Chapter Text
Oscar is one of the luckiest men on Earth.
Life hasn’t exactly turned out the way Oscar thought it was going to. For a long time he never thought anything could matter more than winning a championship. He wanted his name written in the history books alongside the greatest drivers to ever be in the game. He had thought that there could be nothing greater, nothing that could mean more, and no other way he would feel fulfilled. It is after all what he, his family, Mark, and his sponsors have worked so hard for.
He never imagined that he would learn to re-evaluate his priorities and find a new way to be led by his heart.
In 2025, McLaren’s car is a rocket ship, he is at the front of the field almost every race. He feels his dreams so close and ambition is burning like a wildfire on his chest. Lando is having a spell of bad luck but he makes bad decisions too, crashing right into his car’s rear like a rookie. Oscar for a moment really thinks he is going to win it.
And then he crashes out. And he gets an unfair 10 second penalty that undoes his Silverstone race. And he doesn’t feel like the team has his back. They don’t mourn his losses like they did Lando’s and they celebrate winning the WCC without him. While he is stuck in media, having to pretend to not feel humiliated.
Lando is chasing the championship like a shark in bloodied waters and Oscar is the one bleeding out. The other drivers… Well, they all want to win too and they don’t have much in their eyes for him aside from pity or resentment. Mark is frothing at the mouth with rage towards McLaren and Oscar is just as filled with acidic anger- but only for himself. It’s burning him from the inside out.
But Someone does see him.
George is there suddenly. They’ve been distant friends, of course, both of them being friends with Lando. Oscar has always liked George, he is funny, talented, and has that ‘always get up and try again’ mentality Oscar respects immensely. When every other driver seems to drift away from him and his pathetic display, he and George only find themselves closer than ever.
When George gets ill, Oscar is drawn to him instinctually. He brings George soup to his hotel room. The Brit is so genuinely but pleasantly surprised. They hang by each other all the way up to the race.
He comes to depend on those silly text messages, the paddle dates, and shared looks around the paddock. As he feels more and more alienated from Lando, he feels closer and closer to George. Not that George isn’t close friends with Lando still because Oscar knows they are but he doesn’t make that Oscar’s problem.
In Qatar, Oscar would have won. He was dominating so completely. Right until McLaren fucked the strategy and Max takes the place and he has no chance to make it right. It doesn’t matter that he’s faster when he’s been placed in an impossible position. He is so near tears as they finish the race and he pulls up second.
Tears of rage – tears of helplessness – tears of defeat
That he can’t let himself cry. He has to be a good sport, he has to be a tough man, he has to be untouchable. He doesn’t think he quite sells it.
He goes back to his hotel room in a hurry not wanting to be around anyone. Not wanting to speak to anyone or be seen by anyone. He leaves the light off and curls in bed in the dark. He feels the tears burning behind his eyes as he stares at the ceiling. The feelings in his chest too intense to bear.
There had been a gentle knock at his door. He’d been reluctant to answer, knowing he looked upset and not wanting to see anyone from his team. But it had been George.
George who bullied himself inside and led Oscar back to his bed. Who hugged Oscar and held him uncompromisingly in his strong arms. And Oscar had shattered there. He’d started sobbing and was mortified. He was gasping and blubbering into George’s shoulder, crying so hard, loud, and ugly. He was sure George would find him disgusting or dramatic. But George had only held him closer.
He didn’t ask Oscar to calm himself down, didn’t shush him, not once. He told him to let it out. To let himself feel it. Told him he would hold him together and that he wasn’t going anywhere. That he didn’t think any less of him. That it was okay to cry.
Oscar broke apart against him and let George hold him through it. He knew after that night he would never be able to feel normal about George again. This wasn’t a passing friendship or crush anymore. He was properly enamored.
He still isn’t sure what made George give him the time of the day in return. Surely, he could’ve gotten someone as captivating and gorgeous as himself. But George reserved this soft loving look only for Oscar. It had been in the ruins of his championship bid, after he had watched Lando crying tears of happiness on the podium, hiding red faced and heartbroken that he had pulled George into their first kiss.
George had held him back, kissed him back, and then smiled so bright when they pulled apart. And God, Oscar was already in love. And maybe not everything was so terrible.
George is the best part of his life. He is grateful every day they have found their way to each other.
The 2026 season was George’s opportunity to chase the championship. It had been chaotic, his younger teammate and Lewis both right there with him. Mercedes endless reliability issues and other team issues. Oscar was not in the fight this time; he was just trying to stay in the points. But he loved to watch George win.
George always came back to him, if his race went great or poorly. Either way George wanted to celebrate or commiserate with him. He never failed to make Oscar feel chosen and Oscar would never stop choosing George in return. As long as George would have him and a little after that probably too.
When George won his championship, he had screamed, laughed, and cried for him. He felt joy in his heart so intense he didn’t think he could ever feel so much for someone else’s accomplishment. He felt love so intense that he realized that no… winning isn’t the most important thing in the world to him anymore. His entire DNA has been rewritten around holding George Russell carefully in his heart.
Oscar has never made friends or kept relationships easily. He found he missed social ques sometimes, ran out of things to say, was found boring, or just could not find a way to emotionally click with many people. Sometimes he felt like he was just outside of this great social understanding everyone else on Earth was a part of. That there was just something fundamentally a bit off with him. But it’s easy with George.
George isn’t like other people. He says what he means without being cruel. He is ambitious and hardworking but patient and kind. He is so unlike the other driver’s Oscar isn’t sure how he’s managed to remain so unchanged. To remain unashamed of himself in the face of the worlds judgement. George is captivating and beautiful but more importantly he is easy to be around. Oscar never feels like he has to try to act normal around him, he is liked exactly the way he is.
Where other people call him boring, George says he is calming.
Where other people call him emotionless, George says he is reasonable and mature.
Where other people call him weird, George says he is funny.
Where other people call him embarrassing, George says he’s sweet.
Where other people call him a failure, George says he tries and there is no harder thing in the world to do.
Where other people have called him obsessive or needy, George says he’s a man of heart and passion.
Where other people have put careful distance or been uncomfortable, George met his eyes and pulled him closer.
Oscar hadn’t waited long. He’d taken Logan and Mark both with him when he went ring shopping. Logan had made two million suggestions for gifts or proposals and Mark had shot down just as many. In the end Oscar had picked out a very simple ring. George like classic simple beauty despite what people believed of him.
Neither of them won the championship in 2027 but it was the happiest year of Oscar’s life anyway. It really had nothing to do with formula 1 at all. George said yes, they got an apartment together and a few months later he got to make it official. Lando, Alex, Charles, Mark, Logan, and Toto had all been there when they got married. Alex had cried openly and Mark had pretended valiantly not to.
Oscar had kissed George, looking like an angel on Earth, glowing in a completely white suit and thought – selfishly – I hope I die first so I never have to live without this.
So, Oscar IS one of the luckiest men on Earth. Without a doubt.
And he should be one of the happiest and he IS happy but there is something wrong.
They are five races into the 2028 season and something is wrong with George.
Oscar prides himself on being observant and if he wasn’t he may not have noticed. But to him it is obvious that there is something going on with George despite the Brit’s best efforts to not show it. He is not doing well. He is driving well, as reliable and consistent behind the wheel as ever.
But he is so exhausted after the races. He doesn’t bounce back like he used to. He almost crawls back to the hotel room and collapses into a mini coma. It takes days of sleeping and minimal activity for him to start looking human again. And his stomach has been bothering him. Oscar has noticed he won’t drink anymore and he has been exceedingly careful about what food he eats. He’s always massaging his forehead, arms or legs as if they ache. And his libido has gone down significantly.
Oscar doesn’t care about the sex of course, that’s the least of his concerns. He just wants George to be okay. To not look like he is profoundly exhausted every day. He still smiles, and laughs, and trains but he can see it takes something out of his husband it didn’t before.
Obviously, everyone gets older eventually but George is still in his early 30’s and if Lewis could drive into his 40’s than it should not be weighing on him like this so soon.
He finds himself counting the increasing hours George sleeps, he used to be up long before Oscar running in his short shorts. Now Oscar regularly wakes to find him absolutely lost to the world… And George will still drag himself out of bed as if his limbs are weighing him down.
He also is counting how many days a week George has a headache or stomachache. It used to be a couple times a month maybe but now it’s several times a week. Last week George had a headache for 4 days and a stomachache just as often. A gnawing worry is hurting in Oscar’s own stomach.
He’s brought it up to George of course, without mentioning quite how much attention he’s been paying. Simply that he’s noticed he’s not been feeling well and is tired a lot. George had frowned and hugged him, had assured him he’s been working on it with his trainer. Oscar likes Aleix but he isn’t a doctor. Even if George had been to see a doctor if they hadn’t provided answers then he should keep seeing new ones until they do!
He tries to help without being overbearing. He keeps their apartment tidy so George doesn’t have to worry about it. Let’s him sleep in when he can and makes him breakfast in the morning. He massages George when he sees he’s aching, lays him out and carefully rubs into his muscles and takes satisfaction in feeling him relax underneath him.
He doesn’t know what else to do, aside from being present and caring. Not when he has no idea what is wrong.
***
They are in Barcelona and it is scorching hot. His Georgie has never had a great heat tolerance and the Mercedes always runs hotter than most cars on track. Oscar isn’t having a great time himself; his underclothes is perpetually sticking uncomfortably to his skin and the air feels so thick with humidity his lungs ache.
He looks down the paddock across towards the Mercedes garage. He wishes he could just walk over and check on his husband but he shouldn’t. They aren’t allowed to be ‘out’, though Oscar feels no shame about their love. Formula 1 says it wouldn’t be safe, they say it as if they have empathy for their situation but they are the one that choose to make them race in countries where they would be executed for their sexuality. So the FIA could suck his dick really.
He sees George’s form from a distance. He’s on his feet facing the other way talking to his engineer. There is a tired slope to his shoulders that makes Oscar’s chest sting worse. But he knows his husband is responsible and a professional. And Aleix is there to take care of him in his absence.
“You coming?” Stellard asks and Oscar forces his eyes away and turns back to his own team. Free practice is over and it’s time for qualifying. He needs to turn off all his other thoughts and worries and focus on his race craft now. George has his team to look after him and Oscar has to trust he will be okay. Otherwise, he won’t be able to focus on his own job. George wouldn’t want that.
“Let’s get this over with.” Oscar sighs, heading to grab his balaclava and helmet. “Going to be an oven out there.”
“Don’t envy you.” Stellard laughs, sliding his headset back on. Oscar snaps his helmet into place, and climbs up onto the halo of his car. He slides down into his seat, formed perfectly to his body yet somehow still profoundly uncomfortable. He pulls on his gloves. Game time.
Qualifying goes well, he catches a few passing glimpses of silver that makes his heartbeat skip every time. Stellard tells him he’s managed P4 at the end and without prompting that Lando is P5 and George P3. Not bad at all. Despite how he hates that it works this way; it is always a good day when you place above your team mate. That you got even a tenth of a second more out of the car. Lando and him have been teammates for so long now, it’s hard to imagine anyone else being beside him. Both pushing him and competing with him.
Still, it all seems unimportant until he gets to chance to check on George. He has to talk with the team first, of course, as always. He hurries back to his driver’s room, quicker it’s done the quicker he can check on his Georgie. He changes into his team kit and wipes himself down with some wipes, since he will shower at the hotel anyway. He snags his phone before heading back out.
George hasn’t messaged him yet so he sends him a quick text before heading to debrief.
To George
“Great job on P3 baby hope the heat didn’t hit you too hard!
I love you”
He shoves his phone in his pocket and heads to the meeting. Lando is still getting ready for the meeting so he heads straight to Stellard.
“Hey, are we ready to review the data?”
“Yeah, of course, Oscar.” He is used to Oscar liking to get out soon as possible these days. He used to put in ridiculous hours, staying until he was forced to leave because of the FIA mandated curfew. When his life was nothing but racing. These days he feels like there is something pulling him towards George whenever they are apart, a constant building discomfort that can only be relieved by reuniting with his husband.
When Lando joins them to review his own data a short bit later he smirks knowingly seeing Oscar already at work without having showered. Oscar rolls his eyes and looks back to his work. He is used to their friends finding the intensity of their relationship humorous.
Since George had a good qualifying result as well, he will probably also have a short debriefing. Thankfully.
Once he’s done, he hugs GP and Andrea on his way out and hurries across the paddock. He stops and signs things for people he runs across on the way there of course. It never fails to touch him that people still root for him after all these difficult years. He’s been immensely glad to see that more people have been coming to appreciate and love George once he won his championship.
George still isn’t appreciated and loved as much as he should be… In Oscar’s opinion.
He settles into his car, usually he doesn’t drive George since it would be a bit obvious for them to show up together but on the hotter races Oscar insists. He doesn’t want George driving back to the hotel while exhausted from heat exhaustion. Not when he could do it for him.
He checks his phone again. George hasn’t responded. He switches over to social media to watch clips of qualifying that aren’t McLaren. He watches George’s onboards; he is always incredible to watch in qualifying. Towards the end of the session George sounds tired on the radio… the race will be even longer tomorrow.
From the corner of his eye, he sees a familiar shape approaching. He shuts off his phone and looks up immediately, hopping out of the car to open the door for George.
“Hey,” George smiles tiredly, dressed in Mercedes team kit with his bag slung over his shoulder. “Sorry I got held up.”
“No problem,” since no one is around he leans in for a quick kiss. George slides into the passenger seat and Oscar shuts the door behind him before circling back to the driver’s side. “I got out of McLaren fast actually. Didn’t feel like hanging about today.”
“Hot?” George asks sounding half asleep already. He’s sinking back into the seat, blinking slowly.
“A bit.” He glances over before turning on the car and driving them to the hotel. He can’t help but to worry about George making it through the whole race the next day since he is so worn down already. “You look tired already baby.”
“Yeah.” George agrees but he turns and smiles at him. “I got your text by the way. Congrats on P4. How did you feel out there today?”
“Car felt good,” he reaches over the center council to hold George’s hand as he drives. “Don’t know if we are going to be racing with you up there though.”
“Mmm,” George hums contentedly. “We will see. The heat as always, is not our strong suit.”
“No, it wouldn’t be a Mercedes otherwise, would it?” Oscar laughs.
George seems to struggle to stay completely awake until they arrive at the hotel. He follows George inside, studying his tired form, frustrated. He wants to scream; it drives him insane that he can see George struggling and doesn’t know how to help. He knows George doesn’t understand what is wrong either, his frustration isn’t with George, not at all. With the universe, perhaps.
Once in their room, George throws his bag onto a chair.
“You want to shower first?”
“No, you can first.” Oscar doesn’t want George forcing himself to stay awake longer so he can wash first. George smiles gratefully and disappears into the bathroom. Not so long-ago Oscar would have followed him in, would have washed him under the spray and kiss down his body. However, he knows George is too tired to feel up for any of that. Instead, he calls them food for dinner from the hotel and settles on the edge of the bed.
George showers fast and returns, his face looking a bit pinched.
“What’s wrong?” Oscar asks standing from the bed.
“Stomach hurts a bit.” He shrugs, his hand rubbing his stomach absent mindedly. Oscar pulls him into a gentle hug, George rests his head on his shoulder and leans into him. Oscar kisses the side of his neck and rubs his back.
“I ordered food already,” Oscar worries. “Do you think you feel well enough to eat?”
“I’ll try.” George sighs, he pulls away from Oscar reluctantly. He tries to smile but he can see it’s not genuine. “Go shower, Love. I’ll be okay.”
“Okay.” Oscar peels himself away from George. He takes a quick hot shower, scrubbing the old sweat off and getting out as soon as possible. When he returns George is lounging against the head of the bed, picking at his food. Oscar’s food is set up for him with a drink. He settles beside George and they eat in relative silence.
George’s fingers keep sneaking back to his belly and kneading it. He glances over when he catches Oscar watching him.
“You’re staring.” He pouts, setting his half-eaten food aside.
“Hard not to.” Oscar smirks. “I have the most beautiful man in the world in bed with me.”
“Shut up,” George laughs lightly, smacking his shoulder. “I have a tummy ache; I don’t feel attractive at all right now.”
“You’re always beautiful to me,” Oscar sets his own food on the side table so he can lean in and kiss his husband’s cheek. “Even if you can’t feel it right now.” He leans back enough to take him in again, satisfied he at least looks happier now. “Done with that?”
“Yeah,” George groans, “I don’t want to end up making myself feel worse.”
“I understand,” he reassures him, taking both their trays over to the door and placing them in the hall to be picked up. He hadn’t quite finished all his own food either but he wants nothing more than to snuggle now. He could eat a big breakfast.
They brush their teeth, kiss and snuggle back into bed. George clicks off the last light before wrapping himself around Oscar, his face buried in the back of his neck. Oscar holds George’s hand in both of his against his chest. Feeling George’s steady breaths and heart against him he falls asleep without any issue.
**
The race is brutal even for Oscar who has never considered himself sensitive to the heat. It is hard to breathe through the humidity inside his helmet. He is groaning with his muscles soreness and exhaustion as he climbs out over the halo and out of his McLaren’s cockpit. He is absolutely soaked through with sweat, it’s a little hard to believe his body had enough liquid for him to be drenched like this.
He first real thought, now that he is free of the race focus, is if George is okay. He sees his mechanics approaching the car and reaches out to catch one of their arms.
“Are all the driver’s okay, with the heat?” Oscar asks anxiously.
“Everyone finished.” The mechanic nods; that is probably the extent of his knowledge. Oscar tries to look up and down parc ferme.
“Did you see where George finished?” Oscar hadn’t had the best race, receiving a slow puncture and boxing at an inopportune time. Despite fighting hard, he had only been able to recover his way to P7.
“P3, mate!” Oscar releases a relieved breath. George had a successful race at least. He must have been able to hold himself together rather well to achieve such a good result. He is turning to head towards his own garage when he hears a startled- scared shout. It is out of place and he has no rational reason but he races towards it anyway. Something instinctual that’s been eating away at him all day, tells him he should hurry to see what is going on.
Other people are moving fast and trying to see what is happening too but Oscar doesn’t let them slow him down.
His heart lurches and almost stops in his chest.
George has collapsed.
Only feet away from his car. He can only see the bottom of George’s cyan blue shoes laying against the pavement, limp. Mercedes employees crowded around have the rest of him blocked from view. Other teams mechanics are already blocking camera’s and pushing media personal away.
Oscar shoves his way past anyone who dares get in his way, eyes completely locked in on his husband’s prone form. He makes his way to him in seconds, breathing like he just ran a marathon. The Mercedes employees split and allow him to squeeze his way in, down onto his knees – the teams have come to be aware of how codependent they are.
George’s eyes are closed and his face is terrifyingly relaxed. His dark lashes fanned across his white cheeks. Oscar had expected him to look flushed red like himself and most everyone else but he looks starkly pale. His hands are limp, gloves still half in his grasp from when he’d been taking him off. An employee has their hands carefully holding his head still.
Oscar carefully cups his cheek, flinching when he feels how burning hot George’s own skin is. It is an unnatural heat, no one should ever feel so hot to the touch. He feels almost sticky and clammy.
“George, sweetheart, can you hear me?” Oscar begs. There is a twitch to his brow.
“His pulse is rapid and thready.” Someone else present says.
“Alright! Everyone make room!” Medics run up and quickly everyone jumps to get out of their way. Oscar tries to shift back far enough to let them work but he can’t leave arms distance. Nothing is more important that George receiving prompt medical care but he doesn’t want him to wake up without him there either.
“Did he hit his head at all?” One of the medics asks, taking over holding his neck and head steady with careful gloved hands.
“No, he was caught on the way down.” The Mercedes employee answers. Thank fuck.
“Okay, good.” They continue with fastening a C collar on him anyway, just in case. “Any sign of regaining consciousness? How long has he been out?”
“No,” Someone answers, Oscar’s reaches out and holds one of George’s hands. Handing off his gloves to someone behind him he doesn’t bother to turn and see who. Even his hand feels too warm. “It’s been a minute or two. Under five minutes.”
“Alright, let’s move him.” They slide George onto a board, strap him on and then move him again onto a bed. There is an ambulance backing up nearby, Oscar has never actually seen an ambulance come back this far. He’s never wanted to see anyone get hurt but it’s sickening that it’s for his Georgie.
They open up the back doors and slide the stretcher into the vehicle.
“Can I come?” Oscar asks a paramedic desperately. “I’m his husband. I’m his emergency contact.”
“I’m sorry, mate.” He can see the other medic in the back already stripping George’s race suit off him in a practiced hurry. “We need the space in the back to work. We are going to Mercy, meet us at the Emergency room there.”
And the white ambulance door is closed in his face. Oscar stumbles backwards. Everything has happened so fast. The car is pulling off and he watches them go. Someone touches the back of his shoulders and he turns around to find Alex there. His eyes are blown wide, sweat dripping down his terrified face. There is people, chaos, and camera flashes all around but Oscar doesn’t notice any of them.
“What happened?” Alex asks, he sounds shocked, too stunned to find any other emotion. “What happened to George?”
“He passed out.” Oscar doesn’t know if from the heat or from dehydration or a combination of factors. He doesn’t know how bad it is. He knows if someone was out for a couple minutes from a head injury that would be VERY bad but no one tells you what to think when someone passes out from other factors. But the medic had said they needed the back of the ambulance to work. They were taking him straight to the ER and not the onsite medical center. That is not a good sign. “We need to go to the hospital.”
“Okay.” Alex’s head bobs rapidly. Oscar hears someone shouting his name, sees McLaren papaya but he doesn’t stop or look to see what they want. Nothing matters to him now. He beelines straight towards his driver’s room, he needs to get his rentals car keys and head to the hospital. Let McLaren or the FIA penalize or fine him, he hardly gives a shit.
He storms into his driver’s room, grabbing the keys, he hesitates before he leaves. No, he needs to do better than that. He grabs his bag, shoving anything he may need in it before he takes off back towards Mercedes. Everyone is grouped around and quiet, no one notices or stops him from flying into George’s little space. He gathers his phone, clothes, watch, and his bathroom essentials. He hates to waste the time now but he doubts he will want to leave the hospital once he arrives.
Alex is waiting for him when he makes it to the parking lot. He’s jogging, breathing hard. He sees people in the distance noticing him and probably videoing but let them. Who can care about anything when he doesn’t know if George is, okay?
“Are you ready?” Alex asks, he looks a wreck but he’s changed into a hoodie and sweat pants. He looks Oscar up and down, seeming surprised that Oscar is still dressed in his race suit.
“Let’s go.” He throws the bag into the back seat and climbs into the drivers. Alex slides into the passenger seat without any further discussion. Oscar peels out of the parking lot, phone already showing him directions to Mercy Hospital Emergency Room.
“Did he… Was he awake at all?” Alex asks after a few minutes of frankly reckless driving.
“No.” His hands are hurting with how hard he is holding the steering wheel. “But he was breathing.”
“Okay.” Grim.
They pull into the hospital parking lot; he can see the ambulance bay and thankfully there is easy signage to follow to where he should park. They jog into the hospital side by side without any concern of how they look.
Thankfully (Or not) they haven’t ditched George in the waiting area, he must’ve gone straight back for treatment. Oscar leads them straight to the check in desk, his heart pounding again. He’s not sure it’s calmed down since he saw George on the ground.
“Hi, my husband was brought here by ambulance. The paramedics told me to meet them here.”
“Okay.” She taps away at the computer. “And what is your husband’s name?”
“George Russell.”
“Okay, I see he was brought in a short while ago. I will let the doctor know you are here and he will come out to see you when he has some news.”
“Can you tell me if he is stable at least?”
“I’m not sure, I’m sorry.” She smiles sympathetic. “I know he was brought straight back for treatment.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Brought straight back for treatment isn’t good, is it?
He retreats back to the chairs. There are only a couple other people here thankfully, who all seen distracted and consumed by their own concerns and miseries. Alex follows him, so unlike himself, silent and stone faced. He’s holding his sweater in his hands tight with desperation.
“We just wait?” Alex asks quietly, as if Oscar has any answers he doesn’t.
“Yeah.” He’s holding the bag of George’s things to his chest as if it’s any replacement for the man himself. He hopes the doctor comes soon but he would wait a hundred years in this uncomfortable chair.
It’s about an hour later when a doctor wearing scrubs and looking tired comes out looking for them.
“You’re Oscar Piastri?”
“Yes.”
“Can you follow me back, there are some things I would like to discuss privately with you.” Oscar looks anxiously over at Alex, who stares back at him stunned.
“I’ll come back and tell you as soon as I know!”
“Okay! Okay!”
He follows the doctor, bag still clutched to his chest.
He leads them to a small isolated spot with a laptop and motions for him to sit down.
“Okay, first I’d like you to know that George is stable.” Oscar lets out a harsh breath. Sinking back into his chair but still almost vibrating with tension. “When he was brought in, he was suffering from the early stages of heat stroke, severe dehydration and exhaustion. He was breathing unassisted but he had an arrythmia. This what we call an irregular heartbeat, caused by the stress and electrolyte loss.”
“Okay. But- But he’s stable now?” George’s heart hadn’t been beating right… has he ever heard words more terrifying?
“Yes, we’ve successfully cooled him down, he’s receiving IV fluids and he’s responding reasonably well, however with him being a young healthy athlete we would usually expect a quicker turn around. Heat exhaustion, that has progressed to this level can cause organ damage so we drew some labs as well.” He looks into Oscar’s eyes seriously. “Are you aware of your husband having any health issues?”
“He’s healthy. He takes great care of himself; he eats better than anyone I know.” But is that the full truth anymore? “Well, he’s not been feeling 100% for a couple months…”
“What kind of symptoms?”
“He’s been… tired. All the time. And having headaches. Muscle aches. His stomach has been bothering him a lot. Makes it difficult for him to want to eat and it hurts a lot…” He doesn’t like how such simple things sound so damning when you’re listing it off to a doctor. “Is something wrong with George? Is he sick?”
“It’s hard for me to say yet. But the test results we’ve gotten back so far have had some abnormal results. I think with continued treatment he will continue to recover from his collapse but I believe there is a more… long term issue than just over exertion over his race. I recommend further testing so we can get a better idea what we are looking at.”
“Okay. Yes. Of course.” Oscar had known something was wrong. He’s been worrying and he’d let George get away with not going to the doctor and continue racing. “Is he awake?”
“He has been in and out, he’s not been entirely coherent yet.” He closes his laptop. “I can have a nurse bring you back. Would you like to go back to your friend?”
“Yeah… yeah. Please.” He leads Oscar back to the waiting room, tells him a nurse will be there for them shortly and then he’s gone. Alex leaps to his feet and is at his side in a second.
“What did he say?”
“George is stable.” Alex almost collapses with the intensity of his relief.
“Thank God!” He runs his hands through his hair before looking over and reevaluating how Oscar is still standing there miserable. “Why aren’t you relieved? What else did they say?”
“Not much. I don’t know… They said he could have organ damage. They’re running more tests.”
“Organ damage?” Alex blanches looking suitably horrified. “They’d be able to fix it though, right?”
“I don’t know.”
“Oscar Piastri?” A nurse asks, sticking her head out the doorway.
“I’m ready. Can he come too?”
“Yes, of course. Just to warn you he’s still a little out of it.”
“That’s fine.” Alex reassures her, eagerly follow them back into the private rooms. “I just want to see he’s okay with my own eyes.”
“I understand. I’m sure he’ll be happy to see you both.”
“Thank you.”
George is visibly tacky with dried sweat when he sees him. He’s more asleep than not in the bed, in a gown, under a thin sheet. His eyelids are fluttering and mouth pinched in discomfort.
“Oh, Georgie.” He carefully approaches the bed, moving slow to not startle him. He reaches out and rests his hand over George’s where it’s lying on the bed. He doesn’t feel unnaturally hot to the touch anymore. There is an IV port in his arm and cooling pads underneath his neck and knees. Alex finds his way to George’s other hand.
“He looks exhausted.” Alex worries. Oscar tenderly pushes George’s hair, drying with sweat off his forehead. His husband turns into his touch so he leaves his hand resting on his head.
“Hey, baby, are you awake for me at all?” He keeps his voice soft and low, sure George must have a headache. George turns towards his voice, blinking hard to try and keep his eyes open.
“Oscar?” He meets those beautiful blue green eyes and smiles down at him.
“Yeah, it’s me. I’m here. Alex is here too.”
Alex holds and starts rubbing George’s hand in between his own. Needing to impart his care and comfort George somehow.
“Hi.” George smiles blearily, tired but grateful. “What happened?”
“You passed out from the heat, baby.” He doesn’t want to worry George about any of the rest of it yet, not when he’s just woken up. And it may be nothing. “Are you thirsty?”
“Yeah,” George nods, swallowing thickly, wincing. “Nauseas.”
“Maybe they’ll have ice chips you can suck on then; I’ll be right back.” Oscar is even feeling a little nauseated after all the heat and stress. He forces himself to step away from the bed and head to the nurses’ station to get water for George. He knows Alex is there with George and Alex has loved George longer than he’s known him.
“Hey, in room 144 George is awake. Can he have some water or ice? He’s thirsty.”
“Of course, let me confirm when his doctor and I’ll bring some right in.”
“Thank you.”
He jogs back to the room though he pretends to be walking patiently when he reenters. George is turned towards Alex who is talking nonsense about the race to distract him. He catches George peeking out of the corner of his eye towards the door, waiting for him to return. He heads straight back to him, claiming his free hand and bringing it to his lips. George’s skin is so smooth and soft against his lips.
Not even five minutes later the nurse appears with a cup of ice and a pitcher of water. Oscar pours George a small cup. Despite George being hydrated by IV, he needs the comfort of watching him rehydrate himself.
George’s hand is shaking when he goes to take it so Oscar helps him hold it steady as he brings it to his lips and drinks.
“Better?”
“Yeah. Better.” George hands the cup to him completely once it is mostly empty. “You too.”
“Me too?”
“You both… need to drink too. Came here straight from the race.” He is looking at Oscar specifically. Still in his now dried, sweat soaked race suit, hair a mess.
“He’s right.” Alex agrees before Oscar can argue. “You look like shit Oscar. George is okay now. Get changed and have some water.”
“Fine.” Only because he saw a bathroom only two doors away. He hurries there stripping his skin tight clothes from his tacky skin. He pulls on sweatpants and a hoodie before hurrying back to George’s room. His husband’s eyes have already fluttered closed again, exhaustion winning the battle again.
Alex is just finishing a cup of water and pours the next one for Oscar. He scowls but takes it and chugs it. Normally after a hot race he would have had an ice bath and several electrolyte drinks. He wonders how many people must be blowing his phone up from McLaren for abandoning his responsibilities and from the paddock about George. He finds he does not care enough to check.
“He seems, okay?” Alex asks quietly, startling Oscar out of his thoughts. He looks nervous, like he’s not sure he even believes what he’s saying. “Being tired is normal right?”
He shrugs and looks back down to where George’s long thin fingers are between his own. Fear is gnawing and ugly inside his own chest. He doesn’t have the words to comfort Alex, not when he may be lying.
~~
They won’t release George until the next morning. Alex eventually has to return to Williams to debrief and the hotel to sleep. Both of them don’t need to be sitting here watching George sleep and Oscar isn’t going anywhere. Not for anything or anyone else in the world.
They’ve dimmed the lights and generally this corner of the hospital is quiet now. The now stable rhythm of George’s heartbeat, the occasional hissing of the blood pressure monitor. He knows it would fluster George if he knew but he watches him sleep. Just being with George, seeing him, holding his hand brings him a sense of peace and belonging. To a depth he’d never known before they’d fallen for each other.
He could watch George sleep for hours and not grow bored. Back when they’d just gotten together, it was George who always watched over Oscar sleeping. George had been late to bed and early to rise, bounding with almost endless energy and enthusiasm. Initially he thought it was George slowly adjusting to meet his schedule… enjoying cuddling with him. Then one day he noticed he was the one asking if he wanted to get up in the morning.
He chews his lips aggressively. George will scold him when he notices. He always scolds Oscar when he picks around his nails or chews his lips raw. Wants every little piece of Oscar to be comfortable and cared for.
A soft knock at the door. He looks up. It’s the doctor.
“Hey, has he been sleeping long?” He asking is whisper to not disturb his patient.
“About an hour now. Is something wrong?”
“We reran the blood work and we are still seeing some odd results. Would you like to wake him up and we can go over the results and I would like to get him taken for some scans.”
“Scans?” Oscar squeaks, the doctor looks sympathetic which makes it worse somehow. “Okay, I’ll wake him up.”
“I’ll be back in one minute.” The doctor steps out to give them privacy seeing the hesitation in Oscar’s expression. He turns to George, sleeping in a way it’s obvious how deeply exhausted he is. He usually was not the type to sleep through people talking even if they are whispering.
“Georgie, baby, wake up,” he shakes his shoulder gently, sitting on the edge of the bed to look down at him. To make sure he’s the first thing George sees when he opens his eyes. His eyelids flutter with a soft groan. “There you are. Sorry. I know you’re tired. The doctor wants to talk to you.”
“The doctor?” George groans confused rubbing at his eyes.
“Yeah, he’s going to be right back.” He waits for George to blink up at him and come back completely to consciousness.
“What does he want to talk about?” Groggy and confused.
“I’m not sure, he said something about your bloodwork.”
“Oh, fuck.” He bemoans, “did I mess myself up?”
“Not your fault. And we will figure it out.”
George takes his hand with a nervous smile as the doctor knocks on the doorway again, louder this time. He leans in the doorway with a regretful smile.
“Sorry to disturb you, I know you need to rest but the sooner we can get through everything the sooner we can get you out of here hopefully.”
“It’s okay.” George assures him sleepily. He scoots to be sitting up a bit more to help keep himself awake.
“I don’t know how much your husband told you but I’ll start- from the start. When you were brought in it took you a little longer to respond than we would usually anticipate with someone your age and physical condition. We also always prefer to run bloodwork after such a serious case of heat fatigue, especially in cases where we see an abnormal heartbeat. So, we drew some bloodwork we sent to the labs.”
“Okay… is everything good?”
Oscar squeezes George’s hand tightly, probably more for his own comfort.
“Well, your organs appear to be functioning relatively well but we there are some abnormalities. We reran the tests and it isn’t a mistake from the lab. We are seeing a low white blood cell count and a low platelet count.”
“What does that mean?”
“It can mean a lot of things. It’s a symptom not a diagnosis. But it means likely something more is going on than acute heat sickness. I spoke to your husband a bit earlier but I’d like to hear it from you, have you noticed any changes in your health recently.”
“What kind of changes?” George asks, voice increasingly high pitched. He looks over at Oscar eyes wide and visibly anxious. He’s wide awake now that’s for sure.
“Oscar mentioned you’ve been more fatigued recently, for example. Do you think this is true?”
“Oh…” It’s painful to listen to George have to face what he’s been denial of for months if not longer. “Yeah. I have been getting tired easier… and not feeling rested in the morning.”
“Even if you sleep well?”
“Always.”
“What else?”
“I’ve been…” He glances at Oscar again who nods encouragingly. “Having headaches. And my stomachs been bothering me a lot. It’s never been like that before. It hurts almost every day, sometimes so badly I can barely stand. And I get sick a lot.”
“Any other symptoms you can think of? Anything could relevant.”
“Uh… My muscles feel sore all the time. Even when they shouldn’t. I’ve been losing my breath easier. I’ve… not had much interest in…” Oscar ducks his face to hide his blush once he realizes what George is referring to.
“Alright. Well, your stomach symptoms concern me. I would like to set you up to get an endoscopy tonight.”
“Endoscopy? What is that?” He isn’t sure he’s ever heard of it before.
“George would be asleep for it. We would put a tube down his throat to see his esophagus and stomach. And take a biopsy while we are there. If that doesn’t show anything we may want to consider doing a colonoscopy as well.”
“Down my throat?” George whispers sounding a little horrified. He’s the one clutching Oscar’s hand so hard it aches now.
“You won’t be awake for anything,” the doctor assures him. “And our gastrologist is very good. You likely won’t have any pain when you wake up.”
“Okay… Let’s do that then.” George nods, visibly pulling himself together.
“Alright. I’ll have them set it up. A nurse will come get you in about two hours. In that time, you can’t eat or drink anything.”
“Okay.”
Once the doctor leaves the room George head spins to look at him.
“What the fuck? What do you think this is all about?”
“I don’t know.” Oscar is at a loss. He wishes medicine had ever been an interest of his. But he is ignorant.
“Seems like there is something he’s not saying.” It does feel like the doctor has something in mind but is talking around it to not scare them… George is young and takes excellent care of himself, Oscar reassures himself.
~~
The sun should be rising outside. George and Oscar are both exhausted, tests and anxiety prevented them from achieving much rest throughout the night despite the nurse’s best efforts to keep them comfortable. Oscar knows Alex will be messaging him soon to see how George is doing and hopes he will have good news to report.
“Hello, Oscar – George?” a different doctor knocks on the entrance way wall.
“Yes, come on in.” George welcomes them with a tired smile. He’s half curled towards Oscar, the thin hospital blanket wrapped around himself.
“Morning. Your other doctor and I have been reviewing your case. I know we’ve been kind of not sure of what’s going on but we have a better idea now. Just so you know my specialty is Oncology.”
“…Oncology. Isn’t that…?” Oscar trails off unwilling to say it out loud, feeling a little like they’ve just pulled the floor out from under his feet. They smile sympathetically at him.
“Unfortunately, we’ve been reviewing the test results so far and they do indicate cancer. What we found in your blood work and by the description of your symptoms I would suspect you’ve had it for some time. Sometimes the early signs can be subtle until suddenly they are not anymore.”
“What does that mean?” George asks so quietly he barely has any voice at all. He’s staring at the doctor unblinking eyes as wide as can be. Oscar feels a surge of anger, for them scaring George like this.
“It means; we believe things have already advanced. I will get you set up with further testing and specialists but the quicker we move the better. This is not something we can drag our feet on.”
“It’s… serious?” George worries. Oscar clenches his jaw. He wants to swoop George up in his arms and take him away from all this bullshit. There is no way. George is barely in his thirties. He’s never smoked or done drugs, as far as Oscar is aware his family doesn’t even have a history of cancer. There is no way this is really happening.
“I… Yes, I’m sorry, It’s serious.” The doctor seems to consider their words for a dragging second before continuing. “From what we are seeing the cancer has already metastasized. This makes it much more complicated to treat.”
“Metastasized?” George looks over at Oscar as if to see if he’s hearing the same thing he is. Oscar is beyond being able to react though, he’s just staring at George. Not quite believing what he is being told. It must be a mistake. “Doesn’t that mean it’s already… spread?”
“Yes. It does. We will need further tests to see exactly where and how far it’s progressed but the bloodwork is not indicative of it still being localized. You can still check out and go home this morning. Everything else can be scheduled on an outpatient basis but it needs to be done as soon as possible.”
After the doctor leaves, they sit in silence for a moment. Despite how they’d been increasingly anxious throughout the night neither of them had been at all prepared. Oscar looks up and sees George’s hands are trembling wildly as he presses them to his lips in a desperate attempt to soothe himself.
“George,” he stands up suddenly from his chair, perching on the edge of the bed instead. He takes George’s hands in his own meeting his eyes. “We don’t know anything for sure yet.”
“They sounded pretty sure.” George’s eyes are glassy with tears he refuses to shed. “What are we going to do, Oscar? Will I be able to race? What if I can’t finish the season?”
“We will figure it out,” Oscar says because he has no fucking clue. Can’t wrap his head around the possibility of their life changing direction this horribly so suddenly. “I will be with you every step of the way. I promise.”
George pulls their hands to his face, pressing a shaky kiss to Oscar’s hand as he pulls his knees up towards his chest.
“Okay… things have come a long way, right? Everything will be alright.”
Oscar wraps an arm around George’s shoulders and pulls him into his chest. It’s the only comfort he can offer. They will go to specialists and maybe this will all be a mistake. They will have terrified George for no reason at all.
Neither of them want to sleep. When they leave the hospital they pack their belongings and head straight to the airport. George doesn’t ask for his phone back or about anyone else. He doesn’t look like he’s even blinking, Oscar’s hand and his glued together. In Oscar’s other hand is a thick wad of discharge instructions.
A list of specialists
A list of tests
A prescription for Iron and instructions to rest and stay hydrated
They don’t talk about it on their trip home. They don’t talk about much of anything at all. George seems beyond words, clinging to Oscar’s hand staring out the window, lost in his own thoughts.
Finally a thousand feet in the air Oscar checks his phone. A flood of messages from his family, the paddock, and McLaren. He goes to Alex’s contact, though he doesn’t want to talk to anyone he knows how important he is to George.
Chat with Alex:
George discharged as planned this morning? Tests come back okay?
(received)
Yeah Discharged on our way home. Run more tests at home
Will let George know to call you when he’s up to it
(sent)
He’s still out of it?
(received)
Very Tired
(sent)
He doesn’t feel it is his place to tell Alex anything more than that. Especially if it all turns out okay eventually.
“I think Alex, told me but everyone else was okay after the race right?” George asks out of blue, a concerned twist to his brow, as if stricken at the idea of having been ‘self centered’.
“Yeah,” he kisses George’s hand again, to soothe himself. “Everyone is okay.”
“Okay. Good.” George sighs, settling back into his seat. He looks a bit dazed.
“Do you want to try to sleep?” Oscar suggests hating to see him so tired.
“No, don’t think I can right now.” He looks over at Oscar, studying him for a long second. “We can both sleep when we get home.”
“Sounds good.” He leans his forehead against George’s shoulder, the hoodie soft against his face. George automatically shifting to accommodate his weight. He feels him press a soft kiss to his hair and smiles. “Love you.”
“I love you too.”