Friday, November 16th- Milton Keynes, England, United Kingdom
Red Bull Racing Factory
"Let me preface this by saying that I expect you to wait and hear everything I have to say before you say anything. That means you," Horner points at Max, eyebrows raised in warning, "no storming out, no shouting, and especially, no tantrums. And you," he turns his attention to you, though his features soften slightly, an almost sympathetic light kindling in his eyes which instantaneously puts you ill at ease, unaccustomed as you are to being on the receiving end of such an expression from the team principal, "just know I don't suggest this flippantly, and that in this, you hold all the cards."
Now you're just fucking baffled because of all the things you'd expected Horner to say, for all the foreseeable reasons you and Max could have theoretically have been called into team headquarters on an off weekend at the end of the season, you'd been entirely unprepared for any those potential eventualities to be broach in such a manner. And you don't care for it in the slightest.
Not trusting yourself to speak, you merely nod in response, which in spite of your nerves comes out a far more graceful gesture than Max's, who roughly jerks his head, grunting in muted assent. Helmut Marko gives him a less than impressed exculpatory glance, clearly not much in favor of the action, and settles in to watch the young driver closely, making it abundantly obvious to everyone present that he doesn't trust Max to actually behave himself at all.
You don't fault the older man for this even a little since, if you are to be entirely honest, you don't exactly have particularly high expectations for Max or his behavior for the duration of this meeting either.
It's just smart to expect the bare minimum from the Dutchman, it's the safest course of action to take because that way, by erring on the side of caution, you've minimized both the chance of being let down and that of being caught off guard in one go, neutralizing any threat of subsequent disappointment in the process, and leaving only room for feeling vindicated when inevitably proven right.
Especially when in instances that so instantaneously come off as... questionable at best, and at worst... come off as the kind of shady backroom dealings that consume your personal code of conduct for breakfast, your morals at lunch, and polishes off your immortal soul by the end of dinner.
"But let's start with the easiest bit for now, get everything else squared away and out of the way so we don't even have the option to be in over our heads just yet," Horner announces, nodding along to his own words, clearly under the impression that by saying this, by giving an explanation to the reason why had just single handedly soothed away the anxiety and nervous energy already running rampant the office.
But he was sorely, sorely mistaken about that.
"It's imperative that things are at least beginning to return to normal, going back to business as usual, which means Max you need to be doing more than you currently are. You can start small, you can do interviews, magazine articles, photoshoots for your merch or the team's, or just showing up to an event or two during a race weekend when your attendance isn't mandatory- any of it.
"Your schedule needs to look how it used to prior to the addition of Kaia back in September," he glances back and forth between you and Max, not even bothering to hide the assessment in his gaze, trying and failing to get a read on either one of you, "which I know was a considerable change-"
"A considerable change?" Max barks out a scathing laugh at that, "I think that's putting it very fucking lightly," the sudden cackle of harsh, derisive laughter very nearly making you leap out of your skin, giving you such a fright that you're lurching forward, jolting upright in your seat, your heart now lodged firmly in your throat as you whip your head around, glaring reproachfully at the man sitting next to you, "there is so much more to it than that and you know it, sir."
At least Horner is slowly getting reactions he doesn't have to read between the lines to understand, since previously he hadn't seemed to have much luck exercising that particular skill but he hardly even notices what's being served to him on a silver platter, consumed as he is by the telling off he's currently receiving from the team's resident golden boy.
"You can suggest what you want, you can tell us what needs to be done, you can order me around the entire world for all I care but don't pretend like you're innocent, like you didn't take our two separate little lives," Max gestures first towards you, giving you a quick little grimace in apology for startling you a moment earlier, then back at himself as he looks away, turning to face Horner once again as he continues, "and just jammed us together into the one life under the same roof."
"Acting like we did this to ourselves, like you weren't the one who forced us to just fucking figure it out and make it work," half rising from his seat, Max closes the distance from his chair to the desk in an instant but he doesn't move any closer than that, "like there wasn't a child involved and it was all just some fucking group project. And now, all of a sudden, you want to get involved again? Really?" he lingers in place, looming menacingly in the air over the older man's head.
"Look, Christian, you're my team principal, you decide if I keep my seat at Red Bull or I don't and that's fine because I actually like you and I respect you; I really do but here's the thing– if you think you're about to just start jerking my- our family around again without first owning up to what you've done, then you can go fuck your-" Max slams both hands down against the gleaming wooden surface top with all his might, the last four letters of the final word lost but not missed, his point still more than made.
"Verstappen, get up, now," your voice is calm, even but it commands attention, cutting clean through the tension pulled taut between the two men framing opposing sides of the same desk, brokering no room for Max to do anything but what he been told to, "excuse us, Horner, won't you?"
You're not asking him, you're informing him but he doesn't seem to care about that, too busy burning a hole in the back of Dutchman's head to do more than jerk his chin in nonverbal dismissal.
"Outside. Now, Max. Go."
Clearly, whatever it was that you'd just unknowingly walked right into the very midst of wasn't as new or as unknown as you'd previously thought it to be to present company. Its waters must run deep, they had to for Max to have just sunk faster than he could swim, for him to get caught in such a vicious, sight unseen current so quickly, to have just happened upon an undertow capable of doing the lion's share of his work for him.
He'd put on a good show but it's still not enough to trick your eyes into believing he was a victim as he'd been pulled below the surface by malicious seas because innocent men don't drown themselves if they have nothing to hide.
