Stormy Night

Home : Stories by Catw00man : Dark Nights Series : Stormy Night

Summary: Jimmie’s getting tired of being ignored and decides to do something.

AUTHOR: Catw00man
EMAIL: catw00man@cryptoffic.com
RATING: PG-13
SERIES: Dark Nights Series
CHARACTER: Jimmie Johnson POV
CATEGORY: Angst
COMPLETED: December 13, 2004
WORD COUNT: 5,189
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: This is the 6th story in my Dark Nights Series and we have definitely reached the point now where you need have read the previous fics for this to make any sense. This one starts a little more than two weeks after Night of Denial. You can find the other fics in this series here.
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Charlotte: June 19th, 2002

He’s avoiding me.

As much as I’d like to pretend different he’s definitely avoiding me, and I’m not sure why. I mean, I know it’s because I went to New York. It’s probably because I found him there the way I did. He must be mad that I found out about what he does away from the track. Yeah, that must be it, he didn’t want anyone to know. He didn’t want anyone to find out that he’s barely holding things together. He tries so hard to hide it in public, and I really don’t even think the team knows. That must be why he won’t meet my eyes. That must be why he’s ignoring me and won’t be in the same room with me…

That’s crap.

That’s all crap and I know it. He’s not avoiding me because I found out about his drinking binges. I already knew. He knew that I knew. Why am I even trying to pretend I don’t know what’s really going on? He’s avoiding me because he knows how I feel. I knew it the moment our eyes met in his kitchen. He saw. He saw what I can no longer hide.

I shake my head as I pull on the dark highway. I know I saw recognition in his eyes--recognition of what I feel towards him. So, why is he avoiding me?

At first I thought it was because he didn’t feel the same way and couldn’t deal with the fact that his teammate has fallen hard for him. For the first few days I was pretty sure it was all over, that I would get a call that he wanted a different driver in his car. That call never came, but he’s still avoiding me like the plague. He won’t answer my calls. He constantly finds ways to never be alone with me at the shop and the track. Damn, he hasn’t even told me where he’s living! I know he got a place in Charlotte, but you would think that is the world’s best kept secret. How long does he think he can hide from me?

I have to admit he’s done a pretty good job of it all. Anyone asks him anything remotely personal he just flashes that charismatic smile and easily changes the subject and no one even seems to notice. No one but me of course. He can’t fool me anymore. I see right through him and all the masks he hides behind day after day. I see the lost look in his eyes when he stares out into the night sky, and I’ve seen the way he deals with it…if you can call what he does dealing.

Why am I the only one who understands, or at least the only one who wants to do something about it? It’s like he has everyone completely blinded to what is going on, or maybe they just don’t care. Can’t anyone else feel the pain radiating from him as he walks into a room? How long is this going to go on? How long can it?

I’m worried about him. I’m honestly scared for him. It actually seems like he’s gotten worse, but it’s hard to tell considering he won’t even talk to me anymore. I need to make him talk to me. I need to see him, and not just because of how I feel, but because I’m worried about him. I’m worried about what he could do when the night falls around him and all the light goes out of his eyes. I’m worried one of these days he might not wake up when the sun breaks through the sky.

I can’t lose him.

I grip the wheel a little tighter in my hands and have to turn on the windshield wipers as it begins to rain. I really hope this isn’t a bad omen. I just have to see him tonight. I don’t even care anymore if he’s mad at me or not for showing up unannounced. We have to deal with this tonight, because I can’t go on any this way longer…and I’m not sure he can either. That’s why the day before yesterday I finally had enough, and I knew there was only one person who could help me.

*****

I storm through the shop with one purpose in mind. There’s only one person who can help me now, and it’s Monday so I know exactly where he’ll be. I stride quickly up the stairs of the glistening new shop, paying no attention to the way everything still shines around me. My mood is too dark to take notice the way I usually do. I have one thing and only one thing in mind right now. I just need to find a way to convince him to help me.

I reach the top landing and see the door to my destination open and pause as I see Jeff step out. I should’ve known he might be here. I feel my stomach clench as he looks my direction and stops short. He only meets my eyes for a moment before he looks away and turns the other direction, walking away from me, again.

Part of me wants to follow him, but I know it won’t do any good. I know he’ll just find away to hide behind someone else. The shop is too public of a place anyway for the conversation I have in mind, so instead I continue my trek down the hall to the door he just came from. As I reach the door I don’t even knock, I just push the door open then close it behind me before turning to face him.

He looks up from the mess of papers on his desk with a slightly puzzled look and says, “Jimmie? Can I help you with something?”

I just look him directly in the eyes and reply, “Yeah Robbie, you can tell me where he’s staying.”

I watch as his eyes go wide with surprise at my words and I see they are filled with understanding. But then he looks away for a moment, then turns his head back to face me, a mask of confusion settling over his features as he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Jimmie.”

I feel my jaw clench at his avoidance of my question and dig my nails into my palms as my anger rises. Why does he have to make this difficult? Why does he have to pretend he doesn’t know what I’m asking? I take a deep breath and push my anger down as I try again with slow deliberate words. “Jeff. Where is Jeff staying Robbie? I know he’s got a place in Charlotte now. Where is it?”

I watch as he holds my gaze for a moment before glancing around the room again, and I know he’s trying to find another way to avoid my question. Finally he looks back my direction, and I see him briefly wring his hands before placing them back on the desk, and I know before he even speaks that he’s going to lie to me.

“I don’t know, Jimmie. He just moved. I didn’t think to ask,” he replies not meeting my eyes.

I clench my jaw again as my anger builds and I try to keep from outright shouting at him and calling him a liar. Why is he doing this? Does he think he needs to protect Jeff from me or what? I just don’t understand. I stand motionless for a moment trying to quell my sudden rage before speaking again.

“Come on, Robbie. You’re his crew chief. You spend more time with him than anyone,” except me, I think. At least that the way it used to be. I shake my head and continue, “You have to know where he is. Please, just tell me,” I ask trying to keep the desperation out of my voice.

I watch as Robbie lowers his gaze to the mess of charts, manuals, and papers covered in his scrawling handwriting, scattered haphazardly across his desk, and I find I’m holding my breath as I wait for his reply. Finally he raises his head and his eyes meet mine, and I can’t help but notice how tired he looks. Then in a soft, even voice he says, “If he hasn’t told you, Jimmie, maybe he doesn’t want you to know.”

I almost lose it the instant the words are out of his mouth. But that’s when I realize screaming at Robbie is not going to get me what I want. Best case scenario it gets me thrown out of his office. Not to mention I seriously doubt Rick would be too pleased with the Rookie shouting at one of the crew chiefs. Worse case, Jeff finds out about all this, and I really don’t think he’ll be very happy with me grilling Robbie this way over him. So, I realize, I have to take a different tact. Robbie is not going to let me force this out of him.

I focus again on Robbie sitting in front of me and that’s when it hits me. Robbie does spend a lot of time with Jeff. He has to have noticed how he’s falling apart. He has to have felt the pain that is constantly coming off of him in waves, and how he barely seems to be keeping it together lately. Surely he has to care, right?

I slowly take a step away from the door, moving closer to his desk and meet his eyes with mine again, willing him to see, to understand what I’m trying to do. Then I speak to him in a softer tone, letting a little emotion color my voice as I unconsciously motion with my hands as I speak, “Robbie. I only want to help him. Please. Help me do that.”

I watch as he looks down to his desk once more, crossing his arms and resting them along the edge. He doesn’t look like he’s going to budge, and I just want to cry out in frustration. Doesn’t Robbie care about Jeff at all? Doesn’t he want to help him? How can he just stand by and do nothing as he self-destructs right before our eyes? Is he really that cold and unfeeling that he won’t help me? What kind of a person is he?

Finally he looks up at me again and all my thoughts about him being an unfeeling bastard melt away when I see the look in his eyes. He does care, and he doesn’t know what to do. I can see the concern and frustration in his eyes that I’m sure mirror mine and I bite my lip, waiting to see what he will say next. I watch as he takes a deep breath and says in a tired voice, “What if he doesn’t want your help, Jimmie?”

That’s when I finally understand. He has tried to reach Jeff, and obviously hasn’t been able to. He knows. So why won’t he give me a chance to help him? Why won’t he just tell me what I need to know so I can try to reach him. I have to make him understand.

“Robbie,” I say as I take another step towards him. “You have to give me a chance. I just want to help him,” I continue as I finally reach the edge of his desk. My voice gets even more serious, as I again try to convey my sincerity with my eyes, as I say, “And I don’t care if it’s what he wants or not. He needs help, and I’m going to give it to him,” whether he likes it or not I finish to myself.

I watch as Robbie sighs and again looks down, breaking eye contact with me. He’s not going to help me, I realize. He’s just going to let this go on and on until something bad finally happens. I can’t allow that. I have to make him tell me. I start to try again, but before I have a chance he speaks.

“Maybe you’re right,” he says, still staring at his desk. He raises his eyes to me then, before continuing. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you. I know how much time the two of you used to spend together. And maybe you’re the only one with a chance to reach him,” he says, as he reaches for a scrap of paper at the corner of the desk. Then he picks up a pen and stares at the blank white scrap of paper for a moment and I can only wonder what he’s thinking. Finally I watch as he scribbles down what I hope is an address, shoves the paper away from his hands as if he doesn’t even want to touch it, and then puts his hands on the desk and pushes himself to his feet, meeting me eye to eye.

“He’d be pissed if he thought I gave this to you,” he says, as he starts to walk around the desk, leaving the small slip of paper, which means more to me at this moment than any number of championships ever could, in plain site.

“Thank you, Robbie,” I say absently as I’m unable to tear my eyes away from the plain white strip of paper which has all the information I so desperately need. But as I begin to reach for the address, I feel Robbie stop short beside me and I look up to meet his eyes.

“I don’t know what you’re thanking me for, Jimmie. I haven’t given you anything.” But the look in his eyes tells me otherwise. I just nod at him, letting him know I won’t betray him. I won’t tell Jeff that he’s the one who helped me.

“He asked me not to give it you, you know. He didn’t say why, but you’re right. He needs someone. Maybe you can help him,” he says as he resumes walking to the door.

“I’ll try,” I say as he passes me, making his way to the door. I feel my heart squeeze with emotion as I take in his words--that Jeff actually asked Robbie not to tell me where he is. He really is hiding from me. He really is trying to get away from me. But it doesn’t matter I tell myself. I’m not going to let him do this. I’m not going to let him push me away like this. I begin to reach for the priceless scrap of paper, still lost in thought, and stop as I hear Robbie’s voice behind me again.

“Jimmie,” he says, and I turn my head to look at him over my shoulder. “Just don’t make it worse.”

His words hit me like a ton of bricks and I can’t do anything but nod at him again as I watch him open the door and step outside, closing the door softly behind him. Worse? I don’t even want to begin to imagine what worse could mean. No, I’m going to help him, whether he likes it or not. I shake my head against these thoughts then quickly reach for the address, slipping it in my pocket and turning for the door. As I step outside Robbie’s office all I can think is, how could I possibly make things worse?

*****

It’s actually taken me almost two days to finally get up the guts to do anything. I shake my head and glance over to the passenger seat beside me and see the precious scrap of paper sitting there. I thought once I had his address, once I knew where he was, it would make things easier. But instead, it just made my doubts grow even more. It was actually something Robbie said that finally made up my mind.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

I’m still not sure what he meant when he said that, but it got me thinking. How he looks at me…I never really thought about it before. I’ve always been so concerned about the way I look at him. I’ve always been too wrapped up in making sure I didn’t let something slip, that I didn’t let on about my own feelings to anyone…I never even thought about what he might be feeling.

“the way he looks at you.”

That got me thinking, and more than that, it got me remembering, remembering so many things I should’ve noticed before and didn’t. The way his eyes follow me across the garage, especially when he doesn’t realize I see him. The way he watches me so intently when we talk. The way his eyes lock on my hands and sometimes I swear on my mouth when I speak. Why didn’t I see all this before? Why didn’t I notice?

How could I have missed the way he lingers before pulling away every time we touch? The way he squeezes my neck when he puts his arms around me, crushing me to him, on any and every occasion. He doesn’t do that with anyone else. I’ve seen how his eyes seem to light up when he sees me, how the darkness he carries inside seems to lessen. I knew that. Why didn’t I understand everything else?

He doesn’t look at me like a friend. Oh, he’s not that blatant, not the way I know I’ve been these last weeks. I’m sure no one else has ever noticed…except maybe Robbie? Does Robbie know something I don’t? Is that why he warned me about making things worse? No, I don’t think so. Robbie was looking straight at me when he said that, and I really didn’t sense a double meaning in his words. Surely he was just referring to our friendship, I mean, up until a few weeks ago we’ve been inseparable. I wonder what he thinks happened. He has to wonder.

I shake my head and focus on the highway, looking for the exit that should be coming up soon as the rain begins to pelt the windshield harder. I turn up the wipers and again wonder at this unseasonable downpour. Surely it’s not a bad sign…and when did I start believing in dark omens anyway? No, it’s just a thunderstorm, nothing more, nothing less. I don’t need to start looking for trouble where there is none. I’ve got enough to worry about as it is.

His eyes.

I can’t stop thinking about his eyes. Stormy blue, with more emotion than I’ve ever seen. I just wish so much of that emotion wasn’t pain and despair. Maybe I can change that. Maybe I can make a difference. Maybe I can make him look at me again the way he did that one time we went out in New York…

Dammit, why didn’t I remember this before. I should have figured everything out that night. It was so obvious. How dense can I be? I remember we were in one of the dark New York clubs he likes to frequent. It was always a rare occasion that we didn’t run into someone he seemed to know there. Usually it was women. Women who would fawn all over him. But when he would take me there, he never seemed to give them the time of day. Oh, he wasn’t rude or anything. He hugged them back when they saw him and draped themselves all over him, and I still don’t know what he would whisper in their ears that would always bring a smile to their painted lips before they sauntered away.

It’s funny really. The women never bothered me. Maybe it was because I knew he wasn’t serious about any of them. I knew what was going on there. But then there was that one night I completely burned with jealousy that I didn’t want to admit, but that consumed me nonetheless. It was the night he showed up, whoever the hell he was. I’ll never forget the way he smiled when he saw him, the way he got up from our table and went to him, pulling him into a hug.

I remember sitting there watching wide-eyed as they embraced. It should have been innocent. Just two friends who haven’t seen each other in a while greeting each other with a hug. But it wasn’t. I could tell. I could tell by the way Jeff’s hand rested on the back of his neck, and how he stroked his skin with his thumb. I could tell by the way that bastard pressed against him, whispering something in Jeff’s ear. And I remember burning with jealously like I never had in my life. I noticed all those things, even then…even though I seemed to forget about them later--probably because I couldn’t bear to think of him with another man when he could be with me.

It’s almost funny now when I think about it though…when I think about what that guy looked like. He was taller than Jeff, lean with a decent build, short brown hair and dark brown eyes. He could have been me. What if he was me? Why am I only making this connection now? Hell, I remember watching them talk, watching the way that guy motioned with his hands…just like I do, and how Jeff’s eyes seemed to be drawn to those long slender fingers…just like he stares at mine. My God, how blind am I?

Jealousy isn’t the only thing I remember about that night, though. I remember the adoring look he shot Jeff when he finally pulled back from him, and I remember the way his face fell when Jeff told him something that made him leave. He shot him down. It was so obvious. He shot him down and came back to me, and I felt more satisfaction in that moment then I remember feeling in a very long time. That feeling grew even more when that guy finally saw me and I gave him a dark smile as he left. I know now what was going on. Why couldn’t I see it all then?

But even, all that wasn’t what I should have remembered. No, what I should have remembered was what happened when that guy finally walked away. I should have remembered his eyes. How the hell did I ever forget? I know why. I convinced myself that I was imagining things--that I was projecting my feelings on him because there was no way Jeff would ever look at me like that. But he did, and I’m just now realizing it.

He watched that guy until he was lost to the crowd before finally turning back to me, and that’s when he completely took my breath away with the intensity of his eyes. Those dark blue storms were full of lust and desire and longing and it was all directed toward me. He almost seemed to stalk back to the table, never breaking eye contact with me and for a moment I felt like he was completely devouring me with his eyes. The way he looked me up and down, I swear he even licked his lips. I just wanted to melt into a puddle right there…or bend over the nearest flat surface. In that moment I knew he wanted me. I knew it. I knew he felt the same way I did. How could I possibly have convinced myself that all didn’t happen?

He’s so smooth when he wants to be, I have to give him that. He looked at me that way until he reached the table and sat down. But before I could really even begin to process what happened, he turned away, asking a waitress for more drinks, and when he looked back at me, the “look” was gone, and I’ve never seen it since. That’s why I convinced myself it didn’t happen because he’s so convincing when he wants to be. With only a few words and that blinding smile, he had me believing it was all in my head. He slipped so easily back into our comfortable relationship that I assumed everything was all in my head.

But it wasn’t.

I know that now. I know for whatever reason he let down his guard that night and showed me something he didn’t want me to see. Is that why he’s pushing me away? Is it becoming as hard for him to deny himself as it is for me? Why is he even trying? Why won’t he just give in? Is he worried about the “scandal” of being with another driver? I so can’t believe that. Jeff does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants. At least the Jeff I know does. I can’t believe he would deny his feelings over what the “press” might think. Hell, I know that I only know a fraction of what he did in New York when that bitch first left him. He wasn’t scared of anything or anyone then. So why is he avoiding me?

I’m going to find out.

He wants me. I know he does, and I’m not leaving his place until I have an answer. I have to know why he’s holding back. I have to know why he tortures himself. I have to know what is wrong and how I can make it better.

This ends tonight, I think as I finally exit the dark highway and reach for the directions I wrote down on the paper with his address. It only takes a few minutes before I find his street, although I’ve had to practically slow to a crawl, as the rain becomes even heavier. I turn off my lights as I finally pull in his drive and shut off the engine. I squeeze the steering wheel in my hands and just stare at the house in front of me for a few minutes trying to prepare myself for this. There’s no turning back now. I’m here. I’m here and I’m not leaving until he admits what’s been going on for so long.

I take a deep breath as I push open the car door and run to the front door, trying to not get too soaked. I reach the small porch and have to wonder if he’s awake, or if he’s already passed out again. It doesn’t matter. He’s going to face me no matter what. No matter if I have to drag him into the cold rain to sober him up.

I take another deep breath and shiver as I feel cold rain run down my neck and underneath my shirt from my wet hair. I shake my head, causing water droplets to pepper the front door, then run my fingers through my hair trying to make myself look halfway presentable, and that’s when I realize I’m stalling.

No more.

I reach up and knock on the door, hard. I wait about a minute, and not hearing anything I knock again, even louder this time. I don’t care what game he’s playing, I’m not leaving until he faces me. I still get no answer, so I press the doorbell a few times impatiently. He’s not going to get away with hiding from me anymore. But what if he isn’t hiding? What if he just doesn’t know how to take the next step, make the first move? Maybe that’s why he’s avoiding me. He doesn’t know how to cross the line. Is that possible? Could he be here waiting for me, wanting me to be here?

I stare intently at the grained hardwood of the door and imagine him opening it and meeting my eyes. I imagine seeing the ever-present pain in those intense blue eyes lessen, the way it used to when he looked at me as he invites me inside with a smile, taking my hand and pulling me inside.

“I was waiting for you,” he might say as those deep blue eyes darken with desire, and turn the color of the dark twilight sky, looking at me with the longing I saw only once before. I imagine reaching up to trace the strong line of his jaw with my fingertips, gliding over rich, smooth skin as he smiles at me with his eyes as well as his lips. I see him run his tongue across those sensual lips, making them glisten, as I take his face in my hands, leaning close enough finally brush my mouth across his, just like I wanted to that night I found him in New York.

But there would be no pulling away this time. This time I would taste him as his mouth opens to mine and I push my tongue past his lips to tangle with his, and the kiss would be long and slow as we savor every precious moment. I would run my fingers through his soft hair as the kiss deepens, pulling him closer to me, as I run my fingers down his scalp and across the back of his neck causing him to relax into me, letting everything else go but us. And he would let everything go, he would let me draw out all of the pain and darkness he carries with him everyday, putting out all the internal storms that rage inside except for the one building from desire and want.

Then we might find our way to his bedroom, and I could undress him slowly, unbuttoning his shirt as I did once before, but this time he wouldn’t be out of it from too much alcohol. This time he would throw back his head and moan as my fingers brush over his skin making him tremble with desire. This time he would look down at me, whispering my name in passion as he pulls me to him, causing us both to tumble to the bed with another kiss full of hunger and tenderness. Finally we would get to express what we’ve been holding back for so long. Finally we would get to let go and explore everything we could have, and it would be perfect as only it could be with him.

I feel a smile cross my lips as I lose myself to these thoughts, letting my eyes drift closed at the very thought of being with him, touching him, holding him. This is the way it should be. This is…

My eyes snap open as I finally hear a noise on the other side of the door. Oh my God. This is it, I realize. I feel butterflies suddenly dancing in my stomach and I’m completely terrified in an instant. What if things don’t go the way they do in my mind? What if he is mad at me showing up? What if he tells me to leave? What if I can’t make things better? What if I make them worse? I feel my mouth go dry as the door finally begins to open, and I can feel my heart pounding in my chest with anticipation and uneasiness. Please, please let this go well.

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Catw00man - catw00man@cryptoffic.com