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Parallels By: Amphitrite (papervanity@gmail.com) Rated: PG-13 Pairing: Doc/OC, Doc/Lightning Summary: Doc Note: The Hudson Hornet's 27 wins was actually in 1952.
The
memories. They kept coming back. An
attractive young racecar with Lightyear sponsor
stickers plastered over shiny red paint, a confident and cocky but
charismatic attitude, and a brilliant smile that all the girls crowed over… If
Doc had been a girl, he probably would have thrown himself at Storm as well.
He was perfectly male and yet, the Manufacturer only knew why his engine had
still felt out of whack and his insides had done cartwheels whenever Storm had
playfully nudged him, kissed him, or hell, even just laughed. “I
know his type,” he had said in the courtroom, and he had meant it. One look
at Lightning and it was like coming face to face with his old friend again. Best
friends in public, enemies on the racetrack, and lovers behind closed garage
doors—the two cars had been quite a pair. Storm
had begun to be seen as a potential winner of the Piston Cup in 1952, the
year after Doc had won his first Cup. He had definitely been confident about
it too, constantly scorning Doc’s 1951 triumphs to be complete flukes and his
final victory a stupid mistake. Doc had chosen to merely roll his eyes and
ignore him. There would have been no point in letting the rookie get to him
and shake him up, although his record and potential had indeed seemed pretty
impressive. Later on, during a rare quiet and vulnerable moment, Storm had
confessed that his arrogance had just been an attempt to cover up the fact
that he really admired Doc and quite frankly, found him to be the sexiest
thing on the planet. (Despite all his effort, Doc had been unable to stop
himself from flushing bright pink at Storm’s words and the lascivious leer
and lustful eyes that had accompanied them.) They
had become friends halfway through the season, and although they didn’t have
too much spare time, the little that they were gifted with they spent with
each other. Whether it was just having a drink at some local gas station café
or partying at some smoky nightclub, they had a good time, just talking and having
a good time. Whenever they had had to split up for different races, Doc had
always felt Storm’s absence like a damper on his usually easygoing attitude. But
their friendship hadn’t just stopped there. It hadn’t all just been about
talking and sharing drinks and partying. It had been so much more
complicated. After
Doc’s victory in the 1952 Piston Cup, Storm had thrown a tantrum, going back
to his spiteful insults about Doc’s lack of real talent and passion, which
Doc had known he didn’t really mean. He had almost felt guilty for stealing
Storm’s spotlight—he had wanted it so badly, and had been so certain that he
would win—but he chided himself for it; he deserved the victory. He had
worked hard and drove fairly and determinedly. Still, even after Storm got
over it (confident that 1953 would be his year), Doc had tried hard to avoid
talking about that particular race and trophy. Before
that, though, Storm had brooded over his loss for almost two weeks before
finally confronting Doc. And what a confrontation it had been. He had
demanded that Doc open up his trailer (where Doc had been spending all his
time, now that the championship was over and he had nobody to spend time
with) so they could talk. But they never got to the talking, because the
first thing Storm did when Doc got out of the trailer was corner him and kiss
him. And
what a fine kisser he was, just as Doc had fantasized in his dreams. Only
this was no dream… It was better.Their tongues
tangled passionately, their eyes closed. Doc groaned in pleasure as Storm
explored the crevices of his mouth. It was Storm who finally pulled back, but
not before licking Doc’s lips. “And
what brought this on?” Doc had mused quietly with a smirk. “You,
damn it.” “Me?”
he had asked innocently. He
distinctly remembered that Storm had growled. “Yes, you, you stupid bastard.
I was so angry with you—I wanted more than anything to make you crash into
something and never be able to race again—but your stupid ass kept popping up
in my head and taunting me.” Doc
had stared at him in disbelief and well-concealed glee. “Let
me get this straight. You hated my guts because I won the Cup but you’re not
angry at me anymore because you couldn’t stop thinking about my…” he had
coughed, covering up his faint blush, “And because of this, you decided to
kiss me. Just on a whim.” “Yeah,
that pretty much sums it up. You’re a damn sexy bitch you know, “Is
that a challenge?” “You
bet your pretty rear end it’s a challenge.” Doc
had grinned smugly. “Then I think that the question is, are you up for
it?” And
then he had kissed him again. (And again.) Those
had been the good days. They had been happier than ever, closer than ever,
and fiercer than ever on the racetrack. The only thing that had felt better
than the exhilarating races against Storm had been the steamy kisses in the
stolen moments. In reality they hadn’t had that much time to experiment, as
they were almost constantly followed by security and well, fangirls. And both had agreed beforehand to keep it all a
secret, for they didn’t want anything affecting their relationship with their
sponsors and agents. But what time they had had together had been special. To
this day, Doc still remembered 1953 as the best year of his life. Instead of
distracting him, his happiness had affected his racing positively. He had won
27 races, plus the Piston Cup—breaking the record for most wins in a single
season. But
he should have known that happiness always came with a price, because the
rapid tumble from feeling on top of the world to being treated like he was
nobody, like he was some scum stuck in a rusty car’s tires had nearly
destroyed him. Possibly
the worst day of his life, the qualifying race of 1954… A horrible crash on
the track had put him out for the season. Unlike others who may have quit
right then and there, Doc had patiently waited to be repaired and when he had
been completely healed, he had returned, expecting them to welcome him with
open arms and shower him with confetti. He had been the reigning champion,
after all. But he had been rejected by everyone, told that he was a thing of
the past, and replaced by a certain Storm Axle as top of the food chain. It
had pained him more than anything to be abandoned without care and replaced
with the next best thing so easily, but nothing had hurt more than the
rejection of his own lover. Could he even have been called Doc’s lover? The
two of them had discussed plenty of emotions over their friendship—triumph,
loneliness, joy, anger, determination, and all—but never had they touched on
any emotions involved in their relationship. It simply hadn’t been something
either of them had been willing to bring into conversation. Doc had been
pretty sure that he had loved Storm, and had assumed that the feeling was
mutual, and that had been enough. They had an irreplaceable bond and a
connection neither of them could deny. That had been the reason he had gone
to ask Storm for advice on what to do to win back his honor and his place in
the racing world. It had been one of the worst mistakes he had ever made in
his life. He had been rejected— completely and utterly rejected. “Your
place?” Storm had laughed. “You must be kidding me. That place is mine now,
and I will finally be able to win all those Piston Cups that I deserve and
have deserved for the last two years. The ones that I would have gotten, if
it weren’t for you. But no worries now. You’re history. Shame, huh?” His eyes
had twinkled with malice. Doc had refused to flinch under the cold gaze. “Now
get out. A champion does need his beauty sleep!” Now
that he reflected upon it, he saw everything in a clearer light. Maybe it
hadn’t been about affinity and love after all. Well, not for Storm, anyway. Doc’s
intentions had been pure. But perhaps, the entire thing had merely been a
power struggle to Storm. Perhaps it had just been a simple way for him to
defeat the champion, to defeat the one car who had
always stood in the way of his path to victory. It had been the only way he
could get an upper hand. Doc
harrumphed. It would be so typical of Storm to manipulate his friend’s
feelings for him and use them for his own benefit. The bastard had probably
gotten off on making Doc depend on him. He
had been such a fool, blinded by his love and never suspecting that Storm
would be so cruel as to use him in that light. Upon
his new discovery, he now pondered the one thing that had been plaguing his
subconscious all these years: Storm had said, “I was so angry with you—I
wanted more than anything to make you crash into something and never be able
to race again”…. Had he? Could he really have caused the crash that had
ended Doc’s racing career? Perhaps the “accident” hadn’t been an accident
after all. But
despite all the evils of his once beloved friend that were coming to surface,
Doc couldn’t help but think anything but fondness of him. He may have been
cruel and petty and overly competitive, but he was Storm, and he had given
Doc happiness unrivaled by anything else. Doc
had loved him (and maybe still loved him), and somehow—irrational as it
was—that was all that really mattered in the end. “C’mon Doc, I’ve seen the way you look at
me when you think I’m not looking—like you want to devour me or something.
And hell, you’re not exactly a rusty old car. I’ve got time. I wouldn’t mind
indulging in an old timer’s fantasies. Surely the Hudson Hornet was good with
the ladies—or shall I say the gentlecars?—back in
the day. With a racetrack record like that, I’m sure you have some tricks
up your fender.” Glaring
long and hard at Lightning—the nerve of this boy!—Doc Hudson revved up his
engine and drove off. Lightning rushed off after him. “—Whoa,
whoa! Slow down, Doc! I didn’t mean to offend you! Look, I’m sorry—” Doc
braked at the apology, but didn’t turn around. “What
I really meant was, how about taking a drive and then settling down somewhere
quiet. Look, you’re really attractive—for a car from the 50’s at least—and
I…I really respect you, okay? And heck, you and I have a lot in common.
Racecars through it all, you know what I mean? Like I said before, we really
are the same, under our hoods. I think we could teach each other a lot. And
maybe if it works out we could… I mean, it would be nice to…” Lightning
stumbled over his words, for once, uncertain how to approach the topic. “Don’t
bother, kid. Stick with Sally; you have much more of a chance of wooing her
than you do me. I will only ever love on car in my entire life, and his name
is Storm.” “Wait…
Storm Axle—the famous racing car! The 1954 winner of the Piston Cup?” Doc
barely even grunted before angrily speeding away. “Doc? Open up. We need to talk..” “Shove
it, boy.” “C’mon!
Please, just give me a chance. I just want to say something.” Doc
huffed but opened the garage door, his annoyed expression clearly stating
that he was doing Lightning a favor. To
his surprise, the Lightning that sat in his driveway had white wheels and a paint
job that was obviously Ramone’s work. And
he had a big, charming grin on. Doc
felt his insides tremble at the too-familiar smile but disguised it with a
well-practiced mask of apathetic gruffness. “What
do you wa—” But
his words were interrupted when Lightning kissed him, and his world flipped
upside down. Lightning
wasn’t the most experienced, but what he lacked in experience he made up with
enthusiasm. A romantic may have described it as passionate and heavy, but it
just felt wet and hurried to Doc. Just like the way he and Storm used to
sneak kisses, he couldn’t help but think, and chided himself for it. It was
then that he realized the parallel between this kiss and that first kiss he
had shared with Storm. He almost pulled away, but he indulged in it for old
times’ sake. And he couldn’t deny it… Even though everyone in the town liked
him, he had been feeling lonely all these years. And what Lightning had said
about how none of his friends knew who he really was had struck him hard.
There was nobody here who really knew who he was, nobody who really
understood why he stayed in Radiator Springs, even when the customers had
gone. He stayed here because of the people. The people cared about more than
just themselves, and Doc treasured that fact. It was whatcomforted
him in his moody moments, knowing that not everyone was as selfish and
heartless as those who had outright rejected him when he had been so eager to
show them what he could do. “So,
I was thinking that we could maybe head out to the dirt and…continue this?”
Lightning said hopefullyas they gasped for air, and
Doc remembered where he was. He
shoved Lightning away, backed up into the garage, and closed the door,
ignoring Lightning’s indignant yelling outside about “just trying to help
everyone”. He
quickly called the press, tipping them off about Lightning’s location. He
knew that the other cars of Radiator Springs were growing more and more
attached to him; Mater and Sally, especially, would be heartbroken…. But
it would be easier. It would be better, for all of them. By getting rid of
what had disturbed the town, everything would go back to normal. And memories
of his long buried past would retreat into the dusty corners of his mind,
ceasing to haunt him ever again. He
eyes roved over his three Piston Cups and swore that he would not miss
Lightning McQueen. His youth, his liveliness, his brilliant smile… It was all
just rubbish. He had no reason to miss them, right? “I will only ever love one car in my
entire life,” he repeated to himself, and wished things were different. |