Fuel
by Velma
There wasn't time to savor their strong showing at Daytona. The next race demanded all their attention. Racing season was nuts that way - full throttle from start to finish with barely a chance to breathe on the rare weekend off. There was no rest even the day after a race, because crews often had to basically completely rebuild the car for the next week's attempt. Short tracks, long tracks, there were thousands of adjustments that had to be made.
As driver, Justin had to do less manual labor than the rest of the crew, although Chris was pleased to no end that the kid seemed to be in the garage helping out more often than not. What Justin did have to were appearances, meetings with sponsors, and Lance wasted no time after that first race to get him going on the circuit. Justin seemed to love it almost as much as racing. And the press loved him, too - something which fascinated Chris to no end. He'd been a colorful character during his racing years, but the relationship was at best love/hate. Justin, though, seemed right at home.
"We got a thing," Lance said to Chris early in the week.
"Hmm?" Chris looked up from a sheet of engine statistics, and smiled at the look of mild exasperation on Lance's face. "I know we got a thing, baby. We got a real good thing." His smile widened.
Lance heaved a long-suffering sigh. "Justin has a thing."
"And this concerns me because?"
"It involves you. NASCAR's doing a dinner, black tie thing with Phillip Morris, other major sponsors. Former Winston Cup champs and this year's rookies. A meet and greet thing."
Chris grimaced. "Isn't it too early to start this shit?"
"I'm surprised they waited until after Daytona, frankly. Besides, this'll be good for him."
"Really? Will it? Tell me, Lance, how's this going to improve his racing? How's it going to give him an edge on the track?"
"Oh, get off it, Chris. You're always such a fucking purist. This is part of what we do now. Be glad you've got me around to it's not you who has to go around kissing ass to get coverage for him. Coverage gets sponsors. Sponsors get money. Money keeps the shop open so we can have a car out there competing every weekend."
Chris swallowed.
"And do not pull that kicked puppy routine with me, Kirkpatrick. You know how this works. We all want to win. This is part of what we have to do to get there."
Chris nodded, resigned. "When?"
"Friday night. 8:00. Justin should have plenty of time to get cleaned up after qualifying."
Justin had been thrilled when Chris had told him about the event, and even Chris had to grudgingly admit that the look on the kid's face when he tried on a tux for the first time was probably worth the headache the damn thing was going to be.
"You clean up alright," Chris said gruffly.
"Yeah?" Justin flashed him another grin. "Cool."
~.~
New Hampshire was one of Chris's favorite tracks. He'd raced well there his entire career and it had, in fact, been the place he had earned his first Winston Cup victory.
Joey approached him as soon as he arrived Thursday morning. "We've been practicing pit stops all week, Chris," Joey said. "Man, we're just plain faster with JC running 'em with us. The team works better. We really need him as our engine man."
"So who's going to spot then?" Chris asked, even though he already knew the answer.
"Well, you know. This track is practically a second home for you. You know it inside and out."
"Spit it out, Fatone."
"Chris, you're the only other person up for this, and you know it. Besides the fact that he trusts you, this gets you back in the action. You've missed that. You can't tell me you haven't."
Chris twitched. "Who's gonna be there to hold Lance's hand if someone crashes?"
Joey grinned. "It'd be my honor to stand in for you."
"Yeah, fine," Chris sighed. "Be careful, though. Dude's got a killer grip."
They all had cause to wonder later if they were going to need a spotter at all. The car gave them nothing but problems from the moment Justin was strapped in. Too loose, too tight, too high - it seemed every adjustment they made only revealed a new problem.
Justin was frustrated. If the tight, controlled clip of his voice over the two-way wasn't enough of an indication, the helmet he threw across the garage made it pretty clear.
"Enough," Chris said, hand on Justin's arm.
"Let go," Justin hissed. "I'm just pissed. Let me blow it off."
"Justin, I know it wasn't handling well. Trust me. We all know it. But causing a scene in the garage isn't going to help anyone. Certainly not you. Get your gear and go talk to Joey."
Justin's eyes flashed. "Chris..."
"Go. He can't try to fix it for you if you don't tell him what's wrong."
Justin took a deep breath, nodded, and headed back to the pit. After a moment, Chris followed him.
It was rare for Chris to go into qualifying with absolutely no idea how things were going to turn out. He didn't like the feeling. It was clear from the exhausted looks on JC and Joey's faces that they weren't big fans, either. Pressed to guess, Chris figured they'd pulled an all-nighter, or as close to one as NASCAR rules would allow.
"Well?" Chris asked JC, who smiled tiredly.
"She's as good as she's gonna get. Up to J now."
Up to Justin, and the guy had never looked more determined than he did when he stepped out of his trailer, Oakleys shielding his eyes. He didn't talk, and no one talked to him.
"Well, isn't this dramatic?" Chris murmured to Lance, who shot him one of his patented death glares. Chris sighed and approached Justin and the car. "Have a good run," he said, and yeah, okay, even he had to admit the intensity in Justin's eyes was intimidating.
Justin nodded as JC stepped forward and pulled up the safety netting. He squealed out of pit road and when he came back in, two laps later, he'd qualified. Seventeenth overall. There was a collective sigh of relief in the CKI pits. Justin was all smiles as they helped him out of the car.
"How about that one, chief?" Chris's eyes went skyward.
"You did okay, kid. Nice job, guys." Chris nodded at the crew, looking pointedly at Justin as he did so. "Way to pull it out."
~.~
Qualifying Thursday meant Friday was as close to a day of rest as they got. The shop was quiet. JC was tinkering with the engine a bit, but things were fairly sedate. Chris headed into the motor home to face the mountain of paperwork that now was part of his daily job. He was still going through it when Lance came in hours later, clearing his voice.
"It's 7:00, Chris."
Chris didn't even look up. "Yeah?"
"Yeah. You have to get ready."
"Can't you just go without me?" Chris asked as he signed his name to yet another thick sheaf of papers.
"Nope," Lance said. He straddled Chris's lap and kissed him softly. "Besides, you know what you in a tux does to me." He ran a finger down Chris's chest. "You're so gonna get lucky tonight."
"I was going to get lucky anyway," Chris grumbled as his fingers played along the bottom of Lance's shirt.
"I packed the handcuffs," Lance whispered.
Chris sighed, defeated. "Yeah, yeah. I'll be ready in fifteen minutes."
It would have taken a lot more than the handcuffs to convince Chris to go if he'd known they were at the same table as Kevin. "You knew about this, didn't you?" Chris glared at Lance.
"Hand to God, Chris, no clue."
"I'm going," Chris turned, only to find himself face to face with a grinning Justin. The kid was bouncing on his toes with excitement and looked to all the world like an eager puppy. Chris groaned.
"Everything okay?" Justin asked.
"Yeah," Chris said as he glared at Lance. "Everything's fine. C'mon, kid. I need a drink."
The dinner went as well as could be expected. There was enough ego-stroking on all sides to ensure that no one went unsatisfied. Chris and Kevin kept their distance from one another. The Carter kid disappeared fairly early, and Justin wandered off not long after. Chris got increasingly restless as the night wore on until finally Lance turned and whispered, "Go find Justin. Make sure he's not getting into any trouble."
Chris pushed away from the table and did a circuit of the room, but he couldn't find Justin anywhere. He headed for the bar, barely biting his tongue when the bartender handed him a Coors Light with a wink and a nod. "The things I do for this team," Chris muttered as he headed outside.
He found himself on a terrace, chairs pushed to one end and piled on top of each other. It clearly wasn't meant for spillover from the party inside and appeared empty. Chris was just about to head back inside when he heard voices coming from the other end of the patio.
"Good qualifying run today." That voice couldn't be anyone but Justin's. Chris picked him out of the shadows, then, watched as Justin fiddled nervously with his beer bottle. He squinted into the darkness, but he couldn't manage to see the person Justin was talking to.
"Yeah, it was," the man responded, and Justin laughed, a brighter sound than Chris was used to hearing. "You didn't do so badly yourself. Especially the way that car looked in practice."
Justin was quiet. "The crew really came through for me."
"It helps that you know how to drive," the guy said, and turned into the light. Carter. Chris took a step forward before he caught himself and moved back against the wall.
Justin stepped closer to Nick. "You get overwhelmed ever?"
Nick laughed. "It's just starting. Believe me, it gets worse. Running Busch last year, man, I couldn't believe how much shit we had to do, but this? This is a whole different league. I'm not really any more prepared for this than you are."
They moved closer and closer as they continued to talk. About the time their shoulders brushed, Chris started to bang his head against the wall. It so figured. Maybe there was something to Lance's whole gaydar theory after all. Because it was pretty clear that there was something going on between those two, even if it wasn't readily apparent that they themselves knew what it was.
"Y'know," Justin said. "You're not quite the cocky ice king I expected."
Nick snorted. "Neither is Kevin."
"Point," Justin said. "So, uh. Any thoughts about me?"
Nick shrugged. "Hadn't really thought much about you. Honestly? Kevin doesn't talk about you and your boss beyond the normal competitive stuff. And as far as everything else goes, I'm not one to believe hype. You're not as arrogant as I expected," Nick said. "Not a bad guy at all." He smiled. "It's going to be a hell of a racing season."
"Yeah." Justin smiled, and oh Christ. Chris had never really been skilled at the whole dating thing. He was pretty incompetent when it came to the chase, but even he could see that Justin was flirting. He didn't stick around long enough to see if Carter would respond.
Chris bumped into Lance on the way back inside. "Ready to go?" Lance asked, and Chris nodded.
Later, after Lance had more than made good on his pre-dinner promise, they laid together, Lance dozing lightly.
"Lance?"
"Mmm."
"I think it's possible Justin might be less than one hundred percent heterosexual."
Lance threw a pillow at him.
"Oww, what? Jesus, asshole, that was uncalled for."
"Sometimes I wonder how it's possible you possess the brain function necessary to breathe, Chris."
"Oh, man. I am wounded. Wounded, Bass. If you prick me, do I not bleed?" He waited a few minutes. "I think maybe he has a thing for Carter."
Lance rolled over and looked at him levelly. "There are times I need to remind myself that all you really know is cars. Otherwise I'd be inclined to strangle you."
"You'd do no such thing. My neck's far too pretty and the sex is too good."
Lance rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep, Kirkpatrick."
Chris was silent again for a while. "So you think he's inclined toward guys too, then?"
Lance groaned and rolled over again.
"Carter, man. I don't get that. I mean, you think if he was going to have a crush it'd be on me. Or, you know. I suppose you, maybe."
Lance shoved Chris out of the bed.