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Folding Myself into Anything for You

Gabriel Bortoleto/Nico Hülkenberg - Fluff, Getting Together, Friends to Lovers Rating: General Audiences Length: ~4.9k ao3 link

Every driver fidgeted.

Nico was on his 9th teammate, and he didn’t think they could surprise him anymore. Kevin picked his fingernails. Lance chewed gum. Daniel had any number of vocal stims that he’d repeat ad nauseam, usually to Nico’s annoyance. Carlos compulsively ran his fingers through his hair, which somehow never made it look worse. Checo cracked his knuckles.

And when they weren’t fidgeting during boring meetings or long interviews, they were doing small exercises to improve their reaction time or coordination. Twirling pencils, rhythmically passing coins down their knuckles finger by finger, and even juggling were common sights in the paddock during down time.

Everyone had their preference.

Nico hadn’t been paired with a rookie since 2013. He hadn’t followed the junior racing formulae in several years, and he knew next to nothing about Gabriel, his new teammate, other than he won his seasons of F2 and F3. For Sauber, it was a fairly standard practice to pair a veteran driver with a hotshot rookie desperate to prove himself. Nico had dealt with hotheads before. Nico had even dealt with Brazilians before.

Rubens Barrichello was the veteran driver that Williams paired with rookie Nico in 2010. Coming into Formula 1, Nico had won his seasons of F3 Euro Series and GP2, before it had changed to F2. He wasn’t so different from Gabriel, back then. And Rubens was passionate, and professional, but he had no interest in mentorship. His previous season losing the championship to Jenson had all but solidified his desire to keep his side of the garage to himself.

Nico earned his first pole position at Rubens’s home race of Interlagos that year, and he thought Rubens might be hostile or bitter. But Rubens celebrated him, even though he’d only qualified 6th, himself. It was the only pole position they got that year, and the first pole Williams had earned in a hundred races. Nico and Rubens interacted differently because their team was fighting to stay alive rather than fighting for a championship.

Of course, Nico could only bring so much to the table at Williams. He was replaced the next season by the next GP2 champion because he brought in more sponsorship money, despite Nico’s impressive rookie performances. Rubens retired that next season. Nico was never again paired with a veteran.

But Nico’s legacy was unintentionally captured by his rookie season. He got pole position in Interlagos because he was good in variable weather. And midfield teams succeeded when variable weather equalized the advantages held by top-dog contenders. Working for midfield teams, providing valuable feedback to the engineers, keeping a level head when others ‘fok-smash’ed doors or tried to wreck him on track. His easy smile and dry sense of humor made him hard to ruffle, and his consistent performances made him hard to replace.

But replace him, they still did. Due to money, due to changes in team ownership, whatever. Contracts expired, teams said farewell. Nico got used to compartmentalizing, to interacting with his teammates as little as possible to be able to maximize his competitive potential on track. If he outperformed his teammate, that was one less person in the way of keeping his seat.

2025, another new team, another new teammate, hot off the F2 presses. At preseason testing, Nico was a workhorse. His thoughts on the oversteer he experienced in low speed corners immediately ensnared the engineers, and his continuous feedback kept them in constant communication through the morning session.

Until a freak accident almost blinded him.

They were grinding some material off the body of the car when the tiniest bit of metal flew into his eye. He was rushed to the medical center, all thoughts of completing the morning session’s testing out of the question, the press conference following, cancelled.

The doctor who examined him at the on-track medical center thankfully said he should expect a full recovery, but that it would be irritated for a day or two from the abrasion. Nico could still see, of course. It hurt to blink and his eye was watering like crazy. They gave him some antibiotic ointment to prevent infection, instructions to apply it 4 times a day, and some paper-wrapped plastic sunglasses he had to wear around the paddock. Great.

He arrived back at the garage shortly after, with the team visibly relieved when he removed his doctor-mandated sunglasses, despite their attempts to appear busy and unbothered. The rookie’s session was ongoing, so Nico headed to his driver room. He tossed the ointment, his new sunglasses, and the waxy paper they came in on the table.

The doctor told him the most healing would happen while he was asleep. And who was Nico to defy a doctor’s orders? He closed his eyes, wincing slightly at the pain when his lid brushed over the painful area and drifted off to sleep on the sofa.

Some time later, he awoke to a soft rapping on his door. Must be Martin, maybe with dinner, he thought. Upon opening his eyes he remembered the unfortunate circumstances leading to his midday nap, and resisted the urge to rub sleep from them as instructed.

He rolled off the sofa and opened his door. Martin did not have his dinner. Instead, it was the rookie with his backpack. “Oh, it’s you,” Nico identified, stupefied. What the fuck was he doing here?

“Hey, I heard about what happened earlier, with your eye? I thought maybe you might need some things and I have my bag, so I come to see if you need any help,” his teammate explains. He sounds calm, very confident. If only Nico understood what the hell that meant.

“Uh, sure. Come on in,” he says, opening the door wider to allow him entrance.

“Thanks!” The rookie has a bright smile for him as he lopes through the door. He looks around Nico’s room approvingly. “This motorhome is so nice, yes? So much space.”

Nico sits back down on the couch for lack of something better to do. The rookie seems to agree with this idea and flops himself on the other end, swinging his backpack around and unzips it, rooting around in the main pocket.

“I don’t know what they gave you, what you have here, but I think, if I hurt my eye during testing, I would want to do anything to make it better so I can get back in the car,” he explained. Oh.

“Well, the doctor gave me some stuff, some medicine for it,” Nico offered. Ugh, he was probably due for another dose of that stuff and this would be the first time he would be putting it in himself. Nico had never had contact lenses or glasses before, and dealing with eye stuff had always wigged him out a little. He shivered internally.

“Yeah, but that’s like, just for infection, no? Here,” he placed a couple small bottles on the table in front of the sofa. “One of these is for pain, and the other one is just saline, I think. I have this stuff in my bag for a few years since I have helmet issues one race, everything get in my eyes. Couldn’t fucking see a thing all weekend,” he laughed.

Nico found himself chuckling too. The rookie had a nice voice, an easy way of talking. His smile was contagious. “Wow, this is very kind of you, thank you,” he says. “I can give these back to you tomorrow, probably.”

The rookie waved his hand dismissively. “It’s okay. You want help putting on? Paolo, my trainer, keeps my head from moving when I need them. He says I blink too much,” he laughed.

Nico considered the offer. A completely bizarre set of circumstances, for sure, but what kind of mind games would these be? Offering help to lure him in, make him think they were friends? All to stab him in the back later. What a scheme that would be. If only Nico cared.

“Sure, thanks,” he replied easily. “I think the doctor did saline, and then the medicine. Maybe we could do the painkiller second.”

The rookie nodded. He unscrewed both caps and gestured with his head towards the back of the couch. “Put your head back– and no blinking,” he instructed, light and teasing.

Nico laid his head back against the back of the sofa. He held one hand around either side of his eye, holding it open. He looked towards the top of his head so he wouldn’t have to see the approaching item, but he felt the rookie’s narrow fingers steady themselves against his cheekbone. Below the inner corner of his eye, his teammate placed some bunched up tissue as he ran a few drops of saline into his eye. The drops were immediately soothing.

He felt the rookie leave his face to grab the second bottle, and these drops felt like nothing.

“You’ll like this one,” Bortoleto says.

When he blinked after a few seconds, gloriously his eye started numbing up.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Nico says, surprised.

“I told you!” he’s grinning again.

Nico smiles back as he hands over the ointment from the medical center.

“Just a little bit,” he warns.

“Sure,” the rookie nods. Nico pulls his lower eyelid down and he doesn’t feel the squishy weirdness he expected because of the numbing effect of the painkiller drops. He blinks several times and waits for his vision to clear. He sighs, relieved to be done.

“Thank you, you didn’t have to do that.” He was genuinely grateful for this unexpected visit, it turned out. Not too many pleasant surprises in this sport. The rookie nods as he zips up his backpack.

“So, I saw some of your data in the Castle sector, and I think you brake too late into turn 8. You have to carry through 9 and when I brake earlier, I get 42 seconds flat in second sector.”

Nico was gobsmacked. “That’s- that’s 8 tenths up on what I was seeing.” What the fuck? Who does this rookie think he is? He comes to his room, gives him medical attention, and now he’s giving racing advice?

“Yeah, so I talk to Stefano, and he say you have oversteer. But when I brake earlier into 8, no oversteer.”

Nico squinted at his teammate. “What are you trying to do? Do you think you know better than me, how to race?”

His teammate wasn’t surprised, or offended at the question. He shrugged. “No, I think we are in the car that finish P19, P20. I think if we only fight each other, we only finish P19, P20. I tell you how my session go, you tell me how your session go, we make the team better. Maybe we do better.” He gazes intensely at Nico, serious and considerate. This sort of direct confrontation was not how drivers conducted themselves, let alone asking to team up, effectively.

“You have a drive next year,” the rookie continues. “I don’t. I have a lot to learn and I want us to get along. If you don’t want to share data, this is fine, but I rather work with you than work against you.”

The kid had a point. A damn good point. He thought back to Rubens, suddenly, to how he embraced Nico when he exited parc fermé with his first pole. They felt united that day, united for the team against the big dogs who had money and sponsors and parts and wins. The rookie was fidgeting with the paper from the sunglasses he’d gotten from the medical center.

Well, it would either work or it wouldn’t. No harm in trying.

“Can’t make things any worse than last year,” Nico muses. “Okay. Surely we can manage better than one finish in the points eh?”

The rookie’s responding smile was blinding. “Yes, mate! That’s what I am saying. You are not such an old ass as I thought, Hülkenberg.”

“Wow, you want my data, and then you insult me. Charming,” Nico poked him in the ribs. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad. “And, it’s okay. You can call me Nico.”

The rookie held out his hand to shake, holding his head up proudly. “Gabriel. But you can call me Gabi,” he says.

Nico shook his hand, Gabi’s hand, the fingers long but narrow against his palm. His hand was still warm like when he’d put the eyedrops in.

They spent an hour discussing finer details of Gabi’s session, going over strategies and deficiencies in the current state of the car. When Gabi left for dinner with his trainer, Nico felt surprisingly optimistic for a season with a team that had finished last in the constructors’ the previous year.

When he reached for his eye medication that night before bed, he noticed the sunglasses paper folded up on the table. He picked it up and realized Gabi had folded it into a small paper figure shaped like a boat.

Nico guessed there were more surprises yet to come from his rookie teammate.

Nico started finding more and more reasons to spend time with his teammate. He and Gabi got along surprisingly well for their difference in age. And their mutual dedication to improving the car aligned them in meetings to approach the problems as a team instead of attacking individuals or each other. It improved the atmosphere of the entire garage, to be honest.

Nico was continually surprised by Gabi’s insights, as well. When he chose to speak up in a debrief after a practice session, Gabi was thoughtful and to-the-point, and he only saw value in participating if he had something to contribute. Nico hated when people loved the sound of their own voice. Ironically, he loved when Gabi did decide to speak up, because he genuinely enjoyed the sound of Gabi’s voice. His accent was so pleasant.

When Gabi was focused and listening, his fingers were moving. Nico quickly got used to his teammate’s fidgeting habit of folding paper at any given opportunity. His nimble fingers were used to the folds, and any scraps of paper destined for trash at the end of the session were at risk of becoming small flowers, or fish, or dogs. After the podium in Silverstone, Nico was pleased to find an emerald green folded turtle in his driver’s room with a note:

“Good in the dry and the wet!” -Gabi

The kind of kinship that formed between them was unique to their profession, always traveling together in close quarters, highly specialized data-heavy work that benefited from constant discussion, and lack of time to spend with friends and family outside of the world of Formula 1. They didn’t discuss politics, or faith, or growing up, but they talked constantly . After a race, they were both eager to find each other to discuss results and give each other credit for the progress they were making, or console each other for less-positive results. Thick as thieves, one might say.

Nico didn’t even hate doing the stupid social media videos anymore. They were excuses to spend time with Gabi that teasing and poking and hugging him were normal, encouraged even. And Gabi was so affectionate, all the time . It came so naturally to him to be effusive with praise, to grasp his hand, to hug his waist, to hold his arm. Nico couldn’t even remember what it was like at Haas, with Kevin who would rather ram straight into a barrier than touch him.

And, God, his boundless energy. Always wanting to try again. Always wanting to stay up just a little later on the sim. Out late with Lando, partying in Ibiza. Nico was exhausted just watching him. But when his daughter visited with his ex-wife, he understood the true value of such energy when Gabi spent hours entertaining his daughter and delighting her into peals of laughter.

Gabi had seamlessly worked his way into his life. As a friend, a coworker, a comrade, a buddy, a supporter, really something he didn’t really have a name for. He was still fiercely competitive and sought to beat Nico every chance he could, but never at the expense of the team, or at the expense of either of their individual races. He garnered immense respect as a rookie for his professionalism.

In Hungary, they enjoyed one final decent result before the summer break. Gabi had finished P6, his highest ever finish in Formula 1, snagging 8 points for the team. They went out for a last celebration as a team and celebrated their rookie, smiles all around. No one minded the drivers drinking at this celebration as they had four weeks before the next race.

Gabi was a happy drunk, to the surprise of absolutely no one. Nico could see him dancing with some of the younger engineers and team members, smiling from ear to ear. Nico was nursing his gin and tonic, not so much a dancer as a people-watcher. When he finished his drink, he went to return his glass to the bar to maybe see about getting a glass of water for himself and his very drunk teammate.

“ Tio, how much is it going to take before you come dancing with me?” A voice slurred close to the back of his neck.

Gabi was right behind him with a light sheen of sweat covering his face and exposed chest. He had several buttons of his shirt undone.

Nico chuckled and leaned back against the bar. “If I drank as much as you, you’d have to bury me, I’d think,” he mused.

Gabi scoffed. “Come on, one song!” he pleaded.

An upbeat song started playing, loudly thumping bass into Nico’s core. He pumped his fist like he was at a rave, smiling at his young teammate, who rolled his eyes.

“Ahh, I should have known you would dance like my grandfather,” Gabi dismissed him.

Nico knew he’d made a good call and started moving onto the dance floor, crowding into Gabi’s space and trying to embarrass him. Gabi groaned and covered his eyes, trying to shove Nico away with the other hand.

Covering his eyes was the wrong move, though. Once blind, Gabi lost his footing and tripped, falling forward into Nico. Nico caught him easily ( what did the kid weigh, 10kg? ) and steadied his shoulders with both hands.

“Whoa, there, careful,” he cautioned. Gabi dropped his hands and tried to regain his balance. Nico could see he was really feeling the effects of the rounds of shots he’d done with the team.

“Hey, let’s get you back to the hotel, hm? You don’t look so good,” Nico peered into Gabi’s unfocused eyes, testing his sobriety. Gabi reached a hand out to grasp Nico’s upper arm for balance.

“Yeah, yeah, I think that’s a good idea.” Gabi was having trouble staying upright. “I didn’t feel it so much until now,” he said.

Nico walked him to the door with an arm around his teammate’s waist bracing his core. He summoned a car to take them back to the hotel and helped Gabi into the backseat. Gabi closed his eyes and groaned immediately.

“Hey, don’t close your eyes. It’ll make you feel sicker,” Nico warned, shaking his shoulder lightly. “Come on, it’s just a few minutes.”

Gabi pushed his head up and opened his eyes which looked absolutely black in the dark of the backseat. Nico watched him in profile all the way back to the hotel, letting himself appreciate every little feature on his teammate’s face. His dark curls, glistening with sweat from the hot club, his long dark lashes struggling to stay open over those beautiful dark eyes, his pouty lower lip that he liked to stick out for emphasis sometimes when he wanted something.

A few minutes later they arrived at the hotel, and Nico practically carried Gabi out of the backseat to get him out of the car. Once standing, they walked to the elevator and went up to the floor on which most of the Sauber team was staying. Nico started walking in the direction of his own room before asking a very sleepy Gabi which room was his.

“I don’t remember, mate, honestly,” he slurred. Figured.

Nico asked him where the room key was in the hopes of finding it written on the sleeve. But even after searching Gabi’s pockets and wallet, no keycard could be found. Exasperated, Nico was too tired to go back to the lobby to figure it all out.

“Come on, you can just sleep in my room.”

Sleepily, Gabi smiled and leaned against him as he unlocked the door to his own suite. He helped Gabi inside and set him down on the bed. Nico sighed as he surveyed the options available. Shitty sofa, not long enough for his 1.84m frame, the floor, murder on his back before the only break he would get during the season, and the other side of the bed. Bed it was, then.

Gabi had already laid back with his legs hanging off the foot of the bed. Nico sighed again and removed both of Gabi’s shoes. He spent a few minutes getting himself ready for bed, changing into a t-shirt and shorts in an attempt to not make it weird. He pulled the bedclothes down and heaved Gabi up one final time before tucking him in under the covers. He put a glass of water on the nightstand just in case he woke up before Nico in the morning. Quietly, so as to not disturb, Nico crawled in on the other side and turned off the lamp. He fell asleep to the sound of Gabi’s even breathing.

They had separate flights in the morning, and Nico guessed Gabi had woken up on his own because he woke up to an empty bed. Strangely disappointed, he looked around and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the notepad on the desk with some chicken scratch that looked vaguely Gabi-esque.

“Thank you for bringing me back. Early flight. Enjoy your summer break! -Gabi”

Next to the note was a small folded bird, this one Nico knew was a crane. He smiled and tucked both into his book for his flight later in the morning.

After 4 weeks of sunshine, much time with his daughter, good food, regular sleep, and no airports, Nico was feeling on top of the world. He was ready to get back in the car, and ready to tackle the ongoing issues.

Naturally, the stars would not align with his mood. The car wasn’t great, and the practice session adjustments only served to add complications rather than remove them. Gabi was uncharacteristically quiet during the FP3 debrief, and Nico realized he hadn’t noticed him folding at all through the week. The little stars, and butterflies, and frogs that usually dotted their conference tables by race time were noticeably missing. Nico found the tables depressingly bare in their absence.

Qualifying was an improvement, with Gabi qualifying 13th to Nico’s 17th, with Gabi only 8 hundredths of a second off getting into Q3, yet he seemed harder on himself than usual. Nico knew better than to tell him to “Cheer up”, but he also didn’t know as much about his teammate outside of racing that he could really help him feel better in the confines of their hotel on a night before the race. He settled for being supportive and asked clarifying questions about how Gabi was attacking the bank to at least occupy his mind.

If qualifying was a step forward, the race was 10 steps back. Gabi had a terrible start off the line, and lost his good qualifying spot in a second. He dropped to 19th and spent the entire race trying desperately to make up for it. After unfortunate contact with Lance broke off some of his front wing, his aero just wasn’t enough to make up the lost places. He finished in 17th. Nico was genuinely concerned seeing how despondent the Brazilian looked in the post-race debrief, and vowed to make a more concerted effort tonight to be a friend.

Once the team released for the evening, Nico hung back while the team filed out of the conference room to catch Gabi on his way out. “Hey, shit race. Want to go get pizza and forget about it?”

Gabi saw Nico truly for the first time in a few hours. “Yeah, I really don’t want to think about it anymore,” he agreed.

Nico loved Zandvoort, and was comfortable choosing a pizzeria in town that had a wood-fired oven. It wouldn’t be strictly within their diets, but it wouldn’t be terribly off-pace.

They took one of the cars the team was renting during the weekend to the restaurant, and Nico led them inside the hole-in-the-wall. Luckily, in non-team clothing, they were much less likely to be recognized out of the context of the race, especially as most race patrons had left the city hours ago. They were some of the only people in the restaurant and it was peacefully quiet.

Nico ordered for them in Dutch, a large pizza with a variety of meats and veggies. Gabi sat back, legs spread, thinking.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Nico prompted.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Gabi laughed, startled.

“It means ‘what are you thinking’, dummy,” he replied fondly.

Gabi considered.

“Fernando says all that stuff about me not being an English driver and not getting as much attention, and I think nothing of it. But then I see Isack get on the podium today and suddenly this bothers me.” Gabi is envious of his fellow rookie, then?

“I used to win, all the time. I used to talk to Isack, all the time. We were fighting, on the track. I thought, this year, we are both in midfield teams, we will be battling with each other, with Ollie. And sometimes, this is true. But today, you and me are back to the beginning of the season. Last race, P6, today P17. And he is on the podium.”

“This sport, it doesn’t hold back. I try as hard as I can and still sometimes there is nothing I can do. And other drivers have more luck. And so much should not be determined by luck.”

Nico knew that from the bottom of his soul. They brought out a pizza, straight from heaven, Nico was pretty sure, and they started eating before Nico thought of how to reply.

“In F3, I was friends with my teammate. We raced together for one year, I won that year, he won the next year when I went to race GP2. We both made it to Formula 1, for different teams. When I raced for Force India, he was a test driver there.”

Nico took another bite and swallowed before continuing, sighing at the memories.

“He was in the Ferrari development program, waiting to get a seat in F1. I told him he would get it, he was quick, he was smart, everything.” Nico fingered the napkin on the table, not making eye contact.

“The next year, he got a seat, and I moved to Sauber. And we raced against each other on different teams. We didn’t talk so much anymore. The season after that, he crashed in Suzuka.”

Gabi stayed quiet, giving Nico space to remember Jules.

“Motorsport is funny like that, putting people together and then taking them away, giving some people good luck and other people all the bad,” he said, finally looking at Gabi with a resolute expression. “But some of those people are worth keeping, even when you are competitors,” he teased, poking Gabi’s hand on the table.

“Isack may not have a drive next year. Fernando might retire. My contract might expire and I’ll lose my drive. But you decide who you care about and who you want in your life.”

Nico pulled out a scrap of paper from the debrief, and started folding very carefully. “I swore I never would get too close to another driver again, in case they got the same bad luck as Jules.” He wasn’t nearly as quick as Gabi with smoothing the edges, and some of the folds were a bit uneven. But, he persisted. “I thought I was strong for protecting myself from the possibility.”

“I’m glad you’re not like me,” Nico breathed, setting his folded creature on the table, “ klein Maüschen (little mouse).”

It was a German term of endearment, and he’d folded a little paper mouse for Gabi. Gabi had watched Nico’s hands hungrily, trying to figure out what he was making before he finished. Upon seeing the little mouse on the table, he bit his lower lip.

“Oh my God,” Gabi said softly. “It’s so cute!” He looked both awed and besotted with the figure. “You learn to do this? For me?” he asks Nico.

“Learning a lot of new things, these days,” Nico says smiling.

Gabi took the paper holding his napkin together and started folding it, tearing off a portion to make it square. Soon he handed over a compact, folded little heart, biting his lip shyly.

Nico’s heart felt like it would burst upon seeing it. He held it delicately between his thumbs and forefingers and felt an immense attachment to a very cheap piece of paper.

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