Chapter 1: Unfair
Chapter Text
Singapore. Sunday Night.
Oscar could feel it unravelling.
Baku was one thing. A blemish on an otherwise stellar season. Crashes happened, jump starts too, and everyone had a bad (disastrous) qualifying on occasion. Granted, not everyone struck the unholy trinity in one weekend, but it was fine. Fine.
It could have even worked in his favour, made everyone finally realise that he wasn't some emotionless robot. He'd heard the taunts, the snide comments on social media - calling him a 'ro-beta' or 'neta': that he was so robotic, so devoid of basic human emotion to not even qualify as the Beta they had all assumed he must be.
Even the most mainstream media couldn't help but feed fuel to the flames; he was cool and consistent, even cold and unfeeling - the Iceman. Lacking the hot-headed, ruthless ambition of an Alpha, but with none of fiery, passionate competitiveness of an Omega. Barely even displaying much of a Beta's warm, universal appeal. Basically undesignated. An oddity.
So Baku on its own would have been fine. A reminder of human fallibility to thaw the Iceman image. He still had a healthy lead in the Drivers' Championship, and McLaren were all but assured to take home the Constructors' for the second year in a row.
Then Singapore, and fucking Lando throwing out their ridiculous unwritten papaya rulebook when they were barely off the line. It was their first commandment, the only one that mattered, which may as well have been etched in stone it was so ingrained into all of their heads. All caps, bold font and underlined twice: you don't hit your teammate.
And what did McLaren do about it? Nothing.
Oscar had yet to see the replays. And frankly he didn't care. It was a smart move, wheel-checking your Championship rival. Very cut-throat. Very Alpha.
He'd thought Lando to be above such behaviour, trusted him to not give any substance to the inane stereotypes, which were just excuses for bad behaviour in Oscar's book. Any Alpha who used their designation as a shield from scrutiny was not one he wanted in his orbit. They were not animals, it was entirely possible to manage those instincts. For fuck's sake, Oscar was an Omega - usually perceived as the most erratic and emotional of all secondary genders - and aside from a few carefully selected members of McLaren's board and his own closest circle, no one even suspected a damn thing.
Well, they hadn't so far at least.
Oscar took a deep breath outside the media pen, fighting to regain his usual composure. It would not do to lose it in front of half the world's motorsport press. His radio messages were bad enough - the first fine; sardonic and biting. Classic Piastri. But then even he could hear the edge of a whine, even needing his engineer, Tom, to remind him to focus on the race.
He bit his tongue and kept the radio very much off for the rest of the race, even going so far as to 'accidently' disconnect Zak when he came on to congratulate him on the Constructors' victory. Sure he'd been mid-way through disconnecting the steering wheel, hand already poised to sever the mic when the radio crackled to life again, but he knew exactly what everyone would say and in that moment he really didn't care to hear it. Fuck Zak Brown. Fuck McLaren and most of all, fuck Lando fucking Norris.
He wanted to scream. He wanted to hit something. But worst and most of all, he wanted to curl into a ball and cry and lick his wounds in private. His stupid Omega instincts wouldn't even let him be angry properly.
Oscar tried another deep breath. He clenched his fists, letting his fingernails carve crescent shaped dents into his palms, willing the sharp pain to slice through the haze of emotion and give him the focus he needed to get through the next half hour.
Sophie, his assigned PR rep for the day, was eyeing him warily. She knew his designation, his secret - PR deemed essential personnel to bring into their heavily NDA'd circle. A double-edged honour that she was probably already regretting as she mentally reviewed their list of contingency plans for if (when) Oscar does something too Omega too publicly.
"We don't have to do this now." She offered neutrally. "You can go with the team to the stage for the Constructors' celebration."
"I didn't podium." He bit out curtly, because his teammate made sure of that. "I have to do media."
"I sure the team would pay the fine, Os-"
"Let's just get this over with." Oscar surged forward, because if he didn't do this now, he never would.
"Oscar..."
"Please." His voice cracked slightly, a rare betrayal of his feelings and he dug his nails into his palms harder. Now was not the time, he just had to rein it in until he could escape back to the hotel and burrow into his nest alone.
"Okay." She sighed quietly. "You're sure you don't want to see the playback from lap one before you go in?"
Oscar scoffed. "Believe me, it's better if I don't."
"Fine, just don't say anything you'll regret later. Keep it clean, cl-
"-clear and concise." Oscar recited with a roll of his eyes. "I know, Soph. I've had the media training."
"Great." Sophie tried to inject some positivity into her tone. "And try to smile, will ya? You're a back-to-back Constructors' champion!"
He offered her a small smile, momentarily feeling bad for his sour mood. Constructors' was the team victory, their number one priority for the year and they had done it with races to spare. It was a huge accomplishment...
....and then he went into the room and of course the podium celebration was on every screen, Lando in his maroon Pirelli hat spiking his champagne like he earned the right. Fan-fucking-tasic.
"Oscar!"
He smoothed over his annoyance and looked to the first journalist thrusting a microphone forward.
"Congratulations on the Constructors' win. But about lap one..."
Oscar let himself retreat. Burying the emotions and trusting his PR training to take over. No, he hadn't seen the incident yet. Yes, they would look at it as a team. Of course, great race for McLaren. Very happy. Etc etc. Ad nauseum.
Even as he robotically answered the same questions again and again, outwardly falling into the familiar Iceman persona he hated, he could feel it spiralling inside him. The negativity and anger and self-doubt feeding on itself and growing in the pit of his stomach, pushing and pushing until it felt like he couldn't breathe.
"You okay?...Oscar?" Sophie muttered, pinching his arm when he didn't reply.
"...What?" He felt dazed. There was black around the edges of his vision. He blinked, trying to try clear it. He couldn't breathe...why wasn't he breathing?
"Yeah. Okay. We need to get you out of here." She muttered, scanning the room for the quickest route to the exit.
"Oscar! Sky Sports." Came a voice to his left, and Oscar turned instictively towards his name.
"Oscar really needs to get back to the motorhome." Sophie injected, her smooth professionalism masking the worry.
"We'll be quick." The journalist said unrepentantly. "Oscar, talk us through how you're feeling after today's race."
Oscar blinked. How he was feeling?
The journalist waited expectantly. Sophie hovered anxiously. Oscar bluescreened uselessly.
"You must be happy, to have secured the Constructors' Championship for McLaren?" The journalist prompted with a puzzled glance over to Sophie. Of all drivers, Oscar could usually be counted on to follow the script. For the press, it was equally helpful and frustrating: they always got the facts of the story, but they never got the juicy soundbite.
"Yea, yes. Very happy for the team...at the factory. Worked so hard. It's...incredible achievement." Oscar muttered by rote. He knew how to answer that one, had already done so at least ten times in the last hour.
"Right." The journalist said slowly, leaning forward slightly like he could smell blood in the water. "You and Lando. Contact at the start. How do you feel about that?"
How does he feel... Feeling. Again. How can you explain when you feel so much it cannot be much into words? Like if you let one thing go, everything inside will pour out until there is nothing left?
The silence seemed to hang heavy in the air. The cameraman zoomed in closer, close enough to see the beads of sweat forming on Oscar's forehead despite the air conditioning.
"It was clear from your radio messages that you felt McLaren should have stepped in. That the move was 'unfair'. We're not used to seeing that kind of emotional outburst from you, any comment there?"
Not used to seeing that kind of emotion? If only they all knew what he kept inside. Bottled up and fizzing away: a champagne bottle on the podium primed to violently explode like one of Lando's signature spikes.
"Oscar?" The journalist prodded, and Oscar zeroed in on his name - pinprick vision lasered in on the journalist in front of him. He was meant to be talking, saying something.
"Huh?"
"You said it was unfair. Are you scared that without McLaren and 'papaya rules' you'll lose the Championship?"
Oscar laughed of sorts at that, a breathless little huff of air. His voice sounded strange, strangled, even to his own ears. "I'm not scared of Lando."
"Then why were you so upset about him racing you on track?" The journalist was practically hanging over the bar now, a couple of others also watching in interest.
"He...he hit me." Because that was what it came down to wasn't it? Racing didn't make you hit your teammate, not the way they agreed to do it at least. But what if...
Breathing was becoming an issue. The faces were swimming in front of him, merging into a high speed blur. He thought he could smell the sour tang of his own bitterness, even though that was impossible with the strength of the blockers the FIA made them all wear.
"Are you alright, Oscar? You've gone very pale." A voice said, but it didn't sound kind. It was pushing, pushing, on top of everything else. It was too much. He couldn't breathe.
"Oscar really needs to go now." He knew that voice, recognised Sophie's firm hand on his arm and bit back a whine, making a choked noise instead as she pulled him away and out into the night air, the Singaporean humidity doing nothing to clear his mind.
"Shit. Shit!" Sophie muttered, steering the almost catatonic driver outside. She had to go back, run damage limitation and convince Sky that Oscar was sick or something so they wouldn't air his disastrous interview. Heatstroke, maybe - more plausible in Singapore than anywhere else. And make sure the bloody Netflix cameras hadn't been close enough to pick it up. But she couldn't leave Oscar like this in the middle of the paddock.
She might only be a Beta, like almost 90% of the population, and so not privy to all the salacious, intimate details of the Omega/Alpha mindset. But even so, she knew that Oscar had to be in an Omega drop and couldn't be left alone until he snapped the fuck out of it...however that worked.
She spotted papaya shirts in the distance, thanking god their team was so regonisable.
"Maria, over here!" Her fellow PR colleague stopped from where she had been leading Lando (and better yet, Lando's bodyguard) back from his own press conference.
"What's wrong?" Maria asked, eyes bouncing between the harried PR rep and spaced out Oscar.
"Oscar's not feeling well." Sophie said weightedly. "I need to get back in there. Can you get him back to the motorhome."
"Of course. Is Oscar...okay?" Maria said vaguely, eyes flicking to Lando who was watching Oscar intently.
"He's dropping." Lando stated, because it was fucking obvious. Oscar's eyes snapped to him, a light frown creasing his forehead. Lando itched to smooth it out, his Alpha instincts urging him to soothe the distressed Omega in front of him, but he refrained.
"You know?" Sophie checked quickly, because you could never be too careful and it was more than her job's worth to reveal Oscar's designation to anyone outside the tightknit circle already in the know.
He nodded quickly. Forcing himself to break eye contact with Oscar, pretending he didn’t notice the tiny involuntary whimper it caused his teammate. "Don't worry, Soph. We'll get him back, no drama."
For the first time Sophie looked uncertain, remembering Oscar's anger and frustration after the race and who it had been aimed at. "I'm not sure..."
"We've got him." Lando said uncharacteristically firmly, voice dropping an octave making him sound more like the Alpha he was. "Come on, Osc. Let's get outta here."
"Watch them." Sophie hissed urgently to Maria who nodded before hurrying off to follow Lando who was leading Oscar through the paddock with a light hand on the small of his back, fingertips pressing to urge him in the way he wanted.
"That's right, this way, Osc. You're doing so well."
Lando was coaxing him along, using a soft, easy tone Maria had never heard from the usually hyper (and sometimes sullen) young driver. But she couldn't deny it seemed to be working, so she followed behind trying to ignore the softly spoken words that weren't meant for her ears.
It always felt like intruding, seeing an Alpha or Omega like this - so out of control, lost to instincts that she could never fully understand. They had somewhat gotten used to Lando's adrenaline-fuelled outbursts, the wider team's eyes automatically skipping over the dark corner at the back of the garage where Jon would murmur him back to himself, a soothing hand resting on the back of his neck. Oscar had never needed such care, and frankly she wouldn't have guessed Lando could be steady and solid enough to provide it until she saw it with her own eyes.
"Doing so good for me, Osc. Almost there now."
Oscar, in the clearest sign that something was very much Not Right, didn't even question where they were going or why Lando was the one to lead him there. So lost in his internal fog that he trustingly allowed himself to be guided by his teammate - the very man who he had been internally cursing less than one hour ago.
"Rick, what's the best chance of no one seeing us?" Lando asked his bodyguard, who wordlessly gestured between the sides of two motorhomes.
They received a few odd glances from the Haas mechanics as they snuck down the path away from the main thoroughfare, but it was nearing 1am and everyone was too busy striking down and wanting to get back to their beds to bother them.
Rick led them round the back of the motorhomes over a gravel path that clearly wasn't intending for much walking. When they reached the McLaren base, he fished a key card out of his pocket - Lando's; he still wasn't trusted not to lose it - and pressed it into the younger man's hands.
He gestured at an unobtrusive door set into the wall, only the key pad next to it denoting it for what it was. "Go in this door and straight up the stairs, it will take you to the drivers' corridor."
"Thanks, Rick. See you out front for pictures in a bit, yeah?" Lando said, already scanning the pass and ushering Oscar inside.
"Thanks, Rick." Maria echoed, hurrying up the stairs after them as Lando gestured Oscar to go into the first room they came to.
"Wait, Lando, this isn't Oscar's room."
"No it's mine." He said simply, not offering any further explanation. "We'll come down in a bit."
"What?" She asked, feeling out of her depth. Oscar just wandered inside, blinking owlishly back at them his breathing still shallow and face flushed. She couldn't just leave him like this, not even if she didn't have a clue what she was meant to be doing while Lando clearly had read this page of the Omega Handbook. "Just wait a sec, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to bring him up." He said, still maddeningly vague.
"What does that even mean... Wait, Lando." Maria said, grabbing onto his arm when he made as if to turn into the room.
Lando bit back a growl. "What?"
"Is this a good idea?" She asked a bit desperately.
"Do you want to send him out to the team photos looking like that?" Lando asked facetiously. Oscar blinked back at them, fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach out for something - he just didn't know what.
"No but-"
He raised an eyebrow primly. "Then what else do you suggest, exactly?"
God, Lando could be such a brat. Maria wasn't sure whether to snap back at him, or to defer to the display of Alpha dominance / bitchiness (po-tay-to / po-tah-to). In the end, she bit her tongue and focused on the matter at hand: helping Oscar and whatever funk he had lost himself in.
"I don't know. Maybe we should get a doctor, or I can find Artturi..."
"He doesn't need a doctor or a Beta. He's dropped." Lando not-really explained, impatiently. "He needs an Alpha."
"Maybe we can find someone else to...bring him up?" Maria repeated his earlier words nervously, as a Beta herself not really knowing what that entailed. "I mean, would he want..."
"Would he want me?" Lando interrupted bitingly, trying not to let his Alpha instincts slam the door in her face. She was only trying to protect Oscar, he could respect that. He would respect that. But right now, Oscar needed help and Lando knew how to give it to him. "Maybe not, but I'm who he's got so..."
Maria still looked uncertain, but nodded reluctantly.
"Relax, Maria. I'm helping him through a panic attack, not mating the guy." Sensing that she was backing down and the 'fight' was over, he offered her a blinding grin, at odds with the tense Alpha who had frog-marched them all back there with a possessive hand on Oscar's back. "Stall the photos. We'll be fine."
And with that, he slammed the door to his driver's room leaving her standing outside, utterly useless.
"I really hope you're right, Lando." She muttered, hurrying off to help (and delay) the set up for the team photos as much as she could, without giving away Oscar's secret. "Fucking dynamics."
"Oscar. Can you hear me?" Lando asked tentatively the minute the door closed.
Oscar looked at him, breathing alarmingly shallow, cheeks flushed and pupils blown wide and unseeing.
"Oscar." Lando tried again, letting his voice lower. "Osc. You're dropping. Will you let me help you?"
Oscar blinked his vision clearing for a second. "Lando?"
"That's right. Just me." He said soothingly, taking a step forward and then another when Oscar didn't flinch back. "Let me help you, Osc. Yeah?"
Oscar nodded jerkily. "Okay."
He allowed Lando to pull him down on the sofa so that they sat side by side, just as they had a million times before.
Oscar watched blankly as Lando tugged down the neck of his fireproofs and peeled off the scent blocker over his glands. The room was flooded with Alpha scent. A mix of earth and woods and sweat, with just a hint of spicy sweetness underneath. Something strong and reassuring flowing through his lungs, and for the first time since the media pen, it felt like he could breathe. Like all he could do was breathe.
"Take it." A voice murmured through the fog, a hand on the back of his head urging him forward. "Take what you need, Osc."
He buried his nose in the scent and let himself take.
"That's it. I've got you." Murmured reassurances, far more comforting than they had any right to be.
Oscar had the fleeting thought that he was safe now, that he could let go.
And then, he was under.
Oscar came up one sense at a time.
First smell, and that earthy woodiness that reminded him of something solid and real. Taste...his mouth was dry and metallic. Had he bitten his tongue?
Then touch. The clammy warmth of skin against his face where it was pressed up against another's. A firm hand around his shoulder, holding on so he didn't fully collapse forward.
Sound. The rustle of air conditioning. A light tapping. Someone breathing softly...was that him?
Finally sight. A firm, black-wrapped chest with familiar sponsor logos down its length. Orange and black racesuit pooled at the waist. His human cushion's other arm resting on the owner's knee, phone in hand as they scrolled through Instagram, double tapping the occasional post of champagne-soaked podium celebrations.
He stiffened. Awareness coming back to him all at once. Fuck.
"Hey." A familiar voice said, more cautious and softer than he'd ever heard it. "You back with me?"
"I..." Oscar trailed off, because what did you say when you woke up from a fucking Omega drop half-slumped over your teammate who, far as Oscar knew, thought he was a Beta up until now. "What happened?"
"You dropped." Lando said, like that wasn't obvious. "I don't know what happened, but Sophie got you out of the media pen and we brought you back here."
"Did I...I mean, did anyone..."
"No one saw." Lando reassured him immediately. "And you didn't really do anything. You were mostly just out of it."
Oscar hummed. That was something. But still...Lando knew. Which reminded him, they were still pressed shoulder to shoulder, Oscar's face intimately pressed into the crook of Lando's neck, breathing in his scent. He pulled back quickly, putting as much space between them as the small sofa would allow.
"So." Oscar started, avoiding eye-contact and burning with embarrassment. "You know."
"I know." Lando confirmed uncomfortably. "Zak told me from the start. I guess he wanted to avoid another Brocedes."
"Of course he fucking did." Oscar laughed, but there was no humour in it. Zak Brown was Lando's man through and through, he would never let something like an NDA stop him. "Why didn't you say anything? It's been almost three years..."
Lando shrugged. "Figured if you wanted to talk about it, you'd talk about it."
"That's...surprisingly restrained of you." Oscar said honestly.
Lando did laugh then, a slight crack in the tension. "You know me, Mr Tactful all day long."
"Sure. Totally." Oscar said blandly, sounding more like himself than he had since the race ended.
But of course, other than apparently being uncharacteristically discrete about his teammate's secret designation, Lando was never one to let an almost comfortable silence rest.
"Osc?" He begun hesitantly. "About the race..."
"Lando..." Oscar groaned, because he really didn't want to get into that now.
"It was a racing incident, Osc. The gap was there, then I hit Max and the car just slipped." Lando said sincerely, open and honest in a way Oscar didn't know how to be. "But I didn't mean to hit you, I swear. I would never."
The whole speech was delivered so earnestly that Oscar could feel his anger softening. Believing it, even before he'd even had a chance to look for himself. He closed his eyes firmly and tried to clear his head, tipping it back to try and get a breath of air that wasn't clouded with Alpha pheromones.
"I don't want to talk about this now." He said firmly, setting a boundary and hoping like hell Lando wouldn't test it. He was wrung out, and wasn't sure if he would be able to stick to his own convictions in the face of Alpha puppy dog eyes. "I can't be angry with you when I'm like this, and I need to choose, yeah? It needs to be my choice."
Lando deflated visibly. "I...okay. Yeah. I get that."
Lando knew what it was like to feel like his biology overtook his brain. Like the Alpha was far more free with his words, saying things that Lando would never usually say. Making decisions that if he was in his right mind, he wouldn't choose for himself.
"You feeling better, though?" He asked hesitantly, peering out from behind sweaty curls.
Oscar nodded shortly. Even though he was still feeling pretty shitty, at least his insides weren't trying to claw their way out of his body. Then, as if it cost him something, and maybe in some ways it did, "Thank you...for helping me."
Lando brightened immediately, a pup given a morsel of praise even if the reluctant voice giving it was strangled and rough. "Any time, Osc."
"Hope not." Oscar said ruefully. His head still felt heavy from the drop, Lando's scent lingering, his limbs heavy....it felt like he was surfacing from a deep sleep, the edges of a dream creeping away beyond his control.
"Let's go." Lando said, standing up purposefully. He rummaged in his bag, pulling out a new scent blocker strip and slapping it over his glands carelessly. "Team photo out front, you coming?"
Oscar bit out a bitter retort about their previous podium celebrations. Smoothed out the rough edges and forced himself to let go of the anger for now; double dropping would help no one, and there was plenty of time to analyse the race after the team celebrations were done.
"Sure. Let’s get out there."
As they joined the team, Oscar didn't miss the clearly relieved whispers between Sophie and Maria as he followed Lando out, smiling and high-fiving his delighted mechanics. Their joy was infectious, and he let it lift his mood, his smile becoming more genuine as he took his place in the center.
"Boys!" Zak boomed loudly, drunk on victory. He squinted in confusion at the sight of them still in their racewear, looking over to the PR girls who smiled blandly back at him. "I thought you were getting changed?"
"Zaaaaaakkkkk." Lando drawled, pulling the man into a hug as Oscar dodged him entirely, very much not in the mood. "We did it, man!"
"Back-to-back champs!" Zak exclaimed, punching the air like it had personally offended him.
Oscar laughed as Andrea hugged him, the older man's happiness plainly written on his face and making him look ten years younger.
"We will enjoy tonight, yes?" He said, grasping Oscar by both shoulders. "Everything else will wait until tomorrow."
Oscar nodded round the lump in his throat, the steady weight on his shoulders grounding him further in this moment.
"We did it...you did it. Again!" The Team Principle laughed as if he could hardly believe it.
The next few hours passed in a blur of papaya confetti and popping champagne - more of it sprayed into the air than drunk. It was still mid-season so they had a garage to pack down and a long flight home the next day. There was still a lot to race for.
At some point, Oscar found himself bundled into the passenger seat of a McLaren, hotel-bound and exhausted.
It was only when he was changed into a threadbare t-shirt and soft boxer shorts that he sat down amongst a nest of pillows and blankets and looked for the email he knew would be waiting for him.
Tom had sent him every possible angle of the lap one 'incident', knowing full well that Oscar would want to review it alone before any team debrief.
He watched the raw overhead footage. Both his and Lando's cockpit views. Saw the TV edit (sound off, he didn't need to know what the commentators thought). He must have watched them all ten times over, freeze framing and in slow motion. But with time and distance and exhaustion muting the emotion of the moment, it all pointed to one thing.
Oscar would have done the same damn thing.
Sure, he liked to think he wouldn't have gone into the corner so hot as to almost ram Max Verstappen, but he would have gone for the gap. Any F1 driver would have.
And once Lando, that over-excitable idiot, was halfway up Max's ass, there was nowhere else for him to go that didn't result in a major crash that would likely take all three of them out. It was accidental contact that from the other viewpoints, didn't even look half as major as it felt from the cockpit, fighting to keep his car out of the wall while shock and anger clouded his vision. Just a tap of wheels off the start, too many cars vying for too little tarmac. He'd seen it a hundred times, if it had been any other car, it probably barely would have registered.
A 'racing incident'. The by-product of the hard racing he and Lando had always promised each other with a grin and a glint. They'd had near misses, even contact, before. But with the McLarens so often out front and away from the pack but never truly able to build a big enough delta against the other to overtake, they had gotten used to this sanitised version of racing: always bumper to bumper, not wheel to wheel.
Now with the Constructors' wrapped up, it was all about the Drivers' Championship, and Lando had made it more than clear he wasn't going down without a fight. The two of them facing off for the ultimate crown in F1. Man to man to Max, who was never someone you could count out.
And Oscar...he couldn't fucking wait.
Chapter Text
Singapore. Monday morning.
Oscar is packing when the knock comes the morning after the race. Firm, quick, confident and unannounced. He's expecting to see Lando before he even opens the door.
"Coffee?" Lando offers in lieu of a greeting, lifting the two takeaway cups up in demonstration.
Oscar takes the proffered cup, stepping back to allow his teammate access to his suite. A glance down shows a hastily scrawled 'Oat Lat.' on the lid of his cup. He and Lando have ordered each other enough coffees from MTC hospitality for him not to be surprised that the other knows his order, but he allows a part of him to be touched be the thoughtfulness nonetheless.
"Annnnd..." Lando fishes around in his back pocket, bringing out a half-melted white-and-red wrapped Kinder bar with a flourish. "Chocolate."
Oscar takes the somewhat limp confectionary peace offering gingerly. "Umm thanks. You really shouldn't have."
Lando shrugged self-consciously. "S'what I always crave after, you know, an episode. Figured you might need something after yesterday."
Oscar takes some satisfaction that Lando is clearly just as uncomfortable with all of this as he is, and gently shoulder checks him as he leads him towards the sitting area. "Mate. I've seen you on one of your Alpha highs. Last thing you need is sugar."
Lando laughs, bright and surprised. "Fuck off, mate."
They both take deep drags of their coffee. The silence heavy, but not as weighted as it could have been.
"I watched the replays from yesterday." Oscar offered, because if Lando could make the first step in coming here, he could make the first move this time. He wasn't about to turn into a timid Omega just because he had spent the previous night getting more acquainted with Lando's scent than he'd ever intended to be. Nor because Lando knew his secret....or just because Oscar now knew that Lando knew. Whatever.
"Yeah?" Lando asked cautiously, bracing himself.
"Yep." Oscar nodded matter of factly. He was just as in control, just a rational as he always was, yesterday's meltdown a mere blip. "The gap was there but you attacked it too hard, came in too hot."
Lando paused before replying, his words chosen with a care he seldom exhibited. "Maybe. Never know with Max though, you neither for that matter. If I didn't throw everything at the pass, might not have gotten through."
A part of Oscar preened at being put into the same category as Max Verstappen in Lando's assessment, but he locked it down, focusing on the conversation he knew they needed to have.
"I know you didn't mean to make contact."
"Still did though, didn't I." Lando said, full of self-incrimination. The way he got when he was too deep in his own head, or in the social media comments section.
"I'm not going to make you feel better about hitting me." Oscar said bluntly.
"I'm not asking you to. Christ, I'm saying it wrong." Lando's free hand messed with his curls, his tell that he was feeling wrong-footed. "I'm just saying, I'm not sorry I went for the move, yeah? That's racing and I know you would have done the same thing."
Oscar opened his mouth to retort that he would have got it done without hitting anyone, but snapped it shut again when Lando looked up at him, knowingly.
"We all would have gone full-out into that gap. Maybe I could have read Max's pace better, maybe another driver would have gone in slower, but it's not like we'll ever know. And in the moment..." He trailed off with a shrug.
Lando liked to think he had proved that he would take accountability when he was in the wrong, but this time it wasn't about the move itself. It was about who was next to him on track when he made it. It was about protecting that relationship from all of the bad decisions and scandalous headlines and social media conspiracies that had the team running scared since the start of the season.
He leaned forward, earnest in his desire to be heard, to be believed. The careful composure seeping away, something far more authentically 'Lando' coming through. "I'm not going to apologise for going for the move. It's Singapore - if you don't push it off the line, what's even the point in showing up? But I am sorry that I slid into you. Like you said, I came in hot. I clipped the back of Max, the track was wet and I just lost grip for a moment. I would never do it on purpose."
"I know."
"That's not my style, yeah? Even with Max last year I would never...let alone with you. With my teammate." He said like it meant something, and maybe to Lando, who bled papaya at his core, it really did.
"Lando, I know that." Oscar insisted, because once clear heads prevailed, he'd always known that really.
"Okay. Good." Lando said firmly like it was settled, before wilting slightly. "So why did you say all that stuff on the radio then?"
Oscar took another sip of coffee, biding his time. "You heard that, huh?"
"You're not the only one who gets the replays." Lando half-joked, the hurt in his eyes at odds with the light tone.
"It wasn't that I thought you'd hit me on purpose." Oscar said carefully, although who knew what was going through his head mid-race. None of them were exactly rational with that much adrenaline running through their system. "But Lando, if I don't say it, who will?"
Lando frowned, his whole face crunching up in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"You know what I mean." Lando still looked at him blankly. "Come on, Lando, you're not stupid."
"Oscar, I don't have a clue what you're on about, mate." He said frankly.
Oscar laughed bitterly. "I'm on about Zak Brown, of course. President of the Lando Norris fan club. Do you think that if I made that move on you, he wouldn't be jumping on the radio, telling the team to review it?"
"Are you saying they're favouring me?" Oscar could hear the hurt in his voice, knew that Lando had seen the comments (how could he miss them?) and was internalising them in the way that Lando did more than any of them. "Because, fuck off, mate. You know that's not how it is. We've fucking talked about this, about everything that's happened this year. You know it's all bullshit."
"I know, okay? They've been bending so far over backwards to treat us 'fairly' that they ended up on their asses half the time. I know all that." He said with frustration, and he did know it - believed it even. For all of their faults, the team's heart was in the right place. It was one of the objective truths of F1: the second Red Bull seat is cursed, Ferrari can't pick a tyre strategy if their lives depend on it, and McLaren will make themselves the fool for the sake of 'fairness' in a sport that's built on stacked odds and lucky breaks.
"So then, what's the problem?" Lando asked into the quiet, hazel eyes fixed on his teammate imploring Oscar to make him understand.
"It's just that sometimes I feel like if I don't make them check, then they'll forget I'm out there fighting for a Championship too." Oscar admitted with a weary sigh. It seems this was the weekend for him to be baring his soul, one way or another.
Lando was looking at him like he was an idiot. "You're an idiot."
Oscar huffed. "Cheers, mate. Appreciate you, as always."
"Osc, Andrea's Team Principal and he loves you - pretty sure he prefers you to me, for what that's worth. Tom would throw hands for you any day, and your mechanics are gagging for the win just as much as mine are." Lando said frankly, with an openness that showed how much he believed his own words. "And I know Zak can be...a lot. But he's CEO, our boss, and he's not going to throw away a McLaren Drivers' trophy for anything - especially not me."
"I know." Oscar admitted quietly.
"You know they will be on me in the debrief on Wednesday." Lando rolled his eyes in less-than-eager anticipation for what he knew would be a very long debrief - that was part of the reason he wanted to make sure he and Oscar were on the same page today. One less person to check off on the latest Lando Norris Apology Tour (TM), one less time to explain himself, one less time to grit his teeth and take it on the chin like a good boy. He loved McLaren to death, but he wouldn't mind spending a bit less time picking at his wounds when they'd barely scabbed over. "It doesn't matter if it was unintentional or a racing incident. I'm gonna get dragged and that's fine. I deserve it. I know how we race. Whatever the team decide, I can live with... just don't want this to come between us."
"Yeah, I know. You're right." Oscar shrugged.
"Can I get it in writing?" Lando joked, feeling for the first time like he was back on steady ground with his teammate since their wheels had glanced each other in lap one.
"Don't push it, mate." Oscar returned the smile, the air lighter and full of opportunity now it wasn't weighed down by the tension of the previous day.
They sipped their now tepid coffees in almost perfect unison, an unintentionally synchronised movement like they had made on track so many times. Perhaps because of that and the innate awareness they had learned to have for the other they both noticed and tipped their cup at the other in a sort of toast: to teammate-ship, to McLaren, and to getting the hell out of Singapore and back to what they did best. As they made eye contact, Lando's head tilted to one side - visibly thinking, and Oscar forced himself not to drop his own gaze, just lifting one eyebrow in silent question.
"I wouldn't let the team stack anything against you, right? I mean, they won’t, so it's a total non-issue." Lando assured him quietly, so sure of this and serious in a way he rarely is about anything. "But even if they did, that's not what I'm about, yeah? I wouldn't want to win that way. It wouldn't be real."
"Yeah. Okay, Lando." Oscar agreed softly but not unsurely. Maybe it made him as big of a fool as the media painted McLaren to be half the time, but he couldn't help but believe the other driver - even if he was still his main competition, at the end of the day.
Lando leaned back, watching him thoughtfully. "You know, sometimes I forget that it's only your third year of all this."
"Okay..." Oscar drawled, Aussie accent drawing out his confusion through the vowels.
"I mean that you are always so together, so...poised or whatever. Always on top of things. I spent half my third season goofing around with Daniel. You're leading the Championship."
"Well, you were basically driving an orange tractor."
"Don't I know it." Lando said, with a fond eyeroll that reminded Oscar why everyone at the factory loved him - Lando was their boy, in bad times and good. "But this year, we've got a rocket ship."
"Still orange though."
"Papaya, mate. Papaya." Lando laughed, gently kicking his shin in faux reproach, which Oscar gamely reciprocated.
"We're okay, yeah?" Lando asked eventually.
"We're okay." Oscar confirmed, meaning it.
"You want to talk about...you know. The other thing." Lando said, managing to be both blunt and evasive at the same time.
"What other thing?" Oscar said blandly, intentionally obtuse.
"Os-cuuuhhhh." Lando whined, blowing right past the blank mask in a way very few did.
Oscar rolled his eyes at the typical dramatics. "Literally what is there to talk about. I'm glad you know, I never wanted to hide it from you, but what's the point in talking about it? Won't change anything."
"You really wanted to tell me?"
"Once I got to know you, sure." Oscar admitted easily, because in all the kinds of F1 teammates - adversaries, colleagues, friends - he and Lando almost certainly fell into the final category. When they'd first met, every interaction had been clouded by latent hero worship, something Oscar hadn't hidden as well as he thought he had if all the 'heart eyes' YouTube comments were to be believed. But over time, that had both solidified and softened into something more real, more like equals. With Oscar more than proving himself on track, and Lando never succumbing to the aggressive Alpha stereotype off it.
"It never felt like I needed to bring it up, y'know?" Oscar explained, knowing Lando would understand. "Like it was never an issue between us."
"It wasn't. It isn't." Lando agreed forcefully. "Still, I'm sorry Zak made the decision for you."
"I don’t mind. Wish I'd known sooner, but..." He shrugged easily. "But like I said, I'm not mad you know."
"If ever you need help, you know, with dynamic stuff," Lando waved his hand between them, presumably to indicate the fucked-up ups and downs that came from being on opposing ends of the dynamic spectrum. "I'm there, just say the word."
"Thanks, Lando. And same for you." He grinned cheekily, a side none of the press got to see. "Just keep your ruts to stinking up your side of the garage, yeah?"
Lando burst out laughing, a high pitched squeal that was the literal antithesis of what an Alpha 'should' sound like. "Oi. What about you? Do you even have heats? I know most of the team are Betas and basically clueless about everything, but how have I not noticed this?"
Oscar knew the blush would be evident on his pale complexion, immediately regretting setting the conversation down this path. "You never heard of suppressants?"
"Fair enough." Lando agreed easily, and that was one of the things Oscar liked about him - he would tease, mercilessly at times, but he was never mean about it. Never pushed past the point of discomfort.
He smiled genuinely, for many reasons. "Thanks, Lando."
"Not a thing, Osc. Os-cuh." He said with a grin, before sobering slightly. "And I won't say anything, obviously."
"I know." And he did. "And one day, I'll tell people. I'm not ashamed of it or anything like that."
"Then why all the secrecy?" He asked, without judgement, just curious - clearly a question he had had in his own mind for while. "You're hardly the first Omega in F1."
"Still not exactly common though, is it?" Oscar said, a touch bitterly.
"I guess not." Lando acknowledged sadly, the fact that people so readily assumed Oscar was a Beta proof enough in that point.
"I just don't want it to become the story, you know? If people knew, you know what they would say." Oscar admitted, hating that he was so affected by what people would think of him. He'd seen Lando struggle with it, judged him for it even, but in a way he was just as bad. "They would see every race differently, look for things that aren't there. The press, the fans, the FIA... Look at how many penalty points Olly has already because they're assuming he's driving with his emotions. Valtteri got overlooked, time and time again. Hell, Nico won it all and the press wrecked him."
"That was a long time ago." Lando said, but it wasn't a disagreement.
Oscar smiled sadly. "Not that long, and you know it would be worse for me if they found out now. They'd say I was lying, that I was ashamed of being an Omega, or using it to manipulate the team. They'd ruin me for it. Who knows how much of that McLaren would be prepared to deal with. No other team would take me either, if it came out like that."
"Okay, stop." Lando said firmly. "McLaren know about all of this, yeah? They're supporting you. And if you wanted to go public they would support that too, probably."
"Right. Probably." Oscar pointed out in matter-of-fact agreement.
"Definitely." Lando corrected quickly, although a morsel of doubt lingered. F1 was brutal, even without bringing messy dynamics into the question. There was a reason more than half the grid were Betas (or at least, assumed to be). Why, at least as far as Lando knew, McLaren were the first team to risk having an Alpha/Omega pairing since 2016. Even Alpha/Alpha teams were becoming a rarity these days, with spend caps and PR priorities necessitating level-headed consistency both on and off the track.
But McLaren had bucked the trend; granted, for the least Omega-ish Omega Lando had ever met, but still: that meant something. The Alpha instinct that he usually ignored urged Lando to make Oscar understand he was 'pack' and that meant he was protected, even if most of the time he didn't need to be.
Lando reached out, squeezing his teammate's shoulder briefly, the tips of his fingers just brushing the base of his neck, pretending it didn't spark something there. It lasted just a moment; by the time Oscar turned surprised eyes to him at the unexpected contact, Lando was already letting go with a reassuring pat. "We're your team, Osc. Even if we sometimes fuck up, we've got your back when it counts."
"I really hope you're right, Lando." Oscar couldn't fully share his optimism. He was self aware enough to know that McLaren was not his team in the way it was Lando's, but he couldn't deny that he wanted it to be. He wanted to believe everything Andrea said, the commitment to having two number one drivers, to being 'fair' as much as one could be in this sport. No matter what designation was listed on his paperwork.
"I know what people think of me, but I'm not stupid. I know Formula 1 can be...toxic." Lando admitted. "But it feels like it's changing, yeah? With the good stuff on social media, and Netflix, and everything Lewis has done. It can be different now."
Not for the first time, Oscar wondered how Lando could hold onto his optimism. The young Alpha speaking out about mental health, getting torn down online no matter what he did. But then: a florescent army rising to his defence, gifting him bright, beaded bracelets like they were armoured gauntlets; a papaya and yellow sea of LN4 merch peppering the stands alongside his own OP81 orange-capped supporters. A stubborn, sunny bright spot in a world that, by and large, was only getting darker.
"One day." Oscar murmurs, allowing himself to hope with a very McLaren-esque naivety. Maybe it was more his team than he thought... but pragmatism still reared its head. "I still can't risk it now. How everyone would take it...even the other drivers. Would they still fight me in the same way if they knew? Especially the Alphas."
"They would. I would... I do." Lando corrected, surely. His ability to see the best in people in equal parts his strength and his downfall.
"Well, not everyone's like you, Lando." Oscar said softly, his words effectively pausing the conversation. "Even the question would be enough to ruin it, and I'd always wonder... anyway. It's just better this way. I'll come out when I'm done. Hopefully with a handful of WDCs to my name; that'll show everyone what an Omega can do."
He was aiming for jest, uncomfortable with how close he had allowed the conversation to cut - remembering that as much Lando had saved him the night before, as much as they were teammates, Lando was also his greatest rival.
Lando tilted his head, hearing the truth in his words. His eyes locked onto Oscar's and the younger man felt stripped bare, like all of the shields and bravado he wore meant nothing. Like he was seen, truly and completely - and he could see the same reflected in Lando's own expression. The phantom promise of a hand on his shoulder and an earthy scent just out of reach. It was terrifying and exhilarating all at once.
"Is it worth it? The hiding. Pretending to be something else." Lando asked quietly, like it might break something if he said it too loudly.
Oscar bit back the immediate deflection, the push back because this was still too close. Too real. Too much. "I think so, yeah. Sometimes, I feel like it's the only way to get everything I ever wanted."
He offered a wry smile, seeing the understanding clearly on his teammate's face, because no one could know what it was like to be one of only 20 people in the whole world to be chosen to do what they did. To know it could all be taken away in a heartbeat by a crash, bad luck, or even your own biology. Their gazes locked, and for a second Oscar could see everything he hoped for and feared for reflected right back at him.
The silence lasted a beat too long; a weighted, brutal quiet full of pressure and promise. The truth now broken open, a hundred possibilities that neither had acknowledged now hovering hazily between them.
Oscar cleared his throat, breaking the quiet and the eye contact in one move, desperate to lighten the charged atmosphere. "Plus, you know. The cars are pretty cool."
"Fast too." Lando agreed easily, similarly flustered but offering a small somewhat bashful smile, that Oscar returned just as genuinely, feeling for perhaps the first time that he wasn't quite so alone in all of this.
"Yeah. It's something alright."
It felt comfortable. It felt free... It felt dangerous.
Like driving a car at 250kph towards a blind corner, knowing you had to meet the apex perfectly or you'd hit the wall. Slowing just enough to stay on the line, but not to lose all of your momentum. Trusting your instincts and muscle memory to equip you for what lay behind the bend beyond your sight. Navigating through your competition as they boxed you in on all sides, and in the midst of it all, always having half an eye on the other papaya car in your periphery.
It was thrilling and frightening in equal measure. Something they both understood in their bones, yet didn't have the words for - not yet, anyway. But fuck it.
Oscar had never been one to back out of a corner.
He wasn't about to start playing it safe now.
Notes:
This was originally set out to be a self-contained story, but Austin's not exactly been short on inspiration so we'll see. Don't be surprised if the chapter count goes up 😅
piastri-leclerc (kirabasai) on Chapter 1 Sun 12 Oct 2025 06:36PM UTC
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Anonymous Creator on Chapter 1 Mon 13 Oct 2025 07:04AM UTC
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piastri-leclerc (kirabasai) on Chapter 1 Mon 13 Oct 2025 07:17AM UTC
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formula1_chaos on Chapter 2 Mon 20 Oct 2025 03:33AM UTC
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