Chapter Text
Daniel wasn’t doing well. Lando had stayed with him more than he wanted to over the weekend, partly to hide from Lewis and Sebastian, but partly because Daniel needed constant watching. Lando could sense his itching desire to drink. Qatar didn’t allow alcohol except with express permission—permission Daniel would never get from McLaren or anyone else.
“This is fucking ridiculous,” Daniel hissed as he watched the monitors in the garage. Max took up the screen, fuming in silence as the ticker underneath announced PRINCE VERSTAPPEN SLAPPED WITH 5-PLACE GRID PENALTY FOR YELLOW FLAG INFRINGEMENT.
Carlos had somehow managed to avoid any penalty whatsoever, even though Valtteri earned a 3-place drop. Typical Ferrari bullshit, if Lando had to guess. He understood Daniel’s frustration.
“They had to do something,” Lando said quietly where he stood beside Daniel. “The Brazil penalty thing made everyone mad.”
“Mercedes never should have filed a right to appeal,” Daniel muttered. “The race is over—you can’t change the results afterward. Nobody gets to do that. Fuck!”
Lando jumped at the sudden volume, discomfort prickling at the back of his neck.
“Now Max has to start seventh and fucking Gasly is starting second with Alonso right behind him—does anyone else see how fucked up that is?” Daniel flipped off the TV screen as the camera cut to the stewards, who were discussing something intently.
“Don’t forget me in fourth,”Lando attempted to joke.
Daniel chewed the inside of his cheek and ignored him completely.
Lando wondered how often Daniel had been sneaking drinks behind his back. He was never this angry, and alcohol had to be a factor—well, lack thereof.
“I’m in the back with fucking Charles, who’s been driving with a cracked chassis for three weeks,” Daniel said, shaking his head. “This is a new kind of pathetic, even for me.”
Lando shifted uncomfortably. Usually Daniel lit up the garage with his good attitude and humor. He sucked the life out of everyone when he felt the opposite.
“Daniel, we’re going to try our best to win and that’s that,” Lando said decisively. “Max has his own battle to fight and there’s nothing we can to do help him right now.”
Daniel snorted. “I could be with him, calming him down. Instead he has Jos. How do you think that’s going?”
Lando swallowed hard. He had no proof Sebastian was really involved with bringing Jos into the paddock again, and telling Daniel about it now would probably ending a murder charge.
He had no plans to tell Daniel the full truth of what he’d heard. He didn’t know why, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lewis and Sebastian staged their conversation for him to hear. Lando didn’t consider himself a quiet person, yet somehow he’d snuck up on them in a hotel courtyard.
George always talked about weird conspiracies, though it had been much worse with Alex was around to poke fun at him for it. They all knew that champions played games, and Lando didn’t want to fall for a trap. If Lewis and Sebastian wanted him to hear their conversation, they probably did it thinking he would run to Daniel and spill the beans.
But Lewis had sounded awfully angry about Jos. He defended Max, and that part didn’t sound fake.
Max had proved he wasn’t so innocent either. He’d put Carlos at risk with the whole Alfa Romeo thing. Max wasn’t stupid—he probably knew Carlos had gone behind Charles’s back, Maybe Max had even encouraged it. Lando had a hard time stomaching that decision.
“Lando, time to go,” one of the mechanics called.
“Be right there,” Lando said. He reached over to pat Daniel’s thigh. “Be safe, okay? Max can win from seventh. We can square this championship away in a few hours.”
Daniel looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “You’re in the best place to help him, so why don’t you?”
Lando narrowed his eyes. “I’m a McLaren prince, Daniel. I’m not going to give way to help another prince win, even if he’s my friend.”
Somehow, Lewis pulled off a complete domination. Max finished twenty-five seconds behind him in second place. Lando only just managed to scrape up points in P9 ahead of Sebastian, who gave him a run for his money at the end.
By the time Lando made it up the pit lane, the podium ceremony had already started. Max stood emotionless in second place, a stark contrast to Lewis’s broad smile and pumping fists. The crowd cheered wildly for him, so loud that Lando could still hear them even with his headphones on in the garage.
He listened to the debrief, spoke to the press, and lingered around the media pen to wait for Carlos to finish his interviews. Carlos managed to finish seventh ahead of Charles, so the news outlets had a million questions for him.
“Waiting for me, cabrón?” Carlos greeted with a fist bump.
Lando met it happily, unable to hide his smile. “Nice job today. You looked great in the replay.”
Carlos smiled and pushed his hair back under his hat. “It was a good day for us. Thankfully we figured out the problem with Charles’s car.”
“Yeah—cracked chassis? Yikes.”
Carlos shrugged. “It is good we discovered the problem. Now we can both fight in Saudi and Abu Dhabi.”
Only Carlos would still be chasing wins in the last two races with Max and Lewis fighting a war for the championship.
“Yeah, well. I’m looking forward to next season,” Lando replied. “Actually, looking forward to winter break. My place in Monaco is almost ready to put furniture in.”
Carlos cocked a brow. “Oh? That far along?”
Lando nodded. “I think it’ll be ready right after Abu Dhabi.”
You should visit.
Carlos’s eyes dimmed as if he understood the unspoken words. “I’ll have to come see it when it’s done.”
“Or you can come earlier,” Lando offered. “We can pick stuff out together. You’ve always been better at decorating.”
Carlos laughed. “You are lying.”
Lando grinned. “A little. You decorate like an indecisive old man who’s been to too many rubbish sales.”
Carlos laughed harder. Nothing made him happier than that sound. Carlos wiped his eyes and reached over to knock Lando’s cap off.
“Carlos.” Charles’s voice cut through the laughter, deadly.
Lando straightened up, his smile turning reserved as Charles stepped up to thm. “Charles. Nice race.”
“Thanks,” Charles replied dismissively. “Are you finished? We have to discuss some things.”
The mirth left Carlos’s eyes. He nodded once and reached out, taking Charles’s hand. The action looked rehearsed.
Still fighting, then.
“I’m ready,” Carlos replied. “I was thinking we could walk the grounds tonight—we both had a very good day.”
Charles stared at him. “Are you asking me or Lando?”
Lando flinched without meaning to, glancing nervously between Carlos and Charles.
Carlos frowned. “You, mi amor.”
It was still weird to hear Carlos say he loved someone else, especially in Spanish. Jealousy sizzled to life in Lando’s gut, but he kept his mouth shut.
“No, I don’t think we’ll have any time for a stroll,” Charles said, picking through the words. “Come on.”
Carlos stepped toward him, then gave Lando an apologetic look.
“I’ll write you,” Lando said, offering a warm smile.
Carlos smiled back, melting him to mush right there in the media pen. “Perfect,” he said.
Lando hurried back to the garage once Carlos and Charles walked away. Daniel hovered at the garage entrance, furious. He’d placed out of the points behind Pierre.
“Let’s get back to the hotel,” Lando said, nudging him with an elbow as he passed. “We can take a bath and forget about today.”
Surprisingly, Daniel turned and followed him. Lando took his hand on instinct, playing the part of a happy couple even though Daniel looked like he wanted to kill someone.
“I’m not going to be on our flight to Saudi Arabia,” Daniel said quietly as they left the garage.
Lando glanced at him. “Did something happen?”
Daniel shook his head once. “It’s a good thing, promise.”
“Well, you look like shit right now, so it’s kinda hard to believe that,” Lando said.
A glimpse of a smile appeared on Daniel’s lips. “It’s a good thing, babe.”
A nice dinner and a warm bath together restored both of their moods. Lando wrote Carlos a short letter going through his race, and wrote down a few names of furniture stores in Monaco. He wanted Carlos to ask Charles’s opinion on them, but something told him that was not a wise idea. He didn’t know if he would trust Charles’s furniture taste anyway.
Everyone liked to assume princes went partying after races. The winners sometimes did—even losers like Lando had gone out a lot over the past few years—but races completely drained them. Without the adrenaline of a win, it was hard to even think about alcohol.
For Lando, anyway. Daniel kept pacing around the hotel room, though he used the excuse of caffeine jitters from his post-race iced coffee slushie.
“So what did Max say after the race?” Lando asked, breaking the comfortable silence. Daniel wasn’t allowed to talk to him, but it was clear to Lando that something had been discussed concerning Max if Daniel had changed his flght.
Daniel paused his pacing to look at him. “Whaddya mean?”
“Earlier you said a good thing happened. Something with Max, yeah?”
Daniel blinked at him. “No with him directly, no.”
Lando waited for an explanation, but Daniel started walking again.
“Ooookay,” Lando drew out. “Are you going to keep being vague or tell me what’s happening?”
Daniel paused again. “You know, you didn’t say anything about Max’s drive today.”
The hair rose on the back of Lando’s neck for the second time that day. “He came in second. It was a great drive—I dunno, I didn’t see anything worth talking about.”
Sometimes Daniel reminded him that he used to be a power amongst the princes. His easygoing personality sharpened into something lethal, and his smile turned sour. He liked being the goofy guy—he used his humor and goodwill as a shield.
A shield for everyone else, not himself.
“Max is falling apart and you don’t think there’s anything worth talking about?” Daniel asked incredulously.
So much for a quiet evening at home.
Lando sat up from his spot on the couch. “Come sit down and we can talk about it. You pacing like that is stressing me out.”
Daniel grit his teeth. “Me pacing is stressing you out. Yeah. Okay.”
Lando narrowed his eyes. “You’re trying to pick a fight for no reason, Daniel.”
Lando would be the first to admit he didn’t have much of a backbone against the likes of Sebastian and Lewis, but he could dig in when he needed to. Frankly, Daniel wasn’t crown prince of McLaren. He didn’t have the authority to make decisions on behalf of the empire.
“You’re slipping,” Daniel said, stepping toward him. “It’s like you don’t even remember Zandvoort—it’s like you don’t remember anything Max has done for you.”
“Max is my friend,” Lando said. “He wasn’t doing those things to buy me.”
“Your friend is getting murdered out there!” Daniel shouted.
“How the fuck is that my fault?” Lando shouted back, jumping to his knees. “Honestly, Daniel! I’m trying to stay out of this war—McLaren isn’t part of it!”
“This has nothing to do with empires,” Daniel snapped. “Lewis is targeting Max. Red Bull is putting a knife to his throat and threatening him with all kinds of shit and the three people he could always turn to aren’t allowed to talk to him!”
“Yeah, I’m one of those people!” Lando shot back.
“So stop going against him!”
Lando snarled at him, too angry to speak. He’d defended Daniel so many times. He’d allowed Max into their hotel room a dozen times, he’d let Daniel sneak around—he’d let Max sneak out in Zandvoort to do some mysterious thing they never talked about. Max loved him in his own Max way. Max kissed him once, and protected him in more ways than Lando could count.
“I am not going against him,” Lando hissed. “But he put Carlos at risk. He put the person I love most at risk, just to get some information from Alfa Romeo. So I’m not happy with him right now—but that doesn’t mean I’m against him, okay?”
Daniel’s skin reflected strangely in the low light of their hotel room, a sheen of oil or sweat or both. “Did Lewis say something to you? Is that why you’re being like this?”
“Being like what, Daniel!?!”
The truth was, Lando didn’t know who to root for. A week ago he’d been certain that Lewis deserved to go down after what he did over the burner phones, how he acted, everything. But hearing him defend Max—someone who openly hated him, publicly and privately—made Lando question everything. Max would never do that, not even for someone he had no opinion on.
Even if Lewis and Sebastian meant for him to hear their conversation, Lewis showed more leadership than Max. Lewis had seven championship years under his belt. He knew what he was doing, Max didn’t. Mx had never been interested in leading empires. He only cared about racing and whoever his boyfriend had been at the time.
Daniel stared at him, breathing hard, but didn’t say anything. Lando caught the desperation in his eyes and softened.
“I love you,” Lando said gently. “And I know you’re hurting, but please don’t take it out on me.”
Tears jumped to Daniel’s eyes. Lando slid from the couch and rounded it to collect Daniel in a hug. He still smelled like roses from their complimentary bath bomb.
“I just wanna see him,” Daniel croaked into his shoulder. ”It’s never been this long. I don’t know what he’s doing or what he’s thinking—I don’t even know if he’s okay.”
Lando hugged him tighter, stricken with sudden empathy. Daniel just missed Max. The love of his life was in the same building, alone or with his shitty father. Lando would be tearing his hair out if Carlos was in the same situation.
“You’re gonna see him in a few days,” Lando tried to soothe. He sucked at comforting people. “Max knows you’re missing him. He’s missing you too, I’m sure. I’m sure he is.”
Max was probably in physical pain from missing Daniel so much.
Lando pressed a kiss to Daniel’s curls, trying to imagine how Carlos would react in this situation. Carlos always knew the right combination of touching and comforting words.
“How can I help?” Lando asked, because he couldn’t think of anything else to say.
Daniel pulled back and straightened up. He wiped his eyes with his sleeves and shook his head. “I think I just wanna go to bed and get to Saudi Arabia faster.”
Lando nodded and reached out to squeeze his hip. “Okay, we can sleep. Let’s go to bed, yeah?”
He followed Daniel into the bathroom and stood beside him while he washed his face and brushed his teeth. Daniel moved like a robot, eyes vacant, thoughts elsewhere. He moved with no life in his limbs as he changed into sleeping clothes and crawled into bed.
“We can sleep in tomorrow and get room service,” Lando offered as he took a seat beside him on the mattress. “How does that sound?”
Daniel nodded, a frown stuck on his face. Lando reached down and thumbed the corner of his mouth affectionately.
Seeing the way Daniel had to navigate life made Lando never want to drink again. Even when he was sober, there was a conscious effort visible on all of his features just to act like a normal person who didn’t want alcohol.
But Lando loved him anyway, fights and all. They had a bond that couldn’t be broken over insignificant arguments.
At the beginning of the season, he thought he loved Daniel, then hated him when the burner phones came to light. They started from rock bottom and built a mutual respect and care for each other. Lando wouldn’t recognize the boy who looked him in the mirror back in March. He had more confidence, deeper love, and deeper understanding of their stupid world.
Carlos would always be his everything, but Daniel had become a very good something in the meantime.
“Sleep tight, don’t let the bedbugs bite,” Lando murmured.
Daniel slid his gaze over to him but didn’t smile. “G’night, Lando.”
Lando rounded the bed and crawled under the covers. Desert bugs sang in the courtyard loud enough that the sound traveled through the glass doors of the balcony. The moonlight washed the whole room in a dull blue glow as Lando shifted to rest against Daniel, who rolled on his side so Lando could be big spoon.
There we go.
Daniel was a protector. At Wembley, in the royal courts—everywhere. He fought for Max day and night, even when everyone thought he was sulking in the shadows somewhere. He kept tabs on the people he loved.
Lando pressed his nose to the nape of Daniel’s neck and closed his eyes to listen.
Eventually, Daniel’s breathing evened out to slow draws, then changed into soft snores. Sleep would fix things. Daniel would wake up in the morning with his happy, sleepy smile and everything would be right in the world.
Lando drifted off soon after, lulled to sleep by Daniel’s body heat.
Blackness met him in his dreams. He felt Carlos—he knew Carlos without sight or sound. Lando reached behind him, linking his wrists around Carlos, leaning into his warmth. Darkness didn’t scare him with Carlos at his back. He turned his face and kissed his jaw, drinking in the taste of him, the strength.
“I’m sorry,” Dream Carlos whispered in his ear.
Lando furrowed his brow. “Sorry? For what?”
“I’m so fuckin’ sorry,” Carlos said, but he didn’t sound like Carlos.
The ground started to shake. Lando looked down, but there was only blackness.
“Carlos?”
“I didn’t mean to,” Carlos said, so loud Lando had to lean away. “I didn’t—”
Lando jerked awake to disturbed silence. He could feel the remnants of sound in the room.
Daniel let out a long, low noise. He sounded like a wounded animal, something too big to be downed.
“Daniel?” Lando whispered, his voice raspy with sleep.
“I fuckin’ swear,” Daniel sobbed. “I’m sorry.”
Lando forced himself up to an elbow. “Daniel?”
Daniel had rolled onto his back, eyes screwed shut and breathing quick and shallow. “Don’t. Don’t, please. Don’t--!”
Daniel’s eyes flew open and Lando jumped with fright at how fucking wide his eyes became.
“Daniel, it’s me, it’s Lando,” Lando whispered, trying to keep the shake from his voice.
Daniel stared at him, but clearly didn’t see him. His eyes stayed wide, nostrils flared, more panicked breathing.
“You’re okay,” Lando said weakly, touching his cheek. His skin was clammy. “We’re in bed, you’re safe.”
Daniel kept staring at him, breathing harder. He suddenly grimaced as if in pain and Lando shifted closer, trying to figure out what was wrong.
“Hey, you okay?” Lando tried, thumbing Daniel’s brow bone. “Talk to me. I’m right here.”
Daniel blinked, but his eyes didn’t change. Terror emanated from every pore, leaking from him like a busted pipe. Fear instinctually welled up in Lando too, but he pushed it down. They were safe.
“You’ll tell him I’m sorry?” Daniel finally asked, stiff and unrecognizable.
“Tell who, Daniel?” Lando tried to use his most soothing tone. “Who am I telling?”
Daniel didn’t have waking nightmares. He didn’t do things like this, not even in the scary night after Wembley where he slept in the shower.
“Max,” Daniel whispered. “Please. I can’t.”
Lando nodded with a hard swallow. Better to agree and move on, though he had no idea what Daniel was talking about. “Okay,” he agreed. “I’ll tell him. Now go to sleep.”
Daniel closed his eyes, but his features stayed scared. Lando watched his face for a long time, until it gradually went slack with sleep again.
He understood, in a way.
Even Lando sometimes had a hard time deciphering real life from nightmare. For Daniel, there was probably no difference.