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“As a hypothetical,” Cal starts as their conversation reaches a lull. Race day has been on hold since the heavy rain coming down over the whole area really doesn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. So far today has consisted of everyone lying to themselves that the race could still happen, while also trying to keep entertained and dry as the rain delay dragged on and on.
Hence why Brick brought over his dad’s old poker set and in the garages where they could hide a little from the rain, set up a high stakes game of Texas Hold ‘Em with each player’s road trip snacks on the line.
“Oh good,” Brick says before Cal could finish. His cards are already down, having been the first to fold this game. “Have we reached the point of the day where we’ve resorted to making hypotheticals? What’s next? Would You Rather?”
Bobby snrks and Lightning sees Cal roll his eyes and flip the fourth card on the table. Lightning’s hand still isn’t very good but he refuses to fold. He's winning back his damn fruit gummies.
“As a hypothetical,” Cal says again, ignoring Brick, “if you had to have any other crew chief, who would it be?”
No one folds or bets and Cal flips the last card. Crap. Nothing good. Bobby folds, leaving just Lightning and Cal and the question is put on hold as Lightning and his pride stupidly let it go to showdown.
Hiding a defeated sigh, he flips his cards to reveal the jack and three that match two of the cards on the table. “Two pair,” Lightning admits and Cal grins evilly.
“Three of a kind.” He flips his own cards, revealing the two fours that finishes the hand and Lightning slaps his cards on the table. Barely. Cal barely won.
“You gotta be kidding me!” Brick curses and smacks Lightning’s arm. “I had two jacks. You bastards were literally running with crap and made me fold for no Goddamn reason.”
"No one made you do anything," Bobby comes in to defend Lightning. "Folding is a very personal decision."
"Not when you got these two eyeing each other like they've got straight flushes," Brick says, crossing his arms.
Cal just giggles evilly. No one’s quite sure how Cal can lose at nearly every other game but smoke their asses at holdem. “What’s my snack?”
Lightning rolls his eyes at the way Cal’s rubbing his hands together like a movie villain. “Uh,” he digs through the nearly empty bag at his side and begrudgingly tosses the last snack box across the table. Cal catches it but barely. “I snagged some of Doc’s crackers.”
“That’s really the best you got?” Cal asks, looking the unopened box over.
“You’ve already got the rest of my bag and Bobby stole my cookies when he thought I wasn’t looking,” he points out while Bobby not-so-subtly stuffs one of Lightning’s oreos in his mouth.
“Back to your question,” Bobby says around the cookie, waving another at Cal, “what was the question?”
Cal digs into the box of crackers with a shrug. “Just, y’know, if you had to race with someone else in the box, who would it be?” He briefly sniffs a cracker before munching on it with a shrug.
Lightning leans back and crosses his arms. He already knows the answer to that one: no one. If he can’t race with Doc, he won’t race with anyone. And he says so.
“Seriously?” Brick asks over Bobby's muttered "figures."
“That goes against the nature of the question,” Cal points out. The wind gusts into the garage through the open bay door, bringing a good amount of rain with it and the two with open snacks cover their food to keep them from getting wet. “You gotta pick someone.”
Brick leans down to pick up a couple cards that blew off the table and comes back up with an answer. “Easy,” he says, gathering the rest of them into a messy pile. “Your uncle.”
Bobby hums and nods. “Good pick,” he agrees.
“I mean,” Brick continues, “love my old man, I really do, but to get coached by the King of stock car racing? Hell yeah, I’d take that in a heartbeat.”
“I think I’d pick Doc,” Bobby says and Lightning grins childishly. “I feel like your uncle’s too nice to tell me when I’m doing something stupid. Doc absolutely would. I know he’s got practice.” Bobby grins at Lightning, who drops his own smirk.
“Hardy-har,” he drones before refocusing back on Cal. “What about you?”
“Nuh-uh,” Cal says. “You never answered.”
“Yeah I did. I choose no one.”
“That’s not an answer,” Cal pushes. “You gotta pick someone.”
“Okay fine,” Lightning half-heartedly relents. “Then I also pick your uncle. Your turn.”
“Now that I’d love to see,” Brick mumbles over the table at Bobby, who chuckles.
Cal looks at the both of them curiously. “I don’t actually know how that’d go..." Lightning just shrugs. He doesn't either.
Bobby leans back, thinking. “Well, I mean, if you didn’t turn down Dinoco, then you’d probably have run with the King anyways, right?”
Lightning frowns and tries not to grimace. Thinking about that part of his life, thinking about who he’d be if he never crashed into Radiator Springs, makes him feel icky. “I… don’t know?” He shrugs. “I think I kind of just assumed they’d let me keep doing my thing.”
“Nah,” Cal says with a shake of his head. “Tex hated your ‘thing’.” He does finger quotes around ‘thing’ and Lightning frowns deeper. Ouch. Like, yeah sure his thing wasn’t good but still. Ouch. “I’m almost certain you would’ve gotten someone, just whether or not it would’ve been Uncle Strip I dunno.”
“You know, speaking of,” Brick turns to Cal fully, “you never answered either.”
Cal hums, looks down at the table, then shrugs. “I dunno,” he says after a moment. “Never really thought about it.”
“Hold on!” Lightning yells, smacking a hand to the table as he jumps to his feet. “Non-answer!” he accuses.
“I really don’t know!” Cal tries, shrugging more.
“Dude, you were the one that asked it,” Bobby points out and Lightning points at him, emphasizing the point.
“I dunno,” Cal says again, thinking about it some more. “I guess… I guess I’d have to go with Doc just ‘cause I know him far more than I know y’all’s.” He winces at Brick. “Plus, I don’t think your dad likes me very much.”
Lightning won’t say it but yeah, the senior Yardley isn’t exactly the biggest fan of the junior Weathers. No one’s quite sure why.
“He doesn’t,” Brick casually confirms with a dismissive hand wave. “But wait, can I change my answer? Does it have to be one of ours? Can it be anyone? 'Cause if so I want Mario Andretti.” He hums and leans back. “Mm. To have that smooth, silky voice on the other end of the radio? Yeah, I’m definitely changing my answer.”
“What about Cartrip?” Bobby puts out.
“The commentator or his brother?”
“Darrell,” Bobby clarifies. “I feel like he’d be fun. Like, in a your-uncle-that-gave-you-your-first-beer-as-a-kid kind of way.”
Cal grumbles. “I already have that.”
Bobby pushes Cal’s face with his palm. “Well the rest of us don’t and I think it’d be fun. I am also changing my answer. Sorry Doc.”
Lightning huffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” He pouts jokingly until Bobby shifts in his seat.
“You know,” he starts, “in your hypothetical, you two just basically switched.”
Lightning and Cal share a look over the table. “We kinda did, didn’t we?”
Brick tsks. “I guess when you’re used to running with legends…” he jokes and Lightning grins at him.
“Okay, nepo baby."
“Hey,” Cal pushes back, “leave the nepo babies alone.”
But Brick shakes his head. “Hey, not fair. You’re only a nepo baby if your relative was actually good. Cal is a nepo baby, I’m just a guy with a dad that came in fifteenth for twenty years and then retired.”
At this point the game is thoroughly abandoned. Lightning steals back a few cookies from Bobby, Brick gets the cards back into a uniform pile, Cal checks the weather forecast with a droned, “We’re just frolicking in a field of green.” He flips his phone around to show a radar map literally covered in different shades of green precipitation.
Lightning turns in his seat at the sound of running outside and a couple other drivers duck into their garage. Totally soaked from head to toe. He leans back in his chair and grins at the two. "Still raining?"
Carlson levels a look at him but Diego, a rookie, at least gives him a nervous chuckle. He'll take it.
Brick asks a more useful question as he finishes packing up the poker set into the nice wood box. "Any word on the race?"
Carlson shakes his head while he squeezes a gallon of water out of his sleeve. "Nah," he says. "We were gonna go to the official's tent and see what's up." Diego nods along, still looking around all star-struck.
Lightning stands with a stretch. "Well, I'm out of snacks, Cal took them all. Game's over. We can come with."
Bobby raises a brow up at him and then out at the downpour outside. "Who's this 'we' you're talking about? You got a mouse in your pocket?"
Cal chuckles but slaps Bobby on the back as he stands. "C'mon, it ain't that bad."
The downpour seems to worsen at his words and everyone winces except Cal.
"See?" he says to try and salvage it. "It always gets worse before it gets better."
It does not get better.
They brave the wet only to discover the race is being put off until tomorrow. So the three of them (Brick splitting and going with Carlson) head back to dig through their respective trailers for drinks. They've officially got the day off.
Meanwhile Cal's question and the conversation that followed lay forgotten. They race a cloudy but dry Sunday, with Lightning and Cal battling it out for first until Lightning blows a tire on the last stretch and gets pushed over the finish line by Bobby behind him in third.
Honestly Lightning forgot the conversation happened, it was such a busy weekend. He forgot about it until he got a text from Cal at, like, three in the morning.
I know you said you'd never run with anyone else buuuut
you know whatd be kinda funny?
And Lightning’s never been one to say no to something funny.
Step one: get their respective sponsors on board because you can’t do anything without your sponsor on board. Thankfully, because Rusty and Dusty love Lightning, and Cal like grew up around Tex it surprisingly but also not-so-surprisingly turned out to be the easy step.
The hard part came in step two: get their crew chiefs on board.
They sit the two men down in the Dinoco trailer and run the idea past them. What they get is a flat look from Doc and a quiet sort of confusion from the King.
“You want to… what?” the King asks.
“Swap,” Lightning says, swinging his hands around to mime out a swapping motion. “You guys. So, like, Doc, you would crew chief for Cal and Mr. Weathers would help me. Just, like, for a race. For fun.”
“Why?” Doc asks even though Lightning just explained why.
“For fun,” he says again.
Cal takes up their argument from there. “Well, the other day, me and Lightning and Bobby and Brick were all chatting and the topic of who you’d have as a crew chief if you couldn’t have your current one came up." Lightning doesn’t mention that he’s leaving out the fact that it was Cal that brought it up. “And it just so happened that we each said, y’know, each others’, right?”
Lightning gets put under that confused look from the King while Doc gives the single brow raise at Cal. “That so?”
“Who’d the other two say?” the King asks next.
“Uh,” Cal drones, thinking back. “Andretti and Cartrip, I think. The older one.”
Doc hums. “Good choices.”
“I feel like Mario would’ve been good with Bobby,” the King says to Doc, starting their own side conversation.
“Never met the man,” Doc admits before Lightning cuts them off.
“Brick actually chose Andretti,” he corrects before waving a hand. “We’re getting off topic here.”
The King turns back to them and crosses his arms. “You want to trade crew chiefs for a race?” he clarifies.
“Yes,” Cal says.
“Sponsors gonna be okay with it?” Doc always trying to ruin the fun but this time Lightning’s way ahead of him.
“Way ahead of you,” he says with a smirk. “Already talked to them, they’re on board.”
Cal nods when the King looks at him, the silent question obvious. “Talked to Tex too. In fact, he's actually so on board that he said he’d override you if you said no.”
The King rolls his eyes with an exasperated laugh. “Of course he did.”
Lightning holds his hands out. “Well?” he asks, his leg starting to shake with anticipation.
The King just looks over at Doc, arms still crossed, and huffs when the other man looks back. “I apparently don’t have a choice,” he jokes. “This one’s on you.”
“Please?” Lightning begs, bringing his hands together under his chin. “It’d be so fun. Think of the children.”
“Yeah,” Cal mirrors Lightning’s posture and tone, “think of the children.”
Doc meets their matching puppy-dog eyes with an eye-roll that’s trying to hide a grin and Lightning knows he managed to get to Doc’s silly side. “Fine,” he relents. Lightning and Cal whoop and high five. “But for the record,” he deadpans to the King, grinning, “I got the better end of the deal.”
“Hey!” Lightning yells, indignant, but goes ignored other than Cal’s chuckling.
“Oh, I dunno,” the King says back, scratching his chin playfully, “Cal has his moments.”
Cal makes a face. “What? Like when?”
That gets a look from the King and Cal instantly backpeddles. “W– well, actually, we don’t– don’t need to go into detail, heh.” He gives a nervous chuckle that the King just shakes his head at.
Doc looks between the two Weathers. "What do I need to know here?"
But the King whistles lowly. "Well, telling you what you're getting yourself into'd give you an advantage, wouldn't it?" He surprises Lightning by giving him a wry wink. Lightning grins.
Until Doc nods in that way that sends chills down his spine. "Okay. I see how it is." He smirks at them. "So then what're we playing for?"
Lightning buffers. "What do you mean?"
"A game ain't worth playin' unless there's stakes," the King says. He hums and waves a hand. "Money's no fun." Yeah, thirty years of winning must make money a non-issue.
"Bragging rights are for kids," Doc lists off.
Cal raises his hand— like, honest to God raises his hand— until he gets everyone's attention. "What about somethin' embarrassing? Like loser team has to..." He taps his chin, thinking. "I don’t actually know."
"Declare the other team is better?" Lightning puts out. He’s also at a bit of a loss.
"Pied on national television?" Cal tries.
"Oh, that one would be fun," the King says, looking at a still-thinking Doc.
“Why not all of the above?” Doc posits and everyone listens. “Losers donate their earnings to a charity of the winners’ choice, lose bragging rights but have to announce the others as superior, and get pied.” He grins evilly and Lightning has a feeling he just walked Cal and himself into a trap. “All live on national television.”
He and Cal share a look. They both share the same feeling and know it. But Lightning doesn’t fold. And neither does Cal.
It’s to showdown.
They don’t get to do it the upcoming weekend since they're at a road course and road courses give Cal an advantage (dude can navigate a road course like Lightning can crashes, it’s unnatural). To make it as fair as possible, they schedule it for the next weekend at an oval.
So Richmond fans get a real treat. Their sponsors announce a couple days before they arrive in Richmond that they’re doing something special while behind the scenes, both teams hammer the little things out with the Cup officials and their sponsors.
Rules are as follows:
- No talking to your respective new teammate until after both teams have arrived to the racetrack.
- No talking to your old teammate until the race is over, save for trash talk and personal business (since they still share living spaces with their usual crew chiefs)
- Racers still race for their normal sponsors with their normal numbers. Crew chiefs are still employed with their usual sponsors and receive normal paychecks, despite helping another number win.
- Pit crews are still the same. The only thing changing is the crew chief.
- Charities have to be chosen ahead of time and approved
- No sabotage
- No bribery
- No outsider interference
- Pies will have to be entirely whipped cream filled instead of the usual banana creme because Cal is allergic to bananas
That’s the game. They’re three days out from Richmond and Lightning hasn’t been this excited for a race since the season started. People are talking about it online, giving their own speculations and Lightning spends probably an unhealthy amount of time reading damn near all of them. (One person got close, positing that the drivers are switching.)
And then arriving in Richmond, their sponsors (paired with Ramone who Lightning knew was being suspicious the last few days) showed them one final surprise:
Their numbers on their cars got a (temporary) redesign.
Lightning’s 95, while still the Rust-Eze red and gold, got a font change to look like the King’s 43. And Cal’s baby blue 42 got a ‘50s spin to it to look like Doc’s old 51.
The King gives a low whistle, looking over both cars’ new looks. Cal bounces around his own 42, excitedly taking it all in.
Lightning runs a hand over the 95 painted on the side. It’s so different. The numbers are monochrome white with the crisp drop shadow, only they’re against plain red instead of baby blue. His signature lightning bolt along the side is missing but he finds he doesn’t mind actually. He likes his bolt for sure (and Ramone left his lucky sticker because the man knows better) but without it, they really captured the look. It looks like it came from the ‘70s, only better.
Lightning grins at the others. “I like it. Old school cool.”
“Meets new school fool,” the Kings finishes without missing a beat, meeting Lightning’s eyes with a grin. Doc barks a laugh. Lightning pouts playfully.
Meanwhile Cal runs a hand over his car. “What, I don’t get no ‘fabulous Cal Weathers’?” he asks, pointing out that while his car has Doc’s 51 style, it is in fact missing the words painted on the Hornet’s side. “Not– not that I’m complaining or nothin’. This is quite possibly the coolest thing to ever happen.”
Doc chuckles and claps Cal on the shoulder. “We’ll see if we can’t earn that in the coming days.”
Lightning looks over his own car before looking up at the King. “You think they’ll let us to retrofit a tailfin on it?”
The King rolls his eyes but Lightning can spot a grin.
Oh, this is gonna be fun.
They get through Thursday and Friday, which are mainly for getting through driver paperwork and meeting with officials so they can inspect cars and teams and garages and blah blah. The boring stuff. Saturday is set aside for preactice. Sunday's qualifiers in the morning, then the race.
Friday is also when Rust-Eze and Dinoco drop the new paint schemes for the cars, last minute on purpose to build tension or something. Anticipation. Whatever. Either way, people get excited.
They’re holding off until tomorrow, race day, to do the real announcement but other drivers are already starting to figure it out. Which means practice is going to be annoying just because they’re already dodging nosy people left and right and this is gonna be the first time they’re working with their new temporary crew chiefs.
The 95 starts as smoothly as it ever does and Lightning, with Ramone’s help, carefully navigates it through the busy garages to the pits. It rumbles through with attitude. It turns heads. He won’t lie: it feels like his rookie year in a good way. The turning of heads, the attention. While there are some days where he drowns under it all, today is not one of those days. He’s basking in it.
They’re a bit early when they get there, with the only people milling about being Flo and Bobby.
Bobby heard about the whole thing early through the grapevine (aka Cal) and has been super annoying about it as the week built up to the weekend. He was apparently bothering Cal’s team (Doc included) earlier today while they practiced and apparently decided it’s Lightning’s turn.
Bobby and Flo’s conversation drops off as Lightning climbs out of the newly-painted 95. He sees Bobby give it a once-over and nod approvingly.
“You like?” Lightning asks with a grin, showing it off.
Bobby scratches his chin playfully before giving a so-so gesture. “Cal’s was better.”
Lightning pouts. Next to him, Ramone laughs, claps a hand on Lightning’s shoulder, and goes over to Flo who’s also laughing at him.
“Don’t encourage this,” he says to the couple but goes ignored.
“You designed these?” Bobby asks Ramone, who nods.
“And painted both, you know it,” he adds with a grin.
Bobby hums. “All joking aside, you did a real nice job. Better than either one deserves.”
Ramone laughs. “Thanks man. Whenever that sponsor of yours backs off a little, I’d like to take a stab at yours too. One day.”
Bobby grimaces but still shoots Ramone a smile. “One day. Next time OGain wants to change it up, I’ll see if I can’t put your name in the hat.”
"Appreciate it, man," Ramone says but the conversation dies as more voices join them in the pit.
"Ah, no no," Luigi's voice floats in and Lightning recognizes his 'correcting someone on Italy' voice. "You want good wine, good red wine, you get from north Italy, not the south."
Lightning grins. He's sat through this before.
The next voice is a surprise, though it probably shouldn't be. "Why the north?" the King asks.
Lightning hears Guido say something, then Luigi tsk. "Reds from the south... They're only good for, eh, let's say five years. They age anymore than that, brutto." He imagines Luigi making the same face that he did for Lighting that translated it well enough. Nasty.
They turn the corner into the pit and he sees the King nodding along, taking it all in as Luigi talks.
"But from the north!" He spins on his heel to face the King and says something in a mix of English and Italian. "Those wines age like, well, like red wines from northern Italy," Luigi continues, missing the point of a metaphor. "Let them age 10-plus years and they become the best they will ever be." The shorter man taps the King in the chest. "Trust. I know my wine."
"I can see," the King says with a small smile. "I'll keep that in mind. My anniversary is coming up and my wife loves wine."
"Come back to me before you choose, yes?" Luigi says, leaving no room to argue. "I will help." Then with a final nod, he and Guido split to check over the tire racks.
The King still has a smile on his face when Lightning bounds over to where he's leaning against the tower. "I am learning a lot today," he says, glancing at Lightning once before looking back over the pit.
"You got the wine talk?" Lightning asks despite already knowing the answer.
"And a cheese talk," the King says casually. "I guess the next time I end up in Naples, I am trying fresh mozzarella."
Ah, the mozz talk. Yeah, Lightning's heard that one too. He nods. "Because it's not as good once it's refrigerated," he says, summarizing that talk. He looks up at the King. "Have you been to Naples?"
The King mouths a no with a small shake of the head. Lightning muffles a laugh and he hears Bobby do the same.
"Did you talk tires at all?" Bobby asks, joining them.
"Oh yes," the King says. "The speed those two can reach is something else, let me tell you." He looks down at Lightning with a smile. "Your team continues to impress me, Lightning."
Something like pride swells up in Lightning's chest. Yeah, he's got a good team.
"We goin' to Florida?" Mater inserts himself between the King and Lightning with no warning, wrapping his arms around their necks.
"Florida?" Lightning asks, trying to follow. They should be done in Florida until playoffs...
"Yeah," Mater says, "Naples, Florida, right? That's what y'all was talkin' about just now." He makes his thinking face. "Y'know, that's where I learned how to golf, in Naples."
Lightning makes a face. "You golf?"
"Nah, but some rich Hollywood fella taught me some years back," Mater says.
"Hollywood?" Lightning perks up. "Like, an actor?"
"Oh yeah, some big name fella with a big ol' house and a fancy car. He owed me a favor." But then Mater just shrugs. "Can't remember his name, now that I think about it."
Of course. The one time Lightning wants him to go off on one of his winding tales and he can't even remember the guy's name. Lightning pouts. But Mater moves on almost immediately, as he does. He puts an arm back around the King's neck again and holds a hand out to shake, grinning wide. "Welcome to team McQueen, Mr. The King."
The King takes it with grace. "Thank you, Mr. Tow Mater."
The handshake drops but not Mater's arm around his neck. Not that the King seems to mind. "You picked the right team. Lightnin' right here is the best racer to ever done live, right next to Doc of course but Doc gets all shy if we try to tell 'im that," Mater rambles, ignoring Lightning trying to discretely cut him off from saying he's the best racer to the King's face.
But the King doesn't seem bothered by Mater's declaration. He raises a brow. "Really?"
"Yessir," Mater continues. "Now, I know you got that there fancy title but Lightning's got working headlights now and I'm 'bout thiiiis close to gettin' 'im to put on mirrors."
"Mater," Lightning cuts him off, trying to hide the small smile popping up on his face. "That's what I have you for."
"Uh, well, yeah," Mater concedes, then looks like he's going for an argument only to let it go. "Huh. Never thought about it like that."
Lightning gives him a flat look. "What did you think a spotter does?"
"Uh." His friend shrugs. "Spot when you done somethin' cool? 'Cause that's what I been doin'."
"Course." He's not surprised but still.
The rest of his team trickles into their pit area not long after. Flo crosses her arms and eyes Lightning. "Again, are you sure this is a good idea on your end?"
Lightning waves her off. "Chillax, Flo. It's for fun. This is gonna be the year. I can feel it." He runs his hands together with a grin. "I'm gonna beat Doc at something."
Flo snorts. "I'm sure, baby."
"I mean it," Lightning argues. "This time it's not just me." He playfully elbows the King, who's sat back and watched for the most part. "I got help. Good help, too. Not like when Mater tried to help me escape from Sarge's after that one time." When Doc had bet Lightning (and Mater) that the old soldier couldn't be pranked, their foolproof plan was to fill his warehouse with waterballoons. Simple. Easy. Only for the man to return early. Lightning, who was in charge of strategically placing the balloons, had no warning of Sarge showing up because his lookout (Mater) had gotten distracted. He ended up climbing (and falling out of) a back window and immediately getting caught by Sarge and his paranoia. Losing the bet. "No offense, Mater."
His friend waves it off. "Nah, none taken. I take one hundred percent full responsibility for dropping you out the window." ...He meant the whole lookout thing, but whatever.
"Well, I appreciate the praise," the King cuts in with gently, "but we won't know how well the new help is gonna be until we actually get to practicing."
"Oh yeah," Lightning scrambles. He pats his pockets, looking around. "Helmet, keys. Helmet, keys." Helmet on the ground but no keys. He keeps patting his pockets.
The King stands up straighter, giving Lightning a incredulous look. "Where are your keys, kid?"
"Uhh," Lightning drones to put off saying something really embarrassing. Made even more embarrassing because he just had them. He turns to the King slowly, with a meek smile. "Usually Doc is the one tracking the keys..."
The sigh and forehead rub combination is something Lightning's only ever seen Cal receive, so it's fun being on this end. It's kind of like Doc's facepalm. A classic I-can't-believe-this-right-now look.
"Oh, kid." Yeah. That one's on him.
Turns out Ramone had taken over key duty and had taken them from the car after they got to the pits. Only made them a few minutes late to practice figuring that one out.
Unfortunately, practice runs just as chaotic as it starts.
Lightning... isn't used to this much chatter over the radio. He and Doc had a system. They new when to talk, and when the other needed them not to talk. Doc knows when Lightning needs to be told to do something, and he knows when telling Lightning when to do something will most likely end with him doing the exact opposite. Out of spite. Because Doc says Lightning has "problems with authority" or something like that. Either way, he honestly hadn't even realized there was a system until practice with the King.
He doesn't know how Cal likes it when he drives, but Lightning has never heard the King talk that much in such a short amount of time. There always seemed to be something said over the radio. At some point, the King and Mater had actually gotten into a whole side conversation over the radio while he's at speed.
"Guys," he has to say. That's all he can say because he has to focus.
They don't do it again, thank God. But still. Lightning still struggles to focus even without a full side conversation taking place. Which is funny because having the King of stock car racing in your ear is one of those things any racer should dream about, only now Lightning is kind of... struggling. The King asks him questions and Lightning does his best to answer without spinning out, until he does spin out coming out of a turn. The questions slow after that, but by then practice is almost over.
He pulls into his pit stop after and tries to push any frustrations to the backburner. This is for fun. There's throwing a pie at Doc at the end of this. And, sure, there's some curves in the road to get there but they can iron those out between now and the race. Easy.
He's got this.
That evening is awkward, at least from Lightning's end. He doesn't think Doc feels awkward unless he's in front of a camera, and even then. The team dinner is still fun, even if the only thing anyone wants to talk about is The Swap.
"How's it with Cal?" Flo tags on, leaning forward and resting her elbows on the table, her chin resting on her hands. "He always seems like a nice kid."
Doc makes brief eye contact over the table with Lightning. "Oh, he's great," he says and Lightning can't tell if he's lying. "Kid's a racer, through and through."
Lightning will not get jealous. "Yeah, great enough to sit in my rearview," he mumbles, just loud enough for Doc to hear. He goes ignored.
"How was it under the King?" Doc asks the rest of them, pointedly not looking at Lightning.
"A little strange but so far so good," Flo says, pouring herself and Ramone some wine. "We'll see how tomorrow goes, of course."
"Of course," Doc says, oh-so-innocently and really, Lightning should have known then.
Race day. The sun rises with enthusiasm, shining in a blue, cloudless sky. Lightning is ready. Doc is going down.
He wakes up with Doc and the countdown to race start begins. Five hours to 2:30.
"You're so going down," Lightning says as he jumps down out of the trailer, completely forgoing the stairs. Doc follows in a more controlled fashion.
"I'm sure, kid." Doc grins, then holds a hand out. "I'll see you at the end."
Lightning takes it with a grin. "Well, technically I'll see you at lunch."
Qualifiers goes by... Fine? Fine. We'll go with fine. He doesn't get the pole but neither does Cal so he can live with it. He scores fifth with Cal (and by virtue, Doc) right behind him in sixth. He sees his name on the sheet of paper above Cal's and any problems on the track are forgotten.
He whirls around and jabs a finger into Cal's chest. "Ah-hah."
Cal steps around Lightning to view the sheet. Lightning's grin widens at Cal's frown. "It ain't over."
"Til it's over, I know." They scooch out of the way so that other drivers can see the results. Outside, they catch their new crew chiefs chatting. Lightning eyes them and crosses his arms while leaning into Cal, who mirrors his position. "Do you think they're planning something?"
Cal's eyes dart between Lightning and the two men outside. "No? Do you?"
Lightning squints at Doc. "He always has an extra card up his sleeve..."
"Yeah I noticed..." Cal looks between them again, looks around them all secretive, then turns to half-face Lightning. His voice dips low. "Can I ask you— why does he keep talkin' about making 'adjustments' to the car?"
"Oh yeah," Lightning gives a small laugh. "Yeah. He just does that."
"What do you mean 'he just does that'?"
Lightning shrugs. "He just does that. Y'know. Old-timey racer. Used to skirting and stretching the rule books I guess."
Cal leans more into his space. "Skirting the rulebook is cheatin', Lightning."
Lightning looks up at him with a blank face. "I know Cal." He elbows him in the chest. "He's got this super competitive streak. You just gotta... curb his enthusiasm. Or whatever. Me and Ramone have a whole system for keeping him in check." He pats Cal on the shoulder with a grin. "Good luck."
Cal follows behind him when he starts making for their crew chiefs. He looks over and sees Cal shaking his head. "'Curb his enthusiasm'. You know, my uncle's an old racer and he never talks about cheatin'."
"Eh." Lightning gives a so-so hand wave that has Cal squinting at him, confused.
"What do you mean 'eh'? What, is he starting to talk about using all left tires now too?" He scoffs and leans back. "Maybe you're the problem."
"No," Lightning pushes him. "What I meant was that he's just not that old. 70's versus 50's, man."
"Who you callin' old, rookie?" Cool, they're in hearing range.
Lightning smirks at Doc and walks over to stand by the King. Still a strange feeling. "Are you breaking rule number 1: no fraternizing with the enemy?"
"Fraternizing?" the King mumbles next to him but goes ignored.
"I, uh," Cal stutters as he comes around to stand next to Doc, who he neatly towers over even with his much his friend is slouching. "I think that one was actually the second rule."
"Were you actually keeping track of each of their numbers? Nerd."
"At least I was paying attention, stupid."
"Is this what counts as trash talk nowadays?" Doc asks the King over top of them. "'Cause back in the day we'd be at least throwing punches by now."
Lightning and Cal share a look and immediately Cal is shaking his head and making a big X with his arms. "Nope," he says. "Nuh uh. The last couple times someone threw punches in my direction I got laid out. Not happening again."
Yeah... Cal's rookie year was... Rough, to say the least. He got a sucker right to the temple from a veteran after causing the Big One at Talladega, and then again only a few weeks later. Bobby and Lightning's first meeting off the track went not great, and Cal had stepped between them to keep them off each other. Only to get knocked out by friendly fire. Neither Bobby nor Lightning ever admitted to him who it was (it was Lightning) (he still feels bad).
Really, for as non-confrontational as he is, Cal has got some bad luck.
Lightning smiles through a grimace but the conversation moves on. "How'd y'all do on qualifier?" Doc asks.
Lightning scoffs and throws a thumb out at Cal. "Better than him."
"By less than a second!" Cal interjects, pointing back. He huffs. "Five and six," pointing at Lightning then himself respectively.
"Whoof," Doc huffs, hands on his hips.
"Growin' pains, that's all," the King says with a hand on Lightning's shoulder. "Not too terrible for runnin' with someone entirely new."
Of course Bobby chooses that time to be annoying, walking past them on the way out of the tent. "Excuse me, five and six," he says, grinning. "Number one's coming through." He gives a little flourish that resembles a bow and keeps walking, not sticking around for them to make a comeback. Just leaving them with his chortling. Lightning sighs.
"Oh, Bobby got pole? Good for him," the King says, entirely sincere.
Doc points at Bobby's retreating form. "Now that's how you trash talk."
"You taking notes, Cal?" Lightning asks sarcastically.
A beat, then, "Was I supposed to?"
Lightning stares at his friend. "I can't tell if you're fucking with me or being serious but for your sake I'm going to go with you're fucking with me."
Cal nods quickly. "Yeah we can go with that."
The King runs a tight ship. Everything has to be personally inspected by him, and Lightning notices how he's got the tendency to watch over people work over their shoulders. It reminds Lightning of his old crew chiefs, before he found Doc.
He got them through inspection in record time, though. It gives Lightning and Mater time to goof off for a bit after qualifiers, before the media teams and fans start showing up around lunchtime.
"Lightnin'," the King calls him, a little before noon. It saves him from the headlock Mater had him in when the two straighten at the man's voice.
"Uh, yeah?" Lightning calls back, picking his old Rust-Eze hat off the ground and brushing it off before putting it back on.
"Showtime," the King calls back.
"Right." He pats Mater on the chest. "See you later, Mater."
His friend chuckles. "'Later, Mater'. See you... uh." He hums. "No that don't rhyme..." Mater mutters to himself.
Lightning rolls his eyes with a laugh and catches up to the King. "Having fun?" the man asks.
"Yeah, I was just about to get out of it when you called," he lies, holding his fists up like a boxer and jabbing them out a couple times.
"I'm sure you were," the King says, and Lightning drops his hands with a sigh.
The infield is starting to fill up with people, mostly media but some fans with garage passes. He and the King get stopped a couple times for signatures but they make it over to the Dinoco pits easy. Lightning sees Cal already talking with a woman holding a microphone, but it's not in his face and there's no camera.
"Buttering her up already?" Lightning pokes fun as they get closer. Cal blushes and stutters, but gets spared.
"We're ready whenever," the woman says into one of those bluetooth things, then smiles at the four of them. "We're excited to hear what's been going down, but I'm starting to make some inferences." A man comes around with a camera, not paying them any mind. He fiddles with something on it then swings it around, getting ready to throw it on his shoulder. "You boys ready?" she asks.
Lightning stands up straight. "Ready," he answers for them all.
The woman nods and the camera is up and on them. She stands with her back to them, fixes her hair, listens to the device in her ear, then when the signal is given, talks.
"It's all for fun," Lightning explains easily, not shy in front of the camera. "If I win, I get to throw a pie in Doc's face. If they win, which they won't, he gets to do the same to me."
"On live TV," Cal adds, looking like he's silently praying over there.
"And so, who's idea was it?" the interviewer asks.
Immediately Cal and Lightning lock eyes. He answered the last question and makes it very clear in his look that it's his question since it was his idea.
Cal takes the question. "Mine, technically," he says and the woman's attention moves to him.
"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't surprised," she says lightly. "And I'm sure a lot of people at home are too. You're idea?"
He gives a small laugh and Lightning's reminded that for as awkward as he is, he can still work an interview just as good as Lightning can. "In my defense, it was a three-in-the-morning idea. And it was partially a group effort. Gather a bunch of bored drivers together under a six hour rain delay and we start asking each other stupid questions."
"Like what-ifs," Lightning cuts in with. "Well, Cal starts asking what-ifs because I think he likes to channel his inner teenage girl sometimes." That gets him a shove from Cal.
"I hate you."
Lightning grins. "You're gonna hate seeing my bumper more."
Their cars get a lot of attention and Lightning basks in it. The meet and greets are twice as fun as they usually are because this time, the King sticks around the Rust-Eze pit to surprise people. Like he said, Richmond fans got a real treat.
The King helps with final checks while Lightning straps himself into the car. He leans into the window when the last buckle clicks together. "All good?" he asks.
Lightning gives a thumbs up, already feeling the adrenaline starting to fill his veins.
"You know what you're doing. Let me know what you need and I'll get it for you."
Lightning grins under the helmet. "A win?"
The King chuckles and taps the roof, stepping away from the car while Lightning sets the window net up. He breathes, going through the final checks of the safety gear before closing his eyes.
"Speed..."
"What are you thinking?" the King asks over the radio. Lighting moves the steering wheel back and forth in an easy motion, warming up the tires.
"Uh, whichever," he says back. He can start inside or outside, but he has to pick here soon. The green is dropping soon and they need to pick: starting on the inside lane or outside. And since Lightning got a higher qualifier than Cal, he gets to pick where Cal goes.
"Low then," the King chooses for him. "Cal hates starting high. Says he's scared of heights."
Lightning laughs. "Why am I not surprised?" When the time comes, does indeed choose the inside lane. In his rearview, he sees Cal hesitate before lining up beside him on the outside. Cha-ching.
"See him hesitate?"
"Oh yes," Lightning says, looking over at Cal still. "And I'm so using it against him from now on, I need you to know that."
He hears the King chuckle low. "I figured you would." Then, "Field's lined up. Green's coming out."
And indeed, Lightning spots the green. Around him, the starts to hear engines kick up. The pace car drifts off into the pits and the sound of their engines really kicks off then. Lightning shifts the car up as they pass under the green and the engine responds with raw power.
Four hundred some-odd miles between him and getting to throw a pie in Doc's face.
Lightning works his way through to second within the first ten laps and tucks in neatly behind Bobby.
"Well, it's nice to finally start gettin' somewhere," the King's voice says over the radio. "How are you feelin' out there?"
Lightning licks his lips. "Uh, good I think?"
"You think?" Then, "Everything running smooth?"
A quick look over his dash. "So far so good."
"Good. Cal's two cars behind you, still on the outside. You got 15 on your bumper so watch him on the turns and 26 is hugging your side there."
Yeah, Lightning can see that. "Gotcha."
He keeps going. "You wantin' to stay tucked in there or should I start looking for openings?"
A breath. "Look for openings," he says. "Usually I can overtake Bobby on—" he pauses to focus, "—turns, so look there." One of those things Doc just does, but here he is having to explain it.
"Can do." And blissful quiet.
That doesn't last long.
The King talks to him nearly the entire time. It's taking more concentration than usual to listen to what the man is saying and drive the racecar going 180 miles an hour. At least this time, if he and Mater got into a conversation, they did so off the airwaves.
He does manage to pass Bobby with help from the King (and Mater, who's still on spotter duty) and leads on and off for while. Cal catches up to them and for a while after that it's the three of them passing each other and messing with each other just like normal, only this time he's got his own fucking commentator droning in his ear.
He takes a rough hit from Bobby that bumps him back down to fifth. Literally bumps him. He feels himself jerk in that familiar way when another car hits him from the back. The car in sixth must've not anticipated his speed and rammed him. He curses and holds the steering wheel tight while the 95 moves erratically.
"Hold onto it," the King says, then, "Keep going. You got trouble behind you. Crash collecting a lot of folks."
So Lightning holds onto it. He presses the throttle again despite the wobbly feeling of the car. Adding speed makes him feel like he's even more on the knife's edge of losing control. Whatever the King's mumbling he misses through the ringing in his ears, forcing him to keep the car going forward.
Eventually he feels the back tires regain traction and adds full power going into the turn.
Breath. Saved it.
"Tell me that was caught on camera," he jokes.
"I'm sure that'll make the race highlights." The King sounds audibly relieved. "How you manage to skirt through crashes I will never understand. Yellow's out."
Lightning shifts in his seat, still grinning. "Technically I didn't go through it, I outran it." He slows behind the car in fourth as the pace car comes out to take the lead.
"Still impressive."
"Oh, I know."
The yellow lasts for several laps before they're restarting with the green. He's still got to catch Cal. He passes the rookie Diego in front of him during the restart and sits pretty in fourth on the outside of the 42 for a bit. He toys with Cal, pushing him close to the yellow line until the 42 pushes back. They swap paint a couple times but nothing major.
The next yellow comes out not long after (stupid debris call) so they take the opportunity to pit. Four new tires and a full tank of gas later and he's speeding (but not speeding-speeding, he can't afford the penalty) past the Dinoco pits right as they're finishing up. Cal follows him out and they rejoin the pack with a little under 300 laps to go.
It's routine for the next hundred-some-odd laps. He keeps the car pointed forward and messes with Cal some more so that they're dancing around the front and front-middle of the group. He doesn't have to win, he just has to beat Cal.
With his friend's uncle in his ear keeping up nearly a constant stream of chatter. Lightning hadn't expected him to be able to talk the entire race when they had ran together for qualifiers but now he's realizing the error in his ways. After this is over he needs to pull Cal aside and see if this is not only normal but preferred. Maybe it's sabotage.
Except he's so fluid with it, constantly keeping Lightning updated on what feels like everything down to what the fans in the grandstands are doing. And giving advice and telling Lightning what he should or shouldn't do.
It's so different than Doc, who can and will hold conversations over the radio, sure, but for the most part he's only on when Lightning needs him to be. And he's quiet when he needs him to be. Like when he's pulling a high stress passing maneuver and only needs to be aware of when he's suddenly not good. The King keeps him updated that he is good. The. Entire. Time.
Literally, Lightning doesn't think he's heard the man say this many words during the last thirty some-odd years he's raced. You could probably tally the words he's said on TV over those thirty years and the amount of words he's said just thus far in the race and today would win. It's crazy.
They're well over halfway now, nearing the last 100 laps. No caution gets thrown despite them waiting it out as long as they could, but Lightning can feel his tires starting to wear. He's not having a repeat of the 2006 Dinoco 400, nuh uh.
"Are we thinking about pitting before or after team Dinoco?" Lightning asks when there's a break in the chatter.
"We'll pit when Cal pits," the King says on the matter. "Keep y'all grouped together. Guido and Luigi are prepped and ready whenever you come in."
"If he doesn't pit in the next few laps I'm going to have to come in anyways," Lightning points out as the pack passes the entrance to pit lane. Four cars pit, none of which are Cal.
"Trackin'."
Great. Four turns pass and they're back by pit row. Cal, who's a few cars ahead, doesn't pit.
"Fuck," Lightning curses. The handling's getting worse and he's worried he's going to burst a tire. Not great when you've got a rookie tucked in right next to you.
"Go ahead and bring it in next time." The decision gets made. "I'd rather lose position due to pitting than a blown tire."
"Plus there's the chance they're waiting for us to pit," Lightning points out. He goes around the track, maneuvers himself on the inside, and slows after the last turn. Cal keeps going but Lightning's got the majority of the pack with him. Heh. Trendsetter.
He pits and he pits fast. Luigi and Guido work their magic while Sarge fills the tank and Fillmore washes the windshield and refills his water. Just a few seconds and he's back out there. Not the first leaving the pits but in front of the vast majority.
With the pack split now, Cal and most of his half pit the next lap. Lightning leads the rest for a lap until those that pit come out right in front of him, essentially placing him neatly in the middle.
Fantastic.
Cal's behind him, though. Only by a few cars, but behind him nonetheless.
"What's the damage?" Lightning asks, then for clarity's sake adds, "What position am I stuck in?"
"Uh, currently 15th," the King says. "Cal in 17th." See? Not that far behind.
"Who's in first?"
"Let me check, uh, Carlson. Bobby's holding onto third, in case you were wondering. Geier in second."
Well, yes, he was actually wondering. But Carlson's probably gonna give up the lead here soon. He hasn't quite cracked the code on holding onto leads for more than a few laps.
"Ope, Cal behind you. Just passed the number 8."
Crap. Lightning glances behind him and yep, there it is. The blue of Cal's newly painted 42 right up there, sniffing his bumper. He feels a small bump and grits his teeth. Cal wants to play that game, then sure. They can play.
It's under 50 laps to go now. Lightning races through the pack until he's back in the single digits. Cal's never too far behind him. They're actually back in fifth and sixth respectively when Cal makes a move. He goes low when Lightning gives him an in. Their cars sit side by side coming out of turn two going into the backstretch. The King keeps him updated on each car's precise location throughout it all.
Cal swerves just a touch, a threat more than anything to get Lightning to pull out, give him space to pass fully. But Lightning doesn't allow passes. Unless he wants to play.
"How you holding up?"
That entirely depends. He doesn't even give a response, just hums and clicks the line shut. He half debates holding the line open to finally get some peace and quiet but that risks missing any important information. So he'll just have to filter through the chatter.
He inches his car closer to Cal's on the straightaway. 'Reckless' Doc always calls him when he pulls stupid shit like this and he can hear the man's voice in his head overtop of the King's telling him he should probably back off lest he wreck them both. And, well, Lightning's only really been good at listening to a small number of people and right now he's realizing the King hasn't quite made that list yet.
He inches closer. Cal, pushed down to the yellow line with nowhere to go, sideswipes him, just barely, to push back and again they swap paint with a grinding sound you can hear in your teeth. Poor Ramone. He did such a good job but here they are, ruining it.
They reach turn two. Cal doesn't fold. Neither does Lightning.
Showdown.
Showdown goes bad, but at least it goes bad for the both of them.
Long story short: they wreck themselves.
Long story long: going into turn three, Lightning refuses to give Cal space, so when Cal accidentally takes the turn too wide, he slams right into the side of the 95, taking them both off their lines and spinning out into the outer wall.
Coming to a stop, their cars ride the slope banking. Around them, the rest of the field dodges them. Lightning curses, heavily, and knows Cal's probably doing the same in his own Cal way.
"You alright kid?" He can hear the usual worry in the King's voice.
"Fine," Lightning snaps. "How bad's the damage?"
"You tell me, kid. Can you make it back to pit row?"
Growling under his breath, he checks the engine RPMs and gently adds power. The engine gurgles strangely and the car lurches, but he can move. "Yeah," he says back. As long as he can get back to the pits, there's a chance.
"Ramone's getting his tools ready. Looks like Cal's also moving. Might want to hurry."
"Can only limp so fast," Lightning mumbles as he drives the car around the last turn on the flat shoulder of the track. The 42 rumbles along with him. The pack zooms past at some point behind the pace car as they pull into the pits.
"You're not gonna have a lot of time to fix it. What's the main problem?"
Lightning runs through the list. Braking's fine, acceleration's gritty and slow but works. Something's smoking under the hood but they won't know until they open it up. "I think the A/C's broken," he jokes.
"That's bad news," the King jokes back. "Every time I've lost A/C on a car, the engine blew not long after."
"Well don't jinx us." He pulls the 95 into his pit lane and as soon as it's stopped, his team is over the wall. He quickly climbs out and joins them to inspect the damage.
Sarge essentially duct tapes the whole front of the car back together and with a hesitant thumbs-up from their Cup official, he rejoins the race.
Of course, Doc and the Dinoco team also pull out the same duct tape. He hasn't beat Cal yet.
They're pretty much several laps down from everyone with 30 laps to go. And Lightning has done some damn impressive things (cough-the-tie-breaker-cough) but winning a race from here in thirty laps with a car literally held together with duct tape and prayers is a big ask.
He and Cal catch the pack with 6 to go and start working through the back of the field fillers to gain some kind of placement. Cal peels off his bumper to pass people on the outside and they reconnect a few minutes later.
It's the final lap, they just crossed under the white flag, and Lightning finds himself somehow behind the blue 42. Shit.
"I am not getting pied on national television," he says, looking for an in.
"Neither am I," the King says. "Take the outside. Go low, act like you're going down, then slingshot above him."
Lightning spots an in. "Going in." In turn two, he swerves low, forcing Cal to block him down there, only to swerve back up halfway through the move and slide up beside Cal just enough so he can't block without wrecking himself over the front bumper of the 95. They level out onto the straightaway in a mirror of thirty laps ago. Cal on the inside, Lightning on the outside.
This time, though, through the turns Lightning gives Cal plenty of space and Cal holds his line. They're neck and neck as they come into the last stretch to the waving checkered.
Which is great if not for the sudden huge wreck happening right in front of them.
"Oh great," Lightning grumbles as he T-bones someone.
They don't get told their places when the race ends, like what normally happens. Things are deviating from what was agreed upon beforehand, so Lightning suspects Doc has a hand in it. That man always has an extra card up his sleeve.
The King directs him back to the pit. The 95 limps back while Carlson, the apparent winner, starts his burnout at the front straightaway.
"Got the official results," the King says casually over the radio as he secures the car.
"Cool, can I get it?" Lightning asks, holding off disconnecting his helmet until he gets something.
"Not yet," the King says back. Of course. "They want to do a surprise reveal."
Who this 'they' is is a tossup but Lightning really suspects Doc. He mumbles an 'okay sure' and climbs out. He and Cal are herded through the crowd to a space set aside where the 'reveal' is going to take place, backed up against a press tarp with both their main sponsors' logos printed all over it.
They have to wait for Carlson's post-race interviews to end before they take the attention away. Meanwhile, both their crew chiefs have vanished.
"So," Cal says, screwing the cap back on his water bottle. The crowd around them is building, including a cameraman poised ready to capture what happens next. "Where do you think Bobby ended up?"
Lightning's half listening, standing on his tip-toes trying to spot their chiefs through the crowd. "I'm more worried about where Doc and your uncle went," he says honestly.
"Probably talkin' with officials while we wait," Cal points out, looking up at the big screen ahead of them as Carlson's celebration in victory lane starts. "Good for him."
"I still think I kicked your ass," he says. They're positioned in a way where they can't see the track's giant scoreboard telling them the results, so they just have to wait.
"I kicked your ass," Cal comes back with. "Even with your pushin' and shovin'."
"Hey, you pushed me back," Lightning argues. He looks back up at the giant screen to watch Carlson fumble and drop the champagne bottle and goes to make fun of the poor driver--
Only for his vision to go black. He staggers as the force of something impacting his face almost shoves him over entirely. It takes a second for it to register. A pan falls to his feet and the taste of whipped creme fills his mouth.
Aw, man.
He wipes the whipped creme off his eyes and looks over to his left. Doc is doubled over in laughter with some splatter from the pie having gotten him too. When he looks over at Cal what he expects to see is the King equally covered as he is, but instead Cal blinks back through whipped creme covering his face, his hair sticking up from the force of it. And the King stands next to him laughing just as hard as Doc.
Lightning whips back over to Doc. "You can't pie the both of us! That's not how this works!" Then, "Who won?"
"Neither of you," the King answers for him, the first of the two to get their laughter under control.
"Seven laps down, the both of you," Doc gets out. Lightning sees him wipe an honest-to-God tear out of his eye.
"That's not what was agreed on!" Lightning argues, turning to Cal to get him on his side but his friend is too busy wiping some of the whip creme off his face and eating it.
He pops the finger out of his mouth and looks back at Lightning, confused. "What?" he asks.
Lightning just sighs, accepting it.
Doc chuckles and stands at his usual spot next to him. He places a hand on Lighting's shoulder, carefully avoiding most of the mess. "This'll be a good lesson for you," he says, still grinning so hard it looks like it hurts.
Instead of asking what he wants to ask which is 'Lesson on what?!' Lightning sighs dramatically. "You're right Doc," he says wistfully.
Doc catches on immediately, pulling the hand back. "I am?"
"You are," Lightning agrees. He nods and turns to him. His grin gives him away "I learned a lot. Bring it in." He opens his arms for a hug.
That Doc immediately tries to flee from with a "Hell no!"
But Lightning's faster than the old man. He gets his hug.
The photo associated with the 2009 fall race at Richmond isn't one of the winner in victory lane but rather two racers and their crew chiefs standing posed for the camera, both drivers sandwiched between their crew chiefs.
Lightning and Cal are covered in a coating of whipped creme, especially on their faces. Doc's clothes have a not-insignificant amount of the white, sugary mess on them as well, with what looks like hand prints where someone tried to smear as much as they could on his shirt. The King's clothes escaped mostly unscathed but he has a large splatter on his face and neck where Cal sniped him with a handful off his own face.
Despite the mess, all four are grinning from ear to ear.