragged him back, eventually giving up on fighting to try and pull his arm off his throat.
"I'm sorry," Bono said, throwing him on the bed. "I don't want to hurt you." He grabbed the discarded cuffs and locked one of his ankles to the bedpost. "Just calm down okay."
Lewis coughed, holding his throat. He started crying again, overwhelmed. "Why are you doing this?" He asked hoarsely, shifting away as much as he could when Peter approached. "You're my friend."
"That's why, Lewis," Peter said, face imploring. "I want to forgive you. I know I will. But you need to be here. Soon, you'll understand. You'll be happy," he said again, "with me. Away from them. Away from Carlo Santi," he spat out the Italian's name.
To think, Lewis had been joking about Carlo with Bono just some days before. 'He's like the Italian you, man,' he had said, slapping Bono in the back.
What an idiot he had been.
Lewis fell on the bedspread and sobbed, half choking. He flinched as he felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling his braids to the side to caress the back of his neck.
"I'll let you be alone for now," Bono whispered. "Let you get your bearings. I'll go make dinner, okay?"
Lewis didn't acknowledge him. He looked up when he heard Peter approach the door and saw him place his thumb against the screen, then type five digits into the keyboard. The door opened and Bono disappeared with a final look back.
Lewis swallowed. A thumbprint. Five digits. Whatever else Peter had outside the attic. That was all keeping him locked up.
And the cuffs, obviously.
He curled up, hugging himself and crying silently. He closed his eyes, once again begging to wake up from the nightmare.
Two Weeks Later
"Aren't you hungry?"
Lewis stared at Peter, face gaunt. He ignored the plate in front of him, hands clasped on his lap.
Peter sighed, putting his cutlery down. "I don't want to get the IV out again," he said, staring Lewis down.
Lewis winced, looking down and twitching his nose as he remembered a week before when Bono had shoved a tube up his nostril after he had starved himself for days. "I'm not hungry," he said quietly, flexing his fingers.
He had bandages around his knuckles after he had broken the skin punching the door while Bono had been gone, probably to the factory to prepare for Monaco. Lewis would not be there. Peter had robbed him of Monaco.
Peter sighed and picked up his fork. "Fine," he said, "you can eat it later."
Lewis looked to the side, to the bookshelf installed on the wall. It held a collection of books Lewis had in his to be read pile at home or had had in his wishlists. He had no idea how Peter had found out about them all and had stayed away at first, but with nothing to do except cry and bang at the walls, he had given up and started reading.
It wasn't smooth sailing however. "I want my iPad," he said, crossing his arms.
Peter took a sip of his water. "Lewis, you know you can't have that," he tutted. "Not yet. You've hardly proven trustworthy."
Lewis gritted his teeth. "Did you forget I'm dyslexic?" He ground out, "I need my TTS app." He could read by himself, albeit slowly, slightly faster if he sounded out the words out loud, but he had got used to reading along with audio.
Peter looked at him. "I'll get you a reading pen," he said, smiling briefly.
Lewis' shoulders slumped. So much for that plan to reach someone. "Fine," he muttered, because that would be helpful.
He stood up, arms wrapped around himself. He walked over to the piano installed against the wall. "I'd like to be alone now," he said dully, sitting down.
"Won't you play for me?" Bono asked quietly.
Lewis put his hands on his lap and stayed silent. He bit his lip as a hand touched his now unbraided hair, twisting a curl. "Please leave," he whispered.
The hand sneaked beneath his hair to lay across the back of his neck.
"Does it still hurt?"
Lewis' hands stilled. He looked up, seeing Bono's figure behind him on the reflection of the ebony wood. "How did you know about that?" He said. "No one but a few in my team knew."
"I saw the tape on the back of your neck," Bono kept caressing the skin gently, pulling at it and soothing it with his thumb. "I had to find out if you were okay." His hold turned harsher, hand splayed on the back of his neck. "Every time I heard a harsh word about you, I wanted to scream. You were in so much pain…my poor Lewis."
Lewis' eyes fluttered closed as the hand moved to the front of his neck. It didn't squeeze, it just laid there possessively.
"Why not share it with the world? I know Ferrari let you down, but you were also not in your best form— and quite justly so!" Peter's hand moved to Lewis' chin, turning his head to look at him.
Lewis gasped, opening his eyes.
Peter's eyes were teary, more angry than sad. "How could you not tell me?" He whispered. "You would have, before."
Lewis' eyes welled up too, jaw aching. "I would have," he rasped out, "if you'd only come with me."
Bono let him go and Lewis' head snapped back.
"It's not my fault," the older man said, running the same hand through his short hair. "You sprang it on me. You didn't consult me—"
"You were my engineer," Lewis said, irritated. "Nothing more. You weren't owed anything special. I made my choice on my own for my own sake. I made the right choice, I love my team. I didn't betray you and I don't deserve this, I don't deserve to lose my life!"
"No, just your soul!" Bono hissed in his face.
Lewis couldn't help it, he laughed. He cackled. He stood up, knocking over the stool. "You're demented, man!" He cried. "Those last few years at Mercedes killed me, they made me forget who I was— who I am! This was my chance, the team is in such a good place because of me. I was in a good place, I was ready to fight, and you've robbed me of that!"
"They robbed you from me!" Peter shouted, slamming his hand on the top of the piano.
"I was never yours!" Lewis shouted back.
Peter raised his hand.
"Go on, hit me!" Lewis stepped closer, fearless. "Show me you're just like every other white man who's tried to control me. Punish me for speaking out of turn! You own me, don't you? I'm your property? Are you my master, Bono? Are you going to beat me again?" He spat out, breathing fast.
Peter drew back, face horrified. "Oh god," he breathed, "I didn't— I wouldn't—"
Lewis pushed past him and ran into the closet. There was no door to slam, so he crawled between the rows of clothes. He curled up between two coats, breathing rapidly. He barely heard the sound of the door opening and closing over the sound of his pounding heartbeat in his ears.
Present
Lewis was left alone while Bono left for the Monaco and Barcelona GPs, which was welcome at first, but eventually the loneliness had struck. He had no one but the characters in his books for company. Bono had said that Kimi had won again. Lewis wanted to be happy for the boy, but it was hard, knowing he deserved to have been there. And to know Bono was the one helping him get there was worse.
If Bono wasn't acting like such a creep, Lewis would have thought he had kidnapped him to make way for Toto's wunderkind.
He sat on the floor at the foot of his one window, cried out, and stared at the phone from where it laid on the floor.
For a moment, he wondered if he could choke himself with the cord. But he was quick to dismiss those thoughts. He had worked so hard on himself to be ready for the new year and season, even if his life had taken a terrible turn, he could not let himself fall back into a hole in his mind. The one his body was in was enough.
Lewis stood up slowly and walked towards the closet. He stepped inside and went to the mirror, looking at himself. His hair was tangled and untreated, he had not had the energy to wash it the last time he showered, which had been some days ago. His face was dry and puffy, his eyes bloodshot, his beard unkept. He looked down at the hoodie and sweatpants he was sporting, staring at the food stain a piece of curry had made days ago. He sniffed at himself, grimacing at the smell.
He had refused everything Peter had offered because he was disgusted with the situation and with the invasion of privacy involved with every item and product in his little cage, but in so, he had reduced himself to a dirty shadow of who he was. Lewis took pride in his appearance, it was how he expressed himself to the world when words wouldn't do. He stood out and he liked it.
Lewis raised his shirt, seeing his abs had lost definition. He turned, seeing the curve of his ass. That too would soften, if he let his routine go.
He turned and ran a hand through the clothes in the rack, finding them familiar. None were his favourites, else he would have never donated them, but they were his clothes, many of them gifts of designer friends or acquaintances. He had worn them, and he never wore anything he didn't like— or at least, as he had told the people at Ferrari's fashion house, nothing he disliked.
He looked at the shoes, which seemed pointless, and the jewellery. Some of it was his, most of it, but some pieces were new to him. He hadn't dared look before.
Gifts from Bono, he realised, that he would ignore. He would wear his things, what little was on offer. Bono had mentioned that he had tried to go get some of Lewis' actual closet, but all of his residences were closely guarded by either the authorities or his friends and family.
"That fencer's taken up residence in your house in Colorado, Spinz is in New York, there's someone everywhere. Your mother is in Kensington. And Monaco…well it's just crawling with police these days, everyone's frightened another driver's going to disappear."
Lewis had been so depressed by the mention of his mother that he hadn't answered. They ought to have stayed in Canada longer, seen more things, then he wouldn't have been in London the night Peter had appeared.
There were days were he thought he would die in his cage, in Bono's secret attic, but he fought those thoughts. He would be free soon and he would return to his life, perhaps with the need for some strong therapy, and he would get back in a car and do his job.
He could not let himself go. He had to stay strong until that time came. He had to remain Lewis Hamilton.