Chapter Text
November 2007
He'd stayed longer than he had originally intended.
Fifty years longer than he had originally intended. At this point in his life he wasn't exactly going to be picking up and leaving town.
That was what dumb kids in their twenties did.
He could barely remember what his twenties felt like.
He wasn't that kid from the '50s anymore. His hair was no longer dark, his joints ached more days than not. The doctor in him told him it was old age, the racer told him it was old hurts from days long gone.
Whatever it was, he just knew he wasn't young anymore.
Jesse had never left Radiator Springs, completely anyway. As a semi-retired physician in a town even smaller than Thomasville, there were still days he wondered why he had chosen that particular profession. All through medical school and his residency, he'd silently questioned himself. Even as an attending physician to younger students, fact checking the medical report of a resident's diagnosis, he'd questioned himself on why this was who he had become. To tell Jesse Hudson, in 1952, that in ten-plus years he'd be reading medical journals and attending conferences to maintain his license to practice medicine he would have laughed aloud. Yet there he was, sitting at the wooden desk in the garage and thumbing through a bulletin for the next required forum. He turned the registration card over in his hand and leaned back in the swivel chair.
Life sure was funny.
Setting the forms aside, he leaned an elbow against the arm of his chair and studied the Hornet across from him. It had always been a massive vehicle, flashy in its own right, but now with the former Fabulous paint job restored to its former glory it seemed ten times bigger than before. He'd forgotten how eye catching the colors were, how the white had contrasted so nicely with the 1950 J-36 Legion Blue. He'd forgotten how proud he'd been of such a recognizable image.
The garage was his retreat, as much as his office within the clinic was. Worlds apart, the two spaces held two very different aspects of his life. For years each space had held only one side. Mounted on the wall in the office was his license to practice, certificates of achievement from UCSF, and published reports. Maybe a few pictures here and there on the desk that meant something personal to him, but for the most part it was what one expected of a doctor's personal work space.
His desk in the garage was barely visible beneath a menagerie of framed photos now, ranging from 1950 to the end of current racing season. A few of them had snuck their way in to the clinic, but he preferred them in his personal quarters. They didn't need to be seen by everyone. They were his.
Glancing away from the Hornet and back to the desk, he eyed each photo silently. Decades of his life displayed in images, some black and white, a few in color.
Ruth sitting alone in the bleachers some afternoon he must have been practicing. The Hudson siblings at the beach, the Hornet barely recognizable under a layer of mud and grass after a race. The Butte. California. UCSF. A twenty-something year old Michael looking gobsmacked as a group of cows passed his cruiser. Himself and Emily in front of the clinic when he had graduated medical school, another of them when they'd visited Washington state a few years later, with Mount Rainier in the distance.
Years of his life laid out in images. A picture was supposed to speak a thousand words, but he couldn't come up with a single one.
The latest photo, so new he hadn't even had a chance to put it in a frame yet, was some hotshot rookie who only a year ago thought the world revolved around him. He held his very first Piston Cup, looking grimy and exhausted, but smiling with a Piston Cup Champion baseball cap covering sweat slicked hair as he stood with an arm around his crew chief.
To think Jesse would ever stand in a winner's circle again, smiling...
His musings were interrupted when the heavy barn doors creaked open.
"You coming or what, old man?"
He turned the swivel chair, watching the kid with a raised brow. "Waiting on you."
Lightning McQueen, 2007 Piston Cup Champion, stepped in to the garage to give him an incredulous look. "You are no- oh." He fell silent abruptly and blinked a few times to see a small carry on bag near the trunk of the Hornet. "I guess you are. My bad."
"Grammar, kiddo."
An eye roll, similar to how he may have reacted at that age. "Forgive me for my poor assumption. Shall we be going?"
He hadn't been near the east coast in decades, especially anywhere near a venue like this. He remained stone-faced while the rookie oohed and ahhed over the most mundane amenities. Once you had seen a topiary in the shape of a Piston Cup, you had seen them all.
It had been like pulling teeth to get him to agree to attend that years' end of the season banquet, and the only reason he had finally given in was because it was the kid's first Piston Cup. He could swallow his pride for a few hours, just long enough to hear the kid stumble over an acceptance speech, in much the same way he had in 1951.
He felt ancient when thinking back on it...
The lights were brighter, the press more aggressive. He'd become too used to his quiet life in Arizona, and he couldn't help but catch himself thinking of it while removing the coffee stirrer from the ornate cup in front of him, (still gold trimmed...) and unfolding the back linen napkin to rest on one knee.
He was doing this for the kid, he reminded himself. McQueen should have been the first rookie to ever win a Piston Cup, maybe more deserving than he should have been back in '51, but Lightning had worked harder, hustled harder, and driven harder than anyone he'd seen in a long time. The kid deserved this, and if he really had to be there for it, he assumed he could stand a few hours before a flight back home.
He'd rather be sitting back at that desk, maybe penning a letter that would go unanswered, or even just staring at the pictures that filled the space would be better than listening to some self entitled pencil pusher yammer on about how great a season it had been. Some things never changed...
He huffed faintly to himself, drying the rim of the coffee cup with his thumb. The kid hadn't been able to keep a secret if his life depended on it, and he'd been made aware that not only was McQueen supposed to be getting the 2007 Piston Cup, but apparently they'd decided to make some new award (funny how that worked...) to do with lifetime achievement, and that he would be receiving it.
He'd achieved so much in life, he didn't need some gold paper weight to prove it...
He'd risen in the ranks of Piston Cup, was known nationwide for his driving. He'd survived the most horrific crash witnessed up unto that point. He'd picked himself up, tried to dust himself off, but it had clung to him. Everywhere he went, the dirt of Piston Cup followed.
He'd left the state, traveled west, never made it to California permanently. He'd attended school there, but Arizona had always called him back.
A dirt track outside of town had continually taunted him, knowing that it wouldn't be long until a navy blue Hornet and the kid with oil in his veins would need to return. Maybe not for the prestige of the name, of owning the track, but trying to return to the kid who'd been content with the idea of just driving. Of speed, and adrenaline, and skill, and three wheel breaks, and white knuckles, and dirt.
That was what he had told himself for a long time anyway, and while the track had lured him in, it was really because of the girl.
It had been their private joke, the Fabulous Hudson Hornet, missing Piston Cup driver, and the Princess of Piston.
They had married in '58. Children had never happened, but they had been alright with that. She'd always told him he was a big enough baby anyway.
She'd passed two years ago...
He wished she was here to see this.
Piston Cup had only been a few years of his life, unimportant in the bigger picture. Four years was nothing at his age. In '52 he might have thought racing defined him, and while it still held a piece of his heart, it wasn't who he was. The Fabulous Hudson Hornet. A kid from small town Georgia, who'd made a name for himself only to have it stripped away by those more powerful.
The kid had mocked him once, a doctor, judge and a racing expert, but those didn't define him.
He was a Georgian, moonshine runner, youngest sibling and twin, driver, doctor, judge, crew chief, husband and now widower.
Beneath all of that, beneath every title or name he could come up with. He was only Jesse Aaron Hudson, youngest child to Henry and Sarah.
There had been a time when he had considered his life an open road, and then it had become an open road for however short a time. Those years in Piston Cup felt like they hadn't amounted to much, but they had made him who he was. From losing Ruth to finding himself suddenly across the country. Every road block, detour, speed bump and U turn had been preparing him for something, and sitting at that table, surrounded by faces he didn't recognize, he couldn't help but think it was for a loud mouth rookie who had crashed through town in the middle of the night.
Could he have gone without the heartache? Absolutely, but it may have never brought him here...
Applause throughout the dining hall interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to see that Lightning had taken his place on the stage.
"I uh-" Lightning huffed with a faint laugh, shifting in front of the mic. The ego of his rookie season was nowhere in sight as he glanced about the expansive room.
"I have to ask forgiveness first of all, this was supposed to be a surprise and I'm sure I've disappointed a number of people with the fact that this is not a surprise at all. I couldn't keep this to myself and within two days of being notified that I would be presenting this award, I had completely spilled to Doc- Mr.- Dr. Hudson-"
He laughed again and took a deep breath to slow down, having a feeling that had come out in unintelligible rush that no one understood. He couldn't see Doc through the stage lights but he was sure he had his arms crossed and was shaking his head slowly in disappointment.
He was half right.
Jesse had leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms but seeing the kid trip over himself in front of a few hundred people, fellow drivers, teams, sponsors, administration, officials, stock holders, cameras, and reporters, was too amusing to really be too upset. He could tell there was a camera off to his right, probably trained right on him but he'd learned to ignore those decades ago.
The corner of his mouth turned up as Lightning continued.
"-I also knew that if it was a surprise, and it was made public that I knew, I'd be dead. And because I very much enjoy being alive-" He paused and grinned at the reaction of amusement from the room. "-don't upset a doctor, ok. Anyway-"
Jesse couldn't help but huff at that remark. The kid did know this was on national television didn't he?
"...I shared with my crew chief, Jesse Hudson, The Fabulous Hudson Hornet, that not only were we attending so that his driver could receive the 2007 Cup, but that he was to be awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award for outstanding records, many of which are yet to be broken and have held steady since the early fifties."
There was no teleprompter and he held no index cards. Lightning's tone took on a serious edge, his humor subsiding and the enormity of the task he'd been given suddenly became apparent. He straightened, glancing up once to make eye contact with the camera televising live on RSN before addressing the room again.
"Growing up all I ever wanted to do was race. From the time I was old enough to walk I was driving my mother crazy with pretending to be a famous race car driver as I ran through the house, tripping, knocking things off end tables, and in some cases giving myself black eyes with my recklessness. As I got older I learned everything I could, readeverything I could on all the greats. It's been such a privilege to meet a number of those people that for so long were only a name and stats on a page."
He hadn't expected to get long-winded, but once he started, Lightning couldn't find a good stopping point.
"My biggest heroes are the drivers who really gave it their all. Their work really paved the way for the rest of us-" Lightning hesitated briefly, gathering his thoughts. "-and it was one name that always stood out above the rest when I was a kid, when I was supposed to be asleep in bed because it was a school night. Instead, I sitting cross-legged on the floor of my closet with a flashlight in my hand, reading about a changing game and growing momentum in a sport that was fast, new, and exciting. For hours I would pore over black and white photos, and the only regret I've ever had is that I never got the chance to see it in color.
Jesse Hudson is a name synonymous with racing. Would it have become what it is if he'd never entered his first race? Possibly. Did it continue to grow without him? Yes. But Piston Cup was flipped on its head in 1951 and was never the same again. We only have him to thank for that. Who after 50 years, still holds the title of most wins in a single season."
Applause had begun to break through his speech before he'd finished and Lightning knew he'd be waiting a while if he remained silent, so instead he spoke over those in attendance, taking a wall plaque and award from a very new and very green looking administrator.
"I'm honored to have the privilege of awarding the Piston Cup Lifetime Achievement Award to my crew chief, and mentor, Jesse Hudson."
That was his cue, and he hated this part no matter how old he was. He'd dreaded it in the '50s and he dreaded it now. He was supposed to say something, wax poetic about how life comes full circle.
What he wanted to say was that this kid had been thrown in to his life and ruined it the moment he ruined the road.
But that wasn't true.
He'd wanted McQueen to grow up and in turn realized he'd needed to do the same.
He still had hurts, physical and emotional, but that was life. He'd so carefully bottled everything up, hiding it on a shelf in his garage that it would probably take another entire lifetime to unravel. He didn't have the time or patience for that. He'd never had the time or patience for something like that.
He'd keep his comments short and sweet, which was still more than what he offered during interviews in the pits. Barely giving a full answer to any questions posed, but he couldn't pretend to be busy now. He once again had the full attention of Piston Cup.
Except now he didn't want it.
It was the kid's turn to shine. He'd had his moment, and as painful as it had been when it came to an abrupt end, that's exactly what had happened, it had ended.
He probably said something sounding vaguely transcendental, he'd have to go back and watch the copy that was being recorded back home. This award was supposed to be for him, but he wasn't thinking of himself. He was the last one in his own thoughts...
Ruth was a dull ache by now. Decades after losing her, it still tore him apart that he hadn't been there when she passed. He didn't speak of her nearly as much as she deserved, but it still hurt too much. He'd never learned how to think of her without the immediate reminder of those last weeks before her death.
Emily was a sharper, more persistent pain he had learned to live with. Forty-six years of marriage was a lifetime, but it still hadn't been enough for him.
Then there were a whole slew of ghosts back in Thomasville, Georgia, who were seething and probably glaring at him this very moment. Refusing to speak to him but making sure their anger and resentment at the moment was loud and clear. And it certainly was...
For being a doctor, he'd never learned how to care for personal wounds very well...
Maybe if he hadn't been so stubborn, maybe if he'd slowed down, the way he thought McQueen needed to learn, there wouldn't be so many messes left to clean up, but instead of dwelling on that, he looked back toward the rookie, the 2007 Piston Cup Champion. Lightning stood politely to the side, hands clasped in front of himself in a freshly pressed tux. A far cry from the hooligan that had paraded through town and ruined their main road.
"Life will definitely lead you in directions you don't expect." Jesse nodded faintly, leaning toward the podium but looking between the audience and Lightning. "Racing is known for being one big turn to the left."
That gained a few faint laughs and murmurs over the long-standing joke.
"No one tells you that life can throw you in to the ditch, or spinning in to the wall. No one tells you about the stop sign at the bottom of the hill, or the speed bump on that highway marked 70mph."
That gained some more laughter.
"But it does seem to get you to where you need to be." Ignoring the audience, he turned and looked directly at Lightning. The rookie who had ruined his life one year before by dragging him back in to something he wanted nothing to do with. The one thing he had avoided nearly his entire life. The one thing he'd needed to face on his own, to finally begin the healing process after so long.
"You know what we always say about left turns?"
Lightning nodded, smiling faintly.
"Well." He grinned tightly, chest aching with pride. "I think this time I finally got it right."