Pointing Blame

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Summary: Junior runs his mouth off after the wreck at 'Dega. Will Jimmie forgive him?

AUTHOR: Mick
EMAIL: mick@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTER: Dale Earnhardt Jr/Jimmie Johnson, alternating POV
CATEGORY: Angst, romance
DISCLAIMER: If I knew/owned them, I wouldn’t be writing this stuff. It’s called fiction for a reason. I own NOTHING and am affiliated with NO ONE mentioned here. Not the drivers, not the teams, no one. This is all fiction and fun. In other words...NOT REAL, NOT REAL, NOT REAL. ;-)
AUTHOR'S NOTE: *** denotes POV shift
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Talladega Superspeedway - May 1, 2005

He's pissed. Dear god is he pissed. Rightfully so, but that's beside the point. Things were going well all weekend and then one wrong move and I opened my big mouth and now I'm in the doghouse. He's going to kill me the second he finds me. He's going to kick my ass and rip me a new asshole and then fly home with Jeff. He'll bitch about what a complete asshole I am, and they'll have some drinks, and he'll call me in a few days to tell me he's still upset with me as I beg forgiveness.

God, I'm the ONE person who should have known better. After all the bad press he's been getting, and how upset he's gotten over it. How could I turn around like a complete dick and accuse him of causing that wreck? I was frustrated and it just slipped out. I know it wasn't his fault. He knows I know it, too. So it kills me that I actually said it. It kills me that I've made him this upset over it. I don't even think I can face him tonight.

I spot him walking toward me, down pit road, and I bite my lip. I tense as he gets closer, and then grimace as he pulls his shades off and meets my gaze. His eyes are swollen from…crying? He was crying? His normally sparkling brown eyes are now dull and full of mixed emotion. Hurt and betrayal are at the top of the list.

"How could you?" He asks quietly, his gaze never leaving my own.

"Jimmie, I-"

"DON'T apologize Dale, I don't want to here it," he snaps, his voice raising as he pulls his shades back on, "You fucking KNOW I didn't cause that wreck!"

I take a step back in surprise, not having expected him to confront me right out in the open, "Jimmie, chill. I just-"

"CHILL?! How the FUCK do you expect me to do that, Earnhardt?" He practically yells at me, "You're supposed to be my best fucking friend, more than that even, and you just went and hopped on the 'It's All Johnson's Fault' bandwagon? Well fuck you, Dale. I don't need you." He shoves past me and starts walking away, but I don't let him.

"Hey! Wait a minute Jimmie! Jesus, at least let me get a damned word in!" I grab his right arm with my left hand and yank him back towards me, sending him spinning around defensively. He yanks his arm from my grasp and rips his shades off again, "Don't FUCKING touch me Earnhardt."

I glare at him for a moment. Two can play this game. He's waiting for me to apologize, but I can't if he refuses to let me get a word in. I shrug and give him the best cocky smirk I can muster, "Fine then, JOHNSON. Go fuck yourself. You don't want to hear my apology? Fine. But don't expect me to sit around and help you lick your wounds later, because I won't be here. I don't need this shit."

He goes to say something but I walk away quickly, not stopping until I'm on my coach. I slam the door behind me with a loud bang and sigh softly. I knew he was going to be upset the moment the words left my mouth while I was talking to DW during that red flag. I didn't expect him to lash out at me in the middle of pit road and not even give me a chance to try and say I was sorry. I can feel the tension building up in my neck and shoulders, so I walk into the bathroom, stripping my clothes off slowly. I turn the water up as hot as possible and step under the spray, leaning against the wall as the water runs over my body. I breathe in deeply, the steam rising up around me soothing me slightly, but not nearly enough.

* * *

I watch as he stalks off toward his coach in typical Dale fashion. I'm fuming mad, but more than that I'm hurt as hell. He, of all people, knows how hurt I am by everyone pointing their fingers at me. I hate the fact that everyone's using me as a scapegoat this season. When Chad came over the radio and told me that Dale had joined the list of guys blaming me for the wreck, my heart dropped down into my stomach. My mouth went dry and my breath caught in my throat. Surely he was kidding. He was playing some sort of mean joke on me. But he wasn't. I was so upset that I actually started to cry. Fancy that.

Once he's gone from my sight I turn and storm off to the team hauler, climbing on with as much noise as possible. I shove passed Chad, accidentally knocking him into a shelf, and I can feel his glare on my back. I keep moving though, not caring too much. I throw myself down on the couch in the back and cross my arms over my chest, glaring at the wall as if it had Dale's picture on it.

"Fucking bastard."

"The HELL'S your problem, Johnson?" Chad yells as he storms into the back, looking ready to kick my ass.

"The fuck do you think?" I snap back, not moving from my position on the couch. He can glare all he wants, I won't move.

"Oh grow the fuck up, Jimmie," he rolls his eyes and puts his hands on his hips.

"Ex-CUSE me?" I jump up and come nose to nose with him.

"I said," he puts his hands on my chest and pushes me back a step, "Grow. The Fuck. Up."

"Oh bite me, Knaus."

"Get off it Jimmie," he snaps, "God, get over yourself. So he pointed a finger at you. Shit happens, man. If you can't deal with getting the blame for things once in a while, find a new fucking job."

He turns to walk away and something inside me snaps, "Oh, like the way you just 'got over it' when they accused you of cheating?"

He turns back around, his eyes shooting daggers at me, "I didn't take it so god damn personal, Jimmie."

"That's because the people who pointed fingers at you weren't your-" I stop mid-sentence. Chad's the only person aside from Martin that knows about Dale and I, but we've still never called ourselves lovers or a couple or anything in front of them.

He stops and watches me for a moment, looking at me like he knows what I want to say. When he speaks again, his voice is softer and a little more understanding, "He was upset Jimmie. Everyone on that track was frustrated and looking for someone to blame. He just repeated what Pete told him, you know he didn't really mean it."

I sigh softly and nod, sitting back down on the arm of the couch, "He's pissed at me."

"Sound familiar?" He tries to hide a smirk, but I can see it itching to appear at the corners of his mouth.

I groan and nod, "I know, I know. I'm gonna go find him and apologize…"

As I get up and walk by him, he claps me on the back and gives my shoulder a squeeze, "'atta boy."

* * *

After nearly half an hour, I step out of the shower to hear knocking on my trailer door. I pull a towel around my waist and walk through the coach, pulling the door open without stopping to see who it is first. I say a silent prayer that it's not a reporter- or worse- my sister.

"Oh…hi." I frown a little as Jimmie comes into view, and I pull the door open the rest of the way.

"Hi…" He shifts his weight from on foot to the other, sticking his hands into his back pockets as he looks up at me, big brown eyes full of worry, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah. Sure," I step to the side and let him on, closing the door behind him. The water dripping down my chest and back is starting to cool off and I can feel the chill bumps starting to rise on my skin.

"Dale, I…I'm sorry. I should have at least let you get a word in." He wrings his hands and plays with the hem of his t-shirt, something he always does when he's nervous.

"Yeah no shit. Damn it Jimmie, you KNOW I didn't mean what I said! I was fucking frustrated is all. We were running good all day and then that wreck happened and our day went to shit." I put my hands on my hips and watch him as I speak, looking for some sign of emotion on his blank face.

"It still hurts Dale. I thought you, of ALL people, would have stuck up for me. When I found out you pointed the blame at me, I lost it. I would have punched a hole through the wall if there weren't so many people around."

"I'm sorry Jimmie. I don't know what else to tell you." I sigh softly, dropping my hands to my sides.

"I know. Can we just…pretend it never happened? I fucked up, you fucked up…there's no one to blame here."

I smirk softly, "Well…we could blame DW for talking to me while I was pissed."

He laughs and walks towards me, pulling me into a hug, "I love the way you think, June."

And as soon as he calls me June, I know everything's ok. He's the only one that still calls me that…the only one I'll let get away with it. It brings the blood to my face as it rolls off his tongue, and I smile softly, leaning down to kiss him. He wraps his arms tighter around me and sighs against my lips. He's right. There really is no one to blame this time.

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Mick - mick@cryptoffic.com