Ritual Solitude

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Summary: They all have those prerace rituals.

AUTHOR: Zippit
EMAIL: zippit@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG
CHARACTER: Kevin Harvick/Dale Earnhardt Jr, Clint Bowyer; Kevin POV
PROMPT: Taming the Muse #114 - Seychelles (7.59)
COMPLETED: February 16, 2009
WORD COUNT: 1,034
DISCLAIMER: If you recognize anyone in this piece, I am in no way affiliated with or know them personally. I am neither making a profit nor plan to do so. This is nothing more than an exercise in fiction. This is a result of an overactive imagination and I claim no truth to these words.
BETA: Thanks to Catw00man for the beta. All others are mine.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Here’s a sweet look into those final moments before it’s time to get to work.
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Nearly every Sunday morning, we’re up and at ‘em bright and early. Appearances before we head off to the drivers’ meeting then back to our coaches to hide out ‘til we need to be on the grid. Neither one of us has ever been one to enjoy the mornings though he’s the one that tends to hide under the covers longer. I have to drag his ass out of bed and into the shower. He won’t eat but he’ll devour a whole case of Sundrop if I’m not watching. It’s like...dealing with a five year old when he gets that many in him. But even that won’t make him “social” before a race. No, he’s all about finding that zone he needs for the race ahead of him.

You’ll always see him tucked into the shadow of the drivers’ intro stage. He has friends all through the garage. There’s no reason to hide there. He uses the excuse of his pale, pale skin to hide behind, but I know it’s crap.  He just wants to be alone. On rare occasions he’ll be relaxed enough he’s actually out in the crowd. Otherwise, good luck talking to him unless you’re the media, if you could call that talking.  He doesn’t give them the sugar coated bullshit like the rest of us. He’s in that don’t wanna talk to the media mood and that definitely shows.

We’re not supposed to be around each other much when the media is near cause we don’t handle keeping our hands to ourselves well. I don’t know how many times Shifty or Burton’s walked in on us doing something we weren’t supposed to be doing in the team hauler. I think Bowyer’s face was red for a solid week after that first time. The fun we had with him. Smirk as I look up to the stage and look for him and I can’t miss him. He’s not looking at me. Not looking at anything. He’s just...being an Earnhardt, building that peace and isolation around him like an island adrift in the roiling sea. That’s my Earnhardt. So solid, you won’t ever see him break.

I can coax him out usually. But he won’t contribute much to the conversation. He’ll listen in and make the rare snarky comment, content to be part of the group. Clint and Burton have come to accept him as a fact of their existences. I don’t go anywhere without my Earnhardt. He’s my island of sanity and I’m his. It’s hard sometimes when all we get to see of each other at the end of the day is nothing more than a text message here or a quick call.

Feel someone’s gaze on me and I turn to find Bowyer looking at me. “What?”

“You ever manage to get him to be human for more than a week at a time?”

Shrug and chew on my nails as I look back up at Dale. “Not yet. It’s part of his prerace routine. That’s just how he is on race day.  Why change it?”

“You even think you could?”

“Never seen the reason to. It works for him.”

“Huh.” He turns to look at Dale tucked against the entrance of the driver intro stage.

“What am I supposed to do, Bowyer? Make him eat and toss out all the Sundrop before he can get to it? It’s not that easy and I don’t want to know what’d happen to his race if I did.”

“Easy, Harvick. Just wondering,” he says and moves off to talk with Burton, shaking his head slightly. I didn’t mean to be hostile. It’s just one of those things June has to do before a race. We all have those prerace rituals in one way or another.

Look back to Dale and he hasn’t really moved. His hands are behind his back, feet crossed at the ankles as he leans back against the stage, lost in his own little world as if none of this mattered. But we all know it does. Matters more than he could ever put into words. It’s why he moved to Hendrick, why he tried to buy controlling interest in DEI. He wants to win. To succeed and fulfill the need that roars in all of us.

No driver that’s ever had a taste of speed and the thrill of victory wants to be anything but competitive. It’s what you get when you let that bright-eyed five year old kid behind the wheel of a go kart. In my case it was my birthday present, for Clint it was the thrill of another hunt, four wheels instead of two, and for Dale? For Dale, it was earning it the hard way to make his Daddy proud.

It was about finding someplace he belonged in the world he’d grown up in. Week to week, garage to garage, listening and watching the cars roar around track after track. It leaves an imprint on the soul. Maybe we’re idiots for heeding that call, but not a one of us would ever give it up for something else.

We all have our prerace things to get us ready to race. Dale has his island amid the turmoil while most of the rest of us stand around shooting the breeze. It’s how it goes. But at the end of the day, there’s one thing that matters to us most, one thing we all strive to obtain. It’s being the first to the checkers and celebrating in Victory Lane before heading home and taking the celebration to a whole ‘nother level.

And I get to be the one who shares it with him. The thought brings a grin to my face while I move toward the stage when I hear the driver behind me on the grid being called. Dale’s still there as he will be until it’s his turn. Give him a pat on the stomach as I move past him on my way toward the stairs and watch his slight smile turn up a little more at the corners. Yup, he’s mine in all the ways that matter and in the next several hours we’ll decide who gets to be celebrating tonight.

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Zippit - zippit@cryptoffic.com