Chapter Text
Max was sore to say the least.
After the little shunt with Lewis, he knew his chest would be bruised from his harness, he just didn't expect it to be quite this bad. It felt like he could barely breathe. Of course, he couldn’t admit that to anyone. After all that sass he gave to GP on the radio, he didn’t expect anyone would give him sympathy anyway. Not that he wanted sympathy. Obviously.
However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t admit he was in pain and should probably at least get Rupert to massage him before he had to go to the stewards. But it was all just so exhausting. Everyone trying to blame his streaming habits instead of the shitty- no. This was his mistake, not the engineers. They’re working hard to make a good car for him and Checo… it's just not there yet. Hopefully it will be soon though, before they have more races like todays.
Ugh, how exhausting speaking about the race is. Max could almost say he was happy he wasn’t on the podium, just so he didn't have to deal with the stickiness champagne brought. Almost. Whose he kidding, of course he wanted to be on the podium. Anything to secure that fourth championship.
Of course, he would be on the podium if he didn’t have a shitty car and a shitty wheel lock with stupid Lewis in the way like it was ‘21 again- No. You can’t be thinking this way.
Max was so tired of all the questions about this stupid race. He really just wanted to get the stewards meeting over with, and get to the debrief, and apologize to GP, and grab his things, and get back to his motorhome, and take a hot shower, and get back home to his cats, and, and, and.
Max couldn’t do it anymore. Halfway between the media pen and Red Bulls hospitality he had to duck into an alcove to get his breath back.
It this how Lando felt when their tires hit? How Checo felt getting hit by Magnussen? How Charles felt year after year in Monaco? This was shit. So completely shit. Max hadn’t felt like this in a long long time.
Like he just wanted someone to rub his back and comfort him while he got his legs under him again.
Like he wanted someone to see him for the gentle and caring person only his cats get to see and not the vicious monster reporters like to paint him as.
Another thing to add to the never ending list of exhausting things this sport throws at him.
What else should he expect though. Even karting threw shit at him throughout his childhood. Well, more like his father and less so the sport. Max can appreciate that though. Growing up with an authoritarian figure constantly degrading you in your own home certainly prepares you for the death threats sent to you.
Gosh, Max, get a grip. These thoughts are not going to help you get your breath back. At this point, Max was thinking nothing ever would.
At least, until a hand landed on his back, just as he had been hoping for.
“Max, you good buddy?” Came the gentle voice Max recognized from years and years of hearing it come through his radio.
Max looked up at GP. The older man staring back at him with a look Max only ever got from his mother and sister, the look that really cemented in Max’s mind that GP meant it when he said he saw Max as a little brother.
Wait, GP asked him a question, what was it? God, get a grip Max. This is why you fuck up all the time.
Max felt the hand start to rub up and down his spine through the tight fireproofs he forgot he still wore.
“You gotta slow your breaths and answer me mate,” came the familiar voice once again.
“Yeah, yeah I’m good, sorry, I’m so sorry” Max finally got out after opening and closing his mouth a few times, “just couldn’t handle it anymore.”
“No need to apologize… Handle what?” GP furrowed his brows and took hold of Max’s shoulders to lean him up against the wall.
“No, I am. I really am sorry. We’ve been doing this for how long and I still act like that same rookie coming from f3 and trying to prove himself. I tried so hard to keep it on the podium if I couldn’t have first and I blew it. I couldn’t do it GP. Going over Lewis’ wheel like that hurt like a bitch and hearing what everyone had to say about it after was terrible,” Max could feel his lungs fighting with everything they had to break their restraints and let air in.
“Max, hey Maxie, look at me,” Moving his left hand up to cup Max’s jaw, GP made sure he had the dutchman's full focus, “you’re allowed to be frustrated. You’re allowed to hope the car and strategy was better. And most importantly, you’re allowed to let us know you're hurting. That’s one of the key points in Rupert's job description, mate. Nobody wants a 2021 repeat. I’m not angry at you for how you spoke to me. We’ve said it before and I will even say it to you- this is how our relationship works. We may get a bit heated during the race, but at the end of the day, we know how to put it behind us, okay? Let's go find Rupert, even though I think we should be going right to medical.”
GP helped Max up from the wall, being careful not to press too hard where any bruising might be.
“Please no medical. I promise I’ll do whatever Rupert wants,” Max let out through small gasps and they made their way to Max’s driver's room.
“Okay, okay. Just trust that we got you now buddy.”