#schedule conflicts

[2021]

“We expect you to be on the team flight from Bologna on the Wednesday. I’ll have the details emailed to you.”

Carlos groaned internally, feeling his stomach churn. He took a breath to stop himself from sniping back at Sylvia. He prided himself on his professionalism in the workplace.

“I have plans to be there already. Flying the Tuesday night, in fact. I can, of course, meet up with the team on Wednesday when you arrive, no problem.”

“Well, you’ll just have to cancel them, won’t you.”

It wasn’t a question. As much as he appreciated her no-nonsense approach to most things with the team, her immediate dismissal of his personal time away from it was infuriating.

“I would rather not have to,” he said slowly. He’d been invited to spend time with Lando’s family after Spa before they flew on to Zandvoort together.

Sylvia clicked her tongue. “You are a team player, are you not, Carlos. You will have had the summer break to lark about and do as you please. It is important that Ferrari stands united upon the season resumption. We will expect you on the flight, and I will email you and your management team the details, including dress code.”

“Of course, I’ll see to it,” he replied, giving her no further ammunition.

She closed the iPad and stood up from the table, a sign that the morning briefing was at an end. Carlos couldn’t wait to make himself another coffee.

“See that you do. I hope you enjoy the rest of your day,” she said in a clipped voice, tucking in her chair before leaving Carlos alone at the table with his notepad.

Clicking the pen several times, letting it tap against the paper, leaving dots and marks behind, Carlos leant back in his padded seat and finally let out the sigh he’d been keeping in the whole meeting.

As much as he was grateful to be driving for Scuderia Ferrari, there were times (such as this) when he missed the easy simplicity of McLaren. Ferrari had rules and strict customs he was expected to obey as part of his contract.

And sometimes…

Sometimes it felt like it was personal. Wednesday being his birthday, for instance, and not even media day.

Ferrari knew about his relationship with Lando (he wasn’t going to lie) and only “approved” so long as they moved in silence and the utmost privacy, forbidden to be caught fraternising in a manner that could let rumours fly.

So far, as Lando was still in Woking and Carlos had an apartment in Maranello, they could only spend time together at the races or during the breaks. They were both moving to Monaco over the winter this time, however, sharing a home base (and apartment). It was bound to make things harder with their schedules but whereas McLaren would let Lando be flexible as much as he needed, Ferrari would no doubt be more demanding of Carlos’ time.

He wasn’t looking forward to it.

Making himself another coffee, foregoing the milk so it was stronger and bitter, he dug out his phone to message Lando as he couldn’t call inside the factory.

Carlos: Team flight mandated for Zandvoort, I’m so sorry Lando :(

Lando: dw i kinda expected it tbh

Lando: i’ll give the fam ur love ❤️

Carlos: Dw?

Lando: don’t worry ❤️

~

As it happened, Lando crashed during qualifying with Carlos’ live reaction broadcast to the entire world. Caco got him off the hook (oh, he owed him big time), and he did indeed go ahead with his original plans to spend time with Lando’s family.

Ferrari capitalised on the good press of Carlos being a caring friend.

Mattia acted like Carlos owed him.

Curled up together in one of the Waumans’ garden loungers while they listened to stories from Lando’s childhood holidays, Carlos found he didn’t care one bit.

He was right where he was supposed to be.

~

[2022]

Their demand for Carlos’ time did indeed get worse.

Ferrari's double podiums in the first two races meant extra media duties and team celebrations. Those he didn’t mind in the slightest. The first races back after the winter break, putting down the foundation they wanted to build the rest of the year on, with team morale being high and positive. He fully indulged in that.

The first Australian Grand Prix since Lando’s first F1 race, however? Carlos was undoubtedly punished for DNFing two laps in when he beached the car in the gravel fighting a Haas. Whilst Ferrari celebrated the win with Charles, Carlos was forced to fly back to Maranello for simulator work and training. All the while, Lando stayed with Daniel, Max, and several of their friends, sending him off with a kiss, a wave and a pouty smile.

It only got worse from there.

Carlos didn’t finish Imola, one of Ferrari’s home races, after another trip into the gravel courtesy of Lando’s teammate. While Charles lost his podium position to Lando when he spun off late in the race, gently kissing the wall and having to change his front wing. Carlos was once again scheduled for sim work and tyre testing instead of being able to celebrate with Lando.

Come Miami, the reverse happened. A double Ferrari podium meant more celebrations for him, but there was a crash for Lando.

He tangled with Pierre forty laps in, immediately losing a tyre and causing him to spin down the track before coming to a stop. Thankfully mild compared to his crash in Spa the previous year, but Lando was still downcast until he slept it off in Carlos’ arms. The fly-aways were pretty much the only chance they were getting to share a bed away from their Monaco apartment, Carlos ending up in the Hilton after suggesting they have dinner together at an attempt at a date.

He could feel Sylvia’s disapproving eyes boring into him on the flight home. She could sulk all she liked. Carlos hadn’t broken any rules.

It didn’t seem to stop his schedule from filling up yet again in the week they had free. At least Lando was needed at the MTC as well.

Despite all of Carlos’ frustrations with Ferrari’s ever-increasing demands, Lando never complained. He would pout if they were talking together, sure, else he would only be nonchalant and understanding. He didn’t whine or grumble, at least not in front of Carlos that he witnessed, but every time he’d ask about it anyway, Lando would merely shrug and say they’d arrange something before the next race.

So, while they were planning for Barcelona, Carlos’ home race, and he got stuck in another meeting with Sylvia about a team flight and a team event, Carlos was once again on the defensive over his personal time. It was his home race after all, he had plans to spend the week with his family in Mallorca (including Lando) and certainly over the race weekend with them being in the garage with him.

Yet Sylvia, Mattia, and Ferrari insisted he be in Italy.

He didn’t say anything to Lando until he was back in Monaco. It wasn’t a discussion he wanted to have over the phone; it wasn’t fair. So, he waited until they were both comfortable and cosy, the day of work and travel washed off them, making dinner in comfy shorts and t-shirts like any other domestic couple.

Lando was yapping about his day at McLaren, sitting on the counter while Carlos chopped up the side salad, their pasta and sauce simmering on the stove. Carlos found himself hit with fond memories as he recognised names and could picture the scenes Lando retold with nostalgic clarity.

“So anyway, how was your day?” Lando asked, head tilted as he smiled softly at him. He had one of his vitamin supplement drinks in his hand and had been sipping it every so often while he talked.

Carlos placed the knife down beside the chopping board and sighed. A long deep one, in through his nose and out through his mouth. Serving as a calming breath as his heart thumped inside his chest.

He was having to let Lando down again.

The grounding touch to his arm was enough to get him moving. He shuffled over, nestling himself between Lando’s legs and wrapping his arms around him. Lando responded immediately, hitching his legs around his waist to bring himself closer, one hand cradling his head.

“Woah, hey, that bad? They’re not firing you, are they?”

Carlos inhaled his cologne, soft and familiar, already feeling his heart rate calm down.

“No,” he mumbled against Lando’s neck. Drawing back, he stayed close, hands dropping to Lando’s waist while Lando’s looped around his neck. “They are now insisting I cannot be in Spain like we planned. It seems there is some team event I am needed at, which means being in Italy prior and then flying to Barcelona with them.”

Lando was frowning as he gently stroked his fingers up Carlos’ jaw to his cheeks and up into his hair. Carlos found himself relaxing further at the touch.

“They’re not letting you go home?” Lando reeled, clearly outraged. “What the fuck?”

Carlos squeezed his waist before resting his forehead against Lando’s shoulder. “I just feel like they are determined to let me spend as little time with you as they can manage. I’ve felt that for a while now.”

“But we follow all their stupid rules! How is that not enough? Carlos this is bullshit!”

He sighed again, burying as much into Lando as he could. “I don’t know what to do about it.”

“What does Caco say?”

Carlos huffed. “He negotiates what he can, but they are clearly exploiting a loophole in the performance clause. Scheduling me for sim work or training sessions, or team events on my days off when I am not getting the results they want.”

“We should ask what Charles has in his contract about Max.”

Yeah, no. Carlos wasn’t touching that.

“Ay, hush,” he insisted. “All of this means we can’t go to Mallorca, and I’m spending more time in Maranello instead of here with you. I’m sorry about that, cariño. It’s not what either of us want.”

Lando shrugged and went to open his mouth, but Carlos got there before him.

“If you tell me it’s fine, I will poke you.”

Lando flinched instinctively, hands leaving Carlos’ neck to protectively cover himself to protect from a tickle attack. When Carlos didn’t attack him, he relaxed, swinging his feet and shrugging again.

“I mean, it’s Ferrari. If they need you, they need you.”

There it was again. Gone was the fire he’d just kicked up about Ferrari not letting Carlos go home to his family in Spain, replaced by the calm nonchalance he was used to being met with when their plans changed.

Like Lando wasn’t important.

Carlos hated this.

He took a few steps back. “So, it’s not okay for them to stop me seeing my family, but it’s okay for them to stop us being together? To stop you from seeing me? To stop me from spending time with you as my partner?”

Lando chewed his lip, not saying anything.

“Lando, I am constantly letting you down, over and over again. How are you so okay with this?”

“You’re not–”

“–How am I not?” He paced, gesturing wildly. “We make plans, and then I keep cancelling because my team demands they come first. We live together now, and yet it feels like we see each other far less than when we didn’t! I get forced to fly to races with my team dressed like I’m going to a wedding just so we project a historic image. I get kept late in debriefs, so I can’t sneak back to your hotel to sleep beside you. I get forced to fly home early as punishment for my performances, except it’s never home, it’s to the factory for mandatory extra work away from you!”

“Carlos–”

“–How are you not angry or upset? None of this is fair to you! You just shrug your shoulders and act like it’s fine. Like it’s okay for you to be pushed aside so easily. You shouldn’t be fine with it, Lando. It’s hurting you!”

“Because it’s fucking Ferrari, Carlos, okay! I can’t argue with that!”

He felt like his legs were going to give beneath him. “Ay, please stop saying that like it’s an excuse!”

“Well, it is!” Lando gestured with his hands enough that he knocked his vitamin supplement to the floor, the milky remnants splashing out and spilling across the wooden floor. “Shit.”

Carlos moved to find the kitchen roll to clean it up when the pasta started boiling over the pan on the stove, the sizzling noise piercing the air as the water hit the bare heat of the hob.

“Mierda,” he muttered, turning off the heat and moving the pan to a colder ring. He turned off the sauce for good measure just as Lando’s phone rang with the alarm for the garlic bread in the oven.

“For fuck’s sake!” Lando yelled, making Carlos whip around. He’d gotten himself off the counter around the remains of his vitamin drink and was standing gasping for breath with his hands over his ears, tears in his eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey, shhhh.” He was there in a flash, making sure they weren’t going to step into the spilt milk before wrapping his arms around him as Lando clung back. “Lo siento mucho, mi amor. I’m so sorry.”

He soothed Lando as much as he could, rubbing his back and kissing his head, letting Lando squeeze him as tight as he needed while he calmed down. When he felt his grip ease, he stroked a hand through his hair, pleased when Lando took a deep breath and melted against him.

“Of course I hate all of this, querido,” Lando mumbled, his voice muffled against Carlos’ t-shirt. “I hate when we’re forced to be separated, it constantly throws me off. I’ve just been trying to make things easier for you.”

“Why, cariño?” Carlos whispered. “Pretending you’re fine isn’t good for you.”

“Because you’re living your dream, Carlos.” Lando drew back, but they stayed close together, still touching upper arms and waist, grounding each other. “And it’s not like I pretend to everyone. Just you.”

Carlos cupped his face, thumb stroking over his wet cheek. “How does shutting me out make it any better?”

“I’m sorry,” Lando pouted, eyes on the floor between them. Carlos nudged his jaw to make him look back up. “I guess I just always expected it to be like this, and I was fine with it because it’s Ferrari, and everybody knows that comes with sacrifices and rules. I honestly feel like we’re lucky they haven’t forced us to break up already.

“Of course it hurts every time you have to cancel plans we make. I fucking hate it because I just miss you all the fucking time. I didn’t want you to feel bad by making everything about me. It’s Ferrari, querido! You’re gonna be winning races and fighting for Championships. I can put aside feeling butthurt for a few years because they want to keep you working hard.”

“A few years, huh?” Carlos wiggled his eyebrows, and Lando rolled his eyes, playfully swatting at his chest.

“You know what I mean, idiota.”

Carlos wrapped him in another hug, safe and warm and full of love. “I want to know how you feel, okay? I love you for being so understanding, and I’m glad you haven’t been alone, but you know you can still talk to me. I want to hear it. I need to hear it.”

“Okay, I promise.”

“Gracias, mi amor. Te amo.”

“Te amo también, querido,” Lando said with a tired, adorable smile. Carlos kissed him, his familiar warm lips unlocking the final bit of tension within his chest. “We need to clean up the mess.”

Mierda. There was Lando’s spilt drink on the floor as well as their ruined dinner slowly getting cold on the stove. He kissed Lando one last time before stepping away to rescue the garlic bread from the oven and turning it off. It was slightly charred around the edges, still very edible, but Carlos suddenly felt the urge to leave everything alone.

He turned back to Lando. “We clean up the floor, we leave all this to cool so it can go in the fridge and not be wasted, and we get ourselves some chicken burgers. What do you say?”

Lando grinned. “Let’s do it.”

~