Chapter Text
Mad Max was a force of nature. There had already been much speculation about his return when he was no longer reigning world champion.
George took a certain pride in knowing that he tended to be the one to get the biggest and most consistent rise out of him. It didn't take much. Max might say- in a high school bully way- that George had a very punchable face. This was irrelevant as the reason mattered far less than the pure satisfaction of knowing he was the one to push Max to his limit.
Of course as a general rule, George preferred to know what exactly it was he had done to set the Dutchman off. The first three rounds of the season had gone relatively fine for Red Bull, Max claiming the top step in two of the three races, George forcing him to down to second in Japan. But it had been clean racing. Neither of them doing anything too heinous at the last one. That he was aware of at least.
And George has to admit that even as Max is charging towards him, the shove is surprising. George glances around quickly for cameras and is disappointed to find none. Perhaps if he yells one of the team will pull out their phones.
“You said you wouldn't tell.” It's a growl not a shout. And George honestly has no clue what he's referring to.
“Do you care to elaborate or do you expect me to understand what you mean through brute force?”
“You know exactly what you said!” His voice cracks, George can’t tell if it’s in distress or anger. “You swore you wouldn't. I will find a way to sue you for defamation and even if I don't win I'll make it as long and painful a process as possible.”
Any thought that this was somehow an ill timed practical joke slips away at the serious lilt in his voice.
“Mate, I'm dead serious, you're going to have to tell me what on earth you're talking about because I have no idea.”
Max whips his phone out of his pocket and then after a moment spins the screen around.
It’s one of those blog news articles that spouts crap half of the time and true leaks the other. It appears to have been published sometime after qualifying last night. It already has several thousand shares.
New Christian Horner allegations raise questions at Red Bull
The article title still doesn’t mean anything to him, so he keeps reading
Christian Horner’s sudden exit from Red Bull has drawn much speculation, especially so close to the sexual harassment lawsuit launched in early 2024. While it is still debated if there is any correlation between the two, new information paints a grim picture for the Austrian team. A reliable source has come forward with new accusations, claiming that female workers were not the only ones in danger of exploitation from the team principal. Even more disturbing is the alleged past sexual relationship with an underage team member at Red Bull.
George feels the color drain from his face. He snatches the phone, scrolling through the rest of the article. The name of the supposed underage team member is never stated, but as far he’s aware Max is the only one in the team's history.
Max’s presence in the Mercedes garage is already garnering appraising looks from the mechanics. Grabbing Max by the front of the shirt he opens the door behind him and yanks him into the driver’s room.
He looks up, eyes wide. “This is-” saying this is bad feels like an understatement. But Max has to know that he would never do anything like this. Not in this manner. “I swear it wasn’t me.”
“Who else could it be?!” It’s a shout that time as he snatches his phone away. “No one else could have done it!”
“Are you sure? Are you absolutely positive that no one else could know? Someone at Red Bull? An- an assistant or something. Someone who could have seen?”
“No, No I don’t-” He stops, eyes hardening. “Helmut.”
“Marko?”
Running a hand through his hair he nearly chokes on the words. “It wasn’t enough just to get Christian out, he had to destroy him too.”
“But Helmut is gone, I thought-”
“Exactly. He’s gone so now he has nothing to lose.”
In George’s opinion he has quite a lot to lose. He’s sure the media is already asking what he’s thinking, why would anyone keep this information buried for ten years? Why did they do nothing to stop it when they first found out?
“This will be- It's alright.” It’s a lie. They both know it's a lie. “It'll blow over. Blogs post leaks all the time it’s not like-” As if his very words manifested it, Max looks down at his vibrating screen. Yelling a curse as he yanks at his hair.
He again flips the screen around and sees the SkySports article. “Christian Horner abuse allegations continue: Here’s what we know”.
Max says something in Dutch and George doesn’t even want to guess at the translation.
“Okay, well. Yes. This is bad.”
Max snaps towards him. “Do you think? What am I even supposed to-”
“Do they mention your name?” Not that it matters. Underage team member speaks for itself.
He scrolls through the article, eyes quickly flicking over the screen. “No, no it is the same.” Then he lets out a laugh that sounds painful to produce. “No, but now they are saying there is evidence.”
That sounds… not good. “What kind of-”
The look shot his way has George raising his hands in surrender. He can imagine what kind of evidence may exist.
A heavy silence falls between them as Max continues to read. George clears his throat. “But wouldn’t any evidence… be…” How does he put this delicately, “Illegal, if you were under age?”
Another scathing glare. “I was not always seventeen.”
“Right.” He says suddenly unable to maintain eye contact, “Of course.” George works to suppress the questions that have plagued him for weeks now. How long did it last? Did anyone know? Max's reaction today has told him that one, it lasted more than a year, and two, he doesn't believe anyone outside of Helmut Marko knew or knows. Why he knows and is capable of producing evidence is an entirely different conversation reserved for Max and his legal team.
Max’s phone vibrates again and George is almost afraid to ask. The growl of frustration and the radiating desire to snap his phone in half certainly does not help, but George has never been one to stay silent. “More good news?”
And maybe he shouldn’t have brought him to a more private location because there is an ever increasing chance that Max is about to pin him against the wall. And not in in the sexy way.
“It’s Gemma. They’re having a meeting in fifteen minutes and are requesting my presence.”
That sounds like a daunting thought for someone who isn’t already very vocal about his hatred for the media and politics of it all. “Well, good luck with that.”
“Yeah, thanks.” And he throws in another one of those patented Max Verstappen glares.
Shoving the phone in his pocket, he runs the other hand down his face. George doesn’t know what to do. This isn’t exactly something he’d covered in his own PR training, nor in his personal life. Of course they were famous and were going to have articles, both good and bad, written about them. But this was on an entirely different level. And it’s not that he’s never seen Max upset. It wasn’t often, but it did happen. On occasion, one of those cruel articles would even be the thing to send him over the edge. This was something else entirely. This is a ten year secret that rewrites the narrative from hot shot protégé to abuse victim. He’s pretty sure Max would prefer the narrative of Mad Max, a talented teenager who was too young to be there with erratic emotions to prove it, instead of a child being abused by the system and acting out the only way he knew how.
Right now Max is angry. That’s the only thing showing on his face, in his posture. But it all just loops back around doesn’t it? Throwing anger out at the world because you’re still not sure how to deal with everything going on in your life.
He’s turning to leave when George finds his voice. “Max,” He stops turning towards him with an intensity that nearly has George taking a step back. “Are you… okay?”
Once again, it’s a lame question. One with an obvious answer. But he can’t help but ask it. The media is about to rain down on him like it never really has before. A new narrative is about to be spun and Max is going to be an unwilling puppet to garner sympathy and gain clicks. He’d be inhuman not to at least check up on the man. Make sure he wasn't going to put his Red Bull in a wall or something.
The lack of an answer is answer enough. Surprisingly he doesn’t slam the door in his exit, leaving it open. A few curious crew members pass, shooting George a raised eyebrow. He ignores them, mentally switching gears to that of pre-race. Maybe with Max in distress he has a chance at another P1. He can hope at least.