Certain Uncertainty

Oscar closes his eyes for a second, allowing the wind and chill in the air to raise goosebumps on his arms. When Oscar reaches the gate to the pasture, he glances up for a second. Lando has nearly a half bale of hay balanced in his open palm and against his shoulder. His bicep is straining, but he otherwise does not seem phased. Oscar’s fingers fumble with the chain of the gate.
(Alternatively: Oscar and Lando work on a ranch. Oscar is used to keeping his head down and his emotions in check. But when Lando arrives, all easy smiles and restless energy, Oscar finds himself thrown off balance.)

Notes:

Hi! I have always wanted to write a cowboy fic, and I finally did it! (Sort of, lol. They're not exactly cowboys.) Once I started writing I just had fun hanging out with the characters I created! Hopefully you do too!

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Work Text:

One of the most bizarre things Oscar notices about working with animals is how closely he works with death. Take lambing and kidding season, he helps bring so much new life and joy into the world, but on the other hand there is a lot of pain and death. Oscar is no stranger to death. He’s not squeamish and his naturally slow and calm demeanor allows him to handle emergencies very well.

He understands that everyone processes things differently, but right now the ranch hand they hired a few weeks ago is panicking around and Oscar doesn’t need to be helping him process his grief while blood is coagulating between his fingers.

“Lando,” Oscar says, hoping his voice is firm enough to break through to him. Lando’s eyes snap up to Oscar’s. “I need you to call George on the radio. Tell him one of the cows broke her leg and we’re going to have to put her down. Tell him to bring the twenty-two.”

Lando’s face is still pale, but his eyes look more focused. “George, do you copy?”

“Yeah, go ahead.” George answers immediately. Oscar will have to remember to thank George later for always drilling everyone about answering their radios.

“I’m with Oscar. One of the cows, it, um, there’s a lot of blood,” Lando hesitates, his eyes glazing over a bit. Oscar tries to catch his gaze again.

“Lando.” Oscar says again in the same firm, quiet voice.

“Right, yeah, Oscar says it needs to be put down, and, um, to bring the gun.”

“Okay, where are you guys at?” George asks, his tone more serious than before.

“We’re at the processing pens.”

Oscar lets out a breath he was holding. Fortunately the cow is still in shock. She isn’t fighting Oscar’s rope too much, but he’ll need George to rope her hind legs when he gets here. They probably won’t be able to get her into the squeeze.

“Thanks.” Oscar says as he readjusts his grip on the rope. Lando nods. Oscar works on tying up the rope around the cow’s head to the fence. Either he or George will need to be the one to pull the trigger, so one of them will need a free hand. The cow bellows weakly. As if she’s reading Oscar’s thoughts and weighing in her two cents. “I know, girl.” Oscar says, his chest tightening slightly.

“It seems confused.” Lando says. He’s looking into the cow's dark eyes.

“Well, she’s in shock. She probably is confused,” Oscar says with a grunt as he locks his knot on the rusted fencing, “but that’s a good thing.”

“Yeah?” Lando asks, his eyes much more focused than when Oscar found him.

“It is, yeah. It’s better that she’s not panicking. She probably doesn’t feel much pain right now.”

It’s not particularly warm out, but Oscar lifts his hat and wipes the sweat from his brow. George rounds the corner of the processing pens, a cloud of dust in the wake of his four-wheeler.

George slams the bike into park, and kills the engine. Oscar shakes his head at the sight of him. He’s got the twenty-two strapped to his chest, a rope in hand, and some ridiculously fashionable sunglasses pushed up into his hair. Even still, Oscar is glad he’s here.

Lando opens the gate to let George in the pen so he can get a better look.

“Oh shit that’s bad.” George says, adjusting his rope and prepping his loop.

Oscar nods, “it is.”

“Okay, we’ll need Max to get the tractor. I’ll put the rope on her hind legs. Does that work for you?” George asks, putting his rope in one hand to pull the twenty-two off his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Oscar reaches out and takes the gun from George. His hands don’t shake even though his stomach drops. No matter how many times Oscar has had to put an animal down, it’s never gotten easier. He looks over to Lando, frozen by the gate, face pale again. Oscar feels the urge to get Lando away—to keep him from witnessing more. “Hey, Lando,” Oscar starts, “Why don’t you go to the shop and tell Max we need him to bring the tractor?”

“Yeah, okay.” Lando nods, and turns around quickly. He doesn’t look back.

George raises his eyebrows at Oscar.

“He looked really pale. I didn’t want him to pass out.” Oscar says quietly. George gives Oscar one last look before adjusting his rope again.

It’s over very quickly.

“It was the right thing to do.” George says as they’re loosening their ropes.

“I know.” Oscar says. Because he does. Even though the power of taking a life has never sat well with him, he knows it was right to end the animal’s suffering.

“Did Lando find her?” George asks.

“Yeah. I was meeting him over here to show him how to make the fodder. He said she was caught up in the gate over there,” Oscar gestures to the gate on the far side of the pen, sagging lower on its hinges than it should. George walks over and starts inspecting the gate.

“Was it latched like this when you got here?” George asks.

Oscar shakes his head a little. “I honestly wasn’t really focused on the gate, mate.”

“Right. Well, the chain’s not latched correctly.” George sounds matter of fact. Oscar can tell he’s just finding reason in a really shitty situation. It will probably make George feel better to remind everyone how to lock the gates properly. Oscar knows it was probably just a freak accident, that it only happened simply because there was a chance that it could.

“Oscar, do you copy?” Lando calls over the radio.

“Go ahead,” Oscar replies. George relatches the gate, pulling it as tight as it will go on bent hinges.

“Max says he’ll bring the tractor over in 10 minutes.”

“Ten-Four.” Oscar clips his radio back on his belt.

“I’ll have Max come fix this gate and check the others.” George says finally leaving the gate alone. He steps over a dark red patch on the ground, walking back towards Oscar.

“Great. I think I’m going to do a quick pasture check on the rest of the herd. I’ll take Lando with me to feed and then finish showing him the fodder.” Oscar says. He doesn’t really have time to do a full herd check today, but it might help settle the churning in his stomach. He and Lando will definitely be working late today.

“Are you just going to take the four wheelers?” George asks.

“Yeah, we’ll just hook up the hay cart.”

George nods, strapping the twenty two back on his chest. “Okay, give me a call if anything else comes up. I’ll try and catch Max and Alex and fill them in.”

Oscar nods appreciatively, and when George disappears around the corner of the barn, Oscar kneels beside the cow and lays a hand on her shoulder. He really hopes he was right when he told Lando she wasn’t in much pain.

----------

Lando had only been working at the ranch for a couple of weeks. He had very little experience with livestock and horses, but, despite his tendency to race the four-wheelers around the ranch and his light hearted nature, he was a genuinely hard worker. He became friends with literally everyone on the ranch in a matter of days, and Oscar had even caught himself looking forward to being scheduled to work with Lando.

Oscar currently has a death grip on the rack of the four wheeler. He’s not sure why he decided to let Lando be the one to drive them out the back field. George hates it when he catches any of the team riding double on the quads, but it was definitely the most efficient way to get places on the ranch with two people. Plus Lando didn’t have his own quad yet.

The winter sun dips below the hills on the Southwest side of the ranch. As they drive through the valley, hay cart rattling loudly behind them, Oscar can feel the cold start to seep in from the shadows. The hills to the North are still bathed in golden light. Oscar closes his eyes for a second, allowing the wind and chill in the air to raise goosebumps on his arms.

As they approach the back field, the cows, familiar with the rattle of the hay cart, have already started to gather around the feeders. Oscar’s eyes begin scanning the hillside, looking for any signs of distress.

“Go ahead and stop here,” Oscar says loudly over the quad. Lando pulls to the side and parks.

“I’ll just start throwing hay then?” Lando half asks, looking toward Oscar to confirm, but Lando’s already opened his knife, ready to cut the baling twine.

“Yeah, I’ll check the water and start doing a headcount.” Oscar says, walking towards the gate. Lando nods, and cuts the bales open. When Oscar reaches the gate to the pasture, he glances up for a second. Lando has nearly a half bale of hay balanced in his open palm and against his shoulder. His bicep is straining, but he otherwise does not seem phased. Oscar’s fingers fumble with the chain of the gate.

The herd seems to be in good shape. As far as Oscar can tell, none of the other cows are seriously injured. He’ll need to rotate the herd to a new pasture soon, but for this week there’s plenty of grass. He checks their water, and makes sure the trough’s valve is completely open. Oscar quickly scans the fenceline, looking for any place where the wire sags, but the fence is taught and safe. It eases the pressure in Oscar’s chest.

Lando finished throwing the hay a few minutes ago, and Oscar can see he’s now knelt down by the quad messing with something on the hitch. Oscar makes his way back down to where they parked the four wheeler, double checking the chain before he leaves.

Lando doesn’t get up from his kneeling position, but he must hear Oscar approaching because he says, “There’s a lot of play with the hitch here.” Lando looks up at Oscar then, making sure Oscar could see what he was talking about. “We’re lucky we didn’t lose the cart. Maybe I can tighten this up in the shop.”

“Yeah good catch,” Oscar says, a little frustrated with himself for not noticing it sooner. He’s usually really good at reporting these things to George and Max.

Lando nods, “Here you can drive back. I’ll watch the cart.” He hops on the back of the four-wheeler facing the cart.

“Okay,” Oscar says, resisting the urge to shake his head. They didn’t lose the cart when it was full of hay, and they probably won’t lose it empty, but he indulges Lando anyway. Who is he to shame him for putting safety first?

The sun has fully dipped below the hillside, and the cool air and ocean breeze are chilling Oscar to the bone. He can feel Lando shiver behind him. There’s barely an inch of space between their backs. Oscar shifts, just a little bit, closing the distance so their backs are pressed together. Lando doesn’t move away. Oscar relishes the warmth silently.

Most of their coworkers’ cars are gone by the time they get back to ranch central. It’s well past the end of their shift, but Oscar still needs to make sure the fodder is made for tomorrow. He’ll probably tell Lando to go home and just finish it himself. It will be faster that way anyway.

“I still need to finish up the fodder. You can go ahead and clock out though. I’ll show you another day.” Oscar says after they park the quad by the shop. Lando looks at him for a long moment, studying him.

“I don’t mind learning it today, but if I’ll slow you down, I can leave.” He says after a moment. Oscar considers this, and considers the fact that Lando seemingly just read his mind.

“Well, I’m going to try to do it quickly, but a second pair of hands would help.”

“Alright, I’ll stay.”

And, damn . Oscar’s not even sure he would’ve stayed if he didn’t have to. Lando may mess around with the guys a lot, and he may have nearly passed out at the sight of blood today, but no one could question the guy’s work ethic.

“Alright.”

----------

The Cypress house is a small sleepy house tucked just off the road lined by ancient cypress trees. Its roof sags with moss, but inside it’s buzzing with energy. When Oscar and Lando tumble through the doors well after dark, the usual chaos greets them.

George is cleaning up the kitchen, a damp rag in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. Alex is seated on one of the kitchen counters, phone in hand, probably driving Geroge crazy. Charles and Carlos are sitting at the table, a game of chess between them. Carlos’ shoulders are slumped and he’s leaning forward. Oscar can tell without even looking at the board that Charles is winning. Alex looks up from his phone when he hears Lando and Oscar come in.

“Finally. George was about to make us all go searching for you guys.” Alex says, his tone is teasing, but Oscar can hear the relief in his voice. He doesn’t doubt George would have come searching for them.

“I was only going to radio you guys.” George explains, setting his glass down to brush some crumbs into his hand.

“We’re all good. Just got a little bit behind with the cow and everything.” Oscar explains.

“See, George? They’re fine. Oscar would have called if he needed help.” Alex taunts from his perch on the counter, but he shoots Oscar a sympathetic look.

“I know. I know, but someone has to be responsible. Also I don’t want Lewis on my case about all the overtime again.”

“This is the only ranch I’ve worked at that has HR.” Lando pipes up from behind Oscar, both boys still toeing off their boots and hanging their jackets.

“Lewis is only looking out for us and the ranch,” George defends. Oscar resists the urge to shake his head.

“Kiss ass,” Lando says under his breath. Only Oscar hears him, and despite himself, he grins a little. He looks back over his shoulder, and catches Lando’s eyes. The corner of Lando’s mouth lifts in a little smirk. Oscar does shake his head then.

“Well there’s leftovers in the fridge for you guys,” George says, tossing his rag over his shoulder. Oscar doesn’t need to be told twice. He makes his way over to the refrigerator.

“Who cooked tonight?” Oscar asks, not that it really matters tonight. Charles or Max could have cooked and Oscar wouldn’t have even batted an eye.

“Alex cooked. Hence the refusal to help clean.” George says pointedly looking at Alex.

“Hey at least I contributed! Besides,” Alex says, “I’m keeping you company. Max had to go to town, and those two haven’t done anything besides play chess for the past week.” He gestures to Charles and Carlos at the table.

“Fuck off,” Charles says but there’s no heat behind it.

While Oscar busies himself piling the leftovers onto two plates, Lando wanders over to the kitchen table. He drapes himself across Carlos’s back and hooks his chin over Carlos’s shoulder.

“Who’s winning?” He asks. Carlos doesn’t react to Lando’s presence, still leaning forward and studying the board. Oscar imagines doing the same thing to Carlos. He’s pretty sure Carlos would shrug him off and ask if he’s ill. He might punch Oscar as well.

“I am,” Charles says confidently.

“It’s not over yet, cabrón,” Carlos says, but the furrow in his brow is definitely saying otherwise. Charles just shakes his head, confident smirk never leaving his face.

“Come on, Carlitos,” Lando taunts, pushing even farther into Carlos’ personal space. “You’re never going to beat him.”

Lando’s comment finally pulls Carlos from his focus. In one swift motion he tosses his arm around Lando, and pulls him into a headlock. Lando squeals as he half heartedly tries to fight back. George and Alex shake their heads, but smile and watch as if this is the evening entertainment.

“Ah, I like this kid,” Charles says to the room, and reaches out to steady the board on the table so Lando and Carlos don’t knock it over.

“Here,” Oscar says as he slides a plate of reheated food across the table for Lando. Oscar takes his own plate, and sits down next to Charles. Away from the weird wrestling match on the other side of the table.

“Thanks, mate,” Lando says, but it’s muffled against Carlos’ chest. Carlos gives him one last crushing squeeze then ruffles his hair and lets him go. Lando’s face is red and his hair is sticking up in every direction. Oscar’s stomach flips over.

Carlos gives Oscar a funny look then, raising one eyebrow. Oscar’s not sure why, but his face flushes. Whatever, he thinks and focuses on shoveling as much food as possible into his mouth.

The evening devolves into their normal routine from there. Oscar and George are the first ones to excuse themselves and head to bed, though the others are not far behind. They may be a rowdy, rag tag group of people, but they all work hard. The house is usually quiet by nine PM.

----------

Oscar wakes in a damp sweat. He’s not really hot, but his shirt is soaked through. The memory of the cow’s lifeless eyes, vivid in his mind. It’s not a nightmare; he doesn’t feel scared or upset. It’s like his mind is just sorting the events of the day. His brain replaying one memory that isn’t sitting right. Like it’s not sure how to categorize it.

Oscar knows he did the right thing, but he also knows it was equally, terribly wrong. So he’s stuck with a gruesome image behind his eyes. He blinks into the darkness a few times, hoping to erase the image.

It doesn’t work. But a stirring from the other side of the room redirects Oscar’s attention. Oscar glances over to Lando’s side of the room. Lando has his back turned to Oscar, but there’s a faint glow illuminating his face from the other side.

Oscar glances at his phone on the bedside. It’s two thirty in the morning.

Since Lando is awake, Oscar decides he won’t bother the other man if he changes his shirt. Oscar throws back the covers and walks over to the dresser. When Oscar opens the drawer, Lando turns over so fast his phone clatters to the floor in the process.

“Jesus!” Lando whisper yells, clearly startled.

“Sorry,” Oscar whispers back, a little startled himself.

“I didn’t realize you were awake,” Lando says, leaning down to pick his phone up off the floor. The blankets fall away from his bare shoulders. In the dim lighting, Lando’s shoulders look strong, muscular.

“I—” Oscar starts, but Lando cuts him off.

“Shit, did I wake you?”

“No, I was awake.”

“Oh,” Lando says, relieved. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Something like that.” Oscar mumbles, a shiver running up his spine. He quickly pulls his cold, damp shirt over his head and allows it to fall to the floor. He pulls another undershirt out, and catches Lando looking at him from the corner of his eye. “I got sweaty,” Oscar offers, a quiet explanation for why he’s stripping his clothes off at nearly three in the morning. He can still feel Lando’s eyes on him, and he has to focus on how to actually put his shirt on.

“Mate, it’s freezing in here,” Lando says, blankets now pulled back over his shoulders and tucked under his chin. Oscar can’t tell if he’s concerned or just stating a fact. So he just shrugs, pulling the fresh shirt over his head.

“What about you?” Oscar asks as he climbs back into bed. He pulls the covers up under his chin like his roommate has. His muscles feel tight and stiff with cold.

“Huh?”

“Why are you up?”

“Oh… Same as you, I guess. Can’t sleep.” Lando says, and Oscar can’t really make out his features from across the room. “It’s fucking annoying though. I’m tired as shit, but my brain won’t turn off.”

“I get it,” Oscar says, “I hate it when that happens.” Oscar is no stranger to being bone tired, but having his mind whirring around with things he still needs to do. He once drove back to the barn at two in the morning to double check that he had latched the stall doors properly.

“I just think a lot.” Lando says into the quiet of the room.

“I can tell.”

Oscar’s quiet admittance probably says more about himself than he intended to share. But it’s late and he can’t be held responsible for noticing. Especially noticing Lando. Lando’s hard to miss.

Lando yawns loudly from across the room, “Let’s get some sleep, Osc.”

Osc.

His mum calls him Osc.

“Yeah. Goodnight,” Oscar says through a yawn.

“Night.”

----------

Oscar is not a morning person. Which is really a shame considering he works in an industry where being a morning person is basically a job requirement. Oscar is especially not a morning person when he gets a call on the radio from Max, before seven in the morning, explaining that the hay shipment is arriving early and they needed to restack the hay barn first thing this morning.

Oscar normally starts a little early, almost everyone does. Which is why he’s not entirely shocked to find Lando already in the hay barn nursing a cup of coffee, but he is a little bit surprised. He catches on quickly , Oscar thinks.

Oscar can’t even muster a ‘good morning’ when Lando looks up at him, but he tips his head in a little nod.

Lando takes a sip from his mug, and in a rough voice asks, “Max found you too?”

“Yeah,” Oscar’s voice comes out tired, “I guess we’ve got to restack these piles so they can get the new hay in over here.”

“And it can’t be done with, like, a forklift or something?” Lando asks, he seems just as thrilled about this as Oscar is.

“No.That corner is too tight, and the pile over here is too messy.” Oscar gestures to the last of their timothy shipment. It’s going to take them the better part of the morning to get this done. He’s definitely going to complain to Geroge about the guys not keeping the hay barn neat enough. He’ll frame it as a safety risk. George will be all over it. “Have you ever used hooks?” Oscar asks.

“No,” Lando answers honestly.

“That’s alright. We’ll throw down the top of that stack, and then restack over on the right side by the straw.”

“Okay,” Lando says. He seems more awake.

“You’ll probably want gloves,” Oscar says, and pulls his own gloves out of his pocket.

“Let me go get some, and I’ll set this down,” Lando says, holding up his mug. Oscar just nods, already thinking of the most efficient way to get this done.

When Lando comes back, Oscar has already tossed his jacket aside and started climbing to the top. It’s barely light out, and the heavy fog keeps the chill in the air, but Oscar knows in five minutes he’s going to be sweating. Lando pulls his gloves on, and begins climbing the stack of hay to join Oscar.

“Okay, we’ll throw down from here, and once we get to three or four bales high, we’ll finish on the ground.” Oscar says when Lando joins him at the top of the stack.

“Okay,” Lando says, and starts grabbing the first bale.

“Just—” Oscar starts, and Lando pauses and looks at him. Waiting. Oscar wonders how long he could keep him waiting. “Be careful,” he says at last. “Go slowly for this part. It’s not worth the risk.”

Lando looks at him for a moment, then nods.

They work in silence, throwing bale after bale to the ground. Oscar’s shoulders start to burn after twenty minutes. But not for the first time in the last couple of weeks, Oscar is glad it’s Lando he’s working with. They step smoothly around each other, and before he knows it they’re stepping down to start rebuilding on the other side of the barn.

“Okay,” Oscar says, pausing just for a minute to catch his breath. The hay barn looks like chaos, and they’re no where close to being done, but it wasn’t that bad so far. He can feel the sweat dripping down his back, he may have to change his shirt during his lunch break. Lando hasn’t said anything, so Oscar looks over at him. Lando is already looking at him, but not quite meeting his eyes. Oscar feels a bead of sweat drip down his cheek. Lando shakes his head slightly and swallows.

“Now the hard part,” he says.

“Now for the hard part.” Oscar confirms.

Oscar lifts his hat and wipes his face with the back of his gloved hand. Lando dusts his hands off on his jeans, then reaches down to grab the first bale. Oscar grabs the hooks and follows suit.

The rebuild process is less seamless than throwing down the first pile. Oscar thinks manual labor was probably invented to breed frustration. There’s no rage like the one Oscar feels when his muscles are aching, and he can’t quite communicate what he needs the other person to do. Lando’s not doing anything wrong, really, but only one of them being able to use hay hooks is starting to become a limiting factor.

“Mate, how are you not burning up?” Oscar sort of snaps after it takes Lando more than one try to get the bale up to the first tier they built. Oscar feels a little bad for snapping, but it’s not the worst thing he’s blurted out in frustration.

“Huh?” Lando doesn’t seem to notice the change in Oscar’s voice. Oblivious to the subtle shift in Oscar’s demeanor.

“How are you still in a sweatshirt?” Oscar asks, his voice softer this time.

“I was cold, and then I just didn’t want to stop moving I guess.” Lando shrugs, and then he’s pulling off his gloves. Next he pulls his sweatshirt over his head, his black t-shirt riding up to reveal tanned skin. Oscar swallows hard. He checks his watch, just to have something else to look at.

It’s not even eight in the morning yet. They’re moving a lot faster than Oscar thought they would.

“Do you—” Oscar looks at Lando, forcing his eyes to stay on the other man’s face. He clears his throat a little. “Do you want to learn to use the hooks?” Oscar tries again.

“Will that be faster?” Lando asks.

“Maybe,” Oscar answers honestly. “It’s a good thing to know anyway.”

“Okay.”

Lando picks it up quickly. He’s not quite as deft as Oscar is, but it definitely helps speed things along. It only takes them an hour and a half from start to finish. Which might be some sort of record as far as Oscar is concerned. Oscar didn’t even have to ask Lando to help sweep. He just hung his hooks and grabbed the broom.

“Holy shit,” Max says from the doorway. Oscar and Lando pause their sweeping to look at Max. “Mate, I was coming to help, but clearly you guys don’t need it.” Max says to Oscar.

Oscar can’t help the satisfied smirk that plays on his lips.

“Osc taught me to use the hooks.” Lando says, leaning against his push broom for support.

“Osc?” Max says back to Lando. His tone is questioning and sort of teasing.

“That’s my nickname.” Lando smiles. Max looks at him a second longer, then turns to Oscar.

“Well I was coming to help. Shipment should be here in 15 minutes.”

“We’ll be done in five minutes.” Oscar says, the satisfaction still clearly written all over his face. It’s just stacks of hay, but Oscar feels oddly proud of it. His muscles on the other hand, are probably going to be screaming for the next seven days.

“I can see that,” Max says. “Remind me to call you on the radio more often.”

Oscar nods in response, and starts sweeping again. Max turns and heads back over to the shop.

“I hope he doesn’t call us again,” Lando says before starting to sweep again. “My arms feel like jelly.”

“Mine too.” Oscar laughs.

----------

When Oscar gets back to the Cypress house later that night, all the guys are gathered around the kitchen table. Shoes on.

“Oscar’s here!” Lando is the first person to acknowledge him, but as soon as Lando says his name Geroge, Alex, and Carlos all stand up. Max and Charles also begin moving to get up.

“What’s going on?” Oscar asks suspiciously.

“We’re going to get tacos.” Lando says like it should have been common knowledge. Oscar pauses in the middle of taking off his boots. He could really use a shower. He never made it back to the house for lunch to change his shirt. He can smell himself, and he’s sure he looks a mess.

“Oh, I think I’ll pass this time.” Oscar says politely.

“Nope.” Lando says, popping the ‘p.’ “It’s team bonding, right George?”

“Sure whatever,” George says, grabbing the truck keys from their entryway hooks. “Max, can you drive as well?”

“Yes, but I’m taking the blue truck.” Max says.

“Fine, whatever, we just won’t all fit in the silver one.” George explains exasperatedly.

And before Oscar can protest further, he’s being shoved back out of the doorway and pushed into the back of the ranch truck between Carlos and Lando.

“Mate,” Carlos says, turning to Oscar, “you smell.”

“Great, thank you, Carlos.” Oscar deadpans. He crosses his arms over his chest. Oscar is pretty pissed off actually. He’s exhausted, and he just wanted to shower and go to bed. Now he’s crammed between Lando and Carlos, and being reminded that he hasn’t had a chance to shower today. “Also,” Oscar begins, his tone sharp enough that George checks the rearview mirror like he’s Oscar’s parent, “I didn’t have a chance to grab my wallet. So one of you guys will be paying for my dinner.”

“I’ll buy your dinner, Osc.” Lando says, his tone sickly sweet.

“Good.” Oscar huffs at the same time Carlos mutters ‘ Osc? ’ in confusion.

“Nah,” Alex pipes up from the front seat, “I heard Oscar stacked the hay like shit today. Doesn’t deserve it.”

“I’d like to see you do it better,” Oscar challenges, but he keeps his tone bored. He knows they’re just taking the piss out of him, but god he feels like he’s about to snap. Maybe if he appears unbothered they’ll leave him alone. That’s his usual strategy.

“No, Alex is right, it looked a mess in there.” George joins in with his mock-manager voice, and Oscar is barely keeping his face from revealing just how frustrated he is.

“Yeah,” Lando continues, and Oscar sighs in defeat. Lando isn’t missing the opportunity to talk shit about him either. “This guy,” Lando gestures to Oscar, “Can’t even use hay hooks properly.”

“Oh yeah? What happened to buying my dinner?” Oscar asks, his tone still bored. Uninterested.

“I heard Lando did all the work.” Carlos says, and Oscar decides he hates all of them.

By the time they make it to the taqueria, Oscar’s face is flushed from all the teasing. “I’m riding back with Max and Charles,” Oscar states as soon as they all tumble out of the truck.

“Mon cœur, what have they done to you!” Charles says, opening his arms. Normally Oscar isn’t touchy or needy. But Carlos and Lando are still laughing at his expense, and George and Alex are fueling the fire. So he accepts Charles’ open embrace and throws his arm around Charles for good measure.

“Nothing,” Oscar says, keeping his voice innocent and level, “You’re just my favorite horseman.”

“Awh, tu es mon préféré,” Charles turns up the charm, and Oscar is relieved. He’s glad to have an ally now. He looks back, and George, Alex, and Carlos are all continuing like normal. Lando, however, is watching Charles and Oscar. This is probably the first time he’s seen Charles and Oscar act like this. It makes a small part of Oscar smug.

“How come you’re only sweet to Oscar?” Max asks, continuing the bit. Lando still looks confused, and Oscar wants to giggle. He doesn’t. Just tries to keep the innocent look on his face.

“Because this is how it is. Oscar is always nice to me.” Charles states matter of factly. Charles leads them over to the entrance of the restaurant, his arm only leaving Oscar’s shoulders when they open the door. The others all follow in suit.

From the outside the taqueria doesn’t look like it would be any good. It’s a tiny restaurant inside of a gas station, but it’s warm and always packed with locals. Oscar remembers the disbelief he felt when he first ate there. He’s not sure he’s ever had better tacos. They also frequent the taqueria enough that the owner knows Lewis and always gives them extra chips.

Oscar feels about a hundred times better by the time he finishes his food. He’ll never admit it, but the tacos hit the spot perfectly. Oscar will also never admit that nights like these are what he lives for. The conversation flows easily, even if it is mostly about work and the upcoming lambing and kidding season.

Lando fits in, Oscar notices. He sort of can’t picture what it was like without Lando here. He notices the way Carlos and Max gravitate towards him, and the way he lets George and Alex mock and tease him. Oscar gets a funny feeling in his chest as he sits back and observes his crew. It’s a good group of people. Maybe the best he’s worked with.

Oscar is also the only one who notices Lando get up, head to the counter, and pay for their entire meal. The rest of the guys are busy chatting and rambling. Oscar really didn’t have time to grab his wallet before they basically threw him in the truck, but even though Lando offered to pay for him, Oscar was sort of expecting Geroge or Charles to cover for him. And he certainly wasn’t expecting Lando to quietly cover for all of them.

Oscar files that information away. The feeling in his chest gets more intense.

“Were we too mean earlier?” Lando asks when they’re back in their shared room. Oscar really did ride back with Max and Charles. He had a point to prove after all.

“What?”

“We were all joking,” Lando explains, and the genuine concern in his voice makes Oscar smile a little.

“I know,” Oscar says, there’s still a little smile tugging at his lips. “I was just starving and exhausted.”

“Good,” Lando says, “Because it’s really fun to make fun of you.”

Oscar’s not sure that’s a good thing. He’s not sure if feeling warm and fuzzy because it's Lando saying it is a good thing either.

----------

“Merde,” Charles says under his breath, “we need Alex.” Inside the barn the rain doesn’t sound that intense, but it’s the type of rain that soaks the ground in minutes and doesn’t let up.

“Alex isn’t in today. The flu or something.” Oscar explains, wiping the water from his face.

“ Merde !” Charles says a lot louder, and Oscar understands the sentiment. When Charles called Oscar on the radio, Oscar could hear the panic in his voice. He was out in the hills moving cattle with George when Charles’ garbled radio came through. It took him a good twenty minutes to get back to the goat barn, and by the time he got there, there were eight kids on the ground and three more goats in labor.

“It’s the storm,” Oscar says just to say something. He’s not great with the sheep and goats. That’s Alex’s department. But he’ll be damned if he and Charles aren’t going to try to keep all these kids alive. “The increase in cortisol makes them all go into labor.”

“I know. When I came in here there was only one set of twins on the ground, and now look,” Charles gestures to the barn aisle. It’s a mess. All the goats are all inside seeking shelter from the rain, and there’s blood and after birth and tiny slimy kids in literally every corner.

“What does Carlos have today?” Oscar asks, trying to keep his voice calm. He doesn't want to stress Charles out more. They need to get goats that aren’t in labor out of the barn, but there’s no shelter out in their pasture and the storm is only supposed to get worse. They need more hands.

“He can’t,” Charles shakes his head, the panic in his voice evident. “He’s got to do the stalls and feed the horses today. Ollie and Kimi are out sick too. I was just coming here to check on them.”

“Fuck.” Oscar says.

“Fuck.” Charles echos.

Oscar unclips his radio, and takes a deep breath trying to keep his voice even, “Lando, do you copy?”

“Yup, go ahead,” Lando answers.

“Hey, I need you to get the tents from the east garage. We need to move the goats to the pasture at the end of the arena.”

“Okay…” Lando sounds confused. Oscar waits until the light on his radio turns off indicating that Lando isn’t trying to speak anymore.

“Hey Max, do you copy?” Oscar is thankful his voice is coming out more calm and slow than he feels. Oscar waits a few seconds and then a few more, but he doesn’t get an answer. The rain carries on outside. “Max,” he tries again, a little louder, “Do you copy?”

“I think he’s mad at George.” Charles says. He’s on his knees by one of the newly born kids, trying to wipe the small creature clean.

Oscar shakes his head, because what else is new? He could at least carry his radio even if he was going to ignore George.

“Hey Lando,” Oscar tries for a different approach.

“G’ahead,” Lando answers immediately. Oscar could hug him.

“Hey can you stop by the shop, and tell Max to meet us by the goat barn?”

“Will do.”

“Thanks,” Oscar says, silently thanking the universe that Max actually likes Lando. And, once Max sees it’s Charles that needs the help, the work will be done in no time. Oscar’s glad he’s never gotten on Max’s bad side.

“Okay,” Oscar says, “Let’s get the does and babies into the stalls. Once Lando and Max are done setting up the tents up we can get the rest of these girls out.”

When Max finally makes his way over to the barn, Oscar doesn’t blame him for the look of utter shock and distaste he gives them. They’re a sight. Charles has two screaming kids wrapped in a towel. Just behind him, Oscar has a doe by the horns. He’s trying to get her to follow her babies into the stall without losing his grip.

“Help.” Charles says to Max between the cries of the kids he’s holding.

“Jesus, fuck. Where’s Alex?” Max says, tearing his eyes away from Oscar and Charles to take in the rest of the chaos.

“He’s sick.” Oscar explains, adjusting his hold on the goat’s horns. He doesn't want to have to try and catch her again. Stubborn thing.

“Fuck,” Max says again. “What about George?”

“I left him to move the cows by himself. Do you—” Oscar pauses as he pulls the doe into the stall and closes the door. “Do you think you can show Lando how to set the tents up at the end of the arena?” Oscar asks at last. Charles sets the kids down, and moves to stand next to Oscar.

“We also need the heat lamps and the extension cords.” Charles adds.

“We’re going to need to clean this barn as well,” Oscar says, more to himself than Max. He wipes his hand across his brow and tries not to think about how dirty his hands are and how much they have to do.

“Lando and I will get the tents set up, and I’ll grab the lamps and cords from the shop.” Max says.

“Thanks, Max.” Charles breathes out. At least they have some help. Max nods, and mutters ‘fucking goats’ under his breath as he turns to leave.

Oscar and Charles get back to work sorting the newly born kids and their moms into the stalls. It’s slow, dirty work. Oscar is sweating underneath his rain gear and his hair is damp and matted to his head. So far, only one of the kids isn’t doing well. Which, honestly, is not a bad percentage considering there are now a dozen newborn goats on the ground and more on the way. Charles is trying to make sure all the kids have nursed, and Oscar is tasked with trying to dry and warm the smallest kid. It’s alive, but barely. They need the heating lamps soon.

Oscar hears the barn doors being pulled open, “Oscar?” Lando calls.

“He’s in the last stall,” Charles answers for him. Oscar hears the tell tale shuffling noise of someone walking down the barn in their rain gear.

“Hey,” Lando says as he appears over the stall door. His jacket is shiny and wet, and his curls are dripping underneath his hood.

“Hey,” Oscar says. He’s sitting against the back wall of the stall, the tiny goat wrapped in a towel against his chest. Her breathing is weak and shallow, and her fur is still slick from birth.

“We got the tents set up and Max is bringing the other stuff now.”

“Great,” Oscar says, and he can’t help the exhaustion from seeping into his voice.

“Anything I can help?” Lando asks.

“Yeah. Come in here,” Oscar says, lifting the tiny goat in his arms so Lando can see. Lando gets the memo and steps inside the stall. He pushes his hood off, and shakes the water from his curls. Like a dog, Oscar thinks fondly. His eyes linger on Lando’s damp curls as Lando kneels down beside him.

“Here,” Oscar says, handing the bundle of towel and goat to Lando. Lando just looks at Oscar with wide eyes. “Just try to keep drying her off so she warms up. You can try to give her some of that milk in the syringe over there. Like this,” Oscar puts his thumb and forefinger on the little goat’s chin and gently places the syringe in her mouth. She’s not suckling like she should, so he only pushes a small amount into her mouth. She lets out a tiny cry and the milk bubbles out of the corners of her mouth. “That’s okay,” Oscar says. “I think she just needs to warm up more, and then maybe she’ll drink.”

Lando nods and clumsily pats the tiny brown animal with the corner of the towel. “Like this?” Lando asks, his voice soft and eyes still wide and terrified.

“Y-yeah,” Oscar’s voice comes out a little broken. Lando’s hands look enormous holding the newly born goat. And he’s being so careful. Oscar feels bad leaving them, but he needs to get the rest of the goats out so he can get the barn clean and dry. It takes more effort than it should, but Oscar moves to stand up.

“Charles,” Oscar calls. “I’m going to get the rest of these girls out. How many are still in labor?”

“There’s two in the stall up here,” Charles answers from somewhere in the barn.

“Okay. Are you alright if I’m gone for a few minutes? Lando’s here keeping that tiny brown one warm.”

“Yes, yes. Go.”

Oscar pulls the zipper of his raincoat up to his chin. He makes quick work of pushing the rest of the goats out of the barn. Sure enough, the tents are set up and secured, and the goats find the shelter immediately. Smart girls, Oscar thinks. He quickly checks the water trough in the pasture making sure it’s turned on and the float is working. He checks the gate at the far end of the pasture for good measure.

By the time Oscar gets back to the barn, Max is setting up the extension cords for the heat lamps. Charles has already started to rake the straw in the barn aisle to the center.

“Just make sure to keep the connections away from the straw,” Oscar says instinctively to Max, and he wishes he could eat his words when Max levels him with a look.

“You sound like George,” Max snaps.

“Mate, the last thing we need right now is a barn fire.” Oscar reasons. They’re all wet and tired and Oscar knows Max hates to be micromanaged. Max rolls his eyes, but he checks the cords anyway.

Oscar and Charles work to rake the straw to the center of the barn aisle and pile the soiled straw onto the manure carts. Max drives the carts to dump them at the manure pile, complaining and cursing under his breath the whole time, but resolutely returning with an empty cart ready to take the next load. Outside the sky grows darker and darker and the ground becomes more and more saturated as the rain continues on. Carlos drops off a few fresh bales of hay and some water buckets. When George gets back from moving cattle, he stops by and starts cataloging the tag numbers of the does for Alex.

Only when Charles leaves to help Carlos, and Max had long since disappeared, and the only sound in the goat barn is the rain and quiet rustle of animals on clean straw, does Oscar feel his chest loosen a little bit.

Oscar almost forgets about Lando and the tiny, freezing kid. Almost.

“How are we doing in here?” Oscar asks quietly, leaning against the stall door. Lando is sitting cross-legged against the wall in the red glow of a heat lamp Max set up. His rain jacket sits abandoned to the side, piled with his radio and a dirty towel. He’s cradling the goat against his chest, his large hands impossibly tender.

“Not so good,” Lando says, looking up at Oscar. His eyes are unreadable. Oscar’s stomach drops, he was hoping the heat lamp would help.

Oscar takes off his own rain jacket, and lets it drop to the ground next to Lando’s. He slides down the wall and sits.

“Let me see,” He says gently, reaching over to take the small creature from Lando’s arms. She’s still breathing , Oscar notices right away. He says as much to Lando. “She’s still breathing.”

“Yeah, but she won’t eat. And she just seems…” Lando pauses, trying to find his words.

“Lethargic?” Oscar offers.

“Yeah.”

Oscar nods, trying to draw up all the experience he has working with goats. Alex taught him most of what he knows.

“Here,” Oscar hands the little chestnut goat back to Lando, “I’m going to get more milk from the doe. We’ll take her temperature and try to get her to eat, and if that doesn’t work I’ll call Alex.”

“Okay,” Lando says, cradling the goat against his chest again. She lets out a tiny cry. Good , Oscar thinks, she’s still fighting.

Oscar is grateful the doe lets him catch her easily. His arms and knees are aching, but he kneels down and begins filling the bottle with fresh milk. He doesn’t need much.

“Here,” Oscar says, kneeling down in front of Lando and the baby goat. Lando holds her out, and Oscar carefully pries her mouth open. She chews idly on the rubber nipple instead of drinking. Oscar pulls the bottle away and puts his pinky finger in her mouth, trying to see if she’s suckling at all. He’s encouraged when she begins to suck weakly. “She’s trying,” he tells Lando, replacing his finger with the bottle. She swallows. Twice. Oscar lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, and his head falls forward in relief.

When Oscar looks up, Lando is looking at him, their faces inches away. The red light is making Lando’s features more defined. Oscar can see the hope in his eyes.

The little goat chokes and coughs, pulling Oscar back to reality. He sits back on his heels and gives her a chance to breathe.

“See if she’ll drink a little more,” Oscar says, handing the bottle to Lando. “I’m going to get a thermometer.”

Oscar stands with a groan, and makes his way back to the storage room. He rummages around in various supply boxes until he finds a thermometer. He pauses for a moment to lean against the shelves, the exhaustion of the day creeping up on him. His forehead falls against the top shelf and he closes his eyes for a moment. His face feels hot. But he takes a breath, and then another, and heads back to Lando.

“Her temp is on the low side, but still normal. We’ll keep her under the heat lamp tonight.” Oscar gently tosses the thermometer towards the pile of rain coats and radios.

“See, it’s all good.” Lando says. Oscar looks over, about to respond, when he realizes Lando isn’t talking to him. “You’re going to be alright, Miami.” He says gently, pulling her into his chest.

“Miami?”

“It’s her name.” Lando explains quietly.

“Why Miami?” Oscar asks.

“Dunno, just... I’ve got a good feeling about her.” Lando shrugs.

“Well, see if Miami will drink more,” Oscar says, a hint of teasing in his tone. He nods to the bottle on the other side of Lando.

Lando grabs the bottle and begins the process of trying to get the tiny stubborn animal to eat. Oscar checks his watch for the first time in what feels like days. It’s nearly eight PM. It’s no wonder Oscar’s body is aching and complaining from where he’s sitting on the straw next to Lando. But the heat lamp is keeping them warm, and the rain sounds like it’s let up a bit.

Miami coughs and chokes between each swallow, but at least she’s drinking. Lando sets the bottle down to give her a break, and readjusts his back against the wall, his shoulder pushing up next to Oscar’s.

Oscar leans into it.

Just a little.

But it’s so warm under the heat lamp, and Miami looks sated and soft in Lando’s arms. Her little chestnut belly rising and falling more rhythmically.

And Oscar must have been really tired, because he wakes up to George throwing open the stall door with a murderous look on his face. Lando stirs next to him, and Oscar becomes acutely aware of Lando’s head on his shoulder.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” George hisses.

“Mmm, what time is it?” Oscar asks, reaching up to rub his eyes. Lando makes a small noise of displeasure and lifts his head from Oscar’s shoulder.

“It’s fucking ten o’clock.” George starts. Oscar’s never been on the receiving end of one of George’s rants, but he knows what’s coming next. “And what?” George gestures to the pile of their radios and jackets, “You don’t charge your radios anymore? Do you know how I realized you never came back to the house? Fucking Max. Max , Oscar—” George stops mid sentence and for the first time since storming into the stall he seems to take in the scene before him. “Is that thing alive?” George asks, more curious than angry now.

Lando looks down at the goat in his arms. Miami lifts her head and lets out a sharp cry.

“Yep.” Lando says.

“Whatever. In any case, Lewis is going to kill me. You both need to get back to the house, and charge your goddamn radios, and please take a fucking—” George stops again, mid rant, and glares at Lando. “This isn’t funny.”

Oscar makes the mistake of looking at Lando. He has his hand over his mouth, eyes crinkled, shoulders shaking. Lando can’t hold his laughter back, and dissolves into a fit of giggles. It makes Oscar laugh too. Miami cries, angry at being jostled from her comfortable perch. And Oscar laughs even harder, folding himself in half and leaning against Lando for support.

“What the fuck is even happening right now?” George says, more to himself than to Oscar and Lando.

Lando nearly has himself composed, but he looks up at George, who is clearly bewildered by their odd behavior, and the laughter starts again. Oscar’s stomach hurts and Lando has tears streaming down his face by the time they actually compose themselves.

“I’m sorry, George.” Oscar says, still gasping for air. “We were just trying to make sure this one was eating. We must have fallen asleep.”

“What’s wrong with it?” George asks.

“Not sure,” Oscar says, the mood in the barn falling back into a more professional tone. “I think she’s just tiny and she was wet and cold for too long. I wasn’t sure she was going to make it.”

“But she’s alright now?” George asks.

“She’s… better,” Oscar muses. “She probably needs to eat again though.” He reaches across Lando to grab the bottle, already planning to give Miami her next feeding.

“Stop.” George says exasperatedly. Oscar freezes. “I will feed it.”

“Miami.” Lando says.

“What?”

“I named her Miami.” Lando says quietly.

“You named the smallest goat I’ve ever seen, Miami?” George asks slowly. Oscar looks at George, silently pleading for him not to push it. They don’t normally name the goats. Let alone a fragile, newly born kid. Oscar is very aware that Miami’s odds are not very promising. But she’s survived this long.

“Yes?” Lando says. It comes out like a question. George looks between Oscar and Lando, and finally shakes his head.

“Whatever. I will feed Miami. And you will both go home. Got it?” George says with his hands on his hips.

“Got it.” Oscar says, “She drank a little more than an ounce earlier. If you could get her to drink two or three ounces, then I can come check on her first thing in the morning.”

“Oscar,” George warns. “You guys go home. I will feed her.”

Lando hands Miami to George when he stands up, but not before giving her a small kiss on her head. Miami cries pitifully, already missing Lando’s comfortable embrace.

Oscar hopes with his whole being that this stupid little goat survives.

----------

The Cypress House is quiet when they get back. They toe off their boots, and set their radios to charge. In the entryway light, Oscar notices the dirt under his fingernails and smears of unknown muck on his arms. Lando’s in no better shape than Oscar. He’s got a piece of straw in his unruly hair, and a smudge of dirt on his cheek.

Oscar reaches out without thinking, and plucks the piece of straw from Lando’s hair. Lando watches him silently, his cheeks pink and chapped from a day’s work.

“Sorry. You had…” Oscar holds up the piece of straw, and Lando nods, still watching Oscar. Oscar clears his throat, “You can shower first.”

“You sure?” Lando asks. They’re standing close. Oscar’s pulse picks up.

“Yeah,” Oscar nods, “I’m going to see what we’ve got in the kitchen.”

“Alright, I’ll be quick,” Lando says, and he disappears down the hall.

Oscar washes his hands in the kitchen sink, cringing as he watches the suds turn brown. He rummages through the refrigerator, pulling out an assortment of leftovers from the week. He’s only gotten a few bites of cold pasta, when Lando appears around the corner.

“Shower’s all yours, Osc,” he says quietly. His towel is wrapped low on his hips. His curls are wet and still dripping. Oscar’s eyes follow a small drop of water rolling down his chest. Oscar sort of wants to trace that bead of water with his fingers. It looks like he took no time to dry off before wandering down the hallway. When his eyes make it back up to Lando’s face, there’s the barest hint of a smirk on Lando’s lips.

Oscar looks away too quickly.

“Thanks,” Oscar says, focusing on the marble kitchen counter, “There’s leftovers here if you want.”

“Thanks,” Lando says, and Oscar all but runs past him.

Oscar turns the shower heat up as high as it will go. He stands under the spray longer than he probably should to soothe his aching muscles, but the exhaustion won’t wash away and he doesn’t want to collapse in the shower. He takes extra care to pat himself dry before heading to his and Lando’s shared room.

Lando is already in bed, but the light is still on. Oscar pulls on a fresh shirt, and hangs his towel on the back of the door.

“Can I turn the light off,” Oscar asks.

“Yeah,” Lando says through a yawn. Oscar flicks the light off, yawning as he climbs into bed.

Their room is dark, and Oscar’s not sure his bed has ever felt more comfortable. His breathing and heart are slow, and he’s just drifting off when Lando stirs on the other side of the room.

“Do you think she’ll make it?” Lando asks in a whisper.

“Hmm?” Oscar’s brain is slow with sleep.

“Miami,” Lando says. “Do you think she’ll survive?”

“I hope she does, Lan.” It’s all Oscar can manage before he’s drifting to sleep.

----------

Falling asleep in the barn with wet clothes on did not do wonders for Oscar’s physical health. He wakes up achy, his skin kind of stings and it’s hard to swallow. He manages to pull himself out of bed. He wants to check on the goat as soon as possible.

Oscar wanders into the kitchen, and hovers around Carlos while he makes his morning coffee. Oscar doesn’t really drink coffee, never has, but a warm drink might help his throat feel better. Oscar pulls a mug from the cabinet, and Carlos raises his eyebrows.

“Don’t mess up my settings,” he says, still eyeing Oscar wearily. Oscar just nods in response. The guys are all used to his silence in the mornings. Most of them know not to speak to him until well after the sun has risen.

Oscar goes about making a cup of coffee. He’s seen Carlos do it a million times, and he figures out which buttons to press easily enough. It tastes like hot dirt, but he chokes down a few swallows. It soothes his throat a little. Carlos watches him the whole time seemingly perplexed.

Oscar nurses his cup of coffee through their morning meeting. Each swallow tastes worse than the one before, but he’s feeling a little more alive than he did when he first woke up. Lando stands next to him, bundled up in about seven layers with two different hoods over his head. George is droning on about carrying and charging their radios. Max is rolling his eyes. Alex is back but he needs to catch up on tagging the new goats. They make a plan to help clean the sheep pens and feed the livestock.

“Alright,” George says, wrapping things up, “There’s a bottle feeding schedule for the kid in the goat barn. There will be four feedings throughout the day and one night feeding. I printed out a spreadsheet and assigned everyone to a couple feedings. Make sure you take a look at it. Any questions about anything?”

“How is little Miami doing?” Lando asks.

“She ate last night. Alex and I will go do her morning feeding right after this.” George says. Lando looks relieved. Carlos and Charles share a puzzled look. Max looks a little disgusted.

“I’ve got—” Oscar’s voice is hoarse and rough. He clears his throat and tries again, “I’ve got to feed the sheep and goats this morning anyway. I can feed Miami this morning.”

There’s a long silence. George, Alex, Max, Carlos, Charles, and Lando all stare at Oscar. Lando pushes both hoods off of his head.

“Are you alright, Oscar?” George asks. He’s got his concerned-parent look on his face.

Oscar nods enthusiastically, trying to be convincing. He is alright. He’s just got a sore throat and his skin feels weird, but otherwise he’s fine.

“Why are you drinking coffee? You never drink coffee.” Carlos points out, squinting his eyes suspiciously.

“Mate,” Max says, “you look awful.”

“Fuck off,” Oscar all but growls. “Are we done here? I need to check on Miami.” Oscar turns to leave. He wants to storm off and never speak to any of his coworkers ever again, but he feels a hand on his elbow.

“Osc…” Lando says, his tone gentle but firm. Lando tugs on his arm, and Oscar, begrudgingly, turns back to face the group. They’re all wearing matching concerned looks. Lando reaches up and places his hand on Oscar’s forehead. Oscar closes his eyes for a moment. Lando’s hand feels cool and comforting against his sensitive skin. “Osc you’re burning up.” Lando says.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll check on her.” Lando says, allowing the hand resting on Oscar’s forehead to slide down to cup Oscar’s cheek before letting it fall away. “You need to go home.”

Oscar shakes his head no. He doesn’t want to go home. He wants to make sure the animals are alright, and he doesn’t want to let his team down.

“We need you more tomorrow, mon cœur,” Charles says, looking equally concerned. “Rest now. We’re alright.”

There’s another long, pregnant pause. They’re all staring at him, eyes wide with worry.

“Fine.” Oscar says at last.

“We’re going to be alright.” George assures him. “Get some rest.”

----------

The day passes in a blur of sweaty naps and silence. As much as he hates to admit it, he needed the rest. Badly. He tries to read at some point, but there’s sweat on his upper lip and he finds it hard to concentrate.

He hears when the others get back from work, and the house is full of noise and footsteps down the hall again. Oscar finds it more peaceful than the silence. He doesn’t leave the room when he hears the others return. He doesn’t want to get them sick.

But Lando barges into their shared room after a few minutes. Oscar lifts his head a little, and Lando stops in his tracks.

“Hey, sorry. Were you sleeping?” He asks.

“No,” Oscar answers. The hoarseness in Oscar’s voice brings a slight furrow to Lando’s brow.

“How are you feeling?” Lando asks, and sits down at the end of Oscar’s bed. Oscar moves to sit up, and he tries to make it look like it took less effort than it actually did.

“Not great.” Oscar answers honestly. Lando’s frown deepens.

“When was the last time you took one of those?” Lando nods to the bottle of ibuprofen on Oscar’s bedside table.

“I don’t know. A couple of hours ago?”

“Have you eaten?” Lando’s tone is serious, the usual levity replaced with concern. Oscar picks at a loose thread on his blanket. He doesn’t want to worry Lando. He’s fine, just a little feverish. Under the weather.

“M’not really hungry.” He says at last, finally meeting Lando’s eyes.

“Osc…” Lando is looking at him like he’s an idiot. He might be. But Lando’s eyes looking him up and down, even with concern, are causing a weird pressure in his chest, and Oscar’s pretty sure it’s not just the congestion. “I’m going to make you something to eat. You’re going to take some ibuprofen and drink some water.” Lando nods to his bedside table again.

“It’s empty.” Oscar says in reference to his water bottle on the bedside table.

“Jesus Christ, Oscar,” Lando says angrily. It makes Oscar sit up straighter. “You can take care of every animal and do everyone else’s fucking job, but you don’t take care of yourself?” Lando stands up, and pushes Oscar’s hair up to put his hand on Oscar’s damp forehead. He’s not particularly gentle about it either. He shakes his head in disapproval, snatches Oscar’s water bottle, and stomps out of the room.

Oscar wants him to touch his hair again.

When Lando comes back, he shoves the water bottle in Oscar’s hands. “Drink.” He says. Oscar obeys. Once Lando is satisfied with Oscar’s slow sips, he picks up the little ibuprofen bottle and trades it for the water bottle. Only when Oscar has swallowed the medication and a few more sips of water, do Lando’s shoulders relax.

“I’ll bring you food,” Lando says.

“You don’t have to.”

“Oscar,” Lando warns.

“Osc.” Oscar corrects him.

“What?”

“I like it when you call me Osc,” he says. Lando’s whole body changes. There’s a soft curious look on his face. “My mum calls me Osc.” Oscar explains, but he’s not sure if that’s weird or not. His cold is messing with his head. “I…I guess it’s just… familiar?” Oscar is positive he’s not explaining this right, but he can’t quite find the words to say what he’s feeling.

“Osc?” Lando says it like a question. Like he’s asking if this is what Oscar really wants. Like he’s asking if the silly nickname he gave Oscar in fondness means something to Oscar too.

It does.

“Osc.” He answers. They’re still looking at each other. There’s a quiet intensity in the space between them. For a moment, Oscar’s not sure what will happen next. His mind runs wild, and his pulse hammers. But the moment is broken, when Oscar has to cough. It spurs Lando into action.

“Right,” Lando says, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll go get food.” Lando disappears out the door, and Oscar slides back down into his bed.

----------

Oscar’s fever must have broken during the night because he woke up sticky with sweat but his head was clear. He sits at the kitchen table bundled in the blanket. Charles made him a cup of tea before he left for the day, but Oscar’s not sure that tea is any better than coffee.

The house is quiet, and the morning light filters into the kitchen making the room bright and warm. It’s the first sun Oscar’s seen in several days. It’s a good day to be outside, and the driveway is empty of all the team’s vehicles and four wheelers. All except Oscar’s. It makes Oscar’s fingers twitch so he pulls the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

Oscar would’ve gone in today, except when he wandered out to the kitchen for breakfast, Lando glared at him and told him to go back to bed. Which Oscar thought was frankly unnecessary, but Lando nearly flipped over yesterday when he found a tired, feverish Oscar after work.

Oscar takes a shower, and makes his bed. He even reads the article about arena footing that George sent to him weeks ago. But it’s not even noon by the time Oscar runs out of things to do.

He wants to be out in the sun working cattle and helping his team and taking care of Miami. Especially Miami.

He’s drawn out of his thoughts when hears a truck pulling into the driveway. Charles wanders into the kitchen a few moments later.

“How are you feeling?” Charles asks. “I figured I would come check on you.”

“How is everything going?” Oscar asks instead of answering.

Charles looks at him fondly before answering, “Everything is fine, Oscar.”

“Good.” Oscar says. Then quickly asks, “How is Miami?” Charles rolls his eyes.

“She’s… alive. Alex has had Lando with her most of the day.” Charles chooses his words carefully. Oscar frowns. It doesn’t sound good. “Now, you never answered my question,” Charles points out.

“I’m fine. Better.” Oscar says quickly. Charles raises his eyebrows, searching for a lie. He walks over to Oscar, and puts his hand on Oscar’s forehead. It doesn’t feel as nice as Lando’s hand on his skin. Charles pulls his hand away, looking pleasantly surprised. Oscar is actually feeling better, and he really wishes he was out in the hills instead of bundled up in the house.

“No fever,” Charles says. It’s barely perceptible, but Oscar can see the relief in Charles’ features. Oscar knows he needed the rest, and he knows Geroge would have actually killed him if he tried to continue working while he was sick, but he can’t help the guilt that comes with abandoning his team.

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Oscar says resolutely.

“If you’re better.” Charles counters.

“I am.”

“I should get back,” Charles says, giving Oscar a once over to make sure that Oscar really is better. Charles moves toward the entryway, but pauses and looks back at Oscar. “Lando has been a really big help,” he says. His voice is laced with approval and something else.

“He’s a hard worker,” Oscar says, feeling inexplicably proud. Charles smirks a little and gives Oscar a knowing glance.

“Among other things,” Charles says, then he turns quickly and heads out the door. Oscar’s not sure he understands what Charles meant, but his face flushes.

----------

As is the case when working with animals, not every day is a triumph. Some days are simply difficult. Sometimes there are weeks of difficult days in a row.

Whenever Oscar has a particularly difficult day, he takes one of the four wheelers up the trails and watches the ranch from above. He looks at how small everything looks from far away. He looks out at the expanse of rolling hills and where they slope off into the ocean. He reminds himself that the world is much bigger than their little ranch.

But Oscar’s not sure getting some perspective would help him right now. Not when he went to do his scheduled bottle feeding for Miami, only to find her small body lifeless in the straw. He rushed to her, knees bruising as he fell to the ground, but it was too late.

He calls Alex on the phone. He doesn’t want the call to go out over the radio. He tells Alex slowly that Miami died.

“Oscar, mate, I’m sorry. I’m coming over right now.” Alex says over the phone.

Oscar feels heavy and split in two. When animals die or suffer under Oscar’s care he feels strikingly opposing emotions. On the one hand, he knows that he can’t control whether the animal lives or dies. On the other hand he feels deep responsibility for the animal’s survival, and he knows his actions directly affect their quality of life. He knows when to end an animal’s suffering, and he also knows that life and death are not his to command. He is completely certain, and also completely uncertain at the same time. It is certain uncertainty.

When Alex gets to the barn, he puts a steady palm on Oscar’s shoulder.

“I hate to say it,” Alex says gently, standing next to Oscar. “I didn’t expect her to live. She was premature. I’m surprised she made it as long as she did.” Oscar nods, because he expected the same outcome. “You did everything you could.” Alex says, giving Oscar’s shoulder a pat.

“I know,” Oscar says, because he does know. And he also doesn't.

“Do you want me to take her?” Alex asks.

“No. It’s okay,” Oscar pauses, and swallows hard. “I need to tell Lando.”

“Okay. I’ll still be here. I’m going to start tagging some of the new kids.” Alex says.

Oscar finds Lando in the shop with Max. They’ve got the hay cart pulled in, and Max is working on fixing the hitch. Lando is standing with his back toward Oscar, watching Max like his life depends on whether or not the hitch gets fixed. Oscar stands at the garage door for a moment, allowing himself to admire Lando’s eagerness. His grit. His willingness to try. But soon enough Max notices Oscar there.

“Do you need anything, Oscar?” Max asks. Lando turns around, eyes visibly brightening when he sees Oscar. Oscar’s chest tightens.

“No.” Oscar wills his voice to be steady. “It’s Miami. She didn’t make it.” Oscar watches the color drain from Lando’s face. He watches Lando’s eyes grow wide and distant. Oscar’s heart stutters painfully in his chest as he watches someone he cares about receive the worst news. “She’s still—” Oscar’s voice does wobble now. He swallows hard. “She’s still there if you want to see her.”

Max gently takes the screwdriver out of Lando’s hand. The action seems to bring Lando back to the present. “Go,” he says quietly to Lando. Max looks back to Oscar then, his eyes understanding but determined. Like he’s saying, life goes on. That’s the way Max is. Oscar nods once.

They don’t talk on the way. Oscar’s not sure what to say, but he’s glad it’s Lando walking back to the goat barn with him.

Alex hears them open the barn door, and he steps out of the stall he was working in to meet them. He looks between Oscar and Lando, and seems to decide something. “I’m going to fill these water buckets,” he says. “I’ll be right outside.” Oscar nods.

They walk towards Miami’s old stall. Oscar glances at Lando from the corner of his eye. His face is still pale, but Lando’s steps are even. They stop at the stall door, and Lando takes in the scene before him. They’re silent for a few minutes, just standing at the entrance of the stall. Alex must have turned off the heat lamp when Oscar went to find Lando. Miami looks even smaller without the halo of red surrounding her.

“She really was so small.” Lando says at last.

“She was, yes.” Oscar replies.

“It feels like my fault.” Lando admits quietly. It’s so quiet Oscar almost didn’t catch what he said. But he did. Oscar inhales.

“Lando, no. Alex thinks she was premature. There might have been a problem with her heart or lungs. You gave her a chance.” Oscar keeps his voice quiet and matter-of-fact. They’re standing side by side. He presses his shoulder into Lando’s. He needs Lando to know it wasn’t his fault.

“I probably shouldn’t have named her.” Lando says, with a small shake of his head. His tone is laced with defeat. Oscar considers this. He considers how they don’t really name the goats or sheep. How the livestock sort of just become tag numbers and chores to them.

“I think the name suited her,” Oscar says honestly. Lando looks at Oscar then, slightly confused. He was probably expecting a more logical answer from Oscar. “It’s good she had a name. It’s good that she was cared for.”

Oscar’s not sure how long they stand at the stall door leaning against each other. He thinks it’s only a minute or two, but it could have been longer. Lando inhales after a while, and readies himself to move.

“How do we…” Lando starts, “should we just…” He trails off.

“We can take her to the back canyon and bury her.” Oscar says, catching on to what Lando was going to ask.

“Okay,” Lando says.

Oscar gets a small cardboard box from the storage room and gently places the tiny animal inside of it. Lando watches from the door, but he takes the box out of Oscar’s hands as they walk down the barn aisle. He holds the box firmly against his chest. They pass Alex on their way out of the goat barn. “We’re going to take care of her.” Oscar says, the professional edge creeping back into his voice.

“Okay, thanks.” Alex says. He watches Oscar and Lando walk away, their steps matching and their shoulders brushing.

Oscar drives them out to the back canyon on his four wheeler. They ride back to back, Lando’s back pressed against Oscar’s, like they’ve done many times now.

It’s actually quite a beautiful day out. The sun is uncharacteristically warm, and the breeze is lazily rolling through the new grass. Oscar lets the sun on his skin soothe his mind. He focuses on the gravel road before him and on how lush and green the hills look. All the while, Lando’s solid presence behind him keeps him company.

When they reach the back canyon, Oscar is reminded of the many trips he’s made over the years to this particular section of the ranch. Each time with varying degrees of grief and remorse.

They dig a small hole, and place the small chestnut goat inside.

“It was just a little goat.” Lando says. His eyes well with tears, though none spill over. Oscar understands what he means. This might be the smallest hole he’s ever dug here, but the grief is somewhat larger than he expected.

“It’s important to care.” Oscar says. “Life is valuable.”

This he has no conflicting emotions about.

This he feels only certain about.

Lando looks at Oscar then, eyes vibrant and still slightly watery. He’s looking at Oscar like he’s something special. Like Oscar is worth looking at.

“Osc,” he says. Then Lando steps forward, burying his face in Oscar’s neck. Oscar’s heart stutters in surprise, but he wraps his arms around Lando.

They stand like that for a moment, wrapped up in each other. Oscar keeps his arms firm around Lando until Lando moves to step back. They’re still standing so close.

The wind picks up, rushing through the trees and laying the grass flat against the earth. It’s one of Oscar’s favorite sounds in the world. He closes his eyes and leans his forehead against Lando’s, basking in the depth of all that he’s feeling. The sorrow of losing an animal, however small, that he cared for. The peace and warmth from being in the sun and the breeze. And the absolute hammering of desire that he feels in his chest.

Life is valuable , Oscar thinks.

Lando brings his hand to the back of Oscar’s neck, his large palm warm at the nape of his neck. Oscar doesn’t dare open his eyes. They breathe each other's air for a moment.

Then Lando’s lips are on Oscar’s, and Oscar has to hold in a gasp.

Lando kisses like he works—eager yet skillful. It makes Oscar’s blood roar in his ears. Oscar kisses back, bringing his hands to the wide expanse of Lando’s chest. He grabs fistfuls of Lando’s shirt drawing him closer. Lando tugs on the hair at the base of Oscar’s neck in response.

When they pull apart, Oscar feels a little light headed. Lando’s cheeks are pink and his lips are swollen. The sight of him makes Oscar’s stomach flip over.

Oscar realizes he’s still holding onto Lando’s shirt, so he lets go and smoothes the wrinkles with his palms.

“Thank you,” Lando says quietly.

“Hmm?” Oscar’s still a bit dazed. His body is humming but his brain feels slow.

“Thank you for… you know,” Lando glances at where Miami is buried. Then he looks at Oscar directly. “For bringing me out here, and helping me take care of her, and for always being so calm and wise.”

“I’m not…” Oscar is taken aback. He wasn’t expecting to be thanked. “I’m not always calm.” Is what he chooses to respond to.

“I know,” Lando says. “But you never let your fear change who you are.”

And it’s Oscar’s turn to be in awe. Because who is this curly-haired man with an incredible work ethic and a warmth for everyone he meets? And how is Oscar the one he kissed?

“I reckon you’re just thanking me for getting the best kiss of your life.” Oscar deadpans. He goes for humor. Because he’s almost positive it’s too soon to be feeling what he thinks he’s feeling.

It works though. It makes Lando’s eyes crinkle and he laughs and shoves Oscar’s shoulder playfully.

“Alright, remind me to never thank you again.” Lando says teasing. Then with a smirk he adds, “It was a pretty good kiss wasn’t it?”

Oscar blushes, and has to tear his eyes away from Lando. “Come on,” he says. “We’ve got to get back.”

----------

Despite what happened with Miami, Oscar feels unexpectedly light throughout the rest of the day. He throws himself into his work, and savors the way his body burns and complains. He feels alive, and he’s glad to be back to full capacity.

He and George are actually getting a lot of work done. They’ve sorted the heifers from the cows, and they already vaccinated a large portion of the herd. They’re expecting a busy calving season, so it’s nice to get on top of it.

Though Oscar hopes there is no need to bottle feed any of the calves for any reason, the image of Lando feeding a calf pops into his mind, and he can’t help the little smile playing at his lips. It’s hope and it’s joy, Oscar realizes.

There is joy even in grief.

“Mate,” George grunts as he pulls the squeeze tight around a small heifer. “What are you smiling about?” Oscar tries, but embarrassingly, he can’t seem to wipe the smile from his face.

“Nothing. Just glad to be back.” It’s not a complete lie. Oscar busies himself with taking down the tag number, and prepping the vaccine.

“I’ve never met anyone who works like you do.” George says, shaking his head. Oscar is briefly relieved that George doesn’t push father. At least, until George adds, “I’ve also never seen anyone look at someone else the way you look at Lando.”

Oscar tries not to react, but his pen clatters to the floor and he can feel the flush under his eyes and at the tips of his ears. George laughs. Oscar chooses not to respond. He just quickly injects the vaccine into the heifer’s rump. She bellows and struggles against the squeeze. Oscar feels bad for her, but he’s a little bit smug when George has to work to keep the squeeze tight. Good, Oscar thinks. Once they double check her tag, they open the squeeze and allow her to run out into the processing pens. She swings her neck in frustration, and Oscar sort of wants to do the same thing.

“I’m just saying,” George says, stretching his arms before prepping the chute for the next cow. “I’ve seen the way you look at him.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Oscar says, though the corners of his mouth refuse to come down. He focuses on his paper. They still have a few more cows to process before the end of the day.

“Oscar, mate, you’re not subtle.” George says, clearly not taking a hint. When Oscar doesn’t acknowledge him, George adds, “Not that he’s very stubble either.” Oscar decidedly does not lift his head, but his lips tug up even farther. George laughs again, and squeezes Oscar’s shoulder playfully.

They push the next heifer into the squeeze, and George pulls it tight with a loud creak. Then quietly he says, “Lando’s a good one.” The earnestness in his voice makes Oscar pause and look at him.

Not that Oscar needed anyone’s approval, it’s nice to have it.

----------

The Cypress house is loud and boisterous inside, a sharp contrast to the cool and sleepy evening outside.

Charles and Carlos are both hunched over a chess game, this time Charles has a furrow in his brow. Alex and George are sitting on the couch, their bickering over the remote half hearted and familiar. Max has taken over the entire kitchen, pots and pans and every vegetable they have in the refrigerator littering the counter. Oscar is pretty sure whatever they end up eating tonight will most likely be a disaster. It’s probably not helping Max that Lando is also in the kitchen being entirely unhelpful.

Oscar sits at the corner of the kitchen table, observing his crew. Well, not his crew technically. But he feels largely responsible for them, and he also feels the pleasant nagging of belonging. On days like today, when it's hard and there’s an ache in Oscar’s chest, this is what gets him through. Like no matter what happens or doesn’t happen in a day, he has them.

Oscar is drawn out of his thoughts by Lando screeching in the kitchen. Max has a towel in hand, and Lando evades him, darting around the kitchen island. Lando is laughing and taunting, while Max has a competitive glint in his eyes.

The whole house is now watching the scene unfold as Max lunges toward Lando, snapping the towel in his direction.

“No, no, no that’s not fair!” Lando squeals ducking out of the way.

“You are the one who took one of my carrots. It’s only fair.” Max says, catching Lando by the arm. Lando attempts to pull his arm free, but Max holds him in place, threatening to whip the towel towards him again.

“Osc! Help me!” Lando cries in mock desperation.

“Oscar, do not help him.” Max says. They’re both looking at Oscar, as if he’s the one who gets to decide what happens next.

Lando uses Max’s momentary distraction to pull his arm free. Max lunges after him, but he misses and Lando comes running over to Oscar’s side of the table, gripping onto Oscar’s shoulders, his socked feet nearly sliding out from under him.

“You wouldn’t hurt Oscar, Max,” Lando reasons, using Oscar as a human shield as Max comes stalking over to them, towel in hand.

“Depends on who’s side he’s on.” Max gives Oscar a pointed look, and there’s a conspiratorial glint to it. Oscar grins, getting the idea.

Lando’s still gripping his shoulders so Oscar reaches up, innocently placing his hand on top of Lando’s. “Leave him alone, Max,” Oscar says in his usual deadpan delivery. He smirks at Max, and Lando can’t see his face.

“ See , Osc is on my side, Max,” he gives Oscar’s shoulders a brief squeeze and moves to pull away, but Oscar slides his hand up to Lando’s wrist, holding him in place. He nods imperceptibly to Max, who makes his way over to the other side of the table.

“Oscar,” Lando warns, struggling against Oscar’s grip. Oscar holds firm.

Max stalks over to him, and snaps the towel on Lando’s thigh. Lando squeals and he pulls hard away from Oscar’s firm grip on his wrist. Oscar doesn’t let go, but he nearly falls backwards off the bench with the force. George and Alex start laughing at their expense.

“Oi, cabrón!” Carlos says in warning and has to steady the chess board as the table is jostled about by Oscar and Lando. Max snaps the towel at Lando one more time, and Oscar decides to put Lando out of his misery, letting him go. He stumbles backwards, laughing and slipping on the hardwood floors. He gets to the other side of the table, trying to use Charles as a shield this time.

“I will not help either of you. I want dinner sometime tonight.” Charles says, eyes never leaving the chess board.

“On it, mon cœur ,” Max says in a mock French accent. Charles scoffs, but there’s a smile on his lips. Max tosses the towel over his shoulder and heads back towards the counter where he was cutting vegetables.

“I think Oscar should have to help me clean up tonight. It’s only fair,” Lando pipes up from across the dining table. Oscar raises his eyebrows at him.

“I wasn’t the one taunting Max.” Oscar says, jutting his chin out and holding Lando’s gaze. He’s going for confident, defiant. Even if he knows he’ll probably end up helping Lando anyway. He probably would have helped him even if he didn’t ask.

“Ugh, George! He should help me right?” Lando says. He's still looking at Oscar as he says it though. The mischief and the light still glowing bright in his eyes.

“I don’t care,” George says, tapping his watch, “I’m off the clock, and also, I’m with Charles. I just want dinner sometime tonight.” Alex is still laughing beside George, their bickering over the TV remote long since forgotten.

Max levels George with a look, pointing the knife he’s holding in George’s direction. “Careful,” is all Max says. George just rolls his eyes exasperatedly.

“Fine,” Lando says, “I’ll clean it all myself, but I can’t believe after everything we’ve been through you would betray me like that, Osc.” He throws in a dramatic sniff that has Oscar rolling his eyes.

But Oscar is smiling, and he’s so… fond . And they look at each other for a moment longer, everyone else going about their business. Oscar doesn’t falter. He lets Lando see his smile, wondering if there’s something warm and pleasant swirling around Lando’s chest too. Lando grins and winks at Oscar, causing Oscar’s face and ears to heat up. He doesn’t even try to hide it though. Just shrugs in surrender when Charles looks up and gives him a knowing glance.

Max ends up making a soup that’s not half bad. They don’t all always eat dinner together. Most of the time, it’s only two or three people that manage to sit down at the same time, but on rare occasions that they all manage to sit and eat together Oscar appreciates how seamlessly they work together even when they’re not working.

It is Lando’s turn to do the dishes and clean the kitchen, but everyone brings their bowls to the sink, and Charles is wiping down the table while Alex takes out the trash. And just as Oscar suspected, he’s standing beside Lando in the kitchen, helping him load the dishwasher.

“I still can’t believe you sided with Max,” Lando says, handing a rinsed bowl to Oscar.

Oscar shrugs, “I’m helping you now, am I not?” He takes the bowl out of Lando’s hand. It shouldn’t make Oscar’s stomach flip over when his fingers brush Lando’s damp soapy ones. And yet.

“I guess.” Lando admits begrudgingly. Then, almost under his breath, “Thank you.”

The kitchen falls quiet after a few minutes. The sound of the kitchen tap running and shutting off as Oscar and Lando work together in silence to load dishes and clean the counters. The house is quiet, the others having dispersed throughout the halls.

Oscar’s hands sort of sting as he’s wiping down the counters, his knuckles cracked and dry, giving evidence that he spent the day outside in the wind. He welcomes the sensation, and focuses on making sure all the surfaces are clean. He also welcomes the easy calm that comes with working with Lando. The way he still feels an ache at the bottom of his stomach when he thinks about the small goat they lost today, but the undeniable connection they share blanketing them in a quiet comforting way. And he can’t help the small chuckle that escapes his lips when he realizes that his emotions are swirling about so intensely while he’s cleaning the goddamn kitchen when it’s not even his night to do it.

“What?” Lando asks quietly. There’s a little smile on his lips.

Oscar shakes his head, “nothing.”

“Why are you laughing to yourself?” Lando asks, his smile growing deeper and more curious.

“Nothing…just…” Oscar’s not sure how to explain what he’s thinking, but Lando is looking at him in an open and earnest way. So he just lets himself talk, wanting to keep that soft look on Lando’s face. “Today was bad, but also good? And I feel sad, but also content? And, like, happy, but also confused. I don’t know. I was just laughing at myself I guess.”

“Do you always think so hard?” Lando asks. He leans against the counter Oscar just wiped down.

“Yeah,” Oscar admits quietly. He leans against the counter next to Lando, suddenly feeling exposed, a little embarrassed from rambling about his feelings.

“I guess I can’t really judge you. I do the same.” Lando says honestly. “I never thought I would feel that upset about a goat. I’ve always liked animals, but…I dunno… I just felt so responsible for her.” He looks at Oscar, his eyes wide and full of emotion. Oscar can see his own reflection in Lando’s eyes.

“Responsibility and culpability are not the same.” Oscar says to his own reflection.

“I know,” Lando says, shaking his head slightly. He looks away, but leans closer to Oscar, pressing their shoulders together. It’s starting to feel very familiar, the press of their shoulders. He feels the heat from Lando’s body settling warm in his chest. It’s comforting. Simple. They lean on each other for a few minutes, the dishwasher humming into the silence. Oscar doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to break the moment even though his legs are tired and he’s not sure how much longer he can stay upright. But after a moment, Lando pushes off the counter, turning to face Oscar.

“Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. Oscar takes it, eyes going a little wide when Lando’s large hand completely covers Oscar’s. Lando pulls him off the counter, and then releases their hands. “Let’s go to bed.”

Oscar flicks off the light in the kitchen and follows Lando down the hall to their shared room.

----------

When Oscar wakes in the middle of the night in a cold damp sweat, it’s almost like déjà vu . When he glances over to Lando’s side of the room, once again, he can see the glow from Lando’s phone.

Oscar rolls over and pulls his covers up to his chin. He’s trying to remove the images of a helpless baby goat from his mind, but like usual, it doesn’t work. He sighs into the darkness.

“You too, huh?” Lando says quietly. It startles Oscar slightly, but he rolls over again to see Lando facing him, his face illuminated softly from the light of his phone.

“Hmm?”

“I couldn’t sleep either,” Lando explains.

“Oh, yeah,” Oscar says. He doesn’t usually have trouble sleeping or falling asleep. He’s actually quite lucky that way. It’s more that, when bad things happen, his mind and body seem to sort through those memories in his dreams. He always falls asleep easily—only to wake sweating, unsettled. These past few nights, he knows why.

A bead of sweat rolls down Oscar’s neck, causing him to shiver in the dark. Oscar gets up, figuring it’s as good a time as any to change his shirt. He quietly pads over to the dresser between his and Lando’s bed, and quickly pulls his shirt over his head.

“How often do you have to change clothes in the middle of the night?” Lando asks with a soft teasing edge.

“Shut up,” Oscar says. He’s mostly teasing, but he also feels a little exposed standing shivering and shirtless in front of Lando. Even if it is dark. He hesitates for a moment, balling up his damp shirt.

On a whim, Oscar tosses his shirt toward Lando, and it lands right on his head, smothering the light in the room.

“Ew, Osc!” Lando yelps, a little too loud for the time of night. He swats at his head, effectively batting the shirt to the floor. “Why is it so wet?”

“I get sweaty sometimes, dickhead.” Oscar says. He’s got a fresh shirt pulled halfway up his arms.

“Jesus. Are you, like, running marathons in your sleep? That’s concerning,” Lando teases.

“No, I was…” Oscar’s not sure what to say that would sound normal. He’s pretty sure saying something like ‘sometimes I wake up to images of dead animals in my head’ would be even more concerning than just being sweaty in general. He clears his throat, “I was thinking about Miami.”

“Oh,” Lando says, his voice much softer than before. “I was thinking about her too. I sort of can’t sleep whenever one of the animals dies,” he admits quietly. “Which, I know, is sort of the deal with working with animals, but still…” He trails off.

“I wake up thinking about them,” Oscar says honestly. “It’s like my brain is categorizing the memories, and then when it comes across a particularly difficult one, I wake up sweating. Like my brain isn’t sure how it’s supposed to categorize it. Like my body knows something is wrong even if I was able to rationalize it while I was awake. I don’t know.” Oscar shakes his head. He’s pretty sure he sounds like a lunatic. He finishes pulling the shirt over his head.

“That sounds… uncomfortable,” Lando says.

“Yeah, well… at least I can fall asleep, I guess,” Oscar says, gesturing to Lando, who apparently doesn’t sleep when bad things happen. Oscar does not envy him.

“Oh, I know,” Lando says, the lightness back in his voice. “You literally fall asleep as soon as your head hits the pillow. It’s actually sort of impressive.” Oscar laughs a little, looking over at Lando. His face is still illuminated by his phone laying on the mattress next to his face, a forgotten video playing silently on loop. Oscar’s gaze lingers, and he finds himself hoping that the dark circles under Lando’s eyes are simply exaggerated by the shadows. Lando holds his gaze for a moment, a small determined look settling over his face. He locks his phone, placing it on the bedside table. “Come on,” he says into the darkness. Then he’s moving over towards the wall, and opening the covers. Making room for Oscar.

Oscar’s heart hammers wildly in his chest. He can feel his pulse in the tips of his ears.

“Come on, Osc,” Lando says again gently, “it’s getting cold.”

And before Oscar can think better of it, or second guess what’s happening, he walks over to Lando’s side of the room and slides into bed, leaving a respectful amount of space between himself and Lando. Still not entirely sure what’s happening.

“There we go,” Lando says, and he brings the covers over Oscar’s shoulders and scooches up right next to Oscar, effectively destroying whatever boundaries Oscar was attempting to put between them. He lays his head on Oscar’s chest, his curls tickling Oscar’s neck. Oscar holds his breath. “Jesus,” Lando says after a moment, “are you having a heart attack, mate? Your heart is beating so fast.”

“Your fault,” Oscar chokes out. Lando lifts his head up, and Oscar looks down at him, his eyes adjusting in the dark. Lando looks momentarily concerned, but then realization settles over his features and he smirks.

“Oh,” he says, laying his head back on Oscar’s chest, pushing his head under Oscar’s chin. Then he’s reaching a hand up, playing with the hairs at the base of Oscar’s neck. Oscar nearly groans.

“Lando,” Oscar warns.

“Hmm?” Lando hums innocently.

“I won’t be able to sleep if you don’t stop moving.”

“Why’s that?” Lando asks, lifting his head up to get a look at Oscar’s face. His eyes are glittering with mischief, curls falling in his face.

“Because.” Oscar states, like it should be reason enough, but he’s reaching up and gently moving a curl out of Lando’s eyes. Lando’s eyes drop down to Oscar lips, and holy shit. Oscar’s appearance isn’t overwhelming. Oscar knows that much. He's tall and lean, muscular in a way that only years of working outside can make him. But Lando is looking at him, slack jawed and pupils blown wide. It makes Oscar’s blood roar in his ears.

Then Oscar lets his hand slide down, cupping Lando’s cheek, putting a little pressure behind his jaw, bringing Lando’s lips to his. And they’re tucked next to each other, warm under the blankets, lips moving hungrily against each other. Oscar’s heart has not slowed for a second since Lando beckoned him over.

Lando kisses him in that over eager way, chasing and biting at his lips. Oscar can barely breathe and it’s also the first breath he’s taken in months. It’s rushed and messy and it makes Oscar light headed in the best way. Then Lando is pulling away, and Oscar feels cold without Lando right in his space. But then Lando is kissing his neck, and Oscar can’t help the groan that slips out of his lips. His body feels electric, and he’s struggling to catch his breath.

“Lan,” Oscar whispers. He can barely get a single syllable out.

“Hmm,” Lando hums against his neck. It sends chills down Oscar's spine. Embarrassingly, he groans again.

“Lando,” Oscar tries again, getting a hand in Lando’s curls. “We gotta stop.”

“Why,” Lando says against Oscar’s neck. Oscar struggles to take a deep breath. He untangles his hand from Lando’s hair, and reaches for Lando’s hand, bringing it to his sternum. Oscar’s heart is still pounding wildly. Oscar might actually have a heart attack. He presses Lando’s palm to his chest.

“Because I feel like I’m gonna explode, and also we have work tomorrow.” And Oscar hates himself a little for stopping this, but his body is like a live wire and Oscar’s not sure he’ll survive if Lando keeps kissing him. It would be a good way to go though , Oscar thinks.

“Fine.” Lando huffs. He rolls over giving Oscar space. Oscar sucks in a deep breath greedily.

“Thank you.” His heart settles a tiny bit, but Oscar can still feel his pulse everywhere.

“Me too,” Lando says after they’ve both caught their breath a little.

“What?” Oscar looks over towards Lando.

“Here,” Lando reaches for Oscar’s hand, and presses Oscar’s palm to his chest. Oscar can feel the pounding. It’s slower than Oscar’s own heart, but quick nonetheless. It makes something warm curl up in Oscar’s stomach.

“You too…” Oscar repeats, a little in awe that he had that much of an effect on Lando.

“Yes, you muppet. Was it not obvious?” Lando says, turning his head so he’s facing Oscar, sharing the pillow, their faces inches apart. Oscar doesn’t move his hand from Lando’s chest, the steady, gradually slowing, rhythm grounding him.

“I guess not…” Oscar says quietly. The space between them feels like miles, but also like no space at all.

“Well I thought you didn’t even like me for the longest time,” Lando says, and Oscar can feel how his breathing and his heart rate are starting to slow. It feels very intimate, knowing how Lando’s body is quieting, but Oscar doesn’t move his hand.

“George says I was obvious.”

“You were… In your own quiet, workaholic, stoic kind of way. Just took me a little bit to see it,” Lando says, and even in the dark, Oscar can see his eyes shining, his features soft.

“Glad you saw it… Glad you understood,” Oscar says honestly.

“Me too,” Lando says.

Oscar’s heart tugs painfully in his chest. He’s impossibly fond, impossibly attracted, impossibly comfortable, and he feels so warm. He lets his eyes slip closed, lets his hand be heavy on Lando’s chest.

“Get some sleep, Osc,” Lando says softly.

Oscar barely hears him, already drifting off. “G’night,” he slurs.

----------

Oscar wakes up too warm and slightly disoriented. There’s a solid, warm body glued to his side, nearly pushing him off the bed.

For the first time, maybe ever, Oscar smiles before six in the morning.

----------

“Oscar,” Alex says, walking into the barn, “there you are.”

“Yeah. How can I help?” Oscar asks. Alex had called him on the radio, asking if he had time to help with the goats.

“I want to move these goats to the shop field, now that the kids are all strong enough. Then we can move all the jug pens and lamps up to the sheep barn. Do you think we should drive them, or do you want to run them out to the field? We would just need more hands to run them,” Alex says, looking to Oscar.

“I guess it depends…” Oscar muses. “If Carlos and Charles can help to block off the roads, then I think running them would be easiest.”

“I’ll give them a call on the radio,” Alex says, unclipping his radio from his belt.

“I’m sure Lando would be able to help too. He just has fodder and a few other things today. George didn’t give him a heavy schedule today.” Oscar’s pretty sure that Lando likes the goats more than he likes the cows, which is fine. Oscar’s not too upset about it.

“That’s because George knows you’ll put him to work, huh?” Alex says with a smirk.

“What?” Oscar asks, feeling the flush creep up his neck.

Alex keeps smirking at him, as he brings the radio to his lips. “Carlos, do you copy?”

Carlos answers after a moment, “adalante.”

“Hey, could you and Charles help me and Oscar over at the goat barn for 10 minutes?”

“Only if it’s actually 10 minutes. We have horses to bring in.” Carlos says. Oscar wants to roll his eyes a little. He knows the horses are working animals and they should receive more specialized care, but it never ceases to amaze him just how regimented Carlos and Charles are about them. Somehow the rest of the ranch seems to revolve around the horses, even when the other livestock outnumber them at least ten to one.

“It shouldn’t take long,” Alex assures him.

“Alright. We’ll be over in five minutes.”

Alex turns to Oscar expectantly.

“What?” Oscar asks, unsure if he missed something.

“Are you going to call Lando, or should I?” Alex asks, but he’s holding his radio out to Oscar. Like he already knows that Oscar will be the one to call.

Oscar gives him an unimpressed look, even if the flush is still creeping up his neck. He snatches the radio out of Alex’s hand quickly.

“Hey George, Lando, do you copy?” Oscar says.

George answers almost immediately, “yeah, go ahead.”

“Hey can you and Lando help us move goats for a few minutes?” Oscar asks. The more hands they have the faster it will go.

“Yeah, we’ll be right over.”

“Okay, great.” Oscar hands Alex’s radio back to him. Alex takes it from him, but keeps eyeing him with a smirk. “What?” Oscar deadpans. He’s tired of all the knowing smirks.

“Oh nothing,” Alex starts.

“What’s nothing,” Carlos interrupts, throwing open the barn doors, Charles right behind him.

“Nothing, except Oscar being in love with Lando.” Alex says, immediately throwing Oscar under the bus. He flushes hard. All the way to the tips of his ears.

“Oh,” Carlos deflates a little bit. “That’s it? Everyone knows that.”

Oscar would actually appreciate it if the ground would open up and swallow him whole. He’s lived a good life. His mum would be sad, but she would be alright. She would understand.

“Ach, Carlos, leave him be,” Charles says, stepping out from behind Carlos to pull Oscar into a side hug. Oscar still wants to disappear, but he accepts Charles’ embrace.

“Mate, don’t worry,” Carlos says. “Lando is clearly in love with you too.”

“It’s actually quite sickening sometimes,” Charles says. Oscar’s coworkers, frankly, need to mind their own business. Oscar’s face is now a deep red, and he can see Lando and George through the barn doors walking toward the goat barn. And Alex, Carlos and Charles are all still laughing at Oscar’s expense.

Which is why, when Lando and George are just passing the last of the four wheelers lined up outside the goat barn, Oscar steps out from under Charles’ arm and away from the group. He strides out confidently to meet them a few feet outside the door. The hushed joking continues.

Lando’s eyes crinkle when he sees Oscar coming, and Oscar decides right then and there to shut all of their coworkers up. Oscar stops right in front of Lando, and takes a deep breath.

“Hi,” Lando says.

“Hi,” Oscar says. He grabs the front of Lando’s shirt, fisting the black material tightly, and Lando’s eyes grow wide with shock. Oscar studies his face for half a second, waiting to see if Lando will push him away. But he doesn’t. So Oscar kisses him. One short, firm press of their lips. The chatter behind them stops.

When Oscar pulls away, Lando’s eyes are still confused, his cheeks pink, but there’s a hint of a smile on his lips. Oscar lets go of Lando’s shirt, and smoothes it a little as an apology. He can see George staring at them from the corner of his eye, mouth agape in surprise.

“Right,” Oscar says, turning around to face his traitorous crew, their faces in various surprised shapes. Oscar takes a deep breath, slightly surprised by his own decision, but also slightly smug. “I’m going to start closing the gates. You all,” he gestures to the group, “are going to figure out where to stand so we don’t have loose goats all over the ranch. Give me a call on the radio when you’re on your way. I’ll be at the shop field.”

Then Oscar turns on his heel, giving his coworkers no time to argue, and heads to the gate by the bridge.

Oscar works quickly, closing each of the gates on the road to the shop field. He only has a minor moment of panic when he realizes he just kissed Lando in front of everyone. It was probably a terrible idea. He can’t take it back now, though.

When he gets to the shop field, he starts walking the length of the fence line, making sure the wire and posts are safe. The grass in the shop field is thick and weedy, the goats will do a good job cleaning it up and preparing it for other livestock. Though Oscar doubts Charles and Carlos would ever put the horses out on a field like this.

“Oscar, do you copy?”

“Yeah, go ahead,” Oscar answers.

“Hey we’re on our way over to the field. Are all the gates closed?” Alex asks, his voice nearly drowned out by a loud bleat from a goat.

“Yeah, we’re all good to go,” Oscar says.

“Ten-four.”

Oscar moves to the side of the gate of the shop field, blocking the road to the back of the ranch. It only takes a few minutes before Oscar sees Alex leading a large herd of does and kids, shaking a grain bag. George and Lando are at the back, making sure to catch the stragglers. It’s not until he gets closer, that Oscar sees Lando is carrying a small tan goat under his arm.

Alex leads the goats into the field and pours the grain into the feeders. The goats swarm around the feeders, eager to get their afternoon grain. Once Lando and George push the remaining goats into the field, Oscar closes the gates behind them. Lando is still carrying that tan goat under his arm, and it lets out a loud scream.

“I’m naming him WCC,” Lando says, turning to show Oscar the goat in his arms.

“That’s a terrible name.” Oscar deapans. “WCC? What does that even mean?”

“World’s Cutest Creature.” Lando says, like it should be common knowledge. Oscar shakes his head. The name is ridiculous. They might as well just use the tag number to identify the goat. He says as much.

“You might as well just call him by the tag number.”

“We can’t call him—” Lando shifts the goat in his arms so he can read the small animal’s ear tag, “—481. WCC is definitely better than 481.” It’s the same in Oscar’s opinion. Three letters versus three numbers. The goat lets out another scream, unhappy with being separated from his mother. “See,” Lando says, setting the goat down. “He doesn’t like 481.” The goat bounds back over to a large brown doe.

Oscar shakes his head again. “Whatever,” he says, but he’s smiling.

“Alright, thanks guys,” Alex says walking over to the pasture gate, the empty grain bag crumpled under his arm.

“How long are you going to keep them on this field?” George asks.

“A couple weeks at least,” Alex says, “I want the kids to be bigger and stronger before we put them out in the hills.” George nods agreeing.

“Alright, well I’ve got to run. I have a meeting with Lewis.” George checks his watch, “Alex, you checked the water and the fence right?”

Alex looks momentarily flustered, so Oscar steps in, “I checked everything,” Oscar says.

“Okay, good,” George says, then checks his watch again. He turns on his heel and starts back toward the office.

“Goodbye, WCC!” Lando calls to the herd of goats surrounding the feeders. Oscar can’t tell which goat it was, they sort of all look the same.

“Please don’t tell me you named another one,” Alex says. He’s not serious though, his tone is light and teasing.

“Yeah, that little tan one. Number 481. I named him World’s Cutest Creature.”

Alex laughs, “That name is ridiculous.”

“That’s what I said,” Oscar says.

“If you want to pick a better name, then by all means,” Lando says, making a gesture of mock surrender.

“No, no. We’ll leave the naming to you,” Alex says, then he pulls the empty grain bag from under his arm. “Well, I’ve got to go move all the pens and lamps up to the sheep barn. We’ll have lambs in no time.”

“Do you need any help with that?” Oscar asks.

“No, I should be alright. Carlos and Charles are going to have Ollie and Kimi clean the stalls once I’ve moved all the equipment.”

“Alright,” Oscar says.

Alex starts walking back toward the goat barn, but he stops and turns back. “Stay out of trouble, you two,” Alex says and winks at them. Oscar’s face flushes.

----------

Oscar is not squeamish. Working on a ranch he’s seen things he cannot, in good conscience, explain to the average person. He’s seen blood, infection, animals covered in manure and flies, and he sees it all on a fairly regular basis.

But right now, the smell of iron is thick and cloying. Oscar’s head spins, and he has to lean against the railing. It’s not even that much blood, but Lando is going to need stitches. Oscar’s stomach churns.

“ Fucking shit,” Lando hisses, grabbing his arm firmly. Blood seeps around Lando’s fingers and drips onto the toe of Oscar’s boot.

“Lando,” Oscar says his name slowly, staring at the drop of blood on his boot. He might throw up.

“Ah, fuck, yeah?” Lando says, still gripping the laceration on his forearm. Oscar can’t meet his eyes. Can’t look anywhere except the blood on his boot. He can’t seem to get the image of Lando climbing over the fence, his muddy boots slipping out from underneath him, and the unnatural way his forearm caught on a screw that was sticking out slightly.

Oscar shakes his head, trying to clear the image, but it makes his head throb. He needs to help Lando. He needs to call George on the radio, and tell him they need to go to the emergency room. He should get some bandaging material from the cattle shed. He should be helping Lando keep pressure on the wound. He’s normally good with blood. He’s normally good at this.

“We…” Oscar tries to tell Lando, but his breath is short. Oscar leans hard against the railing.

“Woah, hey,” Lando says softly, stepping closer to Oscar. “Hey, Osc? I’m alright, yeah? Just a little cut.” Oscar can smell the blood. He can see the blood on Lando. Oscar feels dizzy and sick to his stomach. There’s a cold panic gnawing at Oscar’s throat. And there’s blood and it’s Lando’s blood. “Osc,” Lando says, low and quiet. “Oscar, look at me.”

Oscar obeys, shoving the panic away for a second. Lando’s eyes are filled with concern. “I’m alright,” He says slowly and clearly. Oscar nods, but his chest is still heaving, his stomach is still churning. “Why don’t you sit down,” Lando says, his eyes still searching Oscar’s face.

Oscar slides down the railing, and sits on the ground. The ground is still damp from the spring rain, Oscar’s jeans are going to be soaked through. The panic is still pressing on his throat and his chest, but at least he won’t fall over now. “Good,” Lando says gently. His eyes linger on Oscar’s for a moment longer before he turns around. Oscar sees Lando slowly release his grip on his arm. He watches Lando inspect his wound from behind, and he has to close his eyes again. The visual of Lando’s arm catching plays through his mind again. Oscar’s eyes snap open. He’s not sure what’s worse: the visual in front of him or the visuals in his mind.

Lando reaches a bloody hand around to grab his radio from his belt. Oscar retches. He didn’t eat breakfast this morning so nothing comes up. Lando whirls around, eyes wide with concern as he takes in a pale, gagging Oscar.

“Hang on, Osc,” Lando says, then he presses the radio “George, do you copy?”

“Go ahead,” George answers.

“Hey, Oscar and I are up by the shop field. We need some help.” Lando says, his eyes never leaving Oscar’s.

“Okay, give me ten minutes.” George says. Lando studies Oscar’s face. Oscar tries to keep breathing.

“We could use the help as soon as possible,” Lando says, his tone serious but not rushed.

“Okay, is everything alright?” George asks, his concern carrying over the radio.

“Sort of,” Lando says.

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

Lando nods, and clips his radio back onto his belt. He wipes his hand on his jeans, before clasping it over his arm again. Then he sits on the ground next to Oscar, pressing his non-injured arm into Oscars.

“How are you doing?” Lando asks.

Oscar still can’t fully take a breath, but his arm feels warm where Lando is touching him. He nods. He’s okay. He’s not the one who sliced his arm open. “I—” Oscar hiccups, “—should be helping you.”

“I’m alright,” Lando assures him. “You just keep breathing, okay?”

Oscar nods, and takes a shallow breath. Lando presses his shoulder harder against Oscar’s. Oscar can hear the sound of a four wheeler approaching. Lando lifts his head up, looking down the road.

“George is coming,” he says, and Oscar can’t help the guilt that sinks in stomach. He should have been helping Lando, and yet Lando and Geroge are the ones helping him.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar whispers, his breathing going short and shallow again. Lando turns to him, reaching the hand that was on his wound up to Oscar’s face. Lando hesitates, wipes his hand on his jeans before reaching up again to brush Oscar’s sweaty hair out of his eyes.

“Osc, hey. It’s alright. Just breathe, yeah?” Oscar nods, and focuses his eyes down the road, trying not to catch a glimpse of the blood on Lando’s arm.

George pulls up outside of the pasture, looking intense and focused. “What’s going on? Are you guys alright?” He asks, taking in how they’re both sitting pressed together.

“Yeah,” Lando begins, “I cut my arm, and Oscar’s not doing too well.” Lando lifts his arm so George can see.

“Shit, looks like you need stitches,” George says, then he looks over at Oscar. “You alright, Oscar? Are you injured too?”

“No,” Oscar breathes out, and closes his eyes trying to gather his composure. “I’m alright.” George looks confused and worried.

“Okay, well Lando you definitely need to go get that looked at. I’ll fill out a worker’s comp form when I get back to the office.” George says.

“Okay, do I just go to the emergency room?” Lando asks. Oscar’s breathing has started to even out. Knowing Lando is going to get help releases pressure in Oscar’s chest.

“Yeah, do you think you can drive?” George asks.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” Lando says.

George nods then turns his attention back to Oscar. “Oscar, are you sure you’re not injured? You don’t look so good.”

“I’m alright,” Oscar says and he wills his voice to be steady.

“I think our Oscar here had a bit of a panic attack.” Lando says, bumping his shoulder against Oscars. If Oscar didn't feel so disoriented, he would probably glare at Lando for sharing his business so willingly, but his heart and lungs are just starting to feel normal again.

“Oh shit, really?” George asks, the concern and surprise in his voice not helping Oscar’s embarrassment.

“I’m sorry,” Oscar mumbles.

“Jesus, what are you sorry about? Are you okay?” George asks, and for once George’s managerial nature isn’t present. He’s not asking Oscar as his manager. He’s asking as a friend.

“Yeah, just…embarrassed. I’m normally good with this kind of stuff.” Oscar gestures to Lando, then hangs his head a little.

“Yeah well, it's different when it’s your boyfriend.” George says matter of factly.

Boyfriend.

Oscar’s not sure a handful of kisses and a few nights sharing a bed necessarily constitutes being boyfriends.

But also. Oscar doesn’t want it to stop anytime soon. Doesn’t plan on sleeping in his own bed tonight.

“Right, well, Lando you need to go get looked at. Oscar, why don’t you take an early lunch break? Only come back if you feel up to it, yeah?” George says, the managerial tone back in full force.

“Sounds good,” Lando says, and he moves to stand up. Then he reaches his good arm out to pull Oscar up. Oscar catches a glimpse of Lando’s laceration, and has to fight a wave of panic from overtaking him again. He wobbles a little when he gets to his feet. “Okay?” Lando asks quietly. They’re standing toe to toe. Oscar nods his head yes. Lando reaches up and brushes the hair out of Oscar's eyes gently. “I’ll be back. Good as new,” he says.

Oscar meets his eyes, and gives him a small smile, “Go. I’ll be fine.”

“Lando, why don’t you take my quad. Oscar and I can walk back to the barn,” George pipes up from behind them.

Lando gives Oscar one last look, then moves to walk away. “Okay sounds good. I’ll keep you guys posted.”

“Thanks. I’ll submit the paperwork as soon as I get back to the office.” George says.

Lando opens the gate to the pasture, and drives away with his injured arm cradled against his chest. Oscar watches him go, and takes a deep breath. His lungs burn as his chest expands.

The walk back to the barn isn’t that long, but Oscar’s steps are slow, like he’s testing himself, wondering if in the next step his body will crumple in panic again. George walks with him, steadily keeping pace.

“I’m really sorry, George,” Oscar says when they’re halfway back. George stops walking. Oscar stops too.

“I told you there’s nothing to be sorry about,” George says. His face looks serious.

“I know…I just… I should have told him not to climb over the fence, and then I should have helped him. I did nothing. He had to help me .”

“Oscar,” George cuts in, “shit happens. It’s okay.”

“I know, but I’ve handled worse injuries before. I don’t know why I couldn’t…”

Why I couldn’t help the person I love, Oscar thinks.

“It’s scary when it’s someone you care about. It makes sense that you would panic,” George says simply. It doesn’t feel that simple to Oscar. He looks down. The drop of blood is drying on the worn leather of Oscar’s boot. “Come on,” George says, starting to walk again. “You go take a break. Then we’ll figure out how to get Lando’s chores covered after lunch.”

Oscar nods, “yeah, okay.”

Oscar makes it all the way back to the barn before he realizes that Lando didn’t correct George when he called them boyfriends.

Despite himself, Oscar feels a small smile tug at his lips.

----------

When Lando opens the door to the Cypress House later that night, Oscar greets him immediately, barely giving him a chance to walk through the doorway.

“How are you?” he asks quickly. He scans Lando’s face and body, looking for signs of distress.

“I’m all good, see,” Lando holds up his bandaged arm for Oscar to inspect. It doesn’t look so bad now that it’s covered. It looks quite small actually. Oscar lets out a breath.

“Good,” Oscar says. Lando gives him a small smile.

“How are you?” He asks, taking his turn to scan Oscar’s face. When he left, Oscar’s face was three shades paler than it should have been. The usual rosiness under his eyes and across his cheeks completely drained. Oscar looks much more lively now.

“I’m good,” Oscar says.

“Did I leave you guys with a lot of work to do?” Lando asks, and Oscar smiles a little. This must be how his coworkers feel when he asks silly questions like that. Lando is clearly spending too much time with Oscar.

“No, it was alright,” Oscar says, reassuring him. Lando looks relieved, he sets his jacket and some paperwork down on the entryway table, toeing off his boots.

“Good,” Lando says, and he looks at Oscar. Oscar looks back at him, and they stand in the entryway, facing each other, cataloging each other's healthy, relaxed stance.

Oscar surges forward and throws his arms around Lando, only pausing slightly to make sure he’s not pressing against Lando’s injured arm. Lando melts into him, pressing his face into the crook of Oscar’s neck. He smells slightly stale, but underneath it, he smells like the sheets Oscar’s grown accustomed to waking up in. Oscar feels the last of his panic dissipate from behind his ribs. Lando’s alright. Oscar’s alright. It’s alright.

“You didn’t correct him.” Oscar says quietly against the top of Lando’s head.

“Hmm?” He hums against Oscar’s neck. Oscar shivers a little.

“George,” Oscar says, trying to be clear, but also slightly nervous that Lando hadn’t even heard what Geroge said. “You didn’t correct him when he called us boyfriends.” Oscar finds the courage to say it out loud, it makes his pulse hammer again.

Lando pushes away from Oscar then, and Oscar’s stomach drops for a second. Oscar’s briefly nervous he’s going to have another panic attack. But there’s a soft smile on Lando’s lips and a soft look in his eyes. Lando shakes his head no.

“You didn’t either.” He states simply.

“Do you want to be?” Oscar asks. They’re still in the entryway, like they couldn’t spare a second to have this conversation later.

“Be what, Oscar?” Lando says, his lips quirking up into a smirk. Oscar rolls his eyes. He sort of wants to punch Lando, and he also wants to kiss him—tackle him to the ground, but also make sure he’s never hurt again.

“Boyfriends.” He deadpans. This conversation is so high school. So teenagery.

“Hmm,” Lando muses, and he reaches his hand up to play with the hairs at the base of Oscar’s neck. It sends electricity down Oscar’s spine. His eyes slip closed for a second. “Depends,” Lando says, “Is that what you want?”

Lando’s being a little shit, playing with Oscar’s hair as a distraction, forcing Oscar to say it out loud. As if he hasn’t had enough embarrassing things happen to him today. He nearly had to go to the hospital himself this morning after seeing Lando get injured, for fucks sake.

It can’t get more embarrassing than that, Oscar guesses. So Oscar says what’s on his mind without thinking too hard about it for once.

“I love you.”

Lando’s eyes grow wide, his fingers pause their gentle scratching, his smirk disappears in surprise. “Fuck, I—” Lando’s at a loss for words. Oscar would be nervous normally. He probably should be, admitting something like that, but he’s certain.

For once in his life, he’s certain.

“I love you.” He says again, with more confidence. Lando’s lips open then close. He shakes his head, in disbelief.

“ Fuck , I think I love you too?” He says at last, like a question, like it’s been punched out of him before he even fully realized it.

Oscar feels warm all over. From the tips of his ears to his feet. It doesn’t feel entirely unlike the panic attack he had earlier, overwhelming and all consuming, but good. It feels so good. He can’t help the little laugh that bubbles up. “You think? ” Oscar says, teasing him.

“Oh, fuck off,” Lando says, but there’s no heat behind it, only fondness and dilated pupils. His fingers clench in Oscar’s hair, before he’s crashing his lips onto Oscar’s. “I love you.” Lando breathes against Oscar’s lips. Oscar’s heart soars. Then he’s pushing Oscar backwards, walking them back towards their room, kissing and biting at Oscar’s lips with every step.

“I was so worried about you,” Lando breathes against his lips.

“I should have helped you,” Oscar says, eyes still closed, Lando’s lips still against his.

“I’m okay.”

“I know.”

“I love you.”

Notes:

Thank you for reading! I'm super nervous posting this because this one is close to my heart. I wrote it largely to process my own experiences dealing with life and loss. If you've ever lost an animal you were responsible for, hopefully Oscar's internal struggle did it justice. Love you all.

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