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Chuck ran his hand over Blonde Thunder’s scratched, scuffed hood, wincing as his fingers made light trails through the thick coating of grit and soot on the blue and yellow lightning bolts. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen worse wrecks before - heck, all the Burners’ other vehicles had been totaled at least once - but he couldn’t help but feel somewhat guilty seeing that bright, beautiful paint job in such a sorry state.
“You did real good today, girl,” he muttered quietly, feeling a tad self-conscious before pushing the feeling aside.
He gave the car’s hood one final pat and sighed, remembering how he used to sit behind her wheel on some nights when everyone else was asleep, just imagining what it would be like to fly (at a sensible speed, thank you) through the streets of Motorcity with the rest of the team in his very own car. At the time it had seemed like such a silly and frivolous thing to do; he didn’t know how to drive, after all, and was too worried both about the potential safety risks to even try. But even if he believed it would probably never really happen, he couldn’t help the occasional irrational pangs of longing he got when watching the others interact with their cars.
Of course, he could have always asked his friends for help, but that was the absolute last thing he wanted to do. It wasn’t as if he really believed his friends wouldn’t be understanding about it after the initial bout of incredulous laughter wore off, either, it was just… it was just plain embarrassing. Having four of the most talented drivers in Motorcity for best friends didn’t do much for one’s self-esteem when you could barely go 10 mph in a deserted parking lot without having a panic attack.
Thankfully, winning the race against the Duke of Detroit and Mike’s unwavering support through the whole debacle had done wonders for Chuck’s confidence levels. He was even tentatively looking forward to his next driving lesson, now that Mutt wasn’t on the line and he didn’t have to set foot on that death trap the Duke called a racetrack ever again. As long as they took it slow and easy, maybe he could actually get the hang of this driving thing someda-
“There you are, Chuck.” An involuntary squeak emerged from Chuck’s mouth, and he spun around to see Dutch poking his head around the corner of the garage door, Roth hovering over his shoulder. “Man, we’ve been looking all over for you. Texas and Mike just got back with some pizza from Antonio’s, and Julie just called to say that she’s almost down from Deluxe.”
“Oh. Okay, I’ll be right there,” Chuck replied, trying to get his heartbeat down to a normal tempo before moving.
“Whatcha doing down here anyway?” Dutch queried, venturing into the garage. He caught sight of the scuffed and battered car and his eyes widened in realization. “Ah, checkin’ up on your girl, huh?” He nodded knowingly and placed a companionable hand on Chuck’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, man, we’ll get her fixed up in no time. I’m planning on starting on the repairs first thing tomorrow.”
“Thanks, Dutch. You’re the best,” Chuck said gratefully, even as a pang of guilt shot through his gut.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” Dutch teased as Roth squeaked his agreement. He gave Chuck’s shoulder a playful push and turned back toward the door. “Now I don’t know how much longer Mike can keep Tex from eating all the pizza, so we better-“
“Hey, Dutch, wait up a sec,” Chuck interjected impulsively, catching hold of his teammate’s sleeve. At Dutch’s quizzical look, Chuck took a deep breath and plunged ahead before he lost his nerve. “I just… thank you. For fixing Blonde Thunder up earlier. I know that must have been a lot of work for you, and she looked fantastic. And I’m sorry I didn’t say so before, I was just… uh…” He blushed and rubbed his upper arm self-consciously, remembering the epic freakout he’d had once Dutch had revealed the car was now race-worthy to someone who still had trouble shifting out of park.
“Pre-race jitters, yeah,” Dutch chuckled. “Don’t worry, man, I get it. You were under a lot of pressure back there.”
You have no idea.
“So, um…” He held out his fist tentatively. “We cool then?”
Dutch smiled, knocking a fist against his with no hesitation. “Always.”
Roth flew forward with one of his tendrils extended, trilling hopefully.
“Good point, I bet you helped quite a bit, too,” Chuck observed, bumping his fist against the robot’s and rubbing the top of his casing fondly. “Thanks, buddy.” Roth beeped happily, leaning into the caress like a floating metal cat.
“That he did,” Dutch confirmed with a warm grin, before it abruptly turned mischievous. “Though there was that mishap with the paint gun that one ti-“ A harsh shrill from Roth cut him off, which was accompanied by the bot putting his hands on the sides of his body angrily.
“Okay, okay, sorry, I didn’t know you were still touchy about that little incident.” Dutch held up his hands placatingly before draping one arm over Chuck’s shoulders and steering him toward the garage door. “I’ll tell you later,” he muttered in Chuck’s ear, and the blond couldn’t suppress a snicker as Roth buzzed irritably behind them and smacked his friend on the back of the head with one of his tendrils.
“Kidding, bud, kidding!”