Chapter Text
Lando
There were maybe a handful of people Lando could have asked this question.
His mum, for instance. She was a nurse, had medical knowledge, would probably handle it with grace and minimal teasing. His dad was out — Adam Norris was many things, but equipped for conversations about reproductive biology was not one of them. Lewis was theoretically an option, but Lewis had never actually been pregnant, so his practical expertise was limited.
Which left Nico.
Nico, who had actually done the thing Lando was worried about. Nico, who had carried a baby and given birth and probably knew whether this particular trait was genetic. Nico, who was currently sitting across from Lando at a café in Monaco, looking at him with the patient expression of someone who knew he was about to be asked something uncomfortable.
"You've been stirring that coffee for three minutes," Nico observed. "Either drink it or tell me what's wrong."
Lando set down the spoon, picked it up again, set it down.
"I have a question."
"I gathered."
"It's kind of personal."
"Most of your questions are." Nico's mouth twitched. "Last month you asked me what my most embarrassing karting crash was. The month before that, you wanted to know if Lewis snored."
"He does, by the way. I asked him directly."
"I'm aware. I sleep next to him." Nico took a sip of his own coffee, utterly unruffled. "So. What's the question?"
Lando opened his mouth, closed it. Tried again.
"Okay, so. Hypothetically."
"Hypothetically."
"If someone—not me, just someone—if they were, you know, the child of someone who could..." He made a vague gesture. "...do the thing you did. With me. The pregnancy thing."
Nico's eyebrows rose slowly. "The pregnancy thing."
"Would that someone—hypothetically—also be able to do... that?"
There was a pause. Nico set down his coffee cup with great precision.
"Lando. Are you asking me if male pregnancy is genetic?"
"...Maybe."
"And is this hypothetical someone actually you?"
"...Also maybe."
Nico studied him for a long moment. Lando fought the urge to squirm under the scrutiny. He was twenty-one years old, a Formula 1 driver, a professional athlete. He should not be this embarrassed about asking a basic biological question.
And yet.
"It can be genetic," Nico said finally. "It's not guaranteed—plenty of children of carriers aren't carriers themselves. But it does run in families." He paused. "Why do you ask?"
"No reason."
"Lando."
"Just curious."
"Lando."
"Scientific interest?"
Nico just looked at him. That patient, knowing look that Lando was beginning to associate with all his parental figures — the one that said I will wait here until you tell me the truth, because we both know you're going to eventually.
Lando cracked in approximately twelve seconds.
"There's someone," he blurted. "Someone I like. Like, really like. And I don't know if it's going anywhere, but if it does go somewhere, I wanted to know if I should—you know—be aware of—" He trailed off, waving his hands vaguely in the direction of his abdomen.
Nico's expression softened. "Someone on the grid?"
"...Yeah."
"Someone I know?"
Lando felt his face heat up. "Probably."
"Someone whose car is the same color as yours?"
Lando's head snapped up. "How did you—"
"I'm not blind." Nico smiled, a real smile, warm and amused. "The way you two look at each other during press conferences is not subtle. At all. Lewis noticed it first, actually. He said it reminded him of—" He stopped, something flickering across his face.
"Of what?"
"Of us. When we were young." Nico looked down at his coffee. "Before everything got complicated."
The words hung between them. Lando thought about what he knew of Nico and Lewis's history — not just the rivalry and the reconciliation, but the earlier stuff. The karting days. The friendship that had been something more, even if neither of them had known how to name it.
"So," Lando said carefully. "Oscar."
"Oscar," Nico confirmed. "Does he know? How you feel?"
"I don't know. Maybe? We haven't—I mean, we're teammates. It's complicated."
"It usually is."
"And I don't even know if he likes guys. Or me specifically. Or if he'd want to—" Lando stopped, suddenly aware that he was spiraling. "Sorry. This is a lot."
"It's not." Nico reached across the table, put his hand over Lando's. "You're allowed to have feelings, to be confused about them. That's part of being human."
"Even when those feelings are about my teammate?"
"Especially then." Nico's smile turned wry. "Trust me. I have some experience in that area."
Lando laughed, a short burst of surprised amusement. "Fair point."
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. The café bustled around them — tourists taking photos, locals having animated conversations, the clatter of dishes and hiss of espresso machines. Simply another afternoon in Monaco, except for the part where Lando was discussing his romantic life and reproductive potential with his biological father.
His life had gotten very strange in the past year.
"Can I ask you something?" Lando said.
"You've been asking me things for the past ten minutes."
"Something different. About—about when you were pregnant. With me."
Nico's expression shifted. Not closed off, exactly, but more guarded. More careful.
"You can ask. I might not answer."
"Were you scared?"
The question came out smaller than Lando intended. He wasn't sure why he needed to know this — wasn't sure what answer he was hoping for. But something about the conversation, about the possibility of his own future, made him want to understand what Nico had gone through.
Nico was quiet for a long moment.
"Terrified," he said finally. "I was eighteen years old. My mother was in another country. The only person I could tell was my father, and he—" He stopped, took a breath. "He handled it the way he thought was best. But I was terrified. Every single day."
"Because of the pregnancy itself? Or because of—everything else?"
"Both. The physical part was frightening enough—my body doing things I didn't understand, changing in ways I couldn't control. But the rest of it..." Nico shook his head. "The secrecy. The shame. The knowledge that I was going to have to give you up and pretend it never happened. That was worse than any of it."
Lando felt his throat tighten. He had known the broad strokes of the story, but hearing it like this — in Nico's quiet, steady voice — made it feel different. More real.
"I'm sorry," he said. "That you had to go through that alone."
"I'm sorry too. For different reasons." Nico met his eyes. "But I want you to know something, Lando. If you ever—if things with Oscar ever—" He paused, seeming to search for the right words. "You wouldn't be alone. Not like I was. You have people now. A whole ridiculous collection of parents who would be there for you, no matter what."
"Even if I accidentally got pregnant by my teammate?"
"Especially then." Nico's smile returned, smaller but genuine. "Although I would appreciate some warning before you make me a grandfather. I'm not sure I'm emotionally prepared."
Lando laughed, the tightness in his chest loosening. "Deal. I'll give you at least a week's notice."
"A week? That's all I get?"
"Take it or leave it."
"I'll take it." Nico squeezed his hand once, then let go. "Now. Are you going to tell Oscar how you feel, or are you going to pine from a distance for the next several years like your father did?"
"Which father?"
"Either. Both. We were equally useless." Nico flagged down the waiter for more coffee. "Learn from our mistakes, Lando. Life is too short for pining."
Oscar
Lando was acting strange.
Oscar noticed it first during the debrief — the way Lando's attention kept drifting, his usual rapid-fire commentary replaced by distracted silences. Then again at dinner, when Lando ordered his food without the customary five minutes of menu deliberation and barely touched it once it arrived.
Something was wrong. Or something had changed. Oscar wasn't sure which.
They walked back to the hotel together, as they usually did after race weekends. The Barcelona evening was warm, the streets still busy with tourists and locals enjoying the late summer air. Normally, Lando would be filling the silence with chatter — commentary on the race, complaints about the car, elaborate plans for what he was going to eat when he got home.
Tonight, he was quiet.
"You're being very quiet," Oscar said.
Lando startled slightly, as if he'd forgotten Oscar was there. "What? No I'm not."
"You've said approximately thirty words in the past hour. That's a new record."
"Maybe I'm just tired."
"You're never too tired to talk."
Lando made a face but didn't argue. They walked in silence for another half block before he spoke again.
"Can I ask you something?"
"Sure."
"And you have to promise not to make it weird."
Oscar raised an eyebrow. "That's a concerning preface."
"I'm serious. Just—answer honestly, and then we never have to talk about it again if you don't want to."
They had reached the hotel entrance. Oscar stopped walking, turning to face Lando fully. In the warm glow of the lobby lights, Lando's face was unusually serious, his eyes searching Oscar's with an intensity that made something shift in Oscar's chest.
"Okay," Oscar said carefully. "Ask."
Lando took a breath. "Do you ever think about—" He stopped, started again. "Have you ever—with a guy—"
He was blushing. Oscar had never seen Lando Norris blush before. It was oddly endearing.
"Are you asking if I'm attracted to men?"
"...Maybe. Yes. That's what I'm asking."
Oscar considered his options. He could deflect — make a joke, change the subject, preserve the comfortable equilibrium of their teammate relationship. It would be the safe choice. The sensible choice.
But Lando was looking at him with something like hope in his eyes, and Oscar had never been very good at lying.
"Yes," he said. "I'm attracted to men. Among other people."
Lando's eyes widened. "Oh."
"Is that—was that the answer you were hoping for?"
"I—yeah. Maybe. I don't know." Lando ran a hand through his curls, a nervous gesture Oscar had catalogued months ago. "This is really hard, actually. I don't know why I thought this would be easy."
"What would be easy?"
"Telling you that I—" Lando stopped, took another breath. "That I like you. Like, as more than a teammate or a friend. That I've liked you for a while, actually, and I didn't know if you—but then Nico said I should stop pining and just tell you, and now I'm telling you, and you're just standing there looking at me with that face—"
"What face?"
"That calm face! The face that doesn't tell me anything! I'm dying here, Oscar, can you please just—"
Oscar kissed him.
It wasn't premeditated. One moment Lando was spiraling, words tumbling out faster and faster, and the next moment Oscar had stepped forward and pressed their lips together, effectively short-circuiting whatever else Lando had been planning to say.
The kiss was brief — merely a few seconds — but when Oscar pulled back, Lando's expression had transformed entirely. The anxiety was gone, replaced by something that looked like wonder.
"Oh," Lando said again. "Okay. So. You—?"
"I like you too." Oscar's voice was steady, despite the fact that his heart was hammering. "I've liked you for a while. I just wasn't sure if—"
"Holy shit."
"—if you felt the same way."
"Holy shit." Lando grabbed Oscar's arm, as if to confirm he was real. "Are we doing this? Is this happening?"
"I think so. Yes."
"We're going to be—what, boyfriends? Partners? What's the word for it when you're teammates who are also—"
"Dating," Oscar supplied. "The word is dating."
"Dating." Lando grinned, wide and bright and slightly manic. "We're dating. I have a boyfriend. My boyfriend is my teammate. This is either going to be amazing or a complete disaster."
"Probably both."
"Probably both," Lando agreed. He was still grinning. "Can I kiss you again?"
"You can kiss me as many times as you want."
Lando did.
They stood there in front of the hotel for several more minutes, exchanging kisses and murmured words, completely oblivious to the tourists walking past them. At some point, Oscar's hand found Lando's, and their fingers intertwined, and Oscar thought: This is going to change everything.
He was right. But standing there in the Barcelona night, with Lando smiling at him like he was something precious, Oscar couldn't bring himself to be afraid.
Nico
The text came at midnight, just as Nico was falling asleep.
Lando: SO
Lando: I TOOK YOUR ADVICE
Lando: AND I TOLD HIM
Lando: AND HE KISSED ME
Lando: LIKE ACTUALLY KISSED ME
Lando: IN FRONT OF THE HOTEL
Lando: NICO I HAVE A BOYFRIEND
Nico couldn't help but smile at his phone. Beside him, Lewis stirred.
"Who's texting you at midnight?"
"Lando. He told Oscar."
Lewis propped himself up, suddenly awake. "And?"
"And they're dating now, apparently."
"Ha!" Lewis's face broke into a grin. "I knew it. I called it months ago."
"You did."
"They were so obvious. The way Oscar looks at him during interviews—"
"Like he's the only person in the room. Yes, I noticed." Nico typed a quick response: Congratulations. I expect details tomorrow. Don't do anything I wouldn't do.
The reply came immediately: That's not a very high bar considering you got pregnant at 18
Nico laughed out loud.
"What?" Lewis asked.
"Nothing. Our son is just being a brat." But he was smiling as he said it, and Lewis was smiling too, and outside the window Monaco glittered against the dark sea, and everything felt exactly as it should be.
Lando was happy. Lando was in love. And this time, whatever happened next, he wouldn't have to face it alone.