Work Text:
The room is far too quiet when he wakes.
A clock ticks tirelessly away on the dresser opposite Oscar’s bed, and every so often comes the soft sound of car engines as they carry on down the highway behind the hotel.
Something is most certainly amiss. In his groggy, sleep-deprived state, Oscar is incapable of identifying what exactly that missing component could be - but it causes a brief stirring of dread in the center of his chest.
Slowly, Oscar pulls starchy white sheets from around his waist and sits himself up in the bed. Only then does he realize the glaringly obvious missing piece to this unsettling puzzle: the spot next to him is completely empty.
“Lando?” he calls, though his voice is gritty from disuse and hardly carries at all through the hotel suite. He clears his throat and tries again, “Lando?”
Silence, other than that god-forsaken ticking clock, is all that greets him.
Concern blossoms in the space between Oscar’s ribs where the dread once lingered, prompting him to kick his legs off of the side of the bed and stand to his feet. A sharp, unexpected flash of pain runs along his right calf starting at his ankle, and Oscar sucks in a deep, shaky breath between his teeth to try and mitigate the discomfort. “Shit.”
How could he have forgotten so quickly? There had been a crash - one of the worst he’s been involved in during the span of his career in Formula 1. It rushes back to him in flashes of bright colors, the feeling of heat bearing down on his skin, and the suffocating pain of his right leg as it lies trapped beneath a crushed, mangled chassis. The bright and cheerful colors of his McLaren were hidden and marred by dirt, smoke, and compressed metal.
For all its horror and gore, walking away with a minor injury to his leg had been a blessing. He can confidently say he’s faring far better than his poor car, but there will always be time to lament over his failed race later. For now, he wants nothing more than to find Lando and drag him back to bed so they can steal a few hours of precious sleep ahead of travel tomorrow morning.
Mindful of his injured leg, Oscar utilizes the walls as a means to steady himself on his feet. Both palms rest against faded mint green paint as he carefully propels himself forward one step at a time. Majority of his body weight is distributed to his unaffected leg, but there is still a nagging pain that ignites his nerves every time the injured one dares make a move. He grunts beneath his breath as he continues along nonetheless, determined to find where Lando has decided to run off to.
“Lando?” He calls again, putting a bit more effort into the exclamation. He hears nothing over the sound of his own labored breaths for a few moments, before the click of the balcony door sliding open reaches his ears. Relief floods him when he realizes he can stop moving for a moment. Lando’s here.
“Oscar, what are you doing?” Lando’s voice is quiet but undoubtedly firm - a proper scolding hidden somewhere behind the initial alarm. “You shouldn’t be on that leg.”
“I could ask you the same thing.” Oscar shoots back, resting his shoulder against the wall to maintain balance and body weight distribution. His leg hurts, and he simply wants to lie back down in bed. “It’s just past midnight and you’re out on the balcony.”
Lando, to his credit, does not rise to the bait. He heaves a sigh so weary that Oscar can feel it in his own chest, before offering his shoulder and arm as a means of support for Oscar to grab hold of.
And he does, immediately.
“We can talk about that later, let’s just get you back in bed before you hurt yourself even more.” Lando says, wrapping an arm around Oscar’s waist. “Can you put any weight on it at all?”
“A little,” Oscar replies, shifting his hips in Lando’s grasp until he can find a more upright, comfortable position, “but it’s mostly useless.”
“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t get far away from the bed.”
Oscar huffs out a breathless chuckle in response, but he can’t help agreeing wholeheartedly with Lando’s statement. He barely made it a few steps and he’s struggling more than he would like to admit. Perhaps it had been a bit pre-emptive to jump out of bed at Lando’s absence, but his sleep deprived mind wants Lando and only Lando. Nothing more, nothing less.
The descent back into bed goes mostly without incident. Lando is oh so gentle with Oscar, careful to be sure there is enough support for his battered body before daring to let him go. It’s endearing to say the least, and it helps wrench the cold, uncomfortable concern out of his ribcage.
When Lando reenters the bed, however, it shifts the mattress enough to cause a shockwave of pain to race up the back of Oscar’s leg, and the sudden jolt startles a yelp out of him.
Lando freezes on the spot, and the sympathy that pours from his eyes takes every bit of breath from Oscar’s lungs. “I’m sorry - I’m so sorry -” Lando sputters, and something in his voice sounds almost broken.
Suddenly, it all makes sense.
“It’s okay.” Oscar says, reaching out and threading his fingers between Lando’s hastily. “I’m okay.”
His suspicions are confirmed when Lando’s entire expression crumbles in the span of a single heartbeat. Oscar understands now why Lando left the bed and went to the balcony to get some air.
The accident. Oscar’s injury. Fear.
Lando was scared - he still is scared - and Oscar’s heart aches as he lines all of the pieces of the picture up.
“I’m okay.” Oscar repeats himself softly, because it’s all he can say without the risk of his voice betraying him. “It’s all fine, Lando, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Lando confirms, his voice teetering on the edge of a whisper. “Yeah, I know. I know. You’re always so calm about these things and I’m…” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “I’m sorry. You need to rest. We can talk about it in the morning.”
There’s an edge of finality in Lando’s tone, and Oscar finds that he cannot seem to argue his point. They both need the rest right now, if they want to be even partially functional for their flight in the morning. A flight that will, thankfully, offer them the time they need to talk through this.
“That’s fine, Lando. Just make sure you try and get some sleep, too.”
Lando doesn’t immediately respond beyond the slightest nod of his head - which seems more like an acknowledgement than anything else. A few moments pass before he finally looks up to meet Oscar’s gaze, and his bottom lip is pulled nervously between his teeth.
“Can I - uhm - Do you mind if I listen to your heart? I know you’re fine, Oscar, I do, but I think it would just…help.”
“Of course I don’t mind.” Oscar replies immediately, opening his left arm up enough for Lando to curl into his hold. “Don’t be silly. Get comfortable.”
“You’re sure?”
“Lando, I will forcibly drag you into my arms if you don’t get over here in the next ten seconds.”
That seems to be enough, because Oscar catches a glimpse of a smile on Lando’s face before it’s buried into his chest with a nuzzle. Once they’re settled on the bed, Oscar closes his arm around Lando to keep him held firmly into place. Lando’s head is a comfortable weight in the center of his chest, and Oscar’s relief is palpable. His eyes finally sting with the heaviness of sleep now that everything is in place the way it should be.
Oscar can hear the ticking of the clock and the growl of the engines on the highway, but now he can also hear the gentle cadence of Lando’s breathing as well.
All is as it should be.
Oscar’s eyes close, and they do not open again until the sound of the alarm rings out in the morning.