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 dearjoan@mikeypower.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