Independent

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Summary: “Independent in all the ways that are supposed to count but not in one way, and he wouldn’t change it.”

AUTHOR: Zippit
EMAIL: zippit@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG
CHARACTER: Dale Earnhardt Jr./Martin Truex Jr., Dale Jr. POV
CATEGORY: Angst
WORD COUNT: 656
COMPLETED: 7/02/06
DISCLAIMER: If you recognize anyone in this piece, I am in no way affiliated with them or know them personally. This is a result of an overactive imagination and I claim no truth to these words.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Written in response to prompt #159 “Independence” over at [info]15minuteficlets
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Time: 1:27p.m.

Independent, sure he was independent. Independent as he fucking could be and really that’s not sarcasm in his voice, nope, not at all. Independent in all the ways that matter. In his own house and home, owning his own property, in control of his own company, now has the rights to his own name. Yup, he’s independent alright, just not in the way that matters.

He’d still drop everything without a word if Martin ever needed him. With no explanation, no nothing, he’d go help Martin in whatever he needed. There’s no doubt in him that he would. At the same time, the thought kills him inside. Martin, Martin, always Martin. He can’t move on, he doesn’t really want to yet Martin already has. He has Sherry. They’re living in Martin’s new house together, designing it, doing everything like a couple does.

God, how he wishes he could take Sherry’s place but he never will. Martin doesn’t want him, probably never did. All they were was some experiment to while away the time. Some fucking experiment, huh? Leave him wanting and aching and needing him so fucking bad he can barely function at times.

He guesses he never meant that much to Martin. The supposedly strong friendship they forged before anything happen, what happened to it? It just faded away like it never existed. Like they never existed, like they were never anything more than boss and employee. Martin can’t even stand being seen with him. Takes every chance he gets to be as far away from him as possible. Barely any time spent together at all and then he gives him brief flashes of hope that make him think there still might be something, something to hold onto, something that remains between them.

Away from the cameras, after the thrill of a dominating win, during testing when there are no cameras, no significant others, they slip back into who they once were, who they should’ve been. Friends and colleagues, best friends, closest to each other than anyone else. Horsing around like two overgrown boys, joking and laughing and pulling pranks or a nudge on the bumper, a donut on the side of the car, everything they used to share back in 2004 and for the first half of 2005.

Fucking hell... he’s independent as independent comes but goddamnit, he needs the boy more than anything in the fucking world. Independent in all the ways that are supposed to count but not in one way and he wouldn’t change it. He only wishes Martin was the same way.

Teammates, friends in arms, he shakes his head, he ain’t nothing more than a lovesick fool pining over what he can’t have. He snorts and runs a hand through his hair, pacing in front of his bed. Independent, right.

He’s NASCAR’s superstar, the one everyone either loves or loves to hate. The rebel without a cause, the one that stirs up the waters and doesn’t care. Fucking hell, he’s a damn Earnhardt, he should know how to quit something that ain’t doing him no good. He’s the one that forges on, that carries on for the fans, that puts his own needs aside and takes care of everyone else’s. He should be able to put this behind him, it shouldn’t be no problem.

... Then why the hell can’t he?

He’s so wrapped around Martin’s finger, it ain’t funny. No one, no one should consume him so much. Independent his fucking ass. He growls at himself and stalks out of his bedroom, heading down and out his front door for the garage where he keeps his ATVs. He needs to stop thinking, stop thinking about what he can never have. Never in a million years.

Independent, right.

With the roar of an engine, he guns out of the garage and disappears into his property. Spattered with mud and who knows what else, he tries desperately not to think.

End: 1:44p.m.

 

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