Chapter Text
Max shifts in a stiff chair of George’s new townhome. He hates the furniture here, like he hates most things George has chosen for his new life, the one that doesn’t include Max. They haven’t seen eye to eye in quite a while – the divorce was the last thing they both agreed whole heartedly on – but once upon a time, they did like the same things.
Max had no idea things between them were falling apart until there were too many broken pieces to put back together. He hadn’t realized they were becoming different people until they had nothing left in common at all. Somewhere along the line, when Max wasn't paying attention, George developed a taste for terrible furniture.
The last interviewee left at some point during their bickering, both of them too distracted to notice.
George waltzes back into the family room, chin high, and says, “Well, you scared her off.”
“Sure,” Max sighs, headache worsening. “Blame it all on me.”
“You didn’t have to give her the third degree about a typo,” George hisses.
“Do you not care about attention to detail?!”
“As I’ve already said,” George snaps, “people make mistakes! Not everyone is a robot like you!”
Max throws up his arms, not wanting to rehash the argument they just had.
They’re both stubborn and slow to compromise, so prising their lives apart has been literal hell. Sure, they were in love once, but that hasn’t been true in… who knows how long. Part of Max wishes somehow, someway they could finally be free of each other. But that isn’t their reality now and never will be. Because, for all their many faults, they managed to get one thing right in their marriage, at least one good thing came from the wreckage of them. One thing that Max wouldn’t trade for a George-free reality or anything else in the world. Their son, Kimi.
“We have to agree on one of these candidates,” George says, rubbing his temples. “Any one of them is more than competent.”
“Yet struggle spelling ‘Wednesday’,” Max grumbles. George glares and Max sighs again. “Why can’t we just hire separate nannies?”
“Well, firstly, I will have a say in anyone you bring around my son – ”
“Our son.”
“And second, I know you’d want the same if I were choosing someone. It’s easier this way.”
“Is it?” Max asks sharply.
This time, it’s George’s turn to sigh. He comes to the matching chair beside Max, pretending like it isn’t uncomfortable at all to sit down in. “Kimi’s already confused enough as it is,” he reasons. “This way will be easiest for him.”
Max studies him for a moment. The lawyer in him wants to argue further. But George is right and they both know it.
“Dad! Papa!” Kimi says, rushing over from his corner spot on the floor. “Look!”
He waives a piece of paper in one hand, crayons gripped in his other. He runs up and Max catches him easily.
“What is it, buddy?” he asks, smiling, scooping up his son and placing him across his lap. “You drew us a picture?”
“Yeah!” Kimi nods, flipping it around and then right side up.
Max’s smile fades slightly as he looks it over.
“Do you like it, dad?”
“Of course,” Max replies instantly. “It’s lovely.”
Kimi turns the drawing to face George and Max can see the realization settle in the same way it did with himself. It’s a simple picture, stick figures of them. All three of them. Smiling. Happy. As they once were. As Kimi wants them to still be.
George is quick to recover, smiling softly. “It’s beautiful, Kimi.”
“Can I put it on the fridge?”
George nods and Kimi hops out of Max’s lap to scurry toward the kitchen. They both watch him go and the silence that follows swallows them whole.
Max has a hard time meeting George’s eyes again, focusing instead on the ugly rug. He feels guilty, he really does. Not for the first time, he thinks that there must have been something more they could have done. Something they overlooked in couples counseling one of the many time they tried.
“This is for the best,” George says quietly, reading Max’s thoughts like he always used to. A small reminder of what they once were. “For us and for him.”
Unfortunately, George is right again. That doesn’t mean Max is going to say it outloud. Instead, he just nods, sinking back into the awful chair.
They have to cooperate on this, tolerate each other long enough to get through a few more interviews. Between George returning to the workforce, Max’s never ending hours, and splitting custody, they desperately need a nanny. Someone reliable and neutral enough to shuttle Kimi around and between houses. And, apparently, someone that won’t be easily scared off by their ongoing hostilities.
George answers when the doorbell rings at the arrival of the next applicant (one who actually pays attention to small details, Max notes as he reviews the CV). No typos or anything else for his critical eye to pick apart. This candidate has first aid and CPR certifications, early childhood education credits, and experience with a glowing list of references to back it up.
He sounds perfect, if not overqualified, which seems suspicious. But when he walks in, Max is disarmed – not in a military-style surrender, but in more of a quiet ceasefire.
“Oscar Piastri,” he says, stepping forward to extend a hand. “Thank you for the opportunity.”
Max takes his palm and is perfectly polite. George is nauseatingly pleasant, of course. He leads the conversation while Max’s attention snags on irrelevant details. Oscar is twenty-one and it shows in the dimples that carve in his cheeks when he smiles, in the light, unburdened tenor of his voice. There’s a softness about him yet to be calloused over by cynicism or soured by disappointment.
Oscar looks at the two of them with wide eyes, not yet jaded by the world. Max, who feels like he’s been jaded since birth, finds himself staring. He forces himself to look away, a flicker of annoyance at himself and at the unexpected warmth in his chest.
“Impressive credentials,” he comments. “Why, exactly, are you looking at a position like this?”
Whatever ‘this’ is – a messy babysitting job for two bitter exes.
“I’m great with kids and I need something with a consistent schedule while I’m still finishing my degree,” Oscar explains. “I’m only going to school part-time, so it’s taking a bit more time than I’d like. And, um, a bit more money, too.”
Max tilts his head at the last comment and Oscar looks away, turning red.
“Well that’s understandable – “ George starts.
“So. The money?” Max interrupts.
“No, no,” Oscar says quickly. “Not only for the money – “
“But that’s the main reason.”
“Max!” George chides.
“What? If he just cares about money, how can we expect him to care about our son?”
George scoffs. “You’re insufferable, you know that? God forbid the kid consider the pay rate.”
“So you think that’s acceptable, then? Caring more about a paycheck than a child. In that case, we could bring in anyone off the street. And you were worried I might hire the wrong person.”
“Would you rather someone say they’d do it for free? How would that even make sense? It’d be weirder if he didn’t care about the compensation, so stop acting so self-righteous.”
Their voices rise in a familiar fashion, arguing needlessly, and eventually hurling insults to top it off.
At some point George rises, putting his hand on his hip, probably just to look down condescendingly. Max takes it personally and stands himself – grateful to be out of the shitty chair – to pace, now ranting about capitalism in general and frankly unaware how it got to this point.
“You’re one to talk,” George says, rolling his eyes. “You are the most materialistic person I’ve ever met.”
Max runs a hand through his hair, ready to carry on, when Kimi’s laugh disrupts his train of thought. Instinctively, Max turns toward the sound and freezes at the sight. In the corner where his son had been coloring alone, Oscar now sits beside him, cross- legged, speaking in a gentle tone.
“I like this one, too,” Oscar says, pointing at one of Kimi’s drawings. “I love cars.”
“It’s not a car,” Kimi tells him. “It’s a race car.”
“Ah, yes. A race car. That makes it different somehow.”
Kimi nods. “A race car is faster. I like race cars better because they go faster.”
“That’s a solid point,” Oscar says earnestly. “What’s your favorite color racecar?”
Max can't fight the way his lips quirk upwards when Kimi’s brows pull together in concentration like the answer deserves some very serious thought.
“Red,” Kimi says hesitantly. “Or blue. I can’t decide.”
Oscar nods. “Both excellent choices, I see your dilemma.”
Kimi laughs again, and Max can feel his tension draining.
“What dose that mean?” Kimi asks.
“A dilemma?” Oscar smiles. “It means ‘a problem’. Like when you can’t figure something out.”
“Oh… You use funny words, Oscar.”
“ Thank you?”
“Do you want to see my racecars? I have red ones and blue. Or other colors if you want to see other colors.”
Oscar pauses, finally noticing the lack of bickering filling the air. He looks at George and Max who have only been watching carefully, then turns back to Kimi. “I would love to see your cars – “
“Race cars,” Kimi corrects.
“Right. I’ll have a look at your collection another time. If your dads say it’s okay.”
Kimi frowns, looking down to pick up a crayon, and not saying anything. He's so well-behaved, unlike Max at that age. Takes 'no' for an answer and is much more understanding than he should be. It hurts Max to ever see his son's face of disappointed and, unfortunately, he's had to see it more than usual lately.
Oscar studies Kimi's sudden closed off demeanor carefully and the room suddenly feels tense again to Max. But maybe it never stopped feeling that way.
He clears his throat as if he can reclaim any sort of authority while hiding his own embarrassment and guilt. Standing in the middle of the room, he can’t even blame his uncomfortability on George’s furniture. He tries to find some solace in the fact that George looks like he feels the same – his whole body’s gone rigid, arms still crossed, head slightly ducked – but in the end that only makes him feel worse.
Oscar rejoins them slowly, offering a soft, “Sorry.”
“No need for that, you didn’t do anything wrong,” George quickly assures. He throws a sideways glance at Max, eyebrow raised in accusation. “We should be the ones apologizing.”
And of course this is on Max, like most things seem to be; he’s the designated antagonist after all. The one that’s too rigid, too cold. But at this moment, he’s less worried about being right and more worried about doing the right thing. The point is this is someone they shouldn’t let walk out the door.
“I apologize,” Max says, firmly meeting Oscar’s big brown eyes. "Obviously, we have our differences, but that's no excuse for our behavior."
“I'm sure it's a very difficult situation,” Oscar replies, shying away and turning a bit red again.
Max sighs because 'a very difficult situation' is a massive understatement. But he looks to his ex-husband and is reminded this isn't always how things were. Decisions weren't always battles and their battles weren't always fought on opposing sides. In the past, they could find solutions with this – a simple look, shared and understood.
George tilts his head and Max is transported back to that time of understanding.
Max nods once and continues. “I also apologize for my way of questioning before. Your experience speaks for itself and I'm sure you have the best intentions. Of course, we'll need to verify your references, but... the job is yours,” he tells Oscar. “If you’ll still have us."