Chapter Text
Unstoppable
All smiles, I know what it takes to fool this town
I'll do it 'til the sun goes down
And all through the nighttime
Lambiase looks uncomfortable for a moment when I ask him if there were any signs early on, looking down at his hands as he continues. “Hindsight is 20/20 right? I should have seen it. I think I did in Spain, but I was so focused on the big picture that I didn’t really look at Max.”
It started with the impeding moment with Lawson then there was that bloody safety car. Usually it was exactly what they’d want, but all he’d had left were used hard tyres. And that was the start of a cascade that made what had already been the worst week of his life even worse. Banged by Charles then pushed off the track by Russell and finally told to give up the place. And yeah, alright, he had a temper tantrum. He’s man enough to admit that inside his own head, but in that moment he felt so damn angry, so damn hopeless that just giving Russell that little bump had felt good. It didn’t last. The rest of the day with the media went by in a blur. He did his best to not speak to the team. Just gathered up his crap and flew home. His apartment overlooking Port Hercule felt cold and empty, but at least now he has a reason to be glad he and Kelly didn’t stretch things out too long. She wouldn’t have been able to leave him now without feeling like the villain. The press would have crucified her. He didn’t want that. They’d simply grown apart. He was so young when they began dating and he’s not totally the same person. It hurts like hell because he still loves her, always will, but this is a thing he knows happens. People grow apart. You lose people. That’s the way things always go. For the next week and a half he avoids as many messages from the team as he dares. He just games and spends hours in the simulator running the Canadian Grand Prix over and over. He’ll have to be squeaky clean or risk a race ban. He doesn’t want to risk missing what might be some of his last races.
“I still stand by what I said after that incident,” Rosberg says, shaking his head. “We can’t be having things like that happening on the track, but… well it was a lesson for me you know? None of us knows what people are going through do we?” He sighs. “In this case I wish it hadn’t been any deeper than a young man being aggressive, angry, and thoughtless.”
Canada is a clean second place. The car is still shit, but he doesn’t fight it, instead doing his best to adapt to what it is. Actually the race is the only bright spot of the weekend. He still loves racing. Will always love racing. He knows he’ll be remembered for that damn race in Spain and the press was having a field day. And on top of that Sunday night the first real symptom shows up. At first he thought it was just because he’d stayed in his fireproofs too long causing a rash all along his right side from his armpit to hip, but he knows what that kind of rash looks like. This is different. On the jet to Austria where he is going to stay for the two weeks til the Austrian Grand Prix, his finger hovers over his doctor's name in his contact list, but in the end decides not to say anything.
Verstappen’s attitude toward the rookies was a frequent topic of conversation on the internet during the 2025 season. The turn one incident at the Austrian Grand Prix was a prime example. The four time champion’s sanguine response to being taken out of the race in the usual lap one chaos by rookie driver Kimi Antonelli seems to have validated the conversation.
He opens Kimi’s text message only to see a silly meme of him as the mother duck to the rookies. And just like that his apartment doesn’t feel so lonely. There is an uneaten plate of food on the coffee table, he feels itchy and uncomfortable all over, and is tired down to his bones, but he has friends, three cats curled up with him on the couch, and can still do what he loves. Life could be much worse. He chuckled at the picture for a long while until the three typing dots came up. The message makes him shake his head. He responds right away. I tell you many times it is alright. These things happen. Even now I make mistakes too. You will learn a lot this year and it will be better and better. He sets down his phone and snuggles into the blankets unsure why he feels so cold.
Most of the 2024 season was focused on which of the McClarens would take home the World Driver’s Championship and how quickly the team would wrap up the Constructor’s Championship. And there was increasing focus and drama surrounding the supposed ‘Papaya Rules’ that the team is said to use in dealing with two possible champions. Another favorite theme for thought pieces on the internet was Red Bull’s failures with the car, leading to speculation that Verstappen would jump ship for another team, namely Mercedes. What wasn’t a topic of conversation was the four time world champion making a genuine attempt at a fifth. That was until Monza after the Summer break.
Max felt a bit overwhelmed, but he’d been raised not to show such things. Christian Horner was gone, the press still thought he was going to Mercedes, they’d brought a few updates to the car supposedly based on his input, and he kept getting messages from his doctor asking what his plan was and that he needed to take this seriously. But here he was after a long break and he was going to get to drive the car. He huffed out a laugh thinking about his love/hate relationship with the RB21 forgetting that he was in the middle of the garage. He got a look from one of the mechanics and blushed and laughed. “Just thinking about the car. I hate him and still can’t wait to drive.” Matt just smiled at him and clapped him on the shoulder. “I think you’re going to like him a little more this weekend mate.” He’d tried and failed to hide the wince at the friendly, but bone rattling contact. “Alright then Max?” He smoothly deflected by asking for another rundown of the changes they’d made to the car. Ten minutes later he was on his first flying lap of the weekend and everything else just melted away.
Matt was right. There was more to like about the car. It was like a little piece of magic. Not like Rocky maybe, but he’d damn near gotten a sixth grand chalem that weekend and he felt strong and happy again. It was with pride, gratitude, and just sheer delight that he jumped into the team's arms after the race. He practically flew over the fence, but they held him steady. They always held him steady even when he wasn’t completely sure he deserved their steadfastness. When he saw Laurent Mekies after the race he didn’t really know what to say. The “Thank you.” that he settles on seems too small, but when the man simply nodded his head and pulled him aside to pick his brain about what he felt in the car Max knows that this is man he can trust. This is a man who feels the same way about the sport that he does. He just loves it. No banners, no flourish, just racing. They talk for an hour before Max is pulled away by marketing to make some stupid content for the social media account. But his eyes linger on Mekies for a minute before he repeats the same small, but honest words. “Thank you.”
Chapter Text
Verstappen’s dominant win at the Azerbaijan Grand Prix began a ground swell of chatter of a fifth WDC for the Dutch driver. The grand slam result, as well as poor result for the McClaren team, gave hope to Red Bull fans as well as other fans craving a tighter fight for the title.
Max never actually thought that he was fighting for the title even after Baku. It was a crazy fun weekend to be enjoyed for what it was and he told Carlos as much. His former teammate was having a steep learning curve in the Williams car and they toasted with their victory champagne to the joy of a great drive. Singapore would have been a tasty treat, but as always the track just alluded him and honestly George had a great race. He well knew how great it was to conquer a track after it had conquered you. Those damn walls. Always moving they were. It was fun to joke about it in the press conference. Maybe they could forget what happened in Spain. For now at least. It was funny how second place wasn’t really all that bad anymore.
Next came Austin and another win. He only missed another grand slam with the fastest lap. A better result than the year before and he was still on the podium with Charles. What a constant Charles Leclerc was in his life. How many people got to do their job with the boy they went to kleuterschool with? That was basically how it was with them. So here he was winning in a car that seemed to be listening to him again, supported by a team that believed in him again, on the podium with Charles again… life might be short, but it was also good.
Or at least sometimes the sun shone and that was okay too.
He knows as soon as he gets in the car in Mexico that something isn’t right. No, that’s not right. He’d known before getting in the car. The altitude has played havoc with his body. What had been a building fatigue now felt like a lead weight in his body. And that was exactly what he didn’t need when the new upgrades suddenly felt like two steps backward. He qualified fifth in between the two Mercedes. And as suspected it was nothing like the clean race that it seems has always been demanded of him. He only needed to put one toe out and they’d pounce. Though when he’s not so in it he knows that the F1 world is fickle. Sometimes you were the hero and sometimes the villain and that could all change the next race. Sometimes the FIA ruled for you and sometimes against whether you were innocent or guilty. Lando had been right about there being luck involved. He just thinks that in the end the luck evened out. That first turn is all kinds of toes out, but he gets lucky this time. With the FIA if not the press after the fact. GP helps him get back without gaining position and his own stubbornness keeps him from going into the wall. Hamilton is not so lucky and Max feels for the former champion. Truly. Ferrari are not using him to his best abilities. It’s like they don’t even know the driver at all. If Max was in charge this wouldn’t happen to him. The highlight of the weekend, of course, is fighting with Charles on the track just like they used to. Ferrari really don’t know how lucky they are to have him. In the end he’s on the podium with him again. He’s not quite so thrilled to have the third place finish because, damn, the car is being a bastard again, but Charles deserves second. There was a strange moment though. On the way down from the podium ceremony the Monegasque driver stopped short and looked at Max, eyes squinting. “Did you get hurt?” Max’s eyes widened, not sure what he’d let slip. “No,” he squeaked before recovering quickly. “Just my ego is hurt. You defend like I’m a zombie or something chasing the car.” The deflection seemed to work and they headed into the ending interviews laughing like kids.
Charles Leclerc is a soft spoken, but open and warm man, his off track demeanor in direct conflict with his often aggressive and no holds barred spirit on track. He pets his dog Leo while answering my questions, clearly uncomfortable. “No, no, I didn’t know it. Well, we all knew before the press, but no, not before then. Max, he was private about it. It was his right, n’est pas? I think I saw things in Mexico, but I don’t know. I didn’t push.” Any regrets or not are left unspoken.
Max almost gets caught. It’s Yuki who just about catches him looking at information online. His teammate slouches into his room and slumps onto the couch next to him. It’s his own fault for leaving his door open. A quick slide of his finger across the iPad screen hides the page. “The car is fucked. So fucked. I can’t make it work. Fukku.” It hadn’t taken Max too long to learn that word. And Yuki’s not wrong. It really is fukku. If it’s bad for Max with everything basically slanted toward him as the number one driver, he can’t imagine what it’s like for his teammate. Especially with how cruel the press can be about these things. It’s not a forgone conclusion, but also not a stretch to imagine there might not be a seat for the Japanese driver in 2026. Max gulps around the panic that thought brings up. Not that he needs to be worried. He’d have to fuck up even worse than Spain to have to worry. But still what would he do with himself if he ever didn’t have a seat. He knows he doesn’t want to do this forever. He tells people that all the time. He just doesn’t know what he would do otherwise. GT probably. But then again, there’s a good chance he doesn’t have to worry about an ‘after F1’. He blinks realizing Yuki has been talking and he forces himself to give him his full attention. You can avoid social media all you want and that stuff still gets through. ‘Verstappen destroys another teammate’ is already a favorite trope. Not exactly how he wants to be remembered, especially not by said teammates. They talk through the issues with the car and everything they both know about the track. They part ways having done everything they can to prepare. It doesn’t help. They’re both out in Q1. Out. In Q1. On pace alone. He felt like punching something. The younger version of himself would have. He’d have bruised knuckles to go along with his bruised ego. Instead he went to the media pen and did his job before finding Mekies and begging for five minutes to be alone before they debrief. He cried for the first time since the diagnosis. It won’t be the last time he cries that day. Because in the end the team is there for him. That solid steadfast family is ready to give him what he needs. It took a long while but eventually with a give and take between the engineers, Hannah and the other strategists, the mechanics, Mekies, and himself they came up with some answers. Then the hard work began. That part is out of his hands, but just seeing them hunker down for a long night on what is maybe a hopeless mission made his eyes tear up again. He might maybe not deserve this. And yet he was still going to take it. He was going to take everything they gave him and in exchange he was going to do everything he could to win them a race. He didn’t. But damn if it doesn’t feel almost like he did. Pitlane to third. There will be a lot of talk about the last pit stop, but he trusted his team. You can win without winning. It’s a lesson that it’s taken years for him to finally start learning. Besides, getting to share the podium with sunshine smiling Kimi Antonelli is a pretty good compromise to winning. The kid won’t forget his first grand prix podium and Max was right there as a part of that memory. When the team celebrated later, Max was greeted by a handwritten sign saying Verstappen You Are the Best. He knew right there and then that he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep this secret anymore. It wasn’t right. He’d been using some supposedly ‘selfless’ excuses to give himself an out, but they don’t fly anymore. Not even in his own head. With that decided he let it all go and enjoyed the celebration. Third place never tasted sweeter.
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Max sat on the floor outside of GP’s office at the headquarters in Milton Keynes. He was there too early. It was nerves. He hadn’t felt this genuinely nervous in a long time. He hated nerves. The meeting with Laurent, Pierre Wache, Stephen Knowles, Richard Wolverson, Matt Caller, and some lawyer whose name he couldn’t remember was going to be awful. Just as awful as calling Stan the night before and breaking down completely for the first time. He couldn’t do that with any of these people. He needed to be strong and make sure they knew that he could still do this. First he had to tell GP, though. The man had been battling his own issues at home and he wanted the chance to assure him not to worry about him. His engineer deserved more than some group announcement and besides just like always he needed his GP on his side, in his ear, helping him figure out how to do this. The ‘this’ in this case wasn’t a race, but there weren’t too many people he trusted more on or off the track. He looked up when he heard footsteps on the plush carpet. “Hey mate. Sorry to get you in early.” He frowned at Lambaise’s tense expression. “‘S’okay. No sense dragging this out, yeah?” the man said as he unlocked his office door and ushered them inside. GP opened his mouth to speak, but Max didn’t even notice. He shoved his tablet into the man’s hands and began speaking in quick broken sentences. “I’m fine. That’s the thing that I need to say. Of course, I am sick, but I’m fine at the same time. We see that. I’m winning some races now. That’s important. I just need to stick with the team together. And we see about these other things later.” He forced himself to be quiet then and let GP read the email from his doctor that he’d cued up on his screen. He wasn’t visibly reacting and Max couldn’t read anything from his expression. Stan had cried with him over the phone and then quickly started making plans. He was probably on a plane at that moment. Would GP cry? He wished he could just skip this part - the telling part. It would be easier to skip to the everyone just knowing and them all getting on with it part. His friend put the tablet down gently on his desk and then suddenly pulled Max to him in a fierce hug. “We’ll win this too. Understand. We’ll fight together and you’ll win this too.”
Matt Caller, now with Audi, remembered being called into a meeting at Milton Keynes. It was unusual for the garage mechanics to be called back with a race less than two weeks away. He remembers thinking that it was because Max Verstappen was announcing his departure from Red Bull. “I was angry, honestly. My brother Jon was set to be his number one mechanic and the whole garage had been working so bloody hard to give Max a car he could drive. So yeah, I was pissed.” He looks to his left where the Audi car is being worked on in the garage. “I came in hot too. I regret it, but he’s a good bloke. Didn’t hold it against me.” He huffed out a laugh and looked back at me. “Idiot hadn’t even considered we’d think he was leaving.”
The meeting was as bad as he’d expected. Worse maybe because apparently they’d all thought he was about to tell them he was leaving for Mercedes or something. Matt was visibly angry and the lawyer was talking about contracts and responsibilities and all Max could do was shake his head. In retrospect he should have realized that. He never requested meetings. Not like this. He would just start talking about whatever was on his mind to people when they were there in front of him. That was why it was so good having Mekies there. He was good at translating ‘Max’ into ‘engineer’ and acted as a buffer and a confidant to both sides. It was working so good. Max just wanted it to keep working regardless of his stupid body betraying him. He looked between all of the angry and disappointed faces still shaking his head. “No. No! I don’t want to do that. I’m not leaving. Not that way.” He looked at GP for help as the words got stuck in his throat. The man nodded and moved a little closer. Now that the lawyer had stopped talking, he breathed in and out, looking down at his hand. “Cancer. I have cancer.” He gulped before looking up, expression desperate. “But I am fine. I don’t want to stop. Do not make me to do that. I just want to race. The car is good. I understand it better. The team, they understand it better. This won’t get in the way.” Out of breath, he shut his mouth and sucked in a breath. Thank God GP was ready to take over. Max let it wash over him a little only half listening as he read from his doctor’s emails. The words like non-hodgkin lymphoma, untreated, chemotherapy echoed in his head but he chose instead to focus on Mekies face. If the team principal decided to let him race, the rest would follow suit. Finally the man in question stood up and leaned in close to his driver. “You will see a doctor, hm? I don’t argue with you about this. You will see the doctor and your health will come first. I support you, hm. I support you to race, but not if it makes you more sick. I think that is not a good thing. You understand? So we make a deal and the team moves forward. There is much I’m going to have to learn. Give me time and we’ll speak again tomorrow, hm?” Max hated that there were tears in his eyes and was grateful they didn’t fall as he nodded his head and smiled. It was only then that Mekies pulled Max into a hug much like GP had.
And that was that. Well not exactly. There was the private doctor that was arranged; tests, tests and more tests; all on top of the usual preparations for a race weekend and the stress of telling his family. It was overwhelming, but he felt more and more certain that he’d be allowed to finish off the season. He was not symptom free, but with less than a month left of the season, the doctor agreed to set the beginning of his chemotherapy treatment on December 9th. Of course the older woman looked at him sternly, finger pointing menacingly as she told him in her posh British accent that she would be monitoring him weekly and the moment things changed, into the hospital he would go. He liked her immediately, actually. No bullshit. Stan arrived insisting to go to Las Vegas with him to ‘keep an eye’ on things. He felt guilty because Stan had his own karting team to think about. But as guilty as he felt, having his best friend with him was such a relief. But there it was. After all of his worrying and all of his stupid drive to hide all of his weaknesses, his community was standing with him. He was going to Vegas and he was going to do his damn best to win. Viva Las Vegas.
Chapter Text
With the knowledge that Lando Norris could clinch the hard fought title much like how Max Verstappen had the prior year, the Las Vegas Grand Prix was sold out. The crowds were excited to witness the suddenly epic battle for the World Drivers Championship. Though there were comments about the Red Bull garage seeming happier and energized than ever before. There was music playing again and laughter between mechanics, strategy, and drivers. Accidents and rain ended up playing havoc with the free practices however perhaps giving some foreshadowing of things to come. Unexpected turns of events seem to have been the theme of the 2025 season right to the end.
Max was in high spirits from the moment they hit the ground in Vegas. He had the silly little Ted bear Stan gave him attached to his backpack and a grin from ear to ear. The weight of his secret had been lifted so much that finally he felt like he could breathe. He qualified below Lando though which was not ideal for continuing this battle. And Yuki is much further down the grid. He wants better for his teammate; knows he deserves better, but also knows that he is fundamentally a selfish man when it comes to racing. In the end he was happy to be lined up on the front row. Not as good as pole, but he knew that if he kept his head he could make something of it. Besides, P2 would be a happy finish because no matter what they did it was hard to compete with the McLaren rocketship. He was still racing and that feels like its own win. Well, no. He can’t fool even himself. First place was always what he fought for. Every single time. Giving up and accepting wasn’t in his nature. And winning was exactly what was on his mind when it was lights out. Lando tried a chop over at the start, but he kept his cool and caught him up going around the inside when the other driver went wide trying to defend. He smiled to himself, loving a good ballsy move. Too bad for his friend that it didn’t work. Not this time. This time it worked out for him and he didn’t let the good fortune slip away. Not once in the whole race. It was his race. It was the team’s race. They were standing by him come hell or high water. That night in Vegas it was the highest of highs. He stood on the podium with GP and nothing had ever felt better. He was in his driver’s room getting dressed for the flight back to Monaco when GP burst in. “They got disqualified. I can’t believe it. Both of them. Skid wear.” Max stared at him. Obviously there had been something wrong. In fact Max had half expected Lando to get disqualified when they couldn’t get a fuel sample. After they’d passed that test, he’d shrugged, deciding to ask his friend, if they still were friends, what had happened at the end there. His head was dizzy with the implications. There was a deep down anger on Lando and Oscar’s behalf. Their team just kept fucking up. Fucking McLaren. What were they thinking? But in the end this was good for him. The fight was actually close now.
Nico Hulkenberg is a quiet man by nature, but there is a humor dancing behind his eyes even when he’s not speaking. During a season that saw him getting his first podium and his team beating all expectations, he’s had a lot to be happy about. When he talks about everything that came to light after the season, the happiness dims visibly. “No, I didn’t know, but I think I should have figured it out. I saw the bruises. I let him explain it away, but I mean it wasn’t normal you know.” There is guilt in his eyes that feels out of place.
He and the team don’t really have time for celebrations even if Vegas is the perfect place to celebrate. He needed to get home and do some blood tests before heading off to Qatar and finally on to Abu Dhabi. “Of course there is no rest for the wicked is there?” he asked Nico as they climbed onto the jet. He was always happy to give any of the drivers a lift home, especially Nico. The man had a family and if Max could help him get to them sooner to spend more time with them during this crazy time, he was happy to do it. What was the point of having his own jet if he couldn’t help his friends anyway. He stowed his bag and pulled his hoodie over his head. As soon as he felt the shirt underneath pull all the way up his neck, he knew he’d fucked up. He knew what his back looked like. He swiftly pulled it down, but he’d been turned around and therefore gave Nico a beautiful full view. “Scheiße! Max what did you do. It bounces that bad, the car?” He chuckled and waved it off. “Exactly. See I tell you Crofty says I complain too much, but of course I don’t. It is a pogo stick.” He didn’t like throwing his team under the bus like this, but can’t think of anything else. “It is alright. Of course these things happen when I fight the car too much. I win though so I don’t care too much.” Soon they fall into the expected conversation about the disqualifications that eventually turns to other things like football and Nico’s kids until Max can’t keep his eyes open any longer. He slept all the way to Nice Côte d'Azur and tried not to notice Nico’s worried expression as they parted ways. Just two races. He just needed to keep the secret for two more races. Well, actually he hoped to keep the secret forever if he could, but that was something to worry about after Abu Dhabi. That night he slept under four blankets covered in cats and the grand prix trophy on his bedside table. Usually they stayed with the team, but Mekies had shoved it into his hands. “Keep this one for now, hm.” Throughout the night when he woke up, his eyes fell on it and he smiled.
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Yet again, Lando Norris was a possible race away from sewing up the championship in Qatar. And for another weekend in a row, the F1 world is caught up in the three way battle for the World Driver Championship. The focus from the press, however, is on the Las Vegas double disqualification. Norris, Piastri, and Verstappen are asked again and again about the shift in the balance. Only a handful of points separate them and each mistake or stroke of brilliance will make the difference. The season is as long as it has ever been and many sensed that exhaustion and pressure were weighing not just on the front runners but the entire grid.
He can’t quite pinpoint why, but the joyful feeling he had in Las Vegas apparently didn’t come to the Middle East with him. Obviously the press bothers him. Mostly he enjoys the reporters on an individual level. Many of them he even likes, but when things like this happen they get like a dog with a bone. It’s pretty annoying. And McLaren certainly did give them a hell of a bone. That would be fine if he wasn’t right in the middle of it. He hated having to affirm over and over that the reason he’s so close to the championship now is because of another team’s mistakes. He could be honest enough to say that it bruised his ego a little. Not that it isn’t true. It is true. He was the first one to say it in an interview, but it’s not the whole story. That story is so much more complicated and it is also a story that didn’t belong to anyone else. Not yet. Hopefully not ever. So he spoke as diplomatically as he was capable of and made sure to praise the team at every possibility; showed his pride in them all.
Or maybe it wasn’t the press at all. He’d been dealing with that since he was seventeen and having to answer questions about drivers claiming he was going to kill someone someday. If he could survive that, championship speculation was a piece of cake. Maybe it’s the specter of the season being over and having to face his new reality fully for the first time. Treatment. Chemotherapy. He couldn’t really stop thinking about it anymore. Before… well before Brazil there was no plan whatsoever. He hadn’t even considered what he’d do about any of that. No plan, no thinking. In Vegas he only felt relief at finally sharing his secret. However in Qatar it all became very real. Because in Qatar, he didn’t make the minimum weight. The look on the teams faces when he stepped on the scale and measured on the wrong side of 80 kilos was devastating. It wasn’t that they would have to take the time to add ballast to his seat. It was that he’d lost five kilos in a week. It was that they were worried. And worrying his team was at the bottom of his to-do list for that weekend. He made a lame joke about laying off the pasta too much, but it didn’t quite land. Matt saved him in the end by just pulling him in by his neck to bump foreheads. “We’ve got you mate. You get this thing done and we’ll all have fuckin’ pasta all weekend.” Max chuckled gratefully and went back to his room to finish his pre-race check list with Rupert. The man didn’t say anything about his weight. There wasn’t really anything to say. It wasn’t as if it was the result of not training correctly or not eating healthy. His body was betraying him and he just needed to take command of it for two more race weekends. He stopped in the middle of a reaction time exercise, looking up at his trainer. “I just want to make them proud, of course. It’s difficult at the same time though. There isn’t much chance.” It felt like he was admitting defeat and hearing his own words out loud shook something in him. “No, no of course we don’t give up.” Manwaring tossed the tennis balls aside and put both of his hands on Max’s shoulder holding eye contact. “No one in this garage is worried about any of that. You don’t give up. We know that mate. Just go out there and do what you do.” Max smiled, corners of his eyes crinkling.
In the end the victory was down to Hannah Schmitz. Once again their Principal Strategy Engineer stayed calm, cool, and collected. Yeah, McLaren once again made a blunder, but Max knew all too well that teams would follow each other over a cliff like lemmings more often than not. She trusted Max and she trusted the strategy. Though later one she would ask Max if he had any idea what McLaren were thinking and told him under no uncertain terms he should question her if she made such a weird decision. He knew she wouldn’t so it was an easy promise to make. It was also an easy decision to pull her up onto the podium with him. He hadn’t always been kind in frustrating moments and some of that unkindness… a lot of that unkindness had been directed at her in a vague sort of way. Once they were drenched in champagne and the music and cheers had died down, he looked at her and in a rare moment of shyness apologized. “I am an arsehole sometimes, of course. It’s not you that is the reason. I just…” She shook her head and went up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “You just care. Me too. That’s why we work well together, yeah? All of us. We all care. We all love racing, yeah?” He hugged her then, but when they pulled apart she looked a little teary. “Let’s go get you fed up now. Pasta is what I’ve heard.”
Hannah Schmitz is visibly uncomfortable. The Red Bull head strategy engineer shifts in her seat and looks away to the PR team member who came with her to the interview. They share a look and a shrug. She’s obviously been given the okay to continue or stop the whole thing. “I just don’t know why this is anyone’s business. Max wouldn’t want this. He’s a racing driver. He raced his heart out this season through the good and the bad. What business is it of anyone what the bad was? They were there. They could have seen if they wanted. He was so thin. They didn't see because the drama was juicier." She shook her head clearly having said more than she'd planned. "You know what? Never mind. Unless you want to ask about the car or the strategy, I don't think I have anything else to say.”
It was fine. He won. He did what he needed to do to stay in the fight. They would have the chance all the way to Abu Dhabi. But of course as it so often did these days, it all went to shit. It was just an off hand comment meant only for Max and only a casual observance by GP in the moment. He knows that GP would never do anything to hurt anyone. It’s preposterous. Maybe things are heightened because the team wanted so much for Max that they forget that not everyone is privy to the actual battle they are fighting. It doesn’t matter though because before they all leave Qatar things have been sorted between everyone. Toto has had his say, GP apologized unequivocally, Max and Kimi chat about it and leave each other with a quick hug and goodbyes until the next weekend. And overnight it was suddenly not fine. Not fine at all. Helmet says something stupid. The internet did itself proud by being even stupider. Max had flashbacks to 2021 and even before. When he tells everyone that he hates social media, it’s not some joke, not some quirk. He truly hates social media. After a call to Red Bull demanding they issue an apology, he checks in with both Kimi and GP. Kimi is sweet as always and they end up talking about strategy in Abu Dhabi. But he can tell that the kid is shaken. He wished this cycle of hate could end some day. It made it hard to still love the fans when things like that happened. GP was quiet and apologized to him for causing trouble with the press and fans. It was just another thing to put on his shoulders. None of those people behind their televisions and phone screens had any idea the pressure the man was under. Max knew. He knew that he was that pressure. He knew that the cancer growing in his body is that pressure. He knew that even before he dropped his bombshell, it had been a hard year for GP. But the world didn’t like to know such things. The world liked to swim from one outrage to the next, spitting hate and hurting from behind a keyboard. “You don’t apologize to me. It is handled. Let them say their things at the same time. It doesn’t matter for us.” He called his mom that night and after a quick hello just went quiet. Her voice was whisper quiet as she asked,“Some days are hard, hm?” If she could hear him crying, she never said. His family wasn’t so good at that sort of thing. But she stayed on the line with him until he fell asleep. That was enough.