AN: Super short! Too many ideas and not enough time in the day, especially when your tablet takes forever to recharge and you're typing on a little Samsung phone!


If there was one thing Chick Hicks hated more than losing, it was sitting out of a race completely.

It wasn't even due to a penalty. The engine had blown out of the #86 during qualifying and they hadn't been able to get the back up car up to speed in time.

Piston generally turned a blind eye to his rough driving, but if the car couldn't even top 160, there was no way they'd allow him out there. So he found himself milling around the pits behind the scenes, he could have just packed it up and gone home, but watching a race on television and watching it from Pit Row were two different things. He realized vaguely that he kind of liked this behind the scenes atmosphere.

Race tracks were one of those strange places that if a driver wasn't suited up, they weren't immediately recognizable. He couldn't count the amount of Sunday mornings he'd walked past McQueen and had no idea it was the Rust-eze driver.

It was like The Twilight Zone. All he needed was Rod Serling standing in the background narrating.

So in a t-shirt and jeans he felt totally anonymous, of course a few people noticed him here or there but for the most part he was able to take in the actions on Pit Row without interruption. He'd found himself behind the #95 space, staring past the pit box out toward the track. McQueen had of course qualified well, hadn't gotten the pole position this time around but he was awfully close to the front.

Contrary to his own comments to the kid, he was intrigued by the unorthodox pit crew that took care of #95. While every other driver's crew had years of training under their belts, some even having gone to school for this, the only one remotely qualified for their position was McQueen's crew chief.

Of course that kid would disappear for a week and return with a Piston Legend.

Maybe he should get lost somewhere and see what happened.

Chick had gotten the snub quite a bit the seasons following the tie breaker race, he hadn't expected or even intended to send Strip's car flying end over end the way it had, that's just how the dice had rolled. He hadn't even bumped him that hard.

But when Piston chooses sides, it chooses sides.

Chick blinked a few times, realizing he'd zoned out and his eyes refocused in the pit stall ahead of him. It was nice for once to be back in the shade of the garages. The afternoon sun bleached out most of the crew's movements in blinding white as he heard a new round of tires being switched out on McQueen's car.

He'd always been envious of that little guy too, whatever his name was. Chick had never really been close enough to hear.

Knowing that it would now be awhile before McQueen returned, he stepped out toward the stall and looked up toward the pit box.

The kid's crew chief looked like he owned the place, jacket thrown over the back of the chair he was slouched in while his attention was turned briefly toward whoever else was sitting in the box with him. It was revealed to be McQueen's girlfriend as she leaned forward and opened the cooler that sat in front of the two.

Weren't they all just a cute little family.

"Psst- hey!" He hissed, standing on the far side of the pit box, just below the crew chief's chair and hoping none of the other crew members would notice him. "Hey Pops!"

Mirrored aviators had never been so intimidating.

Doc leaned out over the edge of the box. "Can I help you with something." There was a veiled threat in there, he'd be stupid not to hear it.

"Wanted to know-"

Doc straightened and put his attention back on the track, forcing Hicks to wait until he was done talking to the kid. He finally swiveled the mic of the headset up and away from his mouth and looked back down at Chick.

"Little busy right now, or does your chief usually take coffee breaks."

His knee jerk reaction was to say something smart, something insulting, but he bit back a retort even as the hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Wanted to know if I could have a few minutes after the race."

He was only stared at for a moment, as if he was being sized up.

"I'll give you five." Doc leaned back into his chair and swiveled the mic back in front of his mouth. The conversation was over.