“Controller”
By Kellyanne Lynch
29 March 2002, 5:10 AM – 5 April 2002, 4:21 AM

Beta Reader: Christy Gordon

Disclaimer: Dunno Jeff. Dunno Tony. Dunno Game Cube. Not affiliate with any of the previous people or item. Not being paid by any of them either, (although it would be interesting to see a Game Cube give me paycheck). This story is not real, and it’s just for fun.

Summary: A NASCAR fic about Jeff Gordon visiting Tony Stewart right after the Home Depot driver’s wreck at Darlington

Author’s Note: I don’t have anything to say about THIS fic, but I wanted to tell y’all that I do have a few other NASCAR fics too, if you’re interested. Just check them out in my profile. Also, the other day, I was thinking about my Red Hot Chili Peppers fic “Would You Suffer My Reality?”; it may just be my favourite yet. So, if you have some time, please read it! You don’t need to know anything about the Chili Peppers to understand the fic, especially since all but one of the members are out of character deliberately. Anyway, I’m done shamelessly plugging my other fics!

Dedication: Ich liebe die NASCAR pit crew an der fanfiction.net, ja. Sie sind sehr, sehr toll! [Christy implied that she wanted a translation (with the words “What the freak?”): I love the NASCAR pit crew on fanfiction.net, yes. They are very, very cool.]

Rating: PG

* Please e-mail matchbox20orbusted@yahoo.com with questions, comments, theories, complaints, or words of wisdom.

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Reeboked feet glided across a hardwood floor. Heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe. They tread across a hand-woven Pakistani rug, atop intricately woven crimson, tan, and black diamond designs. They tiptoed past a dresser; a hand swept across the top with puffs of dust. That same hand reached for an off-white, silken curtain. It hooked around the edge and threw it back.

The hazy dawn glared through the naked window, illuminating the shadows. It lit up the dresser and Pakistani rug, and every speck of dirt on the floor. The gold frame of a fireplace reflected light onto a television set and Nintendo Game Cube, which sat on a stand by the foot of a four-post bed. Most of the glare narrowed upon the individual bundled in blankets across the mattress. Light washed over the round face peaking over a black comforter, and stabbed at the eyelids. The figure in the bed grunted. He scrunched up his face and squeezed his eyes shut. Drawing his hands to his left side, he lifted his shoulder blade. He hissed from the pain.

Jeff Gordon winced. He set down a box on the windowsill and tied back the curtain, his eyes locked on the other person. He stood there in the early morning silence, his arms folded over his chest. He watched Tony Stewart, nestled in bed, dark hair contrasting the white pillow, sharp breaths evening into a regular pattern. Frowning at the other, Jeff wondered what he was doing here. He knew that Tony’s housekeeper was thinking the same thing when she let him in the house, by the way her eyes widened and mouth dropped open, and by the rapid succession of words that followed. If Jeff had known Spanish, he would have known for sure. She had let him in anyway. Wagging his head at his least favourite person in the world, Jeff wondered if he should now let himself out.

As he tiptoed toward the door, Jeff’s sights remained on the other. Tony’s chest rose and fell with a rhythm; his face tensioned. He lay still for several breaths. Then his back arched, and he gasped. Jeff froze.

“Damn!” Tony howled, his eyes opening. The brown orbs widened, then shut, opened and widened again. They focused upon the silhouette in front of the window. Tony shook his head and squinted at the other. “Jeff?”

Nodding, Jeff grimaced. “Yeah. How’re you feeling?”

Tony furrowed his brow. “What the hell are you doing here?” He cleared his throat, and reached for a cup of water on the bedside table.

‘Damned if I know!’ Jeff thought. He shrugged. “I wanted to see how you were doing. You feeling okay?”

Tony slurped down a gulp, then dropped the cup-bearing hand onto the tabletop. Water splashed out as it clacked against the marble surface. The cup toppled over, spraying water onto Tony’s comforter and the floor.

“Damn!” he muttered. He reached for the cup and knocked it off the table. Tony’s arm flopped over his stomach. He closed his eyes. “You’re here to see me all jacked up.”

“No, I…”

“Yeah, you are.” Tony sighed. He opened his eyes and glared at Jeff. “I know your game, Gordon.”

Jeff raised an eyebrow.

“Just so you know,” Tony butted his head. “I can move around just fine.” He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

Jeff held out a hand. “Tony, you’re supposed to…”

“Supposed to what, Gordon?” Tony cringed as he drew himself to a sitting position. “Supposed to stay in bed?” he added through clenched teeth. Scrunching up his face, he leaned forward. His bare feet patted into the hardwood floor. He pushed off his arms and stood.

“See?” he managed to hiss before his left leg gave out. He fell into bed, his back slapping against the mattress. “Ahh!” he cried out.

Jeff rushed to Tony’s side. He pulled the comforter back over the other, who slapped his hand.

“I don’t need your friggin’ help,” Tony muttered, and Jeff stepped back.

“I wasn’t offering it.”

“Good.” Tony swallowed hard, and clenched his eyes shut.

Jeff patted the corner of the bed by Tony’s feet. “Mind if I sit…”

“No!” Tony barked, then shook his head. “I mean, YES I mind!” He coughed and cleared his throat.

Jeff snatched up the blue plastic cup off the floor. He sauntered toward the door through which he had entered.

“Where are you going with that?” Tony nodded in the other’s direction.

Holding up the cup, Jeff replied, “I’m going to get you some more water.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I want to.”

“Fine,” Tony breathed, burying the base of his skull into the pillow. “’Cept the bathroom’s behind you.”

Jeff nodded. Pivoting on his heels, he headed toward the door behind him. It lay open to another room, one that loomed in darkness until Jeff flicked a switch. The fluorescent beams overhead came on, dousing the room with shades of blue. A solid navy curtain was stationed across the back of the ceramic tiled cell, closing off all but the linen closet, sink, and mirror. Jeff glanced around before stepping up to the sink and turning the cold knob. He ran a hand through the stream of liquid. Lukewarm water splashed over the knuckle of his index finger and sprayed in an umbrella over his hand.

Jeff glanced over his shoulder. He watched as Tony struggled to wrap the excess black chord around a game controller. The Home Depot driver would ravel the chord about the centre of the controller, but the rungs would slip off the other end. Closing his eyes, Tony heaved a sigh. Then flung the controller off the edge of the bed.

The water was now getting cold. Jeff turned back to it, and slipped the cup beneath its stream. He returned his sights to Tony, watching the younger driver press his head into the pillow, crown into the headboard, and close his eyes.

Jeff shut off the water and wandered back into the bedroom. Tony opened his eyes as the Dupont driver approached, and accepted the cup from Jeff.

“Thanks,” the Home Depot driver mumbled over the rim of the cup before knocking back a sip. As Tony lowered the cup to the tabletop, Jeff wrapped a hand around it too.

Tony made eye contact with Jeff, his brows raised. “I got it,” he declared, and Jeff let go.

“Sorry.”

Tony set down the cup. He shook his head and grimaced. “I’m too tired to be pissed off.”

“Well I didn’t mean to upset you!” Jeff snapped. He lowered his head. Closing his eyes, Jeff rubbed at his temples with a thumb and forefinger. He bore deep circles into them. His head rose; his eyes opened and locked with the pair he found staring. “You think you’ll be able to race Bristol next week?”

Tony snorted. “Course I’m racing Bristol! You think I’d miss out on the excitement?”

Smirking, Jeff lowered his gaze and shook his head.

“I love Bristol,” Tony added, and Jeff laughed.

“You know, DW says that NOBODY likes Bristol, and people who say they do are just crazy.”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony nodded with a grimace. “But that’s HIS opinion! You know, the old guys just can’t handle the short tracks like us young people can.”

Jeff shrugged. “Hey, the short tracks aren’t my favourites either.”

Tony grinned, and snatched up his water cup. “That’s ‘cause you’re a pussy,” he retorted.

Jeff furrowed his eyebrows at the other. Closing his eyes, he shook his head. The muscles in his face relaxed. He watched Tony swallow a few gulps of water, and lower the cup to the marble topped table. When Tony’s eyes met Jeff’s, the Dupont driver looked to his hands. His sights narrowed upon his left index finger, as it picked at the cuticles of the thumb on the same hand.

Silence. No wind from outside, no birds chirping or children’s laughter. Tony couldn’t even manage to have a leaky faucet to bring some sound to the room, but that probably would have annoyed Jeff even worse. He looked up at the Home Depot driver, who was glancing about the room. Tony’s sights halted, and he raised his index finger.

“What’s that?”

Jeff glanced behind him, toward the windowsill and the brown box resting there. “Oh, I almost forgot!” He strode across the room and grabbed the box. Then, holding it in front of himself, he sauntered back to Tony. “I got something for you.”

Jeff placed the box in Tony’s lap and stepped back. Furrowing his brow, Tony picked at the tape that held the box shut. His thumbnail scraped against the edge of the tape several times before a crumb-size piece loosened. Tony pinched it and pulled. The tiny piece ripped off. Scowling, Tony heaved a sigh.

“Want me to get it?” Jeff asked.

Tony was wagging his head before Jeff had finished his question. “No, I got it.” Digging his thumbnail into the tape, Tony bit his lower lip. Another tiny piece came up and fell away. Tony stabbed the remaining edge of the tape with his nail. His jaw slackened, and his tongue hung out like a first grader doing addition. He picked at the jagged edge. That too ripped off.

Reaching into his pocket, Jeff retrieved his Swiss Army knife. He handed it to Tony, who accepted it and flipped it open. Tony pressed the blade into the centre of the tape and ran it through all the separations in cardboard. As Tony sliced through the final edge of the box flap, Jeff reached for the knife. The tip of the blade caught on the last bit of tape. Tony jerked his hand back. The knife snapped with it, the edge slashing into Jeff’s pinky finger. Jeff’s hand swung back, and he hissed. Wincing at the forming line of blood, Jeff pushed his injured finger into the palm of the other hand.

“Damn!” Tony exclaimed, saucer-eyed. He set the knife on the side table, his sights steady on the cut. “I’m sorry, man!”

Jeff raised the one hand out of the other, gyrated his wrist, and looked at the side of his pinky. “It’s fine,” he announced, then drew his hands to his sides. “Open the box!”

Tony looked from Jeff’s hand to the other’s eyes, and finally to the box. He pulled open the flaps, revealing the shiny red top of a scaled-down car with a yellow number 24 painted over it.

“I heard from Zippy that you like remote control cars,” Jeff explained. He picked up his knife, detracted the blade, and slipped it into his pocket. He watched Tony pull the Dupont car from the box and set it down beside himself on the bed. Jeff grimaced. Raising an open hand to the car, he added, “That’s all I get. I figured you’d at least have fun crashing it into walls!”

Chuckling, Tony looked at the car, then up at Jeff. “Thanks!” His sights returned to the box. He reached his hands into it and pulled out a remote control.

Either there was no wind outside, or Tony’s windows were excellent at muffling sound. The fact became uncomfortably clear as silence engulfed the room once more.

Jeff slapped his hands together, and Tony jumped. “Well, I guess I’ll stop pestering you. Let you get some rest so you’ll be all set for Bristol. Hope you get to feeling better.” He paced around Tony’s bed.

“Hey, are you up to much today?” Tony asked.

Jeff stopped. Scratching his head, he shrugged. “No, not really.”

“You want to stick around a bit and play video games?” Tony raised his eyebrows. “Have you played Super Smash Brothers yet?”

Smirking, Jeff shook his head. “Never even heard of it.”

“Don’t worry; I’ll take it easy on you,” Tony replied. He pointed to the Game Cube at the foot of the bed. “There should be another controller over there. You’re going to have to hook it in.”

Jeff found the second controller under the TV stand. He perched himself at the end of the bed, his legs wrapped Indian-style. Leaning over his knees, he plugged the controller into the Game Cube.

“Turn it on,” Tony demanded, and Jeff did. Tony grabbed the television clicker from the bedside table and hit the power button. The Super Smash Brothers logo plastered itself across the screen. Tossing the TV controller to the table, Tony announced, “I’m Donkey Kong!”

THE END

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A/N: This was a funny little story that came to mind while I was driving to or from school one day, and I had to write it. I think I confused Christy though; Jeff’s just being too nice to Tony here. Maybe I should have labeled this an AU. ; ) Please review!

- dj