Chapter Text
Someone had the common sense to get George a wheelchair for the airport. The doctors said he was almost ready to start putting weight on his legs, but airport security wasn’t really the place to start. And while Lance had faith in his ability to carry his fiancé for a sprint, he wasn’t sure how he’d hold up over race distance. And again, airport security, not really the place he’d like to find out. So really, it was the smartest decision overall.
Didn’t make George any less bitchy about it.
“Oh shut up, George, it’s a wheelchair. Lots of people use them,” Lance snapped after the third time of listening to George’s complaints. “It’s normal.”
George at least had the decency to look ashamed of himself. “Obviously I know that,” he argued, but was still looking around uncomfortably. “But everyone’s looking at me. I don’t like it.”
“Do you want your sunglasses?” Lance asked, already reaching for George’s bag to fish them out, along with the inconspicuous baseball cap he’d brought. As optimistic as he’d tried to be, he’d come prepared for a bit of a freak out from George. Which was only understandable, the kid was still in f2 in his head, and Lance was throwing him into a world where he was a Formula 1 world champion. People were staring, and George had noticed.
He accepted the sunglasses and hat gratefully, putting them on as he tried to make himself smaller in the chair.
“Nobody’s judging you for using a wheelchair, y’know,” Lance said, rolling his eyes fondly. “Most people who can’t walk do.”
“Everyone’s staring at me,” George whined, flipping his hoodie up over his face. “I don’t want them thinking I’m broken. Or that I can’t drive. I can! I will!”
Lance stopped his stride so he could move to face George, crouching down in front of him to be on eye level. “Hey, George, there’s nothing wrong with being injured, alright. We’ve all been there. You’ll get back in the car and you’ll show them. Kick their asses,” Lance gave him a tight smile, which George managed to return. “We’ll get there, yeah? Get you back in the car?”
George nodded. “Yeah. Sorry. I just feel so useless like this.”
“God, you’re not useless,” Lance said, standing back up again, resuming their pace. Anything but useless. “They are gonna worship the ground you fuckin’ walk on when you come back from this and win your third next year.”
“Yeah?” George asked, straining to look over his shoulder at Lance with a smile. He looked so small, so hopeful.
“Hell yeah baby,” Lance said, grinning back. Mercedes we’re still at the top, showing no signs of slowing down. There was no doubt that George would be ready for it, physically at least. There was nothing stopping him from winning it all again next year.
And Lance… Lance would watch it all happen with a smile on his face. From wherever he found himself, whether that was in the car or… not.
Everything was going well, until the time came to actually board the plane. They’d agreed that George would be in the wheelchair up until the gate, but that Lance would carry him onto the plane itself, to avoid the hassle of the chair. But it seemed George no longer liked this plan.
“You are not picking me up,” George said, fighting off Lance’s hands.
“What’s the problem?” Lance asked. “You said you were fine with the plan.”
“We’re in public,” George hissed. “Everyone’s watching.”
Lance sighed. Should’ve just bullied Chloe and taken the fucking jet. He was never flying commercial again.
“Babe, I’m carrying you, not fucking you, they’ll get over it, yeah?” Lance said, slipping his arms around George’s body. “Ready?”
George nodded imperceptibly, holding himself so Lance could pick him up easily. He saw the cameras flash, sighing again as he used his body as a shield between George and them. This was gonna end up on TikTok or some other stupid fan website, because of course it was. But it’s not like they were a secret at this point anyway, everybody knew.
“They’re all dumb bitches anyway,” Lance whispered into George’s ear, making him giggle as they stepped onto the plane. “And besides, who gives a shit if you can’t walk, you’re still pretty.”
George blushed. “Piss off,” he muttered, buckling himself into his seat, turned firmly towards the window. But Lance could see that the tips of his ears were bright red. Good. “I’m not pretty.”
“Handsome then,” Lance said, following his lead, buckling himself in. Tray table secured, seat in upright position, all that bullshit. He just wanted to get outta here.
George stayed facing the window, staring at the gray rainy day outside, the dull runway tarmac, until Lance had put his headphones on and turned his attention to his tv. He felt a light hand on his arm, pulling his attention back to George.
“Do you really think… that?” George asked, still staring resolutely out the window. Lance tugged on his hand to make him look at him. George did, eyes wide.
“Do you think I’m lying?”
George shook his head. Lance shrugged. “There you go then, I guess.”
George was still staring at him. Or well, the overhead bin behind him, but it was close enough.
“You’re not just saying that? To make me feel better?”
“Is that okay?”
George nodded rapidly. “Yeah, yes, that’s fine. I don’t- err- have a problem with it. Yeah. All good. Just - erm- checking,” he said, finishing in a whisper, already back facing the window. God, he was cute.
“They’ve got Modern Family,” Lance said, flicking George’s tv on for him. “Wanna watch with me?”
“Yes!” George said, lighting up as he swiped through the options to find it. “That’s my favourite show!”
He was so easy to please, so predictable. And he didn’t even know it. Lance just smiled knowingly. “Oh really? It is? I’ll make sure to remember that.”
And it was enough to make George smile, so it was enough for him.
***
George sat tense in the backseat of the car, eyes locked firmly out of the window, taking in the city. Like he was seeing it for the first time. Maybe he was.
“Happy to be back?” Lance asked, gently touching his shoulder. He flinched, shifting away from Lance’s hand.
“I can’t remember any of it,” he said, staring at the buildings that flew by. Gray and nondescript, but all so clearly home. At least to Lance. “I should. I know I should. But I can’t.” He wiped at his face with the back of his hand. “Sorry.”
Lance couldn’t see his face, but the hunch of his shoulders and the slight shake in his voice made it clear enough that he was crying. He went to wipe them away again, but Lance caught his wrist, startling a small gasp out of him.
“Hey, don’t like, apologize dude,” he said, tugging gently until George turned to face him. “It’s not your fault.”
“I know, I just- I wanted to,” he confessed, glancing back out the window with another blank look. “I’d hoped I would. That it would help, being here. But it didn’t.”
Lance let go of his wrist, only for George to catch his hand. Lance squeezed it, watching his eyes go wide. George tried to pull his hand away, but Lance didn’t let him, holding him in place.
“I hoped you would too,” Lance admitted, selfishly, slowly tangling their fingers together. George watched him do it, moving his fingers in cooperation. “But if you don’t, it’s okay. This can still be your home. If you want it to be.”
He wouldn’t ask for anything. He wouldn’t ask for more than he could have. But he could hope.
“Our home?” George asked shyly.
“If that’s what you want.”
He nodded quickly. “I want- yeah. Home.”
***
“George! Lance! Bienvenue ,” the barista said as they stepped into the small coffee shop. Or rather, as Lance wheeled George into the coffee shop. He’d manage to arrange for another wheelchair to be brought to their house, and George was being… better about it.
The coffee shop was a small one, only a block or two away from their house. It was small, quaint, George’s favourite. Their usual stop on the walk back from their morning runs. There would be no more morning runs for a while yet.
“Morning Margot,” Lance said, giving her a little wave. She gave him a tough smile.
“Good to see you back,” she said. “I heard the news about George’s crash, glad to see you’re doing okay. The usual then?”
“I’m sorry, er- I suppose we’ve met?” George said, looking back at Lance. Margot’s eyes opened wide, staring at Lance. Lance blinked at her, frozen.
“Yeah, the usual would be great, thanks,” Lance said hurriedly. She didn’t press, turning instead to begin making their drinks.
George was still watching him. “This place is nice. I imagine we’ve been here before.”
“It’s your favourite spot,” Lance shrugged, smiling. “And the coffee is good, so I don’t mind that you always drag us here.”
“How can it be my favourite spot, I’ve never been here before,” George said, feigning ignorance. Lance rolled his eyes at him. “I don’t even drink coffee.”
Margot put their drinks down on the table next to them. Lance gave her a nod of thanks, pushing George’s drink across the table to him.
“Yes you do,” he said, taking a sip of his own. George wrinkled his nose at it. “You’ll like it.”
George took a hesitant sip. “This isn’t… so bad. I like it.”
“Told you so,” Lance laughed, sipping his drink as George continued to enjoy his, to his own petty disappointment.
George watched him in silence, cradling his cup, sipping from it occasionally. He looked around intently, focusing on every detail in the cafe, the signs behind the counter, the various paintings hung around on the walls, Margot herself. He shook his head, moving on to the next.
“I think I’d like to go home,” he said, putting down his mug, still half full. Lance nodded in silent understanding, finishing his drink in one big gulp. He gave Margot a sheepish smile and a thank you as they shuffled out of the cafe.
“It didn’t work,” George said flatly as they made their way home, Lance bringing him inside and settling him on the couch once again. “I didn’t remember- none of it was familiar.”
“It wasn’t a test, George,” Lance said apologetically, sitting down next to him. “I just thought you might like to get out of the house. Get something nice. Something familiar.”
“Well it wasn’t familiar,” George snapped, turning away from him. “Not to me. Nothing is. I can’t remember anything.”
“It’s okay, George, really,” Lance insisted. “Take your time, don’t push yourself too hard, like the doctor said, yeah? I’ll ask next time, okay? Before we go somewhere you’ve been before. Would that be better?”
“Whatever,” George shrugged, still refusing to look at him. “It’s not like I’d know the difference.”
“I just want you to be comfortable here. Happy,” Lance said, frustrated at George’s sudden refusal to cooperate. He sighed loudly, leaning back against the opposite arm of the couch. “You don’t have to remember, it’s okay.”
George shook his head. “It isn’t.”
“It really is,” Lance said, forcing his voice to stay even, not to show his frustration. He closed his eyes for a second. He could see why Alex wanted rid of him, if this is what he was gonna be like.
“No, I have to remember!” George shouted. “Because- because-“
“Because what, George?” Lance snapped. “What?”
“Because I know you don’t like me like this. I’m not good enough for you. I’m not what you want.”
George turned to face him, the tears glimmering in his eyes, unfallen.
Lance froze. “I didn’t say that.”
George sighed. “You didn’t have to say it,” he said quietly. “I can tell.”
“Baby, I love you-“
“No,” George said, letting the first tear fall. “You don’t. You love him, and I’m not him anymore. So… sorry.”
This was Lance’s fault. He’d fucked everything up, he’d- he’d wanted more than he could have. He was playing make believe, that George would just wake up one day and everything would be okay. But it wasn’t okay. Because George was here, looking at him with tears in his eyes, because Lance didn’t love him.
And if George could truly believe that Lance didn’t love him, then Lance had failed in every possible way.