Despite being well loved by his fans, the rookie was far from welcome amongst his fellow drivers. The young upstart had entered the elite racing circle on a fluke, despite having legitimate talent. Fans adored his brash charisma, his face was on billboards faster than his predecessors. But it wasn't enough to be welcome.
Not until he entered the pre race conference with a cool faced Doc. The former racer finally broke his media dry streak when he found Lightning was denied the credit he had earned from his own merit as a driver. Oh sure the sponsors loved the kid, but at the end of the day, Doc and Lightning knew; if your fellow driver didn't respect you, no one ever would.
It was the first press conference Lightning had attended with a crew chief and yet that made him even more nervous. He had no idea if Doc ever watched his pressers, the fact he was there experiencing it, seeing any mistakes, terrified him.
Doc's lean silhouette sheathed in a dark suit juxtaposed Lightning's stockier build swathed by a burgundy leather jacket. The crew chief led the way into the conference hall, Lightning felt like he was following a parent into the principal's office. The reporters jumped to their feet, a volley of flashes firing eager to capture the first official photos of Jesse Hudson in thirty years.
The other members of the panel rolled their eyes at their lack of attention. Seated among them was Chick Hicks, still holding on to his last shreds of a career with bitterness. He still held hard feelings towards the rookie for coming out golden boy during their three way race. The other drivers fed into this, turning against the untouchable young driver who had every sponsor at his feet.
Doc stood at the table turning back towards Lightning who had faltered momentarily before stepping up to take a seat. Doc briefly placed his hand on his shoulder, "relax Hot Rod."
The press conference overseer raised his hands for questions. Once more the audience lit up with bright lights before a shrill voice rang out.
"Mr Hudson, do you confirm the rumours that Lightning McQueen is your son and is the reason behind your return?"
Lighting's eyebrows shot up, he had not heard that rumour and turned towards Doc, the silence of the rumour deafening.
Doc cleared his throat and leant towards the mic, "whilst I'm flattered most of you have forgotten how old I am, there is no blood relation between McQueen and I." The room rippled with lit up with cameras as more shots fired.
The next question went to Chick, asking of his impending retirement which he dismissed with "I have no plans to do so."
The reporters seemed to be trying to get the other drivers ticked off so they could turn their focus back to Doc and Lightning, which they rapidly did so.
"Mr McQueen, do you believe you had a role to play in Jesse Hudson's return?"
Lightning smiled lightly, his media charisma returning, "there isn't a single thing I could get this guy to do."
Laughter rippled once more. Down the other end of the table drivers were sniggering and herring quietly. Doc leaned forward blocking Lightning's view of them.
"Mr McQueen! It's well known you burst into the Piston circuit. Did you bring Hudson in to gain popularity from the other drivers?"
Lightning's hair stood up on his arms and he blew air out of his teeth before fixing a perfect smile.
"I'm winning races, getting sponsors and moving up in the world. I don't need the respect of other races to be secure in my position."
The reporter, a well known sports journalist who had a knack in twisting people's responses, instantly fired back expecting Lightning's response, "no one said anything about respect. Do you feel you don't have the respect of your fellow drivers?"
The young driver was about to hurdle a snappy response before Doc tapped his pointed dress shoe into his ankle. Begrudgingly he admitted he had no comment.
But Doc wasn't done.
"Whilst my driver has no comment I certainly do. Back in my day, when drivers could drive on dirt and knew how to drift, press conferences weren't about psychoanalysing the driver, it was about the last race or the next race. There will be no comments for questions regarding relations with the other drivers or personal details from the Rust-Eeze team."
That evening at the pre-race gala Doc and Lightning were suited and booted in their best attire in the hotel lobby waiting for their taxi. Lightning had swapped his grungy jacket for a deep burgundy suit with long black lapels, a matching waistcoat contrasted but a black dress shirt. The slim dress pants also in the dark red colour made him look taller than he actually was. Doc had interchanged his conference suit for a suit with purple undertones, his hair slicked back and aviators hid his eyes despite the dying sunlight.
"Don't go crazy tonight," Doc warned.
Lightning laughed shortly, "I don't even like these things. I'm leaving as soon as I can." This caused Doc to quirk a brow and slide off his sunglasses.
"What happens to the Hot Rod who partied every day of the week?"
The young driver drove his heel into the ground, "eh. Those were the early days. Never liked partying when there was a race on."
His voice had an undercurrent of something more but their taxi was here, Doc just nodded slightly and gestured to the taxi.
The paparazzi were there in hundreds, their camera flashes glinting off Doc's mirrored glasses. The charity gala was a huge event designed to support young races from poor areas.
In the taxi Doc has slid the divider between them and the driver and spoke quietly. "There's going to be a lot of racers, big names with big money donating tonight. You ain't got that money. There's also going to be guys there just for the publicity. You're gonna be dragged by others no matter what you do so just do what you think is right."
No pressure.
As they took their red carpet photos, television reporters at the ropes extended their microphones.
"Mr McQueen, Chick Hicks has pledged one million dollars. Are you going to match that?"
Lightning's stomach dropped, he was successful he won almost every race. But he hadn't been in the game long enough to start saving money after paying off those who had got him started in the world.
He plastered an easy smile, "Mr Hicks is very generous." Before moving into the building.
Inside the dramatic hall there were only a few reporters. The women were donned in floor length gowns, notably far less questioned and far more photographed than their male counterparts.
"Well handled," praised Doc as he surveyed the scene. He'd easily picked up the different racers on the circuit since he began working with Lightning but there were a handful of unfamiliar faces he'd have to avoid.
The pair drifted around, a reporter pulling them over every now and then.
A familiar shape emerged from a corner of the room. Strip Weathers and his wife Lynda on his arm made their way over.
"Hudson it sure is good to see you again," he greeted genuinely. Lighting's face betrayed his shock and the older man laughed lightly. "He never told you? We raced a couple of times when I was a rookie, and I mean a real rookie."
They older racers shook hands, "how'd you clean up after the wreck last season?"
"Well enough thanks to your kid Hudson. I didn't realise how much finishing that race meant until I was on the grass with the hood crumpled up before me. All he says as he's pushing me over that line is 'it's just an empty cup'. I'd wager that's your influence."
Doc's eyes twinkled remembering hearing the conversation over the radio. "I might have been a little pessimistic. All though I'm not sure I don't regret coming back into the public eye with all this caper going on."
Lynda smiled, "we were promised a quiet retirement but I think we've been invited to more media events now than when he was racing."
"Ain't that the truth. They'll treat you like the average joe even when you're winning but they can make a buck off your legacy. It's all high praise," Doc grumbled as he saw a photographer snapping at the small group.
Strip eyed the crowds, "go on kid I'm sure you've got people to see instead of listening to us badger on."
Lighting smiled easily, "honestly Strip? There ain't a whole lot of people I gotta see."
Doc's eyebrows drew together, "you got sponsors to make an appearance with."
Lightning feigned surprise, "I didn't realise Rusty and Dusty were here yet."
Liar, thought Doc.
"I'll see you two around, it was nice to see you."
His heart was in his mouth as he stepped away from the three. A waiter passed by with champagne flutes and he plucked one to keep his hands occupied. When he saw Rusty and Dusty off to the side he gravitated towards them.
"Hey guys, how're things going?"
The two brothers' faces lit up seeing their star driver.
"Lighting, looking sharp," greeted Rusty, extending his hand. A photographer swooped in and snapped away. The conversation felt forced as they were watched but Lightning tried to pass the nerves with a drink.
A glamorous blonde reporter popped up with a microphone and camera man.
"Mr McQueen, other drivers have been pledging donations tonight. Are you planning to make one yourself with the Rust-Eze team?"
He drew a large smile and looked into the camera faintly aware of Doc eyeing him from across the room. "Racing is my everything and I've been extremely lucky to have such a great sponsor. I'm pledging one hundred thousand dollars tonight to make sure the up and coming drivers represent everyone and everyone from different backgrounds who have the talent and drive can get behind the wheel and do what they love."
The reporter began to chatter into the camera and they moved off again.
It was quarter to eleven. Doc and Lightning had been there since seven thirty. He bid his goodbye and sought out Doc who was being hounded by Chick.
"Sup McQueen," he greeted brashly walking away from Doc towards the younger driver. He clapped his hand harshly on his shoulder. "Surprised to see you left your minder. Don't worry, I filled him in."
Lightning paled and looked at Doc who seemed unbothered.
He marched up to his mentor, "what did he say to you?"
"Nothing. Are you leaving?"
He nodded.
"I'll get a driver."
Doc didn't badger him in the car. But he badgered him in the hotel lobby, the elevator and in their shared bedroom.
"I really regret being stingy and booking one room," he grouched as his unusually talkative mentor persisted with the questions. The twin beds on either side of the room were separated by a kitchenette. McQueen finished zipping up his suit in the garment bag, having returned to sweat pants and a t-shirt.
"I don't. What's up with you, you didn't want to go before we left, you hardly wanted to leave to go talk to your very generous sponsors, and you're only gone for half an hour before coming back. You have a weird interaction with Hick's and before wanting to leave in a rush. For crying out loud Lightning, what is wrong?"
Lighting smacked the light switch coating his side of the room in darkness. Doc was illuminated in the dim light from where he stood in the kitchenette. He sat down on his bed with his back turned.
He let out a sigh, he had no choice but to tell Doc.
"I got jumped. At my second event I got jumped by a group of drivers...including Chick." The air was tense, Lighting grabbed the knees of his seat pants and fisted them tightly. "You know the story, I got lucky and was subbed in at the last minute, it's how I got onto the Piston Circuit. Then I was picked up by Rust-Eze. The other drivers let that first win go, it was a fluke.
"But then I won again and they sent me a message. The paps were all over me, they didn't care about the others. After the event as I was leaving for my car and they jumped me."
Doc daren't come any closer, "how many?"
"Four. They cleared off pretty quick but they'd broken my nose and fractured ribs. Probably a concussion, I don't know. Strip, he...he found me. I was wandering through the car park when he was leaving with Lynda. I tried to lie and say I fell down some stairs but I think he knew."
"Don't let stairs bring you down when you are made to walk up them to the very top."
Doc shifted and walked slowly closer, quietly sitting on the bed next to him.
"I can't… I… these events… I can't go, can't stay long. My heart is in my throat the entire time. I…" He took a shuddering breath. "It's fucking stupid I need to just get over it-" Doc draped an arm over his shoulders.
"Listen here, Hot Rod. You were attacked by four older men for no reason other than your legitimate success in a place that should be safe. You suffered painful injuries, A concussion too, which you most likely did not get looked at, putting you at risk on the track."
Lightning began to protest, "I should have been strong enough to fend them off, get away, fight back."
"Have you ever talked to the Sheriff about his stint in the city when he was younger?" Lightning shook his head. "He worked a lot of night patrol, drunk idiots loitering the east side. Point is the minute it's two-to-one or more, unless you're a boxer, you have little to no chance of being the victor. It wasn't your fault kid."
They sat in silence for a while, Lightning's head drooped against Doc's shoulder.
"What did Chick say to you?"
"Nothing."
"Doc."
He sighed, and hesitantly revealed what the man had said. "He wanted to tell me how you would fail. How one day you would lose your winning streak and fade out. How if I wanted my return to be connotated with a winner, I should start thinking about who I want to be remembered with."
Lightning stiffened, Doc knew he would worry. The young driver was so confident, so utterly full of false confidence.
"Are you?" he whispered quietly, almost to afraid to hear the answer.
"Why do you think I would?"
He sighed and shifted away from Doc, worried he would be ashamed at how weak he was being.
Lightning stood up and walked to the window overlooking the city. "Because Chick is right. One day I'm gonna start losing. I was a substitute driver and I just happened to win one race."
And almost every one after that.
"I'm a fluke, Doc and the sooner you realise that and Dusty and Rusty realise that the better because then everyone can move on. This isn't the life you wanted, running around after me. And I'm just going to let Rusty and Dusty down."
The older man rose to stand with Lightning at the window.
"You've got a lotta stuff kid. You ain't a fluke."
"Then why can't I stop myself from believing I am?"
Doc didn't know. So he wrapped his arms around Lightning and held him close. Immense guilt washed over him. All this time he thought he knew Lightning, knew the type of person Lightning was. But he was wrong, the twenty year old was so insecure, he held such a low-self esteem he couldn't believe he was worthy despite his season points in his first season equal to 'The King's'.
"I don't know, kid. I dunno."
So they stood there, for a long time. The longer he stood there with Doc's arms around him the more Lightning entertained the possibility that Doc believed in him.
Maybe he could too.