Chapter 1: Like a Cloud (or a Rock)

(A/N):

Hey there! This will be my first ever fan fiction I've posted anywhere. So it'll take some time for me to learn the ropes of this website.

Just a quick aside on how I joined the Cars fandom: it was fairly recent. Or not. I watched the first film when I was young—like everyone else. I really liked it, but I was pretty much in denial about it. Hell, I even shipped Lightning and Sally before I even knew what shipping was. So fast forward to 2016, when the "Lightning's big wreck" teaser trailer was released. At this point, I was on the bandwagon of hating Cars like everyone else. But everything changed, when, while watching the teaser, I spotted a certain, edgy-looking, dark, next-gen racer's rear… And then I watched more of him. And then I wanted to see more. I kid you not, I dragged my whole family to the theaters to watch Cars 3 just so I could witness more of Jackass Storm's smug-ass sass. But it was worth it. It took a while, but I've finally accepted my place in Cars hell where I belong.

Anyway, that was not a very short aside at all. About the fic, yes, I don't know an awful lot about NASCAR, racing, or cars in general (alarm bells, ah, I know). So if there are any inaccuracies or inconsistencies at all, please let me now. It'd be much appreciated. And now, without further ado: the fic. Rated T for some language and wrecks, of course. And other mild stuff. Nothing too rough. Maybe a few f-bombs here and there. This first chapter takes place immediately after Cruz's big win at Florida International. You know, the part in the movie.

Floating. Hovering. Soaring through the air. Fearless. Cruz had never done a flip while driving before, much less at over 200 miles per hour. Much less over a car also pushing 200 miles. But, by God, she was going to nail the landing. And she did. A blur of black and white flashed by in her peripheral vision. She wasn't even thinking anymore. All she could afford to do was go, go. After she was right side up again, it took her a moment to get her bearings. Nobody was in front of her. Did she win?

That mental question was soon enough answered for her.

"I don't believe it! It's Cruz Ramirez for the win!"

"I am speechless!"

Cruz thought for a second. It sounded like Bob Cutlass said her name, but it couldn't have been her's… could it?

But then she heard McQueen's celebratory hooting through the headset, and she knew that she wasn't mistaken. She peered up at the thousands of twinkling lights and reflective car surfaces in the stands, and realized that they were all looking at her, that they were all cheering for her. They were all chanting her name—of that, she was certain. And it never sounded so good.

Her eyes became lost in the sea of roaring fans; they were riptides that pulled her in and drifted her away into some dreamy state. She wasn't looking where she was going, and she didn't even care. So what if she hit a wall again? This was worth crashing for.

The sound of nearby rumbling engines shook her from her trance. Some of the other racers were riding up next her, congratulating her on her win. Some of them even gave her a friendly tire bump. Cruz knew they were congratulating her, but the words didn't seem to fully process in her mind. She kept thanking them, regardless. One of them played a silly little prank on her, and she laughed. Her eyes rolled over and caught sight of something familiarly red.

It was McQueen. For a brief second, she wondered how he would react. Would he be happy for her? Would he be glad that she won, but have a part of himself that sort of wished he had been the one to do it? She could only glimpse him for a couple of seconds, at the speed she was going. But when he gave her that gentle smile and inclined his hood the slightest bit in approval, she knew that while he could be feeling all of that, he was proud nevertheless.

"Ramirez!" The shout of a loud, boisterous fan snapped her attention back to the crowds. Her name quickly condensed into an eager chant: "Cruz! Cruz! Cruz! Cruz!"

"Go ahead," McQueen called to her, amused. "Give em' some smoke."

Cruz's eyes lit up in excitement. Celebratory donuts? It was like a dream come true. She swung herself around in circles, revving her engine enthusiastically. She cackled with joy, the smoke from the burnout stinging her eyes, but she didn't mind. She was enveloped in white, off in a world away from the others, away from the crowd. Up, up, someplace very high. Like a fluffy cloud.

Drifting, farther, and farther away. He was sinking. Like a rock. Storm was soon at the rear of the pack. The other racers were miles away from him now. They all petered out to pit row, where they were greeted by a few interviewers here and there. But that was nothing. Storm ground to a halt. A flurry of reporters and journalists rushed past him to join the ocean of cars questioning the out-of-nowhere star. But that 'out-of-nowhere' star wasn't him anymore. It was her.

A smiley correspondent suddenly materialized beside him. "Hey Storm, what are your thoughts on this new sensation, Cruz Ramirez?" His microphone leaned in a little too close for Storm's comfort.

Another car popped up from his other side. "Storm! Can you describe what happened out there? For a moment, it looked like you had it!"

Then there was another. It was like they were multiplying. "Do you feel that this new, rookie racer could pose a significant challenge for you?"

Storm's initial instinct was to shove the reporters aside and yell at them to leave him alone. But then he remembered who he was. He was Jackson Storm. Whether he liked it or not, he had to give the public a certain image of himself—that he was cool, calm, collected, and confident. Storm certainly wasn't the type to lose his temper in moments of frustration and desperation. He definitely never threw tantrums upon losing races. And, of course, he was always 100% confident in his abilities and never needed to resort to dirty methods of winning. No, he couldn't afford to have people see him at his worst, just like how he was mere moments ago on the track.

So Storm bit his tongue, drew in a deep breath, and replied with an unimpressed roll of his eyes, "It's only the first race of the season. She just got lucky." Though he tried, Storm couldn't completely shed the bitterness from his tone. He assumed a more hardened look. "Trust me—it won't happen again." But Storm wasn't even sure he believed his own words.

The reporters had a great desire for him to elaborate on his response, but Storm didn't care. He had had enough with them. He began to roll away toward the lot where his and the rest of the racers' trailers were being kept, attempting to keep the relentless parasites at bay.

"Just keep driving," he reassured himself. "I just need to get to Gale, and then I can crank up the music and forget that any of this ever happened."

Unfortunately, one car wasn't about to let this happen. Somebody thought it would have been entertaining to poke a little fun at him. Somebody could tell Storm was having a bad day. Somebody wanted to touch a nerve. Their voice called out from somewhere among the others: "Maybe it's high time for Jackass Storm to retire."

It was as if a flip had switched. Storm's own taunts were coming back to haunt him. He reversed and swung around on a dime. His eyes scrutinized the crowd for a dash of red, despite the fact that he knew the voice did not belong to his old rival. He felt his features contort into an expression of rage and before he could stop himself, his mouth opened: "WHAT—?"

But before Storm could call out the spiteful jokester, a familiar-sounding engine revved up beside him.

"Storm." It was his crew chief, Ray Reverham. His voice had an admonishing tone. He leaned in close, so that the reporters couldn't hear him. "We talked about this, remember?"

Storm released a deep breath and shut his eyes. "Right…" He opened his eyes once more, his lids halfway closed. His face relaxed into that of his usual, nonchalant façade. "I'm cool… I'm cool," he reassured Reverham, though he seemed that he was more trying to convince himself of this notion.

"Good," Ray stated curtly. He glanced over at the pestering reporters and frowned. "Now, let's get you out of here before you do or say something you'll regret." He moved between Storm and the others, acting as a cover for him to sneak away. He stayed behind for a bit to drive off the stragglers, and then followed after Storm. The two made their way to the parking lot, side-by-side, in silence for a few moments, until Storm's calm composure broke into one of utter defeat and disappointment.

"I can't believe I lost!" he groaned, scowling down at the ground as if it had insulted him.

Ray was unsympathetic. "I tried warning you."He shook his hood with disapproval. "Chrysler, Storm. I knew this overconfident bravado of yours would catch up with you eventually."

Storm sputtered, his eyes widening in exasperation. "How was I supposed to know that she would pull a move like that?" He huffed and glanced off to the side. "Forget it. I'm exhausted. I just want to get out of here. I can't stand seeing Costume Girl get all this praise."

"Cruz, how does it feel to beat Jackson Storm?"

"Cruz! Have any advice for aspiring racers? Particularly for the young, female fans out there?"

"Ramirez! Where did you learn to pull a move like that?"

The questions kept coming faster than Cruz could answer them. She had to admit, it was a little overwhelming—what with all the flashing bulbs, pushing frames, and overlapping voices. But at the same time, it was exhilarating. Cruz had been so used to all her students and other racers getting this kind of attention, so it was nice to have people talking about her for a change.

"Uhh, I just want to those kids out there to know, no matter what anyone tells you, you can be whatever you want to be, as long as you set your mind to it," Cruz said, responding to one of the journalist's inquiries. She smiled, satisfied with her answer, and then peered out from over the hoods of the cars surrounding her. She caught a glimpse of her new mentor and his girlfriend watching her from afar.

As they met eyes, Cruz made a grimace and gestured disparagingly toward the fanatics engulfing her. McQueen and Sally chuckled at Cruz's reaction to her newfound fame. It was certainly something she would have to get used to, among all the other things that came with this career.

She squeezed past some of the cars so that she could join her new crew chief.

"Hoo!" she huffed as she managed to get near. "They sure are persistent!"

Lightning laughed. "Well get used to it, 'cause pretty soon, you won't be able to go anywhere without someone recognizing you and hailing you for an autograph!"

Cruz's eyes widened. "Wow."

Lightning, catching her vague concern, tried to comfort her. "Don't worry," he told her. "It's actually pretty great 99% of the time."

Cruz arched a lid. "What about that other 1%?"

"Youuu don't wanna know."

"Oh."

Lightning chuckled again. He waved a tire in his direction. "Come on, you're not done yet. We've gotta get you to Victory Lane."

Cruz perked up. "Oh! Right!"

She and McQueen began to cruise on over to the podium, when suddenly Cruz slowed her pace. She frowned, and felt as if she was forgetting something. Something about the other racers. The racers that she beat… the racers that told her that she couldn't… Cruz halted to a stop. Lightning noticed this and turned back.

"Cruz?" he called. "What are you waiting for? C'mon!"

"Wait!" She scanned the great expanse that was the Florida International Speedway. It was hard enough to pick anyone out, due to the size of the location alone. But it also didn't help that it was currently filled with hundreds of bustling cars. She diverted her visual search toward the area where the haulers were situated and managed to spot a familiar-looking dark, sleek bumper disappearing into the lot. Cruz turned back to Lightning.

"Hold on a moment! I'll be right there. I just need to do something real quick!" And with that she zoomed off toward the garages. McQueen stared after her with a look of confusion on his front.

"Okay, I'll see you back at the IGNTR racing center in a couple of days, alright?" Ray told his racer as they arrived at the back of his trailer.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it," Storm replied, impatient to get inside.

"See you then." His crew chief drove off.

And with that, Storm was finally alone. With the exception of Gale, of course, but she knew when to keep her distance. Storm sighed a tired breath and was about to drive forward to activate the censors on his trailer when the car he least wanted to see, especially on that night, appeared in his peripheral vision.

"Storm!" she called. "Hold on a second!"

Storm fought every urge in his body to burst into an angry tirade of insults. Instead, he turned calmly around and faced the very racecar that just defeated him.

"What do you want?" he stated grimly, his voice having that low, irritated edge that told people he wanted to be left alone—or else.

"Hey," Cruz greeted as she approached, slightly out of breath from the high speed she had been going. "Can I.. talk to you for a second?"

Storm snorted; he couldn't help himself. "What? Are you here to gloat about your fluke win?"

"No…" Cruz remained unfazed, but her eyes narrowed the slightest in offense. She reassumed a more amiable expression. "Look, I know you and I haven't been on the best of terms…"

Storm scoffed. "That's the understatement of the year."

"...but I just wanted to say that I hope that we can leave this all behind us and start anew." She glanced up at him and gave him a firm smile, but Storm could tell that she was feeling hesitant about this new "arrangement."

Cruz could sense the obvious distrust and irritation in Storm's demeanor, and decided to combat it. "I'm not saying that we have to be best friends or anything," she quickly clarified. "I just wouldn't feel good about us parting on such bad terms." She chuckled awkwardly. "I mean, you did mock me and slam me into a wall and all that, but let bygones be bygones, am I right?"

Storm's eyes only narrowed in response. Cruz decided that it was best to quickly wrap this up. She stuck out her right tire and maintained a steady, hopeful gaze. "Sooo, no hard feelings?"

Storm squinted at the tire with an unreadable expression on his front. An open tire: a sign of peace. Of non-hostility. Of… friendship. Storm's cold, grey eyes trailed back up to Cruz's warm, brown ones. Her's were big with anticipation.

"You can't be serious," he stated flatly.

Cruz's smile fell, as did her tire. "What?"

Storm's eyes flashed with anger. His voice suddenly increased in volume. "You really think a little 'tire-shake' and all will win me over? That we'll be friends, just like that?"

Cruz frowned. "No, I didn't say that—"

Storm revved up close to Cruz and she backed away, startled. But he was only moving to reverse into his opening trailer.

"You know what would make things a whole lot better for me?" he asked her, just as the ramp settled onto the ground. Instead of waiting for an reply, he reversed up onto the ramp and waited until he was in the comfort of his trailer to answer his own question. "If you'd go back to Rust-eze Racing Center and stay there—where you belong!" The final note of his response echoed in the metal chamber. And with that, Jackson cranked up his electronic music and closed the door of his trailer, leaving him with nothing but the tunes, darkness, Gale's reprimanding voice, and his own thoughts to keep him company.

(A/N):

The whole fic mainly alternates between Storm's and Cruz's perspective… Probably because it's about them… Still on the fence about whether they're going to be "a thing" in this fic... We'll see... Lightning might be a tertiary character though, so you'll see quite a bit of him too. Next-gen racers will also be in it. Particularly Danny Swervez… I have a general idea of where the story is going, but I'm not too sure how to end it. I'm sure I'll figure it out along the way…

Also, I'm going to be basing Storm's and Cruz's characters off of their origin books: "Storm Chasing" and "Cruz Control", respectively. I know they aren't canon, but in my mind, they are. Also, "Cruz Control" isn't out yet—only the preview. So, I might have to retcon things later once it actually comes out in its entirety.

Sorry for the long author's notes! It's just for the first chapter. I promise there won't be as much from now on! Probably!

Also, also… do cars shake hands—er, tires? I mean, they do pretty much everything else we do. So why not? But… it's kind of awkward, isn't it?

Also, I don't know whether I should have cars say "Chrysler" and "Ford" instead of "Christ" and "God"... Hmm, I'll probably use them interchangeably when I see fit.

'Kay, I'm done.