A/N - Sorry if any of the spacing/formatting is weird in this chapter. Fanfiction is being a bitch.
"So I've seen a race. Now how do I actually race in one?" Arya asks after taking a bite of her apple. She's sitting cross-legged on a workbench in Gendry's shop. Her eyes are trained on Gendry as he works on a broken HEMI engine. Gendry's back muscles strain under his tank, sweat glistening on his bare skin. She likes watching him work. There's an intensity to it. From his dark eyes to the tips of his greased fingers. Arya takes another bite of her apple
Gendry stands up straight and turns around to face Arya. She quickly averts her gaze. The more time she spends with Gendry, the more unsettled she feels around him. "I can't believe you still want to race. You saw what it's like out there. You saw how Joffrey can get. It's not safe, Arya."
"I'm not afraid of Joffrey." Arya bites her lip. That's not entirely true. She is afraid of Joffrey, but Sansa promised she would do everything possible to keep his temper under control if Arya started racing. Just make sure to race anonymously, Sansa had said, Joffrey has no clue that Jon is my brother. And he'd better not find out that you're my sister.
"That's a stupid thing to say. You should be afraid of him. If you're not afraid than you can't protect yourself."
"Fine. I'm a little worried about the little shit, but that's not going to stop me from racing. Now are you going to help me, or am I going to have to figure this out on my own?"
Gendry sighs. He places his wrench down on the hood of the car and wipes his hands on his dirty workpants. Arya chews her lip as Gendry walks forward and sits on the bench next to her. She curls up her legs and holds them to her stomach. "I'll help you." Gendry smiles softly and knocks Arya on the shoulder. "You know I'll help you."
"Glad to know you're good for something."
"One day, you're going to be nice to me, Arya Stark."
"I am nice to you."
"Well then I'd hate to see you mean." Gendry's blue eyes sparkle as he teases her, and Arya's face flushes. Stupid boys with their stupid good looks and their stupid everything. Arya knows she should keep away from Gendry. He's too much of a distraction. But there's no one else to help her, and as much as she hates to admit it, she enjoys his company too much to get rid of him. "So you want to know how to get into a race," Gendry says, finally getting to the point. "I guess there are a few ways."
"Go on, then. What are they?"
"One way is to get on Joffrey's good side. Talk him up. Flatter him. Whatever you have to do to make him like you. Or at least like you enough to take money from you."
Arya grimaces. "I don't see that happening. What else you got?"
"Money is always an easy in. If you have enough of it, you can bribe the guys on the circuit to get you into a race. You can also bet a high amount on yourself to up your odds and create some interest."
Arya chews her lip. "Money is getting tight."
"Really?" Gendry smirks. "Arya Stark is out of money?"
"Maybe I shouldn't have given it all to you."
"I didn't even charge you for helping you out at the races."
"But you did charge me twice over for the work on my car. Work I could have done myself."
Gendry smirks. "I doubt that. You might be a racer, and you might have a sharp mind for the machinery, but you don't have a mechanic's build." He grabs Arya's small hands, and she flinches in surprise at the sudden contact. She's not used to being touched. Especially by strange men with blue eyes. "Your hands are tiny. Look at them. I bet you couldn't even fit one around the width of a radial cog."
Having Gendry's hands on her own does strange things to Arya. Her face flushes as his calloused thumbs grip her soft skin. She can't look him in the eye. Feeling flustered, she quickly snatches her hands away. "Well then it's a good thing I don't have a broken radial cog, isn't it?"
"I guess it is." Gendry is smirking, but Arya doesn't know why. The mischievous grin makes her even more uncomfortable, so she decides to change the subject.
"So what's the third way? Besides sticking my nose up Joffrey's ass or throwing away money I don't have?"
"The third way is a bit trickier. Basically you just have to impress them. You know, make a name for yourself."
Arya crosses her arms. "How do I do that? I took you for a spin, but I don't think I could fit half the San Diego race circuit in my back seat."
"I guess you'll have to get creative."
"That's very helpful, Gendry. You're an absolute fucking genius."
"I love how you still manage to insult me while asking for my help."
"It's not my fault you're so stupid."
Gendry leans forward so that he's inches from Arya's face. He locks eyes with her, and she can't bring herself to turn away. "If I'm so stupid, then why do you keep coming back here? I fixed your car days ago. "
"Because," Arya says, flustered by the intensity of his gaze.
"Because why?"
"Because I need help. But obviously I'm not going to get it from a giant, empty-headed idiot like you. So you know what? You're right. I don't know why I'm here. So thank you for all of your great advice and goodbye." Arya shoves Gendry hard in the shoulders so that he falls back onto the bench. And then she stands up and sprints out of the shop before he has a chance to respond.
He's stupid, she tells herself, stupid and mean, and I don't need him. I don't need anyone.
It was an easy guess that there'd be a race on Friday night. Arya parks her car far down the road and dims her headlights. She has to squint, but she can see people accumulating in the same spot as last time. She can see cars beginning to line up at the start line. There's an electricity in the air, and Arya flexes her hands in anticipation.
Nothing like crashing a race on a beautiful night to get the pulse racing.
She glances at the clock on her car: 11:55. The race will probably start at midnight. She hopes the drivers are as predictable as their round circuit.
On the inside, Arya's anxious, a bundle of nerves and an uneasy stomach. But on the outside, she's perfectly calm. She has one hand resting on the wheel and the other on her gearshift. Her racing gloves are soft and leather, worn through and through.
At 11:59, she turns her car back on, and the engine hums softly beneath her. She chews her lip slowly. This could work out well. Or it could go very, very wrong.
Arya rolls down her window and listens for it- the sound of the whistle. Sweat gathers underneath the brim of her hat, but she's too tense to wipe it away. And suddenly, the whistle sounds, piercing through the silent night. Down the road she sees the cars pitch forward as they start to race down the street.
Arya presses her foot to the pedal.
She accelerates quickly, hitting sixty, than a hundred, than a hundred and fifty. The crowd only has a second to see her speeding past the start line, but she knows they see her. And she wonders what they're thinking about the crazy girl crashing a closed raced.
There are only three other cars racing tonight, and Arya slowly relaxes and starts to grin as she approaches them from behind. They might have had a head start, but on the open road, she can push dangerous speeds without the fear of crashing. And she's catching up to them quickly.
The car in the back is the first to notice her. It separates from the pack, slowing down just enough so that Arya can sidle up beside it. The driver turns to face her, and Arya almost swerves off the road, startled by the man's grim, scarred face. Dark black eyes stare right through her, and Arya shifts her head, hoping her hat conceals most of her face. The man smirks, the line breaking like a crack against his burned face, and then he turns forward and speeds ahead, leaving a distracted Arya trailing in his dust.
Dumb, dumb, Arya tells herself. You should have sped ahead when he slowed down. She's rusty. She hasn't raced in a couple of months, and now she's up against racers that could drive laps around her old competitors in Montana. Get it together.
She re-grips the wheel, her fingers already sweaty inside her leather gloves, and she pushes the pedal down hard, rocketing forward, straight in line for the dog's bumper. At the last second, she swerves to the side so that she can pass him. He moves left, trying to inch her car off the road, but Arya has just enough speed to get away from him.
For a second, she wonders what Gendry did to her engine. It seems to be working better than ever. But she pushes the thought away. Gendry sends her mind spinning, and she really doesn't need another distraction right now.
With the scarred man trailing closely behind her, Arya turns her attention to the other two cars. They're neck and neck and edging dangerously close to the right side of the road. Back home racers pretty much leave each other alone. It's all about speed and precision. Apparently San Diego likes to play the game a little more dangerously.
As Arya gets closer, she can tell that one of the cars is Jon's. He's on the inner edge, closest to the center of the road. As Arya prepares to pass him, she lifts the brim of her hat, making sure that he can see her face clearly as she zooms by. It's a dirty trick, but she needs to win this race, and the easiest way to do that is to distract Jon. She feels bad for cheating him, but she has to win, and for Jon, it's just one race in hundreds.
And sure enough, as she passes, Jon turns to her. His face transforms: rigid mouth, and hard, angry eyes. He's furious.
Arya feels bad.
But when Jon falters in speed, she accelerates at full force and pushes past him, and she feels a lot better.
The circuit itself is easy. A long, stretched-out lap that rounds back to the finish line. Arya, having the advantage of surprising the shit out of her opponents, manages to surge ahead with relative ease. She won't actually win the race of course. No one is going to give money or credit to someone who crashes a race after it already started, but her little stunt will get her plenty of attention. And hopefully seeing her drive will convince the circuit to let her into a legitimate race.
That or they'll throw her out and threaten to kill her if she ever steps foot in San Diego again.
Arya glances in her mirror. The scarred man's car is now closest behind her, but there are still a few feet between them, and the finish line is looming closely. Arya bites her lip, trying to hold back a smile. She doesn't want to celebrate until the race is actually won.
And she wants to win in style.
She slams her foot down on the gas and accelerates to full speed. Her car shudders beneath her as it launches forward. She's nearing 200 mph as she passes the finish line. The second she crosses it, she quickly shifts gears, decelerates, and brings her car to a halting stop in just a few seconds. Burned tire marks smoke behind her, and the rest of the cars have to swerve to keep from hitting her.
She did it. She won.
But now comes the hard part.
Arya glances out her window, and a crowd of stunned spectators stare back at her. Some are angry, some are cheering, and some are just standing there with gaping mouths. Arya turns her attention to Sansa who is currently trying to pull Joffrey back by the arm. He's livid, red-faced and screaming. Arya cracks her window just an inch so she that can hear him. "Who the hell does this fucking street rat bitch thinks she is? She can't fucking crash a race and expect to get away with it! Where the hell is my dog? Sandor!"
Sansa tries to calm Joffrey down, but he shoves her aside, and she falls to the ground. Arya furrows her brow as her stomach boils with distaste. She can't wait to show Joffrey where he can shove it.
For a moment she considers driving away. Most of the crowd seems all right, but there are a few people, including Joffrey, who look like they're ready to rip Arya limb to limb. But driving away would defeat the whole purpose, wouldn't it? I wanted them to notice me, and notice me they did.
Slowly, Arya unlocks her car door and steps outside. She makes sure to pull the brim of her hat low over her face. Even though she's only met him a couple of times, she doesn't want Joffrey to recognize her. There's no way he'd ever allow Eddard Stark's daughter to race in his circuit. Especially not after everything Sansa told her earlier in the week.
As soon as she emerges from the car, she looks towards Jon. But he's keeping his face averted, sitting on the hood of his car with clenched fists. Good. Best to deal with him later.
"You!" Joffrey says. He's still standing at the sidelines. "Sandor. Grab her."
The dog is standing midway down the road, smack dab between Arya and Joffrey. Sandor is over six feet tall with broad shoulders and hard, black eyes. He doesn't look like someone Arya would want to mess with. He doesn't look like someone The Hulk would want to mess with.
Slowly, Sandor turns towards Joffrey. His voice is low, harsh and rasping. "No."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. If you want the girl- get her yourself."
"Dog. I command you to-"
"I said no."
The entire crowd is silent as they watch the exchange with wide eyes. Joffrey is obviously confused, probably wondering why his employee is refusing him. "And why not?"
"She raced well. I won't harm her for racing well."
"She crashed the race."
"And won it."
"By cheating."
A horrible smile cracks against Sandor's scarred face. "We were the ones with the head start. If you want her, you can take her." Without saying anything else, Sandor walks back to his car, gets inside, and drives away.
"This- this is an outrage!" Joffrey exclaims. His face is quickly turning bright red. "Someone get that girl and-" Joffrey looks around weakly, realizing no one is going to help him. "Fine. I'll do it myself, you worthless fucking people," he finally spits out.
As Joffrey strides forward, Arya instinctively grabs her door handle. Joffrey's not a big man, but he's much bigger than her, and his eyes are filled with cold hate. His grin is wild, manic. "Come here. And take off that stupid hat, so I can see your ugly face."
Arya bites her lip, unsure of what to do next. She could jump in her car and drive away, or she could stand up to Joffrey and-
And what? Beat him up? Let him beat her up?
There doesn't seem to be a single way to get what she wants. She's pissed off Joffrey, and that's the end of it. Better to get away now before he figures out who she really is.
Just as Arya opens her car door, a man emerges from the crowd. "Enough!" He shouts. He's tall, broad, and handsome. His blue eyes meet Arya's, and unprecedented relief floods through her. Gendry. "I said enough," he repeats. "Leave the girl alone."
A/N – Sorry it's been awhile since the last update! Life got a little bit hectic. I hope you guys enjoyed this last chapter. Thank you so much for all of the great reviews!
Also- I don't claim to have any real knowledge about racing- so if some of the facts or speeds or anything seem off to you, please let me know, and I will fix them. Any help is appreciated.
And- a lot of you mentioned that I left out Bran's name in the password last chapter. I can't believe so many of you caught that! Sorry for the mistake : )
Thanks for reading and reviewing!