Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Can we try to have an optimistic outlook, huh?
Can we buck up just enough to see the world won't fall apart?

Lando Norris is nearing the end of his second year in Formula One when he hears the name Oscar Piastri. It’s a passing comment from one of his engineers, about this kid who stormed the F3 season. How he will be one to watch in the future. He shrugs it off, forgetting the brief interaction as soon as the engineer walks away.

Lando considers it no further, until nearly a year later

‘He drives for Prema in F2, Arthur respects him a lot,’ Charles answers, when Lando asks why the name rings a bell. ‘It’s a shame that there is no seat for him in Formula One this year, it looks as though he will win the F2 championship.’

Again, Lando considers the faceless boy for barely more than a couple of minutes before the name falls back into obscurity.

Another year passes before Lando finally has a face to attach to the name. Pale, with waves of messy hair and dark, serious eyes. Logically, Lando knows that Oscar is young, probably the youngest person currently roaming the paddock. Yet every time he sees the Australian, he carries himself with such self-assurance, such poise, he looks as though he belongs on the grid. Unlike Lando, who is fuelled by nervous energy and a perpetual belief that he doesn't quite fit in. He finds himself struck by a wave of pure envy, despite the fact he has never exchanged a word with the boy. 

Lando hears almost nothing about the reserve driver until the summer break. From one day to the next, the Australian rockets from obscurity to infamy. With a single tweet, Oscar Piastri becomes the name on everyone’s lips. He is the talk of the paddock, everywhere he turns Lando hears the name on the wind.

He should have guessed. The signs were there, glaringly obvious once Daniel gives him the context, on a flight from Monaco to Belgium for the next race.

Lando has his head buried in his phone, texting his sister intently when Daniel brings it up.

‘So, erm, we haven’t really had a chance to speak.’

‘What do you mean?’ Lando laughs. ‘We literally spend half the year together. I think we’ll have time to talk.’

Daniel remains silent for several minutes, before he says the two words which send his life into a tailspin. ‘I’m leaving.’

Lando hums, not processing the meaning for a second before it finally sinks in. ‘Holy shit,’ he drops his phone, uncaring of where it lands. ‘What do you mean, you’re leaving?’

Daniel’s smile is small, resigned. ‘You knew it was coming, Lando. We all did. This car… this team… I don’t know why it didn’t work, and I don’t think I ever will. But I knew it was coming.’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s right,’ Lando protests, feeling hot tears begin to prick at the corner of his eyes. ‘I don’t know why they’re giving up. You’ve won a race, and, I mean, it’s not like you’re crashing every weekend.’

‘I need to go, Lando,’ Daniel says softly. ‘The decision was McLaren’s to make, but right now I don’t want to be here. I’m not happy anymore. Racing doesn’t bring me joy. I can’t continue to put my life on the line every weekend for something that doesn’t fulfil me.’

A single tear slips down Lando’s cheek, and he scrubs it away furiously. ‘I’m not saying this is the end of my F1 career,’ Daniel says gently. ‘But it needs to be the end of my McLaren career.’

‘I’m so sorry,’ Lando whispers softly. He knows there is nothing to be done, nor anything he could have done to prevent this from happening, but the dawning realisation that he is losing his teammate hurts none-the-less.

‘Here’s hoping you get on with your next Australian as well as you did this one,’ Daniel quips, winking as Lando furrows his eyebrows in confusion. ‘Ah,’ Daniel winces. ‘You hadn’t figured that one out yet.’

Understanding dawns on him. ‘Oscar Piastri is my new teammate.’

‘Zak is going to be so mad at me for spilling the beans before he has been able to,’ Danny grimaces.

‘He’ll live,’ Lando grumbles. ‘God, I can’t believe I’m getting a rookie teammate,’ he wrinkles his nose.

‘You’ll be fine,’ Danny chuckles. ‘Who knows, come this time next year you might be glad this happened. Oscar Piastri might change your life.’

‘Fat chance,’ Lando groans. ‘From everything I’ve seen he’s an uptight, boring prick. Plus, you’re Daniel Ricciardo. How can he ever hope to replace you?’

Danny just laughs, rubbing a hand across Lando's messy curls as though he’s petting a dog, the Brit grumbling despite making no attempt to move away from the contact. ‘I’ll miss you too Lando.’

They settle back into their seats, Daniel slipping his headphones over his ears as Lando takes a moment to consider the bomb that just imploded on his life.

He joined Formula One a needy, impressionable kid, full of hope and hero worship for drivers who went from role models to peers overnight. Carlos was the perfect teammate for that, pulling Lando under his wing and becoming the big brother he never knew he needed. The Spaniard became one of his best friends, holding a place in his heart that Lando never knew could be filled by someone he was competing against.

And then he left, spurning future years at McLaren as Lando’s teammate for Ferrari. He understood. He did. But it hurt like hell. Seeing Carlos connecting with Charles, watching the Monegasque take his place… Every part of it felt like a slap in the face. That Carlos' new teammate came at the detriment of their bond. 

Until he gained Daniel Ricciardo as his teammate. Even Drive to Survive couldn’t make it look as though they had a rivalry. Danny Ric is the closest thing to sunshine Lando thinks it is possible to be. They laughed together, teased one another, learnt together. Danny didn’t treat Lando with the kid gloves Carlos had, not seeing him as the nervous kid he had been when he first entered the sport. He treated Lando like an adult, allowing him to grow the confidence he needed to survive in this sport.

For the second time, Lando is losing his teammate. Logically, he knows that both Daniel and Carlos had chosen to leave the team, not him. But he can’t help the insecurity that swells within his heart. The feeling that this is a recurring pattern which will only continue.

He doesn’t know if he can do this again. Build a bond with a teammate that will only be broken in two years, when they move on taking part of his heart with them.

Besides, he thinks restlessly, who does Oscar Piastri think he is, replacing Daniel Ricciardo?

Maybe this year, we decide
We're not giving up before we've tried
This year, we make a new start

Belgium, August 2022

Lando is called into Zak’s office an hour before the press conference begins.

‘Hey mate,’ Zak greets from behind his desk, uncharacteristically quiet as he settles in the chair opposite.

‘Were you going to wait until I was asked about Oscar Piastri by reporters? Or were you just hoping I’d never find out?’ Lando cuts to the chase, allowing frustration to bleed into his tone.

‘Daniel told you,’ Zak sighs wearily, scrubbing his hands over his face. He looks exhausted, drawn and pale, but Lando refuses to allow sympathy to soften his anger.

‘Thank God he did. It didn’t seem you were ever going to.’ He retorts.

‘I’m sorry, kid,’ Zak apologises. ‘It all happened so fast. Oscar signed the contract, and two days later Alpine announced him as their driver for 2023.’

‘You mean he didn’t tell them?’ Lando demands, unimpressed.

‘Oh, he told them,’ Zak chuckles drily, unimpressed. ‘Verbally, over email, in writing. Believe me, they were informed, I’ve seen the correspondence for myself.’

‘And they just announced him anyway?’ Curiosity temporarily overtakes anger.

‘They did,’ Zak affirms.

‘Hence Oscar's Tweet,’ Lando surmises. ‘What do we do now?’

Zak sighs wearily. ‘That’s what we need to talk about. Alpine aren’t exactly jumping for joy at the news.’

‘Of course they’re not,’ Lando rolls his eyes. ‘They’ve just lost a junior champion because of their own ignorance. They’ve been made to look the fool.’

‘And they’re suing both McLaren and Oscar in recompense.’

This takes the wind out of Lando’s verbal sails because, what the hell? ‘You’re kidding right? They were stupid enough not to lock him down with a contract, what else is there to it?’

‘They’re saying that he had a contract in place with them. That by signing with McLaren, he has breached the existing contract.’

‘Are they right?’ He asks, eyebrows raised.

‘Not from where I’m standing,’ Zak answers. ‘Our legal team have looked over all the paperwork, and his contract was for a year as reserve driver, with an option to place him in Alpine or Williams in 2023 if either seat became available.’

‘But no concrete spot, which is why he signed with us.’

‘Precisely. The case is going to the CRB and they will make their decision in due course. Until then, we need to control the media narrative. Daniel will be releasing a statement tomorrow, before practice one, announcing that he is leaving McLaren. Later, Oscar will be announced as the second driver for 2023.’

‘I don’t understand what this has to do with me,’ Lando frowns. ‘Even if the media have gotten wind about this somehow, I have nothing to do with the contracts. I can just plead innocence.’

‘It’s more complex than just the contracts,’ Zak admits. ‘They’re going after his character. Saying he should have acted with integrity, that he’s betrayed them.’

‘For securing a seat when they weren’t guaranteed to offer him one?’ Lando laughs. ‘That’s bullshit.’

‘I agree. But he’s taking some pretty heavy fire from it, from the French media particularly. No one is looking favourably on a young driver acting so ruthlessly.’

‘Intelligently you mean,’ Lando huffs. ‘Okay, I get it.’

He stands, assuming the meeting is over. ‘One more thing, Lando,’ Zak hesitates as he retakes his seat.

‘I’m sorry. I know you’re close with Daniel. But this season has been difficult for all of us. If I thought there was any chance of this working, I would be willing to try, but even Daniel can see there is just something fundamentally wrong here.’ Lando cannot even deny the words, because in his heart he knows they are true. Daniel never should have left Red Bull, and everyone believes it. ‘I hope you trust that if there was anything we could do for Daniel, we would be doing it,’ Zak looks into his eyes imploringly. ‘The best thing, for him, and for McLaren, is to move on.’

Lando takes a deep breath, fixing his gaze on Zak. At the sincerity in his brown eyes and the actions he has seen from every member of this team over the last two seasons. ‘If I didn’t believe you, I wouldn’t have re-signed.’

Another stellar conversation for the scrapbook
Another stumble as I'm reaching for the right thing to say

Zandvoort, September 2022

The first time Lando Norris meets Oscar Piastri is at Zandvoort.

Belgium was a disaster from start to finish, neither of them scoring points and then the announcement of their driver changes sending shockwaves through the paddock. He had spent the entire weekend being hounded by journalists, shoving microphones in his face and demanding to know how he feels about losing Daniel, and the addition of his new teammate.

‘I’ve never even met him!’ He wants to scream into every camera. ‘I’ve never even met him, but he is stealing Daniel away from me!’

But he does none of those things, giving mundane answers about Oscar’s rapid rise through the junior ranks, and sincere ones regarding his misery at the thought of Daniel leaving.

He tries to convince himself that Zandvoort will be better.

So far, the weekend is living up to those expectations. He made it through to Q3, qualifying seventh on the grid, which is a vast improvement from the prior race. Lando is almost to debrief when he stops.

His future teammate is sheltered in a nook between the McLaren and Alpine motorhomes, the two buildings awkwardly situated considering the current circumstances. The young man is huddled in a crevice so small, Lando barely spots him as he crosses through the shortcut at the back of the paddock. He is eye wateringly late, but the sight of the Australian with his elbows on his knees stops him in his tracks. Lando glances briefly at his watch, weighing up how angry Zak will be.

Fuck it, another five minutes won’t make it any worse.

‘Hey,’ he calls, Oscar’s head snapping up immediately, making Lando’s own neck twinge with pain at the speed.

‘Oh, um, hey,’ he offers quietly. Lando perches opposite him, their knees almost brushing with how tight the gap is.

‘Listen, I just wanted to say I’m sorry about this whole Alpine thing. It isn’t fair.’

Oscar surveys him for a moment, a blank expression on his pale face before he lifts one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, dropping his head back against the corrugated metal of the motorhome. ‘It’s fine. I did what I had to do; they did what they had to do.’

Lando frowns, because for all he’s heard, Alpine have handled the situation appallingly. ‘It sounds like they’ve been publicly slagging you off, mate.'

Oscar considers his words for a few seconds before answering. ‘I got a seat, which is what I wanted.’

Lando frowns at the easy dismissal of what has been a witch hunt of his character, but decides he does not know the man well enough to further pursue the point. He doesn’t want to scare Oscar off before he’s had the chance to properly acquaint himself and his unpleasant habits with his teammate-to-be.

‘Well then, it sucks that your first F1 seat has been marred by this shitshow. It should be exciting, not whatever mess this spiralled into. So, congrats, I guess,’ he finishes, awkwardly scratching at his curls.

Oscar lifts his head from the wall, finally looking him in the eye. Lando has stared at many pairs of brown eyes in his life, including his own in the mirror, but never until this moment has he understood how people can wax lyrical about their beauty. Oscar’s eyes aren’t mud brown, they’re dark chocolate at the very centre, with a sheen of honey at the edges. They are deep and so warm Lando feels he could wrap himself up in them. Oscar’s eyes, Lando realises, are the only expressive part of an otherwise perfectly controlled expression. He sees grief at the team he has lost and a twinkle of excitement at the team he stands to gain.

‘You know, you’re the first person to congratulate me.’ Lando watches his expression remain entirely inscrutable, but his eyes lighten, making the chocolate melt and the honey spread further.

‘Hey, no worries, man,’ he says, scrambling to his feet before he can embarrass himself further than he imagines he already has. ‘I’m late for a meeting, but I’ll see you around, yeah?’ He doesn’t wait for a response, backing out of the niche and booking it into McLaren.

If he mentions to a few of the drivers that they should congratulate Oscar on his seat, well, that’s no one’s business but his own.

It is only months later that he finally realises why Oscar was sitting outside the garage that day. Drive to Survive premieres three months into their tenure as teammates, and for the first time in his career, Lando actually makes an effort to watch the show. One particular episode, anyway.

He watches Daniel qualify P17 in Zandvoort, and the cameras cut to the Alpine garage. ‘Good luck to Oscar,’ Otmar sniggers cruelly, the pit wall and garage bursting into uproarious laughter. Oscar is sitting only three seats from the team principle. They know he hears every cutting remark, every laugh at his expense, every glare in his direction. His face remains stalwart, but he disappears from the shot as soon as he can. Lando knows precisely where he reached.

I'm kinda coming up empty
Can't find my way to you

England, January 2023

Following their interaction in the Netherlands, Oscar Piastri slowly falls into anonymity again. Lando has the best of intentions, meaning to speak to the younger man several times. But Oscar has pulled some kind of disappearing act. Lando sees him maybe twice before the end of the season, and each time, Oscar looks so downtrodden, he renews his resolve to speak to the younger man.

Except then Lando is bidding goodbye to Daniel, the factory is shutting its doors, and somehow, without him really noticing, he has missed his chance.

Christmas passes in the flash of an eye, feeling like mere days until he is sitting in Zak’s office, the man standing to pull the door shut as he wraps Lando in a warm hug. ‘How was your Christmas?’

‘Short,’ Lando quips, grinning.

‘Isn’t it always,’ Zak smiles kindly. He doesn’t bother with anymore small talk; they will have ample time together over the season to have those kinds of conversations. ‘I need you to look out for Oscar.’

Lando’s instinct is to deny him the request. To remind Zak that Oscar isn’t even two years younger than he is. That he is a grown man who has spent the last twelve months in the paddock, and he can look after himself. But a flash of a memory ignites. Finding Oscar outside the Alpine hospitality. The stoic expression masking bewildered desolation. And suddenly, the request does not seem so ridiculous.

Lando’s own rookie season had been high-pressure, tumultuous, and frankly exhausting. Oscar is going to be feeling all of these emotions, on top of the pressure which comes from being one of the best pedigree of rookies ever seen. That’s without even considering the Alpine catastrophe.

‘Okay,’ Lando agrees softly, Zak’s expression imploring. ‘Okay. I’ll make sure he’s coping.’

‘Good lad,’ Zak grins widely.

‘Woah,’ Lando intercedes. ‘I’m now the senior driver here now thank you very much. I’ll hear no more of this lad or kid bullshit.’

‘Lord help us all,’ Zak chuckles, having the audacity to lean over and ruffle Lando’s curls before he gets to his feet. ‘Now, that teammate of yours gets here in ten minutes. I think your job as mentor starts now.’

Lando rolls his eyes but protests no more. ‘Where shall I meet him?’

‘First stop for him is here,’ Zak answers with a smile. ‘So maybe hang around.’

Lando pulls his phone out to distract himself for ten minutes. He should open his emails, they have piled up over Christmas, reaching an almost unbearable level of disorder. Instead, he trawls through some of his burner social media accounts, using the time he has to find out whatever information he can regarding his rookie teammate.

It’s research, he tells himself as he watches some of the old Prema marketing videos. It’s still research when he clicks on a compilation of Oscar Piastri best moments. The statement has turned into more of a question when he clicks on Oscar Piastri thirst clips.

‘Having fun there?’ Lando realises far too late that Zak is peering his phone screen. He feels his cheeks growing a deep shade of scarlet when there is a knock on the door.

‘Come in,’ Zak calls after a second, giving Lando a wink as he does so. Dying is an option, right? His boss just caught him looking at thirst traps of his teammate, there is no coming back from a level of shame such as this. He is still making plans to hang himself from the ceiling, when Oscar makes his way inside, decked head to toe in the same McLaren merchandise Lando himself is wearing. The natural waves in his hair as unruly as ever, large brown eyes red ringed with exhaustion.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ he apologises breathlessly, the Australian accent less jarring that it would have been before two seasons with Daniel.

‘Kid, you’re early,’ Zak grins jovially. ‘Besides, no way can you be a worse timekeeper than your teammate over here.’

‘I’m not that bad!’ Lando directs the exclamation toward Zak as he shakes Oscar’s hand. The younger man takes the seat beside Lando, opposite Zak at the desk.

‘Oh, you are,’ the American chuckles. ‘But it’s fine. We don’t hold much to formality here, Oscar. We might come across as a little bit of a rag tag operation at first, but there is method behind the madness, I promise. We just prefer to have a little fun while we work.’

Lando watches Oscar for a smile, a witty comment, some indication of bemusement at the explanation Zak has just given. Nothing cracks Oscar’s solemn demeanour; he just smiles and offers a small nod. Zak doesn’t let it dissuade him, ploughing on, unconcerned with the lack of reaction he receives.

‘We don’t want to compile pressure with any kind of goal or number in your first year for what you need to achieve, so we want you to make some targets for the year. Share them with your performance coach; if you’re satisfied that you’re making improvements, I’m sure we will be too.’

‘I’ll make sure to share the targets with you sir, and progress made toward them.’

Zak frowns slightly, the first sign of him noticing that something isn’t quite right. ‘No, kid, I’m sorry I must not have made that clear. You are required to share them with your performance coach to ensure that you are both working toward the same goal, but there is no need to tell us or update us on anything. If you are satisfied with your rookie season, I know we will be too,’ Zak’s smile is reassuring, trying to promise the Aussie that he will do nothing wrong. Oscar doesn’t let on anything, just nods slightly, and begins taking notes on a pad which materialises from nowhere.

‘Ahh, a note taker, you’re already my favourite child,’ Zak winks as Lando rolls his eyes. If Oscar is surprised by the turn of phrase, as with everything else, he doesn’t let it show. ‘One more thing, at McLaren we have a tradition that we like to do something weird and wonderful for a driver’s first podium. I have absolutely no doubt that there will be many to come this season, so let me know as soon as you think of something,’ Zak smiles, tugging up the sleeve of his papaya polo. ‘Though, for the sake of my marriage, I do ask that a tattoo isn’t it.’

‘Of course, sir.’ Oscar’s face is impenetrable as ever. ‘When do I need to have this to you?’

‘Preferably before the start of the season, so we can have anything prepared which we may need. One last thing, kid, don’t call me sir,’ Zak’s smile is wide and generous. ‘Like I said, we are something of an informal outfit here. Only ever Zak.’

Oscar nods wordlessly.

‘I look forward to racing on the sim with you,’ Lando offers an olive branch. ‘Your speed is impressive. I’m interested to see what data we can get together.’

‘I look forward to learning from you,’ Oscar agrees, that same polite but impassive expression on his face. Lando exchanges a glance with Zak, who appears equally concerned.

‘Okay, well, thank you for coming in Oscar. I have no doubt I’ll be seeing more of you. Let me look up your schedule for the week to see where you’re heading next,’ Zak turns to his computer, shaking the mouse to wake it.

‘I’m heading to try on my race suit and film a few promo videos,’ Oscar offers softly before Zak can go any further.

‘Officially my favourite driver,’ Zak tries for the joke again. The smile he receives from Oscar is tight and drawn, but it is progress from the politely neutral countenance.

‘Come on,’ Lando stands and stretches. ‘I’ll show you there.’

Oscar follows his lead, leaning over the desk to shake the hand Zak offers him. ‘We’re really pleased to have you here, kid.’ For the first time since the start of the meeting, Lando sees a crack in the otherwise impenetrable exterior. Oscar’s eyes glisten with an emotion he cannot quite place, but if pressed, he would guess resembles longing.

‘I assume you’re going down to media for the interviews and stuff?’ Lando asks as soon as they exit the room.

‘Yeah, but don’t worry, I know where it is,’ Oscar assures him.

‘Oh, it’s fine, I really don’t mind walking you there.’ It will make him late for his first meeting, but as Zak so helpfully pointed out, that will hardly be out of the ordinary.

‘Honestly, don’t worry,’ Oscar smiles gently, already making his way down the corridor.

‘See you for lunch then?’ Lando calls after his retreating form, realising he has just experienced an exceptionally polite and baffling rebuff. He shakes his head, pivoting on his heel toward the first of many meetings.

He manages to distract himself from thinking about his illusive teammate for most of the morning, but as soon as he heads to lunch with Andrea and Jon, the Aussie is back to haunting the recesses of his mind. He watches jealously as Andrea takes a plate of the non-driver approved meal, looking down at his own regulation chicken and vegetables.

‘I miss Christmas,’ he grumbles to Jon as they sit down together.

‘Me too,’ an unfamiliar Australian accent says from above them. Lando looks up, eyes landing on a familiar face, but one that he cannot place.

‘Kim, hey,’ Jon gestures for him to sit. ‘Where’s Oscar?’

Lando realises this must be Oscar’s trainer when he takes a seat at their table. Andrea has abandoned them, leaving Lando at the mercy of the two fitness freaks.

‘He was still doing some media thing. Told me to come and grab lunch with you guys,’ Kim shrugs with a small smile. ‘Something about me needing more friends.’

Lando allows the two trainers to begin an in-depth conversation about their various fitness routines, unlocking his phone and, after taking a fervent glance around him, goes back to his prior fact-finding mission. He trawls through old F2 videos, with his headphones in this time. He takes it in roughly chronological order, watching the oldest videos, where Oscar is quiet and reluctant to offer information about himself. To the newer Prema videos, where he laughs and jokes with his teammates, looking completely at ease. His dry sense of humour is on show at every opportunity, because he feels comfortable enough to showcase it. Unlike the concerning showing of stoicism he had displayed in front of Zak earlier. Oscar seemed to scared to smile, let alone make a joke.

He is watching an old video of Oscar and Logan, F1’s newest troublesome pair, when he sees the photograph. It’s fairly innocuous, the two boys with their arms around one another in their race suits, looking no older than fourteen. But it gives him pause, because he realises for the first time that he has, in fact, met Oscar before. Many times, in fact.

It was the end of the 2014 season with Ricky Flynn. His final season in karts before moving to single seaters. They had just won the cup, mid-celebration when Ricky himself entered their sacred space.

‘Alright boys,’ he called as he enters. ‘Enjoying yourselves over there?’ Lando doesn’t remember what they were doing, only that they were horsing around with the trophy.

‘Course we are,’ Max F winked mischievously, in that way only he could get away with.

‘Hm,’ Ricky’s response was stern, but the grin on his face anything but. ‘Enjoy it lads. We’ll be back to competing for another before you know it.’

They immediately began booing, focused on celebrating the win they just achieved. It’s not like they’re getting drunk, limited to Capri Sun as their drink of choice.

‘Speaking of the next win,’ Ricky continued. ‘I want you all to meet your new teammate. He’ll be joining you from next season, as Lando is moving up the ranks.’ The booing erupted again as he blushed, embarrassed. He was so distracted by his friends that, for a second, he didn’t notice the small boy who appears from behind Ricky.

‘This is Oscar,’ he gestured. ‘He’s just moved here from Australia.’

‘Hey,’ the boy offered, awkward but not nervous.

Lando doesn’t remember what happened next, the memory worn away by the years that have passed. But he remembers that stupid wave of hair falling across his forehead. The Australian accent, so much more pronounced than it is now.

He saw Oscar several times over the years, always from afar, always while he was visiting Max F. They never raced together, Oscar always a category or two behind him, following him through the ranks. And now here they are. About to race together, with a history longer that Lando had imagined.

He is broken from his reverie by Kim exclaiming in his ear. Lando looks up for the first time, tracking Oscar’s entry into the canteen. He watches as the Australian takes the long route around the room, greeting those sat down at the tables and shaking hands with others in the queue for lunch.

‘He’s making friends quickly,’ Jon comments, watching the rookie do his rounds of the room.

Kim’s smile is full of pride as he takes in his young charge. ‘Oscar has been looking forward to joining McLaren for months now. Let’s just say he’s done his homework.’

Lando finds himself watching Oscar, engaging mechanics with his deadpan humour, charming the serving ladies with that easy smile and navigating the chaos that is McLaren with an ease which makes Lando want to roll his eyes and smile at the same time. It is a complete 360 from how he had been with Zak.

So much for looking out for his rookie teammate.

Does anybody have a map?
Anybody maybe happen to know how the hell to do this?

Bahrain, March 2023

Bahrain rolls around all too rapidly, and before Lando knows it, he and Oscar are each preparing for the first race of the year.

In previous years, Lando has long awaited the first race of the season. All the drivers agree that testing is necessary, but fundamentally dull, so usually he is chomping at the bit to be allowed to race. Except it has long since been proved that the MCL60 is nowhere near competitive.

Testing was, in short, painful, as their hopes of a positive season were repeatedly dashed.

‘Upgrades will come,’ Zak promises Lando and Oscar every time. ‘By mid-season, the car will be performing.’ Personally, Lando thinks it’s bullshit. He thinks it’s going to be a bloody long season, and Zak is just saying whatever he must to appease the drivers, the sponsors and the fans.

‘How are you feeling about the car?’ Lando asks Oscar, the two of them waving to fans idly in the driver’s parade.

‘I’m looking forward to getting to drive,’ Oscar answers, lips barely moving around his wide smile.

Lando snorts inelegantly, his own expression doing nothing to disguise the conversation they are having. ‘The non-media approved answer, please.’

Oscar freezes for a moment, and Lando cannot help the small glint of pride which rushes through him. At having caught the stalwart rookie off his guard. ‘I think there’s a lot to look forward to this season.’

‘Like getting lapped,’ Lando rolls his eyes. Why won’t Oscar speak to him like a normal fucking person?

Oscar glances at him out of the corner of his eye, choosing not to respond. Lando examines his face closely, trying to make out whatever the young Australian could be feeling. But there is nothing. The smile is still affixed to his face, but those deep brown eyes give nothing away.

‘Hey mate,’ a loud American drawl drowns out their conversation as Logan Sargent approaches them.

‘Logan,’ Lando thinks he detects a hint of relief in his teammate's tone. He takes his leave, joining Alex and George in place of Oscar.

‘How’s your rookie?’ He asks Alex, hoping to share his woes with someone understanding.

‘It’s great,’ Alex grins. ‘It’s nice not being the junior teammate for once. Logan is surprisingly lovely as well; I think we’re going to have a good season. I hope he’ll succeed.’

Lando cannot suppress the groan at Alex’s over enthusiastic words. George barks a laugh at his misery. ‘I told you he’d be terrible at this!’

‘What do you mean?’ Lando squawks. ‘I am fucking great at this.’

‘Doesn’t sound like it,’ Alex snorts. ‘You came over here to bitch about your teammate, right?’

‘It’s not my fault,’ he whines. ‘Oscar just… God I don’t even know. I feel like he returns to his flat every night to plug himself in to charge or something. He doesn’t ask questions, doesn’t show emotion, doesn’t even speak half the time!’ Lando throws his hands up in exasperation.

‘Are you really complaining that your rookie isn’t bothering you enough?’ George cannot suppress the laugh that bubbles out of him.

‘No, I’m complaining that my rookie isn’t human,’ Lando shakes his head. ‘I don’t know what to do with him.’

Alex and George relish in the opportunity to laugh at Lando, while he curses through clenched teeth and waves to the crowds lining the track.

‘Are you done yet?’ He demands as they continue to laugh over his trials. They exchange amused looks before sobering up slowly.

‘Right, sorry, how can we help?’

‘I don’t know!’ Lando cries, running his hands through his curls like a madman. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Lewis shoot him a concerned look from where he is speaking animatedly to Valtteri. Lando waves the elder man’s concern off, turning back to his friends. ‘I just… God what do I even do with him?’

Alex shrugs, ‘let him come to you. Trust that if he needs you, he’ll ask.’

‘But he doesn’t need me,’ Lando whines. ‘That’s the exact problem. He may as well be the senior teammate at this point.’

‘Just because you believe he doesn’t need you; it doesn’t mean that’s the case. Remember, not everyone is as vocal as you are. He might not need help, or he might need time to warm up to you before he asks. Just be patient,’ George adds.

‘Work on being his friend before you try and become his mentor,’ a voice comes from behind them. Lewis. He must have been eavesdropping on their conversation for a while. ‘If you focus on being friends first, without getting caught up in the senior and junior driver shit, then you have a good chance of working out as teammates for longer.’

‘That… makes a lot of sense,’ Lando admits.

‘Just because I’ve not always had the best relationship with my teammates, it doesn’t mean I haven’t learnt from my mistakes,’ Lewis comments, his mouth pulled into a gentle smile even though his eyes are melancholy.

‘Well, you give better advice than these two fucking muppets,’ Lando grins, trying to coax the misery from those eyes. He is rewarded with a brighter smile and a slap on the back.

‘The fact that you care… Lando, that’s the hardest step to take.’

I don't know if you can tell
But this is me just pretending to know

‘Hey,’ Lando is leaning carelessly against the doorjamb when Oscar finally responds to his knock.

‘Hey,’ Oscar’s smile is small and tired, showing how the race has eroded his enthusiasm.

‘It was a shit race man, I’m sorry,’ Lando returns the attempt at a grin with one of his own.

Oscar chuckles slightly, letting the door swing shut behind him as he steps into the hallway and slides down the wall, resting his elbows on bent knees. ‘Wasn’t the way I wanted to start my McLaren career that’s for sure.’

A DNF in his first race must be painful, but it’s not like Lando did any better, finishing dead last after being lapped by most of the grid. He drops to a seated position, stretching his legs out in front of him so they almost brush Oscar’s side. ‘My first race wasn’t great either, you know. They’re not meant to be.’

‘You got P12, while your senior teammate didn’t finish, I think you did fine,’ Oscar scrubs his hands over his face in exhaustion, and what Lando suspects is more than a little suppressed frustration.

‘Been following my career, have you?’ Lando snorts in amusement. His bemused joy just grows when he watches the colour rush to Oscar’s cheeks in obvious embarrassment.

‘I mean, I guess so,’ Oscar shrugs, trying to remain nonchalant despite the rosy tint highlighting his cheekbones. ‘You were kind of inspiring to all of us F2 boys you know.’

Lando cannot stop the wave of pride which washes over him. ‘I… thanks, I guess,’ he blushes hard and looks at the floor beneath him. ‘Look, the DNF today… it was all the car. Nothing you did or didn’t do could have resulted in a different outcome. No one will hold it against you.’

Oscar shrugs. ‘Logically I know that, but I really hoped that my first race would be different, you know?’

‘I always thought I’d win my first race,’ Lando chuckles.

Oscar gives him a judgemental side eye. ‘That really was optimistic. I was just hoping for points.’

Lando glances over, catching his eye and they each dissolve into slightly hysterical laughter. ‘Look, in all seriousness. I remember how nerve wracking it is being a rookie. But Zak is fair, he won’t judge you on results which are in no way your fault. You haven’t had a chance to prove yourself yet, but when the opportunity comes, I know that you’ll do it, okay?’

He feels vaguely embarrassed at his outpouring of inspirational speech, especially when he feels Oscar’s steady eyes fix upon him.

‘Thank you.’

So where's the map?
I need a clue

Azerbaijan, March 2023

Bahrain was… a weekend to forget all round. Oscar endured the worst considering he had to retire the car before even half race distance had elapsed. But still, finishing dead last and being lapped twice was a bitter fucking pill to swallow.

The problem is, it has been made abundantly clear by everyone that there is no improvement to look forward to. The car is just slow. Zak is talking about the upgrade packages, promising about the difference it will make, but what he gives with one hand, he takes away with the other. Because the upgrade package won’t be ready until Silverstone. At the earliest.

Despite it being the second race of a record-breaking extended season, Lando is ready to just call it a day and head home, ready for 2024.

It’s going to be a long year.

He has a long-standing arrangement with a small group of drivers to meet up after media day, before the true chaos of the weekend can kick in. It is a tradition that started with the 2019 rookies, rapidly expanding to Charles when the Twitch Gang established. Carlos and Max, a little later, when the meetups became official bonding time. Daniel used to come; his absence conspicuous in the new season.

Lando never could, or would, blame his new teammate for what happened at McLaren in the prior season. For the utter mess that Daniel’s tenure at McLaren had been. However, that doesn’t mean Lando is particularly keen on inviting him to these bonding sessions. It would feel too much like replacing one Aussie for another.

‘Where’s your teammate?’ Alex asks as soon as he crosses the threshold of the Thai driver’s hotel room.

‘What do you mean?’ Lando is thrown by the question. ‘I have no idea.’

‘Did you not invite him?’ George asks with a frown.

‘Of course not,’ Lando answers immediately, confused when his response garners a collection of frowns.

‘You should have done,’ Max says bluntly, where he is sitting suspiciously close to their resident Monegasque. Carlos is beside his teammate, looking both bemused at the obvious way Max is pressing his thigh against Charles.

‘I… I don’t understand,’ Lando admits. ‘We don’t just invite anyone.’

Carlos rolls his eyes as George and Alex exchange looks. Lando cannot help but feel he has walked into the room and been completely ambushed. ‘Inviting someone once does not mean they are invited forever, Lando. We figured you would want to help him settle in. It doesn’t mean he has to come every week.’

‘But… Logan isn’t here,’ Lando points out in his defence.

‘Logan was invited, but he was seeing Robert and Arthur,’ Alex answers immediately. ‘Which probably means that Logan is with Oscar right now, telling him how he was invited to hang out with all of us.’

‘Well shit,’ Lando curses, feeling thoroughly embarrassed and rather guilty. ‘Why did none of you tell me this?’

‘We didn’t think we needed to,’ Charles chuckles. ‘It’s why Pierre only comes sometimes. He knows he is not part of this group we have established, but whenever he has had a bad day, he asks if he can come.’

Lando groans, having never thought too deeply about the Frenchman’s sporadic appearances within their little cadre. ‘Do you think I should text and invite him?’

‘And make him feel like an afterthought?’ Alex rolls his eyes. ‘Just explain to him tomorrow that you were and idiot and invite him next time, okay? I’ll ask Logan as well, so he’s not alone.’

The conversation soon takes on a wildly different tangent, allowing Lando to slip into anonymity on the sofa. He feels thoroughly chastened, and for the thousandth time so far this season, he finds himself questioning his capability as the senior driver of this team. Oscar is clearly not in need of his help, and even if he was, it seems Lando is entirely incapable of offering it.

“I’ll do better,” Lando vows to himself as he mulls over his younger teammate. “Starting tomorrow, I’ll do better.”

'Cause the scary truth is
I'm flying blind
And I'm making this up as I go

‘Oscar, hey, do you have a minute?’ Lando calls, entering the wrong side of the garage in order to locate his missing teammate. He finds the Australian perched atop one of the cabinets, swinging his legs like a child as he waits for the car to be ready.

‘Erm… sure.’ Lando ignores the deer in headlights expression Oscar presents as they exit the bustling garage.

‘Listen, I’m so sorry about not inviting you last night,’ he cuts straight to the point. He waits for Oscar to dance around the truth, to pretend he doesn’t know what Lando is talking about or divert the conversation elsewhere. But as usual, Oscar does the exact opposite of what Lando predicts.

‘It’s fine,’ he shrugs, tone remaining nonchalant. ‘They’re your friends, not mine. It’s no big deal.’

‘It is a big deal,’ Lando argues. ‘I know it sounds stupid, but to be honest I just didn’t think of inviting you,’ he winces as soon as the words leave his mouth. ‘Shit. That didn’t come out like I meant it to. I mean, we don’t usually invite people to these things, and I didn’t think, but it would have been nice if you were there, and...’ He sighs heavily, rubbing a hand over his face harshly. ‘I’m sorry, okay? I should have invited you, I fucked up and now I’m just making it worse.’

‘It’s no big deal, honestly,’ Oscar deflects.

‘Just… come before Saudi Arabia, okay? We’ll be meeting at six, it’s George’s turn to host. You don’t need to bring anything; all we do is order food, chat shit, play some video games. No pressure. Logan is invited too. Just… consider it, okay? I might not have shown it well, but I want you there.’ He returns to the garage before he can embarrass himself any further, Oscar following in his footsteps after a few minutes.

Lando sighs as they call for him to get in the car. It’s been a poor start to the weekend, and with their current streak of form, he can’t see it taking a turn for the better.

Saudi Arabia, April 2023

Baku was an improvement, in that both cars finished the race. Though it was hardly a performance to write home about for either of them. When they got out the car, Oscar looked relieved to have finished a race, but otherwise the disappointment surrounding both garages was palpable.

Customary of the 2023 season, before they have had a chance to catch their breath, they are shipped off to Saudi. Media day is especially gruelling considering they know they will not be competitive here. If that isn't exhausting enough, Lando and Oscar endure their first teammate bonding activity, a quiz based on the UK driving test. Oscar makes quiet jokes, odd quips, but Lando takes on the brunt of the entertainment burden. Doing media with Carlos was easy, as they naturally bounced off one another. Media with Danny was high energy and high entertainment, leaving his with aching cheeks and desperate for sleep. Media with Oscar is just plain draining.

The part that bothers him? Everyone loves him. Oscar might not be the most entertaining driver on the grid, but he is easy. He says the right things, doesn’t make stupid, inappropriate jokes. ‘I wish you’d been more like this when you first joined,’ Lando’s press officer remarks as they watch Oscar in an interview.

It all culminates into a long, dissatisfying day.

Lando has finally been freed to return to his driver’s room, all but face planting on the small massage bed when there is a faint noise from the doorway.

‘What?’ He grunts, not bothering to turn around and see who is bothering him this time. It’ll be his press officer telling him to be more like Oscar, or Zak raving about how well his rookie teammate is doing, or Andrea coming to wax lyrical about how impressive Piastri is. Lando is trying really hard not to find it irksome.

‘Erm, hey,’ an accented voice speaks from the doorway and Lando turns over as soon as he recognises the Australian lilted tone.

‘Hey Oscar,’ he sits up, leaning against the wall as he waves his junior teammate inside, trying not to appear too irritated by his untimely arrival.

‘You uh, tonight is when you meet up with everyone right?’

Lando nods, wishing for the first time that Oscar would just back off and leave him alone. ‘Yeah, no pressure, but you’re welcome to come!’ He finds himself praying that Oscar will retreat into his cavernous shell. He needs tonight alone, with his friends, to recuperate from a trying day. But if he uninvites Oscar now, he is acutely aware of the disappointed glances they will all exchange in his actions as the senior teammate.

He hesitates for a few seconds, but eventually Oscar nods slowly. ‘I would like that. Thank you. For the invite.’ Lando opens his mouth to say something, anything. But before he can utter a word the rookie is already gone.

He groans into his hands before hauling himself off the bed. He should warn George of the extra company he will be entertaining.

It's a puzzle, it's a maze
I tried to steer through it a million ways
But each day's another wrong turn

Lando knocks on the door to George’s hotel room late. Even by his standards.

‘You’re finally here,’ George crows when he opens the door. ‘We were taking bets on whether you were going to show or not.’

‘Not come?’ Lando asks with a chuckle. ‘Since when would I not come?’ In truth, he spent the last hour debating that exact thing.

‘Since your teammate, who seems to be the bane of your sanity, was invited.’

‘I was the one who invited him,’ Lando grumbles as they enter the living space, finding everyone sitting there waiting for them. Everyone except their illusive rookies.

‘I mean, I think we were more the ones who invited him,’ Max points out with a chuckle. ‘You didn’t seem best pleased about it.’

Lando doesn’t answer, taking a seat beside Carlos as the rest of them pick up from where they were before he entered.

‘You are worried they will not come,’ Carlos speaks up softly, not turning to look at him. ‘Or you are worried that they will come.’

‘No, no. Just waiting,’ Lando denies immediately. Carlos chuckles in his ear.

‘You are not very subtle, Lando. You never have been.’

He hesitates, debating whether to ask his question. ‘Was it hard?’ He asks, trying to keep the note of vulnerability from his tone. ‘In my rookie year. Was it hard being the senior teammate?’

Carlos looks at him, deep into his eyes, before bursting out laughing. ‘Of course it was hard. You were a nightmare, and you were also my friend. I cared about you a great deal, and I wanted to be able to help you through all of it.’

‘Which is exactly what you did,’ Lando shrugs. ‘You didn’t seem like you struggled at all.’

‘I was making it up as I went along,’ Carlos chuckles. ‘Every part of your rookie season. I was faking the whole thing. Pretending I knew what the hell I was doing in the hopes that you wouldn’t notice.’

‘I had no idea,’ Lando whispers, struggling to reconcile the man he knew with the picture Carlos is painting.

‘That’s the big secret, Lando. To driving, to relationships, to life. We’re all just faking it, and praying that one day we make it along the way.’ Carlos claps him on the shoulder as though he hasn’t just stripped away Lando’s view of about half the grid. He has hero worshipped these guys for years, Carlos at the very forefront of them. He overcame the admiration within their relationship years ago, but he still remembers what it was like, being that nineteen-year-old kid looking up to his teammate.

And he was just faking confidence the whole time?

Lando is interrupted by his swirling thoughts by a final knock on the door. ‘That will be Logan and Oscar,’ Alex calls as he makes his way to the door. You just need to fake it, Lando thinks. Just fake being the confident one. The happy, in control, extroverted teammate that everyone wants him to be.

‘Hey mate,’ he calls as Logan walks in, Oscar trailing behind him.

‘Hey,’ the young Aussie offers a small smile. ‘You said not to bring anything, but, uh, my grandma just sent me some baking, so I thought I would bring them with me.’ There is a tin in his hand which Lando had not noticed. ‘They’re, uh, a little crushed because they came in the mail.’

‘Honestly, Mrs Piastri’s cooking is worth it, slightly crushed or not,’ Logan offers with an easy smile as Charles all but snatches the container from Oscar’s hands, ripping the lid off and sighing deeply when the contents are revealed to contain chocolate.

‘I needed this,’ Charles sighs, already shoving one of the squares into his mouth. ‘Ooh, this is tasty.’

Max follows suit, taking one from the tin and biting into it deeply. ‘These are really good mate,’ he says sincerely, and Lando can see the praise calm his teammate, even if the only indication of it is a slight dropping of tension from his shoulders.

‘You can come more often,’ George grins, handing both Oscar and Logan a drink before motioning for them to take a seat in the now crowded hotel room. ‘The others scrounge food off of me, they never give any back.’

Oscar offers up another smile as he settles down onto the floor beside Lando. It is the first time he has ever seen Oscar outside of their team branded clothing he realises. It’s not exactly anything thrilling, a simple charcoal grey t-shirt and skinny jeans, but it does something odd to Lando’s stomach.

He wracks his brain for something to say. Something safe and easy that will make him seem like a good teammate. ‘I’ve never seen those chocolate things before. Are they Australian?’ Is what exits his mouth. Christs sake, could he have asked anything more stupid? Are they Australian Of course they’re fucking Australian!

However, while he is busy spinning out, Oscar is polite enough to answer the inane question. ‘Yeah, they’re called lamingtons. Probably the most famous dish in Australia other than Tim Tams. Or, I guess, fairy bread,’ he shudders softly at the thought of whatever fairy bread is. ‘My family are always sending me stuff from home, these held up better than usual I must admit.’

‘It must be hard being away from home so much,’ George answers.

‘It’s not so hard now,’ Oscar admits softly. ‘I moved to England when I was fourteen, so I’m pretty used to spending most of my life away from home.’

‘That’s nice of your parents to do that,’ Lando contributes, trying to sound like he’s putting in effort. He’s confident. He’s extroverted.

‘To let me go?’ Oscar asks, brow furrowed. ‘I guess, though to be honest, with four kids in the house, I suspect it was probably a relief to see one of us go.’

‘Oh… I assumed they moved to England with you,’ Lando admits, his cheeks colouring pink.

‘I’ve got three younger sisters, it just wouldn’t have worked,’ he shrugs. ‘I went to boarding school.’

Alex whistles lowly. ‘At fourteen? That must have been tough.’

Oscar just shrugs, not admitting anything. ‘I had to do it, for my career.’

‘This is why I am glad I was born in Monaco,’ Charles interjects. ‘I remember Jules telling me about when Danny first moved to Italy, and the whole thing sounded horrible.’ There is a small, sad smile on his face at the mention of his late godfather, but Lando knows the memories are tinged with joy as well as misery.

‘Have you spoken to Danny lately?’ Alex directs the question to Max, who readily provides an answer. Lando takes the opportunity provided from the change in conversation to subtly study his teammate. Oscar's expression has closed off completely at the mention of his predecessor. He skirts back until he is leaning against the wall, leaving him firmly outside the circle of those on the floor and able to fall into obscurity. Logan is the charming American, while Oscar sits silently in the corner, the very definition of a wallflower. Lando finds himself studying their dynamic as the night goes on, seeing how Oscar loosens up when Logan prods him, how Logan retreats to Oscar for support at times. 

He watches the ease of their interactions and considers for just a moment how he would like to reach the same level of comeraderie. 

Does anybody have a map?
Happen to know how the hell to do this?

Going into the race, Lando was aiming for points. Realistically, there’s not much more he can hope for.

He finishes seventeenth, ahead only of Bottas. In a fucking Sauber.

Oscar on the other hand, finishes ahead of him by two places. Two places. In his third race. Lando cannot suppress the bolt of hot anger which flashes through him when Will tells him the results.

‘Sorry man, I know that was a hard race to swallow. We’re all working to make this better.’

‘I know,’ Lando mutters into the radio as he pulls his car into parc ferme. ‘I know.’

He clambers out of the car, keeping his helmet on as he is weighed and disappears into the garage. He is heading to his driver’s room for five minutes peace before the press interviews when he hears familiar voices.

‘How impressive is Oscar?’ Zak asks.

‘Honestly, he is the dream rookie. Everything. His feedback, his racing, his attitude. I couldn’t ask anything more of him.’ Andrea Stella. Lando knows he shouldn’t listen to this conversation. This is his CEO and team principal discussing the race without their drivers. Except this is his career. His passion. His future. So, he stalls his footsteps and lingers.

‘At this point of the season, do you think he’s keeping up with Lando?’ Zak asks.

‘Easily,’ Andrea answers without hesitation. ‘I mean, it’s so early. Only three races, and one of those he was barely on track. But I really thought he would be on the backfoot longer. Zak, I can really see him challenging Lando in the long term.’

‘I think it’ll get the best out of both of them,’ Zak answers, but Lando doesn’t hear it. He walks away when Andrea finishes speaking. Oscar is challenging him. Oscar is the rookie. Oscar is better than him.

Lando turns the words over and over in his mind. The implication. They strike fear deep into his gut. Fear of losing the only home he’s ever known. Fear of not being good enough. Fear of being replaced by the people he calls family.

‘Lando, mate, are you coming?’ Jon is at the door of his room, having appeared while Lando was lost in the swirling depth of his mind.

‘Sorry, yeah. Yeah, coming now.’ He takes a moment to compose himself before peeling his tired body off of the massage bed he had collapsed onto.

‘Lando, hey. It was a painful race for you out there,’ Laura Winters is behind the camera, holding a microphone toward him.

‘Yeah, yeah. Of course, this is not where we want to be, but this is the car we have at the moment. There are upgrades coming and all we can do is maximise the performance of the car until then.’ She continues asking a couple more mundane questions about the race which he answers in similar fashion.

‘How are you feeling about being beaten by your rookie teammate? You were only beaten by Daniel Ricciardo four times last season out of twenty-two races. It looks like you might have a bigger challenge this year.’

Lando bites down on his lip so hard that he tastes blood. ‘I think that Oscar and I have the ability to push one another. I think that he’s a fierce opponent. But I also know I can beat him.’ Lando doesn’t smile when he says it. He doesn’t try to hide the burning desire in his eyes.

I don't know if you can tell But this is me just pretending to know
So where's the map?

Mexico, April 2023

Lando spends the two weeks between Saudi and Mexico running the conversation he heard over and over in his mind. It is a form of endless torture. He goes to the bathroom and thinks about Andrea saying how Oscar is capable of beating him. He eats dinner contemplating how impressive Zak finds Oscar.

The loop is never ending, and his mind begins to play tricks on him. He dreams up new conversations. Conversations where Andrea says Oscar is better than he is. Where Zak discusses how much easier the team would be without Lando on it. Where they talk over replacing him, knowing that Oscar is the better alternative.

He wakes gasping for breath, drenched in sweat every single time.

Daniel Ricciardo is a race winner. A serial race winner, who had been on the grid for nine years and is widely considered to be the biggest PR asset a team can have. The man is a dream in front of the cameras, with a pedigree not many can boast.

McLaren dropped him after just two seasons of being beaten by his teammate. And Daniel Ricciardo won a race for McLaren in that period. When the opportunity presented itself, Lando was not the person who got that win. And they replaced him anyway.

Once the thoughts have started, he doesn’t know how to stop them, falling further and further into his self-doubt until he is half convinced that his career at McLaren has come to an end.

Max calls him part way through his spiral of self-loathing.

‘Hey mate, are you in Mexico yet?’

‘Yeah, flew here straight after Saudi,’ Lando answers. He hadn’t seen the benefit in going home between the races, knowing that once he is acclimatised to the time difference it is better to stay undisturbed for as long as possible.

‘Game of padel tomorrow?’ Max asks. ‘I have a new racquet I want to try out.’

Lando laughs for the first time in days, knowing for a fact however many racquets Max insists on buying, not one of them will improve performance. He promises to be there before hanging up, pleased to have a distraction.

He spends the days before the race constantly in the company of Max, Alex, George or Charles, all of them playing so much padel he’s almost surprised they’re not injured. It shakes him out of his dark thoughts for long enough that, by the time the race rolls around, he is finally in a good mood

His positivity lasts as long as it takes him to walk into his garage, finding the area almost completely deserted. It is hardly difficult to guess where they are, judging by the noise emanating from the other side of the space.

Oscar’s side of the garage.

Curiosity, and no small amount of resentment, forces him to the other side of the garage, where he finds Oscar with a screwdriver in hand, sitting atop the halo of his car as an engineer explains something to him. Zak is watching, so Lando goes to join him.

‘What are they doing?’

Zak chuckles. ‘Oscar asked them if he could try the tyre gun. They got a little carried away teaching him about the car.’ As they watch, Oscar manages to remove something from the back of the car , holding it up triumphantly to be met by cheers from all around. A different engineer steps up next, explaining something before showing him where to put the screwdriver.

Lando wants to feel proud. Pleased for his teammate, that he is finding his place. Excitement at having a rookie who cares this much.

But his stomach is filled with bitter acid. Antipathy and jealously building until he thinks he might choke on them.

‘It’s so great, the two of you as a pairing’ Zak sighs, crossing his arms. ‘I was worried that, after Carlos, we’d never be able to fill his seat. Especially considering the relationship you had. But I really think Oscar is the right fit for us.’

Lando cannot suppress his scoff. ‘He won’t ever be Carlos.’

His tone must reflect the venom he feels, because the look Zak sends him is startled. Concerned. Lando imagines telling him for ten seconds. He could just spill everything to Zak, the older man would pull him in for a hug and tell him he’s being a neurotic idiot. Logically, he knows that Zak will reassure him, make him feel secure about his place on the team and call him son in that overly fond voice.

But that voice at the back of his head; that small, poisonous voice, tells him something different. Tells him that Oscar is his favourite driver because he is straightforward, and he makes the engineers laugh. Because he doesn’t say stupid things, or crash the car. Because he’s easier, but he’s already performing on the same level as Lando. This time, he imagines his contract at McLaren ending. He imagines Oscar with his engineers, and his friends, and his life.

He knows he is being melodramatic, really he does. But knowing the thoughts are irrational and actively ignoring them are two different battles.

‘Sorry,’ he apologises weakly. ‘It’s been a long week.’

Zak frowns, throwing an arm around his shoulders. ‘You know I’m here. For anything.’

‘I know,’ Lando promises him. But how can he explain that his teammate, with three races under his belt, is making him feel insecure?

I need a clue
'Cause the scary truth is

He doesn’t see Oscar until after they have each completed their media commitments for the day. Jon has dragged him to the canteen to eat one of his miserable, diet approved meals, then promptly ditches him within five minutes.

Lando is staring into his sad plate of leaves and chicken when Oscar joins him, holding a plate of his own.

‘Hey,’ the greeting is quiet, but more forward than he has been with Lando all season. Two weeks ago, this would have brought him untold joy. Seeing his teammate finally beginning to open up to him. To trust him.

Now he feels only bitterness.

‘Oscar,’ Lando does not try to disguise his ire. His teammate looks bewildered by the disinterested tone, but ploughs on bravely.

‘I just wanted to say thank you. For inviting me to meet all your friends. They were lovely, and I really appreciated it,’ Oscar smiles, a grin bigger than any Lando has seen from his teammate thus far. It only serves to make him angrier. His seat, his team, his friends. What more does Oscar want from him?

‘I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come again,’ Lando responds, his voice hard and cold as steel.

Oscar doesn’t say anything, but he flinches as though Lando struck him.

‘Like you said, they’re my friends,’ Lando shrugs, working hard to keep the emotion from his voice.

‘But… you asked me to come,’ his hesitation is the only sign of Oscar’s distress.

‘I don’t want you there, Oscar.’ He doesn’t turn, can’t stomach the expression he knows will be on his teammates face.

I'm flying blind
I'm flying blind

Oscar spends the rest of the weekend avoiding him like the plague. If Lando walks into a room, without fail, Oscar will exit. Kim has certainly noticed, shooting his charge a concerned look every time he takes evasive action.

Lando wants to feel satisfaction at the turn of events, for finally getting rid of his persistent problem. Or guilty, for pushing away someone who was only trying to be his friend. Secure even, for finally getting the reassurance that he needs within this team.

All he feels is empty. Hollowed out.

So, he begins to shun Oscar with equal fervour.

They spend the weekend dancing around one another, being watched with furrowed eyebrows by Zak. Lando can almost taste his disappointment. His confusion, as the teammate pairing he thought was the dream becomes a nightmare before his eyes.

I'm flying blind
I'm flying blind

Las Vegas, May 2023

The weeks between Mexico and Las Vegas are as tumultuous as those prior, Lando’s emotions bouncing up and down like a yo-yo. The result in Mexico, finishing a solid three places above Oscar softened the edges of his wounded ego. But he still finds himself struck by moments of panic when the insecurity pervades his mind.

He spends the break between the races being distracted by the thousands of media commitments which go along with the circus which is Las Vegas. It works for the most part, inane quizzes, irritating reporters and photoshoots filling his mind effectively enough to keep him from spinning out once again.

The worst part is the constant questions about his teammate. How do you get along? How good do you think Oscar is? Do you think he has the potential to beat you?

The enquiries are repetitive, and his response to them becomes less and less polite after each iteration. What begins as a positive diversion from his tempestuous mindset becomes a never-ending reminder of his failures. Both personally and professionally.

Suffice it to say, Lando is in a foul mood before the weekend has begun.

Thursday and Friday before the race are characterised by Oscar’s near inhuman ability to avoid him. They only see each other once, during a media activity for which they are thrown together. Building a house of cards. It is an unmitigated disaster, both the card building and the camera facing dialogue. Lando knows marketing will have a long night trying to salvage some footage which can possibly be posted.

Oscar is sombre, barely uttering a word for the duration of the video. Lando finds himself rambling uncontrollably to fill the silence, without a word of it directed toward his teammate. Their press officers are behind the camera looking close to tears.

Most of the team have recognised the animosity between the two drivers, and Lando is selfishly pleased to find everyone rallying around him. Even Oscar’s engineers giving him the cold shoulder in favour of Lando. They have no idea what happened, but the team has picked a side and closed ranks.

The triumph buoys him through a painful Thursday and an even worse Friday. Until qualifying. Lando is doing an interview with Ted Kravitz outside the McLaren garage when something catches his eye. Oscar, dressed in just his fireproofs, emerges from his driver room into the midst of the garage. In previous weekends, Lando has seen him greeted by smiles, slaps on the back. Even some cheers if he has had a particularly promising start to the weekend.

But none of them look up. Not one of them speaks to him. Lando watches Oscar attempt to crack a joke, none of his engineers even looking up from their respective tasks to acknowledge him. Those closest to him actively turn away. Shoulders slumped, Oscar retreats to the back of the room, pulling himself up to sit on a cabinet. Oscar presses his back to the wall, pulling his feet up to rest his elbows loosely on his knees.

Tom Stallard approaches, resting a gentle arm over Oscar’s shoulders as they speak. Lando is almost ignoring Ted at this point, unable to tear himself away from the scene he is witnessing. Lando cannot see Oscar’s face, but he does have a view of Tom’s. The muted fury. A wave of distress. Protectiveness. Tom pulls away from Oscar briefly, looking enraged as he fixes his glare on the engineers who shunned him. Oscar grabs him, shooting out a hand with near inhuman reflexes. It takes a moment, but eventually Tom backs away, leaving Oscar to huddle in his self-imposed nook at the back of the garage.

The beginning of the interaction provided Lando with more than a little satisfaction. By the middle, the satisfaction has been doused with a little guilt. At the end, the guilt has turned into pure shame.

Ted has long since given up on the interview, his camera man having wandered off to inspect the rest of the paddock. ‘That doesn’t look too good,’ he comments idly, microphone resting uselessly in his lap.

Lando just hums, still unable to tear his eyes away from the car crash he is watching. ‘You know, I’ve been around the paddock for a long time,’ Ted speaks up again. ‘I’ve seen all sorts of drivers. Some drivers are pricks. Some of them are good people. You don’t strike me as a prick, Lando.’

‘What?’ Lando asks, finally pulling his eyes away from the garage and into those of the earnest reporter before him.

Ted cocks his head to cone side, considering him. ‘I’ve pretty much seen you grow up, Lando. As a racing driver, but also as a person. We both know Oscar’s a good kid. So, I don’t understand why you’re struggling with having him as a teammate.’

‘I’m not,’ Lando shrugs, unwilling to have this conversation, let alone with a nosy reporter.

Ted hums thoughtfully. ‘Just remember. As scared as you are of him, Oscar is so much more scared of you.’ He picks up his trusty notebook afterwards, scribbling in it until his camera man finally returns and they continue the interview. The words strike Lando as amusing at first, a throw away comment where Ted compared his teammate to a spider. But they stick in his brain, niggling at him through free practice, and then debriefing with his engineers.

They are still on his mind as he endures yet another painful qualifying, being knocked out in Q3 yet again this season.

Eventually, he is lining up on the grid, watching the red lights blink on from fifteenth on the grid. Fifteenth. He used to wonder how the drivers starting all the way back here could even see the lights. This season has taught him that lesson more than once.

The first corner is in chaos when he reaches it, which allows him to make up a couple of places. He can already feel that this race is going to be a complete mess, and he plans to capitalise on every part of the mayhem.

Until the second lap, when the car snaps out of his control and before he registers what is happening, he is skidding backward along the track, sparks flying wildly at every angle. It is probably mere seconds before he makes contact with the barriers, but it feels as though it happens in slow motion. He rockets backward uncontrollably, his momentum finally stopping when his car is caught by the barriers.

The air is forced from his lungs and Lando is completely paralysed for a few seconds as pain pulses through his chest, light-headedness making his vision swim before his lungs finally contract and pull in sweet, sweet oxygen.

‘-ando… Lando, please respond. Lando, if you can hear me, say something. Press a button on the wheel, anything. Lando!’

‘Will,’ he gasps into his helmet, voice small and breathless.

‘Thank god,’ is the crackling response he gets back. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I… I think so,’ he gasps, pressing a hand to his ribs as breaths saw through his lungs.

There is a marshal hovering over the car, motioning for him to climb out, but Lando waves him off. It takes another few minutes before he has the strength to extract himself. His chest aching fiercely as he climbs into the back of the medical car which comes to collect him.

His thoughts feel as though they are coated with treacle as he is taken back to the garage. Half the pit wall is waiting for him when he reaches the track, Zak engulfing him in a gentle hug and ordering him to get seen before hurrying back to put his headphones on, still monitoring Oscar’s race.

Lando hauls himself to the medical centre, and then they insist on taking him to the local hospital to be checked over. He doesn’t have the strength to fight it, allowing Jon to clamber into the ambulance beside him and take control of the situation.

The final stop is his hotel room after he is finally cleared by the hospital. He lowers himself onto the bed gently, mindful of the bruising painting his chest. It hurts like a bitch, but he has been assured that any lingering ache will fade over the coming days, and he will be in good enough shape to race next week.

Fucking double headers.

He is halfway asleep when there is a knock on the door. He groans deeply into his pillow, before ignoring his instincts to just fall asleep and peeling himself off the mattress.

Max is on the other side of the door, looking uncharacteristically concerned. ‘Hey mate.’

‘Hey,’ Lando steps back, allowing Max entry into his room.

‘How are you feeling? That crash looked seriously scary.’

Lando shrugs, regretting the movement as it aggravates his tender muscles. ‘Shitty, but I’ll be ready for the next race which is the important thing.’

Max hums, leaving Lando to perch on the edge of the hotel bed as he potters around the room. ‘What are you doing?’ He asks curiously. Max doesn’t respond, motioning for Lando to lie back on the bed as he continues whatever he’s up to.

‘You got my stuff from McLaren,’ Lando realises, watching Max unpack it for him. The Dutchman once again doesn’t respond, so Lando rolls his eyes and lies back on the bed, allowing his chest a break from the shooting pain of remaining upright.

His eyes are closed by the time the mattress sinks next to him, Max sitting on the bed and kicking back. ‘What are you doing?’ He asks, cracking an eye open.

‘Putting on Brooklyn 99,’Max answers nonchalantly, as though this is something they do every day.

‘Um… why?’ Lando asks, perplexed.

‘Because it’s your comfort show.’ Max doesn’t miss a beat as he loads it up on the TV. ‘Also, here.’ He hands over a mug filled with warm milk. When Lando sips at it, there is a hint of cinnamon, three shakes, just how he likes it.

I'm flying blind
I'm flying blind

Vegas was, all in all, a disaster. Lando spends the day following the race in a pain-filled stupor, Jon shovelling food, water, and painkillers down his throat. The second day, he regains some awareness. It is the first time he thinks to look for a video of the crash, watching it back intently when Jon isn’t looking.

The first time he watches it, he realises how close he came to knocking Oscar out of the race, mere inches separating his out-of-control McLaren and Oscar’s. He watches it another three times before he comes to the conclusion that the impact was his fault. Not the initial loss of control, there was nothing he could have done about that. A mixture of an uneven track surface and a lack of heat in the tyres. But there were so many points he could have collected the car up. Where he could have prevented impact and saved both the car and his race. But he let it hurtle straight into the barriers, resulting in a hefty damages bill and no points in the race.

It is one of the worst nights he’s had in his career, but Lando forces himself to watch the whole race through. To witness his teammate drive an incredible race from P16 to P10, securing the team their first two points of the season after putting in the fastest lap of the race. There was a moment Lando genuinely thought it could have been a podium finish, until strategy screwed him to the very bottom of the points.

Lando feels like he might be sick after watching the dominant display. Witnessing his junior teammate achieve something neither of them has been able to yet thus far this season.

‘He was worried about you, you know,’ Jon offers as he re-enters the bedroom.

‘You’re not going to tell me off for watching it?’ Lando mutters moodily, dropping the remote on the bed beside him.

‘To be honest I’m surprised I didn’t find you watching it earlier,’ Jon chuckles, dropping into a chair beside the bed and setting a glass of water on the side table. ‘Spent the whole race asking for updates on your condition over the radio.’

‘Brilliant, of course he did,’ Lando rolls his eyes.

‘Who shit in your breakfast?’ Jon raises his eyebrows at Lando’s attitude.

‘I…’ Lando considers trying to explain for a few seconds before considering the possible outcomes. Whatever he says, it won’t make him feel any better. Jon will judge him, or he will assure Lando he’s better than Oscar, because he is his friend. Or worst of all, he will remain silent, confirming every one of Lando’s worst fears and ensuring that he really does feel out of place in the McLaren team. ‘Nothing,’ he settles on instead. ‘Just upset about it being another shitty race.’

Jon knows he’s lying, but he doesn’t press Lando on it. ‘How are you feeling?’ He asks instead.

‘Better,’ Lando answers, pulling himself out of bed for the first time since the ending of the race. ‘In fact, I think I’m going to go out. Get some fresh air.’

‘Because you’re notorious for loving fresh air,’ Jon answers sceptically.

‘Yeah, yeah, walking. Good for after a crash. Stretch out the limbs, you know.’ Jon hums, making it clear he isn’t buying it, but decides to let Lando off the hook.

‘See you later,’ Lando calls as he swings the door shut, wrapping an arm around his still painful chest before drawing his phone from his pocket. He thumbs his way to Max’s contact, pressing the call button despite the fact they only ever text.

‘What’s wrong?’ Max sounds concerned as he picks up the phone.

‘Are you free?’

‘I can be,’ Max answers. He can hear some muttering in the background as Max clearly talks to whoever he is with.

‘It’s fine, don’t worry,’ Lando says, not wanting to pull Max away from whatever he is doing.

‘Where do you want to meet?’ Max’s voice is resolute.

‘Your hotel room?’ Lando asks sheepishly, unsure if Jon is still occupying his own.

Max gives him the name and number before hanging up. Lando grabs a couple of croissants on his way there as an apology for intruding.

As soon as he knocks on the non-descript white door, there is a hand grabbing at his wrist and guiding him inside. ‘What the hell is going on?’ Max demands. ‘I don’t think you’ve ever called me without asking first.’

‘I… I bought croissants,’ Lando offers, setting the box on the table as Max takes a seat on the sofa.

Max looks at him searchingly for a moment before grabbing hold of the box and opening it, tearing off the end of a pastry. ‘Now talk.’

So, he does. He starts from Zandvoort, from meeting Oscar all those months ago during the peak of the Alpine disaster. He describes how Oscar never seems to need him, coming into racing so confident and so prepared. How he’s the perfect teammate, the perfect racer, the perfect guy, the perfect everything. How Lando feels like he is falling short at every turn. He describes the argument and the ensuing awkwardness between the teammates.

‘Watching the replay of the race… Max, I can’t explain it. He drove so well. It made me hate him, how good he is, the thought of him taking my seat, and my place in the team,’ he whispers the final sentence. ‘But then, when I rewatched the crash… I almost hit him. And the horror I felt seeing that. Max, I’m so confused. Every fibre of my being wants to beat him, because it feels like if I don’t my seat could be at risk. But watching my car nearly take him out in that race made me feel sick to my stomach.’

Lando has spent the last twenty minutes pacing as he bears his heart to his best friend, while Max has slowly but steadily devoured first one, then two pastries. Lando doesn’t even have it in him to complain that Max has consumed his breakfast, utterly drained after finally expelling the whirlpool of emotions which has been growing for the last few weeks.

‘Okay,’ Max says slowly. ‘Okay.’ He nods his head consideringly as he chews the final bite of croissant.

‘What does that mean?’ Lando asks, not allowing Max a chance to reply before he continues to ramble wildly. ‘I mean, I know I’m a horrible person. I should be supporting him, but I want him to fail. But then the thought of him failing makes me feel even worse, and I’m just so confused Max. I’ve been trying to deal with it all myself, but that wasn’t working. I just felt like I was going to go insane.’

‘I think you have gone insane mate,’ Max chuckles, brushing crumbs from his fingertips. He glances at the box, seeming to realise for the first time that he has eaten both pastries. ‘You made me stress eat. My trainer won’t be happy with you.’

The outlandish comment shocks a snort of laughter out of him, finally allowing Lando to collect whatever sanity he has left.

‘Look, Lando, first things first you’re not irrational. It’s easy for me to judge, because I’ve only ever had two junior teammates and neither of them could perform well in the car. I never had any competition. But when I was racing against Daniel, I was praying for him to fail, but he was also my friend. And I didn’t have the added pressure of him being the junior teammate. So no, Lando, you aren’t a terrible person. You’re human. This isn’t supposed to be easy.’ Max locks his gaze onto Lando’s tightly.

'Secondly, I want to apologise.'

'Why?' Lando frowns. 'This issue is between Oscar and I, you did nothing.'

'Exactly,' Max nods emphatically. 'I did nothing. We kind of ambushed you at dinner, and made you feel like you were doing a bad job. I didn't even realise you were struggling that badly. I mean, sure, I knew you were a little off, but I didn't realise it was this... intense. So I'm sorry for being a bad friend. For not supporting you enough.'

Lando hesitates. His instinct is to wave the apology off, to assure Max it isn't necessary. Except... he had felt ambushed at dinner. It had hurt his feelings, whether he wanted to acknowledge it at the time or not. It hurt, feeling like they were prioritising Oscar over him. 'Thank you, Max. I appreciate that.'

The Dutchman nods, satisfied at the response. 'That being said, you handled it piss poorly,’ Max shrugs, words as blunt as ever. ‘These feelings are completely valid, but they are your problem. It isn’t his fault that you feel this way, and there is nothing he can do to make this situation better for you.’

‘Logically I know that, and I wasn’t trying to hurt him. At least, I don’t think I was,’ Lando winces. ‘But how am I meant to support him when I can barely support myself. How can I be his friend when I’m struggling with his success?’

‘I can’t answer that for you,’ Max shakes his head. ‘But I can offer you two things.’ Max pauses, allowing Lando to gather his thoughts.

‘Look, Lando, remember how scared you were during your rookie season?’ He nods silently. ‘Now imagine your previous team tried to sue both you and McLaren before you even joined. Imagine starting the season with that pressure on you, knowing that you caused your new team all that trouble before you even joined them.’

‘That wasn’t Oscar’s fault,’ Lando protests immediately. ‘Everyone knows that.’

‘They know that now,’ Max reminded him. ‘But there was a long time when people didn’t. When he was being called traitor. We all know it wasn’t his fault, but it might be harder for Oscar to remember.’ Lando nods slowly, recognising the truth of the words. It is something he had realised himself to a more minor degree, but listening to Max lay it out for him reminds Lando just how distressing that situation must have been.

‘And the second thing?’

Max’s smile is soft. ‘Two days ago, after the crash.’

‘Yeah, thank you for everything you did that night by the way,’ Lando grins.

‘I did nothing,’ Max answers. ‘And I’m not being modest. I was approached after the race with your bags, asked to go to your hotel room and make sure you were okay. That you wouldn’t be alone.’

‘Who…’ Lando breaks off as the answer becomes obvious, though he never would have been able to guess it outside the context of the conversation. ‘Oscar.’

‘He literally begged me to go to your hotel room. To take care of you and stay the night. He said he didn’t want you to be alone. He told me to turn on Brooklyn 99 and make you warm milk with three shakes of cinnamon.’

‘How… I didn’t understand how you knew any of that.’

‘I didn’t,’ Max admits. ‘Look, Lando, what you are feeling is completely understandable. If you told anyone, they would agree with me. Ask Carlos, he will be able to offer more insight there than I can from his days with you. But Oscar cares about you. He knows your comfort TV show and that you apparently drink warm milk with fucking cinnamon in it, when I had no idea. He’s still being a good friend to you, even though you haven’t been to him. Whatever your relationship is, because it doesn’t need to be friends, you at least need to try and be civil with him, Lando.’

He listens to the speech, feeling his gut plummet the longer it goes on. His feelings might be valid, but it doesn’t negate the fact he’s been a piss fucking poor teammate, to someone who has done nothing but show him kindness.

And I'm making this up as I go
As I go