Chapter Text
Lando shook his arms out and lined up with the tee, took another glance at where he was aiming and was about to swing when Zak spoke up.
“How would you feel about having an alpha for a teammate?”
He froze like that, with his spine aligned, hips squared, and eyes on the ball, club held with just the right amount of grip to send his shot sailing as soon as he struck it. Lando stood up to his full height and backed out of it. He’d really felt like that was going to be good too.
“I’m pretty sure Max is like married to Red Bull,” Lando replied, lifting a brow.
Zak chortled good-naturedly and nodded. “Max has made it clear that he’s comfortable where he’s at. No, I’m talking about a different driver we’ve been watching for a while. Oscar Piastri.”
Piastri… didn’t sound familiar, but that meant very little; Lando was absolute shit with names. In all honestly, he probably did know who he was. Not like there were many alphas it could be. He thought back over the lineups in F2 or F3, any notable news he could recall. Didn’t Sargent drive with an alpha teammate in the lower level? Yeah, that must be it. He’d even seen the guy a couple times in the paddock, just in passing, they’d never officially met. Lando couldn’t put a face to him, just had a fuzzy human shape to go from.
“He’s a reserve for Alpine, yeah?”
“Exactly, yes. Lando, we like what we’ve seen. Honestly, he’s my first choice to fill Daniel’s slot. The only thing we don’t know is how you two would get along.”
Lando fiddled with his club and lined back up for the shot he’d already carefully scoped out. He took a moment to breathe, sync his exhale with the inevitable swing. “An alpha, hm?” he asked. “Is he a Verstappen type or more like Vettel?” It’s not a very nice thing to ask, Lando knows alphas can be as different as anyone, but there are stereotypes for a reason. And alphas are so few and far between that he doesn’t have much to pull from as examples. Does the answer even really matter, he wonders. Him and Max have been friends for years, it’s not like his alphaness has ever made Lando uncomfortable. He’d take being teammates with Max if the stars aligned, so he figures he could pretty much pair up with anyone.
“Disposition is closer to Vettel. He’s mature for his age, quiet,” Zak reported.
Lando swung then and the ball soared through the air cleanly before neatly landing onto the green. It was one of his better shots of the year, actually, and he smiled when Zak whistled.
“Well, it really only matters how he drives. Alpha or not, doesn’t make any difference to me,” Lando said. The press would have a lot to say, probably push a bunch of omega dynamics bullshit. It’d be Lando’s turn to be the more experienced driver in a pair. And they’d be the second ever pair of alpha and omega teammates after Vettel and Leclerc.
Zak clapped his hands together and then rubbed them in a way reminiscent of a greedy banker or something, Lando didn’t fucking know, but it was a little much for an afternoon round of golf. Apparently, he’d been the last hurdle to Zak’s epic planning.
“That’s exactly what I was hoping you’d say, kid.”
Lando crossed his left leg in front of himself and leaned against his golf club, eyeing his team principal warily.
“Ahuh, maybe uh, don’t do this,” Lando gestured to Zak’s entire body, “when you offer him a contract.”
“What, too much?”