Chapter Text
It’s Friday morning and everyone is back at school except for Lando. Lewis is driving the boys today - and he’s glad because it gives him time to think.
Max is still moody with him about the conversation in the car while Charles learned his ballet exercises yesterday. That’s fine, Seb has larger issues than a grumpy teenager - his husband’s infidelity for one, and this whole ‘ballet competition’ for two.
It seems legit. Well, he has no reason as to think why it wouldn’t be legit, but it still gives him pause. He may not be too fond of Madame, but Charles certainly is. And the boy likes her, and dancing makes him happy, so he has no reason to feel so odd about this. He wasn’t like it with any of Max’s hockey coaches over the years…
Maybe it’s because she reminds him of Charles’ mother. Reminds him of all the times Charles begged and wept to not see her.
It is only natural he wants a more maternal figure, he reasons as he cleans up the dishes. Perhaps Carlos and Max would have acted in the same way if they were around female tutors as much as Charles is.
Coming to that conclusion eases his worries.
Is it just some strange adoptive father jealousy? That gives him these unfounded reasons as to not like Madame? Because the heteronormative mother-and-father dynamic has been so drilled into his skull that after so many years of trying to accept it himself, then trying to teach his kids that having two dads is normal was so difficult? And the reality that none of his sons have a stable maternal figure in their lives may lead them to miss out on experiences, or not know how to bond with women in their futures? Or is he just insecure in himself as a parent and it’s not even about the whole ‘gay-dads’ thing but instead just hearing Charles yap on and on about how cool Madame is, irks him?
Because the side of him that doesn’t want to admit it, finds all of it true, and that makes him a poor parent.
Envy, or whatever it may be, is unacceptable. Unless there is reason to be wary of the ballet teacher, then he should not jump to conclusions based on unwarranted emotions or haste.
His phone chime interrupts him from his thoughts and the process of washing up.
There he finds a very professionally worded text message.
<Sebastian Vettel,
I hope this message finds you well. Lance has been requesting to meet with Lando and I would like to invite you to my premises sometime soon for our sons to meet for a playdate. This can be a time next week suitable for us both. Lando should be around other deaf children as much as possible - it is crucial to his development. I understand you are also a busy man, however, please respond as soon as possible so Claire-Anne can suitably prepare arrangements.
Lawrence Stroll.>
Sent: 7:26a.m.
After reading it twice, he sends back something along the lines of ‘next week should be good’ but in a better-worded way; to align with Lawrence’s pompous Bond-villian verbiage. He’s definitely not going to tell the elder about what Lando is doing today.
He is sure Lawrence will not approve.
For the first time in a long time, it feels like he and Lewis are finally on the same page about something. But the something isn’t a plan, but rather a shared feeling; anxiety.
Sebastian lets his husband hold Lando as they sit in the uncomfortable chairs of the waiting room because he knows it makes the older feel more secure. Lewis’ over-surveillance of Lando might perhaps be a bud that will flower into an issue in future, but he can’t deny he also feels protective of their youngest.
He runs a hand through his hair finding a knot in his blonde strands - he will need it cut soon. Yet, it feels like, in a day, he has so little time. Staring at the clock, he watches it tick past two. The kids will be needing to be picked up soon, then he has to drive Charles to dance, and then he has to go to work. He still doesn’t quite understand why Madame needed to see Charles yesterday, but the competition seems serious.
Like not Max’s hockey league competitions. In fact, in comparison, Max’s games seem amateur. This competition is one of the most exclusive in the U.K. just like how Silverstone is the most exclusive and iconic track in the U.K.
He didn’t even know Charles liked, or was even as good at ballet to even be considered for recruiting like this. But the boy is serious about this, Seb can tell. Perhaps he needs to start supporting him better; trusting and conversing with Madame more.
He may be a jealous husband, but he’s not a jealous dad.
“Hamilton-Vettels?”
“That’s us,” he says, more to break the silence rather than console Lewis.
Today is a very important appointment. They will find out when Lando’s implant surgery will be.
Already, it seems like forever since the diagnosis. Why the healthcare system has been so slow, he doesn’t know. Maybe he really should have followed Kimi’s advice and taken his son to Finland. But hey, maybe if he took Lando out of Lewis’ sight for more than three minutes the elder might accuse him of kidnapping.
Dr. Peters greets Lewis like an old friend. Gott, is his husband cheating on him with the doctor too? That would be a hilariously unfunny story.
Reiß dich zusammen, he shakes the thought away and finally focuses on his son.
Dr. Peters clasps his hands. Sebastian can already tell this is going to be bad news.
“The closest date we have for the surgery is the middle of September.”
The middle of September.
Two entire months away.
Beside him, he watches Lewis frown. “Is that… really the earliest opening you have?”
“Unfortunately so.”
That can’t be right.
“-Sorry?”
Oh scheiße , he said that aloud.
“That can’t be right,” he repeats, after clearing his throat and adding some conviction to his tone. “It’s not possible.”
“I-” Dr. Peters almost looks offended - like he is so beneath him to question his so-called medical expertise. “I know this is not the answer you wanted to hear, but-”
Wanted to hear.
All he wants is Lando to hear.
“Lewis,” the tone comes out harsh - he knows his accent has come out strongly again just from the way his lips curl with the syllables. “Can we discuss something outside?”
He looks into his husband's eyes. Please trust me.
And Lewis does.
“Let’s pay him,” he decides and voices his decision as soon as they’re back in the otherwise empty waiting room - only the distracted receptionist on the phone nearby.
Lewis just blinks.
“We make a charitable donation,” the plan runs through his mind, just how easy and feasible it is. “Go sign a few things, talk about how great this place has been to us and Lando will be able to hear this time next month.”
It makes perfect sense. And yet, Lewis hesitates.
“You know what this means, right?”
The conflict of interest. The moral repercussions. Paying to skip an already long-waitlist. A bribe.
“We will have to tell the press,” Lewis says.
Sebastian blinks. Why did he think his image-obsessed husband would have morals again?
“We will,” he grasps the other’s hand. “But they will know as soon as one photo is taken anyway.”
Cochlear implants aren’t invisible.
But all of these obstacles mean nothing in the grand scheme.
All he wants is his son to be okay.
“Every second we waste Lew,” he continues, determination along with an icy sadness rushing through his veins. “Every second our son can’t hear, the less effective the surgery will be. The worse his outcome will be. The worse his future will be.”
They have money. They have millions.
And thus, the decision is so easily made.
Really, they’d be stupid not to.
By the time he parks at the curb of Canterburn waiting for his three other sons (Lando at home with Lewis as per usual) their waitlist issue is no longer an issue. He’s already got an associate to draft the press release, and already got some photos taken at the clinic before they left - a little Lando with an implant mould in his ear - proud and bright through the camera lens. The story won’t drop until after the surgery - until Lando can hear.
That is the ultimatum. If it fails, then goodbye donation fund. Goodbye, publicity shoot.
The only good thing is that if it, for whatever reason, fails, then Lando is considered to have an ‘urgent’ surgery and will be rushed to the Emergency Ward. Something to do with metal wire malfunctions and brain damage. Things Sebastian doesn’t really want to think about.
Luckily Max isn’t in such a poor mood today about having to drop Charles off before they get home. Instead, he asks if he can go to the cinema with George later. After confirmation they’re seeing a movie meant for teenagers, Seb doesn’t find much wrong with that plan, so he agrees - it’s good social development for Max to hang out with friends outside of school hours anyway.
Carlos doesn’t ask for permission, instead, he tells him that he’s ‘going out tonight’ like a statement.
“I’ll be drinking, Pa,” his eldest says; and remembering the promise they made to each other all that time ago, Sebastian replies with ‘just one or two, okay?’
Of course, he won’t know if his son will listen to him - unless they get a call from the hospital. But he also trusts his son isn’t an idiot. Carlos is a good kid.
Still, with all the healthcare scares and schemes regarding Lando, all he can think about when he drops Charles off, when he drops the boys off, when he changes into his work clothes, when he changes cars to the Ferrari, when he drives to work, when he reads his emails at his desk, when he tries to contact his team for sponsorship and Suzuka timelines (which reminds him - the deadline is approaching very soon - he replies to an email and optimistically chooses a hotel with six beds), is Carlos.
Carlos is a smart kid, but there are times he has been silly.
Carlos is a good kid, but there are times he hasn’t been.
“Sebastian?” a touch on his shoulder makes him jump.
“Oh, sorry,” he dips his head to his coworker in apology. “I was zoning out.”
On Fridays when he’s in-person at the office, there are no amount of Wi-Fi bufferings or technical issues to hide behind.
“This is our new intern - from the graduate program.”
Ah, yes - to get young engineers and business people into environmental sustainability. He himself hadn’t been a large part of it, but he did speak at a handful of universities where most people had no idea who he was or what Formula One is.
The intern looks polished - dark, trimmed facial hair, a fitted suit and a silver ring on his index finger - not one of marriage but mayhaps a youthful fashion trend he doesn’t know. He also looks more mature than Sebastian expected - perhaps because he spends so much time around his kids he’s forgotten what university graduates look like.
“Nice to meet you,” the man politely extends a hand.
“Same for you,” he stands - remembering his manners, and accepts it. “I’m Sebastian Vettel, but you can call me Seb.”
“Ah, okay, Seb, then,” he smiles, teeth white.
Seb waits but the man doesn’t continue. Then he registers the anxious look in his eyes and realises he must know him.
“Please, do not be nervous,” he begs with a laugh, trying to keep it casual but orderly all at the same time.
“Sorry, sorry,” the other laughs. “I’m a long-time motorsport fan. But I respect what you do here at the company also - the world can’t change for the better without people like you.”
“I see,” it’s weirdly nice to have some recognise him - not only for his past achievements but for his current ones. “And, sorry, I didn’t catch your name?”
“Ah,” the man dips his head, flustered again - but he looks him dead in the eye with practised professionalism when he speaks next. “I’m Hugo. Nice to finally meet you.”
Carlos is a smart kid.
But smart kids make stupid mistakes.
So, he’s on Carlos’ private GetGram, under his fake account he uses to check in on the boys that use it, so as he scrolls, examining each picture - top to bottom then scrolling up to the top to refresh for new photos.
It’s his second scroll through every photo when his finger slips.
Oh scheiße.
*****
A notification makes him look away from Isa.
< Darren Kozious liked your post.>
Carlos stares at it for a few seconds with a frown.
“What’s up?” a hand runs along his thigh.
“This random guy is stalking my account,” he hums, trying to enter the other’s profile only to find it on private. “He liked a picture from… forty-four weeks ago.”
Isabel sits up then, the grass beneath them rustling and crunching at the movement. “What the fuck? Do we know him?”
“Darren Kozious,” he reads the name. “It says he’s from Canterburn. Maybe he’s a senior?”
“Why did you even accept his friend request in the first place?”
It’s a good question, and honestly, Carlos can’t remember doing it. And yet, on the GetGram page - the ‘friends’ button stares back at him, confirming it.
“Weird,” he shrugs, slipping his phone back into his baggy jeans. He’s not sober enough to deal with this right now. It’s a tomorrow problem.
What are more pressing issues are two things, that even in his slightly tipsy phase, cuddled up next to his girlfriend, refuse to leave his mind. Firstly, Daniel isn’t here. Carlos thinks it’s because they’re not super close at the moment, still it’s unlike the Aussie to turn down a ‘park gath.’ But in fairness, he did say it was to work at the land-removal site, so Carlos guesses it’s a valid excuse.
The second thing, well, is Maddie.
She’s staying sober tonight which is also pretty odd. She’s taking the whole ‘designated driver’ role very seriously, which - yes, Carlos knows not to drink and drive, but usually Maddie is less bothered about it.
Still, he can see the other talk to Esteban across the grove, and it seems pretty serious.
“D’ya think they’re fighting?” Isabel follows his gaze, asking a question that is on his own mind.
“Dunno,” he loops an arm around her shoulders and holds her closer. “You’d think they’d still be in their honeymoon stage.”
“Not like us,” Isa smiles, staring up at him. “We’re so old now.”
“So last year,” he jokes back and meets her for a small, rather innocent kiss. “Do we have an anniversary or something soon?”
Isabel slaps him on the shoulder. “Yes! You better buy me roses.”
He snorts and remembers one time when he was eleven or so and Dad covered their entire house in roses for Valentine’s Day once when Papa returned home from a work trip. He could ask what service his Dad ordered from.
Not like his parents would be doing any grand gestures of love now anyway.
A manicured nail brushes a strand of hair out of his eyes. “What are you thinking about, baby?”
His heart melts at the petname.
“Just my dads,” he forces himself to tell the truth; it always feels difficult to open up about his family. “They’ll figure it out.”
“You can always crash at mine,” Isa offers and Carlos smirks.
“Well, I could name a few other things I’d rather do at yours than just ‘crash’-”
“Oi!” Esteban comes stumbling over - beer in hand. “What we talkin’ about?”
“Our sex life, you perv,” Isabel rests her head on his shoulder.
Carlos watches Esteban’s eyes go wide, like he’s shocked or something, before they narrow. “Can I join-?”
“Fuck off,” Carlos chucks his empty seltzer can at him and the Frenchman laughs, putting up his hands in a motion of surrender.
“You better not be cheating on me over there, Estie!” Maddie’s call makes them all laugh.
“Never, sweetie-pie!”
Carlos faux gags at the nickname. Isa sticks out her tongue in dismay before they settle back into the grass with a giggle.
The four, on their little double-date or whatever they all are now, drink some more (except Maddie), chat shit about their teachers and classes and it all goes well for another fifteen minutes until Carlos sees it.
Walking up the path - illuminated by the streetlight is a figure he could never mistaken. From the lanky posture to the curly mess of hair - even though it’s a silhouette Carlos knows exactly who it is.
And then… Carlos spies another figure - shorter, but well-built, stumbling along beside him.
“Is that…?”
“... Daniel?” Esteban finishes his thought. “Yo! Dan!”
They all sit up as the figure, who is obviously Daniel freezes, the other person doing the same thing.
What the fuck? Daniel said he couldn’t come out with them because he had to help his family with work, but now he’s what… on a date? Carlos couldn’t give less of a shit about his friend’s sex life, but it doesn’t make any sense for the Aussie to lie. Especially to Esteban, who Carlos knows Daniel is still chill with despite the elder avoiding him like the plague.
Time to get some answers.
He staggers up to his feet despite Isabel telling his to sit down, snatches Esteban’s beer right from his hands and takes a long swig. Daniel is a fucking liar. And yeah, Carlos knows they aren’t exactly the best of friends right now since the whole plastic-bag-pill debacle, but that was ages ago and they’ve been best friends for like - over five years now - so Carlos really just wants whatever beef they have to be squashed.
And it starts now.
“Daniel!” he yells out, storming towards the pair who are unmoving, like deer-in-headlights, uncaring he ruins whatever date or fuck-buddy the Australian is trying to seduce.
“Carlos, wait!” that’s Isabel from behind him, and yeah, this conversation won’t be the best to have when he’s drunk, and now pissed-off, but it needs to be done.
And then, Daniel runs.
“What the-?” he watches, for a few seconds as his best-friend and the other random sprint off into the darkness before his body finally moves.
He races after them, but fuck, they’re quick, and he really should start going to the gym because ten strides in he already feels like his lungs are going to explode and-
“Fuck!” he eats dirt.
Smushed into the ground below him, his knee throbs, and with a groan he rolls over onto his back - kicking at the mangled tree-root that stopped his pursuit.
“Carlos!”
That’s Isa. Again.
God, she’s gonna be pissed.
“Are you okay?” her frantic questions makes him blink open his eyes. The stars above spin.
“Yeah,” he mutters out, pride wounded more than anything. “Jus’ tripped.”
“You’re an idiot,” her words and tone are harsh, and yet she dusts the mud of his jeans and helps him stand.
Esteban’s cackle interrupts them. “Dude! I wish I got that on camera you just ate shit!”
Frustration rolls in the pit of his stomach. “Fuck off, Testie.”
“All of you,” Maddie comes up to them, panting and her mini skirt rolled up over her thighs. “-Chill… the fuck out. Oh my God, does anyone have water?”
Once they’re all sorted out again (no, he is not concussed, no, he won’t fall asleep, and no, we don’t have any liquid that isn’t alcohol) Carlos drags a hand down his face.
The night is over. Premature, but undoubtedly, over.
Maddie forces Esteban to go back to the running path to find her car keys. Isabel squeezes his hand once and goes to take their rubbish to the trash.
Carlos just looks over his shoulder, searching for the shadowy figures of his friend and the other boy in the night.
Yet, all he finds is darkness.
Daniel, and whoever that was, are gone.