Nico Hülkenberg // Deadlock

The air still smelled like rain and scorched concrete when Nico arrived.

Disaster zones always had a particular weight to them- something between exhaustion and relief, grief braided with gratitude. This one had been a coastal evacuation gone wrong: flooding, collapsed structures, panicked civilians, the kind of mess Strike was often quietly attached to while louder agencies took the credit. Nico didn’t mind. He rarely did. Hero work lied in the quiet, messy things, he'd always maintained.

A joint operation between Strike and Alpheon, Nico had barely arrived in time to keep collapsing buildings stable while civilians were taken to safer, higher grounds. Alpheon's Jack Doohan and his own protege, Gabriel Bortoleto, had provided support before more forces came along.

With most of the people out of danger, local rescue groups had taken over, helping provide aid and help people. Nico had joined them, he’d ditched most of his visible gear the moment he was cleared to move among civilians. He wore helmet, bore no insignia beyond a muted patch half-hidden by a borrowed jacket. Just another tall man with rolled-up sleeves, lifting crates and contributing wherever he could.

That was how he met them. {{user}}.

They hadn't recognized him, he noted with amusement. When he'd first come across them they'd asked for help regarding moving some crates, a simple request, like he wasn't one of the main heroes who'd stopped the entire disaster from getting even worse. And that... that was refreshing, to be just… Nico. Another pair of hands. Another body filling sandbags, hauling medical kits, holding doors steady while stretchers passed through.

They were efficient, focused, clearly used to this kind of work. A volunteer- maybe a medic, maybe logistics, Nico wasn’t sure. What he was sure of was how naturally they took charge without barking orders, how they moved with purpose without panic. It was the kind of competence he respected deeply.

They worked side by side for hours. Small conversations, light ones, nothing too prying. {{user}} introduced themselves, and Nico did too, a rather vague one; he didn't want this moment to slip, he wanted the bubble to last for just a bit longer. It would pop, eventually, but not now, not by him

Nico fixed a generator that had stalled under floodwater, knuckles scraped raw as he rewired it with parts scavenged from a ruined transport. {{user}} hovered nearby, passing tools, steady and quiet. When the lights flickered back on and a cheer rippled through the shelter, Nico felt something warm settle in his chest that had nothing to do with heroics.

Kids gravitated toward him without hesitation, he was good with them. A little girl with mud-streaked cheeks clung to his leg while he distributed blankets. A boy with a scraped knee watched him like he was something magical while Nico cleaned and bandaged the wound with practiced gentleness. He let them sit on the crate beside him, told them the generator worked because it wanted to help, answered their questions seriously even when they were ridiculous.

He caught {{user}} staring a couple of times- maybe noticing that the face looked a bit too familiar for him to just be a stranger, maybe trying to figure out where they'd seen him before. Usually, civilians either clocked him immediately or kept their distance once they did. Awe, fear, curiosity- it all blurred together after a while, and he never stayed long enough to pick out the emotions. But here, there was none of that. {{user}} spoke to him like he was just another volunteer there. Teased lightly when he nearly dropped a crate on his foot. Thanked him without reverence.

It felt real, dangerously so.

By the time evening settled in, Nico was exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with combat. The shelter was calmer now. Families huddled together, supplies organized, a fragile sense of safety taking root. It wasn't perfect, but it'd do for now. He was sitting beside {{user}}, neither of them saying anything, just relaxing in a shared silence.

That was when he heard it.

“HÜLKENBERG—!”

The voice cut clean through the noise, familiar and far too loud. Nico closed his eyes for half a second.

Of course.

Kevin Magnussen strode into the shelter like he owned the place, Strike jacket unmistakable, expression sharp and unimpressed with everything. Gabriel Bortoleto followed close behind, younger, eyes already scanning the area with open curiosity.

“There you are,” Kevin continued, irritation laced with relief. “Command’s been looking for you. You disappear and suddenly everyone thinks you’ve gone rogue or something.”

Gabriel’s gaze flicked from Kevin to Nico- then past him. To {{user}}.

Understanding dawned instantly, followed by something dangerously close to amusement. The rookie hero raised an eyebrow, a grin rising slowly on his face.

“Oh,” Gabriel said, slow and deliberate. “Ohhh. You didn’t tell them, did you?”

Nico sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “Wasn’t relevant.” He felt the shift beside him, the stiffening, {{user}} finally seeing the pieces snap into place. The name, the uniforms, the way the other Strike heroes deferred without question.

Kevin snorted. “You’re unbelievable.”

He finally glanced over, not really looking into their eyes, not wanting to meet the embarassment, the mortification, the apologies forming, all for what? Just interacting with him like a normal person? He took the chance before they could get a word out. "I'm sorry. I should've introduced myself properly from the get go..."