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Australia
The year started greatly for Lando, and terribly for Oscar. The winner and the home race loser. P1 and P9. Oscar was crying now with no attempt to hide his raw emotions from the media - he was pissed and devastated - happy for Lando, though, considering how important that was for Lando's self-esteem.
It wouldn’t take long for Oscar to move on, and there were still 23 races to go, but the overwhelming bitterness of that very moment continued devouring him inside. "Next year it will be me on top there", he promised himself, attending his driver’s private room. Lando was there too.
"You’ve been good, mate. A race to remember." For both of us.
"There would be something to remember if you were on the podium too - not the first, of course," Lando grinned, and Oscar slightly smiled, "but the second or third position would be awesome. Don’t you think so?"
"I do. That’s fair. Not enough, but I can deal with that." Oscar took a sip of ice water not to wet his throat, but to take a minute to clear his mind. "You know, um, everybody wants to win their home race. It’s a dream. Vivid one. Especially for locals, when the aussie hasn’t stepped on the highest position here for decades already. 45 years, to be precise."
"Hm, yep." Lando reached out his hand to grab Oscar’s bottle of water laying on the nearest stand to him. "You can take my win in Silverstone." Lando raised his eyebrows in amusement, while Oscar was trying to process through his words. Noticing his teammate's struggles, Lando got serious. "Just a joke, you know. Anyway… Any plans for tonight? Family dinner, a date, meeting with friends?"
"Family dinner. Lily will be there too. And closest friends as well."
"Can I join you all?"
"Oh, well…" It wasn’t something Oscar would expect to hear from Lando. They weren’t very close outside the track and off race weekends. Surely there were times when Lando invited him to play padel together or to have a session in a video game, but mostly Oscar refused. He had a thought of being a misfit in Lando’s surroundings. Years of careful observing helped him to acknowledge what could be his and what couldn’t. Lando was from the second category. "Um, i mean-"
"No worries. You’re clear enough. No need to be extremely polite, you, muppet," said Lando with a laugh. A laugh with the hint of disappointment.
"Maybe next time." Oscar looked down. Bad race, and now he was covered with shame. Lando patted him on the back.
"Again, no worries. I do understand. See you next week, mate."
Lando left. Everything felt wrong.
Before Monaco
There, in a small room at MTC, two men were actively arguing over the third. Usually calm and composed, Oscar now was almost enraged with what he had to listen to. The things Zak kept saying seemed unbelievable.
"Oscar, listen, you have to understand that now, when Lando starts making too many mistakes on track, it’s better for us - the team - to prioritise ONE driver over another. We fight for champ, for points, for papaya, and your wdc battle comes secondary. That’d be great, but the team's needs come first."
"Maybe if all of you stop parenting him during the races," Oscar made a sign for Zak to stay silent, noticing his attempt to protest, "and you perfectly know that’s the moment he loses confidence, i mean, you never let him driving on his own - it’s almost a habit already, reflex, a thirst for command! Let him drive."
"Oscar, we can’t have two number one drivers. That won’t benefit the team. You’re more stable, precise and collected…"
"That's what the Internet says, but in fact, he is quicker. Lando always has a better pace than me."
"And where are the results of that “fast pace”? Being quick means nothing if you can't avoid mistakes. Yes, it might upset him, but over time he would understand why that decision was made."
Oscar knew how afraid Lando was to become second Dany or Carlos - a tool that team would use as long as it’s convenient and useful, and the moment there’s a better option - would immediately throw away and forget. In Mclaren you would never be kind of a “prince” like Charles in Ferrari, or a “special one” like Max in RB. You serve the team - the family - and then retire leaving behind all shared memories. Oscar knew it would break Lando, and didn’t want to see him shattered. He cared, but to what extent? Oscar wasn’t sure.
Right now Oscar was leading the championship. Why would he be worried about a teammate who currently was his main rival on the grid and yet couldn’t stop bottling the races. It made no sense. He should be glad Lando was mentally weak as those armchair critics kept repeating on socials, should thank Zak for an opportunity to be McLaren's number 1, should be running around a room evilly giggling, but he couldn’t. Never could, actually.
Oscar also never trusted Zak with his whole heart. These days during all interviews Zak was claiming his equal love for both Lando and Oscar, and Oscar himself felt strange about that. Equality stops with poor quality. No results benefiting the team - no love. Well, Lando made extra money for Mclaren with all ads and collaborations. His name and his face were already his own brand tightly tied with McLaren. At this point, Zak could still wholeheartedly love Lando.
"Mistakes are fine if you’ve just started to learn how to drive on your own after years of being under careful team guidance."
"He is not a toddler, Oscar, to babysit him! He HAD years to learn that before going into F1 world-"
"And yet, you never let him. He was important, when the car was bad - no pace, slow corners, brake problems, great amount of dnf-ed races. A loyal, humble boy who tried to prove himself to grown-ups who were kind enough to invite him to become a part of the team. A pretty good skilled boy who was perfect to test the car, who was a long-term project from the very beginning, but every project someday comes to an end. And with the won Constructors last year, and absolutely menacing cars this year, there is no need for a driver who's mentally still in that 2019 car, or 2020, if there is any difference."
"Oscar, stop."
"Um, nah, I don't want to. Will it be my fate in a few years if I ain’t becoming multiple wdc? No. Again, the Constructors, the team, the papaya. I could be number one without winning every single race, the goal is bringing good points for Mclaren. Same for Lando. But you want him to help, not me helping him. You think that without extra pressure we will be stable again in the races."
Oscar couldn’t believe he was defending Lando. Well, maybe he wanted races to be more interesting and exciting, rather than boring and predictable. A good rivalry makes you stronger, shows you the flaws you were unable to see until the first defeat, keeps you adrenaline high and full focus on. With a good rivalry every win feels deserved. Winning against a strong competitor boosts your confidence. And being defeated by the hand of a strong competitor makes you so hungry, that a single win doesn’t count anymore - you need five, then ten, and more, and more, and more. Oscar was the hunted, and yet he didn’t feel like one. Suddenly Oscar had realized that he desired to be chased by Lando. It seemed almost impossible. Lando had different mentality. He was kind and soft, maybe too kind to him. Oscar needed to nurture some wilderness inside Lando to achieve his goal of finally enjoying the races in a tight, compulsive, dangerous and all along clean fight.
He was searching for answers and ideas in his head when Zak was about to leave, noticing Oscar daydreaming right in the middle of their conversation, not hearing what he was saying. Oscar looked up, finding Zak already near the door. He decided to go all-in. Sudden provocation was Oscar's best weapon at that moment.
"So, mhm, it’s all actually fake now - for the media we race with no prescriptions, and in reality everything has been planned hours before the race starts if not the days. Well, it’s impossible to predict who’ll take the pole on Saturday, but it better not be Lando, right? The pole means nothing, when you can’t hold your position going into the first corner. Only then to be, ‘Always remember how we race.’ Papaya rules, huh."
"Oscar, as a team, we fight for p1 and p2 every race weekend, and it occurs that you’re more skilled in terms of securing your position and much hungrier for the win than Lando. Remember, as he said he is not desperate for it…"
"So am I."
Play smart, Oscar. Don't hurry things up.
"You simply want to build the second Red Bull. Preferably, the 2023 version of it. I’m your Max, and Lando is Checo. The media would be in awe. If you can’t get Max, build one. Or Mercedes with Hamilton-Bottas pairing. Or… Easy, right?"
Zak hesitated, and that was what Oscar waited the most.
"Monaco. If he fucks up Monaco, I’ll agree with you on first and second seat. If not, we are two drivers treated fairly by the team both inside and outside the track. I want this fight to be hard for both of us. I want it deserved."
"I still can’t believe you’re telling that to your team CEO. And what will Andrea say, your team principal?"
"He was the one insisting on equality between us, wasn’t he? I guess, there’s no problem. However, I’ve got no trust in his words either."
Zak was visibly tired. He scratched his forehead and looked at Oscar again. This time kept silent. Oscar smiled.
"I mean, well, there are lots of people on the Internet who call me cold… 'ice boy', actually, like 'ice man Kimi'. Trying to play the card - that famous 'champion' mentality."
Austria
"When you’re that confident, Lando, gosh, you’re so fucking hot, or rather, should i say “pretty damn beautiful”, the way Oscar sounded so excided, the sparkles in his bright brown eyes, little panting and pure joy watching Lando getting pole with a huge margin on a short track - everything - made Lando think again just how much he loved Oscar.
"Aren’t you exaggerating a little?" Lando giggles, showing off his big smile.
***
"If Horner once again claims that our cars are making love on track, I will definitely commit some direct love action towards you, just to “please” his old ass. I mean, if cars are allowed to be horny, why can't we be?" Lando smiled. He seemed to be in good spirits.
"What?" Oscar choked. He was used to hearing funny crap, something unpredictable or even slightly controversial from his teammate, but that seemed to be a different league. "What actions?"
"Oh, nevermind. I’m sorry," Lando quickly looked at him, suddenly realising what he was just saying, "didn’t mean to offend you. In my head it was way more… laughable."
"Ok. Let it be." Oscar held a gaze on Lando a little longer than he usually did. There was something in his words or maybe in the air, that made Oscar silly. Despite his will he pictured Lando’s words - what love action it could be: a kiss, a hug, stuff more intimate, sensual, even sexual, unacceptable in public. "I don’t think you should pay much attention to the RB principal. Most of the time he talks bullshit. Maybe his team also doesn’t take him seriously. And," Oscar sighed, "no, you didn’t offend me. It’s not that easy."
"Steady as always, our charming ice boy."
"Shall I proceed with “fruity” or “flirty,” playboy?"
Then both laughed.
Silverstone
"Lando, wait! Lando!"
Lando was fast. Oscar even had to run to catch up with him. When he did, Oscar blocked Lando’s way, breathing hard. The man seemed in no mood to talk - he was offended and slightly shocked. Oscar totally understood that reaction. He himself was praying for journalists to stay silent about that message on the radio. He couldn’t bear seeing his teammate's face like that - not when Lando's childhood dream of winning at a home grand prix came true. Lando hesitated for a moment, then lifted his head to look at Oscar with those beautiful light watery and now sad eyes. Took a deep breath. His voice was soft, yet trembling.
"You asked for…w-what?"
"That was stupid of me, I mean, no, I didn't mean to…"
"Oscar, I let you have your moment. Now let me have mine."
"Lando, please, I can explain, I was…"
"You were frustrated, and that’s fine, I get it. But saying, no… asking for a swap when I literally had nothing to do with your penalty! I kept my distance to not ruin both of our races, to not make it dangerous for you, Max, me and others. I was way off you at the back. Why didn’t you own up YOUR shitty mistake? Even in the cooldown room you were so stubborn. Just tell them, 'misjudged, it happens, my bad', and they would be on their knees for you, repeating, 'this boy is a real grown-up, total opposite of his arrogant bottler teammate, how composed he is, he will take it back at Spa and all other races too'.”
"Lando…"
"You could be mad at a penalty, at a lost win, at weather conditions, at anything, and yet you brought me to a convo, hoping that the team would allow you to take the lead again by swapping our positions for a damn challenge for the win at the end of the race because you thought the stewards, or rather everyone, were unfair to you. I love to fight you wheel to wheel on track, don’t get me wrong, those are the most precious and meaningful minutes of any race to me, but that was not it." Lando’s eyes were fixed on Oscar's face. "Oscar, you hurt me. I… why am I always praising you when the bitterness spreads all over my heart, but you can’t do the same? Why are you acting like a brat and then in a full “sorry mode” with shaky hands and a strained voice full of guilt?" Lando sighed. He was tired. Both physically and emotionally. "Oscar, no more talking to me in private today. Tomorrow we’ll be fine, will figure everything out, and such a situation won’t affect us in the future ever again. But today… I'd prefer to stay alone. Tonight as well."
"Lando…"
Oscar was lost. His whole body felt heavy, and the head empty. He wanted to touch Lando, to show him how much he did actually care, but he couldn’t. Not when Lando was done with Oscar’s stupidity and childish behaviour. Oscar never was a so-called 'ice boy', he was a volcano, sleeping for years, waiting, only to make the biggest crashout in history (in his life, actually, but who cared). Lando was different. His emotions were his strength, and that’s why he was never ashamed of crying in public or showing the world moments of greatest happiness with a broad bright smile on his face. He even made sure Landostand would cheer for him - Oscar, who was so bitchy and unfair towards Lando on the radio during the race. Lando was right - Oscar fucked up.
"Boys, what's the matter? What’s the noise?" Zak came from a briefing room.
"Nothing's wrong. Everything’s alright," muttered Lando, leaving them there.
Oscar got deja vu. Everything felt wrong.
Las Vegas
Lando couldn’t look at anyone right now. He was stressed about the car and highly possible disqualification, was upset with the team and their lack of competence at this late stage of the season, was emotionally unstable, at risk of cursing people left and right, and crying in front of those greedy photographers and journalists hungry for drama, was disappointed with himself for believing the team once again, for listening to his race engineer too much, for pushing hard, for that damn overtake on George, for everything that in the end costed him vitally needed points. If only he trusted himself more, maybe it would play out better? If, if, if, if… He wanted to leave the paddock immediately - no press-pen duties, no fan time, no Zak and Andrea at the sight, no golf, no FIA people, no one.
‘Headlines and the comments would go crazy,’ Lando thought. ‘Mclaren car was indeed illegal - was it the same all year? Those papaya drivers have neither skill, nor talent - just the car. Norris’ arrogance should be studied - such an attitude with all his wins being gifted. Oscar needs to leave Mclaren, they don’t appreciate him enough, full focus on that filthy british golden boy. As always Zak favours Lando. Oscar’s sabotage. What else?’
Lando knew his presence on the podium was nominal. The trophy in his hands was too heavy and light at the same time, it burnt his palms and made them cold. That rainbow trophy was his and only - there shouldn’t be any sort of discussion and disagreement - he fought for it, did everything on his side to minimize the risks of skid wear and early tyre degradation, but they never listened. ‘Just do more,’ and he did, and now was in position to give the trophy and so many points back. Was it another challenge?
***
On a plane, before the departure, Lando took his phone from the pocket and called the only person he could tolerate at the moment. Oscar answered almost immediately as if he waited for him to call.
“Oscar… Osc. What’s their final decision?”
“I think you know it best.”
“I saw a post of you on Instagram, all smiley. Are you happy, the gap between us is now less?”
“I won’t lie, I am. But that’s only because I like being closer to you. In every aspect, I mean.”
“Osc!..”
“Um, well, really, I wasn’t rejoicing, believe me. That kind of laugh was more of ‘we keep living in damned circus’-ish, than ‘haha, my teammate is hurt the most from this situation’.”
“I have trust issues, you know. For seven years they’ve had my back every time despite everything. We are doing well - it’s ‘we,’ the team is clowning themselves for the hundredth time - it’s ‘me.’ Always the same. Even you have a privilege to blame me sometimes, and I know those are just ‘in race’ and ‘post-race’ emotions, not off-track activities, but still. Oh, almost forgot, your friends stand out a lot too, fuel the conspiracy theories during some fucking podcast as if you really said all that to them, feeling betrayed or rather angry, when in reality I’m the one left behind. And don’t start on that Singaporean WCC celebration or Monza-swap. Nobody asked me, and yet the Internet made you a victim, and me… shit, I really don’t wanna go that deep.”
Oscar stayed silent for quite a bit, and Lando started feeling nervous, as if he was too harsh, too unfair to him, but then Oscar spoke.
“It’s alright. No. I mean, um… Are you alright?
“I’m fine.”
“Wanna talk in private?”
“I’m on my way to Qatar."
"Hm, then… should we play padel together, when I arrive?”
“Oscah, you hate padel, be real.”
“I am. Just for you. Also I could let you send some balls straight into my face, if that can make you feel better.”
“You mean to make me feel feel?”
“Yep, feeling feel.”
“You better be serious about that. Do you mind if I call George to join us?”
“He could be our ‘negotiator,’ or we can ‘use’ him in our narration. Like you went to play with him, and I was there with someone else,” Oscar laughed, hearing Lando actively protesting on that side, “I know, I know, but the media demands a show from us. They’d certainly be fond of the idea that we are co-workers at best. More talks -”
“More questions,” Lando finished the sentence. “Osc, I’m tired of answering the same questions every day and week. ‘What are your relationships with Oscar? Are you two on good terms or bad ones? Does this championship fight have an influence on your relationship? Has it changed?’ Enough.”
"Every week they question it and every week they get the same answer, and yet they are not of it. I wonder, if that's even possible. They present themselves as idiots. Maybe it's a kink, who knows."
"Thanks for the mood, Osc," Lando grinned, "I'd love to continue, but instead I've to end our convo abruptly, just like that."
"We'll catch up in Qatar, don't worry."
"I know. Bye, Osc."
"See you soon, Lando."
With that Las Vegas was forgotten for new challenges ahead.