Archive of Our Own

before.

Lando sits at the kitchen table, one hand resting uselessly on the keyboard of his laptop and the other fisted tightly in his curls. He stares at the screen, eyes flickering across the words on the document. 

Emergency Contact Info:

The words make Lando’s skin crawl. He doesn’t have an emergency contact for Finch. His parents live too far away, and by association, that groups in his siblings. Max loves Finch, but Lando knows his son, and he doesn’t think Max would appreciate having to be so close to Woking so often to get his godson. Charles is in Italy so often that he doesn’t even bother with that thought. Daniel goes back and forth from Los Angeles to Australia to wherever else that it makes Lando’s head hurt just thinking about it. 

But Carlos. 

The Spaniard never sold his apartment in Woking, even after the move to Ferrari. Even if Carlos is never in Italy for more than a week at a time…Always off in some different country, with cars that are too loud and walking distances that make Lando’s feet hurt…He never sold his Woking apartment. 

And Carlos loves Finch. He loved him when Lando was fresh into parenthood, walking around desolate paddocks with a baby strapped to his chest trying to calm Finch down when the infant wouldn't sleep… And he loves him now, whenever he’s in Woking, which is few and far in between the times he’s in Madrid or Maranello. Because there’s nothing in Woking for him anymore. McLaren couldn’t make him stay. Lando couldn’t make him stay.

But he didn’t sell the fucking apartment. 

So. Lando writes. 

He writes down Carlos’ contact information before he can manage to convince himself to not. 

Once he’s finished, he submits the document, shutting his laptop with a click. 

Through the archway to the living room, Lando can hear the sound of Octonauts playing on the television. He can hear his son’s light giggles, too. The sounds make him smile. They make him feel a little less anxious about the paperwork he’d just filled out. 

So he goes to the source. He shuts off the lights in the dining room, leaving his laptop and all of his anxieties behind as he finds his son.

Finch is curled up on the couch, wrapped up in a blanket burrito as his big blue eyes watch the TV intently. 

When Lando plops down next to him, he wiggles his way over to his father, an excited, “Dada!” escaping his lips. 

Lando smiles, letting Finch wiggle his way into Lando’s personal space, obliterating it completely. Not that he will ever mind his son doing that. 

As Octonauts continues on, Lando feels Finch start to drift off. His little body gets heavier against Lando, and his curls fall into his eyes. As Tunip continues to talk on the screen, the two Norris boys let sleep fall over them. 

Lando doesn’t let himself think twice about the paperwork as he lets himself fall asleep.

1.

The first time it happens, it turns Lando into a complete mess. 

He’s at the MTC, in a meeting with Oscar that he absolutely cannot get out of. His phone has been off since before walking into the conference room. When he had dropped Finch off in the morning at school, the little one had been all over him, teary eyed and begging him not to leave. It broke Lando’s heart to hand his kid off to his teacher. But he had this meeting. And he knew there was no way Zak would let him skip. Normally, Zak wouldn’t mind having Finch tag along even—the little one had gotten away with it before. This time was different, though. They were eyeing a new sponsor, and unfortunately, that meant a serious meeting mood and no distractions allowed. 

Phones included. 

So when they’re finally set free, Lando starts to loosen the festering anxiety in his stomach by turning his device on once he steps into the hall. Oscar is hovering by him, doing the same, probably eager to talk to Lily.

When the picture of Finch sitting on the beach in his hometown finally pops up as his lock screen, it is quickly obliterated by the chilling amount of notifications that fill the screen. 

Dread knots itself in Lando’s throat. He’s got calls from Finch’s school, emails from Finch’s guidance counselor, voicemails from both…A missed call from Carlos. 

Vomit reaches the back of Lando’s throat, and he’s barely able to swallow it back down. 

He keeps scrolling. Finds texts from Carlos, too. 

“I have to go…” Lando thinks, then says, because there is something wrong, and he needs to get to his son. Now. 

Oscar just looks at him, sees the expression on his face, then nods. 

“Go,” he says, gently pushing Lando’s shoulder. “I’ll tell Zak.”

“You’re a lifesaver,” Lando says before he’s booking it towards the elevator, his car key already in hand. 

Everyone that Lando passes by on his way to his car either moves out of his way or he moves through them. He is a man, nay, a father on a mission. He doesn’t care how rude or blunt he seems. 

When he gets to his car, the first thing he does is call Carlos back. Then he starts his car. 

Carlos picks up on the second ring. 

“Lando, where—”

“Please tell me you have my son,” Lando interrupts him. He can be scolded for that later. He doesn’t care if he’s being rude. He needs to know who the hell has his kid. 

Carlos makes an indignant noise, almost like Lando’s question is offensive. “Of course I have Finch, cabrón.” He’s angry. Or, there’s at least heat in his voice. “It would have been nice for you to tell me that I am his emergency contact, though.”

Lando’s face burns, in embarrassment or shame, he’s not quite sure. “I’m sorry,” he throws out, just for good measure. 

Carlos sighs on the other side of the line, but doesn't respond.

“Are you at your apartment?” Lando asks, already heading in that direction. 

The line is quiet for an uncomfortable amount of time. He almost thinks that maybe he thought the question, that he didn’t verbalize it.

Then,

“Sí.”

Lando exhales, grateful, because that would’ve been embarrassing…Showing up at Carlos’ building, with neither Carlos or Finch inside of it. 

“Thank God,” Lando says, pressing down on the accelerator just a little bit more harshly. 

“Now can you tell me why the hhh—” Carlos stops, dropping his voice an octave before continuing. Finch must still be near him. That is a barely comforting thought. “—Hell you did not pick up the phone in the first place?” 

Lando swallows, “I had a meeting for a sponsor and Zak had us turn off our phones. You know exactly how those meetings used to go.” 

There’s more bark and bite than there even needs to be. Maybe he’s just projecting. He feels exposed. He feels like he failed. As a parent, as a friend, as someone to rely on. Maybe he’s just trying to pass on the pain to someone else, to get it away from him because he’s already hurting enough.

Shockingly though, Carlos concedes. He doesn’t fight back like Lando had expected him to. 

The drive from MTC to Carlos’ Woking apartment is short. It always has been. Lando didn’t know how much of a blessing in disguise it would be until now. 

“I’m outside,” Lando tells Carlos once he’s pulled into a spot. Carlos hums an affirmative, and Lando can hear his son in the background when Carlos isn’t making noise. 

“I’ll buzz you in.” The call drops. 

For a moment, Lando just sits there. His car is off now, and the heat is starting to creep up along his brow line and under the collar of his shirt now that the air con has been depleted. He wishes he had asked Carlos if Finch had been mad. If he’d been scared. If any of those emotions were directed at him. Carlos hadn’t given him that liberty, though. 

Lando moves on hurting feet. From the parking lot to the front door of Carlos’ building, his feet and his head rage with discomfort. He rings Carlos’ bell, and a moment later, the door buzzes. Lando doesn’t waste any time. He’s rushing through the lobby of Carlos’ apartment building and getting himself situated in the elevator in record time. 

The 87 on Carlos’ door brings back a hurricane of memories. Lando pretty much lived a whole life behind that door. There are memories that he doesn’t want to relive that occurred in Carlos’ apartment. 

Lando still knocks, though. 

A beat passes, and then the door opens.

Carlos looks the same. Lando doesn't really know what would’ve changed in the month that he hadn’t seen him. But looking at him right now, Lando feels a little breathless. He’s more likely to blame it on anything other than Carlos, like normal. 

“Lando.” Carlos says, his voice curt. 

The Brit nods, tearing his eyes away from Carlos’ and looking into the apartment behind him. 

“Finch?” 

That’s all Lando can get himself to say. He knows it sounds rude, but he really just wants his kid in his arms. 

Carlos steps aside to let him into the apartment, and Lando enters like a bat out of hell. 

Finch is resting on the couch in the living room. He’s laying on his side, a throw pillow cushioning his head. The television that’s mounted on the wall is playing Octonauts . Because of course it is. There’s a small blanket that’s over Finch’s body, but it’s no match for the force of the little one once he spots his father. The blanket is shed, Octonauts is forgotten immediately. 

“Dada!!” Finch screams, tumbling straight into his father’s legs. 

Lando wastes no time in picking him up and holding him close. 

“Hi buddy,” he whispers, his voice only a little bit wobbly. He hides his face in his son’s curls, just in case. 

“Carlos got me from school today, dada! Nurse Alia let me go home ‘cus my tummy hurt!” 

And here’s the thing. Lando had thought that there was something detrimentally wrong with his child. He thought that Finch had cracked his head open or that he had discovered a new allergy by accident and that he was going into anaphylaxis. He thought that he was going to be meeting Carlos at the hospital, not at his fucking Woking apartment.  

Lando did not think that it would be something so simple as a tummy ache.

And as it sinks in, Lando starts to laugh. 

“You wanted to go home because your tummy hurt?” He’s laughing as he asks Finch this. 

“Mhm!” 

He’s laughing as Finch answers. 

In his delirium, he looks to find Carlos, tears dancing freely down his cheeks because of how hard he’s laughing. 

Carlos is standing in the archway, leaning against the wall. He’s staring at the two of them—at Lando, really, with a mix of emotions running across his face. 

“You couldn’t have told me it was a tummy ache?” Lando asks him, the incredulous tone barely there. 

Carlos still picks up on it, though. 

“You couldn’t have answered your phone in the first place?” 

Maybe it’s meant as a joke, but it doesn’t land as one. And it sobers Lando up. It’s a low blow, and Carlos knows it. If the sheepish look that crosses over his face after he says it is anything to go by. 

“Yeah, well,” Lando starts, reaching for Finch’s backpack, “Thank you very much for getting him. I really appreciate it. I’ll just…take him home now.” 

Carlos nods wordlessly, tousles Finch’s hair as Lando walks by him. 

As they leave, Lando makes a pointed decision to not look back at Carlos, because he knows that he wouldn’t end up leaving the apartment if he did. 

Finch is shouting goodbyes to Carlos up until they make it down the hall and into the elevator. 

Lando stares at the Spaniard, who is standing in the hallway, watching them as they go. He’s got his hands in his pockets and he’s looking at him with those stupid big eyes and those stupid big lips. 

Lando only looks away when the elevator doors shut. 

2.

Lando would love to say that it doesn't happen again. 

He would love to say that he is always there at 3:10 in the pickup line to get Finch at the end of the school day. 

He’d really love to say that. 

But he can’t. 

Because yet again, he and Oscar are pinned to do something at the MTC, and they can’t get out of it. When Lando shoots Zak a look, the man holds his hands up in mock surrender, promising that they’ll be out before 2:30. 

It turns out that Zak is a damn liar, because they walk out of the room at 3:24. 

And Lando nearly screams. If Finch wasn’t on the forefront of his mind, he would’ve been in Zak’s face immediately, yelling about how his team CEO needs to figure out better time management. 

He doesn’t do that, though. Instead, he’s running to the elevator yet again with his keys in his hand and a hurting in his chest. He doesn’t really get how this could’ve happened again. It’s frustrating and maddening, but Lando doesn’t really have the time to dwell on it during his drive to Carlos’ apartment. He doesn’t even call the Spaniard or check his phone, he just drives.

The road is slick and wet, but the sky above him is filled with white fluffy clouds and a vast blue that stretches for miles. It must’ve rained earlier, Lando thinks. 

When Lando gets to Carlos’ building, he parks pretty much in the same spot he did a few weeks prior. The deja vu he gets from it makes him feel a little sick.

There’s not a second wait when Lando presses Carlos’ buzzer. 

He’s fast feet up the staircase, too impatient to wait for the elevator. His heart pounds in his ears, too loud for him to hear anything else that could be going on around him. 

Then, the familiar 87, and then he’s knocking incessantly on Carlos’ door. 

When Carlos does eventually open the door, the same placid, almost angry look is on his face. 

“Your son is sleeping,” he hisses, void of any type of greeting. Lando might cry at that. He feels so fucking impatient, he has half the mind to not shove Carlos and find wherever Finch is resting.

“Does he not feel good again?” Lando asks, his voice pitched, and fuck, there’s definitely tears riding along his waterline. He feels like such a fucking failure. He feels like the worst father ever. This has happened twice now, and he’s sure that if it happens more, then Finch will catch on and start to resent him for it. He can’t have that. He needs to figure his shit out. 

Carlos seems to calm down at Lando’s question, his guard lowering, like Finch is his son and not Lando’s. 

“No…He made it through the school day just fine today. The school called because you were late to the pick-up line.” 

Thank god, Lando thinks, letting his shoulders fall loose of their pinched-up tension. Carlos steps back silently, letting Lando into his apartment. When the door shuts behind Lando, he lets one, maybe two or three, tears fall. He’s quick to wipe them away, but he knows that Carlos sees him do it. The Spaniard doesn’t say anything about it, just looks at him longingly. 

“I, erm, made him some mac and cheese and set him down on the couch to watch cartoons… I think it took him about five minutes to eat his food and then he passed out.” 

Lando giggles, wetly, because that sounds exactly like Finch. But then he reflects on the first statements that left Carlos’ mouth. 

He can picture it: Carlos standing at the stove boiling water with the mac and cheese box right next to him, and putting two packets of cheese mix into the pasta because Finch likes it extra cheesy…The domesticity of it chokes Lando up a little bit. So much so that he turns around and throws himself into Carlos, wrapping his arms around the Spaniard’s neck, resting his head against Carlos’ shoulder. 

A surprised noise comes from Carlos’ throat, but if anything, it just makes Lando hug the Spaniard tighter. 

Carlos eventually hugs Lando back, the tightness in his back finally letting go as he wraps his arms around Lando’s waist. 

“You are not a bad parent, you know that, right?” Carlos asks, and Lando nearly breaks down in tears again . He pushes his face deeper into Carlos’ shoulder, like the lack of space for him to breathe and move will reduce the urge to cry. It doesn’t really work. 

“You are doing your best, Lando. He always asks when you will be by to get him when I pick him up. He is always so excited to see you.”

There’s a hand rubbing his back now. And great, Lando thinks, now he’s really going to cry. 

“He’s always excited to see you,” Lando deflects, sniffs, rubs his nose against Carlos’ shirt. The Spaniard laughs, the feeling of his strong chest against Lando’s makes his stomach flip. “Not as excited as when he sees you, cabrón.”

And Lando wants to pick at it more, like a scab that itches beyond comparison. But he’s so tired, and he really just wants to see his kid.

“Is he in the living room?” Lando asks, the exhaustion starting to seep into his voice. 

Carlos takes a moment to answer. “Ah…No, after he fell asleep I moved him to my bedroom. I have learned that he moves a lot in his sleep, there were some close calls to him falling off the couch.” 

Lando laughs again, because Jesus his son wasn’t wasting any time in making himself at home in Carlos’ space. 

So Carlos brings him down the hallway. He opens the door of his bedroom for Lando to see Finch, who is indeed sprawled out in the middle of Carlos’ bed. The covers are strewn everywhere , and Finch has one of the blankets bunched up in his arms, holding onto it like a stuffed animal. The sight pulls an elated laugh out of Lando’s throat, leaning against the doorway with a fond expression on his face. 

A hand comes to rest on Lando’s shoulder, pulling him out of his thoughts. 

“Let’s let him rest, no? We can wait in the kitchen.”

Lando feels content with that, having seen his son now. 

“Yeah, that sounds good… Just…Give me a sec?” He barely glances over his shoulder to look at the Spaniard before entering his bedroom. 

Lando kneels onto the mattress and leans over so that he can press a kiss to his son’s forehead. Finch makes a noise in his sleep and wiggles closer to the warmth of his father when Lando pulls away. It’s like he knows Lando’s there. His eyes don’t open though. He must be extra tired. Lando grabs one of the blankets that has been a victim of Finch’s restless legs, bringing it back up to cover his boy. He tucks the ends of the blanket in towards the young one's body, converting him into a blanket burrito. 

Once Lando deems Finch tucked in enough, he retreats back to Carlos, giving Finch one final look before shutting Carlos’ bedroom door. 

“I usually always put him in a burrito blanket at home. It helps him get less nightmares and keeps him still during the night.” Lando tells Carlos, just because he’s got a feeling that he’ll be spending more time in Carlos’ Woking apartment. 

“That’s good to know,” Carlos says in return. His voice is horrifically soft.

They make their way to the kitchen, their hands dangerously close as they walk down the hallway side by side. Lando feels his breathing get a little light every time Carlos’ hand brushes against his. 

Lando feels like he can breathe a little bit when they finally make it to the kitchen, breaking away from the tight confines of the hallway. Carlos heads towards the stove and Lando takes up shop at the kitchen island, taking perch on one of the stools. On the stovetop, Lando can see the pot that Carlos had made his son macaroni in. The sight makes him smile. 

“Do you want some?” Carlos asks, turning around with the aforementioned pot in hand. “Finch did not eat all of it and I partially do not want it in my fridge for the next three weeks… I will be out of town…” 

Lando feels his throat close up a little bit. This doesn’t feel like a mac and cheese offering anymore.

“Where—where are you going?” Lando asks, hoping that he doesn’t sound too downtrodden. 

Carlos averts his gaze, setting the pot of macaroni down. “Maranello for a week, then Austin, then back to Maranello…” 

Right, Lando thinks. His brain has been having a hard time adjusting to the fact that the F1 season is coming to a close, even though Finch’s school year just started. He supposes that it’s a little bit easier, though, seeing as he’s adjusted to stepping down from driving cars to helping design them just fine. In the beginning it’d been a hard transition, but it had been the best decision for him and Finch. 

Carlos is looking at him expectantly, he realizes. “That sounds fun,” he forces himself to say, to get Carlos’ stupid big eyes on anything but him. The words aren’t genuine, and he knows that Carlos knows that. 

“Yes…Fun.” 

The silence that comes after that is stunted, and it makes Lando’s skin crawl. He wishes that he were anywhere but here, but he also wishes that Carlos would tell him that he’s just joking. He knows Austin is inevitable, but Lando really wishes he didn’t have to go to Maranello. Maybe he’s just being selfish, but having Carlos around in Woking has been a saving grace lately. He’s not ready for the real world to come back to them. 

“When will you be back in Woking?” Lando asks, aiming for a conversational tone. Carlos just smiles at him, tilting his head to the left ever so slightly. 

“Why? Are you going to miss me?” 

Yes, Lando’s mind supplies immediately, You have been so vital to me and my child and I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself for the next three weeks now.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. He’s not that willing to let his guard down. 

“You wish,” he says instead, smiling begrudgingly. 

Carlos just smiles at him like he knows what Lando really wanted to say. 

“I’ll be back before you know it, cabrón. Only three weeks.”

That’s nearly a month, Lando wants to say, bite. 

He doesn’t get the chance to though, because Finch chooses that moment to waddle into the kitchen. His hair is sleep roused and his cheeks are flushed with post-nap clarity. His eyes are barely-open, but Lando can see that familiar blue-green hue of his son’s eyes that he sees in the mirror every morning while brushing his teeth. Finch is holding a blanket around his shoulders, it drags along the floor with a length so long that it almost reminds Lando of a wedding dress train. 

“Hi bubba,” Lando says, grinning at his son. Finch doesn’t do any grandeur theatrics, just hums, shuffling until he’s resting his head against Lando’s thigh. Lando just smiles at his son’s curls, threading his fingers through them. 

“Did you have a good sleep?” He asks, reaching down to take Finch by the armpits and bring him up into his lap. Finch goes without protest, wrapping his legs around Lando’s stomach and hiding his face away into Lando’s neck. 

“Mhm,” Finch hums.

“Was Carlos’ macaroni yummy? Or was it yucky?” He asks, his voice filled with mischief as he starts to tickle along Finch’s ribs. The young one giggles, digging his face further into hiding. Lando looks over at Carlos, his eyes gleaming as Finch tells him over and over that Carlos’ mac and cheese was yummy. 

Carlos is looking at him with one of the most fond smiles Lando’s ever seen.

It makes something twinge in Lando’s stomach. Lando gives him a smile, too. 

I will wait for you, it says. 

3.

Carlos comes back from Maranello just in time for parent teacher conferences. It’s November now, and the universe really seems to be on Lando’s side, because conferences are held between Interlagos and Las Vegas. It’s a blessing, Lando thinks, truly.

Currently, Lando’s in Carlos’ apartment, pacing back and forth in front of the Spaniard. 

“I don’t know why I’m panicking,” he says, throwing his hands up into the air. 

Carlos just laughs, tossing his head back onto the couch. He’s tan—well, tanner than usual. The time spent in the Austin and Maranello sun has done him well…Not that Lando normally thinks about Carlos’ tan level. 

“I do not know why either. We are going to be fine, why would they say anything bad about Finch?”

And Carlos has a point. 

Finch is a golden child. He is clingy and he is attentive. He never strays five feet from Lando unless he has to, like at school or when he’s sleeping. 

Carlos’ calming demeanor is why Lando asked him to tag along for parent teacher conferences. Not because he sees the man as the second parent to Finch. No. Totally not that. It’s definitely his calming demeanor. 

They leave the apartment soon after Lando partially calms down. He thrusts his keys to his 765LT Spider into Carlos’ hands, not really trusting himself to drive with the amount of anxiety still festering in his stomach. Carlos just smiles and takes the keys, though. 

Carlos drives steady as he brings them to Finch’s school. With both hands on the steering wheel, he sings along softly to the songs on the radio. 

Lando feels pretty damn enraptured. 

By the time they get to Finch’s school, they’ve got ten minutes to kill, the clock reading 3:00 as Carlos pulls into a parking spot. 

Carlos turns to him, a small smile on his face. “Are you still freaking out?” He teases. 

Lando curses him mentally, shrugs his shoulders. “Less so,” he says, but the shaking of his leg and sounds of fingernails against fingernails says otherwise. Carlos takes it upon himself to thread his hand through Lando’s, squeezing the Brit reassuringly. 

“We will do great, you will do great.”

Lando just nods, squeezing Carlos’ hand back and making it a priority to not look at Carlos. Because if he does then he might just do something stupid. Like kiss Carlos. And that would be very stupid.

“Do you want to go wait for Finch outside?” Carlos asks, always one to make Lando aware of his options. 

So they go wait outside. 

The sky is a beautiful blue and there isn’t a cloud in the sky. The leaves on the trees have started to change, and it's almost like Lando can feel Autumn arriving. It’s a relieving feeling. 

When the bell eventually rings, Lando watches with a small smile as kids come out of the front doors of the school. It’s a mix of organized chaos, kids going left and right as they spot their parent’s cars. 

“Dada! Carlos!!”

Finch comes rushing through two kids, his backpack bouncing on his shoulders as he runs towards Lando and Carlos. His face is split wide with a smile that is almost never-ending. It’s so Finch-like that it almost makes Lando cry. His curly hair is flying in the wind as he runs. Unlike Lando’s curls, which are held more tightly and more coiled by product and just straight up genetics, Finch’s hair is free-flowing and wildly untamed. Lando loves it, though. 

“Hi bub!” Lando shouts back, squatting down so that Finch has a safe landing-zone. His son launches himself at him as soon as he’s close enough, squealing happily when Lando picks him up off the ground. Lando spins Finch around in a circle once, twice, maybe thrice. The giggles in his ear are infectious, they always have been. They pull laughter from his own lungs, relishing in the way that Finch hugs him back.

“Oh! Are you ready for your conference?” Lando asks. 

Finch responds enthusiastically, kicking his legs out behind him as he squirms around in his dad’s arms.

Lando sets him down, watching fondly as Finch goes barreling into Carlos’ legs next. The Spaniard wastes no time in picking up Finch, holding him close to his much larger chest. Finch is less wired up, wiggling his way down into Carlos’ hold. 

The sight does something to Lando. It brings a tug to his chest, makes him feel just a little bit love-crazy. 

Carlos makes eye contact with Lando, nodding back to the doors through which Finch just apparated from. 

Lando looks at the doors, then looks back at the Spaniard. Carlos visibly tightens his hold on Finch, going as far as to lean down to pick up the little one’s backpack that had been thrown at their feet. Once Carlos situates himself, he gives Lando a smile, and Lando just feels absolutely smitten. 

Lando does all the talking that needs to be done at the front desk, though he feels the heat that Carlos’ body emanates from close behind him as he speaks to the secretary. The lady gives them two passes with a sweet smile, saying a soft goodbye to Finch, who is most definitely passed out on Carlos’ shoulder. The extra weight that the Spaniard is carrying doesn’t seem to phase him or make him uncomfortable. 

Lando has to look away before he does something stupid, again.

Though absolutely fucking nothing stops him from turning around and putting the visitor sticker on Carlos’ chest. He tries very hard not to pay attention to the way Carlos’ pec jumps at the touch of his hands. 

He tries very, very hard.

Their adventure continues after that. With Finch borderline asleep in Carlos’ arms, Lando and Carlos stumble through the little one’s school almost blind. Lando has been in here before, but that doesn’t mean he knows the place like Finch does. And if Finch was that quick to fall asleep on Carlos, that means today was a rough day and Lando isn’t going to be the one to interrupt his kid’s rest. 

They do eventually find Finch’s classroom. With a minute to spare as well. 

The door is open, so Lando peeks his head in. The woman sitting at the desk looks up, smiling brightly at the sight of someone in her doorway. 

“Come in!” She beams, waving him in with both hands. Lando smiles, already feeling just a little bit better about the situation. 

Her face brightens even more when Carlos comes in through the door, Finch still sound asleep in his arms. 

“And we’ve got the guest of honor!” Ms. Greene cheers. 

And as Lando sits in the chair that she’s placed in front of her desk, as he listens to her speak about Finch in a high regard, with Carlos right beside him, holding his kid…Well, Lando thinks that he wouldn’t mind this being his everyday normal. 

4.

Time passes. The Formula 1 season ends, Carlos taking third place, Charles and Max on the podium with him. Lando is so incredibly proud of him, as is Finch; seeing as the little one got the vacation of a lifetime to be jetted off to the UAE for the last race of the season. With the time passing, when they return to Woking, winter has encapsulated the UK. 

Finch is sent with his snow pants and snow boots every day when he goes to school. They come home sopping wet, without fail, every day. 

December treats Woking surprisingly well. The streets and sidewalks are covered with snow more often than not, and Lando’s Spider does not fare well at all in the winter weather, but he makes do. 

With the winter break, there is a Carlos-like void in Woking, in Lando’s heart. 

The Spaniard didn’t get much time to celebrate the end of the season and his impressive final standing, Ferrari already ready and roaring to get cracking on preparation for March. The result of that ambition is the Carlos-like void. Lando doesn’t know how long he’s been gone, but it feels like forever. Even if he’s physically gone, there’s still reminders of him everywhere for Lando to find. 

Like Carlos’ sweatshirts that are hidden around in Lando and Finch’s apartment. Like little notes and little mementos that Lando finds crumpled up in said sweatshirts. Like the photos that Carlos texts him of himself, of Maranello, of the boat that he’d been allowed to take out for the day. 

Carlos is never not around him, and it is maddening that he’s not with Lando. 

The Brit wishes he could just reach into his phone and pull Carlos through the screen. 

He just has to be patient. 

But patience has never really been one of his virtues. 

The texts light up his phone late on a Tuesday night. 

Lando is sitting at the dinner table with Finch sat across from him. The little one is working on homework, which really just looks like a coloring page to Lando from where he’s sitting, but he’s not going to comment on it. Finch has finally settled down after regaling Lando with tale after tale of his day. Lando loves when his kid talks, because it means he doesn’t have to, but Lando is so tired. 

He’d spent the night chatting with Carlos, about anything really. It helped, minimally, to fill the Carlos-shaped void in his heart. 

Lando looks back at his phone when his lock screen lights up once more. 

c55 🌶️: Plans for winter break?
c55 🌶️: Going home to Spain.
c55 🌶️: Would love for you and Finch to tag along.

Lando feels a little lightheaded. 

Carlos wants him and Finch to go to Spain with him for the winter holiday. To Spain. To his home country. To see his family , undoubtedly. All the little implications of Carlos’ texts make Lando’s head swim.

Instead of answering the Spaniard, he looks over at Finch, who is still happily coloring away with colored pencils. 

“Finchy?” He prompts, his voice gentle. Finch looks up with a giddy smile, his missing teeth adding all the more to his adorableness. “Yes, Dada?” He asks, setting the pencil down. Lando sucks in a breath, watching his kid with sharp eyes. 

“How would you like to spend winter break with Carlos this year?” 

The question hangs in the air for a bit, and Lando watches Finch as he processes what Lando just asked him. That’s okay, Lando thinks. He needs some time to process it too. 

“For Christmas?” 

Lando laughs, nodding. “Yeah, bubs. We’d fly out with him next week on Sunday…We’d probably stay there until the New Year, and then we’d come back home.” 

Finch nods, thinking it over again. “We won’t see Gramma or Granpa?” His little lisp comes out strong there, and Lando smiles endearingly. At the lisp and both the nature of his question. He shakes his head softly, “No, Finchy, not this year. But you will get to meet Carlos’ family.”

His phone buzzes, he looks. 

c55 🌶️: I may or may not have told my family about Finch.
c55 🌶️: They would love to meet him.
c55 🌶️: And they'd love to see you again, of course.

Lando can’t help the smitten smile he gives his phone. He’s partially glad he never made plans for winter break now. 

Finch squirms in his seat, catching Lando’s attention. The expression on his face makes Lando laugh, setting his phone down on the table. “Yes?” He asks his kid, smiling teasingly. 

“Um,” Finch starts, looking at his dad with wide, unblinking eyes. “Will I still get presents on Christmas? Santa will know that we won’t be here?” 

And Lando laughs. Loudly. 

He gets up from his chair, rounds the table, and picks Finch up. The little one clings to him, always happy to accept physical love. 

“Yeah, bubs. You’ll still get presents, Santa’s gonna know where to go, I promise. ”

*

Sunday comes with a rising sun and the form of Finch absolutely sending it into Lando’s bed. He’s chanting something unintelligible that Lando can’t even begin to understand in his barely-awake haze. 

Lando catches Finch by one of his ankles, dragging his kid down on top of the comforter. Finch lands with a soft, “oof,” which makes Lando laugh under his breath. 

“Why are you up so early, Finchy?” Lando asks, his face still partially smushed into his pillow. 

“Plane!” Finch shouts, 

Right, Lando thinks, twisting around in his sheets so he can grab his phone off his nightstand. The time blinks back at him and he nearly curses, loudly, in front of his seven year old. They need to be out of the door in ten minutes to get into Carlos’ car if they want to be on time. 

“Okay, Finch!” He shouts, ripping the blankets off himself and standing up. He’s wearing sweats and a hoodie, typical fashion for him in the wintertime. He can get away with wearing it to the airport. That’s totally fine. 

“We gotta go, okay? Is your suitcase by the door?” He asks, like he doesn’t know the answer to the question. He’d made sure that both of their suitcases had been placed by the door before going to bed the night prior, just in case something like this happened. “Yes, Dada,” Finch tells him seriously. 

“Mint.” 

Lando picks up his son, heading out into the hallway and dipping into the bathroom. They brush their teeth together, Finch standing on his little stool to reach the sink. After they finish, Lando packs away their toothbrushes, stashing them into his toiletries bag and leaving the bathroom. Finch runs ahead of him in the hallway, grabbing his shoes off the mat by the door. 

Lando puts on his own shoes and then helps Finch with his laces. Once they’re situated, Lando makes sure everything is shut off and locked up before making his way back over to the front door. 

Carlos texts him a couple moments later, and the two Norris boys head out. 

The Spaniard is waiting for them in the lobby, a winter coat wrapped around his torso and a beanie resting over his hair. It is such a shocking sight that it rips a laugh out of Lando’s throat. Carlos gives him a withering look, but lightens up when Finch abandons his luggage for a Carlos hug. Carlos picks the seven year old up with ease, resting him on his hip once Finch eventually lets go of his neck. 

Lando rolls his eyes—albeit fondly—at the sight, catching the handle of Finch’s suitcase and starts tugging it along with him. 

When he’s close enough, Carlos pulls Lando in for a one-armed hug, and the Brit feels himself relax at the contact. 

“You are so tense, cariño. You can relax, it is my plane we are taking. I would not have left without you.”

And fuck, Lando thinks. 

He just pushes his face deeper into the fabric of Carlos’ winter coat, wills himself not to cry right then and there.

“I know,” he whispers instead, voice muffled by Carlos’ coat.

He knows the Spaniard hears him, though. If the squeeze he gets after he speaks is anything to go by. 

They do make it to the car, eventually. Lando takes the suitcases and Carlos carries Finch. Once Lando puts the suitcases in the trunk, he watches as Carlos sets Finch into the booster seat in the back of his car. The sight makes Lando stop short because what the fuck. The booster seat looks top of the line and Lando might just throw up. He didn’t know that Carlos had a booster seat for Finch. He guesses it makes sense, looking back on how many times Carlos had picked Finch up from school in the past…Lando just hadn’t really thought about it. 

The sight is so domestic though, and Lando feels those urges that sound like kissing Carlos start to itch at the back of his neck. 

Lando somehow distracts himself by getting in the passenger seat, focusing way too much on making sure his seatbelt is buckled and snug. Carlos slinks into the driver's seat not too long after, turning the engine over. Finch giggles at the loudness of the car, and Lando can’t help the adoring smile he sends him. 

Carlos drives safe and careful, even though there’s no snow or ice on the roads anymore. He drives with one hand on the wheel and one hovering between the gearshift and E-break button. Lando sees the opportunity, and takes it. 

Their hands fit together well. What with Carlos’ oversized hands that Lando definitely hasn’t thought about wrapped on other parts of his body, and Lando’s hands that are walking a fine line of dainty and virile. 

Lando can see Carlos’ eyes flicker off the road just barely, the smile on his face almost uncontainable. 

If that’s all it takes to bring a smile to Carlos’ face, then Lando thinks he’d be content with holding Carlos’ hand forever.

5.

Madrid is beautiful. 

The plane ride is painless and Finch sleeps through the entire thing, his little body resting on Carlos’ lap. Lando takes too many pictures to count, especially after the Spaniard falls asleep, too. 

At Carlos’ family home, Carlos’ sisters are quick to greet them at the door, throwing themselves at their brother. The sight makes Lando smile and it makes him think of his own siblings. He misses them, but this is a nice sight too. Once Carlos’ sisters move on from their brother and Lando, Finch is as good as gone once the girls get their hands on him. They coo and coddle him, and Finch is entirely too happy to soak up the attention. 

Carlos’ parents come up from behind their daughters. Carlos’ father hugs him tightly, though there’s no words spoken between them. Lando finds it odd, but he doesn’t dare make a comment on it. 

“Ah, mi querido chicho,” Reyes says, pulling her son into her arms. 

“Lando,” Carlos Sainz Sr.’s voice comes from in front of him, and he cranes his neck to see the older man. The man is smiling at him, an expression that is so far from the stern one he was expecting. “ Hola, hijo,” he says. 

“Hi Señor Sainz,” Lando greets back.

Reyes comes over next, taking Lando into her arms and bundling him up. Lando lets his shoulders fall a little easier, then. Carlos’ family has always been so welcoming, so loving to him. It shouldn’t have surprised him that this time around wouldn’t be the same. 

The Sainz house is full of love, as it always has been. 

*

Christmas Eve comes with no snow on the ground and the Sainz + Norris family all seated around the giant table in the dining room. There are piles upon piles of food spread out on the resin-covered wood table. It truly looks like a feast.

Lando is sitting next to an empty chair, but that is only because Carlos is two seats to his left, with Finch resting in his lap. Finch’s plate has been moved from the spot next to Lando, too, but he doesn’t really mind. If anything, it allows him to continue on with his conversation with Reyes without having to keep too much of a watchful eye on his rambunctious son. 

The table has filled fully now. Lando knows that Carlos has a huge family, but seeing most of them here now at the Sainz dinner table has his head spinning a little bit.

Grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles, greats of the aforementioned. 

There’s a lot of people here. 

And even though he only knows a handful and has met very few of the ones he doesn’t know at all, he still feels comfortable. 

Finch has been a hit, too. He’s been giggly, bright-eyed and clinging to Carlos as the older man has been walking around and talking to his family. All of Carlos’ family have been itching to meet the newest young one at the table, and it makes Lando smile.

When Lando finishes up his conversation with Reyes, he turns in his chair, finding that Carlos and Finch have made it back to eat more food. 

“Hi,” Lando says, catching the attention of both of them, causing both of their heads to turn in sync. Lando has half the mind not to laugh right then and there. 

“Hi, Dada,” Finch giggles, waving his skinny hand around languidly. Lando smiles, resting his head against his hand. “Did you have fun running around with Carlos?” Lando asks, getting up from his chair and taking Finch’s empty one. “Mhm,” the young one murmurs, rubbing his cheek against the Spaniard’s dress shirt. Lando has half the mind to gently reprimand him for that, but he sees the fond expression on Carlos’ face and the thought quickly leaves his mind.

“Are you tired?” Lando teases, tilting his head so that he can make eye contact with his son. Finch nods again, eyelids fluttering shut. “Sleep time soon, then? We have to get to bed before Santa comes.” 

Finch just nods, muttering something along the lines of yeah, Santa…presents…Santa. 

Lando looks up at Carlos, and his heart nearly falls out of his ass at the utter softness that the Spaniard’s smile holds. He’s not even looking at Finch, Lando realizes. Carlos is looking at him.

The dining room is so, so loud. Lando knows that, but everything around him kinda just goes quiet. Everything except for Carlos.

“Let us bring him to bed, si?”

Lando just nods. 

He’d do anything that Carlos would ask. 

And as they tuck Finch into bed together, Lando feels so warm. Feels so loved. When he stands back up from kissing Finch on the forehead, Carlos’ hand is quick to find home on the small of his back. Lando shivers, but leans into the touch nonetheless. Lando watches, enraptured, as Carlos leans down too, his lips pressing firmly on Finch’s forehead. Just like Lando had done. Carlos comes back up, his hand not ever leaving the dip in Lando’s spine. 

I love you, Lando thinks, doesn’t say. 

“Bed time for us, too?” Carlos asks, a twinkle in his eye in the low light of the room. 

Lando doesn’t say anything for a moment, just…Stares. At Carlos. He moves before he gets himself back into his head. 

He hugs Carlos tightly. Puts his whole body into it kinda hug. His arms wrap around Carlos’ neck, he hides himself away like he’s watched Finch do so many times prior. Carlos’ body melts perfectly to his. They just fit . 

“Are you okay, cariño?” Carlos asks, voice quiet, his ever-present mindfulness of the sleeping child right next to them. 

I love you, Lando thinks. Again. 

“‘M okay. Wanna go to bed.” 

Carlos hums, rubbing Lando’s back soothingly. “Alright, cariño.”

Carlos brings him out of Finch’s room and down the hall to his own. They pass Lando’s guest room on the way. They don’t stop at it. 

Lando is forever grateful. 

They fall asleep wrapped up together, their legs intertwined and their arms all over each other’s bodies.

Not once does Carlos’ hands leave Lando’s skin.

*

In the morning, they wake before Finch. Which is a shock because Lando knows his kid, and his kid has always loved Christmas. He’s always loved presents.

Lando is really the first one to wake, though Carlos isn’t far behind him.

Until the Spaniard wakes, Lando lets his eyes trace over Carlos’ face. The freckles and the blemishes, the stubble that’s starting to return after Carlos had shaved during their first morning in Madrid. Lando knows Carlos’ face, but he’s never really gotten to see it so relaxed and unbothered, not the usual pinch to it with the stress that comes with their job.

It’s a nice sight.

Lando wants more mornings like these. 

When Carlos is ripped from the dream world and placed gently back in his body, Lando feels the exact moment it happens. He’s watching the slope of the Spaniard’s cheekbones when he feels Carlos’ arms tighten around his midsection. Carlos’ breathing hitches, holds for a moment, and then evens out. 

Carlos’ eyes are bleary when they open. Muddled but bright brown as he wakes up to the world. The look of soft recognition that crosses his face when he looks at Lando for long enough wreaks havoc on the Brit’s heart.

“M’rnin’,” Carlos breathes out, though his eyes are closed.

Lando doesn’t verbally greet him, but the smile that he gets when he cups the Spaniard’s cheek is better than saying anything. 

Finch comes running into the room some five minutes later. Carlos has woken up fully now, ready for the armful of child that he gets when Finch launches himself up onto their bed. 

“Santa came!!” He screams, bouncing giddily on top of Carlos’ chest.. Carlos reaches out to tickle him, causing him to fall flat onto Lando’s chest instead. 

As he’s laughing, Lando can’t help himself from thinking. It sounds a lot like, this. This is right.

+1.

When they get back to Woking, they only have one day before Finch goes back to school. 

One day for just the three of them. 

They spend most of it on the couch, tons of blankets on top of them to keep the cold at bay. Finch is nestled in between the two of them, Octonauts playing on the television in front of them. Carlos makes macaroni for lunch, and only barely gets past Lando’s teasing eyes as they eat on the couch. 

When Finch goes down for a nap in the early afternoon, Lando and Carlos retire to the living room once he falls into dreamland. 

Carlos sits down first, Lando taking up shop pretty much on top of the Spaniard. Carlos laughs softly, carding a hand through the Brit’s hair. His other hand rests possessively on Lando’s lower back. The touches have Lando leaning into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut. 

“I put my apartment on the market.”

It’s a quiet, private revelation, but it has all of the air in Lando’s lungs dissipating. He doesn’t feel sleepy anymore, doesn’t feel relaxed being held by Carlos. His body is tense, his spine is ramrod straight. He knows that Carlos feels it. 

“You’re leaving Woking?” 

It feels like a loaded question. Lando knows—he has always known that Carlos’ time in Woking has been on a winding down clock. Lando knows that it has never been promised to be forever in Woking.

Before he can spiral further, though, Carlos makes a noise in the negative. 

“No, cariño. I am not leaving. Think of it like…shrinking down my space. I will stay with you when I am here.”

Oh. 

Lando thinks he might be crying, maybe. He’s not really sure. He just shoves himself further into Carlos’ space and hides himself away. 

“…Lando?” 

Carlos is talking to him, his hand still there resting on his back. 

“Yeah?” Lando sniffs, rubbing his nose against Carlos’ hoodie. 

“I asked if you are okay. What’s going on?” Carlos’ voice is patient, worried. It makes Lando want to cry all the more.

“I can’t do this without you,” Lando blurts. Carlos makes a wounded noise, pulls Lando even closer, if physically possible. “I’m not leaving—” Carlos starts to say, but Lando cuts him off impatiently. 

He pushes himself up off of Carlos’ chest, looking the Spaniard directly in the eye.

“You don’t get it. Life has been so good, so easy with you around. You have been there to get him when I can’t, you make sure he’s okay and that he has whatever he needs, you brought us with you to meet your family. We spent Christmas with you, Carlos. With your family. You’re his parent, don’t you get that?” 

Lando feels a little delirious, but he hopes he’s making sense. 

“So you can’t just tell me that you’ve put your apartment on the market and not expect me to think you’re leaving.”

Lando’s voice is pitched, he’s upset. 

“Joder baby, I am sorry,” Carlos says, reaching out to cup Lando’s cheeks. “I did not mean to make you upset.” 

“Shit,” Lando sniffles, wiping frantically at his cheeks. “I know, I’m just…Fuck. I don’t even know.” 

Carlos frowns, reaching out and pulling the Brit back to his chest. 

“I am not going anywhere, I promise. I am going to be right here. With you and Finch.” 

Lando just nods into Carlos’ chest, tightening his hold around him. 

Later, when Finch wakes up again, he wanders back into the living room, his blanket still wrapped tight around his shoulders. Like a little cape. He joins Lando and Carlos up on the couch, crawling into the minimal space between his two parents. Carlos wraps Finch up tight, too, and something in that action heals Lando, just a little bit. 

“I love you both, so much.” 

Finch speaks first, sleepy voice and all. “Love y’u too, Papa…”

Lando blanches, momentarily, but the blinding smile on Carlos’ face is enough to knock himself out of it. 

“I love you,” Lando whispers, leaning in and resting his head against the crook of Carlos’ neck and shoulder. Lando can’t help but smile when he feels Carlos’ lips press against his hair. 

This, Lando thinks, is right.