Chapter Text
Nico takes his role seriously. He’s a seasoned driver with the penchant for dragging shitboxes from start to finish in yet another team putting out shitboxes. It’s a tough gig, but someone’s gotta do it.
It’s not just about the track — it’s about working with the engineers, the PR, the sponsors, and his teammate-rival-rookie. He’s a funny one; weirdly sweet and teasing harsh, unafraid to return the poking and prodding Nico deals him. It’s actually quite nice to have someone match his energy.
Nico’s always been accused of being a stereotypical alpha — teasing to push boundaries and assert dominance — but it’s not really that. Nico trips and quips to show that he cares . That he sees them, likes them, and thinks of them as being close, like family. Being annoying is just another form of flattery, Nico thinks. Kevin Magnussen gave him the cold shoulder at first, thinking Nico was picking fights, but soon warmed up when he realized it was just harmless, silly stuff from a harmless, silly guy. Bit different from the outside, Nico was acutely aware — an alpha pestering an unmated omega — but he thought of them as equals, regardless of gender, and treated Kevin as such.
They actually hit it off quite well by the end of their run as teammates. Nico used to wonder if he should have courted him, the way Kevin used to speak about him to the media and the way he drove and defended him. The way Kevin looked at him, all bright and shiny. And, and hopeful . But bonding and mating a teammate was just…messy. Doesn’t work for everyone.
He misses Kevin, texts him from time to time about WEC, but they’re both busy on opposing schedules, being shipped off to all corners of the world into all sorts of timezones. It just. It just wouldn’t work out.
Nico’s making himself a coffee in hospitality when Gabriel strolls in, bumping his shoulder.
“Make me one?” he asks him, batting his eyelashes. Nico rolls his eyes.
“Take mine,” he says, pushing the cup towards him. “I’ll make another for myself.”
“Thanks,” beams Gabriel and he reaches over for the cream and sugar. Nico catches a whiff. It’s familiar. Warm, almost like sandalwood. Gently spiced and easily recognizable. A scent that has long been a part of this paddock. He’s just been with Fernando Alonso. Nico could — well, would — take this opportunity to wiggle his brows at his teammate and make teasing accusations about him recently being with an omega, but this said omega is his mentor and manager. And also mated. So.
“You smell nice,” Nico tells him anyway, tamping down a spoonful of espresso grounds. He’s not being an ass, because Fernando legitimately has a nice scent. But he is being an ass for bringing it up.
Gabriel falters and almost drops his sugar packet into the cup of coffee Nico had so lovingly made. He falters, blinks at him, stutters out, “…Thank you?”
Nico sticks the wand back into the machine and by the time he looks up, Gabriel and his coffee are gone.
—
Nico sees Gabriel at the fan stage next. In the raucous of crowds and booming speakers, Nico inspects his own microphone, feeling out the weight of it in his hand, and drops it once his curiosity is sated, but not before he bops Gabriel‘s backside, startling him. Gabriel snaps to him, all affronted, bouncing his own microphone off Nico’s crotch, narrowly missing his balls.
Noted, thinks Nico, smiling as he waves to the crowd.
—
After a disastrously yet expected practice session, there’s a brief moment of respite and Nico returns to his driver’s room, head bowed to what is awaiting him in the upcoming hours, if not days. Weeks. Months. Or whatever is left in the contractual season.
He’s resolved to meet the challenges head on, always has been, but some days…he can only shrug it off.
The door swings shut behind him and he immediately unzips and tugs his suit down to his waist, turning to grab his water bottle when he jumps nearly out of the rest of his gear.
His hands fly to his chest, grasping at the fireproofs. “Fernando!”
“We need to talk,” says Fernando, in a way that suggests he thinks that is a perfectly good explanation for creeping behind his door, lurking and waiting to pounce.
“Yes, sure,” gasps Nico, “but — now? Here? Don’t I — don’t I have to buy you dinner first?”
Fernando flicks him on the chest with a rolled up pamphlet of some sort. A visitor’s guide to the paddock, maybe. Nico absently thinks it was meant for his head, but Fernando couldn’t reach. “That,” says the Spaniard, “is the behaviour we need to discuss.”
“I was joking,” grumbles Nico, “if that is what you’re upset with me about.”
“You’re an alpha. You are not supposed to make such comments to omegas.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to be so careless. Just…trying to be friendly,” says Nico. “How’s Lance?”
Fernando thwacks him again. “Focus. This is about Gabriel.”
“Huh?”
“What you mean, ‘huh’?” Fernando admonishes. “No more touching. No more inappropriate words. You keep your knothead thoughts inside of your knothead brain, yes?”
“What? Ow! Gabriel is an omega? Ow!” Nico’s cowering by the end, backed against the wall. “He never told me!”
“Then how can you smell?” Fernando asks, taken aback.
Nico shrugs. “Thought he smelled like you . OW!”
Fernando’s unrolled and rerolled the paper by the time he brandishes his makeshift weapon again. “No more, Nico Hülkenberg. You behave. Like a good alpha. Especially a mature alpha. Seventeen years between you two, act like it.”
He can’t help himself. “Like Lance?”
Surprisingly, Fernando doesn’t hit him again. Just looks all soft in the eyes, smiling gently. “Yes, like Lance. He would be a gentleman and not hit you with a paper roll. He says to use my words. You will tell him I use my words.”
And he leaves, paper and all.
—
The drivers have all piled onto the bus and are being paraded around the track. Nico takes this time to observe. Not everything needs a reaction.
Across the way is a spot of black and neon green — quite hard to ignore, really, and if he is honest with himself, it’s not because of the fluorescence, as big as an eyesore as it is. He Just can’t believe he never noticed it before; Gabriel Bortoleto is an omega.
It, obviously, isn’t a problem. Things have progressed now and no longer are such designations hidden away in shame. There’s the odd sexist now and then, usually in the form of older team principals and advisors — Nico remembers what kind of treatment Checo had to endure, and now little Yuki — but generally, omegas are treated, more or less, the same. Kind of.
They are still required to take suppressants and their contracts look a little different from ones sent to alphas and betas. Something about risks and possible harms while on the job. Assumptions about their family planning and all that. Kevin never, ever discussed it with Nico, but the team did. Nico was not quite sure if Kevin was even made aware of that , let alone asked.
Which surprised him that no one told him about Gabriel. No briefings, no warnings, no nothing. Nico couldn’t even discern it and they’ve been together, in close proximity, for weeks now. Fernando has been scenting him this entire time, cloaking him in both the metaphorical and physical sense.
As his mentor and manager, Fernando would want to protect Gabriel. Provide a shield from stigmatized scrutiny, keep his designation from being public, thus preventing it from being weaponized against him. He’s a fresh rookie, young and unmated, of course Fernando would want to keep him safe. It’s a harsh world. Omegas look out for other omegas. Especially the older ones on the grid; the ones who have seen injustices unfold.
Nico could do that, too. Protect Gabriel, that is. He can step up now that he knows just what’s at stake. He can and he should look out for him.
It’s decided, as Nico continues to watch his teammate from across the float. He can be a good alpha and take care of his rookie teammate.
—
Whenever Nico makes a coffee, he makes two. Adds cream and sugar to one, his own, black. First time he does it, Gabriel is surprised, but pleased. It gives him a warm feeling in his stomach, which he attributes to the piping hot bean juice.
The third or fourth time, Gabriels appears distracted, almost unnerved by something. He thanks Nico, still, so he’s not so distraught as to be impolite. Nico chalks it up to the lack of points and the continued pressure of the season. He’s a tough kid and a hell of a driver, both things Nico makes sure to tell him — and Gabriel just looks at him, smiling sugar sweet.
Other than that, nothing really changes. Nico is just more present than usual, awareness now honing to his teammate whenever they’re both in the vicinity of each other, and maybe he offers more coffee, more snacks, bottles of water, towels, and the like whenever he sees Gabriel. If Gabriel notices the uptick of attention, he makes no mention of it, just takes it in stride, and still acts like the non-typical omega he is.
Because he isn’t typical really. Well. Not as if omegas in a high pressure, hostile, alpha-dominated sports tend to be typical — but Gabriel doesn’t mention nests or heats or other omegas. He doesn’t even seem to smell like one. If he does face prejudice from any facet of the job, he doesn’t bring it up. Not like Checo did, or as George does. Fernando certainly is a champion of omega rights, in his own terrifying way.
Gabriel remains as blithe and breezy, unrestrained by the designation he lives with. Jokes with Nico, teases Nico, takes what he dishes out. If Nico wasn’t so eager to be a good alpha teammate, he could almost forget the fact of the matter.
They’re in Montreal and the evenings are chilly. There’s a team dinner and Nico’s waiting for Gabriel inside by the door, wanting to be there for him when he arrives. He had something to do with Fernando that day, some sort of sponsor talk, or partnership deal. Nico has no idea how the Spaniard does it all; an active driver on the grid with extra managerial duties, it’s insanity, but impressive insanity.
Nico’s on his phone, scrolling with little intention, when the door slides open and he’s — he’s stuffing down a rumble in his chest. Squashing it before it can sound. The lobby smells like alpha and it’s strong. Hardly suppressed or — or it came from somewhere familiar, domestic.
Gabriel’s waving until he’s not, looking at Nico with a confused tilt to his brows. “Were you waiting for me?”
“What are you wearing?” Nico wrinkles his nose.
“What?” Gabriel looks down at himself, lifts both his arms, like he can’t fucking smell —
“It smells,” says Nico, sharp, edging on admonishing.
“Like what?” asks Gabriel, voice small. He never sounds small. Nico’s scaring him, he realizes, he’s being — he’s being too much.
“Here,” sighs Nico, unzipping his team sweater. He pulls it over his head. “Easier to explain,” he tells him, softly.
Gabriel takes his offer and, easy as ever, he removes the hoodie and replaces it with the black and neon green, giving the offending garment to Nico’s expectant and waiting hand. Nico turns it into the coat check just to get it out of the way, barely caring to note where he pockets the ticket.
“Thanks,” says Gabriel, still uncharacteristically hushed.
It makes regret itch along his skin, but it’s soothed by Gabriel not smelling…like that…anymore. “Of course, Gabi,” replies Nico. He chooses not to inspect why he’s made so happy, all of the sudden. Just relieved, he thinks. “Let’s go take our seats.”
—
After the team dinner, Nico offers to get an Uber for the both of them to get back to the hotel and Gabriel just blinks at him, owlishly, like he had suggested something crazy. Nico thinks he’s being considerate, but when the rideshare arrives and they clamber inside, Gabriel chooses to sit right in the centre, head resting on Nico’s shoulder, like it was simple as.
He’s still in Nico’s sweater and Nico’s trying really hard not to feel victorious about it, even as Gabriel had insisted they collect that nondescript, black hoodie from the coat check.
It sits, folded with care. “Sorry if I scared you,” murmurs Gabriel.
Nico tenses up, freezing at the words. They were delivered quietly; too low for their driver to hear, but not so low that Nico missed it, or could misinterpret it.
“No, I — I really should be the one to apologize.” Nico sneaks a glance at the bundle at the seat furthest from him. “Didn’t mean to make you change like that. You should get to choose what you want to wear.”
For the next few moments, all Nico could feel were his gentle breaths on his jaw. “I didn’t want to make you think that I was…that there was someone else.” Gabriel shuffles, adjusting his cheek on Nico’s shoulder. Huffs with amusement at a sudden thought that Nico was not yet privy to. “I forget that all Fernando does is steal Lance’s stuff. He must have forgotten, too. I was a bit cold and he offered me the sweater. I think the scent stuck.”
“Ah,” replies Nico. He feels. He doesn’t know what he feels. Glad that Gabriel had Fernando on his side, but. But that wasn’t all who he had there with him. An alpha protected that nest. An alpha who wasn’t Nico.
Not he was entitled to it, but. He would like to be. He wanted to be a part of that protection for him. Wanted to be the alpha who could be depended on.
But he couldn’t even be trusted to know Gabriel was an omega at all. Nico presses his nose into the soft, black curls. Tries to conjure courage. His chest aches. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Gabriel tilts his head, until all Nico could see were his dark liquid eyes, glimmering with something he can’t place. “I didn’t want it to matter.”