Wrath & Protest [Max Verstappen]

[s e v e n t e e n.]

The heat coming from the Honda power unit engulfed Max's body as he cruised through Shanghai International Circuit. It didn't help that the air around him, the air that continued to add extra warmth to his racing suit, existed as a smog-riddled mess. His breath was hot in his helmet. Sweat made his gloves stick to his hands. There was no reason to ask Max why he didn't like this track that much.

Oh, but that one reason he absolutely had to linger on - that time when he and Vettel got fucked last year...

Max slammed the brakes right when he missed his chance to make it cleanly into Turn 11, a sharp left. "Shit..."

His engineer sighed into the radio, "How are the tyres?" Max readjusted himself and picked up the pace. Lucky he didn't damage anything after ending up in the run-off area, and how benign it was that it was only FP1. Despite the good fortune, agitation hung ominously in this springtime air, and the driver could barely tolerate it. Just as he predicted, morale among the employees at Red Bull simmered into a cynical heap, and although Max remained confident in his abilities he couldn't say the same of his team. It reflected more clearly than he wanted in his performance.

"They feel good," he replied dryly.

Max watched as car number 16 sped past him. His grip on the wheel tightened as he increased the throttle onto the straight, clenching his jaw and thinking about another podium. Leclerc in his SF90 had been decently competitive so far. The speed he maintained definitely made an impression on everyone, and knowing that Vettel was the priority driver, everyone also saw that Leclerc could fight for a race win if team orders didn't get in the way. The Monégasque was young blood - only a month younger than Max and already in a championship-winning car after a year in Formula One itself.

Leclerc was making himself out to be the future of the sport. He piloted the flagship into the new generation as the supposed chosen one, garnering overwhelming support with little criticism to be seen. Seeing the red and black monster up close in the braking zone into Turn 14 caused Max to remember when he was considered to be the leader of young talent. That label was gone now, and the likely possibility that Leclerc could achieve more than him despite being practically the same age made Max's blood boil.

Jealousy wasn't the correct word to describe this feeling. No, his spite did not spark whenever he studied the Ferrari driver. His emotions weren't even directed toward the Monégasque. It instead flared up whenever he looked back into his memories and saw every "what-if" or missed opportunity in his career, whenever he thought about himself.

"Okay, Max, bring it home. Testing in Bahrain showed us some interesting results and we want to see if we can notice any differences. That'll be it for this session."

"Copy."

The Dutchman held a lot of confidence in his car. Pierre looked to be confident, as well, moreso in his car than himself it seemed. His teammate wobbled slightly as he entered the pits, causing Max to go faster ahead in attempt to avoid a probable accident. Everyone else who stood around the lane jumped at the sudden acceleration. Max looked at his speed.

He barely went past the speed limit. Barely.

Once the engineers rolled him and Pierre into the garage, Max immediately took off his helmet so he could breathe properly. "Pierre!" he called out, never hesitating to approach the man. "What was that?"

Pierre frowned and ran a hand through his hair, "I can't find balance in the car."

Max couldn't let his temper get the best of him, but someone had to tell this guy off at least. The cautious eyes of the rest of his team didn't help his mood at all, "That would've been a fine for me!"

"I get it, Max, get off my case!"

Everyone's fuses had been cut short since that meeting at Red Bull HQ. There were creases around Pierre's eyes, his mouth seemed to always tug downward, and he couldn't make eye contact to whoever spoke to him, even with Max. He looked like everyone else here, and it pissed Max off. "Are you even listening? You need to take control of that car; I don't know how much that would have cost me if I broke the speed limit--"

"Cost you? That's rich, seeing how you don't mind losing your entire career to support Burnouf."

The Dutchman gritted his teeth, "Say another fucking word and I'll--"

"Guys!" they heard a voice emerge from the back of the garage. Their boss came running wearing the worst possible expression any two drivers of a team could witness.

They were in trouble.

Max and Pierre didn't have to be told to follow Christian. He lead them to a small isolated section in the back and had the to of them stand alert in front of him. It reminded Max of a dad scolding his children. Before he could try to explain himself, Christian started talking with aspersion dripping from his tone, "You two need to fix this right now."

"His... reckless driving forced me to try and dodge him and I almost got fucked in the pits!"

"It wasn't even my fault--"

"Apologize, Pierre," the team Principal groaned, planting his face into his hand.

The Frenchman looked to the sky and sighed, "Sorry."

"Your turn, Max."

"Huh?! Why me?"

"Imagine being an innocent little mechanic doing their thing and maintaining the cars. Now imagine watching both of your star colleagues on the verge of having a fist fight in your garage because one of them threw a tantrum like a toddler, the toddler being you if you didn't catch that. Do you have any idea how that could affect the entire team?"

Max wanted to storm out of here but he bit his cheek and offered only a glance at his teammate before muttering a half-assed apology.

"Listen, lads, I'll tell you what I think. I think that the little mistake in the pits isn't the real problem."

"No, it isn't!" Pierre blurted out, "Rosalie Burnouf is the problem. Your decision to keep her is screwing us over--"

"Look at who you're talking to, Pierre," Christian warned.

"Are we done?" Max asked, already inching away. He had no time for this shit. He wasn't going to feel bad for wanting Rosalie around.

"Yes, whatever. Just don't forget this is the 1000th Grand Prix. I'll probably jump off a balcony of we humiliate ourselves this weekend."

Max shoved his way past Pierre and made a beeline for his car. He saw Leclerc and Rosalie return to the pits, and immediately Max recognized the threat in both of them. Nevermind Pierre, beating that Ferrari and leaving the Toro Rosso in the dust would be his goal for this historical weekend. The feeling of standing on the podium like he did in Bahrain was a high he already missed. If he couldn't have that, well, at least he could settle with the fact that he was better than his teammate.