Montero - Toto Wolff

01 | tension

The garage before you was empty, your fellow colleagues had already packed up and left for their hotels. Various mechanical parts littered the floor, with the carbon fibre shell of Valtteri's W12 leant against the partition where the more senior members of Mercedes-AMG Petronas F1 team sat. It hid the computer screens where Toto Wolff usually sat, though everything was turned off by now.

Rain drizzled over the track, drowning out the smell of burnt rubber and what lingered of exhaust fumes in the night air. You could see the finish line from where you stood, your hands stretched upwards as you held onto the metal of the garage door, before you finally slammed it shut, separating yourself from the elements, and more importantly, the world of Formula One.

You couldn't believe it, you were being left to lock up the garage the night before qualifying. A night when you were certain people would be rushing around to get everything organised for the buzz of qualifying tomorrow.

But no, you were apparently the last person in the garage, turning the lights off as you navigated away from the mess of the car parts and oil on the floor - a job for someone in the morning, you supposed - and approached the staff door.

"Finally," You groaned, using the hand without the keys to massage your sore neck.

It had been a long day sat watching over Bono's work... and it sucked. Sure, it was an amazing opportunity being able to shadow him, but it was near impossible to get a moment to ask him what something meant before he was talking to Lewis over the radio or too deep in his own work to even notice you were perched by his shoulder like a parrot.

A positive to this, though, was that you got to sit alongside him, with Toto Wolff to your left during the qualifying.

Toto Wolff was a man of many talents. Hell, the man built up an empire of a racing team by himself, along with it he brought the world Lewis Hamilton, a man who changed the world of Formula One for the better. And, most importantly, he was your boss.

You opened the door, and stepped out into the cool night air. A stark contrast to the climate inside the Mercedes garage, and you loved it, softly letting the drizzle coat your skin and marry the sheen of sweat which made you feel sticky.

"Wait!" A voice called out from the darkness of the paddock.

In shock, the keys fell from your hand and you panicked to grab them as the footsteps approached you at a quickened pace.

Whoever it was, they were in a rush. They appeared to your immediate left, their puma trainers kicking the keys you fumbled for and you heard them clink as they fell down the drain under the gutter.

"Shit!" You swore, and squatted down to the drain, pulling your phone out for some light. "Do you not look where you're fucking going?" you carried on, and felt relieved when the metal key reflected light.

It was within grabbing distance if you broke the plastic cover.

The figure laughed, a deep, hearty laugh that doused you in sort of comfort you only felt sat in front of a fire. It was more of a chuckle than anything, laughing at what you were doing.

You looked up, embarrassed and furious at whoever it was threatening your ego, "You could try and fucking help me-," a wheeze escaped your lips as you took in the appearance of the man stood with you.

Painfully tall, dark hair, a perfect smile, one of his eyes with a slight wink to it and deep eyes that had layers of emotion. The older man's broad shoulders shook slightly, his hands rooted in his trouser pockets as he stood over you.

"I am so - so unbelievably - sorry!" you apologised sporadically.

The team Principal himself was laughing at you as you crawled around in the dark on your hands and knees.