Operation Vegas

Home : Stories by Zippit : Bittersweet Miracles : Operation Vegas

Summary: The kickoff to Operation Harvick Distraction begins in Vegas.

AUTHOR: Zippit
EMAIL: zippit@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG
SERIES: Bittersweet Miracles
CHARACTER: Dale Earnhardt Jr, Clint Bowyer, Jeff Gordon, Athena Barber, Kevin Harvick, and Mike Davis, Dale Jr POV
COMPLETED: May 28, 2008
WORD COUNT: 3,082
DISCLAIMER: 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: I'm making progress! :) Hope to have more for you guys soon.
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Las Vegas Motor Speedway - Las Vegas, Nevada - January 28th, 2008

Breathe in, breathe out, inhale AMP, and glance at what has to be the sixth case I’ve ripped into in the past few days. Never call me nothing but a good sponsor whore. It keeps me going when I swear there’s not another hour I can stay up. But I have to push through, because there’s just so much stuff I need to do. I don’t know who knows and who doesn’t and I don’t care to ask. I know Tony Jr. and Mike will take care of me when I need the help. I’ve dedicated myself to that team. But no one has a real clue about what I’m doing. The AMP does a good job of hiding that.

Scrub a hand over my hair and scrunch my face up at the raised hood on the car. Not much longer left in practice and they wanted to try some last minute adjustments. We got what we needed from the sessions today. We’re maybe not as fast as we wanted to be, but it’s a whole hell of a lot better in cornering and straightway speed than what I had at DEI. It’s still a bit weird to see Pidge greeting me when I get into the garage though. Before, the only time I saw him was when we were as far away from the track as we could be, rival teams and all that. Turn around to glance at the screen filled with lap times and scan down to the 29 team. Average, just like we all are, hovering around the top 10, but we ain’t nothing like the Gibbs Toyotas. Sip at the AMP in my hand before leaning my arm across the middle area of the crash cart and really take a look at all the speeds from the day.

Good thing nobody questions the AMP. I’m guzzling it about as much as I did with Bud. Only difference is now I can drink it out in the open without sponsors and NASCAR swooping down upon my head about it being a family sport. Tap out the rhythm to the last song I’d been listening to against the crash cart while I ponder what else we can possibly get out of the car in tomorrow’s sessions.

Look down the garage bay until I spot the Ronald McDonald colors of Kev’s Shell/Pennzoil 29 and I know the end of the week can’t come soon enough for him. All this technology and time and it still comes down to the driver giving the crew chief the right feedback to bring a good car to the track. The hum and thunder of the cars around us must be driving him nuts. Every sound, every moment reminding him of where he’d rather be. The cameras in the NICU still work pristine and sometime I’m gonna need to figure out how to get those speakers working properly. Those babies need to hear their Daddy’s voice as often as they can. Hand at my shoulder and it’s Tony Jr. Time to get back in the car. Polish off the AMP before sliding into my car and out onto the track for a few more laps.

Whiz around the track in what would at any other time be a slow torment. I’ve just got enough on my mind to stave off the boredom. Phase one of Harvick Distraction Week starts with Operation Vegas and I need to go enlist the help of a couple allies. I hope Jeff’s not too busy and that Athena won’t mind if I steal Clint for a few hours. Slide out the window of the car and untangle myself from all the equipment when practice is finally over. Morning, afternoon, and night testing. Over, over, over.

Sip from another can of AMP as we get through the thirty minute debrief and then I can finally get out of here. Sometimes I wonder how we even function, hopping as many time zones as we do weekly. Catch Mike’s look from the corner of my eye as we move through the garage toward the coach lot. “Don’t. Don’t even start.”

“I didn’t say a word.”

Give him a wan smile and wave goodbye when I head in one direction to get to my coach and he heads in another to get to his hotel room. And he won’t say anything, not to my face, not yet. I wonder if Jeff’s still up or if Clint’s back at his coach yet. I’ll check after a shower and a nap, though now that it’s past the early hours of the afternoon, I should be set to go for a few more hours. Internal body rhythms or what have you that have me the most tired around noon to two o’clock. Once I get past those, hand me an AMP and I’m fine.

After I step inside my coach, I spend a few moments playing with Killer and smile at his bright eyes and wagging tail. He pushes me sprawling and I don’t make an immediate move to get up because everything just hits. The sleep deprivation, the things I still need to do, the schedule twice as busy as the busiest one Teresa ever had me juggling. Killer lays his head down on my stomach and I drag my hand over to scratch his head. I won’t let anyone know, but I wonder how long I can honestly keep this pace up. I’m bordering on exhaustion and the season hasn’t even started. It’s a hell of a lot and I can’t handle it all at once. I can’t do it alone, but who else is there to help?

No one would be foolish enough to take on a whole shop like I have. I need someone but I don’t know who cause it’s like how Daddy and Teresa were with how DeLana and Kevin acted. You don’t find many couples like that and everyone saw how many tries it took Daddy to get it right. I don’t have that and I hope it doesn’t royally screw over KHI as a result. I have Kelley, but her patience’s grown thin in regards to what I’m doing with KHI. She’d rather I hand it over to someone else and focus on my own things.

I can’t do that. I just can’t.

Drag my tired ass off the floor and grab a shower then still dripping, I call Clint. Athena picks up, saying Clint’s in the shower, and I tease her about why she hasn’t joined him. Chuckle as she shoots back that I have a dirty, perverted mind and that she’s glad I’m staying out in the garage room instead of in the house. I swear I love the Bowyer household if nothing more than for how easy it is to be there even if I’m not there that often. Run my plan past her and she’s all for it even if Clint does get another guy’s night out. Grin and tell her he should take her shopping out in Hollywood to make it up to her.

The laughter that comes over the phone is just one of the reasons why I can’t let go like Kelley wants me to. I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want to lose this makeshift family I’ve found. It’s sad I know. RCR will always be my family in some ways, but I never had cause to really get to know everyone till now. If there was anything I could do to make sure DeLana was still around with her babies and Kevin…I would. Even if it meant losing all of this, I would. Shake my head as I move over to my closet to get dressed and ask Athena if they have a table we could use to play poker on that’s small enough to lug to Kev’s coach. She says she’ll look into it and that’s all I need to hear. Remind her about that shopping trip Clint owes her and ask him to bring along any alcohol he wants then say goodbye. It’ll be the alcohol that gets Kev to relax the most. We can only distract him so much.

One down, one to go.

Jeff opens the door at the first knock and before he can study me too closely I’m asking him to hang out and bring the poker chips and cards I know he doesn’t go anywhere without. Smile and tell him the same time I told Athena to pass along to Clint. Alright, Operation Vegas is a go. I need to down an AMP before I head to Kev’s coach. Need to grab some Bud too. If I know Kev, he’s probably not even changed out of his uniform. Just came in, sank down onto the couch, and watched his babies. Forty five minutes should be enough time to get him decent for company.

Check my own schedule while I devour a can of AMP and I’m so damn glad January is almost over. It’s always insane. Grab two packs of Bud and head to Kev’s, fidgeting while I wait for him to answer the door. I’m half tempted to grab a beer right now because it’s taking too damn long for him to answer the door. Knock a few more times and kick at the ground before he finally yanks the door open. Haggard look in his eyes I haven’t ever seen leave, firesuit tied around his waist, and glancing over his shoulder I can see the laptop abandoned on the couch.

There used to be a quip right about now, something about how I’m nothing but a drunkard who just wants to party or about how he’s the only friend I got. But those have long since stopped coming. I hold up the beer to ease the confusion in his eyes and that confusion changes to relief as he’ll have something to drown out the loneliness. We have no standing agreement, but since the season long grind has started up again, I’ve tried my best to keep him distracted. He blinks at me as I step inside and it’s too passive, too unlike the Harvick I used to know. Too unlike the one I fell in love with. Set the beer on the counter and snag the laptop to take a peek at the babies.

They’re fine. Sleeping soundly from the looks of it, now if only their Daddy could do the same. Glance back at him still standing by the open door and give him a look. “Shower. I’ll watch over the babies.” Hesitate a moment longer because this, this is where he’s supposed to snap that he doesn’t take orders from me. Doesn’t take orders from anyone, not even DeLana. The silence digs tenterhooks into my bruised heart as I continue, pretending like it doesn’t hurt to look at him like this. “Don’t start. You’d be here all night and just grab a quick one tomorrow morning otherwise.”

There’s almost a petulant down turn to his mouth. Good. Think past the exhaustion and the babies and just react, Harvick. I’d give anything for him to show a spark, anything at all. Any sign of life, but it’s all been extinguished or poured into concern about the babies. He lives for them, breathes for them. When he’s around them, it’s the only time I’ve really seen him come alive. So here I am watching him shuffle to the bathroom while I try my damnedest to keep him fighting for those babies.

Walk over to pull the door shut because he forgot to, flip the light, and take a look around his coach. It’s like a ghost lives here. Hardly anything’s been touched and there’s no smell of food lingering in the air. Who makes sure he eats during the day? Shit, I hope Todd does. Move to the kitchen and grab a beer.  Who am I kidding? His crew’ll take care of him. Richard Childress Racing takes care of their own. They always have. Lean with my back against the counter and glance at the empty coach.  It’s not the same without Endy and Bebe and LO here. It’s just not the same.

The water’s been running for a few minutes now and I’m already halfway through my beer. Shake my head and leave it sitting on the counter as I head to his bedroom, stopping to rap on the bathroom door and call, “Make it a long one or else, I’m barricading you in there.” Snort to myself, if Kelley could only see me now.

Freeze the moment my hand presses against the smooth finish of the bedroom door. I’ve never been back here. I shouldn’t be back here. I don’t want to be back here. Rub at my forehead, you’ve been through worse, Earnhardt. You know what it’s like. You know he needs your help and I do know. I know it all, but that doesn’t mean any of this is easier on me the second time around. Take a deep breath and walk through, unable to stop myself from taking everything in. The warm, inviting interior that’s just DeLana. Look around and I can still see other touches of hers like the pictures of them on the walls.  Stare at one and have to smile at the frame of Kev rolling on the rooftop after playing his prank on DeLana’s dad.

Shit, what am I doing? Bite my lip and grab the duffle I packed for him off the floor and rummage through it to grab everything Kev needs. Wince when I pull out wrinkled shirt after wrinkled shirt and damnit, I need to improve my packing skills. Turn to leave, but a picture on the wall catches my eye. I shouldn’t, I really shouldn’t. Draw closer and I see it’s DeLana, Kev, and Tony at some dirt track. Kev, fresh from the car and completely splattered, DeLana looking pristine with Kev’s arm draped across her shoulders. Tony beside them grinning like a loon and what the fuck am I doing here? I’m not his best friend, I’m not even his teammate and here I am doing all this shit. I saw him on weekends and sometimes during the week when there was something we both wanted to do.

Walk out and knock on the bathroom door again, “Clothes.” I open the door and set them on the sink and he won’t even notice the catch in my voice. He won’t notice anything at all. Move to the kitchen and finish the beer I’d left on the counter, hand clenched tight around my second bottle tonight as I yank the fridge open. Food, I see food. Did he have dinner? We had a dinner break, but did he eat anything? He’s not eating enough as it is and whatever I can get into him is better than nothing. Find enough in the fridge to toss together a sandwich and that’s just what I do. Sandwich and a glass of juice are waiting for him on the small table and I wonder how many times DeLana did the exact same thing for him.

The presence of their memories together creep over my skin and I want to get out. I want to leave, but I can’t. I started this whole evening and I’ve gotta see it through. Stare at the shaking beer bottle in my hand and fuck, when did I get stupid with my emotions? Gulp down the rest of the third one I’ve gone through and eye the already half empty six pack. Good thing I brought two. Can’t have anyone know what a sorry idiot I am, getting drunk before they even arrive.

By the time he comes out of the shower, I’m under control and taking full advantage of the fact he’s just going through the motions and not noticing a thing around him. He’s clean but just that much more forlorn and just how much self imposed torture am I gonna put myself through before this is all over?

Gesture at the table and set the laptop beside his plate. He needs his babies like he needs to breathe and I won’t deny him that. Clint and Jeff should be here soon. Slowly drink my way through the remains of the first six pack while I clean up the food scraps. Then I walk back and forth along the length of the coach because the beer and AMP have me buzzing over with energy. While I walk, I watch him eat and I know it’s more habit than hunger and the knowledge that I’ll make him eat something. His mind’s hundreds of miles away and I wish he could be too. He doesn’t deserve to be here. He deserves to be back in Charlotte.

Finish the last of the six pack and hide the evidence as I see Clint and Jeff through the window. Pull open the door before they have a chance to knock and grin. “See you made it alright.”

“You think we’d get lost or something?”  Jeff says and it’s good to have them here.

“Nah, I was just wondering when the entertainment would get here.”

“Oh shut it. We’re here so let’s get this game started. I wanna see how much money Bowyer’s made of.”

“Heeeeeey.” Clint nudges Jeff’s shoulder with the neck of a bottle of Jack. “You should be cheating June out of his money, not me. He makes more.” Then he says with a look I can’t quite read, “And thanks to you, Earnhardt, Athena’s got me promising her a trip to Hollywood. I’m so billing you for it.”

“First you’re gonna need to find my credit card.” Chuckle as they come inside and I move over to help them set up, starting when Kev’s voice comes from behind us.

“You focus on breaking Shifty, Gordon.  Its Earnhardt’s money I’m after.”

“You’re gonna need a nimble set of fingers for that, Harvick. Cause that’s the only way you’re getting my money.” Look at Kev, dressed in wrinkled clothes and a half eaten plate in front of him, and the haggard look in his eyes lifts for just a second and I glimpse the Harvick I knew once upon a time. It’s there and gone, but I know we’re good for the night. Now I wonder how good a poker player Clint is…. Relax into the chatter and maybe for a little while I can pretend.

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Zippit - zippit@cryptoffic.com