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There’s something wrong with George Russell.
Max doesn’t mean it in the this is my chance to get a jab on you way, it’s a serious and genuine thought. There’s something wrong when he sees him walking out of the Mecerdes’ motorhome, he’s not this pristine and well-put-together man the world normally sees, there is something in his eyes Max manages to catch before it’s gone and he looks like the perfectly controlled man he normally is.
For several seconds he considers talking to him, reaching to ask if everything is alright, but he, ultimately goes against him, letting him vanish among the mass of people still moving around even when he’s much taller than the rest and he stands up easily.
He doesn’t.
The race for him was rough again, another mechanical failure of the car left him incapable of fighting for points and further crushed his dreams of a comeback. By now he has heard George’s anger over the radio, the disbelief filling him as he tries to get an answer from the team who has another car managing to put twenty seconds of difference.
Max first reaction had been honest, George advocated for all of this at first, was happy and seemed to find no issues about what others complained about, so Max of course had delivered a good jab at him but hadn’t gone much further. Seeing that spark of something he can’t explain takes a lot of that satisfaction.
Then again, he tries not to think much about it.
It could be nothing beyond the race’s frustration, Max hasn’t quite being in a similar position, but he can understand how it would be to have a much younger teammate performing better in the same car. It’s more than possible that what he saw was that small moment where one is simply incapable of holding back the negative emotions public figures like them don’t want to show.
He goes back home and minds his own business until Toto’s words reach him.
He is no stranger to questionable things said by team principals, but it’s bizarre to have the man blaming George’s driving style for the car failing. It’s not that George is the kind that slides around jumping on every turn or hitting the wall for pushing too hard, he’s driving as he have always did and that has never really been the kind that would increase the car’s chances of failing.
It’s impossible for him to not remember that expression from last week.
Then again, what is he supposed to do with it? His relationship with George is a peculiar one, they don’t hate each other, but they seem to like pulling and pushing at the connection to get the other side to react. Max likes taking his jabs at George’s immaculate presence while George likes to do the same at times, apparently not scared or worried about being on the receiving end of his no-nonsense and straightforward personality.
Max isn’t sure he can just reach for George and ask if everything is alright because they’re not like that and yet… he can’t help but think about it. Someone can expect to get kicked while already down by someone that has little to do with them, but the least anyone would expect is to receive said kicking from their own team.
Not knowing what to do is frustrating, forcing his analytical mind to find a solution that feels slightly unconventional but at least can do something:
Paying attention.
Max is as discreet as possible, though, he isn’t sure he succeeds entirely and doesn’t doubt he will get a couple of videos of some fans saying how he’s looking at George, later on, but it’s fine. George looks fine, the same man who always has something to say, with polished responses and a way of acting that seems to say there’s nothing wrong, that everything is under control.
That’s the case for FP1, the Mercedes look good, P1 and P2 with Oscar managing to squeeze in the third spot, qualifying for the sprint race following suit and the positions remain mostly unchanged. Max sees George answering questions around what he missed to catch up with Kimi and how he will work on it.
Max is starting to believe he has been hallucinating this whole thing and should get back to his own damn business when he jumps into his car and the sprint starts, seeing George comfortably keeping his position and managing the distance between Kimi and him to still be on the fight.
He’s, of course, completely focused on his own race, his strict boundary of not allowing things from the outside world affect him during a race never stops, allowing him to climb up until he is right behind George. Each lap as uneventful as the last until the smallest thing is everything the world needs to ruin everything.
Max sees George take the curb wrong, the rear of the car sliding and the sudden, almost desperate jerk to control it back with no success. There is not enough space to control the car properly and the rear hits the wall it makes the car slides so the nose ends on the wrong direction. It’s only Max’s experience the one that keep him from crashing into him, slipping by to slow down as the yellow flags appear and, later on, the red that indicates they need to stop.
Back at the pit lane, Max finds out everyone avoided slamming into George, but the debris caught the tyre of a HAAS and caused poor Camara to loose control of the car. It’s a reasonable outcome, all things considered, so Max spends the time watching the screen while they work on taking the two cars out.
Up until George’s interview comes into the large screen.
Giving he’s not returning to the race, he goes through the usual ritual of giving interviews and going around the things that led to the situation that ended with them in that place. It’s normal in the sense it’s not the first time and the way George’s handles himself during it. It was his fault, miscalculated, didn’t have enough time and space to save it, he feels for the team that will have to rush to repair the car so it is good enough for qualifying and feels for the other team who has to do the same without having a single fault in it.
It’s all normal, safe for one little thing.
That spark of something is back there, now clearer, and George doesn’t seem incapable of pulling it back down. It’s a raw layer of desperation that shines in his eyes while he talks and handles everything as if there is nothing going on and Max’s heart does something painful inside of him while he looks at it.
There definitely is something wrong with George.
It goes beyond the pain and anger and everything after a bad race, it seems to run deeper, to the point someone as good as George is handling his public persona can’t hold it, and even when Max, really, isn’t the kind to focus on that, feels the need to reach out.
The rest of the race is done after they finish cleaning, Kimi keeps his P1, Max takes P2 and nothing is said about the incident beyond George messing it up and how the gap is growing larger, making it even more impossible to close. Celebrations are short, it’s just a sprint race, so Max flees when he has the chance to, following the long corridors hoping George is still around and he at least has a moment to listen.
Not that he knows how to make it seem casual, but he will figure out.
He guesses.
He has no idea, but it’s not that they are at each other’s throat the moment they look at each other, so it should be fine if Max just—
“Are you going to blame the car again, George? If this doesn’t change your mind, then I don’t know what else could.”
Max didn’t walk into George’s driver room or an office, he is not even fully inside Mercedes’ garage, but he still finds Toto’s figure standing some metres away from him with his arms crossed over his chest and a bit ahead, George. His usual composure and tall frame slightly hunched over while still facing his boss.
Max… has no idea what to say.
It feels dumb, but he only stares at the scene in front of him until Toto looks away from George.
Max isn’t really expecting him to panic or say something to cover what just happened up, but he still frowns when the man smiles to greet him and walks past George to head towards him. “Max.”
And it’s just that, he walks past him, too, to get lost in the mass of corridors. His expression knowing, as if he believes Max will understand or as if he doesn’t see anything wrong in what he just did and said so there is no need to waste time on it. It’s sickening in the worst way.
“George—”
“What do you want, Max?” he asks, voice low. “Nothing happened during the race between both, whatever you want to say, it can wait.”
Max sees him reaching for that last piece of strength he saved deep inside of him, trying to straighten his back and look a bit like the George Russell the world knows before turning around to face him, but even with all his attempts, what looks at Max is not the George he’s used to seeing.
He does look similar, straight back and chin tilted a bit up, but his eyes are rimmed red, that same raw despair he saw back during the interview shinning in his eyes. Max isn’t sure if it’s more heartbreaking to see him still trying tp say he’s fine or how he is failing entirely.
“He’s an asshole,” he says simply, George breath hitches. “Talking nonsense.”
He sees him swallowing hard, confused and shocked by what he’s saying before shaking his head. “I’m leaving.”
George tries to walks past him, even if it feels more as if he’s escaping, but Max reaches for his wrist. He could easily free himself, if he wanted to he could continue walking, but stopping tells Max everything he needs to know. “Max—”
“You made a mistake, but not everything has been,” he says. “They can’t blame you for what they mess up, you can’t let them do that..”
George swallows again, eyes closing, Max can feel the small tremor running down his body up until he yanks his hand away. “It’s easy for you to say it, isn’t it?”
“That's—”
“Red Bull moves around you, Mercedes maybe moved around me at one point, but that ended a long time ago,” he hisses, tears making his eyes shine as he glares at him. “Kimi is taking them to where they want to be.”
“That doesn’t give them the right to treat you like that.”
“You don’t understand anything, yeah?” he says, exasperated, he’s even closer to tears. “I understand what I’m doping wrong, I get why says and does—”
The abrupt stop has Max frowning and even when it still feels awkward, he reaches for his wrists again to pull him towards him. “George, has he ever hurt you?”
Because it suddenly reminds him of his own experiences and how it can easily feel familiar with what he just saw and his eyes desperately pay attention to every single thing, wishing to not find anything, but knowing already there is something.
“He doesn’t need to hit anyone to prove things,” George eventually breathes out, shaking his head. “You see him on media, he not much different behind closed doors.”
It’s a relief to at least know that doesn’t happen, but if he said that while in a public space, what else does he say when it’s only his employees around?
“He’s a pathetic asshole, then,” he repeats, George lets out a pained noise. “Doesn’t he has a shit ton of experience? How come he still acts like this.”
“I am trying, Max,” he says, light blue eyes staring back at him almost pleadingly. “I just— it simply doesn’t work and he… maybe I should just wrap my head around the idea of losing my seat soon.”
“If that were to happen, then he would be an idiot.”
Max can’t really explain how it comes from him so easily, things like this one rarely comes out of him even towards people he is more familiar with, but there’s something in George’s pain that seems to reach for him in a weird way and looking at George, he realises that’s exactly what he needed to hear.
This entire season has been filled with a lot things being said about George, with all starting as him as the clear favourite to get his first world championship to the one who struggles against his much younger teammate and who, actually, probably isn’t champion material because he can’t get things right.
Even when someone talks about his struggles, they only seem to care about how he is failing. Not that it’s a new thing, Max and everyone deals with that, but being on the receiving end of the sharpest edge of the sword is never easy to accept, but even he needed to learn how to deal with it when it started to happen and people were there to help with that.
George keeps looking at him for several seconds, until tears finally leave his eyes and slide down his cheeks. “I just...”
“You need to rest,” he interrupts, letting go of one hand to reach and clean the tears from his face. “Come.”
To his surprise, and secret delight, George moves when he starts walking, letting him take him down the corridor, opposite to where Toto left.
“You’re such a weird man, Verstapen.”
“As if you didn’t know me.”