Burn the World Down

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Summary: At the fight of the year, everything’s on the line.

AUTHOR: Zippit
EMAIL: zippit@cryptoffic.com
RATING: R
CHARACTER: Kevin Harvick, Dale Earnhardt Jr, Jimmie Johnson, Jeff Gordon, Kevin POV
CHALLENGE: Christmas Request 2008
WRITTEN FOR: mystik78
COMPLETED: December 25, 2008
WORD COUNT: 1,419
DISCLAIMER: Not real; don’t know them, don’t claim to know them. Only the makings of my imagination. 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: This is a Christmas fic written for mystik78. You are evil you know that? Though I do like where this is going. Hope it’s intense enough for you.
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New York City, New York

It’s the fight of the year though some are calling it the fight of the century. June just wants them to all shut up.  He’ll give them fight of the year but the century’s not even over yet, it’s barely gotten started, and we probably won’t be around to see its end. Yeah, he’s a stickler for shit like that but he’s done me plenty of good. He also makes one hell of a sparring partner. Though you wouldn’t think it looking at him and hell I didn’t even know anything about it ‘til a couple months ago.

I’m facing off against Jimmie Johnson and the five time Champion trainer Jeff Gordon. I’ve fought Jimmie before and it’s always been a battle ‘til the end. We’ve split our fights about even but none of ‘em have been for the title.

We’ve even got a grand stage to play on: the big, bright city of New York. I don’t know what memories this place holds for June but he’s been uncomfortable since we stepped off the plane at JFK. Maybe it’s just a country boy’s dislike for the big city. Nah, it has to be cause we’re going for the title. Grin slightly as I do a couple of feints in my dressing room. Yeah, that’s gotta be it. I’ve never known anything to faze him. We’ve been to plenty of big cities before, this is just another in a long line.

We hooked up when I was getting my feet wet in the sport and he’d been around for a couple years. He wasn’t a sleaze like some of the other trainers I’d looked into and he actually cared about the sport. We were young and naive maybe but damn I wouldn’t trade it for anything. Now we’re here on the big stage going against the big guns. That’s all I wanted, a shot, and he got it for me. I’d done as much digging on him as I could back then and I’ve always heard rumors about him and Jeff being connected somehow. Never turned up anything concrete. Never mentioned it over the years and I’m wondering if I wasn’t hearing a bunch of lies. They’re not friendly but they’re not outright mean either.

I’m doing some light jump rope drills without the rope when June comes in with the match trainer. He’d do it himself if he could but they always want an outside trainer to make sure there’s no advantage given to one opponent over the other. At least pre-match. My hands are already taped up and I sit at the trainer’s bench so the trainer, Mitch, can check them over while I watch June pace beside the lockers. Look down when Mitch slides the match gloves on and secures them. “Match is in fifteen, boys.” Nod at him and only when Mitch is out of the room does June come over and check the work himself.

“You’ll do great. ‘member that he has a slightly longer reach than you and he’s got a mean sneak left hook,” he says as he fiddles with the fit of the gloves.

“Yeah, yeah I know. I’ve got it.” Look up at him and smile. “C’mon, you’re one of the best out there. You’ve trained me well for this.” The tension eases somewhat from his shoulders and he rests his hands on top of my gloves.

He manages a smile and a nod. “Good luck out there, Champ. This is yours for the taking.” It really is and I wrap my gloved hands around his and smile back.

“You’ll be getting your first title signed, sealed, and delivered by me today.” He chuckles and squeezes my shoulder then grabs my robe from the lockers, the one with “Havoc” emblazoned on the back. “Show time,” I murmur softly to myself as I loosen up my shoulders and take a deep breath when June slips the robe on me. Time to be the showman.

Walk beside him as we head down to the arena. The clamor of the crowd’s already echoing off the concrete walls. They hold us a moment so the announcers can ready themselves and June fidgets with his trainer’s bag which holds everything he might need to patch me up tonight. Bump his shoulder with a glove and lean in to say against his ear, “Relax. This one’s for you and me.”

He shivers and gives me an unreadable look before we’re introduced to the crowd. The cheers rise tenfold and I’m waving my arms, parading around like I’m supposed to be. Give ‘em a show. It’s what keeps them coming back for more. Hoot and holler and raise my hands, urging them to shout louder. “Jimmieboy’s” already in his corner talking to Jeff as I make my way into the ring.

Shake my head side to side, roll my shoulders, and bounce lightly on the heels of my feet when I catch an intense look between June and Jeff. Rivals acknowledging each other? Don’t know, don’t care cause June’s suddenly there next to me, mouth guard in hand. “Do yourself proud. This ain’t about me, it’s about you.”

He pats one cheek lightly then holds up the mouth guard for me to take and when I do he nods toward the referee that we’re ready. Clap my gloves together as June takes the robe from my shoulders and walk toward the center of the ring to shake Jimmie’s hand. Nod at him then the referee as the crowd’s din fades to the background.

The bell sounds and we’re in for countless rounds ‘til one of us KO’s the other. Square off with him, shifting into the stance and bobbing left to right, waiting for him to make the first move. He swings with his right and I nearly don’t duck his left in time. Damnit, need to remember. Dart away and circle ‘round each other. The intensity in his eyes doesn’t betray anything.

Watch his body, try to read him, anything to give me a clue about his next strike. Try a few uppercuts of my own and several bounce off his gloves then one hits and it’s on. We move all around the ring, bouncing off the ropes as we try to take each other out.

We’re both bloody and tired by the eighth round and June’s giving me water, dressing my cuts, and telling me the things I need to know to get Jimmie. Some part of me’s listening even as I’m watching the other corner of the ring. Jimmie’s taking the moment to relax. His eyes are closed and Jeff’s massaging his shoulders but…Jeff’s whole attention is focused on June. I don’t like the look in his eyes. Don’t like it at all. Hate it even more when the look Jeff exchanges with Jimmie as they talk strategy is a whole lot less intense.

Growl low and stalk from my corner when they ring the bell for the next round. This is ours. I’m getting this for June. For us. We’ll show ‘em. Go after Jimmie with a vengeance, landing several hard blows after another, backing him toward the ropes when he lunges out of my reach. Whirl around, finding him again and it’s his turn to land blows. June’s shouting with the rest of them and I hear him clearer over the top of the crowd.

For us.

Put my hands up to guard, slam forward an uppercut, left hook, right, undercut, one across his face. He’s matching me blow for blow. My head’s pounding and the noise of the arena’s starting to echo a bit more than I want. Dance back to the corner when the bell rings then back to the center for the next round. No clue how many are left. My eyes haven’t left Jimmie. We’ll go as long as it takes to knock one of us out.

Stalk back to the center and it’s hit, punch, smack, until it’s all a blur. Land a series of left, right lefts, and a few undercuts. One final blow should do it if the weariness in Jimmie’s shoulders is anything to go by. SMACK! Left hook and he’s still standing.

Lock eyes with his and everything fades to nothing as it’s just me and him. First one to go and I watch him, waiting. It’s now or never. This is for me and what’s mine. Let loose with my best punch and I sense his coming towards me. Last one standing….

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Zippit - zippit@cryptoffic.com