Chapter Text
21:07
GP:
You ok?
Max sat in the back of a taxi taking him from Luton up to Milton Keynes, wondering what GP was on about.
22:38
Verstappen:
just landed, why?
22:41
GP:
You haven't said anything.
Max scrolled back up, refreshing the chat a couple times just to make sure he didn't miss any messages before this. But no, there was nothing.
22:41
Verstappen:
well I see u tmrw, right?
22:42
GP:
Ok.
This was … unusual, to say the least. GP was usually more direct than that. What did he expect Max to message him about? Was this some kinda prank setup? Was he just checking if Max was at the hotel yet?
He opened his hotel room more cautiously than usual, but there was nothing waiting for him there: just a nice bed, a bottle of champagne and some chocolates. Leaving his suitcase at the door, he took a quick shower and went straight to bed. GP still hadn't sent anything else, so fine - I just won't worry about it then.
This trip was already annoying enough as it is.
He woke up to a cold, damp January Monday the next day. He wasn't looking forward to being back at the factory this time of year, but contractual obligations were contractual obligations. And if he wished for a moment or two that he had been one of the lucky Racing Bulls getting to have their start of season meetings in sunny Faenza … oh well, no one had to know.
GP waited for him in the lobby, with Mekies just behind him.
Max smiled and waved as usual.
But GP's face went pale the moment he saw him.
"You said you would tell him?" He turned to Mekies.
"Well yes, today-"
"No, no, no, no! Not like that! That was not the deal!"
"We thought better in person-"
"Are you kidding me!?"
"Guys … uh, what's going on?" Max asked, glancing between them.
This couldn't possibly be good. Was something wrong with the new car?
"… do you want me to tell him now?" Mekies asked.
"Do I want you to-" GP parroted back, sounding beyond frustrated. "Absolutely not, I'll do it myself. Just give us a minute, will you?"
Mekies nodded, heading back toward the meeting room.
"Max, outside for a moment, please."
"… okay?" He shrugged, following GP. "Is the car fucked?" He asked once the glass doors behind them closed.
"… Max, I'm really sorry about this. They said they should be the ones to tell you, and I wasn't happy with that to begin with, but I at least thought- well I thought they'd tell you before today!"
"Tell me what?"
"You're getting a new race engineer this year."
… no. No, I'm not …
"I'm just at a point where it's all getting a bit too much, and … there's mutual interest in me focusing more on the Head of Racing role directly, and obviously I'd like to do that without doing you a disservice … or without having an exhaustion fueled nervous breakdown."
"No."
Max didn't even look at him. Didn't say anything else. Just shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat, and walked off across the parking lot.
No. You're not doing this to me. Not at the start of the season. Not after we've already signed for another year. Fuck you. God fucking damn it, that was not the deal!!
In his rage fueled charge, he somehow managed to end up in front of his hotel again. What was that, like ten kilometers? He felt furious enough to keep walking, but at this pace, he might blink and end up in Scotland, for fuck's sake.
So he did the responsible thing of going back to his room to fester in frustration behind closed doors. He sure hoped the soundproofing was good, because he didn't hold himself back much with cussing and kicking the wall.
If it was between me and the Head of Racing, why didn't he choose me!?
But he regretted the bargaining stage of grief almost immediately, because even in his current state, he could think of several reasons why GP made the choice he made - and none of them looked particularly good for Max.
So back to pure unfiltered anger he went for another hour or so, until the depression hit.
13:21
Verstappen:
I am not mad at you.
13:33
GP:
I know.
This is why I wanted them to tell you earlier.
13:35
GP:
Meeting rescheduled for tomorrow btw. Still at 9.
Get it all out and come meet your new guy, ok?
No? Not okay, Max thought as he buried his head under the pillows. But he didn't type that out.
At least GP understood. At least he wasn't upset - even though Max wouldn't blame him for it at all.
This probably wasn't a suitable response to learning your coworker will be changing jobs. Not even changing jobs, just … moving to another project or something.
But it has been a fucking decade.
Ten years of GP in his ear at every race.
Down the drain.
And maybe he was being childish, clinging onto that, but … Max liked consistency. He liked reliability, he liked being understood, he liked knowing that the voice in his helmet was someone he could rely on. Someone he wanted to rely on. This wasn't just a job - this was his life.
The sun had already gone down by the time he remembered that he was still a human being who needed to eat. Fucking winter, god dammit, he scowled at the window as he devoured the complementary chocolates and chugged some champagne straight from the bottle like it was just another podium ceremony. Then he put on his coat again, took a generic beanie instead of his Red Bull cap, and did his best to slip out on the streets unnoticed.
There was a dimly lit pub that he often went to just a few streets down: perfect place to slam his face into a plate of fish and chips without being asked if he's that Formula guy every three seconds.
Well … maybe make that two plates. He was fucking hungry, alright? But after filling his stomach and pouring two beers on top, the world was starting to look just barely tolerable again - probably as good as it was going to get tonight.
"Hey, you-"
If you're gonna ask for a picture, I swear to god-
"- got any space here, or are you hogging the counter all to yourself?"
"Uh- no, yeah, the seat's free," Max scrambled to sit without spilling his elbows on either side of the pub counter. He may have slouched a little while sulking over drinks, that's all.
Luckily, he was overly cautious for once: he didn't get recognized, some old geezer just wanted a spot at the counter.
Well … maybe not an old geezer, he thought as the guy sat down beside him and ordered a beer. He was short, skinny, and he looked pretty young. Very young, actually.
"Are you even old enough to drink?" Max blurted out without thinking.
"Is this some kinda 'Asians always look young' joke?" The guy shot back in the same breath.
Right, that too.
"No," he quickly mumbled an apology. "I'm- drunk, don't mind me."
"You were taking up a lot of space for someone who didn't want to be minded," the guy laughed, reaching out a hand. "Yuki, by the way."
"… Emilian," Max pulled his middle name out of his ass on short notice. The guy didn't look like he would recognize him, but he already stood out with his Dutch accent, and who knows who else was listening in. Better safe than sorry.
"Eh? Haha- what? Sorry, that's the most old grandpa name I've ever heard in my life," the guy laughed.
"… well aren't you just fucking rude," Max furrowed his brow in shock, somehow still finding the laughter contagious. "You're kinda right though, I'll give you that …"
"Glad we agree. So, Emilian, what are we drinking to today? Did you get dumped?"
"… yeah, basically," Max nodded.
"Oof, that's rough, man. Why did she leave you?"
"Career choices, I guess …"
"Damn."
"… plus I'm a bit of an asshole. And hard to be around. Honestly don't blame her," Max took another sip of beer, amusing himself by playing along.
"Oh, we like a self-aware guy," Yuki chuckled. "Sure, being an asshole is generally undesirable, but you know - some girls are into that too! Or maybe you could work on your personality a bit?"
"Nah, I'm a lost cause," Max waved off the idea.
"Too lazy, huh?"
"Got better things to do," Max disagreed.
"I pity your next girlfriend then," Yuki shrugged.
"Yeah … me too, mate, me too."
"Is the fish and chips any good in this place?"
"Ha? Uh, yeah … pretty decent if you're starving, I guess."
"I'll have some then," Yuki gestured to the barkeep.
"… you're not from here?"
"Milton Keynes? Nah, I have a tiny shoebox that my landlord has the audacity to call an apartment up in Northampton. I just got a new job here, so I'm exploring around a bit."
"Cool," Max nodded. "What do you do for work?"
"Babysitting."
Max stared in stunned silence, but Yuki's nonchalant smile remained unchanged.
"… what, for real?"
"For real," Yuki nodded. "Basically a live in nanny for this filthy rich family, you know how they are. They travel for work every other weekend, the kid's throwing temper tantrums left and right, no one wants to deal with him - typical stuff, really."
"Sounds like hell. I assume they'll at least pay you well?"
"If the brat behaves," Yuki shrugged. "And brings home some good grades and whatnot."
"Well, uh … good luck. I hope he does behave."
"Oh, don't worry," Yuki smiled even wider. "I'll make him."
"Are you some kinda toddler whisperer?" Max laughed.
"Of course. It's very simple, you just have to be clear and concise with them, and reward good behavior."
"Right … yeah, I wouldn't know about that."
"And what do you do for work, Emilian?"
"Uhh … sales and marketing."
"Oh, proper office job?"
"No, no … more like in person promotions at events."
"Ah, so more like a party vibe?"
"Yeah … kinda like that."
"Well a party it is then!" Yuki waved to the barkeep again. "Refills for me and my friend Emilian - on my tab this time!"
Max was planning to turn in for the night, but … eh, what difference was a third and maybe fourth beer gonna make? He didn't feel like talking to people when he came out here, but Yuki was apparently oblivious to his bad vibes - and the guy seemed pretty fun! Not the worst Max could have run into, not by far.
He was a little tired on his morning taxi ride to the factory the next day, but eh … surely they'll understand.
"Welcome back, Max," GP waited for him outside.
"… yeah. Sorry about yesterday."
"Nah, that was fair enough. We should go for drinks later, have a proper talk - like I initially wanted to."
"But let me guess, Mekies didn't want me to explode," Max rolled his eyes.
"Oh that was never gonna be avoided," GP laughed. "So if I were him, I'd just make sure not to do it on my doorstep. But oh well … what got fucked got fucked, no point crying over it. Now come on, your new guy is waiting for us."
"Yeah about that - new guy? Isn't it gonna be Simon?"
"Not in a million years," GP shook his head. "You guys don't click as well, I wasn't gonna sentence you to that."
"… fair. So who is it?"
"Complete rookie, we didn't poach anyone," GP shattered his last hopes. "But I did put a lot of effort into finding someone I think you'll get along with."
"You picked him?"
"Oh, personally. This was an intense, asking friends of friends for recommendations, kinda thing."
"Well okay. Maybe this will be fine," Max sighed as they walked through the glass doors.
"Wow, is that him? The four time world champion!?"
Why did that voice sound familiar?
"Yup! In flesh and blood," GP showed him off with a smile. "Max, this is Yuki - your new race engineer. Yuki, this is Max."
… what?
"Max, huh? That's funny …" Yuki smiled, offering a handshake with the most devilishly innocent look in his eyes. "For some reason, I thought it was Emilian."
"Huh? Oh, no, that's his middle name, he never uses that," GP explained, slightly confused where Yuki had even gotten that from.
Max had thought, for a moment, that they had set him up.
But if GP didn't know what Yuki was on about …
… what the fuck happened last night?!